Tlalo la Coke

Teiman and I, 11/06/2017 at home in Kanye

I must have been 11 or 12-years-old. Since my brother and I had finally triumphed over mmelerice the other day, we were to be rewarded with a bolo ya letlalo. Mealie rice was persistently a mission to take down. You see, unlike her sweet mother rice, mealie-rice absorbed all the tasty minestrone soup. That gentle rainy Sunday afternoon, after months of begging Papa le Mama for a leather football; as soon as Mama urged us: ”kgaritlhang dibeisane pele!” Mmelerice turned into her sweet mother.
The following day, just before 5pm, Mama finally arrived home. We were upgrading from a plastic football, to ‘bolo ya letlalo’. We were going to play with the same ball the likes of the pacey Follow and the celebrated dribbling- maestro Zola used; during the fiercely encountered Kanye derby between my team Swallows and the formidable Pirates. They must have been good because of the ’leather football’ they used. They were the talk of the village. Only the ‘stadium’ head of security, the great Mr. Baaitse, could take the spotlight off them, for his renowned special modus operandi. For lack of time, I will not share his famous method.

Upon her arrival, we were deservedly presented with the bright red and white, Coca- Cola printed football, it was post-card perfect; she must have bought it from Ga-Nolobolara, if not Ga-Tshumu. It was a historic moment. Hugging it, I immediately charged outside our yard to the patlelo, with my brother right behind me; where Teiman joined us. Teiman lived just opposite home. He was 2 years younger than me, the same age as my brother, well built and of average height; he had a very contagious laughter and was ‘more informed’ with the village affairs than I was. Upon seeing the bright football, ”tlalo la coke!” Teiman passionately shouted. Tlalo la coke it became. Because it rained the day before, our ’pitch’ was in perfect condition, not dusty. We playfully kicked the leather off the ball for about 15 shortened minutes; disastrously, due to the thorny trees nearby, tlalo la coke punctured.

Right away, Teiman suggested we rush to Civil Service Filling Station, as we could use a powerful air pump to solve the disaster. Instantly, with the wounded tlalo la coke assuredly under my right arm, the trio raced through Teiman’s home yard. Sprinting down the dirt road, we passed a couple of Chibuku fragranced Shebeens. Even ‘oska wa nkatamela tsotsi o tlaa nchesa ka kwae’ melodious tune, loudly emanating from the other sepoto, didn’t distract us. Usually, we would stop for a dance competition. Upon reaching BG mall, we flew past the ever crowded BG bar; we, impatiently waited for a few seconds… as the SB-driven View the World Tours ‘Persian cat’ bus, charged past, before crossing the main road, tarred. Even the inviting aroma of the famous ‘satellite’ mangwinya rising from Mabogo-Dinku Fruit Market failed to slow us down; it was all about Civil-Service Filling-Station air pump.

Landing at the petrol-scented filling station, we breathlessly waited for our turn and just after a happily whistling man in his KBDT printed green overall outfit, finished pumping his blue corolla taxi-car tyre, a shiny yellow taxi sign overhead; we cheerfully sneaked towards the pump machine. We all went on our knees to ‘heal’ the ball. With my brother and Teiman’s hands on the ball, the ‘ill informed’ me, brimming with confidence, grabbed the black hose. Thuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!!!!! ‘tlalo la coke’ went into pieces!

I never finished mmelerice… again.