Читать книгу Affluenza - Niq Mhlongo - Страница 4

Soweto

The time was 16:00, according to the big clock at the Mangalani BP garage. If you were not from around Chiawelo you would think the time shown was correct, but the locals were aware that the “BP watch” was ahead of time by almost thirty minutes. That Saturday, 15 March, 16:30, the sky above Soweto was about to be ripped apart by fireworks. It was a day that would remind many Sowetans of the day Mandela was released from jail after spending twenty-seven years behind bars.

Thirty-nine-year-old Thami ducked involuntarily as the first set of explosions went off. His friend Vusi also flinched. They had been sitting on the balcony of their favourite Chiawelo shebeen – 24HOURS – since two o’clock that afternoon. They were not drunk yet, just tipsy, although Vusi had bulging, bloodshot eyes that could easily be mistaken for those of a drunken man. He was a lawyer by profession and had offices in Joburg. Thami worked as one of the cabinet minister’s bodyguards. Many people in the township called him “The Bull” because of his massive body.

24HOURS was filled with people and all eyes were glued to the TV that was mounted on the wall above the bar. There was no music playing. Everyone was waiting eagerly. Some people were biting their nails in anticipation. A very important announcement was about to be made by the FIFA President, Sepp Blatter. Everyone was hoping that South Africa would be selected ahead of Tunisia to host the World Cup in 2010.

Thami, meanwhile, felt alone, even amongst the throng of people in 24HOURS. He looked like he was enjoying his Castle Lager, the way he sipped it slowly and licked his thick lips. And, of course, he was in good company – his best friend Vusi was by his side. But Thami’s heart was heavy. His mind was busy, racing like a moth looking for a flame. Less than two months earlier he had separated from Thuli, his common-law wife of eight years. He could not believe that he would be facing her at the Johannesburg Maintenance Court that coming Monday.

“Just look at me, man. Everyone can tell that I’m as black as Africa itself. I cannot be that boy’s real father. There is no history of albinos in my family,” said Thami. He paused and took a drag from his cigarette. “Thuli probably slept with an albino guy when I was away with The Chief.”

“Stop it, man!” said Vusi, shaking his head. “These things happen. There is probably a biological reason.”

“Balls!” said Thami. “Even my mother knows that kid is not mine. I’m going to tell the court on Monday that I can’t pay maintenance for the kid when I know he’s not mine.”

“I’ve advised you to deny paternity in the court on Monday, so what are you still worried about?”

“I’m going to miss all the celebrations because of that stupid court case. Everybody from Parliament will be at the presidential residence if South Africa wins the bid, from the Governor of the Reserve Bank to the Minister of Sport.”

At that very moment a joyful noise filled the tavern. South Africa had just been declared the host of the 2010 FIFA World Cup! People were hugging each other. From where they sat, Thami and Vusi could even see cars on the Old Potchefstroom Road flashing their headlights in celebration.

“You see, baba,” said Vusi proudly, “if you want to watch a movie you don’t have to travel to town. Our Soweto is like Hollywood and Bollywood combined. Viva 2010 World Cup, viva!” He burped loudly after sipping from his quart of Castle Lager.

“Oh, sure,” Thami answered uninterestedly, flicking the ash of his cigarette onto the floor.

“Come on. Don’t give me that look,” said Vusi, a mixture of pity and disappointment on his face. “You can do better than that.”

Thami did not say a word. Instead he stared at the empty bottle he was holding as if he were wishing it full again. From every direction came the deafening sound of vuvuzelas and the hooting of the cars. Nearby, some thugs started spinning their BMWs. A huge crowd of people, young and old, watched in amazement. It looked as if the whole of Soweto had come out onto the street to celebrate.

Monday morning

Thami was driving along the M1 North in his Honda Ballade, heading for the centre of Joburg. The traffic was moving very slowly, as usual. Thami looked at the clock on the dashboard. It was half past nine. He began to panic. His friend Vusi had warned him a number of times about the magistrate at the maintenance court. “She will not hesitate to hold you in contempt of court for not showing up on time,” he had said.

To Thami’s relief, the traffic started to ease near Gold Reef casino, cars began to move faster. The road was like that until he arrived at the court, four minutes before his case was due to start.

Inside, the benches were crowded. Most of the people there were women. As he entered, Thami spotted Thuli. Her face was almost beautiful, she had great bone structure, but her flat nose spoiled her looks. Her hair was well braided and her Police sunglasses were pushed back on her forehead. She wore a Gucci leather jacket and big silver earrings dangled from both her ears.

Thuli could not hide her anger as she saw Thami approach.

“And you call yourself a man? I don’t think so!” said Thuli out loud as she got to her feet. She shook her head. “Do you want me to tell you what real men do, huh? Real men support their children. They put bread on the table every day for their children. Real men pay for their children’s studies, and they make sure that their children have shelter. You are not a real man because you do not support your children.”

“Yes. Tell the bastard how he is,” said a lady who was breast-feeding a baby on the opposite bench.

Thami was tight-lipped. Everyone in the corridor was looking at him. He felt humiliated.

Thuli clicked her tongue twice and wrinkled her nose. There was an expression of bitterness on her face. “Just look at you!” she eyed him sharply. “You are not even ashamed of yourself! You are here wearing an expensive suit and nice shoes but your three children are naked and barefoot at home. I would be ashamed of myself if I were you.”

“Divorce the bastard and get on with your life, girl. You are still young and there are lots of men out there that would kill to be with you,” said another woman who was sitting at the far end of the bench. Leaning forward she snapped her fingers. “Just like that! Dump him like a hot potato, girl. But you must make sure the bastard pays heavily for wasting your precious time.”

Thami pinched his nose. Many thoughts were going through his mind.

“Your friends think that you’re a man because you are Deputy President Zuma’s bodyguard.” Thuli shook her head again. “I don’t think so. They might mistake you for a man because of that useless stick between your legs, but you are not a man!”

There was laughter from the women sitting on the benches around him. Thami was tempted to retaliate, but he remembered Vusi’s advice that he should be civil to everyone in the court at all times. At the same time, the door to one of the offices yawned open. A woman in black pants and a blue shirt appeared. On the door was written: Ms Dube, Marriage Counsellor.

“Mr and Mrs Maphela!” the woman in black pants called out as the noise in the corridor subsided. “Come to my office, please.”

Thuli and Thami followed the woman inside. She pushed the door shut and gestured to them to sit in the two chairs provided as she took her place behind her desk. Above Ms Dube’s head was a poster with the words Stop the violence against women and children splashed across it. Below it was a framed photograph of a woman shaking President Thabo Mbeki’s hand. Thami realised that it was a picture of the woman who was sitting before them.

“Well, as you might already know, my name is Sylvia Dube,” said the woman. There was an authoritative tone in her voice. “I am the marriage counsellor. I can tell that it’s a difficult period for the two of you. I also know that, for the sake of the children, Mrs Maphela here has laid a complaint against you, Mr Maphela, for not providing financial support.” Her eyes moved from Thuli to Thami. “I understand that you are earning the same amount as before you split from your wife, so why are you not paying maintenance, Mr Maphela? Why are you not supporting your children anymore?”

“You are right, counsellor. The problem is not money. I am denying paternity of the last born. I don’t believe I fathered him,” said Thami, forcing calmness into his voice. Despite the fact that his words were the truth, he regretted them the moment they were out of his mouth. He loved his two older children and was worried about how everything that had happened might have affected them. He had only stopped paying maintenance because of the last born.

“What?” Thuli demanded angrily. “You want to tell me that all the years we were together you didn’t trust me? And, not only that, you didn’t have the balls to face me? Is that right?”

Thami remained calm. He did not say a word.

“Hold on! Let me get this straight,” said Counsellor Dube. “You are saying that you are here to contest the paternity of one of your children, is that right?”

“Right.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, I am. My intuition tells me that the last born is not mine. I want to clear it up once and for all,” said Thami.

“What about the other two? Why are you not supporting them?”

“I am sorry for my behaviour. This whole thing has affected me deeply and I am aware that I haven’t been making good decisions.”

“Did it affect you to the extent that you failed to support your own children?”

“Yes. I guess so.”

“So you want a paternity test?” asked Counsellor Dube.

“Yes, that’s what I want. I want to clear my doubts. And if in fact I am the father, I will happily support my child.”

“You are a liar! You are not doing this for the sake of the children,” interrupted Thuli angrily, looking at Thami like she could plunge her long nails into his face.

“Mrs Maphela, let’s –”

“Please, call me Thuli. I no longer want to be associated with his surname.”

“Okay, Thuli. We assure you that this court will do everything in its power to make sure that your children are well looked after,” said Counsellor Dube, trying to calm her down.

“Why are you running away from your responsibilities?” shouted Thuli impatiently, turning on Thami, her eyes searching his face. “You might as well forget about it. I don’t need your money. You can keep your dirt. The children and I can survive without your help. You must forget about us, we don’t need you in our lives anymore.”

Counsellor Dube looked at her watch. “I’m just going next door to consult the magistrate,” she said, standing up with some papers in her hand. “I’ll be back in a minute. I want you two to behave when I’m gone. Don’t shout at each other inside my office.”

Not a single word was spoken between Thuli and Thami while Counsellor Dube was out of the room. They even shied away from looking at each other. Thami’s eyes remained downcast; Thuli tapped her fingers on the table rhythmically. They remained like that until Counsellor Dube returned ten minutes later.

“Both of you will be appearing before the magistrate in room four in about thirty minutes,” said Counsellor Dube. “I had thought that this was only about maintenance, but it is obviously more complex than that. I don’t have the authority to order a paternity test, but the magistrate has. Oh …” She paused as if trying to soften the blow that was to come. “The unfortunate part of it is that all five of you … I mean you and your three children, will all have to undergo the test. We want to compare all your DNA and make sure that the outcome of the test is a hundred per cent correct. Are there any questions that either of you would like to ask?”

Thuli shook her head. “No. I am sorry, but I can’t subject my children to this torture because he has some crazy idea that our last born is not his.”

“Unfortunately,” said Counsellor Dube, “the matter is now in the hands of this court. And this court is required by law to resolve any matters brought before it.”

Thirty minutes later Thami and Thuli appeared in front of the magistrate. The hearing lasted only ten minutes as Thami maintained his original position. A court order was issued by the magistrate requiring Thami and Thuli, as well as their three children, to go to the nearest laboratory and have their blood taken. The next court date was in two weeks’ time.

24HOURS

Thami tried to catch the waitress’s attention by waving his right hand. He was thirsty for another beer. As soon as the waitress came, he gave her a fifty-rand note and ordered two Castle Lager quarts. Most people were watching the derby between Kaizer Chiefs and Orlando Pirates.

“Pirates have to win this game if they are serious about winning the league this year,” said Thami.

“I think today is Pirates’ day, man. They are playing well.”

The waitress came with two beers and put them on their table. Vusi opened one of the bottles with his teeth. “The next round will be on me,” he said as he poured beer into his glass.

“Thanks, man,” said Thami and laughed sadly. “Very soon I’ll not be able to afford to buy you a beer, my friend. All my money will be going on maintenance.”

“When are you going to know the outcome of all of this?” asked Vusi.

“The day after tomorrow.”

“What are you going to do if it turns out that all the children are yours?”

“I’m ready for any result, man. Whatever comes, I’ll have to act like a man.”

Friday morning

Magistrate Zodwa Khumalo was to preside over the court proceedings. Their case was due to start at nine o’clock, but both Thami and Thuli arrived early. Thuli was accompanied by her mother and her best friend. Thami had come with Vusi. There were already about twenty people seated on the benches inside the courtroom. Everybody remained quiet.

“This is the case of paternity between Thami and Thuli Maphela,” said Magistrate Khumalo after clearing her throat. “May the two parties step forward, please.”

Vusi gave his friend a big wink and raised his thumb.

“We will start with Leleti Maphela, a female, born on 17 July 1997. For the case of paternity you brought before this court, you are excused. You are not the father,” said the magistrate, looking at her files.

Thami’s palms began to sweat as he took in what the magistrate was saying.

“The second child, Zolani Maphela, a male, born on 10 October 2000. For the case of paternity, the court excuses you as the father.”

Thami swallowed deeply.

“The third child is Zandi Maphela, a female, born on 2 January 2003. For the case of paternity, you are the father. You are therefore required by this court to maintain your child by paying the amount of seven hundred and fifty rand every month.”

24HOURS

The shebeen was crowded. It was Friday evening. Thami and Vusi were seated in a corner, next to a large speaker that was blaring out Kamazu’s classic “Korobela”.

African woman, why give me korobela?

Oh, korobela.

Thami sang along to the song, his head moving rhythmically to the music.

“This song speaks to me, man. I think Thuli gave me a love potion to blind me. How else is it possible that I didn’t see that she was cheating on me all along?” asked Thami as the song ended.

“Don’t blame yourself, man,” said Vusi. “I’ve heard that most women use it on their men. My father told me that they apply it to their arms, thighs and genitals before sex. When a man is busy dancing between his woman’s legs and enjoying it, the potion is transferred.”

“You see me married again, you cut my throat. I have had enough of women,” said Thami drunkenly.