The Boy With the Dragon Tattoo - My First Book

The Boy with the Dragon Tattoo

Chapter 1

Sipho sat in the cinema as the credits rolled past on the screen and the other patrons got up to leave. It’s not that Sipho was reading the credits, although he probably could if he wanted to. He had better reading skills than almost anyone he knew. It was that the movie had been wonderful and he almost didn’t want to return to the real world. In fact, it was a movie that you felt sure must have changed something in you. Sipho had actually never seen a movie in a cinema before, and after this one he understood why people paid so much money for the experience. But the movie itself had also been better than what he was used to. The only movies Sipho ever saw were those on TV and those cheap videos his friend Bongani always had. The movies on TV were only for if you were very bored because they were almost no better than vegetating. Bongani’s movies were always about fighting, sex or both. Mostly the hero was a martial arts expert and the girlfriend was a blonde Bimbo and their “love affair” was pretty much the same as Sipho paid R50 for on Saturday evenings. Except there was a bit of intense holding each other and maybe a kiss beforehand to signify the vague concept of “love”. The movie Sipho had seen this evening had all that except also more. It had deep and subtle messages. It must be an “art house” movie, Sipho thought. He reluctantly vacated the plush seat, and left the cinema with the last few patrons, the only black face among them. It wasn’t that there weren’t a lot of blacks in South Africa. It’s just that even 5 years after the death of Apartheid, blacks and whites still frequented different social spots.

Take restaurants, for example. Some restaurants still had predominantly white patrons, and some predominantly black. They served different types of food, had different music and different décor. It seemed as though still whites and blacks had different tastes and liked different things. Sipho looked forward to the day when there would be no difference. When everywhere you went, you could find whites and blacks. Then there would be whites coming to all his local drinking spots. In places like Hillbrow and Yeoville, where crime was high, blacks like Sipho would no longer be potential victims for criminals. No. If there were at least a few whites around, they would become the victims. Things would be much safer for everybody else then.

Sipho had come to the expensive suburbs, a posh shopping mall called Rosebank Mall, to see the movie. There weren’t any cinemas near where he stayed in low-cost Hillbrow. The closest were in town centre and those were cheap, but they would never show this movie. Those movies were graphic, with the longest senetence in the whole movie being about three words. There were always a  lot of short, obscene words. A lot of grunts. In comparison, this evenings movie was a literary tour de force, with full and proper sentences, long words and complicated phrases. It also had a real story and plot. Yet it also had all the violence and sex that made a movie worth watching.

The movie theatre was undoubtedly expensive, with plush, clean seats, thick pile carpeting and an impressive sound system. Which was another reason there were so few black faces, because even now, few blacks could afford to live in the suburbs and frequent expensive shopping malls. Only  government employees made that kind of money. Sipho was here because he had answerefd a survey and thereby gotten a free movie ticket valid for any cinema in the country. So he had been looking out for a good movie in the suburbs, naturally wanting to maximize his experience. It was a chance to See how the “other half”, or maybe more honestlyt other 10% experienced movies. The movie he had watched was called “The girl with the dragon tattoo”.

It was dark outside the Mall, but the traffic was busy, with lots of people coming and going. After all, it was only 8pm, and things only really began quietening down after 11. Sipho headed to the main road to catch a taxi, deep in thought, replaying movie scenes in his head. He needed to mull over the movie, replay it, interpret what the maker meant exactly. There was no doubt the main message was meant to convey what was possible, even for some poor nobody like himself. The girl in the movie had so many similarities with him. A challenging childhood. Difficult circumstances and few family to call upon in times of need.  She, like him, had to rely on herself. But she took it to another level, showed Sipho what could be done if you put your mind to it. This would surely change his life. It was the break he was looking for, the guidance he needed to get himself out of his dead end existence.

It was true what he had always believed, that education was a waste of time. Sipho had hated school and tried to leave at standard six. The problem was his older half-brothers, directed by his mother, had used to check on whether he was at school or not, and if he wasn’t they made it painful for him. His mother and his older half-brothers, of course never had any schooling so they had no idea how useless it was. All six of them. Only himself and his younger half-sister had been forced into school. Later he was to learn it was because someone had told his mother that you needed educated children to go and get a good government job, earn millions, then you go to move in with them. That way you have the retirement you could only dream of previously. No more grass huts and growing mielies in the garden  of your rural Kwazulu Natal kaya. No more slaving away cooking and cleaning for a huge family of all ages. No more strugging to make ends meet with hardly any income.

Somehow Sipho had managed to get through school to standard 8. Which was all the more remarkable when you considered the obstacles the school children faced. Weeks and even months with no teacher for science. An English teacher who was sick four days out of five. The school day being shortened to three hours per day because the principal had better places to be. Most students skipping class at will, leaving early, arriving late and generally not showing the slightest interest in education.

Then Sipho had done standard 9 and failed. Somehow, almost his entire class of 50 students failed with him. Almost. Because the top five passed, and they were allowed to continue to standard 10. This meant that the following year the matric class consisted of only five pupils. They were assigned the top teacher in the school, the only white teacher, a woman called Mrs van Rensburg. She was rumoured to earn twice as much as the principal. That was a lot of money. In the previous year, through her efforts, all of a matric class of eight pupils passed, giving the school a remarkable matric pass rate of 100%. This made it one of the top rated schools in the province, one of a small and elite group. It stood tall with the likes of the top private schools. For this remarkable achievement, the school received various benefits from the Department of Education. Benefits which far exceeded the large paycheck of Mrs van Rensburg. Benefits such as the principal being invited to a top achievers function to meet the Minister of Education and receive an award. Benefits such as money for additions and alterations. Benefits such as private companies making donations, wanting to associate with the winners, especially if those winners were rural and black and apparently had the odds stacked against them.

It turned out that the Department of Education was only too happy to reward those that contributed to its annual goal of being able to say on TV that the matric pass rate was upwards of 75%. That made the quality of South African education above the global average. In turn, the Department was considered by the government to be helping in ensuring that this was no ordinary African country. No. This was a world class African country, able to hold its own among any Western or Eastern country.

After failing standard 9, Sipho was told it may be in his uinterests to leave school. He was told in no uncertain terms that he would never make it to matric, no matter how many times he repeated. He was told of students who insisted on trying to pass standard 9, and eventually, after wasting 5 years, did the reasonable thing and gave up. He didn’t have to be told twice.

The fact that Sipho had done standard 9  was enough for his parents, who themselves had no schooling at all, and to them he was a prodigy. He has reached the heights of academic achievement and could now be expected to go out there and rake in the cash. A few short years and they would all be sitting wtching satellite TV on large flat screen TVs, on plush couches with a beer and expensive snacks on hand. Watching their body expand as they piled on the fat, removing their wrinkles and stretching their skin smooth. Becoming more beautiful and bountiful by the day. And the soft indoor lights would make them more white by the hour. Yes, heaven beckoned. They had done their bit. And their bit stood and boasted in front of them by reading the newspaper aloud, and it was true, he sounded just like the rich person who read the news on SABC 1.

It was a fact that Sipho had always been a cut above his classmates. Not only academically, but in other ways too. He was considered “clever”. Not just because of the was he wore his cap backwards, his jeans halfway down his bum and a cool jacket, but also because of the way he used to talk cool, bunk class and smoke. Even his reading and writing were class average, meaning that he could talk and type sms with the best of them. Of course, if his teacher had known anything about correct spelling or grammar, he would never have passed English in standard 2. But nor would the rest of the class. His maths literacy and science were seemingly alright according to the teacher, but, again, that wasn’t saying much. The teacher had glossed through the textbook, obviously not sure herself about the contents. What they had done Sipho had found easy. It hadn’t taken him long to reach the same level of competence as the teacher and the class petered out after that. But Maths and Science weren’t used at all in life, so it was no wonder. Besides, he had reached the level of competency of a teacher, so presumably he could become an engineer or a  scientist or a mathematician if he so chose. He did not so choose. Nor did the rest of the class. Everyone had only one goal. A government employee first, then a tenderpreneur. Making money was one thing everyone in the class were sure they knew how to do.

Thus it was that Sipho knew he was more than qualified for anything. He saw a minibus taxi making its haphazard way throught the traffic and stuck his finger in the air to show he wanted to go towards town. The minibus swung in front of some other cars and screeched to a stop. Sipho opened the sliding door and stepped in, squeezing into a seat between an old man and a woman. He need not waste any more time in his life on education, he thought as he sat back and relaxed, and the taxi continued on its way towards Hillbrow, or “the Brow” as it was affectionately known. Soon he would be home in his humble abode in a run down and neglected block of flats. Very soon, judging by the minibus taxi drivers frantic efforts.

Sipho’s one bedroom flat was rough by modern standards, to put it mildly, but not unlike his neighbours. In fact the place was pretty much as it had been when it was built twenty years ago, except now old and worn. Maintenance had been kept to the absolute minimum. This meant that cracked windows and peeling vinyl floors were not repaired, cracked bathroom tiles and stained basins and baths and taps stayed that way, kitchen cupboard doors fell off and stayed off, and chipboard woodwork expanded to three times it’s original size from years of water absorption. Siphos place was dirty and dusty as well, with his only plate and cup lying in the sink waiting to be washed. Judging from history, that event was unlikely to occur in the next three months.  He had a dirty old and worn Sofa and an old TV set on a plank of wood held up with bricks. Those, two high steel stools and a single steel bed were his only furnoityure. The lounge floor was 70s style parquet wood, stained and scratched and neglected. The mattress had a bit of wire sticking out in the middle, on which Sipho had stabbed himself numerous times. You had to be careful how you lay and turned at night.

But it was a place to stay, and in Siphos case private, which was more than could be said for the neighbours, who generally housed entire families and often more in similarly sized one bedroomed flats.

That night Sipho lay awake for hours. The piece of wire was comfortingly resting against his side. Better to know where the devil is than to be surprised. The neigbours had finally quietned down, the TVs off, the doors no longer banging, the watwer pipes no longer rattling, the sounds of buckets of slop being thrown out windows having subsided, the children asleep, the sounds of love finally over. He planned his future in his mind. His new life  would start tomorrow. When he finally did fall sleep he dreamt of having unlimited amounts of money and buying a big car. He dreamt of having a white girlfriend staying with him in a penthouse suite. And a healthy fat black woman on the side, who he would visit on Thursday afternoons at a posh hotel. During the night the devil stabbed him twice with his spear in the back, and siphon silently swore he would put and end to him once and for all the very next day. He would prcocratsinate over that particular issue no longer. He would cut him out. Sipho’s subconscious knew better.

It was eleven am on the following day, the first day of Siphos new life, and Sipho was lying on his stomach while a big black Cameroonian worked away on his back. The Cameroonian had a picture on a piece of paper resting on sipho’s shoulder, and a tattoo machine in his hand, and was completely absorbed in the job of putting a tattoo on Sipho’s back. Sipho was lying on a wooden table with a sheet thrown over. The room was otherwise bare except for a chair and a portable music player on the floor playing reggae music. “Artists always need to have a creative environment”, thought Sipho. “The lack of furniture and lack of curtains on the single window shows just how reasonable this man’s prices must be. He has economized by covering the two broken of the four window panes with cardboard which makes the room a bit dim. He can’t even seem to spare the time to clean the place properly. He must have so much business. He pays a great deal of attention to efficiency, to keeping business costs down. Very wise. Like the Chinese. We can learn from the Cameroonians.”

After more than an hour’s intense concentration the man announced he had finished.

Sipho stood and looked over his shoulder in the mirror to see the artwork. He couldn’t see much in the cracked and dirty piece of mirror the Cameroonian held up for the purpose, but he wasn’t impressed with what he could see. “It doesn’t look like a dragon”, complained Sipho. “The head is too big and is more like a goat. It’s also a bit smudged.” “Man, don’t worry. I had to use a picture of a goat because I don’t have any dragon pictures. But give it time. In a few weeks it will settle and look right. Anyway, your satisfaction is guaranteed. You can come back in a month if you really don’t like it.”

“You say it will settle?” said sipho hopefully.

“Yes, the skin relaxes a bit, the colours come out. I have to do it in a specific way so it looks right after about a week or two. You’ll see.”

Sipho still wasn’t too sure about it, but could do nothing anyway, so he paid the man,

got dressed and left the flat on the 3^rd story of the derelict block in Berea. He didn’t have time to argue and besides, the price was right. Now Sipho had a permanent and symbolic mark to carry with, a constant reminder of the movie and the new Sipho. Things were different now, he would never go back. In fact he could never go back.

Sipho stepped out of the building foyer and into the streets. The pavements were always crowded with people, hawkers with tables loaded with wares, people cooking and selling food, people hanging around seemingly with nothing to do all day, taxis and trucks in the street, offloading and loading. The thump thump of Kwaito music blared from straining speakers at a CD shop. People were out and about, many looking to make their daily bread. A person had to be sure they didn’t look to much like a loaf of bread. You couldn’t show weakness or someone would notice, select you as a target. Obvious signes of weakness were things like old-age, a foreign accent, uncertainty, unusual clothes, or, obviously, a white skin. Sipho knew all this, as he walked the several blocks to Bongani’s Internet café in Hillbrow confidentky and as though he knew the place. By now he knew the dangers and was rarely seen as a target. They knew he did not have a smartphone in his pocket. They knew he could and would run when required. Most importantly, they knew he would not be an easy target.

The Internet Carfe  was a small establishment with 10 aging computers lined up on a continuous desk against the walls, each with a plastic chair for the user. At the front was the service desk where you paid before entry. The computers had each been repaired hundreds of times and each had it’s own idiosyncrasies. No2, for example, coulldn’t show any red in its screen, so it always looked bluish. The “e” on the keyboard on no 6 never worked. No 10 still had the old ball style mouse which was always clogged up with dirt. Bongani hung around near the entrance with his long hair, tall and thin and with his beret on, jeans and a Che Guevarra T-Shirt. He always looked a bit spaced out, which was cool, but that coolness vanished quickly when his business was concerned. He was sharp to ensure no customer sat down without paying, or that they didn’t exceed their allotted time, in which case he could get aggressive quickly. If he weren’t daydreaming like today, and watching the people in the street, he would be repairing computers at the reception next to the front door. Bongani had made an arrangement with the local telecoms company technician, who happened to live in a flat above the shop. The arrangement was simple. Bongani didn’t have to pay for broadband internet. In return, Bongani ensured no one robbed the technicians flat. Bongani actually lived in a small room behind the café, so he always kept the noise down and didn’t bother the technician at all hours of the night.

Sipho often helped Bongani find and download interesting movies and pictures, so he was allowed free Internet access. Bongani sold these downloads by the USB or CD diskful to clients who lived in the neighbourhood. In fact, they used this service much as they had the old video hire service that had occupied the premises until two years ago. Bongani knew wxactly what his clients wanted. A whole lot of martial arts movies. Maybe some war movies. And a nice lot of porn movies and pictures. He even entertained special requests, and Bongani was almost proud that only he knew of the truly disgusting and abhorrent  fetishes a few, seemingly otherwise normal members of the neghbourhood had. But their secret was safe. Bongani knew his business. Even when he asked Sipho to download some of the weirder stuff, and despite Sipho’s fascination with who would watch it, Bongani never divulged names.

But there was another reason Bongani suffered Sipho’s free use of his services. Sipho had a secret which Bongani was at great pains to keep under wraps. That is, Bongani was actually a Zimbabwean. In general, you did not want to be aligned to any nation except your home country, South Africa, since then there was a chance you could be labelled. “Nkorokoro”, the dreaded “foreigner”. Every couple of years there was a wave of xenophobic violence, and if you were a foreihnger, your business was summarily looted and probably burnt too. Except, of vcourse, if you were Nigerian. No one, not even a mob, would go near a Nigerian business. But Nigerians were easy to distinuguish by their accents and their intense, dark skins. When it came to xenophobia, everyone else and their businesses were fair game. Which meant nearly every non-Nigerian business in Hillbrow. Because South Africans weren’t interested in  such menial businesses as fast food, retail goods or cellphone shops. No. South Africans were BBBEE qualified. They were entitled to big things, like government contract and tenders. They just had to reach out and take it. Which, if you thought about it, was what xenophobic violence amounted to as well.

Often, apart from downloading pictures and movies, Sipho was left to himself, to do whatever he wanted on the Internet. That is, except if Bongani was short of smokes. Then Sipho had to step up to the plate. This happened fairly often, which meant Sipho generally had to make a point of arriving with smokes.

Everyone knows you need to keep your brain trained. That’s one reason why Sipho made a point of honing the vast skills and memory of his academically superior brain by spending at least 2 hrs a day on the Internet. What he didn’t know about the Internet wasn’t worth knowing. All his friends continuously asked him for advice and he always found the answers.

But from today,  Sipho had a new goal. The Movie had inspired him. The girl with the dragon tattoo had showed him the way. Siphon was going to combine his streewise savvy with his whizzkid Internet skills. He was going to finally make his talents pay. Sipho sat at the computer and logged in. He was going to start by setting up a new website. Sipho Special Investigation Services. Dirt for Cheap. BBBEEE accredited.

Unfortunately Sipho had just sat down when Bongani appeared asking for a smoke. Sipho frantically looked around for another customer, preferably someone new, that he could transfer the obligation to. New and unsure customers could easily be persuaded  to part with a smoke. But Sipho immediately saw that he was the only person there. He was going to have to comply.

“I’ll go and get some just now”, said Sipho, vainly hoping, as one always does in such situations, that that would sort out the problem.

“I need a smoke now.”

I’m busy Bongani. Give me 10 minutes”

Bongani unfortunately knew exactly what that would mean. Sipho would finish and leave and not pay.

“Ok, Sipho, you leave me no choice. I’ll just turn the plug off,” said bongani reaching for the power switch.

“Ok, ok said Sipho getting up. “I’m on it”. And he went out to the Senegalese-owned café next door to buy the absolute cheapest cigarettes he could find.

Ten minutes later Bongani was peacefully smoking and leaning against the doorpost, while Sipho started his Internet work. He began by setting up his website. Graphics and spelling and attention to detail were not on Sipho’s extensive list of strong points, but the arrogant rarely notice their weak points. Thus it was that Sipho was “fully BEE complaint”, offered a “full suit of compehensive private investigation services”, and that “no problems was too big for SSIS”. Like many first time business entrepreneurs, Sipho had not thought much about his target market and what they would think of his website. However, there are times when this can work in your favour. Sometimes things just go your way if you don’t make too much of an effort and allow the natural forces of nature to guide them. Sipho relied a lot on these natuiral forces of nature.

After a couple of hours of intense effort Sipho had what seemed to be an acceptable website. It wasn’t perfect but he would fix it up again next week. Most importantly he had introduced the website to Google so it would be found by people who were Internet searching. Second most important, he now had an email account to receive enquiries. The third most important thing was that all this work had made him thirsty.

Chapter 2

There was no sign to show that this was Babas Khaya. But the place was generally busy from early afternoon until late into the night, with patrons spilling into the stfeets. The glass front allowed you to observe the pool players and druken revelry which occurred inside from as far as the opposite side of the street. It was One of the favoured wateriung holes for Hillbrow residents. It had all the features you wanted, and none you did not want. For example, the beer was sold in cheap 750ml quart bottles instead of the too small and exoensive 340ml bottles. The counter lady was protected by a steel mesh cage, so that your fellow patrons wouldn’t climb over the counter, have their way with her, rob her, kill her and steal all the beer, leaving you with nothing. Everything was plastic or covered in vinyl, so you could smash a beer bottle for use in a fight, or simply be sick or otherwise discharge anywhere, and no one really minded. There was always action, especially later at night when few patrons were sober. At any point in time after 9pm, someone was picking a fight. Someone was deep into a fight. And someone had succeeded in convincing some woman to accept his last R50 and deliver a service accordingly. As the night wore on, less and less talking was possible, and more and more action occurred.

But now it was still early. Sipho sat with a few friends and neighbours. The conversation was one of their favourites, that is, foreigners and the economic situation. Sipho put in his 10 cents worth: “I say leave them. Only if they charge too much should we loot them. Or maybe only after say every 3 years of business”

Pendulwa was a conservative, “No. They are running businesses that we could run. They are making money we could be making. They must be prevented.”

“But Pendulwa, you had a spaza. It closed because you spent all the money you received from sales on clothes and having your hair done. You were meant to keep some to replenish stock.”

“Nonsense. Everyone started buying from that damn Ethiopian who opened up across from me. I don’t know why when he charged more than me.”

Ntsogo had to explain: “Then I’ll tell you why. He always had what we needed. You were always out of stock. ”

Pendulwa had been at it from 3 in the afyernnoon, and it was now 7. “I’m not stupid. You are. You think you’re so damn clever. Let’s see what you say to this”, she said, rising with a quart bottle in her hand, seemingly intent on teaching Ntsogo how clever she really was. Luckily Ntsogo had only just arrived, “Pendulwa. Don’t use that bottle, you’ll lose the 75 cents deposit. Don’t you know anything about monay?”

Pendulwa saw red and lunged drunkenly at Ntsogo, who easily dodged and he and Sipho made for the door, to the sounds of Pendulwa berating them from behind, “Cowards. Can’t even face a woman. If you stood still I would kill you both! You two can’t even satisfy a woman. Go and satisfy each other. Nkunku (gays)! ”

Ntsogo and Sipho briefly considered continuing their night out somewhere else, but neither was employed at the moment so both were feeling the pinch of poverty. Both were too proud to admit it. “I think I’ll just pick up a woman and head home for an early night, Seeps. See you tomorrow, same time, same place?” “Sure. Maybe tomorrow we teach Pendulwa the lesson she so wanted tonight. See you!”

As Sipho headed home, walking briskly among the other pedestrians frequenting rthe Brow pavements,  he reflected on his financial situation. Sipho needed money. He was down to his last R100. Not an unusual situation, in fact a situation Sipho found himself in at least a few times in a month. There were various things he could to do to get by under such circumstances. Undoubtedly the worst, and hence everybody’s last resort, was standing on a “labour corner”. These were unofficially designated roadside points where people stood and sat around, hoping a car would stop and offer you some kind of job. The jobs were incredibly menial, and the pay was really bad, hardly enough to pay your transport to the corner and a loaf of bread. The car drivers paid as lowly as possible, since they had the bargaining power. This was because the number of labourers waiting for work on the corners far exceeded the number of cars stopping to offer work. The result was you did anything to be chosen to get the job and get into the car. Then after having driven some distance, you tried to renegotiate with the driver to make it worth your while. If the car driver slash employer were not amenable to this, you had to reduce the value the car driver received in some other way, in the hope of prompting him to pay more. This generally involved things like doing shoddy workmanship, doing a go slow, or early stopping for long tea and lunch breaks. 

If you were really lucky, your renegotiations were successful and you managed to get the work extended to long term. Maybe two or three weeks, in which case you were financially sorted for a while. Some workers made a point of working slowly when no one was watching, with just that objective of extending your employment days. More often than not, such workers were caught out and thrown off the site. Such an employer made a point of not getting workers from the corner again, so although the technique worked, ultimately, it was bad for everybody. But nobody cared about what was for the generl good. Everyone was a hardened capitalist ad were only looking out for number one. They talked like they were interested in cooperation, but their actions spoke otherwise.

There was another option for the financially desperate, a really really last resort if you needed cash in a hurry. You could get money from the local Nigerians. The Nigerians were always willing to give you money. In fact, it was almost scary to see just how willing the Nigerians were, when everyone else, including your family and friends, wanted nothing to do with you. Sipho had made use of the Nigerians money-lending services previously. But it had been bit of a surprise to discover that with the Nigerians, unlike with your family and friends, you had to pay the money back, plus some extra. It had also been  a surprise to see how the Nigerians didn’t seem to know about traditional debt collection methods, such as lawyers and courts. Things must be pretty backwards in Nigeria, because the Nigerians took no notice if you threatened them with legal action for infringing your human rights. In fact, looking back, that might have been a mistake, Sipho thought. Maybe he wouldn’t  take that angle nwith Nigerians intent on collecting money from him again.

In fact siphon, might have been forced onto the labourers corner or to approach the Nigerians again if it hadn’t been for the fact that he, and everyone else in his building, had stopped paying rent in protest. They were saying they wanted the building to be upgraded. In fact, this is not at all what they wanted. What they really wanted was to not pay rent. They couldn’t give a hoot for the condition of the building or their flats. In fact, if the owner had tried to refurbish it, they would have sabotaged it, since such an effort could only be a precursor to rental increases.

In any case, in the absence of the requirement to pay rent, Sipho could afford to be choosy how he earnt his money. And right now he had a new plan to put into action.

In fact, any business needs money to run. And there are two ways businesses get that money. One is from investors. Two is from banks. Sihpo didn’t know what an investor was, but he knew what a bank was.

 

The first bank had a nice and smartly dressed Zulu gentleman to help him, and he sat importantly at the gentleman’s desk. Sipho explained the situation. He had a business and needed money to run the business. It was going to be a very successful business, so he would need a substantial amount of money. The gentleman, however, said they needed guarantees from Sipho if he had no formal employment. A guarantee was an asset, something very expensive and immovable, in other words property. Sipho said he didn’t have any. But why when he had a business that would soon have mountains of money and could then easily pay the bank back, if that’s what they were worried about. Besides, the government said that banks should help small businesses. The gentleman was unaffected by these arguments. Finally, Sipho played his trump card. He did what worked in most cases. He looked significantly at the gentleman and said with emphasis and clarity, “isn’t there something you can do to help me?” Then he sat looking seriously into the man’s eyes. It was unmistakeable that the man understood. He had to help a brother in need. He must work around the system to provide. In return he would get a cut for himself. He must deal the African way. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, avoiding Sipho’s eyes. He was at a loss for words for a while. Then he changed from speaking in English, the language of business, to Zulu, the language for brothers. He said, “It doesn’t work that way here. I have to follow the system. They are watching me. You must try another bank. You must have property.”

Sipho reaslised that the banker had told him something very important. If he did exactly what the man had suggested, he would have a much better chance of success. Therefore Sipho did what he was told, and went across the road to visit another bank. There, again, he spoke to the lending consultant. This one was a sister and by default also spoke English. She was very businesslike and asked Sipho what assets he had. Did he have a house? This time Sipho was ready. Yes, Sipho had a flat, he lied. Not a complete lie, because he rented a flat. Was it paid off? Yes it was. Well he had paid the rent a few months ago, but since he didn’t have to pay rent any more, you could say the rent was now zero, in which case, yes, he had paid it off. Then the consultant said it was a simple thing to bring the title deed and the bank would send a valuator to see the flat. Then the bank would give money against it. How much? Oh, at least R100 000, but depending on the flat size and condition. That sounded adequate, thought Sipho, and was soon on his way. In fact it was a lot, more than Sipho had had in one go before. He would enjoy going on a spending spree with so much money. But back to the matter at hand. Sipho was going to need a title deed. Surely it wasn’t going to be too difficult to scratch up a title deed from somewhere?

And so it wasn’t. Like any African city worth it’s salt, in Hillbrow you can get anything. Often you simply approach one of the many men standing idle against a wall, and he will know where to get what you need. In this case, an entrepreneurial Nigerian gentleman with a thriving business provided the title deed service, and within a month Sipho had a bank account with R120 000 in it.

Sipho lived by the rule, “easy come, easy go”, so he took a bag to the bank and asked for the entire amount in R200 notes. The bank refused, telling him he needed to order the money, if he wanted so much cash. Then, of course, Sipho was worried he was somehow not really going to see any of it. But he placed his order, and the very next morning, 15 minutes after the bank branch opened, Sipho was leaving the entrance with R120 000 in cash in a bag. He was ecstatic. Let the business begin!

Siphos first stop was Hi-Fi Corporation. A 42 inch flat screen TV. A new DVD and USB movie player. A new, giant doble door fridge/freezer combo. And just for the hell of it, a new micro hifi. Then it was on to Joshua Doores. There he ordered a new queen sized double bed, headboard and side cupboards. A new, full leather lounge suite. With his immediate needs taken care of, he now needed to get new clothes. Lots of them. But he was hungry, so he went into Nandos for the biggest chicken meal he could find. While he ate, he watched the well-dressed of the passersby to get inspiration. And then he remembered he wouold need a fancy new watch and a smartphone. Specifically, the new apple iPhone. And he must not forget the latest iPad and accessories. The day finished with a visit to Babas Khaya where he splashed out on rounds for all his friends. They never loved him more than that evening. People love a winner. Sipho was now a winner.

So it was that Sipho discovered that you can get everything you need for R120 000, and it takes one day to spend it. But he wasn’t foolish, he made sure he had enough money left over to fill his new giant fridge abd freezer to bursting point when it was delivered the next day. And he made sure he kept his receipts, because businesses have to keep track of their expenses.

After that, Sipho never left his flat for 3 days. He watched movies. He drank and he ate. He ordered pizza and fried chicken to be delivered. He slept on his new couch and his new bed. He wore all of his new clothes. He reveled in his newfound success. The lifestyle of the rich. And after those three days he falt new and refreshed, ready to build on his success. To go out there and get More money. More things. And more power.

Sipho stepped out into the street. He could almost feel the respect his new clothes garnered in the passersby. But he also had to be more careful, the locals would make a point of trying to rob a sharply dressed man. Thus he had put his watch in his pocket, and kept his smartphone out of sight as he headed to Bongani’s Internet café to check his emails. It had been a few weeks now, and he really hoped he had something interesting at last.

Sipho logged into his business account, and discovered he had received three email message enquiries. Sipho’s first email enquiry was from from a lady in Russia. Would he be interested in some low-cost, personal, performance enhancing medication? Sipho knew about viruses and despite the fact that yes, he did want what the lady was offering, he knew better than to investigate further. Last time a similar lady had offered such a thing he had tried to buy it online but had infected Bongani’s computer so badly he had had to throw away the harddrive. It took months to convince Bongani to allow him back at the café after that. This time Sipho did the smart thing and deleted the email to remove any temptation.

 His second email enquiry was equally interesting. A Nigerian gentleman had inherited a large amount of money and needed a SA citizen bank account to deposit the money in. In return, that citizen could take a 10% commission. Sipho was the one who had been carefully selected to fulfill that role. Wow, the Internet really works well. Already Sipho was in line to make US $1m and it seemed he didn’t have to do much at all. He did what the gentleman requested, that is, he sent an email back the to gentleman about how yes, he was interested in helping out, it seemed like a fair business deal. He was the right person for this job. Please send further instructions.

The third email was from someone called Tsietso who worked at South African Breweries (Pty) Ltd, SAB for short. SAB was by far the largest brewery and marketer of beer in South Africa, with in excess of 90% of the market share. Tsietso wanted to know if Sipho would be interested in doing some industrial undercover detective work for SAB. They were experiencing losses at the depot where Tsietso worked and Sipho would need to find out what was going on. Sipho’s first thought was to delete the email. Who wants to do complicated work when he was about to make an easy $1m? Then he thought no, better not. You never know, maybe the deal with the Nigerian gentleman falls through and then he would need another option.

Besides, although It sounded a bit tedious, maybe it would be less work than it sounded like. Maybe it would result in other, more interesting opportunities. Besides it was one of only two business enquiries, who knew how many weeks would pass if he had to wait for something better to come along? So, since Sipho was by now on the last R100 of his bank loan, he sent a free “please call me” sms to Tsietso. Tsietso of course had a cellphone supplied and paid for by SAB, so she would have no problem phoning him. And so it was, while he was wiling away a half hour in surfing the Internet, Tsietso phoned him. She had a strong, womanly voice on the phone. She didn’t want to speak long because she was expecting another call, also you never knew who was tapping in and listening. She made arrangements to meet Sipho at a bar near her work the next day. Sipho would have preferred Baba Khayas, but he was not in a position yet to insist on convenience for himself. That time would come. He was going to have to catch a taxi there. He would make the effort this one time. Tsietso, being an SAB employee, found it difficult to drag herself away from her office building at all, except for lunch times, tea times and home time, and had even been reluctant to meet at the nearby bar. But Sipho had to insist, because he didn’t want to be seen at the depot just yet. He wasn’t sure if he was going to have to enter it undercover. As a private investigator you never knew how things would pan out and had to keep your options open.

The next day Sipho dressed smartly with his new crocodile skin loafers and his gold watch, left at 11, and walked quickly through the mid-morning pavement traffic to where he could catch a minibus taxi to Midrand and the bar near the SAB depot. It took almost an hour to finally get there. It was called The Dros, a smart suburbian bar and Sipho was glad he was among the best dressed there. He scanned the bar area and the seated area for someone who could be an SAB employee. He found Tsietso almost immediately, there was no miostaking the lady sitting alone in a booth, engaged with her smartphone.

Sipho was immediately impressed by her sheer size. He thought what an effort it must have been to drag herself there. She was the shape and size of a 100kg pear. Beautiful. Her tight-fitting jeans must have been custom built, because they were shaped like a salad bowl, maybe a metre across at the top, and only a few centimetres at her ankles. Designed to show off her finest feature, her fat that bulged like foam under her skin. Expensive, yes, though sipho as he sat at the chair opposite. He wondered what the daily cost was in food just to maintain that kind of bulk. He wondered if the taxi drivers charged her extra, both for the increased wear and tear and fuel consumption, and the space. Probably not. He imagined all the men wanting to squeeze into the seat beside her. He got aroused imagining himself in the taxi squashed against her, with all that soft warm fat against his side. Her hooters were like huge balloons squashed into her tight fitting top. How she had got herself into the chair was a miracle Sipho had unfortunately not seen, since he had arrived an hour late, but the thought of it had Sipho more amazed. Tsietso, apparently always the prompt one, had only been a half hour late for their meeting, but she chose not to mention it. Probably because she immediatey noticed how well he was dressed.

Tsietso really was something special, and she made Sipho think about how long it had been since he had been with a real woman. An expensive woman. A woman who thought nothing of consuming an entire chicken and four expensive Rusty Nails in one sitting. Which Sipho had the pleasure of observing while he tucked into a half kilogram rump steak and an entire bottle of French champagne. No expense needed to be spared when you had the entire SAB conglomerate in your corner.  Despite being hungry, Sipho knew enough about the upper classes to show his disdain for all things material like food and made sure he abandoned a reasonable amount of food on his plate to be thrown away. It’s important to show you don’t need to value such things. Besides, they made sure they went through 3 courses to make up for it.

The conversation was lively and Sipho heard all about Tsietso’s family. Even a bit about her husband and his lovers. And her lovers. And her childrens’s lovers, some of which were also her lovers. And a few, the most interesting which were the entire families lovers.

Sipho was well satisfied and even a bit tiddly when he decided to finally, almost reluctantly, broach the subject of their meeting.

“So SAB has been losing stock. You want me to find out who’s stealing the beer?”

“Not stock. Money. Our bank account has been compromised and we need to track down the culprits. We’ve run out of budget and we’re not even half way through the year”, says Tsietso.

“maWenga, you’ve found the right man. But I’ll need access. I’ll need employment at SAB so I can look around.”

“No problem. What kind of job do you want?”

Sipho hesitated. There was only one type of person who has access to just about everything in an organization and that’s the cleaner. But he had never been a manager and the thought of being the boss was almost overwhelming. But could he pull that off? Better safe than sorry. “Get me in as a cleaner, Ma. Then leave the rest to me.”

After having sat and watched those knockers wobble like jelly in cellophane for the last two hours, siphon could just not help himself.

“Now mama, I can see you need a man. You gonna let ‘ol Sipho work some of his magic on you baby?”

“You’ve obviously drunk too much. You’re blinded to the fact that I’m too much woman for you, little boy. Maybe when you’ve got yourself a nice big BMW. Now let me pay the bill and I’ll see you at work.”

Sipho swallowed the insult and the following one when Tsietso went first out the door instead of allowing him, who should have had the privilege, as the man and therefore theoretically the number 1. Sipho hated the way cultural values were swept aside in the face of the modern, capitalistic onslaught. However, she did deign to say goodbye and they parted amicably enough.

Chapter 3

Thus it was Sipho had got his first proper job. Sipho was to start in a week’s time. Tsietso got the human resources department at the depot to phone Sipho and make the necessary arrangements for his employment. 

Sipho had seen enough undercover detective series on TV to plan his first day at work carefully, It was important that he looked and acted like a cleaner to gain everyone’s confidence early on. He would pretend a very limited command of English so at he wouldn’t be expected to know anything. In short, he would act stupid so if he were caught looking over someone’s shoulder, they wouldn’t get suspicious.

So it was that Sipho arrived at his first day at work. The depot was on the edge of an industrial area and siphon had to catch 2 taxis to get there, arriving a half hour late for work. When he walked up to the gates there were about 50 men and women waiting outside, hoping for a job at the depot. Sipho marched proudly through them without deigning to even look at them, the lower scale, unemployed riff raff too dumb too organize themselves. He made his way to the security guardhouse at the gate, and they phoned the HR people to fetch him from there.

The SAB depot offices were a three story high building with about 20 offices per floor, some meeting rooms, receptions and long corridors. All the offices were occupied, some with two or three employees at desks. Clearly the depot was BEE compliant. On each level of the building there was a ladies and gents toilet. It turned out, unfortunately, that  it was customary for any new cleaner to be assigned to the toilets which was something Sipho hadn’t foreseen. He had assumed he would be vacuuming floors and dusting important documents. Initially he tried to argue but they were having none of it, it was the toilets or nothing. The now-ex-toilet cleaner had a smug look on his face, clearly very happy about the arrangements. If there’s one thing life in Africa taught you was to roll with the punches, so Sipho took his cleaners trolley with good grace and headed off to his assignment.

Now there was another thing Sipho could never have foreseen, that being the effect on the toilets of overcrowded offices full of BEE employees with very little to do but drink tea and make phone calls all day, the routine only being broken for extended tea and lunch breaks. As he walked down the corridor past the offices he reflected on the magnitude of his assignment. Even at this time of day there were employees milling about everywhere, and many sitting at their desks talking suspiciously on the phone or generally finding ways to use up their time. How on earth would he find the needle in this haystack? He would definitely need to come up with something creative. And fast, he realized, as he smelt the toilets long before he entered them. It was going to be a very tough assignment.

After two days Sipho had discovered little. But he had established himself as the office idiot, so much so that the people would joke and laugh about him in his presence. Always he pretended he didn’t understand. This also helped when people complained he hadn’t done his job properly. There is a certain warmth and safety in ignorance, even if it’s just pretend. He soon realized it was time to do a little poking around.

Sipho planned his actions carefully. The third day he dressed better than usual and when he got to work he applied some aftershave he had found in someone’s drawer, while rifling through for something more valuable, like a cellphone. But everyone in this office was way to smart to leave anything worth taking in their offices. Then he found an excuse to walk down the corridor as maTsietsi was waddling towards him the opposite way. Of course, due to maTsietsi’s proportions, they couldn’t pass one another without them both turning sideways to face one another, so Sipho took his chance. “maTsietsi, I’ve been looking for you. How about lunch today? I need to update you.” The aftershave was a good one. maTsietsi laughed and said, “I think SAB can spare the change.  Meet me in the parking lot at 12.”

Sipho knew it was his lucky day even before he saw maTsietsi waddling towards him across the parking lot where he had waited. He had been watching scores of employees, some surreptitious, some more openly drive out the lot to attend their various lunch functions. Many not to return this day. Sipho hoped to be able to be among this more fortnuate group.

maTsietsi, ever punctual,  appeared before 12 and she and Sipho climbed into her expensive black BMW 4x4.

“Your legs are hot ma, and so are your wheels.”

“Sipho, you’re such a flirt. If you’re not careful maybe we’ll take a little detour before lunch.”

“maTsietsi, maybe I can’t wait that long.” Sipho’s hand was already investigating a very meaty thigh as maTsietsi navigated her behemoth out the security gate and into the road. Some things don’t need to be said. They both had known where they were going long before maTsietsi opened the electric gate to a magnificent residence in Kyalami estates and ferried Sipho in. They walked into a palatial entrance with 4m high pillars on either side. There was a large water feature with a Mannekin Piss in concrete. Despite the fact that Sipho’s entire brain functioning had been foussed on one thing alone for the last half hour, he did notice how well maTsietsi and her family lived. Everywhere were the signs of opulence. Immaculate garden, gaudy full-size statue of Roman soldier, new marble topped kitchen, real paintings on the walls, and servants.  Despite the protestations of his increasingly uncontrollable brain, normally so attuned to details and small signs of evidence, Sipho managed to consider the dichotomy between maTsietsi’s humble job as bookkeeper at an SAB depot and her opulent lifestyle. That was just before his brain decided it had had enough, and shut down logical thought, giving him up to the present and pleasant anticipation of what was to come.

Upstairs was the master bedroom with a king size bed among furnishings which in previous centuries would have been reserved for royalty. Plush, thick pile carpeting. Heavy, gaudy patterned Block out curtains. A headboard and side tables carved by hand, probably small oriental hands. Huge painting behind the headboard of what might have been Matsietsi with no clothes on, but some years ago when she was not as well of as she was now, maybe only 30 kgs overweight back then. Ma Tsietsi carefully closed the and locked the door to prevent unwanted servangts from wandering in. Sipho feverishly wasted no time in helping maTsietsi with her ample clothes. When they had finally stripped her bare, Sipho was a bit taken aback at the vision of maTsietsi without clothes. She was big and heavy and had a lot of fat. Sipho had never seen anything like it in the flesh. However, he had seen pictures on the Internet and had often fantasized about such a moment. Since Matsietsi was at least twice his weight and of not inconsiderable strength it was fortunate that maTsietsi’s desire was equal to Sipho’s. He pushed her back such that she fell on the bed, and he mounted her huge body. Her fat enveloped him in a soft and warm cushion. Her skin was smooth and tight. She moaned as he wasted little time in having his way with her.

Sipho emerged from the bedsheets a half hour later, disheveled and dazed and spent, but supremely satisfied. maTsietsi was everything she had promised to be and more. She stayed lying spread-eagled on the bed, clearly as satisfied with the afternoons proceedings as he was. Sipho wasted no time finding his clothes lying in various plavces arounbd the bed, quickly dressed and kissed the prostrate Matsietsi goodbye. He carefully opened and closed the bedroom door behind him, before proudly marching out the house, hardly lowering himself to notice the servants on the way. They must have watched him leave respectfully. He who had been chosen to satisfy Matsietsi this day. A big man who knows how to satisfy another man’s wife. Sipho made his way on foot out the gates of the house and headed out the Estate to the main road, where he would catch a taxi back to the Brow.  A beer with the mates and a bit of boasting about his conquest was foremost in his plans for the near future.

Later that night, Sipho lay in his own bed and thought about a very happy and successful day. If only every day was like this one. He re-lived the feeling of matsistesi’s willing body. He remembered the imagined respect he got from the servants as he left. But even when he was thinking pleasurable thoughts, his work somehow entered his mind. He could not help but worry and wonder at the opulence of maTsietsi’s lifestyle. Clearly, something wasn’t right. That was serious wealth, and neither Matsistesi’s job nor London’s activities nor both could be providing that kind of income. Could maTsietsi’s husband have found some way of plunging his hairy black paw into the cookie jar that was the SAB depot main bank account? All he would need was the account details and access details and maybe, just maybe he had got maTsisetsi into a compromising position and managed to extract them. That thought soon got Sipho interested and he forgot about matsietsi’s financial affairs, giving himself up to sleep  and pleasant dreams about having matsietsi in various compromising positions.

************

The next day Sipho decided to sleep late. After a leisurely shower he dressed and headed to Bongani’s. He was soon on the Internet and it was Google that, as usual, delivered the goods. maTsietsi’s husband, London, was some kind of political writer with links to the ruling party. His ardent articles espoused wealth redistribution, protecting the poor from the imperialist forces and especially those of Britain, and state intervention in the economy. He had published lots of articles in “The New Age”, the ruling party’s mouthpiece publication. These were sure signs that London was an entrenched member of the narcissistic capitalist elite that made up the top of the ruling party. He was no doubt cold and hard when it came to the people. No wonder maTsietsi sought warmth in Sipho’s own loving arms.

Sipho accessed that other tool of the trade, Facebook. There he just couldn’t help himself writing on maTsietsi’s wall, “Love is like a beer truck, always heavy and difficult to lift. But you can drive it if you know how”. He also couldn’t help noticing how many of her friends were apparently as womanly as herself. No lack of food in these circles. He updated his current status from “desperate” to “serviced but unattached and looking”. You never knew, maybe a few of those friends were also in need of some tender loving.

Chapter 3

Sipho’s romantic encounter with maTsietsi had reminded him about the girl in the movie. Although a lot thinner and a lot less womanly than maTsietsi, that girl had never slept alone. She had had a Chinese girlfriend, a really hot looker, suggesting she had had excellent taste in women. In Africa, the people have a natural affinity with the Chinese, and Sipho was no different. He loved all the cheap Chinese imports flooding the market. The clothes. The electronics. The ladies. And Chinese are polite enough to say all their insults in Chinese, so no one gets offended. Its as though whatever you do, its ok with the Chinese. Chinese women certainly weren’t perfect in Sipho’s eyes. For one thing, they were always thin. But this was easily outweighed by their advantages, such as the fact that They worked so hard and were always amenable to your needs. The Chinese girlfriend in the movie had been very attentive to the Girl’s needs. Sipho thought about how dirty his flat was becoming, how his new sheets were beginning to smell already, and he realized he needed a Chinese girlfriend too.

It was going to be difficult to get such a girlfriend but it was a mountain that must be climbed. This was the new Sipho with a dragon tattoo, and he must play the part properly. In his old life, Sipho always settled for women of the nightht, but it got expensive at R50 a go, plus it was inconvenient to go and find one everytime you got the urge. And they never washed the dishes before leaving. Sipho had tried men too, when he had been in jail for a few months. That was ok, a man could do some of the job, but despite the fact that it was considered the norm in jail, in the real world it was considered a crime and if discovered you risked being beaten to a pulp. Besides, Sipho needed someone to stay at his place, clean up, wash his clothes and make food and bring a beer, and only a woman was really appropriate for that. And specifically a Chinese woman. And the tattoo was going to make it all possible.

Sipho formulated a plan and that Saturday, put ihis plan into action. His first consideration was to ensure he wasn’t recognized, so he caught a taxi to a mall in the southern suburbs of Johannesburg, far from his usual stomping grounds. On the way he made a point of examining what hot looking women wore in the streets and shops.

Sipho went to the women’s section in Pep Stores and had a look. He had already decided on a skirt, a blouse and some nice low heel open top shoes. He took a black skirt and a blouse to the change room. The woman in charge of the change room took one look at the clothes he intended to try on and got angry and called the manager. The manager agreed that Sipho should not be allowed to try on women’s clothes, at least not in his clean shop. He was on the verge of calling security and having Sipho taught a lesson he hopefully would never forget, but Sipho managed to calm him and explained that the clothes were actually a present for his wife who he knew just happened to be the exact same size as himself. So they had to reluctantly allow him into the change rooms. But not before he had promised to stay in the change rooms and not emerge in women’s clothes.

As luck would have it, the skirt was a good tight fit, and the blouse would do too, having enough slack for him to fit in a reasonably-sized pair of knockers. He clearly was going to have to shave his legs. He bought the clothes and then went to an accessory shop to buy a handbag, wig, makeup kit and earrings. Another shop provided the balloons and Sipho was done. He headed back to the ‘Brow to try out his outfit.

That evening Sipho was ready. He had spent a good two hours preparing and was now dressed to kill. He had applied thick makeup and, together with the wig, he was unrecognizable. He had blown up the balloons to just the right size, not too big, not too small and fitted them into his blouse. Even though he couldn’t leave the top buttons of his blouse undone to show cleavage, he looked pretty damn hot. He even got himself a bit excited at the sight. Sipho grabbed his handbag and headed for the taxi rank. As he walked through the ‘Brow, he knew he was on the right track by the looks he got from the men he passed. They just couldn’t help stealing  look at his clean-shaven legs. On the taxi he managed to successfully ignore two guys who tried to engage him in conversation. He had practiced his “woman’s voice” but was not going to test his luck in the close proximity of a taxi. He made it to Melville and headed straight for the Oh Bar, the local gay hangout. He had already checked where it was on Google Maps. He entered the busy place and headed for the bar. He was just about to order a Black Label when he corrected himself and ordered a glass of wine instead. He seated himself on a high stool at the bar and sussed the place out. He practiced delicately sipping the wine like a woman should. The place was full, there were a lot of people including a lot of hot women. Just like him. However, none of them seemed to be Chinese. Oh well, he would just need to practice on a normal woman, just until a Chinese arrived.

Then, to his horror, he saw Bongani. And worse than that, Bongani had caught his eye and was now approaching. Sipho thought maybe he should head for the ladies, but he wasn’t sure he could handle that just yet. Besides, this was a gay bar, so he wasn’t sure how the toilets would be arranged. Maybe the butches had one toilet, and the femmes another? Which would he use? As Bongani got close, Sipho very definitely looked the other way, hoping Bongani would get the message. She was not interested. But he knew Bongani too well, Bongani did not take subtle hints. He didn’t take unsubtle hints too. Sipho had seen women slap Bongani across the face and Bongani still would not give up. Luckily the place was dark and Bongani might not recognize him with the wig and make up on.

Before he knew it Bongani was giving him one of his corny pick up lines. “Babe, let me buy you a lamborgini.” And then the barman made a large cocktail and placed it in front of Sipho. No one had bought Sipho such an expensive drink before, and he could not help but be impressed. He smiled a sexy smile at Bongani and thanked him. Might as well practice his technique. It was also going to be interesting being on the other side for a change., maybe he could learn something from Bongani.

“I haven’t seen you here before. And I wouldn’t have forgotten such a woman.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’ve been searching for heaven for a long time and I think those legs go there.”

Sipho wasn’t quite sure what he had done to encourage Bongani but already Bongani’s hand was on Sipho’s shoulder, and threatening to head somewhere more personal very soon. Sipho gave Bongani as evil a look as he could muster. Bongani said, “That’s funny. You look quite familiar, like I know you from somewhere”. Sipho quickly reverted to the smile. “But then, maybe not. What’s your name, Beauty?” “No, its Siph…iso.”  “That’s very interesting. I’m Bongi and I’m very pleased to meet you. Maybe later I’ll be able to show you just how pleased.” This was too much for Sipho. “What are you doing in the Oh Bar? Unless you mistakenly think I’m a man under this outfit?” “The Oh Bar? Huh huh…That’s across the road. This is Billy Bums Beerhouse.”

Sipho wasn’t going to waste the Lamborghini so he quickly downed it, stood up angrily and headed for the door. But Bongani wasn’t going to make it easy. “Hey, a dyke!”, he said loudly. “Give us a chance to cure you.” The people all sniggered, some laughing openly. “Come babe”, someone said, “don’t go. Maybe we can supply an alternative.” Someone else grabbed his bum. Sipho burst out the door into the street and stood awhile to calm himself.  Being a woman was tougher than he had thought. He was beginning to see what a hard time they had. He would have to go easier on them in future. And he would definitely have to have a word with Bongani about respect for diversity.

Sipho saw that he had, indeed, mistakenly entered Billy Bums Beerhouse, and that the OhBa was directly across the road. An honest mistake, he thought, and headed across to the Oh Bar directly. On entering he was much more comfortable to see again, a large crowd, but now he definitely saw men chatting in twos and affectionately touching each other. He immediately felt more at ease, somehow safer, like he belonged here. Again, he settled on a stool at the bar and ordered a wine to sip.

There were a number of clearly single women, women in pairs and a few groups of women. There were all types, Indians, blacks and whites. Sipho had to make a conscious effort to realize that in this place, pairs of women could theoretically not be approached. And then he saw her. A hot looking Chinese number on her own, like she was meant to be there for him, and he for her. Initially he tried to catch her eye, but she was having none of it. Eventually he realized he would need to try the Bongani method. He marched confidently over to where she sat at the other end of the bar and said in his sexiest voice, trying to remember Bongani’s line, “babe, you want to ride my lamborgini?’

Chapter 4

The cleaning job was an unpleasant one, so Sipho took every chance he got to avoid it. Sometimes Sipho got some relief when another cleaner didn’t comne to work, and Sipho was quick to rather take on his daily task than his own, which was the toilets. It was such a day, and he had elected to sweep the warehouse floor while the usual cleaner was sick. It was a very nice job, since no one really watched you, and no one really noticed if the warehouse floor was clean or not. It was mid-morning, and Sihpo was busy sweeping the depot floor when he couldn’t help but overhear a conversation a group of four employees were having with the security guard. The security guard was unhappy with his share of a truckload of beer which was to be taken out that night. Bingo. Sipho had finally stumbled on something interesting. As Sipho swept closer he took careful notice of the four.

Later he was cleaning the toilet when one of the four came in. This was the one advantage of cleaning the toilet. Eventually everyone had to use it. As the man finished and wanted to leave, Sipho walked briskly to the door and stood blocking it. The man stopped, surprised. Sipho got straight to the point. “Magent, I’m a thirsty man.” It was like the man had heard a secret password and visibly relaxed. “Why you speaking to me? You know where the liquor store is as well as I do.” “No Magent. I have seen and heard things and I understand you can satisfy my thirst.” The man looked at him interestedly for a moment, then said,” You’re not as stupid as you look. You can come to my party. 24   Kenilworth Rd, Kyalami Estate. 9pm.” Despite how grateful he was, Sipho was a professional. He knew enough to not show it, he merely stepped aside and the man left the toilet.

Nine pm and Sipho was outside the house, dressed in the very best clothes he could muster. The street was lined with shiny new expensive cars. An SAB truck was parked in the driveway and people were unloading crates. Music and the sound of talking were coming from the house. Sipho went inside. In the lounge he found the man who had invited him talking to three other men. When he saw Sipho he immediately came over, shook his hand and formally introduced himself. “I’m Ledibe. Welcome to my party.” “I’m Sipho.” “I’ve got a present for you. But first let me introduce you to some people.” Ledibe led Sipho over to the group and introduced them. Afterwards he left Sipho while he went to attend to other guests. Sipho recognized many political figures at the party, including the notorious “Baba”, the head of the ruling party War Veteran’s League. It was said that Baba was the one that really led the country. Baba was known to be ruthless, no one messed with him.  Ledibe’s friends asked Sipho how he knew Ledibe, and Sipho had to explain that he also worked at SAB. Of course, the dreaded question came next about what he did there. Now Sipho wished he had insisted on a managerial position. “I’m in charge of security there.” “Like the security manager?” “You could say that” There was never any shame in being in security. It got you respect. While they were talking Sipho saw from the corner of his eye that London was at the party, and he came and joined their group. He introduced himself to Sipho.  He seemed to be very interested in Sipho. Presently it was announced that dinner was ready, and they all joined a line to a buffet table. The food spread was good. It seemed caterers had been hired and they had done  a good job. Obviously Lediba wasn’t paying, there was some company behind it. The main thing at such affairs was to eat as much as you could, but then you needed to get as much of the leftover food as possible into a packet or a bag as a take home. This was in the back of everybody’s mind as they dished up as much as reasonably possible on their plates.

Soon Sipho was sitting and chatting next to London, both quaffing Moet & Chandon Champagne and eating pap and vleis. It turned out that London was part of the political elite, and although not a public figure, he was a mover and shaker behind the scenes. He was a good friend of Baba’s and many others. As the drink flowed, Sipho heard all about the political tensions at play in the circles of power. He was sorely tempted to tell London his real occupation, since there must be huge possibilities of jobs in Government, but he resisted. He needed to stay focused on the job at hand, but it was getting increasingly difficult.

Soon Sipho was pleasantly sozzled and went to the kitchen to find out whether he could grab some take home food. But he was too late. Lediba was already having the last of the food packed into his fridge. But Ledibe had a present for him instead. Ledibe handed him a crate of beer from a large stack in the corner. With that siphon headed off, making sure no one saw that he had to walk down the road to the taxi rank. The trip from Kyalami to the ‘Brow was a festive one. Everyone in the taxi, including the driver had a beer in their hand, and pretty soon were singing at the tops of their lungs. Sipho was going to sleep well that night.

Chapter 5

Sipho lay in bed late thinking. Things were going well for him. He had managed to convince the human resource department to send him on a management course. They, of course, did not know the real reason for his being there at the depot. So there was no reason he shouldn’t take advantage of the situation was there? He wasn’t hurting anyone. Besides, it would make it look more real that he really was a full time employee if he took advantage of the company’s further advancement policies. It would even be suspicious if he didn’t. Everybody else there took advantage of every possible thing to the maximum. It was only natural.

The course started today at 8am, so he intended to roll in at  about 10, just in time for tea and then lunch. He really didn’t feel like sitting through some boring lectures but he was going to take a lapt5op along so at least he could go on facebook. Besides, it was better than going to work and there was free lunch everyday and a graduation braai  at the end.

With the laptop he could look like he was working. He3 had managed to convince the company to lend him the laptop for the 3 day duration of the course. Of course, there was a reasonable chance they would for4 get he had it, especially if, when they asked for it back, he kept delaying the return. Then he wouold finally have his own computer.

Sipho arrived at the training venue and pretended he was in a hurry as he walked late into the class. Unfortunately he had missed tea but surely not lunch. He noted that that only a few people were there, a couple of whites, four Indians and a lone black. He took his seat to the side and was soon on to facebook to see what MaTsietdi was doing. In the background thye lecturer droned on about economics and the effect on the state if employees didn’t bother to do their bit and wasted company resources. Ma Tsietsi was always on Facbook and Twitter, and right now she was having a slanging match against some other manager at SAB. The other woman was saying how she and everyonbe she knew had slept with London, and maTsietsi was threatening to beat her to within an inch of her life. As the morning wore on other students were trickling in to the class. Sipho was jealous that they had managed to skip more of the class than he had. He made a mental note to arrive later on subsequent days.

That aft5ernion siphon excused himself early. He had better things to do than sitr in class and listen to the lecturer drone on.

As siphon walked towards the block where his flat was he couldn’t help noticing a massive black BMW 4x4 following him in the road. This was because it was causing a major traffic problem since it was going very slowly and no one could get past. But everyone was too scared to hoot at it. Sipo pretended not to notice. Inside he felt poroud that finally someone was noticing his prying. Someone thought he was getting dangerous. This was more like the movie. Sipho kind of hoped he would find his house ransacked. He made a mental note in the future to at least have some secret documents hiodden for them to find.

But then a taxi had the audacity to hoot and shout at the BMW driver. The driver got angry and pulled in front of the taxi, blocking it. The taxi driver was out in a flash carrying a wooden stick. the driver of the black BMW had also come out to face the taxi driver. He was undoubtfully big, standing about 7ft and heavily built. His upper arm Muscles were visible from the short sleeves of his expensive, collared golf short, obviously worn for this effect. The shirt was tight across a muscular chest, and itv was clear the man had been living well by the size of a paunch visible velow. This was A man with presence and most people would have been quick to apologise and leave as fast as possible. The darkened windows oif the bmw almost certainly hid another similar, maybe even more. But everyone knows you don’t mess with a taxi driver, and he seemed unaffected by the muscular bouncer cum driver. This was clearly goin g to be a clash of the titans. The crowd gathered as the taxi driver openly shouted expletives at the driver. The driver stood calmly wearing his black sunglasses, waiting for his chance to sort the taxi driver out. Soon Other taxis had stopped around the scene and hemmed in the group. the other taxi drivers had already assembled to provide support for their friend and were looking ominous.

Thgen in a fit of rage the taxi driver swung his stick through one of the BMWs windows. All hell broke loose, as the big man jumped on him and another leapt out of the BMW carrying an assult rifle. But before he could fire a shot other shots rang out from the drivers standing around. The crowd scattered and siphon turned ande n ran into a nearby alley and ducked behind a corner and behind some dustbins. He sat there, too scared to even look around as the shooting reached a crescendo before slowly dying down, then, after 10 miniutes, abruptly stopping. There was the sound of cars starting and roaring away. Sipho waiuted a full minute befire peeping round the corner at the carnage. The scene was quiet. The BMW still stood there with all oits windows broken. Two taxis also stood there. There were three bodies lying about. One was the big man who was lying still on the ground, apparently dead. Another man was trying to get his shoes off. the sight made Siphos blood boil because he Immediately Assumed he was an opportunistic bystander. Sipho ran up to the man and angrily explained that the shoes were his, as were the watch and wallet, since the men were following him. He had broiuyght them. If the person who had shot the man was not interested, siphon weas naturally next in line. The man argued that he had got there first. Sipho reluctantly settled, he didn’t have time to fight. Especially since they could hear the sound of police sirens approaching. The man handed over the shoes and kept  the watch and wallet, and both made a hasty exit, siphon back to his flat to try on his new shoes..

Chapter 6

By Friday Sipho was feeling very rested as he rolled into class a little earlier than ususal in anticipation of the course graduation braai that afternoon. He was shocked to find most of the class sitting writing frantically. The course lecturer had scheduled a course test and siphon somehow had not got wind of it. No matter, siphon sat down at an empty desk and  began the test.

The braai was fine. Sipho ate his fill and even managed to put a few spare braai packs in a packet he had brought and stash them to take home. Having finfished eating, it looked like the others were going to stand around and chat, so Sipho excused himself and headed home.

The next day Sipho skipped work and instead took the day off, messing around on facebook with his new laptop and surfing the Internet. Work surely wouldn’t remember that the course was 3 and not 4 days. The only problem nmight be the other cleaners who were having to clean the tpoilets whike he wasn;t there. If he pushed it too long they would start getting angry and raise suspicions.

That evening Sipho felt like going out for a beer. His favourite local hangout was in the next block, an establishment called Bhaba’s Kaya. It was a great place to relax, drink and shoot some pool. He knew the locals there and the convcerstaion was always vibnrant. There were also always a few women hanging around there and if you flashed a bit of cash you could even get some comforting for the evening.

Sipho only got back at 3am and decided thast since there was only one daty left of the week, and he was likely to wakeup late with a hangover anyway, he may as well take a long weekend. As things turned out, the long weekend was a success. Most of the weekend was spent drinking beer, shopoting pool and being comforted.

On Monday, siphon was at work bright and early by 8h45am, the earliest he had ever got there and only 45 min late. He was feeling a little worried and wanted to make sure all was well and no one had noticed his extended break. He needn’t have worried. Everyone was far too busy with their private lives to worry about whether he was at work or not. The other ckleaners were just glad to have him back in the toilets.

But that evening he checked his emails on his laptop and he was shocked to receive communication that he had failed his course test and btherefore didn’t qualify for a certificate for the course. Sipho was outraged. His work had paid good money for him to attend the course and now they had thegall to say he couldn’t have a certificate. Probably because he was black. He hated racism. So he emailed back to make an arrangement to meet with the lecturer.

The next morning at 11 He sat in the lecturers office and the lecturer explained how and why he had failed. At first siphon appealed to the lecturers better nature, explaining how much he needed the certificate for work purposes, and couldn’t he just find a few extra marks to pass him. The lecturer was some kind of hard-hearted, evil racist because he wouldn’t budge. He wouldn’t even start entering into negotiations. So Sipho demanded to see the test paper. He tried to go in detail through the first question but he just knew too little to be able to insist on more marks, and again the lecturer was being stubborn, even finding reasons to apparently deduct marks and make Sipho fail  by even more.

Finally siphon realized this racist was a tough customer. He played his trump card.

Sipjho sat back in his chair and said to the lecturer, “let me be honest with you. I’ve had a very serious problem which cause me to fail this test. It wasn’t my fault.”

The lectyurer said, ”Often people who don’t bother to attend the course, listen in class and arrive late for the test end up failing. It’s to be expected. Are you saying there were even more reasons?”

Sipho ignored that. These racists should learn to treat blacks with more respect, he thought to himself. Instead, he said, “I have this ex-wife who I’ve been having problems with. She visited a witchdoctor two weeks ago and she had a curse put on me. The curse was the reason I failed the test.”

“You’re saying some magical curse affected your ability to think and write down the correct answers in the test?”

“Please do not insult my culture. I did not mention magic. But yes, that is what I’m saying. As soon as I sat down to write that test, I felt the effects of the curse and it prevented me thinking clearly. That is why I struggled so long with the test. If you had ever had a curse put on you you would understand how this can happen. Unfortunately curses don’t affect whites or your ancestors surely would not have survived in Africa.”

The lecturer thought for a while. Sipho already knew he had him where he wanted him. If he refused to take cognisance of the curse, he would be admitting he is a racist, which Sipho already  knew due to the colour of his skin. In that case, Sipho would immediatelty accuse him of racial prejudice and take the issue not only to his boss but to trhe papers, and he would never hear the end of it.

The leturer had no choice. “Bring some documentary evidence of the curse and I will take it into consideration. Can you do that?”

“Of course. I’ll bring a letter from a traditional healer.”

It was a week later before Sipho had his course certificate. Sipho had successfully passed a management course and was now on his way to the top. He felt like an intellectual, a graduate. That evening, as he watched TV he saw that the president had got glasses that made him look clever. He had no formal education at all. In comparison, Sipho was a genius. Sipho made a mental note to have his eyes tested and with luck, he’d also need glasses.

Chapter 7

The next day siphon decided to skip work and do some Internet work. Unfortunately work had finally disconnected his laptop 3G connection so he couldn’t use it for surfing anymore. He didn’t really consider paying for his own 3G. Internet wasn’t something Sipho paid for himself. In fact, the laptop was now pretty useless so his first  stop was the pawn shop who gave him R200 for it. Then, on the way to Bongani’s café he dropped in at Dr Khumalos for a sick note. There were, as usual a queue of people at the doctors rooms all needing sick notes, so it took a full hour of waiting and R200 but was worth it.

Dr Khumalo had a thriving pracxtise, probably due to the fact that he was so highly qualified, with a professorship in surgeryt amnd a doctorate in nuclear physics, among  or other qualifications. He was also one of only two medical professionals left in the area after a cleanup by the police together with a group from the medical council had put the other 5 out of business, temporarily at least. Dr Kumalo had, by chance or by design, a common name which corresponded with at least six doctors who were really registered on the council, so the newly appointed BEE council administration staff had decided it was too difficult and time consuming for them to prove whether or not he was bone fide, hence he was left alone. The Nigerian doctor whi practiced nearby had managed to produce a university certificate proving his medical qualification. It so happened that he had qualified more than 15 yuears prior and unfortunately the university he had graduated from was the university of Lubumbashi in the DRC, which had subsequently been forced to close due to the unrest in that country. Thus it was impossible to verify the qualification.

It was up to these two medical professionalsd to service the needs of the entire area until the other five could restart their practices. As a result their queues were always long and it was undoubtfully a lucrative time for them.

Sipho had paid dr Kumalo for only one day off. He had far more important things to do than cleaning toilets, Although it probably  mneant that when he did get to woirk the following day the tolets were going to be in a very unpleasant state. But it couldn’t be helped. Siho logged on to the Internet and went to Gmaik, Sipho knew that these days everyone has a gmail account, and they never need to delete any emails. This means their entire history can be read, if you can hack in. And hacking in was what Sipho did best. First of all, London’d gmail address was most likely to be something like London.Ndumu@gmail.com. And his password? Not one of his children’s names because he had more than 20 of them. No. Most likelty the same as his personalized numberplate: Tsietso. The first attemot failed. So Sipho tried LondonNdumu@gmail.com, also to no avail. That’s when he remembered London also had a second name, Bethwell. LondonBethwellBudumu@Wgmail.com. And he was in.

Now Sipho could peruse more than 10 000 of London’s emails from the past 20 years at his leisure. And so he spent a very productive morning digging through, reading about a woman trying to blackmail him, lots of lovemail from various women not including Tsietsi, lots of polictically related mail from various cadres, and lots of mails about corrupt deals, tenderpreneurship opportunities, and so forth. Then, bingo. An email from Tsietso, “here, as we discussed is the access password and username. Don’t forgetg to leave some for me.” Sipho thought, what could that mean? Leave some for me. He thought and thought but nothing came. Then sihpo found an email from Baba. It was in a very friendly tone, wondering id London would be at the club later. Further searches on the word “Baba” revealed that they were definitely pals. Damn, thought siphon, just when he thought he had London. He definitely couldn’t discover he was the crook when Baba was involved. It would be a career stopper and indeed actual suicide for Sihpo. Never another government job. Relegated to economic and political obscurity. Run down by a big bvlakc 4x4v in an “accident”. No. He would have to find someone else.

While he was busy Sipho got to thinking about maTsietsi again. He hadn’t been with her for a few days and was getting withdrawal symptoms. He though of those two big, black, soft hooters, always so seductively sqyueezed into tight fitting tops. Then when the top came off…Sipho started getting excited. Maybe no harm would be done if he spent a few minutes looking at some nice pictures of big black women. When it came down to it, notghing was nicer and more sexy than a big, well fed mama. There bunms and their cans were always the biggest. And their thighs! A google search quickly got Sipho to “ChocolateMellons.com”. Unfortunately the website wouldn’t show him anything unless he registered. And it promised a lot, real African ladies just like you like them. Luckily for Sipho he was still logged in to London’s .email account, so he used London’s email address and signed up. He carefully deleted the confirmation email the website sent. You could never be to careful, maybe London would notice the email and smell a rat. Sipho was a professional, far to clever for that. He never left a trail.

Sipho was duly granted access to Chocoloatemeelons.com, and spent a good 15 minutes browsing through a number of pictures of women with impressive endowments, even more impressive than MaTsietsi’s. In fact, .  iopho thought, maTsietsi’s just weren’t big enough. He wuld recommend to her that, if she ever wanted to get intimate with siphon again, she have them enlarged, and saved a picture of a particularly large pair to show her what he meaned. Magnificent. Sipho felt he needed to rush home then, so he logged out and left.

Sipho had not reckoned on the latest artificial intelligence technologies. Chocolatemellons.com had registered London as an interested person, and had carefully kept details of his preferences. Over the coming weeks the website began targeting him with carefully compiled titbits designed to stoke his interest, to get him visiting the site and maybe paying for some premium content. It was a case of artifilcial intelligence overcoming human intelligence. The computer succeeded in it’s task admirably and London was soon drooling on his keyboard daily. He woke up early to see if he had received new mail. He waited expectantly for promised new content to appear, like a c=hild at Christamas waiting to open his presents. He even sent affectionate replies back to the server.

Sipho and maTsietsi were in the brrom cupboard one morning after arriving at work.  Sipho was frantically trying to get mas jeans off, but the top was lodged in a roll of stomach fat. It seemed each time he conquered one roll, another appeared to take uf the dtruggle. Ma Tsietsi was ominously calm during this process. In fact vsjhe didn’t seem to be helping at all. Sipho, baby, I need to talk. “later ma, I’m busy right now” “Supho, please. I’ve got a problem. Sipho went cold. What was it? Syphilis, herpes and clamedia were no problem, siphon already had them. Couyld it be the dreaded aids? No way, not with all this fat. “I just want to hold you siphon”. Sipho fgelt, for old times sake, he should comply, despite a sudden urge to go  and clean the toilet, you never kneew when it would need it. Then ma said, Sihpo, its London. Sipho relaxed. If London had aids that wasn’t sipho’s problem. His head lay pleasantly against a large mallow. “yea ma, tell seeps all about it” “Sihpo, London doesn’t love me anymore” “ma you’re wrong. He’s probably just found a nice new mistress. You know how men are. He’ll be back. He knows where hois home is. No one could live without these knockers for long.“ “No siphon. This time its different. Its not another woman. He’s fallen in love with a computer”

Sipho was taken aback by that. How could a person fall in love with a computer? Then he remembered Chocolatemellons.com and redalised there was a very real possibility. He also remembered ma’s inadequacies. Maybe now was the time to raise the issue.

“Well ma, I can make a recommendation. Your knockers are big but they could possibly be bigger. Have you considered breast enlargement?” “But siphon, why? He was always satisfied before”. “ma, you know , with the Internet and all, you can see what you’re missing in the rest of the world. Women need to update to compete with technology.” “Well, I suppose you may be right. Maybe its time for me to go under the knife.”

Chapter 8

With the management certificate in his hand, siphon realized he was a qualified manager. He could give up working for a living and be a boss that tells others to work for their living. There was no reason to be a toilet cleaner any more. Thus it was Sipho did not delay and made his way to the human resources managers office to discuss the issue.

In fact, sipho had not been ideal as a toilet cleaner, since in general he was always being busy elsewhere and sick or what have you. He always seemed to have good excuses for not doing his job. These points had not gone unnoticed by top management, and he had already been identified as a person with management potential. A person with the right stuff. A person just like them.

Lately, due to Siphos extended periods away from his job, the toilets had been close to unuseable, such that the employees had started to complain and management were going to have to do something about it. Therefore Sipho’s intentions to become a manager were not unwelcome. The solution was clear. Sipho would be promoted to a position more suited to his aptitiude for avoiding doing any work. In addition, Sipho’s involvement in the loss of stock meant he had shown he had the moral flexibility a manager needed. He was always willing to make a plan and to wheel and deal, to discuss and contribute to a win win situation. As he sat in front of the HR manager, the manager, Bheki, knew all this. He knew he could count on the fact that Sipho was able and willing to discuss appointment terms like an adult. He was not the kind of person to get bogged down in trivialities such as how legal or ethical such and such suggestion was. Bheki got up and closed the door. No need to risk any of the lesser minions misunderstanding some piece of overheard conversation and getting the wrong impression. After all, they were minions precisely because they did not understand how power worked. There were different rules at the top of the heap. 

“Well, Sipho, there is a post available at the moment. But I need to know you’re the right person for it.”

“Of course. I think you’ll find me flexible enough to discuss anything. You know I can do the job because I’m fully qualified, I have a certificate in management. How do these appointments work here? ”

“It’s simple, really. You need to sign up in the position as yourself plus in one other position. I’ll sort those details out. That way you get a bit of extra salary, over and above your own.”

“So there’ll be two people on the books. Then I get one and a half salaries?”

“I was thinking one and a quarter. I am taking a lot of risk here.”

“one and a third and a private office with a computer and a brand new laptop.”

“Ok. It’s a deal. Welcome to management. I can see you are going to be very prodctive here.”

They shook hands. Sipho felt elated. He had only been with SAB for six months and was already an executive. He had a knack for this.

Three days later Siphon had an office and a computer and a sign on the door “Services Manager”. His salary went up by orders of magnitiude. Now he was in the big league.

On top of that, Sipho had managed to negotiate his share of the weekly beertruck  to 10 cases which he sold every Saturday to a shebeen newar his hoime. ALl in all, things were going better than expected. This PI work was paying off. And he still had to submit his invoice for PI work too.

There was one small issue. Sipho was a bit pressed on the cash flow front, since his new salary would only be received at the end of the month. In the mean time, he was still struggling to get by on his menial cleaners salary and his beertruck money. He noe needed new shoes and had to wear a suit, so he would need clothes. The obvious thing would be to pawn the nice new laptop. After much deliberation, Sipho decided to do exactly that. He was pleased when the pawnshop owner gave him R500, since the laptop was so new. However, Sipho made sure he kept the bag. This way, people would still see that he was a hotshot executive apparently carrying a laptop around.

At the time, siphon sisn’t realize what a wise decision that would turn out to be. One thing an executive has to do is attend a lot of cocktail parties. No one looks twice at an executive at a cocktail party carrying his laptop case. Such a case is ideal for ferrying any extra food and drinks surreptitiously from the venue. Then, at home, siphon simply had to keep the bag overnight in the fridge and the next day he had a fully stocked executive lunchbox. And everyone thought he was carrying the company laptop around. Even Sipho was awestruck at just how brilliant he was turning out to be. You just can’t suppress sheer talent for long.

Chapter 9

Sipoho lay in bed with Hu Loing beside him. As it turned out, hu had been a sucker for lanboginis. It also turned out that although fooled the first time in the dark, hu actually didn’t mind that siphon didn’t use the real thingt, as she was used to. Now siphon new why the GWTDT had liked dykes so much. He did too.

Sipho’s new wealthy was already showing. Hu ensured Sipho’s place was always clean and tidy. His clothes were washed and ironed. The dishes were always cleaned. Hu always had a cold beer waiting for siphon when he flopped in front of the TV after a hard day of executive decision making. Finally siphon had begun to live like a man should.

One night, after satisfying himself with hu’s ever willing body, Sipjo lay and pondered the case of the missing funds. Although executive life was nice, Sipho’s hardworking brain needed a challenge, so he kept on his private investigation moonlighting career. But this job hjad to be the most complex and puzzling case he had ever dealt with. Where was the money going? Who was stealing it? If it wasn’t London, and it couldn’t be now because he knew Baba too well, then  it must be someone else at SAB, but how an earthy was h going to find them? Then he had an inspiration. In fact, the best way to  find the right person would be to decide in advance who the most appropriate peron was. Then one just needed to find some evidence to implicate that person and the job could be considered done. That was easy. He only needed to log into the SAB bank account from that someone’s computer and do a bank transfr. It was a really good idea, especially as he could transfer the money to an account of his own choice. Sipho could then issue an invoice and close the case. The invoice would be issued to SAB itself, which would mean it would naturally be a large amount. Which all in all, would mean fairly large amounts of cash for Sipho. The thought excited him. Tomorrow he would do the necessary. He soon was soon pleasantly asleep and dreaming again about that big black 4x4 and a mansion somewhere near Tsietso’s.

Now that Sipho was an executive, the need to actually appear at work was much reduced. In fact, 3 days a week were more than enough, and then, of course, not the whole day, as long as you kept your appearances random. Random in terms of times and days. The main thing was to always look like you were busy, always on your way somewhere. When you spoke to fellow executives, you always told them how busy you were and that you had no time. Of course, you enver, ever spoke to an employee who was not an executive. It ws important to not answer emails immediately, rather wait a day or two, to show you were just too busy. That way, often when you did get round to an email, whatever it referred to had expired and was no longer relevant. In fact, Sipho found the few hours he spent in his office in a week intensely boring. In general, he surfed the internet and went onto Facebook. Mostly he looked forward to going out to lunch and going home. He also spent tome at car dealerships, test driving cars, and visiting houses with estate agents, with a view to purchase.

Yet Sipho had still not forgotten what he was hired to do. In fact, he was still regularly submitting invoices for his PI work, butv he realized at some point he was going to have to wrap that job up, solve the case, and submit a final, extra large invoice. This was becoming particularly pressing because lately his invoices weren’t being paid as promptly as they ususally were. It was Matsietsi’s job to ensure the finance department paid promptly, so this indicated Matsietsi was possibly running out of patience with him.

Then, one morning Sipho decided to go into the office for a few hours to read his emails and surf the Internet. He also recently had an arrangement with Matsietsi to meet for a short tryst in the broom cupboard every Tuesday at 10h30, since she believed she couldn’t trust one of her servants and didn’t want to meet at her house anymore. He headed off to work full of optimism, and even arrived a bit earlier than usual, being well in time for the 10h30 am meeting. When he got there he was surprised to find maTsietsi outside the broom cupboard already, more prompt than usual. Even though Sipho was no longer a cleaner he had retained a key to the all-important room, so he reached into his pocket to unlock the room.

But Matsiesti stopped him by putting her hand on his arm, and spoke in an alarmingly business-like fashion, “Not now, SIpho. I have a headache.” Sipho, we’ve had enough. you’ve made absolutely no progress on the case. After three months you’ve got no evidence. What kind of PI are you anyway?” “ma, give me a chance. I’m on the verge of a major breakthrough.” Ma was suddenly interested. Oh yes? What have you found? “ Sipho had to lie a bit. “I have evidence. I got some info on the network that implicates the culprit.” Not a bad lie, since he intended to have such evidence by the end of the month at the lastest anyway. Fo some reason, Ma was downright worried. “on the network? You can do that?” “yes ma. Its simple computing IT stuff. Everythings stored there. You just have to know where to look.” “listen siphon. It turns out we’re no longer going to need your service3s. thanks for all you’ve done, and we wish you well in your future endeavours. “ Sioho was flabbergasted. How was he going to keep Hu Lin without money?  “But what about my job here? Who’s going to manage the services? “ “we’ll hire another manager. We did oerfectly well before you came. We can do perfectly well after you’ve left.”

Sipho couldn’t believe it.Just when everything seemed to be going right, the rug was being removed from under him. And by a woman too! At first he thought maybe she had acyed emotionally and maybe his job was actually safe. Maybe she didn’t really have the authority to have him removed. After all, he was an executive too. Surely, surely executives didn’t do that to each other?

However, later that day Sipho was called into the HR managers office. Bheki was very apologetic but insisted there was nothing he could do, the instructions were from the top. Yes, it was true he would benefit, since the ghost employee they had put on the pay Roll with Sipho would be staying on and yes, bhekis share would therefore increase. But that was not bhekis choice, Siphon had to lose his job. Thus it was a very depressed siphon who headed home that evening.

As siphon got closer to home he got more and more depressed. He definitely didn’t feel like facing Hu Ling in this state of mind. So he rerouted to Babas where he knew the guys were ever willing to help him forget his worries.And so it was. By 3 am, siphon was singing at the top of his voice and headed home, on top of the world again.

The next day Sipho lodged his complaint at the CCMA. It took a  month before he found himself in the CCMA office, together with a SAB representative, a translator and the CCMA arbitrator. Interestingly, maTsietsi had sent a white employee to present the company’s case. That was going to makew things a whole lot easier, everyone knows that whites are incapable of ever telling the truth. The arbitrator started with, “welcome everybody. The plaintiff, Mr Dlaminin has requested a translator so that he can speak in his own language. Mr Dlamini claims he was unfairly dismissed. Is that correct Mr Dlamini? Sihpo answered in the affirmative to the translaot, who said “yes”. The arbitrator turned to the SAB rep. Have you anything to say? The SAB rep had a mountain of papers. He spent the following 20 minutes explaining how Sipho had been hired to do undercover work and the cleaner job was just a cover, and showing various bits of paper which proved his case . The arb could not bhide his boredom, openly yawning and looking at his watch. When the SAB rep had finaly finished, he turned to sihpo. What have you to say about that? Sipho pretended to not understand and waited for the translator to translate. He replied to the translatore, who provided sipho’s response ”That’s a lie”. The arbitrator then said, how much did you earn, Siphjo? Sipho forgot about the translator and said in English an amount which included his “second” salary and the approximate amount he got from beer sales. The arbitrator said to siphon, “you can come in 2 days time to collect your award. Congratulations.”  He thanked all the parties for their attendance and the meeting was adjourned.

Although the amount SAB were forced to hand over to Sipho was by no means insubstantial, siphon was disappointed, since it was only a 5 figure amount. After having been dealt with so unfairly by SAB he had assumed he would be in line for a six figure amount at least.

Chapter 10

Things went from bad to worse in the following months, especially on the personal front . At first, while the money lastewd, hu was supportive. Then she began to complain about little things. The fact that sipho came back drubkj every noight. No food in the fridge. the smudge on his back. The black women he broughy home. Finally it all became too much for hewr and she started hanging out at the Oba again., Soon thereafter she announced she had found another woman and moved out. Sihpo was alone again.

Sipho was extremely depressed about bis fall from grace. Just when you begin to get somewhere in life, you get sent backward to square 1. Despite his expertise his first job had fallen flat. He had hoped to be almost a millionarire by now, yet here he sat unemployed again.

The gentlemen who owned the shebeen happened to be very nice Nigerian people., and it wasn’t long before they had introduced Sipho to the joys of certain substances. At last siphon could really get his confidence back, feel like he was someone important again. However, Sipho was soon a bit short financially. Initially the Nigerians ran an account for him, and Sipho spent his days in a world of ecstaticy, confidence and excitement, depending on the current chemical cocktail in his blood. The Nigerians were friendly and generous, seeming to not mind when siphon was a bit short financially, which began to occur more often. Sipho had a niggling feeling somewhere that things weren’t as good as they seemed. If he had allowed himself to think about it he would have realized that according to Sipho Theory, people are not generous. Especially Nigerian people. If they seem so, something else is going on and you need to know about it. But one thng substances do for you is allow you to not think. A perfect demoinstration of the old wisdom, ignorance is bliss.

It wasn’t long before Sipho began to be forced back into reality. Sipho’s account which the Nigerians were caregfully keeping score of was growing. And the Nigerians started getting difficult commensiutrately. Soon Sipho had to give them his nice furnoiture, furnishings and curtains. That didn’t satisfy them for long though. Finally he found it necessary to avoid their shebeen altogether. That was when they decided they would come to ihim and the thing people in Hillbrow fear and dread the most occurred to siphon. He got a vsiist from a very big Nigerian at his home.

“Sipho, I’ve come to collect what you owe me.”

“Sir, what a surpriuse. I unfortunately can’t offer you any coffee.”

“Sipho, you pay up now or I bredak youyr arms”

“Ok, look. Is n’t there something else I can do to pay? Maybe you have a job for me?” The Nigerian looked at him carefully. Well, ok. One of our guyts was stabbed yesterday. You can take over his corner.

Thus it vwas siphon was forced into the underworld of drug dealing. His corner was in Fourways, where he sat around all day from six in the morning to six in the evning and dealt with the numerous expensive cars which arrived to puirchase. In return he was allowed a small allcocation of drugs for himself. While siphon sat and wiled away the slower hours he would ponder on just how good a job this would have been if the country’s labour laws applied to Nigerians. For one, large quantities of cash only were involved and siphon had to handle it. Now in any other establishment in the country, a growing proportion of that would find it’s way directly into Sipho’s pocket. And there would be nothing the Nigerians could do about it. Theoretically employers weren’t alloed to break every bone in your body if your tally was a few rand out. Theoretically you could immediately go the the police and the CCMA and de3mand large amunts of compensation if your employer even hinted at getting rid of you. It was unfortunate that the easiest job to get, a job with the Nigerians, was a job with employers who didn’t recognize you were a human and therefore found it unnecessary to respect your seemingly limitless quantity of human rights.

After about four months siphon was a having a particularly slow MORNING. This was always concerning because the Nigerians got suspicious if you didn’t do enough business. Then a large black BMW drove up and stopped, a sure cutomer, and siphon wnet to the drivers wndow.

The driver was a serious looking large black man and said to him “I’m looking for someone called Nick”.

“Are you looking for a Nigerian?”, Sipho asked in response, the usual question when peoplke seemed unsure about how to get what they wanted.

“I was told I need to speak to Nick”

 Sipho was confused.“Is nick a Nigerian?” Then he realised the guy who was stabbed must have been named Nick. So Sipho said, “I’m Nick. What can I sell you today, maGent?”

Sipho realized his mistake too late. You should never pretend to be someone who was so unpopular that he was stabbed. The man in the BMW pointed a large gun at Sipho. Sipho realized his time had come, he might as well do what he can to save himself, so he ducked, turned and ran for his life. Shots rang out and Sipho felt a warm sharp pain in his side, but kept on running. Luckily it had only been a hand gun or he would never have even tried to run. Luckily for Sipho his corner was adjacent to a shopping centre, and he ran and climbed over the palisade fence into the parking lot. Fromn the other side he stopped and turned to see the car stopped, watching him, but they were not vgoing to chase him on foot. He watched as the car slowly turned into another street and drove away.

It was then that Sipho realized he was bleeding. He held the wound in his side with his hand, pushing into it to try to stop the flow of blood. He was clearly going to need to go to hospital as fast as possible. The parking lot was a typical mall parking lot, with lots of traffic coming and going. A few pedestrians had seen what had happened but they had made themselves scarce. He realized he had two choices. Either go into the mall and appeal to the mall management to phone an ambulance for him. In that case, he knew he may have to wait hours for the public ambulance to arrive amd could well die there waiting. No. Much better to catch a taxi. By this time the shock was setting in and Sipho wasn’t feeling to well, but he held onto the wound and walked out the parking lot to find a taxi toward Joburg general hospital.

As Sipho stood next to the road he realized he was going to have to make a plan, because no taxi would want him on their seats if they thought he would bleed on them. He also realized he was about to pass out, so he sat on the curb to gather his strength. But he had underestimated the effects of the wound and the bleeding, and he passed out on the pavement, his head falling back onto the sandy verge.

Chapter 11

Sipho woke up in hospital. He lay on a bed in a ward with many other patients with various bandages and in various states of wakefulness. His body hurt and he felt sick. But within a couple of hours he found he could move and managed to prop himself up on the pillows. There had been some nurses but none had taken the slightest notice of him.

Later they brought around dinner and he had some vegetables and stew placed in front of him. He asked the nurse who brought it how he had got there, and she explained he had been brought in the day before in a private 911 ambulance with a bullet wound. The doctor had taken him to surgery and removed the bullet and cleaned his wound and stitched it, and he had been given blood. As he lay there, Sipho reflected on how close to death he had come. He swore there and then to never do anything illegal again. He was through with drugs. He was going to pick himself up and try again. From now on, he would be squeaky clean. He would only do that which he knew to be morally and ethically the right thing, in the eyes of God. Or rather the president, God expected just too much and the president was far more realistic. Besides, Sipho had a sneaking suspicion that God was white. Sipho had turned over a new leaf in his life. He was born again.

After a week Sipho was feeling fine. The wound was healing nicely and he could walk around the ward. Unfortunately his wallet and cellphone had been either stolen by a passerby as he had lain on the pavement, or by the ambulance men. Luckily the nurse agreed to phone Bongani to come and fetch him, which he duly did.

Sipho was going to have to stay over at Bongani’s for a while to avoid the Nigerians

The word was that they were angry  and only money would suffice to save him. Sipho needed a job, fast. It was also goinbg to have to be a very well paying job.

In the meantime, one of Bongani’s friends offered him to take Sipho on as a helper. Honest Mcaba had got a contract to do electrical disconnections of people who were behind with their electricity account. The money he offered Sipho was poor but better than nothing. Also, Honest was a bit like sipho and liked to start work late.

So it was that Sipho and Honest were driving along to the white suburbs at 10 am in the morning. Honest had a list of houses that must be disconnected. The first two went smoothly. Honest sat in the car listening to the chat show on Kaya FM while Sipho knocked at the door. When someone answered Sipho announced himself and his mission, went inside, turned the power off and left a letter on a municipal letterhead announcing the disconnection.

It looked easy until the third house presented a challenge. No one appeared to be at home, and there was no bell. Like most Johannesburg houses the place was like a fortress. Sipho went back to the car and Honest was engaged in a loud argument with a Kaya FM listener who had phoned in. “You show know repsect for uBaba, our president, you traitor. If I could fund you I’d kill you.” Sipho had to interrupt and suggested they leave this house out and move on to the next. But Honest was reluctant. “I get paid per disconnection, so if I don’t cut someone I don’t get the money. This is a problem. Besides, why should rich people in houses get to have electricity without paying?”

Sipho thought for a while. “But how will they know you left one out? Just say you did the disconnection and I certainly won’t tell.”

Honest was not convinced. “You don’t understand Sipho. Its about honour. They are counting on me to be honest. They are paying me a premium because I am absolutely honourable. If I say I’ve cut 10 households, I must cut ten households.”

They sat in the car in front of the gate for a while. The person who phoned in to Kaya FM was still showing a severe lack of respect for authority so the presenter satisfyingly told him off and cut the line. Honest visibly relaxed. Then Sipho happened to see a maid in one of the neighbours’ houses looking out the window.  He had a bright idea. “Well, why not cut the neighbour off? Then you will keep your honour and get the money.”

Honest considered this for a while. It was definitely a good idea. This Sipho was smart and smart means dangerous. Something to remember. Maybe it was time to get rid of siphon. But he agreed to the plane and Sipho went and knocked at the neighbour’s door. The maid let them in and he successfully disconnected the electricity as per procedure. Honest kept his thoughts to himself and treated Sipho even more disdainfully from then on. He knew he would be using this new and clever technique extensively in the coming months. It was now his idea so Sipho was going to have to go.

The day wore on and by 2pm the work was done, largely thanks to Sipho’s idea. When it was time to part siphon waited expectantly to be paid. Honest climbed in his car and spoke to Sipho out the window, “Sipho, unfortunately I’m a little short so I’ll have to pay you next month.”

“But Honest. I need the cash . The Nigerians are after me.”

“Don’t worry, Sipho. See you.” And B drove away. And that was the last time Sipho saw him.

Sipho was in a fix. He had time on his hands but couldn’t go near his ususal hangouts for a beer because the Nigerians were after him. He needed to lie low. But he needed money. The easiest method was to ask for it. So one morning he put his worst, dirtiest clothes in a bag and headed off to the northern suburbs, just in time for morning rush hour. There he found was seemed to be a busy intersection and put the clothes on. The plan was to beg money fromn the well to do car drivers, but fo this you needed them to feel sorry for you. Old clothes and being a bit dirty should do the trick. After a few hours rush hour was over, and sipho had a respectable  amount of money. Then he still had the rest of the day to do what he wanted. It was a really good way to earn an income. Then, after a few days he learnt something really amazing. If it was cold and you shivered and looked cold, you not only tripled your income but people began giving you clothing. Good clothing you could sell at the pawn shop. So for a few days Sipho could be found only in his underpants, shivering in the cold, looking forlorn and collecting enough money for food for a week. Or drink for the evening, which it normally turned out to be. However, things soon got difficult. People began calling him over as though theyt were going to give hime something, but instead asked him why he wasn’t wearing that jacket they gave him the other day. Income dropped and siphio had to change intersections. But this also had its problems, because the beggars who manned the intersections considered them their intersections and didn’t take kindly to others trying to farm their territory. There seem very few easy opportunities in life, even in the begging business.

In the afternoons Sipho could often be found back in Bongani’s Internet café. He was always hoping his PI website had garnered some more enquiries. Maybe PI work wasn’t so bad after all.

Siphon checked his emails. He still had no answer from the Nigerian who had needed help from a local person with a bank account. He emailed him again, reiterating that he was willing and able to do the job and he would even accept a bit less than the $US100m on offer.

The next day he got a reply from the Nigerian. His offer had been accepted and they were going to do the transfer of funds to his bank account. They needed his bank account number. But they also wanted to meet him. Could he book a flight to Lagos (they specified a flight and time) and they would meet him at the airport?

Luckily siphon had opened a bank account when he had got the job at SAB, since SAB had insisted. However, how was siphon to scrape up the funds to get a plane ticket to Nigeria? He needed to sound well to do if he was now making a deal involving millions of dollars so he couldn’t very well ask the Nigerians for an advance. Then he realized he would simply need a partner. For a cut of the winnings, the partner could provide the money for the ticket. On the other side, the Nigerians would no doubt insist on putting him up for free and wining andf dining him, siunce they were obviously very rich. It sounded really wonderful.

 

Then he saw an email from maTsietsi. “Darling Sipho, I’ve hit the jackpot. I need to see you. Phone me I have a business deal for you love m.”

So she just couldn’t live without him. Not surpising, really. He was pretty damn hot before but With this new tattoo the women really couldn’t keep their hands off. Sipho thought he may as well see her one last toime, just for old times sake, especially since he had never actually dumped her. Women needed that, and besides he had never dumped a woman before so it was something new. As he headed to the taxiranmk that morning he practiced what he would say,” Ma, you know I love you but its over>’ Don’t cry, let me put my arm around you. Its not the end of the workd, you’ll find womeone wlse better.” “you want to say goodbye one last toime?” “well ok, since you’re paying for lunch..”

Four hours later Sipho and maTsietsi were sitting opposite each other in the Villamoura, Sandton. It had been a while since Sipho had indulged in such luxury, and who knew how long before he got another such invitation, so he was going to make the most of it. The first thing siphon had noticed is that ma had actually had that breast enlargement, and the effect was stunning to say the least. She must now have to have her bras custom made by a tent manufacturer. Sipho was also impressed to see even the cheapest starter cost over R100, more than double any normal restaurant. The wine list had wines like Moet and Chandon and Veuve Cliquot for obscenely high prices. It was lunch time and the restaunrant was full of people just like them. The waiter came for their order. “Sipho, don’t hopld back. Rthis time my credit card has absolutely no limits at all. This is public taxpayer’s money and the public are so much more generous than the private sector.” MaTsiets, I can hardly wait to hear about it.” MaTsietsi ordered the Russian oysters in white wine and ockle berry sauce, followed by a main of roast Peking duck slow cooked over 24 hours with imported French orange and herb sauce. And a large side order helping of pap. Sipho ordered the Bordeaux escargot in butter and herb sauce, followed by the Medterranean crayfish de suix with a side order of Australian queen sized prawns and, of course pap and tomato and onion sauce. To wash it down they had their favourite, Moet and Chandon, since it was the second most expensive wine on the menu. Neither of the could pronounce “Veuve Cliquot” which was more expensive and the obvious first choice. Personally siphon would have preferred a Hansa draught but he couldn’t show his lack of expebnsive tastes in fromt of maTsietsi, especially nowthat she had obviously hit it so big. Your position in society could be measured by how many imported things you bought, so one actively avoided any items Made in Africa.

Having placed their orders, maTsie3tsi couldn’t hold back any longer. Sipho, you remember I fired you when I rfealsied you where getting too close to the truth. I actually had hired you because I was quite sure you weren’t bright enough to find out who the culprit was. You really surprised me with your skill. “Thank you maTsietsi. But you should have knoen I’m not to be toyed with. I’m a professional.’ Of course SIpho had no idea what ma was getting at. “Well, Sipho, even without your investigations at the depot I was caught not long after you left. I thougt hiring you I could pout the conmpanny auditors off the trail. Surely someone who was stealing wouldn’t be dumb enough to hire a PI to find herself? Anyway, the auditors actually tracked me using their computers while I was doing a large transfer to my account. So they quietly took me aside and showed that I had taken more than R5m in the past year alone. They demanded that I resign quietly so as not to alert the press. SAB just doesn’t need the bad publicity. Besides, if the shareholders found out they would be very angry with the directors and senior management. They said they could sweep the evidence under the table and would divide  the expenses among head office fees and other obscure things. They said they even have a computer program that can divide it down so that it’s a whole lot of small amounts instead of one big amount, that way the external auditors won’t pick it up because all of the transactions will be below the material limit. Besides, they hire and pay the audirors so the auditors are always willing to look the other way when reqd.

But ma, I hope you didn’t fall for that? They were trying to swindle you out of your long service payment.

Of course I told them I didn’t do it and I wanted a payout or I would go to the CCMA. And the newspapers. So they settled. They gave me R500 000 to quietly resign.

You didn’t! Ma , that’s way too little. You’ve worked there for 3 years already and have given them your all, your heart and soul.

I know siphon, but to tell you the truth, I was tired of working for pesanuts. I’m worth more than they paid me. Besides, I got a much better job now. Sipho, you’re looking at the new director general of the department of home affairs.

Wow, ma that’s nice. I thought you had to be politically connected for that?

Oh but I am. I’m married to Londond and he’s been saying all the right things.

You were very lucky the post was available at just the right time.

To tell the truth, Sieeps, its been vacant for more than a year. They’ve been advertising every day in the newspaper but they had no suitable applications until they saw mine.

Wow. And I thought we had a 30% unemployment rate and many graduates even can’t find jobs.

Just because someone has education doesn’t mean they can do the job. It’s just meaningless paper, You know that better than anyone Seeps. with all your schooling You’ve got absolutely nowhere. Sometimes the school of life is the best schooling you can get. As in my case. Look how rich I am with no formal education at all. Just like the president!

Well, I’ll drink to that, and siphon downed his moet in one gulp, before refilling and calling the waiter for another bottle. He had learnt to say the word “Chandon” just like the French did and had great pleasure in using this skill loudly and clearly, just so all the other patrons would know that someone else important was dining there today.

Nyway, seeps, this is where you come in. they say the dept s in a mess and I must turn it around. This means hiring consultants. I need you to come in. You have the right qualifications to help us turn things around.

Well, it just so happens I’m unemployed at the momenmy.

Excellent. Of course we go half half, everything 50/50. Ok?

Whatever you say, mama! Welcome, siphon, to the high life.

Oh, and siphon, one oter small thing. It was what sihpo had hoped for. He just had to have a closer look at those hooters.

Later that afternoon siphon left matsietsi’s house with the instruction to tender for a certain job worth more than R100m. Sipho had no concept of how much R100m rand was, but it sounded good. He made a mental note to check whether it would cover that 4x4 he had his eye on. The trender documents MAtSIETSI had given Sipho unfortunately turned out to be extensive. There were 50 pages to be completed with various complicayted information and signed. Sipho almost decided to give up, especially when he had to fill in his company’s audited BEE credentials, as well as financial and employee information for the past five years. But  the need for the R100million was pressing. The Nigerians were soon going to be on to him again and he really was going to have to cough up. Besides, maTsietsi was going to be awarding the tender anyway, so she wouldn’t mind if he made a few mistakes.

When he had complained about the amount of work he had to do for only R100m, Ma Tsietsi had explained the tendering process to him. She had said that you had to fill in the same documents even for little jobs for R15000. For that you could hardly buy a tank of petrol for your 4x4. Even the small jobs had to go through the full tender process because apparently there was a high rate of corruption. Corruption was some kind of theft of money from the government.

But effectively, what all this meant was that no one ever tendered unless the job was more than about R100 000 since it took so long to do the documentation. She had explained how it was really a problem and holding up her departments work, but the rule had come from the top, straight from ruling party. maTsietsi had initially been angry about it, how could they expect her to do her job if it was so hard to issue tenders?

When she complained to London about it one evening, he had confidentially explained to maTsietsi what it was all about. Apparently opposition parties in government were tackling the government on fraud and corruption, and it had been necessary to make a show of it. He also explained that luckily, and maybe by design, it was still easy enough to get around it, otherwise government would have come to a complete standstill by now. But to get around it you needed outside help. She had immediately thought of Sipho because she realized he would understand the need and be willing to help out.

It took siphon a week to complete the documentation and submit the tender, and he felt good when he delivered it to maTsietsi. Like he had achieved something significant. maTsietsi agreed to advance him the money to get the Nigerians off his back. They demanded quite a lot more than he thought he had accrued to his account with them, but they weren’t people you negotiated with. The day he walked out of the Nigerians shebeen, having paid the cash to satisfy them, he felt a huge load off his back. He was finally free again and iot felt so, so good. He almost danced and skipped his way to Baba Kayas, where he had been unable to go because the Nigerians would have found him there, and spent a vwery happy evening catching up with old friends there.

iIt was then a month of waiting around, of long visits to Baba Kayas, the Villamoura and a new lady he had met called Bontle, before he could put in his first invoice. An invoice for R40m rands for consulting services. maTsietsi would personally approve it. Then she would make sure the money was paid promptly to his account. She had been very clever though, she had got siphon to give her full access to his bank account by power of attorney, just in case he changed his mind. He couldn’t believe she didn’t trust him, it seemed R20m was just as good as R40m anyway. But she insisted so he had complied with her seemingly unimportant whim.

Sihpi realized then and there that his talents were waisted in private investifative work. No. He was a very talented businessman and he would never waste his time doing anything else again.. On his way he stopped at the BMW dealership. Somehow the salesman already knew what Sipho wanted. The biggest 4x4. All the options especially the most expensive ones. Then amnd there he decided that in one months time, that was to be his car. The Germans had another big customer on their books..

Funny how things turn, thoughy siphon as he headed home in a state of euphoria. One moment you’re poverty stricken, the next a multi millionaire. So this is what business is about. This is how it feels to be an entrepreneur.

Within a month from then Sipho received the R40m in his bank account. maT asked him to transfer her portion, and he had to avoind her for a while. After all, he had got the tender fair and square. He knew they had agreed on 50-50, biut was surely 20-80 was more reasonablke? Why should she get so much money for doing nothing? He kept not answering when she phoned and not answering her emails while he considered what to do. Obviously he must try to stop the bank from allowing her access to the money. But by time he arrived at the bank and had discovered how to have her power of attorney revoked, she had already gained access and taken half the money herself. AT first he was angry and considered taking her to cour5t to demand the money back. But then, on reflection, he thought how lucky he had been that she hadn’t tken the entire amount. He definitely would have if he had been her. She must be very deeply in love with himn. Hardly surprising, really, when he thought about it.

Soon Sipho started realizing just how much R20m rand was. He could literally buy anything. As many cars as he wanted. Houses in the suburbs. He could have luch and dinner every day at the Villamoura for the rest of his life. He began to think 20m must be a number close to infinity. He knew the lotto sometimes paid out that much. Then one day he visited the House of Sports Cars and discovered a new, top of the range Lamborghini was going to cost more than he had. Still Later on, while he was visiting Cape Town, he was embarrassed to be shown a seaview house which cost R25m. he found a wine farm for R50m. Suddenly he was upset he had let maTsietsi have the other half. In facft, in the scheme of things, R20m wasn’t that much. On the other hand, maybe it was good that he hadn’t burnt his bridges with maT. He still seemingly had to make a lot more money before he got everything he could.

A year went past and they built on their initial business successes. Siphon was invited to the ruling parties 100^th birthday bash. It was a huge honour. Only the elite of the elite, the richest of the rich, were thre. The most skilled and talented entrepreneurs. Together with maTsietsi, Sipho had managed to rake in R300 m rands in one year, so he was recognized as a person going places. Thanks to Sipho, matTsietsi was one of the few dgs who had managed to spend every cent of her budhget, making her one of the few top perfromaers in governemt. She had also founbd her niche, where her talents could be utilized to the full. She had successfully managed to point out that, due to her predecessors complete incompetence,  the turnaround process was naturally a long and expensive one. This meant continuous consulting work, possibly forever.

Bothe ma and seep lived with the warm and happy knowledge that they were making a significant contribution to society, to alleviating poverty and helping the people. They both worked incessantlky, issuing u[p to 100 invoices per month in the name of a large variety of companies, and lunching regularly in the most expensive restaurants. Pretty soon siphon weighed nearly as much as maTsietsi. They were into everything. Mostly service companies that just consisted of invoice printing. But with time, they also began to deliver real services. For eample, they began a toilet paper supply service. This invoived them really ordering toilet paper from a real company, which really delivered it, but the invoice was from them. Naturally there was a significant mark up, but they still did a god service of trying to force the suppliers costs to the absolute minum, resulting in Chinese toilet paper of the lowest opssibke quality.  But who really cares, BEE toilet paper is BEE toilet paper. Wit time, they began to realize that they neede to get the supplier to deliver slightly better quality toilet paoer to mamabgement, you had to keep them happy. In fact, that went fo everything. When the employees complained about watered down hand soap, management had no idea what they were talking about. There bathrooms always had the best quality, grabgrnaced hand soap money could buy. machine  printer Security services. Stantionary. Building. Rental and hiring. Even toilet paper supply. In return, the people loved them, especially when they saw them whizzing by in the very newest of german automotive enginerng, proudly thinking how it was their leaders who had those cars, their own people who had paid for them. Even the americal parliamentarians didn’t have such expensive cars. Viva, s Africa, vivba!

Sipho no longer wanted for anything, particularly ladies. They loved his new rounder size and big black BMWs. He merely had to nod their way and they were all over him, hoping to be the next Mrs Sipho Dlamini, to join the already growing harem. Even with all this, Sipho still found a half hour here and there for some private time at Ma Tsietsi’s place. When it came down to brass tacks, Sipho had yet to meet  Anyone with endowments larger than maTsietsis.

London and he had become great friens and Londin encouraged these visits more than anyone, somehow feeling that he was giving Sipho something in the process. In return, siphon was very generous woth London, always insiting on paying at restaurants.

In the evenings Sipho would stand at the mirror and contemplate the black smudge that had strted everything. The catalyst that had made success so easy. One movie. One tattoo. And soon, one billion rands.

….