Love's courage. Mokopi Shale

. . .”

      “No buts. I’m seeing you tomorrow, boots or no boots. Bye.”

      “But Joy . . . Joy?” Lesego looks at the screen and sees that it has gone back to her menu; her friend has ended the call. She sighs . . . She has R50 left in her account. What does she do with it? Buy petrol or honour her obligation to an old friend?

      * * *

      Lesego walks out of the national broadcaster’s building and heads for her car, which is parked on the street. She starts the engine and looks at the quarter tank. She wonders what to do about Joy tonight. She’d better cancel, but what excuse can she give? She has given so many over the last two months that she has run out.

      She may have to tell Joy the truth. The thought makes her slow down in the traffic, getting loud hoots from impatient Joburg drivers. She moves into the slow lane and shakes her head. What to do?

      When Lesego walks into the office, Eileen, one of her work friends, says, “That bad, eh?”

      “Huh?” she says, looking into Eileen’s face, then realises that she must be looking worried and quickly pastes a fake smile on her face. “No . . . No, it went very well. They’re going to review our proposed storylines and get back to us. I just have a slight headache.”

      “Really?” Eileen asks sceptically.

      “Yes, really. Stop worrying.”

      “Maybe you should leave early?”

      “What time is Lesley due back?” Lesego asks hopefully.

      “Apparently she’s heading to Durban after the meeting at the studios, and that will be round about . . .” Eileen looks at her watch, “now . . . So you can run off as well. You’re such a goody-goody; you really should play hooky every now and again.”

      “Maybe I will. Let me just check my emails. If there’s nothing urgent, I’m out of here.”

      “Well,” Eileen says, “a bunch of us are going to Rosebank for drinks at Escapade. Come and join us. You need to unwind a bit.”

      “Uhm . . . unfortunately I can’t. I have a date with a girlfriend.”

      “Are you into girls now? I haven’t heard you even mention a man recently. What happened to that guy you were dating?”

      “Who, Eric?” Lesego asks incredulously. “That MCP!! He is old, tired and broke-ass, not worth it. I got tired of all the MCPs. A man who can’t even afford airtime, has to be collected and picks up other women in your car, has to go ‘To the left, to the left, everything you own in a box to the left’ like Beyoncé says.”

      “Ooooh, that sounds terrible,” Eileen says, laughing at Lesego’s tirade. “You sure you won’t come?”

      “Oh no, Joy would kill me if I stood her up again. Thanks for the invite, though. Maybe next time.”

      “I’ll hold you to it. Bye, girl, we’re out. When the cat’s away, the mice will play.”

      Lesego walks to her office, sits down at her desk and glances at her phone, wondering how to ditch Joy without getting her all upset. She switches on her computer, checks her e-mails but sees nothing urgent – yay! She looks around the open-plan office and sees the place is deserted; even the bosses’ offices are empty. Who am I trying to impress here? she decides. She logs off, turns off her computer, grabs her bag as she heads for the door, then shuts it and sets the alarm.

      * * *

      Kenneth looks through his email and is pleased to see that there is nothing left to attend to – his inbox is empty and his to-do list ticked. He takes another look through the proposals. The one he is most drawn to is the one for the Batshweneng cultural village. He really likes the fact that it will be informative, telling people things they don’t know about themselves and their culture. It’s about time someone starts thinking about documenting culture and putting it in cyberspace; this is, after all, the information age.

      He has never been able to understand why everything about culture has to be such a secret. That is why people make mistakes and end up embarrassing themselves. He thinks back to his tumble in the dust chasing a goat, sighs and decides to make sure that this project is passed. He will personally baby-sit this one to guarantee its success, and then other tribes will follow suit.

      Kenneth looks at his Rolex. It is nearly four and he realises that it is dead quiet. Government officials always disappear early on the day before a public holiday; he is probably the only one left. But then he glances outside and sees his assistant, Jacqui, still sitting there. He gets up and walks to her.

      “Jacqui, why didn’t you go home, for heaven’s sake?”

      “I couldn’t, sir; not with you still here.”

      “Don’t be silly,” he says, exasperated. “You work harder than me most of the time. Go home; I’m sure your man will be happy to have you back early.”

      “Man!” Jacqui scoffs. “Ha! That one still needs to grow up. I threw his ass out! That MCP! . . . Anyway, I’ll be off then.”

      “Okay. Enjoy your long weekend.”

      She waves and leaves. Kenneth walks back into his office, sits down in his chair and rolls up his sleeves. Maybe a night out with the boys, he thinks, and quickly looks for the email Stan sent him earlier in the week. Kenneth sighs. A boys’ night can be boring, but it beats staying at home alone. He shuts down his computer and leaves the office.

      * * *

      Lesego is staring at her watch. It says 17h30 and she still hasn’t called Joy. She is tempted to switch off her phone, but can’t bring herself to be such a coward. She opens the phone, goes to Messages, then New Message:

      Hey, girl, won’t be able to m . . .

      She deletes the message and sighs, wondering how to do this. Just then the doorbell goes. She isn’t expecting anyone and wonders if it’s robbers checking to see who is home. A little alarmed, she answers the intercom, “Yes, who is it?”

      “It’s me. I’ve come to pick up your stand-upping ass.”

      “Shit!” Lesego says out loud. Now that she has answered, she can’t pretend that she isn’t home. She rolls her eyes in exasperation.

      “I know you’re in there,” Joy says. “Open up!”

      Lesego opens the gate for her friend and her stress levels immediately go up. She feels trapped and short of breath – she has to take deep breaths to calm down. She thinks of her wardrobe – tracksuit pants and a tank top are hardly suitable for a night out on the town. She looks at her reflection in the mirror, but she doesn’t look ill so she can’t pretend to be. What can she do?

      There is a knock on the door and when she opens up, Joy gives her a great big bear hug. This is too much for Lesego. She bursts into tears and just sobs and sobs, much to her friend’s horror.

      “Hey . . . Hey . . . What’s up, baby? What’s all this?”

      “Tshepiso robbed . . . Gave her my last cent . . .” Lesebo blubbers incoherently. “So sorry . . . Keep disappointing you . . . Everyone wants too much . . . What to do? Shit! Life sucks . . . Don’t have a rich husband or daddy . . . So sorrrrryyy . . .”

      “Okay,” Joy says, confused. “All I got was that life sucks and that you want a rich daddy.”

      “No!” Lesego wails. “Well – yes, actually . . . Then I’d be able to live a carefree life!”

      “Look, I don’t know what this is all about, but I’m going to get you some sugar water or something while you pull yourself together. Whatever this is must be terrible because you’re doing the ugly cry . . . You know, the one where your face goes all deformed . . . The one where the crier has no pride or concern for what she looks like while she cries . . . Yeah, you must be in anguish. Man! You should’ve