Whisperers
I couldn’t believe Nia was saying these things to me.
She stood back.
Sways her hips and turns.
“The key!”
Her face goes absolutely cold.
Those eyes not my doe eyes.
No.
These eyes were dark.
No white at all.
“Where… is… it!”
It shook the walls.
I see it.
The crack.
The blue sphere cracks.
*Crack*
I fell to my knees.
The walls start cracking too.
Nia seems to be hovering in the air.
She screams.
It was deafening.
I look at her.
Tears welled up in my eyes.
The doof doof was unbearable.
She hovered till in front of me.
Picks me up by the hair and then stares at me.
Her head goes side to side.
Those eyes.
They were horrifying.
I realised this was not Nia.
No.
It was him.
He slipped in somehow.
It had something to do with that vision I had.
I understood.
He was keeping her away from it.
He didn’t want her to have it.
So he was leading her away.
Yes.
The sly pig.
I look at him.
I realise what to do.
As the tower starts shaking more and more.
I look at him.
At Nia.
No.
This thing I will never call Nia.
He was the cause of everything.
“I hate you.”
I say slow and deliberate.
*Click*
It works.
xvi
I stare at the cut.
The glass sure went in deep.
I had smashed the blue marble against the wall.
When I finally “woke” up.
Yeah.
Can’t explain it.
Mommy says I was going about in the room.
She said she didn’t know what to do.
She thought of calling Pastor from church.
But then thought that would only rouse suspicion.
Church folk sure could gossip.
Mommy was quite aware of them.
When I “woke” up.
Mommy was standing in front of me.
Her face was red.
Eyes bewildered.
Like she was afraid.
But not at me.
Afraid like helpless.
Like she didn’t know what to do.
To help me.
She was afraid that she might lose me, I guess.
I almost cut her.
Thank the Lord she managed to force my hand down.
That night I would never forget.
Early hours of the morning.
That was Sunday.
27th June.
Right after the lunar eclipse.
I remember that Nia called that Saturday.
Told me about a strange dream.
Why did she call me?
Just when I was starting to forget about her.
There she was again.
In my head.
No wonder I had nightmares later.
I look over at Thurston.
No way was he turning around.
We were going to watch that match.
Oh, Lord.
What about Simoné?
I can’t let her find out.
I can’t let her hate me too.
Please.
What shall I do.
xvii
COLOMBIA: New President-Elect, Same Old Story
BOGOTA, Jun 21 2010 (IPS) - Former Colombian Defense Minister Juan Manuel Santos was elected president with the votes of just 30 percent of all voters on the electoral rolls, while turnout stood at a mere 45 percent in this country caught up in a civil war since 1964.
https://www.ipsnews.net/2010/06/colombia-new-president-elect-same-old-story/
“Hi, Sherwynne.”
Simoné looks beautiful.
With her Brasil top and tight jeans.
Wow.
She had some curvy hips.
She gets into the car next to me.
Melissa says hi and then chats with Thurston again.
I could see why he liked her.
She was genuine.
I look over at Simoné.
Guilty written all over my face.
“I’m sorry.”
She smiles at me.
That smile that hit you for a homerun.
“Sherwynne, I knew you weren’t going to come. As you stood there and lifted that crate. I knew already. So, I got Thurston to get me to you.”
I wasn’t sure what to say.
Simoné had me so confused.
Does she really like me?
What about André Valentine?
Does she not think that I am a monster?
I almost killed Georgie.
Right in front of her.
I shudder at the thought of that day.
Tuesday, 22 January 1991.
I remember the dress Simoné wore.
It looked to be mostly cloth just folded about her.
She looked beautiful.
I remember the look in her eyes.
She was sad.
Uhm.
Yes.
She must think that I am a monster.
I didn’t know what to think.
Why does she so desperately want to see me.
She knows.
Uhm.
I told you.
You should never have come to Cape Town.
xviii
“Tequila for you?”
Tequila.
No.
“Thanks. But no.”
I look over at Simoné.
“Big sissy,” she teases.
We weren’t really focused on the match.
Thurston and Melissa were more into it.
We slipped away to Stones.
Watched the game there.
Simoné and I.
Alone.
I took a sip of my Heineken.
She was drinking a Mojito.
Simoné has really grown into her body.
That André was one lucky guy.
Uhm.
“Sherwynne, there’s something I must tell…” A guy bumps into Simoné then falls on the floor.
He gets up and seems to want to start a fight.
I take Simoné’s hand and walk us out.
The guy was not fighting with us.
He was arguing with a Spain supporter.
Guess he must be in support of the Portuguese.
Uhm.
Real hooligans.
Umf.
Must be English.
Rooney shirt said it.
Long Street was an absolute buzz.
I wonder what the night had in store for us.
Simoné looks at me.
Blushes.
Rests her head on my shoulder as we keep walking along in the direction of the parade.
“Fill the cup more!” Shouts a homeless man at a woman.
She stammers back and hits her head on the side of the cement curb.
“Serves you right!”
He shouts as she just lies there.
We were now in Darling.
I wanted to help her up.
But Simoné stopped me.
“No, Sherwynne. It’s best not to get involved. Let the police take care of it. Come. Let’s go.”
I stare back at the guy as he gulps down the liquor straight from the bottle.
It falls down his chin and into his thick unkempt beard.
It was homebrew.
Cheap stuff.
I wondered if that was perhaps his wife.
No one even seems to notice.
br />
We walk further and join Thurston and Melissa.
It was the second half.
Torres was off.
Thurston was disappointed at that.
But that goal by Villa made him forget all about it.
Guess he was no longer torn in two.
Spain was sure to win.
Simoné stares at me and sighs.
“What did you want to tell me?”
I ask.
She looks away.
Then back at me.
I was not sure what to make from her expression.
“Nothing. Let’s watch the soccer.”
She rests her head on my shoulder.
“That goal was offside!” Shouts a Portuguese supporter.
Yip.
Soccer indeed.
End of Football World Cup 2010 - The Castle
Whisperers
"(As for) those who took the calf (for worship), surely wrath from their Lord and humiliation shall overtake them, and thus do We recompense the devisers of lies. (Qur'an 7:152)"
Connection
"How is it possible, Sher?"
Nia looks me in the eye.
Serious expression.
Doe eyes.
Filled with questions.
I loved this about Nia.
That she was constantly asking questions.
And she wanted answers.
An opinion at least.
My opinion.
She wanted to know what I thought.
She showed interest.
I looked at her.
Just for a moment.
With great expectation for the eyes that would follow next.
Still doe eyes.
Fluttering.
But now as if they could see inside me.
As if she sees me.
I could look forever into these beautiful eyes.
"I've wondered, you know.
The things that happened to us.
Do you remember The Catch?"
I looked at Nia.
She closes her eyes.
Then immediately opens them again.
"The guy who moved to America after his cousin?"
"Yes. Old Honeybuns.
How we ended up finding each other, after the evening at the College, made me wonder.
The answered questions that were erased in emails.
The call when I just wanted to hear your voice.
The sms I sent you, when all you wanted to know that I was thinking of you.
When you went to do your parlour queen thing.
I look at Nia.
She looks at me.
Soft doe eyes.
Fluttering.
"How is it possible, I also repeatedly asked?
How could I hear you?
And answer you?
With row row row your boat no less.
Just when you so dearly wanted to hear it.
And we were miles apart.
How could I hear your wish and answer it?
How could I hear your voice in my heart?
Uhm.
I prayed a lot and asked for God's guidance.
Sought answers from Him.
And you know what?
It is He.
He makes this possible.
He watches us both.
He watches everyone.
He tells me what you do.
He tells you what I do.
He is actually showing us that He is there.
It is He that allows that you may climb into the empty box.
That we may be together here in Utopia.
That we may hear the daisies giggle.
He permits it just for you and me.
I know that now, more than ever.
That’s why I have to show you.
Nia.
We cannot stay here any further.
Time is short.
And this time with you here, in Utopia, is precious.
But measured.
Come. "
End of Connection
Whisperers
The Tarzan sounds
PRAYER CALL FOR WORSHIP AND PRAYER
FOR THE EARLY MORNING WORSHIP AND PRAYER SESSION (Fajr):
Allah is the greatest, Allah is the greatest
Allah is the greatest, Allah is the greatest
I testify that nothing or no one is worthy of worship, only Allah
I testify that nothing or no one is worthy of worship, only Allah
I testify that Muhammad is a messenger of Allah
I testify that Muhammad is a messenger of Allah
Come to worship and prayer, come to worship and prayer
Come to success, come to success
Worship and prayer is better than sleep, worship and prayer is better than sleep
Allah is the greatest, Allah is the greatest
There is nothing or no one worthy of worship, only Allah.
Achmet
Salaam alaykum, Achmet.
My brother.
Time to get up.
Peace be with you.
Ha ah.
It’s the athaan
Get up.
No.
Five more minutes.
Allah is calling you.
Allah will understand.
He knows my weaknesses.
He accepts me just as I am.
Just five more minutes.
Your Creator is at your disposal.
Get up.
Rub your face.
Go take wudhu.
The water will wake you up.
I hardly slept.
This one snores so much.
Got no sleep at all.
I'm tired.
A hectic day lies ahead.
Just five more minutes.
Kanala.
Your best friend is waiting for you.
Why do you let him wait.
He will understand.
He knows me the best.
He made me.
And that is also how he left me.
Just five more minutes.
I will get up.
Achmet.
Allah is calling you.
Hmmmmm.
* Snores *
Moana Lisa
“I see you forgot to close the curtain. Properly. Again.”
Ya, Allah.
Here we go.
Again.
“Is it really that difficult?”
Why does she always have to pull that unpleasant face?
Really makes her look more like a crow than under normal circumstances.
At least she is wearing her hijab today.
Perhaps it will remind her that she is a Muslim.
I doubt it.
Ya, Allah.
Please forgive me.
But she drives me crazy.
“Take the curtain to the centre of the frame and make sure the edges are properly covered.”
She goes ahead and shows me.
Again.
Does she really think I am an idiot?
Can she not see that the stupid curtain does not matter to me?
Only to her.
Why doesn’t she fix it if it bothers her?
Why does she have to nag and nag and nag?
And nag.
Huh uh.
The moaning drives me nuts.
Oh, Allah.
Please guide me with this woman.
“You see? Easy as that. Kanala.”
Yes, my dear.
I say sarcastically to myself, with a big, fake smile on my face.
She doesn’t even notice.
No.
I think she quite simply doesn’t care. She only wants to hear her own voice and have things done her way.
If it wasn’t for Fatima, I would never have stayed married to the witch.
She walks into the kitchen. Maybe she will make me some breakfast. Perhaps I should just bake an egg and gra
b some of the leftover chicken. That was dry as a bone and absolutely no flavour at all. But it was edible and hit the spot. Praise is due to Allah. For sustaining me.
Before I can grab the pan, she stops me.
“You better get out of my kitchen.” She points the pan at me. Those grey, green eyes not the pretty things I used to like. All I see in those eyes now are hatred and vengefulness. I will never be forgiven. Even pardoned. I can only hope for Allah’s mercy and forgiveness. I am doing my best, but that is never even an attempt at anything.
“Just stay out of my kitchen.”
She puts the pan in the oven drawer and walks over to the sink.
“If you want something to eat, then you can wait.”
She points to the single cup standing in the basin.
“If you would listen to clean your mess up after you are done with it, I could get to your stomach sooner. But yes. How many times…”
It never ends.
She just carries on and on and on.
Nag, nag, nag!
If it wasn’t for Fatima.
I would surely talaq this woman.
I know Allah does not like it, but I am at my limit.
If I should hear about another dirty cup left in the sink, I will most definitely let them blow the place up.
I have been against it, but perhaps it will give me something to take my mind of things.
If I could just clinch this deal, I can finally do it.
Get Fatima the operation she needs and perhaps this old nag-hag would be satisfied somehow. I doubt it though. The only person that can please her is herself. No man can live with all these itty-bitty things she wants to make mole-hills of.
May Allah keep those mountains from toppling all over her.
Why does she stick around if she is so miserable?
Why can’t she just go and be at peace with her wonderful friends that she keeps telling me about? Perhaps if they knew her like I do, they would think twice about hanging out with her.
May Allah forgive me.
But the single sweet wrapper paper was simply too much.
I mean.
A bloomin’ wrapper.
For goodness sake.
I didn’t do it on purpose.
I mean.
To upset her.
I didn’t put it there to upset her.
But there the wrapper was lying on top of the lounge table. I had folded it neatly and was going to throw it in the dustbin as soon as I got up, but she got to see it before I could do that, or even hide it.
Huh uh.
Terrible mistake.
Did this vicious cow go all out on me like she was at some sort of convention for fast talking women. I could barely make out any of the horrible words that came from her mouth. I could not believe she knew so many curse words or even understood some of them.
Didn’t matter who she was hurting in the process. She just hammered on.
Ya, Allah.
You teach us to be selfless.
But all this woman does is think about herself.
Moan and nag, nag and moan.
Everything must be done her way.
She even came and took over the one place I could be myself. Be free to express my thoughts and feelings and be reminded of You.
But she came and intruded.
Invaded it.
Now more than ever, I want to leave her.
Please, Allah.
Help me.
Free me from this hell.
Free me from this thing holding me down.
Free me from this.
Moaning psycho.
This.
Moana Lisa.
ii
“Morning, my angel.”