It has always been easy to get anything you want from Mr. Sithole, especially when he was busy with something. So I motioned a two seconds signal after whispering “sir” loud enough for him to hear and I had his two second attention. I told him my plan to leave on a taxi and he agreed, but then asked me to join their conversation for a while.

Nomthandazo was probably waiting for me, but the conversation had to go on so that Mr. Sithole wouldn’t change his mind. We talked about job opportunities in our country and some boring old people stuff. During the conversation my eyes were all over the owner. He didn’t look that old, a few grey hairs but with Zamani Mbatha’s body. He wore a midnight blue suit, a weird colour that would look bad on you if you weren’t good looking. Just like his daughter he often had a soft smile revealing a 40 year old dimple on his right cheek.

“I thought you had already left!” said a voice behind me. It was Nomthandazo, who then scooped me up like ice-cream and pulled me towards the door. An odd goodbye was exchanged between me, Mr. Sithole and the owner who looked suddenly annoyed. “He’s mad coz I’m pregnant” assured Nomthandazo as we headed for the door.