6 Learn to be Always On. Yes, like the wi-fi signal: Be Always On. No headaches, no dryness, no excuses. Your job is to be what? Always On. That’s it.
You can thank me later.
The trip was just gorgeous, darling. Just gorgeous! I know you don’t believe me, so go check my Instagram account. That’s part of the reason why I haven’t been writing. I’ve been posting, and mostly living in the moment with my Nigerian lover.
We arrived here in the third week of February and spent the first two days in our villa … mostly in the bedroom. I tell you, with a bit of practice you can adjust to anything. That ‘thing’ I used to complain about? I’ve mastered it! You know me. A bit of focus and vision, and no challenge is too great!
On the first night Mr Emmanuel told me he’d be taking Viagra. Don’t you just love an honest man? Then he took out a herb he claimed originates from Mexico.
‘It’s called Damiana. It will loosen up all your inhibitions, sweetheart.’
I would hope that I do not have any inhibitions to loosen up, but given my concerns about his size, I decided to try the Mexican herb and – it actually worked! That and two bottles of Dom Pérignon.
We never left the room and made so much love that our legs started shaking … both of us! I promise. It was insane!
At some point, while we were in the bathtub together, we ran out of condoms. I asked Mr Emmanuel to call room service to ask for more but he was not thrilled with the idea.
‘Baby, we’re in paradise. It’s just you and me … come on. Let’s live a little. I’m clean. You should know that by now.’
By now? As in the two times that I have been with you after ‘borrowing’ you from my girlfriend?
Na-ah.
I may have been high on Dom Pérignon but I still had my full mental faculties.
‘Mr Emmanuel … come on. Let’s be sensible here. You don’t even know my sexual history, let alone me knowing yours.’
‘Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart. Do I look like someone who sleeps around?’
Er … yes. I know for a fact you’re sleeping with Iris, maybe your wife, and certainly me, so … ‘Look, babe,’ I say to him, ‘we’re still getting to know each other. I can’t take that step with you right now. Honestly. Let’s just ring room service for condoms.’
He steps out of the bathtub and goes to the suite’s ‘office’, or study, while I lie back in the bath and continue sipping my champagne. He emerges about fifteen minutes later with an official-looking printout.
‘What’s that?’ I ask, as I kick bubbles playfully in the air. I don’t want the mood to become too serious.
He silently hands over the document.
I’m a bit drunk as I quickly scan it over. It’s not the News Café franchise agreement; I can tell you that much.
‘What is this, my love?’ I ask again.
‘It’s from my doctor in Abuja. More specifically, it’s from the lab. Read it.’
I focus on the document and read it carefully. It’s got his name and surname and what looks like a series of blood tests that were conducted on him. I see that he was tested for blood pressure, cholesterol, HIV and other medical-sounding stuff. There’s a lot of negatives on the test results – including a negative for HIV.
Shit.
This guy actually expects me to sleep with him without a condom.
I’m miles away from home … that’s the first thing that occurs to me. I’m here at his behest, so I can’t exactly grab a cab and call for the private jet to come and collect me.
When were the tests taken? I consult the printout. It says the test results came out on 6 January. It’s now 18 February. I guess what’s the worst that could happen? He’s clean. And here we are in Bali together, it’s like paradise.
I pull Mr Emmanuel back into the bath.
As I ride him, I make a mental note to visit the local pharmacy for the morning-after pill.
My Tsholo Graduates!
Tsholo finally graduated with honours last week! I’m so happy for her! I’m excited for her future although I don’t really know what it’ll mean for her in the real world. So many graduates seem just to be sitting at home with their fancy degrees. But Tsholo is so radiant I’m happy to be swept up in the moment with her.
I invite her over to my place for a weekend of hanging out.
We’ve been sitting here, watching movies, gossiping like crazy, eating takeaway meals and drinking far more wine than the national daily average. Tsholo can drink man or woman out of house and home. That’s why I love her so much. She’s kind of innocent and timid in every other way. And unlike some of us, she doesn’t allow the alcohol to go to her nether regions. If you take away her love life, she really is the coolest chick I know. I guess sometimes I do envy her sense of calmness and contentment. Sometimes.
‘So, Miss Tsholo,’ I say, pouring her some more red wine and sitting back on my bed, ‘what’s the next step for you? Are you going off to work, then settling down with Tim to have your two and a half babies and a house in the ’burbs?’
‘You’re an arsehole. You’re making Tim and me sound so boring,’ she laughs, bashing me with a pillow.
I enjoy teasing Tsholo. ‘No, I’m serious. I’ve lost touch with the so-called normal world. What do people do after graduating?’
She shrugs, looking thoughtful. ‘I don’t know … We’re just taking things a day at a time. Tim’s completing his articles and he’s writing his final board exam soon – lots of pressure there. But he’s basically on his way to being a CA. I’m sure we’ll focus on our careers for a while before talking marriage and babies.’
We both keep silent for a while, each lost in our own thoughts.
‘But you’ll obviously want to settle down – with each other, I mean?’
‘Gosh. Of course, Bontle. What a question! I mean, I’ve never wanted to be with someone else.’
‘Not even with that big-shot lawyer friend of Iris’s? The one who kept sending you flowers?’ I ask, knowing the answer.
‘Not even him. Not even all those shady blesser guys we keep meeting. Not interested. Never was, never will be.’
‘Aw, but, friend. Remember that white guy who kept stalking you and sending you gifts at your apartment? You guys went on at least three dates.’
‘I was just curious. We never even kissed.’
I look at her as if she’s a supernatural being just fallen from the heavens.
‘Are you serious? But you and Tim had broken up back then. You’d found texts from another girl. No choma. You could have tasted some of that vanilla, know what I mean?’
She shakes her head.
‘Nope. Was Not Interested. I just wanted to make Tim jealous. And jealous he was …’
I clap my hands like a drama queen in a Nollywood movie.
‘Tjo! I give up on you! So how many lovers have you had … like as in … go-to-bed, full-on sex?’
She scrunches up her nose. ‘Hmmm … it was Tebogo Motau … remember, in high school, and … my Tim. That’s it,’ she says with a nonchalant shrug.
‘No!’
‘Yes!’
‘You’re lying. There was that cute young guy driving a Maserati that day when we were at Mash. You guys drove off together in his car. I know he hit that!’
She shakes her head. This bitch better be lying!
‘We went to my place. He asked to come up. He was definitely cute, and yes, I was attracted to him. We kissed, touched a bit, but I felt guilty afterwards. I asked him to leave.’
‘And …?’
‘And … he asked for my numbers. I was tempted, he’s attractive. I gave him my numbers. He kept calling. Tim saw the texts, so I cut the guy loose. He wasn’t worth it.’
I shake my head.
‘Ah-ah. Tim’s bewitched you, choma. What’s so great about him that you’re giving up all these amazing men for him? I’m sorry if that sounds offensive, but … really?’
She sighs and smiles. She’s not even offended.
She even has a sort of condescending attitude, as if it’s me who should be pitied. He banna! This girl!
‘Do you know how it feels to be loved, Bontle? And to be in love? When I’m with Tim, it’s like all that I need is in the room with me. I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything. I just feel happy. Whole. Like, he’s my best friend. And when we make love, it’s like … I’m complete. My head, my heart, my body … everything is there in that moment. It’s magic. He’s not perfect, but neither am I. He’s the one person who just … gets me. He’s my best friend. And to me, that is worth the world.’
Have I ever felt like that about anyone?
Don’t say it. Don’t say it. You don’t know me like that. You don’t know him either so leave him out of this.
My life is exciting. It’s more exciting than Tsholo’s.
I’m the same age but I’ve had more life experiences than she has. I’ve been on exotic trips. Men fall over themselves for me. I have had huge bank balances, and I’m still going to have more, even though things are not rosy for me right now.
Am I happy?
Of course I’m happy.
You love my life, don’t you?
It’s great … right?
Right?
A Bit of Nothing
After my talk with Tsholo I am down in the dumps. I feel empty inside. All this sharing is sapping the life out of me. Worst of all, you’re not helping me out. You’re just reading and watching and enjoying my fuck ups. You’re probably even laughing at me. I really just want to switch off from the world for a while. I’m going back to reading my motivational books, maybe that Donald Trump one. And don’t think I’ve not noticed that a lot of you talk trash about Trump on social media! Mxm.
Golf Clubs and Smash Hits
My social detox has really been helpful. I’ve been going to church, spending time with Loki and my mom, watching TV and doing a little bit of reading.
Yes, I do go to church, why are you surprised? It helps me reconnect with God. I know you find it hard to believe, but I’m very spiritual. Being spiritual doesn’t mean you have to turn your back on material things. When I was married to Ntokozo, there was a point where I used to attend two church services every week and I absolutely loved it. I met most of my hair clients at the charismatic church I frequented. That’s how we black girls roll. Dance like a video ho at the nightclub on Saturday and sing the loudest in the church choir on Sunday. Does the hospital admit healthy, vibrant people? Hmm? Is Casualty teeming with athletes in the best shape of their lives? No. So why do you expect the church to be full of people who are not sinners? Mxm. You don’t get it, neh?
When I become older, I hope to go back to that life. Who knows? Maybe there’ll be a time when I’m known as Pastor Bontle. I think I could be good at motivating people.
Okay, I can’t finish the Trump book. To be honest, I’ve seen some of the press conferences he’s been hosting and the weird Tweets he posts at midnight. I’m ashamed to admit it but for the first time since we’ve been acquainted, I think you may have been right about this one. Oh, and by the way, Trump’s life partner? The Russian? She’s a blessee. Takes one to know one.
The detox has been mainly about my men. And you, of course, ol’ Judgmental Eyes. I’ve been ignoring the men’s messages for weeks. None of them seem to be adding any value to my life. If they were, I’d be a millionaire by now. And a millionaire I ain’t.
I have had thousands from Papa Jeff. I bet he’s been trying to get hold of me about the Merc. I can’t deal with opening them. I take a look at Mr Emmanuel’s texts though.
Every time I think of Bali, I smile. We need to do it again soon, darling … Hello, Bontle, Don’t disappear on me again. I cannot bear it … Sweetheart, Please Facetime me as soon as you’re able to chat.
I compose a response: Hi, baby, Sorry 4 being so quiet. I just felt like I needed to hide away from the world for a bit. Was feeling blu.
Do me a favour? Whenever you feel blue, call me first, before disappearing. FYI, please don’t disappear on me again. It gets me really worried.
I send him a smiley. Will do, I text.
I’m coming next week Friday. Clear your diary for me.
I’ve got him, haven’t I? I wonder when he gets the chance to see Iris. Aw, well. She’s so busy with her lawyer, I’m sure she hasn’t even noticed his diminished attention. Besides, he’s got me now, why would he even want to see Iris?
Just then, Papa Jeff calls me, wiping the smile off my face. Gosh, he’s been calling me for two weeks even though I haven’t responded. It’s time to get it over and done with.
‘Hello, Bontle. Finally picked up the phone, I see.’
He never greets me that way. It’s always ‘baby girl’.
‘I’ve not been well, Papa …’ I start, but he cuts me off.
‘Bontle, we need to talk.’
‘Okay,’ I say, unenthusiastically.
‘Bontle, you’re on speaker-phone … I’m with my wife.’
What the—?
‘Listen, you little bitch! You thought you could ruin my marriage with your fake hair and bleached skin. We’re coming for you! You think not picking up the phone means you get to keep things that don’t belong to you? I know where you live. I need you to park my husband’s car at the gate of your complex. I’m coming with bodyguards to pick it up. If it’s not there, I will come in and get it myself!’
‘Fokoff! You’ve no right to enter my estate!’ I scream.
‘Hey, wena. That car is registered in my husband’s name. You better have it parked outside your gate or there’ll be hell to pay.’
‘It may be in your husband’s name, but he bought it for me! You have no right to take it from me. I’ve been driving it for three years. Yessus, man! Don’t make me lose my mind!’
‘Mxm. I heard it’s too late for that. You’ve lost it already. You’re mad. Bring that car back. My brother is the Police Commissioner. It will take me a minute to register it as stolen. You won’t even be able to pull out of your back yard. I’ll make sure there’s a roadblock right there! Sefebe!’
Oh my gosh, this fucking bitch. How dare she? And where’s Papa Jeff in all this? Just sitting there and letting me take all this abuse from his wife. Never!
‘I’m coming to your house now! I’ll make sure all your neighbours know who I am. Nx!’
I grab my keys and run outside and get into the car. I think of putting on my face but there’s no time for that. Bitch’s going down.
I’m not even sure if Papa Jeff and his wife still live in the same Hyde Park estate but I don’t know what else to do so drive there as fast as I can and within minutes I’m at the security entrance. This woman doesn’t know who she’s messing with.
‘I’m here to see Jeff Sechaba.’
The security guard stares at me from the guardhouse. ‘Your name, ma’am?’
‘Bontle Tau. Tell Mrs Sechaba that Bontle Tau is here to see her.’
The security guard calls them. I’m hoping he’s calling the wife. I want her to know that if she’s going to go around calling me crazy, then she’s going to deal with my special brand of Mamelodi Madness.
He stays on the phone for a long time. After which he says that I must park outside the estate’s main gate.
The cheek of it! Park outside the gate so that they can come out and shoot me?
I weigh my options. If they’re really planning to take my car away, I’m not going to let my Merc go without a fight. I’ve earned it. While she was sitting on her fat arse not doing her conjugal duties, I had to pleasure that fat, old, greasy husband of hers!
I’m going to humiliate them as much as possible. I am going to cause a spectacle.
I wait patiently in the car, planning my move.
I see the Range Rover exiting the estate and coming around to park next to me outside the main gate.
Whatever happens, I should still be able to leave in my car. The main thing I want to do is pull that woman by her fake hair
. And bite her, if possible.
Nx! I’m so furious!
Papa Jeff gets out of the Range Rover and comes across to me, with his wife trotting behind him.
‘Bontle, step out of the car,’ he says, a calm but worried expression on his face.
I shake my head, then roll down the window. ‘If I step out of the car, will you take it away from me?’
‘Bontle, it’s my car.’
‘You bought it for me, babe.’
The wife is enraged. ‘Hey, wena, s’febe! How dare you say “babe” to my husband? You whore! Voetsek! Step out of that car!’
She looks like Godzilla. Her so-called husband, on the other hand, stares at the ground as if he’s waiting for it to open up and swallow him. Very good.
‘Why should I step out of my car? I’ll run you over!’
‘Sello! Is this the kind of trash you brought into our lives! This manipulative bitch used to sell cheap hair samples in bloody plastic bags! How could you?’ she screams.
I’m enjoying myself. ‘Did “Sello”,’ I say, making air quotes, ‘tell you we’re expecting a child?’
‘What?’ she shrieks.
I rub my hand over my stomach and smile. The colour drains from Papa Jeff’s face.
Mrs Papa Jeff walks back to the Range Rover. Good – let the witch go. I watch as she leans inside and emerges with something in her hands.
It’s a golf club.
Before I know it she’s smashed the club against my windscreen, but thank God the glass is shatter-proof. She could have killed me! She manages to make a crack, though, a huge crack. At this point, I think I’ve done enough to get the neighbours talking.
‘Babe … please do something about your crazy wife,’ I say, loudly, before revving up and driving off.
I realise I’m smiling. This was actually a good day back from hibernation. I needed to release all that anger.
The Blessed Girl Page 12