FROM PAP AND TEARS TO MANSION AND CAR'S

THE SEA POINT LADY RETURN

EPISODE 4

The Monday after I made my first R1500 profit, I woke up with a new energy that I had never felt before in my five years of marriage. For the first time, I did not wake up thinking about what Sipho would say or what Sipho would eat or whether Sipho would be angry. I woke up thinking about wigs. I woke up thinking about t****k Live. I woke up thinking about my Capitec account that had money that was mine.

I bathed Amahle early and took her to the creche in Khayelitsha that costs R400 per month, the one where the teacher always complains that I pay late. This time I paid early, and I even bought a small packet of Nik Naks for all the children in her class. The teacher looked surprised and said, "Nthabiseng, you are glowing today." I was glowing because for the first time I had bought my own sanitary pads without begging.

After dropping Amahle, I went straight to Bellville China Town to see Mr Kabir. Mr Kabir is a Nigerian man who sells wigs and weaves from a small shop that smells like hair spray and incense. He is a kind man, but he is strict with business. When he saw me, he smiled and said, "Nthabi, my best customer is back." I paid him R1200 for the two wigs I sold at V&A Waterfront and he gave me eight more wigs on credit, including two expensive ones that cost R1200 each to buy, the ones with real human hair that rich ladies in Clifton and Camps Bay like.

He said, "Nthabi, you are honest. Many South African girls take my wigs and disappear. You pay. So I will trust you more." He then showed me how to make a proper t****k video, how to use the ring light that costs R250 at Bellville, and how to write prices on a small white board behind me. I bought the ring light with my profit, even though it meant I had only R300 left. Lebogang told me it is an investment.

That night I went Live again, but this time with the ring light. The difference was like day and night. My small RDP house with the cracked wall suddenly looked brighter, my face looked clearer, and the wigs looked more expensive. I wore the curly black wig myself and I danced a little, the way Lebogang taught me. I said, "Hello my queens from Cape Town to Joburg, today I have human hair from Bellville, free delivery if you are in Cape Town."

More people joined. This time not five or ten, but thirty people. Then fifty people. A lady from Durbanville commented, "Do you have ginger wig?" Another lady from Khayelitsha itself said, "Nthabi, I know you! You stay near me! I want the blonde one." I sold one wig that night for R950 to a lady in Mitchells Plain. I could not sleep after Live, I was so excited.

The next day, the Sea Point lady called me again. The nurse from Sea Point who bought the first curly wig. Her name is Shireen. She called me on w******p and said, "Nthabi, my sister saw my wig and she wants the same one. And two nurses at my hospital want wigs too. Can you come to Sea Point hospital tomorrow with four wigs?"

My heart almost stopped. Four wigs in one day meant R3400. I said yes immediately, even though I only had six wigs left at home. I woke up at 4am again, took two taxis to Sea Point, and went to the big hospital near Green Point. Shireen met me at the entrance with three other nurses, all beautiful Coloured ladies who work long shifts and want to look beautiful when they go out.

They tried my wigs in the nurses' changing room and they loved them. They bought all four wigs. One lady even paid extra R100 for me to style the wig for her. I left the hospital with R3600 in my pocket. R3600 in one morning. I sat on the bench at Sea Point promenade and cried, because Sipho drives his taxi from Khayelitsha to Bellville every day from 5am to 8pm and he brings home R300 sometimes R400. I made almost ten times his daily money in two hours by selling hair.

I went back to Bellville and paid Mr Kabir R2400 for the four wigs. He was shocked. He said, "Nthabi, you are now my number one seller in Cape Town. Come, I want to show you something." He took me to the back of his shop where he had expensive wigs that cost R2000 each, the ones that rich women from Constantia and Bishopscourt buy. He said, "If you can sell these, you will make big money. One wig you sell for R3500, you get R1500 profit. But you must look rich to sell rich wigs."

I told him I live in an RDP house in Khayelitsha and I don't look rich. He laughed and said, "Rich is here," pointing at my head, "and here," pointing at my mouth. "You don't need to live in Clifton to sell to Clifton. You need confidence."

That weekend, Shireen did something that changed my life forever. She posted a picture on her f*******: wearing my curly wig and tagged me: "My wig plug @Nthabi Wigs from Khayelitsha, affordable and beautiful, support young black business." Her post had 200 likes. By Sunday night, I had 15 messages on w******p from women all over Cape Town asking for wigs. Ladies from Table View, from Blouberg, from Goodwood, from Athlone, even a lady from Stellenbosch.

I sold six wigs that weekend. Six wigs. My profit was R3200. By the end of that week, I had R7000 in my Capitec account. R7000! I had never seen that much money in my life. I went to Shoprite at Khayelitsha Mall and I bought a small second-hand wardrobe for R600 from a lady selling used furniture, so that I could hang my wigs properly instead of keeping them in black plastic bags.

Sipho noticed the money. He came home on Sunday night and saw the new wardrobe and new wigs and the Shoprite bags full of food. He did not ask me nicely. He shouted, "Nthabiseng! Where did you get money for all this? I told you to stop this nonsense! You are embarrassing me! My friends at the taxi rank are saying my wife is now a f*******: p********e selling hair!"

I was done being scared of him. I stood up, with Amahle sleeping on the mattress, and I looked him in the eyes. For five years I had looked down when he shouted. That night I looked up.

"Sipho, this is not nonsense. This is my business. In two weeks I made R7000. How much did you make in two weeks driving taxi? You bring R300 and you think you are a man? I am now a businesswoman. If you are embarrassed, you can leave. This RDP house is in my mother's name, not yours."

He raised his hand to hit me, the way he used to hit me when I asked for money for Always pads. But this time I did not flinch. I said, "If you hit me, I will go to the police station in Khayelitsha and I will open a case, and I will post your picture on t****k Live and tell all my customers that you are a woman abuser. Try me."

He lowered his hand slowly. He had never seen me like that. He went to sleep without eating, and for the first time in five years, I slept peacefully next to him without fear, with my phone under my pillow showing my Capitec balance: R7,150.00.

The next morning, Lebogang called me screaming with excitement. "Nthabi! Your t****k video from last night has 5,000 views! 5,000! People are sharing it! A lady from a salon in Century City wants to order 10 wigs from you to resell!"

I checked my phone and she was right. The video where I wore the blonde wig and danced in my RDP house had 5,000 views and 200 comments. Most comments were positive: "Sis you are beautiful", "Where are you based sis?", "How much delivery to Joburg?"

I knew then that pap and tears were ending. The mansion and cars were not here yet, but I could see them far, far away, like the lights of Table Mountain at night from Khayelitsha. I was walking towards them, one wig at a time.

END OF EPISODE 4