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in the South African modelling industry.
Tumi giggles once more.
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Don hates her for looking so beautiful. And so happy.
He dozes on the sofa, until he is woken up by the
arrival of Fontyo and Bova, who are surprised to see him
in Soweto so early in the morning on a workday. They are
early because there is a promotion here today and Don
thinks they have come for the booze that usually flows
freely on such occasions. Already Wezile is placing ban-
ners with the logos of liquor company sponsors on the
street in front of the restaurant and even as far off as the
end of the street in front of other people’s houses.
Neighbours have complained about this inconvenience
and about the noise to no avail. In Soweto it is a free-for-
all. There are no zoning laws.
Bova and Fontyo become quite handy in such situa-
tions. They help Wezile set plastic garden furniture and
braai stands on the pavement. Soon the smoke is billow-
ing and kwaito music is throbbing from giant speakers.
No one seems to mind that there is a school only thirty
metres away and the students are already streaming in.
The adult patrons will look the other way when bigger
boys and girls play truant and end up drunk here.
Don is hungry and they don’t serve breakfast at
Wezile’s. The cooks are busy in the kitchen making the
lunch and dinner that people will be buying during the
promotion. Fontyo offers to dash to a nearby cafe to buy
him breakfast, provided he gives him enough money to
get food for himself and Bova as well.
As they eat ikota— white bread stuffed with soft chips,
atchaar, minced meat, Russian sausages and pieces of
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steak—Don tells them of his woes. These are his friends,
people with whom he fought a war, so he is honest with
them. He tells them everything, beginning with how he
got a terrible job as the magistrate’s bodyguard, to how he
ended up sleeping with the magistrate and how things
soured between him and the two women. These are men;
they will understand what he is going through. It is always
a relief to unburden yourself to people with whom you
share so much history; his pain is beginning to ebb away
already—it is going to be their pain as well.
‘What is he going to do now?’ asks Bova. He is not
directing the question at Don but at Fontyo. Fontyo looks
at Don and asks, ‘What are you going to do, comrade?’
‘I don’t know,’ says Don. ‘Maybe I can sleep at your
place until I think things over. Just for a few nights while
I look for an apartment or something.’
Don is surprised that Bova and Fontyo want to confer
about it first. They are comrades; he expected them to
offer him accommodation without his even asking. But
they ask to be excused to discuss the matter privately.
When they return they say unfortunately they will
not be able to accommodate Don. They are going on a
very long trip. It is obvious to Don that they want to keep
everything mysterious.
‘Why can’t I stay at your place while you are gone?’
he asks.
No. That won’t work. Bova tries quickly to think why
not but the best he can do is come up with the feeble
excuse that his relatives from some ‘homeland’ are visiting
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and therefore there will be no place for him. Don knows
immediately that he is lying. Bova does not come from
any homeland, nor does he have relatives in one. He was
born in Soweto, as was his father before him, and his
father’s father. His mother, too, was a Sowetan through
and through. In any event there are no places called
homelands any more, not since Bova himself won the lib-
eration struggle. There are other reasons they don’t want
him at their place. And this ludicrous trip, it must be a
lie too. These two clowns never take a trip anywhere.
Somehow they want to get rid of him.
‘ Ja, it’s a trip of a lifetime,’ says Bova. ‘It’s going to
change our lives.’
Don offers them drinks but, to his utter amazement,
they turn them down. They’ve got to stay sober for the
trip. They only came here today to help Wezile set up the
place for the promotion. Otherwise, for the whole day
they are teetotallers. He buys himself a beer and nurses
it because it is lousy to drink alone.
When Fontyo hints that they are on to something big
Don feels left out. He could never imagine Fontyo and
Bova keeping secrets from him.
And what has happened to their usual banter? To
their teasing him about being a security guard? With this
awkwardness among them he has not even told them the
good news—the promotion to CEO.
‘ Sies, man!’ Bova bursts out as if he has been sup-
pressing it all along. ‘ Jy’ s ‘ n moegoe, jong. You’re an idiot.
You leave a woman like Tumi for an old white woman!’
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Fontyo laughs mockingly, ‘ Ulizwe kahle ikhekhe
lengamla, neh?’
So, that’s what this is all about. Tumi. They are mad
at him because he has betrayed their home girl. They even
attribute his so-called dumping of Tumi to the fact that
he ‘tasted a white woman’s cake’, as Fontyo puts it, and it
has drained him of all common sense. They don’t under-
stand. If only they walked a few yards in his shoes they
would understand. He would blame their strange atti-
tude towards him on beer but both of them are unchar-
acteristically sober. Or maybe they had a few puffs of
dagga before they came here. Fontyo, particularly, is
rather partial to Mary Jane, as he calls the green herb.
‘He thinks a white woman’s cake is the fastest way to
becoming like Comrade Capitalist,’ says Fontyo. ‘Soon he
will be looking down on us, treating us like dirt like he is
doing to Tumi.’
Bova looks him straight in the eye and asks,
‘Comrade AK, did we fight the liberation struggle so that
we can get between the thighs of white women? Do you
think our comrades died for that?’
Don is taken aback by the vehemence and the disgust
in his voice.
Tumi didn’t even like these guys. She didn’t give a
damn about them. She thought they were lazy bums who
spent their time whingeing instead of getting out there and
reaching for the opportunities presented by the new South
Africa. Yet here they are, crucifying him for betraying her.
Why are they taking his break-up with her so personally?
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They leave him in the lounge nursing his beer and
busy themselves with helping set up the place. In return,
Wezile offers them food and a beer each but, to his sur-
prise, they turn down the offer of beer. They will eat the
braai meat and pap but today is not a drinking day for
them.
By midday more patrons have arrived and the danc-
ing begins. They play the crossover kwaito song ‘Music’
by Mandoza and Danny K over and over again until it gets
on Don’s nerves. He stands up and staggers to the dance
floor in the next room. It is small because Wezile’s is
really just an ordinary township home converted into a
restaurant. His eyes are searching for Bova and Fontyo as
he dances feebly on his own. But they are nowhere to be
seen. He cuts a pathetic figure and goes back to the
lounge. He dozes on the sofa.
When he opens his eyes it is late in the afternoon and
there are loud men and women drinking all around him.
He knows some of them casually from meeting them here
on previous occasions or from the days when he was a
township boy.
The television is on although no one is really watch-
ing it. No one can hear the sound in any case because
Mandoza and Danny K are drowning it.
Don sees a fleeting image of Aunt Magda on the
screen, then the camera moves to the anchor.
‘Hey majita, just be quiet a little bit,’ he pleads. ‘I just
want to hear what this is all about.’
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The revellers keep quiet; they are curious to see what
is so important that the guy in the Versace suit wants
them to stop their conversation. Don raises the volume.
‘There were scenes of jubilation outside the gates of
Diepkloof Prison when Stevo Visagie was released from
what his followers claim was an unfair and vindictive
sentence,’ says the anchor.
The camera then pans to the prison gates. Members
of the Society of Widows led by Aunt Magda are singing
and dancing to welcome Stevo Visagie. Our prostitutes
are there as well, those we once saw in court and again
with Don at the tavern in Roodepoort. The very same
prostitutes who were supposed to be gathering intelli-
gence for him. Stevo walks out of the prison gates and
marches among his followers holding hands with Ma
Visagie, exactly as Nelson Mandela walked out of Victor
Verster Prison hand in hand with Winnie Mandela. Stevo
looks quite uncomfortable in a grey suit, white shirt and
red tie. Shortie and the prostitutes are following closely.
When Stevo sees Aunt Magda among the dancing
widows he calls out, ‘Aunt Magda! Aunt Magda!’ and tries
to reach for her with open arms. But Ma Visagie pulls him
back to her violently and the march continues to her
kombi. Aunt Magda’s smoky voice can be heard above
everyone else’s.
The denizens at Wezile’s don’t understand what
Don’s fascination is with this mundane story on televi-
sion, and why they had to stop their boisterous banter,
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which promptly resumes even as the news item contin-
ues. One of the revellers exclaims, ‘Who cares about some
boertjie boy who was in jail?’
But Don is staring at the television screen with grow-
ing alarm. Suddenly he stands up and makes for the door.
He must get to Kristin Uys before Stevo Visagie does.
20
THE FINAL DANCE
At the Visagie home the dining-room table is heaving
with a gigantic baked turkey, potatoes, rice, vegetables,
sweetmeats and koeksisters. A topless Stevo is stuffing
himself. Ma Visagie and our prostitutes are fussing over
him. Shortie is quietly enjoying the meal, envying all the
attention that is being showered on his brother just
because he was stupid enough to insult a magistrate. He
is in his greasy overalls because, while his brother was
vacationing at the state’s expense, he was working his
butt off at the Visagie scrapyard trying to scrape a liveli-
hood for everyone else.
Stevo is all laughter as he listens to the prostitutes.
Now and then he takes a swig from a bottle of beer.
Aunt Magda is sitting timidly away from the table,
almost behind the door. She is fearful of calling attention
to herself by participating in the conversation. She knows
that she is not welcome here by the matriarch. She came
in at Stevo’s insistence after she had remained outside for
more than an hour with the Society of Widows who fol-
lowed the Visagies to Strubensvallei and continued to
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sing hymns, thanking the Lord for releasing their hero
from the shackles of Pharaoh. Stevo asked the prostitutes
to serve the widows some drinks and invited Aunt Magda
to share in their meal. Ma Visagie did not voice any objec-
tion, though her face displayed a disapproving look. She
decided to shut up and indulge Stevo just for once.
One of the prostitutes is telling the table about Don
Mateza—how he tried to bribe them to betray Stevo and
how they made him believe they would work for him.
They laugh at his credulity.
‘So this bodyguard guy says he wants to get evidence
that will keep you in jail for ever,’ she says.
‘He wanted us to get him Mr Fingers,’ says the second
prostitute.
This alarms Shortie.
‘Fingers Matatu?’ he screeches. ‘How did he know
about Fingers Matatu?’
‘Relax, my china,’ says Stevo. ‘I’m here now, am I not?
He’s not gonna come here scaring you again. And how
much did he pay for the head of Mr Fingers?’
The prostitutes are reluctant to say. Instead they
blether about their difficulties when Stevo was in jail and
the problem of making ends meet without their business
manager, as they prefer to call the pimp. But Stevo knows
what they are trying to do—take him off the subject of
how much exactly they were paid by the bodyguard.
‘How much, bitch?’ he asks, glaring at the girls
menacingly.
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‘It was only a few hundred,’ says the prostitute.
‘You think I’m gonna ask for my cut, hey, bitch?
Maybe I should because you got that money at my
expense.’
But Ma Visagie comes to the rescue of the prosti-
tutes. ‘Don’t be hard on the girls, Stevo. They had to sur-
vive while you were enjoying a holiday at Sun City.’
Stevo breaks out laughing. ‘I don’t want their money,
Ma. It’s peanuts if you take into account what we gonna
be making from now on. I have a dream, my china. We
gonna be multimillionaires many times over. We gonna
show them that it’s not only black people who can be
multimillionaires. We gonna rock this city with the
biggest syndicate it has ever seen. We gonna fly in our
own jet.’
All eyes are agog at Stevo’s dream because it is the
kind of dream that cannot be sneezed at. Unless you are
Ma Visagie. She sees this as Stevo’s empty talk. When the
giddiness of freedom has worn off he will become normal
again and will resume his regular job of pimping the
girls.
Shortie is not impressed either. He knows already
that his brother developed this strange habit of dreaming
when he was in jail and then bursting out in excitement
about the dreams.
Aunt Magda sees herself as part of the dream. Stevo
would never leave her out of any dream. When she opens
her mouth for the first time since taking her humble
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place behind the door it is to remind everyone that she
spent all the money she received from Don Mateza on
Stevo. She bought Stevo food and sweet-smelling
colognes and a suit so that he could look like the freedom
fighter he is when he walked out of prison. Even though
Stevo was at first reluctant to wear a suit because he
thought it made him appear a sissy, didn’t everyone see
how handsome he looked on television?
Perhaps Aunt Magda should have kept quiet about
this. Ma Visagie begins pacing the floor and muttering
something about a coloured woman from Cape Town
who has no business buying her son stuff, trying to
change him into a girl with colognes and suits.
Stevo tries to defend Aunt Magda. Ma should stop
picking on her because she looked after him, and adds,
‘Unlike some people I know who are my family but don’t
do nothing for me when I’m in jail.’
An unwise thing to say.
Ma Visagie demands that Aunt Magda should leave
at once. Stevo stands at the door and says Aunt Magda is
not going anywhere.
‘If that is the case, Stevo, you can leave too,’ says Ma
Visagie.
‘No dice, Ma,’ says Stevo.
This is another example of Aunt Magda’s bad influ-
ence on Stevo. He would never have tried to stand up to
his mother before the Cape Flats woman came back into
their lives with her mass action and fancy ideas that she
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claims to have learnt from what she calls The Struggle.
There can be only one alpha female in the Visagie house-
hold and she is not about to abdicate that position to a
woman who used to be her maid. There can be only one
alpha anything, come to think of it, and Stevo is playing
with fire pretending he can challenge her.
Stevo seems to understand this. At the first glare
