Just before Bandele's birthday party winds up, tension attains feverish levels amongst the lingering ladies in the lobbyroom. Each of them wants to know if the celebrant will date her or upgrade her status, as the case may be. Competition for the vacant Mrs de Sergeant becomes stiff.

After the exit of the VIPs, ladies in the lower-floor find their way upstairs. Those within the compound step into the sitting-room. And some on the street see nothing wrong in entering the house. Many guests can't leave Polemann. Buses and taxicabs don't operate at odd hours in crime-ridden Soweto.

Security becomes lax because PartyRobbots staff signed off duty at midnight handing over security matters to the castle's watchmen. But how well can the household security staff keep watch over hundreds of guests who are determined to take advantage of the situation? A day like this might never come again.

Bandele retires to the bedroom a few minutes past 2 am, locking himself in with a group of ladies. Some in the lobbyroom bang on the door to gain access to him. "Open up, please." Voices ring out. "Just give me five minutes of your time."

"Just a kiss from you."

"You're my hero for life."

"Can I live here with you?"

The messages come in torrents, mostly influenced by alcohol.

Whenever Bandele tries to leave the bed, ladies pin him down. "Whatever you need, I'll get for you."

The Soweto Lion has three ladies to his right, four to his left, two lounges above his head and another pair to his feet. Around him on the rug are ladies yawning and belching, asking to be led to the guest room if they can't join others on the bed.

Akida, who knows some of them will try to cart away household items, already kept valuables away. But now fatigued, he lay prostate on the floor, his chest and bulgy triceps serving as pillows to three ladies. His colleague, Molefi, slumbers downstairs in the company of a lady. Pono is out of sight.

"Bang! Bang!!"

Sunday morning, loud noise pierces the stillness of the break of day, as guests get up around 9 am, each asking to see Bandele, some banging on his bedroom door. They won't leave unless Bandele settles them, having run out of cash hiring Uber to the castle, hoping the celebrant will replenish their purses. None foresaw this deluge of female species lining at the door.

The disturbance awakens Akida who tears off the cobweb of hands restraining him from doing his job. He opens the door slightly and announces: "Party is over. You all should go home."

Not even his husky morning voice or glowered looks chase the desperate ladies away. Many of them push the door open. "We need money to return home. We come from far places."

Akida's muscles come to his aid. "Go home now!" He bangs the door close, getting the celebrant rolling on the bed. "Molefi!" Bandele calls out but soon resumes snoozing.

Three people rush to the bathroom to throw up or answer the call of nature. A few with clearer eyes dress up, ready to leave, but Akida won't open up. Bandele's bedroom becomes a market place of some sorts.

As the early morning squabble reaches a crescendo in an otherwise quiet mansion, Molefi picks up his phone and calls PartyRobbots staff to enforce order.

"Hello."

"Yes, Mister Shabangu"

"Can you please control the ladies up there? The noise is too much."

"We're no longer at your mansion."

"What?"

"Our contract ended at midnight."

Molefi frowns. "But the agreement says you'll be here till the party ends."

"Please check the papers again, sir. Party ends at midnight."

"No, no. This can't be." Molefi wants to be at his desk but his body resists.

"Do check again, sir. We stick with the service agreements. Our men are back to the office. We have another engagement this morning."

Molefi stumbles to his desk to check the papers. The man is right – their contract elapsed at midnight. But then, what's the noise upstairs about?

Realising he must quell the commotion before Bandele becomes aware, Molefi aims for the upper-floor, only to find people laying randomly on the staircase. Dirts of all kinds litter the rugs: lipsticks, beer bottles, misplaced earrings, phone accessories and bangles. Hoodlums have taken over. "You, what are you doing here?" Molefi charges at one of them.

The scar-face rascal casts a smug glance as if to suggest that Molefi is a minute too late. Uttering no word, he straightens his faded jeans, strolls down the stairs and leaves the house. Two of his guys take a cue.

Their coy manners arouse Molefi's suspicion, following which he assesses the floor and discovers that some of the wall artefacts are missing. The DSTV decoder has taken a walk. Wine home bar area is affected and the kitchen door handle is broken – testaments to theft in the castle. These criminals have been waiting for this opportunity all the while.

Molefi becomes downcast, admitting his error not to check PartyRobbots agreement. Instinct pricks him to dial his boss but no response from the latter's phone. The man is still asleep and his bodyguard has since returned to the waiting arms of his damsels.

Molefi hops over noisy ladies to knock on the bedroom door, but no one opens up. With a voice raised several notches above the din, aided by the after-effects of last night's booze, he exclaims: "Listen, everyone!"

Silence permeates the lobbyroom.

"Vacate this house now and go home."

"Nooo!" A horde of people choruses. "Awwa!"

Shocked Molefi places arms akimbo: "What's the problem here?"

Someone offers to explain. "We can't just go like that; we came from far. Since yesterday we haven't seen the celebrant. We brought him gifts."

Judging by the speaker's shabby appearance which passes her for a street warrior or a job seeker at best, Molefi queries the gift such a person can offer Bandele. Perhaps she needs transport fare like her peers who all look stranded.

But since Mr Celebrant isn't up yet, they must all leave. Some of these people are petty thieves in disguise. Bandele will be upset to meet them here. An idea crops up. Why not give them some cash and the remaining sovenirs? That should be enough to convince them to leave. "You all know the celebrant is still asleep and won't be up 'til late evening."

They shake heads fiercely. "Stop lying to us. Babes are in his room – many of them. If we leave now, will they go too? They're not better than us. We also want to see Bandele." Her peers nod while she speaks, after which she takes up a defiant pose.

Molefi thinks of calling the police but overrules the thought. "You ladies should be realistic. You're too many for God's sake. Bandele can't see you all today."

"He will. We'll wait." She chews an imaginary gum.

"Okay, let's do this." He brings out a pen and paper from his pocket. "I'll write down your names and phone numbers and then give the boss so he can call you later."

A lady in purple braids claps hands: "How will we get home today? You don't understand what we're talking about?"

Feeling vindicated, Molefi turns towards the stairs. "Come along, please. I'll give you money and birthday gifts and still write your names so that Bandele can call you later."

His brisk turn and solemn countenance win them over. Many rushes after him to receive what sounds like a generous offer. Still, some remain unmoved. Bandele must check them out otherwise, they won't leave.

The queue at Molefi's desk is like those queueing up at a Shoprite store on a busy weekend. He gives them two-hundred rands each after writing their names. This group has no problem mentioning their body statistics. The LCP list swells with thirty new profiles.

Overwhelmed by the task, Molefi calls out: "Pono!"

Pono is still at large. Calls to his phone return void.

"Where is Pono for God's sake?" Molefi queries before asking the lady in his room to join the queue. Party is over.

Done with name writing, Molefi steps out to retrieve the souvenirs from the boys-quarters. But to his surprise, three whole cows hang from the pole untouched. Four poles are empty.

"These people didn't finish up their barbecues." He says walking to the boys' quarters.

With two-hundred rands in the kitty, a 'Bandele 38' branded plastic cup and mobile phone power-bank, the ladies march out of the Polemann Castle, all with the hope of receiving Bandele's call. Some cut beef lumps off the pole, storing them in handbags or plastic bags.

"This is the best party I've attended in my life!" Many say while leaving.

Their exit brings relief to the household.

Molefi peeps out of the gate to find six residents cleaning up the littered street. He calls one of them. "You and your friends should come to the house when you're done with cleaning. There's a gift for you."

In only two minutes, twenty-two people join others to clean the street. After an hour of rigorous raking and heaping, they queue up at the gate where Molefi hands over souvenirs and huge chunks of roasted beef, receiving tons of thanks in exchange.

With normalcy gradually returning to the neighbourhood, but for the stubborn bunch upstairs, Molefi revels in the joy of having organised a world-class bash, patting himself on the back. His boss should be proud. The after-party security issues and cleaning hitches aren't enough blips. Neither are the stolen artefacts and stuff. There's no war without casualties. Bandele at thirty-eight was indeed a war, but one that was won.

The yippy lad gets on the computer, opening his CV to add Events Management as a new skill. "I single-handedly and successfully planned and implemented a seven-hundred thousand rands event without wasting a cent." What's more? He can serve as a consultant in post-event crises.

Molefi reflects on the personal benefits of this bash. Working hard deserves some rewards. To that end, he'll report spending 500 rands each on each lady that just departed. The balance therefrom will line his pocket.

Still musing over his rewards, Molefi checks his phone to find new texts. Service providers have deposited kickbacks into his bank account. "I like when people keep to their promises." He lifts off the chair, bangs on the desk and flashes a smile. A quick peek into his bank balance confirms that he made than thirty-two thousand rands from the bash. And that excludes the payback from Bandele for the just-departed ladies.

"This is pure brilliance!" Molefi grits his teeth.