A Cinderella Story
A fairytale.
While at University I worked at a retail clothing store. In my final year, I could not manage working days and started working at a bus company. I worked nights at Park Station till 11 pm for a few days a week, usually weekends. Neither paid very well. I probably earned under R1000 a month but it helped me have money for public transport to get around. For basic things like toiletries and occasionally clothes.
I had paid for my studies with student loans each year which my Dad or someone related to me had to co-sign. My Dad earned above what would allow me to qualify for financial aid but not enough to be able to afford the fees. I’m sure many middle-class students face this dilemma.
We were not able to secure the loan for my final year. I remember being at work on the day of my graduation ball. I had taken day shifts as we no longer had classes or clinicals. Graduation day would be some time after. If I was unable to pay the outstanding fees by the end of the day I would not be allowed to attend the ball and would not graduate. Up to that point, I could not enjoy or be happy that I a girl from a township had attended University and would have a degree. Especially against all the odds I had faced.
All day long my phone kept ringing with messages and calls from my parents which I could not answer as I worked directly with clients. I could do nothing but pray for a miracle.
At the end of my shift, I received notification that my fees had been paid. I could attend the ball.
I had not prepared for that and there were only a few hours to the ball. I had over my life become resourceful and accustomed to making magic out of nothing or very little. I worked in the middle of Johannesburg CBD and needed to take a taxi to get home. I had no dress and no way to get to the ball.
I called a friend who I studied with, swallowed my pride, and asked if I could go with him and his date. I still had nothing to wear. I went to the Chinese mall about 20 minutes from home, walked into the first store looked up, and chose a purple dress. It may have cost R100. I rushed home in another taxi. Hopped into a bath, dressed, pulled my hair up, eyeliner, and some lip-gloss. In less than 30 minutes I was picked up for the ball. Thank goodness for youth, my skin didn’t need much make-up. I looked decent. Even pretty.
I can’t imagine if I had missed out on such a milestone. I did not meet a prince that night but I laughed, smiled, and shared moments with friends. For once, that night I didn’t feel like the poor girl who had nothing to her name, who was usually alone. Well at least not as much as I usually did. I had new, better things to look forward to.
In a different yet similar way, I find myself at another precipice. I am terrified and equally excited.
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I have 3 self-published books available online wherever books are sold.
Lezel