"Soweto Lion Splashes Five Million Rands on Birthday Celebration."
Monday morning, the Sowettan Independent newspaper splashes a sensational headline on the cover page. Other tabloids tow the same line. News of Bandele's birthday bash spreads across the land like Amazon wildfire. Television stations air clips of the event repeatedly. People debate if Soweto – a place commonly described as the bastion of the lower-class citizens – has such wealthy people living there.
Polemann residents march to the newspaper stand singing praises of Bandele and his late father, but many of them won't pick a tabloid – they can't afford one. They're only here to scoop public opinions – their usual pastime after earth-shattering events. And, of course, to check if their pictures appear in the newspapers, something they'll brag about for years or decades.
Many believe the five-million newspaper reports anyway. They accuse the newspaper owners of underreporting their estimates. Items stolen from the party transformed their rooms. And the large chunks of beef in their fridges can last three weeks or more. No one ever threw a bash after which guests traded in party souvenirs. Residents' tongues go on overdrive. Yet it's not even 7 am.
Pa Loco, a post-middle-age erudite goes through the report with agony on his face. "How can someone be so wasteful?" His hands spread out in the air. "How can a sensible person waste so much money on just a party? I knew it was a mess. Luckily I wasn't around."
Being one of the learned ones who reads and interprets newspapers, others listen to him with rapt attention and guided suspicion. Pa Loco's dislike for Bandele is well-documented.
He takes the spotlight for the moment, explaining that the tabloid condemns Bandele for his extravagance. That he entertained guests with twenty cows and fifty bags of rice. Thirty thousand packets of beers ensured that people bathed in liquor. Hennessey flowed knee-high on the street – a senseless sign of Bandele's wealth.
The party was a celebration of immorality. The celebrant took no precaution to prevent kids from being exposed to adults' overindulgences. Unclad ladies moved about unrestrained. The underaged had access to alcohol like never before. People smoked nyaope, woonga, zol and heroine. Thieves and hoodlums had a field day. Shoddy security arrangement made it easy for urchins to indulge in violence while some celebrated. Now the hospitals are filled with injured party guests.
Worse still, the police did little or nothing to prevent public disturbance – despite countless phone calls from residents of adjoining streets who complained about sick and aged persons, the newborns. Instead, men in uniform partook in the show of shame, turning blind eyes to the excesses of the celebrant and his guests.
The newspapers advise that money wasted on such frivolous gatherings could be used on beneficial community projects. Bandele can build schools and hospitals. He can set up neighbourhood businesses and employ teeming jobless youths.
Pa Loco convinces a good number of his listeners about Bandele's extravagance. "Yes, he should have built a hospital to mark his birthday!" His voice shoots up. "Other sensible rich men do that in other communities."
"That's true," many choruses. "Bandele is unreasonable."
"If I'm to recall vividly, his father won't do such nonsense. Despite Sbu-de-Sergeant's obvious weaknesses, he didn't shame people with his wealth."
"Oh, yes. That's true. Bandele is too over-vagant!" Someone says.
Die-hard Bandele fans begin to grumble, some leave the gathering, unable to stand the bashing, just as more arrive to listen to all Pa Loco is saying.
Pa Loco replies. "Holding a party is where all your rents go – drinking beer and parading nude women around."
"Never before have we been so oppressed." A man in blue tie and bowler hat says. He just arrived. "A landlord who has no regard for us tenants, who doesn't respect our women, who doesn't benefit the community in any way, now slap our faces with his wealth." His raised hat and flailing hands allude to his spleen.
Some aged women deride Bandele, pointing elongated accusing fingers. Their Zulu-laced invectives fly about with toxic venoms, prompting those nearby to make way to avoid catching potent curses by Bluetooth.
Pa Loco isn't done. "When will our people learn? Nelson Mandela didn't struggle for us so that a few black men will start wasting money on nonsensical and nefarious spendings."
"Hmmm." The crowd purrs at the man's vocabulary which he is known for.
"The incomprehensible and unpardornable part if it all is that the police are complicit in the whole matter. They collude with the unthinking celebrant to bring untold hardship on the people of this community – a typical case of dereliction of duty." He hisses, raising a finger.
The purring continues as many grumbles, thinking Bandele committed some heinous crimes which necessitate Pa Loco's choice of words.
"I hope people close to our landlord will talk sense into him. This is an irresponsible thing to do." The man wearing a hat walks towards the taxi rank, heading to work.
A rotund man in the middle of the crowd rubs his potbelly. "At least Bandele is sharing his wealth with our people. Some rich men don't invite the poor to parties. And they don't benefit others. Bandele doesn't discriminate anyone. He's our hero."
A hush spreads across the scene.
Pius, who's been struggling with the purpose of the gathering, staggers forward. He'll not welcome negative comments about his benefactor. "Thank you, my brother." He points at the last speaker. "The one and only Lion of Soweto has done nothing wrong—"
"Who's the Lion of Soweto?" Pa Loco asks.
"Bandele, of course."
"Oh, he now calls himself a lion?" Pa Loco's face squeezes as though bile line his throat.
"Yes, he's our Lion of Judah, of Soweto." Pius continues. "He was only celebrating his birthday and he fed us very, very well. God left us and made Bandele rich so that he can be useful to us." He belches and looks around "Is that not so?
Some chorus, hailing Bandele to high heavens.
Pa Loco posits. "He only fed those who need be fed."
"Bandele! Bandele!!" Ladies begin to chant. They won't let anyone stand in the open and belittle their hero.
It bemuses some men gathered that whenever someone voices out the horrible treatment Bandele metes, the women folks quench the agitation, seeing nothing wrong in the businessman's denigrating ways.
One of Bandele's exes, Stella, a traditional midwife in her forties, unties her doek and raises her voice. "Bandele fed us all on Saturday. And, in short, he will be feeding us forever."
She glances around to the loud chants of 'Yebo.'
Encouraged, Stella's mouth sharpens. "I have enough food and drinks in my fridge to last me for two months. I don't care how much Bandele spends. It's his money. Some of his birthday things are in our houses and he won't get them back. So he helped us." She raises both hands. "He's our godfather forever. He owns the house where we live."
"Yes, Stella is right." Another lady claps repeatedly. "What a wonderful party? Such has never happened before in Soweto. Up to fifty thousand people on the street, not to talk of the twenty thousand inside the house. I drank so much wine I didn't know where to pour it. My new bedsheets have Bandele's name written on them. I packed the cups and plates and spoons and... I will sell them in the market. All of them." She laughs, bending over.
"How will you sell them with his name written on them?" Stella asks as other women look askance.
"I will wipe out the 'Bandele 38' with thinner liquid, and then sell them in Plein Street in Joburg."
Pa Loco curses before the crowd before walking away.
Meanwhile, a white-man parks his car and asks the vendor for a newspaper. "Hold on, sir," the vendor says, turning away from the dramatic women.
Checking copies of different papers and, on realising they carry similar headlines, the white man shakes his head as he whispers. "Blacks!" He selects copy of the Sowettan Independent and then drives off.
Pono leaves the castle for the vendor's stand, piqued by the early-morning noise. He's not only here to pick a few newspapers, but also wants to have an idea of residents' opinion about his boss. Bandele is eager to know.
On sighting Pono, the crowd mutes up, considering it most unsavoury to repay the Bandele's largesse with vileness. Those who support Bandele cast warning eyes towards others. The last time residents passed careless comments on the street, Bandele replied with rent increases.
"Pono the Zono!" Pius hails.
Pono lifts his thumb in salutation.
"Long live the Polemann Castle. Long live the owner of the Polemann Castle and his tireless workers who make us happy once in a while. Long live all of us." Pius staggers about with one hand in his pocket.
Pono winces. "I hope all is well?" He grabs a copy of the Sowettan Independent, pays for it and turns to leave, knowing that his presence stifles discussions.
"Wait, please!" Pius wobbles forward. "Tell me, when is the next birthday coming up in your house? You people blew out minds last Saturday. We didn't see it coming."
"We'll keep you informed." Pono flashes a smile which fades away pronto.
"Okay. We'll be expecting your posters." Impressed Pius stretches out his neck.
Pono returns to the castle and drops the newspaper on Molefi's desk, but the psychologist isn't on seat.
"Where's boss Molefi?" Pono asks Akida who's lying on the sofa.
"The boss called him a few minutes ago."
"Street people are discussing the party." Pono smiles. "It's even in the newspapers that we spent five million rands on it."
"People will always talk about it." Akida turns suspicious eyes on Pono, knowing the little man-made cool cash last Saturday. While he was busy monitoring human traffic around Bandele, the little man got missing doing shady deals, deceiving Molefi who refuses to open his bookish eyes. But why doesn't the small guy share kickbacks with others?
The hefty and muscle-padded lad isn't happy with his lean pockets after such a huge bash. Molefi, he knows, won't give details of all that transpired behind. Neither will this little Pono who looks so harmless. But what will a bodyguard benefit from working here apart from his meagre salary? His people in Hillbrow are by now thinking he swims in wealth.
Akida's piercing looks discomfits Pono, but he diminutive lad doesn't care. No amount of suspicion will make him divulge his underground dealings. After all, they're in different departments. When Bandele takes them out to clubs, they leave him behind. Besides, Akida always take over the fringe ladies at his expense. No, he won't give details of his deals so that the hefty lad won't start asking for a share.