The Pavement Bookworm

by Philani Dladla

  I asked Siyabonga how he had ended up begging for food scraps and coins at Empire Road.

  He said: ‘Hey, it’s a long story my brother. I’ll just give you the highlights because I have got to hustle now, brother. I was only 16 when I left home. Everybody was tired of me and my dirty work. I was just having fun but my drug addiction problem got worse every day. I started stealing money from home but before I knew it everybody became more careful with their money, so I started selling my belongings. Soon I ran out of things to sell, but I still needed drugs to keep me high so I started making friends with some notorious neighbourhood thugs. We were breaking in and stealing in our own hood and emajaradini ez’ngamla [white people’s houses]. Some of my crew members got arrested but I continued stealing and breaking into people’s houses, using all the tricks and knowledge they passed down to me. I was now working alone and got arrested a few times. Then I left home because I was running away from the enemies I made while I was still working with my friends.

  ‘Now I’m only 22 but I have already caused so many people pain and stress and scars, I might even have killed a man but maybe he survived.’

  Suddenly Siyabonga didn’t want to tell me anymore. He said he had wasted enough time already and that he was there to hustle and not for the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC). He said Let me go try my luck on that flashy Mercedes S500. While I unpacked my books from the bag I watched carefully as he approached the man in the Mercedes who didn’t look very friendly. He opened his window.

  Siyabonga greeted him with a smile, ‘Hi sir, please help me out with some small change or food.’

  The man listened attentively as Siyabonga begged. Then he just laughed out loud and said: ‘My boy, go tell your brother Julius Malema to give you some food and money. Your brother Julius has got a lot of money. He is the one who should share with you, not me; I’m not your brother. Didn’t you hear your brother Julius telling your people to kill my people?’

  That man’s words killed Siyabonga’s spirit. He didn’t have the energy to hustle anymore after that encounter. He came back to where I was standing to talk to me again. I told him not to feel bad about what that man said to him.

  He said, ‘Don’t worry my brother, I have been on the streets long enough not to worry about people like him. He is just a dog like his slave-trading ancestors.

  ‘Every day I beg people for food to eat and money to get high. Some people even bring me clothes to wear, but what they don’t know is that I don’t care about looking good or feeling warm, I only want to get high, so I sell the clothes and groceries I get and buy drugs with the money. I’m a combination of good and evil. I steal from people who have plenty and sell to people who don’t have much. Some people see me as a bad guy and some see me as a good guy. I used to smash and grab but now I only beg and help people who are stuck. Maybe the car broke down or they ran out of gas or if they’ve got a flat tyre I help change it or get water if their car is overheating, I don’t have much power but I do give a push if the car needs a kick-start. I also give directions to people who are lost. Because I’m from the streets, I’m like a navigator and I know all the directions to every little town in this big bad city just like a streetwise taxi driver. As I’m talking to you, my friends and I, abo s’gidla waar [the homeless], are helping the police stop the bad guys who smash car windows during rush hour traffic and grab handbags, laptops or whatever they can get their hands on from inside the car.’

  I was still new to being homeless so I didn’t know what a s’gidla waar was. I asked Siyabonga but he just laughed at me and said, ‘Boy you live on the streets yet you don’t know what a s’gidla waar is?’

  He said my homework was to find out. ‘My brother, these streets can consume you. This is a concrete jungle where the bad meets the evil so you better keep your eyes wide open and watch your own back here.’

  Then he went back to his hustle. I continued arranging my books, ready to try my luck like he was trying his. After a few minutes a lady in her mid-30s jumped out of a white van with a stack of newspapers in her arms. Siyabonga crossed over the road to help her carry them. They looked heavy but he didn’t mind. I saw how happy he was to be helpful to others. He called me over and introduced me to the lady saying Dimamzo (lady), this is Philani. He told me that she had been selling newspapers at Empire Road for many years and that I should always remember to show her some respect. She didn’t look happy to see me there – maybe she saw me as competition because I was selling books. After the introduction, Siyabonga went back to his hustle and I went back to my books.

  At first I didn’t want to actually sell my books. After all, we had a long history together and they were my friends. These books were my inheritance from Mr Castyline. When I moved to Johannesburg I was already in love with books and took about 12 books with me. Some of them were first editions. My plan was to sell only the stories contained in the books, not the books themselves. I still wanted to keep the books – I suppose like having your cake and eating it. I never wanted to part with them.

  I’m sure my idea sounded crazy; that’s why when I told Siyabonga that I was there just to sell the stories in the books he thought I was just another crazed drug addict.

  My plan was to sell book reviews to Wits University’s people. I walked up and down the street with my priceless pile of books telling people to pick any book they wanted me to tell them about. Some thought they were smart. They picked books they’d read again and again like A Tale of Two Cities, Wuthering Heights or Pride and Prejudice. But I surprised them; you see I was not taking chances. I know my books just like I know my own history. I gave them synopses as good as if they’d just read the whole book again. I was pleased to see that they were impressed. I never asked them for money but they gave me money from the goodness of their hearts. I was even getting suggestions and ideas from people who liked what I was doing.

  From day one people loved my idea. I remember a man gave me a R100 note because he liked what I was doing. He suggested that I start selling academic books and said that many students would buy from me. A woman called Enid went crazy over my idea and told me to come the next morning because she would bring me more books to sell. Books never go out of style. Even e-books have failed to get hardcovers and paperbacks out of style. I mean, how can you get your favourite author to autograph an e-book? It’s been almost four years now and people still like and support my business.

  Lady Enid didn’t just promise to bring me books like some of the others who made empty promises. (Maybe they’d had too much good food and wine that night when they saw me on the street because I never asked them for anything.) Enid told me to be early because she would bring me the books and she did, out of the goodness of her heart.

  The book donation from Lady Enid gave me the break I needed because I was able to review my special books and sell the others. I made a lot of money that day and most of it went to feeding my drug addiction. But some of it went to good use and I bought some food, toiletries and washing powder. I bought new jeans and a shirt and more books to read and sell. That was how I spent that hard-earned cash and it made a difference. From that day I was a clean kid, although I lived under the bridge and was always wearing the same clothes. I was always clean and smelt good because my clothes were always washed.

  Keeping clean was hard work as every morning I had to fetch water from the broken water meter with a 5-litre bucket. I used the same bucket as a washing basin to wash in and a 500 ml cold drink container for drinking water and for brushing my teeth. Some mornings were so cold that when I got to the meter the water would be frozen. It went on like that for many months.

  I remember how when I was starting out, that some people looked at me like I was crazy, especially my own black brothers and sisters. Some made funny faces and silly jokes about me. I was called many names: an educated fool, just a hobo who was a waste of a good education, a street professor. Some American wannabes went to school in their friend’s car and every time they
saw me they were like, Hey, what’s popping Prof, what have you got for your students today?

  But most people I was selling to were nice to me and kept telling me to keep up the good work. They told me that it was the first time they’d seen somebody giving book reviews and selling books on a street corner. Whenever they said that I told them, There’s a first time for everything, and they laughed. I felt good knowing that people were feeling my style. That was the main reason I never gave up.

  All was going well until one morning when I got to my spot at Empire and things were different. Siyabonga was not the only one begging there that morning, he had some company – there were two other guys sitting on the pavement sharing a joint.

  They had black bin bags in their hands and I could see that they were getting ready to beg. Those guys didn’t seem happy to see me there, but I continued minding my own business and took my books out of my bag and started selling like I did every day. I looked at Siyabonga. I could see that he was scared of them; he didn’t seem to have much time to talk or even reply when I greeted him that morning. Instead he ignored me as though we had never met. While I was trying to sell my books, one of the guys smoking a joint on the pavement on the other side of the road crossed over to my side. He looked at me with eyes filled with hatred.

  ‘You don’t belong here! Who are you? Where have you come from and what are you doing here?’ he asked.

  ‘I am Philani from Port Shepstone and I’m here because I’m selling books,’ I answered.

  ‘Did you come all the way from Port Shepstone just to challenge me? There are many streets in Johannesburg. What made you think you could come sell your shit on my street?’ he continued.

  ‘I’m just trying to make money. I didn’t know you owned the streets,’ I replied.

  He smacked me twice in my face and said, ‘Well, now you know. I don’t like you here. While I was on a good holiday in jail, a stupid new face is busy spending my money.’

  Damn, he wanted to slap me again but I guess something told him that I had had enough already.

  He said, ‘Maybe you don’t know who I am? My name is Bongani and these are my streets and around here whatever I say goes. Right now I don’t want to see you here, stupid bookman, so you should go, before I change my mind and beat you like a slave.’

  Siyabonga came to my rescue and explained to Bongani that I was just a friendly guy who was not looking for trouble and that I was just there to sell books and get high like everyone else. For a moment it looked like he understood, but I guess he changed his mind. He demanded that I go stand under the tree where the ABSA investments sign was and wait for him to make enough money to go get high and on his return I would have to pay him tax money. I didn’t give him a hard time; I did just as I was told. Cowards live longer and I didn’t want to fight that guy. I gave him some space and I walked to the service station near Imperial Toyota and bought a packet of snacks and went back to wait under the tree for him to finish begging.

  Bad luck and trouble

  WHILE ENJOYING MY SNACK and my good book, All or Nothing by Elizabeth Alder, I was interrupted by a man who called me over. He asked who I was and what I was waiting for. I told him that I was selling books on Empire Road, and I was standing under the tree because I was taking a break.

  ‘You’ve got brains and you look like a nice guy. I’m going to buy all your books, just wait for me to come back,’ he said and smiled.

  For some reason I believed him, not because he was driving a nice car but because he was friendly.

  I didn’t have much choice but to wait, even if he wasn’t coming back, because I had to wait for that bully Bongani to finish begging so I could go back and sell. But if he did come back, it would be a bonus because I wasn’t going to have to struggle to sell my books since he said he would buy them all. That would be my first day of being sold out. I was so excited, but I continued reading, killing time and waiting patiently for the white Mercedes SLK 200 to come back.

  While I was wondering how I would spend the money I saw the white Mercedes indicate and park near Imperial Toyota. It was him. He opened his window and called me. I went running to his car with my pile of books. My mind was already on the money even though I hadn’t thought about how much I would charge him for all those books.

  The bad news was he had left his wallet at his office, he said, but the good news was that if I agreed to go to his office with him, he would pay me for all my books and a little something extra for my taxi ride back home. So I got in the car and he drove us back to his office. He was very friendly and told me a lot about himself. He made me feel like we had known each other for years, like we were of the same class.

  He told me his name was Mr Train.1

  We arrived at his workplace (I won’t name the company, to protect me from being sued). It was a nice office building, and he parked in a spot that had his name on it. He told me to follow him and not to talk to anybody. We took an elevator up to reception.

  I asked, What if security asks me for my details at reception? He said they wouldn’t because I was with the boss. Being the kind of guy that I am I did as I was told, and besides.

  Nobody asked me anything at reception and I didn’t say anything to anybody; I just followed him. We took a lift to his office on the top floor. It was the biggest office I’d ever seen in my life. It was bigger than the bedroom I had before I was homeless. He locked the door and asked me not to worry about anything. He told me that he only wanted to play with me and that if I played with him nicely he would pay me twice the amount he would’ve paid me for my books and I’d still get to keep my books.

  When I asked him what game he wanted to play with me he said, ‘Come on Philani, don’t act like you don’t know. Please show me your cock, don’t be shy, and don’t think too much about it. It’s just you and me here, no one will see or judge us. I only want to play with it.’

  He asked me if I needed something to drink. He had a mini-fridge loaded with all sorts of drinks, except alcoholic beverages. I told him, Still water will do, and he gave me a bottle of water and continued begging me to take off my pants.

  I guess he was used to being begged by poor people like me and not being the one doing the begging because suddenly he got pissed off.

  ‘Hey! I know you want money and you know what I want. If you don’t want to play with me, you’ll go play with the inmates in jail because I’ll call security and tell them you’re an intruder and a thief and that you were trying to rob me.’

  ‘I’m going to tell Security the truth,’ I said.

  He just looked at me and laughed. ‘Do you really think that they will believe you over me?’

  He was no more Mr Nice Guy. He looked really pissed off. I knew that because he was a big shot, arranging my trip to jail would be like, hey presto. I hadn’t made any book sales for the whole day, I was hungry and craving the drugs and I really, really didn’t want to go to prison.

  So I asked him how to play his game. He told me to relax and take off my pants, which I did. He grabbed my cock and played with it until it was hard. He was in a good mood again. His smile was back on his face, but I was still scared. He told me to put my pants on again. I was relieved that the nightmare was over.

  He said, ‘See, I told you that I won’t bite, what were you afraid of? Come, follow me.’

  He unlocked his office door, and I followed him to the lift. I was happy when he pressed the button for the ground floor because I thought we would go to the carpark. Little did I know, there was a gymnasium where he took me straight to the showers and instructed me to take off my clothes and take a shower. He brought me his shower bag that had everything he needed to make me clean and smell fresh.

  That was one of the worst days of my life. The only good thing about all that madness was I had a chance to bathe with hot water after a very long time of washing in my 5-litre bucket with ice-cold tap water. He didn’t let me enjoy the hot shower that day though. He was hurrying me up and telling me not
to waste his time. I had a feeling that he was panicking and if I tried fighting him, I might have won, but security was tight in that building. He used his access card to go everywhere and I didn’t know how many security officers were on duty that afternoon. I realised that trying to be smart would end in a quick trip to Sun City Prison.

  I think that the guy was very horny because, back at his office, he was not beating around the bush anymore like earlier.

  He took off his clothes and asked me to do the same. He kneeled in front of me and played with my cock until it hardened, then he sucked it. This was my first ever blowjob in my entire existence. I told you, dear reader, that I would tell you my life story as it happened, so judge me if you want to. It won’t break me. I have seen, experienced and survived worse.

  Don’t get me wrong, I was against what he did – he raped me, but there was nothing I could do about it. As long as it didn’t kill me I had to let him do whatever he wanted to with me. He could call Security and make up a story, and they would call the cops and tell them to lock me up and throw away the key. What would you do if you had a gun to your head?

  Now my worst fear was that he would ask me to blow him too, but surprisingly, after all that playing, he still wanted more. It was like he was greedy and he couldn’t get enough of my cock. He was kissing me and playing with my cock while the other hand was all over me. After awhile he took a lubricant out of his bag and applied it to my cock then on his rectum. He lay on the very thick and soft carpet and asked me to lie on top of him and penetrate him with my cock. We didn’t even use protection, but I did as I was told. He was enjoying every minute of it. He was busy making sounds like a woman. With the kind of noise he made, I don’t know if maybe his office was soundproofed or if he knew no one else was in the building. He praised me, telling me how good I was, telling me not to stop and how much he loved me. When his phone started ringing he ignored it and told me not to stop. I continued until we both climaxed. After we both calmed, he continued caressing me, telling me how nice it was, how much he enjoyed it and that he wanted us to do it again.