Strangers in Court

It was just three months I had moved in with Princess Adams in 2006. Her four children were residing in Ermello with her young sister. She was a part-time primary school teacher with no steady income. I worked for EPG Document Warehouse. Though she was 10 years older than me, loving her was the best thing in my life.

One time we were in a loving mood, and there was an incoming call on my cellphone.

"Wrong timing, who is it?" I muttered angrily. It was Norman Goliath who was the supervisor at EPG. He was also a money lender, calling to ask me when was I going to pay the money I borrowed from him.

"At the moment Princess and I..." "Can't get enough of each other," Norman interrupted. "You hit the nail in the head. Please call me in an hour's time," I told him, and ended the call.

A couple of months down the line I was without a job. Ever since then Princess' character changed from the person I knew, to that of a stranger. On numerous occasions, there was no relationship with her physical or otherwise. Sometimes, for me it meant going to the brothel for a quickie. One day I tried making love to her and she screamed at me.

"That's the only thing you know! There are many unemployed men out there who financially support their partners. I think it's better for me to sell my body for cash."

"Are you now implying that I should do whatever it takes in order to get money?" I asked her in a softened tone, as I laid my hands on her cheeks.

She pushed me aside. "Just be patient love, everything is going to be alright," I assured her.

"What do you know about patience? I need money right now," she shouted, and walked away.

It was the third week that I had been looking for a job without success. At one time she told me I always come back home empty-handed. I told her securing a job is not an overnight success activity. At times, I cleaned other people's gardens and earned R85 a day. On one occasion I got back home in the evening and went straight to bed. Princess was watching television as usual.

She later joined me in bed. I told her I got an odd job at a nearby bakery to work for couple of days. When I arrived at Awesome Bakery on the fifth day I couldn't work.

"You can come back tomorrow because we're out of stock," the senior baker told me. So, I headed back home. I caught Princess in the company of a man I never met before. I asked her who the man was. She chased me out of her house.

"This is my house, how dare you! You must pack your things and go right now."

I did as she said and left her in peace. I went back to Awesome Bakery and asked to be paid for the days I had worked. I received R400 and headed to Cape Town Bus Terminus. Then I bought a bus ticket for R350 to East London, which was my hometown. Before I boarded the Eastern Cape Express bus, I bought a loaf of bread and carton of milk.

The bus departed at 6pm and arrived in East London at 4.30am. It was a chilly Friday morning when I reached my final destination. The sea was a stone's throw from where I got off. I only had my single bag and jacket. A short distance on my left there were homeless guys sitting beside a brazier. I approached them and greeted polightly. They were curious to know who I was and from where I came. I told them my story.

"Welcome to the streets, the home of the homeless, buddy," one of them said. "Do you have something eatable?" another one asked. "We're starving big time here," a third one added.

I took out the loaf of bread and milk which I never ate and gave them. The group of ten shared the bread and milk amongst themselves. Begging for food was their only way of survival. For months in succession I slept on a street pavement.

"I'm in this kind of situation because of my stupidity. I can't believe that when my parents died I sold their house, and squandered R80 000 on booze. Today, I've got no place to stay," I told the street dwellers. I had no other choice than to do what they were doing - beg for food at shopping centres.

I remember the day I was begging a particular woman to buy me bread. She was shocked to see me in that kind of predicament. The sun had burnt my skin to the extent that I was pitch black, with filthy worn out clothes on. And my body was stinking like a dumping ground.

"What happened to you?" she wanted to know. "Don't you remember me back in high school? Both of us were competing all the time to get top marks for every test our class was given. And you used to call me your dimpled future wife," she recalled. It came to mind she was my high school sweetheart. That was back in 1993 when I was 20 years of age.

Her name was Busi Langeni. I narrated the sudden change in my life. Then she took me to her house which was situated in East London, where she offered me a warm plate of food. And I had a bath for the first time after three months of not bathing. That was the time I felt human again. From then onwards our teenage love was reignited.

Busi was a 29-year-old slender and soft-spoken dark beauty with long afro. She was now a lawyer by profession and owned a law firm. She offered me a job at Langeni Attonerys and Associates. A couple of months as her personal assistant, it was the first time she asked me to accompany her. Busi was going to represent a client in court.

"It's a husband and wife kind of case," she explained. "I'm confused," I told her. "The wife was on the run before she was recently arrested. The police had traced her whereabouts to Mpumalanga Province."

"Apparently, the wife paid a hitman R50 000 to kill her businessman husband for his life insurance worth R544 million. However, her plan didn't materialise," said Busi. "How did the cops know she hired a hitman?" I asked, curiously.

She told me instead of the hired man to follow through with the killing; he informed the husband that he was hired by his wife to kill him.

Her black Mercedes G-Wagon roared into gear and out of the garage. We arrived in Ermello and got into our hotel room in the afternoon. Busi had made reservations for two at The Bounty Hotel in advance. We had a shower together and got into bed early than usual, after a four hours drive.

We were in court the next day on time. I couldn't believe my eyes, Princess was the culprit who was accused of planning to kill her husband. I was also surprised that she was a married woman, because not once did she wear a ring back in Cape Town.

"Ms. Adams this is Dali Wam, my fiance. And baby this is Princess Adams, the client I'm here to represent today," Busi introduced us. We shook hands in an awkward moment like we never met before.

"Nice to meet you, Ms. ehhh..." "Adams Princess," she completed the words. "Nice to meet you too, what's your name again?" Princess asked me. Busi repeated my name for me, "Dali Wam".