People always ask me how I know so much about sugar daddies.
Well, if you knew me personally, you’d know I’m a streetwise kind of girl who loves to party and dance until morning, and that’s where sugar daddies linger.
Apart from that, I’ve been told I have the sort of image that appeals to sugar daddies.
God generously blessed me with an African trademark, or should I say ‘ngipakile’ (curves and a round behind), as it would be described in the ghetto.
Sugar daddies apparently lust after pear-shaped women.
Just last week, I had the honour of travelling with Mido Macia’s family, friends and some of the taxi owners from the Benoni Taxi Association to Mozambique for his burial.
Macia is the Mozambican taxi driver who died in the Daveyton police station holding cells after he was tied to a police van and dragged several metres down the street.
I was a hit with the taxi owners, but needless to say, most looked old enough to be my father.
My cellphone number was a sought after, with some of them using the excuse that they might have a story for me in the future, and like a good journo always looking to make new contacts, I shared it.
At the first stop outside Joburg, I received a call from a number I didn’t recognise.
It was one of the taxi owners, whose name I can’t recall. He said he was parked a few metres from our car and would like to talk to me.
We spoke for a few minutes outside his Toyota SUV before he offered me a drink from his well-stocked cooler box.
When I said I had flu and would pass up anything cold, he offered me a Chivas Regal whisky, saying it would ease the flu.
“Thank you, but no, I don’t take hot stuff,” I had to explain.
In front of his friends, who looked on enviously as he tried to impress me, probably thinking he had scored a young one, he took out his thick wallet and drew out a few crisp notes, saying: “Go to the garage and get yourself something to drink”.
Quickly, I grabbed it and thanked him.
In my culture, when somebody gives you money, no matter how little it is or whether you need it, you take it with a smile and offer your gratitude because it means more is on its way.
So the Zulu inside me could not let the opportunity pass.
I’m not sure what followed in our conversation except for the part where he said: “So sisonke eMaputo (we are together in Maputo).”
I hesitantly said yes but ensured he understood that meant we would bump into each other every now and then because we would all be attending Macia’s funeral, and nothing else.
But it got me thinking about how young girls fall into the sugar daddy trap.
Sugar daddies impress women with flashy cars, cash and glittery gadgets.
If I was in a desperate situation and had no hope of driving an even bigger and more powerful SUV than his some day, I could easily have fallen for his ploy.
In a few minutes he had shown me a glimpse of the “good life” I would allegedly live if I was his “squeeze”.
I’m not that kind of a girl and I cringe when I think of teenage girls sleeping with an older man just to have their weaves or cellphones paid for.
Sugar daddies are not sweet.
Research has shown they don’t like to use condoms and are the main cause of the increasing rate of new HIV infections among young girls.
We have to stay away. It’s better to be safe than sorry.
How to spot a sugar daddy