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Later that afternoon Khutso found himself sitting with his roommate, Tshepo, in front of their residential block, carefully observing the student life that they had just joined. There were many beautiful young women at the university, and Khutso looked at them, knowing that Tshepo was doing the same.
“I never had a girlfriend in high school,” Tshepo said, revealing something from his past.
But Khutso didn’t answer him, and so they just sat there, looking at the student life that was passing them by on their first Friday as students of the University of the North.
“I think I should not have a girlfriend here as well,” Tshepo added after some time, but still Khutso did not say anything.
“I think I will just try to be a student one hundred per cent, just like I was a pupil one hundred per cent. I always wanted a girlfriend. I thought about it constantly. But, truthfully, having a girlfriend would mess up my work. She would be a hindrance to my academic advancement.”
“Women, my dear roommate,” Khutso said cryptically.
“Did you have girlfriends in high school?” Tshepo asked.
“I had my fair share,” Khutso lied. “They are nothing, dear roommate, but I see what you’re saying. They can be a problem, and I think I will also take an academic break from the game of breaking hearts, because my dreams are on the line here.”
But before the end of their second week at university Khutso had seen a young woman who stirred something deep inside him. When he looked at her, his heartbeat changed, and the very fact that she made his heart beat faster scared him, which in turn made his heart beat even faster.
The first time he had seen her had been in the lecture hall.
“Sorry, I am late,” she had said, closing the door quietly behind her.
Immediately, the packed hall had gone dead quiet. “What’s your name, young lady?” the lecturer, who had been struggling to gain control of the students, had asked her.
“Pretty,” she replied.
Chapter 6
Pretty, as the name suggests, was pretty. Girls like her were not for marriage but for show, so people believed. They believed that her kind were made for sharing amongst men, as no one man could ever handle such beauty alone without jealousy rendering him insane.
Pretty had her first boyfriend in Standard One. Every morning a man came to deliver his boss’s children to school and there they would find her at the gate. One morning, the man asked her to choose between his boss’s three sons. She chose Lehlogonolo, the eldest son, as they were in the same class, and with that she guaranteed herself half of Lehlogonolo’s lunchbox, which for a poor girl was luxury. Though she shared his lunchbox every day, she only kissed Lehlogonolo once – and that was in the presence of the driver, who had coached him – but this became the foundation of what she knew her beauty could do for her.
As she grew older Pretty learned quickly that her beauty scared men out of their minds, but she also learned that men don’t deserve to be trusted.
Only once had she trusted a man. Her Standard Four class teacher was someone she could talk to. She thought of him as a second father, as he appeared to be the only person in her world who was concerned about her.
She trusted him until one Friday afternoon when she found her back flat on his bed, her legs spread, her body racked with excruciating pain.
“Please don’t tell anybody,” he said afterwards as he put money in her hand.
And she didn’t tell anybody. Not because she didn’t want to tell her story, but because she never knew how to start telling or to whom she would tell it.
Monday came and some more currency was paid. She did not know what to say. Then Friday came around again and another appointment was made. Her legs took her to his quarters on Saturday, and there were new shoes and a beautiful miniskirt that she had to wear there and then. Dressed in the new clothes, she looked at herself in the mirror and for the first time in her life she saw herself as if she were looking through someone else’s eyes and was overwhelmed by her own beauty.
Then people started talking about her. She was a poor girl wearing expensive clothes, and it wasn’t long before the truth was exposed. Then the teacher tried to distance himself from her, but he couldn’t keep away. He tried to be discreet, but there were eyes that saw and tongues that wagged and waggled until the authorities could no longer continue to turn a blind eye.
After that Pretty tried to avoid the chilli-hot whispers and pointing fingers, but by the time she made it to high school her back had been forced down naked by many people she knew in the community. There were always men who wanted to be part of her life, and when they found that they fell short of her expectations they came with currency, and for a poor girl the currency was what mattered.
Then Bongani came along, when she was sweet sixteen. She didn’t even want to get to know him – there was nothing about him that interested her – but eventually his father’s money engulfed her and swept her off her feet.
Although she felt nothing for him, Bongani worshipped her. He even took her home and introduced her to his parents.
Bongani’s mother loved Pretty, and there would have been an engagement and a marriage if Bongani’s father hadn’t called his son to one side. “Son,” he said. “It is a good thing to have a wife. We all love your girlfriend, and are very proud of her, but you and your girlfriend don’t yet have the willpower to sit on the red-hot fire that is life. If your mother, son, ever had an affair, that would be the end of us as a family, but although there are many men who want your mother, they know what a strong woman she is. She has resisted them because she has the power to resist, and that is a quality that your girlfriend has not acquired yet. A woman without resistance cannot build a family. Wait, son, and eat it knowing what it is. Don’t be surprised later.”
Then there was a row in the family because Bongani’s mother was pushing for them to get married and his father was resisting. Some members of the family even thought that Bongani’s father hated Pretty for some reason, but his father, seeing what was happening, called a meeting. “We all love Pretty,” he said, “but I want to ask that they wait until they have both passed their matric. Then, if they still want to, they can marry and we can send them to university together, if they want to go.”
Pretty heard about the meeting and knew that after matriculation she would marry into one of the most affluent families in the community, and that she and Bongani would go to university together – if they wanted to. The thought made her smile.
A year later Bongani came to his father with tears in his eyes. He looked like he had just walked a thousand kilometres. “Son, stop crying,” his father said, hugging him. “Women are just like that. If you give them your heart they will always find a way to tear it apart.”
“She has not acquired the power to resist, Dad,” Bongani responded, his voice drenched in tears.
“She will grow up,” his father said, trying to comfort his son. “And maybe, when she has grown up, you will still have the power to look her in the eye and love her despite what she has done to you.”
But deep down they both knew that Bongani would never
