My beeper signals a new message. It comes at the right time to break the silence. I let it ring so that the lyrics of In My Time linger in the air. I excuse myself to listen to the message. It’s from the Technikon Natal travel desk.

Please note that your return ticket has been upgraded to business class. Enjoy it.

I smile as I walk back to Andiswa and Chris. Could things get any better? The die is cast. Andiswa gets into our Opel Astra and sits in the back seat with me. I put my arm around her.

“Andiswa, you know what?”

“What, Wilfred?” she asks, with a naughty smile breaking on her lips.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Your smile disables me. My knees haven’t recovered from your very first smile. I need you in my life.” I stretch the truth a bit because I want to score later.

The actual truth is that she is a gorgeous girl, but I know that I’ll never come back to her after the 72 hours I’ll spend here in Port Elizabeth. This is a game of consenting adults. She, meanwhile, also knows that she has to make an impression that can possibly last a lifetime, but probably lead to a fleeting affair lasting no longer than 72 hours. The unspoken rule is ‘no long-term commitment expected’. We both know we’re unlikely to be an item longer than this. As the Manhattan’s song goes, Let’s Just Kiss and Say Goodbye.

“Undenzela inhloni, you are making me blush, Wilfred. Chris told me all about you. You’re a sworn Communist, what what, Mandela-worshipping, overwhelmed by beautiful yellow bone girls, and fun-loving. You are my kind of guy, ndiyazifela ngawe,” she says, with her iconic smile.

I listen not to her words, but the beauty of her voice. It’s like an RnB melody. In my world, all Xhosa women are chart-topping singers. She moves closer to me. It’s like a scene straight out of best-selling romance novels. We entangle in a long, passionate kiss.

The new South Africa is a boon for young black males, especially us as the former anti-apartheid activists. Here I am enjoying this beautiful moment without the Police’s Security Branch watching my back. It is an excellent time to be alive. I say a silent communist-inspired prayer, ‘If there’s heaven, I need a taste of it on planet earth.’

Andiswa withdraws from our demonically passionate kissing game. She does so graciously. I am now drunk from her tasty tongue. I stand still, look her in the eye, and just marvel at her beautiful face.

“Oh, please don’t look at me like that,” she says.

“Tjoo, lamanzi ewolintshi, sweet nectar is waking up sleeping dogs,” I say with a sense of triumph.

“Hey mfana womZulu, do you need a BnB already?” asks Chris sarcastically.

I ignore him as I slide my hands inside the waist of Andiswa’s torn jeans.

***

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