Chandies For Shoes

A story of a former South African township soccer star Mandla Sithole aka "Bra Shoes" who bears a secret so dark that it could potentially destroy his reputation and his family forever.

CHAPTER ONE

 

He stood outside his house leaning against the short wall with one hand on his head, wondering how his once happy life had so quickly spiraled into such a dark and lonely abyss. As he remotely waved greetings at his passing neighbors, his thoughts lingered upon Faith and Tholakele. Feeling helpless and defeated, Bra Shoes shuffled his feet back into his lonely two bedroom house in the 4^th extension of the Tibellong Township, gunning straight for the couch without even the slightest attempt at assembling a bite to eat. He had recently lost his appetite and it’s not like the fridge had much to offer at all in any case .In the top right hand corner of his lounge cabinet, stood a section of whiskeys and cheap wine bottles. His eyes briefly made contact with the ever so enticing liquids, eagerly fighting the temptation to hurdle up and grab one of those bottles. Shoes folded his arms and focused his eyes on the black screen of his television set. As usual, the silence would welcome the daunting memories that always gravitated back as to how he landed in this discouraging position in the first place. In his mind he would hear the condemning voice of Tholakele telling him that he might as well go ahead because he’s become a full time alcoholic by now, anyway. “Ja ne, usangi hlukumeza namanje? If only you knew die waarheid” He mumbled to himself as he unwittingly wore a somewhat satirical smirk while sluggishly positioning himself in front of the alcohol cabinet. Looking at the row of choice he said to himself “…guess you are all I have left, funny; ‘cos you’re part of the reason why they left.”   

 

Mandla Sithole was born and bred in Tibellong, the second of three sons by Sibonelo and Thuli Sithole. Everyone loved this humorous, clumsy-type character. Ever since bra Shoes was a little boy he had made a name in his neighborhood as a promising football player. The old men loved his soccer skills; the young men admired him in public but were all secretly envious of him because the township girls would throng all over the bubbly fellow at the end of each game. He won the hearts of Tibellong with his quirky people skills along with his star quality on the football grounds-earning him the name ‘Bra Shoes’ after the legendary ‘Shoes Moshoeu’ who was at that time at the height of his football career. He always had a profound love for sports and spending quality time with the boys; chilling at the local shebeen conversing and debating about current affairs. He was enjoying the days of his youth. Many wondered how, at age 21, he managed to play the beautiful game by day and down sets of beers by night yet regardless of the circulating chinwags, his reputation was untarnished at the time.

 

Upon a rewarding cup final victory one Saturday afternoon, girls would naturally swarm around him, all fighting to win his attention and affection but none of them stirred his interests. Instead, his interests were very much invested in a girl who had never even seen him play. A girl who was not moved by the hype at all, she just couldn’t be bothered. Her name was Tholakele, a pretty chocolate-brown skinned girl who lived two streets away from Mandla’s home. He would habitually encounter her on weekends walking to the store with her friends on Saturdays or walking to and fro church service on Sunday mornings. He’d attempted on numerous occasions to ignite a conversation with her but his attempts were as successful as archery in the dark. As frustrating as this situation was, he was not prepared to hand over any opportunity he had, to make known his affections towards her. One Saturday afternoon, Shoes decided to await the pretty girl beside the corner store. Typically she arrived at 13h00pm. As she made her way in, he bolted in after her and stood by the door shouting her name. Once he had caught her attention, he pulled out a wrinkled up piece of paper which enclosed in it a love poem he had written for her and read it out loud enough for the whole supermarket to hear. Upon reaching the end of his zulu poem, he looked up as he was met by a wave of clapping and cheering from some onlookers whiles a handful of the neighborhood comics typically rolled on the floor in laughter. Needless to say though, they were all impressed, all including Tholakele who stood there as taken by surprise as the rest-shy but flattered. This dramatic episode would be the beginning of their life long journey together.

That year, Shoes found himself working as a junior clerk for a debt collecting firm and while in the process of completing her nursing studies; Tholakele continued working as a sales person for a clothing store in town. Finally, following a three year relationship, the two enjoyed a modest wedding in the local church. The whole community was in attendance to celebrate the union of the inseparable couple.

CHAPTER TWO

19:30pm he hurriedly jumped out of the taxi and made his way home after a tedious day at the firm. Life as a junior clerk was harmless and innocent. Now as a senior clerk, he was constantly confronted with endless responsibilities and petty office politics; the walk home on its own offered a rewarding feeling. He was eager to pop in, kiss his wife and habitually play with his three year old daughter, Faith, before he changed clothes, grabbed a jacket and a quick bite to eat on his way out. It was Friday night; he couldn’t wait to meet the boys at Zitha’s place, a local shebeen where they would gather as neighborhood friends to unwind and guzzle on booze, sing away the blues and occasionally cheer on a bar fight or two-it was a home away from home. Tholakele sat at by the kitchen table gazing at the clock, she knew it was Friday night and normally he wouldn’t be back any time before midnight but none-the-less she always had hope and so she waited. As much as she loved him she was growing increasingly weary of the distasteful routine. Finally, at two hours after midnight she heard the sound of shuffling footsteps outside, it was Mandla, she opened the door and his face flashed a drunken smile before stumbling in making his way to retirement. “I’m getting ready to leave you, Mandla!! Ng’khatele manje!” she yelled across the kitchen. By now he was fast asleep and she was well aware yet never-the-less her frustration seared past any composure and common sense, the battle continued to wage in her mind because how was she to leave a man in whom she had invested so much in? How does she break a family that she had built on her own while Mandla spent most of his time gallivanting with friends who hardly had families let alone any moral value? What will people say? What will her parents say? And so after a while of introspection she retired beside him, wondering if this would be her last, wondering if she would someday reach her wit’s end and spontaneously pack up and leave.

 

The mood was somewhat somber the next morning. Tholakele decided that she would voice her grievances hoping for change “you can’t, WE can’t live like this anymore. You are living life as though you have no family ngapha umtwana hardly ever gets time to spend with her father! What for? For leza dakwa lapha kwa Zitha?” she yelled. Bra shoes just stood there holding a glass of water in hand-making no attempt in defending himself-looking concerned or defeated by something. This infuriated his wife, she didn’t know what to expect but she certainly didn’t expect a seemingly care-free reaction and just as she was about to turn her back he muttered “Thola, you just don’t understand o’kwa manje” he then turned towards the door and left. It seemed as if her efforts were in vain as this routine continued for months. One Saturday morning, Shoes stepped out in order to take his daughter-who was already playing outside-for a walk to the supermarket. For the most part, he kept his precious angel entertained along the way while unpleasantly juggling a number of questions in his head. Following a long, bonding walk they eventually landed at the door of the supermarket and instantly memories began flooding back in. His thoughts lingered upon the first time he had publically displayed and declared his love for his wife, by now he  loved her profoundly more than he did then but he knew that his actions were not echoing the same theme “I need to tell her what’s happening” he thought to himself “but how? Will she even understand? Or will she immediately seek to attack Nobuhle and leave me; without even grasping the gravity of the matter?” his deep thoughts were suddenly interrupted by his daughter, Faith, who all the while was reaching out for goodies while tightly tucked inside the trolley that he was pushing her around in. He finally decided that this secret should best be kept �"for now-for the sake of his family. Upon their return he found Tholakele and friends gathered around the kitchen table with barely touched tea cups laid out in front of them, both arms folded on the table as though they were previously and anxiously hanging on every word Tholakele was sharing, before Bra Shoes and Faith marched in. He wasn’t in the least concerned, though, he waved a polite greeting to the ladies and made his way to the bedroom. He shut the door behind him, reached in his pocket, pulled out his cellphone and hurriedly dialed his buddy Sizwe-the phone rang and he finally answered “Sizwe!” Bra shoes hissed in a whisper “How is she?” he held for a reply and responded “Good. I’ve found what we’ve been looking for and if all goes well, this will all be over with. Stay there I’ll be there in a few hours.”

Later after a quiet supper that night he looked up and matter-of-factly thanked his wife for the food. “Thola, I’m sorry, one day you’ll understand” he said. “Yekela utshwala, then I’ll understand” she shot back as she began feistily attacking the dishes. He then grabbed his jacket and left without saying a word. Lately, he and his friends were spending a lot of time at the new hang-out spot in the neighborhood, a pub called Zonke Bonke. This pub was different from the rest. In this pub, alcohol was served by the most beautiful girls that customers had ever laid eyes on. The owner, Makhothane, was a former taxi boss who decided to cash in his chips and open the best pub in town. He was well acquainted with Bra shoes and the rest of the gang; more especially Bra shoes and his good friend Sizwe, mainly because the three of them had played for the same football team back in their younger days. After some time, it was revealed to customers that, for an extra fee, they would earn private favors from the serving lady of their choice. Of course, everyone now knew that the pub was only a face for a brothel business that Makhothane had been running, well protected by paid policemen. Shoes made his way to join the gang that night; he started for the gate and disappeared as the darkness swallowed him in the distance. Tholakele was not pleased yet she noticed a difference in his demeanor that evening, something was different. But what could it be? He wore a look that resembled concern…or perhaps he’s concerned by his guilt. She left the dishes half done as she pondered, either way; she was getting to the bottom of whatever he was hiding.  

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

 

Tholakele stood looking outside the window into the darkness of the night. She then abruptly reached for her cellphone, dialed her next door neighbor and asked her to look after Faith for a while. She figured that if she could hurry then she would be able to catch Bra Shoes, follow him and see what he really gets up to down there. After safely locking up, she hurried to her neighbor’s front door, kissed her baby and promised that she’ll explain everything later. She then bolted out and began running as speedily as she could. To her relief, she eventually caught an image of her husband’s figure in the distance making a left turn around the corner. She could now keep a steady pace and maintain a safe distance without him noticing her. In the following street she watched as Bra Shoes arrived at a place colored in bright lights with the words “Zonke Bonke” arrogantly posted at the top. She’d heard numerous rumors concerning this place, unpleasant rumors that some of her friends shared with her around the table earlier that day. What was husband doing here?

Bra shoes made his entrance. Inside he immediately darted for the back of the room where a patiently waiting Steve was waiting for him. They suspiciously shared words with each other before Bra Shoes raised his hand as to require service. Suddenly a pretty young girl hurried along from a far side of the room to attend the two gentlemen. Tholakele laid her left hand on her chest in disbelief as she continued watching the unfolding scene of events. Bra Shoes gestured his hand to the lass as to lower her ear so he could slip in a whisper, she followed suit. He then rose to his feet while she grabbed his hand as she led him through the back door. Tholakele’s face flashed a look of total mesmerize as she witnessed her husband being led out by this younger girl. She immediately ran home nearly tripping along the way, she was too furious for tears. When she arrived at her neighbor’s door she gave off three ghostly knocks before her neighbor answered the door. She thanked her, took her child and made no attempt at explaining; like she had promised; and left for home. Immediately, she darted for her bedroom to pack as much as she could carry for her and her daughter while looking mysteriously calmed given her circumstance. She made a phone-call to one of her close friends and asked to spend the rest of the night at her place and assured her that she would later catch the first taxi to her mother’s back home, at first light. On their way out, she paused for a second, grabbed a pen and notepad and began scribbling:

 

“I hung in there long enough-too long. There I was fighting your late nights and drunkenness. Little did I know there was another woman in my house? You can’t have both, so we’re leaving. Don’t look for us.”

 

Bra Shoes rushed inside the house at 11.20pm that night. Still gasping for breath he yelled across the kitchen “baby I’ve got something I finally need to tell you!” but his words only sunk into silence. By the time he got to the main bedroom his strength eluded him and he sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. He tried calling her on the cellphone but to no avail; her phone was off. His biggest fear had been realized; Tholakele had left him and took his beloved daughter with her. He began guessing her next move and guessed them all correct yet the problem was that he knew his wife’s stubbornness would not permit even the slightest attempt at returning home. He was exhausted, this Nobuhle saga had drained him enough already. He never slept a wink the entire night.

So there he was the following morning; sitting with his arms folded, after a brief stroll outside, now staring at the television set, contemplating his next move. He gave a final glance to the array of alcohol that confronted him; seated high in the top right hand corner of his wall unit cabinet. Resisting temptation, he snapped out of it and reached in his pocket for his cellphone and dialed the one friend he knew would make a plan and that was Sizwe. “Sizwe, ek soek jou help, maan.” “Tholakele left before I got home last night. I’d hoped to catch her so I could tell her all about Nobuhle and the charade that ou Makhotane is running over there. I need to explain to her why I had to keep it from her but now she’s gone.” To his astonishment, Sizwe replied “My bru, I ran into the both of them earlier this morning, your wife and child. I pleaded with her to give me a moment to explain. After she reluctantly permitted me five minutes, I proceeded to relate to her the story as follows:

 

It was an average Friday night at our usual spot(Zitha’s Place) when our old acquaintance, Makhotane, wondered in and joined us for drinks and while we were seated he proceeded to boast about the opening night of his new hip spot called Zonke Bonke. He requested us to attend and we all agreed. All except for your husband, Shoes, who said he had an odd feeling about Makhotane but after some exhausting convincing from the guys, he reluctantly agreed. Upon arrival at the much talked about Zonke Bonke, we were mesmerized by the number of beautiful service girls who were barely dressed, this made it easier for the owner to introduce to customers the special sexual service that each customer would receive provided they so long as they produced the required fee upfront. Now of course upon hearing this, Shoes would not allow himself to be even remotely acquainted with such unacceptable lunacy. He knew that you as his wife would feed him to the pigs if ever found associated in such places! So he leaned over to me and gestured that we leave. But something strange happened as one of the waitresses walked over and handed to us the bill. Her face appeared flushed, her hands shook the tray that she held and her nervous eyes gestured eagerly towards the slip that she had handed to us. We took this as a signal and so we studied the bill, it seemed to contain nothing but the amount owed until Bra Shoes turned the bill over and behind it we read the words ‘HELP I’VE BEEN KIDNAPPED!’ We were both left totally shocked at this unrealistic revelation not knowing what to do. Was this joke? If it wasn’t then we couldn’t afford to bare the risk of the risk of this girl’s life hanging in the balance if we did nothing about it.

And so Bra Shoes being the person he is, decided to investigate this matter further. He gestured to the manager that he required a private service of this girl (whose name is Nobuhle) paid the fee and was led to one of the many backrooms. As soon as he was left alone with her she fell to the floor in paralysing fear, stood up and pleaded with him to help her. She told him that she was a varsity student making her way home in the streets of Pretoria when suddenly she was approached by two suspiciously looking men who appeared to be hurrying in her direction. They grabbed hold of her and injected her with a substance that sent her immediately into a state of unconsciousness; by the time she woke up, she found herself huddled in what appeared to be an old barn that once harboured chickens. She could hear the fearful wailing of a number of girls all around whom-like her-were injected with a highly addictive drug. They soon met the fear inducing owner, Makhotane, who emphasized the hopelessness of escape and the fruitfulness of obedience and compliance. A few days later, they found themselves serving and providing special treatments against their will.  Shoes agreed to help and we spent the last few months tracking down her sister whom she lived with and getting the cops involved in her rescue. Until then, he had to continue fictitiously keep up his visitations in order to carry out the plan. Finally, on the night you left, the police raided Zonke Bonke armed in weapons and arrest warrants. We managed to successfully fool the intimidating, Makhotane and have him and his posse arrested. We had to keep it all secret in order not to risk the possibility of jeopardising the entire operation. Keeping this secret for so long weighed heavy on him, it lead to an increase in his drinking but eventually, we made it. On the night you left, he ran home as fast as his legs could carry him so he could finally relate it all to you but you were already gone. So I’m asking please to just consider giving him another chance.” Then Sizwe dropped the phone.

This brought hope to Bra Shoes, upon hearing what Bra Sizwe had done although he was confronted by the unknown. Later that evening he decided to go out for a walk, when he opened his door he was surprised to find an empty beer bottle placed in front of his door-step. On the front-where the label should’ve been- was a letter pasted, which read: “I heard what happened, the whole neighbourhood is talking about it. We are prepared to come home provided that this is the last beer bottle you will ever hold in your hand again. See you soon.” He didn’t know whether to celebrate or mourn, this alternative brought great pain to his overjoyed heart. He picked up his phone, dialled Sizwe and said “Ekse Bra Sizwe, chandies my bru. No more spinza for me, lomfaz’uyabuya”.

 

Author's Note

Please Ignore grammar. What do you think of storyline? References to South African native languages made. Thank You