MAGAZINE
Jo’burg is unkind. The broke do not deserve love. And should you become out of pocket stemming from whatever trepidation or misfortune, the city of greed will not hesitate to remind you of your predicament on a daily basis.
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I recall in one of the random conversations I had, someone saying “you will realise we are all one and we can never claim to love others and not love those that love them”. I allowed that very concise yet profound statement to digest. I then later realised how that could be read in the context of community, of the revolution. How that kind of love can manifest in a world where the existence of a healthy black love is a complete aberration.
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It always seems shocking when you tell people that you’re single. It’s like you’ve just announced that you have a chronic disease. There’s always sadness and a look of pity that you get upon announcing that there is no man in your life.
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Look, I haven't walked through the doors of a hair salon since 2008 when I asked Alfonso, my hairstylist (and by hairstylist, I actually mean the dude from Limpopo who just built a mkhukhu in his yard and decided he'll do people's hair). Also, I use the word door very loosely because Noxolo does her thing on the side of the road. You know how it is in the concentration camps mos.
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Today, things have changed. There is a definite element of greed in most communities and some use lobola as a get rich quick scheme. It is suggested that Tau paid R200,000 for his former lady’s hand in marriage, and some years ago it was rumoured that Kaizer Chiefs goalkeeper, Itumeleng Khune, was asked to fork out a million rand for his then lady friend, Minnie Dlamini.
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Why do they speak in that accent? Whiteness which has actual power responds to these errant blacks by sidelining them in business just because they don’t speak like Vusi Thembekwayo or might not fit into the “company culture” due to excessive ghettoness.
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I couldn’t control myself, I felt dizzy with desire. All sexy thoughts ran through my head and I wondered whether such joy ever lasts. I let go of her. She lay there with her eyes closed, slightly biting her lip as if envisioning what was to follow. Her dress, just above her smooth golden brown thighs.
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“The thought of dating you makes me want to throw up” said a pretty classmate in high school. Then there was the beautiful girl I secretly asked out to the matric dance. After she rejected me, I thought the story would remain between us, but she made sure to tell my classmates and I became the laughing stock of the whole standard. I cried. I sobbed my sorrows to sleep.
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