Beholder

Chapter 1

I was blasting Nasty C's 'Juice Back' on max volume, belting out the lyrics with the kind of gusto only a true fan could muster.

"Man,man you should hate yourself,look into the mirror and nigga rate yourself,look at the shit that we doing,motivate yourself,brace yourself."

The song's chorus, a fiery call to arms, thundered through my speakers: 'I AIN'T GOT MY MOTHER FUCKIN JUICE BACK...!' I sang along with a fierce passion, an unabashed acolyte of South African hip-hop's most electrifying rising star. And how could I not be proud of our home-grown talent?

Today was my day to kick back, and I was headed to the Gateway Mall with my friends to catch the long-awaited Minions flick. I'd been dying to watch it for ages, but life had always seemed to get in the way. Well, not today. Today was my day to indulge in some good old-fashioned, laugh-out-loud fun.

I pulled up to the bustling mall in my gleaming, 2016 white Polo Vivo Golf, a car that was as much a statement of my personal style as it was my pride and joy. To me, it was more than just a set of wheels; it was my ride, my freedom machine, and the key to unlocking the joys of the open road.

I leaned into my car to grab my handbag and phone, my mind already preoccupied with the afternoon's agenda. But my thoughts were interrupted by a chorus of whistles and catcalls. I straightened, turning to face the culprits—a group of white men, leering with a mix of entitlement and desire.

I didn't know monkeys were attractive to them.

Slamming my car door shut with an indignant clang, I swept past the group, refusing to give them the satisfaction of acknowledging their leers. I was more than just a body to be ogled and objectified. But to them, I was nothing more than a cheap black girl, easy pickings for a night of debauchery.

I hurried through the buzzing corridors of the mall, ignoring the leering eyes of passersby as I made my way to the food court where my friends were waiting.
'Hey!' I greeted, taking my seat beside Zoe.
'You're late, as usual,' Thami teased, glancing at her watch with a playful smirk.

I shrugged, a sheepish smile playing on my lips.

'The traffic was killer. But you guys know I love me some animation.'

'You such a bad liar.' Phiwe rolled her eyes clearly not buying my lie.

We stood up, following Phiwe towards the ticket counter, giggling at her playful jabs. The line was crawling at a snail's pace, making my patience wear thin.
'Can we speed this up? I'm dying to see some minion mayhem!' I quipped, tapping my foot to release my pent-up energy."

As we stood in line, chatting about everything and nothing, a group of guys materialized behind us, chattering away in Afrikaans. The language was foreign to my ears, a mash-up of clicks and words I didn't recognize. I couldn't help but feel a little out of place, like a puzzle piece in the wrong box. After all, I'd grown up in a township school where IsiZulu was king, and Afrikaans was never part of the curriculum
Why am I explaining myself again?

Thami's nudge snapped me back to the present, her laugh tinkling in the air. 'You zone out all the time,' she chided, her playful tone a gentle reminder that my mind had wandered off again. I laughed, a sheepish grin on my face. It was true; I had a bad habit of drifting into my own world, letting my thoughts spiral off into uncharted territory

With the line finally inching forward, I turned back to my friends, a question on my lips. 'Sorry, you were saying something?' I inquired, my gaze shifting from one friend to the next. Their smiles were contagious, lighting up their faces like a thousand suns, making me feel like I was exactly where I was supposed to be—in the company of my girls, surrounded by laughter and love.