The sun was out and the wind blew gently. The branches danced swiftly, waving their leaves to the residents of the small farm town. The fresh air made it perfect for residents to walk and clear their mind. However, in this middle-class neighbourhood, the parents were at work. They had an image to protect. The kids were at school and the elders were too old to walk by themselves. This beautiful day could only be enjoyed by the local store bums and graduate unemployed. On this day, a 23-year-old graduate was soaking in the beauty of it all.
He walked to clear his mind. He only walked when his mind was fogged. His mind was fogged by the fact he obtained a useless degree. His mind was fogged with jealousy for the fact his friends had careers. His mind was fogged with the belief that he wanted to be so rich that he could watch his children grow. He realised that his parents missed most of his childhood because they had to work. They just had to work. They did not have the luxury of wealthy parents who worked because they wanted to. They had to. His parents had to work and because of that, he was raised by his nanny. She bathed him when he was young. He cooked for him when he was young and to this day, she still cooks for him. He hates the fact that she cared for him so much and yet, she wasn’t his mother. She could never be his mother. As much as he felt the emptiness of seeing mother always stressed out because of work, she was still his mother. He hated how his nanny fulfilled the roles of a mother when he had a mother to call his own.
He looked like a bum. He felt like a bum. He was wearing an oversized coat that belonged to his brother. And so, it was faded around the collar and around the shoulder line. The coat had 3 shades of black the way it was so old and faded. The zipper could not hold the coat together so he felt like a nineties villain the way it was always open. He wore joggers that made him comfortable. They were clean but looked as if they were pulled from the pits of his wardrobe. The joggers were decorated in dust balls and gave off a faint scent of mothballs. It did not matter to him. They were no potential girlfriends in his neighbourhood to look dapper for. What mattered to him was that he was comfortable. Comfortable in his brother’s coat, comfortable in the joggers his sister bought for him three years ago, comfortable in the free hat he received from his father’s workplace and comfortable in the trainers his mother bought for him last month. He was comfortable and he knew that the comfort was slowly eroding to his thinking as well.
After walking the longest street in the neighbourhood, he turned right into the shadiest street. The wind blew gently but the sun shone fiercely. Looking into the short strip of road, the tar had not seen the sun for years. The trees in this street were large and covered the whole street with shade. He remembered that his friends from the housing development area close by did not have this privilege. They had network towers to provide them shade. He walked into the cool street. The road was smoother as few cars drove on this street. The wind no longer blew the sweat on his face to cool him off but rather, the wind blew directly at his skin giving him a slight chill. He did not mind though.
He took his time walking in the street. Enjoying every a bit of the shade before entering the sun’s gaze. As he was about to exit the street, he saw a young boy. The young boy was looking at his bicycle perplexed. The bicycle looked fine, a bit worn out, but in good condition. The young boy looked at his bicycle. Not finding the problem, he flipped it over and stood the bicycle on its handle and seat. He looked at the young boy flip the bicycle. He smiled and was thrilled that old school ways have transcended into the new generation. Nostalgia filling his veins, he walked over to the boy to help him.
“Sure.”
“Dumela Abuti.”
“What’s good? What’s up with the bicycle?”
“I do not know. I was riding up the street and then, I was riding no more up the street.”
The young man chuckled, ”so the pedals just kept going but not the bike?"
“Eya Ntate.”
He did not like it when young boys called him Ntate. He was not that old, “sure mfetu, don’t call that. Abuti is fine”
“You are old Abuti.”
The boy’s youthfulness warmed his heart. He offered to help him get home. The bicycle’s cassette slipped. That was causing the problems that this boy was facing. He was wearing his school uniform. On his back was an oversized bag with the school shoe’s laces sticking out. He looked at the watch and he realised that the young boy skipped the last class.
He walked with the boy to his home. The young boy rushed over to open the gate. The young man carried the bike in and placed it against the wall. The young boy knowing that he skipped school, ran around the back to hide his bag. He quickly came running back.
“Thank you Abuti,” he said before running off back in the streets.
He smiled at the young boy’s youthfulness. He doesn’t have to worry about work and career paths yet. While lost in his thoughts, the front door of the house opened. A young girl, also in uniform but for high schoolers, walked out and yelled.
“Wena! I am going to tell-“ she stopped halfway in her sentence. She had not realised the graduate in the yard. She froze in all kinds of emotion. She just arrived home so she had not taken off her clothes. Instead, she was still in the green school dress. Her white rugby socks concealing her feet and her hair tied back with a black ribbon. She stood and looked at the graduate, frozen in inexplicable emotion.
He looked at the young girl. Because of the school’s rules, the only make-up she wore was the Vaseline on her lips. Her upper lip browner than her lower lip that lit bright red from the blood. The blood overflowed in those lips. They were full. He felt the first wave of shame. She looked like she just arrived from school. The buttons of her upper dress were undone, revealing a white bra lace supporting the developing breasts. The second wave of shame caused a sharp pain in his left lung. He looked away and without saying anything, walked away.
How could he look at a young girl like that? How could he look at a young girl who is still in uniform with eyes of lust? He felt shame cripple his ability to breathe. Even the clear air could not provide him with the clear oxygen he needed. He felt conflicted. True, he had not been with many women in his life. His first girlfriend was his girlfriend- by title. His second girlfriend left him for a rich old man who, to no surprise, was a married man to four children. His last girlfriend told him to get a job. Her reason was that she cannot be the breadwinner when he is the one wearing the pants. He found that ironic that the girl was one of the lucky ones who received an internship after graduation. A single year’s internship and since the end of her internship, she is now another statistic of unemployed graduates. Like himself.
But even so, the age differences between him and his girlfriend were modest, to say the least. The large difference was with his second girlfriend who was two years his junior. Other than that, he dated women within his age group.
He wondered how the old generation did it. He had friends who the father was 12 years older than the wife. He had white friends who the mother was 8 years older than the husband. He wondered whether if age was just a number in love. He thought of Jay-Z and Beyoncé. Two of the most powerful and influential couples of the modern age and yet, Jay Z is 12 years B’s senior. And even so, Mr Carter humbles himself to his wife. The thought lingered with him. He continued walking, thinking about the young girl.
Moments later, he had a loud cry from behind him. He looked back to see who it was. With hair dancing in the wind, the collar of the green dress swinging left and right along with the ends of the dress, the young girl came running towards him. She had just worn black Nike SB High Dunks and chased him down. Her buttons remained unfastened. He stood shocked and surprised.
“Hey, Hey. Shu! I’m unfit,” the young girl said.
“Yeah,” he said. That was all that he could say. He hated the fact he was infatuated by the girl.
“I know you, Thapelo. My mum always tells me to study and one day, I’ll be having my university papers like you. Thank you for being my unofficial mentor.”
His pride was shot given the fact he had graduated two years ago but still remained unemployed. He paid her no mind though. He did not know whether it was because she was young, naïve to the world, or because of the slight infatuation brewing in his body.
“I’m going to the shop. Those men harass me every time I go. Seeing that you walking in that direction and that you helped my hooligan of a brother, I hoped you’ll help me too.”
“Help you with what?” He asked confused.
“Help me by being my guardian angel and protect me from those hood rats at the shop. I am a cheese girl and you know rats and cheese.”
He smiled at the young girl’s queer sense of wit. How could he resist her charm? He accepted to walk her.
Their walk was a slow one. The road to the shop was an uphill battle. The trees on this street did not have the large branches to cover it. The sun shone fiercely on the two. He kept looking at her with the corners of his eyes. Each time he did, he felt a sick thud in his chest. He failed to understand why this young girl aroused his masculinity. He traced a droplet of sweat roll off her nose. The silhouette of her face masked with the beauty that only African women possess. Under the sun, her brown eyes lit like diamonds that have been polished. Her skin looked like it was dipped in the richest honey known to mankind. She looked innocent but she carried an aura that suggested otherwise. With each of these thoughts, his blood thickened with disgust in himself.
“Real quick, how old are you?” He asked the young girl to lessen the flow of his blood.
“I’m 18, turning 19 come spring.”
He quickly calculated she was 5 years younger than him. Come spring, she’ll be 4 years younger. His cousin, who’s 29 years of old, is married to a woman, who’s 24 years old. And they were a very happy couple. A happily married couple. A rarity in today’s world. But even so, his cousin was working and so was his wife. He could not possibly compare the situation of a married couple with him and a high school girl.
“The girl is in uniform Thapelo, come on!” He internally yelled at himself.
“Look, there’s my friend,” she said as they passed the biggest house in the neighbourhood.
The house belonged to the university lecturer who recently became an associate professor of his faculty. The lecturer was known for two things: tenders and young women. Inasmuch he was a well-known academic, the bulk of his wealth came from his associations with local politicians. Through these associations, the lecturer won every second tender issued by the local municipality. At least, he delivered on his tenders. His first tender was to restore the parks of the neighbourhoods. That tender was awarded to him over 12 years ago. Due to the quality of his work, the park still stood clean and safe for the residents. He already had money so tenders were his side-hustle. So they said in the streets.
The other reason for the lecturer’s local fame was the fact he loved women. Not married women or women his age group but young women still in high school or freshwomen in university. Because of his political connections, people never questioned him about his relationship with young women. They accepted the reality as is.
Today, the young lady that was at his front gate was the daughter of an ex-MK veteran. The young lady's father had seen the very worst of Apartheid and so, he was extremely unstable. A good man nonetheless. He understood his problems and went the extra mile to make sure they do not bother his everyday existence. Word on the street was that he went to a psychologist every week, without fail. Every Saturday, without fail, he played golf with his fellow ex-MK veterans in the golf course in town. Those activities helped him remain stable for his wife and four daughters. But, word on the street also said that under his dog kennel (that housed two pure-breed pit bulls) was a bunker with arms that even the SADF would envy.
The closer they walked to the front gate, they realised that the daughter of the ex-MK veteran was not feeling okay. She was crying as she stood by the gate of the big house. The young girl rushed over to his friend. Thapelo, under his oath to walk her to the store, rushed with her.
“Don’t cry friend, don’t cry,” said the young girl as she was hugging her friend. The friend looked clean. Her clothes were still intact. It is when Thapelo saw blood trickle below her skirt that the reality of the matter weighed in.
According to the friend, she went to the lecturer to collect university prospectuses for herself and a few other friends. She knew about the lecturer’s reputation but she thought otherwise of the matter. After all, she did ask him the previous week for them. He did not seem interested in her. So she thought.
Today, when she arrived, the lecturer invited her inside the house. Her father taught her that whenever she went into another man’s house, even the local pastor’s house, she must send him a text message. She got in the house, sat on the sofa and immediately sent a father a text that she was at the lecturer’s house collecting university prospectuses. She said that the lecturer seemed relaxed and kept making small talk. At one point, he offered the young girl a glass of “whiskey that has been soaked in wood for 25 years”. She refused the glass of whiskey and insisted that the lecturer gave her what she came for so she can leave. Next thing you know, she said that the lecturer pulled her close and forced her to the ground. She fell with so much force, she said, she lost conscious immediately. When she came too, there was his dad with a black pistol shoved inside the lecturer’s mouth.
She cried and wished her father had arrived just moments earlier. But she’s thankful he came before the lecturer impregnated her. She was in deep pain and cried on her friend’s shoulder. Her dad walked over and greeted Thapelo and the young girl. He looked at Thapelo. He looked at him straight in the eyes. His soul was tormented. His eyes were as dark as the halls of hell, only lit by the love he had for his wife and daughters.
“Thapelo. Do not worry he is alive. For now.”
The ex-MK walked outside and shot three holes in the wall of the lecturer’s concrete fence. The shots echoed into the calm neighbourhood. The ex-MK veteran walked back to his daughter. He looked at her and tears rolled down his cheek. Without saying a single word, he picked her up and left.
Thapelo stood there with the young girl. She was clearly shocked and did not know what to say or do. Thapelo looked at her. He pulled her closer to his embrace. He understood that he was her protector. In that moment, he gave her the strength she needed. He felt her clutch on his back as her tears began soaking on his chest. With love slowly overcoming the lust he felt earlier, Thapelo walked the young girl home.
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