Kwaito Love Read Online Free Page A

second look.”
    â€œHe’s certainly giving you a second and a third look now.”
    â€œYeah, I think he is.” Mpho couldn’t keep herself from smiling. How often do childhood dreams come true?
    Marika quickly put her bright, clashing street clothes back on. “Listen, I have to rush. I have a business studies exam I need to go and fail. Then choir practice. See you tonight, heh? Don’t be late. You know I’m a bit scared of your cousin when she gets going.”
    â€œAnnabella? She just likes to have a good time, that’s all.”
    â€œGood time or not, out in the farmlands of Rustenburg we’re not used to table-top dancing.”
    Mpho rolled her eyes. “Eish! That was a one-time thing, she usually stays firmly on the dance floor, but don’t worry, I won’t be late. Thabang and I are just going to lunch.”
    â€œOkay, girlie! Have fun. Gosh, I’m jealous. He’s such a hunk!” Marika rushed out the door in a scary blur of pink and red.
    Mpho changed into the clothes she’d brought: a tight black T-shirt with Che Guevara on it and a long, flowing, multicoloured cotton Indian skirt. She wrapped her head in a massive burgundy scarf and put on a chunky necklace with matching wooden hoop earrings. She sprayed perfume all over herself and headed for Mr Habib’s office, hoping she didn’t still smell like a packet of chips.
    â€œDon’t you look lovely!” her boss said when she entered the office. “Is this a date you’re going on?” He looked at Mpho with one eyebrow raised.
    â€œMr Habib!” she said, embarrassed.
    â€œOkay, sorry . . . Apologies. I know you young people; you like to keep secrets from us old people. But you should know that one day long ago I was a young people too.” Mr Habib winked at Mpho.
    Thabang looked at her and they laughed. He stood up and shook Mr Habib’s hand. “Thanks for the tea. One of these days I must pass by your house to see Mrs Habib.”
    â€œShe would be so grateful for a visit. Now, you children, be off. Have fun.” The old man shooed them out of his office.
    * * *
    Thabang drove them to Melville, to one of the little Greek restaurants there. The walls were painted with murals of white villages against blue skies and a turquoise sea. The paint was chipped, as if the place was as old as the Greek myths written on the back of the menu and on wooden planks around the restaurant. Most of these eateries were lucky if they lasted for ten years. The air sizzled with the scent of olive oil and spicy meat and Mpho’s stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten breakfast because she’d been too nervous about her date with Thabang.
    Mpho knew nothing about Greek food, so she let Thabang order. A platter came with an array of finger food: little spinach pies called spanakopita, a type of chickpea dip called hummus, covered in olive oil and eaten with delicious pita bread, black olives and bits of meat on skewers.
    Thabang would pick out various pieces and say, “Here, try this.” And Mpho would open her mouth like a small bird being fed. Then Thabang would lovingly place titbits in her mouth. They washed the food down with sweet red wine. Mpho had never been to a place like this, had never been on a date like this either. She was used to movies or going out to their local hang-out, the Chameleon Club. But she liked this and told Thabang that she did.
    â€œI’m glad.”
    â€œSo you never finished telling me what happened with you and Jakes,” Mpho said.
    â€œI feel really bad about it. Jakes and I were close, you remember? We were best friends since we were tiny. And suddenly it was gone. It was part of why I went away to Cape Town. I needed a new scene. I lost a really good friend when Jakes decided the band was over. I felt terrible.”
    Mpho didn’t like the sound of that. “What happened?”
    â€œWell, if