At thirty-two thousand feet above sea level, cruising in a private jet with Steve Hofmeyr, it’s your humble narrator, AB. We’re on our way to Australia, to speak to Kevin Pietersen.
In case you are reading this chapter first and you are ignorant of the context, Kevin Pietersen is a complete dickhead. Also, he is captaining the South African cricket team tomorrow when they play Afghanistan in the Cricket World Cup semi-finals. You might think that this is normal (that Pietersen is captaining the team, not that he’s a dickhead). Trust me, it’s not.
Steve gets Nursie to clean out the minibar before we board the jet. All of my lovely booze is gone with a smirk and a turn of the heel. I see her eponymous chest one last time before I’m left with Steve and his concern. And the pilot.
“Your turn, AB.”
I pull my eyes off the ransacked minibar and look at Steve. “My turn for what””
“Your turn to tell me about your world. I mean, how it is you see the world, or what’s different, or weird for you. You say that Africa – in your version – has more than four countries? How many? Six? Ten?
“Um…more than ten. A lot more than ten.”
“And our ancestors were never taken as slaves to Africa? And they were never colonised?”
“What about me. If you’re not part of The Dudes, then how do you even know me? Am I still your friend, in your world? Is Brenda still….singing?”
I look straight into his eyes, brown and hopeful as a puppy’s. “Brenda leads a quiet and happy life. In my world. She isn’t a famous diva, she just sings for the choir. Steve, I’m really tired. Please let me get some sleep before we land. I’ll chat to you when I’m done with Kevin.”
“OK, AB”, he says, cradling my answer.
TO BE CONTINUED