PAP
Veronique Summers was one of those exotic looking coloured girls with green eyes, tan skin and light brown hair. She portrayed the true mix of coloured heritage that stirred among South Africa for decades since the Khoi San, but one day she finally felt smothered. Not by a chloroform cloth over her mouth, but by not knowing anything other than her family.
She was 26 and, under her decision, had never worked, experienced the city, or taken public transport as her siblings before her had done. She had always felt comfortable and safe with her family, so she never felt it necessary to experience anything else. She got her degree just to have it and never left home. Each family member had their own quirks, issues and ways of showing love that both captured and annoyed her.
Her mother Chanel was the Ice Queen and only responded to the necessary things in life. For instance, “If you’re bleeding, call me.” She was dramatic but accused everyone else for it and most of all, her sarcasm was unavoidable. If you hid in an alley in Atlantis, it would find you. Her father Denver was unforgivably loud. Probably because he was deaf. He was also terribly racist, and came across as scary but deep down resembled the mash and gravy at KFC. Not that Veronique would have known.
It was a Tuesday morning and Veronique was outside having her usual smoke. “Come do the dishes please,” said her mother.
Veronique shakily replied, “Well, I actually thought I would explore town today,” as she had decided over her smoke. “Okay, be safe,” said her mother, trying not to show any affection — that was always her aim.
“Whaaat? Huh? Why?” spilled Denver from the next room. He did not seem to be deaf anymore, perhaps it was selective hearing, thought Veronique.
“Well, daddy, I thought perhaps it’s time to get out and learn a few things.”
“What things? How to do drugs? How to have sex? How will you even get there?” he said quickly as though he was in a speech tournament.
“No, daddy. Just to get out of the house and be open to new experiences and people,” she said calmly. “And I will try the train.”
“Be open? Is that so? Open what Veronique?”
“Denver, shut up dammit, stop being so dramatic. It’s Cape Town, not Nigeria,” said Chanel.
Veronique’s grandmother Margerie was skin and bone, weighing a whole 42kgs. She was fun-loving and hip but, most of all, a hypochondriac.
A headache equalled a tumour, a cough equalled tuberculosis and a scratch equalled an iron deficiency. Veronique’s grandfather Grant moved slowly and, just like his daughter Chanel, had no worries or cares in the world. The only difference was that he was the sweetest person you could hope to find.
To the news of Veronique going to town, Margerie said: “You do that, bokka. Just, please, check if Mr Price has anything good, will you?” She asked as though Veronique had left the house regularly and that particular day was no big deal, however, “Yes ma,” Veronique went on to say.
Pa Grant said with loving eyes: “Go ahead my girl, enjoy yourself.” Veronique was all set to go when her father gave her a R200 note and read out her banking account number just to make sure it was correct. “Daddy, I’m only going to town… in this City, may I add. I thought mommy made it clear it wasn’t Nigeria?”
“Okay, so the R200 is fine then?”
“Yes daddy,” Veronique answered with big eyes.
She planned on saying “Duh!” but remembered her place and held back. Veronique had lived in Retreat all her life and so the logical decision was for her to get on a train at Retreat station. She thought about that long and hard just to be sure. Taking a train was no easy task for her. Veronique put her once-navy blue Jack Parcells on in preparation, black leggings for comfort and a printed shirt that Desmond Tutu would like “Can I drop you at the station?” asked Denver with much hope.
“No, thanks, D. I’ll walk”
“Please keep your phone close, I have a tiny bottle of pepper spray that you should take with you.”
“Dad, it’s town, not Mitchells Plain. I’ll be fine.”
Not to mention she was way past her expiry date. “Who would want to take me? I haven’t shaved my legs or vagina in years. My armpits are privileged,” she thought. “Please be safe, V. Take a banana with you.”
“Okay, dad. Thanks, see you later.”
V took the banana, put it carefully in her bag not to squash, took a deep confident breath and walked out. It was a typical Capetonian day in early November. The clouds were abundant and grey, with white linings, but the air was warm and the sun still found the fight to shine through.
As she pulled the jagged, rusted gate outside her house, she turned back to wave, knowing full and well that Denver would be peeping out of the window on his nerves. V smiled to reassure her father that she was old and ugly enough to make the journey.
She walked down Allenby Drive while cars and taxi’s struggled over the faded speed bumps next to her. “When last did I hear a car struggle over a speed bump?” she thought. It must have been at U-dubs many years ago, she convinced herself. She held her cross-over fake leather satchel bag close to her.
“Meisie, kyk hoe lyk djou hare!” a taxi gaatjie with a mouth of gold coated false teeth yelled at her. He whistled with long dirty nails in his mouth. Wolverine knows better than to put his fingers in his mouth, thought Veronique disgusted.
An old bergie walked toward her, his clothes tattered. As he got closer she did not panic, but instead, inhaled the strong smell of wine, sweat and sour milk. It was so long ago that she sort of enjoyed the smell.
Upon his arrival, he said, “Hullo maahm, any money for me please, man, maam?” V thought she should save her R200 for a medical emergency “I don’t have any money sir, but I have a banana,” she said, reaching for it in her bag. “Nee, voetsek! I don’t want your vrutt.” The man walked away throwing his arms in all sorts of directions murmuring, “Nogalste vir my virre banana kô vat”.
V on the other hand kept walking and said with sufficient volume, “That could have gone better”. “I should have called him a douchebag,” she thought. She had seen the term online and it seemed to be the craze, however she was determined to say it before the day was over.
V finally saw the station in the distance. She walked up the blue stairs with determination to find out exactly why that means of transportation was commonly known as “Metrofail”. Because V had no idea where to buy a ticket, she simply followed the breadcrumbs of people to the ticket window. She was pleasantly surprised to see a smiling face, still lingering from the previous person in line. When it was her turn, she said: “Hi, may I please have a ticket to town?”
“Single?” the lady on the other side of the glass asked.
“How can you tell I’m single?”
The lady smiled again, her eyes joining. “I meant will you be staying there or will you need to come back to Retreat?”
“Oh, I will need to come back most definitely.”
“That will be a return ticket then, third or first class?”
“I’m not really sure what I am,” V whispered through the tiny vent in the window.
“Is this your first time taking the train?”
“It is. I suppose you can tell.”
“I’ll make it first class then, to keep the boogey man away,” she giggled. “I don’t consider myself to be first class, please make it third,” V said with much dignity and emphasis as if where she sat on the train determined her ethics and social status.
She strolled onto the platform feeling accomplished for buying her first train ticket and having made it to the station on her own. She sat on the bench watching all sorts of different people pass by. The thirty-something business man in a suit with a shiny briefcase, who kept looking at his fancy watch. All V could think was how his toes fit in the front point of that shoe: “I’m sure if the wind blew hard enough, he would tip over like an overcooked asparagus.”
The initials on the man’s briefcase read M.J. Veronique sat on the scratchy bench with peeling paint and thought of every possible thing the initials could stand for. Marlon Jacobs? The coloured Capetonian version of Marlon Brando. Perhaps Mavericks Junkie?
Her smirk grew to a smile as she imagined. The only reason she was “wys” about Mavericks was due to the pop-ups she got on her computer. “How naughty,” she thought. A woman with a coloured tan and dirty blonde hair stood along the yellow line of the platform. Although the lady had brown skin, Veronique knew she was what people unfairly termed “the poor white”. She held a yellow and red Shoprite bag in each of her hands while she chatted up the black security guard. It got so fifty shades of interracial that she even made the security guard go as far as to touch her shoulders. “Feel here,” she said, batting her eyes.
Veronique might have not been like others where she would take public transport, but like the rest of the world, she had read Fifty Shades of Grey despite her unshaven parts. “Waiting for a train is so entertaining,” she thought. “Denver could save on DSTV monthly bills.” Two gossip queens sat down next to Veronique. Both coloured, both in their sixties, both ghastly overweight. It reminded V of two big turtle doves sitting on a wire en oor alles skinner.
One of the ladies lowered her spectacles to glance at the unusual couple feeling each other up among the Shoprite carrier bags. The lady held her glasses steady and combed her swollen fingers through her steel-wool hair. Her fingers swollen from years of washing by hand with no name washing powder. She nudged her friend as sharp as lightning and said: “Kyk vir hulle twee, daai’s a fokken weird combo ne?” The other turtle dove laughed from her gut and clapped her hands in humorous pleasure. Veronique thought to herself; why is it so weird, two people who physically look different being together, if anything is a problem, it’s the two bird’s weight.
The next thing she heard was the brakes of a train. As the train approached, she gently tapped the nearest turtle dove to ask; “Is this train going to Cape Town?” The turtle dove looked at her as though she was mentally retarded and walked to a door further up. “I named you after a dove which stands for peace you twit, that was not peaceful or helpful of you” she thought.
Veronique was so happy to be on a train, that when she sat down she said to the lady opposite that she had decided to call Mrs Upkeep; “This is so cosy” smiling ear to ear and her head halfway out the window like a dog. The polished woman smiled and pulled out a You Magazine for some light reading choosing not to comment. V continued to marvel out the window, feeling every inner movement and listening to every sound the train made. The train pulled in at Wynberg station and there was a feast of diversity. Somalians selling all sorts of things, I bet you could find a crystal chandelier somewhere among them, V thought. There were black people in Salah tops with kufiyahs, toddlers, a blind person with a guide dog and big mammas with babies tied to their backs. Young and old, beautiful and ugly to marvel over. Surely the person who created the “Bold and the Beautiful” made a trip to Wynberg station, she thought naively. A black man mid- thirties got on with what seemed like his two-year-old son and sat next to Upkeep. The boy dressed in a red Cars top, denim shorts and denim sneakers to match sat on his father’s lap but barely took a breath. He spoke non-stop as if having a voice was a new discovery to him. “Daddy where are we?”
“We’re in the train my boy”
“But why?”
“We must take you to school”
“I go to school now?”
“Yes, boy”
“Where’s mommy?”
“She’s at work, we’ll see her later.”
“She’s at work?”
“Yes, boy”
“Drawings on the train?” as he pointed to the words “Zuma is a poes”. “Yes, boy, they naughty, they mustn’t draw on the train”
“Mustn’t draw on the train,” the boy repeated. With every sentence, the boy’s voice got cuter and the father’s got more gatvol but he stayed polite and patient. “If that was me I would have tossed my son out the window by now, after all he could fit” V thought. Mrs Upkeep thought the curious boy to be so cute. She turned to him and pulled a Yoghetta lollipop out of her bag. “She sure has a lot in that bag, I’m sure she has a dead body, cling wrap and a police warrant to search her ex’s house in there,” thought V.
The boy took the lollipop out of her hands slowly, in disbelief. “Say thank you,” said his father. “Tank you,” the boy said. Mrs Upkeep smiled so hard it became ugly and started to resemble Almira, the girl from Tiny Tunes who accidentally strangled anything adorable.
An hour of being on the train next to a psycho and a chatterbox, V was relieved to see the sign Cape Town station out of her window.
As she stepped down onto the platform, a tall coloured litie walked her out of the way almost swinging her bag to the other side of her waist. “I hope that isn’t going to be the pattern of the day”, she thought. She followed the crowd to a sort of toll gate where she proposed to walk through. “Hai sisi, come back,” shouted a large fat woman with a curly weave. She did not look impressed. Veronique looked back and saw a threatening index finger pointing at her. She tried to walk back to the lady but had to walk against the traffic coming through. She stood awkwardly next to the Metrofail employee still giving enough space for the people to get through. “Is there a problem?” she asked considerately. “Yes, sisi, we have a big problem, why you not show your ticket, you take me for a fool, you think train rides are pasella?”
“Sorry, I didn’t know I had to show you my ticket”
“Hai, sisi don’t take me for a fool neh, you think I sit here for my health?” Veronique embarrassingly took her ticket out and held it for the lady to see. The sisi nodded and moved on to the next lot of people. There Veronique stood in the middle of Cape Town station, strong but still a little embarrassed. “I need a smoke before anything else,” she thought. She made her way past the McDonalds café shop and outside into a big square of openness.
She reached for her Camel Activate cigarettes and red lighter that would often surprise her and blow up in her face. As she smoked she thought of her next move. “I should go to Mr Price for Ma,” she thought and from there I will go where the wind blows me.
“You shouldn’t be smoking my girl, your far too pretty to be a smoker” an old white man said irritated. “Will we be seeing each other again for you to notice how much uglier I’ve got from the cigarettes?” The man had no comeback and so walked away shaking his head. “That will teach you to stay out of other people’s lungs”, she thought.
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An old chubby Muslim lady with a beautifully patterned head scarf approached. “Hi there, can you please tell me where the nearest Mr Price is?” Using hand gestures the lady answered, “If you go left, out of the station and up Adderley towards the gardens, it will be on your right, not too far from here.” “Thank you,” V said. First normal person today, she thought. That lady deserves an applause for sanity. Veronique could picture herself blown up on a meme clapping, the header and footer saying: “Good on you… for being normal”. Veronique walked toward Mr Price and, just as the woman described, it came up on the right.
“Ain’t no stopping me now, I’m on the move,” Veronique sang as if in a Gillette Venus razor ad for women. She looped through each isle looking at what appealed to her. The thing she loved the most was the jewellery. As she bent down to look at a chain at the bottom of the shelf, she busted her anus into someone’s pelvic region at full force. “Oh damn why me!” the young woman shouted in a painful manner. V, got such a fright from the unexpected shriek until she turned around and saw who it was. Khanyi Sithole, an old and rare friend that had studied environmental studies with her on U-dubs. “Hey girrrrl!” Khanyi said manic. “I knew I couldn’t forget that ass”, she joked. Veronique laughed awkwardly as people eavesdropped on their conversation. “How you been girl? Where have you been? It’s like you disappeared off the earth after graduation.” “Just been having some me-time I guess… for five years.” She said sarcastically.
“Yes it’s been so long, so no job?”
“Nope” Veronique said slightly defeated.
“I got a job working for the government’s environmental resource management department,” Khanyi said.
“Wow that’s the dream, that’s great,” V said.
“I can try and hook you up, girl, in more ways than one if you know what I mean.” She said winking like a crazy person.
“I actually don’t,” said V confused with frown lines.
“I can recommend you at work and give you a pipe of weed to ease the stress, how did you get to town?”
“With the train” V stared at Khanyi blankly.
“Well there you go, problem solved, you don’t have to drive so we can go smoke after you knock someone else’s vagina with your ass,”
Khanyi was a bit wilder than V remembered, but she went with the flow to continue her new-found freedom. She paid for the brightly coloured Aztec necklace, and a camel brown pants she knew ma would love. She broke Denver’s R200 while Khanyi spoke to the employees as though she was the mayor. “I live in the next block in Plein Street, opposite Bread Milk and Honey, let’s go,” Khanyi instructed. V followed, determined to break the shell she grew over the past five years. They walked up three flights of stairs until they came to a frosted window within a wooden door painted cream. “All aboard,” said Khanyi, inviting V in. Upon entrance, the apartment smelt musty even though the window was wide open with a blue curtain blowing out of it. The sink was filled to the brim with dishes. If my mother had to lay eyes on this sink, she would honestly shout rape, thought V. “Have a seat, bru,” instructed Khanyi. She really knows how to take charge, thought V.
She handed V a Windhoek Lager to settle in. As Khanyi packed a pipe full of grated, lime-coloured weed she spoke nonchalantly. “So what did you come to town for, today?”
“Just felt like I needed to get out of the house.”
“Dude, you really need to move out, it’s great.”
“Ya, when I get a job and stop milking my parents for all they’re worth,” said V. “Why aren’t you at work today, it’s Tuesday?”
“Well sometimes I take off randomly so I don’t lose myself.”
“Just get a tracker bra,” said V jokingly.
“Very funny, nah I just get bored easily, besides any government department is like a fucking funeral home.”
“Noted,” said V while she used her right hand to salute.
“Let’s get our smoke on bra, you bless it and go first, it’s not every day that Veronique from Retreat sits in my flat.”
V held the lighter close as she remembered from varsity days, making sure to get every leaf burnt. She pulled nervously but it was already too late. My blood is probably crystallising right now, she thought. She passed the pipe to Khanyi and said, “Gees, bru that was fast, I feel heavy and light at the same time.”
Khanyi, the expert, laughed so hard, and said, “So you’re hot, heavy and light? Haybo! It’s getting dangerous in here”
Veronique stared at the latest Zuma painting on the wall by Ayanda Mabulu where his genitals were shown screwing our country. V zoned deep into the metaphors and the state of the country.
“Ooh girl, looking at that painting too long isn’t a good idea, that’s for sober moments. You hungry?” Khanyi asked.
There was the sound of a key entering the key-hole and through the frosted glass, V saw a dark figure. The door opened and in walked a tall dark cup of coffee, more Jacobs Kronung than Ricoffee V thought. He had the latest kicks on compared to V’s Jack Parcells.
“This is my douchebag brother Sibusiso,” Khanyi said. I was supposed to use that word, V thought jealously. “This is Veronique, we studied together on U-Dubs,” Khanyi introduced. “Hey,” her brother said. He walked past leaving a trail of spicy cologne. “Sooo anyway, you hungry or not?” asked Khanyi again. “Yeah I am, haven’t eaten all day actually.”
“There’s a KFC just past Mr Price, let’s go.”
“Khanyi, ask your brother if he wants to go with, he might be hungry too.” Khanyi looked at V as if to say “I know what you’re up to, bitch” but nevertheless, she asked. “Hey S’bu, we going to KFC, wanna come?”
“I wish he would cum all over me,” V fantasised. “If you’re buying,” he shouted over the electro music. Please say you’re buying, Khanyi. Please, pretty please, V thought. “In your dreams, bru,” Khanyi said. “Shit,” V said. “What was that?” Khanyi asked. “Nothing, just the zip of my bag giving me problems.” V didn’t even have a zip on that particular bag but she rolled with it. As they walked out, Sibusiso followed and V smiled, right down to her kidneys.
Veronique turned around to peep back at him, his eyes were on her ass. Good shot, she thought cleverly. The part where he caught her catching him made it really awkward but he stayed composed and caught up to walk next to her and Khanyi as if to prove he was no perv.
“So why haven’t I seen you around more often if you were varsity friends with my sister?”
“Well, my parents held me hostage for a few years”
“You serious? Did you lay a case?”
V laughed. “You’re really gullible, I just felt like I needed to be at home after varsity.”
“Okay, I see, whatever you need, mami” S’bu said with much sex appeal. It was the first time in a long time that Veronique felt comfortable away from home. They stood in the line at KFC. V was the last to order getting a colonel burger with chips and a coke. They sat down and Khanyi looked ‘gone’ like nothing was more important than eating her Streetwise Two. S’bu opened his box of Streetwise Three chicken and, instead of chips as V expected, she saw a white substance next to the chicken. “Why does that booba look so stiff?” she asked. “What?” S’bu asked very confused. “The white stuff next to your chicken, it’s booba, right? Why is it stiff?” she asked curiously and persistently.
S’bu could not believe his ears, so much so that he could not even find the will to laugh. “Uhm, it’s not booba, it’s pap”
“What’s pap?”
“You serious, bra or you pulling my dick again?”
“I’m very serious, what is that? I’ve never heard of it,” V kept on determined for an explanation.
“Wow bra, a coloured, grown-ass woman that doesn’t know what pap is, that’s interesting, you don’t get out much do you?”
“It’s basically mealie meal, you should know what that is?”
“Oh yes, I had that for breakfast as a kid but only with my grandmother, think my mother is too stervy for pap so I’m an innocent in all this”
“Well there you go, it can also be served with food like this, it’s pretty good, would you like to try?”
“Yes please,” V placed it in her mouth and swirled it around. It didn’t taste like much but she was keen to be trying something new. Khanyi looked up and said; “I can’t believe you didn’t know this was pap, what a loser,” she laughed and looked back down at her food as though in a trance.
“What’s the time, guys?” V asked nervously. “Its 23 past six,” said S’bu.
“Oh Shit,” V took out her phone in a panic and there was four missed calls from Denver. “Crap, I’m dead.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I need to get home, Khanyi. Thanks for the catch up sesh, man, it was cool seeing you again.” “No problem girl, anytime, take my number.” V punched it into her phone so fast that the keys couldn’t keep up. She simultaneously messaged Denver to say she was on her way. Before she could say “Hos!”, Denver replied with an ominous; “K”… “Bye S’bu, great meeting you.”
“I bought a monthly for November so I can take the train with you, to wherever you live,” S’bu said.
“It’s Retreat and it’s too far, it’s okay.”
V had no idea what a monthly meant but she still thought it was too far. “Retreat is chilled, I will get you home safely since you’re like a new-born walking around the city.”
V smiled, gave up fighting and agreed for him to take her home. They walked to the station in utter amazement of each other when a rof coloured woman walked past with most likely a bottle of alcohol in a brown paper bag. “Meisiekind, jou fly is oop” As she looked down toward her zipper, so did S’bu where it looked like he was ready to muff her. “Oh no, my fly was open this entire time.”
“You must be waiting for something,” S’bu said cleverly with a smirk.
“At least we know you like purple panties”, he added.
“I have no comment,” V knew to show her return ticket walking into the station this time. As they boarded, the mamma’s swarmed saying: “Chipsy Drinky?” “Why do they say it that way?” asked V excited to learn more. “Think it’s just become tradition, a weird one but it works for Cape Town station” said S’bu like an intellectual. They talked and exchanged their stories all the way to Retreat. The train stopped, they both got out but V stopped him. “Don’t walk me to my house okay, today has been a big deal for my parents and I don’t want them to see me coming home with a guy”
“You mean a black guy?”
“No, just a guy, bye S’bu, great meeting you, hope I can visit again soon.”
“I would like that very much.”
V walked away feeling a bit sore that the day was over. “Hey, Ms knownothing!” S’bu shouted. V turned and smiled, “Yip?”
“Don’t forget to change your underwear next time, I’ll know if you didn’t”
“Got it. Bye!” she smiled while balancing on her tippy-toes to see him over the people.
Denver opened the door with force, “Why you so late? What were you up to? Throw your clothes in the wash!”
“Yes daddy I’m home and I had a lovely time, thanks for letting me go”
“I can’t say it was a pleasure, Veronique” he said boldly.
V dropped one of the Mr Price bags on her ma’s bed in accomplishment. Nothing could take away the things she had learnt and felt that day. If there was one thing she learnt, it was that the bergies of Cape Town really don’t like bananas, or being taken for a…peel.
END
