Buyekezwa just had time to duck behind a pillar as she saw Jerome burst out of the cafeteria in a hurry. She was surprised to see him here so early in the morning – she had hoped to be here before him. She was even more surprised when she walked in and saw Mr Rhino settled at his usual corner table, and virtually nobody else around. Had Jerome spoken to him already? If not, why was he leaving? She hoped she was not too late.

Mr Rhino was so busy reading his National Geographic magazine that he did not notice her until she sat down in the empty chair opposite him. The chair felt warm, as if somebody had been sitting in it, but there was no time to think about that because Mr Rhino was now looking at her, the magazine abandoned on his lap, his mouth hanging open as if he had just seen a tokoloshe.

“I’ve come to apologise,” she said at last. “About yesterday – the big argument and so on. I’m sorry that you had to get mixed up in all of that.” Buyekezwa rested her right hand over her heart.

“Don’t… don’t worry about it,” Mr Rhino stammered, shifting in his chair.

“But I do worry,” Buyekezwa continued, leaning closer. “Because everybody should have the right to campaign freely – so that people like you can ask questions about DA policies.”

A long silence followed. Mr Rhino did not appear to have any questions about DA policies.

Buyekezwa realised it was time to play her trump card. She reached into her bag, took out a book she had bought on Rondebosch Main Road on her way up to campus, and laid it on the table. “I want you to have this – it’s the least I can do to make up for yesterday.”

Mr Rhino picked it up and read the title: Killing for Profit – Exposing the Illegal Rhino Horn Trade. He pursed his lips and nodded. Opened it up. He liked it.

Buyekezwa was relieved. Julian Rademeyer’s award-winning book about rhino poaching had cost her almost R200 – almost two thirds of her weekend budget. She only had R100 left. Under normal circumstances she would never have bought it – she hated non-fiction – but she was certain it would impress her prospective party member. R200 was a small price to pay for exclusive rights to campaign in the university cafeteria. It was a strategic investment.

Mr Rhino flipped through the book, smiling. Then he laid it on the table and reached down to pick up something at his feet. “It’s incredible to meet somebody as passionate about the rhino as I am,” he said, reappearing with a wad of papers in his hand which he dumped on the table.

“Oh we in the DA feel very, very strongly about the rhino. We would do anything to stop the senseless slaughter of these animals,” Buyekezwa said, poking the table with an index finger to emphasise the point.

“Good,” said Mr Rhino, handing her a piece of paper from the top of his pile. “Because I am looking for people to sign my ‘Save the Rhino’ petition.” He handed her a pen.

“But of course!” Buyekezwa took the pen and leant over the page to add her name to the list.

“We are also asking for a donation – just R100,” Mr Rhino said. “It’s not much, but every little bit counts. It’s a small price to pay to save the rhino from being wiped off the surface of the earth.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” said Buyekezwa, who for once did not feel very friendly towards the rhino, as she fumbled in her wallet for her last R100 note. She handed it over.

“Thank you,” rhino-lover said. “And in return, here is something for you.” He laid down a plastic bag with something colourful inside. This he removed and spread out on the table. It was a bright red ‘Save the Rhino’ T-shirt.

Just the right size, too.

Buyekezwa slipped it over her DA T-shirt, gathered up her things, and stood up to leave.

“I hope we can count on you in this election,” she beamed, offering him her hand.

“And I hope we can count on you,” he said, taking it.

* * *

Tell us what you think: Was Buyekezwa ‘bribing’ Mr Rhino to vote for the DA by giving him a ‘gift’?