I�m going to buy myself a tv

Bame Piet | Thursday July 10, 2014 15:48

First, it was my abusive neighbour’s wife who locked me out several times when I wanted to watch some very important games. At times she would not even respond to my greetings, or she would prefer to watch soapies knowing very well that my visit to their house was about watching the world cup games. It really hurt me to listen to arguments between my workmates on how the other team missed opportunities that could earn them a victory; how referees were biased; or how some goals were extraordinary.

The World Cup was a source of news for everybody from us ‘city people’ to the rural folks. In the combis, buses, radio stations and bedrooms it was all World Cup news.

As usual, I arrived home at night to attend a funeral of some other distant cousin the following day.  The talk around the bonfire was about how Messi was the best player the world has ever produced. But there was no consensus between the young and the old. The division along generational gaps was clear, with the old folk arguing that there will never be a better player than Diego Maradona. Others argued that Brazil’s Pele was the best football player the world has ever produced.

“Mo ga bashianyana ba gompieno ga se bolo, ke metlae hela”. But there was something unusual about Uncle Sporo when I met him the following day, he has gained weight, was wearing new clothes and for some reason, also ignoring me.

He wasn’t the jolly uncle.  After the funeral we walked to his home and he was busy enjoying a lollypop. His greetings were too serious and straight to the point. I tried to lure him to the shebeen and he was not so interested. The last time I met him he was in high spirits, telling me how he was about to be appointed headman of records and he had already bought a pen. This time the pen was not there.  I found that Uncle Sporo had bought a television set, aerial antenna, a DVD player, Chinese Kung fu DVDs and was less interested in social gossip. “Kante what is the difference between black belt and Bantam Weight champion?” he asked me. I was lost as to what on earth Uncle Sporo was up to. These are two different titles for two different sports codes.

“I believe one cannot be both – you can’t do karate and boxing at the same time, unless you are a kickboxer, so black belt is for karatekas and Bantum weight is for boxing professionals,” I explained to him.

“No,” he responds, scratching his head struggling to explain what was in his mind.  “I am not taking about professors or what have you – just tell me, if you have won a title where you were provoked, are you a champion or you were just a victim of crime?” he asks. Our conversation is interrupted by a loud cheer from a seemingly Uncle Sporo number fan. I am still lost as to what has afforded Uncle Sporo so much fame this time. We get to Mma Timpi’s place and I order a quart for myself, since Uncle Sporo had been entertaining himself with a lollipop earlier on. Two men join us and they all greet Sporo with so much admiration. I develop concern that there is something Sporo is not telling me, why is he so famous? Have I been away from home for too long? A flood of questions start flowing into my head, but Sporo seems not bothered with the fame as he requests me to buy a round for him.  One of the men breaks the mystery. “Mothakanyana yole o ne a go tlwaela Sporo, mme o mo rutile batho”.

I now have a clue as to what Uncle Sporo has been up to. He was involved in a street fight, this is why he wanted to know the difference between black belt and Bantum Weight champion.

“So when are the guys closing, since it looks like the project is done,” one of them asks Sporo. “There is another project coming in Ditladi, so they are taking me there,” Sporo responds. Immediately we are done with the first round and the second round is halfway through. Discussions are loud and Uncle Sporo is opening up to me. “O sale o tsamaile Motlogolo. Kana I have been on a piece job by some contractor building a reservoir two kilometres from here, so they were very impressed with my job and they are taking me with them to another project”.

I now remember that Uncle Sporo has not called me for three months, nor has he sent me any call back. He offers to buy the third round to the excitement of the attendant who forcefully allocates herself P20 from his change. “Nnyaa rra, o sale ore o tlaa mpha madi, ke go tshwaretse gone ha,” the lady says as she hands over the change. Uncle Sporo doesn’t seem bothered with the ‘stolen’ P20 and moves on as if nothing has happened.

“So why is everyone cheering at you like this?” I asked out of curiosity.

One of the men who joined us earlier volunteers to share the information.

“There is this young man who was harassing people and he fell into a wrong trap. Sporo dealt with him He tried to produce a knife but Sporo dealt with him hard until he begged for mercy,” he shared. Meanwhile, Uncle Sporo is giggling and enjoying all this big story about him being shared with the ‘world’.  I returned a changed man from my trip home after learning that Sporo has bought himself a TV set, and is also interested in Kung Fu. I am going to get myself a TV set, even if it is on credit.