Modern Malehood Dilemma

Tuesday, January 19th, 2010

Left in the solitude of my home, I argued to myself that perhaps she was too young for me to have even tried such a thing. What was I thinking trying to bed such a young girl. But in truth, my mind longed for her juicy body. To forget about Ntshediseng and the ordeal, I decided to visit my newly found girlfriend, Nhlanhla. Nhlanhla was a beautiful slender girl, with a body to rival that of Naomi Campbell. When I had first met her, we were both attending a discussion group for our course in Philosophy. I hated my body that day, the moment I saw her I wet myself. Just like that. Her body was a dream come true to a man. I could see myself wrapped in her doing wonderful things to her. She had accepted me instantly the moment we got talking about these matters. We have been going out for two weeks now.

 

Nhlanhla was the kind of girl who loved when she loved. She had love in abundance and I was lucky to be the one to receive her love. I was very much attracted to her as I learned more about her. Notice that I say attracted to her and not love her. Jozi is a scary place to go about loving people. Somehow she knew the reason I was there to see her. Somehow i knew she was ready for me. Somehow we both knew we wanted each other badly. This is it, my saving grace. The bedroom seemed to far, so the sofa would suffice. After a long passionate kissing and cuddling, it was time. With anticipation, I drove the point home. I was on the verge of tears to realise that I was suffering from the syndrome known as “it was happening again.” Despite our desperate attempts, I failed to penetrate Nhlanhla. God knows, I was going crazy with desire. Like she read my mind, she asked me to spend the rest of the day with her, locked in her flat. I was beginning to think I must be cursed. How else do you explain this occurrence one after the other? Was I being punished for something? Well, maybe not. I was too quick to judge. The rest of the day was a bliss. Nhlanhla and I had a good time, so much that she asked me to stay the evening too. The time we spent together, minus the embarrassing moment, was our heaven on earth. I can’t remember the last time making love was this good.

 

But this does not take away my shame. Fact is I failed to enter Ntshediseng. I failed to enter Nhlanhla too, in the beginning at least. As happy I was being with Nhlanhla that evening, the thought couldn’t escape me.

 

Am I the only man out here having this problem? How many brothers out there are in a similar situation? Medically, is there even a name for this problem?

 

What causes this problem in the first place? Is it grown ups doing what they shouldn’t be doing with kids? It it kids doing what they shouldn’t be doing with grown ups? Why do some men prefer these young girls to women their age? Does it mean they don’t have the same problem I have? And for these girls, is the pain they go through justified by the status and gifts these men bring? Anyway, Nhlanhla is my age mate, only four years younger than me.

 

One of the girls I once went out with early on here in Jozi is Nthabiseng. The first time we made love, the whole night long, it was good. Except that in the morning poor Nthabiseng could not walk. So I was stuck, no she was stuck, with a girl in my house who couldn’t even move as a result of pain. She kindly asked me to let her spend the rest of the day in-house so she could recuperate. I really felt sorry for her, she had let me have my way with her at her own expense. Perhaps Nthabiseng was the first sign that things were not going good for me on the sex side. I never saw Nthabiseng again after that. I guess she had had enough, and she had good reason too.

 

Which brings me back to the subject of our elders, or at least their advice regarding women. Slowly, I couldn’t help but start thinking about what my elders used to say when I was a young boy. While city girls preferred the skinny figure, our elders maintain a woman must have bones with meat on them. They argued that a woman with a good figure could hold her own in matters of the love mat. A man never has to worry about what he is doing to her. Skinny girls have two problems in common to them. One, they find it difficult to carry a man. The weight becomes too much to handle. Secondly, a real man will have a tough time entering her. And this is the most irritating problem to have with a woman. No one has to convince me about these two issues, I have seen them myself.

 

And then there was Precious. An attractive Account Executive I met when I was leading our advertising campaign. It happened that our marketing campaign extended to my bed in my house. The first three rounds were hair raising. She was good, and it was good sex. I was in the mood and wanted more, but after three rounds she begged to be let go. She complained that her womanhood was too sore to handle any further bruising. Her composure told of a woman in great pain, and I had to be reasonable to let her be for the rest of the evening. What is it with skinny women, err model types?

 

I am getting tired of this. Yes, they do fascinate me a lot these model types. I know by just looking at them that I can have a really good time with them. But the frustrations associated with them are becoming too much for me. What man has to worry about entering his woman when the time comes?

 

The last straw came when I dated Mpho. Mpho is a Dietician by profession. Believe me, I have never seen a Dietician with ample skin on her body. But all look good. After the usual going out and getting to know each other stuff, it was time to cement what we had. She was ready, I was willing. She drove to my house that afternoon. She is the first woman ever in my life that I have shown the door. Such behaviour is regarded un-African in my culture, a man does not ask a woman to leave his house, no matter what. But in frustration I found myself showing her the door and telling her never to return. After much caressing and tenderness, I totally failed to finish the job. I just wouldn’t enter her. I felt hurt and tears were gathering in my eyes, there and then my decision was made; never to bother a woman with a slender body again in my life.

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The Magic Number

Tuesday, January 19th, 2010

“Hello Thabo. Thabo wa bantwana.” she exclaimed with a smug on her face. “Do you remember me?”, she continued. “Let me guess, you don’t know who I am, right?” Then she laughed loudly, attracting even more stares in their direction. “Players like you don’t remember who they have slept with in the past.” This last statement made him alert, slowly realising that there is more to this bashing than a mere excitement of a beautiful young woman. A little crowd was already gathered around them, all looking intently at this Thabo rumoured to be best player around. Everyone knows a young man by the name of Thabo, seemingly involved with all the beautiful girls of the location, as townships are called in the Free State province. But the majority of adults have never set eyes on him before, until this day.

 

All they know is the blue Citi Golf that continually picks up girls in the neighbourhood. Every family that has a young beautiful girl is worrying about this Thabo lad, who is renowned throughout the Free State province. Girls from Bloemfontein, Welkom, Thaba-Nchu, Bethlehem and Qwaqwa all know Thabo. He is the single most girl-friended guy around. So much that he goes out with girls who are friends, that is how desirable he is among the young maidens.

 

Thabo is a young man who comes from a poor family in Botshabelo Block M. What his family lack in social standing, he has in good looks. He is a rainbow child born of a mother working as a maid for a white family in Wesselsbron. He is the product of the illicit habits of farmers in those regions, who find pleasure in the domestic workers when their misses are out. So Thabo, like many other children in the region, is light complexion with fluffy hair; a trait girls in the Free State seem to love very much. How else do you explain the string of girls Thabo dates across the entire province?

 

Locals call him lebusmane, because of his looks. His looks put him in good standing whenever he goes in the Free State with the female species. Women fall over themselves for him.

 

Thabo has been a player since his years in high school. By the time he completed matric, he had long achieved the magic number, 100. This made him a legend among young boys who admired his tact and ruthlessness with women. In the laid back Free State, 100 is the biggest achievement amongst boys. To sleep with 100 girls.

 

A 100 girls makes you a legend among the young boys. This is the ultimate status symbol for young boys who lack anything better to do.

 

“My name is Disebo. I live in Jerusalema Park, does it ring a bell Mr?” the lady continued to lambast at him in full force. “Thabo Radieta wa Mme Mamohlophehi, o sebete moshemane. To come pick up girls from this side of the world. Kajeno lena badimo ba heno ba o  furalletse. O lahluwe ke sepoko. After all you have done to me?” Disebo continued her rapture. By now a sizeable group of spectators was building up, for this was a public place to begin with. People had gathered her to celebrate a party as parties are usually where young people gather these days. Nthabiseng was celebrating her 21^st birthday in style. Almost all the young people of Thabong had gathered here today to have fun. As fate would have it, here is Disebo running into Thabo, after not seeing him in about five years. Long eventful five years for both of them.

 

Disebo had been one of Thabo’s many girlfriends five years ago while she was in high school. When she fell pregnant, Thabo had simply vanished from the face of the earth and never to be seen again. Until today that is.

 

Thabo has travelled a lot around the Free State. His mother’s side of the family is scattered all over the province, a fact that has allowed him this free movement between different towns. In every town he has visited, he had always had a string of girls to his name. The last time he sat foot in Qwaqwa, he had narrowly escaped fate. A mother of one of his many girlfriends had decided to put to end this pandemic called Thabo. He had one day miraculously escaped being poured with boiling water over the face. He has never dared going back to Qwaqwa ever since.

 

His behaviour had guaranteed that Thabo had seven children by the time he completed matric. Things moved from bad to worse when he got a job a clerk at the Mangaung municipality. All young girls coming to the municipality for service ended up receiving a different kind of service, Thabo himself. By the end of his first year of service he had managed to buy himself a car. His car had personalised number plates, PLAYA FS. The blue citi golf became a trade mark amongst young girls. The car has seen more girls inside than the many parts that make up a car. After three years of working for the municipality, Thabo had lost count of the number of girls he had taken to bed. All he knows is that they are over five hundred in total, the majority of whom he can’t even remember their faces, let alone their names.

 

Thabo was now in a self imposed exile from many towns and cities as a result of his loving ways. He didn’t even know how many kids he had, all he knows are all the girls whose pregnancies he had blatantly refused. Life was becoming increasingly difficult for Thabo in the Free State. He found it hard to travel, even on duty. Bloemfontein itself was no longer a nice place for him. Too many families were unhappy with him for the bad treatment he has given their daughters. A few cases had in fact already been reported at work about him. He had many maintenance cases pending also. Life indeed was becoming unbearable for him. He was already considering requesting a transfer to another province, just to get away from all these problems.

 

While he honestly does not remember most of his girlfriends, he certainly remembered who Disebo was, especially the fact that he left her when she fell pregnant. It would be difficult to forget the beautiful Disebo. She was a perfect doll in every way. Drop-dead gorgeous, well mannered and intelligent. Very few girls stuck in his mind like Disebo did.

 

Thabo, for the most part, was dumbfounded. He had absolutely no idea what to say or how to react. He had never anticipated running into someone like Disebo. So he just stood there looking stupid. When it was clear no answer was forthcoming from him, Disebo gave him a big slap that sent him falling on his behind. This brought giggles and laughs from the group gathered to witness this scene. At that very moment, it is like all the bad things that Thabo had ever done to Disebo came back in a flash to her. Instantly, she was mad as hell. She pounced on him and gave him the beating of his life. All this happened so fast for him to make sense of it. By the time he came to his senses, he was a real mess from the handiwork of his beautiful Disebo. Realising what was happening to him, he stood up and gave Disebo a big slap. He was obviously going on the offensive and was about to unleash his anger on Disebo when a group of guys who knew Disebo stepped in and gave him a beating of his life. He was badly beaten and no one in the whole of Welkom had the slightest sympathy for him. In this way, Welkom became another exile for him.

 

Modiehi grew up at her parents’ home in Block J in Botshabelo. A decent girl who was just like any other girl you can find in Botshabelo. As a young girl Modiehi was just an ordinary girl in the way of looks. Not pretty but decent and presentable. When Modiehi was in Grade 9, she was really flattered that a boy like Thabo would even take notice her. Thabo had taken to chasing after Modiehi too. While she had no interest whatsoever in him, his interest in her had boosted her profile at school. She was suddenly a popular girl, a fact that quickly went to her head and she ended up sleeping with Thabo. She immediately fell pregnant.

 

Modiehi was the first girl to be impregnated by Thabo, and the very first to be dumped the minute he learnt she was pregnant. She came from a modest family, by Botshabelo standards of course. Which would be poor by any other standard. The result of this unplanned pregnancy was that Modiehi was expelled from school. Her parents threw her out of their home.  Her refuge was her uncle, her mother’s brother, who lived in Thaba-Nchu. She relocated to Selosesha in Thaba-Nchu where she gave birth to a healthy boy, whom she named Tshotleho, a Sesotho name for suffering. Life was generally difficult for her, she could not come back home to Botshabelo, not even during the holidays or over weekends. Her father just did not want to see her any more. Only her mother would come by to visits a few later.

 

Two years after giving birth, Modiehi went back to school to finish her studies. Up to that point when she had met Thabo, she had not bothered thinking about the future. The idea of what it was she wanted to become in life had never crossed her mind. But the two years she spent raising her young baby gave her a lot of time to think and assess her life. She had resolved to work hard to complete her schooling with the hope that she could secure a scholarship as no one in her family was willing to send her to university. Her resolve to study had nothing to do with wanting a future. It had everything to do with Thabo Radieta. She took a vow, swearing by her late grandmother, that one day she would make Thabo pay for what he did to her.

 

Ethel worked as a social worker for the Department of Social Development in Bloemfontein. She had graduated four years ago from the Free State University with a BA Hons in Social Work. Throughout her life, she had closely monitored Thabo and his progress in life. Though she had completed matric first and started work before him, she had never forgotten to keep a close eye on him. Ethel was the happiest person when Thabo had finally gotten the job, even more so when he bought a car. She had quickly moved to put her long resting plan into action.

 

Ethel had gone all out to locate all the women she could find in Bloemfontein who had fallen victim to Thabo. These women were divided into two groups, those with children and those without. She busy preparing a class-like case against Thabo. Firstly she would help those with children sue for maintenance. Then she would file a suit for emotional abuse for those who had been Thabo’s girlfriends. Like many young women in Bloemfontein, she had been one of Thabo’s toys. She intended to prove a case that Thabo was a serial heart breaker.

 

Gugu came from a very conservative family. Her father was the archbishop of the Pentacostal church in Maokeng Kroonstad. His was a well respected member of the community who was strict with his children. Gugu met Thabo at a church wedding in Virginia and they instantly took liking to each other. So much that Thabo was able to bed her that same evening in a cheap hotel, and later in the back of his citi golf. Up to this point, Gugu had been a virgin and she had been proud of that fact. Following the wedding, they had discretely kept in touch and Thabo would often drive to Kroonstad to see her. A few months later she was heavily pregnant. As usual, Thabo disowned her and disappeared when he learned about the pregnancy. Her strict archbishop father could not live with the disgrace and he ended up divorcing Gugu’s mother. Her family was forever broken as a result. She grew up to be an active member of the movement, a fact that saw her progress to the provincial executive committee of the movement.

 

Modiehi had worked hard to qualify for a scholarship to the University of the Free State to study for her BJuris degree, followed by an LLB specialising in criminal law. She was an admitted attorney in the Free State Bar Council. Up to this point of her life, she had been a successful attorney. In time, she filed a suit against Thabo for child maintenance. Her second suit was for damages for the hurt and hardships Thabo had caused her. It was the child maintenance suit that had caught Ethel’s attention. She had filed a suit for child maintenance on behalf of seven women, including herself. At this point, Ethel had been struggling to secure a legal firm to represent them on the serial heart breaker case, and Modiehi’s profile had impressed her a lot.

 

With three very influential women now finding themselves in the same city of Bloemfontein, discussions had begun to strategise on the plan to bring Thabo down and humiliate him. Ethel had successfully lobbied Gugu, who was by now part of the provincial government, to join her class suit. Gugu, on her part, would work on lobbying all organs of state to be sympathetic to Ethel’s case. While Modiehi would continue with her suits independent of the rest of the women in Ethel’s fold, she had agreed nonetheless to represent the group as their attorney.

 

Thabo was now restless, with eight women suing him for child support in Bloemfontein alone. He wondered what would happen should all the women with whom he had children decided to follow suit. He estimated that he had impregnated no less than twenty two women, or that was what he could remember. So he potentially was a father to twenty two children at the age of only twenty five. With what he was earning, there was absolutely no way in which he could afford maintaining all these children. His only hope of being transferred to another province had recently hit a wall when things didn’t go as planned. Unknown to him, his transfer was expertly blocked by non other than Gugu herself.

 

Modiehi’s child support case was the first nightmare for Thabo. As soon the trial began, it was clear that she would win the case. Three months later, the court ordered him to pay R1200 a month child support to Modiehi. Next case facing him was a civil suit by Modiehi for damages and suffering he had caused her. While this was highly uncommon in South Africa, everyone close to the case agreed Modiehi had put together a winnable case. Thabo’s legal counsel had acceded to this and had advised him to settle out of court, but Modiehi would hear none of it.

 

The class suit led by Ethel began while Thabo was facing a civil suit from Modiehi. This particular case brought by Ethel attracted a lot of attention, mainly because comrade Gugu had worked her magic with the politicians for them to take a stand behind Ethel. Out of the blue Thabo found himself faced with a suit whose main purpose was to teach men like him a lesson. The politicians were in full support of the case. The media were fed full details of the case by unknown sources. Before long, Thabo was in all the major newspapers across the Free State province. Several radio stations held interviews with Ethel to explain to the public what the case was about and why it was important. As a result, more women were coming up to join the class suit against him. So a case that had started with only eight women was now sitting with twenty nine complainants.

 

Modiehi won her civil suit against him, but judgement was still pending. The class suit with twenty nine women suing him for child support was fast nearing completion, with a lot of media coverage. Indications were that Thabo would lose the case. The second phase of the class suit, suing for mental and physical suffering of the women, got started. Thabo’s legal council recused themselves from the case citing other commitments. In truth, the firm knew they were fast loosing the case and this had potential negative implications on their reputation and business.

 

The day Thabo learnt that he no longer had legal representation, he was shocked beyond belief. This had cemented the prevailing view that he had lost the case. That evening he sat in his flat alone reflecting on his life. He had recounted every encounter he could remember with women. How he had approached them, charmed their skirts off their bodies, then dumped them like dirt. For a brief moment, he felt sorry for his actions. He wondered what had prompted him to act the way he did. Of course that question he could not answer. With a heavy heart he lifted his pistol to his head and ended his life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PART TWO

 

 

Matswedintsweke

Ntebaleng has always had a crush on Thabo, since she can remember. While it was Thabo’s modus operandi to hit on any skirt that wills, he had taken no interest whatsoever in Ntebaleng. She knew Thabo had no interest in her, but somehow kept hoping that one day he will sleep with her too. That was all she wanted, that he sleeps with her.

 

Ntebaleng also works for the Free State government as a Paramedic. She lives opposite Thabo’s flat and she always checks up on him whenever she hears sounds she thinks come from his flat. Today she was off from work and she was bored stiff. She had been contemplating going to work even though it was her day off but she couldn’t get anyone to agree to swap shifts with her. It was early in the evening, just after the seven o’clock news had started, when she heard the sound of a firing gun too close to comfort. Guns just don’t go off in the complex, she knew instinctively that something was horribly wrong.

 

People who live in the Free State are a true reflection of the principles of ubuntu. They are communal and everyone knows everyone. The many people of colour who live at Seer flats know each other very well, probably because many are young and therefore don’t have hang-ups from South Africa’s past. By the time Ntebaleng got out of her flat to investigate what was wrong, her morbid suspicions were confirmed by the number of already gathered in Thabo’s flat. She feared for the worst. All she could think about was how can her Thabo die without tasting what she had for him? She prayed silently and asked for the highest favours from the spirits not to let Thabo die. That she couldn’t handle, she told herself.

 

She was horrified by the sight of what she saw when she walked in. Thabo’s body was sitting akimbo on the couch sliding to the left. Blood was flowing all over and the gun was sitting jut below the couch. As a paramedic, she acted quickly to inspect the body for any signs of life and to see if she could do anything to save him. The bullet had pierced through his right temple but did not come out the other side. She felt a faint pulse in his veins and instinctively moved to position the body on the floor in a right posture. She asked someone to bring her emergency kit from her flat while she did what she could. Somebody had already called the emergency services and the ambulance was on its way. All she could do was try her best to stop the loss of blood until the ambulance arrived.

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Since Thabo’s woes were something of provincial importance, as far as the media was concerned, the late evening radio news read: “Serial heart breaker takes his own life.” Lesedi Fm, BBT Radio, even Qwaqwa Radio carried the story. His life, the court cases and the suicide were all brought back live in the radio. The following day all the newspapers picked up where the radios left off the previous night. It was field day in Bloemfontein. The media had camped at the provincial government’s offices early in the morning, hoping to catch a glimpse of the political heavy weight Gugu when she got to the office. They all wanted to interview her. Everyone knew by now that she too had a baby by Thabo.

 

Modiehi on the other hand was fielding non ending phone calls from radio stations and newspapers wanting to know how she feels that Thabo had committed suicide. Some even went as far as to say she was the cause of it in the first place. If she hadn’t sued him for maintenance and emotional suffering, he might not have taken his life. While she hated Thabo passionately as a result of the treatment she got from him, she didn’t hate him to the extent of wishing him dead. In any case, she still needed him as a father that one day her child will get to know. No matter how bad they are, mothers always need their babies’ fathers.

 

Life is one complicated mess that leaves us shocked at things we discover about ourselves, just when we think we know who we are or what we stand for. Just when we think that we have matured, then something happens that we realise we know nothing about ourselves as a people. Ethel felt like shit. For the life of her, she could not understand why. Why God? She had worked so hard, educated herself and really had a good life without anyone’s help. She was a happy single mother, or was she?

 

When the news about Thabo reached Ethel, she was in her office doing some paper work. She sat there for a long time like a spooked person. All she could think of was why? Thabo’s suicide had brought to her the reality she had thought she was long past. She had mixed feelings about him, all of a sudden. Those long buried feelings, probably buried by anger of the way he treated her, simply resurfaced! She honestly hadn’t known that she still loved the bustard. These feelings simply showed up at a time like this. She cried long and loud. It was like she was a grieving wife crying for a dead husband.

 

The media waited to no avail as Gugu never made it to work that day. A doctor friend had called her last night to inform her that Thabo had committed suicide. She had been enjoying supper with her family when the news came. All her family saw was her falling down and collapsing, only to wake up in hospital hours later. The doctors confirmed she had suffered a mild stroke! All because of Thabo. She herself could not believe what was happening to her. She had moved on with her life, gotten married to a loving husband, with whom she had two beautiful boys. And now she had suffered a stroke n the news of Thabo?

 

Life is indeed a bitch. Modiehi was mopping for the father of her child, a father the child has never seen. Ethel was practically falling apart with grief for a man she had not had contact with for many many years. Gugu, poor Gugu, had suffered a stroke on news of a man she thought she couldn’t care less what happened to him. Life is a bitch, ask Modiehi, Ethel and Gugu. Poor Ethel and Gugu, they didn’t know it, but they were still madly in love with the bustard.

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The day was filled with mystery. A number of incredible news were hanging in the air. Everyone has been reporting on Thabo since last night, but no one really knows if he is really dead for sure. The doctors were tight lipped on his condition and told no one but his family of his condition. His family too, somehow, was not telling anyone what was happening with him. This is why by noon, many people were beginning to wonder if he was really dead. A dead person, once certified dead, goes to mortuary; something that has not happened to Thabo.

 

Then news broke that Gugu had suffered a mild stroke. When the calculating heads of news people figured the time of her stroke, they added and two and came to one. Lunch news on radio were almost exclusively about Thabo and Gugu. While no direct link was mentioned between the two accidents, the news were so tempting that anyone concluded the accidents were related. People concluded Gugu suffered the stroke when she learned the father of her baby had committed suicide. And her husband too figured this out. Which led him to conclude one thing, that his wife was still in love with the father of her baby. He silently wondered where did that leave him.

 

BBT radio decided to track down the three women who had sued Thabo and interview them live on air. Gugu was in hospital and therefore unreachable. Ethel was literally suffering from emotional breakdown. She had left work and gone home to be in the comfort of her bedroom where she was crying all liquids from her body. News reached the radio station that she left in a state, and her phone was switched off. Only Modiehi was reachable, but had turned down any invitation for an interview. The afternoon talk show had the highest number of calls in its history. People were putting two and two together and arriving at a million explanations.

 

For some strange reason, the evening news focused on the three women who were now rumoured the cause of Thabo’s suicide. Their private lives were laid bare for the public. How they had known Thabo in the long forgotten past. The children they all had with Thabo. What they did for a living and where they were now married. Insinuations were made that their suits were really spite because Thabo had not married any of them. It is amazing the things the Mzansi media can report, without ever being held responsible for the mess they cause. It was out of this media frenzy that Modiehi’s, Ethel’s and Gugu’s children knew who their father was. It was also through this frenzy that many other kids elsewhere got to know who Thabo, their father, was.

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Ntebaleng was the most disturbed person in the week following Thabo’s suicide. She was the most up to date person about his condition. While he did not die from the gun shot, he had lost a lot of blood and was kept in ICU under close supervision. Some had doubted whether he would make it. But Thabo did not die, he held by the slightest thread of life that was left in him.

 

After a week of suspense, everyone got to know that Thabo was critical but okay. Okay because he didn’t die, but not okay as in the old Thabo. The doctors told the bad news that Thabo will probably never walk again. The bullet had impacted on his sensitive nerves and as a result some parts of his right side are not functioning properly. He could probably walk again with physiotherapy, but they asked everybody not to be too optimistic.

 

Several forces were now playing themselves out. Clearly there was nothing to be gained by continuing with the class suit against Thabo. The women had to decide what the next cause of action was. Drop the case. Modiehi was guilt ridden, thinking that she had started all this suing business when in fact she did not need Thabo in her life. The social worker in Ethel had left her and she was a wreck. The love she had for Thabo was especially strong these days. While she was mad a hell to Thabo, she just couldn’t help but feel emotionally attached to him. Perhaps she need closure with him. After all, she had never really had a proper relationship with him, she was just a sex toy to him. She was somehow searching for some affection from him, one she thought she should have had all those years he used her. Women’s feelings are deep and complex indeed.

 

Gugu’s life had a taken a sudden yet bad turn. As soon as she was released from hospital, her husband wanted to know if she still loved Thabo. What he failed to grasp, he said, was why she would she feel even the slighted sympathy for Thabo after all that has happened. She asked her if she knew how embarrassing it was for him that his wife, whom he loves very much, had a stroke on news of another man. How is he supposed to answer queries about the cause of her stroke? He asked her.

 

Politicians are a strange bunch of people. At the core of their existence are insecurities and the worry about public perception of their lives. Despite the fact that Gugu and her husband already had two beautiful children, her husband found it necessary to pack out of the house and seek separation from her. Just like that, Gugu found her life in shattered, again, from the irresponsible ways of Thabo. And now that the imbecile had not died, she vowed she needed to teach him a lesson he will never forget in his life.

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The legend goes that Thabo had once gambled with his buddies about a lady who was known to be a “no nonsense” woman when it came to men. She had minded her own business and had no man in her life, and she wasn’t looking. Thabo had promised his buddies that he could take her to bed within one week of meeting her. While everyone knew Thabo was good with women, no one believed a week was all it could take to break down Mbali.

 

Mbali worked as a paralegal for a private firm of attorneys and knew first-hand how men are dogs. Every single male member of that firm wants to sleep with her. So much that she has even received threats of losing her job if she does not comply. But she is quite content losing her job, if it means saving herself from these ungrateful women hungry hyenas. She had not been particularly receptive of men since she was a young girl. She had seen how her mother had suffered from men, all who had claimed great love for her and her daughter. Instead, she had witnessed one abuse after another of her mother by these men, and had vowed never to live through similar experiences in her life.

 

She had wanted to become a lawyer, only if to sue every single bustard that had given her and her mother a tough time. But her mother could not afford university fees, so she started working straight out of matric to try to save money for varsity. She was already in her second year of BA Law through Unisa when the Thabo incident happened.

 

The two had never met before, so Thabo did not even know what she looked like. But the mere fact that everyone was saying how impossible it was to get her, he decided it was up to him to break the myth. So everyone put down hundred bucks to see if Thabo can indeed do as he claimed. The gamble really was a drunkard’s blurb since this happened in a bar when everyone was slouched. The rest of the guys didn’t expect anything to come out of it really. But Thabo felt the urge to see for himself this girl who turned down every single man who had come her way.

 

So he made a lame excuse to visit his buddy at work, who happened to be Mbali’s colleague. He was totally amazed at the beauty of the lady he met in the reception areas speaking on the phone. She was so beautiful he even forgot what he had come to do in this office. So he just stood there in from of her admiring her beauty. When one of the ladies at reception asked him if they could help him, he simply dismissed them and said he is here to see this beauty. Noticing that she is been so keenly watched, the lady cut her phone conversation short as she was now too conscious of herself from the stares of the stranger. “Can I help you? Why are you looking at me like that?” The beautiful lady asked him as soon as she put the phone down. “Don’t you know it is rude to look at people that way?”

 

Thabo smile self consciously at the woman and said, “I know it is rude to look at people that way. But you can’t blame me for finding you utterly gorgeous. Your beauty has made me forget all the manners my mother taught me about looking at people.” He continued, “I came here to mind my own business but my conscious wouldn’t let me pass I didn’t take notice of you. So I took a look at you just to satisfy my eyes and curiosity. Is that such a bad thing beautiful one?” “About your other question of whether you can help me, I sure hope so. I have been told there is a very difficult person here, so I thought I’d come and see for myself.” “And who might that be?”, the lady asks not paying much attention to him. “Hhmmm, let’s see.” He begins. “I am told her name is one Mbali Ntuli, the troublesome Mbali. Do you know her?”

 

The lady is irritated at this arrogant and untactful man, yet finds his bluntness amusing. At least he is honest, she thinks. She looks at him briefly while deciding what to do with him. “So do you know her?”, the arrogant man asks. “Please go into the second office on your left, I will tell her you are waiting”, she says. He thanks her and again and tells her beautiful she is and how he wish he could know her better. He sits as directed in the office waiting for Mbali, whom he has no idea what she looks like. Minutes later the beautiful lady he was speaking to walks in, closes the door and takes a seat. She sits quietly looking at him inquisitively. He looks at her and shrugs. The asks her if there is a problem. “Do you even know who this Mbali person is?”, she asks him. “What is your name anyway?” Thabo really sees the stupidity of his actions now that the questions have been asked. Shamefaced, he shakes his head.

 

Right at that moment Mandla walks into the office without even knocking. When he sees Thabo seating in the same room with Mbali, he immediately withdraws and runs back to his office. Mbali sees this and puts two and two together. She looks him in the eye and says: “well mister, I don’t know exactly what it is you are trying to do but the troublesome Mbali Ntuli happens to be my name. Now that you have seen me, what do you have to say?” Thabo could not believe his ears, how careless he had been. He looks down for a while Mbali is looking for a reaction from him. After a while he sighs and looks at her. “I have erred, and I need to redeem myself. My sin cannot be left unpunished.” Mbali gives him a surprised look. “Grevious errors are mended in only one way ka Sesotho. A cow.” He says matter of fact. Mbali couldn’t hold herself at this, she burst out laughing. Meanwhile Thabo is looking at her sheepishly. “Abuti towe, o ngwana mang?” she queries. “Well ke ngwana Mme Mamohlophehi Radieta nna, and where shall we deliver the cow?”

 

Their chat is interrupted by a call which she has to take. She must go into a meeting immediately and cannot stay to continue talking, but he begs her for a follow up. She refuses to see him again, but he tells himself that he cannot give up so easily. He bids her goodbye and leaves.

 

Later that day, at quarter past four in the afternoon, Thabo walks in at Mbali’s work place and takes a seat in the reception area. He asks the reception lady to tell Mbali that he is here to pick her up. To her utter shock, Mbali meets Thabo in the reception area. “Are you ready to go?” Thabo asks with smile on his face. Fearing to be embarrassed, Mbali asks him to wait for her to get her bag. As soon as they were out of the door Mbali asks him angrily, “what do you think you are doing? Showing up at my work not invited like that.”  Thabo apologises and tells her that he had no choice. “I just couldn’t stop thinking about you. So I had to do something to avoid going mad.” “What do you want?” Mbali asks. “I don’t want anything Mbali. I already have everything that I want.” he shoots back with smirk on his face. With eyebrows raised, Mbali continues, “so what are you doing here with if you don’t want anything?” I am here with you, so why would I want anything else?

 

Mbali knew very well the character of Thabo, yet she couldn’t help admitting to herself that Thabo is a great guy. He represents everything she dislike about men, but still he has this thing about him that she can’t resist. She has caught herself thinking deeply about him many times since he came to introduce himself to her. She has even prayed to god that the temptation must go away but it won’t. Instead, every day her attraction to him grows and she wishes he would call her, just to hear his voice. He had taken to bombarding her with phone calls, just to complement and charm her. She loved it. On the Friday following their “meeting”, Thabo did not call her at all. She was going crazy missing him. What if something was wrong with him. What if he was loosing interest in her. What if she had sent him away. She wondered all day why Thabo did not call her. She noticed that Thabo even though Thabo and her were merely people who knew each other, he was having a big impact in her life, more than she would have liked things to be. Missing a man so much who is not even your boyfriend was not acceptable in her mind. But she missed anyway, and it hurt her a lot. For the first time in her life, for as long as she can remember, she did miss having a man in her life. When she got home that afternoon, she was feeling very horny, and she had no one to take away that horrible feeling. And so she simply broke down and cried.

 

Thabo arrived at her flat unannounced. She was busy crying when she heard a soft knock on the door. Quickly, she dried her tears and went to see who it could be. An involuntary smile planted itself on her face she stood face to face with Thabo. Before long she had grabbed him and kissed him hard on the lips. What happened next left her uncertain and doubting herself for many weeks to follow. It resembled nothing in her view of the perfect world. She had played cernarios in her head of what it would like the first time she met a man. Yet what happened blew her mind. She had slept with a man who was a known womaniser. She had slept with a man who had never proposed love to her. She had slept with a man she had known for only five days.

 

This achievement, Thabo never disclosed to his friends. For reasons only known to himself.

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Three weeks later Thabo was discharged from hospital. His discharged caused an even bigger debacle than his heart breaking ways. Since he lived alone, he clearly could not be continue that path under the circumstances. He had refused plainly when his mother pointed out that he must come live with her in their mokhukhu in Botshabelo Block M until he had recovered. In his eyes, this would be the worst kind of admission to the people of Botshabelo that life has dealt him a lesson on their behalf. He could picture all the girls he had gone out with in Botshabelo, those he impregnated. Living in Botshabelo was just out of the question.

 

Ntebaleng had learned about Thabo’s refusal to go live with this mother from his mother, and she had offered to live with Thabo during his recovery. As far as she was concerned, this might just be the opportunity she has been praying for ever since she knew Thabo. The possibilities of living with him in her flat were fascinating. She could already see herself giving herself to him wholeheartedly. She could even imagine the jealousy other girls would feel for her when they learn Thabo lives with her. So she agreed without any doubt whatsoever that she would live with him and look after him. While Thabo totally against the idea of living with Ntebaleng, it was the best option he had under the circumstances, and he had to agree.

 

Ntebaleng was besides herself with joy for having Thabo live with her. She let anyone who cared to listen that she is the one Thabo had chosen to live with. The news travelled fast that Thabo was indeed out of hospital and was living with a girlfriend in town, the rumours claimed. These news stung like a sting when they reached three women, Modiehi, Ethel and Gugu. Modiehi felt sorry that the father of her child was living in a “vat ‘n sit” relationship. Ethel couldn’t get past the fact that she still loved Thabo very much. Gugu had a score to settle with the bastard.

 

Ntebaleng had the joy of nursing Thabo only for two days, on the third day, Ethel showed up at her flat demanding that Thabo must come stay with her. She had a greater claim over him because he was the father of her child, unlike Ntebaleng who was a mere girlfriend. She was fuming with anger that day when she showed up at the flat. She was disgusted at herself that she could stoop so low as to fight over a man, a useless one like Thabo at that. What would people say about her. What would her colleagues think of her. Stuff the people. Stuff her profession. She loves Thabo and there is nothing anyone can do about that fact. She had suffered enough to let this opportunity pass her. She will have Thabo, whatever it takes.

 

Gugu. Gugu had no plan on how to make Thabo pay for everything he had ever done to her. All she knew were her feelings of hatred and resentment towards him. Her husband was suing her for custody of their children. The movement was no longer in favour of her as they deemed the Thabo matter scandalous. In fact, the local branch of the movement was campaigning for her removal from official duty. She was under heavy emotional stress. On the verge of insanity. How can the movement she had served so well with loyalty all her life abandon her like that. It is not like she had done anything bad. All she ever did was fall in love naively when she was still young with a snake like Thabo. And now she is paying for it the rest of her life.

 

The Mangaung branch of the movement had voted her out of office and banned her from any activities relating to the movement. Her official car and residence were taken away from her, and out of the blue she was homeless. She had dedicated her entire life, since high school, to serving the movement. She had worked hard to ensure the movement won the municipality in the elections. She had campaigned hard across the province for the success of the movement. Today, in her darkest hour, when she needs help the most; the movement turned its back on her and kicked her out. Like a dog. They will one day regret ever crossing her. She resignedly packed the little she had left and moved back to Maokeng in Kroonstad.

 

A mini war was raging in Ntebaleng’s flat when Thabo’s mother arrived. The two women looked like were about to tear each other apart. The poor woman didn’t know what to do. Although she instinctively knew that Ethel had a valid point, and Thabo would be better off living with Ethel than with Ntebaleng. She also believed that Thabo needed to take responsibility for his irresponsible ways with women. And living with Ethel might just be a step in the right direction. She had taken as much abuse, tension and heartaches as she could about Thabo. Frankly, she was tired of having to deal with the nonsense that Thabo does with women. But Thabo was her son, and only a motherly heart knows how to put up with this nonsense.

 

Ethel won the argument and had Thabo living with them. This left Ntebaleng with a broken heart and a hatred for Thabo’s mother for having agreed to the decision. And she hated Thabo too for not having slept with her. Maybe if he had slept with her, like the many other women, she too would be pregnant with his child and she would a leg to stand on in this argument. Damn him. Damn all the women who had his children. Damn everything, she wants nothing to do with Thabo.

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Life was a strife for poor Gugu. After all these years, her father had not come to terms with her pregnancy, he refused for her to come live in their family home. So much hatred and anger from a man of the cloth on his own child. The best compromise her mother could broker was for him to allow Gugu’s child, the one she had with Thabo, to live with them. Gugu’s husband had dumped the child with Gugu and took his own only. Gugu was secretly grateful that her child would at least have a roof over her head. She, on the other hand, had no where to go. Even people she had done so much for in the past could not bring themselves to helping her out. One past acquaintance had wispered to her that the movement had warned them to stay away from her. They had been threatened with tough action if anyone dared to intervene in her dire situation. All she could do was cry, if only in disbelief to what she was hearing.

 

She had to start life from scratch. She had no ready marketable skills other than running a public office, a skill she cannot rely on since she has now been blacklisted by the movement she served. She had to look elsewhere for a livelihood. Her pension payout is due soon for the years she had spend in public office. That should tie her up for a while while she decides what to do next.

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Things were particularly difficult between Ethel and Thabo in the beginning. The two had only known each other briefly during courting days, which was a very short period of time. And now they meet again as grown ups with only a child bonding them, but with nothing else in common between them. She had tried hard to establish a relationship between him and her daughter. But in time they seemed to get along, sometimes seemingly happy. At last, she was beginning to believe that things can work between herself and Thabo, and maybe, just maybe they could build a family.

 

Seven months following his release from hospital, Thabo had recovered almost completely. Doctors, they who think they know it all, were amazed at his recovery. They had written him off as someone who would never walk again. But here he was, almost in perfect shape like nothing ever happened to him, except of course with the problem that he couldn’t lift heavy objects. But even that was really not an issue, as long as he was okay. For this, Thabo was eternally thankful to Ethel for what she had done to nurse him and improve his condition. During his recovery period, he had thought long and hard about his previous life. And he had uttered a silent prayer to God vowing never to go back to his ways ever again, not after what he had gone through. He wondered how come he could leave someone like Ethel for no reason whatsoever. He secretly hoped that things would work out between them. He had warmed up to the idea of being a father, alas if only to one of his many children.

 

Following this state of affairs, Thabo had seriously began considering proposing marriage to Ethel. He figured after all that has happened, nothing could ever come between them. Plus she had proved her loyalty to him beyond any doubt. Mme Mamohlophehi was over herself with joy when she heard Thabo intended to marry Ethel. To her, her son needed to settle down in order to change his ways. She didn’t care who he settled down with, as long as he became a responsible person. She approved of the marriage on the spot. They got married quietly, after all the traditional requirements have been met, and started life as husband and wife.

 

Life couldn’t be better. Ethel had gotten the man she never knew she loved until recently. Her child now had father and together they were a normal family. Thabo had repented and was willing to be a responsible father and husband. It seemed his tragedy had paned out a different person in him.

 

The two had a good life as a family for exactly one year. After the first year passed, things started to change in their lives. For some reason, Ethel began resenting him. He had not done anything this time around. She just felt a strong feeling of resentment towards him. Initially she had tried to conceal her feelings, but she stopped the moment she realised these feelings were persistent. She thought it was a phase and like all phases it will come to pass. She would get irritated by him for no apparent reason. He had wondered where these mood swings were coming from, but he took it for granted they will pass. Things started getting out hand when Ethel had their second child. Very quickly there after, she understood that she did not love this man at all. The passion she had felt for him over a year ago was probable her wanting to live out her fantasy of a perfect life with the father of child. She had misunderstood that for love. She also began to understand that she had wanted to make Thabo pay for all the heartaches he had caused her and her baby. She did not love him, in fact she hated him bitterly.

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Life was horrible for Gugu in Maokeng. Not only had she been disowned by her father and the movement, but both had done their best to stop her from making a living in the area. It is like she was blacklisted from doing any form of business, or rather from anyone doing any business with her. She was compelled to leave Maokeng and relocate. The Free State province was out of the question, she had to go far away from people who know her to try to start life afresh. Four months after being divorced by her husband and effectively fired by the movement, she went to Gauteng to re-establish herself. Gauteng was attractive to her because of its anonimity. People in Gauteng went about their lives without giving second thought to anybody else. And since it was refuge for everyone, she could blend in easily and mind her business.

 

She fully understood that her success lied in her finding something other work to do. The word that had gotten around in Maokeng and Bloemfontein would inevitably reach people far away from those places. Especially because people in the province had direct contact with provincial leadership of the movement, and the movement controls government. She never bothered looking for a job. She started a small business pre-paid as well as business services such as internet access, faxing, binding and the like. Her business operated right in the heart of Jozi and it was doing not badly for a start-up. After about five months of operations, the business had grown so much that she needed to expand. She opened a branch in Hillbrow and another in Melville.

 

By the end of the year, her businesses were thriving and she was financially sound. She had bought herself a property in Mofolo, Soweto. She intended bringing her daughter up here to live with her.

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For the first time in his life, Thabo fully understand the meaning of the proverb “pele e ya pele”, which is an utterance by those whom you have done wrong, but instead of treating you bad they simply wish you the best. The implication is that they wish you into the hands of those who will teach you a lesson on their behalf. And Ethel did teach him a lesson he will live never to forget.

 

It all started when days would go by without Ethel saying a word to him, despite the fact that they lived in the same house, shared a bed in fact. She would just ignore him like he did not exist, and that hurt him a lot. Then the situation graduated to him not getting any food at home. Somehow she made sure that the would be no food when he got home from work. He had once tried to complain about this but she told him she was not his maid. Now he had to make a plan to eat before he got home, otherwise he would go to bed on empty stomach. Months after this behaviour had started, Ethel brought home a man when she knew Thabo would be home. She had placed her guest in the lounge where Thabo was seated. After a while she had asked him to join her in the bedroom, the same bedroom she shared with Thabo. The poor man didn’t know what to do. He was mad as hell, but at the same time it seemed Ethel was daring him into something. How else can he explain what he was witnessing at that moment? Because he lacked any conviction on what to do, he simply left the house and went drinking.

 

No one had ever hurt him the way he felt pain with what he saw in his own house. Okay, maybe it is not exactly his house. After all, the house belonged to Ethel. But weren’t they married in community of property? Did the fact that they were married mean that the house was his too? Anyway, he was deeply hurt and he began to wonder exactly what Ethel was capable of. Looking back at their lives together, he wondered what the real reason was for her to take him in when his was injured. She had done so much for him, yet here she was hurting him like he is not her husband. Why did she marry him if this is how she treats him? What about their children? Despite his background, he cared deeply for his children with Ethel. But more importantly, what was he going to do with the turn of events? At some point he will have to go home and face Ethel. Ethel, mara why hey!

 

Is this what they call love? This propensity to care for others. The need to know how the other is doing. The need to hear their voice for no apparent reason.  The seemingly unjustifiable tolerance towards the other no matter what. Here he was, Thabo the player, deeply hurt by a woman. When he knows fully well he could get just about any woman he desires. Yet he was tolerant of behaviour he had no idea where it would lead them. Damn, he does love this woman. Damn you Ethel for throwing my love back at me. Damn love for making me feel this horrible.

 

But then again, who was he to complain about being played? Who was he to complain about being hurt? How many hearts has he broken in his life time? Perhaps he has come a full circle after all.

 

He finally had to swagger home, he couldn’t stay at the bar forever, and of he went. His mind had finally caved and given up on him. He had no idea what he was going to do, he just knew he had to go home, if he could still call it that. When he got home, he did want to know if Ethel was there or what has happened to her lover, he simply cuddled himself on the couch and dozed off. He was too sloshed for anything else anyway. He woke up the next day too late to go to work, and he was alone in the house. With a banging head, yesterday’s events came rushing to mind like a mob of angry people. He shed a tear or two in the privacy of his home. But he was in no condition to think straight, not with the splitting headache thumping his skull. He must take care of his babalaz first.

 

When he woke up, it was late in the afternoon. The pangs of hunger were ripping his stomach apart. He had not eaten for almost eighteen hours. He went to the kitchen to grab something to eat. A quick bite would do. Just as he was finishing his meal, Ethel walked in. Without any greeting of sort, she walked past him to the bedroom. He was in no mood to face her, so he didn’t even bother looking at her. Moments later, she came out of the bedroom and went out. Still without a word to Thabo. When she finally came back, it was late at night. He was sitting in front of the television not knowing what to do. The night blanket was over the land and soon sleep would reckon. Where was he going to sleep tonight? Will he ever go back to sleeping in their bedroom after yesterday’s incident? What of him and Ethel. Will things ever improve between them? Heck, why is he even considering all these questions after what she has done to him, was beyond him. Ethel decided for him when she stormed into the room to announce that henceforth he was no longer allowed in their main bedroom. She told him that he was to sleep in the guest room from there onwards. Further more, there were new rules she came up with, once which were not negotiable as she put it. He was to never expect being served any food by the madam of the house. He should make his own plans regarding his laundry. And, this one really hurt bad, she had the right to the family remote; meaning that she could chase him out of the tv room at will. And the last blow for him was when she told him to expect her male friends to visit her at home, in their bedroom. Or what used to be his and her bedroom.

 

He was tired, angry, confused, hurt and ashamed. Tired from lack of rest and proper sleep, the one that is trouble free. Very angry at Ethel for the way she was behaving. This no way for a wife to behave. Ethel is an upstanding member of the community, and her behaviour did not go well with that. Confused because he had no clue what he had to do under the circumstances. So many things to consider. Surely anyone knew that this kind of treatment was hurtful. How can a wife treat her husband they way she was treating him. His manhood was under question, he felt. But above all, he was ashamed that he was Ethel’s husband and that she was his wife. A husband takes pride in his wife. She is the centre of his universe. Everything a man does is for the pride of his family. But here he was, badly hurt and completely embarrassed by the actions of his wife. Didn’t social workers have a code of conduct to abide by? Nxa.

 

Is this what love is about? Caring even when the other person seemingly does not. Being deeply hurt yet you are hopelessly in love with the same person who has hurt you. Worse still, you are willing to forgive them for hurting you. You live in hope that things will change for the better. That your lives together will be happy, ultimately. Love is the ultimate price.

 

Things deteriorated still, Thabo hardly ever saw Ethel at home. She mostly came home to change clothes. And then occasionally, she would be home with a male friend. In their bedroom of course. Sometimes nights were just impossible for him. The things he heard coming from the main bedroom when he was supposed to be sleeping. The disturbing sounds of his legally married wife in their bedroom with another man. He was going mad. How is a man expected to hear these sounds about his own wife?

 

What worried him the most was the welfare of their children. Has Ethel even thought about what this was doing to them?

 

The defining moment in their lives came one mid week when Thabo had an important presentation at work the following morning. Out of a sense of obligation, he had mentioned this to Ethel. So he had a busy evening facing him to try and finalise things for the meeting. Around six in the evening, he was seated in the dining room busying himself with work when Ethel arrived with a host of people. Not really surprised, he continued minding his own business. But soon enough, the whole house was full of people and exactly by seven o’clock, the house went blast with loud music. Food and drinks were beings served and this looked just like a party. It was impossible to work anywhere in the house under the conditions. He drove to work to finish work. Around midnight when he got home, he found Ethel enjoying canal pleasures right the middle of their lounge. The very place used by everyone in the house, including the children. While he was angry at what he saw, it was the feelings of shame that overcame him. In that act his wife was engaged in, he saw his past.

 

He knew things could not remain the same between him and his wife. He knew instantly that their marriage was over and there was nothing to salvage. His heart silently bled for their two children. Although he did not like Ethel’s behaviour a bit, he knew the kids would be better off with her.

 

He tacked himself in the children’s room for the night. He had already decided to leave first thing in morning, although he hadn’t decided where he would go.

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Thabo quickly relocated to Cape Town, to get away from all the bad memories about Ethel. After thinking hard about it, he realised that the whole of the Free State province holds sore memories for him, because of his past. Getting away from it would be good for him. He wanted to make a clean break from his past, to where people didn’t know him or his past. He wanted to be as further from everyone who knew him as possible. Free State people don’t like Cape Town, it is too far. And it is this their refusal to go to Cape Town he found appealing. He could lead his life in Cape Town without risking bumping into anyone he knew from the Free State.

 

Life was instantly enjoyable for him in Cape Town. His coloured looks made him look like just a another guy from around. Before long, he had found himself a woman. She was a recent widower who was set financially from her late husband’s insurance payout. She loved him, he wanted to forget about his troubles back home. Both had one thing in common, the love for fun and vibe. She was breath takingly gorgeous. The goddess of beauty. An object of envy and lust for many a male species. Ncumisa Witbooi. Ncumisa had been married to her husband, Eric, for only two years when he died in an air crash while taking his flight lessons for light aircraft. Eric Witbooi was a well connected comrade who was in exile during apartheid. He lived a large life and was a BEE beneficiary. The two didn’t have any children. Like many of his class, Eric didn’t associate with his folks since his return from exile, he felt they were too low class for his image and achievements. He systematically cut himself off his entire line of family until they didn’t bother him anymore. Ncumisa worked in the administrative side of Parliament. She had not bothered changing her name back after her husband’s death. And she had inherited a handsome amount as a result.

 

The two pair were soon the subject of waggling tongues in the mother city. They were spotted one too many times at parties and social scenes. Soon enough, the tabloids were interested in them. This their high profile life proved to be their undoing.

 

Modiehi had was in Cape Town on business when she saw the front page headlines of one of the tabloids, “Super Couple Living High”, was embossed in bold across the page. She had no doubts that the man in the picture was Thabo Radieta, the father of her child. The last time she had heard anything about him was three years ago when he was supposedly paralysed after an attempted suicide that went bad. How on earth did he move from paralysis to this glamorous lifestyle? She couldn’t help admitting to herself that she felt a little jealous. He looked so well groomed in those expensive clothes. And that woman he was with, she defines the face of beauty.

 

When she got back to Bloemfontein, Modiehi revisited her strategy on Thabo, the same one she had devised three years ago. The same one that had led him to commit suicide. That one that had  worked so well to frighten him into wishing himself dead. It was time she completed what she had already started. She contacted Ethel and her group of women to appraise them on the latest developments. She had already revisited her case and was waiting for a date to appear in court. She felt that since Thabo was so well and accomplished, the court should uphold the previous ruling in her favour on the child support case. She argued it was also time for the court to render the sentence on the civil suit in which Thabo had already been found guilty. Harm was again at arms length for Thabo from bitter women seeking justice from heart breakers.

 

Within a week of been seen in the paper by Modiehi, Thabo was served with court papers as follows:

1.      Maintenance case pertaining Modiehi Tlokwe.

2.      Civil suit with Modiehi Tlokwe as the complainant

3.      Maintenance cases of the seven women led by Ethel Smit

4.      Court date for the civil suit by the group of women led by Ethel Smit

5.      Hearing for child support by Gugu Masango

 

His head was spinning with disbelief at this turn of events. He thought he had ran away from all this mess when he left Bloemfontein. He had also assumed that the women would leave him alone following his predicament after the failed suicide. But he was wrong, all the women were back in full force. Now even Gugu had joined the fight, and she was a bitter woman following the events in her life. Even though things had turned for the better for her in Gauteng, she had a score to settle with Thabo. And then there is the matter of the movement she must attend to as well. People were going to get hurt in the process, whoever had crossed her path and rubbed her badly. She had the money to take the fight to its owners. As the Sesotho proverb goes, o e lata letailana.

 

There is something perculiar about BEE women. They love, perhaps thrive is the right word, controversy. Their public profile matters more than anything else. It was the goddess Ncumisa who tipped the tabloids about the latest developments in Thabo’s life. And these news were too juice for local tabloid. It was headline material and that is how the story spread nationally. Again, Thabo found himself in the public eye through the media.  The events of three years ago were retold with vigour, with the fascinating conclusion that he was now more than able to meet his obligations. His lifestyle with his mistress was told many times over. Her indiscretions about Thabo had paid her very well. Not that she was doing it for the money, it was a compulsion only the rich had. The urge to be in the media spotlight no matter the consequences.

 

This Thabo incident had propelled her to a personality of some sorts. Magazines, radio and television all wanted her on their programmes and pages. And because of her looks, she was an instant hit with the media. The public loved her, or at least every time she appeared on air she broke the record of listenership/viewership. She made lots of money. The media made lots of money. Those that didn’t received great publicity. Thabo was the loser in all this. As soon as Modiehi’s child support ruling was enforced and the verdict was about to be read on her civil suit, Ncumisa dumped Thabo. What made the dumping worse was that she dumped him on air. On a television show nogal. Poor Thabo was watching the show.

 

The problem with these modern young men is that they don’t know what it means to be a man. Manhood to them is defined by material possessions and the number of women they take to bed. And perhaps the number of degrees attached to their names. They forget the basic tenets of manhood in African society. Responsibility, pride, accountability and humility. A responsible man does not live with a woman he has not married. A proud man has his own compound that bears his name, and by extension the basis for his wealth. An accountable man is one who answers to his actions. And humility means that a man knows that there will always be beautiful women around. That your chosen woman may look the worse choice in the face of temptation. But it is these choices that make us men in the first place.

 

Like many of his class, Thabo had finally moved in with Ncumisa in her luxury apartment. What they see these young men in this arrangement is not having to worry about own property. But they overlook the naked truth that this situation is the number one cause why many of them lose control over women. A man who lives in a woman’s house is not much of a man. He has lost touch with the reality of being a man. This reality only hit Thabo at that moment when Ncumisa announced to the world on tv that she was leaving him. He was too much controversy she said. That hurt him more than what Ethel had done to him. Na yena ke mmutla wa dintjeng? To be humiliated like this on national television. There and then, he realised he had no place to go to. A place of his own. A place to call home. He must go back to renting a flat, if finds one so soon under the circumstances. He saw the foolishness of it all. That sometimes these boys confuse love for fantasy. Mistake infatuation for commitment.

 

He understood the wisdom of his Sesotho heritage. The saying goes, maya ke maboya. Etswe le pele di na le baji! How right they were, ancient Basotho ancestors.

 

Even though he knew he had to do something about his accommodation, he was too numb to act. He sat in front of the tv and watched the whole show, as humiliating for him as it was. Ncumisa found him glued in front of the television when she got home. “You have been watching the show?” she asked him. “So you saw me on tv? What are you still doing here?” Those words stabbed his heart like a dagger being swayed at him at full force. The media just couldn’t resist the catchy headlines, “Booted.”, “Player Played.”

 

He checked himself into a bed and breakfast while he looked for a place to stay. He also wondered whether Cape Town would still be his sanctuary after all this media attention. But for now, he decided he would stay. He had many things to worry about and this Ncumisa situation was the last of his worries. He needed to decided on how to handle the matter of pending court cases against him. When he thought about this, he smiled a little to himself. How brilliant. Ncumisa’s brutal and hushed actions to throw him out of her life were just the things he needed to win the court cases. All these cases were based on the fact that he was living a lavish lifestyle in Cape Town while he didn’t attend to maintaining his children. Well, without Ncumisa and her money, there is no way these women could prove otherwise. He felt good that he finally had a strategy in place to deal with these cases. But he must find himself a lawyer first.

 

Late that evening he went through his address book. With a silent prayer, he hoped that she has not changed her number. How could he have this careless. To have forgotten completely about her. Not even once giving thought to her. Never once finding out how she was doing. Indeed he admitted he had been careless. The elegant Mbali. What would she do if he contacted her? Would she brush him off, like her usual self? He reached for his phone to call her number. He was bracing himself for another hard hitting chat with her. If he connects to her.

=============================

He was over himself with joy at the prospect of seeing her. She had agreed to meet him over drinks. So he was on his way to Jozi for this important meeting meeting of his life. Maybe when they have finished talking business, he might as well plead his ignorance and beg her to take him back. He just couldn’t believe that he had let her go, just like that. Such a beautiful and intelligent woman. Such a principled person. Indeed he had had a good share of great women, none of whom he ever appreciated.

 

They met for lunch and he couldn’t believe his eyes. Mbali was god damn gorgeous. The was no question about that. His heart skipped a beat or two when he saw her. Memories of that day when he had Mbali all to himself flashed in his mind. Why on earth did he ever leave Mbali?

 

Lunch was fun and everything seemed okay in his mind, until the subject of the business at hand came up. “I am sorry Thabo, but I really can’t take your case.” she explained. “But why Mbali?”, he wanted to know. “I mean you are a lawyer and all, why can’t you represent me in court?” He seemed to take these news a bit hard, looking more depressed than usual. She wondered how he will feel when he heard the real reason why she can’t represent him. She cleared her throat and looked him straight in the eye. She was quiet a bit longer than necessary, and this got his attention. “Thabo, the reason I can’t represent you in this case is because I am already involved in the case. And taking your case would constitute a conflict of interest. Not only that, it would plainly be unprofessional. I could be disbarred for doing something like that. And you must understand that from here on I cannot even discuss this case with you. Anything about it. You see Thabo, I represent Gugu Masango in the suit.”

 

Life is a riddle. People always wonder why some things are not straight forward in life. From a young age, humans are taught the lesson of life through experience rather than logic and understanding. This is said to be the way individuals find their own personalities in life. From the word go, life is this mystery that people are supposed to figure out.  Yet despite this big mystery, we do our best to enjoy life. Unfortunately for some people, it takes them a life time to figure out this riddle called life.

 

“You know, when I met you Thabo, I knew what kind of a person you were. But I so much wanted to believe that people can change, that I gave you that chance in my life. To me, you were rogue person going straight. And things would have been so good between us. But I guess some people will never change. Only you knows what you want in women, but I know for a fact that it is not love, not companionship, not friendship; not even sex because I know sex with me was great. So I have wondered to myself exactly what it is you were looking for in women, and I have come the conclusion that you are a menace. You don’t know what you want yet you go around messing with people for the sheer fun of it. Perhaps to prove something to yourself. But let me tell you this much buti, that very thing that has made you mess with women, has proved to be very thing that has guaranteed your downfall. Seriously now Thabo, have you ever thought about your behaviour towards women? What have they done to deserve such treatment from you? While I have wanted to believe in you so much Thabo, you have left me with shame through your actions. And in you I see the actions of my father. And men like you must be taught a lesson they will never forget. That is the sole reason why I have taken this case. To teach you a lesson.”

 

Life riddles. His shame was like ntja e kotlileng mohatla when he left Jozi. And Mbali’s demeanour told him she was determined to prove whatever point she meant to prove. Her calmness spoke of a woman tired, one who has reached the bounds of her tolerance. Her quiet nature meant that she thought things through before she acted. Her actions are not to be taken lightly.

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The trials began in earnest, almost all of them at the same time. Since Modiehi’s child support case had already been ruled upon, it was the first under review. The question now was how to award the support grant considering that many more cases are pending for child support. The court had subpoenaed his financial records to try and determine his ability to pay maintenance. But without Ncumisa in the picture, it was clear Thabo could not afford to pay any of the many cases against him.

 

This fact, that he could not afford to pay maintenance to all pending cases, he had given much consideration. While he was aware he would lose most of the cases, he was relying on his inability to afford as a defence strategy. This is why he was really not bothered about the outcome of any of the cases against him. If he cannot afford to pay child support, there is nothing anyone can do make him pay. All the courts can do is try to come up with some form of settlement. So whichever way you look at it, the women are the losers, again. He was so proud of his strategy that he was dead sure the cases would be thrown out for his inability to pay. He will get away with just a stern warning from the Judge. He couldn’t care less how angry the Judge may be at this turn of events, he will get away with it, and this all that matters.

 

What he clearly hadn’t thought through, was who the Judge in his cases would be. Judge Nku Moremi is very familiar with the Thabo story. And, in her words when she delivered her judgement, she said:

            “Looking at all circumstances, there is no basis in law on which to prosecute the defendant. While the plaintiffs are fully entitled to recourse from this court, his financial situation renders the legal recourse useless. In a case like this, the law has no way to punish the offenders, but simply lets down the hopes and aspirations of those whose desires rest on this court. As a result, this court cannot attach any financial value to the defendant that will have any material impact on the judgement of this court. That is a shame, that the courts cannot protect those whose interests it is supposed to serve.

 

            However, as a Judge and a responsible citizen of this country, I cannot standby and watch social outcasts like the defendant go unpunished simply because there is no basis in law for such punishment. The basic tenets of justice are restitution and recourse. If this court cannot make people like the defendant account for their actions, our justice system would be in shambles.

 

            I therefore find the defendant, Thabo Radieta, guilty of serial heart breaking and neglecting his responsibilities as a father to his children. Since he has indicated that he cannot be a responsible father and husband, his children are better of with him removed from society where he would continue his immoral ways.

 

            Thabo Radieta, I sentence you to a jail term of five years. As an officer of the law, I am mindful of the fact that this sentence would probably not stand on appeal. But I assure you, I will do everything legally in my power to delay such an appeal by a higher court. Realistically, that means you will spend at least eighteen months in jail. Society can do without misfits like you lingering around. The court is adjourned.”

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The Magic Number

Thursday, December 17th, 2009

“Hello Thabo. Thabo wa bantwana.” she exclaimed with a smug on her face. “Do you remember me?”, she continued. “Let me guess, you don’t know who I am, right?” Then she laughed loudly, attracting even more stares in their direction. “Players like you don’t remember who they have slept with in the past.” This last statement made him alert, slowly realising that there is more to this bashing than a mere excitement of a beautiful young woman. A little crowd was already gathered around them, all looking intently at this Thabo rumoured to be best player around. Everyone knows a young man by the name of Thabo, seemingly involved with all the beautiful girls of the location, as townships are called in the Free State province. But the majority of adults have never set eyes on him before, until this day.

All they know is the blue Citi Golf that continually picks up girls in the neighbourhood. Every family that has a young beautiful girl is worrying about this Thabo lad, who is renowned throughout the Free State province. Girls from Bloemfontein, Welkom, Thaba-Nchu, Bethlehem and Qwaqwa all know Thabo. He is the single most girl-friended guy around. So much that he goes out with girls who are friends, that is how desirable he is among the young maidens.

Thabo is a young man who comes from a poor family in Botshabelo Block M. What his family lack in social standing, he has in good looks. He is a rainbow child born of a mother working as a maid for a white family in Wesselsbron. He is the product of the illicit habits of farmers in those regions, who find pleasure in the domestic workers when their misses are out. So Thabo, like many other children in the region, is light complexion with fluffy hair; a trait girls in the Free State seem to love very much. How else do you explain the string of girls Thabo dates across the entire province?

Locals call him lebusmane, because of his looks. His looks put him in good standing whenever he goes in the Free State with the female species. Women fall over themselves for him.

Thabo has been a player since his years in high school. By the time he completed matric, he had long achieved the magic number, 100. This made him a legend among young boys who admired his tact and ruthlessness with women. In the laid back Free State, 100 is the biggest achievement amongst boys. To sleep with 100 girls.

A 100 girls makes you a legend among the young boys. This is the ultimate status symbol for young boys who lack anything better to do.

“My name is Disebo. I live in Jerusalema Park, does it ring a bell Mr?” the lady continued to lambast at him in full force. “Thabo Radieta wa Mme Mamohlophehi, o sebete moshemane. To come pick up girls from this side of the world. Kajeno lena badimo ba heno ba o furalletse. O lahluwe ke sepoko. After all you have done to me?” Disebo continued her rapture. By now a sizeable group of spectators was building up, for this was a public place to begin with. People had gathered her to celebrate a party as parties are usually where young people gather these days. Nthabiseng was celebrating her 21^st birthday in style. Almost all the young people of Thabong had gathered here today to have fun. As fate would have it, here is Disebo running into Thabo, after not seeing him in about five years. Long eventful five years for both of them.

Disebo had been one of Thabo’s many girlfriends five years ago while she was in high school. When she fell pregnant, Thabo had simply vanished from the face of the earth and never to be seen again. Until today that is.

Thabo has travelled a lot around the Free State. His mother’s side of the family is scattered all over the province, a fact that has allowed him this free movement between different towns. In every town he has visited, he had always had a string of girls to his name. The last time he sat foot in Qwaqwa, he had narrowly escaped fate. A mother of one of his many girlfriends had decided to put to end this pandemic called Thabo. He had one day miraculously escaped being poured with boiling water over the face. He has never dared going back to Qwaqwa ever since.

His behaviour had guaranteed that Thabo had seven children by the time he completed matric. Things moved from bad to worse when he got a job a clerk at the Mangaung municipality. All young girls coming to the municipality for service ended up receiving a different kind of service, Thabo himself. By the end of his first year of service he had managed to buy himself a car. His car had personalised number plates, PLAYA FS. The blue citi golf became a trade mark amongst young girls. The car has seen more girls inside than the many parts that make up a car. After three years of working for the municipality, Thabo had lost count of the number of girls he had taken to bed. All he knows is that they are over five hundred in total, the majority of whom he can’t even remember their faces, let alone their names.

Thabo was now in a self imposed exile from many towns and cities as a result of his loving ways. He didn’t even know how many kids he had, all he knows are all the girls whose pregnancies he had blatantly refused. Life was becoming increasingly difficult for Thabo in the Free State. He found it hard to travel, even on duty. Bloemfontein itself was no longer a nice place for him. Too many families were unhappy with him for the bad treatment he has given their daughters. A few cases had in fact already been reported at work about him. He had many maintenance cases pending also. Life indeed was becoming unbearable for him. He was already considering requesting a transfer to another province, just to get away from all these problems.

While he honestly does not remember most of his girlfriends, he certainly remembered who Disebo was, especially the fact that he left her when she fell pregnant. It would be difficult to forget the beautiful Disebo. She was a perfect doll in every way. Drop-dead gorgeous, well mannered and intelligent. Very few girls stuck in his mind like Disebo did.

Thabo, for the most part, was dumbfounded. He had absolutely no idea what to say or how to react. He had never anticipated running into someone like Disebo. So he just stood there looking stupid. When it was clear no answer was forthcoming from him, Disebo gave him a big slap that sent him falling on his behind. This brought giggles and laughs from the group gathered to witness this scene. At that very moment, it is like all the bad things that Thabo had ever done to Disebo came back in a flash to her. Instantly, she was mad as hell. She pounced on him and gave him the beating of his life. All this happened so fast for him to make sense of it. By the time he came to his senses, he was a real mess from the handiwork of his beautiful Disebo. Realising what was happening to him, he stood up and gave Disebo a big slap. He was obviously going on the offensive and was about to unleash his anger on Disebo when a group of guys who knew Disebo stepped in and gave him a beating of his life. He was badly beaten and no one in the whole of Welkom had the slightest sympathy for him. In this way, Welkom became another exile for him.

Modiehi grew up at her parents’ home in Block J in Botshabelo. A decent girl who was just like any other girl you can find in Botshabelo. As a young girl Modiehi was just an ordinary girl in the way of looks. Not pretty but decent and presentable. When Modiehi was in Grade 9, she was really flattered that a boy like Thabo would even take notice her. Thabo had taken to chasing after Modiehi too. While she had no interest whatsoever in him, his interest in her had boosted her profile at school. She was suddenly a popular girl, a fact that quickly went to her head and she ended up sleeping with Thabo. She immediately fell pregnant.

Modiehi was the first girl to be impregnated by Thabo, and the very first to be dumped the minute he learnt she was pregnant. She came from a modest family, by Botshabelo standards of course. Which would be poor by any other standard. The result of this unplanned pregnancy was that Modiehi was expelled from school. Her parents threw her out of their home. Her refuge was her uncle, her mother’s brother, who lived in Thaba-Nchu. She relocated to Selosesha in Thaba-Nchu where she gave birth to a healthy boy, whom she named Tshotleho, a Sesotho name for suffering. Life was generally difficult for her, she could not come back home to Botshabelo, not even during the holidays or over weekends. Her father just did not want to see her any more. Only her mother would come by to visits a few later.

Two years after giving birth, Modiehi went back to school to finish her studies. Up to that point when she had met Thabo, she had not bothered thinking about the future. The idea of what it was she wanted to become in life had never crossed her mind. But the two years she spent raising her young baby gave her a lot of time to think and assess her life. She had resolved to work hard to complete her schooling with the hope that she could secure a scholarship as no one in her family was willing to send her to university. Her resolve to study had nothing to do with wanting a future. It had everything to do with Thabo Radieta. She took a vow, swearing by her late grandmother, that one day she would make Thabo pay for what he did to her.

Ethel worked as a social worker for the Department of Social Development in Bloemfontein. She had graduated four years ago from the Free State University with a BA Hons in Social Work. Throughout her life, she had closely monitored Thabo and his progress in life. Though she had completed matric first and started work before him, she had never forgotten to keep a close eye on him. Ethel was the happiest person when Thabo had finally gotten the job, even more so when he bought a car. She had quickly moved to put her long resting plan into action.

Ethel had gone all out to locate all the women she could find in Bloemfontein who had fallen victim to Thabo. These women were divided into two groups, those with children and those without. She busy preparing a class-like case against Thabo. Firstly she would help those with children sue for maintenance. Then she would file a suit for emotional abuse for those who had been Thabo’s girlfriends. Like many young women in Bloemfontein, she had been one of Thabo’s toys. She intended to prove a case that Thabo was a serial heart breaker.

Gugu came from a very conservative family. Her father was the archbishop of the Pentacostal church in Maokeng Kroonstad. His was a well respected member of the community who was strict with his children. Gugu met Thabo at a church wedding in Virginia and they instantly took liking to each other. So much that Thabo was able to bed her that same evening in a cheap hotel, and later in the back of his citi golf. Up to this point, Gugu had been a virgin and she had been proud of that fact. Following the wedding, they had discretely kept in touch and Thabo would often drive to Kroonstad to see her. A few months later she was heavily pregnant. As usual, Thabo disowned her and disappeared when he learned about the pregnancy. Her strict archbishop father could not live with the disgrace and he ended up divorcing Gugu’s mother. Her family was forever broken as a result. She grew up to be an active member of the movement, a fact that saw her progress to the provincial executive committee of the movement.

Modiehi had worked hard to qualify for a scholarship to the University of the Free State to study for her BJuris degree, followed by an LLB specialising in criminal law. She was an admitted attorney in the Free State Bar Council. Up to this point of her life, she had been a successful attorney. In time, she filed a suit against Thabo for child maintenance. Her second suit was for damages for the hurt and hardships Thabo had caused her. It was the child maintenance suit that had caught Ethel’s attention. She had filed a suit for child maintenance on behalf of seven women, including herself. At this point, Ethel had been struggling to secure a legal firm to represent them on the serial heart breaker case, and Modiehi’s profile had impressed her a lot.

With three very influential women now finding themselves in the same city of Bloemfontein, discussions had begun to strategise on the plan to bring Thabo down and humiliate him. Ethel had successfully lobbied Gugu, who was by now part of the provincial government, to join her class suit. Gugu, on her part, would work on lobbying all organs of state to be sympathetic to Ethel’s case. While Modiehi would continue with her suits independent of the rest of the women in Ethel’s fold, she had agreed nonetheless to represent the group as their attorney.

Thabo was now restless, with eight women suing him for child support in Bloemfontein alone. He wondered what would happen should all the women with whom he had children decided to follow suit. He estimated that he had impregnated no less than twenty two women, or that was what he could remember. So he potentially was a father to twenty two children at the age of only twenty five. With what he was earning, there was absolutely no way in which he could afford maintaining all these children. His only hope of being transferred to another province had recently hit a wall when things didn’t go as planned. Unknown to him, his transfer was expertly blocked by non other than Gugu herself.

Modiehi’s child support case was the first nightmare for Thabo. As soon the trial began, it was clear that she would win the case. Three months later, the court ordered him to pay R1200 a month child support to Modiehi. Next case facing him was a civil suit by Modiehi for damages and suffering he had caused her. While this was highly uncommon in South Africa, everyone close to the case agreed Modiehi had put together a winnable case. Thabo’s legal counsel had acceded to this and had advised him to settle out of court, but Modiehi would hear none of it.

The class suit led by Ethel began while Thabo was facing a civil suit from Modiehi. This particular case brought by Ethel attracted a lot of attention, mainly because comrade Gugu had worked her magic with the politicians for them to take a stand behind Ethel. Out of the blue Thabo found himself faced with a suit whose main purpose was to teach men like him a lesson. The politicians were in full support of the case. The media were fed full details of the case by unknown sources. Before long, Thabo was in all the major newspapers across the Free State province. Several radio stations held interviews with Ethel to explain to the public what the case was about and why it was important. As a result, more women were coming up to join the class suit against him. So a case that had started with only eight women was now sitting with twenty nine complainants.

Modiehi won her civil suit against him, but judgement was still pending. The class suit with twenty nine women suing him for child support was fast nearing completion, with a lot of media coverage. Indications were that Thabo would lose the case. The second phase of the class suit, suing for mental and physical suffering of the women, got started. Thabo’s legal council recused themselves from the case citing other commitments. In truth, the firm knew they were fast loosing the case and this had potential negative implications on their reputation and business.

The day Thabo learnt that he no longer had legal representation, he was shocked beyond belief. This had cemented the prevailing view that he had lost the case. That evening he sat in his flat alone reflecting on his life. He had recounted every encounter he could remember with women. How he had approached them, charmed their skirts off their bodies, then dumped them like dirt. For a brief moment, he felt sorry for his actions. He wondered what had prompted him to act the way he did. Of course that question he could not answer. With a heavy heart he lifted his pistol to his head and ended his life.

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A Case of the Ex

Tuesday, December 1st, 2009

In my attempt to appease the raging mortification that took me over as I woke up after a very inebriated night of celebrating; and realizing that I had done the horrifying “drunk dialing” that I had promised my self never to do again; I searched my throbbing head for answers as to why and how I could have done this. Of course, at my age and with the number of “relationships” that I’ve had, it’s not an oddity but the feeling after the consciousness remains the same; pure embarrassment and self annoyance.

I thought long and hard and enquired with some friends who had been in similar situation and I was still not satisfied. It then dawned on me that instead of looking at the present dilemma (and I call it such because it makes me feel uneasy) I should rather try and assess the root of the issue; this of course being done for myself and also for anyone else who has had a similar experience, on either side! This brought up what I have now called “A Case of the Ex”, a distinction between all the men “I’ve loved before” and how each plays a role in my sometimes strange behaviour.

•The Believer

There is always the man who will always believe that he will always dangle your heart on string. He is probably the one you may still have some sort of communication with and yes; there’s the flirting and the reminiscing but it all stems from your guilt that at some stage during your long relationship with him you deceived him into believing that he was the one and yet you knew deep down inside that he was not. You make up for your deception by being civil and always showing a genuine concern for his happiness and it is genuine but it is only because you somehow pity him. You wish you could tell him that he didn’t break your virginity or he wasn’t the first to meet your mother but your “take it to the grave” female instinct will not allow you to.

This certainly is not the one you call while intoxicated beyond limits because he’s more a friend than a sexual fantasy you’d like to take home after a night out.

•The Real First Love

He exists and somewhere at the back of your mind his name is still important but for completely different reasons than it used to be. You loved him dearly and believed that you would be mother to his children and he would come home from the hunting fields with an enormous kill that you would merrily prepare and serve to him on your knees.
Something went wrong? No; you grew up. You matured and life was not about first base, awkward condom moments and uncomfortable sleeping positions. In some instances you talk to him and share some deep inner secretes and you only do this because you don’t really care whether he knows it or not because his opinion ceased to matter a very long time ago. Being a lady, polite and always on your best behaviour with him is highly significant because it’s such an immense ego boost when he sees how beautiful you still are and how much you’ve progressed and have become an intelligent and respectable woman; and it never hurts to hear the tone of regret on his voice or see him looking at you as if wondering what could have been.
Middle of the night or early morning phone calls are few and very far between; that is if you still have his number!

•The Shack-up Guy

Ok, so life got a bit a hectic and somehow you managed to find yourself doing what the proudly South African call “vat ‘n sit.” The stigma attached to it by so many of our cultures is so overrated. I mean, considering the times we live in, it is quite a comfortable arrangement. Digressing from its economical conveniences and back onto the “shack-up guy”; he’s sweet – at face value, kind – in writing, charming and if you’re lucky, God blessed him with incredible looks. The relationship was great and the fact that you were guaranteed some canoodling and kinkiness at the end of a long day made everything seem worthwhile. There’s an isiXhosa saying that states: “Hlala nomntu uzokumazi (live with another person and you will know them)” and this just about sums up our hottie here. At the end of it you were emotionally and in some cases financially exhausted and it didn’t matter whether he left (if you’re a smart girl, the living quarters would have been yours) or you did but you just needed space. After a few cold nights of an unfamiliar sleeping spot in the middle of the bed you got used to the idea of being alone and were finally able to separate being alone from loneliness. You vowed to think extra long and extra hard before doing that again and life, as it always does, continued.

This guy is not the ideal man to call when trigger happy and besides, you don’t want to call him because the time you spent with him was enough to nauseate the need out of your system. Too much of something is never good for you!

•The Sailor

Remember that Lionell Richie song, “Sail on”? He sailed on. He came, you saw and he conquered – your heart. He gave you butterflies and one glance made your stomach do vaults and somersaults. Pity is that chance just never gave you the chance or he had a girlfriend and he loved her and you hated her even though maybe you didn’t know her. You looked at him and always thought about what beautiful children you would make and how much the two of you were similar in so many ways. There were no kisses, just brief glances and smiles and sometimes you brushed passed him and lingered there just to make the moment last a little bit longer. Of course he’s gone; either married the woman you envied or has someone else for you to envy! I always say things not done at the right time are never right and because your first meeting produced no results – although both of you felt an incredible chemistry – time took over and feelings subdued.

You never play drunken phone mate with him because you respect him for being so loyal and for having such restraint despite your eye battering and leg showing and you think somewhere at the back of your mind that maybe…“he’s just not that into you”.

•The New Experience

The weirdo, the geek, the completely not your type guy and the one you did because you thought maybe a change from the norm would have a better outcome. He was sweet like all the different ones are and you did like him but the thought of being outside your comfort zone made things a lot more challenging. In the end it was short as your difference just couldn’t gel.

Short, forgotten and obviously no desires of any sort of communication thereafter; even in Vodka jiffies.
•The Single Fling

You’re single and so is he. He’s not looking for attachment and neither are you. He’s fun and he asks no questions and it’s perfect. A couple of rendezvous and pleasurable times and you started wanting to ask questions but the arrangement was to the contrary and so you kept your mouth.
Because you could feel yourself becoming a tad bit attached you decided to detach but not wholeheartedly because the nights were just too hot and other options were thin, very thin. It felt somehow painful to let go even though you knew there was no substance to the entirety of it but you willed yourself and dug deep within for the last drop of self-control and you did it or you felt like you did it. Some time later you found yourself being haunted by dreams, daydreams and thoughts of this squire for hire and wondered what would happen if you sent some invitations. Another song says, “If you hear that the squire for hire is in your town…run…” and oh you should!!!

Poor guy, he falls prey to all your midnight or after dusk phone sessions. Reason being that in some way you believe that there is unfinished business and even the dead come back to tie up loose ends so why shouldn’t you? He’s sweet enough to lay you down (not in that way) easy and be well-mannered but you know you should stop but it’s like an addiction and it’s easier said than done.

After all is said and done; I do feel better for writing my embarrassment away and this analysis of mine has shed some light on my confusion. I don’t know if I’ll call again so for now I’ll stop tormenting over my actions and just accept them as part of daily living. Thing happen - that’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

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The Disco-Net

Tuesday, December 1st, 2009

Remember those times when you used to hang with the girls and be completely happy and at ease; those good times when you threw caution to the wind and sleeping with the enemy was not a crime but an act of mischievous behaviour that was followed by lengthy renditions of all the details and haughty laughter. All you did was giggle and give ‘high fives’ to whoever had the most exciting stories. You walked into the room with your gals and even the punch bowl turned to take a look; the belles of the ball; the envy of all ‘those other’ girls dressed in puffy outdated outfits reminiscent of a scene from Grease.
Of course you were the stylistics and were at the forefront of every fashion trend but not only were you the best dressed but you were the most intelligent; the ones who mastered what I refer to as the ‘Triple B – BBB – Beauty, Body and Brains’. Everyday was an event and every event was something to be noted. There was never a dull moment and there was always someone behind you to catch you when you slipped or to fasten your zipper and always someone in front, ready with needle and thread and a bag full of all your accident fixer uppers! Those were times were just simply grand.

It so happens though that once; or maybe twice or more times in a lifetime that human nature sets in. There are of course many factors that lead to its onset and we all have different definitions (more so excuses) and reasons for ‘allowing’ it to happen. Some call it distance; some call it betrayal; others call it irretrievable breakdown but I; I just call it ‘The Disconnect’.
It happens that the phone calls become shorter and fewer, the news are not so thrilling and the goodbyes are a relief instead of a gloomy conclusion. The get-togethers become obligatory and you drink yourself silly just so you can put together some sort of thwarted conversation that you are more than happy to forget the following day.
Some people feel the need to keep up the pretences and some just zone out and create their own world where they imagine that everything is still the same and everyone else is clearly delusional.
This is the time when the disco-net is cast into the sea and the swimmers are distinguished from the bathers. The big fish are determined and the little sardines are caught and made Human Natures next meal.

The end is inevitable for and in everything and even those things which are set to last a lifetime come to end because life itself is not everlasting which is why I fail to understand why there are so many of us who still paddle our little flippers towards the net and not away from it and even when we are caught in it; we do nothing to fight against it but instead we allow insecurities and obscurities about the way life should be to cloud the fact that we are all living for an end but when it comes when we are still living we fail to acknowledge it. I believe that endings are not so miserable but it is our reactions to and our preconceptions about them that make them so distressing and grievous.

Sometimes it is not about envy, sometimes it is not about betrayal, sometimes it is not about anger and frustration. It is not about the logistics and guilt; and not about who should apologise and who should say something first. Sometimes it is just about an unplugging, a movement in a new direction, an attempt at something new and an evolution of the being.
As people; I also believe that we owe it to each other as a symbolism of humanity and an understanding of our own basic needs to grant leave where leave is due. We need to let go in order to be able grasp at something else. We also need to stop the accusations and bring to an end the assumptions. Life is about progression and it’s about fighting wars within ourselves and also with other outside forces. Once a battle is won the army needs to move on to the next one so that they can be closer to conquering the enemy and winning the war. This is the same for the relationships we build as friends (and as lovers but that is not what I am addressing here).
Some of us dread to acknowledge the presence of the net and we close our eyes and allow it to engulf us. We try to squeeze in moments and even those moments are plagued by thoughts of separate moments. We start to wonder about the others intentions and in doing so we become so engrossed in pretending that we do not realise that our own intentions are a matter of wondering.

We forget the times when we used to laugh at these sorts of things and we would look at other people and say, “look at those fools, fighting over petty things; when will they get it together?”
Getting it together is sometimes not about mending what is broken but about taking the pieces and building something new. A friend once said to me at a time when I was feeling low and down, “you have to learn to live on the broken pieces,” and this is what my “Disconnect” is about. It’s about moving forward, following a new current and avoiding the many disco-nets that are being cast into all our oceans on a daily basis.
I choose to be a big fish and to not get caught in the disco-net. I choose to acknowledge that it is there and that if I do not swim away I will be a meal for the ravenous Human Nature.

Jerome K. Jerome once said in his infamous wisdom, “Let your boat of life be light, packed with only what you need – a homely home and simple pleasures, one or two friends, worth the name, someone to love and someone to love you, a cat, a dog, and a pipe or two, enough to eat and enough to wear, and a little more than enough to drink; for thirst is a dangerous thing.”

I do not know whether he and I have met in a previous life but I do believe that I once told him about my ‘Disco-Net’ for he could not have said what he said without an inkling of it.

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Living in a new South Africa: a dream come true, or not?

Tuesday, July 28th, 2009

 

 Here I am, 15 years after the end of apartheid and the commencement of a new democratic dispensation in South Africa. I have been on this farm my whole life, just like my parents have been. My great-grandparents moved onto this farm with the previous owner almost a hundred years ago. My extended family has grown over the years, toiling on the farm, bearing more labourers for this farm. In the worker’s compound we are more of family than colleagues. Some of my uncles and aunties are nearing their 70’s now, past pension point, but they still rise before the sun to work the land and go back home long after the sun is back home, their scrawny backs bent from the heat of the sun and the hard work.

 

I was born, less than 40 years ago as the only child to my parents who were and who still are farm labourers. My parents couldn’t really afford to send me to school from their meager earnings so I had to take a job on the farm, helping tend for the cattle herds and sheep flocks. Besides baas de Villiers said it was not necessary to send a black kid to school because his role in life was to labour on the farm and therefore does not need education for that. “White people were not created for these tough jobs and living conditions that black people have to live in,” he had said to me one day when I was just about nine years old.

 

I was raised to believe that, if my life had to have any value beyond what it was now, then I had to be white. But because I couldn’t change who I was, I just accepted it as my allotment for life. I was never going to be good enough and I was never going anywhere beyond what I am now, a farm labourer. I, however, did manage to save enough money from my earnings to take me to school for a couple of years. However, as I got into my teens, as more responsibilities were shifted to me on the farm I had to quit school and work full time on the farm. My father had taken to drinking heavily, spending all his earnings on beer. My mother, who was already fragile from working the long hours couldn’t take it longer and became sickly and was bed-ridden for five months,. At the age of sixteen it felt like I was carrying the whole world on my shoulders.

 

Two years later I met Eve and we got married. She brought comfort to me and was able to take care of my ill mother as well.

 

When the news reached us that SA was a new country where the so-called black, coloured and white could live harmoniously as one people, at the same level, we cried tears of joy. Finally that meant an end to oppression. That meant an end to social discrimination. It meant an end to classical discrimination. That meant that we could go to school, get good jobs, drive beautiful cars, own houses and take care of our families. Moreover it meant that my daughter who is now almost ten years old could look up to the future with more hope than I ever had. She could now dream of doing the jobs that only white people did back in our days. She could dream of one day becoming a nurse, a teacher, and accountant, lawyer or even a pilot. I had heard that many women were even becoming pilots in other countries.

 

However, baas Jan didn’t seem too pleased with the news.

 

“This country is going down now. Kaffirs are just incapable of running this fuckin’ country. Look at all the progress and development the white man has brought to Africa? Medicines, roads, electricity etc. and these morons in power are just going to bring it all down!”

 

Indeed he was fuming as he echoed the sentiments of former apartheid strongman P. W. Botha.  And he didn’t even have a trace of shame on his face! But this time around I stood up to him. I had been told we are now living in a free country so I told him my piece of mind. 

 

“Baas Jan, it doesn’t matter what you people brought here. You wouldn’t have gotten where you are now if the same black people you now ridicule had not been there.” I fumed, even for a moment forgetting I had resolved to stop referring to him as Baas. ”Who works on the roads? Who labours on the farms and in the industries? Is it not the same black people you treat as shit? This is now a new country and there is no place for racist people like you in our new South Africa. President Mandela spoke about reconciliation and which part of that do you not understand? And if you think black people are forever meant to be your servants and you the bosses, then wake up and smell the coffee. It is a new world and we shall not accept…”

 

“Hold on there you bloody fuckin monkey.” He cut in, his brow creasing and eyes narrowing fiercely. ”Do you know who you are talking to like that! You want to sow discord into my other workers ha!” he was fuming now. His eyes had narrowed and turned a bloodshot red. His face betrayed betrayed a mixture of anger, disbelief and even more anger. But I refused to be cowed into submission.

 

“That is the reality of the matter and the sooner you realize and accept it the better for you and indeed for everyone!”  I said, turning to go home. I had never done this. I had never spoken up to the boss like that. I had never turned to go without being dismissed. But then everything begins somewhere. Democracy and freedom had begun in South Africa. And I had begun to exercise my right, my freedom of choice and choice of freedom.

I was feeling very triumphant indeed. At last I had told him what he needed to know. Too bad he was too hard headed to understand anything but I had done my part. 

 

“Malan! Malan!”

“Baas!” Damn, I should stop calling him baas now. We are now all equal. That’s what the president said. Black, brown or white; we are all South Africans. So if he won’t call me Baas then I wont call him baas as well. As soon as I turned my head to look back at him he bellowed.

“You are fired!”

“Yes I am!” I quipped back, not understanding what “fired” meant at all. It was the first time I have ever hear anyone saying that and I thought he meant it as a compliment to my courage in standing up to him. My step picked up a bounce as I sauntered towards my house in the compound.

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UBA

Tuesday, July 28th, 2009

 

UBA is an illusory narration about a male student (UBA) studying at the University of Zimbabwe (UZ) in Mount Pleasant Harare. In the days gone by, the Zimbabwean government provided most, if not all, university and college students with grants (VTL) to cater for living expenses and other study costs. Sometimes due to red tape, incompetence or sheer malice on the part of Government departments and University Authorities responsible for the disbursement, the pay-outs would be delayed. Whenever these delays occurred there would be subsequent student protests and demonstrations (which sometimes turned violent resulting in arrests). However, when the money did eventually come, some of the UBAs would typically spend some of it on beer drinking (Mass Alcohol Consumption activities) and on women (usually their university counterparts –USAs). But one in a thousand would take the high risk route and pay for a night of pleasure with a lady of the night (prostitute). With the Health ministry ensuring an abundant supply of free condoms, things usually went very well, until…

 

This is one such story.

 

Please note this story is entirely fictional. Footnotes at the bottom aim to explain some of the terms used.

 

Have you heard? VTL[2] is in!

Augustine got his this morning

Ah! At last! I say, jumping up from my desk

I throw away the Calculus text

Calculus?! What is Calculus when VTL has come?

Within minutes I am at the bust stop

Everyone must have heard

Because there is a very long queue for kombis to town

I make my way towards the tail

Thinking it will be another hour before I get my butt onto a kombi

My name is called and I turn

It’s the boys, at the head of the queue

It’s wrong but I have to jump the queue

VTL can’t wait longer than necessary

In no time we are cruising down Second Street

Past Belgravia Sports club and the South African Embassy

I jump off the kombi and head for the Stone Bank

Bound by a promise to meet the boys at some watering hole later

It’s my turn to sponsor the MAC activities

Mass Alcohol Consumption activities

Memories of previous MACs flood my head

And bring a smile, no, a grin onto my face

The girl in front of me thinks I am mad

Maybe I am really mad

I am sponsoring MAC activities tonight

“Wud-you-ker-to cum n’ spend some cash wit papa?”

That’s my best saladic, or rather snobbish tone

I always seem to pick it more easily when I am loaded

And today I am because VTL is in

For three or four weeks we had waited for VTL

The Cadres had adumbrated and speechified

The Union[3] had been agitated and impatient

Just last week we had a demo

The great hall was geologized[4]

But some cadres were arrested

All for a worthy cause

“Nhasi kune dheeemoooo baba…!!!” (today there is going to be a demonstration, father)

I can’t help but hum to myself

Soon I am done withdrawing cash from the ATM

 

It’s a few minutes before midnight

I cannot seem to remember the last time

The last time I had drunk so much

The last time I had been out this late

But I have to go back to campus now

But my exit is not without thunder

I bequeath a sum for three more rounds for the cadres

I have to find me a woman to spend the rest

The rest of the money and the rest of the night

That chick has been smiling at me for long

She’s definitely impressed by my spending prowess

And she’s very beautiful; or is it the make-up?

She is very attractive; or is it the skimpy skirt?

She’d make me a very good wife; now this is booze in my head!!!

But who cares?

A UBA and his VTL, let them enjoy whilst they last

For they are soon parted

“I want you for the rest of the night” says I

“How much do you have?” says she

“Money? I’m Marimatombo baby!!!”

“TAXI!!! MT PLEASANT, UZ, BAGDAD[5]!!!”

Soon we arrive at New Complex 5

I stumble into my room, find the switch

I’m still clutching to her arm as to a hard-won trophy

“Get ready, I’ll be back soon”

I return a moment later with several packs of maDeMbare[6]

I am soon hitting away, fucking like a mad man

It’s been quite a while, imagine since Sandra ditched me last month

Because of the VTL delay USA[7]s deserted us

Resorting to NABAs[8] and Sugar daddies

Leaving us with no option at all

But to put hand-to-member when called upon by nature

So within minutes I explode inside her

She purses her lips, frowns and curses

“What’s wrong? It’s been long you should underst…”

“Did you put on that condom?” she demands

Of coz I did, I pull out my member to show her

To my horror, the condom is all but a tiny ring

Rolled up my member because it burst

Fear strikes, I’m speechless and I can’t move

“This is it!!! I’m dead!!! I have got AIDS!!!”

Instinct comes into play

I jump off the bed into the corridor

“HEEELLLPP!!!” I scream, tears already biting into my eyes

UBAs!!! Comrades and friends, macadre

Five doors open almost immediately

“What’s wrong man?!”

All eyes follow my hand to my member

Now hanging limp as if ashamed of himself

For bringing death to the whole body

Run and wash with soap, the Jacob Zuma advice

Use hot water! Suggestions come in a torrent

Here, pour Jik on it, or use Harpic!!

 

It’s been 7 years since

I’m too scared to go for testing

My friends say I am gaining a lot of weight

Did I or did I not? I’m too scared to know

And I haven’t seen that girl since

Some say she is probably six feet under

“It’s up to God, whatever his verdict

God’s case, no appeal”

 

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Been there, done that, got the ring & pawned it…

Wednesday, February 25th, 2009

Synopsis

 

Amanda Sokhulu is a young woman in the prime of her teenage years who lives with her divorced mother and her siblings in the village. She is still in high school, about to go to her twelfth grade. One evening, she is caught by her mother sneaking out of the house to her boyfriend Samuel Green. The punishment she receives when she returns the following morning causes her to run away from home to live with him. While living with her boyfriend his true colours surface and she does not like the man he has become.  This discovery leads to several events that involve the police, violence and deception.

She realises that she has to break free from Samuel, and her only hope is to go back home after being away for six years. Her quest is to find a man she can love and marry. She vows never to make the same mistakes her mother and sisters made in their marriages because her greatest fear is to live alone and die alone. After many attempts, she finds the man she believes she can trust with her life and marries him even though he has not paid lobola. Then the thing she fears most comes upon her and she divorces her husband.

Amanda’s heart is bitter as she returns to her mother’s house again. The house she had vowed never again to live in. The book chronicles the numerous attempts of this strong-willed woman to find love and how she survives a broken engagement and a divorce. If you were to ask her what she thinks about marriage she would simply tell you, “Been there, done that, got the ring and pawned it”. In spite of her perils, she still maintains that she will marry again, when she meets that special man.

One

 The village girl breaks free

 

_______________

It was almost eight thirty in the evening and everyone had already gone to bed as it was considered to be very late in the village that had become my home. Samuel was supposed to pick me up at nine so I had to find a way to get out of the house without waking my mother. I pushed the blankets away and double checked on the bed across the room if my little sister was really asleep or faking it like I had been for the past hour. I breathed a sigh of relief when I convinced myself that she was indeed asleep. I tiptoed across the room to the window, and silently opened it before climbing down carefully.  Half-way down, I tried to close the window with one hand while holding on to the water tank with another. As soon as I let go of the window I felt myself fly down with an amazing speed. I landed on my head on the muddy surface close to the tank, missing the thick cement foundation of the tank by a few centimetres.

I felt an instant headache as I lay down with my eyes closed for a few seconds debating whether to clean myself up or wait for Samuel with my mud-soaked denim jeans. I decided on the latter and then I opened my eyes so I could get up and be on my way. I could not believe what I saw about five meters away. A silhouette of a person standing with folded arms facing my direction. I froze for a moment from fear and then I took another look at the figure without moving. At first it looked like mother but then I dismissed that thought. It was absurd; mother was fast asleep in her room. Then I became more afraid when I thought about the stories that had been told in the village about witches who travelled across the village on brooms to kidnap little girls in their sleep. Of course I never believed those stories since I had never heard anyone who had actually seen a witch riding a broom. But, all those stories came back to me and I wondered if the figure standing in our yard could be one of them.

I secretly hoped that the figure would be my mother. I started to tremble as I pulled myself together to gather enough strength so I could run.  But, before I could move the figure began to slowly walk towards me. I froze on the spot and could not manage to run. Then I found myself standing face to face with my mother. She stood in front of me, blocking my way without saying a word. I was a little bit relieved and I was not sure if that was good or bad. All I knew was that it felt worse than her usual swearing and yelling. I could not stop the thoughts that went through my head. ‘Is it possible that my mother is a witch?  Otherwise, how else could she have known about my sneaking out of the house? Perhaps my little sister had told on me or my mother was somehow at the wrong place at the wrong time. Is this a coincidence or is mother a witch?’. I could not speak because I was frightened, embarrassed and had a terrible headache from the fall. The last thing I needed was a lecture from mother which was surely going to be delivered in screams to wake the entire neighbourhood. What is it with mothers and yelling? Gosh, I just don’t know.

 Tshotsho! Uwe kancinci. That means, it serves you right in isiXhosa. Before I could say anything she continued, actually I have no idea what I was going to say. Ucinga ukuba uyaphi? “Where do you think you are going?” I got caught alright and I had not anticipated the situation so I was unprepared. At that moment, I could hear Samuel’s car approaching from a distance and I began to panic. Mother did not approve of him or rather she did not approve of me having a boyfriend, period. I was eighteen and still had to sneak out of the house, what’s up with that? She still believed that I was a virgin but she sometimes called me a whore when she yelled at me which really confused me. She grabbed my arm and dragged me towards the house. “Get back inside, you are not going anywhere!” I was thinking there was something really wrong with mother, she was acting crazy. Sure she did not believe that I would all the stuff she wanted me to do.  

The woman had a nerve and I wanted to prove to her that she could not overpower me. So I told her that I was going and that she was not going to stop me! I screamed at her, telling her how cruel she has always been with me since my father left. “So this is how you operate neh? You drove my father away and now you are doing the same thing to me”. It was as if my outbursts encouraged her, she started to pinch me and she pulled my hair but I was not going to give in to her controlling. We struggled as we tried to get into the door. “I forbid you from seeing that boy again, do you hear!” Now she was pointing her finger at me. “Mother you are so controlling, what do you mean I cannot see him again? How else am I going to find a husband if you don’t want me to go out with boys? Who do you think you are, God? You cannot forbid me to do anything, I am my own person mother and I am old enough to make my own decisions about who I want to see and when.” “As long as you still live under my roof and are dependent on me, you are not your own person, you are mine, mine! Do you hear me? And yes I am God as far as you are concerned. You will take the guidance I give you whether you like it or not!”

We got inside the house, she was fuming with anger and I was also angry in my own right but I was afraid that she could tie me up and call my brothers to beat me or something. I had to think fast and find a way to escape. “Make your own decisions, who the hell do you think you are? Your pathetic decisions almost got you killed tonight; you could have bumped your head on the concrete foundation.” I detected something that seemed like concern in her but I could not trust her, that woman was devious. She could just be luring me to lose focus on getting away that night. “But I did not bump my head on the concrete mother, did I? It is my life. Please let me live my life! All other eighteen year olds are either married, have children or living with their boyfriends in the city. I am stuck here with you, going to school everyday. What do you want from me?”

She looked at me in the eye, and I saw that look she always gave me when she thought I was being ungrateful for the sacrifices she had made for my education. I could hear that speech coming up again. So what if she had to sell chicken eggs to pay for my school fees? It is not like I was failing, I was always on top of my class, every year and in just another year I would be going to university. “If you dare leave this house Zanele, you are not coming back. You will not set your foot in this house again do you hear me?” At that moment, I thought I heard someone move inside the house. I had to get away fast before someone else got involved. I jumped up and got out of the house. Once I was outside the yard, I ran as fast as I could and found Samuel waiting for me. As if he already knew that I had not time to waste, he immediately took off and drove away.

Samuel Green was what we referred to in my village as coloured. His grandfather was white and his grandmother was black. His parents were coloured and so was he. He was sinfully gorgeous and was already working as a teacher in one of the private schools in town. He was the only person who understood how frustrated I was with the village life and he tried to make me forget about it whenever we were together.  Naturally, I told him about the incident with my mother and how I almost got myself killed trying to sneak out of the house through the back window. As usual, my Sam showered me with love and tenderness. He told me that I had nothing to worry about; he would take care of me if mother was serious about throwing me out of the house.

The following morning when Sam went to work, I decided to take a bus and go home. I was not sure how the situation would be but I had to take that chance. I still had my identity documents and school reports in the house so there was no way that I would stay away from home. Mother would just have to go and jump in a lake if she wanted to. Besides, it was my father’s house that he built for all of us, not just for her. It was still my home and I was not about to let her drive me out like she did her husband.  I walked very slowly from the bus stop, trying to think about what I was going to say or do if my mother’s threats turned out to be real.

I had two brothers and three sisters. Both my elder sisters were divorced and my mother was divorced. My brothers were not yet married. I believed that there must be something that mother and my sisters did to their husbands to end up alone. Whatever it was that they did I was determined not to allow it to happen to me. I vowed that I would never divorce once I get married and I detested those women who left their husbands to go back to their mothers’ houses. I was certain that both my elder sisters would be at home waiting for me to arrive. Mother had all the time to tell them her side of the story and they surely believed her every word. I had to be ready for the confrontation with them. There was no way I was going to let them walk all over me.

I did not go all the way home but instead I went into our neighbour’s house. I was greeted warmly by the old crippled woman who walked with crutches. Her name was Makati. That old woman had a way of making you feel loved and cared for. She had no judgment in her eyes or her voice. Her house was peaceful and I would have given anything to trade her with mother. Unfortunately she had no children and she lived alone. I was one of the neighbourhood kids that were really nice to her and did not refuse her when she sent me to the store or to fetch water from the river for her.

She immediately saw that I was troubled so she asked me to sit down while she poured us both a cup of rooibos tea with a lot of milk and no sugar. It tasted like milk and tea with no water. I really liked it. As we sipped our tea from the saucers, she asked me if I had anything I wanted to ask her. I related to her what had happened stressing the fact that I was old enough to live my life and that mother should mind her own business. She listened attentively, without interrupting me. Her grey eyes focused on mine as if she could read my thoughts as I spoke.

I regarded Makati as my grandmother in a way, partly because it was the village’s custom but mostly because she was a wise woman. I valued her advice and always followed it without regrets. She tried to explain to me how much mother loved and cared for me. She told me that mother did all the things she did because she was afraid for me. Mother was afraid that I would make the same mistakes she and my sisters had made. That mistake was to get married before obtaining a decent education. I tried to absorb what she said but I had convinced myself that mother really hated me more than anything in this world. If only mother had treated me the way Makati did: with respect.

I left Makati’s house an hour later having cleaned her kitchen and poured her bath water into her washing basin. I left with words she promised me would never fail, no matter how angry mother could be. She told me that I should get home to mother and apologise because I was wrong to disrespect her the way I had the previous night. I got home, opened the gate and walked to the house through the kitchen door. As I looked through the kitchen window, I saw my uncle’s horse tied on the guava tree behind the house then I started to panic. I could hear voices in the sitting room and I had to go through the sitting room in order to get to our room. I had to think fast. My number one priority was to get my identity documents and school papers in my purse before anything else. I walked to the sitting room without greeting my uncle; I continued to walk past my sister straight to our room. I closed the door behind me and quickly grabbed my papers and put them in the purse.

There was a knock on the door, just after I put my papers in the purse. It was my younger brother, Sanele coming to fetch me to the meeting in the sitting room. I followed him and I was ready to apologise, accept any kind of punishment from mother but I was not ready to be attacked by my sisters. The worst thing happened. They did not allow me to sit down before they yelled at me. Calling me names and exclaiming at my lack of respect for the elderly. I kept telling myself in my head that I was none of the things they called me but outwardly I responded with my own insults. Some of them were unfounded. I remember I even mentioned that my elder sister Tumeka’s husband had left her for a younger woman, my age. I had no proof of that and I had not even heard rumours about it. It was a story I created in my mind at that moment. All the good intentions and Makati’s good advice flew out of the window. I was behaving like a spoilt brat who had no regard for anyone, least of all the people in that room.

My big brother, Sandile grabbed me before I could find a chance to run and he pulled out the switches they had picked that morning for my punishment. He gave the bunch of switches to mother who gave half to my uncle. My sisters were laughing as they cleared the room. I started to cry before I was beaten but my cries came into deaf ears.  It was mother that started to beat me all over my body and after several lashes; my uncle came over and asked me to open the palms of my hands. He beat me on my hands like they did at school before the new law against corporal punishment was passed. I got tired of screaming so I began to sob quietly as my uncle beat me lash after lash on my hands. He must have gotten tired because I did not see any sign of mercy on his face when he said I should go outside. The switches were broken all over the sitting room as I grabbed my purse and went outside.

One thing I liked about being beaten was that when I cried after the beating, nobody cared where I went and if I stayed away long enough my brothers and sisters would come looking for me having prepared food for me. Mother would give me a banana or an apple she had saved in her room and apologise for the beating. That day I did not care about any of those things, I knew exactly what I needed to do. I had plenty of time to get to the bus stop and go back to Sam’s house. When I left my home with just the clothes I was wearing and my purse, nobody could tell that I was running away and so nobody bothered me. I went past Makati’s house without even waving goodbye.

 

 

 

 

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Bride Price

Monday, January 12th, 2009

             “I bought you, woman!”  He bellowed as he kicked her.  “You are my property!  You hear me?  Mine!”

 

            “Vumilia.  Get used to it.  That’s marriage,” her mother and aunts told her whenever she could sneak to them in tears.

 

But she could never get used the beatings that took away her ability to have children, left her left eye partially blind, third degree burns on her right shoulder all the way to her waist and half a moon scar on her forehead.  No, she could no longer be tolerant.  She begged him for a divorce, but the more she begged the more beatings she received.

 

            “You want to leave, huh?  Go!  Afterall you are good for nothing!  You can’t even bear children!”  He screamed one day as he kicked her.   “Pay me back the mahari I paid for you, then  leave!”

 

He had paid five goats, a sack of rice, a barrel of local brew and a blanket for her grand mother.  The next morning after he had left for work she rushed to her relatives and borrowed whatever little money they had, but it wasn’t enough to buy even a baby goat. 

 

She walked back home with her shoulders slumped, her eyes blinded with tears.  A shirtless sweating man pushing a heavy laden mkokoteni cursed her as he nearly knocked her down.  Another shirtless man covered in soot, carrying a sack of coal cursed her mother as he collided with her.

 

            “Mayai, mama,” a little boy pushed a tray with hard boiled eggs to her face, “shillingi mia mbili tu.”

 

Dazed, she looked at the little boy who should be in school.  In tattered school uniforms and bare feet.  The little boy stood there for a few minutes, waiting for her to buy.  Concluding that she was just another crazy woman, he cursed under his breath and left.  She followed him with his eyes until his little frame with the tray of eggs on his shoulder disappeared in the massing crowd.

 

After that day, everyday she woke up at the crack of dawn, pounding rice which she bought with the borrowed money to a soft flour and made vitumbua, which she sold at the roadside to students and workers rushing to school and work. 

 

Every afternoon she bought more rice, beans and spinach from the money she got from selling vitumbua and made food for construction site workers.  Mama Ntilie they called her.  She would carry buckets of food on her head, balancing one on top of the other and looked for a site that didn’t have a Mama Ntilie already selling. 

 

Every evening after cooking his dinner, she would buy fish, cassava and paraffin oil and made food for late workers.  At a street corner she would set up her stall, selling to prostitutes, thieves, robbers and those who worked double shifts, under the moonlight and dim light of the paraffin lamp.

 

The smoke from the coal stove always made her cough until she choked and tears of pain ran down her tired face.  The distance she walked with the buckets on her head strained her already frail shoulder.  A doctor warned her to take it easy, that she should take better care of her health, but she never gave up - that could wait until she was out.  She had to repay that bride price.  Wanamgambo in olive green uniform always chased her as she didn’t have a permit to sell, sometimes even spilling her food - but she never gave up.  The next day she came again - more determined than ever.  She had to raise that money to pay back the bride price.

 

After months of sweating and toiling she raised the money and some change.  She slept in that day, she did deserve the rest afterall.  After waking up, she quickly cleaned their two rooms and went to a msusi.  She has to look at least presentable when paying back her bride price, she thought as she hummed happily. 

 

She came back that evening with neatly plaited hair, a mkokoteni on tow laden with a sack of rice, a barren of local brew, a blanket and five goats tied together to one handle of the mkokoteni, bleating as they went.  She tied the goats at the back of the house were she and the other tenants did their cooking, the blanket, the barrel and the sack she took inside their two rooms.

 

He watched her as she moved gaily preparing him dinner, humming as she went.  The goats at the back bleated as if in chorus with her humming.  His eyes kept darting from her to the packages in the room, not saying anything.  After serving him dinner, she rushed to her relatives, asking them to join them the next evening.  She hummed happily as she walked back home.

 

When she came back she found him sitting with a group of men.  She could smell a feast.  Dazed she walked to the back.

 

            “Shoga,” one of the neighbours started, “shemeji is full of surprises!  A party at this time of the night?”

 

            “Yeah,” another one jumped in, “he untied two of the goats and told the men to slaughter them and us women to cook pilau!”

 

Blindly she walked back inside, where he was with eight other men.  Eating, drinking and shouting.  As his eyes met hers, he got up and walked towards her.  She flinched as he drew closer.

 

            “So you found another man, huh?”  He hissed.  “You thought you could leave me?  You are mine!”

 

Even as she cleared the dishes, she could not believe what her eyes had seen and ears had heard.  Her tongue felt lifeless in her mouth.  She stood there dumbfounded, not knowing what to do.  She felt like weeping but no tears came out.  She felt the wall surrounding them could feel her pain, shame and dismay.

 

Yes, she had indeed been bought.  Only a sign on her forehead saying, ‘once bought can’t be returned’ was missing. 

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Plate Of Ugali

Monday, January 12th, 2009

My mama used to say a real African man doesn’t eat chips or pasta.  That’s food for a mzungu man who gets his nails manicured, face scrubbed and lips conditioned with lip balm.  A real African man eats ugali, my mama used to say.  With their calloused fingers with rough nails he would mould the stiff porridge into little balls, dunk each ball into a stew then dunk the stew covered ball into his mouth with chapped lips.

 

I would sit at the corner of the room watching his Adam’s apple bopping up and down as he swallowed a ball of ugali and meat stew.  His jaw always moving in super-human speed as he chewed, making the veins on his forehead pop out angrily. 

 

Ugali would make your man strong, my mama used to say.  Strong enough to take care of you and our family, she would add.  What she didn’t add was that ugali would make him strong enough to beat me black and blue.  But maybe she was always right, because it was a plate of ugali that gave me strength today. 

 

It had started with his plate of ugali not being warm enough.  Then the following time he beat me black and blue it was because the bowl of stew did not have enough meat.  The other times before that it was the disciplinary slap, as the elders called it.  Married women needed the slap every now and then, they would say, to keep them in check.

 

Then he beat me again black and blue when I failed to pound his kisamvu the way he liked it.  I had been vomiting the whole day; infact even getting up was a problem.

 

            “My mother cultivated a whole farm the day she was giving birth and you say you can’t cook for your husband?”  He had bellowed.  “What kind of a woman are you?”

 

            “But mume wangu, the doctor said …” lamenting, I had tried to explain before I was interrupted by a slap.  The room started spinning around me.

            “Has the doctor married you?”  He gave me another slap which sent me reeling to the floor vomiting blood, “is the doctor your husband now?  Or are you having an affair?”

 

My baby did not make it.  I almost did not make it too.  I broke a few bones and I almost became blinded on my left eye.  After that I became numb to the pain.  It was one reason after another – as long as I was his punching bag – and almost always it was a plate of ugali that started it.  Yep, his source of strength.  Like the hair on Samson in the bible.  Maybe ugali makes one mad.  Maybe it had a drug. 

 

Today he broke my two front teeth – after breaking four others last week.  I laughed madly as I looked at my four year old with his milk teeth missing.  He grins at me nervously showing his gums.

 

Today he beat me because I refused to serve his mistress a plate of ugali.  Like my body numbing to pain, my heart had numbed to reason.  Maybe it was my fault when the plate of ugali wasn’t warm enough because I had run out of coal to warm the food; maybe it was my fault when I didn’t negotiate with the butchery to give me more meat than the money could buy; maybe it was my fault that I was too lazy too pound cassava when I was due; maybe it was my fault when I had used to the last of the flour to cook my baby porridge for lunch instead of cooking him his ugali; maybe it had all been my fault.  But how could this be my fault?  My mama told me my husband came first, then my children.

I had put some food aside for my husband, then fed the remaining to my children.  How was that my fault?  I never said anything when he brought her and moved me out of our marital bed.  I said nothing.

 

He kicked his plate of ugali when there wasn’t enough for his mistress and made me eat from the floor after beating me black and blue - wounding the scars that had not even healed.  On all fours I bent down and ate like a dog.  As I lay clutching my stomach I see the mouse that I have been trying to catch for a while, rushing to the last crumbs of ugali on the floor.  No amount of rat poison seemed to kill it.  Rodent.  Maybe I had been giving it the poison with the wrong food.  Rodent.  Rodent.  I should have mixed the poison in ugali.  Rodent.  Or is it rodent and man.  Rodent man.  Kick.  Rodent man.  Kick.  Rodent man, I think. 

 

I feel humiliated when I hear her cheering him on.  It was okay before, as I probably needed disciplining.  But it’s not okay now.  She is not supposed to be here, cheering on.  But the ugali gave me strength. 

 

            “Stupid woman!  Go make another plate,” he had kicked me on the shins as his mistress laughed again, louder this time.  “And make it enough to give us strength for the work ahead of us tonight!”

 

Ugali has given me strength too.  I look down as I limp to the back yard.  I don’t want them to see my face.  The smile on my face.  Yes, ugali has given me strength. 

 

Quickly I grab a khanga to hide my new scars, covering myself I dash to my neighbour to borrow me some money from her.  Just as quickly I send my oldest to the market.  Flour, kisamvu, coconut, curry powder, peanuts, nyanya chungu and some powder that will kill that rodent.  Today I will make the best plate of ugali ever.  The kisamvu will have peanut sauce and the dagaa will have coconut milk and nyanya chungu.  Today I will catch that rodent with a plate of ugali for sure.

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