Molefi leaves Bandele's house beaming. He now has a job that'll last a while. Even if the big man didn't announce his new post, the job description does the announcement. It tickles that he'll have something to do in the mornings and expect some income by month-end.
But why doesn't Bandele give out employment contract papers, a piece to show loved ones at least. Is there any chance the man is playing games? That doesn't look likely, though. If he can grant over three thousand rands to a stranger, he should be able to pay fifteen thousand monthly.
Well, the property magnate admits that he's not educated, so paperwork might be a problem. Why should anyone even expect employment contract from someone who loiters around the parking lot demanding government tenders?
Bandele is a funny kind of rich man. He can keep the contract papers; the salary is what counts. Bills are piling up right now: outstanding student loan and family responsibilities to which he's been turning blind eyes. At twenty-seven his life ought to be taking shape. If working in a wealthy man's house is where fate wants him at the moment, so be it.
Thinking of the job itself, won't it be arduous to manage such a huge mansion, considering its haughty owner? He wasn't raised in a wealthy home and his uncles don't lay claim to such stupendous wealth.
Come what may he'll excel at it. Common sense and street credibility will see him through. With the internet and Google search available all day, to impress Bandele should be easy. He only needs to carry out some creative household reforms and follow them through every day.
As Molefi hops into a Pretoria-bound taxi, colourful ideas begin to prick his mind. His first task will be to computerise the mansions activities, the prospect of which already makes the big man salivate. And since he likes pretty ladies, making them available will be a priority. Aren't girls all over town looking for rich men, blessers and aristos? Here we have the quintessential blesser in Bandele – an extraordinary one indeed.
"Auntie, I have a job," Molefi announces as he steps into their open-plan bachelor- apartment.
Omphile hands off the dishes, turning her right hear towards Molefi. "Say that again?"
"There's a job now," Molefi repeats, laughing hysterically as he walks towards the sitting area, sinking into a chair.
"You have a job now!" The woman rinses her hands, coming around to sit opposite Molefi who's now unlacing his shoes.
Molefi's kid nephew rush towards him, sitting on his left. It's not every day his uncle returns home with a smile which necessitates their mom to leave the kitchen. Something big must be cooking.
Molefi chuckles, sounding like a vehicle that refuses to kick-start. "Yes, there's a job. I said it before that my all-over-town trips will yield something good one day. I have a reason to smile now."
"Come on, tell me. How did it go? Where?"
The eldest of Omphile's kids, a thirteen-year-old girl, who'd been pressing clothes come around to listen to Molefi's job conquest story.
Having skipped telling anyone about meeting Bandele at the Soweto Municipal Office, Molefi narrates events of the last two days, restraining himself from screaming. The glow in his eyes, energetic gestures and flailing hands confirm that a job is truly on offer.
Omphile overlooks the need to ask for contract papers. Her serious-minded brother doesn't joke around. Even if it doesn't sound like a proper job, a career must start somewhere, especially after staying at home for three years or so. "Congratulations!" she exclaims.
"Yes, thank you so much." Molefi faces the kids. "I'm a Generalissimo in a private firm!"
The young boy skips the need to pronounce the job title. Not when he lost a tooth the other day trying to say 'psychology.'
"What does G-e-n-e-r-a-l-i-s-s-i-m-o mean?" The girl asks, slurring.
"Someone who does a lot of things in a company."
"You're up to it, I know that."
"Thank you, my dear."
Molefi then narrates the level of opulence in his boss's house, carefully leaving out any unpleasant gist. Omphile's mouth expands and contrasts multiple times. But Molefi holds back from telling them he'll be moving over to his boss's house in Soweto. He wants to settle there first.
"How will you cope in a place that big?" Omphile looks around, recalling their humble background.
"The responsibility is much, auntie." Molefi sighs. "I have my fears."
"The Lord will see you through."
"Amen...amen and forever amen."
The kids echo.
While Omphile returns to the kitchen, Molefi digs out a paper and pen from the cabinet. Work starts on Monday; he must jot down those ideas he cooked up while in the taxi.
From 6 pm till 10 pm, Molefi lists out the reforms he'll like to see in Bandele's mansion. Whether the man will accept them is a different matter. At least he'll be seen to be innovative.
"Your food is on the table," Omphile says when done with cooking.
Molefi, hungry and thirsty, glances at the dining area and moves over. Shocking is the new Tupperware dish his food is served in. A jobless person doesn't compare with an employed one. Even the dish they eat from shows the difference.
While eating pasta and spinach, the extra piece of beef indicates his new status. Molefi wishes his ex, Mpho, is still with him. It would have been fun announcing to her that he now has a job.
Still, he picks up his phone to share the news, but the moment he dials her number, the cheating incident that separated them comes to mind, quelling any need to make the call. Why must he tell her? That razor-mouth might ask for the job details upon which she'll brand him a glorified house-help.
Molefi begins a review of his write up before going to bed. "There's a job at last," he whispers, doing rehearsals on how he'll address his new boss tomorrow. Will Bandele accept new ideas?