It was close to election time, and everyone in Mamelodi was getting psyched up. The ANC youth were excited about voting, but Kotatso had no interest. He looked at his aunt, Naledi, and her friends who were rallying every day.
“I’m not going to vote, unless they offer me a new car, fresh out the box!”
“You and your attitude!” exclaimed his aunt as she unfolded a big batch of T-shirts for the rally. “First you don’t want to finish school, ’cause you’re too big for your boots. Now look at you: sitting around the house and not even making yourself useful.”
“Useful? I know lots of girls who would disagree with you; I’m very much in demand!”
Aunt Naledi shook her head. “That attitude of yours again. You should be helping me with these T-shirts, but at ten o’clock in the morning you want to be styling that hair of yours and looking in the mirror like a girl. Eish!”
Kotatso lifted his eyebrows at his aunt, as he stood in front of the mirror and combed his hair. He was wearing fake Dolce&Gabanna, the very same merchandise that he dealt in. He got the fakes from an Italian connection he had, high up in the fake goods business. Then Kotatso sold the fake labels in the township, to his numerous friends. They knew the goods were just copies, but they didn’t care – as long as they looked good and the price was right.
Kotatso sold the goods from the back of his aunt’s house. He’d SMS a code message to all of his contacts as soon as his auntie was out of the house, going about her business with the youth rallies.
Da coast is clear; new goods in da hood
There were customers who didn’t know that the goods were fake – the high-end shoppers at the mall. There he was the go-between, the ‘middleman’ for his supplier, Sergio. The woman who ran the mall shop was paying good money for fake goods and selling them on as the real deal. She sold them for a fortune. Only Sergio and Kotatso knew that the goods the customers were paying top dollar for were fakes. Scratch the surface enough times and you’d find the plastic underneath the ‘leather’: it was their dirty secret.
Kotatso had dropped out of school in Grade 11. He didn’t see the point of it when all he wanted to do was become a DJ and own a nightclub. The clothing was just one step up the ladder to achieving his dream. Besides, selling the goods meant he could give his girlfriends treats, and there were many girls. It gave him street cred with his friends. Wasn’t it every schoolboy’s dream to be wining and dining those beauties?
As he started shaving, he winked at himself in the mirror. Now, thinking of girlfriends, he decided it was time that he got himself a new one. The girl he’d been seeing was just too sweet and ready to please. He liked girls with a bit more attitude: a bit more bite and a bit more bitchiness. And elections or no elections, it was time to throw another party.
He was thinking of doing something completely different. Something he’d seen on TV: Kenny Kunene, the ‘Sushi King’, was doing it. He would throw a sushi party, which meant getting models to lie down on a table in their bikinis, with sushi laid out on their sexy sculpted booties and flat stomachs. Kotatso was so excited about this idea that he nearly cut himself with his razor.
He slapped on some Hugo Boss aftershave, clicked his fingers and bragged to himself: “I’m the man! Ladies come and get it, oh yeah!”
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Tell us what you think: What is your opinion of Kotatso’s party plan?