Kwaito Love by Lauri Kubbuitsile

about it. She informed Mpho that she had a “hectic schedule” so it couldn’t take long.
    The designs were all up on dummies. Mpho still had to do some finishing touches but her creations were basically complete. She looked at them and beamed with pride. “So here they are,” she said with a flourish, standing in front of the strapless blue shweshwe cocktail dress. She turned to No 22, the black woman. “What’s your name?”
    â€œKoketso.”
    â€œGreat. I thought this dress would really work on you with your long legs and elegant neck.”
    Koketso smiled, rubbing her hand over what had suddenly gone from being a part that connected her body to her head to an “elegant neck”. She smiled. “Yeah . . . sure . . . I love it.”
    Mpho looked over the other two designs wondering who could wear which. “What’s your name?” she asked the Indian girl. She was far too short and her skin was even worse up close. The girl was attractive in her own way, though definitely not model beautiful. Mpho kept reminding herself that she had to make do with what she had.
    â€œMiriam,” the girl said.
    â€œOkay, Miriam, I think you’ll look best in the two-piece trouser suit. I’ll have to take up the trousers but that’s not really a problem.” Miriam’s face squished into a scowl. “Is something wrong?” Mpho asked.
    â€œTo be honest, I don’t like that suit,” Miriam answered. “It looks like something a clown would wear. It’s so . . . colourful. And the beadwork on the waist . . . It’s just too much. I’d much rather wear the evening gown.” Miriam smiled and Mpho realised her teeth were not one of her assets either.
    â€œWell, if ya think I’m wearin’ that thang, you’re crazy. Look at me, I was born for evening gowns,” Miss Hair said.
    Mpho slumped into a nearby chair; her head was beginning to pound.
    Miriam turned to Miss Hair. “Well, I’m still not wearing that suit.”
    Miss Hair turned to Mpho. “Ya know, I’m busy. I got an appointment with a guy who’s thinkin’ of usin’ me in a shoot. I gotta go, man. Can you make up your mind?”
    Mpho looked at the girl and wondered what she thought speaking in an American twang was doing for her image. She looked back and forth at Miriam and Miss Hair and felt sad. She wanted something better for her designs. Mpho didn’t want to have to settle for these two and she didn’t want her designs to have to settle for them either.
    â€œYeah . . . okay . . .” Mpho hesitated. Was she doing the right thing? The show was only five days away. Was she insane? “Okay, I think I’ll pass on both of you.”
    â€œPass? On me?” Miss Hair said indignantly, no longer sounding American at all. “For the three years I’ve been here, I’ve always been in the graduate show. You can’t just pass on me!”
    â€œWell, I just did . . . Maybe someone else will use you but not me. Thanks for your time.” Mpho watched Miss Hair storm out with Miriam behind her. “Okay well, at least I have you,” she said to Koketso. “Can you come for a fitting tomorrow?”
    â€œSure, no problem. See you then.” Koketso left.
    Mpho let her head slump on the table. God, what was she going to do now? No models five days before the show. Friday was the dress rehearsal and Saturday the show that would decide her career. What was she going to do?
    â€œKo ko!”
    Mpho looked up and there was Annabella, carrying two coffees and a bag that smelled suspiciously like the chocolate doughnuts Mrs Smith made. “I brought treats and hoped I’d get a sneak preview of your designs.” Her cousin put the coffee and bag on the table and walked over to the dummies.
    â€œOh, Mpho! These are fantastic! You are going to murder them, seriously!” Annabella moved back and forth