Way Back Home. Niq Mhlongo

      Her eyes warned him off and she shook her head vehemently.

      Kimathi shrugged his shoulders and concentrated on the road. “Obviously you don’t smoke, I see.”

      Silence fell as Kimathi thought of what to say next. Before he lit his cigar, he drew it to his nose and smelled it deeply. He was reluctant to light it, but felt obliged to do something – the silence in the car was unbearable. Taking the lighter from next to the cup holder between the seats, Kimathi lit the cigar. He reached for the window button and rolled it down a bit before puffing out the smoke with satisfaction. It seemed he had regained his air of superiority. Senami did not complain about the strong smell. They exchanged glances.

      “It’s the first time I’m seeing a lady this beautiful in years,” Kimathi declared. “May I have the civilised enjoyment of accompanying you home? Otherwise I’ll never have peace with myself.”

      “Thank you.”

      “I’m telling the truth, Senami. With every fibre in my revolutionary bones, I swear I’m not lying,” Kimathi said, trying to impress her. “I think that I have already fallen in love with your smile, and I’m willing to go to hell with you.”

      “Big mistake,” she answered.

      “Why?”

      “Because it’s bad to love someone you can’t have.” Her words sounded like a stern warning. “Besides, I don’t like politicians.”

      “Listen, I don’t know what ideological horrors lurk in your mind right now, but may I ask why you don’t like politicians?” Kimathi asked, contentedly puffing on his cigar.

      “They are greedy, and they broke my spirit,” Senami said sincerely, looking directly at Kimathi’s Adam’s apple. It was as if she was referring to it.

      Kimathi laughed and stole a glance at a scar on Senami’s left cheek. It suggested to him the reason for her dislike of men and perhaps male politicians in particular.

      “True. Your political associate today can be your jailer tomorrow, I know. But that’s the nature of politics. But let me tell you that it’s not only politicians who break people’s spirits. My ex-wife fractured my soul, and she didn’t even know what The Communist Manifesto looked like,” Kimathi said, searching Senami’s face for a hint of a smile. There was none.

      “Maybe I hate politicians because a conversation with them means talking about their wealth. Our democracy has only taught them to speak in huge figures and about the property they own,” Senami said with some bitterness.

      Kimathi hesitated before replying. “Oh, now I see. It is because of the guy you used to date that you think badly of politicians, isn’t it? I guess it’s true that one crazy bastard can make all beautiful women hate all the innocent guys,” he said, plumes of smoke issuing from his nostrils.

      “Not really. It is because most politicians are corrupt, I guess.” Senami turned her face away from Kimathi as if trying to get away from the cigar smoke. “They learnt only one thing while on Robbers’ Island.” She paused and looked at Ki­ma­thi briefly. “How to steal. I think God created terribly flawed human beings when he created politicians, don’t you think? He must be blaming himself up there,” she concluded, and pointed at the roof of the car as if God was residing there.

      Kimathi smiled to break the tension, but he felt a pang at the truth in Senami’s words. He was surprised at how challenging she was; it felt like he was being granted a free assessment of politics in South Africa.

      By then they were nearing Southgate Mall.

      “I’m really enjoying your views on politicians. You sound very wise for your age, I must say . . .” Kimathi paused and glanced at Senami, his small eyes shining with pleasure. “But you must understand that we are living in one of the most challenging moments in the history of this country. It is therefore important to learn to accept what you cannot change. As the true sons of this nation, we must be in charge. We must not be apologetic about it.”

      Senami became silent again, as if digesting Kimathi’s pretentious and condescending words. She had not yet smiled or given him any other kind of encouragement.

      “I know it may appear to you as if I’ve sold out my country because I drive this car and smoke only Cuban cigars. But the nature of the world today is such that we have to survive and make money. Even the staunchest communist would agree with me on this one: a hungry man is a hungry man. Our problems cannot be solved by reading Das Kapital. I have sweated to be in this position, and yet I’m still sweating.”

      There was a frown of contempt on Senami’s face and distrust in her eyes. She twitched her nostrils and looked at Kimathi as if he had just farted. Kimathi changed the subject immediately.

      “But why are you wasting your time and talent working for a fried chicken outlet? Is it because of the politician?” he teased.

      “No,” she answered flatly.

      “Why, then?” he insisted.

      “I guess it’s because I live in another world.”

      “What do you mean?” Kimathi looked at her briefly and drew in some cigar smoke.

      “You and I might seem to live under the same sky, but I don’t think we share the same horizon,” Senami said with honesty.

      “I still don’t get it,” Kimathi said. “Is it because you think I’m a politician and you’re a worker?”

      “What if I told you that what you see in front of you today is just an illusion?” Senami didn’t wait for him to answer. “You know, my mother always used to tell me that there is another reality beyond what we choose to see with our eyes.”

      “I’m really lost,” Kimathi acknowledged. “Can you put that in plain English?”

      “Okay.” Senami closed her eyes and exhaled. “I am saying that you must ask yourself whether we are living in this world or in an illusion.”

      It was about a quarter to one in the morning when they reached Protea North. Kimathi parked his car next to the house Senami had pointed out as her home. It was not far from the police station. Before she left the car, she gave him a friendly and light-hearted kiss as if she was acknowledging his courtesy. It took him by surprise.

      “Thank you for bringing me home.”

      “Senami,” he hesitated, “if you have nothing important to do . . .” He paused and tried to rephrase, “I mean, if the idea of spending a day with a lonely politician is not frightening to you, I should be glad to come and pick you up here at one in the afternoon tomorrow for lunch.”

      He looked at Senami’s serious eyes. The scar below her left eye looked like a teardrop. Inwardly Kimathi was cursing himself for awkwardly advertising his loneliness to a virtual stranger. He was convinced that she would not accept his offer as she had unequivocally shown her abhorrence of men like him.

      “Not a good idea.” She shook her head.

      “Oh please, beautiful. Just one lunch! I just want to be with a beautiful person like you. I promise I won’t bore you with political talk.”

      “Sometimes beauty can deceive you, allow you to ignore something about someone.” Senami smiled briefly. “Our eyes always choose to see what our hearts wish were true.”

      “I’m a good man, and I’ll take care of you. I promise,” Kimathi pleaded, forcing a smile onto his face. “I’m also divorced, if that is important for you to know.”

      “It is always the deeds that have goodness or badness in them, not the politician. But sometimes our eyes are liars because everything that seems real is merely part of the illusion.”

      Kimathi looked at Senami, wondering how a young woman like her came upon such words.

      “You are really profound, you know that. But please, I beg you, just one lunch.”