Discipline thrives at the best prerogative in this industry. Your phone has to be on all the time. On weekends, I receive a media message with a photo of the next recruit. I then gather information about the girl and monitor her social media activity. Maybe get to know her habits and routines. Thereafter, design a plan on how to find her and deliver her to The Point without any hassle. We call that fulfilling an order. An order looks like a soft copy job card with all the necessary information about the job. A proper order would be something like this:
Guest: Palesa Kaleni
Whereabouts: Zwide
Delivery destination: The Point
Date of delivery: 12-October-2026
When you have hidden intentions, girls seem to see right through you. It feels like everyone looks at you with an eye of suspicion. One girl once said:
"It's you… Hey, Charmaine, come see. It's the guy on the phone."
"What? No, I'm not him. Who's that?"
"You are Gift, my Facebook friend. It's good to see you."
"Wow, okay. Good to see you too."
You become so defensive. This always delays the process, but some days are better than others. For example, on the weekend of the 1st of April, it was a Friday, a month-end weekend. And kasi girls don't have money on that day, but they want to be in the groove. They will do anything for anyone who will buy them booze. Remember those who got peed on by some Nigerian guys? Girls can give away their dignity for a little nice time. That's where we come in. In the past week, my target Palesa Kaleni drank at Melisizwe in Zwide Township. A light-skinned girl with long thick dreadlocks. You could see that she used to be a yellow bone. I asked her what she drank. She said:
"Savannah."
'In your days,' I thought.
I asked her where it was. She looked down and ate her nails. She was at my mercy, an easy target. Sometimes they are the opposite. You'd dig a whole mine trying to convince one girl, a poor single girl who will go with you in the end. I excused myself and came back with a pack of Black Labels dumppies. I invited her to drink. She smiled and joined me with no hesitation. At least it was better than drinking dankie dops. We stepped onto the dance floor a few times, then I took her 'home'.
On Saturday, I arrived at Ezinyoka in a place called Emaleydini Tavern dressed up in all leather. And dark sunglasses for disguise: my eyes couldn't stand other people's eyes. In no time, I became the center of attention as people admired my Matrix outfit, which woke my hair. I scanned the room and spotted her, Sihle Khasayi, a short-brown-eyed girl with caramel skin who looked like an Indian angel. She knew me from high school. We all crushed on her at school, but no one had the guts. And I was out of the question. All the girls scared me. I had a crush on Yanelisa Koma for eight years and never proposed. I only had a girlfriend in my final year. I proposed, she agreed, we kissed and that was it. I never went back. I had never approached Sihle until that night. The fear remained, but a job is a job. I danced next to her for my first move. She had lost some weight but beautiful as ever. It couldn't be Aids. Looking at her face I could sense the stresses of life had haunted her dry. The bones were visible. Like that song Abantu song, Nontsundu. I asked her if she remembered me. She looked at me and smiled:
"Yes, from high school. How are you?"
She was such a socialite with a television smile. Her smile was meant for TV and her voice for the radio.
"I'm good, how do you do?"
She remembered, well great, but my heart melted just for the opportunity to talk to her.
"I'm good, you're grown."
"We are the same age. Don't act old here," I said, laughing.
She knew exactly who I was as much as I knew what she meant. Sihle was our age mate, but she matured quicker than us in the matters of dating and money. When we were sweating in the fields of play, she flirted with cool guys on her iPhone making video calls. When we were eating fat cakes, she ordered pizza for delivery. And after school, BMWs, Mercs, and Audis fetched her from the gate. Do you know those shiny pantyhose, weave, and face-paint girls who were dumb at books? She looked like such; the only difference was that she was clever. She was also streetwise. She could get any man to pay for her needs at any time. Sihle knew class and no one would fool her to fall for anything less. She knew the game more than I did, but you see: knowing your opponent improves your good fortune, especially if you acknowledge your weaknesses.
That way you could win any match-up. Remember: beautiful girls like Sihle are often lonely because guys are scared of them. Sometimes they are available but no one is brave enough to approach them. She had to trust me to drink what I gave her. I reminded her of how we used to compete for marks in class. We were always the highest in almost all the tests, with me or her taking the top spot. The teacher would give chocolates to the highest and I always gave mine to her. That's why she could never forget my face. We had a wonderful time together, drinking and dancing. We also posed for a photo with the camera. The tavern posts its photos on its social media page every Monday.
'It would be bad for a lost girl to be last photographed with me.' I thought.
So, I looked away when the flash sparkled. Sihle accepted my drink offer provided I would give her a lift to Motherwell because that's where she lived too. She passed out in the car and woke up at the Point. Sihle sure was a beautiful girl, but they got her too late. She certainly had Aids. Her Aids was young thou. It was those little harmless kinds of Aids that didn't infect anyone. Inexperienced Aids, unlike the stanch Aids of Shane. Shane died in 2010. He had been admitted to the hospital for the third time in eighteen months. His Aids was ruthless. His girlfriend is still alive thou. Kelly: What a strong girl. She endured the fervent attacks of her dangerous variant of Aids, the bull. At one point, her skin was dark but light at the same time from the dandruff. She wore a huge jacket at 30 degrees Celsius. She took eight hours to walk a twenty-minute walk. Her boyfriend slept on the bed, and we couldn't find him. We thought he was not there. He didn't make it, but she still survives, healthy as a racehorse. That's how you survive real Aids. This Aids of Sihle is struggling. She has hardly changed.