If there’s one thing I’ve learned about hustling in the 80s and 90s, is how easy a target white people’s houses are; they are easy to break into. You break in and leave no trace of evidence. I normally run this gamble in Delmas.

It’s been several weeks since I healed from the stab wounds I sustained at the dice game. I am not big on revenge, so I let it slide. Mainly because I got away with their hard-earned cash.

It’s Monday morning, and the line is busy as expected. “Tsotsi gotta eat!” I say under my breath, fixing my collar in the mirror.

There’s a knock on the door, “Ek sê, Seun! Ukhona?” shouts Nkosi, my partner in crime. Nkosi is more of the muscle, a soldier. I am the brains of every operation, the mastermind, the general, De La Ray!

I open the door. Nkosi looks at me from head to toe, “Tjo, Seun! Where are you headed dressed so fancy? You sure do know how to pull together an outfit. Please tell me where you’re going!”

I sigh, “OK, OK, Nkosi! Damnit. You’re like a dog with a bone. I am off to attend a meeting in Delmas at the Jacksons’ villa.”

Nkosi pops his eyes wide, “Jacksons Villa! Listen to the sound of that, so sophisticated. I wish I was going with you. But looking at you in a three-piece Armani suit, I can tell I am underdressed,” he says, lowering his head.

I smile, “Cheer up, old mate. I will make it up to you. I will take you next time. All I am saying is, get ready, because when I get back, you’re in for a treat. Now I have to vay’ before I am late,” I say, leading Nkosi out of the yard. He follows like a loyal sheep.

“Good luck,” he says.

I nod, “Thanks, I certainly need it.”

I catch a taxi to town. From there, I hitchhike to Delmas to break into a villa belonging to the Jacksons. I know this because it’s on the mailbox. I have been casing this place for a while, and I am certain it’s the perfect score.

I arrive in Delmas and head straight for the villa. I make my way in with utter confidence. I am dressed the part, no one will question my presence around these parts. I fit in perfectly.
I circle the house and notice an open upstairs bathroom window. I carefully climb up a drainpipe. I make it inside the house. I immediately start cleaning the place out. I take any and every thing I can carry that’s worth a penny; I am talking cash, jewelry, and easy-to-carry electronics, and some expensive suits. I even stumble upon a camouflage coat with matching boots, perfect for winter.

I clean out the Jacksons’ villa and hide my loot in a nearby unfinished building. After hiding the goods, I hitchhike back to Mashona.

I find Nkosi at Jamu’s tavern. “Nkosi, I am back from Delmas, I made a killing there. Now all we need is a bakkie so we can go and fetch everything I’ve hustled vandag at the Jacksons’ villa.”

Nkosi jumps to his feet in excitement, “I suspected there was more than what meets the eye about the villa story!” he chuckles, “Aikhona, Seun, jou skelm!”

We find a bakkie and get everything from the unfinished building. We head to Tembisa to turn everything into cash.

After having sold everything except for the camouflage winter coat and matching boots, we drive back to Mashona with huge smiles and fat wallets.

Tell us: What do you think of Seun breaking into white people’s houses? And do you think it was really easy in the 80s and 90s? Why did he say that?