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I don’t know what it is. But there’s something about injustice that makes some people red or black or even mad with anger and others salivate at the mouth. It is quite an interesting ordeal to watch - the foolishness of men - from the passenger’s seat of my cousin’s ride, but for anonymity’s sake let’s name her, Lerato. I cannot legally or emotionally drive yet, but throughout my years of observation, there seems to be an unspoken required etiquette needed when interacting with officers whose morals are shaped in the same likeness of a pretzel. Or whatever other object. Gadget. Or afternoon snack option of your particularly twisted choice. And I have come to find out that there is a three-step process in worming your way out of a blue suited pickle.
Step one – Banter. Step two - Feign Ignorance. And lastly, step three – Delusion.
But for you to understand only a tiny bit of my frustration, I’m going to have to give you context. I’ll start at the beginning.
THE MORNING.
It’s a Friday and I haven’t once made any loving, longing contact with my bed. Since I’m on a new sleeping schedule, I’m holding off until 12:00pm and right now it’s about 09:43am. The gardener is at the house and he’s making music with the lawn mower. He normally takes on the soprano and mower, well, he takes the baritone.
My Aunt Minka has just arrived. She takes no breaks and proceeds to speed walk around the house - trying to get to the washing, change all the bed covers and iron my sister’s weekly load of laundry, which she comes to collect in a black plastic bag every Friday night and then sneaks it out through the backdoors like one of Cruella’s henchmen.
I should really get to bed, before I start getting grumpy and critical and when I’m critical everyone becomes an enemy of sorts, a problem uniquely made for me encounter.
But because I’m off to get my second dose - I’m here, along with you, hoping that 12:00pm comes soon.
~
The Wendy wood community centre. A little beat up, with chipped what was green and barely white paint decorating walls that are in need of much decoration, and any sort of sprucing up, really. There wasn’t much to the process. Only three twenty-minute queues, five questions asked at both registration booths, and one mini – interview with a man who behaved in such a familiar way because well, apparently every Dlamini must know their fellow Dlamini, and everyone else knows a Dlamini, because they are everywhere, so I guess it’s a ‘one in the same’ type of thing. But I’m not too sure, and I don’t care to think about it too much.
Anyway. Let’s fast forward a bit, to the main story, the reason you’re waiting.
Now, I’ve introduced you to myself of course, the gardener, the Aunty, and you now loosely know about the interviewer Mr Dlamini - now let me introduce you to critical problem number one and number two. Now with Lerato being critical problem number One, you can imagine the dilemma that comes with having your own family - if I could explain it in this way - Rubik’s cube, with 4 and a half sides instead of the full 6 - made up entirely of almost all the same-coloured sides - of whatever colour you find appealing, you can go ahead and pick one. I know, it’s weird to think about. Logically you would never really be able make out if you’re getting anywhere and to top off the confusion, this familial Rubik’s cube is sticky. So basically, she’s quite the headache, my cousin, Lerato. She just struggles to make much if any sense at all.
So, as I mentioned before I cannot drive so Lerato is the one driving us.
I’ve just gotten my second dose, so I’m quite out of it and my cousin, well she’s got a long history of unpaid tickets and a perpetually expired disc, so she’s in quite deep. And on this particular Friday, like many other Joburg drivers veering off from the highway, she gets called to the left of the yellow line, by the JMPD - Johannesburg Metropolitan Police Department - for the obvious above-mentioned reasons. Now, cue critical problem number Two, but for anonymity’s sake, we’ll name him Officer Ruption.
~
In the beginning I told you about the three-step process in dealing to questionable cops, but now, let me really help you, by detailing what I’ve learned. Just so you know, I don’t condone it. Disclaimer: It may be gross and just shy of being terribly off-putting.
Step one: Banter.
I cannot tell you of all the times I’ve witnessed those blue or puke green bodycon uniforms inspire a flinch. Provoke a tenseness of the body. And inspire the inner child of every potbellied man and woman seasoned with white and grey, fully fledge adults become so eager to please, jolly-ful, and suddenly Oh So Refreshed. As officer Ruption was approaching the vehicle, I watched Lerato, shuffling around, annoyed, and looking for her wallet. I remember distinctly looking at the time on the car watch clock thingy, telling me that it is exactly 23 minutes to my bedtime. At this point I’m extremely sleepy and uninterested in the happenings around me, but the knock on the window cues the scene I had no interest in being a witness too.
“He-lo there, my Sis-taaa”, were what came out of the policeman’s mouth, who anyone could tell was suffering from a of lack of decorum, a serious impending liver problem, and a hunger for lawlessness, corruption, and coke original, always the preferred beverage of choice. I looked at him. I looked at the watch. I look at him again - all the while his looking at my cousin, and he seemed to grow even more hungry or was it thirsty? My cousin, whose voice is normally normal, raises it up at least four octaves higher, adds about three spoons of sweetness to her rather already friendly disposition and of course she’s a giggler now too, and says, “Hell-ooo Officer, what’s the problem, is everything alright?” in which he replies with…” ahhh my Sista, you know something isn’t right.” And the banter begins or was it flirting. She called it a natural display of femininity. I don’t.
Step Two: Feign Ignorance.
Coming from an “honest” background, my parents, her parents, instilled in us just that - honesty, be it with God, the law and well anyone elderly. We grew up to be very close, my cousin and I, almost like a sister, basically my best friend. And as we aged, we began to differ, like any individuals would. But I must say that as I have grown up, I have subscribed to many of my - her parents’ beliefs, and I hope to fully ingrain these beliefs into my life. I thought, my cousin felt the same. Why did she change, or was it me? I’m not too sure, I’ll sleep on it.
~
Now, I’ve just been watching and so far, Officer Ruption could be considered the third passenger in this here vehicle, and his seat, my cousin’s lap. With the window rolled down and officer Ruption forcefully shoving his overgrown portrait into the window frame, you could imagine that I was completely invisible and definitely bothered.
As their conversation went on - back and forth their voices filled the already agitated air - saying and exchanging some pretty vulgar words such as “why don’t you give me your number”, “don’t you have something for me, my Sista”, “hahaha nooooo”, “what would you like from me”.
Now I titled this move feign ignorance, well because my cousin, completely aware of what she was doing saw no problem at all. Acting within her femininity, giving sick men the illusion of being desirable, laughing and playing coy to escape fines and consequences, puffing up chests and plastering on a picture-perfect smile so that he can, at any time, pull out a keepsake of your beauty and charm to help kick back and relieve himself of stress for when night-time comes. She was giving herself away, but I guess we all feigned oblivion. Despite the disgust I felt, I never told her why it was wrong. And she continues to see it as normal. It’s not.
It all kind of escalated in a weird way. There were at least 14 minutes until 12:00pm and with officer Ruption now already moved in, I grew more and more uncomfortable, invisible, and sadden. As their conversation went on - and as you should know by now - there is always a point in every civilian and cop relationship, after the banter of course, where money is used to smooth over any offence and wash away all due parking tickets. My Cousin reaches for a brown printed problem solving twenty rand note, and drops it on her lap, right on her thighs, so close to her privates but far from her morals. The money laid there, enticing the growling cop, waiting for him to fish out the bait. I don’t know what intensified his hunger more, the blatant foreplay, the rapid increase of happy hormones or the reward of getting a nice cold beverage after all his hard work.
Who knew problems could be coaxed with a mere twenty.
I sat watching the officer now more than I did the clock thingy and he wanted more than a twenty. His incessant drooling told me so. Out of her mouth dropped the words in a pitch shockingly unfamiliar to me, due to the high-ness and childlikeness it carried, “no officer, I have a boyfriend” – giggle, giggle, giggle - that wasn’t a lie, but it might as well have been.
Step Three: Denial.
I asked her why she performed in such a manner. She blamed corruption. I considered blaming the police officer. Blaming inconvenient timing. Blaming men? No.
I reasoned for as long as I could - mind you – it’s now two minutes past my bedtime so I am mentally and emotionally not altogether.
All she said was, “that’s what you have to do with cops, I just give him whatever cash I have in my wallet, we exchange numbers and I block him, done.”
I didn’t have much to say, I didn’t at all think she thought in a way so different from mine. I get that we’re different, naturally, we’re individuals, but she felt so strange to me after that day.
Different.
~
After the quiet ride home, I finally made it to my bed, I was finally safe, and she…him and all of it - the entire day was finally done. I was able to lay my sleepy heavy head down by the time it was 12:47pm. I laid in bed, with my curtains spread wide open, a sun-soaked room with a bird’s lull to send me to sleep. Warmth and Melody and the occasional “Kaaaaah’ sound that comes from one of those darned hadadas. I didn’t want to think too much, that’s a lie. I really couldn’t think at all. I’ve had a long day. And it’s past bedtime.
