CLIMATE OF FEAR

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

The non-smoking zone here was essentially occupied by only two of us, seated on adjacent sofas. I for one; and then the white lady to my left sprawled on the sofa, seemingly tossing and turning whilst asleep. Or so it seemed, as two, there young men intermittently came to our side, making prurient plans and comments as regards the woman.

This was an eatery/tavern joint I rarely came to. But as I passed the place today the assistant manager in charge who happened to be a friend of mine saw me and shouted that “it had been a long time and I should enter and have at least one drink on the house” as it were; so I decided to relax a bit at the non-smoking zone where few people came to. But because of the woman there now, the white woman, the pesky guys kept on popping in and out!

They moved close again and their conversation was so bad, so embarrassing this time around – they were volubly saying what they would like to do to the woman – that I was moved to tell them: “Gentlemen, pls! This is South Africa, a free country. Leave the woman alone, asseblief (Please). Let her feel free here. Remember that this is August, Women’s Month. Just assume the lady is your sister or Aunt...you won’t want any harm to befall them...what do you say, pals?”

I was expecting at least one of them to be angry or belligerent towards me, but the two beside me just moved closer to me and said: “Thank you my brother. We are good people. We never meant the lady any harm. God knows that. We know you our brother; we’ve seen you in the papers. We are not bad people...” The one near me hugged me, followed by the other one who smelt strongly of cigarette. “We are sorry, we won’t disturb her...or you...we’ll go back to our table. We MUST respect women,” It was almost a comedy of errors, but that’s what drink could do!

I finished my drink and decided to relax a bit. Then I heard the supine white lady on the sofa say to me: “Thank you,” She did not sound drunk at all, just a bit tired. She sat up and came to sit beside me. After telling me her name was Nadia she went on:

“I was listening to them as I lay on the sofa. Foolish guys. They don’t know I have no fear for them. I can take care of myself anytime, and I rather like putting men in their place. You know Charlize Theron, the great SA actress of course. You know what her mother did to her father,”

I nodded solemnly. “She killed him, eh? Must have been very traumatic for Charlize.”

“Yes.” The lady said. “Charlize’s Mom killed her man. Self-defence. I killed my husband too years ago. He abused me. I had to spend time in jail for this of course. No regrets. Killing a person makes you feel a certain way. Sort of powerful and fearless. You know how it is,”

At this stage I had to admit to her, feeling almost ashamed in the process, that I have never actually killed any human being in my life.

She stared at me. “Ah well,” she went on. “Anybody, especially a man who tries to be violent with me will regret the day he was born. Have you heard about Katherine Knight?”

I could not immediately remember the connotation of the name, so Nadia explained to me now: “Katherine killed her lover in a bad way, I suppose. She stabbed him many times, dozens of times. Then she cut off his head, then she skinned him...cooked his body parts... what she did horrified the world; but for me I regard Katherine Knight as a sort of role model,”

I flinched. I now remembered the case of Katherine Mary Knight. A sadistic abuser and killer! The only thing on my mind now was to get away from this so-called lady! I tried to look calm and steady. “Interesting,” I said. “Pity I must go now. It’s been nice meeting you,”

She stared at me again. “You are shaking, my friend,” she said. “Surely you are not scared of me? Did what I said scare you? Surely you know I would never attack or harm someone like you; I now regard you as my friend...” But I felt even more uneasy.

“I am not scared,” I lied. “I just have to keep an appointment now,”. I forced a smile. I did not want her to regard me as an enemy!

“Okay...” she smiled. “Will you give me your number then? And perhaps a hug?”

I forced myself to do this. And as you can guess, it was a fake number I gave her!

PHOTO (Top) Katherine Knight, who killed her lover, cooked his flesh, and served this on plates...