There are a few things I have always wanted to do in my life. I wanted to work in an exotic hotel and travel overseas. I don’t think that was too much to ask for a young woman in her early twenties.

 

In my early twenties, a friend from Johannesburg and I went on holiday together. We enjoyed a luxurious adventure aboard the cruise ship Pendennis Castle. We sailed from Durban to Cape Town, and on the way, stopping in Port Elizabeth. We spent a week in Cape Town before returning to Durban on another cruise ship, the Edinburgh Castle. With another week left to relax, we stayed at a hotel on the South Coast.

 

One rainy day, my friend chose to take a nap, so I explored the hotel and its information boards. That’s when the hotel manager struck up a conversation with me. I asked him what it was like to work in a hotel, and he shared all the ins and outs of living where you work. He invited me into his office and asked, “What makes you curious about working in a hotel?”

“I’ve always wanted to know what it must be like,” I replied.

“Well,” he said, “when can you start?”

His offer took me aback with its seriousness. Yes, he was offering me a job as a reception clerk and cocktail bar waitress! On my return to Johannesburg, I handed in two weeks' notice and moved to the coast.

 

I soon discovered that the hotel industry is all about making money. I was good at generating ideas. With the trainee manager's help, we started a Ladies' Evening once a week in the Cocktail Bar. It was a short event before dinner, but during the periods outside of school holidays, we decided to invite local women as well. Kev, the trainee manager, and I went all out to entertain the guests. I even dressed up as a baby, complete with a nappy, and mimed the old Rolf Harris song, “I Lost My Mommy!” Kev dressed as Dr. Frank N. Furter and mimed to “Sweet Transvestite.” It was almost like we were engaging in behaviour that seems to trivialise a painful emotional wound within us.

 

Word got around, and we became quite popular. However, after a while, Kev insisted on downing a pint of lager before each show. I realised the drinking thing wasn't good for him, so I decided to end it all. Unfortunately, or rather fortunately, the Ladies’ Evenings came to an end.

Despite that, I enjoyed the job. During one week of constant rain, I decided to organise a car rally for the guests—a fun event for the whole family. They loved it! But, not long after the first rally, I started limping until I couldn’t walk any more. The local doctors couldn’t find out what was wrong with me, and I had to seek medical help elsewhere. This led me to a small town close to Bloemfontein, where I stayed with my brother and his wife. After many visits from homoeopathy to medical professionals, they referred me to the medical students at Bloemfontein Hospital for a diagnosis.

 

After a week in the hospital, the final test revealed I had Brucellosis, a bacterial disease possibly caused by drinking unpasteurised milk. Medical students asked me endless questions. I remember the first of many check-ups, sitting on a bench next to a very old man in the hallway while I waited for someone to see me. He began talking to me. But at every sentence, his voice would wobble with emotion, as if he might cry.

 

“Why are you here?” he asked. “You’re still so young?”

At that moment, three doctors in their long white coats walked by. The old man, leaning on his walking stick, commented, “There they go. The longer their coats are, the sharper their knives.” With his voice wobbling at the end. I tried hard not to laugh.