Before I know it, we are back at the Port Elizabeth Technikon parking lot. The music is pumping at nightclub levels. It’s a crazy ratio – 13 guys to 30 girls – but I have no desire for other beauties. My heart is taken. Andiswa stays by my side and protects her territory.

We dance to our hearts’ desires to kwaito, the new sound of our new South Africa. Andiswa drinks only the newly released cider, Savanna Dry. (I tried it once, earlier in the year, and blacked out in less than three hours.) Some comrades drink too much, vomit, drink water and then resume the drill – more drinking and more dancing. It’s a choreographed mess.

I check the time – it is three in the morning.

Our DJ, the Oscar Wa Rona, isn’t even sweating at the turntables, just drinking himself silly and playing one hit song after another. I am feeling frustrated now. I need a ‘happy ending’.

Tshepo keeps coming to us for a chit chat. He is really annoying me because every time he grins, I keep seeing flashbacks of him hugging Andiswa.

Then Vukile staggers towards me. “We need to talk,” he whispers in my ear.

I tell Andiswa I’ll be right back.

“Lenin,” Vukile says, invoking my underground nickname. If he does this, I know it’s serious. “I am in trouble. You see those two beauties,” he asks, then answers his own question. “It’s Nwabisa and her twin sister Nonyamenko. I am confused now. I think both of them want to sleep with me … as in yesterday. Are you up for a foursome game? I can’t cope.”

I almost swoon. I have never been invited to a foursome before. I glance over for a better look at the twins. They are fine women of medium size, and dark beauties.

“I can’t, comrade. I have made my choice for the night,” I say and turn his drunk face in Andiswa’s direction. Vukile doesn’t push the issue despite the visible frustration on his face. I move back to the ‘love of my life’.

At last, Andiswa says to me, matter-of-factly, “Baby, muntu wami, I am tired. Let’s go to bed.” She doesn’t say, “Please take me home.” I am on cloud nine.

At once, I look for Chris. “My chief, I am calling it a night. I have my beautiful babe to take care of,” I tell him, as he looks at me with some anticipation in his eyes. “Andiswa and I are going to my room, Mr President, thanks to you.”

He punches the air in the classic Mandela way. I shout, “Amandla!” We part ways.

I still don’t quite know the undressing protocol, although women have been in and out of my bedroom since the dawn of freedom. What is a rule of thumb about taking off one’s clothes with a new girl?

“Should I turn the light off so that you can change?” I say, in the softest version of my baritone.

She senses my nervousness and laughs out loud for the first time since we met. Instead, she jumps on me, and I fall hard on the bed. She wrestles with me, kissing me passionately. We enjoy being in the moment, culminating in the ultimate prize. Sex.

Afterwards, we lie next to next each other, share intimate details. We talk about each other’s lives and our backgrounds. She shocks me when she reveals her age. She is 28 and a graduate of Fort Hare, the legendary university of the aristocrats of the revolution.

At some stage, Andiswa dozes off. I look down at her beautiful face, with its generous mouth, high cheekbones and dark eyes. My heart wants to break out and fly again.

At first light, my beeper rings. It’s time to get up. I am presenting a paper at 10 with the title: The Final Push Towards a Non-racial, Non-sexist, and Democratic Post-Apartheid Higher Education Sector.

***

Tell us: What’s your opinion of young people ‘binge drinking’, as described in this chapter. Fun or harmful?