DIARY

Life is a Bitch - a Diary Entry from a Nelspruit visit


Dear Diary

Today, many days later I'm still wondering why was I shocked when I was reliably informed that Sathane is on coke? I have been asking myself this question even at times when I woke up sweating in the early hours of the morning, and it puzzles me given that I have always suspected Sathane might be up to something not good.

See, Sathane is a multi-millionaire friend of ours, loaded with crisp cash, owns a R1,6 million mansion in one of Jozi's expensive suburbs, owns a lodge where he often lives in Barberton, an Mercedes Benz ML63, a Mercedes Benz Vito, a Mercedes Benz Viano, a BMW 3Series and a Mercedes Benz Kompressor CL65.

He's 32-years old, his wife passed away four years ago leaving him with their two kids and now he's into full-time skank-bonking. But Sathane has a lot going for him. He's got some government contracts that inject tidy millions into his wallet annually. He's nice and he talks a lot of sense when we are with him, even though when it comes to his social life he lies a lot to look macho. He tells us about ex-girlfriends who came one metre into the air when they orgasmed and let his linen damp. No ways, all lies.

Okay, our friend has bonked half of the so-called happening chicks in Jozi and he loves orgies with college students. For him taking eight chicks at a time is not an issue, as long as there's potency pills.

'Man, the way he was shoveling the muthafucka down his nose with his credit card you would have sworn you were dreaming' said one friend. The other guy interjects, 'that other weekend when he went out to the Viano I sneaked behind him and found him doing the Ferrari, veeeoooh, veeeoooh, he was killing long lines man'. Suddenly we are all laughing. The third guy who was in Jozi with them speaks, 'you know when he was at that table picking at the dust with his card and snorting it like snuff we were both like, 'no ways', we were gaping. He came back and says to us, 'these are drugs for people with money my friends'. We sort of looked at him and settled for our drinks'

So, we start discussing how in shit he really is. 'These days for him it's always Winter. He's always shaking and scrubbing his hands. When he sees you he asks for R500 for his R450 daily fix. That shit is expensive man. I told him, no ways muthafucka, I'm not hanging with you'

But then late in the evening we are driving home and reflect on the reality of the situation. My friend tells me about another friend of theirs who overdosed in May this year. 'He used to refer to coke as nthla ya thipa (tip of a knife). He was fried from work many times, expelled from school, parents called to deal with him, left Jozi for Nelspruit to find tranquility, only found e, buttons, purple haze, smack and other hallucinogens here and decided to go back to Jozi, and five months down the line he was dead'.

I'm like, 'Sathane man, that shit is like playing Russian-Roulette with five chambers of the dice loaded and only one empty chamber. Chances of dying are 5 to 1.'

That's serious business hey. But the common factor about all these folks is that they befriended the so-called celebrities who have no money but connections with drug dealers. And my Mpumalanga millionaires Club keeps losing members to the substance. One day, if Sathane overdoses I am going to name and shame the so-called celebrities who peddle this product of the devil, because I know them all and I often hang with them and decide to be loyal and not write about their binges.

So, my Dear Diary, that is the story I wanted to share with you. Your loyal confidante, Kasiekulture.