DURING MY VARIOUS EXPLOITS IN Joburg, I became attached to four men who paid me well each month to ‘keep’ me for periods of time. One of these men was Suleiman, a businessman who was gentle and sweet with me. Originally from Tanzania, he lived in Cape Town.
I enjoyed his company, and got to know him well. I never let him know about my past; I lied about my life and background. I just told him I was in Joburg ‘doing my thing’ as a waitress. I thought that if he knew about me, it would spoil the type of relationship I was hoping might develop with him.
When we were apart Suleiman liked phone sex, but he would sometimes travel to be with me for a few days in Joburg. He also paid me to visit him in Cape Town, and I would manage to secretly and briefly visit my son and mom. In Joburg or in Cape Town, I would stay with him for several days at a time.
He never told me what business he was into, but he paid me well, which gave him authority over me. Sometimes I thought I was becoming emotionally attached to him, and he seemed interested in me too, because he was caring and loving.
But he also became very controlling.
I couldn’t take any drugs in front of him, because he disapproved. Rather, I would have to sneak them into my system before we met up so I would be high during our time together. He didn’t like me smoking weed either, so it was a whole mission to try to camouflage my weed as a cigarettes, and then I’d gargle with mouthwash to kill the smell.
If I came to his house in Cape Town, he wouldn’t let me leave. And if I needed to go out, like shopping for something, I had to give him a very good reason. He locked me in the house when he went out. My phone always had to be on because he would frequently call me.
Because I was also doing drug drops, I had two SIM cards for my phone. So if we went out, say to the mall, I’d make sure I had both SIM cards with me. I sometimes needed to call my drug lord to deliver the drugs, so once at the mall, I would excuse myself from Suleiman and go to the ladies’ toilets to change my SIM and call my pimp. Then I’d switch back to the only number Suleiman had for me.
I also always had to find ways of keeping myself high in order to service his needs, so while I was in the toilets, I’d quickly smoke some weed with cigarette tobacco. Then I’d meet up with him somewhere where there were lots of people – hoping he wouldn’t focus on my body and smell.
Sometimes Suleiman called me during one of my SIM-card swops, and got my voice message. When he asked me why I had turned off my phone, I had to tell him I dropped it, or got water inside it, or something. Then he would angrily ask who I’d really been calling.
I had to do what he wanted me to, when he wanted it.
Sometimes, I thought he was crazy. He would make me stand naked in front of him to check my body and my bum, to make sure I smelt good. If I didn’t smell right, he would ask me to take another shower. He followed Muslim sanitation rules and demanded cleanliness at all times. I had to wear long dresses inside the house, and cover my whole body. This made me crazy, wearing so many clothes.
But he was paying me well, so I didn’t want to mess things up. And I was still fond of him because he could be really romantic. Sulieman would sometimes do nothing with me sexually – we would just lie together, or talk. Or he would sit up in bed with the light on and look at my nude body. Or he would decorate the whole house with candles while I just lay there. We wouldn’t have intercourse but would just watch each other play with ourselves.
When we did have sex, he thought he was the greatest performer. I felt sorry for him, because he wasn’t particularly satisfying, but I just let him do whatever he wanted to do. And because I liked him, I gave him more pleasure. I didn’t tell him I was getting emotionally attached, and I always took my morning-after tablet.
One night in Cape Town, Suleiman asked not to use a condom, and when I returned to Joburg after that, he became very quiet. He owed me R6000 for those few days’ visit with him, but his money hadn’t been transferred into my re-opened bank account.
I called him: ‘When are you sending my money?’
He dropped the phone, and this happened several more times.
When he finally called me, giving excuses about difficulties with his business, I told him to consider the baby I was carrying.
Of course I was lying, but he freaked out.
But what did he expect? I thought. I had cooperated with him by having sex without a condom. His side of the deal was that he had to pay me.
When we’d first met, I had thought he was single, but by now I had found out that he had a wife who lived somewhere outside Cape Town. So I sent him threatening SMSes telling him that I knew everything about him, as well as his mother’s address and his wife’s address.
I said, ‘I’m going to call them right now and tell them who I am and that I know where you stay in Cape Town, and what you’re on about.’
We went on back and forth. I gave him a sob story, telling him that I really wanted to keep this baby because I felt something had developed between us.
‘I feel this can work with us,’ I said.
‘What will my parents in Tanzania think if I told them?’ On and on, he told me all his challenges: ‘My wife cannot have this trauma right now – she has her own traumas.’
I retorted, ‘I have nothing to do with your problems. What about me and my kid?’
He asked me to get rid of the baby, saying we would have a longer relationship without the complication. Then he sent me money each week for an abortion. He asked if he could get me a place to stay in Cape Town so that we could be closer together.
‘No,’ I said. ‘This is happening now, this baby. And I want it.’ I wasn’t going to go anywhere.
I never really cared what happened when I told stories like these. I would never worry about the outcome. I would always justify it to myself, because there was always something I needed – a drug, a client, money – to survive.
Suleiman really started to freak out. When he cried over the phone, I felt quite stupid about telling my lie. But I went on.
I asked him to come to Joburg to be with me for the abortion. He said he couldn’t. I insisted that if I had an abortion, I wanted him there with me, otherwise I would not do it.
I said, ‘I’ve always been a support to you, so why can’t you support me now?’
And that’s when he turned on me. ‘What? Now you’re sounding like a girlfriend. Since when did you become emotional?’
I was now sure that all men are the same. The same issues.
He said he would send money to me via a friend. But I rejected that idea. What if the friend killed me or did something violent to me to make me lose the baby? Then he agreed to send me R4000 before the abortion, and R4000 afterwards, as long as I sent a form from the clinic confirming that the procedure had been done.
I continued to insist he be in Joburg with me during the abortion. If he had actually flown to see me in Joburg, I would have told him I wasn’t pregnant. I would have told him the truth. And the truth was that I just wanted to see him because I liked him.
Eventually I realised that I couldn’t convince him, so I had to settle with accepting money and not communicating any longer.
Was I going to continue looking for a loving, caring relationship after that?