her husband peeking at his watch and walking in small circles around his luggage, cellphone in one hand. He had called her three times in a space of thirty minutes – where are you now?
As usual Bheki appeared businesslike, a true symbol of the black economic empowerment beneficiary, in a black Carducci suit and black silk shirt. He was one of those well-groomed men, with a clean-shaven face and neatly combed hair, and carried himself in a way that projected a particular lustre common to affluent men. Fifteen years Zaza’s senior, Bheki was a small man with a plain and unmemorable face, but what he lacked in looks and stature he made up for in other ways – power was one, affluence was another.
“You look lovely,” Bheki said, leaning over to kiss his wife. “I missed you.”
On her way to the airport Zaza had rehearsed a scene in her mind – she’s a loving wife eager to see her husband after a week away. She approaches him joyfully and throws herself into his open arms. She giggles and giggles as he twirls her around as if they are newlyweds. But when she saw Bheki pacing the sidewalk, she knew she was kidding herself.
“We’ve missed you too. The boys will be happy to have you back.” She noticed she was doing it again, using “we”, lumping the children’s genuine feelings with her adulterated ones. She couldn’t remember the last time she had uttered the words “I love you” to her husband. Bheki didn’t seem to notice, and if he did, he didn’t say anything.
“I missed the little rascals too,” Bheki said. His face beamed with pride at the mention of the boys. “We have a whole weekend to catch up. It’s good to be home.”
“Did everything go well?” Zaza asked. They were driving back home. Bheki was behind the steering wheel, his hand resting on Zaza’s lap.
“We’re making progress slowly, but we’re getting there,” he said. Bheki’s company, BZ Property Group, were in the final stages of negotiations with a local consortium to construct a shopping centre, a five-star hotel and an office and residential complex somewhere in Dar es Salaam. The complex was going to be the first of its kind in the country. “It’s a massive endeavour, with high local and government interest. We need to exercise extra diligence as we’re dealing with a foreign entity, hence the approach of entering into strategic relationships with local players. All parties have something to gain from the partnership.”
Zaza listened conscientiously as Bheki went on about the project, the opportunities and the millions of rands that could be made. She smiled to herself, thinking of the Zulu saying, “Imali iya emalini”. It was so true of Bhekumuzi Zulu Jr. Money was never an issue for him. For many years his family operated a taxi empire in KwaMashu township north of Durban. His father was well connected, businesswise and politically, and everybody in the township knew of Bheki’s family. It is said if one got lost trying to find the Zulu household, one just had to say “u-Zulu wamatekisi” and one got directed to the biggest, most beautiful house in the area. It was indeed a swell life.
An unfortunate event one winter day in July changed everything for the Zulu family. Bheki’s uncle, also a high-profile member of the taxi industry, and two other taxi owners were gunned down outside their homes in broad daylight. Several months later the case went cold. Aggrieved and furious at the failure of the justice system, Bhekumuzi Zulu Sr. quit the industry. He sold all his vehicles, moved his family to Westville suburb, and invested the proceeds in a block of flats in Berea.
“It was one of the smartest moves the old man ever made. It changed the lives of all of us for the better,” Bheki said each time he told the story.
Years later, when his father passed away, Bheki inherited the family’s business and, with the help of a few BEE deals, turned it into an empire and one of the country’s top black-owned commercial property development companies.
Zaza squeezed Bheki’s hand. “Let’s cross our fingers and hope all goes as planned.”
“It will,” Bheki said, then added, “You’re beautiful, you know. Every day I count my blessings and thank God for bringing you into my life. I love you very much.”
“Where is that coming from?”
“My heart,” he said. “What? You don’t believe me?”
Zaza smiled.
“You know, when I’m away I meet men from all walks of life. We try to fill the void of being separated from our loved ones by talking. We chat generally, about anything from politics to the stock markets.”
“I’ve always wondered what men talk about when they’re together. Now I know, not much.”
“You will be surprised,” Bheki said. “Occasionally the conversations get personal, especially when we’ve had a beer or whisky too many. Yesterday this guy, a nice chap from Bloemfontein whom I’ve gotten to know over the last few weeks, opened up about the things that he fears are happening at home in his absence, disgraceful things.”
Zaza turned to Bheki. “Such as?”
“He suspects his wife is messing around. I felt sorry for the guy – he loves this woman. But his story made me realise how lucky I am with you. I never have to worry about such things.”
“And how did he find out?” She was glad she had her shades on. Bheki couldn’t see her bewildered eyes.
“I forgot what he said. I guess someone is always looking. Anyway, I wanted to let you know how much you mean to me.” He leaned over and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Time flies, can you believe we’ve been married for more than five years? It seems like yesterday when I first saw your beautiful face above the counter behind the glass. You were like an angel – for a moment I thought I had died and gone to heaven.”
“There you go again.” Zaza laughed dismissively.
“I only speak the truth,” Bheki protested. “I hope we don’t have plans this weekend; I want to stay home and just enjoy my family.”
“We’re all yours,” Zaza said.
It wasn’t love at first sight when she met Bheki. There were no sparks between them, no butterflies fluttering in the pit of her stomach. She was working at one of the banks in Durban. She was used to men ogling her behind the teller’s window, and she was paying no particular attention to the small, undistinguished man in the queue who was gazing so intensely at her. She wasn’t impressed when the man came to the window and slipped her a business card with a note inviting her to lunch. She was still uninterested when Bheki came back the following week with another invitation for lunch. But Bheki Zulu was patient with her, showing up at the bank at least once a week until she agreed to go on a date with him. She intended the date as a joke to humour her friends, who had dared her.
The date was neither a banger nor a complete waste of time for Zaza, which is why she agreed to Bheki’s request for a second date. After courting her for five months, three days, sixteen hours and approximately twenty-nine minutes, Bheki asked for her hand in marriage. He wanted to send his people to her people to start the lobola negotiations.
At twenty-five years of age – pretty, clever and sexually overcharged – Zaza wasn’t sure. She had fantasised about her dream man – he was tall and handsome and their relationship was packed with fireworks, name screaming and nights of endless passion. What she got from Bheki was a dutiful lover, mildly satisfying sex and an abundance of money and luxuries.
There were other things to consider – the decaying extended four-roomed
