just think sometimes that maybe if I spoke up, said something profound or gave an insightful suggestion, then maybe they’d see that there’s more to the security officer than black skin and Shakespeare. Maybe they’d see that I belong in that brown suit with yellow stripes.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“In my mind’s eye, I am Silas Nyoni.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“But they see nothing.” He’d say this with such despair that I might have felt sorry for him if I didn’t know better.
“Yes, Uncle.”
“Laurie made me take off the suit in the back seat, Fikile. How does a grown man such as myself undress like a child in the back seat of a car?”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“And then they give me another radio and a pat on the back as if I were some circus animal, rewarded for performing a clever trick. If it wasn’t for me, Fikile – me, Silas Nyoni – they would never be making the deals I am making for them. Those white men don’t realise that I am compromising my moral beliefs to make them billions. One day they’ll lose me and they’ll be sorry.”
I did not respond this time. I was afraid if I opened my mouth I would retch. If he resented the job so much why didn’t he simply stop doing it? ‘Oh, I’m a godly man, Fikile.’ Sniff-sniff. ‘Just trying to live an honest life, Fikile.’ Sniff-sniff. ‘I am a man more sinned against than sinning.’ Sniff-sniff. Bullshit. Absolute bullshit! Uncle knew very well that from that first day when Mr Dix asked him to read him passages from his books and asked him to recite the poetry, Uncle lauded over everyone; he was being interviewed, assessed and evaluated for the position of black fake senior partner/CEO/co-founder/ financial director or whatever position it was that spoke of transformation at Lentso Communications.
Uncle reads the papers. In fact, Uncle reads more papers than most! This whole thing of using nameless black faces as pawns for striking black economic empowerment deals was nothing new and he knew it. He delighted in it. The man celebrated it! Sweet, gentle Uncle with the ‘world’s biggest heart’ was no security guard: he’d weep right through any break-in. No, Uncle loved the soft life, yearned for the soft life, lived for the soft life, just like everyone else. He revelled in those moments when he’d be wearing striped suits and sit in the front seat while Laurie sat in the back. Uncle was just another hungry black man, hungry for a piece of the pie just like the rest of us.
But what infuriated me and drove me absolutely out of my mind with indignation was that Uncle wanted to eat his pie and then have us feel sorry for him because it was making him fat. Uncle is a liar and a fake. He dotes on his new position as fake black bigshot of
Lentso Communications. He knows very well it’s all he’s good for. Hell, he should be grateful for such an opportunity! Not everybody gets a second shot at the good life. He is pathetic as a security guard and probably would have been fired by now if they hadn’t found out that he spoke English so well. He should be bloody grateful, the bloody twit.
I am relieved that the time for sleep is over and I am already thinking about all the great happenings that today may have in store. Waking up is always a thrilling time for me because it presents a new and fresh chance at life filled with endless possibilities. Sleep is an unnecessary luxury and I generally do what I can to avoid it. In sleep you lose all control and are vulnerable to the many monsters of the night. In sleep you waste precious hours that may have been used to plan great things and make purposeful strides towards your dreams, like my Project Infinity. Only infants and senile people really need sleep. The rest are simple, weak and lazy.
I am glad it is time again to leave this hole. I have been possessed by a spirit of vigour in the night and today will go out filled with courage and
“Yes, Uncle.”
“In my mind’s eye, I am Silas Nyoni.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“But they see nothing.” He’d say this with such despair that I might have felt sorry for him if I didn’t know better.
“Yes, Uncle.”
“Laurie made me take off the suit in the back seat, Fikile. How does a grown man such as myself undress like a child in the back seat of a car?”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“And then they give me another radio and a pat on the back as if I were some circus animal, rewarded for performing a clever trick. If it wasn’t for me, Fikile – me, Silas Nyoni – they would never be making the deals I am making for them. Those white men don’t realise that I am compromising my moral beliefs to make them billions. One day they’ll lose me and they’ll be sorry.”
I did not respond this time. I was afraid if I opened my mouth I would retch. If he resented the job so much why didn’t he simply stop doing it? ‘Oh, I’m a godly man, Fikile.’ Sniff-sniff. ‘Just trying to live an honest life, Fikile.’ Sniff-sniff. ‘I am a man more sinned against than sinning.’ Sniff-sniff. Bullshit. Absolute bullshit! Uncle knew very well that from that first day when Mr Dix asked him to read him passages from his books and asked him to recite the poetry, Uncle lauded over everyone; he was being interviewed, assessed and evaluated for the position of black fake senior partner/CEO/co-founder/ financial director or whatever position it was that spoke of transformation at Lentso Communications.
Uncle reads the papers. In fact, Uncle reads more papers than most! This whole thing of using nameless black faces as pawns for striking black economic empowerment deals was nothing new and he knew it. He delighted in it. The man celebrated it! Sweet, gentle Uncle with the ‘world’s biggest heart’ was no security guard: he’d weep right through any break-in. No, Uncle loved the soft life, yearned for the soft life, lived for the soft life, just like everyone else. He revelled in those moments when he’d be wearing striped suits and sit in the front seat while Laurie sat in the back. Uncle was just another hungry black man, hungry for a piece of the pie just like the rest of us.
But what infuriated me and drove me absolutely out of my mind with indignation was that Uncle wanted to eat his pie and then have us feel sorry for him because it was making him fat. Uncle is a liar and a fake. He dotes on his new position as fake black bigshot of
Lentso Communications. He knows very well it’s all he’s good for. Hell, he should be grateful for such an opportunity! Not everybody gets a second shot at the good life. He is pathetic as a security guard and probably would have been fired by now if they hadn’t found out that he spoke English so well. He should be bloody grateful, the bloody twit.
I am relieved that the time for sleep is over and I am already thinking about all the great happenings that today may have in store. Waking up is always a thrilling time for me because it presents a new and fresh chance at life filled with endless possibilities. Sleep is an unnecessary luxury and I generally do what I can to avoid it. In sleep you lose all control and are vulnerable to the many monsters of the night. In sleep you waste precious hours that may have been used to plan great things and make purposeful strides towards your dreams, like my Project Infinity. Only infants and senile people really need sleep. The rest are simple, weak and lazy.
I am glad it is time again to leave this hole. I have been possessed by a spirit of vigour in the night and today will go out filled with courage and
Similar Books
