---Watch these streets like a hawk, listen with intent to the hearts of women roaming this city, feel the sadness of souls whose eyes tell stories of their past turmoils---
When you walked past Nhlahla
yesterday you could not have noticed her even if the two of you were the only
ones sharing the bustling Kingsway Street. She was the strange looking one who
walked face down and weary eyed amongst the crowds, rocking her dark brown hand
knitted one-piece dress and black tender tekkies better known as ‘bo
nkhono ba tatile’ and a doek messily wrapped around her head- her dress
sense alone was as invisible as she aimed for it to be. Nhlanhla hates to be
noticed or spoken to with an intense passion, you see when she was just a young
girl of thirteen- innocent and spontaneous- she was stripped of all the courage
she had worn after her mothers death; her step father, who could have been
forty three at the least had his way with her. Nhlanhla’s stepfather was a tall
man; he hovered about the house as a giant would, lifting her up to poke and
prod at her then intact flower and throwing her against the furniture whenever
she would sob at his attempts to do so. You could have never noticed Nhlanhla
because her very existence seized in those moments, the confidence of this
young woman was shattered just as her face was against the corners of their
dining room table, in between those dreadful nights where she lay flat facing
the ceiling as this man she once considered a father forcefully entered her,
her soul had been destroyed, she could no longer function as you and I do, even
after she gathered the strength to run away from home a year and a half later,
she never stood a chance at normal. This man that had climbed on top of her
every night for two years after his wife had died had robbed her of her chances
to prosper in life and he never knew this, even in his death where he now lay
he could not have known this. Although Nhlanhla had run away and never looked
back, she had carried in her tummy a remainder that would forever tie her to the
atrocious past she tried so hard to forget, that little girl who was barely a
teenager could never get back what she lost in those early years. She was a
grown woman approaching thirty now but still could not look her fourteen
year old daughter in the eye because of the pain that she aroused, despite all of this she
loved her daughter with all she had and proved that by waking up every morning
before the crack of dawn to get ready for work in the industrial area Chinese
factory where she was a sew-stress to ensure that she support and provide
for her.
The reason you did not notice
Nhlanhla as she walked right by you is because you were too occupied staring at Morongoe as
she passed by the Vodacom Centre and turned towards Shoprite. I do not blame
you because Morongoe is quite a sight to see, in her gold sequined high heels
and figure hugging pants that revealed her perfectly shaped ass and the Daniel
Hetcher top that allowed an acceptable amount of cleavage to peep out from the
low neckline of the shirt, she glided in such confidence that you ended up
following her around the corner just to catch a good glimpse of her as she
sashayed past the Hungry Lion tables. What you do not know however is that
Morongoe is facing charges for the murder of her husband as well as possession
of an illegal firearm. Earlier that day, she had met with her lawyer to explain
what her close friends and family already knew, that she had shot that man in
an act of self defense, she had gone to explain to the lawyer that she had
stayed in her abusive marriage for close to twenty years and had had to endure
blow after blow from the man who once looked at her like she was the only woman
who walked the surface of the earth, he had gone from loving to possessive to
abusive in what seemed to her like an instance. She had had to go through
surgery twice to reconstruct her face because he had beaten her to a pulp, but
still she stayed, convincing herself that it was for her two sons and daughter.
But when her husband had come home drunk and wreaking of cheap perfume,
stumbling into the house to accuse her of having an affair with her gym instructor,
Morongoe had lost it, he had leapt in to teach her lesson as he would usually
refer to his incidences of violence when she shoved him back with all the might
she could gather and succeeded in pushing him to the floor, as he hit it
head first, a gun that Morongoe had never seen slipped from the side of his
waist and without thinking twice she had reached for it and shot that bastard
five times before she dropped the gun by his already lifeless body to rush to
her kids bedrooms to check if they were okay. The reason you had missed the
permanent scar on her right cheek was because of the expensive make up she used
to conceal it, that scar only came out at night when she was alone behind the
comfort of her bedroom doors. It reminded her of all she had had to endure, it
told a story of survival, a story that she was not yet ready to share with the
world.
Passing by Morongoe right at the
entrance of Shoprite, you noticed Keke as you made a mental note of how fine
she looked in her school uniform, for a minute, you wished to be the ice cream
she was licking. For a student, Keke looked overdone, spotting a weave with
blonde streaks and blood red lipstick, she seemed a lot more mature for high
school. And that’s because she was, Keke would never date her age mates, as a
matter of fact she was on her way to her sugar daddy’s office who worked in the
LNDC building just across the road. The minute she had heard the iPhone 6 had
been released she had immediately thought to go and tell her ‘Minister of
Finance’ about it as she knew that her single mother, who bent over backwards
to put food on the table for her and her little sister could not afford a phone
that cost more than her school fees for an entire year did.
The awkward moment came when Keke
crossed the road to the Block C of the LNDC building right in front of a silver
Volvo XC60 driven by a beautiful woman who seemed as though she was smiling to
herself. Behind the drivers seat of that luxurious car was Dr. Lisene, the wife
of Keke’s sugar daddy. She had just knocked off at her surgery situated in the
CBD and Keke who recognized her with ease only assumed she was headed home as
she had already missed the entrance into the LNDC parking lot. What she did not
know was that the reason for Dr. Lisene’s smile was because of the seductive
text she had just gotten from Sam, her ‘toy boy’ or Ben X as she jokingly referred to him. Sam had come into her life
at the right time; Dr. Lisene had lost her daughter who had committed suicide
when a month later Sam walked into her surgery as a patient, because her
husband seemed to be dealing with the death by distancing himself and acting
cold towards her whenever he was home, she had felt the need to confide in Sam
about her daughters untimely death and how she too had heard the rumors of her
alleged pregnancy and her suicide being a result of an attempt to kill the
baby, surprisingly Sam’s words of consolation sat with her as he suggested that
they go out to a hang out spot that evening so that she could ‘clear her head’,
she had reluctantly agreed to going out that evening but had found herself
enjoying the company of the young man since.
Before you got into the four plus one that would take you to the
borokhong area, you saw Dr. Lisene
hoot at a young lady just by Victoria hotel. The young lady was Mookho, a
daughter of her friend and also the friend of her late daughter. Mookho had
just recently gotten engaged but her face lacked the excitement and glow that a
newly engaged woman is expected to carry. Instead, her eyes looked heavy as
though she had either been crying too hard or had just hit a dagga joint.
Although Mookho was engaged, she was nowhere near knowing or understanding what
love was, she had managed to convince herself that everyone had to settle down
at a certain age and start a family, she assured herself constantly that she would learn
to love her fiancée and would be happy with him eventually. This was the price
she had had to pay to get out of those all too familiar pavements of the
Victoria Hotel that she had once frequented every night as a ‘call girl’ those
many months ago.
*The names and characters used here are all fictional and in no way portray the lifestyles and/or actions of any specific real life persons.
