Way Back Home. Niq Mhlongo

would have the following day with Ludwe, the director-general of the Department of Public Works, and his business partners. Money is on its way, he thought. He smiled to himself and stroked his forearm.

      The sound of a car in the driveway interrupted Kimathi’s thoughts. He craned his neck and saw his ex-wife’s silver Golf V pulling up. Anele was with their seven-year-old daughter, Zanu. He had not seen them in two months, and he smelled trouble. He and Anele had been separated for two years, and Anele now lived in Killarney, where she owned an apartment.

      Kimathi picked up his glass, but by the time he had raised it to his lips Anele was standing in front of him. Looking at her, he felt she had put on weight. She was dressed in a black dress with white polka dots, embellished cat’s-eye sunglasses, black straw-wedge shoes and a gold starfish bangle. It was obvious to Ki­mathi that she had just come from church, as she carried a Bible in her left hand. He made no effort to rise and hug her, or even to shake hands.

      “You have been avoiding my calls for the past two months,” Anele said, getting down to business immediately, a tone of urgency in her voice. “So I thought I should come personally to discuss Zanu’s maintenance with you.”

      Kimathi nodded wordlessly as he took in her red tassel earrings and the creamy black eyeliner close to her lash line. Her nail colour was the same shade as her lips – orange-red. She looks amazing, he thought.

      Sensing that he was making his desire for her too obvious, Kimathi turned to look at Zanu. He then looked at the colourful birds chirping loudly on the red-tiled roof of his neighbour’s house. Some of the birds were circling a nest in the tree next to the house.

      “Oh, maintenance?” he said as if the topic did not interest him. “I’ll try to put some money in your account at the end of this month. At the moment I’m broke.”

      “She is already four months in arrears at her school and here you are living large by drinking your expensive whisky,” Anele retorted, her voice laced with anger as she looked at the glass of cognac in Kimathi’s hand. “When are you going to pay for your child’s education? I know for sure that you can afford it. Why don’t you sell those expensive whiskies and raise the money, huh?”

      “Honestly, I’m hung over right now,” Kimathi said, taking a sip from his glass. “Can’t this wait until I’m sober enough to fight with you properly?”

      Anele looked at him as if he had just ordered her to drink a cup of his spit. Kimathi saw the annoyance on her face, but he ignored it. They were silent for several seconds, both of them lost in bitter memories.

      “Why are you doing this, huh?” Anele finally asked with revulsion. “Why? Tell me.”

      “In order for me to answer your question, you must allow me to ask you one first,” said Kimathi, fixing his bloodshot eyes on her. “Who insisted on putting her into that expensive school? You, of course, because you know it all.” He raised a finger at Anele. “I told you that we must enrol her at a cheaper school, not that Sandton place. I warned you that we couldn’t afford ninety-five thousand a year. Look now!”

      “Stop right there!” Anele’s tone was hostile. “For the last time, Zanu’s fees are five thousand and fifty per month, or sixty thousand six hundred per year. Unless you have another child that I don’t know of, and you are paying ninety-five thousand rand a year for that child, you must stop mentioning that figure to me.”

      “What’s the difference anyway?” Kimathi replied. “Whether it’s ninety-five thousand or sixty thousand, you took her away from me. Why should I give you the money to go and have a nice time with your boyfriends? How will I know that the money is spent on my daughter?” he concluded, but felt stupid the moment the words left his lips.

      Anele clicked her tongue in disgust. “Sies! You know what, Kimathi Fezile Tito? You might have learnt everything in exile, except how to be a human being,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears. “You are a nauseating excuse for a human being.”

      Zanu began to cry – bitter, frustrated sobs that set her small body shaking. Ki­mathi squatted in front of her, so that the two were eye to eye. Looking confused, Zanu simply stared at him with eyes that were damp.

      “I’m sorry, my baby. Just wait until Daddy gets his foot on the ladder, my sweety pie. Everything will be great,” he said, breathing cognac all over her. “At the moment the bureaucratic wheels are still turning slowly for Daddy, but soon it will be okay.”

      Anele stared down at him, clenching and unclenching her fists with annoyance as Kimathi nuzzled his daughter’s cheek. Zanu’s face came alive with glee as Kimathi reached out and took her little fingers in his.

      “You keep saying that to her every time. Do you think she understands what you’re saying?” interjected Anele, obviously fighting back her tears. “Do you have any idea of the stress and pain you’re causing us?”

      “Daddy, it was my birthday yesterday,” said Zanu, showing her sad face again. “Why didn’t you say happy birthday and buy me a cake?”

      “Sorry, my angel, Daddy was too busy this week.” Kimathi drew her closer to him. “Daddy loves you every day, and twice on your birthday,” he said. “I’m going to make a huge birthday for you at the end of the month, and we will hire a jumping castle for you and your friends.”

      Pulling away from him, Zanu’s small eyes searched his face as if prospecting for lies. Anele shook her head and her eyes narrowed. In response, Kimathi tried to restore his dignity by searching his trouser pockets. His right hand came out with a two-hundred rand note that he gave to his daughter. “Here, go buy yourself a big birthday cake,” he said, offering her the money.

      “Stop patronising us and insulting my daughter’s intelligence,” Anele growled, her eyes narrowing with a look of exaggerated scorn. “We are not that cheap.”

      Fighting back her rage, Anele took Zanu by her hand and pulled her towards the car.

      Kimathi grinned. “All you need to stop that anger is Vitamin P,” he shouted in a condescending tone. “Your body has an over-secretion of salt. You must get laid.”

      Anele clicked her tongue in disgust and cursed under her breath. Opening the car, she asked Zanu to wait for her. Then, as soon as their daughter was safely inside, she walked slowly back to Kimathi and stood in front of him.

      “Thanks, doctor! But I don’t appreciate you talking like that in front of my daughter. Never do that again! Never, Kimathi!” She paused and looked hard at him. “You’ll be surprised to learn that divorced women are not necessarily loners, like you think they are. Maybe they are just tired of hearing stupid men like you refer to their tiny, deformed stump of a male organ as Vitamin P.”

      “Go to hell!”

      “No!” Anele shook her head. “Not to hell. To court!”

      “Is that a threat?”

      “Yes,” she said with finality that told him it was indeed over between them.

      Kimathi tried to speak, but his throat produced no sound. Instead, he slumped in his chair, limp and defeated. He felt weak, lonely and helpless. Swallowing a mouthful of cognac, he closed his eyes and exhaled. As he opened them again, he realised that his headache had returned. He balled his left hand angrily into a fist as he watched Anele walk away.

      * * *

      Kimathi had first met Anele at the Union Buildings in Pretoria during the inauguration of President Thabo Mbeki in June 1999, eight years earlier. She was only twenty years old then, beautiful, and had matriculated from Benoni High School the previous year. He was working in the President’s Office as an economic advisor, and she was with the Mzukwana Catering Company, which was providing food for the president-elect’s guests. He could not keep his eyes off her as she made her way around the dining hall, putting different dishes on the table. She had smouldering eyes, perfect cheekbones and a heart-shaped face that was wide at the forehead and tapered to a narrow chin. She wore black wide-leg pants, a caramel blouse, black sequined shoes,