Affluenza. Niq Mhlongo

dressed like that.”

      “Okay, I do understand, officers, but can’t one of you help me out? I’m begging you! This American lady is waiting eagerly for me back at the hotel.”

      “What’s wrong with these people?” I heard a big sister say to the small crowd that had now gathered. “Just give brother Kunta the fucking condoms. He just wanna taste some American nookie.”

      There was laughter again.

      “May I see your papers, please?” said the second policeman, looking at me seriously. “How did you come to this country?”

      “What?”

      “May I see your papers.” He spoke very slowly as if every word he said was costing him in American dollars.

      “Well, I obviously don’t have my papers with me. They are at the hotel.”

      “Where is your hotel?”

      “Four blocks away, the Hilton.”

      “What’s your name?”

      “Qhawe Mcwabe.”

      The policemen looked amused at how my tongue clicked when I said my name and there and then a thought struck me.

      “I am Qhawe Mcwabe,” I repeated. “I’m Khambule, Mzilankatha, inkatha kayingen’endlini, yangena kubola izinkaba zabantwana.”

      The spectators started clapping. The policeman with the small head eyed me with a mixture of distrust and scepticism before shaking his head.

      “What did you come here to do?”

      “Well, I’m a mbongi and gumboot dancer. I have been sent by his majesty, our King back home, to come and congratulate President Obama on his election with some isiZulu praise poetry.”

      “You have to go back to your hotel and dress properly, sir.”

      “You are giving me no choice, officer. I will have to tell the audience during my praise poetry for President Obama that I was denied access to condoms. What is your name again, officer?”

      There was laughter again. The policeman looked at me and I stared back at him.

      “That’s nonsense,” the policeman finally said after a moment of uncertain silence.

      “Do you mean my culture, or the condoms?”

      “Okay, we’ll let you in. But on condition that you go straight to aisle eleven and buy only the condoms.”

      “Thank you, officer,” I said, bowing my head with the palms of my hands together. “I will remember your kindness back at the hotel.”

      “Just go before we change our minds.”

      The policemen’s eyes never left me as I went to aisle eleven. The sign above it said FAMILY PLANNING, INCONTINENCE, FEMININE HYGIENE. Having made my choice, I went up to the till with the condoms and paid. As I turned back towards the door I saw that they were still standing and watching me.

      “Enjoy, brother,” said the big sister at the door as I made my way outside.

      I smiled at her, savouring the thought of Siri naked back at the hotel. My senses were surging sweetly as I imagined her twenty-three-year-old body waiting to be devoured by my rhino horn.

      By the time I got back to the hotel, Siri was sleeping. She was lying across the bed, snoring, her golden pubic hair glistening in the moonlight. I stared at her firm round breasts and the small butterfly tattoo on her hip while I tried to decide on the best way to wake her. Eventually, I opened the window and lit a joint. I thought that the smell might wake her. When it didn’t, I shook her gently several times. She did not respond.