Chapter Six

STRING OF PEARLS: SIX

_CAROLINA_

I wonder what possessed me to date this Zulu man, Nkanyezi. He may dress like a sleek, sophisticated man, but deep down, he's as traditional as the gang at taxi ranks wearing brand wood and leopard print vests.

We met a year ago when I was running late for my photoshoot at Gateway Mall. Ever since, he's been trying to turn me into a yebo baba trad wife, but I'm fighting tooth and nail to hold on to my identity.

Don't get me wrong; the guy is handsome, and his swag is on another level. His dominant aura is everything, but can he just turn it down a notch?

"How long will you be gone for?" he asks as I pack.

"Two months," I reply.

The look he gives me is piercing.

"I'm not happy about this," he says.

I'm tempted to roll my eyes.

"Well, I'm happy about the 50k I'm getting, and..."

He interrupts, "I can transfer the 50k into your account right now."

I feel like pulling my hair out in frustration.

"It's not just about the money; it's about the exposure too. Do you know how hard it is to book a job since the world is full of influencers and content creators? In the modeling industry, you strike while the iron is hot, or you'll never amount to anything."

He stares at me blankly.

"Are you taking me to the airport, or should I Uber?" I ask.

"It's fine. Good luck with your modeling career. It's clear you love it more than building a life with me. I've been asking you to marry me for months, but all you care about is wearing skimpy clothes for the whole world to gawk at you. Who needs such a wife?"

He grabs his car keys.

"I'm only 21 years old. In model years, that's like 35. I love you, but I love my dreams and aspirations more. If you can't support me and my dreams, then I don't see why I should waste my time on a man who can't even love me enough to wait for me. Go well, baba."

I give him my back, and a few moments pass before I hear the door closing.

My heart instantly breaks.

Three hours later, I landed in Cape Town and took a cab to the client's company.

"You must be Caroline," a white man with a thick Portuguese accent says.

"It's Carolina," I corrected him.

"Caroline, Carolina, same same," he says dismissively.

"Follow me."

He leads me to the studio, where three other models are.

"Cynthia here will get you ready."

A few minutes later, I'm all dolled up.

Cynthia hands me the costume – a long G-string.

"What is this?" I ask.

"It's the outfit," she says dismissively.

I change quickly.

As I walk out, I'm welcomed by models kissing each other passionately.

"Grope her breasts. Lick the nipples, give me sexy," the photographer says.

I stand there, horrified.

"Caroline, come join the party, darling. I want you to sit on her face."

That does it.

I turn back to the changing room, change into my clothes, and walk out without a word.

On my way to the airport, I call my agent.

He spins a story about the client not briefing him properly, but I know he's lying.

I'm pissed and hurt.

To think I lost my boyfriend because of this gig.

_MCEDISI_

My brother and I are at my coffee shop. He bursts into a fit of laughter, and I heave a sigh. I don't know what the hell I was thinking, confiding in this idiot, because he is laughing at me.

"I swear, I didn't know they are related," I say. He nods slightly. "And you? Where is that woman of yours?" I ask, trying to change the subject.

"We broke up," he says, and my eyes widen. "Why?" I ask.

"She chose her job over us, over me," he says, and I pat his back. "I'm sorry, man," I say, and he chuckles.

"I should have known better. Maybe I should take a village girl like you did. Look at MaSibiya; you literally struck gold with that woman," he says, and I smile. Last night, when we got back, we made love the whole night. She seems happier and more relaxed now that she doesn't have Onezwa to worry about.

"Maybe you should go to the reed dance next week; maybe you'll find a pure girl to marry," I suggest, and he shrugs.

His phone rings, and he looks at the screen for a while before getting up and walking out of my office to answer the call.

A slight knock comes through, and I invite the person to come in. Shock engulfs me when Onezwa walks in.

"I'm so sorry to come here unannounced, but I needed to have a word with you outside of your home because I have a feeling that your wife hates me," she says, and I chuckle, showing her a seat.

"Your mother told me where I could find you," she continues.

"What can I do for you?" I ask, and she takes a deep breath.

"Is it safe for me to go back to Joburg?"

"No," I answer without hesitation, and she scoffs.

"I can't stay here. I'm losing my mind, and I worked damn hard to achieve the things I've achieved," she lashes out.

"Unless you have the diamonds Kofi is looking for or more nails to donate, then you are more than welcome to leave," I say, shrugging, and she scoffs.

"I can't be cooped up in the village doing nothing," she says, on the verge of tears.

"I'm sure there are many things you can do to entertain yourself with. You and my mother seem to be getting along pretty well. Perhaps you can exchange recipes or crochet together unless you miss that colored boy's dick," I say, and she gets up abruptly.

"You are such a... I'm happy I'm not forced to marry you, and running away from you five years ago was the best decision I ever made. You are nothing but a cold bastard," she says now in a shaky voice.

"Are you done?" I ask.

She looks at me while breathing heavily before she glares at the framed photo of MaSibiya on my desk and pushes it, causing it to fall.

"Feeling better?" I ask.

She storms out, almost knocking Nkanyezi over with her big behind.

"Woah! And then?" Nkanyezi asks.

I chuckle, getting up. "Cerebos," I say before pouring a drink for myself.

_ONEZWA_

I despise Mcedisi with every fiber of my being. Who does he think he is?

I step out of his overpriced, ugly coffee shop. MaSibiya accompanied me to town, but she had errands to run.

I sit on the bench outside, waiting for her.

"Ntokazi," a voice says behind me.

I don't bother turning to see who it is.

"I'm sorry to bother you," the man says. "But when I saw you, it felt like my ancestors finally answered my prayers."

He takes a seat next to me.

I don't bother looking up.

"Hlehla Gumede," Mcedisi's deep voice interrupts.

The man jumps up.

"No harm done, Nduna. I was just searching for my third wife," he says.

I glance up, unimpressed.

Wife number three? With that unfortunate face and short-man syndrome? No thanks.

He hurries away, getting into a nearby Quantum.

Mcedisi sits beside me.

"Why are you sitting here?" he asks.

"I'm waiting for MaSibiya. She's running errands," I reply.

He sighs.

"Can you think of where Qhawe hid the diamonds?" he asks.

I shake my head.

"Try to remember. Finding those diamonds is your ticket to freedom," he urges.

We fall into silence.

"What happened to the house Qhawe bought for me?" I ask.

"It's still there. I rented it out and put the money in a trust for his son," he says.

I frown.

"Son? Qhawe had a son?" I ask, stunned.

"Yes, he is almost seven. I thought you knew," Mcedisi says.

I chuckle bitterly.

Men will embarrass you, even from six feet underground.