Archive for April, 2009

fat luluI had almost finished for the evening, and I sat drinking the last bit of red wine in the house for that Saturday, one eye on the television and the other on the heap of papers I had to read by Monday.

Deeply engrossed in thought about my new client who had stolen money from the society for the blind , and I was wondering just how on earth I could convince a judge not to send her to prison when the phone rang.

“Helloooo”, the voice announced, with a giggle.

“Lulu ?” I asked.

“Of course darling,” she shot back.

Without giving me so much as a moment to respond she began.

“Look, darling how would you like an all expenses paid trip to `Northern Zululand?”

“Zululand ”, queried I, “Don’t you mean Kwa Zulu Natal?”

“Whatever!” she responded.

“So?” she asked again, slowly this time.


“Oh I need to do some work there, but it won’t take long. Come on it’ll be fun”, she enthused.

“OK”, I said, tentatively.

“You might have to do a workshop with me.”

She added matter of factly.

“On what?”6a00d8341bfcb953ef00e5508632038834-800wi

“AIDS awareness,” she replied.

“Isn’t that like daylight awareness?” I shot back.

“Fuck off..” she said.

“Pick you up in 10 minutes,” she added.

“What, now?” I asked.

“No, next week, of course, now.”


An hour and forty minutes later, Fat Lulu pulled up, in a brand new, Mitsubishi Pajero.

Hair, long and curly, slightly red, huge smile, with Via Con Dios playing at full ball.

She stuck her head out the window and said, “ You coming or not ?”

I nodded.

“Well, hurry up” she said.

We hardly spoke as Lulu pushed up the volume, she smiled again and tore off like she was in Paris Dakkar.

An hour later, she put the Via con Dios off, changed it for Abba.

As Dancing Queen began, some two hours, 4 minutes and 30 seconds later, for the third time, she turned to me, and asked , “ Would you like to see the penis ?”

I froze.


“The penis” she said, again, matter of factly.

“Your penis.”

“Well, its not yours, it belongs to the European Union, but you get to use it.”

I sat there gobbsmacked as she reached into her bag and hauled out a gigantic, very authentic rubber penis.

She handed it to me, and laughed.

“Isn’t it fabulous?” she asked.

I  shuddered a bit.

“Where did you get this?” I asked.

“Standard issue from the EU.”


“The European Union.”

“What’s it for,” I asked with deep trepidation.

“Isn’t it obvious?” she asked, her head slightly tilted, looking at me while driving 180 km per hour on a dirt road.

“No, not even vaguely.”

“Aids awareness, you idiot, its for your workshop, you have to show them how to put on a condom.”

My heart stood still. Fat Lulu had cornered me, yet again.


“Rural black men, Zulus and stuff, you know.”


“Look” she announced, “ we used to use broomsticks, but then we found they were going home and before they did it, they just put the condom on their brooms behind the door.”

I was astounded, and breathless at the unfolding drama here in the Pajero, now cavorting through a river at high speed, Abba in the background, and Lulu holding the penis with one hand.

“So”, she continued, waving it at me, ”we convinced the Swedish to give us penises, but they were white, and too small, so we had our own big black ones made.”

“And you do this every day ?” I asked.

“They pay me to, but you are going to do this. For me, because I double booked. Actually I triple booked, but I only have two penises.”

She smiled.

I shuddered in silence.


“Let me get this right, “ I said questioningly, “ The European Union sends you all over the country in a million rand’s worth of 4×4, puts you up in five star game lodges and in return, you put condoms on giant replica penises for rural black men ?”

“Of course,” she retorted.

“And they pay you?” I asked incredulously.

“Not as much as the Americans.” she said.