Game Changers: Decades of Dreams Later....!

By Gatsha Conco

Game Changers is a soul revelation of the journey of the author who has lived both sides of life to the extreme and lived to tell the story. An epic rendition of survival about having it all and losing it all, only to regain something more precious than what he had in the beginning: emancipation of the soul. The autobiography follows the author’s life from the perspective of a last-born child born to measure up to his siblings. In his very humble and quiet early years, he preferred to stay under the radar in school and society, especially since he was dealing with coming-of-age taboos and questionable sexuality. The quest begins with seeking acceptance and belonging, and this leads to an older family friend taking advantage of the disillusioned teenager, who sexually assaults him repeatedly at the age of fifteen. Mistaking this sexual introduction for love leads to a downward spiral of depression, drinking, and attempted suicide when he realizes it is just “boys exploring their sexuality” when his advances are unrequited. This evokes a rebellious personality in him, who ends up having to run away from his hometown to Johannesburg after rumors of his questionable sexuality start surfacing among his girlfriends, friends, and family. Johannesburg doesn’t only promise a life of sexual freedom but it also unleashes in him an insatiable appetite for the good life he always dreamt of. Within time, he finds himself in the realm of the rich and famous of South African entertainment and stays with South Africa’s singing sensation, Brenda Fassie, at one point. A life of wild partying and drugs ensues as everyone enjoys freedom of sexual fluidity that was en vogue in the ’90s. Sustaining this kind of lifestyle can be pretty expensive, and this leads to him being introduced to a life of white-collar crimes, valued at over millions combined. One day he receives news that completely changes the course of his life forever, and at that moment, he vows to go on the straight and narrow and find fulfillment out of life. Later, not only does he have to deal with the death of his best friend and celebrity hairdresser, but the best friend’s family also opens a case of murder against him, and it becomes a media duck-and-dive mission. The end of the book sees him navigating life and challenges in the United States.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781684099146

Book preview

Game Changers

Gatsha Conco

Decades of Dreams Later . . . !

Copyright © 2017 Gatsha Conco

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2017

ISBN 978-1-68409-913-9 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-68409-914-6 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Acknowledgement

The Departure (Introduction, Autumn ’13)

The Arrival, Johannesburg (Autumn ’92)

Century Plaza, a Home for All Hopefuls

Narnia . . . Unleashed!

Home Will Always Be Where the Heart Is

Sailing Too Close to the Wind!

Changing Tides

Going Through the Motions

See Me Now . . . See Me No More!

Santa Will Be Late This Year, Kids (1997)

Rise . . . Bored Room to Boardroom

What’s Love Got to Do with It?

Me Against the World

Opulence Redefined ’05

Time to Move On

Lady Justice Served

Business as Usual

What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger

Another Suitcase in Another Hall

The Departure (Continued . . . Autumn ’13)

Start Spreading the News!

About the Author

Acknowledgement

This book is dedicated to all the game changers whom I have crossed path with and influenced the person I have become today. I have been blessed with indelible footprints that have been left by true inspirers in my journey:

My family, for the patience and support through the moments (we have grown through the years with the understanding that the strength of the family is in each of us and each of us strengthen the family).

My counselors, this side and beyond: My dad Tshomza, Mpho ‘Goofy’ Mabizela, Jayson Jay Manakaza, Mandisi ‘Mashumi’ Gontsana, Pam Ndamase, MaBoyce Siphamla, Nokuzola Fassie, maNgubane (grandma Mirriam Chonco), mamSukwini(grandma Klaas).

To all the game changers out there yet to realize your power, I hope this book motivates you to unleash the game changing power you were born and destined to have. Remember, no matter where you find yourself in life right now, the ending can only be written by you.

The Departure

(Introduction, Autumn ’13)

Ispent a bit of time taking in the contours of the house and felt a tinge of emotions rapidly scurrying to the fore, as the reality of the pool of uncertainties of what I was leaving behind and what lay ahead engulfed me. I visually took in the close-to-empty bedroom; were it not for the glass office desk that had seen many years of contracts signed, many business documents, numerous laptops, and a myriad of coins, notes, and keys, the room had lost any sense of familiarity. Much as it once had held sentimental value, it was easy to just pass a glimpse at it now. Letting go of the desk was one of the many sentiments I knew I had to get over, along with all the household contents I have had to sell or give away in the weeks prior: the TV, beds, home theater, fridges (including the bar fridge that had been given to me by my late father). All had to go . . . it was a matter of life and death. Go out there and reclaim the almost-loose grasp to the purpose of life and living, or stay and die sentimentally with the stuff I had acquired through the years.

I switched off the light and quietly closed the bedroom door behind and stepped into the living room, where the rest of my luggage was neatly arranged closest to the passageway that led to the main door. For the last time, I knelt in prayer on the floor in front of the sofa, the same spot that I had crouched with a blanket on for the past seven months and called it my bed.

Seven months . . . !

It was hard to believe that it had been exactly seven months since I lost my apartment in the affluent suburb of Sandton. The eviction still felt so tangible; even though it had been imminent for a while, one can never fully prepare or accept its consequences.

On my knees, I closed my eyes and started to say a prayer . . . a prayer I knew would need to surpass everything I had ever prayed for before . . .

Father God, if this is your will, I accept. There is no way you can allow me to go through all the atrocities I have faced if you did not have a purpose for me. Going home is not an option, Father God, as I know that would be tantamount to failure and kill the little flicker of hope yearning for nourishment in me. I know there have been so many instances when you could have taken my life Lord, and at times I really wished you did, but you saved me from the death’s clutches every time and kept me going. I do believe it is for a reason, Lord. I also believe, Lord, that my destiny is out there and as I leave this house this day, all I have is you and myself Lord. Guide me, great Redeemer, like you have guided many souls before mine, and lead me to the purpose I believe was consecrated for me from conception. I ask all of this in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Just as I was getting up, the buzzer went off to announce the arrival of the cab that I had called earlier. I surveyed the room one last time, and the tears started to trickle down my cheeks, tears that I was not only leaving my friends and my family behind, not only because I was leaving all the dreams and memories that had been made in the City of Gold in the past twenty-one years since I arrived in Johannesburg.

I was leaving it all.

I was leaving the security of the life I had come to know and be comfortable with.

With a quick brush of my sleeve, I wiped my eyes just as the cab driver entered the already open door.

Good morning, sir. Are all these bags going?

Yes, please take everything.

While the cab driver was wrestling with the suitcases into the car, I used the opportunity to take out a set of keys from a bigger bunch and placed it on the kitchen table, feeling extremely grateful that a friend had taken me in during this trying period of life. I took my carry-on bag and headed for the door. A quick last look behind, then I secured the door latch, and I pulled the door behind me.

I got into the cab just as the driver was finishing loading the luggage and got into the cab too.

Where to today, sir?

O. R. Tambo please . . . international departures.

I could see the driver taking a quick glance at me on his rearview mirror and decided to hold his gaze . . . just long enough that the driver dropped his eyes first.

Wow, I’m so envious. Where are you off to?

New York, I said through tightly pressed lips from forcing a courteous smile. All the time, I wondered, Can’t this guy see I’m not in the mood to talk and just want to be left to my thoughts?

Business or pleasure?

I pondered a bit on the question as I realized I had no honest answer to it.

Honestly . . . I have no idea!

The driver turned and looked at me, expecting some elaboration, but at exactly that moment, I also dropped my gaze and pulled at the seatbelt and stared blankly out the window at a distance, signifying the end of the conversation. The driver took the cue of noncompliance and started the engine. In a moment, the cab parted the morning fog, leaving a fading trail of diabolic red eyes with its taillights.

And I was gone.

The Arrival, Johannesburg (Autumn ’92)

It just had been too long coming. It was now or never. And that leap of faith had to be taken. Well, they do say Hindsight is 20/20. I felt there was no way I was going to spend another day visiting those places only for a few hours every day. I wanted more . . . there had to be more. Television and hundreds of novels with heroes and villains, lovers and killers, explorers and collectors. The thing is, to me they were never fictional characters. I mean, whoever that wrote those novels or thought up those television series must have seen a depiction of these lives somewhere; otherwise, there was no way they could be so vivid enough to realize. It was not the adventures of these characters that had me enthralled; what they had in common was they were living life. That’s all I wanted—just to be a part of the rat race. Live .

"What will it be? Chicken or beef sandwich laaitie?"

I was jolted out of my reverie by the steward. It was Zola* (not his real name), whom I quickly recognized as one of the young friends of my recent ex-boss at the leather shop who worked for Transkei Airways, the airline I was a passenger on.

Naah, nothing for me, thank you.

"Sure laaitie, we will chat later. Let me just finish working and I will join you," were his parting words as he continued on his passenger-feeding quest.

Cool, I muttered as I coyly smiled to myself, wondering if he knew how many chicken or beef jokes were making the rounds out there to mock the airline stewards’ lives. In a way, I envied him because this was a job I had always wanted to do after finishing matric and even got an interview once; however, being young and foolish, I had been to a party the weekend before the medical interview, and it was at the medical interview that I found out that dagga stayed at least seven days in your blood system.

I looked through the window, and apart from trying to spot significant formations, there was nothing to see other than the stretch of an endless blanket of clouds. Staring intensely evoked my daydreams, and I was orbited back to thoughts of the recent weeks. Mostly, they were about how the plan came into being.

After matric, I did casual jobs, including being a shop assistant at a leather merchandising shop in Umtata. The owner was this disturbingly handsome guy that was perved on by most of the little town’s fairer sex . . . and a few dizzy closeted flamingos like myself. Even though I had had numerous girlfriends and was dating one even at the time, it was difficult to ignore the emotional jolt I felt each time I encountered any guy I was extremely drawn to, but this was my secret. I had seen how my friends and society shunned izitabane, way even before I knew what the word meant.

His looks obviously didn’t hurt the business, as there was never a shortage of a barrage of accidental shoppers into the shop, just to get a glimpse of the owner and buy little tokens just to have him help them try them on. He also did not help the drooling by coming to the shop at times straight from (or before going for) his every day squash practice, clad in probably the most sinful and skimpiest of shorts. I think I volunteered to work there also (I don’t remember earning any salary other than in-house lunches the owner brought, and that was all good enough for me) just to keep watch and have my fair share of this porn-on-two-legs.

The magnetism at the shop ensured a myriad of visitors—from his equally handsome friends to a bevy of female suitors and admirers, pretending to have just been in the neighborhood and decided to drop in. One of the frequent visitors was Zandi* (not her real name), a beautiful out-of-town lady that would spend hours sitting at the shop (either with the owner or just waiting for him), and this resulted in long hours spent chatting between the two of us (when the owner was not there, of course). One of these conversations gravitated toward my life dreams of going out there and seeing the world. This was freshly after one of the visits from an airline hostess (the wife of the owner’s friend), who would drop in at the shop every now and then and had taken my resume in the hope of also gracing that uniform and ushering in and out the commuters of the world at the airline. Now that I think about it, I think the merikazi had discarded my resume before she could release the brakes of her chicken or beef in-flight trolley. The woman had no regard for anyone except herself—the occupational hazards of growing up as multiple-crown beauty queen.

Nonetheless, my alliance with Zandi was getting stronger, and she told me I stood a better chance if I just rocked up at the Airline’s HR offices in Johannesburg. I pondered on this idea for a while, and after sharing it with the shop owner, he advised that he had a lady friend who stayed in Johannesburg and worked for the same airline who would be able to assist me. Nothing is braver than a young mind seeing an opportunity not to be missed. My mind was made then and there that I was going to the City of Gold . . . for the first time in my life.

Over the next few days, I worked on convincing my father that I managed to secure an interview with the airline and that I was going to be staying with a friend (he knew had recently moved to Johannesburg). I think he was just too happy to get some free time from a temperamental teen with no proper direction in life. So he agreed to purchase the plane ticket, and I was soon seeing myself closer to my dream of being amongst the beautiful people that were actually living. I distinctly remember the excitement on my way to the airport that I was going to a city I had only heard great things about yet everyone who mattered seemed to be going to. I had promised my dad that I would call if I anything happened or when I would be coming back.

Ding . . . dong . . .

Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to start our descent. Please fasten your seatbelts, stow away your tray tables, and adjust your seats to an upright position . . . Ding . . . dong.

I stole a quick glance outside the window and could see a level of lights beckoning us from a distance. It was the most beautiful thing yet the most fearful thing I had ever laid eyes on. It seemed to stretch on forever from the one side of my window, and I could still see it across from where other passengers opposite me were sitting. Suddenly a choking feeling of fear engulfed me as I realized that I was minutes away from touching down in a city that would either bless me abundantly or destroy me into oblivion; however, the most pressing thing for me I could not see beyond was the realization that now that I was arriving in Johannesburg this night, I did not have a place to stay. I had spoken to my boss’s lady friend on the phone when he called her, and she had said it was okay; I could crash in with her while I was in town. In my excitement to get out of the small town and see what lay out there for me, I foolishly blinked out the part of following up on what would actually happen to my living arrangement prior and after my airline job combat.

While I was still jostling with this dire predicament, I was disturbed by the return of Zola, who came to sit next to me in the back row of the airplane, over the intercom announcement that all cabin crew were to take their seat too, to prepare for landing.

So, what brings you to Jozi?

I have a job interview at this other airline tomorrow morning, I lied, suppressing my irritation as I had a pressing matter of lack of accommodation to deal with, yet I wanted to play it brave in the eyes of Zola, but also to calm myself out of the sudden surge of panic.

Really? That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you. Ahhh, you gonna enjoy working there. I know you’ll like working with people. So whatchu doin’ after your interview? We must hook up. I only need to come and pick up my new rooster tomorrow, and we can meet up after. So when are you going back?

This crescendo of Zola’s excitement was seriously threatening my waning patience as I so wanted time alone to fully assess how much cow dung I was in.

I don’t know yet . . . have not decided.

"Stay a bit, man, what’s the rush? Maybe they might wanna take you immediately and want you to sign soon, so stay just to get feedback first. Where are you staying here, vele?

And there it was! That dreadful question I had been trying so hard to avoid. My mind was doing a double somersault on attempting to come up with a convincing lie, but what came out of my mouth next instead was, Actually I’m not sure where will I be staying. My friend has arranged for me to stay with his other friend, so I will call when I land.

Tjooo, when was the last time you spoke to her?

Last week . . .

Do you know her address?

"Yes, at the border of Hillbrow