his fellow cast members finished singing the karaoke, Mandla’s son started pulling at his father and whispering none-too-quietly, ‘Daddy, I need to go to the loo . . .’
‘Okay boy, let’s roll,’ his father said, getting up. My guess was that he was equally unimpressed with Shrek 2. But as I was about to get up during the credits, Hintsa ran back. ‘Mommy, can YOU take me to the bathroom?’
I looked at him in the lightening theatre. ‘Hey Papi. But I thought you were going with your father?’
‘He stopped to talk to some lady outside and he’s still talking to her. Please hurry mommy, it’s urgent.’ I grabbed my bag and hurried out, planning to give Mandla a piece of my mind about flirting in the lobby when I was done taking the boy to the bathroom. But I had nothing to be worried about. The woman Mandla was talking to was fatter than me, and not the best-looking chick on the block. I hurried a ‘Hello’ as I rushed Hintsa to the bathroom. Must be some Sowetan nurse from Bara who knew Mandla from his stint there. On my return, she was gone.
We had our dinner like the perfect family that we are, and made tracks to Siz and Vuyo’s home so Mandla and I could have a night out and be the perfect couple that we are.
Upon our arrival, Pertunia took Hintsa off our hands, gave him a bath and tucked him in with the two younger Vuyos. She was really good. Even Vuyo senior, who had initially called her ‘a “Jim comes to Joburg” rural chick who could add no value to the household’ was starting to show begrudging appreciation for her. I could see his eyes light up as she talked to his children – he probably noticed she paid them more attention than his wife did.
As usual, Vuyo and Siz, in their designer wear, made us look like rural relatives. Vuyo was wearing a Hugo Boss suit, with cufflinks that you know he could not afford on his wages. If clothes maketh the man, then Vuyo was definitely The Man! Siz looked like the perfect partner in her brown and orange Chanel just-above-the-knee dress, a cute little orange clutch from the same designer house, and a pair of sling-back shoes that I would sell my husband for. Mandla and I, in my mind the perfect couple, now just looked like a dowdy pair in our ‘special’ Woollies threads. Mandla, perhaps sensing my dwindling confidence, grabbed my ass as we walked into the club and whispered, ‘I don’t care what anyone says, I still think my wife has the best-looking ass in Joburg.’ I knew what he was trying to do. I arched my eyebrows and asked, ‘Only in Joburg?’ Boy, I loved this man.
After our night of debauchery, we were back at Siz’s house around eleven the next morning with killer hangovers. I walked in yelling, ‘VUUUYO! Man, where are you with a Bloody Mary?’ It was Pertunia who answered, ‘He is still sleeping. Maybe you should leave him, but Nosizwe is up and I can tell her you are here.’ Whew, talk of Eve giving orders! And I noticed that she had just referred to Siz by her name and not ‘Auntie Nosizwe’ like she had always done. But, noting that my son was clean and happy I just thanked Pertunia for looking after him. We must have looked like a couple of alcoholics, asking for a hangover cure so early in the day – maybe that’s why Pertunia was a trifle abrupt with me, I thought. Maids are, after all, very protective.
Siz came into the reception room behind Pertunia, picking up a toy that one of the children had left on her ivory carpet. ‘Sis Pertunia, have you cleaned the house today?’ She sounded just like her mother as we followed her into the living room, and her loud voice was playing havoc with my hangover. ‘And look at this. When was the last time you dusted this TV stand? Honestly, I do not know what I pay you for sometimes.’
To which Pertunia responded, in one of those typical sulky-maid voices that sound as though they are talking to themselves but in effect want you to hear, ‘Uyandisokolisa uNosizwe. I can’t do everything at once. I had to wash the children and feed them, and cook and clean. I have a schedule for when I do the dusting in the house but some people, who cannot even cook, want you to do everything.’
Siz, naturally, heard and as she opened her mouth I went and closed it with my hand because I could see that, between Siz’s hangover temperament and the maid who wasn’t amused at her work being questioned, I could end up not getting any tomato juice for my Bloody Mary. So I kissed her, gave her a pat on her annoyingly perfect backside and said, ‘Hawu, Sis Pertunia. Uyazi kuthi uSiz uyadlala nawe. This house looks very clean for a place with two children. Eish, my house doesn’t even look this neat and I have only one child so not to worry, ibabalasi kuphela. But now for my hangover cure s’thando sami, since you are the woman of this house, I know where the bar is but where is the tomato juice?’
And she answered, ‘Ja ndiyazi but there are people who don’t appreciate all the work,’ and Siz, wanting to save herself from an angry maid said, ‘Ndiyaxolisa Sis Pertunia. Thandi is right, I overreacted.’ And with a mischievous grin she added, ‘S’right s’thando?’ which Pertunia ignored. She placed two cans of tomato juice in my hands and said, ‘I will take the bus to my class today.’
Siz and I shared a look, and Mandla said, ‘Damn Siz, you got one pissed off maid.’ To which Siz responded, ‘Who is saving me on petrol with her outburst. I think I’ll ask Vuyo to pick her up from her classes. Because if I go, she might ignore me. And that way I can take a nap.’ As she spoke, Mandla got a funny look on his face. ‘Talking of that man of yours, where is he? By this time all the Sowetan drinkers are on their fifth drink. He seems to be forgetting his roots now he’s in suburbia.’
When Mandla left the room to go and wake Vuyo up, Siz continued worrying about Pertunia. ‘Pertunia’s been like this for the last few days. I don’t know what her problem is. Eish, sometimes maids can be problematic.’
‘Maybe she is PMSing,’ I offered. ‘Or maybe she misses her children in the Eastern Cape. When are you giving her leave?’
Siz answered, ‘Girl, she better forget about leave until Vuyo’s kids go on school holidays. Who would cook for all the Vuyos? You know I can’t cook to save my ass.’
‘You must cherish Pertunia, man,’ I told her. ‘Ay, I hope to high heavens that I will be so blessed, and Marita is as good a worker as Pertunia.’
Siz started laughing, ‘I think now you are smoking some bad shit because you know your white maid will be whining about blisters just from using the feather duster on those two-hundred and one Biko and Sobukwe framed posters of yours.’
As I was telling her to shut it, the men walked in. After our Bloody Marys, and after hearing Hintsa ask for the umpteenth time when we were going to pick up Marita, we left. On our way out, Siz suggested, ‘Hey Mister and Missis, why don’t we get together for drinks with Lauren and Mike later on this evening? I haven’t spoken to that girl all week.’
I told her it was a good idea, ‘But maybe tomorrow. Better if Marita just unpacks today before we throw her to Lauren.’
Marita was blown away when we showed her the cottage. Her eyes lit up, she laughed a deep guttural laugh and said, ‘Jissus, this is mine? I never had my own television before!’ This sent her on a reminiscing trip, ‘You know when I was growing up we had this small black and white TV, the picture was so unclear. And when I got married, the bastard man always wanted to hold the remote control. He wouldn’t let me watch anything if I didn’t make him enough money!’ I was glad she liked her cottage, but her enthusiasm seemed a little OTT to me. I was never really good with people thanking me, anyway. It was embarrassing. So I just said, ‘Make yourself at home, tomorrow I will show you around.’ One might suppose that she was receiving too much privilege for a maid, but I partly did it for selfish, snobbish reasons – so that I could still maintain my space with my family and not fraternise with the help. This was, naturally, very different from Lauren’s outlook, but that is because Lauren enjoys having a constantly full house. I often wonder why she doesn’t seem to miss having time to herself
