his thick lips. And, of course, he was in good company – his best friend Vusi was by his side. But Thami’s heart was heavy. His mind was busy, racing like a moth looking for a flame. Less than two months earlier he had separated from Thuli, his common-law wife of eight years. He could not believe that he would be facing her at the Johannesburg Maintenance Court that coming Monday.
“Just look at me, man. Everyone can tell that I’m as black as Africa itself. I cannot be that boy’s real father. There is no history of albinos in my family,” said Thami. He paused and took a drag from his cigarette. “Thuli probably slept with an albino guy when I was away with The Chief.”
“Stop it, man!” said Vusi, shaking his head. “These things happen. There is probably a biological reason.”
“Balls!” said Thami. “Even my mother knows that kid is not mine. I’m going to tell the court on Monday that I can’t pay maintenance for the kid when I know he’s not mine.”
“I’ve advised you to deny paternity in the court on Monday, so what are you still worried about?”
“I’m going to miss all the celebrations because of that stupid court case. Everybody from Parliament will be at the presidential residence if South Africa wins the bid, from the Governor of the Reserve Bank to the Minister of Sport.”
At that very moment a joyful noise filled the tavern. South Africa had just been declared the host of the 2010 FIFA World Cup! People were hugging each other. From where they sat, Thami and Vusi could even see cars on the Old Potchefstroom Road flashing their headlights in celebration.
“You see, baba,” said Vusi proudly, “if you want to watch a movie you don’t have to travel to town. Our Soweto is like Hollywood and Bollywood combined. Viva 2010 World Cup, viva!” He burped loudly after sipping from his quart of Castle Lager.
“Oh, sure,” Thami answered uninterestedly, flicking the ash of his cigarette onto the floor.
“Come on. Don’t give me that look,” said Vusi, a mixture of pity and disappointment on his face. “You can do better than that.”
Thami did not say a word. Instead he stared at the empty bottle he was holding as if he were wishing it full again. From every direction came the deafening sound of vuvuzelas and the hooting of the cars. Nearby, some thugs started spinning their BMWs. A huge crowd of people, young and old, watched in amazement. It looked as if the whole of Soweto had come out onto the street to celebrate.
Monday morning
Thami was driving along the M1 North in his Honda Ballade, heading for the centre of Joburg. The traffic was moving very slowly, as usual. Thami looked at the clock on the dashboard. It was half past nine. He began to panic. His friend Vusi had warned him a number of times about the magistrate at the maintenance court. “She will not hesitate to hold you in contempt of court for not showing up on time,” he had said.
To Thami’s relief, the traffic started to ease near Gold Reef casino, cars began to move faster. The road was like that until he arrived at the court, four minutes before his case was due to start.
Inside, the benches were crowded. Most of the people there were women. As he entered, Thami spotted Thuli. Her face was almost beautiful, she had great bone structure, but her flat nose spoiled her looks. Her hair was well braided and her Police sunglasses were pushed back on her forehead. She wore a Gucci leather jacket and big silver earrings dangled from both her ears.
Thuli could not hide her anger as she saw Thami approach.
“And you call yourself a man? I don’t think so!” said Thuli out loud as she got to her feet. She shook her head. “Do you want me to tell you what real men do, huh? Real men support their children. They put bread on the table every day for their children. Real men pay for their children’s studies, and they make sure that their children have shelter. You are not a real man because you do not support your children.”
“Yes. Tell the bastard how he is,” said a lady who was breast-feeding a baby on the opposite bench.
Thami was tight-lipped. Everyone in the corridor was looking at him. He felt humiliated.
Thuli clicked her tongue twice and wrinkled her nose. There was an expression of bitterness on her face. “Just look at you!” she eyed him sharply. “You are not even ashamed of yourself! You are here wearing an expensive suit and nice shoes but your three children are naked and barefoot at home. I would be ashamed of myself if I were you.”
“Divorce the bastard and get on with your life, girl. You are still young and there are lots of men out there that would kill to be with you,” said another woman who was sitting at the far end of the bench. Leaning forward she snapped her fingers. “Just like that! Dump him like a hot potato, girl. But you must make sure the bastard pays heavily for wasting your precious time.”
Thami pinched his nose. Many thoughts were going through his mind.
“Your friends think that you’re a man because you are Deputy President Zuma’s bodyguard.” Thuli shook her head again. “I don’t think so. They might mistake you for a man because of that useless stick between your legs, but you are not a man!”
There was laughter from the women sitting on the benches around him. Thami was tempted to retaliate, but he remembered Vusi’s advice that he should be civil to everyone in the court at all times. At the same time, the door to one of the offices yawned open. A woman in black pants and a blue shirt appeared. On the door was written: Ms Dube, Marriage Counsellor.
“Mr and Mrs Maphela!” the woman in black pants called out as the noise in the corridor subsided. “Come to my office, please.”
Thuli and Thami followed the woman inside. She pushed the door shut and gestured to them to sit in the two chairs provided as she took her place behind her desk. Above Ms Dube’s head was a poster with the words Stop the violence against women and children splashed across it. Below it was a framed photograph of a woman shaking President Thabo Mbeki’s hand. Thami realised that it was a picture of the woman who was sitting before them.
“Well, as you might already know, my name is Sylvia Dube,” said the woman. There was an authoritative tone in her voice. “I am the marriage counsellor. I can tell that it’s a difficult period for the two of you. I also know that, for the sake of the children, Mrs Maphela here has laid a complaint against you, Mr Maphela, for not providing financial support.” Her eyes moved from Thuli to Thami. “I understand that you are earning the same amount as before you split from your wife, so why are you not paying maintenance, Mr Maphela? Why are you not supporting your children anymore?”
“You are right, counsellor. The problem is not money. I am denying paternity of the last born. I don’t believe I fathered him,” said Thami, forcing calmness into his voice. Despite the fact that his words were the truth, he regretted them the moment they were out of his mouth. He loved his two older children and was worried about how everything that had happened might have affected them. He had only stopped paying maintenance because of the last born.
“What?” Thuli demanded angrily. “You want to tell me that all the years we were together you didn’t trust me? And, not only that, you didn’t have the balls to face me? Is that right?”
Thami remained calm. He did not say a word.
“Hold on! Let me get this straight,” said Counsellor Dube. “You are saying that you are here to contest the paternity of one of your children, is that right?”
“Right.”
