that’s your name, hey, Umfana! I’m Buyisiwe. Buyi for short. I live here now. Why hadn’t I seen you earlier? Was it you I heard last night?’ Umfana seemed to like the attention. I looked around for his food and water bowls. They were full. So he was well taken care of. It was just this chain that bothered me. My fingers found the clip on the collar. I undid it.
‘There you go. Do you want to join me in the house?’ I picked up the flashlight again. The dog stayed back, sitting on his haunches. Looking at me. ‘Come, boy!’
He got up slowly, his head lowered but his eyes looking up at me.
‘Come!’
He followed me into the house, warily. Looking around.
Suddenly I caught the smell of something burning. The food! I’d forgotten all about it. I raced to the stove and turned down the heat. What a miserable sight! The steak had only just stopped short of being embers. The chips were, to say the least, extremely crispy. Luckily I hadn’t started on the eggs.
Umfana stared up at me. He tilted his head to the side. His black eyes were seemingly sorry for the mess I had made.
‘So much for dinner then,’ I said trying to scrape some of the black bits off the steak. ‘Jamie Oliver would be pleased to know that I’m not in competition with him.’
I put on a CD and went to my room. Umfana followed me. I opened the window. The sounds of night came flowing in with the evening breeze. Bloc Party on the right, Africa on the left.
‘Now there’s a combination for you, hey Umfana?’ I said pulling my fingers through his coat.
Themba came home around nine. I got up from my bed.
‘Hallo,’ I said. ‘How was your day?’ The words sounded stupid. Contrived like a third-rate sitcom. But I had to start making an effort to get to know this man.
‘Fine,’ he said and sighed. His clothes were all wrinkled and dusty.
‘I made some dinner. Or at least I tried. I haven’t eaten yet. I decided to wait till you got home.’
‘What did you make? Smells like something burned …’
‘Steak and chips. I just need to warm it up again. And fry up some eggs.’
‘You cook then?’
‘Well, I’m no Jamie Oliver, but –’
‘Jamie who?’
‘This English guy … The naked chef.’
Themba frowned. I suddenly realised how it must have sounded to him. Naked chef!
‘Never mind,’ I said.
‘Is this it?’ he asked pointing to the steamed up glass bowl. He removed the lid. ‘You did burn it. Meat is expensive! And this … this is a waste.’ His cold stare was fixed on me.
I felt my insides churning. I’d just tried to do some good.
‘Anyway, I had dinner with the guests,’ he continued. ‘I mostly do, remember that. It’s part of my job. Answering their questions, mingling, making sure they get what they’re paying for: the best African experience possible.’ He sighed. ‘I only eat at home on my off-days.’
Themba’s voice was almost void of emotion. He is just tired, I said to myself.And Themba was probably right. It was a waste of good food. But something inside me wanted some recognition for at least trying.
I followed him out of the kitchen as he made his way to his room. When he stepped back out again moments later, he had his shirt off. His bare chest and arms rippled with muscles. Like that of a boxer, I thought.
My dad looked like a boxer.
On his way to the bathroom, Themba suddenly stopped. He had noticed something. ‘What’s that dog doing in the house?’ he asked firmly.
Umfana was lying stretched out in front of the couch. He whined and lowered his head.
‘Get him out! Dogs don’t belong inside!’ Themba’s voice boomed. I shrunk back against the wall. ‘And tie him up before he goes off killing animals.’
CHAPTER 14
Morning broke. I was in a bad mood. What the hell was I doing here at all? Themba obviously didn’t like me. I wasn’t the son he wanted. Perhaps too much of a poncey English boy for his taste. But what did he expect?
Mum also hadn’t called the
‘There you go. Do you want to join me in the house?’ I picked up the flashlight again. The dog stayed back, sitting on his haunches. Looking at me. ‘Come, boy!’
He got up slowly, his head lowered but his eyes looking up at me.
‘Come!’
He followed me into the house, warily. Looking around.
Suddenly I caught the smell of something burning. The food! I’d forgotten all about it. I raced to the stove and turned down the heat. What a miserable sight! The steak had only just stopped short of being embers. The chips were, to say the least, extremely crispy. Luckily I hadn’t started on the eggs.
Umfana stared up at me. He tilted his head to the side. His black eyes were seemingly sorry for the mess I had made.
‘So much for dinner then,’ I said trying to scrape some of the black bits off the steak. ‘Jamie Oliver would be pleased to know that I’m not in competition with him.’
I put on a CD and went to my room. Umfana followed me. I opened the window. The sounds of night came flowing in with the evening breeze. Bloc Party on the right, Africa on the left.
‘Now there’s a combination for you, hey Umfana?’ I said pulling my fingers through his coat.
Themba came home around nine. I got up from my bed.
‘Hallo,’ I said. ‘How was your day?’ The words sounded stupid. Contrived like a third-rate sitcom. But I had to start making an effort to get to know this man.
‘Fine,’ he said and sighed. His clothes were all wrinkled and dusty.
‘I made some dinner. Or at least I tried. I haven’t eaten yet. I decided to wait till you got home.’
‘What did you make? Smells like something burned …’
‘Steak and chips. I just need to warm it up again. And fry up some eggs.’
‘You cook then?’
‘Well, I’m no Jamie Oliver, but –’
‘Jamie who?’
‘This English guy … The naked chef.’
Themba frowned. I suddenly realised how it must have sounded to him. Naked chef!
‘Never mind,’ I said.
‘Is this it?’ he asked pointing to the steamed up glass bowl. He removed the lid. ‘You did burn it. Meat is expensive! And this … this is a waste.’ His cold stare was fixed on me.
I felt my insides churning. I’d just tried to do some good.
‘Anyway, I had dinner with the guests,’ he continued. ‘I mostly do, remember that. It’s part of my job. Answering their questions, mingling, making sure they get what they’re paying for: the best African experience possible.’ He sighed. ‘I only eat at home on my off-days.’
Themba’s voice was almost void of emotion. He is just tired, I said to myself.And Themba was probably right. It was a waste of good food. But something inside me wanted some recognition for at least trying.
I followed him out of the kitchen as he made his way to his room. When he stepped back out again moments later, he had his shirt off. His bare chest and arms rippled with muscles. Like that of a boxer, I thought.
My dad looked like a boxer.
On his way to the bathroom, Themba suddenly stopped. He had noticed something. ‘What’s that dog doing in the house?’ he asked firmly.
Umfana was lying stretched out in front of the couch. He whined and lowered his head.
‘Get him out! Dogs don’t belong inside!’ Themba’s voice boomed. I shrunk back against the wall. ‘And tie him up before he goes off killing animals.’
CHAPTER 14
Morning broke. I was in a bad mood. What the hell was I doing here at all? Themba obviously didn’t like me. I wasn’t the son he wanted. Perhaps too much of a poncey English boy for his taste. But what did he expect?
Mum also hadn’t called the
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