Chapter 12: Soft Life

 

Narrated by Qondanisa Qwabe

Three months after arriving in Johannesburg, I finally decided that it was time to leave the hostel. I was grateful to Mzo and the men I had met there, but I wanted my own space. I had worked hard, and God had blessed the work of my hands. Besides, I could afford it. One evening, after we had closed the workshop, I sat outside with Mzo.

"Bafo," I said, "I think it is time for me to move out."

Mzo looked at me and laughed.

"Hawu! Look at this one, usakhathele ukuhlala ehostela.”

I laughed with him.

"No, I just want peace."

He shook his head.

"Peace? Hhayi bo. You want soft life. Midrand, Sandton, and all those places."

"I just want my own place."

"After sleeping on a sponge at the hostel, now suddenly you are too good for us?"

"Never," I said. "I just need my own space."

Mzo smiled.

"I am joking, bafo. You deserve it."

The following weekend, we went looking for apartments. After visiting several places, I found a beautiful flat in Midrand. It was a modern two-bedroom apartment inside a secure estate. The kitchen was spacious, and there was even a balcony. As soon as I walked inside, I knew.

"This is the one," I said.

Mzo looked around and whistled.

"Hhayi, Qondanisa. You really love soft life."

I laughed.

"It is not soft life, it is hard work."

The following Saturday, Mzo and some of the guys from the hostel helped me move. Zulu carried boxes while Dladla helped with the furniture.

"Careful with my television," I warned them.

Zulu laughed.

"Listen to him. Three months ago, this man arrived with one bag."

Dladla nodded.

"Now he is giving instructions like a millionaire."

Everyone laughed. By evening everything was in place. I stood in the middle of the living room and smiled.

Mzo looked around and nodded approvingly.

"Not bad, bafo."

"It will do," I replied.

"It will do? Hhayi, this man, some of us are still sharing bathrooms with ten people."

I laughed.

"You are welcome to visit."

"I know where I will come when there is no electricity at the hostel."

We both laughed. That evening after everyone had left, my mother called.

"Uthuthe kahle, mntanami?" she asked.

"Yes, Ma. Everything went well."

"Uyajabula?"

"I am happy."

There was silence on the line. Then she said softly, "Baba wakho ubezoziqhenya ngawe."

I smiled.

"Ngiyabonga, Ma."

A week later, Mzo announced that we were going out.

"No arguments," he said. "Tonight we celebrate."

"What are we celebrating now?" I asked.

"Your apartment, Q Squared, Life and everything."

That evening Mzo, Zulu, Dladla, and a few of his friends took me to Maboneng. The place was full of life. Music played loudly. People laughed and danced. The smell of grilled meat filled the air. As we sat down we ordered food and alcohol, Mzo raised his glass.

"To Qondanisa!" he shouted.

"To Q Squared Mechanics!" Zulu added.

Everyone cheered. As the evening continued, some ladies joined our table. I noticed that Mzo and his friends immediately started buying them drinks. One of the ladies sat next to me.

"You are very quiet," she said with a smile.

"I talk when I have something to say," I replied.

She laughed.

"I like quiet men."

I smiled politely and continued eating.

Meanwhile, Mzo was busy showing off.

"Bartender!" he shouted. "Bring another bottle."

Everyone laughed, then he looked at me.

"Bafo, buy the lady something."

I shook my head.

"No."

Zulu almost dropped his drink.

"Hhayi! Why not?"

I laughed.

"I don't spend my money kwizeqamgwaqo."

The table went silent for a moment. Then everyone burst out laughing.

"Hawu!" Mzo shouted. "Did you hear that?"

Zulu almost choked on his drink.

"Kwizeqamgwaqo?" he repeated. "This man is something else."

“What do you mean bafo?” Mzo leaned concerned .

“These women are opportunists,” he said firmly. “They use men just to buy them alcohol. They act like they are interested in you, but in reality they just want to get drunk.”

Mzo laughed lightly and leaned back in his chair.

“That is life here in Jozi,” he replied. “If you do not spend money, you will not get a lady.”

I was confused and  I shook my head again.

“Hayi suka,” I said. “Buying them drinks does not guarantee that they will go home with you. That is not how real love works.”

Dladla joined the conversation and laughed.

“Kusegoli lana,” he said. “This is Johannesburg. Faka imali uzobona.”

Mzo pointed at Qondanisa with a smile.

“Bafo, we need to teach you how to approach women here. It is different from KwaMashu.”

I  crossed my arms and stayed firm in my belief.

“Hayi,” I said calmly. “I am old-fashioned. I will find my own woman who loves me for who I am, not for what I can provide.”