Free Coconut by Kopano Matlwa

that dripped blood into the house and onto Mama’s peach Persian carpet, making her scream. Daddy’s eyes were wide and red, suggesting that he had been drinking, and Uncle Max had unbuttoned his shirt, allowing his large belly to protrude out unapologetically.
     
    Daddy, detecting the growing unease in the room, explained that he was unable to locate a live cow that was purchasable, and had instead opted to buy a chicken from the young white man who had been so kind as to offer to drop it off at the house. Daddy went on to say that he did, however, remember that Koko had stressed the importance of a cow, so Bra Alex had suggested that they buy a slaughtered one at the butcher and had requested that its blood be collected in a Tupperware dish so that it could be used for the ceremony.
     
    Koko and Mama were silently washing the dishes when the Little Valley Country Estate security guards drove up our driveway in their Jeep vans. Daddy, Bra Alex and Uncle Max had left shortly after Malome Arthur slit the disturbingly willing chicken’s neck open, allowed its blood to seep into the soil and mumbled a brief prayer that nobody heard. Tshepo was thus the one who received the letter of warning from the two security guards that explained that the couple in No. 2042 behind us had alerted them that we were sacrificing animals after they spotted a chicken hung up on our washing line. The letter warned that we were liable to be heavily fined because we had breached rules no. 12.3 and 15.1 in the Little Valley Country Estate Code of Conduct Handbook.
     
    12.3 Residents of Little Valley Country Estate may not keep any wild animals, livestock, poultry, reptiles or aviaries or any other animals of the sort on the Estate grounds.
     
    15.1 Residents of Little Valley Country Estate must avoid installing visible laundry lines, Wendy houses, tool sheds, pet accommodation and the like in areas that are visible from public view and must ensure that the above are screened from neighbouring properties.
     
    Kicking aside the traditional beer that lay forgotten in a bucket on the floor collecting flying peanuts and bits of carpet, Grandmother Tlou and Pat excused themselves, saying that they had other engagements to get to. Aunty Sophia, as usual, followed them out. Once they had left, Mama dropped the household cleaner and goldilocks she had been futilely using to try to remove the blotches of a now-brown colour from her carpet and turned to Koko:
     
    “You happy now, ma? Now that you was embarrassing me in front of the eyes of my in-laws and my neighbours. Now that you cover my carpet with blood, fill my kitchen with dirty flies and chased my husband away from her home. You had to make your presence be felt, nê ma? Everybody must know Koko is here. You could not just let a good thing be. No ma, you must insist that this witchcraft be performed. You must be reminding all of us of our backward ways. Did Arthur’s drunked prayer of thanks please the gods, ma? Is the gods now happy? Or now must we perform another ceremony to find that out?”
     
    Little Valley Country Estate sells itself as ‘your rustic escape from the rat race.’ Daddy says that there were many such developments coming up in the city when he bought our house because South Africans were attracted to the idea of a residential area right in the melting pot of the country but even more so to ones that also assured the 24-hour a day maximum security mandatory for survival in Johannesburg. Daddy, however, said that he fell for Little Valley because they had created the most captivating horse-riding trails within their estate, and although he did not ride, he said that they were reason enough to learn to.
     
    Driving into the estate (strictly adhering to the 40 kph rule), we pass homes where little children forget to close their front doors when they run in, where teenage girls smoke cigarettes out of their bedroom windows so their parents may not know and leave them wide