I Survived the Diepsloot Hotel - True Story!

 

What do you want??

I looked hopelessly at the man, lounging in a plastic chair, leaning precariously against the wall of the veranda of Diepsloot Hotel.

“I want to stay in your lovely establishment.”

That did not have the desired effect of perking up the man. He seemed even more disinterested. “well I suppose that’s possible. It’s expensive though. Is it just you?”

Yes, I said, not put off by that comment which was clearly designed to put me off.

Ok. I’ll charge you R500. And that’s just the room. Everything, everything else is extra. For example, its R100 to clean the room. R50 for a towel. R80 to use the bathroom. And another R50 to get me out this chair to give you the key. A concierge charge, I suppose.

I gulped. He really didn’t want me. But I really really wanted to stay here. I mean, I write a travel blog, and people get bored. This was going to be an absolute blockbuster of a story. It already was. I had to push on.

“That sounds fine. I’ll take it, thank you very much.”

The man took it on the chin. He was clearly trying to hide how irritated he was, as he slowly as he could, stood and began wandering towards what was supposedly the reception door. Inside he took a key from a hook. The only key, and the only hook, and vanished through another door into the bowels of the building. I assumed I had to follow, and soon he was fiddling the key in a lock, which clearly didn’t quite fit the key, until it reluctantly unlocked and he opened it. Then he wandered away.

I walked in. Immediately noticeably was the stark bareness of it. There were two lonely wooden chairs in front of a small table and a TV, the centrepiece of the room. To the side there were two single beds. A door led through to a bathroom. Ok, so he had implied there was no en-suite bathroom just to get rid of me. I went and looked inside the bathroom. It was old, so old it was hard to tell if it were clean or not. Old white tiles had peeled of the wall. An old white enamel steel bathtub was built in. There was a gaping hole around the bath taps, where clearly some plumbing work had been done, and was left open for future diagnostic purposes, I assumed. The basin was also a really old one, and the taps too, 1970s vintage I guessed. I gingerly looked into the also old toilet, with a cracked and loose hanging seat, no cover. I almost shouted for joy to see it was clean.

I walked out and looked at the beds, and the almost shout of joy died in my throat. The funny old threadbare cover was clearly stained. I dared not look at the sheets. Instead I noticed the remnants of scarlet red curtains hanging forlornly over part of the window. I also dared not turn the old tube TV on, it’s proud bearing as the only valued piece of furniture suggested it was used and appreciated to the full be previous guests. Resulting in the stains.

I began to dread my first night at the Diepsloot Hotel.

BTW, Avid Readers, this is a true story so far.

The Diepsloot Angels Strike!

 

“Everybody! Hands Up! This is a robbery!” Sipho yelled as loud as he could. He leapt onto the nearest cashier counter and pointed a gun over the glass frame shielding the cashiers. From behind the security door he heard Ace yelling similar in the back office. Everybody in the bank froze and put their hands in the air. There were about ten customers, plus five gang members, being CJ, Tiny, Dintse, Oupa and Siphilwe. All were brandishing hand guns. Of course, none of the customers could guess that only Sipho’s was real, and it had no bullets. After all, this was the first bank robbery for the Diepsloot Angels, that being their agreed gang name, so they had to save money.

Ace burst through the security door, and jammed it open using his toy gun. This infuriated Sipho inside, since no robber would use a real, useful gun un such an offhand manner. Now everyone new that Ace had had a toy gun, who else did they think had a toy gun? Ace’s appearance was the sign for CJ and Tiny to join him in the backoffice, get the manager, and get him to open the safe. Two of the group immediately ran through the door with Ace, and soon Sipho heard them threatening the manager and demanding the safe be opened.

Things were going remarkably well. The customers were still holding their hands in the air amnd looking suitably frightened. The five robbers among them were looking suitably menacing at them. Suddenly Sipho’s heart leapt into his throat. Why were their five still there? 5 minus the two in that went to the back office is 2. Why were there five?”

Sipho had never been good at Maths in school. He had never got more than a F. SO then, maybe five minus 2 is 5? That still just didn’y seem right. A gut feel, and Siphos gut was way more intelligent than his brain.

He looked closely at the people in the room. He saw a gun lying abandoned on a counter near the door. Damn, you could never trust these guys to act the part. He looked more closely at his five supposed gang members. He, of course, couldn’t tell who was who, since they all wore Covid masks, as did all the customers. He could see at least one was still menacingly brandishing his toy gun. Then, yes, there were definitely four others without their hands up, going to the customers with their hands up and demanding their personal items.

Sipho broke into a sweat. He realised that two customers had apparently just joined the gang, and were opportunistically raiding the customers, and there was nothing he could do about it.

After what seemed an eternity Ace and the other three came through the back office door, carrying big bags, hopefully full of cash. Ace waved the others through, grabbibg his handgun and unjamming the door, and allowing it to slam closed. Three? Sipho did a double take. Another new gang member, and again, who was who was impossible to determine. Why, for all he knew, CJ and Tiny had been left in the back office, and three bank clerks had come out. But what could he do?

Seeps, come down, let’s go. We’ve got the cash. Shouted Ace. Now that was Ace, judging by his voice, sipho thought. Or was it?

There was no time to sort the mess out, they all ran for the door, and one gang member held it open while all the others streamed out. Sipho was horrified to see the gang had now swelled to 12 active participants. At this rate, his split of the takings would be hardly anything, he thpought angrily.

There was another problem. The gang was now so big they would need to catch at least 2 taxis to get away. Some random gang member was already signalling a passing taxi, so Sipho signalled the one behind, and the gang packed themselves into the two taxis, joining the other taxi passengers. Both taxis were now very full, with gang members squashed up and sitting on top of one another.

It had taken 3 months, but detective Zikele had proved his worth. He had three members of the Diepsloot angels mixed in with 6 real prople in his identification parade. From behind the one way glass, he turned to the bank manager and the three clerks. “Do you recognise any bank robbers in the lineup?”

Yes, said the bank manager. Numbers 3,4,5,7, and 9

No, a clerk interrrupted. Not 5 and 10. They weren’t rthere. But I think 2 was. And 3 and 4 were there, but they were customers.

Another clerk intervened. No, you are both wrong. Number 1 was there, and as you say a customer, same as 3. But 4 definitely wasn’t there. 2 and 7 and 8 were gang members.

Soon all four were engaged in an intense argument for a good 20 minutes.

Detective Zikele sighed. So the Diepsloot Angels would ride again.

ThePot

I reached for the pot. It was the main course. A lovely Moroccan stew, with cloves, garlic and a hint of oreganum. My favourite ingredients. It was full and heavy, but I braced myself and lifted it, and placed it gingerly over the offending woman’s head. I stood back, not only to admire the view, but to avoid any backlash from her. The pot rim reached right down to her chin, and the rich, thick stew flowed luxuriously over her shoulders and chest. She was struck dumb, so I reached for a potato that had come to rest on one breast. It was cooked to perfection, the chilli coming through onto the palate nicely against a background of ginger and basil. I thought everyone would be as satisfied as me with the result, but I was mistaken. Her neurotic friend was shouting blue murder and hurried over, lifting the pot from the head it had fitted so well. She embraced her tasty brown friend, which, in a moment of weakness, I thought I should do too. Pity to waste all that stew, although the job it had done was an excellent one. Eventually the more nervous members of the dinner party calmed down enough for her to tell me she hated me. It was then that I said to our gracious host, “I’m going to need that dessert too.”.

Feline Despot

I never really knew what it was like to be a cat lover, and as such, I never really owned a cat. But one day all that changed. Not the part about being a cat lover, but the part about being a cat owner, if anyone can ever label themselves such. Because one day I was at home on the couch watching a reality show about spouses cheating on each other. A very fat and ugly lady was trying to hit another with her shoe, but three large men were holding her back. Just then, in walked a cat. It was a grey, soft furry cat. It looked very nice, so I sat up, it cam to me and I stroked it. It fealt very nice too. Like a living cuddly toy. Pretty soon it was sitting on the couch with me, were it’s warm body was a comfort. It was really at home in my house from the start. I believe it even slept on my bed that first night, and it did so just about every night from then on. In fact, most of the time I was home, it was there too. Of course I didn’t really know what to make of my new friend.

Now I am a sigle guy, so most of my life not at work is spent hunting various women, with a view to bringing them home and having my way with them. It was a rare occasion and I had got lucky. When I had finally maneuvered her into the bedroom, I managed to wrestle her onto the bed, and Soon I had most of her clothes off. But as I battled with her blouse which was stuck over her head, she all of a sudden let out a blood curdling yell. Something else let out a yell too, a howl which sounded ominously like you hear when cats are fighting. We both leapt of the bed, scared stiff. She was crying and told me she had been attacked. Sure enough, she seeme dto be leeding from some cuts on her leg. I immediately turned the light on. There was the cat looking satosfied with himself, sitting on th ebed. I was so cross. But the cat was having none of it, it was quiet clear he thought the bed was a place for piece and quiet, and he intended to enforce that.

Things were more difficult after that. When I slept I had to keep dead still, especially when he lay against me, which he often did, or he would get upset. I had to lie along the edge of the bed so I didn’t disturb him as he reposed curled up in the centre. Soon he began enforcing his authority in the rest of the house too. He would wait in a side room til I walked down the passage, then leap out and sink his claws and teeth into my leg.

My reaction used to give him endless entertainment. I had no idea how he fed himself, until one day, as usual I was eating a andwich I had made in front of the TV. He came from the side, stuck his face into my plate and took the ham out the middle. It was then that I assumed he had reached the point where he required me to begin feeding him too. SO next time I was in Pick n Pay, I went to the cat food section. It didn’t seem like a bad idea, lots of fairly good looking women have cats and were in that section too. But I was horrified to see the price of cat food. So I remember how, that first time, I had chosen the very cheapest, and how, when I got home, the cat stuck his nose up at it, jumped on the counter and took a large chunk of chicken I had planned to eat myself. So then I learnt to only get the most expensive cat food.

One day I was sitting erect on the side table, since the cat was lying on the sofa. I was thinking, because the sound of the TV disturbed the cat’s repose. I was eating bread because I had spent all my money on cat food. I had not invited anyone because I knew the cat didn’t like other people. I had not gone out because I knew he gets lonely. My house had become a foreign place to me. It was then I realised. The cat had taken over.

It's a Bomb

It didn’t go the way I expected. Everyone in the audience sat in deafening silence. I realised then that this was how it was to bomb. I stood for a moment. What to do? I had more really really funny stuff to say, but what was the point? This lot were too stupid or too drunk to understand. I had a few options open to me. Either try to push on and face more humilating silence, or worse, heckling from the audience. Or turn around and leave the stage in ignominy. Either option did not seem like a good option.

But then, why should this bunch of retards get away with this? No, it’s not OK to not laugh. It means you’re stupid. And it was up to me to make it clear who was at fault here. Them. Not me. There was apparently not one in the audience with more than two brain cells to rub together. They needed advice and help, and I was in the best position to dish it out. I was gonna help them. They had intellectual handicaps and needed my guidance. So I stopped talking, I walked to the front of the stage and tried to look them in the eyes. The lights were too bright shining from the back of the room. But I addressed them anyway. “Ladies and gentlemen. When you paid your money you should have realised you would be getting some high level intellectually stimulating humor. Not the bottom feeder, crude trash you are used to. And not in the excuse for a language you use to communicate with each other, but in genuine English. Yes, you, you dumb looking excuse for a human. This ... is ... English. This is what it sounds like, and this, oh dimwitted one, is a stand up comedy routine. I have tested these jokes on the smartest people in this country, including myself,and they split their sides laughing. So now we know why you aren’t laughing. But no matter how dimwitted you are, you’re offending me, you’re wasting my time, and you’re making me think you are stupid. So either you start laughing now or get out! A small laugh started somewhere at the back. Then the laughing grew. I told a joke, a feeble one. I shouted “Allah akbar” and I threw my coat open. “yes, it’s a bomb”. They all laughed. Finally I could finish my routine. From then on every joke got a laugh. At one point I decided the laugh was not big enough. I stood for a moment looking glaringly at the audience. The laughter broke out like it should. And so I finished my routine and left the stage. Another great show...

The Handover

Sipho:

Mon 11:00

Dear Frank,

Unfortunately I received your flash disk and copied te contents onto my computer. On opening them, I discovered they relate to the 4th year design course, and there was nothing relating to the fluid mehcanics course.

Since I do not have the required information, I will be forced to consider the course "not yet handed over".

Best Regards,

Sipho

Mon 11:01

Dear Sipho,

Thank you for your informative email.

Please find attached all the course materials for fluid mechanics. I wish you well on being assigned this exciting course to lecture and co-ordinate in 2017. I really enjoyed lecturing it in 2016.

Best Regards,

Frank

Tues9:20

Dear Frank,

I was excited to revceive your email and attachments about this new course. However, imagine my dissappointment when I realised my system was incapacble of handling such a big attachement, and I was forced to delete the email. I am so dissappointed. It's like, at this rate, I'll never be able to officially take over this course.

Yours in sadness,

Sipho

TuesL 9:21

Dear Sipho,

Please do not lose hope! I have made a new course flash disk which I tried to bring to your office. I knocked and knocked and there was no answer, and the door was locked. At first I thought I heard you breathing in there, but maybe it was the wind. Funny, I got there so fast after you sent the email. Maybe you had to rush to the toilet? Anyway, no matter, I have left it in your pigeon hole. Please collect it as soon as possible.

Kind Regards,

Frank

Wed 13h00

In the Tea room:

Sipho: "Hi Frank, I just got this memory stick from my pigeon hole, thanks. It looks a bit damaged, I'm not sure it will work. And this is a cheap make. Kingston. Never heard of it. These Chinese do produce rubbish these days. Wouldn't be surprised if it lost all the data."

Frank: "Well, at least try it, Sipho. The course starts next week, you really need to begin preparing for it."

Sipho: "But Frank, what am I to do? The person who has all the course information and notes s really the coordinator until a proper hadover takes place. Why, I know nothing about the course, I'm relying on this cheap, dirty Chinese device to suffice. qute Frankly, I'm not sure the Chinese can be relied upon. Just having this device in my hand means nothing, I need to see if my computer will read it."

Frank: "Well, Ian the sooner you try, the sooner we’ll know."

Sipho: "Absolutely Frank, the less time this device has to lose the data, the better. Let me just finish my tea. Hmm, careful now, did you just spill your tea on it?"

Frank: "No, it looks like you tried to. Luckily you placed the flash disk so close to me I managed to prevent it. Your tea flew across the table onto my shirt instead. Here, let me slide it across the table, closer to you, for safety."

Frank finishes his tea and leaves the room. In walks Claudia.

Sipho: "Hi Claudia. Do you know who left that flash disk on the table? It might be yours. No? Well, why don’t you take it and see what’s on it, maybe you can work out who it belongs to."

Wed 16h00

Message to all: from Sipho: Would the person who has the Kingston fluid mechanics course flash disk please ensure they are in lecture room SWE120 at 8 on Monday. The students will no doubt be expecting a lecture.

Regards, Sipho.
 

Wed 16h10

Frank: Knock, knock, knock. "Ian, come out. I know you're in there."

Small voice from inside: "How do you know? Anyway, it's past 4 and I finish work at 4. You can come and speak to me tomorrow."

Frank: "Please, please Sipho. It wasn't my choice to give you this course to lecture. You can't hide from your responsibilities for ever."

Small voice: "Until the official handover takes place, it isn't my responsibility. There's nothing I can do to help you. If you can't do the course handover properly, it's not my problem."

Ferris the Fly

Boris stared through the glass as the reggae music gently played in the background. There was something swimming there. On closer inspection he saw it was a fly, so he reached in and fished him out, and placed him on the table. His name was Ferris. He looked like he felt the same as Boris did, that is, like he had just been swimming in a glass of beer. It was a good feeling. He wondered if the fly had done it intentionally, as Boris effectively had. Maybe Ferris had the same problems as Boris, and maybe the diving into the beer was Ferris’s vain effort to end it all on a happy note. How similar they were. But it’s never easy. Here Ferris had done his best, and Boris had saved him, and was busy nursing him back to health. Today was not his day, he would live to face tomorrow too. And tomorrow nothing would have changed, the mountain of insurmountable problems would still be there. He felt more and more sorry for Ferris. He didn’t know the nature of his problems. Maybe he was battling to feed a large family. Maybe he had just found out about a couple of thousand extra illegitimate children. Maybe he had cheated on his wife for the first time, or worse, she had cheated on him. Maybe he had just found out his last batch of children weren’t really his. Just the thought of all that made Boris more sorry for poor Ferris, so much so, that he had almost forgotten his own mountainous problems. He had a closer loom at Ferris, who was busy wiping his wings with his back legs, in an effort to remove some of the beer and dry them. He was looking decidedly more healthy than a few minutes ago, when he had looked partically drowned, with drooping wings and lying flat on the table, unmoving. Boris had thought then he might not make it, but bit by bit he had started moving various appendages. Now he was looking very much alive, and it was clear he was going to mke it after all. His head twisted as he wiped his huge eyes. It was hard to say what he had been trying to deal wth in hislife , You couldn’t tell much by looking at him, he looked like any other fly. But it was like that, no one let anyone else see the load they had to bear. Boris knew he himself looked like any other drunk person in the bar, no one saw or cared about what his problems were. It was probably for the best, there most likely wasn’t much the other flies could do for Ferris, even if they had known. Besides, they all had their problems to cope with. It was just that some, like Ferris, couldn’t cope. He didn’t want to see his mountain of problems topple over, as they inevitably would. Some would call Ferris a coward. Some would call him brave. But in fact, when you are one of more than 7 b of your species on earth, what does it matter? Many just like Ferris died every day, ften in accidents. They might fall by mistake into cooking pots, or get eaten by bords, or most likely swatted or poisoned by humans. Boris could tell by his size that Ferris wasn’t particularly young, and who cared what happened to the old and spent members of your population? They might even secretly welcome his death, more food, less compettion for women. It was too much for Boris. It seemed Ferris solution might not be wrong. It wasn’t right, but it was definitely a solution. And probably the only solution. Certainly the only solution acceptable to ferris, and the only one with certaintly of success. Boris made up his mind, and before ferris was fully functional again, but still very, very drunk, he took the glass and squashed him.