Coconut by Kopano Matlwa

I was supposed to say “No, Uncle” instead of “Yes, Uncle.” But there were few moments like those, so I paid them no mind, except to quickly rectify things with a “No, Uncle.” Then he would cease wailing and get back to his whining, which was only slightly less aggravating.
     
    “No, Uncle.”
     
    “No, you are right, Fikile, I was a fool. I should have known those heavy white men in their dry-cleaned suits were not interested in my sonnets but in my black skin.”
     
    “Yes, Uncle.”
     
    “But how was I to know, Fikile? How was I to know?” he would ask, his eyes fast filling to the brim, pleading. Such a twerp, I thought. Such a sorry, pathetic, little twerp.
     
    “Oh, what men dare do! What men may do! What men daily do, not knowing what they do!”
     
    “Yes, Uncle.” I loathed this man.
     
    “What a piece of work man is.” He loved this, did Uncle. He loved the backstroke and freestyle in his private soup of sorrow.
     
    “Yes, Uncle.”
     
    “It is a curse, Fikile, to have a heart as big as mine.”
     
    “Yes, Uncle.”
     
    “Today we went to Hyde Park, to the offices of Borman-Nkosinathi. Tall buildings, glass doors.”
     
    “Yes, Uncle.”
     
    “They dressed me up in a brown suit with yellow lines. I chuckled to myself as I put it on in our security officer’s box. Me, in a brown suit with yellow lines, Fikile! I looked like a real Sexwale!”
     
    “Yes, Uncle.”
     
    “But all that glitters is not gold,” he whispered, his thick lower lip trembling.
     
    “Yes, Uncle.”
     
    “We drove in Mr Dix’s car and I sat in the front seat.”
     
    “Yes, Uncle.”
     
    “I always sit in the front seat on the way to the meetings and in the back seat when I am sent home.”
     
    “Yes, Uncle.”
     
    “He said, Mr Dix, he said that he was very proud of me and that I should be proud of myself, too. He said he wished more of the employees could be like me and show such loyalty to the company.”
     
    “Yes, Uncle.”
     
    “I laughed to myself, Fikile, sitting there in the front seat of Mr Dix’s Jaguar. It was really me! And Mr Dix, the CEO of Lentso Communications, was telling me that he was very proud of me and that he wished more employees could be more like me. Ha! Imagine that!”
     
    “Yes, Uncle.”
     
    “But then when we arrived at Borman-Nkosinathi and were getting out of the car, he took me aside and said that it would probably be better if I did not speak at the meeting that day. I was dismayed at that because, well, I don’t know if you know, but I do like to speak very much. But nevertheless, what can one say? The boss had spoken.”
     
    “Yes, Uncle.”
     
    “He said they would once again introduce me as Silas Nyoni, their Black Economic Empowerment partner, and newly appointed Operations Manager of Lentso Communications. Today’s plan was that Laurie, Mr Dix’s personal assistant, would rush in during the meeting with Borman-Nkosinathi and say that I was urgently needed at the offices. Then I would be hurried out and taken back to my security box. I imagine they were afraid I would say something senseless that would give them away, so Mr Dix signalled to Laurie earlier than planned and I was rushed out soon after the introductions.”
     
    “Yes, Uncle.”
     
    “I would not have said something senseless, Fikile. I do not know why they think these things about me. I would never do anything to jeopardise Lentso Communications! That company is my bread and butter.”
     
    “Yes, Uncle.”
     
    “I managed to steal a brief look at the agenda for the meeting, Fikile, and there were some pretty compelling topics on there. I deem if they had given me half the chance, let me stay just a little while, I might have been able to add something useful, something salutary, to their discussion.”
     
    “Yes, Uncle.”
     
    “Of course they only think of me as a security guard.
     
    But there’s things about me those white men do not know, Fikile. And I