Radical

D plus 2

When Abel arrived at work, the doors were still closed. It was a bit early, but usually Isaiah was there before the rest of the staff, to get started with the daily maintenance and get the fans and kettle going.

"Ke eng?" asked Abel. What's up?

"Isaiah texted to say he'd be a bit late," replied Ashley.

"Lucky we finished the big order yesterday, then," replied Abel.

Abel was older than most of the other guys, but he was the one who knew how to finesse the hydraulic machine into completing today's production, or when to say that it needed to be turned off now and some seal or valve or fluid replaced before continuing.

Abel had years of experience, but no papers. He also didn't have the energy to study after hours to gain the qualifications the owners had requested and offered to pay for. He knew and loved this machine, and he preferred playing with his grandchildren after work hours. His children brought their babies over often, and not only when they needed Gloria, his wife, to babysit.

Abel was proud that his kids had finished matric, and two had gone on to get further qualifications. Judicious saving and scraping had enabled Abel and Gloria to pay their own way, and they didn't need their children to supplement their income. Any spare money they had ended up going to sweets and children's clothes anyway. And more toys than his grandkids' parents were entirely comfortable with.

The younger men at work respected Abel, but they had very little in common. For his part, Abel disliked Isaac's shirking, and Zachariah's habit of turning up for work drunk.

Today's production load was light, unless the new steel got delivered, but that was unlikely. So waiting was no great hardship, it wouldn't affect the performance bonus they had been promised if they completed a certain order by end of next week.

"Really, guys, Thembi did get hers. We had Nando's on Monday. I'm going to open my PostBank account on Saturday, MmaPrez said on the news last night that anyone who opens one by Saturday will get a Dividend on Monday if they haven't already got it." It was Zachariah, completely sober, miraculously.

"What now?" asked Abel. "Dividend?"

"That woman who is president, who said we would get two thousand rand on Monday if we had a PostBank account? Thembi did. And my cousin Judas did, too," explained Zachariah excitedly. "And now, she's said that they would pay another Dividend for people who didn't get one, if we open a PostBank account by Saturday."

Abel walked away from his colleagues. He had not voted for the president. He had thought long and hard about whether he wanted to vote at all. But he suddenly remembered the extra money in his PostBank account on Monday morning. He'd forgotten to request time off to go to the bank to get it corrected.

Gloria didn't have a PostBank account. He didn't think his boys did, either. But his daughter, Tshegofatso, was a proud Fourways coconut debtors' clerk, who could account for every cent. She kept asking him whether she could change his prepaid SIM card to a cheaper plan.

He called her, although she might still be driving to take her children to school. She answered. She knew texting was not his forte.

"Daddy! O tshogile jang?" Did you wake up well?

My little girl. With her own little girls and boy, now.

"Ke tshogile sentle, lerato." I woke well, love. "Sorry to bother you when you're taking the kids to school..."

"I just dropped them off, Daddy. I can talk for a minute..." replied Tshego, enquiringly.

"Do you have a PostBank account, baby?" asked Abel.