Lisa and his Snoek

It’s the second of the month and Lisakanye smells of fish. He lays a grubby hand on my shoulder and I flinch at its oily stench. He smiles.

‘Snoooek’ he says, dragging out the word until it resembles the slender, sleek body of its same sake.

‘How much?’ I ask.

‘Nine rand’ he replies, rattling off the R.

‘Where’d you get nine bucks for Snoek?’ 

‘My Marthar,’

‘Your Mother?’

‘Yes, grant you see. It’s not me, it government, ask government.’

‘Child welfare?’

‘Ah, see, it’s nice neh?’ he smiles before dashing away.

It’s the second of the month and Lisa can buy fish on his mother’s welfare. He speaks pigeon English, but he knows ‘Child Welfare’. I wander how many nine year olds understand what a government grant is.

Children grow old quick here.