Windmills Of The Dames

By Omoseye Bolaji

Although rather inadvertent, I was happy to see the coterie of Senegalese gentlemen again after a long, long time (since some five years) Here they were now, their technicolour shops ensconced in this big South African market.

Once again I marvelled at their extraordinary camaraderie, close-knit ambience, and bonhomie. Yes everywhere you go in South Africa, the Senegalese communities are unmistakable. I was well known to this particular lot though I had not seen most of them for years (save for intermittently bumping into each other in toropo- the city)

We hugged each other, shook hands, catching up. Incidentally they are all Muslems so their names ranged from Mohammed to Hassan etc. Over the years I had helped many of them with their “papers” and other documents, hence it was no surprise they seemed genuinely pleased to see me.

At last I set eyes on one of my favourites (let’s call him Ahmed). Tall, wiry, very dark and brimming with his usual energy – though I could see that his moustache was getting quite grey now. We greeted each other heartily. “Ah Monsieur,” he said. “Ca va. Ca va!” how’s it been? Another one of them gently dragged me to his shop, saying: “I remember you love sun shades (dark glasses). I can give you one for free. I know you won’t buy; you are too stingy for that!”

I grinned. “You mean, I am too poor!” The temporary fanfare continued till I put my foot in it (as usual?). Thinking of his taciturn, good natured wife I said to Ahmed: “By the way how is Madam? Your wife?”

The convivial atmosphere suddenly exploded into smithereens. Ahmed clenched his fists angrily and for a terrible moment I thought he was about to punch me! His face convulsed with anger and revulsion. What had I said wrong? “I am sorry…” I quickly said.

Trying to pull himself together, Ahmed managed to say: “Mon ami, never never ask me about that woman again…”

Meanwhile, one of his compatriots dragged me to a corner and said: “Of course you have not heard. Ahmed and his wife parted a couple of years ago. She…she just left him…for another man…these women. You know Ahmed is a man of peace very gentle; it was a big shock to him; despite the fact he had seen it happening to many of us…I mean our SA women leaving us,”

“I did not know,” I said weakly. I was about to move to Ahmed and apologise to him when he (Ahmed himself) suddenly materialized beside us and he apologised. “I am sorry,” he said. “It’s not easy for a woman; one’s wife…to leave one, and go to another man. She actually faced me directly that fateful day and said she was leaving me for another man; despite the child we shared, and her first child (fathered by another man) that I treated for years as if she were mine!”

“Don’t talk about it,” I said. “You’ll move on…”

“I am NOT going to move on,” Ahmed said, acerbity in his voice. “I will never have anything to do with these women again. Believe it or not, she told me that she had met another man who would take care of her much better than I could! A tsotsi! Imagine all the money I spent on her first child alone, who’s not even mine, sending her to primary school; transport, food every time…”

“Ag, don’t think about it Ntate. Life can be unfair…let’s forget it,”

But Ahmed spoke on: “It’s because I am a foreigner that she treated me like that…like I am nothing…”

However I did not believe this, though I said nothing else. How many times have I heard even my SA male friends complaining about how their women treated them “shabbily”; “used them”; “destroyed them” or ultimately left them. Probably a sign of the times. C’est la vie…