Dating a Gangster

It’s Sunday afternoon and I just finished cooking dinner, which we call “Seven Colours” in South Africa. This is a meal mostly eaten on Sunday and consists of different foods with different colors, be it your beetroot, rice, potato salad, and many others. It’s still pretty early in the day but the objective, obviously was to get my house chores done so I can go out for sundowners with my friends. My name is Amanda, Amanda Nzwane and I am a 23 year old lady who lives in a city called East London, in the Eastern Cape Province. I’m proudly born and bred in South Africa and honestly, I have no intentions of leaving my country. There isn’t much happening in my life, I’ve always lived a quiet and peaceful life that revolved around my family which definitely matches my personality. I walk up the stairs to my bedroom. Yes I am 23 and I still live with my parents. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, I mean we all have to start somewhere. My friends and I will be celebrating my new job. I got an internship at a firm in Berea which is exactly what we’ve been praying for. “Mama can I borrow the car please? I’ll be back by 10pm I promise.” I shout as I grab my handbag and walk to her room for the car keys. “Check on the side table. The keys should be there. And please, I don’t want a scratch on my car Mandi. I’m not as lenient as your father.” She says. Aah, my mom is what you would call a typical black African mother. Raised on the foundations and wisdom of strong women, embodying strength and stature in every situation. I’ve never seen her cry my entire life, but oh boy has she made us ball in tears with all those childhood whippings! “Thanks Ma, the food is ready by the way. I’ve dished up in the casserole dishes and closed them. You’ll warm it up before dinner time. Tell dad I went out, please.” I shout as I climb down the stairs and walk out as swiftly as I can. I can’t afford her the opportunity to begin with her famous, miniature lectures, that leave you welled up in guilt and bad vibes that you start second guessing every decision you make. I start the car and drive off to Baraneers, also known as Bars. Bars is a pub and grill that’s always buzzing with young people, good food, great drinks and sometimes even well known musicians and artists. I park the car and walk right in. Zinzi and Babalwa are already seated. “Girl! Here’s the lady of the hour.” We scream as we hug each other. “Oh friend I’m so happy for you man. I mean, these are the things we used to talk and dream about when we were little now we are literally in the middle of our dreams.” says Zinzi. “Friend, I know I’ve been there for less than a month but it still feels so surreal. Especially when I look around and notice that some people graduated three years ago and they’re still unemployed which is so sad. I’m literally engulfed in gratitude, let me tell you. ” I mutter while snapping my fingers dramatically. “Wait, before we all get into our feelings here, I had already ordered us two rounds of shots and, oh here they are…” Babes gets interrupted and shifts to the side as the waiter puts down 12 shots of Tequila in front of us. “No Babalwa I’m driving. And that’s my mom’s car, she needs it tomorrow morning to go to work.” Babalwa has this tendency whereby in Nigerian Pidgin we would say “Every little moment, na enjoyment.” Which when we translate it into her case, every little moment she has a chance, she wants to drown in alcohol for enjoyment. We’re not 16 anymore Babes, come on. “These are the only ones for the whole night, I promise. You can even order virgin cocktails afterwards if you’d like.” She smiles. Fine. Just 4 shots, 4 only and I’ll drink water. Okay that’s a bit drastic, I’ll have a virgin cocktail to wash them down, I guess. We each grab our little shot glasses, clink our glasses in excitement while we snap it for i********: and down they go. By the time we’re done with the fourth one we literally start scrambling for something to cleanse our palettes. Oh God! Why does alcohol have to be so bitter? It’s two hours later now, the time is around 19:00 and we are all having so much fun. Babes is having the most fun though, I think by now we’ve all agreed to stop counting how many shots and cocktails she has thrown down her tiny throat. Zinzi and I are a bit tipsy, I mean we are celebrating, so expecting me to sip on virgin cocktails the whole night is a tad bit unrealistic. “Friend, now that things seem to be falling into place in your life have you thought about getting back on the market?“ Zinzi whispers. “Market?” I ask, quite puzzled. “Yes friend, dating market man. We not talking corporate language here sis. We talking significant others.” She exclaims while batting her eyelids. I laugh. “I’m not sure about that, hey. You know where I stand. If the right person comes along and I’m feeling them, then let’s go! If not, even better. I have more time to myself and definitely more peace when I am alone. Relationships require a lot friend and I don’t think it’s something I want to jump into now. I really just want to settle in this new phase I’m in and work more towards crafting the life I want to live, you get?” I whisper as I sip my drink. Babes has walked over to another table with a group of girls she used to go to University with. They are all just as drunk as she is and they’re dancing their bums off while at it. I cut Zinzi short before she even tries to continue with this relationship talk. They’ve been on my case for over two years now and to them it looks as though I’m lonely just because I have been single for a while. I honestly spent the two years building myself to know my worth and know what I want so that I don’t crumble and lose myself when I actually do date. I signal to her that I’m going to the bathroom and I grab my phone and walk off. You ain’t convincing me into having a man girl, no. “Argh! I’m so sorry I wasn’t looking! I was on my phone.” I shout in panic. How clumsy can you be Amanda? I was scrolling down my i********: feed whilst walking and somehow bumped into this poor guy and spilt his drink on him. “It’s okay, I understand.” He whispers. I look up at him and he smiles at me. Wow. Let me tell you, I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol or what but he looks gorgeous. A tall, dark skinned, well built, broad shoulders and fit man with dimples? Sis, get out of here! “Please excuse me.” I mutter as I hurry off to the bathroom. Now why did you do that Amanda? I mean I really could have waited and talked with him a bit. He’s cute. Or maybe I’m drunk? Well, whatever. I flush, wash my hands and walk back to the table. “Friend, I think I’m ready to go home now.” I whisper in Zinzi’s ear. “What do you mean?” She gawks at me. What does she mean what do I mean? Girl, I’m drunk and I have work tomorrow. One thing about alcohol is that you’ll feel tipsy for a minute and the next moment you’re suddenly drunk out of nowhere. “Dude I promised my mother I’ll be home by ten, and I have work tomorrow, Zi. I have to be up at like five.” She turns and gives me an even more weird look. “I get the whole work thing right, but are you a five year old girl with a curfew or a grown ass lady who has a job?” She raises her eyebrows. Argh here we go again. I don’t like problems, bickering or even being troublesome. I live in my parents house and I don’t pay rent. I drive their cars because I don’t have one yet. The least I can do is be respectful as someone who lives under their roof. Imagine now I get drunk the whole night and drive home at 4am in the morning as my mom will be waking up. Imagine she wakes up at 3am to go pee and realizes her car is still not in the garage, do you know African mothers? They could ring the popo on you sweetheart. Interestingly enough my mother once did that to my brother when I was still in high school, but that’s a story for another day. Before I even get a chance to answer we hear a loud bang and glasses breaking. Oh no. Not Babalwa dancing on the table and landing gracefully on the floor, face down. We rush to the other table. “Dude what the hell? Are you okay?” Zinzi exclaims. “Relaaaxxxx. I…I am Beeyps…the life paaarty of?” She slurs as she struggles to get up. “Yeah this is embarrassing and I think we should all call it a night. I mean look her knee is bleeding.” I whisper to Zinzi. I caught some people laughing and everyone’s eyes are definitely on us. God, the last thing we need is having this on social media. “Babalwa we taking you home.” “But the paaary jusss started!” She lifts her arms up to dance. How hopeless can she look? “Okay, you have a point. You can drop her off, I’ll remain behind.” Zinzi whispers. “Doesn’t she have anything of hers left in your car? Apartment keys, bag or something we might need now?” I whisper back. “No. Everything is in her bag. Call me when you get home, okay? Please make sure you tuck her in bed Mandy. I doubt she’ll even be able to locate her bedroom.” “The bill?” I ask, almost forgetting that we haven’t paid. “I’ve got you dude. Just go. Be safe, okay?” We hug each other and I drag a very drunk and resisting Babalwa out into the parking lot. She is having a full blown conversation with herself in gibberish. I start the car and reverse. This is the part about being an adult that I do not enjoy. Boom! What the hell is that? Oh God, oh God don’t tell me I crashed into someone or something! I close my eyes and take a few breaths. I hop out of the car and walk to the boot, not a single scratch. Then what is it? I walk all around the car and everything seems fine. Then what is it? “Do you need a ride home, lady?” I jump from shock and turn around. It’s the dimple guy. “No thanks.” I answer. “I didn’t mean to frighten you but your tyre is ruptured. And you don’t look like you’re in the best state to drive.” He signals to the back tyre. Great! I know for a fact that this car doesn’t have a spare wheel and I’m also afraid of hopping in a car with a man I don’t know while dragging a passed out Babalwa with me. I grab my phone to call Zinzi and her phone goes straight to voicemail. Argh! I can’t even go back inside because once you leave after a specific time, they don’t allow you to enter again. I dial my mother. “I’ll wait for you in the car. Just shout when you’re done and I’ll help you carry your friend, okay?” He looks at me and climbs in the car next to me. My mothers phone goes straight to voicemail. Now what?