So it was my
father's sixtieth birthday on Sunday. For this very momentous occasion, my
aunts and cousins decided to organize and host a befday party for lethaima,
at my late grandmothers abode, in the small village of Mogogelo, Hammanskraal:
A place that, for me, always conjures up fond childhood memories. I remember,
shuttling about three or four twenty-five-liter bottles in a wheelbarrow to the
nearest borehole or communal fountain for the coming days' chores. The trips
were always filled with "unscheduled" stops; flirting with girls,
arguing about whose turn it was to push (or pull), soliciting extra
"company" for the long and arduous journey – okay, okay, they were more
like our little slaves. Still, their
reward was always laughter, friendship and love.
“But how? Here of all places? At home?
With family and all this joy and love?
It couldn't be.” So I brushed it
aside and put it down to an earlier decision not to don my newly acquired Metere De Scotche cashmere jersey.
Having overcome that
brief moment of unease, that moment of spiritual agitation, I proceeded to step
out of the vehicle and greet "my children" with that strict witticism
of old. Moving from the bottom, up the age hierarchy of the days of my father’s
youth. You know the kind? First it’s the kids (including teens) playing and
standing around the front, then cousins and young aunts sitting in a circle, at
the back of the house, on plastic chairs, in the full embrace of the sun,
talking about the latest gossip or popular politics of the day. Finally into
the lounge where the elders sat, discussing more relevant matters, like the
make up of the Nkoana lineage. All protocol observed.
After taking a seat at the grown folks’ roundish table, my
aunt; by way of being my father's big sister and eldest of my grandmother’s
children, suggested I take a sneak peek at the beautiful cake they had bought
for my father, to celebrate this, his sixtieth birthday. Being a man of respecting elders – in
particular those who show as much interest and delight in cream cakes as I do –
I obliged. The desert was covered with a
linen sheet to protect it from those greedy, germ infested, vectors of disease;
also known as flies, keeping them away from the centerpiece, the pièce de
résistance of the, um, rural soirée. I went ahead and lifted the “force field”,
to uncover the painful truth: They had bought my sweet, innocent
football-loving father a Kaizer Chiefs cake. Now this might sound like a great
idea at first, since he is a long-standing and loyal fan of the Phefeni Glamour
Boys, the great South Afrikan football club playing out of Naturena. But as I
thought about it a bit longer and as I joyfully munched on this soft, moist,
creamy, delicious cake, it dawned on me: Eintlik
hi ba re jesa matlakala fela, re ja Lekhosi.
I mean the cheek, the audacity, the gall, the utter disrespect! How dare these tricksters trick us with such
tricky trickery! If anything it
should’ve been an Orlando Pirates cake that was demolished by Kaizer Chiefs
fans! I mean come on! Simple logic right?
The mystery remains however, for after the large vanilla
specimen had been devoured, none would openly admit their footballing allegiances. I felt tracing these affiliations would lead directly
to the brains behind the operation, because I know and still very much believe that
this was a well-orchestrated maneuver. A
scheme specifically designed to ridicule all Kaizer Chiefs supporters, not only
in attendance, but also across the globe, to the far reaches of the galaxy! Cause that’s how big Kaizer Chiefs Football
Club is, it has fans from across the Milky Way.
This heinous crime shall not go unpunished! And as such, the investigation continues. We ask that anyone with information that
could help resolve the matter should, without delay, contact the lead
investigator – Thabiso Nkoana – on this or any other social media platform. I thank you in advance.
To be continued…
Thabiso
Nkoana©19.07.2016
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