Saturday, 9 May 2009

They Say #4: Desolation

‘Once I had a family. I had a job. I had hobbies. I had friends. I had a dog. I had a life.

But, you know, our plans don’t always follow the path we’ve envisioned for our lives.

We could be living in bliss, not aware of what sinister things lie ahead, not knowing that although there are good forces in this world, there are also bad, plotting the downfall of anything decent, moral, clean.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Ja. I worked as a clerk for a bank.’

‘Which one?’

‘Nedbank. Was working there for over 20 years. Worked my way up from security guard in the old regime, and from there to a fairly decent position. I had a beautiful wife, Marieke, she was so pretty. She was a textbook housewife. Cooked, cleaned, raised my two gorgeous daughters with enough strictness, but not neglecting to love them unconditionally.

I worked tirelessly to give them the best that money could buy, to make sure they succeeded in life, even if it meant me not getting the things I wanted to, I enjoyed it, because seeing them happy, was the greatest joy I could experience.

Then one day, one stupid day, one act of brainless folly, one prank that went too far, my life was transformed forever.

I opened up an email, not knowing the address of the sender, but still curious to see what it contains. I promise you as I clicked that open button, my director stood behind me. The contents of that mail was shocking. It was an image of a Lolita, you know what that is?’

‘I happen to know what that is yes, peado porn, you sicko.’

‘NO!, It wasn’t mine, and because the sender had a random address, I didn’t know who it was from. It was hideous. I was so appalled by this image of this tiny girl being impaled by this grown man, I sat there in consternation for a very long second, then I turned to my boss, and told him; I don’t know who this mail is from.

‘Did he believe you?’

‘He suspended me for a week. Sent me home, told me to ‘think about what I’ve done’, like I was some kind of child. I was livid, I had done nothing wrong!

A few days after that, ‘they’, ‘found’ more lewd images on my work drive, which is rather impossible to believe, seeing that I only had Excel and Word documents on that thing, no music, no nothing!

Rumour hit the streets that I had raised my girls as a molesting father, mentioning me doing the most revolting things to them, this was supposedly the reason they were so loose, but I promise you I never laid a finger – or anything else – on them, never! Only to hug them when they need to be consoled, tuck them in when they’re cold’

‘I get it, I get it, but you really should hurry up with this story, my lunch break is nearly done, and here I’m sitting talking to a bergie instead of buying me lunch.’

‘Okay, okay. After the rumours done the rounds in the neighbourhood, people started talking, looking at me differently. But my wife and kids knew me, and supported me every step of the way.

On the last day of my ‘probation’ I was doing some cycling around the streets of my town, when out of the blue this huge black van plummeted down a hilly street, and bulldozed me right off my bike and crashing onto the tarred road. I remember blood streaming down my forehead. But that was all. I woke up here in Cape Town, so many kilometres away from Bloemfontein, where I lived.

I then found out that nothing in this world is an accident, or just happens by chance. Well, in my scenario anyway. I also learned that the worst pain one can suffer is the pain inflicted by the one you love.

My accident was no accident. I was a take down, a hit. The order for it was given by the same people that sent me that e-mail, that spread the rumours. It was my boss. And MY WIFE. I heard from the only person I know here in Cape Town, my cousin, that they planned to kill me. They were having an affair for many years, keeping in the shadows for such a long time, while I wasted every moment of my worthless life, selflessly working for her and my kids. They found out about my investments overseas, scratched in my stuff, seeing that I was doing pretty well there numbers wise. They couldn’t resist. The power of greed, the love of power, corrupted the woman I once thought I wanted to spend the rest of forever with. They failed to kill me. That’s how I ended up here though. They drugged me up with sedatives, and when I woke up, I woke up in this very spot.

‘Cool story bro.’

‘Don’t patronize me, just because I’m not that clean, or that have no where to sleep, or smell like a packet of rotten alcohol dipped, diced onions sprinkled with a dash of paprika, doesn’t give you the right to look down on me.’

‘I said nothing offensive to you now.’

‘I see that look in your face, I see it when I try to go to any church. You Christians claim to be doing good deeds and be God’s children, but the minute someone less fortunate, or less neater, or less fragrant steps into your church, you pull your nose up, looking at us condescendingly, praying that I don’t touch you, or invade your precious Sunday morning Jesus bubble. Where do you think your souls go to? DO you think there are two heavens? One for super holy pious people, so aloof, so detached from the reality of this world, and then one more where all the dirty, poor and less-privileged must go to? Please. If you can’t deal with people like us here on earth, then you might as well go to HELL!

‘So you’re telling me you didn’t just tell me all those stories so that I’ll sympathize with you and give you some change so that you can buy paraffin

‘Money? Money! Ga! I don’t want your money. I want respect. Respect I deserve.’

‘Fine, here’s a R5. Go buy something decent and respectful with it.’

*They shake hands. And the bergie disappears around the corner*

‘That was a nice bit of philanthropy, even if I must say so myself, now to get back to work, how long do I have le. . .what! Where’s my. . .

. . .

that greasy mother fucker!

. . .

This photo was taken at 08:32 on the 17th of November 2008. They say a picture speaks a thousand words, this on spoke 1127 words.

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