by Wayne Naidoo
Part 1.
It was the beginning of the soccer season and I had recently signed up with Wynberg Juniors FC. This was going to be my first gig as an official club player and I had huge aspirations of one day making it all the way to the UEFA Champions League.
Faizel was insistent that I was the next Diego Maradona and had what it took, due to possessing unique child bearing hips that allowed me to simultaneously pirouette and round house kick the ball when getting an assist from the mid-fielder 30 meters out. Simple mathematics.
We never embarked upon any pre-season training other than being chased by the cops – but we knew that we were at least mind-fit. The opening match was a biggie and we were up against our long-time rivals, Athlone United under 13. The crowd was huge and the expectation massive. Every parent, pa, ma, sibling, aunt, godmother and backyard neighbour came to support their home-side.
The teams lined up and not one team member even remotely matched the other, except for their two missing front teeth. I was convinced that all the kit was repurposed from the Kaapse Klopse* outfits after Tweede Nuwe Jaar*. Regardless though we stood firmly proud, as we were there to REPRESENT. The respective anthems were sung, both teams shook hands and we knew that this was more than just a game. This was grown up stuff.
The whistle blew and off we went galloping with Farouk “Vinniger Voete*” Allie, making the first headway. After his first 5 minutes into receiving the ball, he had already done 25 nutmegs, 12 bicycle kicks, along with a 300 meter ankle to head fartlek ball run. Voete was on fire and we all needed to raise our game to give him the assist that he needed.
First half was still 0-0 and I hadn’t even touched the ball yet. I may as well have been watching the game from Aneesa’s*. This had to change. The coach paced up and down and did this crazy “Any Given Sunday” speech, something about every little inch. I had no idea what rulers had to do with the game, but I made firm eye contact and nodded to him like one of those toy dogs on a furry dashboard of a Datsun 1600*.
The game looked like a Kungfu tournament, and we were now in the final minutes of full assault in the second half with the score still being the same. The crowd had now grown even more colourful and started encouraging our Mothers to support us even further. It was “Jou ma se” this and “Jou ma se” that. Truly uplifting.
Then just like that, the ball arrived like a meteorite from Afzal and landed on my yet to be developed chest. There was immediate silence and with just 45 seconds to go, I foxtrotted like I do to the loo in the morning after my first sip of hot Ricoffee. With a great sense of urgency.
The field was open, the crowd was now losing their nut and I could see the ticker tape parade being prepared in celebration of our glory. Both my left feet, had moves better than Michael Jackson in Billie Jean and I was as committed to scoring like Ouma Shirley at her Rotary Club Bingo evening.
I was 15 meters out and saw the gap in the net like a Fish eagle spotting a rainbow trout from out far. The keeper was gobsmacked and waved his hands all over the place like the guys in YMCA.
With all the football that came from within me, I put boot to ball, pirouetted and scored the most impressive top right hand corner goal, that William Herbert Sports Ground had ever seen since it had been founded in 1929. I did backflips, threw my number 9 shirt to the crowd, and howled like Leonardo Di Caprio in The Titanic – “I’M KING OF THE WORLD”.
The place had erupted with deafening euphoria. But from the wrong crowd. It was now 1-0. With the opposition leading.
I had scored at the wrong end of the field. Oh dear.
Life lesson #4 – Sometimes an immediate career change is needed.
Part 2.
I was employee number 5. There was the boss lady, Sharon Burochowitz, Mrs Abrahams (pronounced Abrrrims), Moona and the infamous Mister Davidson. Yes these were to be my first mentors.
Little did I know at the time, what I was getting myself into with these unstable crazy women, but being 17 years old, straight out of school, a boy’tjie from Mitchells Plain with a gutter education and with a knack for getting into shit – the mere thought of being in a legal firm surrounded by bossy suit types, brought a great sense of security and untold stature with it, even though I was employed to be just a messenger who was programmed to jump, lick envelopes and not to count teeth when the aunties were skinnering*.
Within a very short space of time, I quickly came to embrace a few other very important points to ensure my short-term survival at best:
-
- Don’t F&^$k with any of them.
- Ms. Burochowitz, Attorney at Law, could round house kick Chuck Norris
- A coloured goose* in power is a dangerous thing – worse when there’s more than one
- Don’t ever, ever, ever, call her, Mister Davidson
- That you can eat their left over, deep-fried fish and chips parcel with pickled onions every day, without losing your spleen
- That I was in fact their bitch
- DON’T F&^$k WITH ANY OF THEM
This was the harsh reality of my new existence, which I somehow came to understand and love over a two-year period.
Talk about the school of life. That is in fact what it was. I got schooled on everything, from re-understanding where a man really belonged in Darwins evolution chain, to how to “hou jou bek”* when the lanies* were speaking, all the way to being taught that only Michael Jackson could get away with wearing white socks with black pants. The learnings were plentiful and oh so priceless.
One of my biggest life lessons and probably the most fundamental turning point in my earlier career, was when I came back from delivering a registered letter on a very stormy day. I did so because I knew that it would benefit the company if the post got to the Sherriff’s office earlier. This sort of proactive thinking is what I was always taught, was what separated the men from the boys.
I returned drenched, yet purposeful, and instead of the obvious praise that I was somehow silently expecting, I walked straight into an enraged Ms. Burochowitz, who was frothing like she had forgotten to take her Tetanus shot that day. She took one look at me, and through her tightly clenched nearly-bleeding-teeth, softly uttered, “If you call in sick tomorrow, then don’t ever bother coming back”. This sent shivers down my spine as my family was dependent on the R480 per month that I was being paid at the time. I was powerless, but within that moment it triggered off a dormant ambition within me that I never knew existed.
Being on the back foot was never my favourite position, and I realised that the only way to ensure that this was never going to happen again, was for me to take full control of my destiny. I had no idea how I was going to do it, but it’s what I set my mind on. I had to move myself forward in one way or another, every single day.
It was soon thereafter that I changed my job. Not because it never offered any future career opportunities, nor was it because I had scored another own goal, but because of how absolutely insignificant I was made to feel.
I promised myself from that day on, that I would never allow another human being, to ever make me feel that way again.
So far, so good.
Life lesson #4.1 – Back yourself and never look back.
End.
*Kaapse Klopse – The Cape Town Minstrels
*Tweede Nuwe Jaar* – 2nd January celebrations where all the Minstrels troops would gather and parade down the streets of Cape Town
*Vinniger Voete – Extremely fast feet
*Aneesa’s – A famous local fast food institution
*Datsun 1600 – A very popular, cheap entry level car, that would be modified to suit one’s own preference
*Jou ma se – Arguably the most famous of phrases in Cape Town. “Your Mothers” ….you can only imagine
*Skinnering – Gossiping like hens
*Coloured goose – Mixed-race female usually from the other side of the tracks
*Hou jou bek – Just shut the F^&$% up
*Lanies – The bosses
Snakes and Ladders 