‘Baboon wins Lotto’ the headlines said. At first Pulane thought it was another ploy by The New Sun to further boost its already high circulation among the gullible.

She was an avid reader of the tabloid, would spend her last cent on it and rather go hungry than be without it. Headings like ‘Wife finds hubby in bed with doll’ confirmed her belief that men were dogs, including her own hubby, Tawana. He, however, was a good dog that wagged its tail on seeing its master in return for a pat on the head. That was her Tawana. Articles with headings like ‘Naked old woman found trapped in backyard’ or ‘Four poster bed found on roof of house’ amused her and made her feel superior to those who believed in witchcraft. She had come across all sorts of ridiculous headings in the past but this one about the baboon took the cake.

Wanting to believe what the headlines said, but at the same time dismiss it as nonsense, Pulane decided to read the article in full. Perhaps they were talking about Baboon Shepherd, the legendary football star of yesteryear, who played for Swallows. Or was it Pirates? Her mother used to idolise him, much to the chagrin of her father. But no, it can’t be, because Baboon Shepherd died a few years ago. Then it must be Baboon Shepherd the Second, an up and coming star, who had adopted the former hero’s nickname. No it can’t be. Very few players these days had nicknames you could use to appreciate their dribbling skills or spur them on to victory with, as they were now playing the long ball, the brainless kick-and-run brand of English football. No wonder Bafana Bafana were losing almost all of their games and their players were no longer ‘good catches’ like Lucas Radebe; now there was a real hunk of a man if there ever was one; pity he was already taken. But even if there were nicknames to shout, these would be drowned out by the noise of the stupid vuvuzelas fans blew at matches nowadays. No, it can’t be Baboon Shepherd the Second they were referring to.

On reading the article further, however, any doubts in her mind about the truth of the report were dispelled when she came to the part where the baboon’s feat was compared to that of his cousin, Max the Gorilla, who single handed, arrested a gun-wielding robber at the Johannesburg zoo a few years ago. She remembered how he became an overnight hero and celebrity and received VIP treatment at a private hospital to remove from his shoulder the bullet fired at him by the robber, was fêted the whole year long, and even won a medal for bravery. If Max could accomplish all that, what’s to stop Baboe from winning the lotto? These primates were capable of even greater feats. Pulane told herself.

Her mind started working rapidly. A bright idea occurred to her, but she would have to move fast before others also thought of it.

The only problem was that she did not have Baboe’s number. Then she remembered she should phone 1023 if she wanted to track down somebody’s phone number. She did that. The line had a lot of static that day.

“Mr. Baboo? What are his initials and in which area must we look for him?” The voice at 1023 said in answer to her query.

“I don’t know his initials, but…”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you.”

“I don’t know his initials but he recently won the lottery.”

“Oh, I see. A Mr. Baboo in Ottery. Would that be Ottery in the Cape?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Ottery in the Cape; would that…”

“Yes, he won the lotto.”

“O.K. No problem. Mr. Otto Baboo from Ottery. We’ll find him for you and come back to you in a jiffy.”

After an hour the answer came back.

“We found two Baboos in Ottery with the initials ‘O’. The one is A.O. the other O.N. Here are their numbers.” Pulane wrote them down.

“Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Our pleasure ma’am.”

Pulane tossed a coin to decide which Baboo to phone first.

She thought she struck gold first time when she heard a grunt at the other end of the line.

“Hello. Baboo speaking. How can I help you?”

“Hello, Baboe bay-bee; ‘tis me Pula-nee. Remember me-ee ? Congratulations. Listen bay-bee, how about you and me getting together for a leet-tle celebration next week, to spend some of that lovely moolah you won? What do you say Baboe bay-bee, huh ?”

“Who is this? And I am not Moolla. I am Mr. Abdul Baboo. Why do you call me at this ungodly hour of the morning and…”

“And you keep away from my husband if you know what is good for you.” Mrs. Baboo in the background chipped in. “You…you…” She searched for a suitable invective that did not start with a ‘K’ or ‘C’ that could bring down on her the wrath of the Human Rights Commissioner, who was forever on the prowl for offenders, and land her in the Equality Court where she could be sued for millions. She settled for an ‘R’ word: “You rubbish!”

“Sor-ree. So sorry. Wrong number.” Pulane said and dropped the phone.

“Geez! Some people can be so-oo sensitive.”

She rang the other Baboo’s number.

“Hello Baboe, bay-bee.” She said as soon as the phone was picked up at the other end.

“Pulane! Pulane!..”

“Why bay-bee, you recognised my voice instantly. How sweet …”

“Pulane! Pulaneeee!”

The voice at the other end sounded like that of her husband Tawana. He sounded close by, like he was shouting directly into her ear.

It was Sello. And he was close by, right next to her in bed, shaking her by the shoulder.

“Wake up Pulane. You are talking in you sleep again. What is the matter? You are disturbing me. I’ve got to wake up at three to go to work. Pleeease!”

“What..? What?” Pulane said, rubbing the sleep away from her eyes.

“I have to go to work at three o’clock!”

Pulane was now wide awake and sat up. She could not believe her ears.