King Solomon's Baby

1.A Meeting of two worlds
5 December 2007
The day of the company year-end party had arrived. It was hot and sticky weather, perfect for the chosen venue. We all had to be at Wild Waters, a water theme park in Boksburg, which was about 7 kilometres from Daveyton, by 12h00.
I’d put sunscreen on at home, before putting my swimming costume on under my clothes. I was a little self conscious in my shorts, but I’d be damned if I was to going to sit around baking in a pair of jeans in 35 degree heat. People at the office weren’t used to me in flat shoes, boy were they in for a surprise when they discovered I’m actually knee high! I’d smothered my very white legs with instant tan, and was quite happy with the streaky terracotta colour they ended up. Even cellulite looks better with some colour.
On arrival, we were given a little backpack with a green towel, matching hat, sunblock, a shot of tequila and a tablet for the hangover the next day. This was not an unusual party pack in the ad industry. The SABC were known to host legendary parties. Clearly it was going to be a long day. I promised myself that there would be no hangover or sunstroke for me the following day, in spite of the tequila still burning the back of my throat.
The sun was hot, with the occassional shadow and rumbling of aeroplanes flying low, ready to land on the runway, which was within a kilometer of the party. The venue was an oasis in a desert of mine dumps, palm trees decking the waterslides and wave pools. The day progressed just as office parties do, with loud music, people swimming in their clothes, one or two uptight nerds who surprise everyone by turning into Justin Timberlake on the dance floor, and of course the wall flowers who would rather have had a day off than be there. They sit and observe all those letting their hair down with disdain, and generally leave after the first course or speech.
I’d spent most of the afternoon either in the pool, on the waterslides or on the dance floor, dancing with my friend Clive, the two of us entertaining everyone on the dance floor as we often ended up doing. He was awesome on the dancefloor, and made whichever women he was dancing with look amazing. I used to try and make sure that woman was me, thats if of course if I was still sober enough to stand, being the crazy party girl I sometimes was. He had been my friend for many years. He was very good looking, with aqualine features and the smoothest mocha coloured skin. He dressed in dramatic suits with chinese collars and walked with purpose. He could easily have been a model. Although he swore he was straight, he had a habit of squealing when he was excited, and used words like fabulous often. I’d yet to see him with a girlfriend. I’d never really questioned him and appreciated that he was perhaps as confused with life and relationships, as I was After a boerewors roll, and several glasses of wine, a few of us decided to move our party to another location (as you do... especially when you rather should be heading home.) We agreed to meet at a restaurant in Parkhurst, an upmarket "arty" type suburb in Johannesburg, where everyone had renovated their houses or turned their homes into little art deco street cafes, complete with tables, umbrellas and travelling artists pedalling their wares.
“Want me to drive my darling?” Clint asked as we headed to my car. We had decided to travel together. Grateful, I handed over my keys and climbed into the passenger seat of my Jeep. In spite of my resolve earlier that day, I could feel the wine had hit me, and my shoulders and face were tender from the sun. Oh well, I’d just have water or cold drink at the restaurant and go home. Hopefully there would be no roadblocks later, as I definitely couldn’t see myself talking my way out of that one.
In the car we immediately started discussing everyone and their behaviour. We speculated on who was shagging who. There were a few vomit-ers, a stripper and at least one or two pass out-ers by the time we left. Not that we had much room to talk, given the way we’d each behaved at some of the parties we’d had in the past, but there certainly were some people who made us look saintly by comparison. (I’m always grateful to them, as quite often I’m the one doing the Brigitte Jones bunny eared, karaoke impersonation) Having exhausted the subject, we lapsed into a contented silence.
The sun was about an hour away from setting. I put my feet up on the dashboard and put the music louder. It was lovely being a passenger. I reflected on the year, and told myself as I do every year, that it had been the best year yet. I decided some time ago, I wasn’t going to be one of those “that was the hardest year yet, next year is going to be my year” type of people. It’s totally overused. Really, so if this wasn’t your year, then who had it for you? I’d had my ups and downs and heartbreaks, but it had been a superb year for learning lessons. Some of which I hope never to repeat. I wondered what 2008 would have in store for me. I knew the start of it was going to be exciting, as I’d planned to spend New Year in Amsterdam. I’d never been there before, but I imagined that a 36 year old single woman with no responsibilities could have a blast in that city.
We approached Parktown, a suburb in Johannesburg, that although had become a little run down, still boasted beautiful original Victorian buildings We turned right to get into the main street. I observed the houses, and realized how much I didn’t notice when driving. The houses were all old, some of them renovated, others falling into a state of disrepair. We were swiftly approaching Parkhurst. In the distance I could see a house with jungle gyms and swings. I smiled and got ready to wave, at the kindergarten kids I expected to see. I saw little figures running in the garden, near the green picket fence. I started waving, but the shock of what I saw, made my arm weak. The little faces smiling back, were not normal. In fact, it looked like they had tiny goblin masks on. They saw me noticing them. They screeched, running and jumping with one or two twirling in the air shouting “Sweets! Please buy us sweets!” With horror, I registered the severe disfigurement I was seeing. But as quickly as I noticed their cruelly scarred little faces, I couldn’t help noticing the glee and excitement these children contained. They were thrilled with life, from what I could see.
“Clinton, look at those kids!” I gasped
“Haven’t you seen them before hun? We pass by here often. They’re kids who have been burnt”