Love's courage. Mokopi Shale

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СКАЧАТЬ is in trouble. And what about your poor wife, if you ever get one? Maybe you should marry a white woman, or one of your exile buddies!”

      The men laugh and pass around the calabash of sorghum beer, making comments about Kenneth chasing the goat around the yard and kissing the dust. These are met with raucous guffaws from the gathering of young and old men.

      “Is it my fault that I grew up in London and don’t know these things? Malome Tshepo, don’t you think you should try and teach me these things, rather than laugh at me?” a fuming Kenneth asks in a decidedly British accent. His uncle looks him in the eyes and realises how deeply offended Kenneth is.

      “When can I teach you? You don’t come to family gatherings unless you absolutely have to. These things can’t be done via email, you know. And they can’t be found in books. So you have to come to these functions; that is how we learned and that is how you will learn,” Malome Tshepo says sympathetically.

      “I don’t want to be the butt of every joke among the men at these gatherings. You all seem to derive great pleasure out of making me the village idiot, and I don’t see any reason why I should put myself in that position.” Kenneth stalks off to talk to his brother in-law, who is standing with his father.

      Tebogo, his brother-in-law, pats him on the shoulder supportively and says, “Thanks for all you did, Kenneth. And don’t take it personally; we all go through it.”

      “Well, it just seems a bit sharper when it’s directed at me. If I had chosen to not know my own culture I could take it, but it’s not my fault,” Kenneth says, frustrated.

      “Ao, Ngwana’ka. They’re just boys being boys; you have to stop being so sensitive about this,” his father says, putting his hand on Kenneth’s other shoulder. “Going into exile was the only option we had, and after all those scares in Botswana and Onkgopotse Tiro’s death, we simply had to go overseas. You know that. We tried to keep you in touch with home as much as we could, son.”

      “I know that, Dad,” Kenneth says. “I just wish there was a way I could learn these things in a less humiliating way.”

      “You’d better stop frowning, otherwise your mother will come stomping over here to find out what’s wrong with her Kenny, and you know she’ll blow things out of proportion, making them even worse.”

      Kenneth puts a fake smile on his face and nods at his mother, who is watching the group of men from a distance. He is relieved to see the concerned look on her face dissolve.

      * * *

      It is the end of the day, and Lesego jumps into her car to head to the petrol station for some much-needed fuel. She receives an SMS from Tshepiso:

      Been robbed. Have no way of getting home.

      Please call me!

      Lesego quickly dials her sister’s number.

      “Tshepiso, what’s going on? Where are you?”

      “I’m on campus, and I’ve been robbed. Some homeless people charged out of nowhere and grabbed my grocery bags. Luckily I still have my handbag, but I only have R20 of the money you sent me,” the girl wails into the phone.

      Lesego sighs and turns the key to check the petrol gauge of her car, which reads halfway through a quarter of a tank. She releases a tense breath. “Okay,” she says, considering her options. “Uhm . . .”

      “Please, Lesego, help me if you can. I don’t know what to do. I’ll be able to buy some bread and maybe eggs with this, but that’s only for today. Tomorrow I’ll be stranded. I know it’s asking a lot, but please help me.” Tshepiso’s voice wobbles and she starts to cry again.

      “Okay, don’t worry about it. Stop stressing. I’ll make a plan. I’ll go up to the office now and make another deposit, okay?”

      “Okay. Thanks, sis, I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

      They ring off. Lesego feels light-headed. She tells herself it’s because she hasn’t really eaten much today.

      She gets to her desk, logs on and transfers another R150. As she walks out, she hears someone call. “Lesego! Come in here, please.”

      She sighs and heads towards the voice. “Hi, Lesley.”

      “Hello, dear. I just got off the phone with the supervising producer. The crew are misbehaving again and we’re falling behind on the shooting schedule. I’ll have to go in there tomorrow. Can you believe it?”

      “That’s why I don’t want your job . . .”

      Lesley gives a wry smile and then continues, “That means I won’t be able to attend that story meeting with the broadcaster.”

      “Oh . . .”

      “Yes, Lesego. You and I are the only ones in a senior position who know what’s happening storywise. And if I can’t go, then you’ll have to.”

      Lesego blinks slowly, trying not to panic. She knows if she makes that unscheduled trip, her petrol will be finished. How can she get out of this one with her pride intact?

      “I have so much on my plate right now, and it all needs to be done by Friday. Can’t we postpone?” she asks pleadingly.

      Lesley shakes her head. “Sorry, my dear, we try never to say no to the client. You’ll have to go. Is there a problem?”

      Lesego releases a pent-up breath, takes a deep one to calm herself and then says, “Uhm . . . no. I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

      Lesley smiles. “With more money comes greater responsibility. This is what it means to be head writer, my girl. Sometimes you’re called on to act in the best interests of the project. And this is one of those times.”

      Lesego swallows the thick and sticky spit in her mouth and feels the back of her throat is dry. She takes a swig from her water bottle and says, “Okay, I’ll be there. Excuse me, I have to go now.”

      She walks down the passage to her car, drives to her house in a daze and parks in the garage. Finding it hard to breathe and with her heart pounding, she reaches for the window to wind it down. Suddenly there are spots in front of her eyes; she leans over to get the water bottle, struggles to open it and passes out.

      * * *

      Kenneth is sitting in an office with his mother, who is looking over the books.

      “So, my boy . . . When can I expect you to bring a woman home? It’s time you started procreating, but I never see you with a woman or hear of you with one. Are you gay?”

      “No, Ma! Ao . . . And what if I was?”

      “Then I would know to look to your brother to continue the line.”

      “Ma, they broke the mould after they’d made you. These days all the women have cracks – half of them are crazy, and the other half are gold-diggers who only want me for my status and money . . . I’d love to settle down, but there isn’t one single decent woman left. All the good ones are taken – and I’m not a cradle snatcher. Once you get to my age, you only meet stubborn or nagging has-beens who’d make your life a living СКАЧАТЬ