“Sixty per cent of the time, my sex-machine brother!”

This is my sister Thandeka again. Even though this time I have brought her designer clothes from New York to fill her cramped Soweto wardrobe. Even though, this time, I have only mentioned Melissa in passing.

Melissa in the executive suite of a prominent New York hotel that has my name up in big letters outside: Josh Zondo – Africa’s foremost pianist. Radio City – two nights only.

Melissa is part of the promotion team, a personal assistant. She certainly does her best to assist me. Personally.

“Sixty per cent of the time, Josh. That’s the statistics. I’m sorry to be the one to break the news to you.” My sister twists her foot to admire her designer takkies.

I risked my life to get my sister those takkies, there in New York!

There was a sudden clash on the streets between those endlessly rising New York buildings. Two groups armed with kitchen implements. Strange how lethal a kitchen implement can be! And I’m not talking knives.

I rushed back to the safety of my executive suite, and to Melissa, who was waiting and naked under luxurious covers.

She was a five-minute wonder, Melissa. Minimum effort and maximum effect which was just as well because I was still feeling pretty jet-lagged. Still dazed by culture-shock. New York had always been my dream and it was even wilder than I imagined. Fascinating – well, apart from the aggression and random acts of violence.

“Woweee!” Melissa shrieked. “It’s the Big O, Josh!”

Woweeee? The Big O? Did the Big O stand for Orgasm? Clearly it did.

I rolled over, pleased with myself – the upholder of Zulu male pride and potency wherever I roam, jet-lag and all! Patting Mama Dlamini’s gold-chain and whispering my thanks to her.


“Yes, it is a well-documented fact,” says my sister with the tenacity of a bulldog. Which is strange, since she has never owned a bulldog, nor any other pet. Animals make her nervous.

“Sixty per cent of all female orgasms are faked, my beloved brother. Didn’t you know that? We squeal and we moan and we shudder at the right moment. But it is all part of the act. All fake and pretence. And then we send you off on your arrogant male way, believing you have satisfied us. Be grateful, Josh. Only a sister would tell you this.”

Outside in the Soweto darkness, bloodcurdling screams fill the air and a knife reflects the moonlight.

Thandeka double-locks her Soweto trellis-door.

“What do you reckon, Josh? About those Luthanians? Did you get to see any of them in New York? Are they really here to help us? Maybe they are lying? Maybe they are faking too? Maybe they just want to colonise us and rape our planet of all its natural resources.”

Thandeka slips the door-chain in. And I am stuck for the night with her and her ridiculous statistics. How can they be true? Just the thumb-sucked figures of some male-hating feminists, no doubt!

I mean, really. Sixty per cent? Give me a break!

Perhaps they are the stats for some northern European country where I haven’t yet toured?

“No sis, I didn’t get to see any Luthanians in New York.”

Sorry, sis. I was too busy staring into Melissa backward-rolling, wowee-ing eyes to notice any self-righteous, charity-bent aliens.

And Melissa’s Big O wowees definitely, oh most definitely fell into the forty-per-cent bracket of honest genuineness. No doubt.

Mind you, I sometimes find myself wondering about Melissa and her five-minute wonders. Nought to sonic boom in just three hundred seconds seems a bit far-fetched, even in New York.

But that is only late at night when I am alone and playing sad melodies in minor keys. The mood soon passes.


I pick Kali up now, her golden form looping across my breast. And I carry her through to the next room and to my amber pillows.

She is smiling softly, her starburst eyes fixed on mine.

And I hold in my trembling fingers the honour of all humankind. Whilst names swirl in my head: the great explorers of our great planet. Columbus and Magellan and Livingstone and Neil Armstrong. I am going where no mortal human has gone before. If she will allow me …

Will she allow me? Will she consent?


Tell us what you think: Are Josh and Kali going to break Regulation Number One?