“Sawubona Sisi,” Sthe greets the lady. “My name is Sthe.” He puts his hand on Sbonga’s head. “This is Sbonga. I’m looking for Sis’ Zandi. I’m told she’s a magician with hair.”

“Magician with hair? Haai bo!” the lady repeats with a hint of disbelief. She smiles and shakes her head at the same time. Sthe notices her face transforming. The smile reveals Sthe’s fetish and weakness – a set of aligned, snow-white teeth and dimples on her cheeks.

“Only Bongi can tell such lies with a straight face,” she continues. “She told me about you.”

Sthe looks on as Zandi starts Sbonga off. She runs a blow dryer over the area of hair she’s combing. Never does she blow-dry the hair and then comb it later like he usually does. The hair comes out fluffy, allowing the comb to glide through it. So that’s where I’ve been going wrong, Sthe thinks. He decides to try what he sees Zandi is doing going forward.

The silence deafens after the roar of the blow dryer dies down.

“Who washes your hair, Sbonga?” Zandi asks.

“He does!” Sbonga belts out. He points at Sthe.

Sthe notices Zandi looking at him, disbelief written all over her face. “It’s true.” He blushes saying it. “If you find anything wrong there, I’m responsible. I’m your guy.”

“You are doing a great job. Her hair is strong, fluffy and healthy. A good wash will do that to hair.”

Sthe watches Zandi working her magic. He watches her weave different strands of hair into one line. She does a few lines on one side of Sbonga’s scalp. She leaves those lines hanging, not tied into one unit. He can see what she’s doing. He’s convinced he can do it himself. Only when she ties the different plaited lines into a knot, does he get lost. She is slow doing it, yet it seems to happen lightning fast.

Sthe sees Zandi anew. He even revises his opinion on the black tunic she’s has on. It reminds him of the pair of chinos he has stopped wearing in public. It’s so pale it looks soiled under the glow of the sun. He realises that the tunic, like his chinos, is not dirty. It’s old and pale because it has mileage. And even if it was dirty, he rethinks his earlier stance, it would be fitting. No sane person would be walking around doing chores in a Gucci dress. Not at ten in the morning. The more he watches her doing her thing, the more he feels she is nothing like Mpilo. He thinks that even if the tunic was dirty, it couldn’t compare to Mpilo’s striped skirt. What were white stripes on it have since turned golden-brownish. He grits his teeth just thinking about her hair. He remembers Mpilo joking around with her friend.

“Introduce me to a nice, employed guy, won’t you?” she jested. “I want to be fed – at the top and at the bottom.” She licks her finger and brushes her thighs in a sexually suggestive manner.

“Someone should introduce you to a comb,” he murmured to that. “It looks like you scrub pots with that hair!”

“Mama!” a boy of about Sbonga’s age comes from nowhere and runs to Zandi with open arms. He’s as spitting an image of Zandi as Sbonga is of him. He looks like he’s just come from sleeping under a blanket of soil.

“An older child!” Sthe shakes his head unseen.

“Haai bo Aya!” Zandi shoos him away. “What hole have you just come out of?”

The grin on the young boy’s face disappears. He drags himself to a tree not far from where Sthe is sitting. He dumps his body there and he sits with his head tucked between his knees. Something in Sthe moves. He goes to the boy and he offers his hand. The boy accepts his hand and he gets up.

“Uban’ igama lakho, Boy?” Sthe asks the boy, despite hearing Zandi calling him Aya.

“I’m Ayabonga,” he answers, sucking his thumb.

“I’m Uncle Sthe. Do you want to take a walk with me?”

Ayabonga nods in agreement. Sthe turns to Zandi. “Can Ayabonga and I stretch our legs a little? I want him to show me the tuck shop.”

“Not dirty as he is,” Zandi walks towards both Aya and Sthe, leaving Sbonga. “Not dirty as you are, too.” She points to Sthe’s pants, over his thigh. Ayabonga must have rubbed against him. Sthe spots the killer smile forming on her face. Again Sthe sees a different person in her. Her eyes are less droopy when she smiles.

“Please don’t buy sweets for Aya. I don’t want him anywhere near them.”

“I don’t eat sweets, also, Aunty Zandi,” Sbonga shouts her input to the conversation.

“Yes, girl!” Zandi high-fives Sbonga. “Us girls don’t need sweets because we are sweet.”

Sthe has wiped his pants clean again. He uses the same damp cloth he borrowed from Zandi to wipe Ayabonga decent.

“No sweets!” Zandi and Sbonga shout in unison as the boys go out of the gate.

Tell us: The children and adults here seem to have made instant friends. Have you ever done that? Tell us your thoughts about those instant relationships.