New life

Hippy shake-up

Zenga Longmore

lease excuse me if I sound a little — how can I put it? — tentative this week. You see, I am writing from my friend Shaka Boom Boom's mother's house and Omalara is asleep upstairs. Any minute

The reason for my intrusion into the Boom Boom household is that the hippy- next-door saga has reached soap-operatic proportions. You will remember that while next door's hippies were away, a band of apparently identical but actually far more worthy hippies squatted in the temporarily empty flat. Now the original unworthy hippies are back, banging on the door and shouting to be admitted. The besieged hippies are conducting stout resistance. Any day now, I am expecting the excluded hippies to nail themselves up in a giant Trojan crate labelled 'Free Drugs' and thus gain entry. Ah, would that the whole affair could be settled with such painless placid- ity!

As it was, hideous whines resounded from without: 'Look, man, let us in, right? Or at least slide our Grateful Dead records out under the door.'

The squatters, who appear to keep a well-stocked fridge, stayed put.

Olumba's way of handling the tricky situation was to play loud High Life music on the gramophone and attempt to teach Omalara the Sakoba acrobatic dance. The Sakoba, greatly enjoyed by the two foot high Omalara, involved much hip- twitching and waist-winding. Sadly, it took more than the mirth of my daughter to reconcile me to my plight.

When Shaka Boom Boom (christened Clive Barnes) called round, I begged him to think of a plan which would put an end to this hippy business once and for all.

`Rockstone! Know what you should do? Get Olumba to take a machete and swing it over their heads like so! [Whoosh] They'd soon catch 'fraid when they saw his blade!'

'Good idea! Olumba, over to you.'

'Me, Missi? Know wetin you dey talk! Na softly softly be best palava.'

But softly softly palava was evidently not the hippies' cup of tea, for at that moment, stage whispers were audible from without: 'Hey man, know that we-ei-erd chick with the bugged-out baby? Why don't we ask her if we can knock a hole in her wall and get into our flat that way?'

'You crazy? The noise would wake up her baby, and then she'd knock a hole in our heads.'

'Yeah, right. Anyway, we'd need a sledge-hammer . . .

The mere mention of the word sledge- hammer was enough to send Omalara and myself fleeing to mother's — Shaka Boom Boom's mother's — for safety. Olumba has, rather gallantly, agreed to hold the fort.

Although Shaka Boom Boom and his girlfriend Angela are dancing to Kiss FM in the next room, I am happy to report that Omalara is still sweetly slumbering.