Nobantu Shabangu

It seems there is always a pulling happening in Johannesburg, be at the beginning of the day or at the end, a pulling of bags by family rushing out their flat to go to God-knows-where, a pulling of bags of a woman who has just arrived in the city looking up at the tall tall buildings with wonder, awe and fear, a pulling of an old shabby cart and  on it a fruit shop packed up by a Mozambican man pushing it to God-knows-where those fruits are stored; I’ve often wondered but stopped myself because these thoughts come just when I’m about to ravenously eat a mango or two. Johannesburg pulls you in; it’s magical like that, not that pink or green fairy kind of magic but that purple and green ugly kind of magic. It’s not for the fainthearted, it’s not for the weak, the dependent, the naïve, the fearful, the hygienic, the socially correct kind because no matter how good your intentions you cannot correct Johannesburg- you found it as it is and you will leave it as it is- unless of course you’re a rich white man or the government.

I have exactly fourteen days left in the city. I always give myself a time frame for the things I want to achieve or experience, take for instance my mundane job when I started I vowed to myself that I would not work for more than a year and to date it has been a year, two month and two weeks. My CV is cleaned up and I am looking at finding other jobs, problem is the problem is not finding other jobs because other jobs will always be there, the problem is I do not want any other job than the job to write because in writing I interact with individuals like myself and my soul is rejuvenated and awakened when I am with like beings. I have been writing plays and short stories and submitting them to different forums- hopefully one of them will yield. In the meanwhile I am looking for jobs that will feed my creative soul.
Johannesburg was also meant to last one year but unfortunately I’ll be leaving before that one year is up. I have enjoyed my time in this city (this city I was so terrified of when I was a child, I would rather my grandmother lock me in the house than take me with to this city) and today I walk it like it is my backyard.
Last year for the first time I used the outside green park gym and even though I am impressed by government’s initiative I wish the park was bigger, in  a better location and more inviting to females and tourists. The problem is the park is right by the taxi rank and we all know that is not a place where females feel safe. My first time at the park the gate was slightly opened (not inviting) and there was a security guard standing by it, he was kind and answered all my annoying questions. Inside the park was clean, a woman was fast walking around the track, youths were playing around the equipment and on the other side a fenced indoor soccer field was being cleaned. I ran around the track for about twenty minutes and then did some body weight training, while I was doing this the guards sat around and watched- I didn’t mind- I then went to the monkey bars and played like a little child before heading back to my flat. I am leaving Johannesburg because my soul is tired and my body is drained; I’m only now feeling the impact of the sad and torturing events that happened last year; it is like they compounded to form an emotional anvil which sits on my mind and I am not strong enough to be alone at the moment. I am going back to my beginning and there I know I will find peace. I don’t know if my mother was lying when she told me that a piece of my umbilical cord was buried in the backyard of my grandmother’s house- anyway I have a strong yearning to go back there and afterwards I will see. I am always restless and needing a move.
Today while procrastinating by people watching from the seventh floor I saw a lot of hot lesbians- don’t ask me how I know they’re lesbian I just do- anyway my legs are sore from yesterday’s workout but I’ve had like six cups of coffee so I’m buzzing with energy and so I think to myself I should run down and talk to one of them but as soon as I move my legs I realise it will take me forever to get down there and they will have been gone- for the first time in my life I wished I was superman so that I could swoop down and sweep them off my feet. I think I’ll do my people watching from the bottom floor at the fast food restaurant next to the flat- I’ll try my best not to look ratchet.
I’ve been thinking about being with someone and I am still thinking about it. It happens often at night at times like this when it is dark outside and the sound of crickets accompany the low voices of males walking the dimly lit streets, it happens when I prepare to go sleep solo, naked without anyone to talk myself to sleep with, it happens when I get lazy to cook because I mean I am alone, it happens when I see family members getting married and pregnant, it happens when I hear my heartbeat in my ears and I wish there someone to ask if they hear it too, it happens when I set alarms that I know I will miss and I wish there was another human to wake me up when it goes off, it happens when I think of her, and her, it happens each time I think of who will be the executor of my will, who will make sure my body is given to science because they alone will have understood me more than anyone, that over my dead body will I have fake people fake crying over my coffin because I have seen it happen too many times in my life time and it revolted me, it happens when I hope she will reject this notion of mine because she will have known my soul best through my body and she will not have scientists prodding it for eternity. It happens when I think of heaven and hell, and how I do not care about the hereafter as much as when she will be back to hold me because heaven and hell are the times when she’s around and when she’s not around.