Molefi wraps up his proposal and dashes upstairs to explain it to Bandele who's seated cross-legged on the couch. The businessman drops his moodiness, grinning. "What do you have for me, Molefi?"

"Sir, I've come up with the best strategy to woo beautiful ladies."

Bandele's cheerful face melts off. "Woo what? What is woo woo?"

"I mean how to make ladies fall."

"Hey! I told you before. Be careful with your poor man English." His eyes flap at the dude, nose flaring.

"Sorry, sir. I forgot —"

"Sorry for your life."

Molefi raises his eyebrows and touches his forehead. He then straightens his face. "I'll take three steps, sir. First, I'll send people out to gather information about the ladies, face-to-face. If that doesn't work, I'll have to go online. On the internet, I'll get their names, addresses, fashion sense, school, family background and behavioural patterns. Everything I need will be recorded on a computer.

Bandele repositions on the sofa. How does one bring a computer into a simple issue like winning over pretty ladies?

"I'll store their pictures too, three or four of them– their front picture, back picture, upper region and lower area." Molefi demonstrates with his hands. "That way, you can easily see how beautiful they are. Those details will be entered into a form I'll call the Candidacy Form for Pretty Ladies, the CFPL."

"Wait there!" Bandele stretches out one hand. "A form for girls?"

"Yes, sir. An electronic form stored on the computer."

Bandele's brows knit, his head rising. This guy sounds like a professional. Why will anyone need a computer to bring ladies into this house? An electronic form? All Pono does is to talk to them, and he sometimes returns empty-handed, leaving him with no option than to visit clubs to find good ladies.

Adopting Molefi's methods will save useful time. Before the girls show face at all, he'll already have an idea who's coming. This new idea sounds ingenious.

Molefi isn't done.

"I'll sort the profiles according to how pretty they are. The classy ones will be on the first list – those are the ultimate ones that may accompany you to board meetings, political gatherings, big parties and public places like the municipality. The next group will be good for the lawn-tennis courts, fast-food eateries and restaurants. The last group will only come to see you in the house. You won't appear in public with them."

Bandele laughs, supporting his jaw with his right hand, marvelling at the lad's brilliance. "What if I don't like any of the ones you find? Look, I like big girls who speak good English." He extends his hands sideways. "Those are the ones you call ultimate."

"Any lady you don't want will be deleted from the lists. But I'm sure you'll like all the ladies, sir. With the computer-based profiling, you'll see their pictures before the boys go out to get them for you."

"Good. Your big head is not for nothing. Pono doesn't tell me all these things." Bandele moves to the edge of the chair, leaning forward as if to confide in Molefi. He lowers his voice. "After these girls come here once, what will happen?"

Molefi wheezes as if hard at work. "The ones you wish to see over and over again will be placed in a Concurrent List."

"A new list?"

"Yes, the concurrent one."

Bandele's laughter gets louder. "Look, there are some girls who are not pretty before, but when I see them in the club after some time, they now look nice."

"In that case, those will be in the Recycled List."

"Another list again?"

"Yes, sir. It will be for ladies who have improved their situations after a few weeks or months."

Bandele jerks to his feet, "You're the one I've been looking for." He heads towards the bedroom, beckoning on Molefi to come along.

Molefi steps in and considers the bed a masterpiece of furniture. But he quickly regains composure. Nothing else will surprise him in this mansion.

Bandele points at a wall picture. "That is Sbu-de-Sergeant, my father. He died many years ago." A smile appears on his face. "He was a rich man everyone knows in the whole Soweto. Although I'm richer than him now."

***

True to his words, Bandele's father was a wealthy retired soldier who fought wars in Congo, Eritrea and Burundi, to name a few. The old man returned home with raw gem-stones booties which he sold to European adventurers. The deals made him so rich that he bought eight blocks of flats and four cottage houses among other properties in different parts of Soweto. He then built the Polemann Street mansion where Bandele currently lives. Sbu-de-Seargent became the most popular man in the Orlando area of Soweto.

However, the man was careless with women. He was never married.

Bandele's mom abandoned him aged three when Sbu would not marry her. The young Bandele grew up in the community, loved and pampered by all, especially his father's many girlfriends and acquaintances.

Even so, Sbu was a community champion who sponsored poor kids in school, organised sporting events to scout for talents, helped the sick and opened his mansion to everyone. Those endeavours endeared him to people and the love trickled to Bandele, the only son.

Bandele, setting eyes on his father's wealth, dropped out of high school to help in managing the vast real estate.

"Let's give the properties to white men to manage," Bandele suggested to his late father, who then struggled with monthly rental inflow. Coming from a sixteen-year-old, Sbu-de-Sergeant stamped his son worthy of his inheritance. "This one will maintain my legacy," the old man said, willing the properties to Bandele. The prodigal son has achieved enormous wealth from the properties.

His only sister, Zandile, from another mother, lives in Mafikeng with her husband and children. Bandele sometimes speaks to her on phone, but old family squabbles impede a cordial relationship. Till date, Bandele is yet to meet Zandile's husband and children.

***

Listening to Bandele's story, Molefi keeps wondering why the big man is taking him through his family background. Is there a job in the pipeline? If so, what's the portfolio? How much is on offer? Seeing the employment papers will put his doubt to rest.

This big man won't tell him these tales if he won't offer him a job. But will it be here in the mansion, or his properties firm? Maybe he'll be the Personal Assistant. Bandele's bachelor status means he'll need someone to manage the house which is indeed a big place to run alone, even with diminutive Pono being around.

The men return to the sitting-room where Bandele resumes the briefing. "Here is the place where I talk to people who need help from me. I also do business meetings here." Molefi looks round as if he's assessing the sitting-room for the first time. The glitzy artefacts catch his eyes; so does the wall portrait of Sbu-de-Sergeant.

Molefi tags the place a lobbyroom.

"Come over to this side." Bandele begins a brief upper-floor walk-around, starting with the bedroom which befits an Arabian king. Following are the clothing room, bathrooms, shoe room, store-rooms, no-label room, empty room, the library, the home bar, a play area and the balcony.

"Leave out this room." Bandele skips one, saying nothing about its use.

Molefi believes the room isn't of any serious importance.

"You see this one," Bandele opens the door to the chamber closest to his master bedroom. "Guests coming from far stay there," he says with a grin. "Or sometimes, if I have too many girls around, some will stay here before they come to see me." He winks at Molefi. "But they must be ultimate girls. Is that not what you call them?" Bandele laughs with Molefi for the first time.

"Yes, sir." Molefi chuckles.

It's good to see the big man's well-arranged dentition. His glowing light-skin gifts him good looks, even if his chubby cheeks and satellite-dish ears makes him weird. Those piercing eyes will make one avoid a stare. Portly and obese, Bandele is several inches off the sixth foot. His hanging tummy marks him out as the boss.

This man, with all his wealth, should by now have his own family. On leaving the kitchen, Molefi feels the urge to ask if there's a woman, a fiancée. What's holding him back? He changes his mind. Bandele will say so should there be one.

Molefi takes a long glance at the home bar, the fridge within, the assorted wines on the shelf, all begging to be picked.

Bandele follows the visitor's eyes to the bar. "I go to that place anytime, but it's not for you people."

Molefi's makes a mental note of those words which gladden his heart. Saying 'you people' means he'll be hired to work in the house. Well, he'll wait and see what the job entails.

The duo climbs down the stairs where Bandele points at eight rooms including the one Pono resides in. On opening one of the unoccupied rooms, finding it messed up, Bandele says: "The lazy boy I fired three months ago didn't clean this place up."

They step into the main sitting-room where Molefi earlier did some writing. And then enter the kitchen, the dining room, music room, three bathrooms, hardware room, two guestrooms and the pantry.

"What's your family background?"

"I'm Sotho. I've lived in Tshwane all my life. My sister lives there too, with her two kids."

That's fine. Sotho or Zulu, we're all human beings. Will you like to live here?" Bandele asks without looking at his face. "Only someone who stays around me can do this job."

Molefi nods slowly. "No problem, sir."

Bandele isn't surprised at his response. The lad has been awed all day. He takes a few steps forward: "Take one room there." Bandele points at the array of rooms. "And tell me the things you'll need. Start work Monday morning. I'll pay you fifteen thousand rands a month."

"Oh, thank you, sir." Molefi flashes a smile, straightens his face and then smiles again. "Err... What am I hired to do, sir?"

"You'll work for me here at the mansion. You'll plan the things I want to do. For example, I like that current list you said the other time. It will be nice."

"The concurrent list, sir."

"Yes, pronounce it well."

Being the personal assistant to a property magnate isn't a bad post at all, Molefi believes. He'll be willing to add the title to his CV. But there's also a pimping angle to the job. He's up for any challenge anyway. With fifteen thousand rands dropping into his empty bank account monthly, he'll gladly count all the electric poles on the highway from Pretoria to Mpumalanga.

Bandele steps out of the building with Molefi, the mosaic arts painting on the fence wall draws Molefi's attention, more than the electric wire-coils above it. This man surely has a taste for beautiful things, even if his ghetto accent portrays something different.

At the rear of the main structure are two small buildings – the boys-quarters, which have four rooms.

"People who mustn't sleep inside the mansion sleep here." Bandele points at the boys-quarters. He then straightens his face as if to serve a note of warning: "Don't deal with the security people. They come to me when they need anything. Is that okay?"

"Very clear, sir."

Molefi casts a studied glance at the security room. The quadruple satellite dishes and beeping sounds depict the use of high-tech gadgets. Recalling the security post close to the gate, and the room upstairs which the boss said nothing about, Molefi thinks the businessman is very security conscious.

"Let's go to the front." Bandele leads the way.

The new hire has seen much of the front area, but a certain space upfront is said to be reserved for prayers. The enclosure looks unused for a hundred years.

"Don't worry about my cars. They're on service contracts."

"Okay, boss." Molefi crouches.

Energetic Bandele peeps into the security post, makes a note of the guys on duty and then steps out. As if to give a hint that he's done with the walk-around, Bandele quickens his steps back towards the building, leaving Molefi behind as he enters the house.

Molefi glances around the compound, wondering what to do. If he's to start work on Monday, he should have an idea of what to do first. The man didn't talk about an appointment letter, which he'll need to show his sister that he now has a job. Did Bandele go into the building to fetch it?

One notable thing out here is the fresh winds crisscrossing the open space – winds that blow him into cognisance that he's being given responsibility beyond all he's ever done before. As someone who lived in a small flat all his life, who never had a properties management experience or any cognate involvement for that matter, this is indeed a big challenge. But it's one he'll have to excel in. Despite his sternness, Bandele isn't a perfectionist so there'll be room for mistakes. If he could impress the big man with a thirty-minute writeup, he'll wow that half-schooled fellow with new ideas.

When the boss refuses to show face, Molefi steps out of the mansion to assess the surroundings, seeing it to be a poor, black-dominated Soweto neighbourhood, which accommodates thousands of low-income earners, artisans and casual workers, many of whom escape the poverty trap by setting up hair-salons, internet cafés, groceries and tuck shops.

Unemployment is unusually high in this part of Soweto. Polemann Street and its environs have the largest number of jobless youths in the country. The area is full of loafers who roam around all day. Theft is common, crime is high and unruliness is rife. Many wake up to drink at 7 am.

On Polemann Street and its environs, louts, drunkards and urchins hold sway.