Price on my daughter’s head

A total of 92 cows for lobola is not bad – and that’s what I got offered for my stunning daughter by her American boyfriend.

“Bro, you’re mad,” little Tim, who is negotiating lobola for his second “girlfriend”, ventures at my 25 year old’s birthday party. “The going rate is 12 to 15 cows.”

But the American stands firm on his first round of 60 cows during our drunken lobola negotiations.

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“You know a cow costs between R12 000 to R15 000?” Tim is panicking, but the American stands firm: “In that case 90 cows,” he tells me glassy-eyed.

I accept the offer. Not lightly, I’ll tell you, because as much as I scorn the culture of snipping into manhood and putting a price on a woman’s head, it’s tempting.

A full – and I’m not good at sums – R1.3 million. Paid to me no less.

But we hit a “dumpie” the next day: our favourite phrase for any obstacle in our way after he fell – rolling of eyes – sporting a massive knob on his forehead.

He’s not the jealous type, but battles with spanners in his controlled works.

Daughter and I go off the grid. Often. And so we hit a dumpie with him. We did our own thing without him for about a wink of an eye and some lovely man offered me 91 cows. I accepted.

“Geez, I can’t leave you girls for even a day and my lobola goes up,” he tells me in the car after I tapped him on the shoulder with the latest offer.

He said nothing. But I get my moment with him two hours later where he simply turns his blonde head and says: “92 cows.” I accepted.

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I, for the first time, met a man who just loves my difficult – she knows what she wants – daughter.

I, for the first time, think she may, just may, have met the man who can supplement her. I thought of words like “fulfil”, “complete”, “understand” … I’ll stand with “supplement”.

Because that’s what true love is: you don’t live for a man and he doesn’t live for you. You stay you. Always.

All I wish for all my children is a soulmate. Hard work, but so worth it.

All I wish for my children is finding what I had for 32 years with all the pit toilet stuff that goes with it.

That is what keeps your arms up, irrespective of your dumpies. Long live the price on my daughter’s head.