But a village mightn't be that bad- now that I'd had a while to think about it.
I was very accustomed to a village.
Clay and I often hung out at the Village in Soho- trendy gay area in London, favorite watering hole and pick up joint of choice, for Clay of course. And when we were feeling rural, we sometimes drove out to Finchingfield village in Essex for the day, where we'd grab a bite at the local 18th century pub and walk the historic streets buying some divine little antiques. So perhaps a quaint village life wouldn't be too terrible after all. I could luxuriate at the spa all day in the fluffy gown having massages, pedi's and Africa algae wraps. I would stay in a shabby- chic rustic inspired cottage with an Africa flavor no doubt. There would be the usual amenities; a few darling shops, perhaps a little café and a gym. The only down side to the pretty little picture that was beginning to take shape in my head were my fellow inhabitants- the staff. I would have to put up with them, and if Riaan was any indication of what they would be like, it would be very unpleasant. But that was a detail I could iron out later, I would not let that dampen my newfound enthusiasm for my little village--
But, to my utter shock-horror, when we got there, it was not at all how I'd imagined it.
Where were the little shops? Antiques, pubs, cobbled stone streets quaint atmosphere and picture perfect postcard looks?
This looked more like a series of thatched, grey concrete dormitories. The dormitories appeared to house small rooms, with small little windows and big heavy black metal doors. There was a small patch of grass on one side with a few plastic chairs stacked on it, the remains of a ping-pong table was propped up against a wall and fire pit. All this place needed were a few camper vans, some washing hanging out the window and a dog with three legs and voila, you had a gypsy trailer park.
"Is this the..."I paused to take it all in. I was almost too scared to utter the words, in case he confirmed my worst nightmare... "Is it, um....the Village?"
Riaan didn't reply, he continued to march across the dusty red soil and towards one of the dormitory blocks. Perhaps this wasn't it; the village was obviously behind these terrible concrete cells. There was no way they would make me stay here. In this.
I followed Riaan, my hopes growing by the second as he completely ignored the first block of rooms and walked right past them. My heart practically did flick-flacks of joy when he marched past the second block too. But then, all the hopes I had accumulated plummeted and plunged to the floor as he walked up to one of the small rooms and slotted a key into the lock. The heavy metal door was sticky and old and Riaan was forced to wiggle it rather enthusiastically just to get it to budge. It finally opened with a loud grinding sound across the concrete floor. The sound made my skin crawl.
"This is your room," He said flicking on the small single light bulb that was dangling from the ceiling by a black cable. I glanced inside; I'd never seen anything like it. The 'room' or should I say shoebox was minuscule, the size of my walk-in closet at home. There was an extra narrow single bed pushed up against the far wall covered in some kind of netting. And it was standing on bricks!
"Why is it on bricks?" I asked approaching the unstable looking bed.
"Oh, it's to keep the Tokoloshe away."
"THE WHAT?" I screeched, jumping back from the bed in case there was one underneath it. "What kind of animal is that?"
"It's not an animal, it's a little evil creature, that comes out and terrorizes you at night." I thought I detected a slight hint of pleasure in his voice. As if he was delighted to be giving me this horrendous news.
"Will I... I mean, will I be safe?"
"As long as you sleep on the bricks." he said, again, I thought I detected slight amusement in his voice.
I continued to look around. On the other side of the room was a small couch and a coffee table that stood on one of those old brown fluffy rugs from the nineteen- seventies, the kind that no doubt attracts dust mites and diseased rodents. A small wooden table and two chairs were positioned on the other end of the room next to what I can only assume was supposed to be the kitchen. A zinc sink, rust colored melamine counter tops dotted with a few cups and a cooking device of sorts- the likes of which I'd never seen before.
I walked in, took up position in the middle of the room and examined it further. The bed was draped in a hideous beige duvet complete with bulbous maroon geometric shapes, there was also only one pillow- it was brown. The crockery was made of dark blue tin that was chipped in several places- very unappetizing. The couch was upholstered in in a very unappealing olive green color with two pathetic looking red scatter cushions lurking on it. Perhaps the interior designer was trying to be ironic? Perhaps he was trying to make a profound statement about the nature of aesthetics being in the eye of the beholder? Or perhaps a three-year-old toddler had put it together in a fit of rage. There seemed to be a bathroom at the other end of the room and I wondered if I should even dare look inside.
I did.
And I instantly regretted it. A sink, a towel rack, a small shower and a plastic toilet. I shuddered- the towels didn't even look like genuine cotton.
The place wasn't dirty, or messy or unhygienic in anyway- it was just as ugly as a flea bitten street mutt.
"I think you'll find it very comfortable," Riaan said handing me the keys.
"What's that around the bed," I asked referring to the net encasing it.
"Mosquito net, be sure to use it,"
"Mmm, great." I said sarcastically, "More bugs."
Riaan ignored my statement and carried on, "The mes hall, where the staff meals are served is in the block behind us. Lights out are at 10:30 Pm and..."
"Lights out? Like, as in, you turn the lights off?" This was starting to sound like jail, and I was an inmate- God, I hope they weren't going to make me wear one of those luminous orange jumper suits, "What? Are we kids that we have to be told when to go to sleep?"
"No, it's not that at all. We are powered by generators, we don't have the luxury to run them 24 hours a day. The candles are in the kitchen cupboards."
"Candles. How positively primitive."
Riaan looked at me coldly, "You know your current attitude is going to get you nowhere."
I glanced as this devastatingly gorgeous man who was now- very disturbingly I might add- starting to sound like my father, "You're not a very nice person Riaan. You know that?"
He scoffed loudly and this maddened me.
"Is this how you treat all your guests, its' not wonder anyone comes to this stupid place."
"You're not a guest- do I have to keep reminding you of that. You're here to work, just like the rest of us."
"We'll see about that."
Riaan turned away and walked out the door, "Wait." The word came out a little desperate sounding. Which I guess it was, I hated being alone. It tried to change my tone back to casul and indifferent, "So, which room are you in?," And quickly added, " In case there's some kind of emergency or something."
"Second room in the block behind you. But try not to need me please."
And with that little sarcastic jibe, he left.
Message to Clayton:
GI Joe is the most vile, hideous human being on the planet. He's downright rude, nasty and basically a total shit. He's still a looker. I hope you're getting these, with no reception here, I don't know how I'm going to post selfies!
XX
I looked around again; maybe on closer inspection I would find at least one redeeming feature. Perhaps a little gem would reveal itself to me. But there was nothing. This place was barely a step up from living in a dimly lit cave. I might as well be wearing a loin cloth and fighting off pterodactyls with a dinosaur bone. I walked over to the 'TV', it was one of those old boxy things with wooden paneling and large bulging nobs and buttons- a- plenty. Surely this technological relic belonged in a museum along with cassette tapes and phones with aerials? But beggars couldn't be choosers and right now TV seemed like the perfect distraction. I pressed one of the bread loaf sized buttons and the screen lit up. It spluttered and flashed and whooshed into static grainy life.
I flicked to the first channel and well, to be frank, I was confused. It looked like TV in that there were people talking and doing things, but it was nothing like the TV I was used to. This looked like it had been filmed by a film student on a cell phone who had cast his friends and family as actors- at one point a dog ran through the shot, I wasn't sure if that was intentional or not. It was obviously some kind of local soap opera, that much I got from the catfight that was ensuing between two women, but it certainly wasn't going to provide any relief; on the contrary, the big acting and overly dramatic sound track actually made me feel anxious.
I flipped to the next channel; it seemed to be a very long advert for washing powder. The women on screen looked so immensely over joyed that she'd just managed to remove the stain from her husbands shirt before his big board meeting, that you would have thought she'd just uncovered the secret to having spontaneous multiple ten-minute long orgasms. Just how excited can one get about washing powder?
I turned to the next channel,
"Tschhhhhhhhhhhhhh"
So I flipped to the next one,
"Tschhhhhhhhhhhhhh"
The next one,
"Tschhhhhhhhhhhhhh"
I flipped and flipped and flipped, starting to get desperate that distraction was alluding me. But each time I did, I was met by the loud roar of black and white static. It was obvious that someone hadn't tuned it in properly. But the more I kept flipping and landing back at the cat fight and washing powder commercial, the more it dawned on me that this was the extent of the TV entertainment.
Woman 1: You bitch, I know you slept with him.
Flick
Happy washing woman: Stains literally melt away never to be seen again-
Flick
Woman 1: I never want to see you again-
Flick
Woman: You've ruined my life-
Flick
Happy washing woman: Don't let ugly stains on his shirt ruin your husband's chances at that promotion-
There was a metaphor in this somewhere. The TV was as bleak as my surroundings. As non-entertaining, as boring, banal and cheap. The emptiness of it all just made me feel sadder.
I turned the thing off and flopped down on the bed. The metal mattress springs responded with a loud squeak that almost made me jump right off it. The pillow was as thin and hard as an old, dry stale Tramazzini and when I put my head on it, I was engulfed by a puff of thick dust.
At least I still had the bottle of Moet to keep me company, but I wasn't going to drink it out of a tin mug, that would be trashy. I was classy. I scoured the kitchen cupboards but soon realized that tin mugs were all this place seemed to offer in the way of liquid receptacles. Clay and I had gone to a drag show where the artist, Dee Toxicate had drunk champagne from her high heel shoe. I considered this for a second, until I snapped back to my sense. So I raised the bottle to my lips and sipped.
I was tired. The heat, the killer beast ants and the shock of everything had taken its toll on me. I lay on the bed finishing the champagne as I watched the light coming through a jap in the curtain turn from a bright yellow, to a rich orange and then fade and dim. I closed my eyes and immediately started drifting into a warm intoxicated sleep.
My eyes had only been shut for a few minutes when my mothers voice popped into my head. This seldom happened, but when it did it I was usually able to fight it off. This time I was losing the battle.
She was always saying the same thing - a bedtime story she used to read me. My favorite, an old Africa fable called the "Lion and the Mouse".
The story is about a brave little mouse who rescues a lion from a poachers trap, even though the mouse knows that when he does, the lion could kill him.
This was also the last story she ever told me. It was from her hospital bed the day she died. She'd said that when she was gone, I was to be like that little mouse, I was to be brave and strong and not afraid of what life would throw at me....
I jumped out of bed as though the ants were on me again and ran to the bathroom where I splashed some cold water on my face. I needed to snap out of it. Thoughts like these were never good. The cold water brought me back to reality and washed the thoughts away. My mantra started playing in my head again...
Life's tough and crappy and you have to get up and move on and drink Champagne to make it more bearable.
Except the champagne was finished.
And I was alone.