kusini”, Swahili for “a refugee from South Africa”.
“I want you to fight for your country, South Africa,” his father had said to him when Kimathi had come home from school crying. “Tell those morons in Dark City that you’re not a wakimbizi, but a social reformer. Tell them you’re from a country where the cities are built on top of gold and diamonds. You are a revolutionary.”
It was on that day that Lunga decided that he needed to send his son to military school.
Kimathi began his life in The Movement as a student at Solomon Mahlangu Freedom College, or SOMAFCO for short. He became active in 1984, when a rumour circulated that the school might be targeted by the Boers. He was then tasked, together with other youths in exile, with digging trenches all over the campus. It was during this time that he met Comrade Ludwe properly for the first time – he was supervising the trench digging – and learnt of his connection with his father.
Chapter 4
Kimathi hummed aloud to Jonas Gwangwa’s “Flowers of the Nation” as he drove along the M1 North freeway. With one hand firmly on the steering wheel of his X5, he relit his cigar as he passed Gold Reef City casino. Puffing on his cigar, he watched the smoke billow towards the windscreen. He was happy that his gambling habit wasn’t as out of control as it had been in the past. The last time he had been at the casino was about six months earlier, when he lost twenty-five thousand rand in one night.
It was about quarter past eleven when Kimathi arrived at the “super sex market” of Oxford Road in Rosebank. After drinking countless tots of cognac alone at his home that day, the need for passion was bothering him, demanding his utmost attention. He needed a sexual encounter as a matter of urgency and he knew a few girls along Oxford who, for a small fee, specialised in making lonely men like him happy.
Kimathi parked his car on a dark, tree-lined street near the Nelson Mandela Children’s Foundation. His aim was to avoid the prying eyes of anybody who might recognise his car. The street was completely deserted except for a car parked in the shadows a few metres ahead. Maybe somebody like me is also searching for the kind of passion that comes without the exchange of tender words? He remembered Ludwe confiding in him, during one of their sexual escapades in Mafukuzela Camp, that sex is one of the most basic needs of life because society has to reproduce.
Careful not to attract attention, Kimathi switched off the X5’s lights, picked up the half-smoked cigar he had placed in the cup holder next to the gear lever and lit it again. His mood brightened at the sight of three prostitutes in bikinis. They were standing across the road under a streetlight, which made their heavily made-up faces glow. While Kimathi’s lips sucked at his cigar, his eyes scanned the three prostitutes as he checked for the assets he desired. Large breasts, a big behind and dark pigmentation were his obsessions.
While Kimathi was studying the three women, two tall black transvestite prostitutes with long false nails, large earrings and wigs appeared from his blind spot and knocked on the window – their eyes talking to him in a suggestive language. Kimathi removed the cigar from his mouth and grinned at them, before pressing the button to roll down the window slightly. It was evident that he was not interested in them, as he covered his face with his hand briefly before giving a loud sigh.
“Not tonight, thank you,” he said with exaggerated politeness.
A white armed-response vehicle passed by, and the two male prostitutes banged the roof of his car in disappointment. They walked away. Across the road Kimathi spotted a lady with shining thighs. She was wearing a very tight miniskirt, and her smallish head was crowned with a blonde, Brazilian-weave hairpiece. He recognised the hairpiece because another prostitute had told him about it on one of his previous visits.
Kimathi emitted a low whistle to attract her attention, and she walked seductively towards his car. Her skirt was split halfway up the left thigh, and she shook her body like a samba dancer as she walked towards him. Kimathi wondered if that was just the way she walked or whether she was doing it to arouse him. As she neared the car, most of her left leg showed, awakening his lust. In his mind, she became a pure, pink, twenty-seven carat diamond from the Big Hole of Kimberley. His cognac-addled brain convinced him that she was of a rare quality that he didn’t expect to see along Oxford Road.
With a wave of his hand, Kimathi invited the lady inside his BMW. As she opened the car door, he noticed that she had huge eyelashes and thick make-up. She was the perfect shape for his desire. Her breasts were like the halves of watermelons, and she smelled of musk. That’s it, she’s mine tonight, he thought.
“How are you, sweetie?” Kimathi asked, his mouth curling into a smile as the lady put her small brown handbag on the dashboard.
“Hot and horny as hell, and how about you, my darling?” she replied, rubbing him between his legs. As she did so, she made sure that her miniskirt rode up.
Kimathi was already in a state of excitement. “How much will your company cost me tonight?” he asked, breathing quickly, his eyes glued between the lady’s thighs.
“It depends on how much fun you want, darling,” she responded with a false smile. “Five hundred for a suck and fuck.”
Kimathi smiled and licked his lips. He didn’t mind the scar below the lady’s bellybutton, which was an obvious indication that she had produced a child.
“Shit! Inflation is a bitch in this country, isn’t it?” he said, not meaning it.
“Like the Americans say, ‘In God we trust, but in business we pay’,” she replied jokingly.
“There is something familiar about you,” Kimathi concluded after scrutinising her face again.
“Oh, really?” She shrugged while playing with her long red fingernails.
“Yes. Your voice sounds like someone I know.” He gave her a conspiratorial look.
“Is she also in this business?” the lady asked as she looked in the rear-view mirror before glossing her lips with lipstick retrieved from her handbag.
Kimathi looked at her face and her breasts, and then between her thighs, but he said nothing. It was as if he was trying to discover the source of her attraction.
“Well, I think you forget easily, my dear. I’m Lakeisha from Tanzania, your favourite one. Remember me?” She winked at him and smiled. “I gave you Greek last week.”
Kimathi briefly covered his face with his hands, but he couldn’t remember her. All he knew was that he did not like the idea of taking prostitutes to his house. Instead, he preferred an exclusive spot in Saxonwold, a big guarded estate belonging to some white businessman. It cost only a hundred rand to park there for three hours, and once you found your spot, you could do a quickie behind the steamy windows. It was cheaper than booking a room in a hotel, which was why Kimathi fondly called it the “budget hotel”.
“Oh yes, Lakeisha,” Kimathi finally said, dropping his hands from his face. “Now I remember.”
Kimathi kept quiet for a moment as if he needed time to digest what he had just said, then, on a sudden impulse, he put his left hand on her right thigh. Lakeisha smiled and showed him her slightly protruding teeth, which nearly spoiled her beauty. Her right hand reached out and he felt it touch his left thigh. With her eyes closed and mouth open, she fell back on the seat and spread her legs. Her hand moved between her legs, her middle finger moving as if she was stimulating herself. He was no longer sure if she was faking it.
“How
