2nd time lucky

I had promised Tshidi that I would be there before she leaves for school. It was 8 am according to the radio on the public announcement speakers at the Johannesburg Park Station, that's the time that she normally leaves the house every morning to some college in town where she was doing some computer courses. I could have phoned her to tell her that the trains were running late if my phone was still on. i didn't have airtime on it anyway.

Apparently, there was a power failure (or something) somewhere between Naledi and Dube stations. Trains were using a single line there. At about 8:05 am, a train to Vereeniging arrived and I boarded, even though my destination was actually Merafe station, which is along the troubled Naledi railway route. I was going to get off at the New Canada station where there was a better chance of connecting a train to Naledi. Should the train arrive there immediately, I could still make it home before 9:30am   But when I got to New Canada station, platforms were swarming with people who were all waiting for the Naledi line trains. By the look of things, it was clear that some of these people had been there for a very long time.

I did not have even a cent in my pocket, otherwise I would have just taken a taxi straight to Moletsane where Tshidi was desparately waiting for me. Or, at least, used one of the nearest public phones at one of the station to tell Tshidi about the situation with the trains.

But there was absolutely nothing in my pockets.

When she phoned me at work last night to remind me about the closing date for Exam fees at 12 noon today, Tshidi insisted that we could meet in town (Joburg) in the morning. But I told her that that would be useless as I had left all my banking cards and IDs at home. The truth is I did not have the R3500 she was asking for in the bank. The little money that I had, all went to my firearm training course just a few weeks before she told me about the R3 500 fees she was suppose to pay for her exams.

So what was I going home for if I didn't have the money? Well, I had spoken to a mashonisa (money-lender) who had promised me something. She had helped me on numerous occasions in the past, so I trusted her.

“but you must be here early because I work on the first come first served basis.” She had warned me. Of course, I knew that. What I didnt know, however, was that by this time I would still be sitting in the middle of nowhere waiting for a train. It was terrible to think that Tshidi may not write her Exams.

 “ You know abut’ Jones, I don't always come to you to ask you for money for useless stuff, I just want to be sure that you will be able to help me or not. This is important to me” Tshidi’s words kept ringing in my head the whole time as i was waiting for a train at New Canada station. I had promised that she will get the money.

Even though she was my daughter, she still called me “Abut’ Jones”. I guess that’s because that’s what Nelly, her mother, called me years back when we were still together staying in Molapo where we were renting an outside room. We separated when Tshidi was about 8 years. Nelly complained about my drinking habits and I complained about her money-spending habits. Yes I would hang around with guys on Fridays after work and on Saturday evenings, but I would hand Nelly much of my weekly salary which was only about R500 to take care of groceries and other household needs. But Nelly, a very beautiful woman from whichever angle you look at her, had developed a habit of spending much of that money on herself. She would spend hours and hours at the salon almost every week. So I decided to do groceries myself, but that never really seemed to bother her.

 It got worse when I heard rumours that she was having an affair with some police guy. I confronted her about it.

It turned so ugly that we almost killed each other that Thursday night. She told me that she doesn’t give a damn about the penny I was earning, she knows better guys who know how to take care of a woman, who have their own porche houses in the suburbs, who drive their own big cars, who have this and that, and not people who still stays in the backyard of other people’s property. This was the final blow to our rather shaky relationship. It was the closest I had ever been to killing someone.

The following day I did not sleep at home. There was this woman, Tshepiso, that I had just started seeing a few days ago – perhaps out of frustration with the life from hell I was living with Nelly. When I phoned Tshepiso from my work to tell her that my relationship with Nelly was over, she invited me over to her room in Pimville. I spent the whole weekend there.   I did not even go to the Lekgotleng that Sunday. When Madala, a very strict disciplinarian and the lekgotla chairman for that weekend phoned me, I just simply ignored his call and continued to fill my glass with some more Gin. Tshepiso’s jaw dropped in shock as I took the whole half a glass of unsponged Gin in just one downshot.

Needless to say, not only was I late for work the following Monday morning but I was still very drunk when I got there.  By the end of that week I was jobless. I did not tell Tshepiso because I was afraid she might kick me out of her place. I told her I was getting paid on a monthly basis. I did not want to be anywhere near Nelly either, even though from time to time I kept thinking of my little Tshidi. What was she thinking about my sudden, unannounced disappearance. Most importantly what was her devious mother saying to her about me.  

So the following weekend I went back to our Molapo room to collect the rest of my stuff and also to try and expalin things to my little Tshidi. A week was  the longest time I had ever been away from her since her birth.

The room was empty! The bitch had taken off with everything. I tried to ask MmaNkosi, the landlady, about her whereabouts. She was surprised that I didn’t know that Nelly had taken everything and went back to Eastern Cape. That bitch!

 Everything was gone, except for my sports bag that I normally carry everday when I go to work. It was stuffed with some of my old clothes. My best clothes were just not there. Then in one of the side pockets of the bag there were a couple of old newspapers, some old Lotto tickets and a R20! I thanked MmaNkosi and took a taxi back to Pimville

Tshepiso was not there when I got back. It was the most terrible day of my life. After taking out all the stuff out of the bag, I started searching for the scrubbing brush so I could wash the bag. There was no powder soap, so I sat on the bed and took a look at some of the old newspapers from my bag. As I was going through the newspapers my eyes fell on lotto result and could not believe what I was looking at.

I frantically started to search the rest of the bag for any remaining lotto ticket in there. When I was satisfied that I got everything out, I went through each ticket one by one.  I was sure that at least four of the numbers that appeared on those results were my numbers. Four of those numbers were  Tshidi’s  and my date and month of birth – I just couldn’t forget that. The last two was a combination of Nelly’s birthday or her age, I could not remember exactly. I had to find the ticket for that date.