The So-called Uncommon Thieves

“Ikula!”

Mrs Mhlongo said, with her hands on her waist, while her head wrap had slightly slipped to one side. She said this as she watched Nontobeko change the diapers of her new-born child. It was the first time Mrs Mhlongo had spoken about Nontobeko’s child. She had lost her words in the labour ward when she first saw him.

“Out of all the guys in the world, you chose to give your virginity to an Indian.” Mrs Mhlongo clapped her hands in amazement.

“You are an abomination in the Bhebhe clan. What am I going to tell your father, who is working tirelessly for us in those terrible mines of Mpumalanga?” she continued, her voice quivering. Tiny beads of sweat began to form on her nose.

“How am I even going to face that evil MaMnisi? You know she is always competing with me. I am irrevocably doomed.”

She sat down helplessly on the single bed in Nontobeko’s room.

Nontobeko’s mind was not even on what her mother was saying. Her mind was far away. She was carrying a heavy burden on her shoulders. Among all the words ringing in her absent mind were those of Evangelist M.S. Mpungose, their local preacher.

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy.”

She realised that the thief had stolen something from her. Not only her virginity, but also her pride and dignity.

She remembered the day she met Ravi Moodley with regret. She cursed the day she had crossed paths with him. If that was even his real name.

***

Nontobeko Mhlongo was the only daughter of Mshumbu and Thenjiwe Mhlongo. She was nineteen and had a whole life ahead of her. She had only been seventeen when she finished her matric at Matshitsholo High School.

She was a notable presence at uMhlanga.

“One day you are going to marry the King of the Zulu,” Sichitho, one of the local girl leaders, an iqhikiza, would say whenever she inspected Nontobeko to make sure she was still a virgin. She would ask her to turn around as she admired those perfectly rounded hips.

Nontobeko had a warm brown complexion and big crystal-clear eyes as though she had eaten carrots all her life. Her skin was so smooth that the local boys would tease her, “Ugeza ngobisi, MaNjomane.”

Her singing voice was just as remarkable. Perhaps it was a Mhlongo thing. The older women often compared her voice to that of the late Busi Mhlongo. It was a soulful voice, the kind that could make you cry or smile, depending on the mood and the occasion.

She passed her matric, but not convincingly. There were many boys from her school and beyond, amajongo, who were all after her. Her friends were particularly fond of a Macingwane guy. They would tell her time and time again to accept his proposal.

The young man was well-mannered and came from a well-to-do family that owned more than a hundred cattle and countless goats. The ijongo, Zamokuhle Mchunu, had a decent job at Mondi in Richards Bay.

“He is not my type. I want something different, guys… something intriguing… something beyond this small world of Makhosini,” she would say with her radiant smile, revealing teeth as clean and white as the winter snow on the Drakensberg Mountains.

When the matric results came, the Mhlongo family was overjoyed. The big cock was slaughtered in celebration. Mshumbu, “uyashelela njengebhotela,” bought her a very expensive smartphone, something she had never owned before. She had often relied on her friends’ phones to complete her assignments.

“The phone is not good for girls your age,” Mshumbu would say in his commanding tone.

“Yebo, baba,” Mrs Mhlongo would agree.

The smartphone became the most prized possession in Nontobeko’s hands. She used it to apply for admission to university. For the first time, she was introduced to the world she had always dreamed of.

She installed countless apps. On Instagram, she admired women who seemed to be living the best lives. She saw herself in their beautiful clothes, travelling the world with handsome men beside them. She was always exploring new places and discovering new possibilities.

Before long, she found herself joining Badoo, the dating site.

Badoo introduced her to Ravi Moodley, a gentleman in his late twenties, which was exactly Nontobeko’s preference. He was an impressive-looking man with deep, expressive eyes that were striking even in his photographs.

“6’1” and a fitness enthusiast, but my real strength is my ability to make amazing chai.”

That was his impressive bio.

Nontobeko’s naïve rural mind was intrigued. She began picturing herself in the strong arms of Ravi. Ravi, too, could not resist commenting on Nontobeko’s photographs, most of which showed her in Zulu traditional clothes, revealing everything while showing nothing.

Zulu girls took pride in their bodies and were never afraid to show them off. Zulu men respected that.

Ravi’s comments were mostly about those photographs, and he was sometimes explicit about how they made him feel. Strange. But Nontobeko overlooked it. She had caught the attention of a good-looking man who spoke only English.

They chatted so often that the pot would sometimes burn while Nontobeko was cooking.

“It better be iChunu, Zamoh, that you are chatting with,” Mrs Mhlongo would say with a smile on her face.

She really did not care about the pots, as long as her daughter was chatting with the man she had always hoped her only daughter would marry and build a home with. Unbeknownst to her, Nontobeko had other ideas and higher priorities.

She was always taking selfies and sending them to Ravi. It was what he demanded most, especially at night.

“What are you wearing tonight?” was one of Ravi’s most common questions.

Once he received a picture showing what Nontobeko was wearing, he would disappear, only to return the following day.

Nontobeko gave him her number, but Ravi always used a private number when he called her. Most of the time, he used her number to send her money.

“Take that R500 and spoil yourself, sweetie. I’m having a busy one today,” he would often say.

Nontobeko would make up an excuse for her mother just to go to the Ulundi Shopping Centre and enjoy her favourite meal: a Nando’s full chicken with coleslaw and creamy potato.

“Lemon and herb, please,” she would always emphasise.

These were the best and most refreshing times for Nontobeko. She was always smiling to herself. Her face became more radiant. Why not? She was happy.

Was it a relationship? Maybe yes, maybe no. Neither of them had ever talked about their feelings. There was just too much flattery between them. Their conversations often drifted into the kind of topics that made her blush, like, “I can’t wait to see you without your clothes.” Nontobeko enjoyed such compliments, although she already knew how beautiful she was. Everything was exciting, to say the least.

One day, they planned their first meeting, the meeting they had both always dreamed about.

“I am going to Richteck Mama. There is something promising there,” Nontobeko said, trying to convince her mother.

“That is my girl!” Mrs Mhlongo said without suspecting anything.

She trusted her daughter completely. She knew the demands of academia and believed Nontobeko was simply taking her studies seriously. They had raised her well, and as far as Mrs Mhlongo was concerned, her daughter had no reason to deceive her.

Ravi sent her R1,000 for transport. It was a huge amount, considering Richards Bay was not too far. On top of that, her mother gave her R300.

Nontobeko hugged her.

It was something she had never done before. Women of Makhosini seldom hugged their children. A child was a child, not a friend. It was a cultural thing.

As the taxi sped towards Richards Bay, anxiety slowly began to overwhelm the young rural girl. She had never been exposed to such things as dates or secret meet-ups. Everything about the journey felt new.

Above all, though, she was confident. She was beautiful, and she knew it.

Nontobeko waited for Ravi outside KFC.

A silver Porsche 918 Spyder pulled up. A man who looked slightly older than the Ravi she had seen in the photographs on Badoo lowered the window.

“Ntobeh, come in!”

Confused and amazed at the same time, Nontobeko got into the car.

The scent of King’s Oud perfume oil welcomed her. The man behind the steering wheel wore a floral Gucci shirt, tight blue jeans and black Balenciaga sneakers with the BB steel logo.

Yes, it was Ravi Moodley in the flesh. He drove to Meerensee Retail Centre, where they settled comfortably at John Dory’s. Everything was new to Nontobeko. She knew nothing about shrimp, oysters, calamari or crabs. Where she came from, crabs were not something people ate in restaurants. They were used as a remedy for stubborn coughs.

She drank wine for the very first time in her life. They spoke about little things, from school life to the challenges they faced. Ravi simply knew how to put her at ease with his words. The more they talked, the more comfortable she felt around him.

She opened up about the challenges of being the only child in her family. She spoke about the pressure of remaining a virgin and admitted that she felt ready to give her body to someone special.

“You are special to me. Am I not special to you?” Ravi asked, gently touching her hand, his fingers moving over it as lightly as a man playing with a computer mouse.

“Yes, you are special to me. In fact, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me,” she said, her shyness obvious, yet somehow beautiful.

Not long after, they found themselves in a more private and intimate space, where they continued with the wine. Nontobeko was not too keen on it. She only took a few sips from time to time.

“I promise to give you my world. I am the luckiest man alive to be sharing this moment with you,” Ravi said as they sat comfortably on the sofa, his hand touching parts of Nontobeko that no one had touched before. The wine had a way of making the impossible seem possible. Nontobeko felt comfortable, though a little scared. The rest was history.

While driving her to the taxi rank, Ravi spoke about the big dreams he had for her.

“You are wife material. I would die to make you my wife,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road.

Nontobeko said nothing. She simply smiled, looking out at the slowly passing sugar-cane fields of Richards Bay. They were green and full of life, and she felt that her own life and dreams had just begun.

He gave her another R1,000 and dropped her at the taxi rank. She turned and waved as she watched the car disappear into the overcrowded streets of Richards Bay. She made her way to the taxi, still smiling.

“You smell like an Indian,” a drunk man said, holding his beer as if it were the only thing in the world.

The passengers laughed. Nontobeko did not care. She was happy, though there was a little shame and guilt hovering somewhere in her subconscious.

When she arrived home, Mrs Mhlongo had already prepared her favourite food: chicken.

“Sit down, my baby. You must be very tired. The food is still warm. Come and eat,” MaMhlongo said, adjusting her apron, which smelled of timber smoke from cooking a Nguni chicken that had taken hours to prepare.

Nontobeko said nothing. She simply hugged her mother again. This time, tears ran down her cheeks. They were the kind of tears that come when something too deep has been broken.

Mrs Mhlongo ignored them. She thought her daughter was simply overwhelmed with gratitude and joy.

After a meal that took a long time to finish, Nontobeko washed the dishes and took a long bath. She then went to her room, made herself comfortable in bed and picked up her phone.

She logged into Badoo.

She went straight to Ravi Moodley’s profile.

There was nothing.

No Ravi Moodley.

Just nothing.

Ravi Moodley had seen what he wanted, and he had taken it.