Uncle Seun wiped his forehead. “As soon as they had both climbed into the back of the limo, I closed the door. I took my time and calculated my next move. I got into the driver’s seat and just sat there. Mphumuzi Myeni asked. ‘Seun, who are we waiting for?’ I turned to him politely. ‘Mr Myeni, who is this individual you have brought with you?’ He looked the clocker dead in the eye, chuckled then nudged his head towards me. ‘Tell him, my friend!’

“‘Salutas De la Rey!’ the clocker said to me. ‘Ek is Tsotsi, die rookhond. My ma het in die kombuis van die wit mense gewerk en my pa het in die tuin gewerk, ’n regte Jamaican. Ek het op die ouderdom van twee alles in geasem wat hulle gerook het! En toe het ek op die ouderdom van vyf die goed gerook! En al die kinders wat hier op en af in die pad rondloop stoot niks, maar net hondestront wat van my sool af gekrap is! Salutas.’

“I smiled and wished to greet him properly but I was still running on Pappa’s clock, so I kept cool. I couldn’t hold any ill will against Tsotsi, indaba ungithinte emanonini, boys! He spoke my kind of language! Niyang’thola?” Uncle Seun let out a little laugh followed by a sigh.

I looked away and did my best to picture Tsotsi in my head because from what I’ve heard so far he can walk the walk and talk the talk. I could see the walk in my head, i walk ye para. And the talk! I could actually feel the vibrations of the taal in my body and soul.

When I came about, Mtho was still trying to wrap his head around Tsotsi’s words. I could tell from his puzzled face that he didn’t understand the Afrikaans.

He turned to me with a smile. “Tanga, uTsotsi konje utheni? (Buddy, what did Tsotsi say again?)”

I didn’t even look at Uncle Seun because he would throw me off. I focused on Mtho and started my translation. “I am Tsotsi, the smoke dog. My mother was a kitchen girl and my father a garden boy, a true Jamaican. I’ve been inhaling since age two and started slanging at age five and all these youngsters marching up and down the streets push nothing but dog poo scraped from the bottom of my shoe! Salute!”

Mtho laughed so much, tears were in his eyes. I joined in and so did Uncle Seun. After we all settled down, Uncle Seun went on with the story.

“When Mphumuzi Myeni saw that I was now cool with Tsotsi, he smiled and said, ‘Seun! Shay’moto!’ and shay’moto is exactly what I did. After a few kilometres up the highway, Mphumuzi suggested I pull over at the next off-ramp. I did as he instructed and parked by the side of a dirt road off the highway. ‘Aikhona, Seun! Not here, we’ll draw unnecessary attention to ourselves,’ exclaimed Mphumuzi. ‘How about under that bridge?’ Tsotsi suggested.”

Uncle Seun stopped his story and looked around to see if there was anyone else nearby. It was just the three of us, so he went on with the story. “There under the bridge we must have smoked about four doobies. I lost all my senses and became one with the universe. When I looked at my outer reality it matched my inner reality. It was the greatest wave one could ever ride.

“When I started to calm down, I realised that Mphumuzi Myeni and Tsotsi were talking wayawaya but I hadn’t heard a word they said. Mphumuzi turned to me. ‘Seun, jy, jy is ’n ncaa broer! En Tsotsi, jy … jy is a slaam laitie!’ He passed out for a couple of seconds then woke up yelling, ‘Tjo! Die is lekker ganja, baie dankie my laities … Seun, it makes me want to sing “Everytime”, the best song I’ve written yet.’ I promised him an audience. I had no idea what I was talking about; it was probably the marijuana. I didn’t want to say no to a legend like Mphumuzi Myeni.” Uncle Seun smiled and sighed once more, only this time he went on and kept staring at the mailbox as if his thoughts were lost far down memory lane.

“After about the fourth doobie, I felt so numb I couldn’t feel my face with my bare hands. I turned to Mphumuzi Myeni. ‘Mr Myeni your audience awaits you in Bethal, so we’d better get going.’ From the look on his face I could tell I had struck a nerve.”

“Ayeye malume!” exclaimed Mtho with a silly grin.

Uncle Seun sat back, smiled his Adam Sandler smile and shook his head. “Uyakena boy kushubile!”

Mtho giggled like a child watching his father perform a magic trick.

Uncle Seun continued. “Mpumuzi turned to me with his smile upside down and yelled out, ‘Ek sê san’ ke Mphumuzi Myeni! Mawuhluleka lapho u-KIO! Seun, jy verstaan?’

“I looked back at Mphumuzi Myeni, he seemed a little upset and offended. After calculating my next move, I gathered my courage. ‘But Mr Myeni what did I say wrong? All I suggested was …’ He cut me off with a smile. ‘Seun, just call me Mphumuzi and if that’s too hard for you then you can call me KIO. Come on! Seun, do I really look like a mister to you? Do you wish to call me mister or would you rather be my buddy?’

“I took the doobie he handed me and said, ‘Yes, Mphumuzi.’ The three of us laughed. ‘Thatha KIO!’ Tsotsi exclaimed as he laughed his lungs out and put the spliff in his mouth.”

I turned to Uncle Seun, puzzled. “Uncle, did you ever come across Tsotsi again after you met him?”

“Not yet my boy, not yet,” he said looking at the clouds that were starting to gather around the sun. They were dark and gloomy as if a storm were brewing, but none of us moved from our seats or felt discouraged by the weather. The sun had been up since four-thirty that morning.

The answer Uncle Seun gave me left me with even more questions than before. So to clear my head I took our lunch dishes to the kitchen and washed them. There weren’t that many – only two plastic plates. We hadn’t finished our orange juice yet.

Tell us: What do you think about Uncle Seun smoking marijuana with Mphumuzi and Tsotsi?