CHAPTER ONE: THE BEGINNING
In the heart of Cape Town, under the sprawling shadow of Table Mountain, three friends gathered, a mixed-race trio bound by an unbreakable bond. Schalk, the tallest at a striking 220 cm, towered over his companions. At 30, he was the youngest—an imposing figure with a boyish charm, though his height often landed him in awkward situations. Then there was Bonganie, the oldest at 45, a Xhosa man who stood at a mere 139 cm. His stature belied a fierce spirit and a history steeped in resilience. Finally, MJ, the colored guy, brought up the rear at 173 cm, his 38 years marked by a blend of mischief and loyalty.
To understand them, one must start with Schalk, the boer boy. His story began with his father—a man of unwavering faith who found himself at the mercy of false prophets. A true believer, he prayed for miracles, yet the hypocrisy around him festered like an open wound. When the police caught wind of the scams that surrounded him, they came crashing down, dragging Schalk’s father into the chaos. The shame clung to Schalk like a shadow, and for years, he grappled with the weight of his family’s misfortune.
Then came the day they stole a tricycle from a high shelf. Ironically, it wasn’t just any tricycle; it had been lifted by a magician who vanished into thin air. As the police investigated, Schalk unwittingly walked into the scene. “That’s him! Just look at how tall he is!” someone shouted. Laughter erupted, but for Schalk, it was the beginning of a series of unfortunate events that seemed to follow him relentlessly.
Once, while trying to navigate a street, a thug shouted, “Who snitched on you?” Another thug replied, “It’s your mate; he’s easy to spot!” Just as Schalk rounded the corner, bullets whizzed past him—his height made him a target, an unwitting beacon of bad luck. Yet, despite the chaos, Schalk held onto an unshakeable confidence, believing in possibilities that had long since abandoned him.
Then there was Bonganie—the aspiring revolutionary. His father had fought for freedom, but Bonganie often found himself battling his own insecurities. In school, he was the instigator of a Toi-toi protest over something trivial: Life Orientation, or what many called PT. What was it about? A teacher’s punishment for mischief. He was a wannabe leader, but when push came to shove, you could find him hiding in the background, away from the fray.
MJ, on the other hand, was the wild card. Named Michael-Jackson Doctor Dre Waterboer, a ridiculous moniker bestowed by a father who idolized the King of Pop, MJ wore his name like a badge of honor. He embraced his quirky identity, even if it made him the butt of jokes. He was Bonganie’s partner in mischief, always ready for a laugh, but behind the bravado lay a heart that felt deeply—even if it was slightly bruised.
One day, as the three sat together, Bonganie broke the silence, “Listen, Schalk, what the hell do you do for a living? You’re a painter, right? The best at it, and yet they treat you like garbage! You don’t even have a ladder!”
“Yeah, they say it’s because I’m too tall,” Schalk replied, his voice tinged with frustration.
“Shut up!” Bonganie retorted. “It’s not fair! You can’t help being that tall!”
MJ couldn’t help but chime in, “And you can’t help having a short dick!” Laughter erupted, and Schalk struggled to contain himself, while Bonganie shot a glare, silencing his friend.
“Don’t call me that, you fake Michael Jackson,” MJ protested, but Schalk couldn’t resist the bait. “But that’s your name, right, Bonganie?”
“Yeah, it is,” he admitted reluctantly.
MJ, feigning annoyance, said, “You said one question for each of us, but you asked Schalk three!”
Bonganie, undeterred, switched gears, “Well, here’s the deal: we all have crap jobs, and that manager of ours? She hates us. We’re stuck in that control room, and it’s been hell.”
Schalk listened, bemused, while MJ snickered, “At least you make it entertaining.”
“Fuck you,” Bonganie replied, half-laughing, half-serious.
Their lives revolved around Super Eyes, where Bonganie monitored alarms and MJ stared at CCTV screens. They were trapped in a cycle of monotony, battling a manager who thrived on their misery. MJ, notorious for dozing off during shifts, once fell asleep so soundly that he wet himself. The laughter that ensued was deafening, yet it was a moment of camaraderie that lightened their burdens.
Bonganie’s temper flared easily, especially when provoked. One day, Mrs. Mentor, their manager, decided to play a cruel prank on him, inciting the armed response team to mess with him. When Bonganie confronted them, he lost his cool. “You bastards! Do your jobs!” he shouted, only to be met with mockery.
In the aftermath, Bonganie found himself jobless, his pay reduced to nothing. MJ joined him in the ranks of the unemployed, both men left to ponder their next moves. “I got R2,” MJ lamented.
“Try R0,” Bonganie shot back, and the laughter that followed was a bittersweet reminder of their shared struggles.
As they plotted revenge on Mrs. Mentor, the spark of rebellion ignited in Bonganie’s eyes. “We’re taking over that control room. We’ll gather some guys with guts, grab those PCs, and show her we mean business!”
Schalk, ever cautious, hesitated. “Bonganie, you know how my luck runs. Count me out.”
“Don’t be a coward!” Bonganie shot back. “If you’re so unlucky, then tell me this—how did that guy miss you?”
Schalk, remembering the thud of a bullet grazing his leg, shrugged, “He shot my leg, you idiot.”
The laughter that followed was infectious, a release from their frustrations.
“Still got some luck on your side, tall guy,” Bonganie declared. “You’re in!”
As their plan solidified, the trio felt a surge of energy, a newfound purpose coursing through them. They were ready to take on the world, or at least their little corner of it—a band of misfits poised to disrupt the status quo.
“Let’s do this,” Bonganie said, his voice steady with determination. “Let’s show that bitch what we’re made of.”
And as they set their plans in motion, the city around them buzzed with life, unaware of the storm brewing within the hearts of three unlikely heroes.
