CHAPTER 8
AN OPENING
Bongani and I rented out a one roomed cottage in the high density suburb of Mamelodi in Pretoria, the administrative capital of South Africa. It was a small house but it had all the essentials we needed, electricity, a toilet and running water on a tap which was located outside the cottage at the back. We didn’t have the luxuries of a bathroom or shower but we had to make do with what was there. Whenever a person needed to bath, one would simply go outside fill the bucket with water depending on the prevailing weather condition, if it was cold we would boil the water and if it was hot we would bath in the cold water. The cottage is located behind the main house. The main house is a nine roomed house. The owner of the house MR Zulu is a widower and a retired camera man who once worked for the South African Broadcasting Commission. The state- run television service. MR Zulu has what can be best described as a bevy of beautiful girls. He has seven children all of them girls and of the seven two of them are married. The youngest of the seven children is currently doing Matric the equivalent of Upper six or Advanced level in Zimbabwe. My challenge hasn’t been of living in a small space but it has been of bumping into the daughters of MR Zulu. “So you are sure you won’t make a move on any of those beauties?” asked Bongani in reference to MR Zulu’s daughters. “I came to find work and not to merry make.” “That’s the spirit.” said Bongani. “What about you. Will you make a move?” “There all beautiful but there aren’t my type.” replied Bongani. “I am amazed you have a type.” “But what was MR Zulu thinking renting out his cottage to two bachelors.” said Bongani. “Maybe he was smoking weed or something.” “Well I have to be on time, this is my first day at work.” said Bongani as he polished his shoes. As we left the house one of MR Zulu’s daughter’s Andile waved at us. She was the 5th daughter of Mr Zulu. “Did you see the way she looked at you?” I said. “What about it?” asked Bongani. “I think she has the hots for you.” I said as I opened the gate. “I think you are mad. Man I would have known if she fancied.” said Bongani. “Don’t say I didn’t tell you bro.” “All the best in your search for work, hope something comes up.” said Bongani. “I hope so.” We boarded a commuter omnibus popularly known as a taxi by South Africans back home in Zimbabwe we simply call them combis. After some hours of inquiring about open places to work, I finally found a job in Pretoria. I found the job at a shop near the central business district. The shop sold different type of things from electronics to clothing and the owner was an Indian man by the name of Singh. In the background of the shop some Hindu songs will be playing. Early in the morning MR Singh would burn some incense. It was something he did to chase away bad influences. His wife who also worked at the shop always adorned colourful saris. His son who was somewhat of a rebel also worked at the store. His son Rajesh drank alcohol and smoked cigarettes. The shop always had some Hindu tune playing in the background. I worked from Monday to Friday for two weeks and the other two weeks on weekends. I alternated shifts with a Geraldine a lady in middle ages, when I worked on Saturdays and Sundays on the weekend shift she worked during the week from Monday up to Friday. Geraldine is a South Africa Sotho lady. During month ends we don’t alternate and we would work together because the work load would have increased significantly. The shop was always filled with cross border traders, the merchandise sold was cheaper to buy as compared to the other shops in the region. On some occasions I would sell goods to Zimbabweans and the feeling you get when you meet someone from home is priceless. I would conversant with them in Shona which really got on the nerves of Mr Singh who in his fickle mind thought we were joking about him. The job was less trying than at the construction site. Personally I don’t know if Singh is paranoid or just a control freak because he never leaves me alone with the cash register and the way he keeps movements of his only daughter Priyanka. It’s like he has a log book about her movements. On this particular day I was minding my own business, behind the counter, when Priyanka entered the shop with her coloured friend from university. Her friend was beautiful to say the least but when Mr Singh saw I was staring at her I felt the full wrath of a jealous father. He questioned me if I was being paid to watch her daughter or to sell goods. If only he knew I wasn’t interested in his daughter. In comparison working for an over protective Singh was far much better than working for a cunning and ethic less de Wit. The only drawback working at Singh’s was the way remuneration was given. Some month ends I was given three quarters of my full payment some months half. Since I started working for Singh I have never been paid my salary in full. The way Singh is stingy with money one would think his hands were super-glued to it. In my Shona culture we say as stingy as a butler eagle, because one really sees the feathers of a butler eagle on the ground. That’s why I nicknamed him butler. Every month I made sure I sent home a part of my salary and some groceries. Even though the money I repatriated back home wasn’t much I knew it would be useful. One thing that bothered me was the way my elder brother was acting towards us as family, the silent treatment was hurting everyone. His wife would make up excuses to my nephew and niece why their father wasn’t calling. I tried calling him on several occasions but it was a futile attempt because every time the phone just said “Number is no longer in use.” I knew pretty much that my brother had scratched us from his life. As days passed I felt homesick more than ever. I missed the cooking of mother my rivalry with Ruru but I kept the faith that one day I would be back home. All those fears of been stabbed had slowly drifted away as I settled to the South African way of life. Each and every day I would wake up and go to work I would feel a certain emptiness in me. I felt a part of me yawning for happiness. That sort of happiness that can’t be expressed in words like that joy my old man had when he mistakenly thought he had bought a house the same joy that filled that lady who cried when she was asked for her hand in marriage, those were not tears of sadness like the ones I usually have but tears of joy. That type happiness right now in the state of mind I am feels like it’s a million of light years away. All the zest I have about finding it, is slowly fading away like the sun moving towards the sunset. But one thing keeps that burning passion to find it, is that fact that when the sun sets it rises again the following day. Maybe I am not going to get my happiness today but deep inside, I have this inkling that tomorrow will be my day to rejoice, but only time will tell. It’s not as if I am jealous of my best friend but it feels like I am exactly the opposite with King Midas everything I touch seems to turn to ashes. My best friend is already making in-roads in to one of South Africa’s biggest banks but I am in disparity I am wailing away at the bottom of the South African job pyramid. With every deep thought I take I also take a step closer to insanity. Almost all of my peers have something to show for their work, I have nothing. I know if I remain around guys like de Wit and Singh who take the advantage that I don’t have the correct documents to seek employment I will surely forever be miserable. I was wrong to believe that I had found a breakthrough an opening when I started working for Singh because, it has been like playing the entire ninety minutes of a football match whole heartedly but losing out to a dubiously awarded penalty kick in injury time.