Preface-

This Saturday is a Saturday like no other, one

that will go down in history. It all starts with a
cloud as small as a man’s hand, not only do the
village people see it, they see hope. Hope that it
will finally rain in Izingolweni.
In less than thirty minutes blue skies are
covered by dark clouds, thunder roars, lightning
strikes and rain pours down like God himself is
singing to a happy song in the shower.

A perfect storm it has become.

After ten years of draught, waiting and praying

for rain, the villagers praise God, ancestors or
whatever higher power is in charge on the other
side.

Some dance in the rain, some keep their

windows tightly shut to keep warm and dry,
while majority are gathered at the Khanyile
homestead, celebrating the coming birth of
Vumile Khanyile’s seventh child.
A village chief highly esteemed in Izingolweni
and neighbouring townships, mostly because of
his wealth that, over the years has spread
throughout South Africa.

As 6pm approaches, agonizing screams of a

woman are heard in one of the rondavels, the
people gathered outside have halted the
celebration.
Now they wait with anticipation, hoping that the
seventh time around Vumile Khanyile will be
blessed with another son for whatever reason.
“It’s a boy.” The midwife cheerfully sings,
holding the new born upside down. A few slaps
on his butt and the baby cries. “At this rate
you’re going Dalisile, you will be left with
nothing in your kraal and a house full of
daughters-in-law.”

Had it been anyone else, they would’ve been

ousted or banished from the village for calling
her by name. These old women are an
exception, they have known her since she was a
child.
Dalisile doesn’t bat an eye, neither does her
heart twitch as she lies on the soft mattress
drenched with her sweat and blood, the sound
of her baby’s cries challenging the thunderous
roars of the gods.
“He is a beautiful creature in deed.” Another
midwife sings the baby’s praises.

“Here, breastfeed the young one, he’s crying for

his mother’s touch.” Sings the woman with the
baby in her arms, he’s now wrapped in a warm
grey blanket, his cries have not come to a stop.
“Get that thing away from me.” Dalisile shoves
the midwife’s hand away, luckily the baby is still
secure in her arms.
Confused and astounded, the two ladies
exchange glances.
“Dalisile!”
“I’m not touching him,” the mother interjects.
Not once did she ever touch her belly while she
was with child, even when bathing. Why would
she do it now?
“Dalisile, this is not how things are done. Your
baby yearns for what your breast holds, feed
him.” An impatient midwife snaps, the baby’s
cries elevate as if he could perceive his
mother’s negligence. With each passing second,
Dalisile's spirit crushes farther. This is not what
she wanted, it’s not what she wants.
“Shut it up.” Saying that, tears roll down her
cheeks. “Shut it up now, now.” Dalisile grips her
hair as screams leave her parched lips, a
delusional woman she has become.

The midwives are taken aback by the sudden

outburst, it’s not their job to pacify the baby nor
the mother.
Dalisile clenches her eyes and covers her ears
until the fretting cries come to a halt. A silent
night would it have been if it were not for the
rain and thunder outside, it’s almost like the
gods are angry.
Flicking her tear-filled eyes open she sees her
husband cradling the baby in his big arms.
He is so predictable, it’s not new that he loves
the baby more than she could ever hate it. His
love overpowers the hate she has for the life
she has brought into this dark world.

“He knows his father at such a tender age,” a

midwife observes smiling down at the infant
who is quiet in his father’s arms.
“Leave us.” Dalisile commands, a stone cold
expression on her face. The midwives depart,
they are used to her demeanour.
Despite the cold hearted person she is, Dalisile
always celebrated the birth of her children. All
six boys, the seventh one must be different for
her not to want it.
“Seven is the lucky number.” Her husband says,
unable to contain the smile on his face. “Today
is the seventh day of the seventh month, it is
the 1997th year. He truly is a blessing from
amathonga.” (Ancestors.)

“Put that baby down Vumile.” Dalisile’s cold

tone pierces her husband’s heart, instead of
adhering to his wife’s words, he holds the baby
closer to his chest.
“I will do no such thing.” Vumile.
“He is not ours to keep, he was never ours to
keep.” Eyes pasted on the wall, with no plans to
glance anywhere else, Dalisile argues.
“What are you talking about?” Vumile snaps,
frowning down at his wife.
“You know what I’m talking about Vumile,” she
hisses. “My sister has been informed about his
arrival, she is on her way as we speak. She will
take the child away, he does not belong here.”
Dalisile utters with no remorse found in her
voice.
“Over my dead body,” Vumile roars and that
alone startles the new born. Loud cries of a
baby fill their sacred room, he doesn’t attempt
to pacify him. Anger is seated on the throne of
his heart now and he needs to get it off.
“I will not give my son away. Do you hear me,
Dalisile?”
“It is not your decision to make Vumile, the boy
was nurtured by me, in my womb. You did not
help me carry this child, I endured labour pains
alone. I will do to him as I please.”
Words can make and break a person, Dalisile
never cares to bruise her husband’s ego.

“Talk to me in whatever way you see fit, matter

of fact is the baby stays.”

Vumile throws back as he rocks the baby back

and forth in his arms. He looks at the infant as
if he is the most precious thing in his life, eyes
glinting with unshed tears.

“Mathonga Ngwanekangwadi Khanyile.”

He christens the new born. All Dalisile can do is

watch in horror.
Who said one only cries tears of joy? She
clenches her fists, tears raining down her face,
the anger she feels is unexplainable.
Suffocating to say the least.

“You’re going to regret this Vumile. The

Khanyiles will never accept him. I will… never…
accept… him.” Dalisile sputters, eyes burning
with rage. Vumile scowls at his wife, he clicks
his tongue, once… twice.
“Tell your sister to turn back, she is not needed
here. This is my house, I will not be controlled
by a woman.”
He delivers and walks out of their rondavel,
leaving his wife drowning in wrath.

-----

Dalisile has not left her chambers, exactly

fourteen hours have gone by not once has she
gone out to enquire about her new born baby,
nor has her husband brought him to her.
Although still in pain, she cleaned up, put on her
best dress and asked for her first born son
Vukuzakhe.
Today is his birthday, it was twelve years ago
when she pushed him out of her vagina. The
happiest day of her life, she remembers.

She and Vumile had been praying for a child, he

didn’t mind the gender while she pleaded with
the gods to give her a son, an heir who will
continue his father’s legacy.
Her pride and joy who will make her a woman
amongst women, the envy of Izingolweni and
that, she did become by the time she gave her
husband boy number three.
Women sought to be like her, men envied her
husband.

“Mama, may I go play with my brothers?” He

has a speech impediment.
Not only does her son stutter, his words are
unhurried and his voice can be mistaken of a
little girl’s. Dalisile hates it. She becomes
extremely impatient when he speaks, not to
mention annoyed.

“Mama.” The child is tired of sitting under his

mother’s skirt, he was woken up at crack of
dawn, bathed and put into his best attire.
He thought the party his mother had promised
him was going to start early. But his thoughts
have changed, it’s almost midday and he’s still
stuck with a woman who hasn’t said much to
him but “happy birthday themba la Khanyile.”

“You will go later.” She says almost snapping at

the poor child. She’s standing beside him,
stroking his head with a gentle touch. He’s been
asking and she’s been giving the same answer.
“But it’s my birthday today, I haven’t seen some
of my brothers.” He is used to complaining to
his mother, she takes it usually because he is
the apple of her eye.
“Who is more important to you, me or your
brothers?” This is a tough question. The boy
has no answer for his mother, he loves his
family the same. He’d never choose.

He shifts on the little stool his mother forced

him on, it’s a wooden bench made for a little
prince. That’s what she told him when she
came home years ago from a trip in western
Africa with the bench wrapped with a blue
ribbon.
Of all his brothers, Vukuzakhe is the only one
who gets gifts from her trips. It’s not that the
damn woman has favourites, ask and she’ll
unashamedly tell you that she loves her children
the same, she just enjoys her eldest son’s
presence more.

He’s on his feet, looking up at his mother. He’s

too tall for a twelve year old, maybe two years
from now he will be taller than her.
“But why are we in here? I haven’t met my little
brother.” He says, sulking a little.
A frown grows on Dalisile’s face, it’s ugly and
scary.
“You were with Sakhile this morning.” Says the
woman, as she continues to brush her son’s
head. Three year-old Sakhile was her last born
before the one she birthed last night came
along, the unexpected seed that was not
planned.

The couple thought they were done and dusted

with six boys, that’s why they named their last
born Sakhile. The name Vukuzakhe has a deep
meaning, it came to Vumile in a dream.
The boy was meant to bring luck into their
family, to multiply what they needed the most
and it did happen. The Khanyile family became
richer, from livestock to sons.

Sakhile’s name was them saying they are done,

they have built the life they wanted and had
everything they had asked for.

“Not him, I’m talking about Mathonga. Baba told

me about him last night, I wanted to meet him
but he said I’ll meet him in the morning. If I
knew you were going to call for me, mama, I
was going to hide.” Honest is what the boy is,
he is an extrovert and tells things like they are.
“Vukuzakhe…”
“Can I sit with you later? I have to go now.” He’s
polite as well, Dalisile grips his arms when he
shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
“Don’t go.” There’s panic in her voice, her eyes
are wild and shifty.

He wants to ask why when they hear screams

coming from outside.
“Fire, fire.” It is many voices screaming in horror,
Vukuzakhe shifts again as if snapping himself
from the tight grab. His mother pulls him back,
she refuses to let go.
“Mama?” Now his eyes are wild, he’s not sure
what’s going on, but he needs to go out there
and see what the commotion is about.
“Don’t go.” That’s all… no explanation
whatsoever.
Eyes bulging out of their sockets, his head
whips toward the door, then back to his mother.
There are tears in her eyes, he doesn’t
understand why she’s crying. He doesn’t care
either, at this point, what matters are the
brothers outside this door, and the man who
gave him life.

The screams outside skyrocket, his heart sinks

at the thought of losing his family. He jolts from
his mother’s tight grip, one foot behind, the
other in front as he plays tug of war with
Dalisile.
“Let me go mama.” He shouts like a little girl,
but she won’t let him go.
“Stop fighting me son, I’m trying to protect you.
It’s not safe out there.” She yells back.
Vukuzakhe does not care, he does the
unthinkable when he kicks his mother on the
knee. Dalisile shrieks as her giant-self tumbles
to the ground. There’s no time to check on her,
she’s alive, that’s all that matters.
“Vukuzakhe no.”
Her reproach falls on deaf ears, he grabs the
key lying recklessly on the table and runs to
unlock the door.
“Noooo.”
A horrific cry calls behind him, he’d turn if his
mind was not filled with thoughts of his
brothers and father.

Ignoring the stabbing pain on her neither

regions, Dalisile manages to get back up just as
her first born runs out of her bedroom, she’s
limping and springing her way out of the room
not caring about the stitches that might rip.
Face covered in tears and heart drumming hard
on her chest.
“My son, my son.”

She yells the second she’s outside into the

chaos. The sun is out in all its glory, the skies
are blue again, no sign that it had rained last
night but the damp ground.
Dalisile cringes at how crowded the Khanyile
premises are, there’s never peace and quiet in
this bloody place.
She is sweating and heaving like a wounded
animal, she knows she’s bleeding down there.
The unbearable pain is proof that her stitches
have ripped, proof that just last night she had
given birth to a child she does not want.
A little more hatred grows for Mathonga. This
wouldn’t have happened if he wasn’t born. She
thinks to herself.
Her line of thoughts are wiped out by someone
bumping into her, a village teenage boy carrying
a bucket of water on his head, too focused on
the burning rondavel to stop and apologise.
She thinks of dealing with him later. Right now
she needs to find her son.
People are scattered like ants, women have
yielded to wailing, while men are working
tirelessly to put out the fire.
All of these people don’t matter to her, neither
does the burning rondavel. Her concern is
Vukuzakhe, she can’t spot him anywhere no
matter how much she scans her eyes.
“Ndlunkulu,” shouts one of the crying women.
Dalisile spares a glance, disgust written on her
face. The woman points at the burning house.
“Vukuzakhe ran inside that house, he wanted to
save his brothers. They are going to die, they
are all going to die.”

The woman’s words evoke anger in her, Dalisile

clenches her teeth and runs to attack the
female with a vicious slap, it gets the attention
of a few.
“How dare you?” Dalisile yells, a dam pouring
down her face. “Do you know who you’re talking
about? My son will not die, do you hear me?”
The poor woman is served with another slap, no
one dares to interfere.
They are aware of Dalisile Khanyile and the
heart she inherited from the devil.
Dalisile turns back to the burning rondavel,
horror evident in her eyes. She’s
hyperventilating, locked in fear.
“Vukuzakhe, Vukuzakhe my son!” At this, she
falls down on her knees weeping like a woman
who has lost it all.
The womenfolk next to her are dazed, this
woman is a mother of seven. She was told all
her children are inside the burning hut, how is
she grieving for just one?
Mathonga-
One-

THE KHANYILES

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

No parent ever wants to hear these words, this
is not how things are supposed to go. Parents
should not bury their children.
It’s a tough time at the Khanyile household,
never in his wildest dreams did Vumile think he
would have to bury his fourth and last born.
Vimbela and Sakhile suffocated to death while
the other children were being rescued.
Fortunately, Mathonga and Vumile were not in
that rondavel much to Dalisile’s annoyance.
She threw a tantrum when her husband came
running from god knows where, asking her to
hold the baby as he wanted to help put the fire
out. Of course she declined and one of the
women took the task.

Not everyone is invited to the funeral, just family

members, they would have invited a few friends
but the family is big enough as it is.
When it’s time to throw soil into the graves,
Vumile turns to his first born son and extends
his hand.
The boy takes a step, his mother pulls him back.
She hasn’t left his side since they were rescued
by the villagers five days ago. But all Vukuzakhe
wants are his brothers, the ones who have left
him and the ones he’s left with.
“Ndodana.” Vumile calls again, Vukuzakhe rips
himself from his mother’s tight grip.
“My son.” It’s a whisper, Vumile hears it though
and scowls at the woman. She’s unbothered,
look at her rushing behind her son. As she gets
to them, Vumile circles his hand on her bicep
and squeezes a little.
“You’re too obvious Dalisile, stop suffocating
the boy.” He whispers into her ear, making sure
the warning only catches her.
“What did I do?” She asks.
Her face is hidden behind a hideous hat that
has a veil, it’s too dramatic for a funeral, maybe
it would’ve worked for church… you know
something to avoid the pastor when he starts
asking for tithes.
“Sakhile and Vimbela are gone, your sons died
but you don’t seem to care. You’re hovering
around Vukuzakhe as if he’s your only child.”
Vumile is fuming.
“Of course I care,” Dalisile growls, she’d yank
her hand back but her husband's family is
always looking for something to talk about.
“They were my kids too, I loved them.”

Her voice says otherwise.

“Pull yourself together, I will not repeat myself.”

His word always stands, and she knows it.

The burial goes smooth thereafter, Dalisile

keeps a safe distance from Vukuzakhe, her
eyes though are stuck on him. Vukuzakhe and
Hlabela their ten year old second born are the
only kids allowed to attend the funeral. The
young ones were appointed a babysitter.

When the extended family members are long

gone the family is left to grieve on their own, it’s
a cold silent night. Feels like no other,
something is missing, they all can feel it
including the kids. The youngest are oblivious
to what is happening, Ntabezikude, the one who
took over from Vimbela on their mother’s
breasts keeps shooting the elders with
questions. `
“Where is Vimbela? Can I sleep on his bed
tonight?” No one has given him a solid answer
yet, Vumile cannot bring himself to utter a
single word.

The family is gathered in the dining area, his

brothers are here to support him. He’s
embarrassed that his wife has locked herself in
the bedroom, she hasn’t shown her face since
the visitors departed.
“Vukuzakhe, take your brothers to bed and
check on Mathonga. The babysitter might need
something.” Vumile excuses his sons, the room
is free of children in seconds.
“Sangweni is going to pay for this.” One of his
brothers says, there’s anger in his voice. Vumile
frowns at the declaration.
“Do you think it’s them? Would Ongezwa
Sangweni have the audacity to enter my
premises and challenge me?” It sounds too
unbelievable, considering that Vumile is feared
in this place.

The Khanyiles and the Sangwenis once had a

good relation, that was before Vumile’s
grandfather met his demise. He was a man of
good character, loved and respected by the
community.
His heart had grown fond of an orphan,
Thuthuka Sangweni who had no place to call his
own. Vumile’s grandfather was generous
enough to give him a piece from his land. The
deal was that once Thuthuka takes a wife and
bears children, he was to move from the land of
the Khanyiles and build his family somewhere
else.

The deal was not kept by Thuthuka, he built

houses for his sons who grew up thinking they
have every right to the land. That’s how the
enmity between the Khanyiles and Sangwenis
began.

“I have no doubt it’s them, since we gave them a

portion of land, they have been trying to wipe
out this family. I say we attack, come at them
when they are sleeping. Burn their houses down
with their wives and children sleeping inside.
We can’t let them get away with this.” That’s
Dumile, his younger brother, the middle child.
He’s a chubby fellow, too violent and always
looking for the next person to sink his fist into.
“No, we will do no such thing.”
Vumile is the peacemaker in this family, his
brothers hate it sometimes.

“Don’t you get it bhuti? Those people are

jealous of the legacy you have built, they live on
borrowed land, our forefathers' land. You live in
a big estate with more rooms and rondavels to
accommodate his useless sons.” Dumile
stands, spreads his arms with pride dancing on
his face. "Look at this place, it screams ‘I am
rich.’ Show me a person in Izingolweni who lives
such a lavish life.”

Vumile does not know pride, or else he’d agree

with his brother.

“We need to take them down before they finish

all of us.” Dumile again, he’d be dressed for war
if it were up to him.

“Would you stop? Violence does not solve

anything.” Vumile chides, banging a fist on the
table.

“Then what do you suggest we do bhuti? They

killed our sons, we can’t sit and hang our heads
like losers” Bopha’s words state that he’s ready
for war as well, he’s younger than both Vumile
and Dumile. They have a brother no one ever
wants to talk about, and two sisters who live in
Joburg, pushing life the best they could.
“Taking the law into our hands is wrong, what if
Ongezwa has nothing to do with this?” Vumile
says, wishing life upon his words.
“Ongezwa has a big head, it grew the day he
was given a portion of our land. He thinks he’s
better than us now. I say oust them out of the
premises, take your land back bhuti.” Dumile
barks, his anger has brought him to his feet.
Vumile raises a dismissive hand, he’s used to
Dumile’s tantrums, his son Ntabezikude is
exactly like him.
“That Sangweni died.” Vumile argues.
“And that was a mistake too many, he should’ve
taken his hooligans with him. Let’s finish them
bhuti and fill that space with crops.” Dumile.
He’s making Vumile angry.
“No such thing will happen, the land was given
to the Sangwenis by our grandfather. Taking it
back would be the same as spitting on his
grave.” He’s right, their grandfather was a very
generous man who never went back on his
word. “Besides, it’s only a small portion. Only a
few rondavels stand in that land.”

Dumile and Bopha heave, clearly they do not

agree with their brother.
“I don’t know what you mean by a few, he’s
almost taking over the whole place. Don’t you
think Ongezwa Sangweni is plotting our deaths
while we sleep at night? Surely he’d want his
sons living comfortably, his other wife is
pregnant. God knows how many children the
man is planning on having. It’s distasteful how
he’s littering our father’s land with useless
seeds.”
Dumile would spit if he could.

“Baba, baba.” Vumile knows that voice, it

belongs to his second born Hlabela. The boy
runs into the rondavel, he’s bathing in sweat
and his heart hammering with fear. He throws
himself on his father’s lap, Vumile places him
back down. He doesn’t do hugs.
“What happened?” Vumile asks.
“It’s Vukuzakhe, he has a knife baba and he’s
crying.”
Hlabela doesn’t complete his explanation, the
brothers run outside. They don’t know where
they are headed to because Hlabela was not
given a chance to explain anything.
Just outside the ranch, they spot Vukuzakhe in
front of the burnt rondavel. He’s on the floor
weeping like the child he is.
Dumile and Bopha don’t go any further, his
father though takes more safe steps toward his
son. He scans the area for his other sons, they
are nowhere in sight. Hlabela must’ve taken
them away, he’s a protector like his big brother.

“Ngwane?” Vumile usually addresses him with

his clan names, it makes the little boy happy.
Vukuzakhe is too focused on his tears to pay
attention to his father’s voice.
“Ngwane.” Vumile repeats, louder this time.
He’d take a step closer, but Vukuzakhe would
freak out. Ever since he was a child, he’s never
been able to control his anger, rather it controls
him.
“It’s all my fault.” A shuddering whisper emits,
“It’s all my fault.”
Vukuzakhe yells the second time around.
Vumile looks at the burnt shed then back at his
son, he knows what he’s talking about but still
asks.
“What are you talking about?"

“I suggested we all sleep in the same room, we

wanted to wake up together so we meet
Mathonga in the morning. I called my brothers
to my rondavel baba. Sakhile usually slept with
his nanny but I took him from her. I didn't know
mama was going to ask for me early in the
morning before they woke up. He’d still be alive,
Vimbela would still be alive too.”

His tears are undisciplined, same is the hand

that holds the knife close to his stomach.
Vumile had tried to raise his sons the right way,
he’s shocked as to how this one knows about
suicide at such a young age.
“It’s not your fault Zukuzakhe.” He’d say more if
he were not in panic mode and if he wasn’t
desperate to get the knife from his son. How
does this situation work? The boy is holding
himself hostage, and any wrong move he’ll kill
himself.
Vukuzakhe looks up at his father, his face
covered in snort and tears.
“I can still hear his desperate cries baba,
Vimbela called for me. His screams tore
through my ears, I told him I’ll come back for
him and Sakhile." He drops his head again. "I
told them to hide under the bed, that I won’t be
long. There was so much smoke, I didn’t know
they were going to suffocate. They are gone
baba, my brothers are gone and I couldn’t do
anything to save them.”

“Give me the knife Ndwandwe.” The clan names

keep coming, it should work in calming him
down. There’s no time to nurse his feelings,
Vumile would not want to lose his other son.

After a stretch of silence, Vukuzakhe meets his

father’s gaze once more. He extends the hand
that holds the weapon as Vumile kneels beside
him. A scream pierces through their ears, they
turn to find Dalisile ogling at Vukuzakhe in
horror. It doesn’t take a second before she
collides on the floor, she’s fainted.
“Great, we’re having another funeral.” Dumile
yells, obviously teasing.

------

“Where is my son?”
Dalisile has been brought to her chambers, the
first person to cross her mind when she regains
consciousness is Vukuzakhe. Vumile snorts at
the sudden tears rolling down her face.
“You’re impossible, you know that?” He never
thought he’d be disgusted by his own wife.
“What did I do?” She asks, Vumile moves from
the edge of the bed to stand over her.
“What’s happening Dalisile? Why are you so
dramatic? Your children need you, but you don’t
care. You’re so obsessed with Vukuzakhe that
you’ve forgotten you have other children.”
“How is Vukuzakhe?” She asks, Vumile frowns.
He can’t grasp how his wife can be so cold
hearted. “How is my son?”
“I have had it with you Dalisile, continue with
this behaviour and I will throw you out of these
premises.” The threat alone brings her to her
feet, she’s frowning at her husband.
“What did I do?” Feeling defensive, she yells.
“You continue to embarrass me in front of my
brothers. You think I don’t know what you did
Dalisile?”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t do
anything, there is nothing wrong with me
worrying about my son?”
“You started the fire.” The accusation comes
out firm and certain. Wild eyes stare back at
Vumile, his wife blinks and starts biting her
cuticles, an annoying trait her husband is not
fond of.

“What?” She stammers, flapping her lashes to

kingdom come. Vumile snatches her arm
pulling her closer to him, Dalisile winces at the
pain.
“You’re hurting me Vumile.” It sounds more like
a plea. “I didn’t do anything, I swear on our
children’s lives. I was with Vukuzakhe when the
fire started, you can ask him.”
Dalisile can see her husband is hurting, it’s been
there from the day their two sons were declared
dead. It’s as clear as day.

“I’m your wife, those kids are mine. I would

never hurt them.” Dalisile defends herself. No
way would she ever take the blame for any
wrong doing.
Grimacing with anger, Vumile pushes his wife,
she tumbles down with a loud thump.
“What are you doing?” She’d yell louder than
this but they have visitors, ones she hates with
a passion. They think her life is perfect as far as
she knows because that’s the image she has
drawn for her husband’s family, her own
included.
“You’re evil. How am I associated with you?”

“I didn’t do anything, I swear I didn’t do

anything.” Dalisile cries. She crawls to her
husband and wraps her arms on his legs.
“Please don’t throw me out, I’m innocent.”
“I know you Dalisile, I know how manipulative
you can be.” He snarls, his furious gaze never
leaving hers, irritation grows on her face.
“Are you insane? Why would you think of me
like that? Have I ever given you a reason to
suspect me of such atrocity?” Dalisile answers
all the way from the floor.

“You made it clear that you don’t like

Mathonga.” Vumile says, pointing down at her.
The anger is pulsating out of him, hitting
Dalisile with its vile touch.
“Yes but not enough to kill him. I’m not a
murderer.” It takes a second, Dalisile is on her
feet, hands all over her husband, trying to pacify
him, to make him see reason.
“Ndwandwe, Ngwane. Please don’t do this to
me, please.” Trembling lips plead. “I’ll die
without you, without Vuku… without my sons.”

This is her life, it’s all she knows. She married

this man at a young age, she’s built with him. If
she leaves this family, she knows she’s not
taking anyone with her, Vumile would never let
her take his sons. Divorce is not an option,
she’d be the laughing stock of Izingolweni. A
failed marriage is something she will not accept.

“I will find out the truth, I don’t care how long it

takes me, mark my words, if you had anything
to do with that fire, I will kill you myself.” Vumile
narrows his eyes, turns and walks away.

That was a close call, Dalisile thinks to herself.

Playing your cards right can’t be that hard.
Mathonga-
Two-

MATHONGA-

It’s been four hours since the clock struck 12am.

I’m officially a twenty four year old man with
nothing much to show but my father’s hard
earned money.

I watch my brothers drink like there's no

tomorrow, I should be joining in on the fun. It is
my birthday after all. But I’m that idiot who can’t
even have a good time, my mind is entertaining
thoughts of my mother. I tried to wipe her out of
my head, it shouldn’t be so hard. Right?
Argh! What’s the point of trying to convince
myself? I’m hurting like I’ve always been for
years.
It’s not a surprise that she’s not in the country, I
don’t remember a year my mother was present
on my birthday.
Without fail, my father would throw the mother
of all parties, I guess that was never enough to
get her to attend. Neither has she ever wished
me a happy one.
This year I don’t want a party, so they have
brought me here, my brothers. They brought me
to a club in Durban, far away from Vumile’s eye.

“Why aren’t you drinking?” Vukuzakhe asks.

He’s always the first to fall away, you’d think
he’d be the responsible one but my brother
drinks like he’s the guy who helped Jesus carry
the cross.
“Do you think she will come home?”
He frowns at my question before gulping down
a bottle of beer.
“We brought you here to get your mind off of
her. Come on Thonga.” Dark weary eyes under
drooping eyelids are staring back at me. Even in
his drunk state, he gets me to drop my gaze
first.

I’d describe Vukuzakhe as an alpha male like

my father. He is rough around the edges. Fairly
charismatic and reasonably good looking and
that’s a given, he is Vumile’s son.
My brother was once an unfaithful asshole, he
left that part of him in his younger days. He’s
too old now and too taken to be chasing skirts.
“I know bhuti, but you know I can’t help it?”
“Can’t help what?” That’s Hlabela, standing
close enough for me to hear him regardless of
the loud music. This one is a church boy. Who
drinks orange juice at a club? It’s embarrassing.
“Baby wants his mommy.” Ndleleni teases, he’s
the insensitive one. He gets a glare from
Vukuzakhe.
“Not today Ndlela, fill that big mouth with beer
not nonsense.”
“Hey, it’s the truth.” Ndleleni argues, his
stubbornness reminds me of Dalisile.
That’s what she ordered me to call her. My
brothers have the privilege to address her as
mama while I was never given a choice, it was
either I address her by name or not talk to her at
all. At first it bothered me, but eventually grew
on me like a plant on concrete.
“I don’t know why you waste your time with that
woman, it’s clear she doesn’t care about any of
us but her golden boy.”
His unbothered eyes point at Vukuzakhe, he has
no care in the world that Zakhe is nine years his
senior.
“What the hell is your problem? What did I say
to you just now?” Trembling hands bang
against the table, fiery eyes bulge out of their
sockets and slurred words erupt from my big
brother’s mouth, yet they hold the authority that
brings Ndleleni to submission.

“Guys calm down,” trust Hlabela to be the

peacemaker, he’s standing beside Vukuzakhe
with a tight grip on his shoulder. “Can we just
celebrate Thonga’s birthday?”
“I agree, you don’t have to be a jerk all the damn
time Ndlela.” I’m angry, he has no right to speak
to Vukuzakhe like that.
“Whatever.” Ndleleni grunts, grabs a bottle of
castle light and finds his way to the bar. I guess
in a way, we’re kind of like the same. Lack the
love of a mother. Being the second last born, he
too grew up craving for our mother’s attention
and when he didn’t get it, he made way for hate
instead.
“I’m going out for a smoke.” His speech loses
itself, you know Vukuzakhe is fuming when his
stuttering gets out of control. I want to follow
him but Hlabela holds me back.

“He needs time alone.”

He’s right, my gaze finds the cause of all this,

Ndleleni. He holds his beer in the air, and
flashes me a wide smile. Okay. I guess all is
forgotten.
“I need to use the bathroom.” I excuse myself,
from the table.
Weaving through the crowded room, I scan
through the sea of bodies moving rhythmically
to the music. Funny how life gets you to a
position where you forget all your problems and
all that matters is this very moment. At the end
of the day everybody here has to go back home,
back to their demons.

My eyes catch a glimpse of deliciousness

across the floor. I’m not into tall women, but
this one can be an exception. She has a sandy
complexion, smooth and yellowish-brown, the
dress of fine red silk pops against her skin,
swallowing her skin tone but not hiding it
entirely. She’s beautiful to look at.
A rush of eagerness scratches through my
bones as her evaluating stare sweeps across
the room, as if searching for something or
someone rather. I have time to school my eyes,
but I don’t.
There’s a pull, it’s stronger than me. It must be
her beauty. Men can be idiots in the presence of
a beautiful woman.
I’m on the verge of finding my self-control when
she turns, gazing straight at me. Everything else
ceases to exist, all I see is her and that ghost of
a smile on her face. Everything that is her is
drawing me in, but also holding me in place.
For a while as we hold each other’s stares, I can
almost taste the connection. I can’t shake the
feeling of having met her before.

“Ndoda.” And that’s it. Just one lousy shout

from Hlabela, I blink and she’s gone.
Disappeared into the bodies swaying crazily on
the dance floor.
“Dammit.” I curse, reacting to the pat on my
shoulder. Hlabela is confused, he always looks
confused.
“People will start thinking you’re a serial killer
plotting to slaughter everyone here. What are
you staring at?”
I can’t tell him, he won’t believe me, or he’ll say
it’s one of the many visions I normally get. Am I
allowed to hate my life? I think I hate my life.
“We should get going, we have church in a few.”

Hlabela knows we’re not going to make it to

church, not after a long night of drinking.
“No we don’t.” I dispute, trying to get away from
his grip. “You have church tomorrow.”
“Tell that to your father.”
“Then we’ll have to go home after church.”
That’s an idea, honestly I don’t see myself
sitting through a 6-hour church service.
Whoever gave them the idea that church goes
on the whole day... Hlabela is laughing, I hate
this guy.
“It’s late, let’s find the others and get out of
here.” He says, showing all his adult teeth.
“We don’t even know where Ntaba is.” I remind
him. There were five of us when we got here,
now there’s four. As old as we are, baba will
want all his children present on a Saturday.
He’s oblivious to what we are up to, the old man
thinks we’re attending a meeting. He’s not
stupid though, it’s the early hours of the
morning, sure he’s figured it out.

We have barely moved when we hear the sound

of bear bottles smashing against something
solid. Angry loud voices merge with the music.
Turning to our left, there stands Ndleleni head
to head with Mfundo Sangweni. Both pointing
broken beer bottles at each other.
“I swear you can never take Ndleleni anywhere.”
Hlabela growls, before rushing to intervene. I
think of going out to call Vukuzakhe, he’s the
only one who can control Ndleleni. But it’s too
late, one of the men is on the floor, bleeding.

Ndleleni has stabbed Mfundo. Vukuzakhe and

Hlabela are holding him back, I don’t know
when the big brother got there. He’s whispering
something to Ndleleni, arms tight under the
angry man’s armpits, probably trying to get him
to calm down.
No one has tried to help Mfundo, people are
watching in horror.
“Let’s go.” Hlabela shouts as he whiffs past me,
he’s following Vukuzakhe and Ndleleni. I want
to run after my brothers, but my feet are frozen
in place, refusing to listen to me.
A cold, soft touch… my body shivers, my heart
leaps. I’m pulled towards the exit by a figure, it’s
a female. I should be protesting given that I
don’t know who this is, but this feels right.

When we step into the cold night, it takes me a

second to recognise the person pulling me. I
want to ask what her name is, but once again,
I’m pulled away. Away from her.
“You’re such a damn child Mathonga.” My
brother, Hlabela’s voice booms, chiding like a
harsh parent. “When I say let’s go, I mean let’s
go.”
Turning back to see if the lady is still there, a
wave of disappointment washes over me when
I find no one. Who is that girl? I have to find her.

Ndleleni is driving, faster than the speed limit.

Vukuzakhe is on the passenger seat, serving
him nothing but insults.
“Would you slow down?” Hlabela barks as he
fastens his seatbelt, it takes a lot to upset him.
“We’re in Durban, this is not Izingolweni where
you do whatever you want. I don’t want to
spend the rest of the night in jail ndoda, we
have church in a few hours.” It’s official, Hlabela
is obsessed with church.

“You can’t be thinking about church at a time

like this,” is he crazy? “Ndlela just killed a man.”

“He’s not dead.” Ndleleni mumbles, the nerve he

has.
“He killed a Sangweni.” Vukuzakhe points, I
can’t see his face from back here but anger is
present in his voice.
“I said he’s not dead.” Ndleleni repeats,
shouting. A string of silence takes over a
second later.
“What happened back there?” Hlabela.

Good question, my brother does not go around

stabbing people.

“Ntaba?” I start. “Where is Ntabezikude?”

“He said he’ll meet us at home.” Vukuzakhe.
I’m not surprised, he’s prone to doing his own
things.
“We’re waiting Ndlela, what the hell happened
back there?” Vukuzakhe is growing impatient,
never mind that his voice boarders on femininity,
it’s authoritative and firm. He knows how to get
people to respect him.
“That fool said I was making fleshly remarks
towards his brother.” Ndleleni speaks through
closed teeth. “Imagine ndoda, I’m a man. Why
would I even look at his brother like I would a
woman? You know me, all of you. You know
how I love women.”
The defensive tone is thick, he’s extremely
offended.

“I don’t understand.” I say. What is he talking

about? He’s rambling and no one seems to
follow. “Why would Mfundo say that?”

“Mfundo has a brother who sees men in a

different way, he’s… he’s gay.” Ndleleni finishes.
Hlabela frowns, "Gay?" You’d think he’s never
heard the word gay in his life.
“Yes, our herdsboy.” Answers Ndleleni, not
letting go of his anger.
“We have a herdsboy?” A confused Vukuzakhe
asks.
“Baba hired one two weeks back. How do you
not know this?” I ask and get no reply from him.
Vukuzakhe should know these things, it is his
responsibility as heir apparent. He will take over
the Chief’s position when baba decides to step
down.
“Let me get this straight. You stabbed a man
because he questioned your sexuality?” Hlabela.
“I should’ve killed him.” Ndleleni is impossible.

“What if you did, Ndlela?” I don’t mean to yell.

He gets on my damn nerves sometimes.
"There’s no use in arguing about this, Mfundo’s
brothers will not take this lying down. Forget
them, baba is going to kill us. I won’t be
shocked if he disowns us.” Hlabela.
This is my biggest fear, I already don’t have a
mother. I don’t need to lose another parent.
“It would’ve been best if there were no
witnesses, the old man has probably worn
himself out from pacing around in anger.”
Vukuzakhe.
“He’ll die before his time if he lets anger get the
best of him.” Ndleleni quips. I can’t find the joke
in this.
“That’s our father you’re talking about, the least
you can do is respect him even in his absence.”
I rebuke Ndleleni, respectfully so, the car goes
silent. A hand grips my shoulder, I embrace the
squeeze from Hlabela and acknowledge him
with a faint head nod.
We’ve all fallen victims to our thoughts, staring
at the nightlights. It’s almost crack of dawn, we
should be home by sunrise. Being a Seventh
Day Adventist can be a struggle sometimes. We
live according to the bible.
The Sabbath begins Friday evening at 6pm, and
ends Saturday at 6pm. We are to do no work
until it ends. Our father takes these laws
seriously.
It wasn’t like this when I was born, no one
knows when Vumile Khanyile decided to be an
Adventist. He woke up one Saturday, packed up
his sons and took them to church.
Dalisile has never graced the church walls,
she’s not even bothered about it.

We make it home around 5am, and almost trip

on each other trying to get away from the heavy
rain. Our wet feet don’t move further from the
kitchen threshold, it’s the foreign presence that
has us glued on one spot. Eyes bulging and
mouths ajar.
As far as we know, Dalisile is away on business.
But there’s a woman in our mother’s kitchen,
cooking on a damn Sabbath. Mind you, it is not
allowed in this house.
“Who is she?” Ndleleni is the first to pose a
question.
The woman loses focus of whatever she’s
doing on the stove and turns to us. This one is
too flashy to be a house maid. Expensive
church outfit. Yep, he definitely got this one
from church.

“Great! You’re home.” The lady sings, cheerfully.

Too cheerful for my liking if I may add. Her
approach is that of a person who has met us
before. “Breakfast is almost ready, you boys
must be hungry.”

“Who are you?” It’s Hlabela’s turn to question

her.
“This…” says baba, stepping into the kitchen.
We missed the sound of his footsteps. He
stands next to the woman, his suit weirdly
matches hers and he holds a smile of a teenage
boy. It’s a cringing sight.
“This is Mashamase… my friend.” He says.
His friend? What are we? Five?
MATHONGA-
Three-

VUMILE-
Roommates is what they have become, it
doesn’t feel like marriage anymore, it’s been like
that since Mathonga was born. He thought
they’d get over it, whatever they are fighting
about, mend their differences for the sake of
the children.
But she’s hardly around and that frustrates him
to infinity.
Sometimes he forgets how she looks, her scent
that once felt like home, the smile that once
brightened his life even on rainy days. He’s half
past to forgetting her name, as crazy as it
sounds.

Every year on the 7th of July they are blessed

with heavy rain, today is no different, it’s
pouring as if to wash away something that
should not be revealed or rather conceal a
hidden secret.
Mathonga has turned twenty four years old, he’s
a grown man. They all are... his children. He
couldn’t be more proud, pride knocks on his
chest whenever he sees his sons. They are
beautiful, healthy and sometimes happy.
Vumile’s sons are as tall as him and by the
grace of God have completed their schooling.
It’s not like they had a choice, Khanyile Holdings
demands an education. He singlehandedly built
the company, all done for the future generation.
Now they are here, wealthier than before. He’s
built more rondavels around his estate.

There are undertones of mockery and jealousy

roaming around Izingolweni, that Vumile
Khanyile copied the Nkandla homestead.
No matter how big their mouths stretch, they
can’t deny the fact that it’s a dream every
person wants to see themselves in.

“Aunty,” Ndleleni offers the bewildered woman

a handshake, and she… reluctantly, perhaps
unsure about being called aunty, accepts.
“She’s not your aunty,” corrects Vumile with his
deep Zulu accent.
Ndleleni tilts his head to the side, a spitting
image of his mother, he is. Sometimes it freaks
Vumile out just how much he looks like Dalisile
and seems to have inherited her bad attitude.
His other son Ntabezikude is not far from her
as well.
“Then what do we call this one baba? There’s so
many of them, it’s hard to keep up.” Ndleleni.
Ah! You spare a rod, you spoil a child. This one
must have been asleep while the others were
taught manners. Vumile cuts his eyes at him, it
does nothing to the boy.
“Ndleleni? Ndleleni?” A reproaching tone from
Vumile, brows arched in censure. It has Ndleleni
rolling his eyes.
“Awuswabi, umdala and you’re married.” His
teeth are clamped and eyes narrowed as he
shakes his head in disapproval.

Where is that rod we spoke about?

Vukuzakhe’s hand lands on Ndleleni’s shoulder,

he squeezes tightly as if to chide him. Ndleleni
side eyes him.
“Whatever baba does with his personal life is
none of our business.”

God bless first born children.

Ndleleni would turn his glare towards his big
brother if he were not afraid of him. Perhaps
their father is too old for him to tremble at his
word or he’s just too tired of the family drama
to hear Vumile’s side of the story.

“Are you kidding me bhuti? He’s married to our

mother, but uses every opportunity of her
absence to bring a prostitute into my mother’s
house.”
Ndleleni and creating silent moments. Vumile is
about ready to clap back, tell his unruly son
where to get off when they hear dogs barking
outside.
“What are they doing here?”
He seems to know what’s happening outside,
the boys too judging by the way they exchange
nervous looks. Mathonga looks more terrified
than the rest, Ndleleni’s face is as still as the
night.

“Baba?” Her voice is tinted with worry. There’s a

way Vumile looks at her, Vukuzakhe can
familiarise with it, he’d seen it quite a number of
times before Mathonga was born.
The boys forget about the dogs viciously
barking outside, their focus falls on the stranger
and their father who is looking into her eyes
with adoration.
“Go to the room, and stay there.” Vumile
instructs, bad move because Ndleleni clicks his
tongue, it’s loud and disrespectful.
“He’s a married man, you know that?” Ndleleni
fails to keep his mouth shut. Mashamase has
not been able to look up since this boy fired her
with a question.
“I’m so…”
“No!” Vumile interrupts, getting into his son’s
space. He is not a man to be disrespected not
by anyone, especially his children. “You will not
apologise for being an adult, Mashamase.
You’re my guest and this is my house. These
boys know I’m in charge around here.”
It’s the values he taught them he won’t look
past, if he has to beat some sense into Ndleleni
then he will. Big head over there knows very
well how his father functions, the rules in the
Khanyile household.
“Are you serious baba? Look at you, the person
you’ve become. This woman is cooking in your
house on a bloody Sabbath, Vumile Khanyile
would never allow that.”
Vumile looks disgusted and it’s because of the
tone of voice Ndleleni is using.
“Ngwane come out now.” Ah yes! They have a
visitor.
The sound of a gunshot pierces through the
walls of the Khanyile homestead, the dogs
continue to bark savagely.
Vumile instructs his lady friend to hurry to the
bedroom. It must be the guest bedroom
because Dalisile would bring hell to this place.
Vukuzakhe is the first to exit, like always, his
brothers trail behind him.

AMANDLA-

“Those Khanyile boys are at it again,” it’s the

usual sound of gunshots that has my
grandmother complaining. “We are led by
animals.” She continues, splaying her legs on
the reed mat.
I beg to differ.
Okay, maybe they need to tone it down with the
guns. I’ll speak for my man, he’s not violent like
his brothers.
“Gogo you can’t say that about the chief’s sons,
if he finds out you’re insulting his sons, he will
have your head.” I argue, settling down beside
her and placing a kiss on her cheek. My
affection is not accepted, old people are weird.
“Don’t kiss me wena.” She complains again,
using her old wrinkled hand to wipe away
tattoos of love. “You need to get married
Amandla, I’m not the one for you.”
I mean to laugh, she is a funny woman. I see
where my mother gets her sense of humour.
“Why do I need a man when I have you gogo?”
My arms surround her fleshy figure and bring
her closer into a tight hug.
“I’m serious Amandla, don’t be a stranger to
love. It will pass you by and by the time you
want a man, you will be old like me.”
These are the days of my life, they consist of
bickering with my grandmother. I don’t know
which ancestor she had a meeting with and
came to a conclusion that I need to get married.

“I don’t mind marriage,” I stand, in a way I’m

trying by all means to avoid her eyes. She is not
a fan of the topic I’m about to take. “It’s
Mathonga’s birthday today.”

It’s the perfect way to get in there, being a

multitasker comes in handy. I have my back
turned as I package the cake I bought for him.
He had asked that I bake one for him, I don’t
know where he gets the idea that I can bake. He
knows I don’t have the map to the kitchen.
“So?” I expected this cold answer from her, my
mother would have served me with the same.
Bracing myself, I turn to find her staring back,
rage in her eyes, ridges in her skin seemingly
multiplying.
“Gogo, I don’t understand. Other people’s
grannies would tell them to be careful and
follow their hearts. I don’t understand that look
you’re giving me. You know Mathonga and I
have something going on, yet you insist that I
need a man.”
She is breaking my heart honestly. My arms
protest by crossing over my chest as I lean
back against the fridge. That reminds me, I
need to buy a fridge month end, this one is
broken, we have to store meet next door.
Sometimes it comes back with missing pieces.
Yes, I count our pieces, especially the braai
packs.

“I don’t want you involved with that khanyile boy,

he’s not good for you Amandla.” She’s wrong,
he’s more than good for me.
“He makes me happy.” I gripe, my nostrils
blowing air like a Christmas train.
“He will never marry you.” Eh! This old woman.
Her words cut deep, piercing through the
deepest part of my soul. He hasn’t mentioned
marriage, I don’t know if he is into the idea.
Maybe I should bring it up when I see him today.
I’ve given my whole life to Mathonga, loved him
like he’s the only man in the world. I gave him
everything, all of me. No other man in this
village will ever want me.
“I have to go.” With the cake in hand, my feet
purposely amble towards the exit, I’d walk fast
but I don’t want her thinking I’m running away
from her.
A pair of heavy eyes rest on my back, she’s
glaring and it’s a nasty one.
My bottom lip invades the seams of my teeth, in
a desperate attempt to hide because I’m about
to tell her that there’s no reason for her to hate
the Khanyile clan. They are good people. Then
again, it will be a waste of breath, knowing how
her heart loathes them.
This rain. I have to find shelter under an
Umbrella.

MATHONGA-

He’s here, the gay boy Ndleleni spoke about, he

brought his father. What puzzles me is how
timid he looks. He’s hiding behind his father and
brother, head bowed, body and face hidden
under a big hooded sweater.
I’ve only met him once, back then, I didn’t take
note of how small his body is. He must get his
shortness from his mother, I hear she was a
short woman. She died a few days after his
birth.
He's the same age as me, I'm months older.
I feel my heart shatter on his behalf when I think
of how he grew up without a mother. He’s never
seen her face, nor heard her voice. I can’t relate
to this kind of pain.

It should be raining cats and dogs since

Ongezwa Sangweni has dared to step into the
Khanyile premises with his dogs, but the rain
has stopped. Ongezwa has laid his complaint.
Apparently Mfundo is at the hospital in Durban,
he’s going to be okay. Ndleleni is a lucky
bastard.

“As you know Vumile, I’m not a wealthy man like

you. I need to pay hospital bills, also for
whoever is responsible for this to pay.” Yeah
right.
This one does not know Vumile Khanyile well,
this man does not lay a hand on his sons.
“I hear you Sangweni.” Baba nods. The look on
his face says he’s all for peace. He turns to us,
we’re standing like soldiers ready to take orders,
from the eldest to the youngest.

“What happened last night?” Baba asks.

Expectant eyes are suddenly on me. What do

they want from me? After what we did last night,
I doubt baba will trust my words this time. I’ve
managed to get us out of strings of problems, I
doubt it will be the same this time.

“Vukuzakhe, you’re the eldest.”

Baba points, putting my brother on the spot.

Vukuzakhe shrugs, fiery eyes directed at
Ndleleni. The root cause of all this. We don’t
snitch on each other, that’s why he’s still
standing.

“Hlabela?”

The good boy won’t sing, he knows too. I sigh in

relief when he shrugs.

“You’re all not getting paid this month.”

Baba drops the news, grumbles fly around to

meet his unpleased façade. Why does he have
to be so strict?

We direct our anger towards Ndleleni, we’d kick

him around but that would give baba the
answer he’s been wanting.
Why does it look like Ndleleni doesn’t care?
Something is wrong with my brother, how can
he be so cold and impassive? It’s as if nothing
matters to him, it scares me sometimes.

“Don’t worry Sangweni, I will pay for your boy’s

hospital bills and I guarantee you that this will
not go unpunished.”
I don’t understand why baba feels a need to
pacify this man. He’s our enemy, it’s no secret.
We watch him and his sons arrogantly saunter
away, away to our premises. I might not have a
right to complain, but I was born into this war.
My brothers taught me what I know, how the
Sangweni clan is on a mission to take us out.
Rumours that they are responsible for the death
of my brothers, Sakhile and Vimbela.
“You should be proud baba, slaughter a cow,
hell even a goat will do. I conquered one of our
enemies. It’s bad luck on my side that he didn’t
die.” The idiot Ndleleni, gives himself away. He
was so close to getting away with it. Bloody
fool.

Baba coldly glares at his son, I’d flinch and

cower if I were Ndleleni. We don’t see it coming
when he slaps him across the face, Ndleleni
loses balance but soldiers on. Face hard, and
unwavering gaze standing at attention.
“Have you lost your mind Ndleleni?” My father
shouts, pointing an accusatory finger at him.
“Kodwa baba he…” Another slap shuts him up.

“I’m still talking dammit, shut your damn

mouth.”

He shouts, grabbing him by his collar. I spoke

too soon that Vumile would never lay a hand on
his children. I’ve seen many sides of the angry
Vumile, but this.

“We are the Khanyile clan, o ngwane ka ngwadi.

We don’t act like animals.” Baba continues to
shout.
“Yes, we are the Khanyiles, we don’t let people
shit on our heads. The Sangwenis have been
doing that for way too long, and you’ve let them
get away with it. Those fools had the audacity
to fire a gun on our premises, there is no other
level of disrespect than that.”
Ndleleni growls, his teeth are on a rusty dance,
clamped together like a can of beans.
This is the first time that he challenges our
father, he gets another slap. Anger is no
respecter of persons, Ndlela clenches his jaw,
eyes glaring at the man who gave him life. He
takes a step toward him, posture predatory.
Vukuzakhe sees it because he grabs his
shoulder and pushes him back. Ndleleni does
not seem to like it.

“Ndlela get out of here.” There is authority in our

big brother’s voice. Ntaba refuses to take his
blazing eyes off of Vumile. “Yeyi, piss off. I said
go get some air.”
Vukuzakhe pushes Ndleleni again and again
until he stumbles towards his car. The
pompous bastard serves us with arrogant
laughter. It’s loud, stretched out on the clouds
of disrespect before he jumps into the car and
speeds off like a maniac.
“In the house,” Vumile orders, authority has
made way in his voice. We don’t move until he
shouts after us.
Ndleleni is gone, Ntabezikude is nowhere to be
seen. Hlabela is as perfect as a rose, baba has
never had a problem with him. Vukuzakhe is
treated like a brother than a son and I… well, I’m
not blowing my own horn. That man treats me
like I’ll crack and become extinct if he dare
falters.
Hlabela hurries after baba, Vukuzakhe takes a
different route, he’s headed towards his car.
“Where are you going?” I shout after him, he
shrugs his broad shoulders.
“Out.” That’s it, he won’t tell me where. Baba will
not like this. I decide to be a good kid and
follow Hlabela.
This is messed up.
MATHONGA-
Four

MATHONGA-

My feet pause and freeze when my gaze drops

on a familiar figure. Full hips swaying side to
side, unchained braids messy, must be because
of the wind. The white dress loosely hanging on
her chubby body, flawlessly following behind
her, she flashes a wide smile and waves
enthusiastically at the car driving out of the
premises.
Usually, Vukuzakhe would wave back, the sad
expression on her face tells me he didn’t. By the
time she nears me, she’s pouting, eyes
drowning in sadness.
“What’s wrong with your brother?” She asks, as
she pulls me into a brief hug. “He’s in one of his
grumpy moods.”
“What are you doing here, Amandla?”
I don’t talk about my brothers behind their
backs. Something flashes in her eyes, she
makes no effort to blink it away.
“It’s your birthday. I made you a cake and
thought we’d go to church together?” The smile
is back, wide and unsophisticated. “You’re not
ready for church?”
It’s barely 6am, there’s still time. But I don’t care
because I’m not going, none of us are going
except baba and Hlabela. I have a feeling his
female friend will be tagging along.
“I’m not going to church.” I tell her, inviting
silence in our midst.
She backtracks, and observes me intently, eyes
probing with a mission. I don’t recall going
Trevor Noah on her, hence the confusion lurking
around me. She’s laughing louder than usual,
throwing unexpected punches on my bicep. I
step back and tell her to alert me when she’s
done.

“I’m sorry.” She breathes, adjusting the plastic

bag in her hand. “Your father will never let you
miss church Thonga.”
“Today he will.” I lie. It’s not like my father has a
choice, he’s faulted on his side. There’s a
woman in his house, a woman he’s not married
to and she’s walking around like she’s my
father’s wife.
She shrugs and holds out the plastic bag,
smiling brightly. “I baked your favourite cake.”

“Thanks.” I guess. I take her hand instead and

start leading her towards my rondavel.
“Wait, let me go put this in the kitchen.” She
leaves my hand to begin her walk towards the
kitchen. Amandla is known around here, we’ve
been together since grade twelve. Started off as
friends and now we’re here.

“Mathonga watch out.” Amandla screams, I see

it coming thanks to her and jump to the side.
My body collides with the wall, leaving a painful,
throbbing bruise on my elbow.
I don’t want to think that she’s done it on
purpose, that my own mother wanted to run me
over without compunction. So I brush it off.
“Are you okay?” Amandla is panicking, eyes
bare and teary. I hold back her inquisitive hands
trailing all over my body.
“I’m fine.” I say, accepting the cuddle of her
stubborn warm hands on my cheek. I
appreciate her but my eyes won’t leave my
mother. In a fit of rage, she storms out of the
car. I want to tell Amandla to leave when
Dalisile's angry feet storm toward us.
“My mother is here, you can leave now.”
Her wilfulness has her shaking her head, I can’t
let her see what it’s like to be Mathonga when
Dalisile is around.
“Amandla go, I’ll come see you later.” I push her,
but like moth to a flame, she bounces back
pressing her frame against me. Dammit!

“Move.” That’s Dalisile shoving Amandla aside,

she screams as her back hits the wall. I told her
to leave.
“Boy!” She calls me, eyes juggling with anger.
My stomach sinks to the soles of my feet. My
frightened eyes avoiding her fierce gaze. I will
never not be afraid of Dalisile Khanyile, and
she’s aware of that. She loves it when I recoil at
her presence, she derives power from seeing
me shrink to a little boy when she stands before
me.

A shattering slap lands on my cheek, my ear

rings and my head throbs. I’ve received a million
of these over the years and some I’ve kept from
my father. Still, I will never get used to it.

“Dalisile?” I sound like a kid, shocked and

pained. She has me caged on the wall, with no
way out.
“Are you trying to get me locked up? This is
your plan? That I run you over and your father
sends me to jail, right?” She shouts, going for
round for two. Her hand does not make it far,
someone grabs it from behind. It’s my father.
He looks as angry as his wife.
“Don’t touch me, Vumile.” Dalisile dramatically
screams as she fights off my father, he’s
basically not doing anything.
Baba’s eyes are unblinking, empty and intense.
“You haven’t been here for a second Dalisile
and you’re already putting your hands on my
son, my son. Who the hell do you think you
are?” Vumile’s angry voice booms. She’s afraid
of him, I can tell with the way her body shudders
under his hold.
“I am his mother, I can discipline him any way I
like.”
Really?
“Like hell you are. These kids are mine, mine.
You have no right over them.”
Laughs of mockery wipe out his complaint,
there’s no care in the way she laughs at him. I
hate it, the insolence directed towards my
father. He’s a good man, he doesn’t deserve
this.
“These children are mine too Vumile, come on
don’t be delusional. There’s nothing attractive
about pride.” With a not so gentle touch, she
pats his cheek right after winning her wrist back.
“But we can let you think whatever you want, as
long as it makes you sleep at night. I mean an
old man like you needs his sleep, I wouldn’t
want to be the cause of you dying before death
calls you.”

God take this woman from us.

I’m embarrassed, Amandla is witnessing my

father being humiliated by his wife.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Baba asks.

I hope she’s not planning his death, I don’t trust
her. Dalisile continues with her laughs,
manoeuvres past my father and continues to
the house. The sound of her heels clicking
against the concrete scream haughtiness. Wait
till she sees who’s in the house.

“Are you okay?” Baba asks, he’s caressing my

throbbing cheek.
“I’m fine.” I lie.
My heart is in so much pain. I only wanted her
to wish me a happy birthday, but I got a hot slap
instead.
“Dalisile hates me.” I mumble, keeping my gaze
from him. I hear him breathe once… twice. He’s
stroking my cheek again, I’m uncomfortable
because we don’t do this.
“Your mother does not hate you Thonga.”
“I’m not a child baba, white lies don’t move me
anymore. In all my twenty four years in this
world, I have never felt her love. I don’t know
what her touch feels like, neither am I familiar
with her eyes. She knows I’m here, but her eyes
don’t know me. ”
He sighs, it’s what he does when I lay the truth
on the table.
“You have me, your brothers and Mashamase.”
What? I don’t even know this Mashamase
woman.
“Dalisile will kill her when she finds her in the
house.” I remind him, maybe he needs to
protect her. His eyes are suddenly bright, it’s
childish and something I’d rather not see. This
is my father. Eww!
“She’s gone, I sneaked her out using the back
gate.”
Ewww! Ewww! Why is he telling me all this?

“Dalisile will never allow this, you’re playing with

fire baba.” He laughs, this old man is not
serious about life.
“Dalisile will never touch her, I promised to
protect her.” Eh!
“So how long are you going to play this game?”
He better have a plan, he’s too old to play Tom
and Jerry.
He sighs and crosses his arms over his chest.
“It’s not a game Thonga, there are things I need
from your mother. Things that will change
everything, if I let her go that easily, I’m afraid all
my years of hard work will be in vain.” The old
man is confusing me now, I’m supposed to be
the smart one around here.
“Things like what?” I ask, curiosity cheering me
on.
“Don’t worry, get ready, you’re giving the first
word at church today.”
And with that he’s gone.
What the hell? I’m not doing that. My eyes find
Amandla, she’s still here. She grins, widely.
Baba will have to take her to church instead,
since they seem to love it so much.

--------

“You promised to marry me.” Amandla’s

statement causes me to frown. I almost choke
on my saliva as shock slams against my chest.
She’s settled on my bed, comfortably. It’s not
the first time that she’s entered my rondavel.
“When- When did I do that?” I stammer, turning
from the mirror to face her. Big eyes are staring
back with expectance, she abuses her bottom
lip and lets it spring out to freedom all shiny and
a bit swollen.
“The day you held my hand, kissed my lips and
took my virginity.” Eish!
“I said I’ll marry you?” I swallow shock, I don’t
remember promising to marry her. Marriage has
never been part of my future plans, it’s a scam,
a trap my parents fell for.
“Well.” Scrawny shoulders wiggle idiotically,
“You might not have said it but…”
I almost got goose bumps. Amandla is so cruel
to scare me like that.

“Why do you look relieved?” She’s suddenly

offended.

“I don’t.” I turn back to fix my tie. She picked out

a suit for me while I took a shower. I’d rather be
sleeping to tell the truth. “I thought I had
proposed to you when I was drunk or
something.”
Stupid thing to say.

“You don’t drink, Thonga.” That’s what she

thinks. “And why would proposing to me be a
bad thing?”
“I didn’t say it is.” I’ll never find my way out of
this mess. There’s an elephant in the room with
no one to address it, I’m not going to start.
Avoiding eye contact, I grab a pair of formal
shoes and sit on a chair to put them on.
I’m not into suits, this is what I hate about the
Sabbath. Wearing suits, you have to be in
formal wear whether you look good in it or not.
“My grandmother says you will never marry
me.” Great! She’s discussing marriage with her
grandmother as well. How am I going to get
myself out of this mess?

“I’m ready.” I say too quickly to side-step the

marriage topic, grab my bible, car keys and
wallet. “Let’s go, you know how Ngwane hates it
when we’re late for church.”
This is my only escape. It’s not that I don’t love
her, I do. But marriage... I hold her hand after
locking my rondavel, lest she thinks I’m
avoiding her.

FUNOKUHLE-

Coarse hands tighten around my throat, making

it extremely hard for me to breathe. It’s until
dark shadows start dancing before my eyes
that I put up a fight. But it’s in vain, God was not
kind enough to bless me with a body fit enough
to scare anyone away.
“Bhuti, please.” The words tumble against each
other as they fight to escape my trembling lips.
“I- I can’t- breathe.”
“You’re such a coward, don’t spoil my fun.” The
sick bastard says.

The promise I made to myself a few hours ago

when we got home from the Khanyile
homestead was that I won’t fight back, rather
succumb to the hands of death, the peace it
comes with. Yet here I am fighting for my right
to breathe.
My brother says it’s a punishment for not
protecting Mfundo, as if I asked that Ndleleni
guy to stab him.
His crazed eyes glow with anticipation, he loves
it when I fight him. It makes him feel powerful
when I can’t override him.

“This is to make you a man, not to kill you.”

Nsizwa is starting to sound like a broken record
now. He hurts me each time with a promise that
he won’t kill me. What, is that supposed to
make me feel better?
This is it, I will never see twenty four. My
brother will make sure of it.
“That’s enough.” My father’s voice sashays into
my room, Nsizwa doesn’t waste any more time.
His rough hands release me, I shoot up to sit
my trembling body, go into reverse until I’m
pasted against the wall, trying to gather myself
together.
“Ntando,” my father calls, and you have to look
at him when Ongezwa calls you.
His eyes are not looking back at me, he’s never
looked at me since I came out. I don’t know
what I was thinking.
Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut, it
didn’t register to me that they’d hate me. That
life would drastically change for me.

“Get cleaned up and go back to work, Mfaniseni

has been looking after the livestock. He needs a
break.”

There is a look of disgust stuck on his face, I

want him to scold Nsizwa. Call him out on his
bullying. Dammit! I’m his son too, I deserve his
protection. I didn’t ask to be born.
“Okay baba.” He cringes at the sound of my
voice, it’s still me, his beloved son. The one he
once called Funokuhle, I was his Funo, his last
born baby. What has changed? I’m still the
same boy he loved and protected. My mother
named me Funokuhle, it’s what she used to call
me so I hear. It’s what everybody in this family
used to call until…

My father says Ntando sounds more mannish.

He thinks I’m confused because I have no
interest in women. To hell with him and my
brothers.

“You’re useless Ntando, just know it’s your fault

Mfundo is at the hospital. I don’t understand
why you’re still here, you should’ve killed
yourself already. You are a non-factor, a
disgrace to this family, to our father. Uma must
be turning in her grave, seeing what has
become of her last born son.” Nsizwa sputters.
I want to hate him, all of them.
Trying not to look terrified, I let my eyes meet
my brother’s, “I told Mfundo not to bring me
there.” My voice should not be trembling this
way, I’m not as weak as it makes me sound. “He
knew I didn’t want to go to Durban but he forced
me.”

Honestly, I didn’t think Durban would be as

homophobic as this place. I expected them to
be open minded, I guess there is always a
homophobe somewhere.

Nsizwa shakes his head, “you’re pathetic. I don’t

know why ma died and not you. It should’ve
been you.” He shoots, deadpan, sending my
heart into a painful trip.
I tense, feeling defence rise around my diverged
heart, afraid of being hated by the only family I
have. They still love me, they just have a hard
time accepting who I am. Like an idiot, I
convince myself and get up from the floor.
Nsizwa chortles at the courage I portray, this is
something he will never take from me.
Nsizwa clicks his tongue and shuts the door
behind him with so much force that I flinch. I
don’t want to be this timid person, they hate it, I
hate it too.
My father says I should act more like a man,
take whatever my brothers do to me like a man
would.
I try, I swear I do, but they come on too strong
that my body loses strength.
It all started on my fifteenth birthday when I
came out to my family, I was a spoiled last born.
My father and brothers did everything and
anything for me, that’s how I became too
comfortable and thought they’d understand.
Little did I know I was being raised by
homophobes.

Dusk is approaching, it doesn’t hinder me from

heading towards the river. If I’m lucky, I may
never see my family again. I want to get away
from them, fade into oblivion. They’ll be better
off without me. No. Scratch that, I’ll be better
off without them.
A bird caws in the distance as if mocking the
haste decision I have taken. Peace. Death. Will
it ever set me free? Is it liberating as people say
it is?
I’ve been to this place many a times,
contemplating my death. Only today do I have
the courage to go through with it.
Standing at the edge of the river, I gaze at the
water, terrified to jump in but curious as to how
it would feel when my soul leaves my body.
I shiver coldly as the freezing water touches my
feet, there are thoughts to turn back. But if I
don’t do this, if I don’t kill myself today, then my
family will. I’d rather die a coward than by the
hands of those who claim they are correcting
me.

There is no one around, no one to see me leap

into the deep water and no one to hear me
splashing at the surface, desperate for air. I
can’t swim to save my life.
Soon I’m under water, gulping water into my
lungs. My body grows tired of fighting, I’m
sinking, the water embracing me and pulling me
deeper to the bottom.
I know I’ll be dead soon, but still raise my hands
in an attempt to survive. It’s instinct for me to
do this. This is it, I’m going to die. I’m going to
see my mother, I’ll finally be with her. Despite
my dire situation, a smile crosses my face. The
sky looks beautiful through the glassy surface.
I’m not dead yet, but I feel it and the peace I’ve
heard about. I feel it all coming.

I think I’ve swallowed too much water, my

throat hurts and my chest feels like it will burst.
Suddenly something grips my arm, I fight and
struggle to get out of its grip, but it’s stronger
than me. Soon both my arms are clutched and
I’m being pulled up against my will.
The first thing I see is a huge man, his eyes are
void as he lifts me in his arms as if I weigh a
servant’s wages. I don’t fight him, instead
cough out the water that had filled my lungs.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks when he places

me down on the sand, the sky is slowly
embracing the night but I can see him clearly.
He’s one of the Khanyile brothers, the eldest if I
remember correctly. I don’t care to know what
his name is, they are bastards who think the
world was created for them.

“Hey, are you okay?” He hits me with the same

question, I nod to get him off my back and hope
he’ll leave. He doesn’t, so I force myself up and
run for the water again.
Arms lock around my waist from behind.
Dammit. Why is he here?
“Let me go.” I kick and scream and fight with
the little strength I have. “Don’t touch me.”
“I’m trying to help you.” a stuttering rumble,
infuriated and thick with criticism.
“Did I ask for your help?” I scream, he refuses to
let go.
“Dude you’re trying to kill to yourself.” He
appears extremely annoyed. This is Vumile's
stuttering son, my father calls him quite often.
“It’s none of your business, let me go.”
“No.” He snaps, dismissively. Who the hell does
he think he is? I will not be controlled by a Zulu
man, hell no. Especially a Khanyile, so I kick and
shout for him to release me.
It’s in vain really.
The man tightens his hold around my waist, my
legs and hands flailing in the air, and marches
over to the river bank. He pins me down on the
ground, his whole body pressing me down. I
squirm and struggle against his big built. He’s
not budging.
My father would be disappointed in me, I’m
such a failure. I can’t even fight off another man.
“Get off me?” I sound calmer, although out of
breath. Worried brown eyes are staring back,
too intent, too penetrative, too judgemental.
They seem to search for my deepest secrets, I
blink to hide everything.

“You don’t want to do this,” comes a gentle

answer.
“You don’t know anything, now get off me.” I
snap, too confident for someone who is pinned
to the ground.
“Why do you want to kill yourself?” He frowns
as confusion makes way for curiosity.
“It has nothing to do with you, now get off, or I
will scream.”
“You’re a man, men don’t scream.” He says,
condescendingly, reminding me of my father’s
words. These fools are no different from each
other, the next thing he will be telling me I’m not
man enough.

To prove him wrong, my mouth releases the

loudest scream. It doesn’t go far because he
slams a hand on my mouth to shut me up. Now
I understand why my father hates the Khanyiles,
they think everything and everyone belongs to
them.
I’m not going back home alive, this I know for a
fact, this I decided before I left my father’s
premises.
MATHONGA-
Five

VUKUZAKHE-

At thirty five, he’s supposed to be somewhere in

life. Not on stagnant-station, living off of his
father’s legacy. He has nothing to show but a
wife who complains about everything and
anything.
Bongiwe is coming home today from her
father’s house, she’s been gone for three weeks.
He should be happy about it considering they
are married. Three years to be exact. But
Vukuzakhe gets a headache when he thinks
about his wife because that’s what she comes
with, a darn headache with no aspirins to cure it.

His heart grows heavy when he drives into the

Khanyile premises, he has a good mind to go
straight to his rondavel, and sleep. However, he
has a crazy mother who will fetch him in his
room and bombard him with a million questions.
Ndleleni’s car is not in the driveway, neither is
Ntabezikude’s car. He hasn’t spoken to Ntaba
since last night, he’s worried. It’s unlike him to
disappear without a trace.

As expected, his mother steps out before he

leaves the car. He sighs about how he is not in
the mood to talk to anyone, he’s not a talker
anyway.
He forces a smile when he jumps out of the car,
approaching his mother.
Stories about how black don’t crack must be
true, the woman has not aged a day in her life.
Or is it Vumile’s money that has made her look
so young and beautiful?

“I’ve been waiting for you.” Dalisile greets,

throwing her arms around him. Vukuzakhe
flinches at the touch, backpedalling a little.
Dalisile gives him an odd stare, his heart does a
mile. He clears his throat, blinking his shifty
eyes.
“You’re drunk? And why are your clothes wet?”
It’s not a question really, although it sounds like
one. He’s grateful that that’s the only scent she
can pick up on him, he’d be embarrassed if her
senses were that of a deity.
“I’m 35 mother, I’m ought to drink.” Mother? The
others went for mama, while he chose to be
formal with her. There’s nothing wrong with the
term mother except that his comes with a cold
tone.
“You’re my son, the future chief. Alcohol should
not…” Vukuzakhe raises a dismissive hand, this
is the last thing he wants to talk about with his
mother.
“Not now, please.” He throws in a whisper.
She sighs, running a manicured hand on her gel-
up hairstyle.
“Bongiwe is back,”
His eyes focus in on his mother, his heart does
a 360 this time.
“She… she’s back?” He stutters, sometimes
Dalisile forgets that her son stumbles on his
words. She rolls her eyes, bare and annoyed.
“Yes.”
His eyes move over to the kitchen entrance, he
knows that’s where Bongiwe is. She loves
spending time in the kitchen.
“I’ll take a shower before greeting her.” He
walks away before she can protest.

In the shower, he takes his precious time.

Meeting Bongiwe is something he’s not going
to rush. She has a tendency of not eating
without him, so delaying will not work on his
behalf anyway. He will still find her waiting for
him.

He’s out just as the hot water starts giving up

on him, a pair of long brown pants is what he
chooses to wear. Bongiwe hates these pants,
she says they make him look like a typical taxi
driver.
Whatever she meant by that.
He compliments the pants with a simple white t
-shirt and a pair of black crocs. His dress sense
is not something to be envious of.

Laughter greets him the second he enters the

main house through the kitchen, he decides to
quench a thirst he’s been harbouring for hours.
A glass is taken from the cupboard, he has
sensitive teeth so he goes for tap water.

“Ma said you’re home.” Her voice pushes

against him, making him jump. It’s not out of
fright, he just didn’t expect her to follow him
here.
A muted deep breathe is taken, he turns to face
her. She looks no different from when she left
three weeks ago. He was headed for work that
Friday, leaving his wife in this same hideous
dress and head wrap she’s draped in. He almost
sighs at the sight, but curtails himself.
Her eyes are on him, they sweep up and down
his frame with a displeased expression on her
features, she’s probably mentally complaining.

“Yes.” He replies, forcing another smile. It’s the

second time today. Bongiwe takes steps
towards her husband, dubious eyes on him the
entire time. He blinks and gulps, he can’t be so
nervous. So he takes a deep breath this time
and wraps his loving arms around his wife.
Thank God he smells like his masculine shower
gel and not like…
“I missed you.” Bongiwe confesses, disturbing
his thoughts. Not that he’s complaining.
“Me too.” We did mention that he’s not a talker.
She’s the first to pull out of the hug, narrowed
eyes scrutinise him under their gaze.
“You smell nice.” The tone used does not give a
complimentary gesture. “You never take a bath
before supper.” Her voice is accusatory,
Vukuzakhe shrugs. He’s not sure what she
means by this, or is he?
“You’ve been gone for three weeks, people
change, Bongiwe.” His answer is cold, Bongiwe
snorts. Her arms fold across her chest, brows
arch on top of curious eyes.
“You haven’t been doings things behind my
back, have you?” She observes, looking straight
into his eyes.
“What?” He doesn’t stutter this time, in fact he
sounds offended.
“You were once a player, I’m not confident
about your sudden change, Ngwane.”
Sudden change?
“Whose fault is that Mabuza? Don’t drag me
into your insecurities.” This is one of the things
he hates about coming to this woman he calls a
wife, she’s a complainer and an insinuator.
Vukuzakhe pours himself another glass of
water, does not spare his wife a second look as
he takes a turn to the dining room. Dinner has
started, no one bothered to call him.
“San’bona ekhaya.” His greeting is
acknowledged by his parents, Mathonga is too
busy on his phone to have heard. That must be
one heck of a conversation he’s having there,
the smile on his face is unmissable.

“And then, wena?” Vukuzakhe grabs his phone,

locks it and places it on the table, much to
Mathonga’s annoyance. His mouth opens, but
words fail him. This is his big brother, he can’t
argue with him.

“No phones at the table.” Vukuzakhe reminds

him, positioning himself on a chair next to his
mother. His wife walks back in with a jug of
diluted orange juice, she finds her place next to
her husband. They don’t bother looking at each
other.

“Where is everyone?” Vukuzakhe asks, as he

waits for Bongiwe to finish dishing up for him
from the variety of foods laid on the table.
“Ndlela is sleeping in his rondavel, he was drunk
when he got home.” Mathonga answers,
preying his phone on the table next to his big
brother. “Hlabela is at a church thingy.”
There’s a veiled yawn accompanying the last
answer, he gets a reproaching glare from
Vumile topped with a headshake.
“Church meeting.” Vumile corrects his last born
who nods his head in response.
“Yes that and Ntaba is not home yet. I tried to
call him but his phone rings unanswered.”
Mathonga.
“Something must be wrong, he’s been gone
since yesterday.”
Vukuzakhe discerns, frowning at the possibility
that something might have happened to his
brother.
“He’s a grown man, he will find his way home.”
That’s Dalisile, sipping on a glass of wine. She
doesn’t care that this is a Christian home.
Oros for what?
“I think that’s unfair ma,” Bongiwe interrupts.
“Had it been Zakhe missing for a mere hour, you
would be pulling Bheki Cele by his ears,
demanding he finds your son.”
She’s not lying, however, Dalisile is glaring at
her as if she has told a forbidden tale from the
devil himself. Vukuzakhe heaves a sigh, he’s not
in the mood to correct a grown woman.

“Watch your mouth little girl, I will crush you like

the annoying cockroach you are.” The secret is
out, Dalisile is not a fan of her son’s wife. A
slow smile spreads across Bongiwe’s face,
she’s not intimidated by her mother in-law. She
pushes her chair back and slowly stands with
her plate in hand.
“I’m going to start with the dishes.” She leaves
with Mathonga’s plate, Vumile is almost done,
Dalisile too and Vukuzakhe has just started.
“Find out where Ntabezikude is, I’m going to
turn in for the night.” Vumile is gone before he
accepts farewells from his sons. Dalisile stands,
strokes Vukuzakhe’s head. It must be a plan to
make Mathonga squirm with jealousy because
he does.
“Use an extra blanket, it’s cold tonight.” And
with that, she’s gone.
Vukuzakhe’s focus is on his phone, checking if
Ntabezikude has sent any messages. He hardly
heard a word his mother said.
“I’m going out.” Mathonga is next to stand, he
doesn’t look like the happy chap he was when
Vukuzakhe walked in.
“I’m coming with you.” He says this because he
doesn’t think Mathonga should be alone or he
just needs a breather or distraction, his mind is
not with him today.
“I’m going with Amandla, we’re getting ice
cream.” Mathonga says, tugging his phone into
the pocket of his jeans.
“Even better reason for me to tag along, I love
ice cream.” He lies. He doesn’t understand why
people eat the damn thing, it tastes like flu and
smells like death.

“What about sis Bongi?” Mathonga makes a

confused face, he knows how Bongiwe can be.
She won’t want her husband out of the house at
this time of the night.
It’s past 8pm, they should be in their rondavel,
cuddled up and talking about life and everything
nice. Then again, Vukuzakhe is not about that
life, he rushes out of the door using a different
entrance.

MATHONGA-
My brother wanting to tag along makes things
uncomfortable for me, the initial plan was to
pacify Amandla. She’s been grumpy since we
left for church this morning. Honestly, I’d rather
be doing something different like lying in bed.
I know I said I wanted my birthday to be
different this year, I should’ve been specific, it
was terrible. Except the club scene.
My father was more focused on his new fling,
Ndlela’s hot head pulled him away from home,
from me. Vukuzakhe was gone the entire day,
just like Ntabezikude. I won’t stress on pastor
Hlabela, you’d think Jesus is camping at church
with how he’s so obsessed with it.

Amandla is a blessing, she got me a cake, sang

for me and spent her time with me. These are
the things I appreciate about her, her
selflessness.
I swear to God, I wish I can give her, her heart’s
desire—marriage. She deserves that at least.
Maybe I should let her go, so she finds a man
who will make an honest woman out of her.

“I’m going to get something to drink, do you

want anything?” Vukuzakhe introduces and
offers as he parks his car at a petrol station. I
don’t get why we’re here. We’re supposed to
drive to the nearest eatery for some ice cream, I
promised Amandla I’ll bring some for her.
Unfortunately, her grandmother wouldn’t let her
go.
“I’m coming with.”

His phone rings as he locks the car, puckered

brows are drawn in muddle. Something has
happened.
“It’s Ntabezikude, he’s at the police station.” He
delivers before rushing back into the car, of
course I follow pursuit. Vukuzakhe is speeding
like I’ve never seen before, no one says a word.
Worry and anxiety is keeping us company.
It doesn’t take us long to get to the police
station.

The hairs on my body stand as we walk in, my

heart jumps to my throat making my vision
indistinct. Time seems to slow down.
My eyes search for my brother, he’s seated on
one of the benches, head dropped with a crown
of shame on it.
I’m a bit taken aback when Vukuzakhe hugs him,
we don’t do hugs. Ntabezikude respectfully
pushes him back.
“Usuyistabane manje bhuti?” (Are you gay now?)
Ntabezikude’s stupidity is not far from
Ndleleni’s. In fact, their stupidity should come
together, make stupid babies and become a
stupid family. How can he say that to our big
brother?

“You’ve grown balls after seeing your big

brother.” Vukuzakhe painfully nudges his
shoulder that he winces in pain. “Were you not
the one crying over the phone?”

I want to laugh at Vukuzakhe’s return. Ntaba is

a smart mouth, serves him right.
“Take me home, I need my bed.” That’s
Ntabezikude, and mind you, he’s not asking.
Vukuzakhe doesn’t ask any more questions, he
respects our privacy. That’s the best part about
him. This trouble maker will tell us what he did
when he’s ready, he knows where to find us.
“My car is outside.” Ntabezikude says, I offer to
drive it and grab the keys from him. My phone
beeps with a text from Amandla as we start to
head towards the exit.

*Gogo is sleeping now, you can stay the night

and leave before she wakes up in the morning*

The message reads, tempting, but my brothers

need me. We have a situation. I don’t think we’ll
be buying that ice cream anymore.

*Something came up, I’ll see you tomorrow.*

I turn my data off after two ticks, knowing she

doesn’t have airtime to send an SMS. My
brothers are gone by the time I raise my head, I
have to hurry after them or I will never hear the
end of it.

“Baby,” startling arms loop around my neck,

touching me without permission. They are too
scrawny they feel like a kid’s arms. “Play along.”
A female voice whispers in my ear, I might get
myself in trouble if I follow whoever this is.

“You’re so slow.” She whispers again when I

refuse to embrace her. As she lets go, my eyes
scream with shock. It’s her, it’s the girl from the
club. She looks beautiful under normal lighting.
“Are you going to help me or not?” She looks at
me with displeased eyes.
“What’s going on?” I’ve only seen this girl once
and she’s asking me to play along to whatever
game she’s playing. A wink is sent my way,
coated with a mischievous smirk.

“Bab’ phoyisa, my husband is here now. I told

you he’s a respected citizen in Izingolweni. You
can let me go now.” The girl begs, sounding
different from the person who was whispering
in my ear.
In front of me stands a chubby elderly man,
probably in his late 40’s. He smiles, too friendly.
“Sir, your wife was caught stealing muffins at a
local bakery store.” He says.
I make sure to give her a judgemental look
when our eyes meet, she drops her gaze then
frowns up at the policeman.
“I was stealing? I’m a Khanyile wife and you
have the liver to call me a thief, bab’ phoyisa?”
The girl spits, putting on a sham of shock. I
know because she mentioned that this is a
game.
“I… I didn’t mean it like that.” The police officer
appears nervous. So this is what people do,
they use the Khanyile surname to get
themselves out of trouble?
The lady comes closer, rests her head on my
arm.
“Hlabela baby, tell the…” Who?
“It’s Mathonga.” I correct her, hush enough for
her ears alone.
“What?” She looks like she’s been struck by
lightning. “You’re not Hlabela?”
“Don’t offend me please, I’m more handsome
than pastor Hlabela.” I tell her, grinning like a
Cheshire cat.

“I thought you were Hlabela Khanyile, he’s the

much respected brother around here.” Is she
kidding me? Does she want my help or not?
“And I thought you were taller, clearly we were
both deceived.” My come back has her lips
parting, she wants to say something but
swallows her words.
“I’m a woman, heels are allowed to embrace my
feet.” Sure they are.
“But if they make us think people are tall when
we are surrounded by a group of SpongeBobs,
then they should be burned.” She gasps at my
response.
A chuckle takes us out of the world we’ve
locked ourselves in, it’s the policeman.
“Lover’s quarrel.” He sings. The smile on his
face should be trialled and locked up for life. I
can fake a smile, and this one on my face is the
fakest I’ve ever presented.
My arm curls around her waist to bring her
closer, her body feels warm and soft. For a
second I want the moment to last.
“Shorty!” I call, glancing down at her. She
returns a fake smile, eyes threatening to skin
me alive. “Where are the seven twins?”
Confusion kisses her face. I thought she
wanted me to play along.
“Twi-twins?” She stutters, idiot will give herself
away.
“Yes, our babies. I told you not to go out, you
just gave birth to seven twins and you’re here
playing cops and robbers with Nyawo.”
Something seems to click in her head. Can’t
believe she has forgotten her own game.

“Yes, our seven sphongos who have their

father’s head.” Sphongo? I don’t have a big
forehead. “Bab’ phoyisa, I’m a mother of seven
new born babies. My husband and I are barely
coping. No one wants to look after them
because there is so many of them. My breasts
will start leaking soon, I need to get home to
them. Right baby?”

All innocent eyes are looking up at me, I nod as

if I don’t have any other choice. This one should
be crowned queen of lies, she tells them like it’s
her second language.

The police man grins at me and extends a hand,

“Congratulations Mr. Khanyile. Yeyi, you know
how to keep secrets in that family.”

I shake the bloody hand and brush off his

declaration. I hope he’s not one of those men
who can’t keep their mouths shut or the entire
village will know I have septuplets by sunset.

“Can we go now?” I ask, my brothers are

probably worried.
“Sure, sure sir.” He’s beaming. “Take your wife
home and don’t worry about the muffins, we’ll
take them back to the bakery store.”

“What? Those are mine, I stole…” She stops

when she meets the frown on my face. “I mean,
you’re a good officer. You should be awarded
for your hard work.”
The policeman’s day has been made.
“Tell your father my name is Tobias and I bank
with Capitec.” He says, refusing to wipe the grin
off his face. I don’t know who mentioned money
but…

For his trouble, I hand him a R200 note. It’s not

much but it’s something, he’s grateful and
cheerful and still asks me to tell my father he
banks with Capitec.

-------

My hand is still on the small of her back when

we exit the police station, she wriggles herself
from me as soon as it’s safe to. Her eyes are
everywhere, probably searching for an escape.
She’s still as beautiful as the day I saw her, even
without the heavy makeup. She looks peaceful
when quiet, like a breath of fresh air. Someone
I’d want to come home to after a long day at
work.

“What’s your name?” I’ve been meaning to ask,

she scowls as if unsure whether to tell me.
“Felicia.” That came too quick.
“You don’t look like a Felicia.” I don’t know what
I’m saying, however, I don’t believe her. Missy
shakes her head, indifferently. Her voice and
character is way different from the girl she was
in there.
“Take it or leave it, ndoda.” Ndoda?
This can’t be the girl I met at the club. She must
be her twin.
“Where do you stay? Do you need a ride home?”
It’s getting late and there are no taxis at this
time.
“I thought you’d never ask, I don’t live too far
from Nkandla.” She says as if it’s not a big deal.
“Wait, I’m not headed there, maybe I should call
get you an Uber.” I can’t drive to Nkandla, I have
a father who wants me home before Jesus
comes.
“Don’t you live there?” She queries, I thought
she knew who I am.
“What makes you think I live there?” We’re in
Izingolweni, what on earth would I be doing here
if I lived in Nkandla?
Immature giggles sway from her mouth. “Sorry,
that’s what everyone around here calls the
Khanyile homestead.”
Oh!
“Can I drop you off?” Last offer, if she delays I
will have to leave her here.
“Let’s go Dlozi.” The name calling is unexpected.
“What did you call me?” I ask, unsure I heard
right. Curious brows shoot up, innocently.
“Dlozi, isn’t that your name?”
“No, my name is Mathonga.” Same thing but…
“Same thing.” She steals my thoughts, fidgets
her undernourished shoulders and tells me to
lead the way. Is she getting enough food at
home? I doubt it.
In the car I receive a call from Vukuzakhe
asking where I am. He’s not happy about me
dropping some strange girl home and tells me
to be careful.
The ride would be silent if she was not singing
along to Mariah Carey, word for word. I want to
turn the radio off and shoot her with questions
that have me restless.
Mustering up the courage to do that takes me
forever, it becomes harder by the second. My
eyes keep running to her exposed thighs, it’s
hard to keep them to myself with the way she’s
working tirelessly to pull her short dress down.
“Why did you steal the muffins?” It’s not the
question I had in mind, but it will do.
“I was hungry.” Comes a quick answer, carefree
and unbothered.
“You could’ve bought one.”
“I don’t have the money, so I stole them.” Okay!
“It’s just muffins, they will bake more.”
“Yeah but…”
“Don’t judge me, you don’t know me.” She
sputters, looking out the window. That’s not
what I was doing, I’d never… Argh!

“You can drop me there.” It’s a little over ten

minutes when she points at a vacant bus stop.
There is no one in sight, I doubt it’s safe for her.
Plus, I’m not ready for her to go yet.
“I have cake.” I haven’t touched the cake
Amandla brought, I’m not a cake person anyway
and my brothers don’t care for it as well.
“So?” Arrogant I see. I don’t answer but
continue driving, this might get me into trouble,
but nothing I can’t handle.
It’s time for her to play along.
“What are you doing? I said drop me off at the
bus stop.”
“I’m taking you home, to meet my father.” I’m
lying.
I just want to feed her pretzel body. My focus
remains on the dark road ahead, there’s a
temptation to steal a fleeting look.
“I’m serious ndoda, stop the car.”

“No, we’re married right?” This is going to be

fun.
Finally giving in to the urge, I turn to find her
mouth ajar and eyes in wonder. “Don’t worry…
baby. My parents will love you.” I tease. She
frowns, crosses her arms and sits back like a
good wifey.
MATHONGA
Six-
FUNOKUHLE

My birthday is next week, exactly eight days

from today. A day that should be spiked with
anticipation and joy. There’s no one I want to
spend it with, than him, he’s special to me.
The task of asking him to sacrifice a day just to
be with me lies heavy on my chest, he loves me,
I know he does and you sacrifice for the ones
you love.
I breathe, trying to brush away the knot inside
my stomach that keeps twisting and turning as
I stroll down the empty street. Thoughts of
earlier hovering in my head, I need to stop
thinking about what happened. I wasn’t in my
right mind. Yes, it was a weak moment and I
gave in.
His house stands alone, at the far end, away
from prying neighbours. He prefers it like that.
Privacy means a lot to him.

My pulsating heart leaps with bliss as I think

about the intimate times we’ve had in this
house, the memories bring about rays of joy
that allow peace to battle with my nervous
tension.
My body is trembling as I open the small gate
and walk down the pavement. Stopping behind
the pine-wood door, I say a little prayer. The
man behind this door is unpredictable, hopefully
today he’s in a good mood.

The door clicks open, despite the frown on his

face, I place a smile on mine. He used to love
my smile, said it reminded him of summer.
“Hi.” I greet, I don’t have an endearment for him.
He hates them.
“What are you doing here?” His gaze moves
from me to the streets, scanning and panicky.

“No one saw me, I made sure.” I keep the smile.

“Won’t you let me in? I came to see you.”

I don’t expect him to clench his jaw, it wasn’t

my intention to upset him. He hates it when I
say sorry, so I keep the apology.
I shriek when he grabs my wrist and pulls me
inside, he bangs the door closed. The loud
sound matches the beat of my heart.
I’m pressed against the door, he’s towering over
me.
Pule is a hand’s length taller than me, he was
once a handsome fella.
Now he’s at an age where he’d probably be
mistaken for my father, that’s one of the
reasons we don’t go out together. Well, that’s
what he told me, he says people will judge him.

I wish I looked my age at least, I’m approaching

twenty four but have features of a high schooler.
Pule distastes that I’m portable, he always
forces me to eat. Apparently, I’m too lean for a
man, and should have a little meat.
No matter how much I stuff my face with food,
my body refuses to gain weight.

“You’re so careless Ntando.” His hand tightens

on my wrist. “What if someone saw you?”

“I’m…” I bite my tongue, the word will get me

into trouble.
Our relationship is a secret, it’s been for ten
years. He was my history teacher, the new
flame at school, straight from Johannesburg.
Every girl had their thirsty eyes on him, but he
saw me. It made me feel special, and wanted.
He came at a time when my family had just
turned their backs on me. If it were not for him, I
probably would’ve died long ago.

He was thirty four when we started sleeping

together, and I was fifteen. He was my first, it
was uncomfortable really. And the other times
after that, but I got used to it. He’s not the most
romantic man in the world, not everyone is a
Romeo.

“How was Durban?” He asks, forgetting his

anger a minute.
He was against me going to Durban, we fought
about it. It almost got physical.
My brother… Mfundo, he’s as hot-headed as
Pule. I couldn’t say no to him.
“Mfundo got into a fight and was stabbed.” I tell
him, his brows pucker with questions. I narrate
the whole story until the part where I almost
drowned myself to death and was saved by a
stranger. I leave the details of who the stranger
is and what happened between us.
Pule is a jealous lover, he’d kill me and bury me
somewhere in this house.

“That’s the problem with you Ntando, you’re so

damn stubborn. Awulaleli.” He growls, getting
into my space. His anger is never too far.
“What? Pule, I almost took my own life. Doesn’t
that affect you?”
“Should it affect me?” I wish he would tread
carefully where I’m concerned, his words cut
deep. I clamp my jaw, regarding him with a
glare that will most probably get me into shit.

“None of this would’ve happened if you listened

to me and forgot about Durban.” Basically, he’s
blaming me for everything.

“I’m going home.” I sputter, he grips my wrist.

This will leave a mark. My eyes rush up to meet
his empty stare and hard face. “Ouch!”

I try to stand tall, show him I’m a grown man

now and not the boy he always calls me. His
eyes close only to open seconds later, they are
glinting with warmth. I did say he’s
unpredictable.

“Stay.” He pronounces, the grip on my wrist

does not loosen. “Stay.”

We’ve been together for so long I can’t recall

him ever saying sorry.

Pin drop silence passes between us, drawn out

and delicate. Pule steps closer, pressing
himself against my body. The palm of his hand
touches my cheek, caressing it a second. I gasp
as he sadistically smashes his lips against mine,
there’s nothing gentle about his kisses.
I wish he’d take note of my presence, remember
that I bruise easily. Attempting to breathe, I
receive the vicious kiss, trying to meet his
demanding assault. Teeth clash, tongues meet
in a greedy dance.

“You taste different.”

A soft voice belonging to another whispers in

my ears. I open my eyes, heart racing with an
intention to send me into an early grave. Pule is
still here, abusing my lips that they start to burn.
I shouldn’t be thinking about someone else,
when I’m with Pule. I’ve betrayed him enough.
What I did today, at the river. God should punish
me for it.

MATHONGA-

What is this I’m doing you ask? I too have no

idea, all I know is that I found a girl I think is
fascinating. Nothing is planned as of yet.
I wasn’t really taking her to my house, inside my
father’s house, not without her permission nor
his. My father is not one to be disrespected, he
knows about Amandla, that’s why she’s allowed
to enter his premises.

The lights in the main house are on,

Vukuzakhe’s rondavel as well. It’s my other
brothers who seem to have gone to bed.
After grabbing the cake from the kitchen, I
make my way to Vukuzakhe’s room.
Hushed voices pull me closer to the rondavel…
quarrelling, that’s what it sounds like. That
doesn’t stop me from knocking. A second and
the door cracks open.
My eyes have a life of its own, they manoeuvre
past my brother’s tall body right into the room.
Bongiwe is standing near the bed, face coated
in anger and arms folded. My intruding is
interrupted by my brother blocking my path.

“Do you need anything?” His eyes are on the

cake in my hand.
“I’m dropping someone home, I won’t be long.”
“Amandla is not the daughter in-law of this
family, when are you going to take responsibility
and stop sneaking around?”

He thinks I’m with Amandla. I think to tell him

what’s really going on, but he seems to be in the
middle of something with his wife.

“I won’t be long.”

“Ngwane!” Bongiwe calls, impatiently.

“Are you okay, bhuti?” I question the drained
expression on his face. He nods, it’s dismissive.
“Okay, goodnight.” Again, he nods and shuts the
door after telling me to be careful.

I’m barely five feet away when I hear a womanly

shout coming from Vukuzakhe’s rondavel.
It belongs to him, his voice becomes high
pithed when he’s angry. It used to be worse
actually. As a kid, I couldn’t understand why my
brother sounded the way he did and had a hard
time putting words together.
It has become better with age, sure he’s not
blessed with a deep voice but when he speaks,
we all tremble.
I think of going back to check on him, but he
won’t like it.
The walk to the gate where my car is parked is
longer than I’d like, I hope that girl is still there.
She appears too smart, like a kitchen mouse.
I’m regarded with an eye roll when I enter the
car, she accepts the plastic bag with a scowl on
her face.
“What’s this?”
“I told you, I have cake,” is that a smile I see? It’s
there but distantly.
“Take me home.” Her request is heard.
In less than ten minutes she instructs me to
drop her off.
The houses here are government built, there are
informal settlements here and there. Some
residents have extended.

“Nala Shange.” She starts. “That’s my name,

Felicia is my second name, but I never use it.
Only when I want to scare off men who prey on
me.”
Confident, are we?
“Nice to meet you, Nala.”

“Thanks for saving my life back at the station.”

She says, eyes glued to the smallest house
across the street.
“When can I see you again?” I want to see her
again.
The look she gives me tells me I’ve asked a
stupid question. She opens the door to leave,
my hand flies to grab her arm.

I gasp as a jolt of something familiar tears

through my veins, it claws and locks—PAIN!
Unfathomable pain. It’s the kind that burns, as if
an undetectable flame were held against my
skin.
It takes over a portion of my brain, steals the
part of me I most want to share with the ones I
love—my light, laughter and the little love I hold
in my heart.
Betrayal, death and abandonment, they all lead
here… to this unspeakable pain.

Confusion claims a place in me, I’ve never felt

people’s agony. Yes I get dreams, dreams I
can’t predict. Usually there are many voices in
my dreams, sometimes in my head, talking at
the same time, each wanting to be heard. Has it
come to this?

“Na… Nala?” I have so many questions to ask

her. Why am I feeling this hurt, emanating from
her?
I’m probably scaring her with this dazed look on
my face. I’ve been called weird before, it won’t
be anything new.

“I have to go.” And with that, she flies out of the

car with my answer and cake.
Something tells me to run after her but, the
thought is washed off by a man in a police
uniform stepping out of the house.
I can’t make out his face from here, however,
the anger coated on it is visible. It must be the
way he’s standing with hands in his pockets
that screams at me. Nala stops in front of him,
no words are shared between them, just glares
before she dashes into the house.
The man is left glaring my way, inquisitively,
there is no reason for me to stay here. He must
be her lover.
VUKUZAKHE-

He’s sleeping on the far end of the bed, there’s

hardly space for him to stretch an arm. The
fight they had was unexpected, he came home
happy he had found his brother not knowing
what awaited him at home. It’s been hours
since they went to bed, Bongiwe is fast asleep,
at least that’s what he hopes when he slides out
of bed.
Funny how a bed only makes a creaking sound
when you’re sneaking out, he stops, holding his
breath. His gaze shifts to Bongiwe, she shuffles
a smidgeon but that’s all.
The sigh he produces is hush, his feet slip into a
pair of sleepers but he doesn’t get to use them
when a snooping voice terminates his
movement.
“Where are you going?” A hoarse sluggish voice
invades his ears, he closes his eyes, mostly
because she’s annoying. He who finds a wife
finds a good thing.
Was God serious when He said that, or was it
out of excitement for creating heaven and earth?

Vukuzakhe wants to rush out, pretend he didn’t

hear a word she said and that he does.

That does not rid Bongiwe’s curiosity, she yells

after him as he shuts the door closed. He can
hear her from outside, that’s how thin their
walls are.
Profanities follow him a few centimetres away.
Hopefully his brothers heard none of that.
It’s so damn quiet out here, only crickets are
witnesses to the impudence he’s been
subjected to.
He gets into his SUV, he’s more comfortable in
here. Maybe he’s a lover of big things because
growing up, he’s only ever felt so small. It’s the
feminine voice God saw fit to give him.

Forgetting your phone is the same as forgetting

your wallet when going to the market, he digs
into his pyjama pants and pulls it out. There’s a
number there, saved under the name Minion.

He remembers how he got it. A standard

amount of alcohol was involved, a conversation
he didn’t want to end because for the first time
in a long time he was listened to. He can’t recall
exactly how he got this number, but he did.
Sealing business deals is easier than what he’s
about to do. It’s almost the middle of the night,
normal people are sleeping at this time.
“Can you talk?”
“Who’s this?” The person asks, he knows he can
tell. His voice is unique, no man in this village
talks like him.
“Can we meet?” Vukuzakhe does not answer
the question, instead heads north.

“Do you know what time it is?” An irked voice is

what follows. “I’m busy.” is what trails next
when Vukuzakhe goes silent.

He exudes a heavy sigh, something is sitting on

his chest. He just needs a listening ear, is that
too much to ask?
“Can we talk about what happened?”
“No.” The reply is firm, Vukuzakhe is not
intimidated.
“Are we going to pretend nothing happened?”
Vukuzakhe smacks himself on the head for
sounding a little desperate.

“Yes.”

No. No. This is all wrong. He’s the one with a

short vocabulary, he should be the one dishing
out short answers. Vukuzakhe takes a deep
breath, abusing his lungs.
“Please, we need to talk.” Vukuzakhe states.
Grovelling is not one of his strongest points,
however, he feels he has no choice but to.
He hears the person breathe, it’s heavy, it’s
lengthy and boarders on exhaustion.

“Who’s that?” A different voices forces its way

through the cellphone, this one is deeper, a bit
hostile.
“No one.” Says the person he’s been talking to.
The response should not sting like this, he
doesn’t know this person for Pete’s sake. Of
course he's no one.
“Who is that?” It’s Vukuzakhe’s turn to ask, not
that it’s any of his business.
“I have to go.” The receiver’s voice is shaky
through the phone. It’s ridiculous that
Vukuzakhe thinks he’s noted fear in it.

The driver’s door is forced open, startling the

man. He quickly removes the gadget from his
ear at the sight of his fuming wife, standing
before him.
“Who are you talking to?” Bongiwe asks,
grabbing the phone from her husband’s hand.
“Hello, hello.” She’s whisper yelling, anger
etched on her facial features. Vukuzakhe does
not seem worried that his wife is acting a fool
on a call that was not intended for her.

Curved brows and irate eyes viciously regard

him.

“They hung up.” The tone of her voice is

accusing. “Are you cheating on me, Ngwane? Is
that why you came to make a call in here?”

She grabs his arm and pulls him out of the car,
he lets her and stands against it. Gently he
retrieves his phone back, and starts his journey
back to the rondavel.

“Vukuzakhe!” She’s after him, short legs trying

to keep up with his long legs.
“Ngwane come back here.”
She’s short-tempered, frustrated and on a
mission for answers.

Walking into the lion’s den is probably a bad

idea, Bongiwe will want a bite of him all night
long. He stops and meets the same angry eyes
when he faces her.
He’s looking down at her, she’s not short-short,
just the average height. These Khanyile
brothers are too tall, walking around towering
over everyone as if they walked the Garden of
Eden with Adam.

“I’m going to sleep in Ngwane’s room.” He’s

talking about Mathonga, that’s what they call
him sometimes. Vukuzakhe walks away, hoping
she won’t run after him.
Bongiwe is left shocked, she can’t find her clap
back. The anger on her face transitions to pain
as she watches her husband leave her behind.
MATHONGA-
Seven

VUKUZAKHE

He wakes up covered in thick sweat, he thought

the bad dreams were a thing of the past. Every
year on their death anniversary, he’s haunted by
a burning rondavel, heart wrenching screams
and two tiny coffins.
He’s reclined on the king-sized bed, feeling like
a crumbled up piece of paper, it’s not an
unfamiliar feeling not strange either. Twenty
four years later, and he still can’t shake the guilt
of failing his brothers.
A strong breeze catches his attention as it lifts
the curtains, the windows have been left open.
Red rimmed eyes scan the airy bedroom, he’s
alone, it’s a relief in a way.
He doesn’t have to face an angry wife so early
in the morning.
The digital clock on the wall says it’s 07:07am,
it’s a Sunday today. He made sure to set
meetings for the whole day, just to avoid a
certain somebody. Had they been on good
speaking terms, he wouldn’t have had to force
his behind to work on a Sunday.

The first thing he does before he gets out of

bed is send his greetings to the family group
chat. Ntabezikude is the first to reply with a
kissing emoji.
Hlabela forwards a long bible verse from the
book of Psalms and says it’s about time they
add uncle Dumile’s wife in the group because
she blesses them with a scripture every
morning.
Coarse language is what follows his message,
not caring that he just invited the Most High
into the group.

*Where’s Mathonga?*
He’s the one Vukuzakhe is mostly worried
about, last night he found Mathonga’s room
locked. He had no choice but to go back to the
rondavel he shares with his wife.

*I’m here bhuti, having a hard time choosing an

outfit for today. Shorts or jeans?*
A picture of the two is sent, they all tell him to
wear whatever makes him comfortable.

*Where were you last night, wena?”

Vukuzakhe is not okay with his little brother

travelling alone at night.

*I have a life, bhuti.*

The little brat throws back. Vukuzakhe doesn’t

reply but goes in search for someone else on
his contact list. The person has WhatsApp, but
there’s no profile picture.
He can’t say he’s not disappointed, he was
looking forward to seeing a profile picture. The
face he hasn't been able to forget.
With his wife around, his waking moments
consist of an already made bath, masculine
bath soap, towel and the day’s outfit picked out
for him.
Today is different, it’s as if she never came
back from her vacation. He has to do everything
from scratch, Bongiwe is somewhere around,
putting her wife tender to use.

The long mirror in front of him reflects his outfit

for the day. Not bad. If anything, he’s never
gone wrong as far as formal clothing is
concerned. Maybe he should stick to it since his
dress sense leaves a bitter taste in his wife’s
mouth.

“I think this will do.” He’s talking about the black

pair of chinos, the crispy blue shirt hugging his
bulging biceps, now he needs help with this
goddam tie. Had it been up to him, he’d ban ties
from the company.

It’s a new week, and of course life continues. A

little distraction will do him good, he’s been too
focused on things that will get him into trouble,
things he should not be thinking about.

He wanders out of the room with the tie around

his neck, and smiles at the sight of the one who
makes his heart dance, his little
brother—Mathonga.
“Ngwane.” He’s still smiling as he curls an arm
around Mathonga’s shoulders. The younger
welcomes a frown as he’s taken aback by the
sudden affection.
“What’s happened to you?” Of course he’d ask.
His brother does not salute with hugs. However,
can’t his brother be happy to see him alive?
He’s grateful for life and family.
Vukuzakhe snubs the question and leads the
way to the main house, Mathonga is not far
behind. There’s silence between them, the
young man knows when not to push.

Entering the kitchen, they are greeted by the

smell of food. There his wife is busy behind the
stove, beside her is a young lady they are
familiar with. She’s one of the Khanyile servants,
her duties are in the kitchen and some parts of
the house.
Servants are given Saturdays off, and work the
rest of the week.

“Khethiwe.” Hugs are for free, and Mathonga is

not stingy with his. The young woman titters
bashfully, hiding her face just below his chest.
“Thank you for coming back, we missed your
cooking.”
"I've only been gone a day, bhuti." She replies.
"A day too long if you ask me."

The two converse, oblivious of what’s

happening between the couple. Bongiwe has
not said a word to her husband, neither is he
willing to go first.
It’s raining hail storms in this marriage,
Vukuzakhe feels tired physically and mentally.
He’s standing in the kitchen, hands in his
pockets and a lenient frown on his chiselled
face. His five O’clock stubble making him
appear strikingly handsome.

Only now Bongiwe spots the tie hanging loosely

around his shirt. She takes careful steps
towards him and helps him with it like she
always does.
“What would you be without me?” A man at
peace.
Her hands are on his chest, brushing
seductively, eyes locked on his.
“You know I’m nothing without you.” His quip is
said sarcastically, no humour found in his voice.

The wisecrack is snorted upon. “You better not

forget that.” She tells him, placing a wet kiss on
his cheek and uses her thumb to wipe off the lip
-gloss tattooed by her lips. “You look handsome,
like a respectable man. A future chief… a
husband and a father.”

His eyes dart to the house maid bustling around

the stove, Mathonga has left the kitchen.
“Kids?”
“Yes, you’re the first born son. You have to give
your parents a grandchild.” He doesn’t seem to
think so.
“We’re not having children, Bongiwe. You
agreed to it before we got married.” He says
coldly, sending his irritable gaze to Khethiwe
again. This is a secret between them, and he’d
like to keep it that way. Bongiwe’s arms slither
around his torso, they land on the small of his
back, eliminating any space between them.

“Well, that was out of excitement and

ignorance.” A fake smile stretches her glossy
lips. “Ngwane, you need an heir that will
continue the Khanyile legacy, your mother
would tell you the same thing.”

“I have four brothers after me, they will fulfill

those duties.” He hasn’t tried to move away
from her, with Khethiwe shyly stealing looks, he
can’t really do anything because really, the girl
can be a walking radio.

“It’s not theirs to fulfill.” Quietly, she snaps.

Raised brows cheekily consider him as they
curve shrewdly. “Maybe it’s time your parents
found out about this absurd notion of yours.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He grits his teeth, grabbing

her side. Bongiwe flinches at the sudden pain,
her elbow harshly slams against his chest. The
big man staggers a step back. She’s pointing a
finger at him, a glare from hell scrutinising him.
“Don’t ever touch me like that again.” It’s an
unseen threat, she turns her back, heading back
to her wifely duties. Vukuzakhe is thankful
Khethiwe did not witness any of that, he’d be
embarrassed.

Dalisile is not at the breakfast table, not

because she’s travelling, she’s around alright.
There are days when she can’t stand being in
the same room as Mathonga.
For now it’s just the three of them, Vukuzakhe,
Hlabela and Mathonga. Vukuzakhe thinks of
mentioning their brothers’ death anniversary,
then again, it will ruin everyone’s mood.

The wound is still fresh, Hlabela was old

enough to feel the pain of loss. They’ve never
spoken about it… the fire… the death of Sakhile
and Vimbela and Vukuzakhe wanting to kill
himself. Everyone moved on assuming they
each had healed from the traumatic experience.
Memory lane is not always sweet, sometimes
it’s filled with thorns.
Vukuzakhe opts to keep it to himself.

Two seconds haven’t passed when Vumile

struts in, a young man with a ridiculously small
frame, dressed in a loose blue work suit tailing
him.
That night, Vukuzakhe didn’t quite get a good
look at him. His big hazel eyes, succulent thick
lips.
Wide-eyed gaze connects with his, in a second,
the younger man drops his gaze while
Vukuzakhe keeps the stare until a nudge on his
arm pulls him out of the daze he’s locked
himself in.
Who else other than his forward brother
Mathonga, he fights the urge to roll his precious
eyes when he meets the grin on his little
brother’s face.
“Like what you see?” It’s a good thing Thonga
whispers this. Something flashes in big
brother’s eyes, it’s gone a second later.
“Hamba uyofa.” (Go die.)

Vukuzakhe returns, fighting back the shock that

just hit him. Does Mathonga see through him?
He’s always been a nifty one, innocent but nifty.
Smarty pants who sees through people. More
like invade people’s privacy by observing more
than he should.

“Ngiyadlala hau.” (I’m kidding.)

Comes a light chuckle, it’s accepted by a tongue
click.

“Ngwane KaNgwadi," is said with pride. "Drive

Ntando to the warehouse, he needs to get a few
things for the livestock.”
At his father’s order, Mathonga lifts his wide
gaze. He swallows a big lump, thinking of an
excuse. This morning, he’s got things to do,
important things he can’t cancel.
“Why me, baba?” He asks, swallowing another
lump. However, unable to look into the eyes of
the man he just questioned. You don’t question
this big bull.
“Because I said so.” Yep. It’s a ‘I say jump you
ask how high’ type of relationship.
Mathonga looks at his brothers for help,
Hlabela’s engrossed on today’s daily paper.
Vukuzakhe… well he’s trying hard not to stare at
the gorgeous young man timidly standing
beside his father.

“I’ll take him.” Ooops! That came too quick.

Mathonga nods, happy Vukuzakhe has come to
his rescue. “I was on my way out anyway.”

“Yes, bhut’ Zakhe will drive him to the

warehouse.” Mathonga chirps, chuckling to his
own words.

Vukuzakhe does not wait for any disputes, he

grabs his car keys and walks out of the house.
In this family he’s almost equal to Vumile. His
word is regarded just as important.
“Go ahead son,”Vumile tells Ntando. The young
man reticently follows Vukuzakhe out.
Bongiwe walks in with breakfast just as Vumile
settles down at the head of the table, she joins
them after making sure everything has been set.

MATHONGA-
Breakfast is almost over when loud singing
occupies the space, and pulls a frown to my
father’s face, there’s only one person
responsible for him cringing in frustration.

“NTABEZIKUDE!” Baba yells, voice chiding like a

dictatorial parent. Ntabezikude is not bothered,
it is his nature. He couldn’t care less what
people think about him. He stands in the middle
of the dining room, dancing to the song of
struggle that’s agonisingly parading from his
mouth.
“What is wrong with you Ntaba? You can’t even
sing for crying out loud.” Baba reproaches his
third born son, rubbing his temple as if to rid the
headache he’s being given.

Unbothered, Ntaba continues before breaking

into isicathamiya dance, my gaze finds baba.
He looks defeated but there’s a faint smile
twitching on his lips.
“Ntaba, won’t you do it at least for me?” I cajole,
showcasing a playful grin. He poses, his eyes
turn to me, soft and warm.
“Awu birthday boy.” As if he didn’t see me last
night at the police station. I’m regarded with a
soft kiss on my cheek. Shocking really. The
rents are the only ones subjected to these
kisses of his. What is he happy about?
“Happy birthday Thonga lam’.” He sits down on
the empty sit next to baba who is also greeted
with a kiss.
“My birthday was yesterday bhuti.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s still your birthday month.” He’s

right. The announcement brings a smile to my
face. “I didn’t get you anything by the way, I
used to change your diapers and feed you. That
should count for something."

Why am I not surprised, really?

“A man is greeted with a handshake Ntaba, you

know how I feel about this crazy habit of yours.”
Baba complains, pointing a butter knife at him.
I’ve almost forgotten about that. “I hope you
don’t go around kissing men, I don’t want
people spreading rumours about my sons.”

“My old man,” A humourless chuckle is what

we’re graced with. “There’s a saying. Never let
your enemies look into your eyes, it is where
they will find your weakness and attack when
you least expect it.”
“Yeah right! Who said that?” Hlabela is amused
by Ntaba’s proverb.
“Me of course, you can thank me later.” Ntaba
articulates, grabbing a plate and filling it with
scrambled eggs, baked beans and five slices of
bread.
“Excuse me.” That’s baba, leaving the table
without any explanation as to where he’s going.
I need everyone out of the house at least for an
hour or so.

Khethiwe is here, pouring tea for Ntabezikude.

Something he can easily do by himself, I want
to complain about how I had to pour my own
juice.
“Ngiyabonga ntokazi.” (Thank you, lady.)
A quiet giggle, the shy girl blushes, it’s kind of
funny to see her recoil whenever Ntaba
addresses her. Sadly my brother has never bat
an eye towards her, even if he did, he’d drag the
poor girl down to the ground. He’s too
destructive for an innocent girl like Khethiwe,
she should set her eyes on Hlabela instead, the
holy one.
“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything else.”
Khethiwe mumbles. Ntaba is not there anymore,
he’s stuffing his face like a pig. Disappointment
cradles her, she drops her head and lets her
size three feet drag her out of the dinning room.

“You’re an idiot Ntaba.” He chokes on his food

as my hand finds the back of his head with a
bang, I’m given a black look that should have
killed me.
“What’s wrong with you?” He keeps his voice
neutral, soft and deadly calm.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way she
looks at you.” I’m tempted to smack his big
head again. He’s back to stuffing his mouth,
face resembling a monkey.
“I know, poor thing can only dream of me.”
“Dream?” Hlabela questions, giving all his
attention to Ntaba.

A confident nod is the first answer that comes,

“Her dreams consist of a sweaty me, buried
deep inside her, pleasuring her until she’s
undone.” The arrogant bastard returns.

“And she told you this, when?” Hlabela queries.

“She didn’t have to tell me, I see it in her eyes.”
Oh wow! “Where is everyone?” He’s done with
that conversation.
His head whips around, searching. By everyone,
he means Dalisile and Ndleleni. Ndlela won’t
show face today, he’s not on speaking terms
with baba. I know not where Dalisile is.
--------
Everyone having plans today works in my favour.
I’ve never done anything like this before, that’s
why my heart is violently thudding against my
ribcage. The vivid dream I had last night has
brought me here, in this rondavel where baba
used to talk to the Khanyile ancestors before he
decided being an Adventist was the way to go.
He probably won’t be happy to hear I went and
called upon the great ones, I have no other
choice. I have to do this lest I perish. There’s an
undeniable pull, along with the many voices I
heard in my dream last night.
Something is coming, something that is greater
than all of us, something set to destroy this
family.
I light a candle, place it next to the glass of
water and burn incense. This is when I notice
the tremble on my hands, it’s bad that I have to
intertwine my fingers to stop it.
It takes about a few seconds before I’m myself
again.

“Nina bo gogo nabomkhulu, bantu abadala

bakulelikhaya. My great ancestors, boKhanyile.
Ntunjwa kaLanga. Mthiyane. Ndwandwe.
Ngwane. Mathonga amahle. It is I your son
Mathonga Ngwane KaNgwadi. I greet you with
the highest respect. For many years I have not
acknowledged your presence in my life, yet you
stayed with me. Thank you for not forsaking me.
My heart is heavy, I’m engulfed with grief and
great confusion.”

Unexpectedly, the door flings open, it reveals an

angry Dalisile. She looks ready to kill, her eyes
rush to the items in front of me then back to me.
Nose flaring, she marches in, grabs the glass of
water and empties it on the burning incense.
Her actions take me off guard and bring me to
my feet.

“What did you do that for?” I want to yell at her,

but the courage to do that is nowhere to be
found.
“Are you practising witchcraft in my house,
boy?” I have no idea what she’s on about. This
is not witchcraft, it’s far from it.
“I was talking to my ancestors, I wanted to…”
Disdainful laughter roars in my ears, absent of
emotion. She’s a cold woman.
“Your ancestors?” It feels like a slap on my face.
“What ancestors? Who taught you this
nonsense? Does your father know about this
shit you’re doing here?”
She’s yelling at the top of the roof. I don’t want
baba to find out. He might not approve.

“I’m not doing anything wrong, Dalisile, I told

you…”
“Shut up.” I wish she would stop yelling. I’m not
fast enough to dodge the white saucer coming
at me. It hits my shoulder, causing an
unbearable pain, before crashing on the floor.
Astounded and in utter disbelief, I watch as the
plate shatters into pieces.

“Don’t ever talk back while I’m talking,” a finger

is pointed at me. “Do you hear me, boy?”
“No!” I shout back. Big mistake I know. “My
name is Mathonga…”
The rest of my complaint is blocked by her
grabbing me by the collar.
“What did you say to me?” She growls. I’m not
hurt by her actions, but the hatred so evident in
her eyes.
“Stop calling me boy, my name is Mathonga.”
My voice trembles in her presence, giving her
satisfaction.

“Don’t think you’re special because your father

favours you, you are nothing boy, nothing. I
should’ve aborted you the second I knew my
womb was rotten. Or maybe,” she lets go and
steps back. “Maybe you should do what I failed
to do… kill yourself. This family will be much
better off without you.”
The rest of my things are kicked aside, I watch
with horror as they scatter all over the place.
I’m standing in this empty rondavel, paralyzed
by Dalisile’s words, unable to move an inch after
she’s long gone. Her words keep ringing in my
ears, alive and dominant.
MATHONGA-
Eight

VUKUZAKHE

Perhaps this is a mistake. He thinks as he

strolls beside the petite young man pushing a
trolley full of items down the parking lot.
There’s an undisputable attraction he can’t look
past.
That day at the river— they went too far, farther
than allowed—farther than their families would
tolerate.
A Sangweni and a Khanyile. It’s a sin on its own,
an atrocity the devil would love to watch on a
big plasma TV over a glass of sadism and
amusement.
There’s a pull, he wants to be close to him,
closer than he’s ever been to anyone—closer
than they were that day at the river. He wants to
be under his skin, tasting everything he is and
everything he’s got to offer.

A thirty five year-old man surely ought to know

his sexuality, Vukuzakhe is no outsider to the
feelings stealthily lurking in his heart, he knows
what he feels. He knows why he suddenly has
his eyes on a man.
Omnisexual also known as pansexual, the white
man calls it.’ Google has been around longer
than he has, and thanks to it, he was able to
find out why as a man he’s attracted to other
men.

He didn’t grow up with the confidence he has

now, his teenage years were confusing to him.
From having speech impediment, to sounding
less like a man when he spoke, to being
attracted to both genders.

As he came into his manhood, he came to

understand that it’s not gender he fancied but
the person themselves.
He's never dared to go beyond shaking a man's
hand, the thought scared him. Thanks to
alcohol he was able to conquer his fears.

Funokuhle feels awkward when Vukuzakhe gets

the car door for him, it feels more like a
deliberate favour than a kind gesture. More
scary than tense and dreadful than awkward.
“You don’t have to do that.” Funokuhle hesitates,
scrawny hands enclosing around his chest.
Vukuzakhe doesn’t say anything, instead he
plugs his hands in the pockets of his pants,
eyes flickering up and down the length of
Funokuhle’s small frame.
The stare makes Funokuhle shrink into his
overalls that do nothing but make him look
skinnier.
He’s unable to hide from the man’s fixated stare.

Vukuzakhe’s lips draw into a slow smirk, “You’re

a minion.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re ridiculously small. Your body I mean. It
reminds me of a minion.”
“I’m not short, if that’s what you’re implying.
You’re—you are just too tall. A gorilla.” The last
word is whispered under warm breath. Lean
shoulders moving up and down in a tentative
dance, the motion finds Vukuzakhe and tickles
him, a light chortle stems from the big man.
“Did you just call me a gorilla?” Vukuzakhe asks.
The question shocks Funokuhle, he thought it
wasn’t that audible.

He fidgets, trying to move past Vukuzakhe so

he can get in the car. Their shoulders graze, it’s
enough for Funokuhle to freeze mid-step. His
eyes shoot up to glance at the giant looking
down at him.

“Ex—excuse me.” The boy needs to pass,

there’s only space fit for a meerkat to slide
through. He can fit of course, he’s as lean as
Pumba’s Timon.
“What happened?” The question is random,
that’s why Funokuhle welcomes a frown,
wanting to know what it's about.
“The bruises on your arm?” Vukuzakhe is
touching him, no permission has been granted.
Just one night with him and this Khanyile
offspring thinks he can go around touching
other people’s sons.

Funokuhle quickly averts his eyes to the arm

that’s been held prisoner by a gentle warm hand.
Big hazel eyes widen. They scan his chocolate
colored skin, studying the fresh markings
before pulling down his sleeve so the tall
snoopy guy would see them no more and he
won’t have to ask questions that have nothing
to do with him.

“Well?”
“It happened at work.” Funo thinks he owes him
no explanation.
“What, you got in a fight with one of the cows?”
Vukuzakhe. Funokuhle would laugh, in fact the
query is ticklish, but he doesn't humor his boss'
son.
“Something like that, what about you? Those
scratch marks look pretty bad.”
Funokuhle is looking up his neck. Something
flashes in Khanyile’s eyes resembling a power
stain, and vanishes just as quick. He’s fixing the
collar of his shirt, wondering how the hell the
scratch mark got there. It wasn’t there in the
morning.
“Mosquito.” He’s capping.

“Ntandoyethu!” That voice! So authoritative, so

demanding. Vukuzakhe can’t recognise it. He’d
turn to inspect who it belongs to but he finds it
hard to remove his gaze from the trembling
little man standing in front of him. It appears
Funokuhle is quietly losing his mind, somewhat
afraid to say the least.
“What’s wrong?” Vukuzakhe questions the
young man’s widened gaze, thick russet lips
trembling under a shaky breath. “Ntando?”
Vukuzakhe whispers.
“What are you doing here?” The stranger has
made it to them, his darkened expression on
Funokuhle. Must be his uncle. Vukuzakhe
concludes to himself. He at least looks like it,
the pot belly, his greying beard and droopy
yellowish eyes that reveal his regular beer
intake.
“I- I’m…” The small man seems to catch what
Vukuzakhe has, he’s stuttering as if his words
can’t stand being inside his mouth.
“Who is this?” The stranger turns his gaze on
Vukuzakhe, annoyed at how tall this Khanyile
giant is as he’s looking up at him. Intimidating
is what he’s becoming.
“Vukuzakhe Khanyile.” Surprise! Surprise. Vuks
didn’t stutter. He extends a firm hand towards
the oldie… my bad… Vukuzakhe extends a firm
hand, which grandpa overlooks.

“P—Pule…” A trembling Funokuhle balks, eyes

sloppy and dishonest. “He’s my… he’s my boss.
We came here to get some items… items for the
livestock.”

He’s explaining himself, too much actually.

Vukuzakhe seems to think so. A frown finds
residence on his face, as he observes both men
intently. The younger is afraid, anyone can tell
by how he’s shrunk into his blue overalls, and
the older is pissed, the dark shade in his yellow
eyes recites it word for word.

“Are you okay?” Asks Vukuzakhe.

He doesn’t think when his hand glides to touch
Funo’s, its denied access at its arrival as the lad
scuttles backwards. He’s not really thinking
what’s behind him because his back roughly
hits the car door. A choked gasp leaves his
mouth as he winces in pain.
“Ntando!” The two men in his presence rush to
help him only to stop midway at the realisation
that they both showcased their concern.
Vukuzakhe is considered with a deep frown,
and conical eyes. He returns the glare since he
can’t grasp why an uncle would worry for his
nephew this much. It’s almost as if… as if…

“I’m fine.” No one asked him, but Funo tells

them anyway. Pule’s shoulders tense, “Let’s go
home.” He’s already touching the boy who
backtracked at Pule’s incoming hand, eyes wide
and full of fear.
Vukuzakhe is no blind man, he sees what’s
going. He’s seen it and it’s not sliding down
nicely.
“He’s got work.” Vukuzakhe plays a protagonist.
The pule guy… he doesn’t flap an eye, his gaze
is on this boy who is now standing next to him.

“I’ll take him to work.” Pule is unable to mask

the anger in his voice. “Right, Ntando?”

Ntando as Pule calls him… as everyone call him,

winces a smidgeon.
“Y—yes,” The air appears to vibrate with strain,
he tries to stand tall like a man. But something
about Pule’s presence has him trembling under
his skin. “Pule will take me to work.”

“Who is this?” Vukuzakhe is getting too

comfortable, they just met like yesterday and
probably shared more than a connection, but
that does not grant him the right to meddle.
“His uncle.” Pule spits, it’s a short answer in a
tone that tells him it’s none of his business.
He could argue and ask for proof, but he has no
right of any kind.
Like a deer caught in headlights, Vukuzakhe
watches the pair walk off to a red mazda, it's an
old car, his grandfather must have drove such
during his time.
Funokuhle’s feet hesitate with each step and
his so called uncle is striding with so much
confidence. Maybe it’s not confidence, maybe
it’s unspoken anger. Something is amiss,
Vukuzakhe wants to find out.
His gaze meets Pule’s dark eyes as they drive
off, now he’s more eager to know why the
man’s aura borders on something evil. He gets
in the car, retrieves his phone from his pocket
and sends a text.

*Ntandoyethu Sangweni. Don’t leave anything

out.*

AMANDLA-

A blanket of thick clouds nurtures the skies,

streaks of bold light and thunder come as a
roared promise of rain. Strange weather it is,
strange because this lousy village is
consecrated with rain just once a year. On the
seventh of July to be precise.
No one has answers to that, the matter has
been brought to the chief before, and the only
explanation he came with was that it rains on
his son’s birthday.
You can imagine how the villagers felt about
that, they were not happy whatsoever.

Today… today the heavens are here with a

promise to make it rain, the day after.

“Get the washing outside. God has finally heard

our prayers.” This is a happy old woman. I want
to tell her to get it herself. It’s her washing and
I’m occupied with the cleaning.
“I’ll do it once I’m done gogo, I’ve been at this
since morning.”
“Yey wena, get the washing outside man.” Yoh!
Does she have to yell?
I take my time with scrubbing the pots, I have
work tomorrow, so I need to finish this. Working
as a petrol attendant is no child’s play. A six to
six job, thankfully I haven’t started working night
shifts. It would be a shame to leave this
complaining old woman alone throughout the
night.
“Sizani must come and get her daughter. I can’t
live with an unruly child.”

Sizani is my mother, she works in

Johannesburg. Her job is to look after old white
women who have become invalid. I hate her job,
I hate that she left me with her mother, I hate
that she didn’t care I was doing my last year in
school when she left and I hate that I only see
her three times a year.

As for my father, he woke up one day, said he’s

going to buy bread and never came back. The
bastard must be the CEO of Albany by now.
“Haibo gogo?” I’m offended, I’m not a bad child.
I just have too much work to do in this house,
sometimes she forgets that I work and need to
rest on my days off.
Placing the pot aside, I turn to face her. She’s
seated on a kitchen chair, sipping on a cup of
tea. Must be nice.

“You know I still have the video of you and gog’

Doris dancing to isencane lengane on her 70th
birthday?” She’s shocked. Hee! This gogo must
not know me. “Be nice to me gogo, I know
things.”
I escape her complaint as I rush out to get the
stupid clothes from the washing line.
I can’t get a hold of Mathonga, his phone takes
me straight to voicemail. It’s frustrating really. I
don’t feel his love anymore, well when we’re not
together. It’s as if he’s nothing but a mere
dream.
I’d go to his house in search of him, a reckless
thing that would be. It's getting late anyway.

THE KHANYILES-

There’s a heavy storm coming, for the first time

in years, it’s going to rain in Izingolweni—on a
day that is not Mathonga's birthday.

The weather forecast didn’t foresee any rain

today, in fact, it was meant to be as sunny as
Miami.
There are strong winds, and it’s dark outside,
dark as night. Never mind it’s 6pm.

The lightning is unmatched, striking with vicious

force, a few trees have been reported hit, falling
victim to the lightning that strikes without
mercy.
The thunder is deafeningly loud, ear-splitting, a
very sensitive booming to the human ear.
All this has happened within the last four hours
and no rain has been detected, not even a tiny
drop.

“Khethiwe are the windows closed in the

rondavels?” Shouts the daughter-in-law of the
family, she’s full of commotion, closing
whatever window she finds open.

“I don’t know.” Maids have the right to boredom,

don’t they? But Bongiwe disagrees, the young
maiden is granted a hectic look. “Go and
check.” Bongiwe shouts, now running around,
covering everything that’s mirror with a white
cloth, only to be graced with Khethiwe’s wide
eyes.

She’s on the verge of tears. What a weakling.

Bongiwe reflects and accepts an eye roll.
“It’s… there’s lightning outside, sisi.” She tells
Bongiwe, hoping the witch would have mercy on
her.
“Go check if the damn windows are closed. Or
you will find yourself walking to your mother’s
house in this damn storm.” Ah! Such anger that
matches the thunder.
Khethiwe flinches, tears immediately stream
down her cheeks, uninvited.
A sob takes a peek then goes back into her
mouth… How disrespectful.
She takes off running on wobbly feet, fear
dancing behind her with threats to even scare
her farther when she gets outside.

“Watch where you’re going?” Another shout

from Bongiwe when Khethiwe collides against a
brick wall… Yawn!
Wait! The wall has hands, it’s steadily holding
her. She would’ve kissed the floor and probably
lost a tooth or two.
“Hau ntokazi?” It’s not fair that this one has the
deepest voice, out of all the brothers.
Bongiwe fights the urge to roll her eyes, and
hides how much she does not like Ntabezikude
with a friendly smile.

“What’s the hurry?” Ntaba asks with his deep

Zulu… deep hoarse voice that would make any
woman turn their head.
“Sisi said…”
“It’s women stuff, nothing you need to worry
about.” Bongiwe interrupts, slithering her way to
them. A furrowed brow is what she meets when
she gets there.
“She’s crying!” There is no care found in his
voice, Ntaba is not even bothered about it. He
just wants to know because he wants to know.

“Argh!” Bongiwe growls. “Khethiwe is so weak,

she thinks she’ll be struck by lightning if she
leaves the house. I told her to go close the
windows, there’s a storm coming and she
decides to cry about it.” Boredom is heard in her
voice.

“Mmmhh!” He hums, unbothered still. And just

like that he turns and walks, “I’ll do it.” He’s
gone before the ladies can protest.
“Uyabona wena?” Bongiwe pulls Khethiwe’s left
ear, like she has every right to do so, like she
helped her mother carry her in her womb. “Your
days in this house are numbered.”
With one shove from Bongiwe, a shaky
Khethiwe stumbles away, tears dancing on her
round face.

“Where is everyone?” Now this voice… this voice

has Bongiwe trembling with fear. She turns to
meet Vumile’s blank face, yet worry has moved
into his eyes.
“Vukuzakhe is not home yet, the other boys are
around.”
Vumile frowns at how she referred to his sons
as boys, she catches her fault and drops her
gaze with a clearing of a throat.
“Mathonga? Is he with them?” The worry has
moved to his voice.
“I haven’t seen Mathonga since breakfast.”
Bongiwe replies. It’s a thoughtful response,
brows furrowing in question.

Vumile rushes past her, calling out for his last

born son. Bongiwe snorts at the worry
displayed by the chief. Mathonga is an adult
who is capable of impregnating a woman, he’s
probably with one of his girlfriends. That’s the
theory Bongiwe has come up with.

Vumile’s shouting brings everyone into the main

house, everyone but his first and last born.
“Where is my son?” He’s almost out of breath,
pearls of sweat pecking his wrinkled forehead.
“Vukuzakhe is…” Bongiwe shuts up as she gets
a glare from the deepest pits of hell itself. It
sends a chill down her spine. Vumile is too
uptight for her liking.
“What’s going on?” Hlabela asks, he’s wearing
reading glasses and carrying a bible in his right
hand.
“Mathonga is not home, his phone is off.”
Vumile explains, panic striking him like lightning.

“Really?” Yes! Dali, Dali is here too, wearing a

bored look. “How old is that boy that you have
to worry about his whereabouts?”

“Have you seen what’s outside Dalisile? No one

has seen him since breakfast. My son is not
home, he might be injured somewhere.”
“My husband is not home too.” Bongiwe
murmurs to herself, she’s lucky she’s standing
on the other side of the sofa and no one caught
her retort.
“Or dead.” That’s Dalisile’s response to her
husband complaint.
“What did you say?” Vumile hisses, taking a
step forward. Like a lioness, she’s standing in
the midst of her sons. Hlabela, Ndleleni and
Ntabezikude. Really, Vumile won’t be able to do
anything to her. Or would he?
“I’m just saying, he’s not the smartest boy
around here. He was probably driving too fast,
lightning struck his car and he died on the spot.
It happens to the best of us, I say bayede, the
universe has spoken.”
She almost sounds merciless, that all eyes turn
to her, judging, some astounded.

For the life of her, Dalisile can’t explain how

Vumile moved so fast and slapped her across
the face. No one can, all they hear is the loud
sound of a clap and a scream from the woman.
MATHONGA
Nine-

THE KHANYILES-

The boys watch in horror at what their father

just did in their presence. This man has never
laid a hand on their mother, not in their
company at least. Anger is evident on him,
pulsing from his entire body, vibrant and
terrifying.

“How dare you?” Vumile is an Alpha male and

it’s not a surprise that his voice matches the
thunderous rumble outside.
“You hit me, Vumile?” Argh! Rhetorical
questions are so boring.
“Baba!” Ndleleni hisses, nose flaring and eyes
burning with rage. He’s not a fan of his parents,
that does not mean he will watch this man
abuse his mother.
A woman.
Ndleleni wants to say more, as he’s now
shielding the woman who has neglected him all
his life, giving her undivided attention to
Vukuzakhe.
“Stay out of this Ndleleni.” Vumile snaps.

Not again. Hlabela sighs in exhaustion, he’s a

bit upset. Then again, they’ve always known
their father has some patriarchal bullshit… I
mean traits hidden in him, if he’s never beat
their mother in front of them, he’s done it in
private.

Ntabezikude is gracing a smirk, almost sadistic.

He emits a loud yawn, moves to the expensive
white leather couch, grabs the TV remote and
goes on a channel searching adventure.
He’s given brief attention before Ndlela steals it
back with his authoritative voice, damn and it’s
directed towards the wrong person—his father.

“Since when do you hit women?” Ndleleni is not

pleased at all.
“Ndlela…” Dalisile intervenes, grabbing the
young man’s hand. Disgust visits Ndlela’s face,
he moves his hand from her reach, side eyeing
his mother.
“Did you hear what she said about your
brother?” Vumile reminds him, Ndlela seems to
go down memory lane, back to seconds ago. He
clenches his jaw, now caught between right and
wrong.
“So what?” Dalisile shouts. “He’s not god that
we have to kiss the ground he walks on.”
“Watch your words Dalisile.” Vumile sizzles,
pointing a threating finger at his wife.

“I’m tired of watching my tongue. I’m your wife

Vumile. You loved me once, before that leach
was born. You let him consume all the love you
once felt for me, leaving me empty, with
nothing.”

“We’re not doing this, not in front of the kids.”

Vumile grunts, glaring.

“No, by all means don’t let us stop you bazali.

The stage is yours.” The amused voice comes
from the direction where the TV is located. All
eyes turn to Ntabezikude. He’s stingy with his
stare as he continues watching television.
Serial killer documentaries are his bad habits.
‘Most Evil’ being at the top of his list.

A loud tongue click visits the man on the sofa,

he welcomes it with a light chuckle.

“This is fun, don’t you think sis Bongi?”

Ntabezikude says as he sends a playful look
down Bongiwe’s way, the lady quickly wipes the
smirk pouncing on her face. Eyes all out and
heart thrumming against her chest.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about bhut’

Ntaba.” Bloody shit! How could he tell she was
enjoying the family drama when he wasn’t even
looking at her?

“Fighting will not help find Mathonga, we should

be out there searching for him.” Deputy Jesus…
Maybe he’s St Paul’s reincarnation. Everyone
deserves a Hlabela in their life.

“You people are worried about Mathonga, I

don’t even know where my husband is.”
This is what happens when you’re given too
much freedom. Bongiwe is still pasted away
from the family, but she is part of the drama.
You can’t miss her where drama is concerned.

Someone is fiddling with the door handle, all

eyes turn towards it, forgetting the disrespect
they were subjected to by the daughter in-law of
this family not so long ago.
The heir walks in, not looking as neat as he was
when he left, sleeves rolled up, revealing thick
veiny hands. He’s done away with the damn tie.
Relief bounces on the walls of the dining room
at the sight of Vukuzakhe, but worry refuses to
leave them alone. Mathonga is not home yet.

“The gods must be angry, did you see your car

mother? It’s wrecked.” That’s the first thing he
says, he does not greet nor wave to
acknowledge their presence.
“My car!” Eyes expanded, Dalisile enquires.
“It was hit by lightning, you can’t tell me you
didn’t hear it.”
How can they, when it sounds like world war Z
out there?

Ntabezikude is the first to move, he carelessly

tosses the remote on the sofa and jumps over it,
his move resembling an untrained ninja.
Everyone but Vumile follows him out, they
would love to see what has happened to
Dalisile’s precious car.
The strong wind pushes against them as they
step out, they push back till they make it to the
parking area.

Who wouldn’t scream in anger after their car

has been struck by lightning?
Hlabela carries his vacant hand on his head,
looking up at the dark clouds, strips of lightning
flashing here and there, resembling
unrestrained anger.
Both with the deafening thunder, warning them
to move back to the house. Clearly it’s not safe
out here.

How is it that the sound of thunder is swirling

with joyous laughter? Vukuzakhe is the first to
turn, knowing who it belongs to.
He shakes his head, seeing how his
brother—Ntabezikude is laughing as if he’s
watching a comedy show.
Arm clutched around his stomach, head thrown
back like a kid and mouth wide open and loud.

This must be a joke from the heavens, no

human can be this funny. Trevor Noah and
Kevin Hart collaborating would be a shame.
Ntaba would surely be tenderly bored.

“Ntaba stop this nonsense of yours.” Dalisile

shouts, she has to with this crazy loudness out
here. The thunder, the wind and lightning.
Dalisile pushes Ntaba to get him to stop
laughing like a maniac, but her baby has grown
to be a brick, unmoving. She clicks her tongue
when he doesn’t. “Ntabezikude?”

Ntaba pauses, a sadistic smirk pulling at the

corner of his mouth. Eyes mischievous and
uncanny.
“What did you do mama?” Ntabezikude.
The question catches her off guard. What did
she do? She didn’t do anything. But why are her
eyes shifty, unable to keep eye contact?

“The gods have their eyes on you.” Ntaba adds

to his laughter, annoying his mother in the
process. Dalisile snorts, perhaps she’s a bit
afraid.
“The gods? There is only one God ndoda.” Ah!
Hlabela, Hlabela.
Ntabezikude pays him no mind, he’s walking
around the scorched vehicle, inspecting every
inch of it with a satisfied look on his face.
He chuckles, shaking his head clearly approving
of what's before him.

The show is interrupted by Vumile, he’s carrying

an umbrella, a heavy jacket donned around his
broad shoulders.

“Baba, where are you going?” Vukuzakhe asks.

His father must be crazy to want to go out
when the sky is bathing in wrath.
“To look for your brother.” Vumile answers,
sending a glare to Dalisile.
Vukuzakhe is confused a second, his eyes rush
to count his brothers. They are all here, except
Mathonga.
“Ma… Mathonga? Where is he? Where is my
brother?” He’s a stuttering mess, fighting to
speed the syllables moving out of his mouth.
Dalisile is not impressed by the worry on her
son’s face, she clicks her bitter tongue and
heads back into the house, bumping into
Bongiwe on her way in. Another tongue click is
released.

“Where is Mathonga?” Vukuzakhe snaps, panic

striking him on the chest.
“We don’t know.” That’s Ndleleni.

“What do you mean? You people have been

home the whole day, and no one knows where
he is?” Vukuzakhe is not happy about this. “I
trusted you, all of you to look after him. He’s…
he’s a baby.”

Look at them… nodding as if he really is a baby.

The brothers know how overprotective
Vukuzakhe is of all of them, Mathonga mostly.

“We have to find him.” Vukuzakhe says, walking

towards his car but a hand grabs his arm.
“Don’t go, let your brothers look for him.”
Bongiwe begs. “You haven’t been home the
whole day, please stay.”
The other brothers are on their way to their cars,
Ntaba is standing next to Vukuzakhe’s car,
waiting for him. Vumile is driving out of the
premises, wasting no time at all.

“Go back in the house Bongiwe, we’ll need

someone to call us when Mathonga gets
home.” That’s an idea, but Bongiwe does not
seem to think so. She’s shaking her head like a
peevish child. Her arms surround his waist, she
buries her face on his chest.
“Please myeni wami, it’s not safe out there. Stay
with me, please.”
Large hands find her cheeks, a gentle touch.

“I won’t let anything happen to me.” His nose

brushes against hers. “My brother is out there,
alone.”

Rolling one’s eyes should be an extreme sport,

Bongiwe feels the itch, too close. She pushes it
back down. Must everything be about that
spoiled brat Mathonga?

“Promise you’ll come back home, to me.” She

says.
Sigh!
“I will.” Yeah, with Mathonga. Otherwise he
won’t come home at all.
“I love you.” She does— to death. Soft lips land
on his, he receives the kiss.
“Yeah, me too.” Took too long, but he’s said it.
That’s all that matters. Bongiwe watches as the
Khanyile clan drive out of the premises in
search of the Khanyile brat.

FUNOKUHLE-

He didn’t take me to work like he said he would,

he did the complete opposite actually.
Pampered me like a prince and took me to KFC.
I had fun I won’t lie.
But something is not right, I caught it a few
times in his eyes, when we had quiet moments,
awkward moments.
He gave me looks that brought chills down my
spine, chills that curled in my stomach and
made me shiver at the memory of his
punishments.

I don’t know if I still have my job, Mr. Khanyile

was not happy to see me leave with Pule. It’s
not like I had a choice, it was either I followed
him or risked losing my job.
Pule is not a man to be defied, and I’m not really
enjoying being a herdsboy. My father though…
that man will kill me when he finds out what
happened.
I can only hope Mr. Khanyile can keep a secret,
like he’s kept our secret so far. I must be an
idiot to have allowed him to touch me the way
he did that night, I allowed a stranger inside me
and enjoyed every bit of it.
Or it must have been the alcohol.
“Ntandoyethu.” Pule’s voice brings me out of
my musing. We’re at his house, he brought me
here after the date. I wanted to go home, but he
insisted on bringing me here.
With this strange weather, I don’t think I will
make it home safe.
Two hours have passed since the movie he
selected started, it’s over now. Thank God.
I hate action movies. Too much blood, too
much killings and foul language is said after
every word. I hate action movies. He knows it
but chose the damn thing still.

“Yes.” I answer the calling, my fingers tapping a

familiar rhythm against my thigh. I’m suddenly
not sure about being curled up on the couch
beside him. His arm is firm and possessive
around my shoulders.
“I don’t like that man you were with.” What must
I do about it?
We’re not made to like every person we come in
contact with.
I say this but deep down I know why he’s
decided to take this road. My heart thuds when
his arm leaves my shoulders, he scoots back so
he’s squarely looking into my eyes.

“Was he the one you were talking to last night?”

He asks.
Was I that obvious? I could’ve been talking to
my father for crying out loud. “Hey, I asked you
a question.”
I should be thankful he’s still gentle with his
words, his voice not giving any form of anger.
But why am I trembling under his gaze? Sitting
up straight, I swallow past the stiff fear in my
throat.
“Don’t keep me waiting.” His teeth don’t make
room for each other as he hisses, eyes taking
on a familiar rage.
“No, my father had called. Asking about my
location.” I lie, like I always do. It’s stupid
because he sees past me, he knows when I’m
lying to him.
“I see.” He’s reading my eyes, searching,
invading my privacy.
My eyes skim around, doing their utmost best
not to meet his.

“Who is he?”
My face pales. The tone of his voice sends an
icy feeling down my spine, he’s mad… livid.
“What?” My nails scrap against the red velvety
couch, in search of a grip where none could be
found.
“The man you were with, who is he?” I know
who he’s talking about.
“I—I told you… he’s my boss. We had gone to
buy…”
“If I were you, I would think before I answer. You
know how much I hate it when you lie to me.” I
wince at his reply.

Now I know why he pampered me, he wants to

punish me, and when he’s done remind me how
much he loves me by providing proof of how he
takes care of my needs.
He’s done it before, I should’ve known.

“Look at me, Ntandoyethu.” The tone he uses

takes me back to when he was a teacher, when
he’d excise his authority on me. I bite my
bottom lip, trying to stop the nerves travelling
through my body.

“I said look at me.” My body shudders at the

sudden outburst.

Inch by inch, my eyes shift from my shaking

legs, past the sneakers on his feet, past his
fingers tapping on the glass coffee table, his
heaving chest, the veins pulsing on his neck not
stopping until I meet his intensive stare.
“What did I say about seeing other men?” He’s
on his feet now, and I’m shuddering at his stare
down.

“I’m… I’m not doing anything with him.” I’ve

become defensive as I have anticipated his next
move. “He’s my boss, Pule. I swear to god, we
haven’t been doing anything. I didn’t do anything
wrong… I didn’t… didn’t betray you.”

Panic comes in contact with my being, before

his fist finds my cheek, harsh and ruthless.
Striking like a boxer determined to win a fight.
The impact throws me on the floor, taking a
defensive mode, I curl my body into a ball, and
use my arms to cover my face.
Something crashes on my abdomen, his foot. It
comes again and again and again. Leaving no
room for compromise.

“I let you walk free and you become a whore.”

He grunts, not stopping his kicks.
“Pule please.” I’m not going to cry, I never cry.
He loves it when I cry, it makes him feel like
Mohammed Ali, on top of the bloody world.
I feel every harsh kick, I hear every insult, every
curse word. I can’t see his face though. He’s
having his way with me, not caring about how
he’s hurting me. He sits on my stomach, forces
my head up. I don’t open my eyes, not wanting
to see the evil in his eyes.
“You’re a whore, Ntando. A dirty piece of slut.”
His hands find my shoulders, I grunt in pain
when he continuously crashes my head into the
floor.
“Stop, Pule. Please stop.” The ache has me
begging for mercy. Pule ignores my screams
for help, he’s not going to stop until he’s
satisfied. My life is at his mercy.
MATHONGA-
Ten

VUKUZAKHE-
It’s impossible that he’s disappeared without a
trace, Izingolweni is not that big a place for a
person to go missing without anyone taking
notice, a grown man for that matter.
Vukuzakhe wanted to keep it in the family but
that was not Vumile’s plan. The entire town has
been notified of the little prince’s disappearance.
Those who wanted to help have gone out of
their comfort zones.

“Try his phone again,” Vukuzakhe tells

Ntabezikude. They have just left a guest house,
it’s the third one they’ve checked, leaving with
bad news seated on their shoulders.
“I did that two seconds ago, ndoda.” Ntaba’s
protest finds Vukuzakhe in a bad mood.
“I don’t care, try it again.” He’s shouting at the
wrong person, Ntabezikude is not affected.
“You need to calm down, I’m sure he found
some girl and got lucky.” Ntabezikude.

The chuckle must have left his mouth with bad

intentions, Vukuzakhe clicks his tongue and
orders his brother to call again. He obliges and
meets a mechanical voice of a white woman
telling him nonsense.
“Ai ke, I don’t know anymore.” Ntaba emits, his
eyes betraying what his voice doesn't. He’s
angry, a rare thing to see.
“I don’t like this at all, I swear if Mathonga is
doing this on purpose, I’m going to punish him.”
The announcement by Vukuzakhe has Ntaba
rubbing his hands together like a petulant child.
“Ohh! Can I help? I want to be the one to tie him
up.” Ntaba chirps.
Frowning at the suggestion, Vukuzakhe takes
his eyes off the road to catch something akin to
excitement on his brother’s face.
“Not like that sdididi,” Vukuzakhe chides, “What
is wrong with you?”
His question is ignored by this big child who
now is looking out the window, arms across his
chest and lips curled up, displaying how
disappointed he is.
“You’re so boring.” That’s Ntaba’s answer.

NALA-

Ten steps from the sitting room to his bedroom,

seven to the front door and five to the kitchen. I
count as my mind wages war with my being. I
could take a left and run out of this house,
maybe go right headed for the knife in the
kitchen, or I could go straight. Straight into the
lion’s den.

Escaping would be easy, it’s always easy. But it

also means death, death for Thabani and
Thobani. He’ll kill them if I ever leave this house,
he’s said it before and that man never lies.
They are with him right now, I can hear their tiny
giggles seeping out of his bedroom. They think
he loves them, he tells them all the time. He’s a
master manipulator. Their eight year old eyes
only see the good in everyone, they believe
whatever is laid for them on the table.

But I see through his lies, I see it every time he

takes what is not his, I see it every time he
forces me into this ugly red dress, and makes
me do things I don’t want to do. Things that
make me feel dirty inside out.
“Sis Nala, uncle is calling you.” That’s Thobani’s
voice, their voices sound the same but I can tell
them apart.
My mother’s twin babies, she loved them from
the time she nurtured them in her womb.
Unfortunately, she didn’t get to raise them.
She gave birth, held them in her arms a second
and the next her eyes were staring into space,
wide and unblinking. I was eleven years old, a
child myself and couldn’t understand what was
going on. Why my mother stopped breathing.

Her best friend, Mam’Julia and her husband

Petros took us in. He’s the devil waiting for me
in the bedroom he shares with his wife. That
fifty six-year-old pervert has no shame.
“Sis Nala.” I don’t like that bastard using my
brothers.
My feet are numb on concrete as I force them
to move, fear and disgust bubble within me. I
reach for the solid wall for support, trying to act
brave. Something I am not. If I were brave I
would have taken my brothers and ran, death be
damned.

My heart thrums harder on my chest with each

knock. He demands that I knock before entering
his room.

“Wait.” All of me shivers at the sound of his

voice, bile rises with threats to throw out the fat
cakes and atcher I had for supper.
His steps resonate on the other side, then the
turn of a handle.
My body trembles in response, and refuses to
cave in as he opens. The boys run out, bumping
into me. I don’t have the strength to tell them to
stop, not with what’s about to happen.
They don’t know what’s going to happen inside
this bedroom, they’ve never bothered to ask
why every night I dress in a skimpy-hideous red
dress, put on makeup and enter Petros’
bedroom. It’s possible he lied to them about
everything, he’s good at it.

With lustful eyes he locks my arm in a tight grip

and pulls me into the room. The door shuts with
a kind of finality that sends accustomed signals,
rippling through my body. His eyes are all over
my body as I back myself against the wall,
looking for protection.
He’s wearing his police uniform, reminding me
that he’s a constable and he can get away with
anything.

“My beautiful Nala.”

The same kind of lust in his eyes is laced in his

voice. He steps closer, eyes luring me into a
deep hole I want to find myself hidden in.

“Kneel.” Caving beneath his dominating

command, I sink to the floor and lower my gaze,
giving to the world that has destroyed my life.
“Are you wearing anything beneath that dress?”
At his usual question, my heart sinks and drops
into the acid in my stomach.

“Answer me.” He bellows, taking a step closer.

My eyes are on his combat boots, glittering with
tears of sorrow.
“No…” The word quakes its way out of my
mouth.
“No what, Nala?” His hand grips my braids,
there’s no gentleness in it.
“No master, I am not wearing anything.” Tears
accompany the shaky reply. He demands that I
call him master.

“Good girl. I want to see you.”

He wants me naked, that’s what he means. I

hesitate, not wanting this. I’ve never wanted this,
since I was twelve, innocent and naïve. I’ve
never wanted any of this. Tears paint my
cheeks in two steady streams.

“You’re punishment will be doubled, I did not

give permission for you to cry.”
What exactly am I being punished for? What did
I do in my past life to deserve such treatment?
Is it because I don’t know my father, or it’s that
my mother died while I was still a child, unable
to fend for myself and my brothers?

The hard tiled floor becomes harder and harder

under my knees, the pain makes me want to
jump up. But this is nothing compared to what
this man is about to do to me.
“On your feet, eyes dropped.” He lays another
command, and not wanting to add to my
punishment I do as he says.

“Strip, then get on the bed. I want you on your

stomach, ass out and hands spread out.”
“Please don’t do this.” I plead like I do every
night.
“Don’t test my patience, we’re going to have a
hard time if you keep acting a fool.” His voice is
venom. “Now do as I say, or I’m taking one of
the twins and you will never see him again.”

I can’t lose them, they are all I have.

“Do you understand me, Nala.” I force a nod.

“Words Nala.”
“Yes master, I understand.”
“Good, I revoke my decision. Leave the dress on,
I want to tear it off of you. Now go.”
My feet are heavy and woozy as I tread towards
the queen-sized bed he shares with Mam’Julia
and do as he says.
All my attention is stolen by the sound of his
boots, mooching on the floor. My head spins
when I hear the sound of his belt buckle. Tears
are here, burning behind my eyes, wanting an
escape. I can’t let them, or they’ll get me into
more trouble.

“Good girl.” He says, running a hand down my

spine. My body cringes in disgust at the touch.
“I’m going to give you a few spanks for those
tears you shed back there. Do you understand?”
I don’t answer because I don’t understand shit.
He doesn’t dwell on my silence but continues to
harass me.

“I want you to count for me, Nala.”

The dress is pulled up, revealing my nakedness,

I clench my teeth as the need to scream for
help engulfs me. A tight slap finds my left butt
cheek, it burns that I want to cry out. I’m barely
coping with the first one when he abuses the
second one.
“Ten spanks Nala, ten spanks is what I’m giving
you. If you don’t start counting, I won’t stop until
you do.”
“Three.” I count the third slap, voice breaking
through uneven syllables.
“No. Start over.”
“One.” The number is cried out.
My butt cheeks are on fire by the time he’s done.
There are tears, he shouldn’t see them so I bury
my face on the mattress to get rid of them.

“Good girl. That was heavenly.” The bed moves

as his weight meets it. “Now for some real fun.”

I can see him from my peripheral vision as his

pants drop to the floor. He’s shirtless, I don’t
know when he removed the shirt. Not wanting
to see his nakedness, I shut my eyes and pray
that God takes my life.

FUNOKUHLE-

Pain.

It’s the first thing I feel when I open my eyes

and a touch of cold harassing my skin. I’m still
in the living room on the floor. Fear has me by
my balls, afraid to get up but I do anyway. I have
to get out of here.
I don’t know how late it is. I don’t care to know.
The important thing is for me to be away from
this place.
The living room door is wide open, allowing a
gush of wind access. I have to get out of here.
My lungs scream with pain as I push my body
up, using the sofa as leverage.
A few steps later, I’m out in the dead of the
night. It’s windy, the thunder has calmed down,
it rumbles with faint sounds.
The cold is not so bad, I can bare the weather. It
doesn’t make me want to hide under layers and
layers of clothes. Quietness greets me as I step
into the dark empty streets, and terror grips its
arms around me.
I won’t find transport at this time of the night,
even if I do, I have no money on me.

Having no time to throw a pity part, I drag my

painful body across the street, limping and
grunting in excruciating pain. Everything hurts
like hell, but I push… I push myself further and
further away from Pule’s house.
Tears burn behind my eyes, I don’t know why.
I’m not a crier, crying is useless, it doesn’t
change the situation. It changes nothing.

I’m about ten minutes away from his house

when I spot headlights coming my way, my
heart jumps to warn me of the danger I might
be in. If that’s Pule’s car, he’ll drag me back to
his house.
My feet halt, not knowing whether to move
forward or go back where I came.
Either way I’m doomed. I’m not fast enough, I
realise when the car stops a few feet away.
Relief nudges at me and laughs when my eyes
zoom in on the vehicle. It’s a black SUV, Pule’s
car is small. The driver rushes out and
immediately attacks me with questions, it takes
a while for me to see who it is.
I should’ve ran the other way.

“Ntando, what are you doing outside at this time

of the night?” He’s touching me, I escape his
touch with a frown on my face. Why does he
sound concerned?

It’s too late to hide my battered face, Mr.

Khanyile blinks back in shock, extending his
hand to examine the bruises. He’s so touchy it’s
beginning to annoy me, or is it the pain grazing
through my bones? I don’t know anymore.
His jaw ticks with something, it’ll be forward of
me to say anger. What would he be angry about?

“Who did this to you?” He starts, not stuttering.

The streetlights are bright enough for me to see
the dark shadow in his eyes. “Who did this to
you?”

I don’t answer him, my focus is on the anger on

his face and the beat of my sprinting heart
against my ribcage.
He turns back around, rushing to his car. I’m
thinking he’s leaving but he opens the back
door, dips his hand in and it appears with a
black sweater.
“Put this on.”
I almost snort at how it won’t fit because of his
height and size, I shrug the idea and almost
disappear into the over-sized sweater that
covers my knees. It smells like him, I think. He
must be the type that uses the same fragrance.
I remember this scent from the night we shared
together, strangely how I want to hide in it and
never surface.
“Tell me what happened. Who did this to you?”
He places his hand on my shoulder. It’s only
now I notice that my body is trembling, I shift
back to get away from his burning touch.

He won’t let go, his hold shifts and then I’m

wrapped up in his embrace until I practically
disappear into his wide chest. My heart aches
with misery, refusing to surrender even though I
fight for control.

“Who did this to you, Ntando?”

Ntando? Ntandoyethu? Should I tell him how

much I loathe this name? It’s not what my
mother named me. It’s what my father and
brothers want me to be, it’s what they force me
to be.
Unable to hold them at bay anymore, I let
unwanted tears fall on his shirt.

“Funokuhle.” The name leaves my mouth before

I can process it. No one outside my family
knows this name. Maybe I have trust issues.
“My name… is Funokuhle.” I have no idea why
I’m telling him this. What I expect from him.

“Funokuhle.” It sounds sweet rolling on his

tongue, the way his breath carries it… it’s as if
he cherishes it. He’s said it before, that’s how it
feels like. “Who hurt you, Funokuhle?”

I know the answer to his question, it’s at the tip

of my tongue. But that’s not the answer I’m
going to give anyone who cares to ask. I
thought about this, went over it a few times
while escaping Pule’s house.

‘I was mugged by a group of boys, I didn’t see

their faces.’

Fighting to control the unwanted sob, I try to

give him the false reply, but where sounds
escaped, words fail.
“It’s okay. Don’t cry.” His arms solidify around
me, and for the first time in years I feel safe.
“I’m here.” He says. What does he mean he’s
here? Here where?
“This is wrong.” My voice is weak but it carries.
I let go of the darkness and him to meet his
gaze. Our connection holds, his eyes and mine,
not straying away from our silent conversation.
“Come with me.” He says, taking my hand in his.
Last time I was with him, I did something stupid.
It’s his fault I’m in this mess, Pule beat me up
because of him. “Funo?”

He says my name as if it belongs to him, as if

he has the right to. I drop my gaze when he
bends his knees to meet my height and look
into my eyes. A hand glides to my cheek, it’s
cold yet warm and parallel to safety.

“Let me take you to the hospital.” No. No

hospitals.
“Leave me alone.”
“Let me help you, we can report this…” I back
away a small step, his gorilla height making me
feel crowded. The second his hand leaves my
cheek, loneliness embraces me and I wish he
hadn’t let go. Maybe I’m a mess, maybe I don’t
know what I want. Protection… that’s the first
word to come to mind.

“No, I didn’t ask for your help. Leave me alone.”

My remark causes him to frown, although it’s
indistinct. “No hospitals, no police station.” Pule
can’t go to jail, I’ll never forgive myself if that
happens.

“Fine, but you’re coming with me, kid.”

I shouldn’t have looked into his eyes, now I can’t

find the words to throw at him. A wave of
silence passes between us, but on my side it
feels like a century.
Everything is on standstill until his hand starts
to stroke the back of my head, this is a first for
me. Not even my father has done this. ‘We are
men, we don’t show affection’ he would say.

My knees give out, proving themselves disloyal.

He must think I’m weak, I want to protest but he
has me under his spell.

“You’re bleeding,” It’s more of a statement than

a question, he’s inspecting his hand glazed in
blood. I didn’t notice that before, this is why my
head feels heavy and light at the same time.

“Let’s go.” His hand takes mine, I follow him as

he guides me to the car. He opens the back
door, I hesitate a bit until his arched brow
forces me to jump in and curl myself right at the
corner… arms hugging my none existent figure.

My eyes meet a man’s, his brother. I remember

him, he’s more famous around Izingolweni than
his other brothers. Ntaba… I’ve heard people call
him.
He smiles, until it’s a grin. His eyes though are
not smiling, they are empty, unreadable.
“Koti.” (Bride.)
He says, with that stupid grin laced on his face.
Not knowing what he means by that, I nod and
send my greetings.
“Hi… sir.” I have to greet, he is the boss’ son.
Argh!
The greeting is acknowledged with a wink. I find
him strange.

The driver’s door clicks open and close, the

scent on the sweater I’m wearing, and the one I
found in this car doubles, shooting straight to
my stomach. The tingling feeling is foreign to
me.

“Why are you gay?” Ntaba says to his brother as

soon as the car moves, wasting no time. Don’t
they know he’s attracted to men? I wouldn’t be
shocked if he’s kept it from them, coming out in
this part of town is a death sentence on its own.
“Who said I’m gay?” Mr. Khanyile sounds
offended, I’m probably observing more than I
should.
“You are gay.” The remark comes with a
chuckle. Mr. Khanyile gives Ntaba a glare as if
he’s the devil himself.
“You have a big mouth Ntaba, shut it.”

Ntaba’s quiet laughter fills the car again, he’s

like a child. I hear he’s 31, you can’t really tell.
Actually with all of them, they have young blood.
“Okay bhuti. Are we taking our bride home with
us or to his father’s house?”
Ntaba’s question causes me to choke on my
saliva, I meet Mr. Khanyile’s worried gaze in the
rear view mirror.
What does he mean bride? Does he know what
happened between his brother and me? I expect
a hefty response from Mr. Khanyile, but all he
emits is a loud tongue click.

MATHONGA-
Eleven

MATHONGA-

Nothing is going according to plan, this is the

first time they have him in their presence. None
of them thought it was going to be this difficult.
He’s unconscious, lain on a long table in dark
room flickering with red lights.
Five men dressed in black cloaks are
surrounding him, not one is brave enough to
come close. Something is not right, there’s heat
each time they try to touch him, unbearable
heat that burns with a promise to vanquish
them.

They are on the outskirts of the village, in a

place arched by tall thick trees. Far away from
his father’s warm home.
Taking him outside of Izingolweni should have
the boy powerless, it’s what they had convinced
each other and have been proven otherwise.
00:00am has come and gone, a small ceremony
to keep him bound and unconscious for seven
days has been put to rest. Two of their men
have been struck by lightning, sending them
straight to their demise.

It’s unacceptable… They’ve come to a decision.

The leader has to be told. She’s expecting them
soon, with good news. They decide that one of
them will deliver the news.

The chosen one sets off, it takes him less than

five minutes to reach her chambers and enters
without knocking nor permission. His head falls
at the sight of a woman seated on a chair
situated in the middle of the room, her lap is
home to a black cat.
The golden head wrap on her head and
necklace adorned around her neck prove that
she is an empress of some sort, in her right
hand is a snake head sceptre.
The glare she sends the man drops him to his
knees right before her and lowers his head in
respect.

“How dare you, enter without knocking.” The

woman barks, slamming a clenched fist on the
chair’s armrest.
“Forgive me, Ndlunkulu” the apology trembles
from his mouth. “We have a problem.”
The woman frowns at the sound of the
announcement.
“What is it?” Her voice has settled, unlike her
anger.
“The boy is untouchable.”
“What do you mean the boy is untouchable?”
Asks the woman, anger seeming to find its way
back to her voice.
“We can’t touch him, Ndlunkulu.”
“I heard that, you idiot,” She’s losing her
patience.
“They have refused with him. There seems to
be a hedge of protection around him.”
The announcement brings her to her feet, eyes
burning with rage, she stomps towards the man
on the floor.
“Who the hell defies me?” Her voice fills the
large room, bouncing on walls with so much
wrath.

“His mother.” The man answers, with no ounce

of confidence found in him. He steals a glance
when the lady on the throne bursts out in spine
chilling laughter.
“His mother hates him, she wishes for his
death.” She articulates with pride.
“I’m not talking about the woman who gave
birth to him” A head shake. “I mean the woman
who has loved him since he was a child. She
prays for him, he’s hidden behind her,
Ndlunkulu.”

“What? No, I will not be defeated by weak

humans. Do you hear me? I’ve wanted that boy
from the day he was born. This is my chance,
my chance.” She shouts, grabbing the man by
the black cloak. Fear is tinted in his eyes as they
meet hers, although bigger than her in structure,
he trembles in her presence.
“We see fire around him, Ndlunkulu. We can’t
keep him here, or we will all die.” The words
hurry out of his mouth as if he’d die before
delivering the message.
The woman growls in anger, pushes the man
that he stumbles to the point of almost falling
and points the sceptre at him.
“Release him. Throw him in the deepest forest,
let’s see if this woman who prays will be able to
save him from wild animals.” The order is given
but not accepted, the man’s eyes are wide with
panic and shock. His knees kiss the floor again.
“He will die.” Comes the reply from the man.

“If he were to die, he would’ve died years ago.”

The storm in her seems to have ceased.
“Mathonga NgwaneKaNgwadi Khanyile, we will
meet again.”

VUKUZAKHE-

The west wing is vacant, just one or two staff

members can be found there. It’s the safest
place to keep his little secret, he would’ve taken
him home, but the Minnie minion is against it.
It’s past midnight, his father would not jump for
joy at his arrival.
Vukuzakhe unlocks the door to one of the
rondavels, they are met by white sheets and
blue curtains as he turns the light on.
The room looks expensive, funo is not sure if he
should enter. His father’s house is nothing
compared to what his eyes are beholding.

“You can sleep in here, no one ever comes

here.” Vukuzakhe starts, looking down at the kid
who hasn’t spared him a glance. His battered
face is tumbled in shame.
“I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”
Funokuhle’s timid reply makes Vukuzakhe a
pint-size grumpy. He takes up a scowl, leaning
his heavy weight body against the door frame.
They are standing too close to each other, no
one has a made an effort to create some space.

“You’re not.” He replies softly, hand landing on

the small of Funokuhle’s back, the boy tenses
under the touch. “Get in, there’s a shower and
clean towels. I’ll bring you a change of clothes.”

A shower? Change of clothes? Naked in his

boss’ house might not be a good idea, the
thought makes him uncomfortable. He wouldn’t
want to repeat the same mistake twice.

“Thanks.” The first reason he walks in is to

escape his boss’ hand burning his skin, the
second is that he’s in pain and needs to rest.
He’s now standing in the middle of the room,
unsure of what to do. The gaze Vukuzakhe has
pasted on him has him squirming under gravity.
Boss is staring, too long, burning holes. He
clears his throat when Funokuhle fumbles with
the hem of the sweater he’s wearing.
“Someone will come and check that scar on
your head.”
“No doctors please.” Funokuhle argues, he’s got
someone to protect.
“Don’t worry he’s a friend, if you want to keep
this confidential, then it’ll remain so.”
Vukuzakhe clarifies, scurrying in as if the
younger has hit his pinkie toe against the corner
of a wardrobe. He stops himself just as his
hand arises to caress Funo’s cheek.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” He’s

hoping the young man will confide in him.
“No.” Funokuhle turns upon spotting a seat
sited by the window. His feet lead him there,
with plans to sit. Nevertheless, he can’t bring
himself to settle down, rather he remains
standing, facing the man who came to his
rescue.

“How is your head?” The worry in Zakhe’s voice

has not depleted.
“Fine.” It must be a lie, he was bleeding not so
long ago.
Vukuzakhe sees through him, his brows crinkle
as he stares without words. The boy is growing
uneasy, the only escape he finds is on the
sleeves of the sweater. He fiddles with them
like a nervous school kid before picking at his
short fingers, and plucking out the dirt hiding in
them.

“I didn’t know you were my boss… there’s so

many of you it’s hard to keep track. I wouldn’t
have let you touch me if I knew.” Random!
The boy’s eyes are all over the place,
Vukuzakhe needs to see the truth in them.

“What if I wanted to touch you? What if I wanted

what happened between us? What if I say I
enjoyed every minute of it and I want more?”

“I’m not going to sleep with you again.” He’s still

not looking right at him, it could be shame or
he’s grown shy out of the blue.

“I think I didn’t articulate myself properly,”

Vukuzakhe delivers, letting his feet saunter to
the bashful young man. He stands as close as a
lover, needy hands touching the minion.
His arms curl around Funo’s waist and pull him
closer to his chest. A gasp is knocked out of the
lad’s chest, thick lips part. At this close range,
he has no choice but to return the resolved
gaze.

“I want more of you,” confidence has a name,

Vukuzakhe Khanyile. “I want to discover more, I
want to invade your life, your space. I want to
invade your heart Funo. I want everything that is
you.”

“You don’t know me,” the words leave his

mouth like a wisp of air.
“Well then, let me know you. Teach me, you.
You’re special to me, Funo. I want to keep you
for myself.” Vukuzakhe leans in until their
foreheads touch.

“I can’t accept this.” Funokuhle’s shaky voice

transports the dispute in a chariot of a whisper.
“We are worlds apart. Please, whatever you are
thinking forget about it.”
Not wanting the touch anymore, he squirms
until his boss releases him.
They are caught in a moment of silence, with
Vukuzakhe boring holes at him while Funo is
trying his hardest not to meet his gaze.

“Shower, I’ll check on you later.” Finally,

Vukuzakhe finds his voice. “You don’t have to
be afraid anymore, I’m here now.”

The speech is cut short, the big man’s feet shift

under his weight. He shuts the door with a click
and almost jumps out of his skin at the figure
standing outside the door.

“Dammit Ntaba, you scared me.”

He’s leaning against the wall, smiling
ridiculously at his big brother.

“Do you want me to give Bongiwe excuses as to

where you are? I’ve got a list.” Ntaba states,
ignoring the accusation. He pulls out a slip and
unfolds it. “1: You were kidnapped by inkabi and
they want her as ransom. 2: You drowned in the
river, and were eaten by crocodiles. 3: You’ve
had enough of her and eloped to Egoli with a
little man who has big eyes. We’ll explain your
sudden appearance in the morning. Pick.”

“When did you write this?” Vukuzakhe moves

away from the door, not wanting his brother’s
words to reach the wrong ears.
“In the car while you were stealing look at Koti
through the rear view mirror.” Ntaba answers,
following Vukuzakhe away from the small
rondavel.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about
Ntaba. Don’t spread rumours.”

“Bhuti, I’m that brother who’d help you kill your

wife and hide her body for you.” The remark is
chilling, his eyes don’t lie as he appears thrilled
by the idea. “Just say the word and my dear
sister in-law will be singing with angels before
you kiss Koti goodnight.”

“Are you on drugs?” It’s hard to believe what

he’s hearing, he raised Ntaba, and he was never
like this as a child.
“I’m offering my loyalty, ndoda. I’ll have you
know, I’m the only useful brother around here.
Hlabela would offer to pray Bongiwe away,
Ndleleni was born useless. Mathonga still
smells like baby formula.” The pride in Ntaba’s
voice has Vukuzakhe shaking his head in worry.
“Stop talking nonsense and go find out if
Thonga is back. I’m going to go out and
continue looking for him.”
“Who will watch over koti?” Who will watch over
Funokuhle? Big brother sighs, searching for a
solution.

“He’ll be okay alone,” Vukuzakhe replies.

Ntaba’s thoughts are different.

“Shame poor boy, he reminds me of aunt Sne’s
cat when it’s rained on.” Ntaba articulates,
hoping his brother takes the memory train with
him. “I mean… the resemblance is there bhuti,
you can’t deny it. So I say no to leaving him
alone, stay with him. He’s scared, go make your
man feel safe.” Ntaba has become serious,
strange happenings.

“I need to know if Mathonga is safe.”

Vukuzakhe won’t budge, he’d give up everything
for Mathonga, for his brothers. He re-claims his
phone from the pocket of his pants and starts
checking for messages, there is nothing from
Mathonga.
Disappointment makes him a friend by force, a
sigh joins in as he rubs his oily forehead in
frustration.
It’s a good thing they don’t have to worry about
the raging storm, Mathonga is the only thing on
the list now and the young man in the room.

“He’s safe, don’t worry.” Ntaba assures him,

meeting his eyes with a solemn gaze. “Thonga
is our brother, we’d feel it if something
happened to him. The ancestors are with him,
the same way they were with him twenty four
years ago when the fire…”

He struggles to continue, and drops his eyes.

Vukuzakhe is sure he spotted hurt in Ntaba’s
eyes, he does the most unusual thing… pulls his
little brother in for a hug. It hurts to think about
their brothers who died, it hurts to talk about
them.
A clearing of a throat breaks the embrace,
Ntaba is responsible for it.
“Save some for lover boy, he needs them more
than me. Be gentle with him.” Ntaba says.
“I don’t know where you get these assumptions
and I will not dispute with you because it will be
a waste of time.”
He’s not about to reveal the truth to his brother,
not by a long shot. However, he won’t deny it
either. This is something he wants to protect,
Funokuhle is something he wants to protect.

“Go speak to baba, let me know what he says.”

Vukuzakhe.
“I will.” Ntaba takes off, but something stops
him on his fourth step. Vukuzakhe sighs and
plugs his hands in his pockets while ogling at
his brother walking back to him.
“I have a year’s supply of condoms if you need
any.” The offer is whispered and received with a
roll of the eyes.
“Don’t test me, Ntabezikude.”
It’s a reproach firm enough to get him to stop,
but the word stop is not in Ntaba’s vocabulary.
He places a hand on Vukuzakhe’s shoulder,
squeezes, and looks into his eyes with a smile
on his face and a slight head nod.
“Make me proud, Ngwane.”
Vukuzakhe shoves his hand away, annoyed.
“Fusegi, Ntaba.”
The response to the insult is childish laughter,
and there he goes walking away as if he did not
just test his big brother.
“Remember. Be wise. Scrutinize. Condomise,
bhutiza.” Ntaba sings, loud, it’s for everyone to
hear. Vukuzakhe is glad this side of the wing is
empty, he saves his retort. It’s the tongue click
he can’t hold back.

He turns around, the rondavel in full view. He

makes a decision to continue searching for his
brother. First he needs to call his doctor friend,
and check on Funokuhle.
MATHONGA-
Twelve

VUMILE-

They met when he was at his lowest. His life

was spiralling out of control, it felt like it when
his six year old son, Mathonga had fallen ill.
They didn’t know why he couldn’t speak or
move. A traditional healer told him to look for
the man with the answers, the man who would
cure the child.
He didn’t specify which man, but Vumile knew
who he was talking about.

Vumile left that smelly mud house swearing to

himself and the gods above never to return
there.
Seeking help from a spiritual person became
risky for him, he wanted his son alive, but
destroying him in the process was not worth
the trouble.

His brother’s wife mentioned something about

a God of miracles, a God who gives when you
ask. A healer who raises the dead from the
grave. Vumile had heard of him of course, he
just never had time to entertain thoughts of him.
Despite being oblivious to this powerful deity,
he agreed to tag along to church.
It was a Sabbath morning. The first few hours
were boring as sin, sleep summoned him with a
soothing lullaby until the voice of a praying
woman caught his attention. He sat up straight,
rubbed his tired eyes awake and stared at the
woman like a crazed serial killer while she
conversed with God.
He was the only one at church who had his eyes
open.

Introducing himself was not a problem, she was

welcoming and understanding when he told her
about his sick son. Like any devoted Christian,
her first solution was to pray for him.

A prayer warrior she was and that’s what made

him fall in love with her.

“Mathonga will be okay, our son will be okay.”

She had told him last night when he came
knocking at her door, their door rather because
you know, he had to build the woman a house…
a place she’d call home. Away from her father’s
house.

“The God I serve never fails, he is a miracle

worker. Let’s pray.” The words that followed
were hard to believe for Vumile. How could he
when his son was not with him.

She brought him to his knees, she did the

praying while he did the weakening. Nothing in
him pushed him to pray, God had broken his
heart and he didn’t want to speak to him.
“You’re a good woman Nandi.” He told her after
the prayer that restored his hope.

-------

“Your food is getting cold baba.” Nandi

awakens Vumile from a trance he’s trapped in,
he blinks to see her standing before him with a
cup of hot pipping tea.
“Ngiyabonga Mashamase.” He appreciates
when she places it on the table next to the plate
of warm breakfast. That’s right! The chief did
not sleep at home last night.
“Stop worrying about him, you’ll only stress
yourself.” She slides into a chair beside him,
eyes full of worry.
“It’s morning and I haven’t heard anything.”
The plate of food is pushed aside, he’s lost his
appetite.

“It’s all in God’s hands, baba.” They look into

each other’s eyes like a young couple, her warm
hand finds his under the table. Vumile
appreciates the squeeze. “Mathonga is not
going anywhere baba, he’s here to stay. There’s
something special about our boy.”

Our boy!
Vumile loves to hear that, this woman is golden.
A smile reaches his ears, and pumps his heart
until it starts dancing to the echoing sound of
Nandi’s sweet words.
“You are special Mashamase, have I ever told
you that?” A smile is brought to her face.
Look at them making each other smile.

“You did the day Zamo was born.”

Ah yes! That glorious day. Vumile nods
contentedly, eyes doing their best to showcase
a smile too.

“My baby,” is said with pride. “Where is she? I

haven’t seen her yet, I thought she was sleeping
when I got home last night.” Vumile.
“She slept over at a friend’s house.” Bustling
eyes are hidden from him, Nandi knows he’s
against their daughter sleeping at people’s
houses as if her father did not build her a home.
“I don’t like this, Mashamase. What would
people say?”

He’s talking crap now, that’s why she removes

her hand from his and pulls her chair back so
she doesn’t have to smell him. He can be
frustrating sometimes.

“What people baba?” She’s not looking at him.

“People don’t know who the father of my
daughter is. I’m labelled as a loose woman who
slept with a married man and had a child out of
wedlock. What more can they add to that list?”

His heart cracks and shatters. Furrowing his

brows in discomfort, Vumile takes her hand.
She belongs to him anyway.
“Mashamase.”
Nandi snorts at the name, if he calls her that
again, she will scream. He should be coming up
with solutions not trying to soften her up.

“I love you.” He says.

This is where he wants to be, this is the woman

he wants in his life. He’d do anything to protect
her and the little family they’ve built together,
but he has children who mean more than she
does to him. They come first, he’d choose them
over her, given a chance. He’s chosen them
since the day they decided to be together, he
chose them when she fell pregnant with his
child.
He chose them when he held their new born
daughter, his only daughter. He chose them
when he couldn’t sleep at night because his
wife wanted to argue the whole night through.
Till this day he continues to choose his sons
over everything.

Nandi is different from Dalisile, probably that’s

why Vumile loves her so much. God had her in
mind when he thought of creating a woman,
sometimes he can’t believe she loves him like
she does.

Sneaking in and out of the house he built is

starting to get annoying, but it’s the only way
they’ll keep their secret. Or the only way he’ll
keep their secret rather.
She’s tired of being the other women, although
he’s convinced her time and time that she’s the
only one in his heart.
“When are you going to tell them about us?” It’s
about damn time.
It appears Vumile will not be having breakfast
today, his tea has gone cold along with his
appetite.
“Soon.” Vumile replies.
Nandi wants to ask him why he’s suddenly
angry, it’s the clenching and unclenching of his
jaw that’s birthed the question in her head.
“Soon is seventeen years ago, Vumile.” Ouch!
She hardly calls her chief by name. The surprise
on Vumile’s face is very evident.
“You know I’m trying MaShamase, there’s so
much on my plate right now.”
“What about your daughter? She wants to know
her siblings, you’ve kept her away for far too
long, something you shouldn’t have done to
begin with.”

Vumile frowns.
She loves him, and he knows that, but he’s
looking at her as if her mission in life is to hurt
him.

“Nandi.” He rarely calls her by name. “Am I a

bad father?” Guilt has found him and the grip is
tight.
“What is a bad father?” She wants to say yes,
just so he can finally take responsibility and
give their daughter her place in his life.
Her question has him giving her that look again.
Nandi would nurse his feelings, tell him he’s the
best father in the world. But not right now, right
now she needs to secure a place for her
daughter.
“Zamangwane will meet her brothers, soon.”
That’s his response to her question before
standing up with his cup of tea, leaving her to
deal with the full plate of food on the table.

“Soon?” Nandi.
An incredulous chuckle from Nandi stops him,
he turns to find tears in her eyes. Yeah! They
are always on standby.

“Sthandwa sami.” A whisper, her tears pull him

back to her. He places the lukewarm tea on the
table and kneels to meet her height, a hand
cradles her cheek. “Ukhalelani?” (Why are you
crying?”
“I’m tired Ndwandwe. How long do I have to live
like a widow?”
Ndwandwe’s chance to reply is stolen by
someone walking through the door, four curious
eyes shift in search. A young girl dressed like an
emo stands before them, her size 32 body
slumped against the doorpost.
“Zamangwane!” Nandi pronounces.
The girl’s eyes skyrocket, she folds her arms
across her chest with an attitude of a teenager
going through puberty.
Vumile though is happy to see his daughter.
The glow in his eyes can’t be missed, he stands,
ready to greet her with a hug.
“Zamangwane.” There is love in his voice as he
calls the name he christened her with, she
should be in his arms, embracing her father.
However, the look of anger on her face has not
left her.
“I hate that name.” She snaps.
A tongue click is dished out by the unruly
looking girl, she takes off and disappears in one
of the rooms.
Vumile is speechless, so is Nandi. She sighs
and decides to do the dishes. Vumile will nurse
his own heart.

VUKUZAKHE-

Leaving Funokuhle alone in his father’s

premises was harder than he thought. The
same man who’s chosen his little brother over
everything, and everyone chose to stay with a
man he hardly knows.
When he told Funokuhle he was leaving after
the doctor had examined him, there was a look
in the young man’s eyes.
Zakhe didn’t know what it was exactly. It
could’ve been desperation, need, or he just
didn’t want to be alone. Whatever it was, it
forced Zakhe to stay and watch over him while
the boy slept on the bed like a new born baby.
Zakhe sat on a chair, facing the bed, and bat
eyelids through the night.
His mind kept record of every movement
Funokuhle made, how he tossed and turned,
mumbled in his sleep and the funny sounds as
if he was drowning. It went on until morning.

“Where are you, Ngwane? Your brother has

been found, he’s at the hospital.” Bongiwe had
said over the phone about less than an hour
ago, before dropping the call.
Part of him believes she wanted him to know
that she’s upset he didn’t find his way home last
night.
Of course guilt didn’t let him go that easily, he
was with another man when his wife called,
trying to get him to calm down after he woke up
from a nightmare.

They’ve just arrived at the hospital, Funokuhle is

with him, walking silently behind him. He’s not
supposed to be here, but this stubborn giant
wouldn’t drop him off at his father’s house.
Zakhe hears voices coming from the room
Mathonga’s said to be in, he’s a little
disappointed that he’s not the first one here.
“Stay here.” Zakhe orders Funokuhle, this
morning his voice is not as tiny. Must be his
morning voice.
He gets an unreliable nod from the boy before
entering the room.
His shoulders are slumped as if he’s carrying
the weight of the world on them, there’s this
haze in his eyes, evidencing lack of sleep.
As expected, Bongiwe is here, feeding
Mathonga oatmeal. She shoots Zakhe one of
Dalisile’s famous glares when their eyes meet
and clears her throat, pushing the chair back
with the weight of her body. It screeches before
the sound of her heels tap on the floor as she
walks to meet him halfway with a smile on her
face.

“Myeni wami.” He’s greeted with a kiss and a

smile he knows is fake. “I’ll talk to you at home.”
The words are whispered into his ears, he
winces a little when she pinches him on the
side. No one sees it, but Zakhe feels it. Clearly
this is about him not sleeping home last night.
“Ndodana.”

“Baba.” He greets his father first, then his wife

who is now smiling like a perfect makoti.

He would tell her to stop being fake but his

father is here, and as far as Vumile knows,
these two are like the youth and Sassa grant,
inseparable.
“I knew Mathonga was going to come home to
us safe.” Bongiwe says.
Her arms are around his torso and head on his
chest, restricting his movements.
“He was found by some school boys who were
on their way to school, lying unconscious on the
side of the road.” Vumile explains. He looks
better than he did at Nandi’s house.
“I think we should reward them baba, buy them
schools shoes or groceries. We wouldn’t have
found our Thonga if it wasn’t for them.”
Bongiwe says, directing a warm smile towards
her father-in-law.
Vumile looks impressed and this is what
Bongiwe lives for, to impress her in-laws. She’s
confident that Vumile will always choose her for
his first born.
“Thonga.” Zakhe finally greets his brother. He
peels himself off his wife and moves to hug him.
“You gave us a scare.”
“I’m okay, you look worse than I feel. Like you
died and came back for revenge.” Laughter
softly leaves Zakhe’s mouth as his brother’s
observation tickles him, he thinks Mathonga
must be okay to be teasing him.
The laughter transitions, Vukuzakhe lets out an
exasperated sound, frustration unified with
exhaustion. “What happened to you?”
The room becomes thick with tension.

Mathonga sighs, eyes staring into thin air. “I’m

not sure, I remember having a fallout with
Dalisile. I wanted to go out for some air, but the
more I drove, the angrier I became. Then the
skies darkened out of nowhere, I saw a woman
standing in front of my car. She didn’t move
when I pressed the honk, that’s when I hit a tree
trying to avoid an accident. I don’t remember
the rest.”
“Did you recognise the woman?” Zakhe has
suddenly become a detective.
“No, her face wasn’t clear.” Mathonga.
Zakhe lets out a heavy sigh, his hands roughly
rubbing his forehead. There are dark circles
beneath his eyes, he’s dog-tired.
“We need to find her, she’s probably the only
person that knows what happened to you while
you were out.” Zakhe.
It is a good suggestion, Vumile seems to think
so. He’s about to say something when his
phone beeps with a message. Silently, he reads
it and excuses himself.

“We should let Thonga sleep, the doctor said we

shouldn’t tire him.” That’s Bongiwe, she’s found
her place next to her husband again.

“I’m fine sisi, I don’t need to sleep.” He looks

finer than fine. “There’s a girl, bhuti. I need you
to check on her.”

Zakhe chortles at his brother’s sudden

randomness, he’s so focused on Mathonga that
he misses the envious look on Bongiwe’s face.
“Girls are the last thing you should be thinking
about.” He moves from Bongiwe’s side to get
closer to Mathonga.
“Please bhuti, something is not right. I have a
feeling she’s in trouble.”
“Who… who is she?” The question is coated
with layers of jealousy. Bongiwe’s eyes flash
with something dark and her brows raise in
anticipation, she’s waiting impatiently for
Mathonga to answer her question.
“You don’t know her sisi.” Mathonga dismisses,
but you don’t dismiss Bongiwe. “Her name is
Nala, I’ll text you the directions.”

This one is for Zakhe

“I'll check on her, I’m a girl too, she’ll feel safer

with me.” That’s her theory, her husband does
not bother to look her way. The jealousy in her
voice is more than enough to tell him what
she’s thinking about.
The room is awkward, it’s bearing heavy silence.
They are saved by the door opening, a calm-
happy Ntaba walks in carrying a blue plastic
bag with bananas and apples. He’s whistling
Mafikizolo’s emlanjeni which Zakhe grimaces at.

“Bhuti you’ve got competition, I saw koti leave

with a Sdumo look alike.” Ntaba says pointing
towards the door, calm as a cucumber.
Everyone is looking at him, waiting for him to
explain further. But Zakhe quickly grasps it, he
hisses a curse word and runs out of the
hospital room.

“Who is koti?” Bongiwe asks, a fake smile

stretching her mouth.
Ntaba chuckles, kisses his little brother on the
cheek and peals a banana for him.
MATHONGA-
Thirteen

MATHONGA-

Over the course of four weeks, my mind has not

been with me. My spirit is down, and no matter
what I do I can’t seem to stop thinking about
Nala.
She’s nowhere to be found, I’ve been to that
house a number of times only to find it empty,
or the people who live there just won’t open for
me?
The lingering worry refuses to dissipate, Nala is
in trouble. I just know it. My instincts are never
wrong. It’s not something that came to me in a
dream, but something I feel deep inside.
I need to find her, I guess worrying about her
has put a strain in my relationship with
Amandla. She complains a lot lately, mostly
about how I’m not spending time with her.

My plate is full, and I also have to worry about

my ancestors giving me the silent treatment. I
don’t know what I did wrong.
There are hours missing from my life, hours
when I was unconscious. Something happened
to me during that time, I keep thinking they will
show me in a dream, but no one has come forth
yet. I’m starting to think they have deserted me.
Maybe it’s time I tell baba about them, that they
exist. Remind him how he used to acknowledge
them. The risky part about this is that he will
dismiss the thought and ask me to abandon
them.
“No we are not merging with the Chinese, we
don’t do business with outsiders.” Zakhe’s voice
snaps me out of my brown study.
We’re in the cosmic boardroom, this meeting
has been going on since morning, it’s almost
lunchtime and I am dead tired.
Hlabela and Ndlela still look refreshed, they love
everything business.
Ntabezikude is a lucky bastard, he’s allowed to
lie on the couch during a meeting. Okay, maybe
not allowed, he does whatever he wants
because he can. A crisp white shirt and jeans
do not count as formal.
Baba and Zakhe have warned him about his
casual wear on a work day, their objections
have fallen on deaf ears.
He looks painfully bored while fondling the
screen of his phone.
Did I mention that my ass feels numb from
sitting on this swivel chair for longer than an
ass should? Someone must be sued for this.

“I hear you, Ngwane, but merging with them will

put Khanyile Holdings on the map. State Grid
Corporation is by far the largest utility in the
world. The entity maintained the number 2
position in 2017, just behind Walmart.” Ndleleni
steps in.

A yawn follows his statement. It’s Ntaba, he’s

carelessly flapping his big feet, touching the
edge of the armrest.
“What’s Walmart? Can we talk about things
we’re familiar with, please?”
Really, he would know what Walmart is if he
were invested in this company as much as
everyone here.
“Vele you don’t know what it is, bhinca.” (Village
boy)
I tell him, just to get myself out of the boredom
I’m trapped in. This meeting is mind-numbing
as hell.
“Ntaba focus please. We’re in a meeting, not a
chillas. Sit up, will you?” Zakhe can be strict,
and Ntaba does not care.
“Sorry,” Ntaba says and makes zero effort to
move even a bit.

“Ubaba has a different vision for this company,

merging with the Chinese will be going against
what he believes in, Ubuntu. Khanyile Holdings
creates opportunities for black owned
businesses, we take care of our own.” Hlabela,
the black Jesus.
This one must have made it on planet earth by
default.
“What happened to Dlozi InCorp?” Zakhe.
“Mr. Mkhize cancelled the meeting due to
personal reasons.” Zakhe’s assistant says, he
looks as tired as I am.
“Explain, Godswill.” Zakhe.

Godswill is his name. I’d slap my parents for

giving me a name like that. Apparently his
father, a Zulu man found himself a Nigerian
woman and the rest is a story to tell his future
generation.

“It’s his son’s birthday sir.” Godswill replies,

scrolling through the notepad in his hand.

“That’s incompetence.” Zakhe sounds affronted,

it all has to do with the meeting being cancelled.
He takes business too seriously… my brother.
“Get me that meeting with him as soon as
possible.”

“It will be hard to get a hold of him.”

“Don’t give me excuses Godswill, get me a
meeting with Mr. Mkhize. This meeting is
adjourned.”

Music to my ears, I thought he’d never dismiss

it. The assistant rushes out, only to bump into
Bongiwe. She’s carrying a picnic basket.
“Great, lunch. Umakoti ungowethu ngempela.”
Ntaba says, jumping to his feet. The basket is
hidden from him as he tries to grab it.
“No, this is not for you. It’s for my hard working
husband.” She sends a smile to her “hard
working husband.” It’s not returned, he rarely
returns smiles.

“Okay, sala kee wena with your hard worker of a

husband. The lazy bum is out of here, my brain
is fried.” Ntaba arrogantly steps out.
“Before you boys leave…”
“Boys?”
Zakhe appears disrespected by the words
uttered by his wife, she flaps her fake lashes
before clearing her throat.
“I’ve reserved dinner for the whole family
tonight, I’ll send the location to the family group
chat.”
The second family group chat she means, wait
till she finds out we opened a private one and
she’s not included.
“What is it about?”
Ndleleni sounds uninterested, he’s standing
with hands in his pockets, bearing a frown on
his hard face.
“You’ll find out later.”

There’s no arguing with Bongiwe, she will cause

havoc if any of us miss her dinner.
“Is this necessary?” Zakhe asks.
Good question, she walks up to him and leans
up to give him what appears to be a kiss on his
ear or she whispered something. I’m not entirely
sure, his facial features don’t give anything out.
Bongiwe turns to us, am I the only one who can
see through her pretentious smile?

“7pm, please don’t be late.”

That’s our queue to leave, I guess.

VUKUZAKHE-

“You’re late, it’s 8:30pm”

He did not think he’d find her waiting for him,

she had mentioned something about a family
dinner, but that must’ve slipped his mind
because you know, a man in love is always
where his love is found and for Zakhe… it’s not
here with his wife.

Funo has not been to work in four weeks, had

he had the courage, Zakhe would’ve gone to the
Sangweni premises to ask for him.
His phone has been off, there is no other way to
contact the minion. These are days when he
feels useless, there is no sign of the boy that
stirred something strong inside him.
That day at the hospital, when he went out
looking for Funokuhle, he almost went crazy
when he couldn’t find any trace of him.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Bongiwe

snaps as she stands from the expensive couch,
courtesy of her in-laws.
She went all out on the evening gown she’s
wearing, just like she went all out with the
dinner arrangements.
“Where is everyone?”
His eyes are scanning his surroundings, in
search of the rest of the family members.
“Baba is in his room. The others have gone
ahead, I decided to wait for you like I always
do.” There’s malice in her voice, her eyes are
narrowed in rage. “Where have you been?” She
asks.

Looking for a man.

Zakhe’s shoulders would slump, but he needs

to stand firm when addressing this one, she’s a
volcano ready to erupt.
“You know I was at work, Mabuza.” He senses
the accusations coming, hence clenching his
jaw in a silent protest. Bursting out in anger
won’t help him, this he knows already.

“Why can’t you be a better man to me, Ngwane?

Why do I have to chase you around just to get
your attention? Have I not been a good wife to
you? Have I not loved you enough?”
He huffs simply because she’s asked him this a
million times before and the answer has not
changed. Right on this same spot, in the middle
of the living room.

“When did our love become unrequited?” She

finishes.

This is the question that has him huffing again,

he’s not sure if their love is one-sided. There is
love in his heart for her, it’s just that they have
differences they can’t sort out. Marriage should
not feel like war, and that’s exactly how it feels
with Bongiwe.

“I need to take a shower.”

And this damn tie around his neck feels tight,

even though it’s hanging loosely. He slackens
the noose farther, takes it off and throws the
bloody thing on the couch. He steers his steps
towards the kitchen, in search of that little
moment of peace. But, his dear wife follows
him.

“I’m talking to you, Ngwane.” She’s about ready

to shout, it’s buzzing at the tip of her tongue.
“Don’t patronize me, Bongiwe. Just don’t,
okay?”

At his words, Bongiwe laughs, not that what he

said is funny. But she’s had enough of him and
his childishness. The glass he just took from
the shelf is grabbed from him and smashed
against the wall. When did she become this
angry?
“Patronize you? Is that all you have to say to me?
” She’s yelling.
Maybe Vumile should have put up thick walls,
these ones have ears.
“Why did you do that? And please keep your
voice down? My father is in the house.”

“No I will not keep my voice down,” she’s

dismayed and Bongiwe does not keep her voice
down when her wrath has been tempered with.
“I’m tired of keeping my voice down. I’m tired of
pretending that I’m happy, hell, I’m tired of being
the perfect wife. Maybe it’s time baba finds out
who their son really is.”

“What are you talking about?”

What is she talking about, really? Does she

know about his shenanigans? Did she perhaps
find out that he slept with another man, and
enjoyed it, and is now looking for more?

An angry Bongiwe folds her arms on her chest

and says, “That you are a useless excuse of a
man. You are a loose cannon who pushes his
d!ck in every hole he finds. Gosh you can’t even
wear your pants right in this relationship, you
have failed to do your job as a man.”

Anger latches on his face.

“Bongiwe!” He shouts, landing a hot slap across

her face, it’s not hard enough to throw her to the
floor.
“You hit me, Vukuzakhe?” Her eyes are wide
with shock, this cannot be happening. Three
years, three years and this man has never laid a
hand on her. “You hit me?”
Zakhe is just as shocked, he’s grown mute
trying to put the puzzle together of what just
transpired. He extends a hand to touch her
abused cheek, Bongiwe steps back, anger
written all over her surface.

“You hit me, Vukuzakhe?” Tears, this is a first.

She never gives in to tears. Not this fierce,
strong rock, that never breaks no matter what is
put in her way.

“You… you provoked me.” Dammit! He’s

stuttering again. “You don’t speak to me like
that Bongiwe, I am your husband.”
Suddenly, he doesn’t care that they are shouting.
His hand is tight around her arm. Bongiwe
squirms to free herself, to no avail until giving
up becomes an option. Clearly men are stronger
than women.

Zakhe’s features soften, so does the grip on her

arm. An apologetic sigh emerges from him. “I’m
sorry.” Too lousy to take the pain away. “I didn’t
mean to.”

“You’re going to pay for this.” There are still

tears in her eyes, once upon a time he would
wipe them in a jiffy. Today is a different story,
she’s overstepped her boundaries. “You will
regret putting your hands on me.”

“Ndodana.”

His father’s voice turns him around, he’s at the

kitchen entrance, staring inquisitively.
Vukuzakhe notices how he’s wearing a suit, and
has his car keys in hand.

“You’re home?” Zakhe nods to answer his

father’s question. “Why aren’t you ready? The
others are waiting?”

“I’m not going baba, you all should enjoy.” He

side-eyes his wife to find her glaring at him.
“Nonsense, it’s a family gathering. Umakoti here,
went all out, don’t let her hard work go to waste.
You of all people should appreciate her, you are
her husband after all. Now go change, we’ll be
waiting here.”

Now, how do you say no to Vumile again? Oh

yeah! You don’t say no to this man.
Giving his wife a onceover, Zakhe takes off
after she tells him his suit is on the bed. It
doesn’t take long for him to get ready nor does
it take long for them to reach the hotel.

Upon arrival, they are met by flashes of

cameras and a bunch of people with mics
talking above each other. He doesn’t answer
any questions asked by the news reporters.
There are more of them when they enter the
restaurant, his entire family is seated on a long
ass table adorned with every lavish thing you
find on a rich man’s dinner table.

“A press conference?” Zakhe is asking his wife

who’s standing next to him, gracing a smile
because the world is watching and they have an
image to maintain.

“Yes my dear husband, we are the Khanyiles, so

why not?”
He finds her answer very stupid. He doesn’t
fight her when she takes his hand and starts
ushering him to the rest of the family.
“What’s going on Bongiwe?”
“You’re about to find out and don’t worry, I won’t
mention the slap.” She kisses his cheek, and
goes to take the stage. Zakhe is sweltering
under the black tux she chose for him, it’s new
actually and very unnecessary.

At the table, he greets his mother with a kiss,

again public service.
Hlabela, Ntabezikude, Ndleleni and Mathonga
acknowledge his presence before he settles
down. There are glasses of champagne ready
for everyone, and a mug of Mageu for Ntaba.
Zakhe shakes his head at the sight, he’s
accepted how different this one is.
“You sure know how to choose them, bhuti.”
That’s his forward brother Ntaba, laid back on
the chair.
“What is this drama all about?” Mathonga asks.
“I have no idea.” Zakhe answers, he’s kept in the
dark as well.
“Whatever it is must be big, a whole press
conference.” Ndlela laughs.
“Mother,” Zakhe calls a faraway Dalisile, she
blinks herself away from her trance. “Do you
know what this is about?”

“How would I know? No one tells me anything in

this family.” Her eyes are on her husband who’s
seated beside her, not the supplicant of the
enquiry. Vumile denies her credit.
“May I please get everyone’s attention?” The
daughter in-law starts, and everyone’s attention
is what she gets.
“Thank you for availing yourselves at such short
notice.” This one is for the reporters.

“As you all know, I’m married to the heir of the

Khanyile clan. Vukuzakhe Khanyile, the one who
will take over from ubaba Ukhanyile one day.
Baba thank you for accepting me into your
family, thank you for taking the fatherly role in
my life. I will forever be grateful to you and your
wife mama Khanyile.”

Dalisile is spotted faintly rolling her eyes, the

boys are still oblivious as to what is happening.
No one has dared to utter a word, knowing how
Bongiwe can blow up, provoking her would be a
bad idea.
“I hope you will accept my baby the way you
have accepted me.” The daughter in-law
announces, sporting a prideful smile, as her
hand gently lands on her expensive garment to
caress her flat belly.
Her eyes quickly find her husband, he’s on his
feet, eyes wide and mouth ajar. The brothers
are staring as well, disbelievingly.

“Congratulations sthandwa sami, you’re going

to be a father.” The announcement is confirmed
by an overly excited wife. “I’m pregnant.”

That’s enough confirmation, I’m sure they get it

now.

There’s commotion, the flashes of light and

noise double. Reporters asking one question
after another.
Zakhe is frozen, watching his wife elegantly
stride up to him. Her lips touch his, more than
once.
“I’m pregnant.” She repeats, wrapping her arms
around the man who’s turned into a statue.
The embrace does not last long, she’s stolen by
compliments from Vumile and his other sons
along with the reporters. Dalisile does not look
like a happy woman right now, she’s trying for a
smile. One that would fool outsiders.

A tap on his shoulder causes Zakhe to blink the

shock away.
“Breathe brother, you look like a dying goat.”
Mathonga advices beside him. But that’s the
thing, he can’t breathe.
“Bongiwe 1—Koti 0. Let the games begin.”
Ntaba randomly announces, and gulps down
the Mageu as if it were water.
MATHONGA-
Fourteen

Mature rating for graphic sexual content. 18+

Note: This chapter contains gay sex.

VUKUZAKHE-

Darkness started claiming the night with its

heaviness, he wasn’t sure why he stayed with
the boy after saving him from drowning.
A bottle of wine he found in his car kept them
company.
“If you want to kill yourself, at least do it while
intoxicated. It will give you courage.” He said to
the boy who was still angry that he was pulled
out of the river, when all he wanted was to
cross over to the afterlife.
Drinking sounded like a good idea, Zakhe
needed it just as much. Life was showing him
his mother and given an opportunity to forget,
he took it.
They sat close, on the sand, under the blanket
of stars, facing the river.
The full moon provided enough light for them to
see each other. Zakhe spoke while the young
man listened, they didn’t know each other’s
names but it felt comfortable sitting together,
as if they were not strangers.

The bottle was almost empty when Zakhe’s

mind started wandering, his eyes were on their
own mission, studying Funokuhle as if he were
some kind of lab experiment.
His side profile a sight for sore eyes, even under
the dark skies, Zakhe could see Funo heaving.
Clearly he affected him.

It didn’t take long for his hand to wander as well,

landing on Funokuhle’s cheek. A gentle touch,
hence the boy was not deterred.

“You have beautiful skin.” A drunk Vukuzakhe

said, eyes adoring the young man whose skin
looked like it tasted of chocolate.
Their eyes locked, sexual tension filled the area
despite the small distance between them.
Zakhe intertwined his vacant hand with Funo’s,
his thumb gently stroking the boy’s back hand.
“Have you ever had sex under the stars?” Zakhe
asked out of the blue, shocking himself and
Funo.
It was too late to take the words back, they
were out there, either to create damage or
about to let him live his fantasy.
Funo’s eyes grew wide, he was thinking what
Zakhe was thinking.
“We’re strangers.” The young man whispered,
leaving his lips ajar after the last word released.
Zakhe saw it as an invitation in which he hastily
accepted, smashing his lips against the boy’s.
His mouth was fierce and needy, kissing Funo
with fervent desire that the lad grew dizzy, or it
could have been the alcohol.

“You taste different.” Zakhe mumbled, slowly

nibbling on the younger’s bottom lip.
His hands found Funo’s wet t-shirt and pulled it
over his head without breaking the kiss, pants
followed, leaving the young man
exposed—naked as Adam and Eve in the
Garden of Eden after accepting a dare from the
serpent.

“You’re beautiful.”

Funny how Vukuzakhe could see it all under the

moonlight, his eyes had turned red and grown
small—lust swimming in them. Zakhe was on
his knees as he unbuckled his belt buckle and
pulled down his pants along with his trunks and
let them fall down to his knees.
Big hazel eyes widened at the sight in front of
him, at how big and full the Khanyile giant was.
“Are you going to stare or help me out?” Zakhe
asked.
It was Funo’s turn to smash his lips against the
giant’s, maybe he wanted him to stop talking
and pleasure him.

Zakhe’s fingers curled into the younger’s hips,

as he slowly pushed them down until he was
topping him.
“Open for me, I want you to open for me,” thin
legs spread apart at Zakhe’s order, and he
positioned himself in between them.
“Prepare me.” The young man said.
Perhaps he thought the man he was
exchanging lips with didn’t know what he was
doing.
The instruction was the last the young man
gave when Zakhe wet his thumb, using his
saliva, and rubbed it against Funo’s tight rim. It
was gentle and slow as it slid into him that his
breath spiralled out of his lungs.
Three fingers later that found his prostate, Funo
was a trembling mess, moaning and pleading
for Zakhe to penetrate him, and that, he did.

“Oh God.” Funo cried, and sucked in a breath as

Zakhe pushed in slowly. His fingers were
already digging into the man’s broad shoulders,
teeth clenched to supress the pain he felt from
his tight opening being penetrated.
“Are you okay?” Zakhe asked, the boy nodded,
face contorted in pain.
Worry struck Zakhe’s features, he knew he was
hurting him.
He paused and leaned down to whisper over
Funo’s lips, “You feel so good, I badly want to
sink into you.” A brief kiss followed.
“You’re very verbal.” Funo’s reply made Zakhe
shake with laughter.
“Must be the alcohol.” Vukuzakhe.
“It’s not fully in yet.” Was Funo’s casual reply.
“I’m almost there, I don’t want to hurt you.”
Zakhe murmured, his warm breath whiffing the
boy’s face.
He wanted to remind him that they didn’t have
protection, but voted against it, thinking it will
ruin the moment.

“You’re half way there, just do it already.”

Frustration sounded in Funo’s voice, Zakhe
could only chuckle.
He looked into the lad’s eyes, as he slowly sank
deeper that the young man started to feel
stretched and full, not to mention
uncomfortable. As long as there was pleasure
in it, he found no problem.
His head fell back on wet sand when Zakhe
started moving, softly and gradually.
There was no turning back and Funo could do
nothing but succumb to him, surrender to the
stranger.

“Oh God, I’m going to pass out.” The words left

the lad’s mouth in tremors of whisper, arching
his ass up to meet Zakhe’s thrusts. In the midst
of the pleasure, he found the courage to say,
“Slow down… please.”

As asked, Zakhe reduced speed, a smirk

engraved on his mouth before covering it with
Funo’s, he couldn’t get enough of kissing him.
Perhaps he did taste different, like a drug he
couldn’t resist.
“No… I… plea… please.” Funo pleaded, tightening
his legs around him, Zakhe tensed at the feeling
of his d!ck being strangled by Funo’s tight hole.
His body rippled with tremors at the sensation.
“Please what? Use your words.” Zakhe
mumbled, humour found in his voice. His c#ck
nudging Funo deep inside.
It drove him insane having his prostate poked in
slow motion.
“Faster… please. I’m so close,” Funo cried out,
tears gushing out of his eyes.
Zakhe was unapologetic in the way he f#cked
him. The young man bit down on Zakhe’s
shoulder to muffle every sound desperate to
leave his mouth.
His eyes widened to the size of golf balls, as a
stuttering voice came into his ear, “You’re so
loud and I like it, but we can’t risk being seen.”
Oh, what are the odds of being spotted having
sex at the river at night?

“I can’t hold it in anymore, it hurts so good.”

Funo sobbed, unable to stop his tears from
overflowing. His voice sounded low and
strangled to his throat.
Warm lips found his, kissing him like he
deserved to be kissed.
“Then go for it, fly.” The same lips instructed the
young man, maybe because he was close too,
and needed to release as well. His entire body
craved release.
However, it felt too imperative to blow, literally.
Zakhe was so close he had to hold his breath
for seconds and try to breathe, while clenching
his ass cheeks to stop himself from exploding.
The young man stroke himself, matching
Zakhe’s hurried thrusts.
“Oh God!” Funo whimpered and screamed,
supremely full, and tightened his legs around
Zakhe’s hips.

“Yes, yes.” He screamed the second time, as an

orgasm waved through him hard and strong.
His whole body felt every ounce of it, from his
head to his toes and back up again.
“Good boy.”
Zakhe’s words seemed to drive him crazy, he
wouldn’t let go of the older guy when he
continued hitting his prostate again and again,
driving him to the brink of extinction.
It was a full minute when Zakhe groaned,
subduing himself on top of Funo. The giant
jerked with his release, hid his face into the
younger’s neck and let out a deep sigh.
His weight pressing the skinny boy down, Zakhe
pulled back, levelled the fatigued little man with
a steady gaze.

“You should have told me, you’re like a drug.”

“What?”
“I think I’ve become addicted to you.” Zakhe
said through a ragged breath.

Confusion took over from contentment, big

hazel eyes widened farther before Funo pushed
the man aside, and jerked to his feet.

“What happened?” Zakhe asked, watching him

throw his clothes back on in a speed of a
panicking person. “Did I say something wrong?”
He knew it wasn’t something he did because
Funo enjoyed it as much, he practically begged
him to fuck him. He got up, to cover his
nakedness, yet kept his concerned eyes on
Funo.

“Wait!” This he yelled out when the younger

took off running, as if a dog was chasing him.

--------

Maybe he should have ran after him, eloped

with him or something. Maybe he wouldn’t be in
the position he’s in today. An unwanted
pregnancy.

He’s close to all his brothers, but since this one

seems to know more than the others, he
spends more time with him. Like now, Zakhe is
on the passenger seat in Ntaba’s car who is
slowly driving back to the Khanyile ranch.

No way was he going to drive with his wife, he

didn’t want her anywhere near him.
Zakhe did not utter a word since he was told
there’s a little him coming into this world.
The reporters were politely asked to leave under
the pretext of the family having dinner privately.
Dinner was awkward, the four younger brothers
seemed to catch whatever their big brother had,
none of them struck a conversation with their
parents nor the Khanyile bride.
“What’s wrong with you? Who died?” Vumile
had asked them and got no answer in return
and that in turn made everything more awkward.
Ever dined with an elephant standing tall in the
room? That’s how thick the tension was.

“Do you want Toppers?” Ntaba asks, to break

the quietness that’s long been at home. The
ride has been silent, save for the radio playing
softly.
Zakhe shoots a glance at him, brows elevated.

“Chocolate flavoured Toppers are nice.” That’s

just too random of Ntaba.
“You still eat that shit?”

When Ntaba was eleven, he ate those biscuits

every day for a week until his stomach couldn’t
stomach it. They made him sick, and his father
had no choice but to use an anema on him.
“You don’t know heaven until you’ve tasted
chocolate flavoured Toppers.” Ntaba.
“And you don’t know hell until you’ve eaten
more than you should.” Zakhe.
Ntaba is the only one who finds it funny, his
brother is too stressed to laugh.
The silence that was kicked out finds its way
back in, a deep sigh from Zakhe chases it out
again and causes wrinkles on Ntaba’s forehead.
He gives Zakhe a brief look to find him glancing
out the window, head on the seat’s headrest.
“I told you that I had condoms,” Random Ntaba
starts, too serious one would think he’s an idiot
to say such things with a grave expression.
“Not now Ntaba.”
The dismissal is ignored, of course he would.
He is Vumile’s son after all.
“Did you really sleep with her?”
This is none of his business, Ntaba is taking
things too far. They never discuss what they do
in the bedroom with their significant others.
Maybe the younger brothers do, but Zakhe is
too strict and too standoffish to be approached
with the topic of the birds and the bees.
“We’re married.” Surprisingly, Zakhe provides an
answer.
“What about Koti?” Team Funokuhle… This one
seems to be cheering for him.

Zakhe looks at him, he seems to have expected

this question and has some kind of defensive
strategy in place. He clears his throat and
straightens his back, giving the impression of
strength. But he can’t fool the man on the
steering wheel.
“I don’t understand Ntaba. How do you know so
much?” He won’t be specific, yet. Just testing
the waters.
“You’re my brother, you raised me. There’s
nothing I don’t know about you.”
Zakhe doesn’t answer, not that he doesn’t have
one. He’s just too confused to speak.
“Do you want me to drag the truth out of you?”
Ntaba persists.

A sigh, “It must be all over the news by now.”

He’s talking about the baby announcement.
“He’s going to see it and think…”

Zakhe gazes out the window, and releases

another sigh.

“He doesn’t strike me as the type that watches

TV. Even if he does, where is the harm in that?
Unless you’ve already told him how you feel.”
Ntaba.

Zakhe tips his head back, and glances over at

his brother. “I did, I told him I want to be with
him.”

“Rich Forrester, look at the mess you’ve gotten

yourself in.” Ntaba.
His brothers are hilarious to tease, especially
Vukuzakhe because he always looks tense and
powerful, and people are afraid of him. But
Ntaba goes to an extent to throw him off.
“I know.” Of course he knows. “Bongiwe can’t
be pregnant, she was on birth control.”
“You believed her when she told you this?”
“I had no reason to doubt her, we’ve been
married for three years and not once did she
bring the baby topic up. Just the other day she
was telling me we should have kids, four weeks
later she’s pregnant.” He has his doubts.
“Bongiwe is a fighter bhuti, she’s going to fight
for this marriage. You know that, right?” Ntaba
tells him.

He does, he sees it in her eyes every day.

“If you’re going to love someone else, make

sure you tell her so she knows where she
stands. The road won’t be easy, but you need to
follow your heart. Choose yourself.” Ntaba
sounds too serious, it’s crazy. Zakhe is taken
deep into thought, it lasts a second. He’s back
to looking at his brother.
“You’re so invested in my business, you still
have to tell me why you were arrested.” It feels
like eons ago.
Ntaba frowns and shrugs his broad shoulders.
“It’s nothing serious.”
And that’s final, Zakhe doesn’t probe farther.

MATHONGA-

Everyone retired for the night right after we got

home from the restaurant. No one wanted to
talk about today’s happenings, no one but
Bongiwe, she wouldn’t stop.
She’s happier than my brother is about the baby,
something is happening in their marriage. I’ve
seen how sad he is when he’s with her.
Marriage! I don’t want to find myself trapped in
it.
Lying down on the bed after a quick shower, I’m
hit with a wave of drowsiness. My eyes are
heavy and it’s getting hard to keep them open,
so I yield to it and let it take me.
In an instant, I fall into a clear dream. I’m still in
my room, I know because I’m lying in my bed,
facing up. My ears perk at the grumbling sound,
normally made by a sangoma.
I shift my eyes around until they land on an
unfamiliar old woman kneeling by the bed.
She’s glaring at me with so much anger in her
eyes, shoulders shuddering and groans leaving
her mouth.
It’s out of instinct when I leave the bed to join
her, I kneel in front of her.

“Thokoza gogo.” Randomly I sing, clapping my

hands in a rhythmic method.
“Chaza.” (Explain.)
For some reason I know what she’s talking
about.
“Ngiyaxolisa. Ubaba has turned his back on you.
He does not let us acknowledge you. It’s not
easy to go against him.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
I open my mouth to speak, my words don’t
make it far due to the hand she raises to stop
me from uttering a word.

“Wait, Ukhokho ufuna ukukhuluma nawe.” (Your

great-grandfather wants to talk to you.)
She leaves without another word said, I don’t
see where she disappears to because I’m
focused on chanting the lyrics “Thokoza
khehla.” While clapping my hands, repeatedly.
Suddenly he shows up in front of me, wearing a
white formal shirt with its sleeves folded up,
and black formal pants. Like the old woman, I
can’t really make out his face. However, he
comes with peace, it breaches through me, I
can literally taste it.

He kneels in front of me, retrieves an A4 piece

of paper from his shirt pocket, “put your hands
together.”
I join them, he wraps the paper around my
hands and starts praying, grunting and chanting
things I can’t make sense of.
It’s not long till my body shudders violently.

“Relax, you’re not supposed to panic, relax.”

At his command, I fight to breath, counting my

intakes and outtakes.

“You’re not going to be able to walk, I will have

to help you up.”

He does as he says, helping me up. My feet feel

numb, I can barely move them.
“Where are we going?” I question, holding on to
him lest I fall.
“Run.” He says.
With no questions asked, I limp my way around
the room. I don’t know where the pain in my
legs is coming from.

“It hurts.” I tell him, struggling to take another

step but pushing on still.
“Keep running.” He commands.
The more I move, the stronger I become. As I
turn to him, I find him smiling. It’s warm and
draws me nearer to him.
“Are you feeling fine now?” I guess he’s talking
about the pain.
“Yes.”
He nods at my answer, “Your faith is about to
be tested, you will be thrown into the fiery
furnace. A storm that will be too hard for you to
command. Some things will be hidden from you,
for a purpose. But do not grow weary, be strong,
remember that I will always be here to help you
get back up.” he says and disappears, leaving
me alone and confused.

What was that about? There must be a meaning

behind all of this.
“Vumile will have to be removed, he’s standing
in our way.” It’s the old woman’s angry voice, I
can’t see her.
“No, please. You can’t take my father.” I wait for
a reply but nothing comes through.

“You can’t take ubaba, you can’t. You have no

right.” I’m shouting, they have no right to do that.
The peace the old man came with has
exhausted, now I’m engulfed by anger.
Something cracks like a breaking of bones and
in a jiffy my body tumbles to the floor,
convulsing violently.

“Mathonga wake up.” My anger disperses at the

sound of Zakhe’s voice, however my body won’t
stop jerking, even when my eyes flick open.
I’m on the floor like I was in the dream,
Vukuzakhe and Ntaba are holding me down.
My big brother’s grip is on my arms and Ntaba’s
holding my legs.
“What’s wrong Thonga?” I hear Ntaba’s
question, yet fail to answer him. All I can do is
groan loudly, while clenching my teeth.
“Put a cloth in his mouth, he’ll die if he bites his
tongue.” At Zakhe’s instruction, Ntaba dashes
away. My eyes won’t follow him, they are
desperately fixed on Zakhe, pleading for him to
stop the trembling.

“What the hell is going on?”

I wish I could tell him that I have infuriated the

ancestors by showing anger towards them. I’m
an idiot, I shouldn’t have done that.
Ntaba is back with my face cloth, he shoves it in
my mouth with no gentleness.
“Why is he shaking so much?” Ntaba asks,
looking defeated.

“Sothole. Ntunjwa KaLanga. Mthiyane.

Ndwandwe. Zikode, Mabhuqa. Ngwane.
Yehlisani umoya bantu abadala. He’s just a
child, don’t punish him for the things he knows
nothing about.” (Please calm down.)

There’s passion in the way Vukuzakhe

communicates with the ancestors, like he’s
done it before. He’s pleading for me, for my life.
It takes a few seconds for my body to stop
shuddering. He doesn’t give me a minute to
breathe but pulls me into a hug.
“You’re okay now, Ngwane. I won’t let anything
happen to you.” His words are comforting.

“I knew it, they shouldn’t have named him

Mathonga. Now the underground gang thinks
my brother is an ancestor. Baba has to fix this
mess.” Ntaba seethes in anger.
MATHONGA
Fifteen

NALA-

Mam’Julia works for the department of Home

Affairs, she’s been appointed to work in
Mpumalanga for two months. Honestly, I wish
she didn’t have to go. Petros has gone beasty
on me.
He binds me on the bed, or a chair and does
whatever he wills with my body, sometimes
he’d go to work leaving me tied to the bed post,
naked and dirty.
When he comes back from work, he’d continue
violating my body, until I’m exhausted and
begging for death.
The boys are not around, he sent them away, he
won’t tell me where. He’ll kill them if I try
anything, that’s what he said. I can’t leave the
house, nor open for anyone. There was a man
here, looking for me… one of the Khanyile
brothers. Petros recognised him the second he
stood outside his premises.

He demanded to know why the chief’s eldest

son was asking the neighbours about me. He
said there was no way that man would be
looking for him, so it had to be me.
I had to defend myself and luckily the bastard
believed me.

It’s after 2am, Petros has been raping me since

10pm last night. He’d do it, fall asleep and wake
up minutes later to finish what he started.
He’s handcuffed my hands behind my back, put
a gag in my mouth. He said it’s so that I’m
unable to make a sound, it annoys him
sometimes.
He is straddling me, eyes on my naked body…
lusting after it, a slap on my thigh causes me to
muffle a scream.
He removes the gag, stands on the bed and
pushes his entire foot in my mouth.
“Suck it Nala, suck it the way you’d suck my
d!ck.”
Tears pool behind my eyes, they stream down
my face.
“You’re not listening to me, I said suck it.” He
snaps, shoving the foot deeper down my throat
my eyes begin to water. Bile rises, I push it back
down. Every mistake comes with a heavy
punishment.
My breath finds me the second he takes his
disgusting foot out of my mouth.

“Tears?” He says, looking down at me with a

sadistic stare. “Today I won’t let you be my little
masochist, I will let you cry. For some reason,
it’s turning me on and I like it when you arouse
me, my precious Nala.” I hate the way he says
my name, he’s taken that away from me as well.

The weight of his body presses me down, a

rush of cold seeps through me as he touches
my private parts. I want to scream when he
pushes himself inside of me, tearing me apart.
Tears take over instead, the bastard finds joy in
them. He’s smirking.
“That’s right, Nala. Cry for your master. I love to
see those tears.” His hand glides to my throat
caressing with a deadly gentle touch, before it
tightens its hold, murky shadows pounce before
my eyes. He’s depriving me of air, he did this a
few days ago. I lost consciousness and was out
for two days, when I woke up, he told me I
needed more practice.

I don’t want to see him, how he’s enjoying

raping me. To protect my brain and prevent it
from saving memories, I press my eyes shut.
He’s growling like an animal, ruthlessly
slamming into me. The hand around my throat
tightens with every sound he makes. I cry in
silence, cry out in pain.
“Look at me,” It’s a command. “Open your eyes,
come on.” Though I don’t want to, I have to.

“Beg for it nala, beg for me to fuck you.”

I can’t, I won’t. I want to beg for death, I want to

die. What I hate the most about this, is that I
can feel, I can feel myself orgasm. I don’t know
how he does it, although my body rejects him,
he makes sure I cum.
It feels like death to my soul, a betrayal to
myself, to God and my mother. I hate being a
woman, I hate that I’m so vulnerable and weak.
A painful gasp winds out of my aching throat as
he releases it, it hurts to breathe. I’m frozen as
he gets off the bed, his weight remains on me,
suffocating… like he never left.

He’s disgusted by me, there is no way to hide

my naked body from his wandering eyes.
“Look what you’ve done now, you’ve made a
mess Nala.” There is anger in his voice. “You
look so dirty, and you smell. Who gave you
permission to cum?”
“Kill me,” I scream out in agony and sorrow,
tears pooling from my eyes. “Please kill me.
Make it stop… I—I’m tired... please. Send me to
my mother, I don’t want this, please.”

“Oh relax, don’t be so dramatic. You’re a big girl,

there’s nothing you can’t handle.” He huffs.
“Your performance was terrible today, I am not
pleased. On a scale of 1 to 10, I give you 2. And
because of that, you are going to sleep in
shackles tonight.”
He undresses one of the pillows and puts the
case over my head, depriving my eyes of light
and sight.
“Stay there and think about what you’ve done, if
I hear a scream from you, I will shoot you in the
head.”
I know he’s serious, Petros never bluffs. My
sobs are loud though, pleading on my behalf, I
can’t stop them no matter how hard I try.
“Tomorrow is your first day at work, make me
proud. Sweet dreams sweetheart.”

The sound of his footsteps echo, I hear the door

open and shut. He’s gone, I can’t feel his heavy
presence anymore, but I know he’ll come back.
He always does.

VUKUZAKHE-

Night has turned to daybreak, hours have

passed but the longing in his heart still lingers.
It’s been a tough four weeks, finally he got a
break. The man he hired to investigate
Funokuhle has come back with news.
The boy is in Johannesburg, working at a gay
club. He didn’t say what he does there, however
Vukuzakhe is eager to find out.
There’s more information, the investigator
wanted to meet up, but Zakhe is keen to get his
minion back.

He’s in his rondavel, shoving a t-shirt, a pair of

jeans, two trunks, and two pairs of socks in a
duffel bag. He plans on buying a new
toothbrush at the nearest garage, the one he’s
been using has passed its 3-month period.

The door to the bathroom slides open, her scent

instantly fills the room. His eyes are disciplined,
fixated on the packing.
“Can we talk about the baby?” Desperation
complements her question, he hasn’t said
anything about the pregnancy. She wants to
know what his views are, if he’s as excited as
she is.
She’s getting closer, he tenses before she
touches him. When she wraps her arms around
him from the back his eyes opt for darkness.
“When I get back from eGoli.”
Yes, he told her about the trip. A business trip is
okay, arguing with that would be the same as
arguing with Vumile, and Bongiwe knows better
than to do that.

“Before you go,” her hands are very exploratory

this morning. “Make love to me, Ngwane. I miss
you.”
“I’m running late, Bongiwe.” He hasn’t moved,
nor twitched.
“Please Ngwane, I need my husband. I don’t
know how long you’ll be gone.”
Her hands are all over him, they find his lower
torso and slide down to his sack.
He gasps and closes his eyes again when she
grips him, she still affects him and he’s very
much aware that he’s attracted to her as a
woman, as the woman he’s married to.
“Bongiwe.” A strained voice commands, his
hand finds the strength to grab her curious
hands and pull them away from his sanctuary.
“What’s wrong?”
The confusion in her voice is not a lie, some
days he lets her touch him… some days he’s
cold. It’s annoying really, she’s getting fed up by
his little boy attitude.
“I’m running late, I told you.”
Rejecting her seems to be an appropriate thing
to do. Feeling browned off by the touches, he
shifts away from her.
His eyes almost drop out of their sockets when
they sweep across the piece of clothing on her
body. The respectable wife is wearing little to
nothing, her skin is all out for show. Her face
covered in heavy makeup, women think it looks
good with long fake lashes. Out here looking
like a peacock. His father will not like this, he’s
an Adventist.

He comforts himself by concluding that she’s

hiding the bruise his hand left on her cheek last
night
“What is wrong with you Ngwane, it’s not like
we’ll take the whole day.” She shouts.
But he’s not there, it’s the little number she’s
wearing. It’s too short, open at the back, and it
bothers him. Since when does she dress like
street trash?
“Go change Bongiwe, my parents cannot see
you in that.” He’d rather pluck their eyes out.
“Your parents have seen me in this, they never
said anything about it.”

That was before they got married, during their

dating days. It was New Year’s Eve, their
wedding was set to be in two months’ time and
well, Bongiwe wanted to savour her last days as
a free woman.

“In front of you they didn’t.”

Ouch! That hurts. Her gaze falls, she suddenly
feels dirty, but it mostly has everything to do
with the way he’s looking at her. The repulsion
in his eyes.
“When did you become a bastard, Ngwane?
You’re so inconsiderate of my feelings.”
He’s not about to entertain her tantrums, not
this morning. He’s got somewhere important to
be. Bongiwe’s eyes follow him when he grabs
his duffel bag and heads for the door.
“Change. My parents think I’m married to a
decent woman, not a prostitute.” He blurts out,
with a pinch of allegation.
He grabs the door handle, ready to leave, but
her next words stop him.
“What is that supposed to mean? What are you
saying to me, Ngwane?”
He turns, face cold and inexpressive. He moves
his eyes from her angry face to her belly then
back up again.
“Is it mine?” The confidence that comes with
that question throws her off guard. This is
surely something she did not expect.
“What?” Bongiwe chokes the word out, eyes
resembling saucers.
“How do I know it’s mine?”
“I’m your wife… we had sex.”
“That doesn’t answer my question Bongiwe.”
His feet move, unfaltering. This anger of his is
getting out of control, she knows because his
stuttering is getting out of control.

“How dare you, Vukuzakhe.”

It’s normal for her to give in to wrath. The man
just questioned her loyalty.

“What do you take me for? I am your wife, I will

never cheat on you.”

“Then, how are you pregnant? Just yesterday,

yesterday Bongiwe, you were telling me that we
should have kids and now you’re suddenly
pregnant?”
His statement throws her into a fit of wrathful
laughter, “Are you not a man, Ndwandwe? Don’t
you have sperms?”
She’s shouting as loud as she can, throwing her
hands up like she just don’t care. So what if
she’s a shouter? What of it? Who cares that
men are to be respected around here? This one
does not deserve her respect.
His face grows with anger, he steps closer, eyes
fiery. Bongiwe knows this look, she saw it last
night before his palm smashed against her
cheek.

“Are you going to hit me? Hit me then.” She’s

pushing him, and punching his chest. “Hit me,
Vukuzakhe, so I can show people the kind of
man I’m married to, a woman beater. This time
I’m not going to hide the bruise, I won’t cover it
with the expensive make up I buy with your
money. I will leave it open for the whole of
Izingolweni to see, for the whole world to see
that, the chief’s son is nothing but trash.”

“Don’t try my patience, Bongiwe.” He wants to

scream it out, however, for peace’s sake he has
to keep calm. “You’re not worth it.”
He pauses to make sure he has her attention,
and she’s looking into his eyes where the truth
lies. It hurts. His words seem to hurt lately.
“You are not worth it.” Zakhe repeats, it’s the
same as spitting in her face.
He’s walking away again, like he always does.
Duffel bag strapped on his shoulder.
“I’m not going anywhere Ngwane, do you hear
me? I will never give you a divorce.” The noise in
this place.

Condescension! He hears it in her voice and

when he turns his head to sneer at her, sees it
in her eyes.

“Will you keep your bloody voice down? What

the hell is wrong with you?”
“You are, you are what is wrong with me.” The
voice is not kept down, her finger moves back
and forth, pointing at him with gestures of
accusations. “I’m not an idiot Ngwane. I know
you’re going to Joburg to meet one of your
floozies.”

That’s what she thinks, the skimpy dress was

worn out of insecurity.

“I don’t want to hurt you Bongiwe, you’re

pushing me to do the worst.” Although his
words firmly stutter out of his mouth, they give
her the wrong kind of chills.
“I hate you.” A shrill scream resounds as she
plunges something into his shoulder, Zakhe
winces in pain, and pushes her away. She
stumbles back and it takes a second for him to
see the scissors in her hand, it’s covered in
blood—his blood.
“Bongiwe?” He’s pressing a hand on his
shoulder, face coated with shock.

In a whiff, the door flies open and in walks an

enquiring Ntaba. His eyes don’t deter from
probing. He frowns at his brother pressed
against the wall, what causes him stress is the
blood stains on his shoulder.
“What’s going on here?” Angry eyes move to a
shaken Bongiwe, her lower lip and blood
stained hands are trembling. The weapon falls
to the floor, she pulls her dress down to cover
her bare thighs.

“Bhuti?”

Ntaba won’t remove his gaze from Bongiwe,

she gulps when she notices him clenching his
jaw. Without another thought, Ntaba moves.
Eyes glaring and fists clenched into tight balls,
Bongiwe releases a second gulp, louder this
time. Her eyes are wide and glistening with
unshed tears, she moves them to her husband,
silently begging for help. He’s frowning, stern
gaze on Ntaba.

“Ntabezikude.” He calls, authoritatively.

Ntaba stops, “you’re bleeding.” He won’t take
his eyes off Bongiwe.
“I’m fine.” Vukuzakhe.
“What did she do to you?”
“You’re not supposed to be in here, this is my
bedroom.”

Shame hits Ntaba across the face, and he drops

his head a smidgeon as his brother reminds
him that he’s broken one of the rules. He
swivels to face Zakhe, shame loses to him as
he raises his eyes to look his brother in the eye.
“Tell this woman if she lays a hand on you again,
she will see the walls of Jericho coming down.”
There’s something dark in Ntaba’s tone that
makes Bongiwe shiver, a lone tear escapes her
eye. He’s glaring at Bongiwe again, his beady
eyes flash before a smile stretches his mouth.
It turns into a wide grin in a jiffy, it’s creepy and
borders on sadism.
“Excuse me, I have holes to dig. Six feet under I
believe.” Ntaba articulates, hinting on
something dark. No one argues with him when
he uses the edge of his golf shirt to pick the
scissors up. “I’ll keep this… as a souvenir.”
He walks out, leaving the door open.

Bongiwe does not breathe a word when her

husband grabs a jacket from the closet, and
dons it on his body, he flinches as he does so.
“Are you okay?” No answer. “Let me take care
of that wound, my husband.”
“I don’t want you anywhere near me, if you’re
worried about my father seeing the works of
your hands, relax.”
She has caused damage, perhaps she’s a sadist,
takes pleasure in seeing her husband in pain.
He denies her a glance or farewell when he
steps out of the rondavel.

Bongiwe won’t follow, she would if Ntaba was

not around. The man scares the shit out of her.

“Ndodana wait.”
What does this old man want now?
“Baba?”
“Uyaphi?” (Where ae you going?)
“Egoli.”
“Why?”
“I need to attend to something very important.”
“What about the company? You can’t just up
and leave, and your wife is pregnant. When will
you come back?”
Must everything be about Bongiwe? As a riled
sigh parades from his mouth, he backs up
against the white SUV, ignoring the throbbing
pain on his shoulder.
“I don’t know. Hlabela and Ndlela are here, they
will take care of the business while I’m away,
and Bongiwe is not alone, the house is full of
people, baba.”

He’s done with this conversation, he pushes off

the car to leave. Time is not on his side,
Johannesburg is not five minutes away, he still
has to locate the person when he gets there
and the plan is to find him today. He’s wasted
enough time already.

“Bongiwe is a good woman, have you seen how

she takes care of this family?” Vumile. Zakhe
doesn’t care really.
“Maybe you should shift your attention to your
last born, he’s going through a lot and needs his
father.”
“What’s wrong with Mathonga?” Vumile asks,
suddenly worried.
“Talk to him.”
Ah! This one is just like his father. Ordering
people around. Vumile’s face turns sour, there’s
a deep pungent eye contact between father and
son. The elder carries his hands on his back,
clears his raspy throat and nods.
“I want you at the breakfast table in five
minutes, your trip can wait.”
Five minutes is what he doesn’t have, he’ll die if
he waits one more second.
It’s too late to argue with Vumile, he’s headed
for the house. This is how it feels to be Vumile
Khanyile’s son, you become a puppet. Zakhe
throws his overnight bag in the backseat, bangs
the car door softly and tails his control freak of
a father.

------

Time is of the essence.

Why does Vumile have to be so strict? Now he’s

sitting at the breakfast table, next to the woman
he wants to escape at least for a week. Her
attire is a long dress and matching head wrap,
she looks like a wife. The one his parents
ordered.
Her presence suffocates him, he’s like a woman
on her periods, everything and everyone irks the
shit out of him today. Or it must be the wound
on his shoulder, he’s hiding it well with that
black jacket.
Johannesburg is waiting for him, Funo is
waiting for him.

As usual, mother hen is missing this morning.

It’s Mathonga’s presence that has her AWOL.

“Are we eating or not?” The loudness of his

voice transports the question to the kitchen, a
sound of a breaking dish answers back. It must
be Khethiwe, she’s always a trembling mess
when under pressure.
“You’re paying for that plate.” That’s his wife,
it’s said as a joke but no one laughs, but Ntaba.

“Omunye falls pregnant and becomes a

comedian.” Ntaba never misses a chance to
speak. He is slumped back on the chair, sitting
like a petulant teenage boy—mischievous eyes
stuck on his sister in-law. “The Khanyiles have a
dry sense of humour. Where does boy-boy get
his sense of humour from?”

“Wow, I didn’t know pregnancy does that to a

person.” Mathonga comments, he appears
shocked and wowed by Ntaba’s confident
declaration. “That’s amazing sis’ Bongi, the
baby must get it from your side of the family.
Sisazo hleka la ekhaya.”

Any reply she might be considering vanishes in

an instant. How do you answer fools? Hlabela is
laughing at them, Ndlela is sporting a serious
face and Vumile… well— he’s just here, enjoying
his sons’ presence.
“Aren’t you going to check what’s going on?”
Ndleleni queries, he’s talking to Bongiwe. His
question is ignored, it has everyone looking at
her with arched brows. It’s not like her to ignore
her brothers-in-law. They know she lives to
please them.
“Bongiwe!” Zakhe snaps, she’s not even here.
Her eyes and hands are on her belly, innocence
resides on her face.
“I read somewhere that pregnant women should
not do any hard labour. Especially during the
first trimester, it’s too risky.” That’s her answer.
“Hard labour? You’re only going to check on
breakfast.” Ndlela returns, grimacing at the
charge.
“I know a man that sells wheelbarrows, Hlabela
won’t mind pushing you around until you give
birth.” Of course, one person would say this.
Ntaba has no filter, they all know him.
“Grow up ndoda.” Hlabela returns.

“What?” Ntaba shrugs, darting an unbothered

look at Hlabela. “We should get her a
wheelbarrow, since walking is considered hard
labour.” Ntaba’s reply is taken seriously by the
pregnant woman, she’s close to tears.

“Are you saying I’m fat?” Wrong person to ask

this question, his answer might cause her to cry
the Nile River.

Khethiwe saves the day by walking in with

dishes of food, she meets Bongiwe’s glare with
fear in her eyes.
Thank the culinary gods, the food makes it to
the table. She freezes when she nears
Ntabezikude, his scent is too intoxicating for
her to handle. Everyone notices how she’s
shuddering next to a man who is not affected
by her presence.

“Khethiwe, are you okay?” Mathonga asks, he’s

always worried about her. Perhaps it’s the fact
that she’s within his age group and he’s known
her for so long.
“Ntokazi,” finally the pompous bastard notices
her. A smile plays on his face, a bad move really.
Khethiwe has become the Statue of Liberty.
How is she suddenly so affected by this
Khanyile fool?

“How is the Ntaba that lives in your head? I

hope you’re treating him well.” Hlabela gasps at
Ntaba’s question, there’s laughter belonging to
the last born. Zakhe and Ndlela won’t entertain
Ntaba’s egotism. Khethiwe tugs at the sides of
her lengthy apron, eyes on her feet, probably
counting her toes.

The unsolicited heavy attention is taken away

from her by a girl walking into the dining room.
Someone pushes their chair back and stands,
shock written in their eyes. It’s the baby of the
family, Mathonga. He seems to familiarise with
the skinny girl standing at the doorway with a
jug of orange juice in her hand.
“Nala?” Mathonga murmurs, guardedly. “What
are you doing here?”

Her reply is taken by Vukuzakhe, he’s on his feet

fixing his jacket. The tall man looks tense,
beads of sweat have pearled on his forehead.
“Madoda, take care of each other. I’m out of
here.” He announces, pats Mathonga on the
head, and one… two step… he’s out of the house.
His wife can’t call out to him, Ntaba is staring at
her with a blood curdling smirk on his face.
MATHONGA-
Sixteen

MATHONGA-

The day started like any other, it came draped

with a veil of regularity. Everything has changed
now, the girl I’ve been looking for is here, in my
father’s house.
Nala didn’t protest when I pulled her back to the
kitchen, away from everyone’s prying eyes. I
could feel their eyes burning every piece of me,
not once did I dare look back. My brothers can
be forward.
I’ve asked her a question, one she has failed to
answer.
What is she doing here?
Her eyes are flaccid, there are dark circles
around them. She appears to have lost more
weight. She shrugs and turns away from me. I
give her the space she’s silently asking for and
stand back, the kitchen island standing as a
wall between us.
“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?” I
query.
She’s resorted to washing the dishes, a way to
avoid me. I really don’t like this, I don’t want her
slaving in this house.
“Work, ndlunkulu hired me.” She replies, without
sparing me a glance.
That’s strange, Dalisile does not involve herself
with staff matters. She’s too full of herself.
“Why would she do that?” I move to stand next
to her, she tenses, pausing the work and turns
to face me. But keeps her eyes away from mine.
“You don’t want me working here?” She asks.
The strain in her voice enough to fuel my
uncertainties.
“No, that’s not what I meant.” It is, it is what I
meant. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking
all over for you.”

“I didn’t know, you were.” She says, keeping her

voice too soft. Her eyes have not looked at me
since we entered the kitchen. “Why were you
looking for me?”
She’s back to washing the dishes, I want her to
stop and give me all of her attention.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,
Nala.” I place my hand on her shoulder, she
panics, jolting away from my touch, heaving like
she just ran a marathon. “I’m sorry, I… I didn’t
mean to scare you.”

“Just... don’t… touch me.” She squeaks, almost

whispering the command out. The fear in her
eyes screams at me.
“I’m sorry, Nala.” It’s vital she knows how
apologetic I am. Now I know she’s terrified,
judging by the tremble of her hands.
“Are you okay?” I ask, when she clasp her hands
together.
“Look, I don’t want to lose my job. Ndlunkulu
will fire me if she finds you talking to me. I
thanked you for helping me at the police station.
If I had money, I would give you, but I’m broke.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“My body then? That’s what you men are good
at, you take and take and take.” She snaps,
reluctantly. Anger is painted in her voice.
Just these words reassure me that something
happened to her.
“Nala, what…” With this, my hand shifts to
cradle her cheek, she shrugs it away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Did someone hurt you, Nala?” I ask, I don’t
know why I persist in touching her, even after
she’s told me not me. There’s a force pushing
me to comfort her. Slowly, I take her trembling
hands. They are small in my hands, frail and
cold. Looking down at her, I wordlessly plead
with her to look me in the eye.

“Your hands are warm,” she speaks, her voice

trembling as she eventually looks up at me.
“They feel like my mother’s hands.”

Tears! I want to wipe them away and crib her in

my arms, but it will only scare her away. I can
hear how she draws in a deep breath, her tear-
filled eyes now closed.
My hand leaves hers, it’s out of my will when
one cups her cheek and the other weaves
through her hair.
Nothing is said between us, only a staring
contest takes place. My eyes are unblinking
while hers release a dam of tears.
“I want to help you.” I tell her, honestly.
My body doesn’t move when she shoves me
away, keeping to the promise I’m about to make,
my hands hold on tight.
“I won’t let you go, tell me what’s going on, so I
know how to help you.” I express, wincing
silently as I hear my voice tremble in fear… fear
of the unknown.
I know fear, I have known it since I was a child.
However, this is a different kind of fear, I can’t
put my finger on it. It is loud heartbeats,
confusion and more confusion.

A sad smile appears on her pale lips. “Don’t act

like you care about me, we’re strangers.”
She pulls her hands back and allows her
shoulders to fall. I see a high wall around her.
Breaking it won’t be easy.

“Did someone hurt you, Nala?” That’s what it

sounds like to me, the pain in her eyes is very
much visible. She’s trying hard to hide it, but I
see through her, her soul is on fire and she’s
begging for help. “What are those marks around
your neck?”

How did I not notice them from the first glance,

she’s not the lightest girl I’ve met, but anyone
can’t miss those fingerprints.

“Ngwane KaNgwadi.”

Soft hands yank away from mine, making way

for coldness. I crane my neck at the sound of
my father’s gentle voice, his presence makes an
imposing sight. He’s glaring at the innocent girl
beside me. “As’khulume.”

He leaves, without penetrating the threshold.

I’m not okay with the look he just gave Nala.
“Please stay here, don’t go anywhere. I’ll be
back.” I make sure to look into her eyes so she
sees I mean it. I don’t wait for a response but
follow the chief.

FUNOKUHLE-

Joburg feels like a foreign country with its

bright lights and loudness. I can never get used
to it, I miss home.
My father has no idea where I am, I can’t even
contact him. Pule took my phone.
I left KZN unwillingly, without my approval. The
day Pule dragged me out of the hospital, he
lectured me about my “whoring ways.”
Apparently he found out I spent the night at the
Khanyile homestead and his mind convinced
him that I slept with one of the brothers.
Vukuzakhe Khanyile.
Little does he know I have already given myself
to him. That moment we had, although
intoxicated, snatched a piece of my soul. It now
belongs to Vukuzakhe. It’s a piece that Pule will
never have.

For a moment, Pule convinced me that he was

taking me to a getaway in Durban to apologise
for beating me up.
I wasn’t on board with the idea, it was repulsive
and I wanted to discard it, thinking he’ll turn on
me when we get there. By the time I realised he
had some other plan up his sleeve, he was
already taking the route leading to
Johannesburg.
Here I am, weeks later, waiting tables at a gay
club while he stays at home and collects all the
money I make.
I don’t know what happened to his teaching job,
he hasn’t told me anything and when I ask why
we’re here, he’d lash out and start throwing
punches.

“After robot.”

I get a few looks from passengers. I thought it

was only done back home where people stare
at you for having the audacity to raise your
voice in a taxi.
Preserving an eye roll, I arch my back preparing
to jump off. The backseat is a curse, no one
wants to sit there, and the same people don’t
want to move when we have to exit the taxi.
All eyes are on me, I can’t stand the attention,
so this time I don’t hide my eye roll. What the
hell are they looking at, anyway?
“Yey, don’t bang my door.” The driver yells after
me. My brain is out of it, I hardly noticed I
banged the door.
“Ngiyaxolisa bhuti.” My Zulu is too deep for
these Joburgers, they must pick up I’m from the
village because one of them makes a nasty
comment about my rural upbringing.
“Open that door and close it again, properly.”
The driver shouts.

Haibo, wenja!

To avoid conflict, I do as told. Men are violent

animals, trust me, my life is surrounded by them.
This one looks like he carries a gun.
Standing on the side of the road, surrounded by
nightlights, I wait for the taxi to leave before
crossing the street.
I feel eyes on me the second I enter the bar,
maybe it’s that I’m known as introverted around
here. Four weeks in and I haven’t made a friend,
not that I care.
Friends are not something I fancy, besides that,
Pule forbids me from making any. He knows my
every move, he’s changing for the worst.
Throws fists around like Mike Tyson and the
man knows nothing about the word sorry.
I want to go home, I don’t want to be here with
him. There’s no escape for me.

“Hey kid.”

I was hoping to find the staff room empty, Dumi

is the worst possible man you can be left alone
with. He’s the manager.
I’m not comfortable with the way he looks at
me, the snide remarks he makes, thinking he’s
flirtatious.
“I’m not a kid.” I rejoinder, and regard him with a
roll of the eyes. He greets me with a wink when
I swoosh past him headed for my locker.
“Whatever you say, kid.”
Bloody fool.
Frankly, I’m not a kid. I’m officially twenty four. I
won’t even touch on how terrible my birthday
was.
I hear a slight chortle behind me, and a
temptation to turn around taps me on the
shoulder.
I won’t entertain Dumi, I need to change into
this tedious uniform, do my job and go back to
that small flat in Hillbrow. Pule calls it home, I
call it a dungeon.
We have a small toilet, in here. It has a single
basin where most stuff members wash their
bodies after hours. Usually it smells of urine,
sometimes you catch a deep smell of sex.

“Want me to join you in there doll face?” The

mockery in his tone is what puts me off. “I
promise I won’t bite.”

I turn to face Dumi, a small quirk of his lips tells

me what’s on his mind. He’s a very graphic
person and has never hidden the fact that he
wants me. I’m not interested, I will never be
interested in him. He looks like the type that
would fuck anything that makes him ejaculate.

There’s no mirror in this bathroom, however I

know I look like a prostitute in these boy shorts.
They are paired with black cross belts and a
bow tie. No shirt or anything to cover our upper
bodies. It’s humiliating and I have no choice but
to brace it, Pule forces me to brace it.
This is the only place where I can make us
enough to pay for rent and buy groceries… he
said.

Dumi is still here when I come out of the

bathroom, talking to a colleague. A boy who
could be in his teens, I’ve never struck a
conversation with him, but I’ve wondered what
he’s doing in a place like this.

“Nice ass, doll face.” Dumi critics upon my

departure, he is a proud pervert. I choose to
ignore him and head on to the club. It’s after
7pm, work starts at 7:15pm. I’m on time.
The volume cranks up with each forward step I
take, the bass vibrates in my chest as I enter a
packed club. From teenagers to old folks who
refuse to embrace their age.

Dumi was being an ass that I forgot to ask him

what my duty is today. Sometimes we wait
tables, sometimes we entertain rich men who
are wealthy enough to buy this whole place.
Straight married men who come here for a
quick fuck. It is fortunate I haven’t fallen victim
to any of them… yet.
Someone grips my hand and tugs me through
the multitude of people, to the dance floor. It’s
an old white man. With all these spiralling disco
lights, I’m able to spot that he’s one of those
rich bastards looking for something to poke
their d!ck in.
“You’ll call me, sir Ethan tonight.” He orders,
piercing me with an intense gaze.
A cold shiver harasses me, nerves and worry
kick in. I’ve been lucky so far, what went wrong
today? “Yes, sir Ethan.”
An uncanny smile lengthens his thin pink lips, I
fail to return it, gulping down the fear clawing at
me.
Lord don’t let it be me tonight, I don’t want to
find myself blowing some old, wrinkly c$ck.
“Good. You look fresh, boy. I can’t wait to have a
taste of you.” His eyes are lustful, a cringing
sight.
“Did you hear me, boy?”
If he calls me boy one more time… dammit!
What will I do? I am powerless in this place, in
this city.
“Yes, sir Ethan.”

He snorts a laugh, it must be the way I

pronounced his name. My English is not that
good, however I can make out a couple of
words.
He leans in to kiss me, roughly until a faded
metallic taste soaks my tongue. My lips are
bleeding.
How will I explain a bruised lip to Pule? He said
to make sure these men don’t touch me, he’s an
idiot. He got me this job knowing what goes on
in this place.

Sir Ethan’s eyes darken, sweeping through my

bare skin. He reaches into the pocket of his
khakis and mines a reedy leather collar.
“You won’t need that necktie.” His nicotine
breath fans my face as he touches me without
permission, he lets the tie fall to the floor and
replaces it with the leather collar.

“Ahh!” He nods, clearly not noticing how

disgusted I am by this whole thing. “You look
like a goddess, beautiful. I love your melanin, I
hope you taste like chocolate.”

He’s losing me with his fancy words, so I don’t

answer, instead, I school my expression. I am
repulsed. He kisses me again, bruising my lip
again.
“Now dance for me,” he commands.
I can’t even dance to save my life, but not
wanting to lose this job because Pule will kill
me if I do, I entertain him.
A smile finds his face when I start to move my
hips, searching for a rhythm. His arm tightens
around me, pulling me closer to him. Hungry
eyes are staring at me, very suggestive.
“Don’t stop.” He beckons, I didn’t realise I had
stopped.
It’s the way he’s touching me that makes me
want to pull back, keep a distance between us.
His face is on my neck, tongue licking my
sensitive skin. This dance or whatever it is we're
doing feels too erotic for public display. I can
feel eyes on me, judging me.

“Funokuhle!”

I recognise that shrill voice. My heart stops and

races, my vision turns into a black hole. I’m
afraid to turn and find that he’s really here.
“Funokuhle.” The only man I gave permission to
call me that, repeats.

There’s a peculiar stirring in my belly that forces

goosebumps on my skin, harassing the melanin
on my casing. Heart doing a funny dance, I jerk
away from the oldie, and gradually spin on my
heel.

There he is, in all his rugged mannishness,

unkempt yet elegant. Vukuzakhe Khanyile is
here.
How can I forget the undeniable murky
characteristic? A demon with little to zilch
traces of an angel, in my eyes, from what I have
perceived and picked on in the time spent with
him.

“You… you came?” I murmur, fleeting words

that instantly get lost in the wind. He’s angry.
“Who are you?” Sir Ethan asks, almost sounding
territorial. He has no clue that the man in front
of me has every right to claim me as his own.
“Funokuhle.” Vukuzakhe echoes, anger latched
in his voice. I shift my gaze from him to Sir
Ethan then him again. How do I get myself out
of this disaster?
“The boy is with me.” Sir Ethan says, gripping a
hand around my arm. Vukuzakhe frowns,
looking at the white man’s hand. In a slow
manner, he raises his eyes, glaring.

“I don’t know who you are, but you’re mistaken.

Funokuhle is with me, you’re stepping on my
grounds.”
The way Vukuzakhe says this is spine chilling,
plus he speaks English as he should. I’m not
surprised, his father had enough money to send
him to the best schools.
Sir Ethan looks at me, eyes narrowed in
annoyance.
“You should’ve told me.” He says, and walks
away an unhappy man.

Vukuzakhe played the name card, that’s how he

won, while Sir Ethan called me boy. Or it must
be his understated Thenos mannerism.
He’s looking at me like I matter, like I’m
somebody in this lousy world. He’s standing too
close, closer than Pule would agree, not as
close as Sir Ethan was.
“Funokuhle, what is this? Why are you in a place
like this?” He asks, his voice hard and snappish.
My wish to fade into oblivion is grunted when
his smoky eyes capture mine in an enticing
trance, only I fade into him and the warmth he
carries whenever our paths meet.
“I didn’t think… you would come.” I wanted him
to come, I hoped he’d come for me.

“You’ve been expecting me.” His statement

poses as a question, I shouldn’t have said that.
Uttering the truth is a toxic trait I rather detest.
“I had to come. Where have you been? Why did
you leave?”

He continues when nothing leaves my mouth.

There’s something about the way he’s looking

at me. Something that makes me want to break
down and hope he catches me.
But that’s not me, it can never be me. I don’t
break down, I’ve been through the worst and I’m
still standing.
“What’s going on Funokuhle?” It’s something
about the way he says my name that makes me
fix my gaze on him. His voice is warm and
comforting. “Why are you in a place like this?”

“Is it not obvious? I’m working.” I snap,

respectfully.
Darkness clouds his eyes, they crescent and not
into a smile. The clenching jaw tells me he’s not
pleased.
“As what?” Is snapped, that I flinch at how
aggressive he’s suddenly become.
Shadowy eyes judging the gear on my body, I
know I look like a prostitute.
I’ve been looking like a prostitute since the day I
accepted this job, it’s the club’s couture.
“Tell me.” He says softly, making me think he’s
not really expecting a direct reply.
I could tell him that he just saved me, that had it
not been for him, I would have had sex with a
disgusting old white man. I could wrap my arms
around him and thank him for coming right on
time and ask him to take me away from this
place. Away from Pule.
Not knowing where to keep all my pent up
emotions, I swallow them down, and hide my
disgraceful gaze from him.

Tears fall down from my eyes wetting my

cheeks on their way to the ground, I did not
intend for it to happen. I feel his hand on my
shoulder, soft. Our chests align as he pulls me
into his arms.

“Come with me.” He says. “I will take care of

you.”
I consider his words for a moment, desperate to
be taken care of for once. My legs are shaky,
stubborn and frozen on the ground. Maybe my
head is scattered, I don’t know if he will take
care of me like he says he will.

My father failed to keep his promise, my

brothers followed in his footsteps and Pule… he
also broke his promise to take care of me. Am I
that weak that I need taking care of?
Vukuzakhe makes a decision for me, circling his
arm around my back to lead me away from the
swarm of people, swaying like trees in the wind.

"You're not leaving my side this time," He says

as we walk out of the club. I never want to
come back here.
MATHONGA-
Seventeen

VUKUZAKHE-

It’s been fourteen kilometres of dreaded

driving… from Sandton to Northcliff. For a while,
he thought he’d collapse before they get to their
destination.
He’s driving with one hand, the other is pressed
on his lap. It feels numb, moving it would
worsen the pain, the wound on his shoulder,
hidden behind a black pullover.
A sickeningly metallic scent disturbs his nose,
it’s a vile pungent scent that stifles his senses
and suffocates his breath. It’s been there for a
while. The car stops at a red light, he takes this
opportunity to inspect the wound. Hissing in
pain, his fingers clasp the ripped flesh to check
the damage.
They come back thick coated with blood that
has spread into his shirt, the bright red has
darkened, taking on a brownish hue. He can’t
have Funo worry about him, this is why he
hasn’t taken the jersey off.

He’s ignored it for far too long. If he continues

like this, he’ll end up with an infection, if not at
the hospital. There are wet wipes in the glove
compartment, he uses them to clean his hands
and continues to drive as if he’s a healthy man.

On his way to Johannesburg from KZN, when

driving became a hard task, he had to stop and
nurse the wound. There was no time to find a
clinic or a pharmacy.
Multiple calls from Bongiwe clawed at him,
although ignored, she wouldn’t stop blowing up
his phone. He hasn’t bothered to open the
missed calls and messages from her, like he’d
told his father, Bongiwe is surrounded by people.

Funokuhle is his worry, he’s finally with him. He

can relax now and perhaps take care of himself
for once.
There’s a pharmacy in Mountain View Centre,
Northcliff, minutes away.

His car stops at a red traffic light, third one on

the row. A soft moan grips his attention,
reminding him he’s not alone. His eyes abandon
the road, as he turns to look at the young man
peacefully sleeping on the passenger seat of
the black Hammer. His thin body now covered
with Zakhe’s coat.
For a second, he thinks he’s losing his mind.
Chasing a man all the way to Johannesburg,
its’s crazy how a heart can control a person.
It didn’t take long for Funokuhle to surrender to
a deep slumber after they got into the car. Poor
thing must be tired, Zakhe thinks.

The pharmacy is still open, he parks the car and

makes sure not to make any sounds dashing
out of the car. He has to hurry back, Funokuhle
might panic when he wakes up and finds him
gone.
8pm is approaching, the roads are bustling and
overfilled with cars, rushing to different
destinations.
The pharmacy is not packed, minutes later, he
walks out with a bandage, a bottle of Dettol and
some painkillers. He can see Funo from the exit,
he’s awake and looking like a lost puppy.
Zakhe picks up his pace, but a hand on his
shoulder stops him. Protective instincts kick in,
he’s quick to turn around, furrowed brows at
play.
The frown deepens at the sight of the
machinelike, dark-skinned man in front of him.
He’s wearing a black, short-sleeved golf shirt,
the chinos are the same colour as the shirt.
His broad shoulders are a table to thick-rich,
and black dreads hanging on the sides of his
chiselled face. His rich and dominant
demeanour making him appear dangerous.
First impressions give off an arrogant bastard,
when he’s nothing of the sort. Zakhe sneers at
how the man raises his brows at him, as if he
were one of his employees, eyes dark and
lifeless.

“Kenneth! Do you make creeping up on people a

habit?” Zakhe asks, the man did scare him a
little there. But he won’t admit it.
“You look like you’re about to have a heart
attack.” Kenneth’s deliverance is slow, voice
deep and syllables carefully conveyed. Hands
now hidden in his pockets.

Zakhe tips his head a little, “You’re a bastard.” Is

said in a more amused tone.
“That’s a compliment coming from you, Zakhe.”
Kenneth’s retort is followed by light friendly
chuckles.
“Kenneth Mkhize, you old fool.” Zakhe sings
amusedly, it’s his turn to place a hand on
Kenneth’s shoulder, it’s brief.
“Vukuzakhe Khanyile, long time. What are you
doing in Johannesburg?”
Zakhe can’t tell him, it’s too personal. They
know each other through business, have
become acquaintances… it’s not a ride or die
type of relationship. The dark man’s eyes shift
past Zakhe’s tall build, to find a curious young
man inside a black Hammer staring back.
“Mathonga has lost weight, is he sick?” Kenneth.
Zakhe frowns, falling into a tiny confusion.
“That’s not him, the boy in the car is a friend.”
Zakhe explains, although he doesn’t owe him
one. “On that note, I can’t stay and chat. I have
something important to do.”

“You’re sweating.” Kenneth is surprisingly

observing too much, and his attentiveness has
Zakhe furrowing his brows. He clears his throat.

“I’m fine,” no he’s not. He’s in pain.

Kenneth shrugs.

“Can we meet, say Thursday? I’m going back to

Izingolweni this weekend.” Zakhe, he’s been
wanting that meeting with Kenneth for a while
now.
“Is this about the cancelled meeting?” Of course
it is, Zakhe doesn’t have to answer that. “I’m a
busy man, Zakhe.”
“We all have families to take care of, Kenneth.
That does not mean business has to stop.”
He gets another shrug from Kenneth, “Sure.”
That’s the dark skinned man’s answer.
“Greet Zithobile and Dlozi for me.” Zakhe sends
his salutation. A nod is Kenneth’s response, he
turns to the opposite direction, and ambles
away. Zakhe is the least bothered, knowing
Kenneth is a man of a few words.
Big hazel eyes meet his when he jumps into the
car, the door shutting lightly behind him. There’s
a staring contest, no one is bashful enough to
look away.
“Pule brought me here… to Joburg.” An
unexpected confession. Funo’s eyes dart away,
as if shame has reproached him.
“Hey look at me.” Zakhe mumbles, one of his
fingers lifts Funo’s chin so he’s looking at him.
The latter’s intent stare is too deep, as if he’s
looking into Funo’s soul. “Who is Pule to you?”

His eyes are expectant, and Funo… well he

wants to give him what he’s asking for. Darn the
world if he could, his world.
“He’s my boyfriend.” Hesitantly, he gives in.
His confession pricks at Zakhe’s heart, he’s not
okay with this but he doesn’t show it.
“I see,” comes a tense tone. “Do you love him?”
Sure Zakhe has to ask, he’d take Funo away if
he could, claim him as his own.
“I do, I think I do.” Their eyes are still locked, and
Zakhe is not sure what he’s looking at. If he
sees the truth in Funo’s eyes. It hurts to hear
him say he loves Pule, when what he wants is
for Funo to love him and him alone.
“What if I say I want you to love me? What if I
say I want to love you? Will you let me?” Stupid
questions, but his heart is in control right now.
Funo blinks, he scoots away from Zakhe with a
clearing of the throat.
“You’re married.” Yes, Funo knows. The
wedding band is evidence.
“I know.” It’s a truth Zakhe wakes up to
everyday, a truth he can’t escape. What he plans
to do with his wife, he’s not sure. What he
knows is that he deeply likes this man, more
than anything and he wants him around for a
very long time.

“What do you want from me?” Funo asks,

confidently ogling at him.
“Your heart.” Zakhe’s answer is certain, he’s a
man who knows what he wants.
“What about your heart? It already belongs to
your wife. How will you give something that is
not yours to give? What will your family say? Do
they know you’re attracted to men?” Funo asks.

Large hands frame his face, “Hey, calm down.

Tell me what you want, and I will give it to you.”
The comment is halfway between a question
and a command, somehow, Zakhe sees the
answer in Funo’s eyes.
“Safety.” Funo says.
That’s the first thing on his list, he’s never
wanted anything so bad than to feel safe.
“Come here.” He is caught in Zakhe’s arms. “I
will protect you from him, from anyone.” It’s a
promise. His hands drift across Funo’s back in
a soothing pattern.
“He’s going to come for me… Pule... he won’t
give up.” The young man stammers the words
out.
“Then I’ll kill him if he does.”
Funo stiffens in his arms. What does Zakhe
mean he’ll kill him? Does he mean literally? The
hug breaks, two men glance at each other.
Zakhe’s hands become active, gliding up Funo’s
neck. He clips open the necktie, and tosses it
out the window.
“You don’t have to be afraid of anything, stop
thinking too much. Don’t be so hard on yourself
and don’t second guess yourself. You are worth
it Funokuhle. You don’t have to do anything you
don’t want, you don’t have to live your life in
fear.” Sincerity radiates in his eyes, again, Funo
finds himself locked in his gaze.

“He beats you up, doesn’t he?” Zakhe adds.

Funo allows his eyes to fall, he finds it
bewildering that this man can read him, yet it’s
so soothing. He nods, bashfully. He misses the
anger on Zakhe’s face as his eyes are trained
downward.
“I have a house around here,” Zakhe changes
the topic, and starts the car. “We’re going to
stay there for a couple of days.”

MATHONGA-
“What’s going on with you?”
“Baba?”
“Vukuzakhe told me you’re going through
something.”
This is what he called me for? It’s hours later,
he dragged me with him the entire day showing
me his land and livestock. I’m not sure this
father understands how boring old people are,
I’d rather be talking with Nala, thank you. We’re
standing outside the Kraal, looking over at the
cows grazing about.
“I’m not sure you’re going to approve baba.” I
know he won’t. Look at him frowning at me like
I’m speaking Pedi.
“Approve what?” He asks.
Three goes nothing.
“I think I have a calling, the ancestors come to
me in dreams.”
His frown deepens. What will I do with this old
man of mine.
“Mathonga…”
“I know we’re church goers now, but that’s no
excuse to turn our backs on them. They exist
baba, I just think it’s time we acknowledge
them.” Should I tell him what the old woman
said? Maybe, it will shake that old Shembe hair
of his, it’s suffocating his brain that he can’t
even think straight.

“I had a dream, there was an old woman. She

said you’re standing in their way and if you
continue to do so, they will remove you.”
The look on his face tells me he knows what I’m
talking about.
“It was just a dream, Ngwane.”
“No it wasn’t,” I will argue with him until all that
hair shades off. No way am I going to lose my
life over this. “Why are you running from them
baba? What are you hiding?”
The way his eyes widen, I’d laugh had this not
been a serious matter. He’s definitely afraid of
something.
“I have a meeting to get to, go back inside.” He
dismisses and turns to walk away. That’s it… I
wonder if Khethiwe knows a good hairdresser
around here, course hair is not good for old
people.

My day has been wasted away… for what? A

stubborn old man who won’t listen to me.
Nala is still around I believe, I told her I was
coming back. But baba kept me away the entire
day, giving me no chance for an escape, it was
on purpose I know it.
Throughout the day, I’ve been stealing glimpses
of her, working tirelessly alongside Khethiwe.
It’s late now. I plan on driving her home, we’ll
get to talk and hopefully she will open up.

My brothers are nowhere to be seen, Dalisile

has been gone the entire day. I wouldn’t be
surprised if she has a second family
somewhere in this country. I wouldn’t put it past
her.
The kitchen is noisy, that Nala and Khethiwe
don’t hear my footsteps when I walk in. I’m
standing in the corner of the kitchen, silently
watching them at work. Watching Nala rather.

“You’re giving off serial killer vibes, stop

staring.”
Exactly, what does Ntaba plan to do with his life?
“I wasn’t.” I lie, blinking away from Nala’s figure
situated by the kitchen sink. She’s wiping
dishes washed by Khethiwe, the two ladies
seem to be getting along pretty well. I like what
I see.
My brother does not get that I’m busy here, he
joins me just to disturb my peace.

“It was at this moment the family realised that

the last born was not normal. He had a demon
of some sort, some would call it, but some said
he was just a loner. The third born guessed it
right, his little brother was a serial killer in the
making. He’d find him standing in kitchen
corners, glaring at young women, planning the
perfect murder.”

I’m flabbergasted by Ntaba’s narration, he

watches too much serial killer documentaries.
“Shut up, I’m not one of those freaks you’re
always watching.” I chide him, but my dear
brother seems to find me funny. He’s laughing
like a little kid. Head thrown back and eyes
watery. I can’t deal with his childish nature.
The sound of a breaking plate forces us to turn
toward the sink, Khethiwe has broken another
plate. She’s trembling, eyes wide and fixated on
Ntaba. Nala drowns in confusion, her gaze
moving from Khethiwe, to us and the broken
pieces on the floor.
“What’s wrong with Khethiwe? Did you sleep
with her?” I whisper to my brother who laughs in
response. This one needs to go back to crèche.
He doesn’t answer my question, but rushes to
help pick the pieces up. My gaze finds Nala,
she’s looking back at me. She looks more at
peace than she did earlier.
Okay... she’s coming over, leaving the lovebirds
alone. I move to meet her, so she doesn’t think
I’m unwelcoming.
“Hi.” Her salutation.
“Hi.”
“Khethiwe says all servants live here, is it okay if
I get a room as well? I wasn’t appointed one
and…”

“No, it’s okay. It’s perfect…” Her brows twitch at

my abrupt reply. I sound too excited, don’t I? “I
mean, there’s a vacant room. I’ll ask Khethiwe
to clean it up for you.” I compose myself,
hoping I don’t look like an idiot.

“Thank you, I don’t mind cleaning up myself.”

There’s a small smile on her face, it disappears
briskly only to be replaced by disgust. “I need a
favour, my… uhh. My father won’t believe me
when I tell him that servants are expected to
live here…”

“Please stop referring to yourself as a servant.”

I tell her, I hate that word.
“He’s very strict. Is it okay if your father tells
him for me?”
“I’ll do it, give me his number.” I say, extending
my hand out for her phone.
“No.” She snaps, too quickly. “It has to be the
chief, he won’t believe it if it’s one of the sons.”
Something is going on with her father, the fear
emanating in her eyes is too loud. The disgust
on her face when she mentioned him…
“Okay, I’ll speak to ubaba.”
“Thank you,” and… she smiles. It’s beautiful.
“Do you want to take a walk? I’ll show you
around, Nkandla.” I ask.
She laughs, lightly. I figure she remembers
referring to this place as Nkandla.
“Maybe another time, I’m tired, I want to sleep.”
Nala declines, politely so.
“Sure, you can retire for the night.” I sound like a
petulant child, but I don’t care. I summon a
shaky Khethiwe, and ask her to accompany
Nala to her room. She’s too fidgety, it’s
suspicious.
My eyes are undisciplined, watching Nala walk
out of the kitchen with Khethiwe.

My senses are hit by the smell of sorghum,

banana with a mixture of chocolate. It’s Ntaba,
his face too close to mine, observing, digging,
prying. A box of banana flavoured Mageu in his
hand, on the other is a packet of chocolate
flavoured Toppers. This combination is a call
for sickness, how does he even stomach that?
“You’re too close, your breath stinks.” My
complaint proves useless when he laughs in my
face, it’s not annoying but childish.
“You seem to forget I used to lick off yoghurt
from your mouth when you were a baby and you
loved it, you love the smell of my breath.”
He says this unbothered. Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard
the story. Awkwardly, I rub the back of my neck.
He has a way of making me feel shy.
“Did you sleep with Khethiwe?” This is a great
escape for me, besides, I don’t want him asking
me about Nala yet.
He doesn’t laugh this time, rather moves to
settle down on one of the bar stools. I join him,
waiting for an answer. He’s not going to give
me a verbal response, I guess the head shake
was enough.
I’m offered Mageu and biscuits, kindly, I decline.
I don’t eat poison.
“Don’t you like Khethiwe?” Yes I’m still stuck
there, I want to know the reason behind her
sudden behaviours.
“Is there a reason not to like her?” He says and
he’s so chilled about it.
“Then date the poor girl, let her live her fantasy.”
I’m serious. Ntaba chucks four biscuits into his
mouth, and downs the entire box of Mageu. My
head shakes at how he looks like a monkey with
that full mouth.

“Have you seen me, and have you seen her? An

ant and an elephant would never share a bed,
the elephant would surely squash the ant.”
Ntaba.
“You’re insane.”
“I’d split her in two.” He finishes, funny how he’s
not arrogant about it. I think he’s genuine.
“Please tell me, you’re not talking about sex,
hulk Hogan.”
“That’s what relationships are about, sex and
more sex. God said be fruitful and multiply,
what he meant to say was… have sex, people.
Lots of it, and enjoy it.”
God forgive my brother, he has a brain of a child.
“So you are having sex, but with someone else?
Khethiwe will die if she hears this.” I tell him,
only to get an ignorant shrug from him. He
really does not see Khethiwe that way.
“What about love?”
This I must hear.
“I wasn’t created to love, what is love anyway?
And what about you?” He turns the tables.
When did it become about me? I’m trying to be
Khethiwe’s wingman, here. Come on.
“What about me?” I ask.
“Are you going to marry two women? I’ve
always known you aspire to be Vumile, one
woman is never enough.” He knows about
baba’s girlfriend?
“You know about Mashamase?”
Ndlela must have told him, he wasn’t here the
day we found her cooking.
“She is a woman who’s looking for love, it is
unfortunate she found it with Vumile. I wish her
all the best though, Dalisile will not let that man
go.” Ntaba.
“Sometimes I think you know too much for
someone who lives in his own world.” My
statement is laughed at.
“I also know he has a daughter.” Ntaba breaks
the news.
“What?”
“Would you like to meet her?”
He’s serious…
“Ntaba, I don’t understand. We have a sister?
How old is she?”
“You stopped being the last born seventeen
years ago.” Oh my God. And why is he so chilled
about this? “You can meet her, if you like.”
“You’ve met her?”
“I meet her every day.” He replies, finishing the
last bite of the biscuits.
“How do you know all of this? How did you find
her?” I have to ask, sometimes he knows too
much it creeps me out. Ntaba stands, my gaze
follows him to the fridge. He’s going for round
two of Mageu, wow…
“Your father thinks he’s James Bond, even God
fears Vumile Khanyile, honestly hats off.” He
says.
“This is shocking bhuti.” How did he manage to
hide a whole human from us? He chuckles,
turning his back to me. I think he's leaving.
“Ngafa, ngafel’ubala.”
Really? He’s singing to ‘Ngafa’ Shwi
Nomtekhala’s classic, as he walks out of the
kitchen. Everything about Ntaba does not make
sense. How is he so random?
MATHONGA-
Eighteen

FUNOKUHLE-

The drive to his home consisted of nothing but

the radio presenter’s updates on music and the
news. I preferred that over a conversation with
him. I have revealed too much and I fear he will
want to find Pule. That man is dangerous, he’s
never going to leave me in peace. He’ll want to
hurt Vukuzakhe and I can’t have that.

“This is your home.” Vukuzakhe voices when we

enter the house, making me feel somewhat
strange.
We’ve just arrived at his house, it’s beautiful. I
expected a mansion, but it’s simple, cosy and
does not make me feel out of place. It’s a
moderate size, a single-story. The interior goes
well with the house, earthy colours but very
sophisticated.
“You’re so sappy.” I tell him, because well, this
is something you’d hear out of a telemundo. I’m
hearing him laugh for the first time, it’s
breathtakingly beautiful.
“Let me show you around.”
This I did not expect, there really is no reason
for him to show me around.
He takes me on a small tour, showing me the
rooms. Four rooms later, we find ourselves in a
stylish bedroom. The mustard colours give an
impression of a woman’s touch. Must be his
wife.

“You can sleep in here, the bathroom is that

side. There’s a small cabinet in there, you’ll find
a pair of sleepwear.” Points to a door opposite
the queen-sized bed. “Don’t worry, they will fit.
I’ll order us something to eat while you take a
shower.”
I want to ask if he’s okay, he’s sweating. Must
be the jersey he’s wearing. He turns and leaves
before I get a chance.

A quick bath later, feeeling refreshed and clean,

I step out of the room. The house is so small
that it’s easier to find my way around.
A smell of KFC draws me toward the kitchen,
and there he is… dishing up pieces of chicken,
rolls and gravy on the side. He’s changed his
clothes as well, a dark shirt with matching
pants. Pyjamas, I think. Unless he’s the type
that wears a two piece.

“Hi.” I greet, I’m an idiot. He whips his head and

a smile crosses his face. It almost knocks me
off my feet, I have to practise my breathing so I
don’t fall.
“Hey, I hope you like KFC. I didn’t know what to
get and this was the first thing that popped up
on the app.” Typical.
“I don’t mind.” I join him, only to find that he’s
dished up one plate.
“Aren’t you eating?” It will be weird for me to
dine alone, while he’s watching.
“I am.” He points at a bowl not far from the
boxes of KFC. I don’t know what I’m looking at,
it does not look edible.
“It’s Amasi and bread. Fried chicken gives me
heartburn.” He explains.
Someone call 10111, this is an insult to the
Amasi company. There are four stools in this
kitchen, yet he sits next to me. Lord he smells
so good, fresh actually. I think he took a shower
too. My heart is acting like a whore. Twerking to
the scent.

“So, you’ve been searching for me?” I start a

conversation, I think I’m chewing to loud. Better
we talk than listen to the sound of food going
down my throat.
“Yes, I hired someone to look for you.” Quite
blunt I see.
“And you found me.” I’m glad he found me.
Why am I not freaked by his little obsession?
“I found you,” he says, eating like the food
tastes so heavenly. It’s quiet again, sounds of
spoons and bowls and me chewing take the
centre stage.
“The sweater... uhh... he burnt it.” Here I am
being casual again. I must be confessing like
someone under oath, he will start thinking I’m
weird. His brows raise in confusion, tongue
flicking from side to side over his teeth. Clearly
sweeping away access food.
“What?” He asks.
“The day I left with Pule at the hospital, I was
wearing your sweater. He burnt it, he said it
smelled like you.” A laugh escapes my mouth, I
sound like a jealous lover. “Funny because he
thinks he knows what you smell like.”
Stop it Funo…
There’s a smile on his face, in his eyes too. Me
and my big mouth.
“So, do you like my scent?” He asks.
Great, just great. I’m not going to answer him.
“That’s fine, my Minnie minion.” Vukuzakhe
says, a stern expression on his face.
I clear my throat, an unexpected timidity coming
forth. No one has ever claimed me as their own,
not my father, and not Pule either. All this talk
makes me soft and needy, I want to hide in him,
under him, beneath his skin and possibly in this
heart he’s offering.
The stern face opens up in a timid smile once I
meet his eyes. “Whatever.” My reply is said to
hide the heat burning my cheeks, if I were a few
shades lighter, I’d be caught red handed. To
stop myself from uttering nonsense, I take
bigger chunks of the greasy chicken.
Vukuzakhe’s plate is empty, he stands to drop it
in the sink. Oh! He’s washing it. Clean freak I
see.

“I want to go to bed, I’m tired.” I tell him when

he turns to face me. It is the honest truth. I
haven’t had proper sleep in weeks.
“Okay, let’s go.”
Huh! What?
“Are we sleeping in the same bed?” I ask, shock
embracing me.
“I’m not leaving you alone, Funo,” and that’s non
-negotiable. “You may go into the room, I just
have to turn off the lights. Don't worry about
this mess, I'll clean it up." Again, the man is off
before I can say anything. I lick my fingers clean
and wipe the rest of the dirt on my shirt, terrible
habit.

The guest bedroom is not far from the kitchen, I

won’t go into his bedroom, it will be too
awkward if I do that. The bed is neatly made, I
remove the cushions and slide in, snuggling into
the fluffy pillows. I have become too
comfortable actually, it could be that I have
shared something deep with him. My soul.
There’s a slight knock at the door, he does not
wait for an answer but let’s himself in.
“Are you sleeping?” He can’t see because I’m
facing the wall.
“I’m not.” I reply, my heart is acting funny. How
do I stop it? I feel like a virgin bride getting
ready for her deflowering. The other side of the
bed is empty, I think he will get in there, but no.
The man lies down behind me, pulling my back
against his chest as if it’s the most natural thing
in this messed up country. Our bodies fit
perfectly into each other.
“Relax.” He says.
It’s not a command, I hear it in his tone. His
presence is comforting, wrapping me up from
the inside out and for the first time in a long
time, I feel safe.

BONGIWE-

He’s not answering his phone, she’s left

multiple messages, cursing him. This can’t be
her life, it just can’t. Her man is slipping from
her hands and no matter what she does, she
can’t seem to get him to look her way.
Vukuzakhe is her life, she’s not about to lose
him, not to anyone.
She’s standing by the window of her bedroom,
eyes flitting back and forth. Her mind is not with
her, it has followed her husband to wherever he
went. Unlike him, it doesn’t have a destination.
She can’t think beyond the ten tollgates.
Vukuzakhe is up to something, this, she is most
certain of.

Brushing the thin white curtain aside, she

narrows her eyes as she sees Vumile and
Dalisile following each other to the main house.
They appear to be quarrelling.
Curiosity whispers in her ear, urging her to go
find out what’s happening. She brushes it off,
letting the fabric drop back into place. It’s late
anyway and she’s not a friend of the dark.
So much is on her mind, she needs to release,
speak to someone.
Her phone burns in her hand, as the urge to call
her mother refuses to leave her alone.
She dials the number, walks to the bed and
lowers herself there. Impatience teases her,
waiting for her mother to answer, so typical of
that woman… never available for her children.
“Ntombi.” Her mother’s voice irks her a second,
it could be the cold tone she’s used.
“Vukuzakhe wants to leave me, mama.”
Bongiwe complains, ignoring her mother’s
attitude. She’s not entirely sure about her claim,
Vukuzakhe has not confirmed anything.
However, fear is an enemy that constantly
bullies her into believing he’s going to leave her.
“Is it because of the pregnancy?” Her mother
sounds calm.
“How do you know about that?” Her brows raise
in suspicion, she does not recall telling her
mother about the pregnancy.
“It’s all over the news and papers.” Her mother
replies, reminding her daughter of her little
dramatics. Bongiwe is taken back there, she
had no other choice but to make a public
statement . It was the only way her husband
would accept the baby he said he didn’t want.
That’s what she thought, at least.
“He never wanted kids and I thought maybe
he’d change his mind after finding out I’m
carrying his baby. I thought he’d tap into his
loving side. He was once a loving man, mama.
He took care of me and my needs. Now he
wants to leave me, I can’t allow that. Vukuzakhe
is not leaving me, mama. I will never allow it.”

“I hear you my child, but an unplanned

pregnancy is not the way to fix a marriage. It
worsens the situation. You can’t use a baby to
fix a man.”
“I have done nothing of the sort, but fight for my
marriage. Falling pregnant is the only weapon I
can use, Vukuzakhe is changing mama. He
doesn’t look at me the way he did back then, I’m
not sure he still loves me. There’s another
woman, I can see it in his eyes.”
“Have you asked him if he still loves you?”
That’s a good question. Bongiwe sighs into the
phone. Maybe she would’ve asked him if he
actually gave her the time of day.
“Didn’t you hear what I said mama, he doesn’t
love me anymore. This is why I fight him back.”
That’s all she’s going to tell her mother, she
won’t mention that she stabbed her husband
today because that’s not what a girl from a
respectable family does.
“Don’t tell me that you put your hands on him.”
A reproaching tone from her mother.
“It’s the only way he’ll listen to me, Vukuzakhe
frustrates me so much. What kind of a man is
he? Why can’t he be like ubaba? Love me like
I’m the only woman in the world.”
That’s always been her fantasy, ever since she
was a child. She always wanted to marry a man
like her father and when she found Zakhe,
Bongiwe thought God had finally smiled upon
her.

Becoming Mrs Khanyile was a dream every

maiden in Izingolweni dreamed of, she was
finally going to live in that homestead, leading
along Dalisile Khanyile. Izongolweni’s most
envied woman.
Her dream came crushing down when she
realised her husband was not the Romeo she
always dreamed of.
“Bongiwe, you do not hit a man. Not every man
is like your father, and who says he’s perfect?
That man has made his own share of
mistakes.”
“Still mama, Vukuzakhe is not half the man my
father is. He’s a failure.”
Anger finds her just from mentioning his name.
“I want to hate him so bad.”
“That is one thing you are not going to do. What
will happen to you if he divorces you?” Her
mother has a point. She can’t let it happen.
Letting go of the Mrs. Khanyile title would be a
mistake one too many.
“I have to go.” She drops the call, not giving her
mother a minute longer. She checks for
messages from her husband, there’s nothing.
He hasn’t opened the ones she sent on the
green app. Flying down to Joburg won’t be a
bad idea.

Nala-

Asking this favour from Mathonga is the only

way I can escape Petros. He wants to help, he’s
offering the help I desperately want. But how do
I accept it without putting the twins’ lives in
danger. First I have to convince Petros to bring
them back, then I’ll tell Mathonga everything. I
think I can trust him, his presence comes with a
sense of tranquillity.

The time on my phone says it’s twenty minutes

after 10pm, I am dead tired. Khethiwe and I
worked together to clean this place. The
rondavel is very spacious, it accommodates a
bed… a one seater couch, plus a small shower
and a toilet. I can actually breathe.
For the first in my life, I can be in a room at
night and be able to breathe.
It’s unfortunate that I have to call Petros, the
last thing I want to hear is his voice. He’ll take it
out on the twins if I don’t call to update him.
Fear clings on to me when I start dialling his
number, bloody fool does not let the phone ring
more than once. He’s been waiting for my call.
“Where the hell are you, Nala?” He’s shouting.
“I can’t come, apparently servants have to stay
in the premises. The chief said it’s the rules.” I
lie, I don’t mind being the mother of all lies as
long as I stay away from him.
“That’s crazy Nala, what will I do with myself
when you’re not here?”
Kill yourself.
“I don’t make the rules, you sent me here to do
your dirty job, remember?” I snap just a little, my
hatred for him wanting to burst out of my bones.
I despise speaking to him, I should be dropping
the call.
“Fine, but I want you home on weekends.” He’s
growling like the animal he is. “Don’t fall in love
with that boy, your job is to kill him. I don’t care
how you do it, I want him dead and make it look
like an accident.”
“It’s not going to be easy, I can’t just kill
someone. Humans are not cockroaches.”
“Yey, yey, yey. Don’t give me excuses, my boss
wants that boy dead. Or the twins will be joining
their mother in the afterlife.” The fool is still
shouting.
The twins are the only reason I’m here, they are
my life. I have no other choice but to accept this.
Petros wants that innocent man dead, and they
are using me as bait and their weapon. I don’t
know who his boss is, and why they want the
chief’s son dead. He wouldn’t tell me anything,
that’s the thing about Petros, he demands and
expects you to act without asking questions.
God forgive me for thinking I could do this.
“It will take some time, he’s always surrounded
by his brothers.” I tell him.
“I don’t care Nala, kill Mathonga, or I kill those
two rats you call brothers.” He roars and drops
the call on me. There has to be a way to fix this
mess without getting anyone killed. My brothers
and Mathonga.
MATHONGA-
Nineteen

VUKUZAKHE-

*Really! Now I must send you an email to

communicate with you? Answer my calls
Vukuzakhe.*

He woke up to this email from his wife, a

throbbing headache and a sore shoulder. He
thinks the wound is not so bad, going to the
hospital would be dramatic of him. This is why
he dressed the wound himself last night, after a
shower.
It hurt holding Funokuhle in his arms, the pain
on his shoulder would not leave him alone and
that invited insomnia. He didn’t mind, it gave
him an opportunity to watch the boy sleep and
muse upon this crazy decision he’s made. Date
to marry, perhaps.

Crazy thought I said.

Not only is the water cold, the house too feels

cold this morning, there’s load shedding. He’s
not sure what time Eskom decided to be
ruthless, it was in the early hours of the
morning though.
He’s ready to go out, an artless couture draped
on his macho body. Jeans and a t-shirt. He’d be
more comfortable in the clothes he has back
home, the terrible ones Bongiwe hates.
"But this is Joburg, you can’t dress like you’re
going to herd your father’s cows. Your image
has to match the businessmen in this place."
Bongiwe would say. He doesn’t care, they don’t
pay his bills.

Funo is fast asleep, he thinks of waking him up

to tell him that he’s heading out to a meeting.
Then again, it would be too harsh of him. The
man did say last night that he was tired.
His car keys, wallet, and cell phone are in his
hand as he diverts toward the bedroom exit.

“Morning.” An incoherent voice slithers his way,

and stops him from taking another step. He
turns to find the minion sitting up and wiping
his fatigued face with the shirt on his body.
Zakhe wants to chortle at the sight, he’s seen
Ntabezikude do this, a habit of his since early
childhood.

“Did I wake you?” He keeps his voice low. The

young man shakes his head.

“There’s no electricity, you’ll have to eat cold

food. I’ll bring something on my way home.”
Home! He says it so casually, like it’s the most
natural thing in the world.
“You’re going out?” A frown creases on Funo’s
forehead, he didn’t think he’d be left alone
considering a crazed man might be looking for
him. Might is taking it too lightly, Pule has
probably turned Joburg upside down.
“I have a meeting, I won’t be long.”
Worry clings on to Funo’s features, it’s gone in a
flash. The intense eye contact that constantly
feels too deep is broken as he blinks away from
Zakhe’s deep-set eyes.
“He won’t find you here, Funokuhle.” He’s
talking about Pule, it angers him how the
teacher has drilled fear in this innocent young
man.
Funo shrugs his skeletal shoulders, “I know.”
Bravery is evident in his eyes.
Zakhe’s lips twitch with pride. He sits on the
edge of the bed, grabs his hand and places a
swift kiss on it.
“That’s my brave good boy.” Another kiss, it
does nothing to make Funokuhle blush.
He’s staring back, facial appearance resembling
a deer caught in headlights. His tongue slowly
moves across his lower lip, leaving it wet.
Zakhe observes him, carefully and unhurriedly.
Watching every switch on his morning face, his
stomach swirling like a whirlwind.
“Are you trying to seduce me?” Vukuzakhe
croaks, his arm firmly circling Funo’s waist. The
boy loses his breath for a millisecond as his
bony chest collides with a gorilla-like chest.
Zakhe’s eyes travel to the lips he’s so desperate
to taste, the desire too strong. But he does not
act on it.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Funo teases, gently

pushing away from him. “Plus… I’m not a kid,
you don’t have to baby me”
The declaration has Zakhe clearing his throat,
bashfully, he rubs the back of his neck.
“Okay Mr. Not a kid. Call me if anything
happens.” He stands ready to leave.
“I don’t have a phone,” he says it so quickly,
giving Zakhe the impression that he does not
want him to go.
“I won’t be long then, just don’t open the door
for anyone.”
“I can take care of myself, don’t worry.” Perhaps
he says this because he sees the worry on
Zakhe’s face.
Nevertheless, this is something Vukuzakhe
would like to hear, a strong willed Funokuhle
who does not need rescuing.
Hating goodbyes, Zakhe strides out of the
bedroom without looking over at Funo. The
sooner he’s out of here, the sooner he gets
back.

It’s a weekday, so the busy roads are expected.

He finds himself in slow traffic, busses, taxis
and small cars heading to different destinations.
He might not get back as quickly as he thought.
The sound of the radio is overpowered by his
ringing phone, he reaches over to the universal
car holder and answers his mother’s call.
“Mother?”
“Is this how you answer my calls, Vukuzakhe?”
“What is it mother?”
“Your wife tells me that you’re in Joburg. Am I
that bad of a mother that you saw it fit to keep
me in the dark?”
“Not everything is about you.”

“You see, this is the attitude that pisses me off.”

Dalisile sizzles, sometimes she sounds scarier
than Vumile when angry and Zakhe… well he
cannot grasp why his mother is infuriated by his
trip. “When are you coming home? Should I fly
down there? Who’s taking care of you over
there? You should’ve taken your wife with. It’s
not like she has anything to do this side.”

“Mother please, stop.” He interjects, fighting the

temptation to grunt at the woman who gave
him life. “You don’t need to come here, neither
does Bongiwe. I’m fine.”
“Okay, but what about me? You don’t think
about me when you make such decisions. Since
your brothers died, you’ve stopped caring. You
even cancelled your birthday Vukuzakhe, the
happiest day of my life…”
“We are not having this conversation mother,
goodbye.” He presses the red button to end the
call.
What the heck does she mean the happiest day
of her life? She lost two sons on his birthday, he
lost his brothers.
Vukuzakhe was broken beyond repair, the pain
of losing them suffocated him.
The birthday parties stopped, but each year on
his birthday, his mother would buy a fancy cake
and sing a birthday song.
He’d lose his mind, screaming and crying for
the ones he lost. Crying because of his
mother’s ignorance. It was years later that his
family came to understand that they should
never bring his birthday up.
Till this day, Zakhe curses that day. Instead of
remembering it as his birthday, he remembers it
as his brothers’ death anniversary.

9:06am finds him in Mountain View Shopping

Centre, MV café is where the meeting is held.
It’s still morning, the place is not as crowded as
he would hate.
He’s approached by a waiter upon arrival,
flashing a customer friendly smile. He
dismisses her by telling her there’s someone
waiting for him, there is no need for a table.
As he approaches a table where the man is
situated, only then does he spot a lady seated
with him. She could be in her late twenties, he
chooses not to dwell much into it.

“Mr. Khanyile.” The man is on his feet offering a

handshake which is accepted without words.
“This is Anele, she’s a forensic psychologist.”
He’s referring to the smiling woman beside him.
Zakhe refuses to look her way, his time is being
wasted here. This man, a private investigator,
the man he had sent Funokuhle’s name and
surname to was given a task a month ago. A
whole bloody month to find information on
someone. He’s not happy about this.

“Dlomo,” and that’s all he has to say. Dlomo

knows what is expected of him.
“I’m sorry it took so long, my son was sick
and…” Dlomo’s useless excuse as Zakhe sees,
bores him to death. He’s the first to settle down,
followed by Dlomo and Anele.
“I don’t pay you to give me excuses, Dlomo.”
Zakhe interjects with a raise of the hand. “How
long does it take to investigate a person?”
Four weeks is too long for a man who is trained
to pry on people’s lives. Dlomo gulps, eyes
flickering from Zakhe to a dazed Anele. A waiter
approaches to take their orders.
The poor guy will not be getting a tip today, he
is sent away with nothing written on his note
pad.

There’s an A4 white envelop on the table, which

Dlomo slides across. Zakhe gives it a brief look,
before furrowing his brows at the private
investigator. Displeased does not begin to
describe how he feels at this moment.
“I couldn’t find anything crucial on Ntandoyethu
Sangweni. He’s clean, mother died when he was
a baby. He’s gay and lives with his father and…”
Argh! This is too much. He should’ve stayed
home with Funo, maybe cuddled him back to
sleep or something.
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Zakhe snaps.
“The teacher is the one you should be worried
about, his name is Pule Shabangu. He’s a child
predator, preys on students who are vulnerable
and manipulates them into sleeping with him.”
He hears what Dlomo is saying but it’s not
registering.
“Okay, what does that have to do with what I
asked from you?” Zakhe.
“The boy was fifteen when he and the teacher
began a relationship. He’s attached to him,
basically.” Dlomo. Still not making sense, in fact,
Zakhe is more confused.
“I brought Anele to explain everything to you.”
Dlomo.
It frustrates Zakhe further, now he’s going to be
schooled on whatever this is. Couldn’t Dlomo
come up with something simple? Like Pule is a
fugitive or he has three days to live.

“Firstly you need to understand what grooming

is.” Anele takes over. “It’s an action taken by a
paedophile to prepare a child for a meeting with
the intention of committing sexual offence.
Predators lookout for a risk. ‘How risky is it that
I am going to be caught? Am I able to groom
this person? Am I able to groom the
environment around this person? Can I
manipulate them? Are they having problems at
home? Are they missing something I can offer?
Vulnerability, isolation, risk—all these factors
are considered when selecting their victim.”

A cold glint flashes past Zakhe’s eyes, “You’re

saying Funokuhle is a victim of child
molestation?”
The lady nods.
“Yes.”
“That man needs to be arrested.” If stress
needed a place to stay, then it has found a
home in him. The load seems to intensify every
day. His mother constantly expecting him to be
the perfect son, his father wanting him to set a
good example for his brothers, Bongiwe fighting
him for god-knows what and now this.
How much can he carry?

“You’re absolutely right, Mr. Khanyile.

Ntandoyethu was too young to understand or
see his teacher’s intensions. The emotional
impact of being groomed by a teacher is huge,
often the first sexual interaction that teenagers
had. They may not understand what’s going on
when it’s happening, many may not understand
they are being abused. Ntando has been with
this man for nine years. Leaving him won’t be
easy, he’s made Ntando think that life without
him is impossible. Made him believe that he’s
the only person in this world who loves him.
He’s lived with this notion for nine years. Even if
they part ways, the young man will always feel
attached to the teacher. If his environment does
not change, he’ll want to go back where he feels
like he matters because these predators imprint
such thoughts in their minds.”

How do you swallow such a heavy load? He

knows he needs to fix this, get rid of Pule if he
has to. The question is, how?

VUMILE-
He hardly caught any sleep last night, spent
most of the time thinking about Mathonga and
this thing he wants the family to venture in, this
thing he’s been running away from for years.
It’s made him grumpy and very unapproachable,
his sons know when to stay away.
Ndlela has been giving him unwavering stares,
in his mind he’s convinced that his father is
stressed because of the woman he’s seeing
outside his marriage. It’s not that he’s a fan of
his parents, he just hates everything that’s
happening around him.

People think their lives are perfect, little do they

know that the Khanyile brothers lack the love of
a mother and as far as Ndleleni is concerned,
he lacks his father’s attention. Then again, not
everything is about him.
“I need you to sign some papers,” Ndleleni
utters as he tramples into his father’s office.
His grumpiness overweighs his father’s. They
haven’t buried the hatchet since that day
Ongezwa Sangweni came to their premises to
snitch on them. Vumile’s anger might have
worn-out, but Ndleleni is not a man that easily
forgets.
He tosses a file on his father’s desk, to him, it’s
respectful enough…. As long as he didn’t throw
it at his face. Vumile is greatly displeased, his
features are a show and tell.
These are days he chooses peace, any other
day he would’ve carpeted him and sent him
home to think about his bad behaviour.

“Are you okay?” Vumile asks, as he pages

through the file, leaving his initials where he
should.
“I’m fine.” Comes a soft answer.
“Let’s have lunch, I miss you.” He does, it feels
like he hasn’t seen his son in years.
“Sorry, I have other plans.”
No, no, he’s not sorry. Spoiled brat.
Vumile drags a heavy sigh, frustration taking
over his calm emotions.
“I’m trying ndodana, at least acknowledge my
hard work.”
He knows this one is the most hard headed
after Ntabezikude, that one doesn’t even bother
listening to him. He lives in his own world where
nothing and nobody matters.
“I’m also trying to stay sane, being your son
comes with a lot of pressure, baba. You expect
too much from us, the only one who has it easy
is Mathonga because he’s your favourite. The
rest of us have to carry a golden image just so
you approve. You make mistakes and burst with
anger when reproach. But when I make
mistakes, I’m the world’s worst son.”

It’s basically how he feels, being side-lined

because you are not Vukuzakhe or Mathonga.
Vumile stands to meet his height, he needs to
see the truth in his son’s eyes.
“Is this about you stabbing Sangweni’s son?
What did you want me to do Ndleleni? Throw a
party after you almost killed a man?”
“No, at least don’t embarrass me in front of our
enemies. You didn’t bother to hear my side of
the story. Do you know how that made me
feel?”
“Tell me, maybe I can make things right.”
Vumile articulates.
He loves his sons to death, if anything they have
made him who he is today. Without them, he
might as well give his life.
When Ndleleni shrugs, face emotionless and
eyes showing no hope for them. Vumile’s world
comes crushing down. He’s losing control, a
grip over his family. Perhaps he’s too focused
on keeping his closet shut, keeping Nandi and
Zamangwane out of sight that he’s neglected
his sons without realising it.

“Maybe it’s too late.” Ndlela murmurs, retrieves

the file from the table and scampers out. The
young man’s body collides with his mother’s,
Dalisile grunts in pain while Ndlela clicks his
tongue in disgust.

“And then? What’s eating him up?”

Not that she cares, she’s frowning her way
toward her husband, hands gently dusting her
expensive yellow-mellow two piece suit.
“Do we have a meeting?” Vumile questions,
taking back his seat. To say he’s now in a foul
mood would be an insult to the pent up
emotions whirling inside him. He’s livid, vexed,
and tangled.
“Why did you let Vukuzakhe go to Joburg?” She
starts, arms folding across her small chest.
Exactly, how old is this Vukuzakhe?
“Your question does not make sense, Dalisile.”
He has no time for this.
“Vukuzakhe can’t be going on holidays, he’s got
a company to run. Remember he’s taking over
from you very soon and…”
“Very soon?” Vumile is not surprised, this is not
the first time she’s treaded this path.
“Argh!” A puff and a huff from the queen, she
throws her arms. Her husband is exaggerating
like he does with everything. “You know what I
mean.”
“Vukuzakhe is a grown man, he knows what
he’s doing.” That’s all he’s giving her, she wants
to probe further. Her son is not with her and it’s
not okay. Vukuzakhe has to be here, all day
every day—breathing the same air as her. What
in God’s name is he doing in Joburg, anyway?

“So, what are you going to do about it? He won’t

take my calls anymore.”
That’s because you’ve been pestering the man.
The desperation in her eyes annoys him. Does
this woman know she birthed other sons
besides Vukuzakhe? Surely she can’t be this
delusional.
“Nothing,” and that’s stamped, signed and
sealed. “Sit down, I want to talk to you about
Mathonga.” Vumile.
Oh great! Her favourite topic.
There is no love between them anymore, but
this man gives her chest pains whenever he can.
She pulls a chair and settles down opposite her
husband.
“What is it now? I have things to do, Vumile.”
And a life to live, Mathonga is such a waste of
space. She’ll never acknowledge him, no matter
how much Vumile forces her.
“Mathonga has a gift, Dalisile. It’s something
we’ve known for a while now but chose to
ignore.”
Fuck her life! She’s half through a yawn when he
finishes his speech. This man refuses to
engage in a conversation about Vukuzakhe, but
bolts like lightning where Mathonga is
concerned.
“What are you talking about?”
Oh she knows what he’s talking about,
pretending is a skill she’s mastered over the
years.
“Don’t patronize me, Dalisile. You know what I’m
talking about.” Vumile balls his hand into a fist
and lightly slams it on the table. The queen is
not startled at all, she scoffs at his dramatics. It
drains him how unfeeling she is towards
Mathonga.

“Maybe we should tell him the truth, I fear the

ancestors will show him somehow. He won’t
take it well, Dalisile.” Vumile pleads, something
he scarcely does, especially to this woman.
“So today you decide it’s time to tell him
because it suits you?” Dalisile.
“Not because it suits me, it’s about time we do
it. Mathonga is old enough to understand
certain things. He’s going to take over the
throne one day and…”
She must’ve misunderstood, or he’s speaking
Japanese.
“What did you say?”
Now Missy here has forgotten her husband
does not repeat himself, hence the penetrating
gaze.
For a millisecond, time seems to pass in slow
motion while she waits for him to say
something. Anything will do, anything but what
he previously said.
“That will not happen, I won’t allow it.” She yells,
making a mistake of pointing a finger at him.
“It’s not your decision to make.”
“I don’t care, you can’t do that to my son.
Vukuzakhe is taking over from you, not that…
that boy. He’s your first born, Vumile. Have you
forgotten that?”
How can he, when it’s all she’s been talking
about for over thirty five years?
“Vukuzakhe’s place is here, running the
business. He won’t be able to handle he
throne.”
“And that boy will?”
“All my sons have different responsibilities in
this family, Vukuzakhe is a businessman. He
does it so well, he’s happy here. You wouldn’t
know because you’re so self-absorbed.”
He’s not far from the truth.
Dalisile shakes her head, eyes narrowed at her
husband. “Say whatever you want to say about
me, I don’t care. What I will not accept is you
trashing my son. You cannot strip him of his
rights, he deserves the throne and you know
that. And you… you owe me after what your
crazy brother did to me.”

Ouch! She’s off-ramping now, Vumile’s eyes

widen with shock. This is not how he intended
his day to go, being reminded of the cousin he
once loved like a brother.

Phumlani was his first cousin, they grew up

together in the same house along with his other
brothers. He went crazy after a girl in the village
accused him of rape, the case didn’t make it to
court nor out of Izingolweni.
The only judgement he got was from the girl’s
mother after her daughter took her own life, the
trauma driving her to it.
“You will never know peace, I swear on my
daughter’s grave.” The village girl's mother had
screamed these words at Phumlani.

No traditional healer was able to reverse the

curse, and having done all they could, Phumlani
was left to face the consequences of his
actions.
“Dalisile?” He’s shocked to say the least, a thin
line cutting his forehead in half. It’s been so
long since they’ve spoken about this.
When she told him she was pregnant and that
she wanted to get rid of it, he forbid her from
doing so. Dalisile is a woman who does
whatever she wants, but if her deflating
marriage is at risk, she’d submit like a perfect
wife.

“He ruined me, Vumile. Your brother raped me

and you forced me to keep the baby. Not only
that, you expect me to love him.”

She stands, her hands trembling as she focuses

on her breathing. It’s not every day that she
becomes a victim to weakness, she needs to
snap out of it.
The terrible ordeal resulted in her detaching
from her sons, but of course she needed an
anchor to hold on to and her first born was the
perfect match.
“This is all on you, everything. You should’ve
banished that boy like you did your crazy
brother. We wouldn’t be having this
conversation if you were smart.” Dalisile.
“Mathonga is innocent in all this, he didn’t ask
to be born. It’s not fair that you punish him for
something he knows nothing about.” His voice
is compliant, but there are traces of aggression
in it.
“Say whatever you want Vumile, I will never
accept that boy. Do you hear me? And you will
not sideline my Vukuzakhe, or all hell will break
loose. You think you know me wena, Vumile.
Try me and I will show you what I’m made of.”
Her eyes are intent on his wild stare, heart
beating like a hammer in her chest. She knows
Vumile is not a man you would cross and get
away with it, her advantage at this point is that
she is the mother of his children.
“Nonsense.” Dalisile storms out, leaving her
husband still seated on his chair, face glazed
with disbelief.
MATHONGA-
Twenty

MATHONGA

Warmth oozes into my heart at the thought of

seeing Nala again, a week later and it’s safe to
say she is slowly letting me into her space.
She’s very protective of herself and defensive
most of the time, she is usually far removed
from everything unless she is identifying a
threat coming her way.
This has me treading carefully around her.
It wasn’t easy convincing her to spend her lunch
hours with me, we’ve been at it for days now.
An hour with her is more than enough, I’d spend
more time with her at home, if only she didn’t
have work to do.
Bongiwe overworks the poor girl, treating her
the same way she treats Khethiwe. Intervening
is a waste of time, my sister in-law listens to no
one, but herself.

My phone beeps with Amandla’s signal as I

drive out the Company lot, a silent escape is
what I made. I’ll think about work when I get
back.

*I’m not feeling well, please come and fetch me.

I’m at work.*

Amandla’s message reads.

I only have an hour to spare, dividing it in two

will not work. What do I do? Amandla is a nice
girl, yes I‘m still keeping her around. A huge part
of me loves her, she’s been there for me more
times than I can count.
Honestly, what I feel for her differs from what I
feel for Nala. I can’t explain it. It’s hard to ignore
Nala, there’s a pull. An unquestionable one.

Stopping at a red light, I text back.

*I’m coming.*
The petrol station is not far from where I am, in
less than three minutes I park outside and there
she is, standing by the door. Head dipped on
her phone. I don’t know how many times I have
to warn her about this trait of hers.
Amandla would stare at her phone longer than
she should, forgetting her surroundings.
She doesn’t see me when I step out of the car
and amble her way.
“Wesisi.”
Her head flips up, eyes wide with fright.
“Mathonga, you scared me.” Her voice shudders
out of her mouth.
“That’s because you were so engrossed on that
thing. You know it’s not safe to get lost in your
phone in public? Anything can happen,
Amandla.”
“Calm down, nothing will happen to me. My
boyfriend is a seer, he’ll see it coming.” She
smiles, widely.
I don’t know which boyfriend she’s talking about,
I’m not a seer.

“Hau? When am I meeting this seer boyfriend of

yours?” She laughs at my reply, throwing her
warm arms around my neck. The hug is
reciprocated. “What’s wrong? You said you’re
not feeling okay?”

“I just wanted to see you.”

“So you lied to me?” I ask stepping away from

her.
This is not Amandla, she’s not prone to telling
lies.
“No… I … I just didn’t tell you the truth.” Her
lashes flap, tears welling up behind her pupils.
She is not a crier, what’s wrong with her today?
“You can’t blame me, Mathonga.” She sniffs.
“I’m your girlfriend, but you’ve been ghosting me.
Don’t you love me anymore? Is there another
girl?”
This is not a subject to engage in, in public.
“Let’s get in the car.” My offer.
With my hand on the small of her back, I lead
her toward the car. Trudging without knowing
where I put my feet. Strangely, for the few
seconds we were standing, I hadn’t been aware
of their existence until they lifted. It takes less
than a minute, a mere minute to run around the
car and enter through the driver’s side, and
Amandla is lost in her phone again.
“Is that a new phone?” First time seeing it.
She nods, not granting me the attention I
deserve. I drove here to see if she’s okay and
this is what I get?
“Amandla, put that away please.”
“Sorry.”
She’s doing that flap thing again with her lashes,
puppy eyes glancing over at me. She knows
which buttons to push. I don’t say a word until
she locks the screen and pushes the phone into
her bag.

“My mother bought it for me.” Oh! We’re still

talking about the phone. “Sometimes I love that
woman so much, sometimes I don’t. She makes
me angry most of the time, mostly because
she’s not around.”
Amandla is rambling now. She’s the only person
I know who has mixed feelings about their
mother. What if she’s bipolar?
“Nothing compares to the love of a mother.”
Amandla likes to say.

Every so often she forgets I cannot relate. Sure I

have a mother, but an absent one.
Since we’re going to talk about her mother, my
ghosting her has been forgotten, might as well
drive her home.
“She’s coming for a visit next week, her boss is
finally giving her the weekend off.” She
continues.
I don’t care, she knows I don’t care, yet she
insists on telling me about the woman who
mothered her.

The radio is not loud enough to drown her voice,

and it’ll be rude of me if I turn it up. I don’t want
to be reminded that my mother failed in
nurturing me.
“Can we go somewhere to get some food? I
haven’t eaten since morning.” That’s her.
She sounds excited, unfortunately, I’ll have to
decline. Nala is probably waiting for me at the
park. I have forty five minutes before I go back
to the office. Hlabela and Ndleleni aren’t kind
since Vukuzakhe is away. They are slave drivers,
those two.
“I have to go back to the office, maybe next
time.”
Girlfriends are a lot of work. This one to be
specific. What am I going to do with her?
“Really, Mathonga? What are we doing if we’re
not going to spend time together? I feel like I’m
in a long distance relationship.”
Regret scrapes through my bones, watching her
slump down on the car seat. She folds her arms
on her chest, eyes fixed ahead.
“I’ll make it up to you, Amandla. I promise.” I
have to keep this promise.
I can be an ass sometimes, a huge example is
me thinking I can entertain two girls at the
same time. Maybe I want to keep them both, no
long term decisions yet.

Time is against me, Amandla was still sulking

when I dropped her off at her grandmother’s
house. Sending me off with a fake smile, I’ll find
ways to pacify her.

NALA-

Sis Bongiwe will kill me today, I asked Khethiwe

to cover up for me just in case I’m late. And
seeing that Mathonga is not here yet, I will most
probably be late. To be safe, I have to leave here
at 1:55pm.
I don’t blame Mathonga though, he’s a
businessman.
I can’t expect him to leave the office for my
sake, the least he could’ve done was tell me
that this… whatever this is has been cancelled.
The man is nowhere in sight.
Why am I even opening up to him? This gender
is a different breed, a dangerous breed. God
didn’t mean to give them power, it must have
happened by mistake. They have taken that
power and used it to destroy women, the ones
they should be protecting.

Maybe I shouldn’t be here, I definitely shouldn’t

be here. What do I want to gain from spending
time with him?
“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting.” A voice has
me gasping. No longer staring into thin air, I
open up to the world around me, meeting an
apologetic look on his face.
“I thought you were not coming.” I think I’m glad,
he came.
But I have to leave room for disappointment.
Mathonga perches himself beside me, he’s
carrying food in a blue plastic bag.
“No matter how long I keep you waiting, I will
always find my way to you.” He says, casually.
My heart should not be reacting like this, it feels
wrong and right at the same time.
The man is smiling at me as if he did not just
make my heart do extraneous things.
“I brought food.” He hands me a white container,
my mouth immediately waters at the smell of
tripe. This is what we have most of the time, a
lady not far from this bench sells the best pap
and tripe.
“What did I miss?” He asks, looking around the
park, channelling his inner child who wants
nothing but to smile and enjoy the day.

We usually spend most of the time watching

people, you’d be surprised by how interesting
they are. It’s mostly fascinating for me, a
prisoner of Petros. Freedom is something I will
never take for granted.

Like that time I had gone clubbing in Durban

with a friend, Petros was away for a few days
and I needed to be away from that hovel he
calls a house. I would’ve packed my things and
left if he hadn't taken Thabani and Thobani with
him. That bastard has a special place in the
deepest pits of hell.
“See that couple there?” My finger navigates
toward a young couple who are obviously over
the moon with happiness. “He just proposed.”
“Really and… did she say yes?” He doesn’t
sound enthusiastic, I can’t fault him. It’s not his
engagement.
“Yeah clearly. Look at them, have you ever seen
two people so happy? They have been like that
for the past 15 minutes.” I don’t get anything
back from him, he’s quiet. Eyes on the food in
his lap, I want to ask what the problem is. Then
again, I’d be prying.

“If I were here, we would have acted it out.” He

speaks after a long minute. “It would’ve been
fun, right?”
Mathonga is like a child, he’s smiling now.
Strange creature.
“Yes, anything is fun with you.” I reply, nothing
but the truth. This time he smiles with his eyes.

“They kind of remind me of Vukuzakhe and

Bongiwe. They used to be so in love, the
envious kind of love. They had me believing this
marriage thing really works. They were happy
together. For me it was like my own personal
cinema, I loved seeing them like that.”
His juvenile mood has changed, sadness lies in
his eyes.
“Well, that was before… things are different now.
My brother has changed, they both have.”

It’s a good thing he’s not crying, I’m terrified of a

grown man’s tears. How do you console these
creatures? There must be classes where they
teach these things.
“I know how it’s like to have things change for
the worst, I’ve been there and it hurts like a
bitch.”
Oops! I didn’t mean to use that language.
Mathonga receives it positively, his quiet
laughter blesses me.
“My mother died when I was very young. She
decided one day, that life was not worth living
and left.”
“I’m sorry, Nala.”
I’m not sorry that she’s gone, I’m angry. Life
would be different if she didn’t leave me.

“You need to forgive her, Nala. No one can

control death. It does as it pleases. If it were up
to your mother, she would’ve chosen to live… for
you.”
He speaks as if he sees the rage steaming
inside me.
“Dying is a messy and often painful process, I
can tell you right now that your mother fought
to live.”
“How do you know?” I snap, and place the food
on the empty space beside me. I’ve lost my
appetite.
“I just know, you’re only caging yourself by
holding a grudge. Let her go, let her rest in
peace.”
Mathonga doesn’t understand. If he knew what
I go through in the hands of that monster
Petros, he wouldn’t be telling me this.
The least my mother could’ve done was find her
relatives, she couldn’t have been the only child
of her parents. Whoever they are. But no, she
left. She left a young girl with her two babies.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about
Mathonga, life is not easy for all of us. While
you don’t know a day of struggle, the rest of us
fight to stay alive. We fight to keep our loved
ones safe, it’s easier to say the things you’re
saying to me when your life is heaven on earth.”
I think I’ve hurt him, his eyes are different. I
can’t point out exactly what’s in them, but I
know pain when I see it. I am pain.

“No one has it easy, Nala. It’s a lie that money

buys happiness, don’t believe that nonsensical
concept.”

He clears his throat, and fixates his gaze on

mine.

“Maybe I didn’t articulate myself well, what I’m

trying to say is we all get recycled at some point.
That’s life. Unfortunately it doesn’t come with a
manual. But we are stronger and can face
anything because of the people we love and
that love us back. Things seem to be okay when
we are surrounded by our loved ones. I know
that there’s a reason why things happen. Good
or bad. There’s a reason why we go through
what we go through. It’s hard to understand it,
maybe we’ll never know the reason. But one
thing I’m sure of is that, this will pass. You’ll be
happy one day, you will look back and see how
strong you came out of the storm. Keep your
mother in your good thoughts, don’t imprison
yourself.”

Yoh! That was a lot. What is he, a seer? I’m

honestly speechless.
“When did you write this speech?” I query.
I’d rather not talk about my mother, brother
Mathonga over here just went all pastor on me.
He finds my charge funny, I’m glad he finds me
amusing.
“Maybe you do that to me, ungidlisile.” The
smile on his face is as bright as the sun. While
I… well, I fight the gleam threatening to reach
my lips.
“Spend the day with me.” He says, it’s crazy I
know. We have work to get back to, sis’Bongiwe
will eat me alive.
“You know that’s not possible.” I argue.
Someone has to be fully-fledged around here
and seeing how carefree he is, I volunteer to be
the adult.
“Anything is possible.” He utters,
enthusiastically.
Damn it, that hopeful smile of his will make me
an unruly person.
“That’s what the pastor said last Saturday.” He
finishes.
“I have to go back to work, Mathonga. I don’t
want to lose my job.”
Petros would surely burn me at the stake.
“You won’t, I promise. I’ve got you, don’t you
know that by now?”
Sheesh. This man is working overtime to win
my heart, I know he likes me, I see it in his eyes
and the random gestures.

“Come on Nala, let’s make memories together.”

Dear God, I have a question. How do you say no

to a man who looks at you like you’re worth
every beautiful thing in this world?
Falling for Mathonga would be a terrible
mistake, Petros won’t spare him. In fact, he’ll kill
us both.
I weigh the pros and cons, letting myself live
just for a day is not such a bad idea. I’ll need to
be careful lest that evil policeman sees me
gallivanting with Mathonga, the man I’m
assigned to kill.
“Okay let’s go.” I agree, eventually.
Let me stop talking about his smile, he’s a
smiler, let’s leave it at that.

As we get to his car, he feels at his pockets by

patting his slacks.
“Sorry, I thought I lost my car keys, bad habit.”
He explains, while opening the door for me. Not
the first time.
What do white people call it again? Ah yes,
‘paint the town red.’
That’s what we do through the course of the
day. He drives us all the way to Durban.
Is it safe for me to trust this man, or it’s too
soon?
I’m dragged from place to place. He’s like a
child wanting to show me his favourite places,
taste his favourite meals. I’m even offered
alcohol as we sit at one of the restaurants.
Dinner is refreshing, my heart feels at peace.
My body feels light, there’s a possibility I might
be happy. I think I’m happy.

Darkness has taken over when we drive back to

Izingolweni, he’s a careful driver, but speeds like
a maniac. Does that make sense?
My head is throbbing by the time Mathonga
parks the car outside his father’s premises. He
wanted us to spend the night in Durban and
travel back in the morning. I did say he’s like a
child, he doesn’t think of the consequences, the
after effects of our stupidity.
“Do you want me to walk you to your room?” He
asks as he pops open the passenger door for
me.
“Nope, someone might see us. I don’t want
them thinking we were together the entire day.
Someone will interpret is differently.” I have to
decline.
“But we did spend the day together, I’m not
ashamed of that.” Mathonga
I don’t give him an answer. How do I even
answer that?
“I guess this is good night.” He utters, looking at
me the way he’s been doing throughout the day.
“Yeah, good night.”
I don’t wait for anything but my find way to the
big house, I’m thirsty and need maybe two
glasses of water. It’s very late at night, the last
time I checked my phone, 11pm was fighting
for its spot. It must be around midnight now.
The kitchen light is off, I find the switch making
sure to keep it down.
When I’ve quenched my thirst, leaving the
kitchen becomes a task. I’m a bit tipsy, maybe I
shouldn’t have tried the alcohol. It tasted ugly
anyway.
I settle down on one of the chairs, I’m loving
how comfortable I am here. My eyes feel heavy,
everything in the kitchen starts dancing or I’m
hallucinating. I stop fighting my heavy eyes and
let them shut closed, five minutes is all I need.
Then I’ll get up and go to bed.
My head falls lightly on the table, it takes me a
second to fall into a dream, a nice one by the
looks of it.
I’m in an expensive house. Everything around
me looks lavish, including the white clothes on
my body.
“Madam, there’s a man here looking for you.” A
middle aged woman in a lime green pinifa
waltzes into the lounge, my mind reminds me
that I had asked her to make me something to
eat. She’s my maid, I guess.
“Who is it Doris?” The name slips past my lips
as if I know her.
“Your uncle, he’s asking for food and a place to
stay.”
That bloody fool Petros, I should’ve hired an
assassin to get rid of him.
“Tell him to voetsek.” I throw my hands as
annoyance hugs my body.
“Yes madam.” Doris bows. I think I like her.
“Now bring my food.”
“Yes madam.” She nods and dashes away.

“Madam!” I hear her shout from the kitchen,

Doris is becoming a problem. I’m her madam.
But I have to use my pampered feet to stride to
the kitchen.
She’s standing with the fridge open, a frown on
her face.
“Doris, do you know who I am?”
She nods, I doubt she knows me. Let me remind
her.
“Nala Shange, the world’s richest woman. You
need to put some respect on my name, Doris.”
Wow! So that’s who I am? Interesting.
“Okay madam, I hear you. Kodwa you didn’t tell
me what to put in your sandwich.”
How long has Doris been working for me?
“Five cheese slices Doris, five cheese slices.”

Why is she laughing? I’m her boss, and I’m

going to fire her ass. The laughter increases,
annoying me to infinity and nope, not beyond.
There is no coming back here.
Instantly, my eyes snap open. The childish
laugh has dragged me out of my nice dream, I
rub my eyes and find Ntabezikude standing
across the kitchen. He's carrying a carton of
Mageu.
He’s the one who’s been laughing at me, and
woke me up from my peaceful sleep.

“Don’t you mean two slices of cheese?” He asks,

idiot is having a blast. I’m so embarrassed. I
gather myself together and stand.
“English came by ship.” I tell him, no one is
perfect at this language.
“Clearly.” He replies, showing me his Cheshire
cat smile.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d stop laughing at me.” I
chide, not carrying whose son he is. He tips his
head to the side before taking a bow.
“Yes madam, before I go. What would you like
with your two cheese slices, milk with tea or tea
with milk?”

He bursts into loud laughter, it’s so loud I’m

afraid someone will wake up and find me in
here. I think he’ll stay, but he walks away,
laughing his lungs out.
What is wrong with him?
MATHONGA-
Twenty One

MATHONGA-

My brother Ntaba can be a pain in the anal

sometimes, it’s taken him days to agree for me
to meet our sister… Zamangwane, that’s her
name.
I have mixed feelings about this meeting, I don’t
know how she will receive me or how I will
receive her.
Having taken a bath and changed into an easy-
going outfit, I step out of the rondavel and the
sun kisses my skin good morning. Sunny days
are a blessing, they make life seem beautiful.
It’s a Saturday today, the Sabbath is
unescapable. But with Ntaba on my side, baba
won’t fight me. That brother of mine knows how
to get his way.
Sabbath school starts at nine, we ought to be
there in less than thirty minutes. Hlabela is
preaching today, I can’t stress how much he
loves church.

“Thonga!”
Hlabela’s voice calls to me, he’s standing
outside his rondavel with the bible under his
armpit, obviously ready for church. My brother
takes this suit thing too serious, a whole three
piece. Maroon compliments his cinnamon skin
tone, I’ll give him that.
“Bhuti.” I send my greetings, wincing at how I’d
have to explain why I’m not ready for church.
He strides to me, one hand in his pocket and
face hard. For a second I’m taken by how
powerful he looks in that suit, way different
from businessman Hlabela.

“Why are you not ready?”

Aish! Where is Ntaba when I need him? How do
I tell him our father committed adultery, has a
child outside his marriage, and she’s the reason
I won’t be in the Lord’s house today?
“Ready?” I ask.
This is the right time to summon the devil, no
lies are coming to me. 'Keep the Sabbath day
holy’ that’s what the holy bible says and here I
am doing it different.
Hlabela chides me with a stern expression, just
like baba would.
“Don’t be smart with me, Mathonga.”
Yoh! Vumile 2.0.
“I’m not going bhuti, I have somewhere else to
be.” God must be smiling down at me for telling
the truth on his day. Proud moment papa God,
proud moment.
“With Nala?” His eyes narrow in question, and I
am flabbergasted.
“What?” I stutter. How does he know I’ve been
spending time with her?
“A friend said he saw you at a restaurant in
Durban yesterday, you were with a girl who’s not
Amandla. The description fit Nala.”
“How do you know Nala’s sketch bhuti? Have
you been…”
I slap my mouth shut as he points an
accusatory finger at me, there are days I forget
he’s my older brother.
“Watch what you say to me, Mathonga.”
I know I’ve angered him by the change of tone
in his deep voice. I swallow a gulp because
what else can I do? This man is serious
sometimes. I have to find him a wife.
“What happened to Amandla? Aren’t you two an
item anymore?” He probes.

The way people are so random around here,

scares me. Were we not talking about me not
going to church? I don’t want to talk about
Amandla with Hlabela, like I wouldn’t want to
talk about her with Vukuzakhe. I regard them as
high as Vumile, maybe the second highest.
“I wish I could stay and chat bhuti, but I’m
running late.”
My feet move, thank God. He doesn’t say
anything when I hurry towards the main house.
Good man, heaven must be celebrating. The
only thing he should be thinking about is John 3
vs 16 and leave dating to us normal people.
My eyes search for Nala as I enter through the
kitchen, and immediately I see Ntaba stepping
away from Khethiwe. He walks out, taking the
passage that leads to the lounge. What just
happened?
“Morning sisi.”
Khethiwe turns and sends a smile my way.
“She’s in her room, packing I think.” She
announces as if she’s read my mind.
“Packing? Where is she going?”
“Back home.” Khethiwe.
I don’t get it, Nala had said she wants to live
here. Why is she leaving?
“I feel sorry for Nala,” she leans against the
kitchen island, eyes firm yet sad.
Here’s my morning radio, she is about to tell me
things I don’t know. I’ll listen because… you
guessed it, it’s about Nala.
“She had nothing when she came here, just the
clothes on her body. When I told her she can go
fetch her clothes from her house, she
dismissed me, saying her old clothes should be
burned. She also said she will never set foot in
that house again. I had to give her some of my
clothes. That’s what she’s been wearing since
she came to live here.”
My ears are tuned to her voice, eager to know
what’s happening in Nala’s life. However my
brain travels far to places of confusion and
suspicion.
“Did she say why she’ll never go back to her
father’s house?”

Khethiwe shrugs her shoulders, “She wouldn’t

tell me, I think she’s afraid of him. He’s probably
one of those strict fathers who put their hands
on their children.”
He probably is. I have to find him and know
what’s really going on. Nala won’t tell me
anything.
“Thonga, I think Nala doesn’t want to go home.
But her father wants her there, if you can please
speak to her. Convince her not to leave.”
Khethiwe sounds concerned, she’s won Nala’s
heart. It’s good she has someone to talk to.
“I’ll see what I can do.” I can’t promise anything,
really. Nala can be stubborn.
“Okay.” She smiles, too brightly. Actually, she’s
glowing today.
“Are you okay?” Confusion licks her face at my
question. “You seem different, and I thought
today was your day off, it’s a Saturday.”
The workers know the Sabbath is kept holy in
this house, no work is to be done. Mashamase
was given special treatment that day. Love
must be nice hey…
“I wanted to make something to eat.” She turns
away and continues with her tasks.

Baba walks in just as I’m about to make an

escape.
“Ngwane, have you seen your mother?”
This is awkward. He knows I don’t refer to
Dalisile as mother. A huge frown plasters on his
face when he sees me in jeans and a tank top.
“Why are you not ready for…”
This is the part where I run, I turn back facing
the door I entered through and run out of the
kitchen. I can hear him calling after me. Baba
will have to forgive me. We can’t church every
Saturday, we’ll die before the second coming.

Ntaba is standing outside his car, waiting for

me I believe. His brows shoot up as he sees me
running his way.
“Hurry, get in the car.” The tone of my voice
carries a warning, he’s not as fast as I am. In
fact, he’s taking his time to jump in while I have
buckled up and I'm ready to go. Time seems
suspended as I impatiently watch the driver’s
door open, he gets in and frowns at me.
“Why are you running?” Ntaba.
“Your father wants to know why I’m not going to
church.” I explain, signalling with my hand that
he drives.
“You should’ve told him that you’re not going to
church.” Really? Is he serious?
“I’m not you Ntaba, Vumile is my weakness
okay.”
He laughs, it’s not his usual full blown laughter.
It’s reserved, come to think of it, he looks
different. Kind of down.
“I see, Thonga lami. Qina ndoda, qina.” (Be
strong.)
I have a weird brother.
“Okay, you can drive now.” I tell him, desperate
to get away from these premises.
He doesn’t say anything but turns the engine on.
My ears are instantly abused by the loud sound
of songs of struggle.
I give up.

As we drive away, I catch a glimpse of Nala

walking out of her rondavel. Dammit, how did I
forget about her?
“Stop the car.” I yell.
Mathonga, you indecisive bastard. Confusion is
my best friend right now, I want to leave, but
Nala needs me.
“Relax Butternut, she’s not going anywhere.”
Ntaba voices. He does nothing to do my bidding.
“What?” I’m confused.
“The commissioner will be away for a little while,
your girlfriend is not going anywhere. You’ll find
her here when you get back.” His declaration
confuses me further.
“What are you on about? What does the
commissioner have to do with Nala?” He
ignores my interrogation and chooses to
whistle along to the depressing song that talks
about Jan Van Riebeeck’s slyness.
There’s no going back now, I realise when he
drives out the gate. Now I’m eager to find out
what Ntaba knows about Nala.

VUKUZAKHE-

The electric gate closes behind him, he parks

the car in front of the garage door. His eyes
flicker toward the entrance, Funokuhle is in
there. He left him alone when he went for a
meeting, confident about the safety in this
gated community.

“Coffee?” He’s talking to Kenneth who shakes

his head once to articulate himself.
“Just get me the file, so I can be on my way.”
The coldness in his tone is excused, still Zakhe
accepts the urge to leer over at him. He finds
Kenneth stoically unbuckling his seatbelt and
huffs at his overconfidence.
“You arrogant piece of shit, you cold bastard.”
Zakhe feels confident enough to say this,
Kenneth chuckles, surprising the man on the
driver’s seat.
“Forgive me for not leaping for joy at the
mention of coffee.”
Kenneth’s retort has Zakhe cackling and
shaking his head in disbelief. The two men dash
out of the car, and follow each other into the
house.
“I’m here for the document you forgot, not a tea
party, Zakhe.”
He appreciates the reminder, not that he had
forgotten about it.

The breakfast meeting he had with Kenneth

ended about thirty minutes ago, it went better
than he expected. The dark man agreed to
merge companies, it is good news for Khanyile
Holdings.
He can’t wait to go back home and tell his
brothers about the deal he signed. He’s in a
good mood, and certain that nothing can ruin it
at this point.
His eyes sweep across the open floor plan in
search of the man he left here this morning, it’s
empty. Maybe he hid after seeing Kenneth, he
should’ve told Funokuhle that he’s bringing
company.
Kenneth is offered a seat in the lounge, which
he accepts.
After dropping his keys and phone on the coffee
table, Vukuzakhe dashes to the bedroom to
retrieve the file.
Funo is not here, something doesn’t feel right.
The house is awfully quiet. He rushes out of the
bedroom to check the other rooms, realisation
that he’s gone hits him, before panic takes over.
Zakhe recalls that Kenneth is waiting for him in
the lounge, he hurries back, and hands him the
file.
“My ride is here, I’ll be in touch.” Kenneth tells
him.
He walks the man outside the gate where he
lets his eyes roam around, searching for
Funokuhle.
The moment Kenneth’s car drives off, Zakhe
rushes back into the house to grab his car keys.
He’s going to look for Funokuhle, he couldn’t
have gone far.

Zakhe didn’t expect to see him standing at his

doorsteps when he turned around.

“Funokuhle!”
His stomach does a backflip the second he
wraps his arms around the young man. It’s
ridiculous, he’s not a teenager. Zakhe curses it
silently, willing it to stay in place, to stay out of
his way. He pulls back when he feels how tense
his minion is.
“What happened? Where did you go? You had
me worried sick.”
It’s the sad look on Funo’s face that has him
asking these questions.
Funokuhle walks in, shoulders slumped and
head dropped. His gnawed demeanour
ascertains that something is seriously wrong.
Zakhe follows him, a million questions running
around his head in muddled circles.
They are standing in the middle of the lounge,
there’s tension standing in-between them.
“My father is here… he… he came to get me.” He
keeps his eyes away from Zakhe who is
frowning at him. The big man is trying to wrap
his head around what he just heard. He
scratches the base of his neck, tilts his head as
his brows go for a deeper pucker.
“Your father?” Funokuhle nods. “How did he find
you? I don’t understand.”
“Pule brought him here, I don’t know how they
found me.” Funo’s voice sounds a bit off, he’s
still struggling to look Zakhe in the eye.
“That bastard,” Zakhe hisses in anger. “Was he
here, in my house?”
He doesn’t mean to sound rude.

“I didn’t let them in, my father stood outside the

gate. Pule was the one who came to knock. I
don’t know what he told my father, but he’s on
his side. He knows him as my former teacher. I
don’t know what they discussed before they
came here. I’m also confused, the only thing I
know is that I have to go. Thank you for helping
me.”

He turns to leave, Zakhe panics and grabs his

arm to pull him back to where he was standing.
“Where are you going?”
“I told you, my father is waiting for me.” Funo
snaps, his outburst taking Zakhe completely by
surprise.
“Let me take you home, we’ll drive back
together.” He insists, and that will give them
time to talk and sort this mess out.
“That won’t be possible, I’m sorry.” The young
man takes another step, heading to the door,
but he’s pulled back again by a frustrated giant.
“Funokuhle…” It’s his turn to snap, and vent.
However, he doesn’t make it past his name.

“You’re a married man, your wife is pregnant

and…” He stops. “I’m sorry if I have misled you
or given you the wrong impression. I’m sorry I
let that night go too far, we shouldn’t have slept
together.”
His words send a chill across Zakhe’s skin that
settles deep within his core.
“You don’t mean that.” Zakhe argues. He steps
closer, claiming his space in Funo’s life. Just
when his hands feel the warmth of Funo’s
hands, the boy yanks them back, leaving Zakhe
in scratchy loneliness.
“Go back to your wife, forget about what you
feel for me. Forget we ever met.” Funokuhle.
“How do I do that? How do I do that when all I
think about is you?” Zakhe is trying to sound as
normal as possible, even if he’s anything but.
“Then stop, stop thinking about me. I am not
good for you, if we let this go on, we’ll only hurt
ourselves and the ones we love. Your wife…
she… she doesn’t need stress. It’s not good for
the baby.”
Every word nails itself onto the walls of Zakhe’s
heart. He doesn’t know what to do or what to
think. The only thing he’s able to do is defend
himself, defend what he feels.
Zakhe rubs his face roughly. When in the world
did they get here?
Things were going okay, they spent the entire
week together, getting to know each other.
Hope was built during that time, hope of a
better tomorrow, hope that he would be happy
with this man one day.

“You’re not a child Funokuhle, you’re a man.”

Vukuzakhe says after a long moment of silent
stares. “Old enough to make decisions, your
own decisions. Your father doesn’t own you.”
“He’s my father, the only father I have.” He yells,
taking two steps back, away from Zakhe’s
presence. “You’re a Khanyile, and I’m a
Sangweni. You of all people should know our
families’ history. Whatever you want with me
will never work. People will die.”
“Who said that?” Zakhe yells back. “I am not my
forefathers, I will never wage war with you. Only
with the ones who want to harm you.”
“It’s over.” That came too quick, stabbing into
Zakhe’s heart. It releases something cold and
bitter inside him.
“Funokuhle, let’s talk about this. Don’t make
hasty decisions.” Zakhe pleads.
Funo shakes his head, it appears his mind has
been made up. He turns around and starts
walking away, a pair of arms wrap around him,
preventing him from moving forward.
It’s Zakhe, standing behind him, face buried on
the minion’s neck. He’s afraid of letting go lest
Funo walks out the door. He’s faced loss before,
his heart can’t go through that again.
“Please stay.” Zakhe pleads in silent whispers.
“Vukuzakhe?” A womanly voice shouts from the
door, the two men swiftly raise their heads and
instantly rip apart.
They had left the door open, this is why they
didn’t hear Bongiwe coming.
Zakhe’s eyes widen as he sees his wife
standing in the door way, eyes watery and lips
trembling beneath her ragged breathing as if
she had been running.
He opens his mouth to speak, nothing comes
out but a cynical gasp. This is not how he
wanted her to find out, he was going to tell her
one day. Bongiwe releases a sob and takes off
running back outside.

“Bongiwe.” He calls after her, feet eager to track

her steps. Only one foot shifts under his weight,
the other stubborn to remain in place.
This is when he remembers the young man he
was begging not to leave seconds ago. It’s the
first time he’s seeing disappointment in Funo’s
eyes. Caught between a rock and a hard place
is where he is right now.
“Goodbye.” Funo whispers, so faint that Zakhe
almost misses the syllables. His eyes are dry as
raisins and face cold as ice. The younger’s feet
are fast as he runs out of the house.
This is harder than bagging a deal with Kenneth.
Does he run after his wife who might do
something stupid like tell on him, or Funokuhle
whom he might never see again.
While weighing his options, not sure which path
to take, his phone buzzes on the table, dancing
around in small bouncy circles. In his mind, he
thinks it’s his wife, so he eagerly picks it up.

*Vukuzakhe, I want you home before sunset. No

excuses.*

A message from Vumile reads. What has

Bongiwe done?
.
.
.
A/N: Your thoughts are greatly appreciated,
don't grow weary in dropping a comment,
sharing the chapters as well. #GrowAsWeGo
MATHONGA
Twenty-Two

BONGIWE-

“I’m sorry, there is no heartbeat.” Her worst

fears are confirmed.
She knew in her heart there would be, right
when she started bleeding after running out of
her husband’s house. Flashes of him holding a
man in his arms replaying in her head like a
broken record.
She panicked when she felt something wet
oozing into her panties, and sent a hand to
inspect, her heart sunk to her stomach at the
sight of blood on her trembling fingers.
She was right to panic because the bleeding
was not brown, but bright red and terrifying.
Already sweating and in tears, she shouted for
the driver to drive her to the nearest hospital in
Northcliff, where a nurse assessed her, blood
was taken for tests before attending a scan.
Minutes seemed to crawl by as she waited, she
didn’t have anyone with her to hold her hand or
tell her everything was going to be okay.
Now here she is, with a broken heart. She’s
staring at the ceiling above her, unable to make
eye contact with the nurse, willing her to say it
was a mistake, there is a baby.
“We managed to get through to your husband,
he’s on his way.” The nurse says, patting her
shoulder. Maybe she shouldn’t have, or it’s the
mention of her husband that has her bursting in
painful sobs.
The nurse tries to console her, doing her best to
keep her calm. But of course for anyone in her
condition, one is simply inconsolable.

The door to her ward opens and in walks a

lanky buff man, brows knitted and lips formed
into a thin line. His eyes are wide and forehead
pearled with sweat. She can tell he ran here
with the way he’s breathing raggedly.
“My baby.” Her scream pierces through the
room, tears pool from her eyes, showing the
extent of pain gritting her heart. One large step
and he has her locked in his arms, she rests her
head on his chest as she laments for her baby.
“Phephisa Mshengu, phephisa Shabalala.” (I’m
sorry.)
He is at a loss for words, nothing comes to him
but a lousy apology.
“Why me? Why us?” Endless questions surge
through her, none of them with an answer.
Zakhe has no solutions for her, he holds her
tighter. The only way he can assure her that
he’s here.
“I’m so… sorry sthandwa sami.”
“No, no you’re not…” She pushes him off of her.
“You wanted this to happen, you wanted me to
lose my baby.” She accuses him, barely able to
speak through crying.
“You know that is not true Bongiwe.”
It’s not. Yes he wasn’t happy about her falling
pregnant, when she knew he didn’t want kids,
and even had the audacity to accuse her of
cheating. But he’d never wish death upon an
innocent baby. Sure he didn’t get time to bond
with the pregnancy or get the hang of it, it hurts
him too that she’s lost the baby.
“Then why aren’t you crying with me? Your face
is so cold Vukuzakhe. We just lost our baby…
our first baby.” Her bloodshot eyes are stained
with pain and grief.
She can’t ignore the chaos she feels inside.
How did she come from the absolute height of
joy only a few days earlier to now arrive in this
bottomless pit of despair?
Zakhe cups her face, places a kiss on her
forehead and brings her close to his chest.
“I’m hurting too Bongiwe, I know it’s nothing
compared to what you’re feeling. I need you to
understand that I’m here for you, you’re not
alone in this.”
The sincerity in his voice is assuring enough,
Bongiwe clasps her arms around him and
releases excruciating sobs.

NTABEZIKUDE-

He’s different from his brothers, he’s the

reckless one in the family. The ugly duckling.
You can easily pick him out. While everyone
tries to walk around with halos crowning their
heads, he presents himself the way he is. Raw
and unfiltered.
Like all his brothers, he grew up needing
attention from his parents. His only sin was that
he was the middle child, stuck in the middle
between four perfect boys who always
outshined him. No matter how hard he worked,
it was never enough for his parents.
If it wasn’t Dalisile giving Vukuzakhe too much
attention and working overtime to hate
Mathonga, it was Vumile loving Mathonga with
everything he was and patting Hlabela on the
shoulder for being so perfect, while trying to put
a disruptive Ndleleni on the right path.

For years he held on to the hope that, one day

they will notice him. Until one afternoon, he
spotted his father gallivanting around with a
woman who was not his mother.
He was 14 years old, and too tall for his age
thanks to his father’s genes. His long legs didn’t
rest that day, following his father and his
mistress around until they jumped into a car
and drove away.
He couldn’t follow them, but he waited. He
waited for a day his father would slip and
expose himself, he waited for a day his father
would ask his mother for a divorce and tell
them he’s bringing another woman into the
house.
He waited for two years with a heavy heart.
That’s when he learned how to be patient but it
was all in vain. The day never came.
Eventually, his body lost its strength, his mind
shattered and the rest of him followed suit.

His brothers have always been there for him,

from day one. They loved him and never made
him feel alone. But it was the love of his parents
he needed. Their negligence pushed him away,
out of the family and into the presence of a man
who lived his life on the edge. A man who lived
in the apartheid era and thought every white
person was out to get him.
Ntabezikude saw through him, how delusional
he was, he could’ve ran back to hide under his
father’s wings. But Vumile’s wings were full
unlike Alfred Madi’s, who had enough space to
accommodate a lonely, rejected boy.
Together they formed a group of young men
who shared the same sentiments. Hate for
white people.
They took from white people, killed if they had
to and got away with it without a scratch.
Ntaba was in it for the adrenalin, it made him
forget his troubles back home.
.
.
Some call him a dual king. He’s a lion and a
lamb, he would slit your throat without blinking
twice. His friends would tell you a tale about
how he once killed a man, watched him die and
bid him farewell with a kiss as he took his last
breath. The kisses are never guaranteed
whether they come from a good place or a bad
one. They can be as lethal as poison or sweet
as honey.
Hate lingers in the darkest parts of his soul,
without it he’d be nothing, feel nothing. It is the
fuel that keeps his heart pumping and brain
ticking. It has become a defence mechanism,
where he shuts down everything that threatens
to hurt him. This is why he runs around laughing
and grinning like the Joker.

He’s made it a point to know almost everything

happening around him. People wonder how he’s
so knowledgeable and speaks like he’s been to
the future.
There is no secret, he’s a man who observes
beyond the eye, wanting to know what’s hidden
behind a human’s brain. He knows too much,
the credit goes to Alfred Madi, who has
connections in all the right places.

“Why are we at the hospital? Were you not

taking me to see Zamangwane?” Mathonga.
Ntaba checks the rear view mirror and fixes the
collar of his shirt, it’s buttoned up to his neck.
“I want you to meet someone.”
He opens the glove compartment and retrieves
a 22 calibre. Mathonga’s eyes widen, it’s not the
first time he’s seen his brother with a gun. But
they are at the hospital. What in God’s name is
he going to do with a gun here?
“Ntaba, you know I’m still young. I don’t want to
go to jail.” He cringes at the thought of being
locked up with men who have no souls or
regard for human life.
Ntaba frowns, tilting his head as his little
brother has his mind working strenuously.
“Are you serious?” It’s a thoughtless question.
Why would he not be serious? Mathonga is not
as audacious as he is, there are days he forgets
they are not cut from the same tree.
“Yes ndoda, I’m dead serious. Have you seen
me? I’m too handsome to be locked up. Do you
know what they do to men like me in jail?” Panic
strangles Mathonga, dribbles of sweat have
found a play area on his forehead. “It rhymes
with grape.”
Ntaba would laugh but today he’s in a sour
mood, he sneers at his brother, face resembling
someone who’s high on lemons.
“You should’ve reminded me to bring your milk
bottle, or we can pass by the cafeteria and get
you a packet of Cheese Curls or a dummy. How
about that, baby Thonga?”
Ntaba taunts, there is no tinge of humour found
in his hoarse voice which confuses Mathonga.
He’s not sure if this is a joke or his brother has
lost his marbles.
“Ntaba, what’s going on? I don’t know this side
of you.” Mathonga makes a chaotic frown, his
heart is going crazy in his chest.
“You’re too comfortable Mathonga, this is why
you miss things that happen around you. You
need to look outside the lavish life you live,
things are not as they seem.”
He knows this because he does his homework,
he knows people who know people and that
constantly works in his favour.

Leaving Mathonga with his spherical eyes full of

worry and confusion, Ntaba steps out of the car.
He hides the gun on his waist as he spots a
white police officer.
He’s a Sargent, the uniform gives him away.
You don’t mess with these ones, they take their
jobs seriously unlike the minions who get
peanuts every month. Those he can have them
rolling like dices on the palm of his hand.
They lock eyes, just a blink… comfortable
enough for two men to keep eye contact.
“Son.” The white officer says, he’s greeting
actually. But Ntaba is not okay with it, he hates
that he’s called him son, although the man
looks well in his father’s age.
“Muntu omdala.” The arrogance in him won’t let
him reply in English, so he uses his mother
tongue. Deep Zulu and accent on point. The
police officer blinks once, nailing him with a
glower, it’s because of the unsettling fake grin
prolonged on Ntaba’s face.
The police officer takes his leave when
Mathonga joins them.
“Mgodoyi.” Ntaba whispers to himself as his
eyes follow the neatly dressed Sargent, the look
catches Mathonga’s attention. He is not at ease,
he knows how dark Ntaba’s mind is. There is no
ray of sunshine in that head of his.

At the reception, Ntaba’s charm gets them

inside. A thick short woman in a nurse’s
uniform leads them to the ward he asked for,
and that’s after he took her numbers and
promised her a date of a lifetime.

“Bhuti, can I say something?” Mathonga looks

like he’s about to burst, something is on his
chest and he needs to let it out.
“I’m a man whore?” Ntaba beats him to it, he
doesn’t say anything more but walks into the
ward. He has a task at hand. The purpose of
visiting the hospital.
There’s a man sleeping on the bed, on his left
leg is a full leg cast. His eye is bandaged and
the other looks too tender to twitch. Ntaba grins
at how he widens the swollen eye at the sight of
them and winces in pain.
“Mapholoba.” A cheerful Ntaba leans over and
places a kiss on the man’s cheek.
“Mashiyamahle sengathi azoshumayela.”
He gets comfortable on the edge of the bed, as
if he and this man are old friends.
“Who is this?” Mathonga is confused, it’s his
first time seeing this man. More than wanting to
know who he is, he wants to know what
happened to him. A broken leg, and a swollen
eye? It looks like karma paid him a nasty visit.

“Commissioner, meet my brother.” He gives the

man a furtive look before turning back to
Mathonga. “Izinyane lika Ngwane, the apple of
my eye. IThonga lam.”
There’s a thought-provoking edge to his voice.
He’s looking at Mathonga like he’s the hill he’ll
die upon, like he’ll take a bullet for him or kill a
thousand men and only for him.
Mathonga flicks his eyes away from his
brother’s lingering gaze, Ntaba can be weird.

“Won’t you greet my beloved brother,

commissioner?” His attention is on the
commissioner now, voice laced with
undertones of something dark and eerie. The
commissioner won’t look at him, maybe he
would’ve if he wasn’t in so much pain.
“Ndoda, why are we here?” Mathonga probes.
His spirit is not agreeing with the
commissioner’s spirit, they seem to war against
each other. From the time he walked into the
ward, his body shivered and chills filled every
inch of his melanin skin.
“I’m sorry ntwana, this is Petros Ngcobo. Police
commissioner. I heard that he’s been
hospitalised and like a good citizen thought we
should come pay our last respects.” Ntaba
quips and smirks when Petros starts
hyperventilating.
Ntabezikude Khanyile, of course Petros has
heard of him and how untouchable the man is.

A high pitched laughter erupts into the room

followed
by a clapping of hands, it’s Ntaba acting like a
maniac. Mathonga shakes his head in disbelief,
his brother watches too much television.
What the heck was that?
“Oops! Did I say his last respects?” Ntaba
sniggers, leaning in to place another kiss, on
Petros’ forehead this time. “I’m sorry, I meant
we came to see if you are okay. Is there
anything you need? Thonga can run and buy you
some bananas, or you prefer grapes? Though I
think peaches are better. You look like the
grapes type, I mean they do match the size of
your balls. Am I right commissioner?”
Petros blinks his red swollen eye, fear residing
in it. He’s unable to let out a single word,
perhaps he lost his voice or fear is suffocating
him.
“Thonga, won’t you be so kind and run to the
Spaza. My old friend here is hungry.” Ntaba.
Mathonga grabs his brother’s hand and pulls
him aside.
“I’m not leaving you alone with him,” his whisper
doesn’t go past them. “Are you crazy? You can’t
kill a policeman.”
“I’m not going to do anything to him.” Ntaba is
chilled, this is a picnic for him.
“I’m not dumb Ndoda, you are low-key
threatening him. What if he throws you in jail?”
Mathonga.
“Then I’m taking him down with me, it’s where
dirty cops belong anyway.” Ntaba peeps over at
the patient, he winks as their eyes meet.
“Did you do that to him? He looks badly beaten.
Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Relax ntwana and be patient.” Ntaba scratches
his neatly trimmed beard before letting his face
stretch into a smile. “Go buy grapes ndoda.”
Sounds like an order, Mathonga shakes his
head as he strides out.

“You don’t look comfortable Patricia, let me fix

the pillows for you.” Ntaba roughly grabs one
of the pillows supporting Petros’ head, the
commissioner lets out a heavy breath as his
head falls on a thin pillow. His eyes wavering
from Ntaba’s impassive face to the pillow in his
hands.

“Patricia is a nice name, don’t you think? I’m

sure that’s what they’ll call you in jail. That’s if
you don’t die from that broken leg.” He’s
sauntering around the bed, there’s something
dangerous about his calmness. It has the
patient mumbling gibberish. It’s proven that he
can’t speak.

“Let me let you in on myself.” He sits back on

the edge of the bed, places the pillow on Petros’
belly. “I know things, lucky for you I don’t know
enough to send you to the grave. Besides, death
would be an easy way out for a bastard like you.
I want to be your worst nightmare, Ngcobo. I
want you to shit your pants at the mention of
my name. When my faces flashes before your
eyes, I want you to sleep with the lights on and
a rosary around your neck. I’m going to enjoy
making life hell for you Ngcobo and the fun part
about this is that you will do nothing about it.”

There is something Ntaba knows about the

commissioner, and he’s going to make him
confess it himself. He grabs the pillow and
presses it on the commissioner’s face, a smirk
twitches at the corner of his lips as the thought
of suffocating the man almost to death ripples
through him like a mind blowing orgasm.
“Shit!” He hisses at the sound of the door
opening.
Bad timing.
Ntaba moves the pillow from the patient’s face
and places it back under his head, going an
extra mile to make sure he’s comfortable.
“Who are you? What are you doing in my
husband’s room?”
Perfect! The wife is here.
His brain works like a machine, he smiles at the
frowning woman and bows his head in respect.
When he raises it, his face is concealed with a
blood curdling sneer, his eyes are empty as if
his soul has been removed from his body.
“Mamazala.” His voice is afflicting, the chubby
woman visibly shivers at the eerie sound.
“Who… who are…” The question falls away from
her.
“Who am I, you ask?” Ntaba pauses and taps
his chin thoughtfully, before a humorous shade
forms in his cold eyes. “I don’t know mamazala.
I’m still trying to find myself.”
The woman swallows the lump in her throat and
tries to tame the fear clawing at her. She’s not
sure why the young man terrifies her to death,
her globular eyes scurry to her impractical
husband on the bed who looks just as terrified.
“Petros, who is this boy?” Only her husband can
give her the answers she seeks, but he’s an
invalid and the possibility of him shitting
himself is higher than the stocks in the markets.
Ntaba steps aside and lets the woman weave
her way to her husband, there are whispers
from her. He can’t make out what is being said,
it frustrates him. Being in the dark, not knowing
what is happening around him frustrates him.
“Patty, this is my cue. Let me love and leave you.
I’m sure mamazala wants to give you a good
massage.” He winks at the horrified man. “I’ll
see you around.”
He leaves the room with plans of visiting again.
MATHONGA-
Twenty-three
VUKUZAKHE-

It’s a little after 1pm, the doctor discharged her.

The walk to the parking lot is a silent affair, he
hasn’t asked her anything nor volunteered to
speak. She’s settled in a wheelchair, her bag on
her lap and eyes cast forward.
Zakhe helps her up when they get to the car, he
opens the passenger door and waits for her to
get in, a frown forms on his face when she
doesn’t move.
“Are you gay?” She’s looking at him with a
condemning gaze. Her question was expected,
he just didn’t think it would be here, in public.
“Can we talk about this at home? Please,”
please is not a very common word used
between them. Over the years, they have taken
each other for granted, they acted more like
enemies than a married couple.
“I want to know now.” Feisty!
“I’m not.” He replies, without sounding the least
happy about his answer.
“Then, what were you doing with him?” Bongiwe
is persistent, which frustrates her husband. He
shifts his eyes around for any eavesdroppers.
He feels uncomfortable talking about this.
“I’m not doing this here, get in the car.” He says,
his tone dismissive.
He grabs her arm and tries to gently help her
into the car, Bongiwe squirms in his hold.
“Let me go, Ngwane.”
They get a few looks from civilians who are
passing by, it has him loosening his grip.
Judgemental looks crowning him an abuser.
“Don’t do this here, Bongiwe.”
He sees an argument coming, Bongiwe has no
timing. If her clock says now, then now it is.
“Let’s go home, I will explain everything there.”
“What is there to explain, Vukuzakhe? You’re
cheating on me with a man. I lost my baby
because of you and that… that faggot.”
Her words feel like hands latching around his
throat, making it hard for him to breathe.
“Keep him out of this.” Anger simmers within
him, her thoughtless words have his pulse
running. Her eyes widen at his scolding, this she
did not expect.
“You still defend him after what he did?” She
mumbles, her tears are such a show off.
Instead of wiping her tears away, Vukuzakhe
leaves her standing there and marches to the
driver’s side. He gives her one final look before
getting into the car.
He turns on the engine and waits for his
stubborn woman to get in. Bongiwe has a good
mind not to, but this is not the village.
The door closes with a loud bang after she’s
settled in the seat, Zakhe gives her an odd stare
as he drives off. It’s peaceful for a while, thank
the heavens. If they keep this up, they will make
it home alive.

Silence is golden, but cell phones are not

manufactured to know that. His phone is
ringing, escaping this call is impossible. Vumile
would bite his head off, it’s lunchbreak at
church and he’s using this time to call him. Yes
they get lunch lunchbreaks before the second
service. Unluckily for him, the phone is
connected to the Bluetooth speaker.
“Vukuzakhe.” He sighs at the sound of his
father’s voice. Dalisile and Nandi are not doing
their jobs, the chief has too much time in his
hands.
“Yebo baba.”
“What is this I hear? You wife lost the baby?” It’s
not really a question. By the sound of it, Vumile
is fully informed. Bongiwe is like a bat, you
never see her coming. She hasn’t left his side
but the news of the miscarriage has made it to
KZN.
A crown for her majesty!
Zakhe steals a glance to find her glaring at him.
It’s a good thing looks don’t kill.
“Yebo baba, she did.” Zakhe murmurs.
“Is she okay?” Vumile seems to worry more
about Bongiwe than anyone else. Keeping her in
the family must be that important.
“She is fine baba, we’ll be home tomorrow.
Travelling a long distance is not ideal, she
needs to recover.” His grip tightens on the
steering wheel, he’s rapidly blinking. Bongiwe
notices the emotional war her husband is
battling and huffs at how dramatic he can be.
The call is ended simply because Vumile would
not stop asking about his daughter in-law.

Bongiwe slumps back on the chair, and crosses

her arms. Tears have dried on her face. She
feels more angry than hurt, it’s the way Zakhe
has not shown the same emotions as she has
for their loss.
“I don’t know what’s happening between the
two of us, Ngwane. We used to be close.”
Bongiwe starts, she knows her silence means
his silence. Zakhe is a man who rarely
expresses himself.
“I’m still here, Bongiwe. You’re the one who
drifted.” Zakhe.
“I drifted because you changed, and I feared
losing you. You built walls around you, I couldn’t
stand being in the dark. So, I wanted to destroy
those walls and the only way I knew how was to
fight. I was convinced you wanted out.” She
would unleash in storms of anger and
frustration if life was not drained out of her.
“You should have told me how you felt Bongiwe,
but you constantly pushed me away with your
violence and vile words.”
“That’s because you never listen to me. Don’t
you think I tried? You are selfish Ngwane, you
only see yourself. I am your wife, but I
relentlessly have to fight to get your attention.”
Not this again. “I needed you, Ngwane, and you
were busy chasing men.”

He’s shaking his head, more than once. These

constant arguments are tiring. He feels like he
is losing his mind, it’s messing with his brain.

The traffic light turns red on Beyers Naude Dr,

he slows down and stops. No one is saying
anything, talking can be exhausting.
When the robot opens, Zakhe drives on, but he
stops when an old red taxi parks in front of his
car. It’s a weekend, the roads are not busy. He’d
drive past the taxi and pretend this never
happened, but it’s a one way. He’s basically
blocked.
“What the heck?” Like any driver, he becomes
frustrated. There are three men in the taxi, not
one has bothered to look his way and gesture
an apology for stopping in front of them. Zakhe
hoots but it’s useless, they don’t concede.
“What’s going on?” Bongiwe.
One of the men dashes out of the taxi, he
kneels down, checking the back tyre. It
frustrates Zakhe more.
“Stay here.” He instructs his wife and steps out
of the car. The crouching man looks up when
Zakhe nears him.
“Excuse me, please move your vehicle to the
side. You’re blocking the way.” Zakhe.
The man stands, sneering at him.

Zakhe turns at the sound of hurried feet behind

him, a body runs into him and he hits the
ground with a thundering crash. His headache
must be a Milky Way. It’s an unexpected attack,
but he still tries to get up.
“Vukuzakhe!” Bongiwe’s voice erupts in
hysterical screams, his worried gaze shifts to
check on her. She’s standing outside the car,
eyes wild with horror.
“Go back in the car, Bongiwe.” He shouts, she
doesn’t move an inch but starts screaming for
help. Zakhe’s attackers are not bothered, this is
Johannesburg after all.
It’s the cars driving past as if nothing is
happening that baffle him.
“Khanyile.” A man scoffs, kicking him on the
stomach as he attempts to get up. He
recognises him as one of the Sangweni
brothers, one of Funokuhle’s brothers. The
incisions on his face attests that he is one of
them, strangely Funokuhle doesn’t have them.
“You are making a mistake Sangweni,” he
growls, struggling to get up. “Do you know who
you are dealing with?”
The man snorts, unaffected. His foot comes up
and wildly kicks Zakhe in the face. He
accidentally bites his tongue and blood fills his
mouth.
Sangweni’s accomplices join him in kicking and
punching a defenceless man on the floor,
making it hard for Zakhe to fight back.
He can feel his muscles tensing and pain
claims his body. He attempts to re-arrange his
senses in order to fight back, but he’s
powerless against three men. All he can do is
bring his forearms up to counter the blows and
kicks.

Bongiwe’s screams turn to spine chilling

screams. Seeing no one is willing to help, she
drops down on the road, and balls her eyes out.
Zakhe is worried about her, that these creatures
might attack her as well.

Sangweni dips a hand into the taxi and grabs a

hammer. With the help of his men, he pulls an
injured Zakhe to his feet, almost tearing his
collar.
“This is for fucking my brother and for stabbing
me.” Sangweni snaps and with force swings the
hammer at Zakhe’s head. Instant pain gushes
through his body as the hammer collides with
his skull.
The impact throws him to the ground. His vision
blurs, his ears are ringing and he’s seeing
flashes of black. Saliva mixed blood dribbles
from his mouth, there is blood pouring from his
temple.
Like soulless monsters who lack emotion and
human traits, Zakhe’s attackers spit on his body
and drive away in the taxi, leaving him barely
alive and barely moving.

NTABEZIKUDE-
He abandoned his brother somewhere along
the way back home, with an alleged reason of a
meeting. Mathonga was told not to go home,
but wander around. Plans of meeting his sister
still put on hold.
It’s a Saturday, the church goers are not back
yet and the workers are in their rooms probably
dancing to ‘Akekho uDalisile.’

The first thing Ntaba did when he got home an

hour ago was rush to his rondavel, take a
shower and glaze his skin with lotion, making
sure he smells the way he looks- expensive and
manly.

He’s on his birthday suit now, laying on the bed,

and an impatient look on his face. He does not
like to be kept waiting and it’s so unlike her to
keep him waiting.
It was a week ago when he made a move,
Mathonga’s words really got to him. It’s nothing
serious, he’s just granting the girl her wish or as
his brother had put it, making her dreams come
true.
Really, that’s his reason for tapping that.

It all started when they were alone in the house.

Khethiwe was clumsy as usual, she dropped a
mug when he walked into the kitchen, whistling
to one of his infamous tasteless songs.
Ntaba helped her like he always does, the two
conversed until she was a little comfortable
around him. The man somehow found a way to
lock his lips with hers, it felt like a dream to
Khethiwe. She happily reciprocated, drowning in
him like a fish in water.
When he asked her to meet him in his room
after everyone had gone to sleep, Khethiwe did
not hesitate nor think twice about it.
Her heart led her to him, into his arms. What
was meant to be a onetime thing has grown
into an affair.

A slight knock at the door gets him excited, he

jumps from the bed and stands at the foot of it
with his hands on his hips. It’s the only place he
can put them.
If he crosses them it will make him look uptight.
If he puts them on his back, it will make him
look old. And if he lets them hang on his sides,
it will just be weird because his hands won’t be
the only thing hanging loose.
He’s not hard yet, but the second discreet knock
makes his erection throb with enthusiasm.
“Enter.” Shit! He cusses, hoping he didn’t sound
like an old creep. Who says enter in this day and
age?
The door slowly opens, showing a cagey
Khethiwe. Her eyes bulge when they connect
with his nakedness, she thinks of closing them,
but she can’t seem to stop looking at his
condom-covered shaft.
Khethiwe bashfully giggles at how ready Ntaba
is, his confidence turns her on.
This man is insane, she’s come to know this.
That there are two Ntabas, the intimidating one
who makes her tremble and trip and break his
mother’s plates and mugs, and there’s this silly
one who comes out during their sexual
encounters.

“Close the door Khethi.” This is what he calls

her now.
Khethiwe snaps out of it and quickly shuts the
door closed. “Come closer, I won’t bite unless
you want me to.”
They all say they don’t bite till you end up with
an expensive bite mark that cries when it’s
hungry and poops when it’s full.
Khethiwe takes a couple of decisive steps in his
direction, he greets her with a soft kiss that
brings a smile to her face.
Maybe her mother should’ve named her Lucky.
Khethiwe for what?!

“We have to hurry, Nala will start wondering

where I am.” This she tells him when he helps
her out of her dress, Nala is the least of his
concerns.
His focus is on her naked body, she’s not
wearing any panties today, that’s less work for
him. He buries his face on her busty cleavage
and breathes in her scent.
“You don’t rush sex, Khethi.” He tells her,
sucking the top of her full breasts. “These
things are not rushed.”

Her moans push him to go further, to continue

sucking and kissing her body. His hand grasps
around her neck, pulling her towards him. Their
lips meet in a violent dance, it makes her forget
her worries.
His fingers tug her loose braids, they slyly travel
further to explore her naked back before gliding
to grab her thick ass.
Their bodies are pressed together as they move
in a gentle, desperate dance.

“Your body is so warm.” He whispers between

rugged breaths before intensifying the kiss. He
grabs her hips and directs them to the bed,
giggles move around when they fall onto the
mattress.
Ntaba is on top, exploring her body and mouth,
until she is moaning at full volume.
“Ready?” He is asking for consent, eyes lustful
and sluggish.
Unfortunately, men like him don’t come in twos.
Khethiwe agrees with just a nod, she gasps
when he slowly enters her front bottom. Her
fingers dig into his broad shoulders with each
thrust, his movements are gentle yet frantic.
“Oh Ntaba!” She breathes his name, clasping
herself around him.
He knows she’s enjoying him, and the man’s
ego is boosted. He’s moving in and out of her
with pride, breathing heavily.
His hand wanders around her face, he pushes
two fingers into her mouth, her eyes widen.
She’s shocked.

“What are you doing?” The question is muffled

as she speaks with her mouth full of his two
fingers. The innocent looking lady retches, eyes
watery.
“Fucking your mouth.” He’s serious, his eyes are
dizzy with lust. Khethiwe cannot understand,
this is new to her. She shakes her head and
moves it away until his fingers slip out.
Ntaba stops thrusting, it’s agonising for him,
but he wants to check if she’s okay.
“Stop gagging like that Khethi. What, are you
trying to direct my fingers to your G-spot? You
are going to choke.” He says, brows snapping in
query.
Khethiwe doesn’t care, mouths don’t have G-
spots. She wants him to continue pleasuring
her. Her clit is begging to be tingled.
“You’re fingering my mouth, that’s weird. I have
never heard of it.” She’s not interested in doing
it, it must be done in an asylum because normal
people don’t do that stuff.
Ntaba laughs, “There’s nothing wrong with it. It
adds flavour to one’s sex life. Normal sex is
boring, it’s like eating cabbage every day. Trust
me, this is what everyone is doing.”
He tattoos kisses on her neck and chest, his
hand fondling with one of her nipples.
“I prefer the normal boring sex, just use your
eggplant and go deeper. It’s not like I’m going to
cum with my mouth.”
The safer the better, learn from Khethiwe!
Ntaba replies by intensely kissing her, his lips
feel right against hers.
“Don’t you trust me, Khethi?” When a man asks
this question during sex… RUN!
Khethiwe nods, a smile dancing on her swollen
lips. “I trust you.”
“Then follow my lead.” He pushes the two
fingers back into her mouth and tells her to
suck while stiring them around, as if he's stiring
a cup of tea.
She’s trying but the food she ate for lunch is
threatening to join them.
The only pleasure she’s getting is from his shaft
buried deep inside her vulva. Heaven on earth is
how she would describe it.
She still can’t understand why he’s fingering her
mouth though. Khethiwe gags to a point of
almost vomiting, more tears burn her eyes. It’s
enough! She grabs his hand and pulls it away.

“Ntaba!” She’s cranky, if she vomits she would

never be able to face him again. He slows down
his thrusts, his brows pucker.
“Cha Khethiwe. I’m not helping you ukugabha.”
She laughs at his facial expression. “Yini,
ukhipha isichitho?” (Are you removing a curse?)
He's being silly, that's why she's giggling.
“But I’m choking, I don’t want to throw up.” She
complains.
“It’s the same as having my eggplant in your
mouth, you suck and roll your tongue.” Ntaba.
“But none of us will get pleasure from this, my
mouth doesn’t have a g-spot. Only your banana
can make me orgasm.”
Ntaba is defeated. This is not how he pictured it
would be, he thought it would be simple like
that video he saw on porn-hub.
“WeNtokazi, you’ll be the cause of my early
death.” Ntaba shakes his head, allowing a smirk
to grace his face.
Who knew having sex would be so much work?
He’s kissing her again, Khethiwe loves how his
hands roam around her naked melanin skin.
This is a dream come true for her.

The g-spot is not in her mouth but her lady parts,

and Ntaba’s shaft has found it, he knows this
because she tightens her legs around him, and
her moans go from high to higher.
Orgasms can be vicious sometimes, like this
one that just hit her. An erotic scream explodes
into the room, not far behind it are Khethiwe’s
juices.
She screams his name as he goes deeper and
faster, convulsing violently under the man who
is chasing his own slice of cake.
“I’m almost there Khethi, let me cum inside
you.” He’s asking for permission, Khethiwe is
too high on orgasms to answer.
Her head is thrown back into the pillow, eyes
rolled to the back of her head, arms wrapped
around him and fingers digging into his back.
“Please let me cum inside you,” he’s groaning
like an overfed pig, and pumping faster.
One nod from Khethiwe and he explodes inside
her. His head falls on the side of her neck.
Khethiwe shivers and whimpers when Ntaba
pulls out and tumbles next to her. They don’t
cuddle, lest she falls in love with him. These
were his words.

As soon as he catches his breath, he lifts his

head to look at her. A wide grin stretches his
mouth.
“I thought you wore a condom.” She panics.
He better be wearing one, she can't fall
pregnant, her mother would kill her. Her father
would burn her and use her ashes as Aromat.
“I did. I am.” The big baby answers like a sulky
kid. He is a dual king indeed.
“Then why did you ask for permission to release
inside me?” Khethiwe.
“I just felt like saying it.” He lies back on the bed,
using his hands as a pillow.
There’s a content smile on his face, Khethiwe
cannot believe this is the Ntaba she’s always
feared.
He tenses when she shifts closer, eliminating
the space between them, and starts counting
strands of hair on his armpits. She’s going
against the terms and conditions.
NO CUDDLING!!!
“Thank you Ntaba, your cucumber always
makes me happy.” It’s not a lie, she is the
happiest woman in the world right now. Ntaba’s
face crinkles.
“Really? Cucumber, banana, eggplant.” He
mumbles. “Your love for food gives me not so
good goose-bumps. You’re using my crotch to
make a sex salad, Khethi.”
He leaves her laughing alone in bed as he goes
to dispose of the condom.
MATHONGA
Twenty-Four

NTABEZIKUDE -

Cuddling was out of the question, now he’s

waking up with her in his arms. He groans like a
man in pain, his face crinkles as he regards her
with a dark, mysterious gaze
“Khethiwe.”
His voice is croaky, it always is when he wakes
up. Khethiwe does not move when he shakes
her shoulder for the second time, he wants to
get up, but she’s on top of him. It’s not in his
nature to be aggressive towards a woman,
otherwise he would’ve pushed her aside.
“Khethiwe, wake up.”
A little louder this time, her eyelids twitch
before she slowly opens her tired eyes.
“What time is it?” It’s not dusk yet, so she’s safe.
Ntaba’s eyes chase the fancy clock on his wall,
his family should be home in two hours. 4pm is
usually their arrival time.
“You still have time to get dressed and leave my
room.” At his words, Khethiwe’s gaze wards off,
the man is handsome but that does not mean
his coldness can be excused. She shifts from
his side as he grimaces at her. She clears her
throat and sits up.
She’s looking for her dress, it flies to her before
she can ask him to help find it.
When did he leave the bed? She’s suddenly
afraid to look straight at him, the man who had
her screaming his name not so long ago and
confidently whipping up a sex-salad.

“Uh…” Ntaba clears his throat, he’s standing at

the foot of the bed, an impassive stare on
Khethiwe who is struggling to don her dress.
“You do know this is not serious, right? We’re
both benefiting from this, it doesn’t have to
have a label. They ruin everything.” He feels a
need to explain himself, why he’s chasing her
out of his room.
Maybe he’s noted the sadness in her eyes, or
shame rather. Khethiwe nods, afraid to maintain
eye contact.
“I know.”
“Okay, good.” The bastard makes a mistake of
sounding relieved, he goes as far as adding a
smile. Awkward silence knocks, no one is
willing to open for it, so it breaks in.
“Uh…” Ntaba kicks it back out with the sound of
his voice, he has the nerve to consider her with
a penetrating gawk. His eyes are roaming
through her body, salivating. Khethiwe can feel
his gaze on her, and denies him a second
glance.
“Are you going to make the bed… before you
leave?”
He doesn’t have to ask, it is her job. She’s a
bloody servant and he’s this wealthy fuck-boy
who is not ready for a stable relationship while
his peers, thirty-one-year olds are trying for baby
number two.
Khethiwe shrugs, she's trying hard not to roll
her eyes at him.
"You're not upset, right? I mean we have a
mutual understanding that we're only having
fun." Ntaba.
“Of course.” That’s her answer as she scampers
off the bed to don her body with the now
creased dress, this is not her style.
She loathes dresses, but because this idiot she
has fallen for is a sucker for a woman in a dress,
she thought she would impress him and maybe
look decent for once in her life.

“I’m not Cinderella looking for a ring, a white

dress and a happily ever after.” Khethiwe retorts,
a spasm of pain is heard in her voice.
Ntaba is putting on his shoes when the door
flings open and Mathonga flies in heaving and
sweaty. His eyes are red-rimmed and wide with
worry. He freezes as he sees Khethiwe standing
by his brother’s bed.
Thank God she is fully dressed, Ntaba was
ready to jump in front of her and hide what only
he is allowed to see.
“Ndoda?” The question is aimed at a wide-eyed
Mathonga, standing in the doorway. His bulging
eyes running between a bored looking Ntaba
and a bashful Khethiwe. “Wakhamisa, yini?
Khuluma ndoda.” (Speak.)

Khethiwe’s shocked by Ntaba’s indifference,

this is supposed to be a secret, but he’s not
bothered that Mothanga has walked in on them.
A small smile visits her face, this is one step to
owning Ntaba’s heart.
“Bongiwe called, bhuti Zakhe was attacked by
some men. Her words were all over the place,
she was too hysterical to speak.”
A gasp… rampaged by Khethiwe, she’s quick to
tears.
Ntaba’s jaw ticks, as he releases an animalistic
growl in his throat. Gloom clouds his eyes, his
soft aura is replaced by a dark heavy aura…
intimidating. The thought of his brother
attacked infuriates him. Who would dare touch
Vukuzakhe Khanyile?
The respect he has for Zakhe overshadows the
respect he has for his father, now some fucker
had the nerve to lay a hand on the man he
esteems higher than the one who gave him life.
“Have you called ubaba?” He queries, tilting his
head to drink in Mathonga’s panicky features.
“He’s on his way, along with Hlabela and
Ndlela.” Mathonga is feeling awkward, maybe
they should step out.
Ntaba has never let a woman into his room, this
is why Mathonga felt no need to knock before
budging in.
Ntaba notices that he’s uncomfortable and
drags him outside with him, shutting the door
behind.
There’s no twinge of shame or worry in his face,
nor is he going to try and explain himself. He’s a
grown man, he can lay with any woman he
wants and not justify himself.
“Did Bongiwe tell you what happened?” Ntaba
asks.
“No, she couldn’t get a proper sentence out. I
guess we’ll find out when we get there. Godswill
has booked us tickets to Johannesburg.”

Ntaba frowns, appearing mystified. “Who’s

that?”
His question has Mathonga snorting at how
ignorant his brother is, “Bhuti Zakhe’s assistant.
We’re all travelling, except for Dalisile. I tried to
get a hold of her, her phone is off.”
Ntaba doesn’t care.
“If Bongiwe is behind my brother’s attack, I will
not spare her.” He knows Bongiwe is capable,
he witnessed their fight the other day and how
vicious she can be. Hell hath no fury…
“We shouldn’t jump into conclusions, ndoda.”
Mathonga announces, again Ntaba does not
care.
“Are you okay?” He’s questioning the tears
peeping through Mathonga’s eyes. Mathonga
clears his throat and drops his gaze.

“How did I not see this coming bhuti, I always

see these things coming.” Mathonga’s question
leaves a soft chuckle in Ntaba’s mouth.
“Don’t lie, you’re not Mboro.” Ntaba is trying to
make things less awkward.
Mathonga shakes his head, “Okay, maybe not
always. But they were supposed to show me.
Have they completely turned their backs on
me?”
That old man, the one he saw in his dream was
promising. He said there’ll be a storm, but he
also made him believe that he won’t walk alone
in the storm. They should’ve done their job and
warned him about this.
“Blaming yourself will not help Vukuzakhe.”
Ntaba crosses his arms in his chest. “Stop
being soft ndoda, how are you going to handle
your wife’s child-birth?”
Earth to Ntaba, you’re supposed to be
comforting the man not scaring him.
“What?” Mathonga is dazed, he gulps. “What
does this have to do with Zakhe’s condition.
“Nothing.” He leaves it at that. “Wipe your tears
and go pack your bags, I’m not going to travel
with a cry baby. If it will make you feel better,
there’s Danone in the fridge, grab that as well.”
“Can you stop insulting me.” Mathonga cracks
and lands a punch on his brother’s shoulder.
A groan and chuckle derive from Ntaba, “Can
you stop crying like a woman?”
“Ndoda, I’m…”
“Ndoda.” Ntaba mimics his brother. “That’s
what you are… indoda. You need to start acting
like one, Zakhe will want you to be strong.”
“Okay… I hear you.” Mathonga nods, tenaciously
rubbing his red-rimmed eyes.
“That’s more like it, that’s the authority I would
like to hear.” He comforts him with a pat to his
back. “Now you are ready to be someone’s
husband.”
It’s silly how he thinks he knows everything and
Mathonga is not in the mood to entertain him.
The sound of the gate sliding open catches
their attention, the family is back.

NALA-

The servants are restless and anxious after

learning about Vukuzakhe, I haven’t been
around him enough to worry about his life. But I
feel for Mathonga, he looks the most affected.
Maybe it’s because he’s the last born.
The chief and his sons are leaving for
Johannesburg, there’s heavy tension hovering
about. The brothers look scary with those
heated faces they are sporting.
Leaving Khethiwe in the kitchen, I rush outside
to speak to Mathonga. I didn’t think he would
leave without saying goodbye. I’m relieved that
the chief is in the car, and his brothers are
approaching the parking area. The sun will set
soon, if I’m right, 2 hours from now.

“Mathonga wait.” He stops and swivels to face

me, a pained scowl on his surface. He’s so
transparent that I can see and feel his pain,
save for the unshed tears in his eyes.
“I’m sorry about your brother.” I tell him, he
doesn’t say anything. I think he doesn’t know
what to say. “He will be okay.”
I don’t sound convincing, but what the heck, I
don’t know how to comfort him. And I don’t
know why I hug him, but I do.
I think I will freeze and panic when his arms
enfold around my embarrassingly small frame.
It feels right, there’s a sense of belonging as
well. Like this is where I’m meant to be,
swallowed by the warmth of his arms.
“We’ll talk when I get back,” he utters as he pulls
away. I allow his hands access to my cheeks, it
feels intimate and sacred. “Please take care of
yourself.”
“And don’t leave the premises.” A profound
rumble spiked with authority says in passing,
it’s Ntabezikude. He did not even spare me a
glance. My inquisitive gaze follows his over 6
foot form to his car until he’s situated inside.
How tall are these people? This is why they all
drive big cars, they’d probably strain their necks
in small vehicles.

“Don’t go anywhere, Nala.” Mathonga’s plea

brings me back to him, back to the worried look
in his eyes. "There are guards around here,
you're all safe."
“I won’t.” This is my hiding place. Besides,
Petros is hospitalised, he won’t be looking for
me.
His arms are around me again, for a short time.
I’m cloaked by coldness and loneliness when he
lets go. He traces Ntabezikude’s steps to his
car, they will be travelling together, so it looks.
Hlabela and Ndleleni are seated in the same car.
It’s the chief who is driving alone.
*
*
I don’t wait for them to drive away, but go back
to Khethiwe in the kitchen. She’s not here, I’m
lugged by the sound of familiar voices towards
the lounge. I find her slouched on the sofa, feet
spread out and a remote in hand. She’s
watching Isibaya, I don’t think we’re allowed to
make ourselves at home.
“Khethiwe!” My voice startles her, but she
makes no effort to jump up. “What if Ndlunkulu
walks in?”
“Relax Nala, she won’t be coming home soon.”
There’s a smile in her voice. “The first thing she
will find when she turns on her phone are
missed calls and messages from her husband
and sons. Knowing her, she will use her broom
to fly to Joburg.”
Wow!
“Sit down and watch TV with me, the bosses
are not home.” Khethiwe conveys and grabs a
glass of what looks like cranberry juice from the
expensive looking coffee table. Her sip is loud
and unaffected.
I don’t understand how she can be so free.
What if they decide to drive back? What if one
of them forgot something?

Unlike Khethiwe, I’m not too comfortable to

make myself at home, so I position myself on
the edge of the one seater couch. Her manner
tells me that she wants to roll her eyes, but
doesn’t.
“Is this what you always do when the owners
are not around?” I’m curious.
“The owners are always around, if it’s not
Dalisile, it’s the brothers.”
She turns the volume down, I’m glad because
Sunday’s voice was starting to annoy me. His
ruthlessness reminds me of Petros.

“Mathonga is cool, he treats the staff like family.

Hlabela and Ndleleni are too serious for my
liking, they walk around like we’re invisible.
Vukuzakhe is always worried about this and
that. Ntaba doesn’t care about anyone, he lives
in his own world.”
I notice how the tone of her voice changes at
the mention of Ntaba’s name. I’m about to mind
her business when my phone buzzes with a
message. It’s Mam’Julia, she wants me home,
to take care of her husband. I don’t want to go. I
won’t go.
She sounded happy this morning when I told
her that I’m employed, why has she suddenly
changed her mind? I can’t grasp how she can’t
see Petros for who he is, or maybe she chooses
to be ignorant.
God says ask anything and it will be given to
you. This is what I have been doing since
Mam’Julia called me early this morning to tell
me that my so called father was attacked by
thugs and is in the hospital. I asked God to take
his life, I’m not sure if my prayers have reached
heaven yet. I doubt they have, otherwise I
would’ve gotten the news that he’s dead and
rotting in the deepest pit in hell.
I haven’t heard from the twins, that woman says
they are visiting Petros’ aunt in Eshowe. She’s
lying. That ignorant bitch.
I switch my phone off and place it on the couch
beside me, only to get an inquisitive stare from
Khethiwe.
“That’s either your ex or a guy you’re avoiding.”
She’s forward.
“I don’t have exes.” It’s the truth, between
raising the twins and being Petros’ prisoner, I
never had the time to live. The old bastard
would’ve killed me, anyway. I don’t like the look
Khethiwe is giving me, men are not my favourite
topic.
“A beautiful girl like you should have about ten
or twelve exes.” She sits up, the smile on her
face is expectant.
“I have none.”
“Impossible,” She giggles, placing her feet on
the couch, Indian style. “How old are you?”
I want to throw the stupid question back at her.
“Old enough.”
“Old enough to have ten exes,” she’s laughing
again.
“I have never had a boyfriend,” and I’m not
ashamed, men are not the next best thing since
sliced bread.
I’m a bit uncomfortable by how Khethiwe gasps,
it can’t be that shocking.
“You’re a virgin?” My heart starts to crack at her
question, too many emotions engulf me, more
than I can handle. I can’t tell her where to get
off, not with that friendly smile on her face. She
means no harm, she’s unaware of my fretting
situation.

“Oh my Shembe, Nala.” Her hand glides to her

chest. “But I believe you, you do look like a
virgin. Innocent and very reticent.”
“I’m not shy if that’s what you are saying.” I’m
not shy, maybe I’m too caged by Petros’
shackles to let loose and live.
“It is, it is what I’m saying. You’re reserved, you
keep to yourself most of the time and you
hardly keep eye contact when talking to people.
Dalisile the most, which I don’t blame you. That
woman makes my skin crawl, we’re just lucky
she’s hardly around and pays little attention to
the workers.” Khethiwe.
It must be a blessing that she’s changed the
subject, I grab the opportunity. I’d rather gossip
about the chief’s wife than talk about me.
“You call her by name?” It’s not the first time.
“When she’s not around,” she splutters. Her
eyes flip and come back to their place.
“Mathonga calls her by name too.”
Yeah, that’s probably the relationship they have.
Khethiwe is just a servant. Wait a minute.

“Is it because you’re sleeping with the boss?”

My question has her blinking rapidly. The
confidence she had seconds ago is gone.
“What are you talking about?” She avoids my
gaze and hides her shifty eyes behind the glass
of juice. Or is it wine? You never know with
Khethiwe.
“Stop asking, I’m not going to tell you anything.”
Khethiwe.
“Come on, you gave me some of your clothes.
Aren’t we best friends already or should I send a
friend request first?”
I can be talkative too, as long as the spotlight is
not on me.
“Emotional blackmail? Really, Nala? And that’s
not how it works.” She argues, now flipping
through channels. She settles for channel 171,
Ntabezikude’s favourite channel. I will never
understand his obsession with serial killers and
women who kill their husband.

“I think I like Mathonga, he’s kind and very

considerate. He makes me feel at home, not
once has he made me feel unwelcomed.” I open
up, to get her to speak. I never thought she
would ever be shy with me. She’s only reluctant
around Ntabezikude. “So, now we’re besties and
since I’ve shared my secret, it’s your turn.”

My statement tickles her, her laughter fills the

lounge. It’s friendly and warm.
“You are so childish, Nala. I didn’t expect this
from a quiet girl like you.” Khethiwe.
I’m not quiet, I just have a lot going on. My mind
is forever absent.
“You’re a beautiful girl Khethiwe, I don’t blame
Ntaba. He must be attracted by the long hair on
your eyes.”
“The what, now?” She regards me with squinted
eyes.
“The hair on the top and bottom of your eyes.”
Me.
Why does that look in her eyes make me feel
stupid? I should’ve said this in Zulu. I’m trying to
teach myself English.
“Eyelashes.” I believe Khethiwe is correcting me,
it’s kind of her to do it without laughing at me.
“Yeah that, it makes you look like a real life
Barbie.” I accept and sing her praises, she is
beautiful. I envy her fleshy body, I wish I wasn’t
suffering from malnutrition, maybe I wouldn’t
be so insecure.
“I like Ntaba, he affects me.” Adoration writes
itself on Khethiwe’s features, she completely
ignores my worship. “He touches me without
actually touching me, my body and heart
recognise him.”
“Someone is whipped.” It’s my turn to laugh at
her, she escapes her seat and squeezes herself
on the one seater beside me. Her hips take up
most of the space. Her arm wraps itself around
my shoulder, she pulls me back with her till
we’re leaning comfortably on the couch.
“Trust me, Ntabezikude Khanyile is a good
whipper.” Khethiwe sings.
“That’s disgusting.” It is, she’s basically painting
unnecessary pictures.
“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but
chains and whips excite me.” She hums after
this strange saying.
“Speak like a normal person, you are confusing
me.” I declare, a little shamed that I’m terrible
with the English language.
“Okay, this is what I’m trying to say. I would let
Ntaba do things to me, things I can’t even say
out loud. Unspeakable things, disrespectful
things. I want him not be able to look at me
after, or utter a single word.” Her declaration
makes my stomach flip, an uncomfortable
feeling seeps through my body.
“I don’t understand,” I shake my head, confused.
“Argh Nala, you’re so slow.” She complains,
leaning her head against mine. “I want him to
cut my throat, snap my neck and hide my body.”
She explains, which is useless because I’m still
lost. I blame this channel her and Ntaba love to
watch.
I shift from her grip, to focus on her face. She’s
smiling like a love sick teenager.
“Come on, not literally.” Her squealing hurts my
ears, making me flinch.
I don’t say anything when she reaches for her
phone and taps on Google search. Air is
knocked out of my lungs as she flips the phone
and shows me a naked woman in bondage,
she's lying on her back on a mattress. Each
wrist is tied to each ankle with a rope.
There’s a leather gag on her mouth and a
matching blind fold that deprives her of sight.
The picture squeezes my lungs, making it
impossible for me breathe. My heart beating
violently against my chest makes my head spin,
which in turn blurs my vision.
“This, my friend… is BDSM. It’s…” I don’t let her
finish, instead stand and run out of the main
house.
MATHONGA-
Twenty-five

KHETHIWE-
It’s bad enough that the Khanyiles think I’m this
reticent girl who trembles at the sight of their
unruly son. Romeo with a black rose and a
scythe in his hand. That’s my Ntabezikude.
Lord knows how that man makes my insides
tremble. In any case, I can’t let Nala fall under
the same classification, she’s too shy it makes
me look bad. I need to teach her a thing or two
about being confident.

I followed her to her room, she refuses to open

for me. It’s getting dark outside, and rumour
has it there are ghosts in these premises. I
don’t know how true they are, I’ve never seen
any.
“Nala, talk to me please.” I try for the umpteenth
time. I’m losing my patience here. Is she crying?
The sobs I hear can’t be belonging to the
supposed ghosts.

“I don’t know what happened back there, why

you ran off like that.” Is this how man feel when
they run after us? It’s abuse, honestly. They
should be getting paid for this.
One final knock before I give up and the door
opens. The first thing I see is her tear drenched
face.
“What’s wrong?”
She shrugs at my question, but lets me in still. I
invite myself to sit on the bed, and ready myself
to pacify her. I don’t have a PHD in consoling
women, my parents were blessed with one girl.
It’s always been me surrounded by two boys,
eons older than me.
“I’m okay.” I don’t believe her. “You didn’t have
to run after me, you know?”
“Are you kidding? I had to check on you.”
Honestly, I thought she was going to jump off a
cliff or something.
How do you chase a fat elephant out of a room?
The silence and tension is killing me.
I watch her as she plays with the hem of her
shirt, standing in the middle of this spacious
rondavel. I try to push back the urge to snoop,
ask what the matter is. Maybe the picture of the
naked woman didn’t sit well with her.
I myself do not like to see my naked body, it’s a
recoiling sight. Not traumatising, but cringing.
And to think men salivate over a woman’s body?
“Did that picture trigger something? A painful
past maybe?” I shouldn’t be asking this. How
will I counsel her if she opens up? I’m not Dr.
Phil. Her eyes snap to me, wide and dubious.
“Why would you think that?” Her question is
instant.
“I’m not thinking anything, I’m only asking
because…”
“It didn’t trigger anything, let it be, please.” This
time her voice is hesitant, yet carries authority
that tells me this subject is not up for
discussion.
“You’re defensive, Nala. Something is…”
“Will you stop?” Did she just shout at me? “I
don’t want to talk about that picture, neither do I
want to talk about my past.”
“Okay, okay.” I raise my hands in defence, as I
stand to meet her height. “You don’t have to
fight me...”
“I’m not fighting you,” she continues to bite my
head off.
Nala turns away, showing me her side profile. I
feel like an idiot for meddling.
Great, now I have to apologise.
“I think we should go out tomorrow, we can buy
some clothes at Mr. Price.” If this doesn’t serve
as an apology, then I’ll hang myself with tissue
paper. “The clothes I gave you are not doing
justice to your small frame.”
They are too big for her, she walks around
looking like a coat hanger. A sigh is released,
she stirs to look my way. Thank Shembe she’s
not crying.
“I haven’t received my salary yet, maybe we can
go at the end of the month.” Nala.
That’s a plan, considering I have to send money
home before my mother comes for me. Buuut…
“It’s okay, you can pay me when you get paid.”
There’s always a FOR SALE aisle at Mr. Price,
simple t-shirts go for R50. I’ll be lucky if we find
those.
The small smile on her face makes this trip
worth it.
“Okay.” She nods like a kid. I still want to know
her age, she looks too young to be working as a
servant. She never talks about her family, which
I find strange. They must be the reason for her
sad face, family can be toxic.
“Hey, it’s a Saturday night. Let’s go out and get
drunk.” It’s the perfect time to do so.
“We can’t, we have to watch over the house.”
Did she just say watch over the house?
“No we don’t, there are guards plus the other
servants. If it happens that there’s a break-in,
what will we do? We are just two defenceless
young girls.” I can be very persuasive.
“I know but…” She looks unsure.
Gosh Nala!!!
“Anything after 'but' is nonsense,” I interpose.
“Mathonga said not to leave the premises.”
Nala has not met a village Zulu man, those ones
are control freaks.
“We’ll be gone for an hour, Mathonga is on his
way to Johannesburg. He’ll never know that you
disobeyed him.”
Yawn! Men are such slave drivers. The only man
allowed to control me is Ntaba, I would kneel
for that god. I grab Nala’s hand and drag her
outside with me.
“Where are we going?” She’s freaking out.
“My room, I’m going to make you look amazing.
Men will drool over you.”
She pulls her hand from mine, and stops, a few
seconds pass before she speaks.
“I don’t want men drooling over me,” she
clarifies with a headshake, her heavy sigh fills
the space between us.
“Okay, women then. You know you’re hot when
you attract both genders.” This should make her
feel better.
Without her permission, I grab her hand again
and lug her toward my room.

THE KHANYILES-

It took the family 1 hour to get to Johannesburg,

Dalisile is still unreachable. Bongiwe was given
a sedative, according to the nurse they spoke to,
she was panic-stricken and could not keep still.
She too is lying in a hospital bed.
They haven’t spoken to a doctor and that alone
has left these Zulu men frustrated and grouchy.
Not knowing what is happening is torturous, the
wait is insufferable.
The doctors are with Vukuzakhe in the theatre
room. Mathonga is slumped on the cold floor,
knees pressed to his chest and face buried in
his sweaty hands. Ntaba thinks he’s crying. He
grimaces at his little brother, not because he’s
annoyed by his tears but the sight of him in pain
stirs something in him, something that has him
craving for revenge.
Hlabela is seated in a silver bench, an open
bible on his lap, the last time he spoke he had
read from the book of Psalm, 35 to be precise.
Ndleleni has not uttered a word since their
arrival, neither has Vumile. They are here and
there, pacing back and forth, and if they feel
tired they settle on one of the silver benches.
“What if he di…”

“Thonga lami…” Ntaba interjects Mathonga’s

first words, the look he gives him forces him to
divert his gaze. This young one doesn’t think
sometimes, he utters whatever his brain
summons up. “Don’t say it, Vukuzakhe is strong.
He can fight this, he will fight.”

Wrath boils within him, Ntaba sounds and looks

the calmest, but he’s anything but.
“Ntabezikude, calm yourself.” His father
must’ve heard his emotions roaring through the
silence. Ntaba flicks his eyes to his direction
and forces a fake smile.
“Sis’Bongiwe.” Mathonga jolts to his feet, his
surge has everyone turning to him and… here
comes Bongiwe in a hospital gown. She looks
haggard and frail. There’s a nurse with her,
serving as Bongiwe’s crutch. She’s handed over
to the brother who gets to them first, Mathonga.
“Are you okay?” Mathonga asks, her response is
an indistinct head nod.
“What happened to my brother?” Ntaba inquires,
pushing past Mathonga.
Bongiwe looks up at him, tears stream down
her face, seemingly unstoppable. Vumile is
about to tell Ntaba to leave her alone when she
hides her face on his torso and wraps her arms
around his middle. Odd!
She’s never hugged her brothers-in-law. The
rest exchange stroppy looks, they understand
her pain but they don’t do that around here.
Touch their brother’s wife.
Ntaba looks uncomfortable, he clears his throat,
places his hands on her shoulders, and
gradually pushes her away from him. It’s not his
job to calm his brother’s wife. Bongiwe
stumbles back a smidgeon, she protectively
hugs her frame, looking down for a moment
before looking up at Ntaba again.

“Who attacked my brother?” His voice is getting

louder, Vumile scolds him with a glare.
“Now is not the time, Ntabezikude.” Vumile
objects, always ready to defend his daughter in-
law.
Ntaba’s nose flares, he clamps his eyes only to
open them in a flash, something flickers in his
dark gaze as he shifts it to his father.
“When is the right time baba? Someone tried to
kill my brother and I want to know who.”
The thing about Ntaba is that he does not beat
around the bush. He’s a fighter, a gladiator, an
untameable lion and his family knows that.
“I understand your anger ndodana, but you can’t
let it control you. Bongiwe has been through so
much today, she lost her baby and now her
husband is fighting for his life in a hospital bed.
Give her a break.” Vumile.
“What about my brother baba? Hasn’t he been
through enough? Don’t I owe it to him to find his
attackers and bring them to their knees?” Ntaba
shouts.
What he actually means is ‘find his attackers
and slit their throats.
“Zakhe might die, and you’re telling me this...
this…”
Ntaba growls as he air punches. The man
suddenly appears the most angered and it’s
justified. Hlabela steps closer, he presses a
hand on Ntaba’s shoulder.
“Calm down ndoda, we’re all on the same side
here.”
“But I agree with Ntaba, Sis'Bongi has to tell us
who attacked our brother.” Ndleleni is just as
angry, Vumile is not okay with him agreeing
with Ntaba. These two combined can’t be good.
“It… it was…” Bongiwe chokes a sob. “It was the
herd boy and his brothers.” Her words are
slurred.
This can’t be true, Ntaba shakes his head in
disbelief.
“Koti?” He murmurs, ticking with annoyance.
His form carrying the tension of a prosecutor.
“You’re lying.”
The look he gives Bongiwe is cold, she grows
pale and shrinks away from him. Who wouldn’t
with how he just growled at her?
“Why would I lie?” The words tumble out
confidently. “I was there, I saw him and his
brother. He led them to us, and did nothing to
stop his brother from attacking my husband.”
“You’re lying Bongiwe,” Ntaba takes a step,
towering above her with anger boiling through
his veins. His hands tighten around her arms,
it’s the first time he lays a hand on a woman.
“This is you Bongiwe, you planned this.”
“No!” A scream of shock escapes her mouth,
watery eyes bulging out of their sockets.
“You want my brother dead, so you sent people
to kill him.” Ntaba.
“No, no. I love him, I love my husband.” Bongiwe
yells, trying to free herself from Ntaba’s tight
grip. She’s saved by her father-in-law who pulls
her away from him.
“I’m going to say this once and I will not repeat
myself.” Vumile says, with his usual calm voice.
“Leave her alone.”

“Excuse me.”

They didn’t see the doctor coming, everyone

flocks around the short coloured man with a
bald head.
“How is my brother?” Ndleleni is the one to ask
first.
“He suffered a blunt force head trauma, luckily
it did not cause nerve damage to the brain.
However, his condition is critical. For now we
have to wait for him to wake up, then we’ll take
it from there.” Doctor.
“What does that mean?” Mathonga.
“He might not be the same when he wakes up.
He’ll most probably suffer from migraines,
seizures, repeated vomiting and body weakness,
long losses of consciousness. The trauma can
also lead to confusion and unusual behaviour.
But that’s not a hundred percent guaranteed.
Like I said, we have to wait for him to wake up.”
The doctor’s explanation confuses these Zulu
men, all they want to know is whether their
brother is going to live or not.
“Can we see him?” Mathonga again.
“We’re transferring him to the ICU, a nurse will
let you know when you can see him. In the
meantime, pray.” And with this, he leaves them
to their confusion.

“There’s a chapel on the first floor, we should

go and pray there.” Hlabela’s suggestion is
frowned upon, mostly by Ntabezikude and
Ndleleni.
“I will wait here.” Ntaba says, leans against the
wall while scrutinising Bongiwe under his dark
gaze.
“Everyone is going to the chapel, this is no time
to be selfish or ignorant. Your brother needs all
the prayers he can get.”
Vumile leads the way after this command,
Bongiwe says she’s going to the bathroom and
saunters the opposite direction. Hlebela is the
first to follow his father, Mathonga is not far
behind. Ndleleni and Ntaba drag their feet, but
they reach their destination.
There are wooden benches, facing a candle lit
altar.

“Kneel.” It’s an authoritative instruction from

Vumile, no one can argue with his authority. He
kneels first, his sons follow. A sigh of
frustration escapes Ntaba, he doesn’t see a
point in this. His father notices how he’s
actually seated flat on his bum, knees up and
arms stretched out on the wooden tiles, while
everyone is on their knees.
“Ntabezikude, pray.”
Something must be wrong with Vumile or he’s
under a lot of stress and it has him losing his
mind. The brothers share unbelieving looks,
maybe they heard wrong.
“Don’t you mean Hlabela, baba?” Mathonga
slowly corrects, surely he made a mistake.
Ntaba can’t even pronounce ‘God.’
“Yeah baba, I don’t know how to pray. Ndleleni,
you pray ndoda.” Ntaba disputes, he’s stressed
and anxious. Where will he even begin?
Ndleleni sneers at his brother, “I don’t want to
lie… I sleep at church. I don’t even know what’s
happening half of the time.”
“I’m not an old fool, I know what I said.” The
stubbornness of Vumile takes over.
“I… I don’t know how to pray baba.” Ntaba is not
lying, he’s bunked church if not missed it. Who
is God anyway? He doesn’t know.
“Just say anything, God won’t judge you. He
accepts us for who we are.” Vumile is getting
impatient.

“Okay, mfethu lalela.” Ntaba starts, he’s actually

snapping the words out, a frown on his features.
“They say you died at the age of 33, so
technically you’re older than me. I will try to be
as respectful as possible. People say you’re
white and I refuse to bow down to a white man,
so for my own sanity, let’s say you’re an older
version of me. Heck I don’t even know how to
do this prayer thing. You see when my family
went to church, I preferred to hang out with
Satan. You remember him, right? He’s not that
bad actually, you two should set a date and fix
your differences. This fight has been going on
for too long. Over 2000 years, that’s the longest
fight till date. A record Jesu wabantu.”

Someone nudges him, he opens one eye to see

his father glaring at him. A little to the left is
Mathonga fighting giggles and Ndleleni actually
laughing. Hlabela must be thinking of a way to
remove the demon tormenting his brother.
“Don’t be stupid wena, what are you saying to
God? This is not a game Ntabezikude.” Vumile
scolds, condemning his son with an icy glare.
“You said anything baba, God won’t judge me.”
He appears confused. What do these people
want from him? He should be out there,
avenging his brother not playing church.
“Don’t be an idiot, pray like a normal person.”
Vumile grunts.
This is what Ntaba gets for not kneeling. What a
way to punish him. He clears his throat and
closes his eyes.
“Bhuti omdala, rumour has it that you heal
people. My brother needs healing. Maybe you
can wave your magic hand. You know that
magic thing you did to that man... umaLazaro”
Ntaba sounds impatient, his mouth barely
opens and eyes are tightly shut. His appearance
resembling a petulant child who hates being
scolded.

“Vukuzakhe is too young to die mfethu, he still

has to marry koti and adopt cats and dogs. Plus
he owes me and he’s such a decent guy his
ghost will probably want to pay me back. If
possible, we can do an exchange. That’s how it
works, right? Take Sis’Bongiwe and bring back
my brother. 50/50 baba. It’s a great
transaction.”
He hears a tongue click, and when he opens his
eyes, sees his father walking away.
“Baba, where are you going? I was getting to the
healing part.” Ntaba shouts after him.
As the door slams behind, laughter erupts in the
room. Mathonga is rolling on the floor, laughter
resembling the sound of a hyped up monkey.
Ndleleni is on a bench, stifling his laughter,
hand on his stomach and eyes filled with tears.
At least Hlabela is decent to grace a smile.
“You’re hopeless ndoda.” Hlebela says and
follows his father out.
“Sis'Bongiwe is a good exchange bhuti. I’m sure
they need cleaners in heaven, she can mop the
golden streets.” Mathonga says, through a loud
horse laugh. He’s back on the floor, sounding
like a donkey on steroids.
Ntaba looks defeated, they said pray and he
prayed.
“I’m going to see my brother, msunu yenu.”
Ntaba announces, clicks his tongue and leaves
with a frown covering his face.
MATHONGA-
Twenty-six
Sponsored by anonymous.

NTABEZIKUDE-

He walks out of the bedroom wearing black

Adidas track pants, a matching hoodie and a
red EFF beret. He’s whistling to an umzabalazo
song, one would think his spirits are high, that
he’s not bothered by his brother’s misfortune.
But he’s a seething animal inside, a raging lion
ready to devour.
He left his brothers and sister-in-law at the
hospital, they will follow shortly. Mathonga and
Bongiwe will join him and Vumile at the house
in Northcliff. Hlabela preferred to book into a
hotel and Ndleleni is flying back home as per
Ntaba’s request.
There’s a voice coming from the kitchen, he
follows it and as expected, finds his father
seated on a barstool, engaged in a telephone
conversation. They lock eyes for a millisecond,
Vumile’s are shifty. The old man clears his
throat before killing the call. A wide grin graces
Ntaba’s face, he pats his father on the shoulder
on his way to the fridge. He can feel his heavy
gaze on him as he opens it and grab a carton of
Mageu.

“Muntu omdala, you’ve been looking at me

since I left your wife’s womb. Don’t tell me you
haven’t had enough.” This he says before
quenching his thirst with the cold beverage.
“Don’t act smart with me, Ntabezikude.” Vumile
snaps. “What do you know about Vukuzakhe
and Sangweni’s youngest boy?”
Ntaba turns to his father, a smile is familiar with
his mouth, so it easily finds its way there.
“Koti?” He raises his brows in question, his eyes
though hold an answer.
Vumile doesn’t reply, he is impatiently waiting,
brows cracked skyward.
Ntaba shrugs, “Modern day Romeo and Juliet,
only their story won’t be a tragedy. I’ll make sure
of it.”
“What are you saying?” Vumile is confused,
although he kind of has an idea what Ntaba is
talking about.
“Just that,” he finishes off his drink and tosses
the container in a trash can. “If anything
happens to my brother and his Koti, I will have
to take out the people involved. I won’t spare
even an ant?”
His voice is cold, neither is there life in his eyes.
At this point, it’s hard for Vumile to recognise
his son. He knows he is rowdy, but to resemble
the devil? Wonders are here to stay.
“Who is this Koti?” Vumile asks. He shakes his
head in defeat as his son smiles at him like an
innocent little boy. He’s used to his many
moods, how he’d transform like a chameleon in
seconds.
“My brother’s heart.” If only life were as simple
as this answer.
“Ntabezikude!” Vumile yaps, slamming a hand
on the kitchen island. “What is this nonsense
you’re promoting? Vukuzakhe is married to
Bongiwe.”
“I know,” Another shrug from Ntaba as he leans
against the fridge. “No one said he’s divorcing
his wife and if he does, it will be his decision.”
“Is this what you boys do behind my back? This
is bullshit, it’s unholy. How does a man lust
after another man? It’s disgusting.” Vumile is
yelling, waving his hand as a criticism. It seems
to anger Ntabezikude, a rare thing to happen.
“What about you baba? Mr. Holier than thou.
What, are you applying for Lucifer’s position in
heaven?” Unlike Vumile, he keeps calm, but
does not cloak the irritation in his voice. “This
God you’re chasing sees right through you, that
you are nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
“What are you talking about?” Vumile growls,
he’s not sure he wants to hear this.
“Don’t you think it’s time to bring them home?”
He fixes Vumile with a dark gaze, dark as this
very night, somewhere between the Joburg
lights, the hidden stars and the pitch black sky.

“With all due respect baba, you are too old to be

living a double life. Nandi deserves better, it’s
her misfortune she fell for a man like you.”
“Ntabezikude?” Shock suffocates Vumile that
he reels back but maintains his balance.
Nandi ceased to be a secret the day he brought
her to the Khanyile ranch. He didn’t disclose
their relationship, but hoped his children would
fill in the blanks. There was nothing wrong with
them thinking she’s his mistress, every man has
a side dish. A burger with mixed vegies or chips
on the side, restaurants do it too. Solomon had
300 concubines, no one called him out on it.
“Ndodana…” his heart is ramming against his
ribcage, it wants out but he’ll die if it escapes.
“Let me explain, I…” He can’t explain how he let
it go so far.
“I don’t want your explanation baba,” Ntaba
articulates. “Bring Nandi and Zamangwane
home, I’m giving you three days baba. If you
don’t, I will fetch them myself.”
His eyes widen, Ntaba can’t do this to him.
“Not with Dalisile there, she’ll kill them.” Vumile
responds nervously.
“Don’t you think you are giving your wife too
much credit? Dalisile is a toothless bulldog.”
Ntaba disputes. “Maybe you should put her on a
leash since you’re afraid of her.”
Vumile’s mouth opens, but nothing emits. He
wants to spill the beans, explain why he’s done
things the way he has for so many years.
However, he’s unable to speak
“Out of respect for you, I kept this secret to
myself. I thought you’d wake up one day and
well… as the white people say ‘smell the damn
coffee.’ But no more, Nandi and Zamangwane
are coming home.” Ntaba finishes, watching
Vumile blink his shock away. He still looks
taken off guard.

“Vukuzakhe is going to be whom he wants to be,

and you are not going to judge him for it. If he
wants to marry koti, then he will. Heck if he
wants to stay married to Bongiwe and take koti
as his second wife then I will support my
brother.”
He just said second wife… Ntaba said second
wife…
His phone buzzes, interrupting the squabble. He
reveals it from his pocket. There’s a message
from a number saved under Peaches. He
ignores it and opens the one saved under Alfred.
There’s an address, a name and a five sentence
paragraph. It must be good news because he
smiles brightly.
“What is it?” Vumile asks, frowning at his son.
“A date,” he gets closer and kisses his father on
the cheek. “Don’t wait up.”
He snatches a kitchen knife from the knife
stand and leaves the house. This is the part
they diagnose him with multiple personality
disorder, Vumile is left shaken.

*
*

He has just arrived in Braamfontein, this is the

address sent by Alfred. Clifton Heights, room
number 301. He enters the building, thinks of
taking the stairs, but the elevator will get him
there faster. It’s hot tonight, that’s probably why
the door is wide open. He grips the security
gate and slightly pushes it.
Alfred Madi did say the gate was broken and
the owner has not bothered getting it fixed. He
also said he’s sending one of his men over to
lend a helping hand, Ntaba appreciates it, but he
prefers working alone.
He hears voices as he plods down the hallway,
a family of four is comfortably seated on their
couches engrossed on the television screen.
Ntaba leans against the doorpost, crosses his
arms over his chest, and shakes his head
before yawning.

“Can we switch to the crime channel, Sibiya?”

The sound of his voice has the tenants turning
their heads to him, a man jolts to his feet, his
anger is visible. But Ntaba is not fazed.
“The Perfect Murder is about to start, no
offence to… that.” He points at the active TV
screen.
“Who are you? And what are you doing in my
house?” The man barks, approaching Ntaba
with an ugly frown displayed on his face.
Ntaba tilts his head, “Would you run if I said the
angel of death?” His voice is soft, yet unnerving.
There’s something about the way he’s leering at
the chubby man with a beer-belly, something
that sends unsettling chills down the Sibiya's
spine. His feet halt, wavering and decide to
back-pedal.
“I’m going to…”
“Call the cops?” Ntaba disturbs, raising his
brows in question. “Don’t be mean, Sibiya.”
A quick smile twinkles past his lips, he lifts the
hem of his hoodie, revealing a Bereta M9 pistol
secured between his side and the elastic waist
band. He gestures that the man sits back down
which he does without question.
“My children have nothing to do with this.”
Sibiya is basically pleading, fear dances in his
eyes as he shifts them from his wife to his two
sons who look not more than six years old.
Working in the black market means your life is
at risk every counted second, it means you have
enemies looking for you from all corners of the
earth and Sibiya dreads the day they will find
him, he dreads this very moment.
Now, which enemy is this one?

“I’m not disputing that Sibiya, I’m well aware of

it. But at the end of the day they are your
children. That means they will grow up to be as
fucked up as you are.” Ntaba ambles closer, he
bows his head in greeting when his eyes clash
with the woman who is now carrying two little
boys on her lap.
She replies with a glare, it’s mixed with fear.
There’s an empty sit next to her, Ntaba perches
himself there, leans back and crosses one leg
over the other.
“Please…” Sibiya’s voice trembles. “Don’t harm
them.”
A smile, as he motions with his hand for Sibiya
to take a sit, the man sits down in slow motion,
eyes never leaving Ntaba.
“I won’t, children are the most innocent beings,
they shouldn’t even be in this dark crazy world
where people like you and me exist. I mean we
both have blood in our hands, that’s one thing
we have in common. Right, Sibiya?” Ntaba.
“I’m not like you.” Sibiya barks, he’s still not sure
who this man is. Why he is here, or what he did
wrong. He’s not perfect, he’s made a lot of
mistakes and his latest was getting involved in
a hate crime that had nothing to do with him. It
was all about helping a friend in need, he goes a
long way back with the Sangwenis.
“You are, we’re exactly the same. I know you’d
do anything to protect your family, like me. Only
that I would never kill mine like you killed your in
-law.”
What’s pissing Sibiya off is that Ntaba is so
calm and looks like a lamb, yet his words are
carried with so much venom and viciousness.

“Bongani?” That’s clearly his wife, her glare is

now on Sibiya who is trembling like a leaf in his
one seater couch.
“Oops, I thought she knew.” Ntaba scoots to the
edge of the seat and rubs his hands together in
eagerness. “Wow, D’Bongz? So you didn’t tell
your wife that her sister’s death was not an
accident? You didn’t tell her that you were
fucking her to oblivion for years and when she
threatened to reveal your dirty little secret, you
pushed her down that balcony?” He feigns
shock, pointing to the balcony behind the black
two-seater leather couch
“Bongani, you said she committed suicide.
There was a letter, and…” The wife’s tears show
up, her voice is kept low maybe because she
respects her husband.
Ntaba sits back as the couple argue back and
forth. His gaze falls on one of the boys. Ntaba
winks and gently rubs the boy’s head with a
genuine gleam on his face.

“Are you two getting a divorce?” He stops the

commotion with this question as he stands to
his feet. “I think till death do us part should
remain that, like you promised before God and
your family. Only death should do you part.
Leave the divorcing to white people.”
Ntaba’s suggestion is ignored by the wife.
“I’m leaving and I will never come back. Do you
hear me, wena Bongani?” She shouts this time,
and stands up. Her sons mirror her movements.
Panicking Sibiya stands too, but Ntaba slowly
shakes his head and gestures he sits back
down. Sibiya is reluctant, however does Ntaba’s
bidding when he’s furtively shown the gun again.
“My friend will accompany you, we don’t want
you doing funny things now, do we?” He’s
talking to Sibiya’s wife and at his words, a short
buff man spotting an ill-disposed face walks in
just in time.
Sibiya goes crazy, he starts shouting, pleading
for the life of his wife and children.
“Shut up Sibiya.” Ntaba hisses, he crouches so
he’s the little boy's height. “Here fanyana, you’ll
buy GoSlows for you and your brother.” He
hands him a R10 note and kisses them both on
the cheek.
Sibiya's eyes widen, he almost stands but
remembers the gun.
“Who… who are you?” Sibiya’s voice trembles,
he knows this signature. The man who is
notorious for the kisses he goes around
planting on people’s cheeks. People who never
live long enough tell the story.
Ntaba ignores him, pats the boy with the money
on the shoulder and stands to watch them walk
out.
“I need to get our stuff.” The wife says, she’s
failing to curb her tears
Ntaba denies her request with a subtle
headshake, he nods at the short man who
ushers the family out. At the sound of the door
slaming shut, Ntaba smiles at the terrified man.
“Please don’t kill my family.” Sibiya begs,
uncomfortably squirming on the seat as if it has
caught fire.
“Vala umlomo wenja.” (Shut up.)
He says softly and patiently, while revealing a
knife from the pocket of his slacks. Sibiya
starts screaming. Ntaba exudes a hefty sigh
and rolls his eyes at Sibiya’s dramatics.

“What do you want from me?” Ntaba doesn’t

say anything but fans the knife with his breath
and uses the sleeves of his hoodie to polish it.
“I want Sangweni’s accomplices, the names of
everyone involved in Vukuzakhe Khanyile’s
attack. Write them down and who knows, you’ll
get to see your family again.” He tells him as he
continues to polish the knife.
Sibiya is paralysed by the sight of the dagger, or
is it the thought of dying. It must be the cold
hearted man standing tall in his house.
Vukuzakhe Khanyile does ring a bell, it’s the
man they had planned to kill today. He was
supposed to die, that was Mfundo’s plan. But
the stupid idiot cheated death, this is what
Mfundo told him earlier.
“Nyakaza msunu.” (Move.) Ntaba snaps.
His patience is being tested and Sibiya sees it,
and it scares him more than the impending
murder weapon. That’s why he grabs the
newspaper from the table, there’s a pen near
the television. Six names are written down, the
conspirators and the attackers. His hands are
trembling when he hands the piece of paper to
Ntaba who smiles like he just hit a jackpot.
He knew Funokuhle’s name was not going to be
there.
“I love a man who works well under pressure,
we make a great team, D’Bongz.” Ntaba says,
ramming the paper into his pocket.
“C… can I go now?” Sibiya is desperate to stay
alive, for his wife and kids but mostly for
himself.
Death seems fun when you wish it on other
people until it’s coming for you.
“You said you won’t kill me,” Sibiya.
“I know, right?” Ntaba laughs, head thrown back
like a kid. “Life is a war Sibiya, I also said I will
stop killing people. But look at me, I’m about to
slit your throat.”
He taps his fingers on the blade, shakes his
head maybe in disapproval of what he’s about
to do.
Sibiya screams for help, he stands, attempting
an escape. But Ntaba’s foot slams against his
stomach, the impact throws him back on the
couch coughing like a dying man. He screams
louder this time, shedding a bucket of tears.
Annoyance scrapes through Ntaba's skin, he
takes a deep sigh. His eyes are slowly studying
the knife until a creepy smile leisurely crawls to
his lips.
“Don’t mind me, D’Bongz. I just thought of ways
I could make use of this knife and they are all
gruesome.”
“Please…” Sibiya cries, tears trickling down his
face.

“I can’t let you go, there’s a slight problem,”

Ntaba announces, hovering above him. “Look
up here.”
Sibiya slowly raises his head, Ntaba feeds on
the fear in his eyes.
“My brother is still injured, he’s in the hospital
with bandages on his head. Do you know I
haven’t looked into his eyes because he hasn’t
opened them? I haven’t heard his voice because
he hasn’t woken up? He’s my brother Sibiya, you
touched my brother. Do you fucking know who I
am? Awungazi mgodoyi, or you wouldn’t have
dared.”
The ever-so calm Ntaba says.
“Who… who are you?” Sibiya questions, voice
shuddering.
“Ntabezikude Khanyile, ibhubesi likaNgwane.
Tell the underground gang I said suck my dick.”
Ntaba shows a Cheshire cat grin before
slashing the knife across Sibiya’s throat, he
moves back when blood sprays on him. It’s a
good thing he wore black.
He pulls the coffee table closer to Sibiya’s
couch, sits so that they are face to face, eyeball
to eyeball and watches while the man struggles
with life and death.
“Don’t fight it Sibiya, life is beautiful on the other
side.”
A smirks ticks on one side of his mouth, his
eyes have come back to life as he admires
Bongani Sibiya choking on his own blood.
Dammit, it's taking forever for Sibiya to die. But
he's not complaining.
He’s looking at the grisly sight as if it’s his most
perfect piece of art, the blood gushing out of his
neck, the gaging sounds deriving from his
mouth and his will to live. It’s like nothing he’s
ever seen.
“Beautiful.” Ntaba grins the moment Sibiya
takes his last breath. He places a kiss on
Sibiya's cheek, wipes the bloodied knife on his
shirt, places it back in his pocket, and leaves the
apartment whistling to Ayasaba Amagwala.
(Song of struggle.)
MATHONGA-
Twenty-seven

HLABELA-

His father handed him the “Perfect son” badge

at a young age, there was no way he could take
it off, not with how his father would sing his
praises. Disappointing him is his biggest fear, it
haunts him in his dreams and torments him in
the light of day. He’s not perfect, this he knows
for a fact.
Things haven’t been easy for him as well,
people look at him and assume he sleeps on a
bed of roses at night and wakes up in the
morning to crown his head with a halo.
They have assumed that he and God have a
mutual understanding, if only they knew that he
too has skeletons in his closet. Even Jesus was
brought to a mountain and tempted by the devil,
the deference between them is that Hlabela
gave in to temptations like any flawed human
would.
As the second born, at only 33 years old, he has
achieved quite a lot in life.
Business is going good, his bank accounts are
piled with Mandela’s smiling face. His dream is
to move out of the ranch, start a life with a
woman he loves and maybe have children.
It’s so hard when his father looks at him like
he’s the most flawless man in the world. How
does he tell him that he wants his own place?
How does he tell him that he has found a
woman to love, that she is a thirty six year-old
Indian woman?
Kushi Zinta, a widow with two children,
originally from Rajasthan, a state in northern
India. Her permanent residence is in Emalahleni,
Mpumalanga, some of her weekends are spent
in Durban with him.
They met at a charity event in Sandton, her self-
reliance is what caught his attention. Getting
her numbers was not easy, but Hlabela’s
charms deserve a big fat cheque, his looks are
that dedicated assistant that deserves a raise.

She was in a white saree when he first saw her,

on their first date as well and a couple of times
after that. It took him two months to ask her
why she loved white and that’s when she
narrated her story.
She’s a widow, and as far as her family and in-
laws know, she is in a white saree and confined
in her home, mourning a husband who died 6
years ago.
She is compelled to adorn a white saree for the
rest of her life, since the day of her husband’s
death, a dehumanising practise is what Kushi
told Hlabela.

He walks out of the bathroom with a towel

wrapped around his waist, his eyes smile as he
catches a glimpse of the woman seated on the
bed.
Her lips stretch, showcasing a set of white
teeth. Her skin resembles a glowing stone of
brown, she’s a few shades lighter than him. Her
black shoulder-length hair compliments her
dark skin tone.

Hlabela’s eyes take in her outfit, a neon green,

bodycon-stretch mini skirt, the matching top
only hides her breasts. With a body of a maiden
in her early twenties, she can get away with
wearing anything. Who said only black don’t
crack?
He wants to ask her to wear a blazer on top, at
least look decent, but Kushi won’t take it well.
The woman just came out of her shell thanks to
him, this is the only time she can wear different
colour clothing. His words will send her right
back faster than he can say I’m sorry.
Maybe they should cancel their breakfast date
and order room service.

“Aap kya kar rahe hain.” (Are you done?)

Hlabela chuckles, “You know I don’t understand
a single word of Hindi?”
He kisses her briefly and sits on the bed beside
her, she accepts his kiss with a smile on her
face.
“I know.” She tells him and lays her head on his
shoulder, her arms enfold around his waist.
“I missed you Bella,” her thick Indian accent has
made it absolutely difficult for her to pronounce
his name, Bella was the best her tongue could
offer.
At first he wasn’t on the train with it, imagine a
Zulu man who goes by the name Bella. A
woman’s name at that, it hasn’t grown into his
thick African skull, it never will.
This woman he chose for himself is stubborn,
she’s different from the women he’s dated
before.
The ones who’d do anything to please him.
Kushi is nothing like those women, she says
what she wants, wears what she wants and
does want she wants and her Bella gave her
this confidence.
“We were together last week.” Sunday special
lovers is what they are, Kushi’s situation does
not allow her to gallivant around like a free
woman. As a widow, she is confined to a life of
abstinence. According to her culture, once a
woman is widowed, she is forbidden from
remarrying or taking a lover for fear of passing
on ‘bad luck’ to the next man she gets
associated with.
“A week too long to stay away from the man I
love, I want to be with you every day.” She
wears her heart on her sleeves.
“One day, Kushi. We just need to be patient, I
know I’m asking for a lot, but I need you to trust
me, okay. Things will change, you’ll see.” He too
has not told his father about her because well...
Kushi lets go and faces him.
“Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it, what we’re
doing is prohibited. My family will kill me when
they find out I have gone against tradition.
Maybe they won’t be able to touch me when
we’re married.” Six months into the relationship
and Kushi is ready to be Mrs. Khanyile. Hlabela
knows it’s not only because she loves him, but
also a way to escape her family’s clutches.
He cradles her cheeks, his eyes bursting with
love. “I will never let anyone hurt you.”
He assures her and she knows it.
“I know, you make me feel safe. I wish my
children were with me, I know you’d love them
like you love me. I miss them so much, two
years is too long to be kept away from them.”
Hlabela does not give her a reply but enwraps
his arms around her.
“My little Pocahontas.” Hlabela declares,
planting a kiss at the top of her head.
Upon hearing this, she jolts out of his arms, her
eyeballs move to the back of her head. “I hate
Pocahontas.”
“Sarafina, then?” This one has her laughing
heartily “You’re my fighter, Kushi, a warrior.
We’re going to overcome this.”
He’s looking at her like life means nothing
without her, their lips meet in a passionate kiss.
Without breaking the kiss, Kushi pulls her
elastic skirt up and straddles him.
She leans into him until he’s lying on his back.
Her hands are demanding as they roam over his
tight torso, maybe he should’ve worn something,
he thinks when he feels her grab the towel
wrapped around his waist. He stops her by
holding her wrist and parts from the kiss. His
gaze has darkened, showing nothing but lust.

“I promised I won’t touch you till I make you my

wife.” He reminds her, Kushi huffs and jumps to
the side of the bed. She pulls her skirt down,
trying not to show how sexually frustrated she
is. Six years without sex is not a trip to Dubai.
“Should I be worried that my boyfriend is old
fashioned?” She teases, watching him sit up.
“Me? Old fashioned? Why do you say that?”
“It took months before our first kiss, and you
won’t touch me till I’m Mrs. Hlabela Khanyile?”
Hlabela winces at how she chops his name
“That’s because I didn’t want to push you away,
you were so mean to me when we first met and
very snobbish.” Hlabela justifies.
“That’s not tr…” Her argument dies when he
steals a quick kiss.
“I adore you Kushi.”
“I adore you Bella.”
His eyes narrow, but there’s a smirk pulling at
his lips. “Can we talk about you calling me Bella?
My brothers will mock me even in my death
bed.”
Her smile melts his heart, “You refuse that I call
you baby, so Bella it is.”
“I’m a man Kushi, the name is all wrong. I might
as well do a German cut, wear baggy jeans and
a chain around my neck and start calling you
dude.”
“I would love you even more, my beautiful
Bella.” Her comeback leaves no room for
argument, he’s defeated.
“Weeeh! What have I gotten myself into?” He
teases, it brings her into a world of giggles. His
arms are around her as he captures her lips
once more.

MATHONGA-

*CHIEF VUMILE KHANYILE’S SON FIGHTING

FOR HIS LIFE IN A LOCAL HOSPITAL*

It’s all over the news, there are reporters outside

the hospital. No one is allowed in, it was
Ndleleni who made sure of that. Sometimes he
reminds me of Zakhe, his resilience, and
defensive mannerism. Hlabela is not far behind,
although he is the second born. Ndleleni, as
troublesome as he is, takes life seriously.
I have to hide my face under a hoodie in order
to enter the hospital without being seen, or
these reporters will grill me with questions.
I don’t get them, baba is just a chief, not the
president of South Africa, but he’s made a big
deal in this country.
Perks of having too much money…
Baba and his connections have allowed his
daughter-in-law to stay by her husband’s side
for three days. Three days and Bongiwe refuses
to go home and rest. Normal visiting hours do
not apply to the Khanyiles, this is how we keep
coming and going as we please.
She’s seated in a chair, holding his hand. This is
the same position I find her in each time I walk
in here. A couple of times baba or my brothers
were present with me, I guess today it’s just me.
I have to convince her to go home and rest.
“Breakfast.” I hold up a brown paper bag
containing sandwiches. She looks at me and
tries for a smile but her mouth fails her.
“Thanks.” I can barely catch her voice.
A moment of silence drifts by, “I brought you
clothes as well, it’s a dress. I’m not sure if it’s
your style.”
This time I hold up a sports bag, containing
toiletries and clothes.
“You bought me a dress?” She seems surprised
by the fact.
“Baba said I should, you’ve been wearing the
same clothes for days now.”
Her laugh is dead.
“Baba is such a typical rural man, did he
perhaps ask you to get me a scarf as well?”
Right on. She needs it to hide that steel-wool
hair, a comb would surely snap if she attempts
combing it.
“At least it matches the dress.” I defend the old
man and shrug, embarrassed at how baba can
be so predictable.
“Thank you, I’ll go clean up in the nurse’s room.
There’s a kind nurse who allows me at least ten
minutes in there. The others don’t like it, I think
they are mean.”
This is irrelevant, very redundant but it’s a good
thing that she’s talking. She’s been lost in a
cloud lately.
“Go ahead, I’ll be here when you get back.” I
offer, handing Bongiwe the items. She places
them down beside her chair, she takes my
brother’s hand and fixates her gaze on him.

“Do you think he will wake up?” She asks.

We have all been asking ourselves this question,
my father included.
“The doctor said he will.” I don’t sound
convincing, three days later and my brother has
not moved a muscle. I’m so frustrated.
“What if the doctors missed something? What if
he is not okay?” She predicts, flickers of
emotion going through her face.
“Maybe we should get a second opinion.”
“But a team of specialists have been attending
to him and none of them are able to tell us why
he hasn’t woken up, they keep telling us to
wait.” Bongiwe complains. She’s tearing up
again... help!
“I just need him to wake up so I can tell him I’m
sorry for not loving him right.” Bongiwe.
Do I hug her till she stops crying? What if she
doesn’t stop? How do I pull away without
coming across as rude? My father never
hugged me when I cried as a child, I was told to
be a man. I hear mothers comfort their children
with hugs, that the feeling of hiding on their
chest is amazing.

“I know you guys think I don’t love him, you

think I’m here for the fame and fortune.”
Bongiwe drags me out of my thinking, her
droopy eyes are on me.
“What fame?” I send a smile her way, her giggle
is short lived.
“You all hate me, Mathonga. You’re so loud
about it that it’s hard to ignore.”
“We don’t hate you sis’Bongiwe.” I’m not lying.
Maybe we’d choose our brother over her, maybe
we chose him over her countless times and she
has interpreted it as hate.
She averts her eyes from me and trains them on
my brother, the conversation doesn’t go any
further than my reply.

To kill the tension in the room, I reach out to

touch Vukuzakhe’s hand and a ringing echoes
in my ears, followed by a splitting headache
pounding against my skull, deafening the
surrounding sounds. My vision blurs, and many
voices materialize, they mingle with the loud
ringing that won’t leave my ears.
It sounds like men, angry men. I’m unable to
make out what they are saying. I pull my hand
away only to stumble towards the back, till my
spinal slams harshly against the wall. My hands
are pressed to my temple as I let out a loud
groan.

“Mathonga,” through the out-of-focus vision, I

see Bongiwe rushing to me. Something doesn’t
feel right, I want to run out of the room but
moving my legs has become impossible.
“Mathonga talk to me.” She implores.
I train my eyes at her, there’s worry on her face.
I want to tell her to call my father, and tell him I
can’t move. So I open my mouth to speak but
nothing comes out.
“Ngwane kaNgwadi.” A whisper into the wind, I
can’t make out if the voice belongs to a male or
female. “Ngwane kaNgwadi.”
It’s louder the second time. My heart is racing
against time. What is happening to me?
“Mathonga talk to me, you’re scaring me,”
Bongiwe’s voice tells me I’m not dreaming. I see
her, standing beside me with her hands on my
arms as she tries to tap me back to reality.
Out of the blue, wind gushes into the room,
tailed by the sound of boots stepping on gravel.
It can’t be, there is no gravel around here. We’re
in a hospital room, the floors are tiled.
“What is it, Mathonga?” Bongiwe’s voice sounds
far, yet she’s here next to me.
It takes one blink, and my blood runs cold, as I
catch a sight of a wrinkly old man, dressed in a
formal white shirt and black slacks. He’s
standing in the middle of the room, staring at
me with a creepy-toothless smile. I don’t know
this one, he looks different from the one I saw
in my dream.

“Do you see that?” I ask Bongiwe, but the words

are stuck in my head, they don’t move past my
tongue. However, I pray to God she can see him,
or I’m going crazy. I know when my ancestors
are near, this presence is different. It’s eerie.
Before I can grasp anything, the old woman
from my dream appears not far behind him.
Like in the dream, she’s glaring with a
threatening gaze.
“Ntunjwa kaLanga.” The clan name slips right
out of my tongue as if pushed by a strong force.
I’m on my knees the next second, kneeling
before them with reverence.
“What are you doing boy?” The old woman asks
through gritted teeth, she’s not my favourite.
This is the spiritual realm, I have no say here.
It’s their territory.
“I don’t understand,” I answer. I don’t know what
she means, nor do I know what she’s talking
about. Their glares go from angry to enraged,
and like they are in sync, their heads turn to
Vukuzakhe.
They are shooting daggers at him, I can feel the
negative energy pouring out of them. Why are
they looking at him like that? I don’t want them
looking at my brother.
“Ngwane.” Bongiwe screams, I don’t realise why
until I hear the machines going off.
My heart jumps to my throat, it feels like forever
as I avert my gaze towards my brother. He’s
convulsing on the bed, flat-lining. It’s them, I
know it’s them. They want to take Vukuzakhe,
this is why I fall on my knees, ignoring Bongiwe
who runs out screaming ‘doctor.’

“Not my brother, please. Don’t take my brother.”

I grovel, not caring that I look and sound
desperate. The headache is still there, only the
ringing has died out. It irks me that these
fossils don’t spare me a glance, but it infuriates
me mostly. They have no right, no right
whatsoever. Vukuzakhe has nothing to do with
this.
“I will do anything, tell me what you want and I
will do it.” These ancestors are stubborn, they
are holding their eyes at Vukuzakhe and refuse
to look my way.
They want to take him from us, just to punish
me. I cannot allow that.
I wait, through their silence that grows and
festers until it squeezes around my belly. They
probably feel the anger I have toward them, it
must be why they are not stopping.
“You’re killing him, please stop.”
As I scream this plea, someone rushes in. It’s
Dalisile, she freezes at the door and looks at me
like she’s seen a ghost. Her face grows pale
when she trails her eyes above my head.
She can see them, I know because her eyes are
wide as saucers. If fear had a face, it would
resemble hers. She staggers back until she’s
out of the room, I don’t have time to go after her,
it’s not like I can move anyway.

“Sothole. Ntunjwa kaLanga. Mthiyane.

Ndwandwe. Zikode. Mabhuqa. Ngwane.” The
old man is the first one to turn to me at the
sound of the clan names deriving from my
mouth. The stubborn old woman does the same
as I continue.
“I plead with you my elders, calm down.
Yehlisani umoya. I am your child, who will I turn
to if you forsake me?”
I’m about to soften them up when a male
doctor and two nurses rush into the room. They
seem to not take notice of me nor the oldies.
How was Dalisile able to see them?
“We are parched and hungry, Ngwane
kaNgwadi.” Says the elderly man, he turns
around and starts walking away. I want this old
woman to leave as well, she seems to be the
most stubborn one.
“Phahla.” She says, turns and walks away the
same way the old man did. Everything goes
back to normal, making the past events seem
like a terrible nightmare. The doctor and nurses
are standing around Zakhe’s bed, looking
dumbfounded.

I’m still trying to digest everything and make

sense of it when someone harshly grabs my
hand, the whole enchilada is happening too fast.
It takes a few blinks for me to realise that I have
been dragged outside my brother’s room by the
woman who mothered me.
“What were you doing in there?” She barks,
repeatedly slamming her fists on my chest, and
because I’m still locked in confusion, I keep my
mouth shut. “I’m talking to you, stupid boy.”
I have never seen her this angry.
“No… nothing.” My voice fails me by making me
sound like a weakling. Don’t show her you’re
afraid Mathonga, she’s a demon this one.
“Get out, get out of here.” A hard slap lands
across my face, shock visits me and I get a
second slap right after. She caught me off
guard, I honestly didn’t see it coming.
“Mah, stop. Mathonga has done nothing
wrong.” I don’t know where Bongiwe came from,
she’s trying to pull Dalisile back who has her
hands fisted on my jersey.
“I saw what happened in there, I know what he
is, what he does when no one is around.”
Dalisile shouts, condemning me with a deadly
stare.
“I didn’t do anything.” I protest, escaping her
hands.
“Was it not you, I found burning impepho a
while back? Today I find you talking to god-
knows who and my son in the brink of death.”
She doesn’t say anything about seeing the
elders, but I know she did.
“That’s not what happened mo…” I bite my
tongue. What the hell was I about to call her?
“Get the hell out of here, I don’t want you
anywhere near my son.” Dalisile yells, taking a
chance to push me again.
“Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever
do to you?” Tears are near, but I won’t let them
fall. She doesn’t deserve my tears. Then again
she’s my mother, I wish it didn’t hurt that she
loathes me. I wish her eyes didn’t paint a
perfect picture of how much she despises me.
“That’s simple, I hate that you’re breathing. I
wish you were never born.” The animosity
radiating in her eyes is transferred to her voice,
cold as snow and bitter as lemon. “It should be
you in that hospital bed, not my baby. Now get
the hell out of here.”
Is she seriously blaming me for what happened
to Zakhe?
“Mathonga is not at fault, ma. He wasn’t there
when…” Bongiwe.
“Thula wena!” Dalisile barks at her.
“How long are you going to treat me like this,
Dalisile? What do I have to do for you to see me
as your son?”
“You are not my son.” She’s right, I have never
been her son. Just an unlucky being who got
the wrong woman to carry him.
“You are an evil woman Dalisile, mark my words,
you will burn in hell.” I report, slightly paralysed
by her malicious words.
“I was born in hell.” Her tone holds a note of
hatred, it churns in my stomach and I feel a bile
rise as a result. She will never stop yelling
unless I leave and that’s what I do.
MATHONGA-
Twenty-eight

FUNOKUHLE-

Every so often I wonder if there was a time I had

not cared much about what my family thinks of
me, not just them but Pule. The refined views
I’ve heard through silent whispers, or the
exacting ones I’ve conceived within my own
mind. If only there was a way to soothe the
brutal raging of their hearts.
If there was a way to wipe out my father’s
hatred imprinted on my back, the throbbing
stripes that tore at my flesh and continue to do
so.
My old man did not waste time in tying me up
the day we got home from Johannesburg, my
pleading and desperate attempt to get him to
see reason were of no use.
Tied like a dog to a washing poll just outside his
rondavel, my father stripped me naked and
whipped me like I was an intruder, a thief who
had come to take his life and everything he
owned.
“Everything I do, I do it because I love you and I
don’t want you to perish.” These were the words
he said as he left me hanging on a pole, fighting
for every breath in my lungs.
My brothers nor their wives did not bother to
intervene. For hours I lay in my own blood, the
scorching sun finishing what my father had
started.
Only hours later did he come back to untie me,
my limbs had given up on me, leaving me weak
and vulnerable. But he forced me to walk to my
room and clean up, I remember crawling and
him shouting “Be a man Ntandoyethu, you’re
embarrassing me.”
The roar alone was enough to force me to my
dizzy feet.

I didn’t think he would leave me in peace after

that, but he did. He wouldn’t look at me nor say
a word to me. Part of me wants to believe that
he was ashamed, but that’s Ongezwa Sangweni,
shame hides from him.
The physical pain inflicted by my father does
not compare to the pain in my heart, being away
from the man who swiftly crept into my heart
and every part of me, like a destructive
hurricane; hurts.
I don’t like the way I left Vukuzakhe, my mind is
not at peace. I broke his heart, and destroyed
any hope he had of us ever being together. I
didn’t want to do it, but my father left me no
choice.
Pule was part of it as well, I’m still oblivious as
to how he got in my father’s good books. I
haven’t heard from him since the day I left
Johannesburg, in a way I’m glad I don’t have a
phone, he can’t contact me without one.
Unless the bastard has the balls to enter my
father’s premises and ask for me. I wouldn’t put
it past him.

The door to my room opens, and my heart

jumps to my chest. Why is he here? I scoot
from the bed and stand like a soldier ready to
take orders. This is what he expects from me.
“Get dressed, I’m going to introduce you to
Zwane. You’ll be working for him as a taxi
driver.” My father says, he’s standing at the
door.
“Baba I…” I want to tell him that I don’t have a
driver’s licence, but he cuts me with a raise of
the hand.
“Don’t talk back,” disgust paints his face. I recoil
as his eyes sweep up and down my body.
Suddenly I regret wearing these jeans, he must
be thinking they are too tight.
“Why are you standing like that?” He asks.
Because you battered me like I was a sacrificial
lamb. I don’t voice my useless thoughts but try
to stand straight. Nothing changes, he’s still
grimacing and ogling at me like I’m covered in
shit.
“Stop crying all the time, men don’t cry. I don’t
know what I ever did to your mother for her to
leave me with you. I loved her and gave her
everything and this is the thanks I get.”
He turns to leave, but I can’t let him. This is my
chance to tell him this.
“I’m moving out.” My voice carries, he stops and
instantly turns. The look of disgust has not
withered.
“Where are you going to go? You have nothing,
how will you start from scratch with nothing?”
He’s staring at me with pure revulsion.
“I’ll see when I get there.”
“And where is there?” The cackle that leaves his
mouth lacks humour. “The Khanyile homestead?
That boy is married, he has a wife. You must be
stupid if you think he will leave his wife for you.”
His words are vile, they chop my heart to pieces.
He’s leaving again, why am I not standing up to
him? I’m a man like him, only that he’s… he’s my
father and he’d squash me like a cockroach.
“Just so you know,” He’s talking again without
turning to face me. “That Khanyile boy is in the
hospital fighting for his life. If he dies, his death
will be on your conscious. Serves you right for
opening your legs for men.” He walks out after
his cold delivery. My stomach drops as all the
blood drains from my veins.

MATHONGA-

After the argument with Dalisile, I took my

return ticket, grabbed my belongings and
headed to the airport. It’s 1:57pm, the plane
landed a few minutes ago. Ntabezikude is with
me, he says he has things to take care of in
Durban. He lies a lot; my brother.
His decision to tag along was made after I told
him what Dalisile did, “her days are numbered,”
is what he said. I haven’t asked what he meant,
it will be a waste of time. He thinks he’s James
Bond this one, doing things in secret.
We found his car where he last parked it, he’s
driving us to Emlazi, where my father's brother,
uncle Bopha and his wife live comfortably.
What happened in Zakhe’s hospital room had
me thinking, and I need to share my thoughts
with uncle Bopha and Dumile. I can only hope
they will be open minded.
*
*
Ntaba parks the car in front of a fence,
sheltering three rondavels. Outside is a woman
swiping soil, which makes no sense to me. The
soil is not going anywhere.
“If settling for less had a body.” I hear Ntaba
murmur beside me, I know he is not checking
out his uncle’s wife?
“You’re drooling sfebe, she’s your aunt.” I chide,
that pint-size smile of his is mischievous.
I haven’t unbuckled my seatbelt yet and
Ntabezikude has his sluttish arms wrapped
around Bopha wife.
For years, uncle Bopha wanted nothing to do
with marriage. He was part of the smash and
go committee. We thought he would die without
ever making someone’s daughter his wife, and
today here he is, married to a twenty six year
old woman, Thethelela Mhlanga.
I want to feel sorry for Thethelela, being married
to an old man must be boring. He’s approaching
fifty, if he hasn’t approached it. I’m not good
with keeping people’s birthdates.
Honestly though, my uncle is old. It shows on
his potbelly, his greying hair and the wrinkles
lined on his skin.
“What’s going on, sisi? You’re ageing
backwards.” I compliment her when Ntaba
finally releases her. Seriously, who looks good
in a pinafore, a head wrap and dusty feet? As
she cracks into multiple giggles, I fail to spot
any wrinkles on her face. I thought Bopha’s
wrinkles were contagious.
“Don’t let your uncle hear that, it makes him feel
old.” Thethelela.
“But he is old mama,” this is what Ntaba calls
her, he’s the only one by the way. “Are you sure
you were not forced into this marriage?” Only
Ntaba can be brave enough to ask such, he’s
touching her hand. Thethelela shrugs his
whorish hand away, I would suggest she
trashes that smile, it’s confusing my brother.

“How is Bongiwe?” She dives into a different

topic. “Poor thing lost her baby, you know I
thought she was barren. Three years is too long
not to have a baby after marriage. She called
me yesterday wanting help with cleansing the
miscarriage, Zakhe has to do it as well. How is
he? I’ve been praying for his recovery and…”
Sheesh! Not even Google can process this
much information. It’s not wrinkles she got
from my uncle, but his ancient personality.
Speaking of Bopha, he strides out of the house,
a smile spread across his face.
“Sthandwa sami, you haven’t given my sons
anything to drink yet, but you’ve become
Emlazi’s Daily Sun.”
It’s weird watching him exchanging lips with his
wife. I need to format the memory in my head.
“Bab’omncane, we don’t work for pornhub. No
need for auditions.” Ntaba says after clearing
his throat, he’s lucky Bopha is not as uptight as
our father hence the chuckle.
“Madoda, follow me.”
He leads us under a big tree where there’s a
wooden bench and a black chair. Ntaba and I
squeeze ourselves on the bench.
“Where is uncle Dumile?” I had asked that he be
present in this meeting.
“He’s married,” Bopha laughs, I catch the inside
joke. Aunt Sne has probably dragged him to a
church meeting.
“How is Vukuzakhe? I couldn’t make it to
Joburg, work is keeping me busy.” Bopha.
“Critical but…”
“We’re still waiting to hear from the doctors,
bab’omncane.” I cut Ntaba’s answer. I know the
idiocy in him was not about to say critical but
stable. He shrugs when I show him my biggest
frown and starts biting his fingers, he looks
bored to sin. What would he rather be doing,
really?
“Who would do such a terrible thing to my
brother’s son?” I’m not here for this, but I
expected these question.
“The Sangwenis bab’omncane.” Only now does
Ntaba look interested. “I’m going to pluck out
their balls and make them eat them.”
“I’m in, when do we kill them?” Someone says
from behind us, I turn and fight the sigh twirling
inside my chest at the sight of Khothama, he’s
Bopha’s first born. Same age as Thethelela,
don’t ask and I won’t lie.
“Yeyi wena Khothama!” Bopha cracks, the look
he gives Khothama makes him retreat. It’s the
Khanyile effect, they exude an authority that
forces you to respect them without actually
telling you to. Baba and their other brother
Dumile are the same, I’ve seen it in my brothers
as well.
Khothama turns on his heel and disappears
behind one of the houses.
“I need your help, bab’omncane.” I start.
“What is it?”
“I want to do umsebenzi.”
“Mathonga?” He mumbles as if this should be a
secret.
“I know what you’re going to say, but the
ancestors want me to do it. And I believe Zakhe
will wake up after that. The ancestors are
seething, bab’omncane. We will see their wrath
if we continue to ignore them.” My convincing
skills have to work.
“What do you want from me?” Bopha.
“Talk to ubaba, maybe convince him.”
“You know there’s no convincing Vumile to do
anything he doesn’t want. He won’t listen to
me.”
“Then that leaves me with no choice but to go
ahead and do the ceremony. But I can’t do it
without you and uncle Dumile.”
“I’ll talk to your uncles, Vumile does not have
the last say in this matter. You are a man now
Mathonga, you choose your own paths.”
He’s right, my father will have to get over it.
“Thank you bab’omncane, if possible can the
ceremony be done this weekend?” Ntaba
throws in his cents.
I don’t mind this weekend, the sooner the better.
“Let me hear what your uncles say and I will get
back to you.” Bopha sounds promising, I like
how he’s open minded unlike baba. That man
makes me lose hairs on my scalp each time he
says no, I’ll be hairless before I turn thirty.
Glasses of Coke and Marie biscuits are placed
on the ground before us, Bopha thanks his
young wife with yet another lingering kiss. Sigh!
I’m officially traumatised.
We sit through a story of how they met, he
recites it like we’ve never heard it before.
People of advanced years should mingle with
their mates, the torture we are subjected to, is
not for the faint hearted.

We’re on our feet, ready to leave when Ntaba

shouts.
“Fuck, what is that?”
He jolts back and uses me as a shield. His eyes
are bulging out of their sockets, I think
Khothama has brought these dogs out here on
purpose. He is aware of Ntaba’s phobia.
My brother declared enmity with dogs after his
dog bit him, he was around twelve years old. It
wasn’t just a bite, Danger’s teeth were deep into
Ntaba’s thigh. It turned out it had rabbis, that’s
where the rage came from, but my brother
disowned the poor animal. The following week,
we found Danger’s lifeless body behind Ntaba’s
rondavel. I don’t even want to think what
happened to it.
“This is Ringo,”Khothama is pointing at the
huge black dog with his head. “And this is
Cynthia, I named her after my ex-girlfriend. That
bitch.”
Okay, we are not getting involved. Cynthia is a
few inches taller than Ringo. Khothama doesn’t
bath her, you can tell that her fur was once a
perfect white. Now she looks like she needs Jik
and Handy-Andy.
“Are dogs meant to be this big?” I wouldn’t be
shocked if he says he inherited them from an
Afrikaaner farmer.
“These are not dogs,” Ntaba scoffs, looking
traumatised. If they were not on a leash, he
would have ran. “I don’t know what they are but
they are not dogs.”
“Do you want me to call an ambulance bhuti?”
He shuts me up with a black stare, I guess not. I
should have them on standby though.
Khothama is not bothered, he seems to love
these animals.
“I’m happy to see you guys, it’s been long.” It
has. “You two are invited to my wedding.”
Khothama finishes.
I didn’t know he’s seeing someone, let alone
planning on marrying them.
“Who is the unlucky girl? I have to warn her
before it’s too late.” Ntaba teases, I wish I could
say he’s forgotten about the dogs. His eyes
keep running to them.
“That lady over there. Her name is Zilile.” Our
cousin points towards a heavily pregnant lady,
hanging clothes by the washing line.
“I paid for her, she’s yet to be my wife.” He paid
for her?
“Does she know she was on the market?” He
snickers at my question.
“Funny. She’s beautiful isn’t she?” He continues.
“As long as you’re happy ndoda,” Ntaba
declares, tapping him on the shoulder. I doubt
he cares about what Khothama is saying, his
focus is on the two dogs trying to escape the
leashes.
“Uyanya, she’s the most beautiful girl in this
village.” Of course he’d defend his woman.
“Let’s take a walk, I want to talk business,
madoda.”

He’s very business minded, not so long ago he

was selling Adidas shoes with two stripes at a
price of R600 a pair. Fools bought them. His
marketing skills are good though, he’d convince
a dog to marry a cat and make mixed breed
pups.
We step under the scorching heat, into the
street. Ntaba makes sure to stay beside me, far
from the dogs. These dogs don’t care about
him, they are minding their own...
“What are you selling this time?” I conduct the
conversation.
“Nothing, I want us to talk about how were
going to kill the Sangwenis.”
“Leave Mathonga out of this.” Ntaba fires… That
was fast. When did he drown himself in anger? I
want to roll my eyes at his tightened jaw, and
how he’s wounding Khothama with a scary gaze,
but I choose to save my energy.
“What do you mean leave me out of it?” I’m not
a child.
“You’re not getting involved Mathonga, end of
discussion.” Shit! I hate it when he wears his big
brother hat.
I don’t want to question Ntaba, it’s pointless. He
will never listen to me. Vukuzakhe is my brother
too, I want to be part of whatever they are
planning.
“Mbaliza.” Khothama sings.
I had gone away for a minute and snap out of it
in time to see my cousin tap a random little
girl’s shoulder in passing, the child looks
confused and a little afraid. I don’t think she
knows him.
“Who is that?” I ask.
“My daughter. That woman Gugu didn’t
understand the assignment. She fell pregnant
and gave birth to my lookalike.” Khothama.
I didn’t take a second look at the child to
confirm if they do lookalike.
“Isn’t Gugu your neighbour who’s married to
Musa the hitman?” To answer Ntaba’s question,
Khothama nods presenting a naughty smile.
Waiting for Ntaba to scold our cousin was a
waste of my two seconds, the men laugh and
bump shoulders. They are promoting
prostitution.
“You slept with a married woman?” I ask, it’s not
shocking but… he slept with a married woman.
“We’re all going to hell ndoda, we might as well
continue sinning.” Khothama.
I’m surrounded by bastards.

Ntaba is walking too close, because Cynthia

starts smelling him, big mistake Cynthia. Ntaba
jumps back and that gets the dog too excited, it
pulls with force and sets itself free from the
leash. It doesn’t do anything but approach
without any threat, an innocent growl, yet my
giant brother is sprinting. Usain Bolt should be
jealous.
Of course it is instinct for a dog to chase after
someone.
“Cynthia stop, get back here.” Khothama should
be shouting ‘Ntaba stop'
Cynthia is not the one ruining my reputation.
Ntaba wouldn’t be running if he knew how
stupid he looks, I am so embarrassed.
This is a punishment, it must be that old woman
who invades my dreams.

“Fusegi Cynthia, fusegi.” Of course Ntaba would

shout fusegi, it’s the only language South
African dogs understand. But it sounds so
wrong coming from his mouth with his deep
voice.
“Ndoda don’t run, she won’t do anything if you
stop. She won’t bite, Ntabezikude.” That’s
Khothama, running after them with Ringo
controlling his speed, I hope the leash is tight.
We wouldn't want two dogs chasing my brother.
"She doesn't bite Ntaba," Khothama yells.
I don’t know, but at this moment, Cynthia looks
like she bites.
My brother is fast but Cynthia is faster. She’s
barking, probably begging him to stop, Cynthia
is scoring points with me by being on my side,
I’d like to believe.
“Ntaba stop, you look ridiculous.” I’m sweltering
and heaving, all for what? A grown ass man
who thinks dogs are lions that eat people.
“Fusegi, mgodoyi.” Ntaba’s rasping voice
echoes when Cynthia brushes against him and…
his giant body tumbles to the ground.
“Ntaba.” I shout, picking up my pace. I think he
will get up when Cynthia starts licking his face,
but he’s not moving.
Ntabezikude better be taking a break from all
that running, if he fainted I will disown him.
MATHONGA-
Twenty-nine

MATHONGA-

Do fools know they are fools? I doubt it, this one

seated on the passenger seat is looking out the
window, whistling. It’s as if nothing happened,
as if he didn’t fall like Goliath and tarnished my
reputation.
He won’t speak of it, Khothama tried to get
answers from him, answers as to why he
fainted and my cousin failed the assignment.
To say he was disappointed would be an
understatement.
“Are you sure you don’t need the hospital?” It’s
been too quiet in this car, I miss his voice. Not.
Like a mistletoe, I will hang this over his head
for as long as he lives. He will feel my wrath
until he meets his ancestors, a punishment for
being afraid of innocent Cynthia who, like every
girl wanted a piece of him.

“What do I need a hospital for?” Listen to him.

He has no right to be frowning at me like that, I
have the mind to stop the car and leave him
here for being stupid.
“You fainted ndoda.”
“I had a muscle spasm and happened to hit the
ground too hard.” Yea right! This one needs
prayers, umhlabelo and a mean punch from the
woman who carried him. I want to laugh, but I’m
driving his car.
“Khethiwe would love to hear about this, how
did I forget to take a video?” Shit… I’m so slow
it’s disconcerting.
“Mathonga Ngwane kaNgwadi, if I hear any third
party repeat today’s events, I will slaughter you
and feed you to that bitch Cynthia.” Ntaba.
“Cynthia the dog or Cynthia the ex?” My chuckle
is muffled, I’m not doing a good job actually. My
chest is on fire, I need to release. “I prefer the
dog because…”
“Stop the car,” his command forces me to burst
out in laughter. I can’t breathe.
“Thonga stop the car,” he grunts.
What is he doing grabbing the steering wheel?
“We’re going to crash, Ntaba. Stop.” What is he?
Five? “Besides, your feet are still dizzy, you can’t
drive.”
“This is my car, pull over and get the fuck out.”
“But how will I get home?” I ask with clenched
teeth, it’s so hard to stop myself from laughing
and it’s getting me into trouble.
“I don’t know, fucking fly, crawl or roll.” He’s a
big childish baby.
“Okay, Okay. I’m sorry Ntaba yami.” Sheesh, he’s
a sensitive one. Who would’ve thought?
The bull has been tamed, he’s back to whistling
and looking out the window. My eyes dart to his
fingers rhythmically tapping on his knees, I
thought he was upset.
I can’t, I haven’t had enough. Why didn’t I take a
video?
“Does Khethiwe know she’s got competition? I
mean Cynthia baby is a looker, did you ever
think your soul mate was a dog?” I can’t afford
to look his way, I’m pushing the wrong buttons
here.
Wait… the loud-childish horse-laugh, head
inclined to the side, hand pressed to his
stomach and mouth wide open. What is he? A
monkey?
Argh! Turns out I pressed the right button. I’m
not having a good time anymore, I should be
laughing at him while he’s sulking like an
annoying spoiled brat.

“That stupid dog will know me one day.” Ntaba

says, still laughing, I thought we were angry that
side. How can I fail such an easy assignment?
“I hope you’re not going to butcher her like you
did Danger, Khothama will chop you to pieces
and burry you with your Cynthia.” I tell him.
A quiet laughter leaves my mouth, but his
laughter overpowers mine. I’m confused, what
kind of a human is this? I’m practising my rights
to bully him as his younger brother but the fool
is not allowing me. I’m defeated.
“Being a ghost must be nice, it would be an
experience of a lifetime.” He says.
That doesn’t make sense, to think he’s well
educated. I wouldn’t be shocked if he bought
his school results.

I slow down to grab my ringing phone from the

dashboard, it’s Amandla. I didn’t tell her I was
leaving for Joburg and have not spoken to her
in days. I will have to come up with a good
excuse before talking to her. My lying skills do
not deserve anything good in this world.
“Why don’t you tell her the truth?” Ntaba asks.
This one is done being a nuisance, that’s why
he’s digging his nose into my business.
“The longer you delay, the harder it will be to
break things off.”
“I love her,” I admit honestly.
I can’t just rip Amandla out of my heart without
any solid reason. I don’t know what I really feel
for Nala is compacted neither do I know if she
will ever consider me.
“What about Nile?”
“Nala,” I correct Ntaba, he has a bad reputation
of being ignorant. Khethiwe was Ntokazi for
centuries, but now she dances in his bed
sheets, he must remember her name.
“You’re too young to complicate your life with
two women, Thonga. You can’t have the best of
both worlds.”
“Sis’Angie, is that you?” He’s stepping in too
deep, confusion is not a friend of mine and it’s
here right now. I don’t know what he’s trying to
say.
“Yey, I’m trying to help you ndoda. Think about it,
your life is already a mess. In one hand
uhlushwa amathongo, there’s Dalisile on the
other. Adding the burden of dating two women
would be a mistake. Usemncane Mathonga,
make the right choices. You’re going through
the most as it is, women are not ice cream,
having too much of them will kill you.” He says
and I am… I don’t know, emotional maybe. But I
refuse to let it show.
“I know bhuti,” I steal a glimpse before giving
the road my undivided attention. “I just don’t
want to hurt Amandla, she invested so much
into our relationship.”
“What, her virginity?” Blunt aren’t we?
A feeble shrug from me answers his question,
it’s accompanied by a sigh from him.
“The sex was consensual right?” Why would he
ask me this? Of course it was, I would never
take advantage of a woman. “Mandi didn’t…”
“It’s Amandla.”
I’ll pretend Dalisile dropped him when he was a
baby. That head of his needs to be checked.
How do you forget people’s names?
“Yes, Mandi didn’t owe you her virginity. That’s
the mistake women make, giving a man your
virginity does not mean he is bound to you for
life. It doesn’t automatically make you two soul
mates. All I see is a bad version of Romeo and
Juliet, you’re more like Ugugu noAndile. Forcing
a love that’s not destined to be.”
He’s taken the off-ramp and losing me, what do
these characters have anything to do with my
life?
“UGugu noAndile were no different from Romeo
and Juliet, it was a remake.” Each word deriving
from my mouth is wrapped up in confusion,
Ntaba cares not about my explanation. He
shrugs his shoulders, like I’m speaking Chinese.
“Both those girls don’t deserve to be played,
throw the fishing rode away and use your hand
to catch the right fish. When you catch two,
choose one that looks edible and let the other
go. Greed is not a man’s best friend, it leads to
destruction. It will ruin your life and theirs.”

Ntaba; he does make sense sometimes, I didn’t

think this brain of his works well although some
of the things he said didn’t find me.
“Who do I thank for this wisdom? Khethiwe for
quenching your thirst or Cynthia for chasing
your Goliath ass?”
He cracks into a brief chuckle.
“Shut up or Saturday we’ll be doing a ceremony
for you.” He grunts, the smile in his voice is
obvious.
*
*
10pm is impatiently waiting for its turn with
greedy eyes as we enter the Khanyile
homestead. My mind is on Nala, like Amandla, I
haven’t spoken to her since the day I left.
What I feel for Nala terrifies me, mostly
because I don’t know if it has direction, if it will
go anywhere.
What if it’s a temporary thing? Love and
infatuation disguise themselves with the same
mask. You might think you’ve fallen for a certain
somebody, only to find that you’re infatuated by
the person.
Though I think I would know if I were infatuated,
my heart is at peace when I’m around Nala. I
enjoy her presence more than anything and
when she speaks, I want to sit and let her talk to
infinity.
I tell my brother I’m going to see Nala as we go
our separate ways. Ntaba knows everything
that happens around here, keeping secrets from
him is a waste of time. I’m happy he doesn’t
wear the “judge” gown when it comes to his
brothers.
The lights are still on, but she’s not responding
to my knock.

“Nala,” I try for the umpteenth time. The door

cracks open revealing a weary Nala, holding on
to the door for anchor. Her eyes are encircled
by dark marks. “What’s wrong?”
Leaving the door open, she turns back inside
and slowly lowers herself on the bed. My heart
twists with pain at the sight of her emaciated
body under the loose-fitting, long-sleeveless
nightgown. My God, she is all skin and bones.
Shouldn’t she be gaining weight now? Unless
she purposely starves herself.
“You’re back?” Her voice barely conveys her
words, it sounds pressed down to her throat.
“Yeah, a few hours ago.”
She would’ve been my first stop but what I had
to do was more important.
“What’s wrong Nala?”
This is not the state I left her in. She twitches
uncomfortably as she places a pillow against
the headboard and balances her weight on it.
My eyes are encamped on her when she side-
eyes me, anyone can tell that she’s in agony.
“Don’t look so sad Mathonga, I’m not dying.”
Her lips expand into a weak simper, there’s
nothing amusing about this.
I sit on the edge of the bed to check her
temperature, she’s burning.
“Khethiwe and I went out the other day, we
drank and I guess it didn’t agree with me. I
woke up with a splitting headache the next day,
and spent it with my head buried in the toilet
bowl. I went to the clinic yesterday, they gave
me pain killers. It’s nothing to worry about.”
I beg to differ. I shouldn’t have left her alone, it’s
no use entertaining these strings of guilt. It will
not change the situation.

“What did you drink?” The abrupt question has

her sneering at me. I hope I didn’t sound
monitoring.
“I don’t remember, it doesn’t matter.” She
replies with a weak wave of the hand.
“Let me take you to the hospital.” Her eyes
widen at my offer, it’s brief.
“I told you I had gone to the clinic, I’ll be fine, I
promise.” The sternness in her voice is
surprising. I don’t know who to hold this against,
her for leaving when I said not to or Khethiwe
for being so careless knowing what’s at stake.
There’s a war going on, our enemies might use
anyone we know to send a message.
“Why didn’t you call me, then? I was going to
drop everything to be here with you.” She tears
her gaze from me, sighing in exhaustion.
“Your brother needed you more, I didn’t want to
trouble you.” She expresses.
I’m not sure she meant want she just said, my
brother needed me more? That means…
“You needed me?”
I don’t want to let out the smile bullying me, lest
it offends her. You never know how these
smiles arrive; in a wave of overconfidence,
swimming in mockery or they simply make you
look like a sociopath.
“Everyone needs someone Thonga,” she does
that thing women love doing, roll her eyes. “Like
yesterday, I needed Khethiwe when I was going
to the clinic.”
What a way to burst my bubble. However, there
is something about the way she’s trying so hard
to keep her eyes from me. She knows I will see
her heart in them.
“Next time I promise to be here for you, you
don’t have to go through it alone.” It is a solemn
promise from me, Nala deserves better than
this. I think it’s time I take Ntaba’s advice, time
to be truthful to myself and these women.
“Why do you care about me so much?” She
queries.

My heart pauses and jumps as the question hits

my ears, I do care about her a lot. I want her
safe and protected, I want her happy and at
peace.
There’s a staring contest that lasts for mere
minutes, mere minutes of her observing me
with curiosity and me, well my heart refuses to
take a breather. It’s doing a ‘twalatsa’ and an
exaggerated ‘tsipa-tsipa.’
“Don’t you get it?” I ask. “You have crept into my
heart, Nala. I want to be the first person you
think about when you wake up and the…”
“Last person I think about when I go to bed at
night?” She completes my declaration with a
smile in her voice, her face contradicting with
what I’m hearing.
“Yes, I want to be ithongo lakho.” (Your
guardian.)
This time she laughs, life awakening in her dead
eyes.
“You mean iThonga lami.” Her quiet laughter
continues to bless me.
“I can be both, your guardian and the man of
your life. If you let me, I can be anything you
want me to be.”
“I’m broken glass Thonga.”
“Then let me mend you, I was good with clay
work at school.” I did not say that, did I? The
smile on her face is a sight for sore eyes, my
eyes.
“I don’t deserve to be loved, I’m not a good
person. I’ve done things in my life, things that
will make you hate me. Things I’m ashamed of.”
Pity is evident in the tone of her voice. This is
not what I want for her, to live in regret of the
things she’s done in the past. Whatever they are.
“No one is perfect Nala, we all have our own
share of mistakes. I’d be a hypocrite if I were to
point yours out.”
I take a chance and intertwine my fingers with
hers, she tightens the grip and grants my wish
of glancing into my eyes.
“Am I naïve to trust you, Thonga?” She looks
visibly sorrowful, I hope she doesn’t panic from
the touch of my hand on her cheek. The second
my hand gently lends on her cheek, she laces
her vacant hand on mine.
“You’re not, I will never break your trust. I
promise, Nala.” Her eyelids flicker open and
close, a drop of tear slips out. She quickly wipes
it before I attempt to. Her mouth accepts a
smile as she chokes a muffled giggle.
“Thonga lami,” Her voice is a whisper as she
makes a desperate face. “Please don’t finish
what’s already broken, I will perish if you do.”
“I won’t,” I’m not certain if this gives me the
right to wrap my arms around her, but I do, she
holds me back just as tight. “I won’t break you
Nala.”
I will treat her like an egg, like the precious
cargo she is.

She tells me she wants to sleep and declines

my offer of staying over.
“This is your father’s premises, we’re not going
to disrespect him.” She says.
“We’re not going to be doing anything.” I’ve got
my armour on, ready to defend myself and
practise my right to comfort this woman who
has found a way into my heart. “Okay, take a
rest. If you’re not feeling better in the morning,
I’ll take you to the doctor.”
I plant a soft kiss on her cheek after helping her
lie down in bed.
“I’m happy you’re back, Mathonga.” She states,
this is enough for my heart to jump into
conclusions and do a cartwheel.
Goodnight pleasantries are exchanged between
us, before I tiptoe my way to the main house.

In the kitchen, I find Ntaba and Khethiwe

engrossed in what seems like an intimate
exchange.
I can only shake my head at how he’s always
thinking about sex, it’s so obvious with how he’s
standing close to her.
The poor girl is pressed against the fridge,
looking up at him. He owes her a neck massage
after that encounter, Ntaba has closed
whatever space was between them. How has
Khethiwe not collapsed from that seductive
look he’s giving her? I remember her being weak
around him.
“I’m here for a glass of water, don’t mind me.” I
inform them when they give me questioning
looks, the sink is far from the fridge. That’s why
they think I can’t hear them.

“I swear Khethi, the moment I saw you, my

soldier saluted. Now he needs to go to war.”
God of my ancestors, I hope he’s not taking
about what I think he’s taking about. I have to
steal a glance, they really are not minding me.
Now I want to see how this pans out.
Khethiwe looks just as confused, I should
rescue her from my insane brother. That one
can’t live without sex.
I turn to face the sink when she sends her shy
gaze my way, Ntaba needs to rub off some of
his confidence on her.
“Nta… Ntaba.” I can hear her breathless whisper
from here, how her voice trembles as she calls
his name, as if she worships the ground he
walks on.
“Take me to war, Captain K. I want to play shoot
and run.” Bad choice of words Ntaba, I hope
spongebob and Patrick know they have a
brother, they need to come get him. Idiot.
“What?” The hurt in Khethiwe’s voice. This I
must see. She’s created an invisible bearer
between them, church distance. Hlabela would
reward her with a star.
“No, not like that.” Ntaba debates.
It is like that though, he shoots and runs. But
girls always drool over him, he’s like a toxic
drug they can’t stay away from.
“I meant, shoot and hide…” He’s stuttering,
Khethiwe deserves an award. The great
Ntabezikude is stuttering. I don’t know if I
should laugh at how dumb he looks or
Khethiwe’s shocked expression.
“Okay, forget guns. We’ll pretend we’re in the
60’s, I have a sword and you have a shield.”
What the heck? This is where I scream “shut
up.”
He’s putting himself six feet under, basically
throwing his stupid ass into the fiery furnace
and there’s no Jesus to save him there. I hope
he comes out looking like a burnt sausage.

“What do you say, Khethi? Let’s go play bend

and stab, you’ll do the bending and I’ll…”
Ntaba you are a dead man, friends with benefits
or not. Khethiwe’s fire blazing eyes run from his
face to his… uh… soldier and… eww it’s saluting.
I need to sanctify my eyes.
I’m expecting a hard clap from Khethiwe.
Smack him back to stupid-ville.
“Tell your soldier I’m not in the mood.” She
delivers, rejects him rather and walks off. I’m a
happy little brother, it’s Christmas this side. I’m
left holding on to the sink, unable to control my
laugh.
Soldiers die in Iraq and my brother has been
gunned.
“Soldier down, I repeat soldier down.” I mock his
stupid ass.
He turns to face me with a piercing gaze. I don’t
care, he can kill me with a look. I will go to the
next life and recite this story to the elders.
“What’s wrong with Khethi? I think she’s angry
with me.” Wow, he thinks?
“She’s in love with an idiot, that’s what’s wrong
with her. I agree with Khethiwe, your gun is
empty and your sword is blunt. Hamba uyolala
ndoda.”
He’s drowning in confusion, I’m not going to
rescue him. I don’t do well with confusion, but I
am loving how it has swallowed my brother. I
watch him as he crosses his arms over his
chest, what is he thinking about?
“Did I say something wrong?” He asks with
crumpled eyebrows.
Of course he did. In fact, he said everything
wrong.
“Yes, Mr. Bend and stab.” I land a soft smack at
the back of his big head, the fool felt nothing.
“Whether she’s your side dish or the hill you will
die upon, you don’t talk to women like you’re
taking a dump.”
He’s shaking his head, I think he doesn’t
understand what I’m saying.
“Women confuse me,” he says.
Yet he loves them, confusing and fierce as they
are.
“You and your soldier had it coming ndoda,
tshela isosha lakho to stand down. The war has
been cancelled, Sergeant.”
His upper lip curls as he throws a stern look my
way, that won’t stop me from laughing at him.
He scratches his head, confusion still latched
on his face and turns to leave. His shoulders
are slumped, head and arms loosely hanging. I
did say he will burn, look at that sausage
walking away.
MATHONGA-
Thirty
NDLELENI-

Siblings are a blessing from God, the ancestors,

a higher being, the stars or whatever deity you
believe in. They are the people who will never
leave you no matter how dark your days turn.
You learn to love them from the moment they
come into your life and when your brain is fully
developed, you come to realise that you would
simply die without them, that life would be
absolutely meaningless.

He was born a year after his brother Vimbela,

his mother popped out babies like they were in
fashion. There were four children before him,
four children who had occupied their parents’
hearts.
A parent’s love is boundless, right? There’s
always enough room to fit a nation.
Not in Ndleleni’s case, Vukuzakhe had filled
more space than he should have in his mother’s
heart, leaving the others to squash themselves
in and share a seat.

His father was there for the first few years of

his life, he filled where Dalisile couldn’t and that
was okay with Ndleleni until he noticed his
mother’s big belly. Somehow he knew what it
meant, he’d heard his brothers talk about a
baby coming.
There was joy in the family, joy he couldn’t
participate in whole heartedly.

He too should have celebrated with everyone,

right?
He wanted to and for a while he did. He clapped
with them when the baby would kick, although
he didn’t know what that meant, it just felt like
the right thing to do since everyone was doing it.
The goal was to fit in, and not look like the
outcast he was.
She looked like a giant from his four year-old
view, a big oval belly, round cheeks. He was
scared of her, especially when she started
walking like a penguin.
Some days it gave him nightmares, he would
wake up sweating with tears threatening to
expose his cowardice, but he couldn’t let them
out nor tell anyone about the bad dreams.

His older brothers also spoke about how a man

never cries and should show strength, no
matter what the situation life has you in, and he
wanted to be that, so he wouldn’t feel like a
burden.
Ndleleni was the youngest after all and his
brothers babied him. He hated that, maybe
that’s why his mother didn’t care to give him a
moment of her time, make him feel like he
mattered at least.
He longed for her attention, a kiss on the
forehead, or a pat on the shoulder.

When he’d fall and bruise his knee, Vukuzakhe

or Hlabela were there to pick him up and nurse
his wounds. When he lost his first tooth, they
were there and went to an extent of putting
money under his pillow while he slept at night,
“with regards the tooth fairy.” Their exaggerated
notes would say.
His parents were too busy for him, too busy for
all his firsts. His first word, his first walk, his
first haircut and his first day at school.
Everything else seemed more important than
raising him.
Sakhile was already in the picture, a bubbly
bundle of joy with bulging eyes and a
captivating smile. Aren’t all babies?

Ndleleni was not sure how he felt about Sakhile,

if he loved him as much as everyone did. He
couldn’t understand what the fuss over him was
about. Even his brothers had cut the attention
they’d give him in half and handed the other half
to Sakhile.
They were still there, all of them. But it wasn’t
enough, he needed all or nothing.

Soon Dalisile detached herself from the golden

boy Sakhile, her full attention went back to her
first born and Sakhile was too young to have
noticed, maybe too slow. Babies cry when they
are not getting the attention they are
accustomed to, they’d scream with demand
until you give in.
However, Sakhile never cared to demand what
he was given from birth. It annoyed Ndleleni,
how his little brother seemed perfect.
He was nothing like him, an attention-seeking,
weak brat who needed someone’s love to
survive life on earth.

He was six years old, going on seven when his

mother detached from all of them but
Vukuzakhe, he noticed how she’d become that
big woman again. Swollen face, plump body but
this time it was accompanied by anger. She
would shout and throw things around the house.
Mostly, she kept herself locked up in her room
and barely spoke to them.
Some days they would hear loud voices coming
from their parents’ bedroom, it was clear they
were arguing.
In the midst of all that bickering, a baby was
going to join them. It scared Ndleleni that he’d
be completely cut off by his parents.
That they would place him on a shelf and
pretend he was never born. If they were
obsessed with Sakhile, then they were going to
be loco over the new family member.

There was nothing he could do, he was a child

after all, a child who would do absolutely
anything to get the love of his parents, a child
who was easily manipulated by words of
affection.
“I’ll buy you that toy car you’ve always wanted if
you do this or that.” His mother would say.
“I’ll take you to an amusement park if you pass
the term.” Vumile would say.
That night when Mathonga was born, Ndleleni
was going to ask his father if he could go stay
with his uncle Dumile. His uncle’s wife loved
him like he was the only one in the world and
Dumile always brushed his head and gave him
random compliments, he felted wanted. He had
the speech thought through and imagined his
father agreeing to his request.
“Baba,” his innocent voice reached Vumile who
gave him a single glance from his chair in the
throne room. His focus was more on Dalisile
and the baby.
“Ca… Can I talk to you?” The frown on Vumile’s
face made it hard for him to construct his
words, syllables trembled their way out of his
mouth.
“Not now, Ndleleni. Go to your brothers.” That’s
it, he was waved off with a hand. Vumile was
never to be disobeyed or questioned, so little
Ndleleni went away with a broken heart and
anger seeping through his tiny veins.
Hours later, Mathonga was born, the next day
there was a fire, then a funeral thereafter.

Twenty four years later, Ndleleni continues to

struggle with insecurity and fitting in. It’s hard
when he’s seen as the bad son by his father.
Having unrequited love from his parents made
him lose hope in anything that is love, his
brothers are an exception. He would kill for
them, everyone one of them. Including the ones
who died.
*
*
He’s in Port Edward at Lunganakho Country
Lodge when he receives a text from Ntaba.
*Bring them home, the time is up.*
He closes his laptop, leaves it on the bed and
walks out of the room. As he knocks in the
coop next door, a woman he met for the first
time in his father’s house opens.
“Get your things, we’re leaving.” He tells her and
walks back to his room without waiting for an
answer.

VUMILE-

Everything he’s ever done, was for his boys. He

couldn’t be everything they needed but he tried
his best. At least he believes he tried. Why can’t
they understand that he’s not perfect, that he
wants what’s best for them.
Ntabezikude is not taking his calls, he’s not sure
how far he is with his threat. The boy
challenges him in the most dangerous way,
something he would never admit to himself nor
to anyone. He needs to get to Izingolweni,
before that unruly lad ruins everything he’s
worked so hard to build.

Going back home means leaving Vukuzakhe

with Dalisile, a woman he doesn’t trust with the
lives of his sons. She’s a disaster waiting to
happen, and Vumile has known this for years.
This is why he kept her close and continues to
do so. You don’t just get rid of Dalisile and
expect her to leave without any complaints. She
would bring hell on earth for him and everyone
he holds dear.
Nandi is not taking his calls, he’s sent her
messages asking if she’s okay and to call him
back, but nothing. He would call Zamangwane if
she had not blocked his number. He’s left with
no choice but to go back home.
Dalisile is around, it’s nothing to celebrate. Her
eyes keep following his every move, had it been
years ago he would have teased her for eyeing
him.

“Say whatever it is you want to say.” He speaks

slowly, throwing some of his clothes into a
sports bag. That’s how he misses the eye roll
she rewards him with.
Last night they hardly got any sleep, they were
at each other’s throats till the early hours of the
morning. Vumile demanded to know why his
youngest son was attacked at the hospital and
Dalisile’s explanation did not make any sense
as usual.

“I found a team of doctors on line, they can help

Vukuzakhe.”
“Then call them and get them here.”
Argh, he’s become so modern. Had it been ages
back he would have called for inyanga.
“They are based in America, we’d have to take
Vukuzakhe there.”
What a wife he’s chosen for himself, he must’ve
done something bad in his past life to deserve a
woman like Dalisile.
“No.” A nonchalant response, it piques Dalisile.
“What do you mean, no? You’ve seen his
condition, Vukuzakhe is…”
“Vukuzakhe is well taken care of, I am not
shipping my son to a foreign country where he’ll
be poked and examined like some wild animal.”
“You’re too smart to be saying that, Vumile.
Plus, those useless doctors you brought know
nothing, none of them are able to diagnose his
condition. I’m taking him to America.” Her voice
has become unnecessarily loud. She’s too
governing for his liking, who does she think she
is, disputing with him? His word stands and that
will never change.
Vumile drops everything, and turns his raging
eyes to her.
“I’m not going through this with you again, my
son stays and I will not repeat myself.” He can’t
contain his rage, he’d try if he cared about her
feelings. She’s so disrespectful and stubborn, it
makes him sick. Heck she makes him sick.
Something unpleasant floats in the air, as
Dalisile jolts to her feet, it comes with wrath and
bitterness.
“He will die if we don’t get him help.” Vumile
catches the desperation in her tone, but this is
how she’s always been when it comes to
Vukuzakhe. A desperate mother who thinks
there’s a Pinky-Pinky in every corner out to get
her son.
Vumile carries his bag and heads to the door.
“This is your plan, isn’t it?” Dalisile shouts
behind him, her voice booming with anger,
putting his feet out of action. “You want to kill
my son, you want him dead so that boy can take
over everything.”
She’s testing his patience, he’d never choose
between his sons, he loves them the same.
Even on Judgement day, God will compliment
him for this, maybe add a crown of gold to seal
it off.

“Take that back.” He’s looking at her with loath

in his eyes, at the same time trying to keep the
conversation in line, he’s tired of fighting and
throwing bitter words around.
“No,” another unnecessary shout from her. She
has her long, painted nails pointed at him, a
whole chief.
“I see through you Vumile, you’re so blinded by
your love for that boy that you are willing to
sacrifice Vukuzakhe’s life, just so that bastard
gets everything you own.”
What is she on about? There’s confusion in his
eyes, he quickly conceals it with something she
can’t point out.
“You’re not making sense, Dalisile. Shut up
before you say something you will regret.”
Who must shut up? Not Dalisile, the world might
go mute and she’ll be the last man standing.
“One day Vumile, one day you will look for that
boy and not find him. I swear on my sons’
graves.”
There’s a visible tick on his jawline, a jolt in his
heart leaving it beating fast. The bag tumbles to
the floor. Anger ripples through his veins, his
eyes narrow and before he knows it, he has his
wife pressed against the wall. His hand is tight
around her neck, slowly squeezing with no
mercy. She’s gagging and writhing, eyes
pleading for liberation, an escape.
“What did you say to me?”
She mentioned his dead sons, and threatened
the one he loves more than his life; that’s what
she did.
“Listen to me mfazi, if anything happens to
Mathonga, I will forget that you’re my wife. I will
kill you myself, do you hear me?” The tone is
kept low, but the words are delivered with
brutality.
“I’m not afraid of you or your empty threats. I
know you Vumile, you will never hurt me.” Ah!
She can speak?
She is confident about this, he had twenty four
years to smother her in her sleep, bury her
under the mango tree behind the main house
and tell people his wife disappeared. They
would’ve believed him because well, she’s
Dalisile, she lives life like she has no fucks to
give.
“You think a snake would come out of its hole
without being provoked?” He asks.
His hand loosens around her neck, he continues
to hover over her. His chest is heaving and eyes
shooting sharp daggers. Dalisile’s coughs
sound replicated and dramatic, she’s rubbing
her neck to ease the discomfort.
“If you hate me so much, why don’t you just
divorce me?” Dalisile.
Be careful what you wish for…
“Divorce?” Vumile breathes, disdain dancing
around his breath. “You took my sons from
me… you took Vimbela and Sakhile from me,
and you think I will let you go just like that?”
No he’s not going to cry because he’s Vumile
Khanyile. He cries in the shower or against the
pillow when no one is around. Never in front of
an audience.

“I haven’t started with you yet, Dalisile.”

This she has never heard before and why is he
going back to the past? Didn’t they bury the
hatchet?
“I had nothing to do with their deaths, I told you
before.” Her voice is shaky, her eyes are ready
to leave their sockets and her words mean
nothing to him.
There’s a look of disgust masking Vumile’s
hardened face, he serves her with a tongue click
and marches to the door. He bends over to take
the bag and as his body straightens back to his
height, he freezes.
A lot of things are running through his mind, he
says the first one in line that shocks both him
and his wife.
“I’m taking a second wife.” With that said, he
walks out without turning back to see how she
receives the news. Before he shuts the front
door, a derailing scream chases him, it’s Dalisile.
She’s losing her mind, nothing in his bones
compels him to stay. Instead he continues with
his journey.

MATHONGA-
Thirty-one

NDLELENI-

Ntabezikude is not home, he wouldn’t say

where he was when he called him. Work is
keeping him busy, the last thing he wants is to
babysit two grown people who mean nothing to
him.
He would care for them if family was not his
brothers. In his eyes, Nandi is his mother’s
second best and the teenage girl is another
unfortunate child who happened to be fathered
by Vumile Khanyile.
How that man keeps shooting his sperms
without missing baffles him, it should be
prohibited for men like him to father children.
The old hag thinks he’s the king of the world,
doing things as he pleases when he’s just a
chief of a village.
It’s funny as fuck.
He has decided to work from home, since he
can’t leave them alone like Ntabezikude had
commanded. If he didn’t love his brother to
death like he does, he wouldn’t have gone to the
house his father built for his mistress and
daughter to fetch them.
“They are innocent in all of this, your anger is
directed to the wrong people.” This is what
Ntaba told him when he had asked that he goes
back to KwaZulu-Natal and book them into a
hotel, to keep Vumile from getting to them.
“They are nothing to me, I owe them nothing,
ndoda. Why must we burden ourselves with
those people?” Ndlela had asked him, his
annoyance unclothed and gaudy.
That only upset Ntaba, something he rarely
witnessed. With his brows furrows and eyes
piercing Ndlela’s big head, Ntaba slammed a
palm on his brother’s chest. It wasn’t meant to
inflict any pain on him, but more like a big
brother putting his young brother in his place.

“I am not going to ask you again, Ndlela. Say if

you don’t want and I will do it myself.” Ntaba’s
words got to him.
He would do anything for his brothers. Even if
he asked him to kill, Ndlela would do it. It’s not
like he’s never done it before, it’s not like he’s
never killed for his loved ones.

He’s on a Zoom meeting with one of the

Khanyile Holdings shareholders when
Zamangwane walks into the lounge, he shoots
a dead look at her and pulls his focus back to
the laptop.
“My assistant will email you the details first
thing in the morning.” He’s unaware how his
teeth are grinding together as if he’s caught a
big bone between them, there’s a mosquito in
the middle of the room and it’s annoying him.
He wraps up the meeting and bids the
shareholder farewell, his attention is not given
to the young girl staring at him. He is greedy
with it.
A frown leisurely grows on his features when he
scratches the left side of his neck. The itch
seems to move to the other side, he scratches
it as well.
His whole body starts itching, he puts the
laptop on the couch and stands to his feet to
unbutton the white button-up shirt hugging his
body.

Another throat clearance from the unwanted

guest catches his full attention. She’s carrying a
small cage, and it hits him. This one brought
rats into his car, his whole body itched the
entire ride home from Port Edward. It was fifty
seven minutes of agony.
“Didn’t I tell you to throw those rats away?” He
snaps, but she doesn’t look affected.
“They are not rats, bhuti, but hamsters.” 2000s
think they know it all, walking around looking
like Oxford English dictionaries and Google
wrapped in one. “The brown one’s name is Zoro,
he’s very smart and I named the white one Zaza
after myself. She’s my favourite.”
Gosh, they better be siblings.
He’s shaking his head at how ridiculous she
sounds, black people don’t keep hamsters.
“It’s rats and I don’t want them here.” He’s
allergic to “rats”, and despises them. If a tiny
thing can subject him to agony, it shouldn’t
exist. What the fuck?
“I’m sorry bhuti, I’ll put them away.” That bhuti
word again, Ndleleni doesn’t know this child, yet
she is juggling the word around like it’s no big
deal.
“Don’t call me that,” he keeps his voice low.
Angry eyes pinned on her, his brows furrow
when she covers her mouth and giggles
resound.
This sound; he has heard it before, in his
dreams where he’d find Vimbela playing with
Sakhile. His eyes are abruptly red, a dam
threatening to erupt behind them.
His puckered brow grows while staring down at
the teenage girl in black giggling. Ndlela swiftly
turns away from her, unable to keep his eyes on
her. They remind him of a painful past. A place
he doesn’t want to go back to.
“Are you okay bhuti?” It’s Zamangwane, her
voice sounds warm and sweet to his ears,
resembling a child’s vocal sound.
He wants to be alone, but he doesn’t tell her.
The tears in his eyes are going to embarrass
him, he wipes them away and uses this chance
to scratch his itching body.
The damn rats, he’ll have to “accidently” step on
them when she’s not looking.

“I’m fine,” he lies. Pain is shooting down the

deepest parts of his core. He needs a drink,
anything to make him forget. There’s a table
just next to the sliding door that leads to the
garden, he pours himself a glass of whiskey and
downs the liquor like it’s a shot.
The entirety of his face crumbles at the strong
taste, he recovers just as he pours another one.
He’s brave enough to look at his half-sister now,
she is a Khanyile to the bone.
He would’ve questioned her features had he
met her as a stranger in a random place, that
bastard Vumile’s genes are strong.
“Where is your mother? Didn’t Khethiwe tell you
that I’m working? You’re not supposed to be…”
“I’m bored,” she interjects with an irresolute
smile on her face. The cage with “rats” has
been placed on the coffee table. He will never
eat anything from that table again.
“So?” It’s obvious he’s not interested in
entertaining her.
“Can we do something fun?” She frisks to him
with a childlike smile dancing on her face,
Ndlela’s scary frown doesn’t stop her
excitement. Didn’t Ntaba say this child is
seventeen, not five?
“I told you I’m busy.” Ndlela steps back, she’s
the rat-carrier. His skin is burning thanks to her
Sir Zoro and lady Zaza. “And you don’t know me,
go play with your mother.”
“Of course I know you, you are bhut’ Ndleleni,
my brother. Bhut’ Ntaba told me everything
about you and Bhuti Hlabela, bhuti Mathonga
and bhuti’ Zakhe. He’s always talking about you,
I have pictures of all of you on my phone. Do
you want to see?”
She talks too much, he’s not interested. If she
wants a place in his life, then tough luck, there’s
a ‘closed’ sign.
Loud whistling can be heard from here, his
exhale is resigned. His Hitler brother is finally
home; Ntaba. He has barely penetrated the
threshold and Zamangwane is flying to him.
“Bhuti,” she throws herself in his arms. The
giant whisks her up and suffocates her in his
large arms. Her giggles, the ones that had
Ndlela tearing up evade the commodious family
room.
“Popeye, unjani.” Ntaba showers her with kisses
after placing her back on her feet. Zamangwane
is on a mission to wipe away every kiss
lingering on her face, she looks flushed. A place
to hide would suffice.
“I’m not a Popeye, bhuti.” Her dispute is timid, it
has Ndlela furrowing his brows. How was this
child forward with him, but can’t look Ntaba
straight in the eye?
Ndleleni is known as the most intimidating
between the brothers, they all have their days,
but his arrogance has a life, an address and a
poker-faced butler who slams doors on
people’s faces. Ndleleni wears his anger on his
face, his words and sometimes in his actions.

“My son, you’re home.” A female voice calls

from the direction of the kitchen, they turn to a
smiling Nandi. Her arms are wide open ready to
welcome Ntaba, he eases into them like a child.
The glower on Ndleleni’s facial features can be
bought from a black market with a hefty price,
it’s probably more costly than Michael
Jackson’s famous glove.
How in the world does Ntaba know these
people? Has he been seeing them more often
than he explained? By the looks of it, it appears
that is the case.
“How are you, mama wami?” Ntaba’s greeting is
cloaked in reverence, she cups his cheeks as he
bends his knees to steal a kiss on her forehead.
“I’m fine my boy, you look taller every time I see
you.” She is patting his cheeks. “You’re gaining
weight, someone is treating you good, keep her
and treat her well.”
She probably has a whole wedding planned in
her head, from theme to wedding cake.
“Kanti lutho ma.” Ntaba retorts, a smile on his
face. Ndleleni rolls his eyes, this is unbelievable.
This brother of his can keep secrets and he
does it so well.
Does Vumile know all this? That his woman and
third born are best friends? Ah! Mention the
devil and he materialises from nowhere, his
eyes find Nandi first.
MATHONGA-

My hands are clammy, my heart is hammering

viciously inside my chest. I don’t make eye
contact when Amandla ambles back into the
living room with a glass of water.
“Relax babe, my grandmother won’t be home till
late.” She told me this over the phone before I
got here. I want to shift when she perches
herself beside me and her leg flies over my
thigh.
“I miss you, Mathonga. Where have you been?”
With no reply emerging, I clear my throat to
ease the anxiety of having to break her heart.
She’s not making things easy for me by being
this close. When I shift uncomfortably, she
draws her arms around my shoulders to draw
me close to her.
“This feels good, I miss being in your arms.” Her
declaration makes me feel like a halfwit.
How can I be such a coward? I should be
putting both of us out of our misery.
“Why aren’t you talking baby? You’re extra quiet
today.” She asks.
I look away when her eyes search mine, I don’t
want her to see it. I want to tell her myself.
“We need to talk.” I introduce.
My chest constricts, it suddenly feels hot in
here. All the things I want to say are stuck in my
throat, I have to swallow to prevent myself from
shedding tears.
“Did I do something wrong?” Her wide eyes are
looking back at me, suspiciously.
“We need to break up.” I don’t want to dwell
much into this. There’s a minute of silence
before she removes her leg from my thigh and
shifts back.
“Why?” She asks, blankly.
“It’s not working Amandla…”
“That’s not an answer, did I do something
wrong?”
“No, it’s not you, it’s…”
“No, no Mathonga. That doesn’t make sense,
tell me what I did wrong and I will fix it.” She’s
getting in my personal space, yelling right in my
face, her hands curled on my hoodie. “I love you,
you’re all I have.”
I stand to free myself from her grip, but she
won’t let go. She stands with me, her face is
wet with tears.
Usually I would wipe them away, bring her to my
chest and tell her everything will be okay. Not
today, I don’t belong to her anymore, neither
does she belong to me.
“I’m sorry,” I groan beneath my breath and keep
my eyes above her head. The pain in her wet
eyes torments me in the most gruesome way.
“Don’t tell me that,” she’s screaming while
slamming tight fists on my chest. “Tell me
you’re joking, tell me that you love me like I love
you.”

I do love her, God knows I do and only God

knows why I have chosen someone else over
this woman I have been loving since I was a
teenager.
There’s no use in fighting a losing battle, I have
made up my mind. I can’t play two women, it
will be unfair to them and to me as well. I don’t
want to be my father, as much as I love him and
look up to him. The choices he has made in life
are nothing to be proud of.

“Why are you quiet? Say something dammit.”

I’m jolted out of an unexpected trail.
“You deserve a clean break, Amandla, I don’t
want to linger in your heart. I want you to move
on, you deserve the best, you deserve better
than me.” She’s shaking her head, which tells
me that she won’t accept this and she never will.
“I’m not your future.”
“But you are mine,” she bites her lip and lowers
herself back on the couch, her body sinking in
defeat.
“After all these years, Mathonga. After
everything we’ve been through together and this
is what you do to me?” I can’t stand her tears,
but I can’t comfort her.
“You are asking me to live without you, that’s
the same as killing me, Mathonga.” Her eyes
find me again as she looks up, this is the first
time seeing her drenched in so much pain and
it’s my fault.
“I’m selfish Amandla, I admit. You can do better
than me, please let us go our separate ways.
Don’t fight it, it will only make things difficult for
the both of us.”
I sound like a jerk, maybe I am. I notice how her
hands are trembling as she slowly stands back
up, I let her cup my cheeks with her warm small
hands. There’s an urge to lean in, an urge to
draw her in my arms and let her feel how sorry I
am.
“But you’re not telling me anything. Did you
meet someone else? Who is she? Does she
know I was here first? I want to meet her, how
can a woman do this to another woman? How
can you be with someone who has no regard
for other people’s feelings?”
Telling her the truth would destroy her, finish
what I started.
Guilt ripples through me, it tightens on my chest.
I move from her space and furiously rub my
face.
“You might not believe me, Amandla, but this is
hard for me too. I am hurting too.”
“It doesn’t seem like it, your eyes are dead
Mathonga. You’re tearing me to pieces, and you
are not remorseful about it. Why are you so
heartless?”
I don’t answer her, we’re going around in circles
and it’s taking us nowhere.
“Please take care of yourself, you’re a good
woman. You will love again.”
She’ll get a headache from crying and shaking
her head like that. Her eyes bulge when my feet
move, she enwraps her arms around me and
breaks down in tears. I would hold her back, if I
could. Cry with her, but choosing to be stone
cold is the way to go. A gasp gushes from her
chest when I manage to remove her arms from
around me.
She falls back on the couch, sobbing painfully.
I turn without giving her another glance, my feet
are heavy along with my heart as I walk out of
her house, her life and whatever there was
between us. The last memory I have of her are
her heart breaking cries.
MATHONGA-
Thirty-two

HLABELA-

This is why he stays away from children, why he

doesn’t have one himself at the age of 33.
There’s something about them that makes his
heart chase the Gautrain with the intention to
win.
At church, he denied the position of being a
Saturday school teacher for the young ones,
he’s more comfortable working with the youth.
If you’re 12 years old going up, then you’re okay
being around him.
Today must be a curse itself, Kushi wants him
to meet her children. Her mother in-law finally
had mercy on her and brought the kids to visit.
What does he say to them? How does he look
at them and not think of his brothers he lost to
a raging fire?

It’s almost time, Kushi will be here in less than

ten minutes. Part of him wants to call her and
cancel, make an excuse or something. He has a
brother in the hospital, everyone went back to
KwaZulu-Natal leaving him behind.
He’s the only man around, and that means he
has to look after Bongiwe and well, Dalisile,
that’s if he can stand her presence.
Loving God and being his disciple does not
mean you will love like Jesus loves, life is not
heaven on earth, no one is perfect.
“Shit!” Oops! The devil is always close, tempting
the righteous. Kushi’s phone just sent him to
voicemail, how does he deal with this now?
Maybe leave the hotel, he will explain later why
she found him gone. He needs to get out of
here or he will faint, his hands are trembling as
he grabs his car keys and wallet from the bed.
He’ll go and spend time with his brother, that’s
better than subjecting himself to… argh!
His heart jolts and sits on his throat when he
opens the door and sees Kushi and two kids on
both her sides, each holding her hands.
“Bella.” Her smile is wide.
There’s nothing to smile about, he’s about to
have a heart attack, his eyes are on the little boy
and girl who are staring back at him.
Breathe Hlabela, breathe… okay; Our Father who
art… Nope, prayer is not his solution. Those
things take time anyway, something about a
day being a thousand years in heaven and a
thousand years being a day. Brain cracking,
yeah!
“Thlabhela.” Not even a butcher knife would
chop his name like this.
He blinks when a bead of sweat blinds his eye.
Gods of salty waters, you are great.
“Uh, hi” It’s all good, he can still speak. He
wants to tell them to come in… Okaaay, shifting
aside is not a bad idea. Kushi narrows her eyes
at him as she strides in with her babies. It’s not
that he’s suffering from pedophobia, it’s… she
wouldn’t understand.

He drags his palms across his face, how will he

explain without sounding like he needs therapy?
It takes him forever to finally shut the door,
before turning to meet his potential family.
“Are you okay?” Kushi asks, she looks like she’s
losing her patience.
“Yes,” his voice is strained, stuck deep in his
throat.
His eyes dash to the kids again, the little girl in
denim shorts and sandals looks like a younger
version of Kushi. The boy is taller than the girl,
he must look like his father.
“This is Neha,” her hand lovingly caresses the
girl’s hair. “And this is Shanker.” She’s referring
to the boy and tells them to greet uncle Bella.
The only thing he gets are bashful waves,
Hlabela manages a smile.
They, should be looking at him like he’s here to
rob them not the other way around, he is a
stranger after all.
“Nice to…” His voice fails him, he clears his
throat as his eyes meet with Kushi’s. She is
confused and upset, probably wondering why
he is acting like this. His face is wet with sweat,
he uses his crispy white shirt to wipe it off and
rolls up the sleeves after. Kushi notices his
trembling hands and furrows her brows in worry
and bafflement.

Who opened the windows of hell? Why is it so

hot in here? He loosens a few buttons from his
shirt, this is when he should be speaking to
them and organising ice-cream dates.
“I’m sor…” He doesn’t finish his apology, a groan
resounds from his throat as he flies through the
bathroom door.
Oscar Pistorius, come see how it’s done.
His whole face is in the toilet bowl, emptying
this morning’s breakfast. It sounds like a vomit
war in here, he tries to keep it down lest he
scares the kids that’s if they aren’t already.

FUNOKUHLE-

Izingolweni is now added to my off limits list,

when I left my father’s house in the middle of
the night while everyone was sleeping, I knew I
was leaving myself behind. I was leaving
Ntandoyethu behind, a son, my mother’s
daughter and a brother.
I didn’t have time to pack my clothes, all I have
are the clothes on my body.
I’m on my own now, with no money or a place to
lay my head. I don’t know what time it is, the
sun was in the middle a while ago which feels
like centuries ago. If the African way of telling
time serves me right, 12pm has come and gone.
I’m in Port Shepstone, thanks to the old man
who gave me a lift early this morning. I need to
get to Johannesburg as soon as possible. Taxi
ranks are also off limits, I can roam around bus
stops though. I doubt my father knows any bus
drivers, I’m parched, hungry and tired when I
arrive at a bus station.

Wait! There are no buses here, I was told I

would find one that leaves for Johannesburg
this evening. My pockets are empty, my plan
was to come up with a believable lie that would
convince the driver to let me ride for free. It
involved a rich uncle who lives in Northcliff.
This place looks busy, there are so many people
wandering about. The sun will set soon, I don’t
want to see myself sleeping under a bridge.
“Excuse me.” The man looks at me and must
decide that he doesn’t like me because he
scowls.
“Which row do I get buses to Johannesburg?”
“Where are your manners? Don’t you know how
to greet?”
There’s a roughness in his voice, like he spends
hours yelling. He looks like he walked out of the
50s with that brown leather jacket and hipster
pants, I’m not into fashion and have no eye for it.
But I should be allowed to judge this one, and
those shoes. A man with ugly shoes cannot be
attractive, it doesn’t matter if he looks like Maps
Maponyane. Shoes speak.
The bushy hair on his head screams “cut me.”
He smells like Easy Waves and by the looks of it,
he uses more than necessary. I like the
moustache though.

“Buses are on strike today,” his course voice

calls me back to earth, he has an eyebrow
snapped. There’s a scar right on his left eye, I
must be brave to have approached him. He’s
the type of man you should run the opposite
direction when you see him.
“What?” He furrows his brows, I’m annoying him
with my staring. I swear his voice becomes
deeper each time he speaks. His eyes are
running through my body, I don’t know what
he’s seeing neither can I read his face.
I drop my eyes, but make sure I don’t look timid.
Apparently, my sexuality can be spotted from a
distance.
Ongezwa Sangweni can be a funny bastard. I
will miss him, the old him before I turned 15.
“I’m headed to Johannesburg in an hour, my
truck is not as comfortable as the bus. But it
gets me places.” He says as he fishes for
something in the pocket of his jacket, it’s a
cigarette. He pins it between the layers of his
lips and lights it while he scans the bustling
station with squinted eyes.
“I don’t have money on me, I can wash your
truck in exchange.” This is the only form of
payment I can think of.
“Don’t worry about it.” He waves his hand,
sloppily.
I can only pray that my mother watches over me
when I travel with this stranger.

THE KHANYILES-

Well, elephants don’t belong in the house. They

are too big to share a room with humans. Not
only is there an elephant in this room, there’s
thick tension that even a two edged sword can’t
slice.
Vumile is not surprised by his woman seated on
the two seater, he knows you don’t call Ntaba
bluff. He always wins in the game of truth and
dare.
Not once has Nandi cast her eyes at the man
she loves, she feels his gaze on her though,
lingering and scrutinising. She is wondering if
he will ever question her secret relationship
with Ntaba, it is precious to her.
She loves his kids like her own. Nonetheless,
this is the biggest betrayal, all he wanted was
for her to trust him, to wait like he had asked.
His son comes to fetch her and she forgets the
promises they made to each other. He’s
prepared for an interrogation, ask her why she
is here, why she didn’t wait for him.
But that would be inappropriate in front of his
sons, so he has no choice but to act calm.
“I want to introduce Mashamase properly, and I
will when all my sons are here. Your mother
too.” Vumile breaks the silence, the elephant is
still there but the tension seems to disperse a
little.
“No need baba,” Ntaba steps in, he’s seated
next to a worn out Ndleleni whose neck looks
swollen with a bad rush, it’s slowly spreading to
his face.
He hasn’t seen how he looks neither has the
people he’s seated with. The scratching is
getting out of control, those blunt nails are
doing a number on him.
“Introductions are required, it’s also required
that you marry my mother here. Give her, her
rightful place in your life. You can’t be milking
the cow for free baba, umdala.”
Sometimes Ntaba forgets he’s talking to his
father and not his age mates, Vumile casts him
an evil eye. He wants to snap at his disrespect,
but chiding Ntaba is like throwing water on a
duck’s back, a total waste of time.
“I know, Ntabezikude. I am older, I know
customs. I am well aware what is expected of
me.” Vumile, sounding defensive.
That scratch he is doing on his beard is how
they know there is a fire stirring in his bones
and it needs to be put out.
“I don’t see any of this working, how are you
going to pacify umah? She will never accept
this.” Ndleleni has a big mouth, duck-tape is
needed.
“If I may speak.” Nandi.
Aren’t we polite?
Being best friends with Dalisile wouldn’t be a
bad idea, she can teach her respect. All eyes fall
on the only female in the room.
“Baba kaZakhe,” eh!
Ndleleni sneers, turning his gaze to Ntaba.
Tough, he finds him smiling at Nandi. Is he the
only one who is shocked by what’s happening
here?
“I respect you, you know that. It was not my
intention to disrespect you by coming to your
house without your knowledge.” Her eyes find
Ntaba, he’s focused on her. She smiles and
looks back at the man who dwells in her heart.

“You have beautiful sons, I have never hidden

this fact from you. I pray for them more than
anything, I didn’t raise them, yes I know that.
But you always came to me when you needed
advice regarding them. You’d tell me stories
about them, how they are doing in school and
slowly they gained a place in my heart. When I
met Ntabezikude, I was dumbstruck by the
respect he has for people. He didn’t hide who
he was.”
She pauses to laugh to herself, no one spares a
smile.

“Even if he did hide his identity, it would’ve been

silly of him. He looks just like you. He started
coming around a lot, I would have told you, but I
was sworn to secrecy. My loyalty does not lie
with you alone, but our sons as well. They are
no different from Zamangwane, they are the
children of the man I love. I love them like I
carried them in my womb. If you don’t want me
around, I will leave. But Zamangwane is at
peace here, she’s excited about finally meeting
her brothers. Don’t take that away from her,
don’t let her resent you any further. You will lose
her completely.”
Ndleleni has been on an eye roll marathon, with
splutters and a flaring nose. There is no
emotion on Ntaba’s face, his expression is that
of a cold bastard’s, but his heart twinkles with
pride.
Vumile is at a loss for words, his eyes have
been on Nandi since she started talking.
Silence creeps in and lingers for a while, Nandi
is the one to break it when she announces her
departure. She stands with her head cast down
and vanishes into the kitchen.

“Is she going to cook again like she did that

Saturday?” Why hasn’t Ndleleni’s mouth been
gagged yet? A dish cloth would do too.
He clears his throat when Ntaba considers him
with a glare ordered from the devil’s tuck-shop.
“Not her ndoda,” Ntaba rebukes. “Don’t even
think of disrespecting that woman.”
Why are his threats spine-chilling? There’s no
sign of anger in his face nor is it visible in his
voice, but he brings his brother to submission.
Ndleleni wants to click his tongue, but Ntaba
can be unpredictable.

“Did bab’omncane Bopha call you?”

Okay, it looks like they are done talking about
Nandi. Ntaba is asking his father who creases
his brows in response.
“Mathonga wants to do a ceremony, you should
take this opportunity and appease your
ancestors because you will need to introduce
Nandi and Zamo at some point.” The disrespect
of calling an African parent by name, yet he
protects her like she’s his world.
“Asihlabeli amadlozi lekhaya, nothing of the sort
will happen.” Vumile.
“How are you so ignorant baba? Don’t you know
you don’t turn your back on your ancestors?”
Ntaba snaps a brow, he wants to punch the
stubbornness out of his father.
“God is a jealous God,” Vumile spits back,
shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He hates
these topics, they remind him of things he
doesn’t want to think about.
“So? Has jealousy ever killed anyone?” This
question should make sense, but because it’s
coming from Ntaba, it makes zero sense.
“Fear God Ntabezikude.” Vumile growls, a
useless waste of anger shown. His remark has
Ntaba standing to his feet, he’s killed his father
a million times with just a look.
“Stop forcing him down my throat, then. I will
not change my beliefs just to accommodate
you. Mathonga might die if this is not done, you
need to start thinking of your family, baba. I’m
not saying turn your back on your God, but think
of us too.” Ntaba.
“You’re a child, there are things you don’t know.”
Does Vumile know who he birthed?
The man standing directly above his father
shakes his head, a simper finds its way to his
lips.
“Tell Dalisile to put on a dress, a head wrap and
brew umqombothi. sohlabela amadlozi,
KwaKhanyile.” (We’re going to appease the
ancestors.)
Ntaba does not watch his mouth around here,
finally Vumile stands, sizing him up.
“Over my dead body.” Vumile.
There’s emptiness in Ntaba’s eyes, darkness
hovers over him, making him appear chancy.
“I’m sure the underground gang can arrange
that.” Ntaba sneers at him, a kiss is planted on
Vumile’s cheek before he can process what is
before him. It can’t be the son he loves, he’s
different, bad different.
“Iyobonana baba wesizwe.” (Father of the
nation.)
He doesn’t look at his brother Ndleleni who has
been quiet throughout, but shifts his weight on
one leg to leave. He almost falls when he trips
on something at the foot of the coffee table.

It’s the hamsters’ cage and it’s open. Ndleleni

swiftly puts his feet on the couch as the
hamsters scatter to different directions, he will
die if any of them brushes against him.
“Since when do we have rats?” A confused
Ntaba asks. “Khethi, bring Doom.”
He shouts, as he moves one of the couches
where the hamster disappeared to, it probably
feels the cold because it scuttles under the next
couch.
“Not Doom, a broom slima.” Ndleleni corrects
him with a shake of the head. Yeah a broom, all
that arguing with Vumile messed with his head
and scrambled his brains.
“A broom Khethi, hurry.” Ntaba shouts his
correction.
“Make sure you’re ready to tell your sister what
happened to her rats.” Ndleleni.
Ntaba is not sure he heard right, he gives his
brother an inquisitive stare.
“Those are hamsters, they belong to
Zamangwane. They were for a school project
and she decided to keep them.” Vumile explains,
sitting back down. His sons are looking at him
like he’s grown a pair of horns, it has everything
to do with him letting his daughter keep “rats.”

“Ndoda,” Ntaba tosses a look at Ndleleni. “I said

fetch Nandi, not Nandi and the Zoo.”
He’s disgusted, a rat is a rat. Whether you name
it or not, this is why he shouts for Khethiwe
again. There’s noise in the room, Vumile can’t
sit through it, his shoulders are heavy and there
is a splitting headache arranging his funeral. He
dashes out, he’s going to look for Nandi.
Lock the tollgates from Johannesburg, Dalisile
might slip out.
Khethiwe comes running with a broom, Ntaba
snatches it, and like a predator, searches for his
prey. Now he has to start pushing the sofas, the
hamsters are out of sight.
Mathonga walks in to noise that give him a
headache, he looks like a criminal with those
red eyes and a hoodie pulled over his face. He’s
been crying, it’s as clear as a glass wall.
Ntaba and Khethiwe are loud, pointing and
aiming at something on the floor. Mathonga
wants to complain, but sees one of the
hamsters emerging from under a couch and
disappears under the next.
“Since when do we have rats?” That’s his
question coming from a scratchy throat. No one
answers him. Ndleleni is busy scratching his
itching body, Ntaba has a broom in hand
waiting to attack and Khethiwe, well she’s there.
“I’m going to call pest control.” Mathonga’s
voice is hollow and strangled, he pulls out his
phone and finds a corner.
A moment of silence for Zoro and Zaza.
MATHONGA-
Thirty-three

NALA-

This is new to me, having a man rest his head

on my chest with his arms wrapped around me.
He’s heavier than I’d like, but I can’t complain.
He’s going through something, I knew when he
walked into my room with red eyes and a puffy
nose.
He hasn’t said anything about the sadness
behind his eyes, the only thing he’s told me is
that he has a sister who is not his mother’s
child and she brought hamsters. Apparently
Ndleleni is allergic, Ntabezikude wanted to kill
them, he wasn’t making sense, but he found it
funny.
I spent the day in bed today, to avoid passing
out. Mathonga would make a big deal out of it,
he makes a big deal out of everything.
“Thank you, MaShange.” Oh! He’s still alive? I
was about to check, I can imagine the breaking
news; *Khanyile boy dies from cuddles.*
“Do you need anything?” I query.
His face is hidden in my chest, what am I saying?
His entire body is on me, squashing me down
the mattress. I can’t feel my back and my ass.
“I need you.” He says, raising his head to look at
me. His chin is on my chest.
Men cry till their eyes swell up? This is news.
The intent stare should be making me
uncomfortable, it’s not. What is it with this man
that makes me feel comfortable around him? I
should be running away from anything that has
a penis between its legs.
Mathonga feels like that calm rain, there’s no
storm raging inside me when I’m with him. I
have agreed to belong to him, that’s why he is
looking at me like his world begins and ends
with me.
“I’m here, Thonga.” I’m here and I want to know
why he’s been brought to tears.
“Can I kiss you?” Lord! That’s what couples do,
they kiss and hug and… no, I can do this.
Mathonga is not… him. Maybe I’m stupid to
trust him, but I do.
“Just a peck,” he adds, probably seeing the
hesitation drenched in my face. Half a nod
through and his lips are pressed on mine, his
eyes are closed. I want to close mine, savour
this moment, but my past denies me.

He’s shuffling on top of me, his hand sliding

under my nightgown, between my thighs. I can’t
believe he is aroused already. My heart freezes.
Relax Nala, he is not… him.
His lips are moving against mine, slowly and
carefully. His warm tongue asking for access,
hesitantly, I take a bold risk and let him in. I
hope I don’t end up chewing rice I did not eat.
These French kisses are not for everyone.
His hand starts trailing up my thigh, he’s
moaning inside my mouth.
My body freezes instantly as flashes of Petros
harass my mind. I shift my head to the side and
break the kiss, luckily he stops. He’s confused,
men always look confused when you deny them
something they deeply want.

“You’re moving too fast.” The honest truth is

always the way to go, I would tell him how I
much I loathe sex, that it is the worst thing God
has ever created. He should have come up with
a different way to be fruitful and multiply.
Mathonga shifts to the side of the bed, leaving
me squashed against the wall. He’s upset, or is
it because he was crying? I’m yet to learn so
much about this gender.
“Are you upset?” I ask, and I’m not sure what I
will say if he says he is.
“Why would I be?”
He crosses one leg over the other, pulls his
hoodie to his eyes and folds his arms across
his chest. I would be upset by his attitude if he
wasn’t making my heart do funny things.
“I didn’t mean I don’t ever want to do it with you,
Thonga. I just… it’s too soon. I’m not those girls
who…”
“I never said you were.”
He’s sitting up, ogling at me with narrowed, red-
rimmed eyes. I didn’t think he’d be defensive.
“Maybe you should go take a cold shower,
you’re frustrated for no reason.”
“I’m not sexually frustrated Nala,” he’s whining
like a child. My eyes can’t be deceiving me, this
man is pouting.
“I never said you are sexually frustrated,” I
implied it.
This conversation is taking all the strength in
me. Is it even a conversation or a fight? We’ve
been a couple for a day and already world war Z
has emerged.
The bed moves with him when he scrambles
down, I shift to where he was sitting and stretch
my legs to cover all areas. He won’t be sitting
back here, until he takes that shower. We’re
staring at each other, I don’t know about him,
but I want this squabble to end.
“I’m sorry, Nala.” He pushes my legs aside and
takes his spot back, his big head lies on my
chest and I have no choice but to caress the big
baby.
“I just broke up with my ex-girlfriend, she
didn’t…”
Whaaat?
He’s on the floor, face scrunched and nose
crinkled up to his conical eyes. I didn’t mean to
push him that hard, it was an unexpected push,
or he wouldn’t have fallen.
“You had a girlfriend, Mathonga?”
“First of all; ouch!” He complains.
Banging his big head against the wall should’ve
come to mind first, I never get anything I want.
“Secondly, yes.” He sounds apologetic, but I
don’t care. He just broke up with his girlfriend
for me… wait…
“Is it because of me that you broke up with
her?”
His lips curl up as he positions himself back on
my bed, if I were not standing, I would have
pushed him again.
“I really like you, Nala.” Like? He broke
someone’s heart over “Like”
“How long have you been together?”
“Years, we met in high school. But…”
Oh my God! What was this man thinking?
“Mathonga, what have you done? We don’t
know each other that well for you to break
someone’s heart, it’s not that deep Mathonga.
We would’ve gotten over what we feel for each
other, you didn’t have to take such drastic
methods.”
I’ve never wanted to be a home wrecker, the
world has enough of them. Why is he looking at
me like that?
I cross my arms and step back, he’s standing
over me with his intimidating giant-self.
If I wrote a letter to God, I’d tell him to reverse
time and make women taller and stronger than
men. Sometimes I’m glad I don’t have a father, I
doubt he would’ve protected me. The world is
cruel, hearts of men have grown cold. No one
pities anyone, it’s each man for himself.
My heart jumps to my throat, a ragged breath
leaves me when my spine softly hits the door.
He’s caging me against the door, there’s anger
in his eyes and… I’m a mess of shudders. His
breath ghosts my face, and I think I smell what
he had for supper.

“Ma… Mathonga.” My mind can’t be thinking the

worst, my heart trusts him. That’s how I have let
him in, and I don’t let anyone in.
“You think what I feel for you is not that deep,
Nala?” I tense at the hurt resounding in his
voice, and lose my senses when I see what
rests in his eyes; vulnerability, dejection.
Why are my words affecting him this much?
“You think this is a joke; that my heart is a fly by
night?”
“I... I didn’t say that.” I disagree, nervously.
“You think I’m cruel enough to purposely break
another girl’s heart because of feelings that are
not that deep?”
Okay, Mathonga. I have heard you. Why am I not
telling him this?
“My heart is not a playground Nala, I know what
I feel for you. I’m not stupid.”
I’m able to breathe normally when he steps
back, he won’t take his eyes off me though. The
stare is penetrating, invading my inner most
being. I might as well be pinned against the wall
and I would breathe easily if he didn’t have his
hands rammed into his pockets, it’s intimidating
and borders on arrogance.
“Maybe I am stupid,” he huffs, coldly. “Maybe
I’m stupid for being at peace when I’m with you,
maybe I’m stupid for feeling that you matter the
most. Maybe I’m stupid for feeling like my heart
will stop when I lose sight of you. Life is only
beautiful whenever I’m around you, and it’s just
so stupid of me to feel that way.”
How was I supposed to know it was that deep?
He clicks his tongue, shoves me aside and
leaves.
The door slams, paying for my sins.
I didn’t think he would be offended, I was trying
to make him see reason that I am not worth it.
But a pathetic looser who sleeps with old men.
A lone tear slowly descends across my cheek, it
lingers there, fragile until it drops to the ground.
The realisation that I’m pushing him away and
punishing him for being a man hits me.
Petros is a monster, he is nothing compared to
Mathonga.
Speak of the devil, my phone alerts me with a
text from Mam’ Julia.

*Your father lost his job, they found drugs in his

office cabinet. He’s being investigated.*
Whose father? I don’t have a father.

KHETHIWE-

Ntaba is too occupied to give me any attention,

at least that’s what I would like to believe. He
won’t talk to me since I rejected him. I
understand that he can be stupid at times, I just
wish he thinks before he speaks.
His silliness does not stop me from missing
him, his chiselled face, his commanding stance.
I’m standing outside his rondavel with a plate of
a warm meal.
He opens the door with a frown on his face, our
eyes lock for a second before he leaves it open
and goes to sit on the bed.
I don’t know if this is an invitation to come in. I
feel like Moses before he split the Red Sea, my
hands are trembling and I’m itching in all the
hairy places. Just to taste the waters, I take two
steps in.
Nothing.
My nerves dissolve a centimetre, his food is
getting cold, that’s what I tell him when I place
the plate on the bedside table-top. He’s not
interested in eating.
“Why are you here?” His question shocks me a
bit, I didn’t expect it from him. I want him to
look at me. His elbows are on his thighs, head
bowed, and I almost feel jealous of the floor
that it has his undivided attention.
“I want to apologise for that day.” That’s not
why I’m here, I miss him.
“You rejected me, Khethi. I don’t like rejection.”
He drops his voice into a huskier tone, through
it I hear pain, so fragile that it shatters my heart.
Is he afraid of rejection? It can’t be about me, he
made it clear that this is not serious.
“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” I’m telling him
this because I want him normal and crazy again,
not this detached Ntaba. I touch his shoulder, a
first move I never initiate, afraid he might reject
me.
He looks at me and this is the first time seeing
a speck of emotion filter in his eyes. To be
polite, I ask how Vukuzakhe is although I know
already.
“He will live,” there is no real emotion behind his
words, nothing in it to indicate what he feels. He
is almost like a zombie, I saw it with Mathonga
and Ndleleni as well. They have their moments
where everything seems normal and they are
laughing like nothing is wrong, then there’s
moments when they are quiet, distant and
gloomy.
Vukuzakhe is the backbone of this family,
without him they will all crumble.

Ntaba stands and claims my space, I feel

myself becoming unstable, my knees failing me.
He starts drawing a finger along my chin, tilting
my head so that I look into his cold eyes. He
captures my lips into a slow-soft kiss, it’s
different. I almost believe he feels something
for me. I stand on my tippy toes and shawl his
shoulders with my arms.
His hands are tight on my sides, fingers digging
in my flesh as the kiss transitions from soft to
intense. His tongue flicks against mine, enticing
a moan from my throat which is met by an
increasing pressure of his body into mine.
Everything he is, everything I’ve always known
about him seeps into me, around me, until I’m
unable to catch my breath. If this is how dying
feels like, then I accept it.
I gasp for air in our vicious kiss, he stops and
tears away. His eyes are wide, swirling with
confusion. He looks shocked by what just
happened, then it’s gone like it was never there.
I can’t let him regret what just happened, I have
to distract him by all means.
He frowns when I drop to my knees and start
pulling down his track pants.
“What are you doing?”
I want him to relax, I want him to let out
something past that mask of his. This is the
only way, of course I wasn’t a virgin when I slept
with Ntaba for the first time, but I have never
blown a guy before.
Ntaba is different, he’s not just a guy but the
man I love. I’d do anything to have him notice
me.
“I want to taste Moses’ rode.” I can hear him
chuckle at my answer, I really do not have a
name for what I’m looking at. It’s mouth-
watering, I can only thank God that I get to have
a taste of him. The man upstairs did say ask
and it will be given, and Lord I have been given
the best.
I’m sending my mother 20% of my tithe this
Sunday.
“No, get up. You don’t have to do that.” He
grabs my shoulders and stands me up.
There must be someone doing it to him then,
disappointment shows in my face. I know the
odds are high, but I would hate to share his d*ck
with someone. I want it for myself.
I don’t have time to respond, before he digs into
my neck, kissing and sucking without mercy.
“Ntaba,” I moan, overwhelmed by a kiss. I will
die when he penetrates me.
He presses his body against mine, and traces
obsessive kisses from my shoulder to my ear,
leaving nothing untouched.
His hands start to move, touching me, making
my skin tingle with enthusiasm. I always want
this, his breath is unbearably warm against my
skin, reminding me of the number of times
we’ve slept together. I know it meant nothing to
him, but it meant everything to me.
He strips me naked, while attacking every spot
on my body with open mouthed kisses. My
nipples respond to his wet lips, I weave my
hands through his head and his back until I slip
his t-shirt off his body. My clit is twitching with
need, it’s unbearable. I need him inside me now.
“You’re falling apart Khethi, should I stop?” The
arrogance.
His whisper sends shivers through my body.
“Ntaba please…” I plead. “Please, you’re
torturing me.”
I hear the arrogant chuckle again, extremely
sexy.
“Get on the bed,” he doesn’t have to repeat
himself.
He’s looking at me with this smirk while I’m
lying on his bed resembling my mother’s
Christmas stuffed-Chicken. The bed sinks down
when he tops me, separating my legs with his
warm hand.
They roam around my thighs, he’s trailing them
north and I’m in agony, squirming on the bed
with desperation latched on my face. A sound
reminiscent to a wounded animal escapes my
throat, when I feel him rubbing my clit, he’s
using his thumb.
I’m barely coping when he slides a finger into
my throbbing hole, and starts plunging with no
mercy. Another finger is added, I have to bite
my bottom lip to muffle my screams.
“Don’t hold back Khethi, I want to hear you
scream.” He mumbles against my ear,
something moves in my belly, something like
jelly and butterflies.
“Ntaba, I need you… please.”
He increases the pace, roughly thrusting and
twirling his fingers inside my warmth. My knees
are wobbly, I'm wiggling on his bed, heaving and
panting not knowing what to do with my legs
and hands.
“Squirt for me, Khethi.” It’s a whispered order,
and squirt I do.
“Ntaba,” His name shoots out of my mouth in a
yelp, as I throw my head back and fidget on the
bed.
A pulsating heat engulfs me, making my entire
body swelter as he licks his fingers coated with
my juices. He’s grinning like he just won a
million bucks, what is wrong with him today?
This is more than I expected, hey, I’m not
complaining.

“Time to feed Ngwane now, how bad do you

want him?” He’s kneeling on the bed, giving
himself slow strokes. My heart is pounding at
the sight of his d*ck, it’s veiny, hard and
pointing north. I want to lick the pre-cum
glistening on the tip of Ngwane’s mushroom
head.

“I’d die without him… please give me all of him.

Don’t hold back.”
I’ll repent on Sunday, God will be shocked to see
me in church. My skin is burning with desire for
this man. He drags me up, making me kneel in
front of him. He sucks one of my nipples into
his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. His
hand is on my cookie, fingers rotating around
my clit. I reply with moans, and desperate cries.
His hand flies to my hair, grasping it tightly.
I moan unexpectedly and grit my teeth, I’m
losing my mind.
“Do you know that you’re worth it, Khethi?” He
whispers in my ear, licking my earlobe and
slowly rubbing my clit. God, I’m going to cum.
“Tell me, you know your worth, Khethiwe
KaMadonsela.”
His voice is firm and commanding, he roughly
rubs my clit when I don’t meet his command,
sending me to the edge of extinction.
“I do… I know my wo… worth.” I heave, barely
recognising my voice. Ntaba stops and looks at
me with half-lidded eyes, bursting with lust. The
arrogant smirk on his face is the sexiest thing.
He pulls my hair, forcing me to groan in pain.
“Good because I am about to fuck you like
you’re my bitch.” He pushes me back on the
bedstead and I land on my back with a loud
gasp escaping through my open lips.
I watch as he opens the side drawer and
retrieves a condom, he slips it on with his
empty eyes glued on me.

His lips close mine in a greedy kiss, his tongue

forces its way into my mouth taking my moans.
My eyes pop open when I feel his tight grip on
my throat, he doesn’t stop devouring my lips.
“Open your legs for me, Khethi.” He commands
and bites my neck sensually. I scream with
pleasure, spreading my legs like he wants me to.
He fits perfectly between them, I want him here
forever if possible.
I will lose my voice if I continue screaming like
this, he’s pushing his erection inside my warmth,
lowly hissing with pleasure.
“Shit, Peaches. I hope you haven’t been giving
anyone my cookie.” He groans, I am stunned by
the endearment.
“Tell me, Peaches. Tell me I still own this
pussy.” His words are possessive, his voice is a
seductive whisper. His eyes are thin, drilling me
for an answer, the truth. Ntaba pulls out and
slams into me to get me to speak.
“It’s always yours Ntaba, I’m your bitch. Only
yours.”
The first few thrusts are agonizingly slow,
before he throws caution to the wind, shoving
his d*ck deeper inside me and thrusting like his
life depends on it. I cry out, clutching my hands
on his shoulders… that will definitely leave scars.
He wraps both hands on my throat, and fucks
me like an animal. He’s growling like one too,
and me, I’m seeing stars. My vision is blur, tears
seep from the corners of my eyes. I think I’m
going to die while having sex.
I arch my back to offer myself to him, and move
my hips, matching his thrusts. The sounds I’m
making are not holy, there’s a bed waiting for
me in hell.
Ntaba is like a pervert, a possessive sadist with
a high sex drive. I gasp for air as soon as he
removes his hands from my throat and grips my
waist to press me down on the mattress.
I place my legs on his shoulders, he pins them
together and continues to slam and pump like a
hungry lion that’s been starved for days.
He pushes my legs from his shoulders, and I
wrap them around his waist and buck my hips
up, yearning for more of his shaft. He leans in to
steal a long zealous kiss, our sweaty chests
connect and I lock my arms around his neck.
Our bodies are one.
Ntaba weaves his hands through my hair,
kissing me like I deserve it. He doesn’t forget to
thrust his erection inside my cookie, they
transition from rough to soft. I yelp when he
bites my bottom lip.

“Ah, Ntaba.” He’s in too deep, I can feel his

erection poking my stomach. I can’t get enough,
yet I can’t take anymore. It’s too much, it hurts,
but it hurts so good. It’s like heaven and hell
making love, the sun and the moon swaying in a
violent storm.
Without warning, Ntaba slips out and flips me
around. I’m on my hands and knees, and
whimper as his tongue runs over butt cheeks. I
shriek as he spanks my ass, it burns and stings
and I want more. As if he’s read my mind, I feel
his teeth sink into the flesh of my left butt,
forcing pleasurable moans from me.
I feel Ntaba’s violent touch at the back of my
neck, before he pushes me down until my face
is hidden on the pillow, the grip will surely leave
a mark.
He enters my heat, pounding and slamming
faster. The more he slams into me, the more he
presses my face on the pillow. My hands tightly
curl on the sheets as I push my ass back to
accommodate more of his crazy thrusts.
I don’t have to control my moans, they are loud
and red. The pillow swallows every one of them.
My orgasm is closer, I want to tell him I’m
coming.
“Do it Khethi, let go and fly with me.” He’s
growling, and heaving and panting.
I groan into the pillow as his finger starts
rubbing my clit, his rod roughly plunging into me.
The sickening sound of skin slapping has taken
over the room. My body is trembling,
accommodated by tears. I’m no longer moaning,
but sobbing loudly.
Just as my toes curl and I explode, Ntaba
releases my neck, I lift my head and scream out
his name while gasping for air.
It’s like nothing I have ever felt, an intense
orgasm while trying to breathe. For a while, it
feels like life and death are at war, fighting for
my soul with me soaring in the air like an
intoxicated drug addict.

He finishes seconds after me, groaning like the

animal he is. The animal I didn’t know he was.
His arm is around my neck as he brings me up,
pressing my back to his sweaty chest. We’re on
our knees, yet I’m certain that if he lets go, I will
collapse on the mattress.
My heart is overflowing, Ntaba didn’t fuck me
like I’m his bitch, he fucked me like he loves me.
I refuse to see it any other way.
He buries his face in my neck and breathes
words that send my heart on a crazy rampage.
“Thank you,” he mumbles, with bated breath.
I don’t know what he’s thanking me for.
Whatever it is, I will continue giving with no
questions asked.

“Ntabezikude, what are you doing in there?” A

shout and banging from the door gets him up
from the bed. It’s his father, he won’t take this
disrespect.
“Shit, get under the bed.” His eyes are wide and
he looks like a kid who’s been caught doing
something naughty.
I’m not getting under any bed. I spoke too soon,
he’s pulling me and shoving me under his bed,
naked as I am.
“Don’t sneeze.” He says and I don’t see him
anymore, but his feet. Is this the price people
pay for mind-blowing sex?
MATHONGA-
Thirty-four

THE SHANGE TWINS-

The picture hangs loosely on the zipper of his

school bag, and when he gets home, he
removes it and hides it in his pocket. Whenever
life seems too hard to live, and his heart is on
the verge of stopping. He presses the picture to
his chest.
“It makes me feel alive,” he once told Thobani
when he asked why he hugs a picture of their
mother. Thobani couldn’t understand what his
twin brother was talking about, neither did he
care to ask.
In his mind, the world is colourful and
sometimes it’s cloudy. He is very dependent,
and wouldn’t survive a day without a guardian.

Meanwhile, Thabani is not living up to his name.

He’s too young to feel lost and confused. Why
their mother had to die and leave them with
strangers? Why he has to listen to other kids
talk about their parents when he has nothing to
show?
He yearns for a mother’s love, to lie on her
chest while she strokes his head and sings him
a lullaby until he succumbs to a deep slumber.
Like their “cousin” Sizwe who has both parents.
A mother’s love and a father’s protection.
Thabani can’t help but envy the boy. They are
the same age, and in his eyes, it’s not fair that
Sizwe has a mother and father when he and his
brother have no one but a sister who is always
emotionally detached.
He hates it here, he hates that Nala let uncle
Petros bring them here. If he could, he would
run away, but what will become of Thobani?
What will become of him without his twin
brother? They are like a belt, if you cut it in the
middle it becomes useless.
Life without the other is impossible to imagine.
When they grow up and are ready to build
homes, and take wives, they will live in the
same compound. They have discussed their
future that far, it’s perfect because in that way,
they won’t have to be apart. Thobani’s mind is
that of an 8 year-old, while Thabani has
surpassed by a few years. He’s the voice of
reason, the one who makes decisions for them
both.
They are freakishly identical, but, Thabani has a
scar on his forehead he got when he was a
toddler.
Science says they are the same age, but culture
says Thobani is older because he came out of
his mother's womb minutes after his brother.
However the big brother role has been taken by
Thabani, he’s comfortable being his brother’s
keeper.

“I’m not eating this again.” Thobani shouts,

throwing the plate of pap and boiled cabbage
across the kitchen floor. It’s late in the night,
past dinner hours.
“Thobani, what is wrong with you?”
Mam’Makhubo screams, it’s a special talent
she has. Screaming like it’s a competition, the
boys would sometimes walk out on her when
she starts with her moods, knowing a belt
follows.
“That was our last meal. Go pick it up.”
It was Thobani and Thabani’s last meal, Sizwe
and his parents have a whole shelf of goodies
in Mam'Makhubo’s bedroom. Every once in a
while, the little family would jump into a car and
leave the twins behind. Hours later, they would
come back with heavy stomachs, ice creams
cones in their hands and nothing for the twins.
Debonairs pizza, thick base is presently
massaging their stomachs.

“No.” He shouts, pushing the madam of the

house when she grabs his arm. She’s shocked
by the strength of an 8 year-old, see what God
did there.
“I’m going to beat this child. Come here.” She’s
grabbing him again, the grip is tighter. Thobani
screams, and pulls his little body back, the
struggle between him and the woman becomes
violent. He’s on the floor squirming and
screaming, and she has a tight grip on his wrist,
thrashing his ass with a wooden spoon.
“I’m going to beat you, wena Thobani. You think
I'm your friend.”
“Sisi please don’t beat him, I’ll give him my
food.” That’s Thabani, he’s on his knees. His
eyes speak of resentment and rage, in his head,
there are images of Mam’Makhubo lying on the
cold floor, motionless.
Thobani is released by the raging woman.
“One of these days, you will sleep on the streets.
I don’t know why I have to put up with you two.
Petros must come and fetch his pigs, he
doesn’t pay me enough to bear this nonsense.”
She clicks her tongue and leaves to get her
beauty sleep, Thabani helps his brother to a
chair. He uses the sleeves of his dirty t-shirt to
clean his face.

“I told you never to talk back,” Thabani

reprimands with love in his eyes.
“I don’t want to eat pap and cabbage, we eat
that every day.” He’s crying again.
“We’ll go and buy fried chips in the morning, I
sold my school shoes to Zamani’s
grandmother.”
Thabani’s words have to be comforting, but
Thobani feels bad. They don’t have much, it’s
always been like that. Petros might show them
love once in a shiny moon, he buys them toys
more, than clothes and school uniform.
“Wipe your tears, I will clean this mess, then
we’ll share my food.” Thabani promises.
He retrieves a broom and a mop from behind
the door and gets to work.

MATHONGA-

What happened to my father’s homestead? The

many coops that were surrounding the ranch
are not here. This place looks different, like it
did when I was a little boy. It’s dark and cold
here, I should’ve taken a jersey. I should be
shivering from the strong winds, but my skin
won’t acknowledge the cold.
Giggling sounds of children playing catch my
attention, my feet move on solid ground, taking
me to the direction where the sound is coming
from. What are they doing here? No one is
allowed to go near the burnt house, it’s
prohibited.
“Vimbela, Sakhile!” They lift their heads with
smiles on their faces, Sakhile is sitting on
Vimbela’s lap whose arms are protectively
wrapped around the little one. There are pieces
of clothes melted into their blackened skins, a
sickening smell of burning skin and hair fills my
nostrils. It’s quite disturbing to the senses.

“Mathongo.” Vimbela’s tiny voice oozes through

me and settles in my heart, I laugh at the
mispronunciation of my name and accompany
it with a headshake.
“It’s Mathonga, Vimbela. Your front teeth
haven’t grown yet, that’s why you can’t
pronounce my name.” I tell him. “Why are you
sitting here? Come inside, baba will spank you if
he sees you like this.”
“There’s no way in Mathongo,” Vimbela says,
insisting on the name. His eyes are dreadfully
sorrowful.
“There’s one, I just walked out of it. Come lets
go.” I extend my arms toward them.
“But we smell like fire, and there’s smoke in my
lungs. Sakhile says he can’t breathe, he’s
suffocating.” At Vimbela’s confession, my gaze
chases Sakhile to find innocent eyes drowning
in tears. My brother is in agony.
“Bring him to me, I will heal him.” I don’t know
why I say this.
Vimbela is against my proposal, he shakes his
head and tightly holds on to Sakhile.
“The fire won’t stop, Mathongo, we are tired. We
need to rest.”
What fire is he talking about? And why is
Vimbela not listening to me? His stubbornness
reminds me of Ndleleni, I want to lift them both
up and take them by force but they are gone.
“Mathonga wake up.” A voice calls and instantly
drags me back to life, it’s Nala. She’s sitting on
the edge of the bed, glancing down at me. “Are
you okay? You were crying in your sleep.”
I open my mouth to speak, but the smell of
burning flesh flickers in my senses. It’s too late
to get to the bathroom, I turn over and spew the
contents of my stomach on the floor.

A vile soup of meals-past lies before me, the

bad smell of vomit hits my noise. I cover my
mouth and gag, using every ounce of my
willpower not to throw up again. Nala rushes to
the bathroom and comes back with a bucket
and a mop.
“You don’t have to do that,” I tell her, running the
back of my hand over my mouth.
She regards me with a look that shuts me up.
“You're not okay, I can't leave you like this.” She
tells me, I cover my face with a pillow, and
groan silently.

NTABEZIKUDE-

Who knew that the chief was a cock blocker?

Vumile has a woman sleeping in one of the
rooms in this vast homestead, but he’s here at
this time of the night.
“Ntabezikude open this door, now.” That is a
terrible way for someone to announce their
arrival, Ntaba curses under his breath as he
dons a pair of boxers. The room smells like sex,
and spraying the air freshener does nothing to
rid of it. He gives up and hurries to open the
door, shirtless.
“Is everything okay, baba?” He is a master at
keeping calm, nothing shows that he just had a
sex marathon with the cook. Then again, Vumile
has a sharp eye, the look he’s giving Ntaba is
that of suspicion. Ntaba does not shy away, the
emptiness in his eyes makes it impossible for
Vumile to read his mind.
“What’s going on? What was that noise? I heard
screaming.”
Vumile queries, eyebrows arched as he shifts
his gaze from him to the room. This is none of
his father's concern, so he steps out into the
humid September night with air so thick it
presses upon his bare skin. As he shuts the
door behind him, he fakes a smile.
“Nothing muntu omdala.” (Elder.)
He lies, crossing his arms over his chest. This
one is as sly as a fox, he’d convince you the
world is ending in a second, to give away all
your possessions, and you’d believe him.
“Are you bringing prostitutes in my house?”
Vumile glowers at him, but Ntaba is not
daunted.
“Prostitutes baba? What do you take me for?”
He’s laughing, you can’t take him seriously with
this childish attitude.
Vumile’s eyes quickly inspect him, then dart to
the closed door and back to him.
“Your uncles are here, go and greet them.” He
says and saunters off. That was close.

Yeer! This can’t be good, he didn’t mean to let it

go this far. Today he felt broken and lost,
nothing new about it.
Sure he goes around flashing a smile if not
kissing cheeks, or killing people. But reality
kicks him sometimes and today when it kicked
him, she was here.
He touched her like he wanted her, he gave her
rights over his body, and penetrated her like
she’ll bear his children one day.

He’s not blind to the love in her eyes, he knows

she loves him, she is too loud about it and he
can’t help but close the doors to his heart. The
last thing he wants is to complicate his life with
the four letter word, he’s not even sure he
knows what the word means.
However, he can’t deny that she’s the closest
he’s been to a deep female connection, there
were other women before. There are other
women now, but there’s something about
Khethiwe that makes him keep coming for
more. It doesn’t have a label and it sure as hell
is not love. Maybe things are better off this way,
love is overrated anyway.

Ntaba thinks of going back inside to put on

something decent, but decides otherwise. So
what if he meets his uncles barefooted and with
only a pair of boxer shorts covering his body?
It’s not like he has an alien physique.
He steps deeper into the night, the familiar
breeze has a scent like salt, greenery and
compost. This is what he loves about the village.

Chaos and loud laughter meet him, as he nears

the parking area, everyone is here. Bopha, his
wife Thethelela and Khothama his son. Ntaba is
told that Dumile and Sne have gone to their
rooms.
“Why are you naked?” Khothama asks.
“I’m not naked.” Ntaba replies, frowning at his
cousin.
“Ndoda, you’re walking around with your ding-
dong dangling about. It’s disgusting, at least put
on some panties.” Khothama snaps.
"Fusegi, men don't wear panties, nja." Ntaba
sputters, firing him with a cold stare.
"Go put on underwear ke." Khothama returns.
“Why are you here?” He waves his cousin off
and sets his gaze on Thethelela. “Mama, finally
someone worth looking at.”
His arms wrap around her, he buries his face on
her neck. The hug doesn’t last long, Thethelela
shoves him off, a disgusted look on her face.
“You smell like sex and you’re sticky.”
Ntaba chortles, he knows and he doesn’t care.
Everyone walking around here is evidence of
sex, nothing to drop your jaw for.
“Have you been allocated rooms? I have enough
room, I don’t mind sharing.” Ntaba.
There’s a cagey smile pulling at the corner of
his mouth, his eyes are all over Thethelela as he
licks his lower lip.
“I’m sleeping in your room,” Khothama breaks
his little seductive trip and lands a punch on his
shoulder. A frown gathers Ntaba’s eyebrows, he
wants to punch him back so he can feel what
he just felt. Khothama is just as tall as him and
looks like he fights wrestlers for a living.

“No you’re not.” He takes the dominant route,

just to tap some logic into Khothama’s head.
He forces a smile when Bopha smacks him on
the head, telling him to go get dressed. Hand in
hand, the couple follow one of the helpers to
their designated room.

“We are sharing a room, ndoda. I’m not going to

touch you without your permission.” Khothama
has not moved past that, his hand is around
Ntaba’s shoulder.
“Uyinja, doti.” Ntaba cusses, trying to fight out
of the hold. Khothama’s nose crinkles, his face
crumples in disgust. He is sniffing for the spicy
smell threatening his senses. There’s an
awkward silence as his eyes linger on Ntaba
who shrugs his shoulders in return.
“What?” Ntaba.
Khothama pushes him.
“You disgusting prostitute, who were you
fucking in your father’s house?” His voice is
accusatory.
Only this one can laugh when being accused of
selling his body. Khothama is defeated, he
releases a huff and rolls his eyes at the man
laughing like he’s in the presence of Trevor
Noah.
“Life is good, ndoda.” Ntaba sings, wrapping his
sticky arm around his cousin’s shoulder. It’s the
limit for Khothama, he pushes him off that he
staggers a step.
“Awukahle ndoda,” Khothama grumbles. “I need
to burn these clothes and take a long bath. Do
you have Dettol? I will also need the orange
sack to scrub my body and the sunlight green
bar. You have left the smell on me. This is pure
bad luck.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” That’s Ntaba clapping
back, his arms hug his body to keep the cold
away.
“I’m not, you’re out here flashing your sex…”
“My sexy body?” Ntaba finishes, a smug look on
his face. This only frustrates Khothama further.
“No, that’s not what I was going to say. You’re
glowing with…”
“Now I’m glowing? Is there something you want
to tell me?” Ntaba, he is having a jolly good time.
Khothama clicks his tongue and keeps a safe
distance, he’s getting uncomfortable. This idiot
he calls a brother is a pompous bastard who
thinks he’s God’s gift to the world.
“Shit,” Khothama growls as he repeatedly rubs
his face. “Stop twisting my words wenja. Get
me a bloody razor too. I’m going to cut my
tongue out.”
Ntaba’s lips curl in amusement. Is seeing his
cousin annoyed better than sex? Nah!
“Where are you going, Tham-Tham?” Ntaba
asks.
The question chases Khothama who raises a
middle finger without glancing back at him.
“I thought we were going to share a room, and
cuddle all night.” Ntaba shouts and gets
another middle finger.
“We’ll talk about the Sangwenis after I have
recovered from this shit.” Khothama yells as he
disappears into the darkness.
This is what Ntaba wants to hear. His enemies
don’t deserve a soft life, it’s been long since he
spilled blood. He’s beginning to forget the smell,
and he can’t have that.
He closes his eyes, slowly lifts his head while
spreading his arms open, and sniffs the air. For
a second he thinks he can smell the metallic
scent of blood, it hangs at the back of his throat.
Thick and arousing. The corner of his mouth
curls into a sadistic grin. Yeah, it definitely
smells like someone busted a vein out here.
The last man he killed visits his dark memories,
how death took him, the blood beautifully
gushing from his open wound.
Shivers ripple through him, it’s as if it’s
happening all over again.
Nothing in the world has ever felt so good, he
can almost taste the thrill.
Everything is in his head, a memory he can
relive whenever he calls upon it. Unlike most
killers, he doesn’t have to keep a murder trophy
to preserve the memory of the victims or re-
enact his fantasies.
He is jolted back to reality by his painful
erection tightening in his boxer shorts. The
thought of killing again has left him horny.
“Dammit,” he grunts, covering his front with
both hands.
“Khethi, get ready for round two.”
This he shouts as he hurries towards his room.
MATHONGA-
Thirty-five

FUNOKUHLE-
Birds should be banned from the world, how are
they allowed to make noise so early in the
morning. Not everyone is a morning person, if
only I had stone.
A sigh leaps past my lips as I sit up from the
bed, the morning light is bursting through the
open curtains. It’s only now I notice the
windows are open as well.
Someone was in here. My mind wavers a little,
and I find myself drifting into a world of worry. It
doesn’t last long because I snap myself back to
reality, it’s the next day and I’m still alive.

The truck driver didn’t give me his name, nor did

he converse much throughout the trip.
The only thing I got from him was a name of the
person who was to give me shelter while in
Joburg, this he did after finding out that I had
no place to lay my head. He dropped me off
outside this house. I don’t know where this is,
I’m not entirely familiar with places in
Johannesburg.
There was a man waiting outside the gate when
we arrived last night, I was a bit creeped out by
his dark appearance. His black clothing gave off
a dangerous aura, Kenneth is what the truck
driver called him. He left me with him and
departed like the stranger he was.
There’s a small clock on the side of the bed, it’s
a few minutes after 7am.
Thankfully the room has a small bathroom, I
make use of it and change back into the same
clothing I had on.

Someone tickles my door, it swings open

revealing a little boy around the age of 4 and 5
in a denim jumpsuit. Around his shoulders is a
Spiderman, baby blanket, worn as a cape might
be, as if it gives him superpowers.
“Hello,” his tiny voice sends a smile to my face.
“Mama says come eat.”
He’s out the door before I collect my vocabulary.
There’s a narrow corridor just outside the guest
room that leads towards a flight of stairs. The
boy must’ve ran, he’s nowhere in sight. It’s not
hard to find the dining room, I can see the
family from the stairway seated around the
table filled with food.
The lounge is beautiful, turquoise sofas, with
mustard cushions stand out the most. There’s a
pallet coffee table that blends perfectly with the
furniture.
The grey walls hold picture frames of what I
assume is Kenneth’s family, he’s in one of them.
A large portrait featuring him, the little boy who
was in my room and a woman, I assume is his
wife. Most of the pictures are of her and the boy.
As I approach, the same woman dressed in a
short, casual sundress smiles, showcasing her
perfect white teeth. She has a calmness to her,
sophisticated and carries herself with
confidence.

“Morning... Funokuhle right?” She’s bursting

with positive energy, I answer her question with
a head nod. “I’m Zithobile, but you can call me
Zitha. Kenneth says you’re a friend of a friend, I
guess that makes you our friend. Make yourself
at home, don’t be afraid to ask for anything.”
She must be talking about the truck driver, he
didn’t give me a chance to thank him for his
kindness.
My eyes flicker to Kenneth on the chair, his
focus is exclusively on the little boy, feeding
him what appears to be porridge. I figure
Kenneth is not a morning person, then again, he
didn’t say much to me last night.
Zitha gleams once more, before embracing me
in a warm hug. Her rosy scent permeates my
nostrils. The hug feels a bit awkward, I won’t lie.
“I’m sorry, forgive my forwardness. We never
have guests, it feels good to have some
company.”
“What about us? Are you going to fanboy over
him and pretend Buhle and I don’t exist.”
Kenneth’s voice is quite deeper than I expected,
it lacks emotion which makes it hard for me to
point what he’s feeling. Zithobile takes my hand
as she bubbles with giggles.
“Don’t mind him, he thinks sharing is a disease.”
She articulates, pulling a chair for me to sit.
“I’ll get you something to drink, please sit. This
is home, sit back and relax.” I’m overwhelmed
by her kindness to a point where I feel ashamed
for invading their space. People don’t randomly
house strangers, what did that man say to
Kenneth for him to agree to this arrangement?
I’m left with Kenneth and Buhle when Zithobile
strides to the kitchen.

“Thank you for accommodating me, I won’t

overstay my welcome. As soon as…”
“Don’t worry about it,” he cuts me off. His dark
aura makes it hard for me to relax, it denies me
confidence. “We have enough room, you can
stay until you’re sorted.”
“Thank you.” My gratitude comes faster than I
planned.
“Are you going to stay with us?” Buhle asks with
his mouth full, the adorable look on his face
brings a smile to my masked expression.
“Dlozi, what did I say about talking with food in
your mouth?”
Zithobile chides, striding back with a jug of juice.
I thought his name was Buhle, asking would be
too forward of me.
“Sorry mama,” he apologizes, then swallows.
“That’s our cue,” Kenneth announces, Buhle
mirrors his action, standing to his feet. “I’ll drop
Buhle off today, and don’t worry about picking
him up from school.”
“Lucky me,” she sings letting her arms wrap
around the dark man. They are kissing, and I
don’t have a place to hide. Buhle is puddle of
giggles, and a good distraction for me.
“I’ll be home for lunch at 12pm.” Kenneth alerts
while she hugs her son, I note how she flinches
and bites the corner of her bottom lip at the
announcement.
The door shuts closed behind them, Zithobile
turns to me, rolling her eyes.
“I wonder who he’s going to find home because
me and you are going out.”
Oh, that’s news to me.
“Kenneth is too possessive, he needs to spend
time away from me. A day won’t kill him.” She
complains, yet her tone carries adoration for the
man. I would do anything to have someone
notice me like that, she is a lucky woman.

VUKUZAKHE-

His head has been smashed with a blunt object,

repeatedly. This is the first thought that visits
his mind as he wakes up from weeks of sleep,
there must be something forcing his eyes to
stay closed—they feel heavy. But he refuses to
toe the line, he needs to wake up—he wants to
wake up. It’s been a long sleep and he’s tired.
The light in the room blinds his eyes, it doesn’t
stop him from forcing them open. It takes a
minute for his eyes to adjust to the light, he’s in
a small room—the hospital.
His mind takes him back, he remembers
someone hitting him on the head and his wife
screaming. He wants to call her name, have her
come before him so he knows she’s okay.
His head is vibrating with pain, someone has
him trapped in their arms— their head is on his
chest. He clears his throat to do away with the
blockage stopping him from speaking.

“Bo…” is all he manages.

The person shifts and looks up at him, it’s not
his wife, but his mother.
“My baby… Vukuzakhe. You’re back, you came
back to me.” The waterworks, she hugs him and
showers him with kisses. “Let me call the
doctor.”
The bed makes a sound as she climbs off, his
tired eyes follow her figure until the corridor
swallows her.
As she walks back in with a man in scrubs, his
gaze lingers in the doorway. Where is she? Why
is she not here? Did they get to her?
A bright light is flashed in his eyes, it worsens
the headache. He wants to curse at the doctor,
tell him to remove that thing from his eyes, it’s
too bright.
The doctor asks him question that frustrate him,
he answers them, slowly.

“Where is Bongiwe?” The question is directed to

Dalisile, her face turns sour.
“She’s at home,” her answer confuses
Vukuzakhe, yet eases his worries. Bongiwe is
fine, but why is she not here with him? Are they
not married?
“I want to see her.” He says.
The doctor is done examining him, he advises
the patient to sleep, promises to monitor him
throughout the day and leaves.
“Bongiwe will be here later,” Dalisile waves her
hand to dismiss Zakhe’s needs. “How are you
feeling? You scared me, baby, I thought you will
never come back.”
He’s too weak to engage in a conversation, his
body is in pain. Images of his attack keep replay
in his head. Bongiwe was helpless, she wouldn’t
stop crying.
“Where is Bongiwe?” His eyes linger in the
doorway once more. Why is she not here with
him?
Dalisile sighs in frustration, as she sits on the
edge of the bed, ready to get her son’s mind off
Bongiwe, the lady in question ambles into the
room.
Her feet forget how to move, her eyes are wide
and teary.
“Bongiwe!” Vukuzakhe calls in relief. Bongiwe
bursts into sobs and rushes into his arms, he
wants to hold her back, but struggles to lift his
arm. Their little reunion is not appreciated by
the mother, Dalisile serves them with a tongue
click as she stands back.

MATHONGA-

I wake up with Nala wrapped in my arms, she

stayed with me when I asked her to last night.
“Your heart is beating really fast,” she points
something I was not aware of.
“Because you’re so close to me.” I quip,
tightening my arms around her and placing a
kiss on the top of her head.
“My heart is beating fast too,” she reveals. “I’m
sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Maybe I overreacted, it annoyed me that she
questioned my feelings for her.
“I’m not playing you, MaShange. You made me
lose my mind, from the first day I met you. I
barely realised myself that I had strong feelings
for you, please consider me and my feelings.”
She shifts her head to glance at me, the look in
her eyes tells me it’s okay to plant a kiss on her
lips. She responds better than I expected.

“Mathonga,” Ndleleni’s voice and the sound of

the door opening startle me. Nala is on her feet
in an instant, head dropped and hands fiddling
with her nightgown. I throw a look at Ndleleni, to
meet anger on his face.
“Don’t you know how to knock, bhuti?”
I feel a rapid surge of annoyance and
mortification, annoyance because he should
have knocked, this is my room. Mortified that
he caught me in an intimate act with Nala.
“What kind of nonsense is this?” He roars in a
voice that points toward disgust, if looks could
kill, Nala and I would be entering the afterlife
right this moment.
“What were you doing in my brother’s bed?”
He’s looking at Nala with a strange expression
on his face, one of hostility and fury. I don’t
understand what his problem is.
“No… Nothing sir…” Nala stutters before his
intimidating black eyes that are hooked on her.
“Nala you don’t have to answer him,” I blurt out,
gracefully rising to stand next to her. Her hands
are trembling, it’s normal, Ndleleni has a talent
of frightening people.
He turns his lifeless eyes towards me, they tell
nothing but desolation.
“Get out of my room, bhuti.” It’s like talking to a
brick wall, he’s not moving. Perhaps I’m
speaking a foreign language. “Phuma ndoda.”
(Get out.)
“Like hell I will, she’s the one who is leaving.
What has gotten into you Mathonga? You’re
sleeping with the maid, now?” He asks.
Where does this attitude come from? We don’t
look down on people in these premises. Nala
runs out of the room, I start to run after her, but
Ndleleni blocks my path.

“You had no right to do that, Nala is my

girlfriend.” The words rush to my mouth.
There’s a look in his eyes I can’t pinpoint, “She’s
the maid.”
“She’s my girlfriend.” I maintain. It must be
appalling to him because his lips curl with
disgust.
“Are you insane, Mathonga? You are sleeping
with whores in your father’s compound?”
I didn’t expect him to say what he just said,
maybe that’s why I punch him on the nose.
Shock sparks in his eyes for a millisecond, I
also can’t believe I punched my brother. Guilt
exudes from inside me, it settles heavily in my
heart.
Ndleleni will never let me forget this, as much
as he loves me, all of us—he is different from
the others. I would like to believe that he holds
grudges.
“I’m sorry, bhuti. But you shouldn’t have called
Nala a whore.” My apology sounds lousy, he
chuckles darkly and wipes off the blood oozing
from his nose. He lands a sudden punch on my
face, it throws me on the bed.
I plan on standing up and asking for forgiveness,
but Ndleleni is on top of me faster than
lightning, throwing punch after punch. He must
think he’s Van Damme, or he wouldn’t be
punching me like this.
“I’m sorry, bhuti.” I shout after failing to get him
off me, my apology is doing nothing. Moreover,
it’s fuelling his anger.
I should’ve ran out of here, I hate that he’s
stronger than me.
“Ndleleni, get off him.” I hear my father’s angry
voice.

Ndleleni is pulled off me by Ntaba. He is holding

him back, this gives me a chance to return the
punches he gave me. It’s the anger and pain
pushing me to retaliate. I only give him two, my
father is holding me back.
“Baba he hit me, let me hit him back.” I groan in
pain, as I attempt to wriggle out of my father’s
grip. I can taste blood in my mouth, my eyes are
throbbing with pain.
“Calm down, Mathonga.” A warning lies in
Ntaba’s voice, he turns his cold glare to Ndleleni
who suddenly looks larger than I know him,
more menacing.
His eyes are burning with a rage I’ve never seen
before. He should act in a Nigerian movie, that
look on his face was adopted from a Nigerian
movie.
“Let me go, Ntabezikude.” He shakes himself
off, but Ntaba is just as strong. He grabs
Ndleleni by his shirt and pastes him against the
open door.
“He’s your brother, uyahlanya wena?” (Are you
crazy?)
Ntaba yells, slamming soft fists on his chest.
My brother is hard headed. He escapes Ntaba’s
grip, clicks his tongue and turns to leave. On his
way out, he bumps into Khothama, yet
continues to march without turning back.
“Ndleleni come back here.” Baba barks, hurrying
after him. It’s not guaranteed he will be safe
with Ndleleni, he is currently not thinking
straight.
“What’s wrong him?” A tongue click from
Khothama, he’s angered by Ndleleni’s
crudeness. Turning my gaze to Ntaba, I notice
that he is looking at the same thing. Blood
stains on Khothama’s ingwe vest.
“Where have you been?” Ntaba asks, his voice
suggests he knows where Khothama has been
and what he has done.
“I killed him,” without any ounce of remorse,
Khothama replies. “He pissed me off and I killed
the old man.”
MATHONGA-
Thirty-six

THE KHANYILES-

“You didn’t have to call the dads, we could’ve

have handled this on our own.” This is
Khothama’s complaint to Ntaba.
“I had to call them, you decided to fuck up after
I specifically told you not to do anything stupid.”
Ntaba is spitting fire, he’s basically sweating
under that beard of his.
His reaction over this matter is not usual, this is
the same man who is not easily shaken. It must
be bad.
“I told you it was a mistake,” Khothama is the
only one who believes his words. Vumile, Bopha,
Dumile, Ntaba, and Mathonga. They are
gathered in the lounge, awaiting Khothama to
explain.
No one knows where Ndleleni is. Mathonga is
worried about him, guilt is eating him up. What
transpired between them was not normal.
“Everything happened too fast, I was admiring
my uncle’s land when the man came out of
nowhere and threatened to kill me. He could
easily tell I was a Khanyile, it must be the big
nose. Anyone can spot us from a distance.”
Khothama.

He says he killed Ongezwa Sangweni after the

man threatened to slaughter him. His story
sounds too made up, it doesn’t add up. They
know he loves stirring trouble, he’s a master at
it.
That’s why he came home with Sangweni’s
blood in his hands. The story is as he tells it
though, except the part where Ongezwa
threatened him without a reason.
The two got into an argument about Vukuzakhe,
vile words were thrown around and Khothama’s
anger possessed him to pound the man’s head
with a brick. Of course he had to feel what
Vukuzakhe felt the day his sons attacked him.
But that’s his secret to keep, he is not going to
tell these people how things went down.

“So let me get this straight, you went looking for

Ongezwa Sangweni with the intent to kill him?”
Bopha is livid, glaring at his son with a deadly
stare. They should be singing “soon and very
soon, we are going to see the King,” right at this
minute.
“No baba, you are twisting my words.”
Khothama.
“Don’t tell me nonsense, boy.” Bopha yells in a
dangerous tone, he stands and towers over his
son. The idiot does not look fazed, whatever is
wrong with Khothama, God bless his dark soul.
“I had a list Khothama, a list of everyone who
was involved in Vukuzakhe’s attack. I was going
to deal with them accordingly and secretly…”
Ntaba reveals his plans.
“Ntabezikude.” Vumile barks, Ntaba
immediately looks bored. “What is wrong with
you boys? Is this what you do behind our backs,
you kill people?”
“Only those who piss me off,” of course it
sounds normal in Ntaba’s head. Vumile is
defeated, he shares a look with his brothers— a
furtive conversation.
“And I told Khothama to wait it out, to put
Thonga first. You people came here for the
ceremony not a massacre, now thanks to this
stupid fool my plans are ruined.” Ntaba.
“Ongezwa Sangweni was an old fool, weak and
useless. Not only did I do us a favour by killing
him, I did his family one too.” Khothama
validates.
It is how he does not look remorseful or
regretful, in fact, he is bursting with pride. Ntaba
exhales as frustration bothers his soul and rubs
his face vigorously.
“An old man provoked you?” Ntaba hisses,
glaring at Khothama who is leaning back on the
chair, a leg crossed over his thigh.
“Yes.” His wonton answer is shocking only to
his fathers.
“We have to call the police, you are not getting
away with this, Khothama.” Something must be
wrong with Bopha, he can’t have his son
arrested. It’s uncalled-for.
“No one is going to jail.” Finally, Dumile steps in.
He has been too quiet. He shifts to the edge of
the chair, eyes cast on Ntaba and Khothama.
“Secure the gates, tell Hlabela to come home
and get Vukuzakhe’s room safeguarded. The
time has come to face our enemies, those sons
of bitches have made us wait for too long.”
Dumile’s declaration has Ntaba and Khothama
grinning from ear to ear, Khothama winks when
he meets Ntaba’s eyes. Ntaba’s tongue click
ruptures into the lounge.
“What’s going on Bhuti?” Vumile is not for this,
as expected.
“Khothama messed up, that’s what happened.
The Sangwenis will not let this pass, he killed
their bull.” Whatever Dumile means.
There is no love lost between the two families,
it’s no secret. No one but his brothers knew he
was burning coals, that he has been carrying so
much hatred for that family.

“I killed their cow,” Khothama snorts. “We are

not afraid of them, we’re the Khanyiles.” He
should not be saying anything, he messed up
enough already.
“Shut up wena,” Bopha roars. “If it were up to
me, I would have you locked up behind bars.
You’re a stupid boy, Khothama, very stupid.”
“I’m not a boy, baba. I’m a man.”
Really? Khothama cannot be serious.
“I refuse to be part of this,” Vumile stands. He
better not be running away from this. “As the
chief of this village, I will fix the damage you
have caused. I will rectify your mistakes.”
“The Sangwenis don’t care that you’re a chief,
their father is dead. All they want is revenge.”
Dumile tells him.
“They will listen to me…”
“Will you stop being stubborn, Vumile. Your son
was almost killed, do you think that was an
accident? Do you want the Sangwenis to attack
your other sons for you to finally wake up?”
Dumile is trying to be respectful, but struggles
to keep his voice down.
“I’m a chief, Dumile. What will my people say?”
A terrible syndrome for one to have, ‘what will
people say?’ All eyes are on Vumile, they can’t
seem to grasp why he is so stubborn.
“Your family comes first, I’m not saying grab a
gun and start shooting people. Just be prepared
for anything, double the security and keep
everyone safe.”
Listen to Dumile, taking the big brother cap
from Vumile. He is not fond of the Sangwenis,
this is his chance to wipe them out.
Ntaba stands while clapping his hands, too
dramatic, Vumile thinks.

“Thank you bab’omncane. Now that that’s

settled, we need to get Mathonga out of the
country.”
Now, Mathonga knows he did not hear right. He
shifts on his seat, eyebrows skyrocketing.
“What?”
“I knew this day was coming, unfortunately it
came sooner than I expected. You’re leaving the
country after the ceremony tomorrow.” Ntaba
explains.
“To where?” He’s not agreeing to any of this.
“Namibia, if there is going to be a bloodbath, I
don’t want you, Zamangwane and Nandi
anywhere around here. Bongiwe will tag along,
I’m sure that’s what Zakhe would want.” Ntaba
says.
They can’t choose family, but Dalisile has not
been mentioned.
“When did you decide this Ntabezikude?”
Vumile asks, his heart is sitting on his throat.
It’s the thought of Mathonga leaving that has
him feeling unsettled.
“It doesn’t matter baba, the main thing here is
that they will be safe.” Ntaba.
“I’m not going, let Zamangwane and her mother
go to Namibia. I’m not a child that needs to be
protected.” They see him as the child of the
family, he has no right to strip himself of that
title.
“I’m not losing you Mathonga…” Ntaba snaps,
these people are so bent on having him lose his
cool lately. “Things are going to get nasty,
people will die and I need you alive.”
“What about you?” Tears. “I need you alive,
Vukuzakhe, Hlabela and Ndleleni too.”
“Don’t worry about us, we’re going to be okay. If
anything happens to you, I’d never forgive
myself. You are the treasure of this family,
Thonga lami.” Well, that should convince him,
Ntaba has said enough.
Mathonga sits back and folds him arms, “I’m
not leaving.”
This boy is testing his patience, Ntaba clenches
his fists, tempted to smack the stubbornness
out of him.
“We’re going back and forth and I am tired. You
are leaving for Namibia, tomorrow.”
“What about my wife, she’s the treasure of my
heart. She must be included in this, she is
carrying my baby after all.” Khothama adds. No
one answers him, he would have gotten his
answer if he didn’t have a loose hand and
caused mayhem.
“I don’t agree with Ntabezikude’s suggestion,
but if it will keep you safe, then you must go.”
For once, Vumile agrees with his son. It must be
a blessing in disguise.
“Please, don’t count me out, I need this as much
as you do.” Mathonga is working hard to
change their minds.
“You can’t even slaughter a chicken, boy. How
will you kill a man?” Khothama again, he gets
cold looks from his fathers that shut him up.

“Vukuzakhe will never forgive us if anything

happens to you, Thonga.” Ntaba.
“He’ll never forgive me if I leave you here. I’m
not going anywhere.” Stubbornness refuses to
leave Mathonga’s head.
Ntaba stands him up and slaps his bruised face,
a perfect example of “smack some sense into
him.”
He apologizes by caressing his cheek and
hugging him.
“It’s not up for discussion, you’re leaving
tomorrow.” Ntaba says. He is done talking, it
says so in the tone of his voice.
What about Nala? He just found her.

A young woman standing at the entrance

leading to the kitchen brings silence into the
room, for a second she recoils, almost shying
away from the eyes cast on her.
“Khethi,” Like he cares, Ntaba is beside her in
the blink of an eye. He stops himself from
taking her hand. “What is it?”
“Bhut’ Hlabela called, he said you are not
answering your phones.”
Getting to the point was the safer route to take,
now everyone is looking at her with fear in their
eyes. Mathonga gasps, his heart threatening to
throw in the towel.
“Did something happen to my brother?” He asks.
“Bhut’Zakhe is awake.”
Sighs of relief fill the room, but why does she
look offish?
“Khethiwe,” Ntaba hates not knowing anything.
He’s getting frustrated.
“It’s Nala, she’s gone. I tried to stop her, she
wouldn’t listen to me.”
Mathonga’s heart sinks to the soles of his feet,
this cannot be happening.

FUNOKUHLE-

It’s a weekday, maybe that’s why the mall is

empty. Zithobile dragged me to Rosebank Mall
where we met up with her friend. Bulelwa is his
name, I thought Zitha was talkative, but Bulelwa
takes the cup.
He speaks English more than Isizulu, his twang
loses me most of the time. He’s married, I’ve
lost count of the number of times he has shown
me pictures of his husband.
In a way, I envy him. The freedom he has to love
and be with the man he loves, they don’t have to
hide from people. Vukuzakhe and I would’ve
become that. I ruined it, whatever chance there
was of us. I have a need to see him, where do I
even begin? I know not of his whereabouts.

“Try this shirt, it will look good on you.” Zitha

flashes a floral blouse, it’s not my style. I didn’t
tell her that I’m gay, she assumed and promised
to introduce me to a friend who is ready to
mingle.
“I don’t think I will look good in that.”
I don’t see myself wearing blouses, I’ve never
thought that far where clothes are concerned. A
man wears pants, a shirt and shoes and go on
about his day. That’s what I grew up around,
although my jeans are almost tight fitting,
which is never intentional.

Zitha has insisted on buying me clothes,

Bulelwa pitched in too. So far, her driver Mandla
has packed about four shopping bags in her
Range Rover and we are not done—her words. I
don’t want to leave them bankrupt.

“I don’t think that’s his style, Zitha. Not everyone

is as stylish as I am, come on babe.” Bulelwa
comes to my rescue. “I’ll take this, Zizwe will
love me in this blouse.”
His statement is followed by shy giggles, it’s
what he does when the name Zizwe slips past
his tongue. Zitha also talks about Kenneth, she
tries to limit herself, but you can tell that he’s
her favourite thing to talk about.
“Get Funo a plain t-shirt.” I would like to believe
Bulelwa sees my discomfort, I’m not yet
comfortable that they see through me. I don’t
know them that much to be comfortable with
the fact that they know I’m a gay man.
It’s the insecurities swirling inside me.
“We’ve done enough shopping for the day, let’s
get something to eat.” Bulelwa says, yawning
his way to the tills.
“I’m craving something from Potato Shed.”
Zitha points out as we walk out of the clothing
store.
“Eating for two already?” Bulelwa laughs, losing
me a bit there.
“Kenneth would surely pause this world to
throw the mother of all celebrations,” she’s
laughing with Bulelwa. “Shame, I’m not having
his baby until he marries me.”
“I thought you two were married?” I ask.
They live together, so I assumed it was a sealed
deal.
“They are not married, babe. This one abuses
that poor man, she wants him to marry her flat
ass, but she doesn’t want to marry him.”
Bulelwa replies to my question, confusing me
further.
“I don’t understand, is there such a thing?” I ask.
“It’s Zithobile we’re talking about, you will never
understand. She is complicated as they come.”
Bulelwa.
“Nothing is complicated here, that man wants
to ground me. He wants to trap me with a baby,
five years later and I’m one step ahead of him. I
will not be carrying a dark skinned baby for a
man who has not married me.”
“Then why don’t you two get married?” Another
question from me. Their situation sounds too
complicated for me to grasp.
“Please ask on my behalf too, I stopped asking
that question the day she gave me an answer
that does not make sense. How are you not
ready to marry someone whose engagement
ring is wrapped around your finger? You just
want to torture Kenneth, people like you don’t
deserve nice things in life.”

Bulelwa’s mouth says whatever is offered by his

brain, Zitha is okay with it. She accommodates
his silly sally with a loud laughter that turns
heads. She doesn’t care.
“As long as Kenny understands, he’s the only
one that matters in this situation.” Zitha.
“You mean after you? You selfish son of a gun.”
Did I say Bulelwa speaks without thinking? I
think words are words to him, he doesn’t care
how it affects the next person. Also, that seems
to be the kind of friendship they are
accustomed to, I can’t judge them. The only
thing I had close to a “friend” was Pule, he
made me dump all my friends when we started
our relationship.
The noise emerging from these two turns more
heads, the many eyes staring turn me into a ball
of nerves.
“I need to use the bathroom.” This should be a
perfect escape.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Bulelwa
asks.
I don’t want to be stuck in awkwardness with
him, I’m not an extrovert like him. It’s not that
I’m anti-social or anything, but I’m struggling to
get out of the shell I was put in.
“I’ll be fine, thank you.” I can see the restaurant
from here, I won’t get lost on my way back.
Mandla arrives as I start to leave the two loud
mouths, he takes the bags from them, and
walks behind them as if to keep them from
harm. I have a feeling he’s also Zitha’s guard,
his eyes are constantly on her. When she
moves, they move with her. I’m yet to see him
looking at anything but Zitha.

I’m met with silence upon my arrival in the

men’s room, my palms are strangely sweating. I
grew up in the village, where we live in darkness.
Empty toilets should not scare me.
I quickly wash my hands after making use of
the toilet, and head to the door. My worst fear
comes true as a familiar figure enters the
bathroom.
He is blocking the doorway, eliminating any
chance of an escape. The universe must be
playing tricks with me, you attract what you
think about most.
Unconsciously, I take a step back, thinking of a
way to run past him. He is still big, still towers
over me. The realisation that I am trapped hits
me, there is no way I can get away from him.

“Long time, Ntando.” Pule says, breaking the

silence between us. The victorious smirk on his
face makes me sick.
“Please get out of the way, I want to pass.” Yet
I’m not making any effort to move my feet, I
can’t afford to get closer.
“Still so polite, like I taught you.” He simpers.
“You’ve always been a good student, Ntando.
Very tentative, that’s how it was so easy to lure
you.”
I’ve always been easy and Pule has made an
effort to remind me over the years.
“What do you want from me?” I honestly don’t
care what he wants.
“The only thing I’ve always wanted, you. You
belong to me, Ntando. You’re my slave.”
“I’m not your slave, Pule. Whatever there was
between us is over, I’m done following you
round.”
“But I’m not, I have plans for us, Ntando. Those
rich people you’re mingling with don’t care
about you, they will never accept you like I
have.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
I knew that day when he came to Vukuzakhe’s
house that he was stalking me, and when I went
back to my father’s house, I was certain he
would back off. He seems to know my every
move.
His gaze intensifies as if I have asked
something very illogical.
“Look, I’m not a bad guy, baby.”
Where is this endearment coming from?

“I only want you with me, these people are

trying to tear us apart. They are jealous of us,
that’s why I called your father to come get you
from that demon. He was going to use you and
throw you away, I didn’t want that for you. My
goal in life is to protect you, come with me,
Ntando. Only I can keep you safe.”
He speaks like someone who has lost his mind.
His arms are stretched out, ready to take me in.
There is an urge to accept his offer, to follow
him like I’ve always done.
He speaks of safety, something I
crave—something I’ve always craved. But how
do I believe him when the bulging eyes and
intense aura speak otherwise? His whole
appearance is that of a deranged man, a
destruction waiting to happen.
“I’m not going anywhere with you Pule, please
get out of my way. There are people waiting for
me, they will start to worry. I’ve been in here for
too long.”
He doesn’t say a word, but only looks at me
with a sly grin on his face.
“Pule, move.” I yell because the look he’s giving
me scares the shit out of me, it’s just the two of
us in here.
Do people not use toilets in this place? No one
has walked in here or taken a peek.

“Don’t make me use force Ntandoyethu, I hate

your stubbornness, dammit.”
“It’s Funokuhle, Ntandoyethu is dead.”
The look in his eyes… he growls and punches
the toilet door. I refuse to tremble under his
overbearing presence, I take a brave step
towards the exit.
I’m too close, basically digging my own grave,
anything can happen now. He smells like a
brewery, like he emptied the whole SAB down
his throat.
“I see you’ve grown some balls, little man.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Pule.” It’s a lie, he’s
proven over the years how stronger than me he
is.
“Funokuhle are you in there? We’re changing
restaurants, Zitha is such a pain in the arse.
She’s worse than a penis, I swear to God.”
Bulelwa’s voice yells from outside the restroom,
he always has a lot to say. I can hear Zitha
returning his statement.
Pule panics, snatches my arm and covers my
mouth with the other hand, and starts to pull me
inside the toilet.
I protest his forceful touch and throw away his
hand covering my mouth.
“Let me go.” I shout, loud enough to have been
heard outside the men’s room.
Zitha is the first person to materialize, shortly
after, Bulelwa shows face.
“Funokuhle,” her eyes are on Pule’s hand
wrapped around my arm. The fool loosens the
grip, and laughs softly.
“Who is this?” Bulelwa asks.
“What’s going on here?” Mandla questions,
walking in seconds after Zitha and Bulelwa.

For a second there, I’m reminded of my father’s

solidity. Mandla doesn’t look like the man who
has been driving us around. I’m looking at a
beast who is ready to devour Pule.
“Who the fuck are you? Ntando is with me.”
Great, he probably thinks there is something
between Mandla and I.
“Is this true, Funokuhle?” Zitha’s question is
covered with acrimony. “Are you with this old
man?”
She looks angry out of the blue.
“No, he won’t leave me alone.” I confess, Zitha
snatches my arm and swiftly pushes me behind
her. She is shielding me, we’re almost the same
height. Pule’s angry face is visible, he looks
ready to kill. A sight I have never seen before.
“Sisi, take your friend and go to the car.” Mandla
orders, at least it sounds like an order.
“How many are they, Ntandoyethu? You offer
yourself to rich men now, just for food and a
place to sleep? How far are you willing to break
me, after everything I have done for you? You
are nothing without me, I made you.”
I would be hurt if his voice was not trembling,
he can’t take his eyes off Mandla. This is the
thing with abusers, they are terrified of men, if
not men their size. My structure is that of a
teenage boy, that’s how he was able to
dominate me.
“Sisi go.” Mandla orders again, turning a dark
gaze towards Zitha—appearing more like a
strict father.
“But I want to help you bury the body, I know a
place in Nasrec.”
Bury? Is Zithobile talking about killing Pule? I
don’t want him dead, I only want him to leave
me alone.
“I have a shovel in my car, a refusal bag. As long
as Mandla will do the digging.” Bulelwa’s words
slam against my heart. They kill people?
I’m waiting for them to say they are kidding, but
nothing. They are glaring at Pule with deadly
looks, his death is going to be on my conscious.
“This is not a game, sisi. I don’t want to get in
trouble with the boss.” Mandla says, by boss I
think he means Kenneth.
“I won’t say anything if you won’t,” my Lord,
Zitha is dead serious.
“So, how are we going to do this? Strangle him
to death or hit his head against the tiles?” Zitha.
Pule’s eyes are bulging, fear abides in them.
“Bulelwa shut the door, make sure no one
enters.” Continues Zitha, and he does as told.
“Are… are you going to kill him?” I have to ask,
their serious expressions are making my head
spin. No one answers me.
Heat rushes through my body, I can’t breathe.
Pule looks like he’s standing before his grave,
his body is pressed against the wall. And his
pants are… wet… God, he just wet his pants.
MATHONGA-
Thirty-seven

THE KHANYILES-

Mathonga is on panic mode, his heart is going

crazy in his chest and he has no idea how to
make it stop. Nala can’t reject him too, he won’t
be able to handle it. It’s bad enough that Dalisile
made him feel that he’s not worthy of being
loved.
His escape is short lived as someone grips his
arm, he whips his head back around and meets
his brother’s livid face.
“Uyaphi?” (Where are you going?)
The grip is too tight, he can feel Ntaba’s rage
piercing right through him. He drops his head
before deciding to be brave and look his brother
in the eye.
“Nala is gone bhuti, I have to go after her.” She’s
all he thinks about, it can’t be healthy that he’s
become so attached to a woman he’s known
for a few weeks.
“What is wrong with you, huh? Did you not hear
anything that was said here?”
Seriously, if they continue pissing Ntaba off, it
might not end well.
“You are not going anywhere, do you hear me,
Mathonga? Do you want to join Vukuzakhe in
the hospital? What if you die?” Ntaba questions
his stupidity.
“All for a woman?” That’s Khothama’s 2 cents,
Mathonga lets out a disgruntled sigh and turns
back to his seat.
He knows what’s at stake if he goes out there,
their enemies have probably turned the village
upside down, seeking revenge. And Nala… Nala
is alone out there.
“I knew there was something going on between
you and that girl.” Vumile adds, sending a
disapproving frown to his son. “What happened
that one from church? Are you two-timing them,
Mathonga?”

Mathonga buries his face in his hands, this

cannot be happening to him. The last thing he
needs is a lecture from his father, he stands
and walks out with slumped shoulders.
“What is going on in this household? People are
doing as they please.” Vumile complains, not
everyone can stand him when he starts
complaining.
Ntaba and khothama move in one accord, they
bump shoulders at the door but make it out of
the house in time to escape Vumile’s protests.

“I know men who can help us take down those

dogs, I’m going to make a few calls.” Khothama
says.
On that note, Ntaba has a few people he can
appoint as guards.

“Ntaba,” The feminine voice takes Ntaba away

from his conversation with Khothama. He tilts
his head to see Kethiwe from his vintage point,
standing just feet away from them. She crosses
her arms while holding her elbows.
Khothama strolls away with nothing but a head
shake and a smirk dancing at the corner of his
mouth.
“KaMandonsela.” Ntaba recognises her.
Her stomach bottoms out at the foreign name
calling. What does this this mean? He can be
unpredictable, it annoys her sometimes.
“KaMandonsela is my father and my brothers.”
She replies with a frown. Ntaba’s eyebrows
pinch together as he tries for a smile, he sees
right through this girl it’s not even a joke.
It scares him that she dares to stand in front of
him with love bursting through her.
“What’s going on?” He shoves his hands in the
pockets of his track pants, distancing himself.
His cold eyes wander across her body,
assessing her from head to toe.

“Everyone is… getting protection. What about

me?” She brings the question forth.
There’s an unwelcome blush rising up
Khethiwe’s cheeks, she looks away from his
investigative gaze, his dark eyes that give
nothing away.
“What about you, Khethi?” He asks, as he raises
his brows.
“Do I not matter?” She mumbles, clearing her
throat and shying away from his deep stare.
He knows what this is about, why she is
desperate for his attention.
“What do you want from me?” A question he
already knows the answer to.
“To treat me like I matter.” She gives him a
probing look as she waits for him to answer her,
until she can’t look into his blank eyes anymore.
“We agreed that no strings attached. Don’t ruin
this Khethiwe?”
“I’m not asking you to marry me, Ntaba. I simply
want you to make me feel worth it. Like you did
last night, for a moment I was convinced that
you...”
Her statement is left open, she is not brave
enough to fill in the blanks.
“That I love you?” But Ntaba is. “I was at my
lowest, I needed a good fuck and you were
there.”
That’s all he ever wants, to fuck. It shouldn’t
come as a big surprise, but for some reason it
does. She wants to hate him and curse him to
death, but she can’t. God is her witness, she
loves this fool standing before her.
“Why are you like this, Ntaba? Why are you
afraid to love and be loved?”

She doesn’t understand him, or why he is the

way he is. Why he is doing this to her. Making
her love him the way she does, if she could, she
wouldn’t spend another minute thinking about
this man.
“Who said I was afraid? You can’t be afraid of
something that doesn’t exist. Love is a lie
Khethi, the sooner you get that the easier your
life will be.”
“I’m not cold hearted like you, Ntabezikude. I
have a heart and it beats for you.”
“Then tell it to stop, I don’t want anything from
you Khethiwe. Who gave you the right to love
me? Your pussy is enough for me.”
The damage is done.
When you’re frustrated, it’s better to keep your
mouth shut lest you say words you don’t mean.
It’s easy to be cruel in a moment of frustration,
there is no going back, the damage is done.
“I hate you.” The words erupt from Khethiwe’s
mouth, tears are knocking, desperate to be let
out.
Not wanting him to see her break down, she
dashes away. She is not expecting him to stop
her, it’s not who he is. Knowing the truth does
not stop her heart from aching.
“Ntaba,” Mathonga calls from behind him. He
sighs the second his eyes land on a visibly
distressed Mathonga.
“She wants nothing to do with me anymore.”
Ntaba frowns, what is this one talking about?
“Khethiwe?” She is stuck in his head, it explains
why her name randomly escaped his mouth.
“Nala, she just sent me a text saying she’s
done.” Mathonga articulates.
His eyes are red, and not only that, his head is
pounding.
“I understand how you feel, Thonga.” He doesn’t
understand shit, why people are so obsessed
with love. It does not make sense to him, there
is nothing special about it.
“She will come around, give her a few days.” He
tries to comfort him.
Mathonga is not having it. It hurts like the day
he broke Amandla’s heart… Amandla—he broke
up with her for Nala and now Nala is gone. A
tear trembles at the corner of Mathonga’s eye,
frustrating Ntaba beyond boundaries.
He has a good mind to look for this Nala girl
and bring her to Mathonga, he has no care for
her whatsoever. It’s all about Mathonga and his
happiness.
Ntaba knew Mathonga was falling for her, he
could see it and thought that maybe she would
be good for him.
“You need to stop crying Mathonga, think about
the ceremony tomorrow. You cannot present
yourself to the ancestors with puffy eyes, they
will think we’re not treating you well.”

Sometimes he needs to speak to him like a kid

so he feels better, it’s a habit they all share.
“I want to speak to her, maybe she will change
her mind. I know Ndleleni didn’t mean what he
said, he is not a bad person.” Mathonga.
“He’s not, but he can be an idiot. That’s why he
did what he did, where is Ndleleni? Have you
heard from him?”
How are they talking about Ndleleni all of a
sudden?
“I don’t know where he is.” Mathonga answers
disinterested, he adds a shoulder shrug.
“Go get some pain killers, and sleep. I’m sure
you have a splitting headache from all this
crying. I swear you should’ve been a girl.”
“I can’t sleep, I need to see Nala.”
“Eish Mathonga, matters of the heart should be
the least of your worries. You will fix things with
your girlfriend after all of this is over.”
Wise words from Ntaba, but when will all of this
be over? Mathonga is set to leave for Namibia
tomorrow evening. He can’t go without fixing
things with Nala, he can’t go without her.
Mathonga has more to say, he wants to
complain and cry and complain so more. But
his brother is getting frustrated and he knows,
you don’t frustrate Ntaba.
“I had a dream about Vimbela and Sakhile, they
haven’t crossed over. They are trapped in that
house they died in.”
Ntaba’s face changes, bringing those two up
stirs up unwanted emotions.
“What do you mean they are trapped?” Ntaba
asks, voice lower than usual.
“They didn’t crossover, Vimbela said they can’t
breathe. There is smoke in their lungs, their
clothes were burnt. I could even smell their
burnt flesh.”
Ntaba squints his eyes, perhaps trying to search
for more in Mathonga’s bloodshot eyes.
“We should talk to the uncles, they will know
what has to be done.” He wraps his arm around
Mathonga’s shoulder and leads him back into
the house, Vumile must hear the damage he
made.

FUNOKUHLE-

My life is a rollercoaster ride, for a good minute

I thought Zitha and her crew were going to kill
Pule. Mandla went from being a saviour to an
enemy when he called Kenneth and told him
what was happening.
The phone was passed on to Zitha, whatever
was said by the man on the other side of the
line left Zitha very upset. She dragged me and
Bulelwa out of that restroom, after threatening
to haunt Pule down and kill him.
All three of us are in the backseat, waiting for
Mandla to drive us home. I’m too distracted to
engage in the conversation with Zitha and
Bulelwa, as usual, they debate, fight and laugh
at each other. Minutes later, Mandla
materialised from the mall’s exit doors. Behind
him are two men walking with Pule in the
middle, I can see he’s shaken and doesn’t want
to go with them.

My hand is on the door when someone stops

me from opening it.
“Trust me, you don’t want to do that.” Zitha
warns.
I don’t understand what she means.
“Are they going to kill him?” I ask.
“Yes and no.” Does Zitha have to be
complicated? “It depends on you, if you want
him gone, it can be arranged.”
“You guys kill people?” I can’t help but ask this
haunting question.

The door opens before I get my answer, it’s

Mandla. The two men are in a different car with
Pule. Zitha’s words stop me from asking about
him, they won’t kill him without my word But
they are taking him somewhere.

Mandla is asked why he snitched. His reason is

that Zitha’s stubbornness left him no choice, he
had to report to the boss before she got into
trouble.

Zitha is currently on silent mode, she only

speaks when Bulelwa speaks to her. I have not
dared say a word, perhaps the aftermath has
me mute.
“Take us to Bulelwa’s house, bhuti.” Zitha
instructs, there is no trace of anger in her voice.
She is over Mandla’s treachery.
“I’m sorry sisi, but Sir Kenneth said to bring you
to the house.” Mandla says.
I feel betrayed on Zitha’s behalf, I hear her huff
beside me.
“And you thought it best not to tell me? Mandla,
I’m not okay with this behaviour. Does your
loyalty only lie with Sir Kenneth?”
That went south in a blink of an eye, she called
him Mandla, not bhuti.
“I don’t want to get into trouble by not adhering
to sir’s demands Ms. Zitha, please understand.”
He’s pleading, and calling her Ms, he is
essentially giving her a taste of her own
medicine.
“This is how it is then, fine.” She’s pouting,
letting her lower lip overhang.
“Are you pregnant babe?” Bulelwa asks, face
rutted with questions.
“No,” she sniffles.
I didn’t realise she was crying until now, this is
the reason behind Bulelwa’s question.
“You’re crying because your husband wants you
home, you must be pregnant. That’s nothing to
cry about.” I agree with Bulelwa.
“There’s something in my eye, okay.” She
justifies. Bulelwa finds a joke in it.
“I better start saving for your baby shower
because wow.” Bulelwa says and I instantly feel
bad for letting them spend so much on me.
“We can sell some of the clothes we bought, I
don’t need all of them anyway.” I really don’t, the
two of them give me weird stares.
“This idiot has a company under his name, he
has more than he needs.” Zitha says, pointing at
Bulelwa. Her tears have dried up, you can’t tell
she was crying just now.
“Speaking of more than enough, what are your
plans in Joburg Funokuhle?” Bulelwa.

I appreciate that they have not asked me about

Pule, I don’t want to think about him. Something
happened in that bathroom and only Mandla
knows what.
“I haven’t thought far yet.” The plan was to
escape my father.
“Bulelwa wants to give you a job,” Zitha states. I
wait for Bulelwa to protest and get nothing but
a head nod.
“Draft your CV and we’ll see where we can place
you.” Bulelwa.
Okay. I’m stunned, they seem too good to be
true. How are they this kind?
“I will, thank you.” I tell him, trying not to be
emotional. At this point, I will do anything.
Gardening, mopping floors, anything.
Bulelwa receives a call, a timid smile crosses
his face as he swipes the green light.
“Muntu ka Bubu.” That’s how he answers the
phone? Zitha laughs, it’s loud and I think meant
to irritate Bulelwa. He’s not there, all of his
focus is on the person he’s talking to. We lose
his words, he’s murmuring and blushing, and
giggling.

That feeling of envy attacks me again, I shove it

away. I’m free now, I don’t have to live under
anyone’s rule. One day my life will be normal.
We arrive at the house, Zitha sighs and I have to
ask what the matter is as I trace her narrowed
gaze to the car parked outside the garage.
“He’s home, when does he get to work?” I
assume she is talking about Kenneth. “See what
you’ve done Mandla?”
Poor Mandla, Zitha will hang his flaw over his
head for as long as she can.
“I’m sure you can soften him up, he is your
man.” The things that just came out of my
mouth…
She gives me a lopsided grin, “I’ll remember that
when he starts scolding me.”
Kenneth walks out of the house as we step out
of the car, his demeanour makes me want to
rush back into the car. I can’t tell if he’s upset or
that’s his natural face. Zitha is all over him in a
flash, was she not the one complaining about
him being home? Or maybe she is taking my
advice.
“This is why I never get involved, those two will
make a fool out of you.” Bulelwa comments on
the public display of affection and swooshes
past them. The candle these two have made me
hold is too hot, so I step on it and follow
Bulelwa to the house, not shocked that he
knows his way around here.

In the kitchen, he pours me coffee without

asking if I want it. We settle down on the stools,
a chair away from each other.
“Who is that man?” I know who he is talking
about, but I don’t want to talk about Pule.
“He’s no one.” I answer, swaying my eyes away
from his direction.
“You don’t have to deal with him, you know? I
know people who can make him disappear. One
of them is outside, just say the word and that
old bastard will kiss this world goodbye.”
His words shock the living day lights out of me,
somehow I know he is not talking about Mandla.
I knew there’s something shady about Kenneth,
something dark and uncanny.

DALISILE-

Elders would tell you that wealth is not for

everyone, money does not have everyone’s
name written on it. Some people are made to
suffer, while some are made for the lights.
The rich and the poor, see how that balances
the world? Dalisile thought it was bullshit when
her mother narrated these words to her, it had
been a hard knock life since childhood. While
others ate thick slices of cheese, she and her
sister Mgobhozi had to stand on the streets
every day, and beg for food.
Their mother was bedridden, too weak to fend
for her children. It was left to them to make
sure there was food on the table.

In their late teens, she died, leaving her teenage

girls to face life alone in the hands of poverty.
Mgobhozi ventured into the night life, selling her
body for mere change and Dalisile’s focus was
getting those straight A’s in school. Education
is the key to success; her teacher would say.
She saw the success, the lavish lifestyle. She
knew she was made for more than what life had
presented her and so, she worked hard.
The day she was set to write her final exam in
grade 10, Mgobhozi fell head first in their one-
room mud house, her body convulsing violently.
It took the help of a neighbour who burnt
impepho and recited the Lithuli clan names on
behalf of the two orphans. That’s when they
found out that Mgobhozi had a calling. This was
a chance she couldn’t miss, she went to
initiation school.

Life became stagnant for Dalisile while awaiting

her sister’s return. Mgobhozi came back a
different person, she was standoffish and a bit
detached. Dalisile assumed it wasn’t an easy
journey for her sister, in a way she understood.
Until her sister told her what she chose to do
with her gift, it scared Dalisile. But if that was
going to get them out of poverty, then she had
no choice but to follow Mgobhozi wherever she
took her.

“Vukuzakhe is such a disappointment, what

kind of a house is this? With the money he has,
he should be living like a king.”
Look what the devil dragged in, Mgobhozi
Lithuli. Her long, loose, black dress moves with
her as she breezes around Vukuzakhe’s little
home in Northcliff. Like she said, with the
money that man has, he could’ve bought a
mansion, not this shack he calls a house.
“That’s my son, you’re talking about, watch your
tongue.” Dalisile sputters, throwing daggers at
her sister.
Mgobhozi finds her very funny, she gives her a
dirty glance and continues laughing like she
doesn’t care.
“Your obsession over that boy is not healthy, I
can’t blame you for that, though. He is your
lifeline, without him, you’re going back to the
streets.” Mgobhozi.

Dalisile cringes at the thought, that’s something

she will never let happen. Mgobhozi is done
detesting Vukuzakhe’s little abode, she finds
the most comfortable sofa and like a queen,
sits her royal ass down. She crosses one leg
over the other, eyes scanning her surroundings.
Argh! Vukuzakhe is such a disappointment.
Where are the stairs? The flat screen TV? The
sofas that massage your body when you sit?
“You mean we are going back to the streets?”
Dalisile corrects, as she sits down with a cup of
tea. “Remember what we did to be where we
are? How you tempered with fate to get me
married to the chief.”
Mgobhozi throws her head back, laughing like
the witch she is.
“We tempered with fate my dear sister, you
came up with the idea and I made it happen.
We’re both dark Dalisile, you are not a saint.”
Mgobhozi states.
“I’m nothing like you, you chose to use your
traditional gift to do evil and not good. You
practically planted the idea in my head,
Mgobhozi. I didn’t know the chief was looking
to take a wife.” Dalisile argues, with no twinge
of respect directed towards her sister.
If anything, Mgobhozi demands respect, she
didn’t get where she is by being trampled on by
mere humans.
“You ungrateful brat, I have done so much for
you, made sure you continue to wear those ugly
two piece suits.” Her fire-spitting eyes point at
Dalisile’s attire.

“I will not be insulted by a witch.” Dalisile spits,

placing her cup of tea on the table.
“Neither will I be insulted by a weakling, respect
me, Dalisile. You are where you are because of
me, I can take it all away before you can swipe
your credit card at the next store.”
That is definitely a threat, Dalisile does not do
well with threats. Then again, this is her sister
who plays with black magic like it’s a normal
thing to do.

“Your first son is the one that keeps you in the

Khanyile homestead, he’s the reason you are
still queen. If he dies, then all your dreams will
come crushing down. His death will break the
curse, and Vumile will see you for the lowlife
you are.”
A painful reminder from Mgobhozi. To seal the
curse, the first Khanyile heir had to be born. It
was a joyful day for Dalisile.
“Not only Vukuzakhe’s death, if that boy
Mathonga accepts his calling the curse will be
completely broken. His birth alone did so much
damage, it opened a way for Vumile and Nandi
to meet. I don’t share Mgobhozi, but for years
I’ve had to share my husband with that dirty
trash, Nandi. I told you to kill her, now she’s in
my house playing queen.”
Dalisile barks, not fazed by her sister’s wrath,
she too can shout and she does it so well it
almost looks natural.
“I know, Vukuzakhe’s near death experience
made it all possible. The spirit of delay has
been lifted from Nandi, she is finally with the
man she was destined to be with.”

They had it all planned out from the beginning,

and they made sure no one stood in their way.
Nandi Shamase— Mgobhozi saw her coming.
Destiny had decided that she was the one to
marry Vumile, bear his children, and build a life
with him. Vumile and Nandi were ordained to
meet, they were chosen for each other by—
whoever is in charge of this love thing.
With the help of an old woman, Mgobhozi met
at the initiation school. She put walls between
the two strangers, making sure their paths
never cross.
Dalisile is aware of what is currently happening,
if she could, she would cut off Nandi’s head and
feed it to dogs.

“No, Mgobhozi, no. You have to do something.”

A queen throwing tantrums?
“Don’t you think I know that? When will you do
something for me, Dalisile? The only thing I
wanted from you was Mathonga, I wanted you
to keep your far end of the deal. You failed to
hand him over to me when he was born.”
“Mathonga is protected, he’s always been
untouchable.” Dalisile.
“Nonsense, the same ancestors who couldn’t
stop me from having my way with your
husband’s fate? I— Mgobhozi went against
them. I challenged them just to give you a
comfortable life. Yet you couldn’t deliver
Mathonga to me, you went to the extent of
wanting to kill him. Knowing very well that I
need his heart beating. Am I a joke to you
Dalisile?”

Dalisile jolts up from her seat, she’s struggling

to control her anger.
“Stop asking me nonsense, Mathonga has to
die. You said to do whatever it takes to make
sure he doesn’t accept his gift, you said it
yourself Mgobhozi, that if Mathonga recognises
his ancestors it will be the end of us. I will lose
everything, I refuse to go back to that life we
lived.”
Calmly, Mgobhozi stands to match Dalisile’s
height.
“All the more reasons I want his gift, you failed
to convince your husband to give him away
when he was born.”
Well, looks like Dalisile will never hear the end
of this.
“I tried, you know I tried. When Vumile finds out
what I did to get rid of that useless boy, he will
kill me. Didn’t I work hard? Didn’t I sacrifice so
much for us?”
“You did work hard Dalisile, I am proud of you.”
Oh, that went well.
“Okay, do something then. Kill Nandi and take
Mathonga. I want Vukuzakhe to take over from
Vumile, I want everything in his name. He is my
insurance.”
“My greedy sister, things are not easy as you
make them seem. But worry not, we will find a
way. There will be no ceremony tomorrow.”
Mgobhozi declares, and laughs her heart out.
MATHONGA-
Thirty-eight
WARNING!
This chapter contains scenes that might be
triggering or sensitive to the reader. Reader
discretion is advised.

MATHONGA-

It’s around 12am and I can’t seem to get any

sleep, I have been tossing and turning for hours
on end. It’s irritating really, I tried the warm milk
thing, it disappointed. I would like to say it’s
Nala, thoughts of her refuse to leave my head.
However, Nala is not a spirit.
There’s a second presence in this room, it’s
eerie, unexplainable. It brings about fear in my
heart, I feel it so close to me that if I were to
reach my hand out, I would touch it. Fear is a lie,
it’s all in the mind.
I have enough courage to get up, stand tall and
with a confident voice yell…
“Whoever you are, you have no right to be here. I
command you to go back where you came
from.”
I think of praying, but my head is too occupied
to access that ‘small mustard seed’ faith. I don’t
feel the presence anymore, it’s safe for me to
go back to bed.
*
*
“Wake up, we need to pray.” I recognise the
voice, the person is shaking me awake. Nandi is
in my room, looking like she just woke up from
a deep sleep. Her puffy eyes and pouted mouth
show and tell.
“Sisi?” She laughs… strange.
“No, call me Nandi.” I have no response for her,
seriously, did she wake me up just to tell me to
call her Nandi? I can’t call her by name, it’s un-
African
“What’s going on?” I sit up, making sure to keep
my legs covered. I don’t know her to be
comfortable in her presence.
“There’s a dark cloud surrounding the house, we
have to pray.” Great, this, I didn’t expect.
“What time is it?” I ask, as I rub my heavy eyes. I
don’t fight the yawn that attacks me.
“Few minutes after 3am?”
This is why it feels like I died and came back to
life, it’s too early to be awake.
“Ma, what’s going on? Why are you waking me
up?” How did she get in here, anyway? I locked
the door before I went to bed. Did I lock it? I
think I did. She stands back as if to give me
privacy, too late, you entered my room
unpermitted.
“Will you sleep while your enemies are plotting
against you?” She waves a bible as she says
this. Christians and not being original, that’s
definitely a line from the bible.
My life is a struggle, I’m being bible bashed in
the wee hours of the morning.
“What are you talking about? Don’t you think it’s
too late in the night for this?” I’m getting
annoyed, sleep is calling my name. I need to go
back.
“Your enemies are wide awake, Mathonga. They
are celebrating your downfall, you can’t sleep
when your enemies are ready to dance on your
grave.” Grave? She came here to scare me,
that’s it.
“Ma, please don’t say that. There is power in the
tongue, I’m not going to die. I refuse to die.”
“You won’t…” Her words are swallowed by my
ringing phone, I fish for it from under the pillow.
I don’t recognize this number, +27—whoever is
calling is in Joburg.
“Who is it?”
Haibo! I don’t think that’s any of her business.
“Mathonga, who is calling you?” Nandi insists,
stepping closer while flipping the bible open.
Honestly, she is acting strange.
“Please leave my room, who let you in anyway?
The door was locked.” I’m not strict enough
because she is not listening to me. She’s
paging through the pages, eyes squinted and
focused.
“If it’s an unknown number do not answer it, it
might be a trap.” Her gaze is on me now, I glide
out of bed, not caring that I only have boxers on.
She’s on the other side of the bed, looking at
me like a mother would her child. I’m the one
who shies away from her stare, not fair, this is
my room.
“Don’t answer the call, Mathonga.”
“It might be Nala.” Why am I even telling her this?
“I’m not here to dictate your life, please listen to
me just this once. Do not take this call, we need
to pray. You can phahla if you want, and I’ll do
the prayer after. Don’t ignore my plea please, I
have a bad feeling about that phone call.”
“Fine,” I put the phone back under the pillow and
join her as she kneels down.
I hope she’s not one of those who pray until we
forget where we are. I know I’m going to fall
asleep on Jesus.

The first thing I do when I wake up in the

morning is check my messages, I have twelve
missed calls and five messages. Four are from
Dalisile, they all came through during my prayer
session with Nandi. Yeer, that woman prays like
the world is coming to an end. I’m pretty sure
God was ready to mute her voice.

*Answer your phone.*

*It’s an emergency.*
*This is why we will never get along, you are
unreliable. You will never make it in life with this
kind of attitude, you stupid boy. I would have
done myself a favour by aborting you. Answer
your damn phone.*

I don’t read the last message, knowing she

insulted me further. She never calls my phone,
neither does she talk to me. Why would she call
me at such an unearthly hour?
There are messages and a whole 8 missed calls
from an unknown number, I open the messages,
they are from Mgobhozi, telling me to answer
my phone and that she misses me. This is
strange, I haven’t heard from that woman since
I was about ten years old, I didn’t know she had
my number.
She called and texted around the same time as
Dalisile, they were probably together.

Today’s outfit is a pair of khakhi pants, an

ingwe vest and a pair of sandals, it’s a big day
for me.
Khethiwe tells me the news of the ceremony
has reached the villagers, those who care to
know what goes on in the Khanyile premises
believe the Chief should have made it a big deal
and threw a big celebration.
That’s something that will never happen, not if
Ntaba has anything to do with it. It is just a
ceremony after all.
The yard is flooded with guards carrying guns,
protocol says no one is to come in and no one
goes out unless they are family. I greet baba
and my uncles seated under a tree, and don’t
give them a second look lest they call me. It’s
too early to deal with old people.
In the kitchen I find Khethiwe, she greets me
with a diffident wave and goes back to her
duties. I couldn’t help but notice her puffy eyes,
I’m ready to ask her what’s wrong when
Dalisile’s sister walks into the kitchen. From
what I have seen in pictures, her clothes are
always dramatic, too black and obviously
expensive. Mgobhozi is a strange woman,
strolling in here like she hasn’t been missing in
action for years.
Her gaze immediately finds me as if she knew I
would be standing by the fridge, she smiles, too
wide. Bizarre because this woman is a stranger,
we never see her around here.
She’s that rich aunt who is always travelling
from one country to another.

“Don’t just stand there, come give me a hug.”

Her voice is almost similar to Dalisile’s, her
features are softer though.
“Aunty?” I’m stunned really, I mean what are the
odds. Does she even remember me? She
stretches her arms, in her hand is a small gift
box wrapped with baby-blue wrapping and a red
ribbon around it. That better not be for me, I’m
not a little boy. I accept the hug she’s offering,
it’s not the most comfortable.
“Your mother told me about this day, I had to
come and see for myself. I have a gift for you.”
She holds me the box, she didn’t have to, really.
I mean, what’s the occasion?
“What is it?” Curiosity has me by the neck,
Mgobhozi shows me her adult teeth. I wish she
didn’t, smiles are not for everyone.
“It’s a watch, I bought it in Italy during one of my
trips.” Her eyes twitch with oddity, willing me to
take the gift.
“Mathonga!” Sheesh, then there’s Nandi. Will it
be rude of me to tell her she’s not my mother
and I am not looking for one? She’s standing in
the doorway, a scolding look on her face.
“There’s a problem, umqombothi didn’t brew.
Your brother is calling you, I will take care of the
guest.” She says.
I can’t say no to Ntaba, he’s not familiar with the
word. It’s going to be a long day.

NALA-

The room is freezing cold, matching the metal

chair I’m tied to. The only furniture in this room
is a small wooden table and this chair I’m
restrained on. The light is a bit dim, it doesn’t
clog my vision. I’m able to grasp every corner.
I don’t know where this is. A man in a police van
brought me here, he wouldn’t tell me who he
was. I was on my way to take a taxi, the plan
was not to go home. I don’t have a home, I
wanted to get away, not from Mathonga but I
guess from myself.
The twins where in my head the entire time, I
had a plan, a plan to come back for them one
day. I was standing on the side of the road,
waiting to flag down the next taxi when a police
van stopped in front of me. Of course I
panicked, thinking it was Petros. Then I
remembered he was injured and had lost his job.
I couldn’t recognise the man, he offered me a
ride. I kindly refused only for him to pull a gun
on me.
My mind went blank, I couldn’t scream for help.
The streets were empty, he would have shot me
on the spot and went on about his day.

My first instinct is to call out for help before

Petros limps through the door with the twins on
each side. He has a cast on his leg and using
the kids as his crutch, his face bears marks of
healing bruises.
“Sis’Nala,” The twins scream in unison, Pule
pulls them back, stopping them from running to
me.
"Twins” Fear shoots down my being like a
needle, and ripples through my pounding heart.
I have never been afraid in my life to see them
with him, he’s handled them before but with
care. Now—now it’s as if they are nothing. I
have no clue what is going on in that sick,
twisted mind of his, what he would do to my
babies. This is the first time he has exposed his
darkness in front of them, they don’t know him
as this man.
“Nala, why?” I don’t understand Thabani’s
question. I have never seen him breakdown like
this, Thobani is the soft one. He’s the baby
between the two.
“Don’t cry Thabani, I’m here now.” I assure him,
as powerless as I am. He breaks down in loud
sobs, falling knees first on the ground. Petros
lets him and is left holding Thobani. I don’t
understand why my baby is crying, the sound of
his sobs is traumatising—utter torture.
“Please stop crying, Thabani.”
“Argh, let the boy cry my dear Nala. It is your
fault his life is a catastrophe.”
What is this monster talking about?
“What did you do to them?” Shouting at him
does nothing, the devil is not affected.
“I’m a man Nala, a man with needs. Didn’t we
agree we’d meet on weekends so you’d satisfy
my needs? Look what you went and did. Was he
good Nala? Did Mathonga fuck you good?”
“Shut up, don’t mentioned his name you
bastard.” I yelp, fighting on the chair.
“Well, that answers my question. His dick was
good, that’s why you aborted mission. I sent
you to kill him and you chose to backstab me,
this is why I did what I did.” Petros.
He is not making sense, also, I don’t like how
he’s stroking Thabani’s head. It’s too… God I
can’t be thinking the worst.
“Julia is an old woman, she fails to satisfy my
needs. Her pussy is a borehole, that’s what
happens when you spend your teenage years
sleeping with different men and aborting every
baby God blesses you.”
I feel a curl of nausea in the pit of my stomach
as he speaks, he begins laughing like a maniac,
and drags a quiet Thobani in a tight hug that
brings chills down my spine.
“I hate that woman, I dream of killing her, you
know?” He says, without emotion.
Oh my God, he is sick.
“What does that have to do with me?” I ask.
Wanting to know the reason behind Thabani’s
painful cries that continue to echo through the
capacious room.
“Oh my dear Nala, if I knew how tight your
brother was, I would have gone for him, both of
them actually, and saved you years of sex
slavery.” His revelation brings my world to a
standstill, I watch with horror as he licks
Thobani’s face. Thobani does not fight him, he’s
immobile. I’d think he’s dead with how he does
not flinch under Petros’ hold.
“What… what are you talking about Petros?” The
words leave my mouth in stutters, it can’t be
what he just said.
“Nala…” Thabani raises his tear stained face, I
can’t stand to see the pain in his eyes.
“My baby, what did he do to you?” I ask but I
don’t want to know, I have a feeling it will kill me.
“Let’s just put it this way,” Petros starts. “I was
horny with no one to fuck and Thabani became
my saving grace. Thobani was a good spectator,
he had to watch so he’d know what to do when
his turn comes.”
No, no. He… he raped my brother.

“I want to die Nala, please… I want to be with my

mother.” Thabani’s tears drop, each one burning
my soul. They are followed by loud sobbing,
uncontrollable and unbearable. I want to get out
of this chair, take him into my arms and hide
him from the world.
“Thabani I’m…” My words die out like a flame
gushed out by strong wind, he needs to know
how sorry I am. That I would never let anything
happen to him.
“I’m sorry, Thabani, I’m sorry I wasn’t there to
protect you.” My chest is slowly tightening,
feels like a truck is sitting on it.
“Do you hear that, Nala? These are the results
of your actions.” He pushes Thobani aside and
grabs Thabani’s arms, dragging him up.
“Listen to the sound of your brother’s pain. Was
he worth it Nala? Was Mathonga worth your
brother’s pain?”
He’s yelling, and ripping Thabani’s shirt off. The
twin won’t stop crying.
“Stop it, you’re hurting him, stop.” Petros
doesn’t heed my cries, he is practising his
power on a defenceless child. Thabani has put
up a fight, but it’s pointless. He’s only a boy, too
fragile.
“Petros, I will do anything. Don’t hurt him
please.” I plead with desperate cries, rattling on
the chair in hopes that I will be released.
“I like this boy, Nala. He’s a fighter, he will make
a good bitch.”

He strips off his pants and underwear, leaving

my brother stark naked. At this point, my head
is spinning, I think I’m going to die, I want to die
and take them with me. I want to free us from
this suffering.
“Ma, ma, mama.” Thabani cries through a heavy
breath, his little body trembling with fear. It
hurts me that he’s crying for our mother, a
woman he’s never met a day in his life.
Petros’ haughty laughter erupts.
“Yes baby, scream for daddy. This is how he
screamed when I went inside his little tight hole
and man I have never felt so alive. I almost
exploded.”
My stomach clenches at his revelation, he
crouches down so he’s almost the same height
as Thabani and starts touching my brother in a
way he shouldn’t.
“Petros stop, give me my brother, please.” I
shake from the chair, choking out a scream.
Thabani gags on sobs, failing to get away from
him, he’s too big to be fought – too big to be
taken down.
“I told you that I will make your life hell if you
dare double cross me, you underestimated me,
my dear Nala.” The cold bastard is calm and
unapologetic, I can’t keep my eyes off his hands
that are dangerously roaming around Thabani’s
little body.
Petros ignores the twin’s fighting, focusing on
the deadly touches, down his chest, past his
nipples, over his stomach and stops on his
penis. He’s a paedophile fondling with a little
boy’s penis.
A shiver skids down my body, my lips part in
screams of terror. I fight with the chair and
ropes restraining my movements, desperate to
be set free, desperate to save my brother.
“Please I will do anything, let him go please.”
I should not be crying, I need to be strong for
them. Petros considers me with a smug look,
and continues with his escapades.
“Don’t touch him,” at the sound of the order, I
blink my eyes to see Thobani. I almost forgot
about him, he’s holding a knife, eyes red and
wet with tears. Petros would see what is about
to happen if his focus was not on me and
Thabani.
Thobani charges at him and plunges the knife
into Petros’ thigh. It must be shock, but
everything is happening too fast that it takes
me a minute too long to register what is really
happening.
Petros growls like an animal, and pulls the knife
out. He slaps Thobani on the face that he flies
across the room falling with a loud thud. He
stands and targets Thobani whose little body’s
first instinct is to tremble like a wounded puppy
on the cold floor.
I choke on silent screams, somehow I have
forgotten the process of breathing.
Petros’ trip is cut short because Thabani jumps
on his back, carrying the knife Thobani had
used on Petros.

RUN!!!
I want to scream, but fear presses down my
chest, suffocating me.
Petros quickly grabs Thabani by the shoulders
and throws his little body against the brick wall.
All I hear is a sickening thud and something
akin to the sound of bones cracking. Another
stomach-turning sound echoes as my little
brother’s naked body lands on the floor, then
there’s blood leaking from his head.
MATHONGA-
Thirty-nine

AMANDLA-

“How long are you going to lie on that bed,

Amandla?”
“Gogo please, not today.” I simply don’t have
the strength to argue with her. What I want or
say does not matter, she pulls the blanket,
exposing my skin to the cold.
“What is wrong with you? You’ve been laying on
that bed for days, are you pregnant, Amandla?”
I wish I were pregnant, Mathonga wouldn’t have
left me. Is it normal for a person to love
someone so deeply? I don’t see myself
continuing with life, I can’t do it without him.
“No, gogo. I’m not pregnant.” My nose flares as
I grab the blanket from her and cover myself,
people annoy me lately. I don’t want to be
around anything that has a face and can talk.
I don’t get to enjoy my quiet time, the old
woman pulls the blanket again, forcing me to sit
up.
“What is it?” I might have sounded rude, now I
have to apologise. Hopefully she will leave me
in peace after stroking her ego.
“Ngiyaxolisa salukazi sami, that came out
wrong.” There I said it, it seems she wants more
because she sits on my bed, facing me and
exhales deeply. Should grannies be sighing like
this? At this age, they need to be counting their
breaths, time is not on their side.
“What’s going on Amandla?”
I can’t tell her, she will sing the ‘I told you so’
song. She predicted this, from day one, she
hated Mathonga and always said he was going
to break my heart. Her words have come to life,
I won’t mention anything.
“I lost my job,” it is part lies. I did lose my job
after missing work for days without giving a
reason.
“How could you let that happen, Amandla? How
are we going to survive without the money?”
The audacity to ask me this when her daughter
works for white people, I’m pretty sure her
salary will be enough to sustain us. She was
able to buy me a new phone anyway.
“I will look for a new job,” I tell her lies and
nothing but lies. I have no interest in looking for
a job. Maybe I will go back to school and see
what I do with my life, I’m pretty sure my father
is a wealthy bastard living a lavish life
somewhere. I have to find him and demand 23
years of pap geld. (Child support)

We hear the sound of a car pulling up outside,

curiosity pushes me to check. There’s a red
Jeep parked outside the gate, my heart skips a
beat. Could it be Mathonga?
“Who is it?” Grandmother asks, still seated on
the bed.
“I don’t know, I’ll go see.” I have to at least look
decent, there’s a terrible odour springing from
my clothes. I smell and look like a hobo, I was
too dejected to get up and bath, or change into
something clean. Mathonga doesn’t know me
like this, plus, I can’t let him think I have been
miserable without him.
I quickly change into a dress and spray my
Armani Gardenia perfume, I bought it from
Nqobile, my former colleague. She sells them
for R120. Who said you need to be rich to smell
expensive?
As I approach, the driver’s door swings open.
The first thing I see is a pair of black ankle
boots— that can’t be Mathonga. I would see
who the person is if the windows were not
tinted.
Instinctively, I turn back to see grandmother
standing against the doorframe. I knew she
would follow me.
“Amandla.” My mother’s voice calls, I snap my
head back. For the life of me, I cannot recognise
the woman walking through our gate.
“My baby.”
Okay, she has my mother’s voice. But
Sabusiswa bathes old white women for a living,
she doesn’t wear designer clothes and drive
expensive cars. She can’t even drive, for Christ’s
sake. As for the long ass weave.
“Ma?” I whisper condescendingly. I’m
flabbergasted, really. Her arms are stretched
out as she nears me, a motherly smile spread
across her face.
I can’t help but notice the long pink nails. Was
she going for the Cardi B look? This woman is
too old for this, what happened to her?
She suffocates me in her arms, I’m too shocked
to reciprocate. Did mom win the lottery? If she
did then I’m buying my ancestors Dash Vodka
and Red Bull, they’ll be drunk and sober at the
same time. I respect them that much.
*
*

VUKUZAKHE-

The road to recovery is long, he will need to

have therapy before he goes back to being
himself. He can barely stay awake for longer
than ten minutes, he’s always tired. His brain
struggles to process everything happening
around him, his vocabulary is limited. It’s baby
steps for now, nothing to worry about. He can
say a few words, then he’s tired and needs a
break.
Yep, the road to recovery is long.
Hlabela, Bongiwe and Dalisile have tried their
best to help him go back to the person he was,
but it’s left to the doctors now.
When he wakes up, the first person he asks for
is Bongiwe. Lucky woman, Dalisile does not
seem to think so. It’s frustrating to see her son
obsessing over his wife.
Ntabezikude called this morning, the phone call
didn’t last long. It’s understandable—the road to
recovery is long.

“My mother is coming over on Tuesday, she

wants me to do cleansing for the miscarriage.”
Bongiwe absentmindedly says, gently kneading
his hand. Vukuzakhe can’t deny that he’s
enjoying it, it’s relaxing and helps him forget
that he’s lying in a hospital bed.
“What miscarriage?” He furrows his brows
peeping beneath the bandage wrapped around
his head.
Oops! He doesn’t remember, she bites her
bottom lip, trying to look for a way out.
“I… I was pregnant and the baby didn’t… make
it.” She didn’t mean to stutter, or tell him this.
The doctor said to stray away from topics that
might cause him stress. Like this one, his eyes
are popping out of their sockets, tears blinding
his vision.
Not only did they lose a baby, he doesn’t
remember that his wife was pregnant.
“Are you crying?” She’s panicking, what if the
news affects him mentally? His brain is weak,
the doctor did say. He might remember some
things while some might be vivid or completely
wiped out. Bongiwe stands and leans over to
nettle his whiskery cheeks.
“No Ngwane, this is not you. You don’t bow
down to tears, you’re stronger than that.” Argh,
man. He who finds a wife, finds a… that.
“I’m sorry.” He sniffs, he really is crying.
“It’s not your fault,” she lies.
He who finds a wife, finds a good thing. Yes,
that’s it. Their foreheads meet, they are lost in
each other as they breathe the same breath. A
few pecks here and there leave Vukuzakhe
feeling a bit better, though he can’t seem to
move past the fact that they lost a baby.

“What’s going on here?”

Not only do cats drag in unwanted guests, the
devil does too. Bongiwe clears her throat and
steps away from her husband, it’s the
impassive look Dalisile is wearing. It makes one
want to dig a hole and bury themselves in it.
“Why is my son crying?” Dalisile asks, leering at
Bongiwe.
Argh, the wife didn’t wipe her husband’s tears.
Just when she was given the good wife crown.
“Why didn’t you tell me that Bongiwe lost our
baby?” That’s the most he’s said today, usually,
dear old Dalisile would smile seeing the
progress her son has made. But today her face
resembles Shrek’s.
“There was nothing to tell,” her 4 inch heals
clink on the floor as she strides toward the bed.
“You never wanted to have children, I don’t get
why you’re upset about it.”
The wife forgot to mention this, nc nc nc.
Vukuzakhe feels embarrassed, like a child, his
wide eyes shift to his wife. He feels
embarrassed by the revelation, it can’t be that
he never wanted to have babies with this
woman who wears his ring.
“Is that true, Bongiwe?” His speech is slow now,
it’s the brain telling him that’s enough for the
day. His eyes are heavy, but he fights the feeling.
He can’t sleep before getting an answer from
Bongiwe.
“Bong…” his words are taken away from him.
Humans can be weak sometimes and that’s
okay, it’s okay to give in sometimes when
everything feels too much. That’s what his brain
is telling him and give in is what he does.
Bongiwe exhales sharply, she’s tired of this. All
she wants now is to take her man home and
help him heal.

“What are you still doing here?” Dalisile’s

question is coated with shi… pardon, coated
with resentment.
“I don’t understand your question.” Bongiwe.
No one understands Dalisile, heck she doesn’t
understand herself.
“Shouldn’t you be back in KZN doing your wifely
duties? I can take care of my son.”
Bongiwe grimaces at her, the audacity this
woman has.
“If I remember correctly, we are both Khanyile
wives.” Bongiwe crosses her arms on her chest,
the corner of her mouth twisting, perhaps this is
the last straw. Dalisile’s obsession over
Vukuzakhe is draining the life out of her.
“Vukuzakhe is my husband, that’s why I’m still
here. I follow him wherever he goes, maybe you
should rephrase your question mother-in-law.
Shouldn’t you be back home taking care of your
husband?”
With that said, she pulls a chair, takes Zakhe’s
hand and starts massaging his fingers. There
should be a return from Dalisile, but nothing.
She is left tongue tied.
*
*

NTABEZIKUDE-
He hates it when things don’t go according to
plan, today was meant to be a success. Do the
damn ceremony and ship Mathonga off to
Namibia.
He’s on the phone with Alfred when Mathonga
enters his room, Khothama flips a blanket over
a load of guns spread on the bed. Too late,
Mathonga saw them, it’s the first time seeing
so many guns. There’s an urge to ask, but he
has a brother who smacks you when you start
to get annoying.
“Mathonga.” Ndleleni is here too, he stands
from Ntaba’s bed, an apologetic guise on his
hard features and hugs him. “I’m sorry... you
know that I…”
“We are brothers, we don’t say sorry.” Mathonga
articulates.
Ndleleni understands, they understand each
other. It is how their relationship is and has
always been. Ndleleni reclaims his position on
the bed.

“It would’ve been nice if you knocked ndoda,

what if we were naked.” That’s a very stupid
thing for Khothama to say, very expected, he is
the word clarified.
“Thula ndoda,” a warning comes from Ndleleni.
It has Khothama shrugging his shoulders, he
finds a comfortable space on the bed and lies
on his back, arm supporting his head.
“What’s going on?” Mathonga must have been
very active in class during his school days, he
sends an inquisitive gaze over the blanket
hiding the guns. No one is willing to give him a
reply, no one bothers to look his way. He turns
to the one person who is not afraid to speak his
mind, Ntaba never lies.
The chance to pry is taken from him by a lanky
man dressed like he just walked out of Big
Zulu’s music video, he entered without so much
as a knock. Now, this is aggravating. Ntaba
frowns, he wants to tell him to go back and
knock because this is his room. Then again,
Muphumuzi is one of his associates, they go
way back.
“Alfred said he found the cleaner’s location,
Petros is with them.” Muphumuzi reports,
standing in the doorway.
Ntaba gives Mathonga a fleeting look, he’s
hoping he does not grasp anything. The
ceremony has to be done, brewed mqombothi
or not.
“The cleaner?” Mathonga and his smart mind.
“Are you talking about Nala?”
“I think that’s her name.” Muphumuzi rejoinders.
Dammit! Ntaba wants to punch him out of his
room.
“Ehh baba, voetsek. Phuma.” (Get out.)
Ntaba bites his head off, the man is trapped in
confusion. He looks between Ntaba and
everyone in the room, Ndleleni’s face is cold,
Khothama is entertained by his flapping big feet,
and Mathonga is ogling back, expectedly. Ntaba
can be a disrespectful bastard, Muphumuzi
clicks his tongue and walks out.
“Where is Nala?” Mathonga asks.
This one was given a love portion, no way can
he be so riveted by that woman. There are
better things he needs to worry about.
“I’ll go get her, you stay here.” Ntaba slithers a
hand under a pillow and brings out a 23 calibre,
it’s raining guns in here. Mathonga’s eyes widen,
his mouth hangs open.
“Why do you need a gun?” Mathonga is too
interrogative for his liking, he seems to have
forgotten that his brother carries a gun for the
fun of it.

There is sudden noise outside, the three men

run out carrying guns, Mathonga follows
unarmed. A crowd is gathered by the tree where
Vumile and his brothers are, everyone is talking
at once. The brothers scurry there, guns blazing.
“Bring the car around, now.” Vumile shouts at
no one in particular.
There, in the middle of the crowd lie his two
brothers, wincing in pain.
“What happened?” A terrified Khothama asks,
as he kneels down to inspect his father.
“They got bitten by a snake, one minute we
were sitting and out of nowhere a black mamba
appeared.” Vumile answers.
“Are you sure it was a black mamba, baba?”
Ntaba asks, if that’s the case then they will be
having a funeral in the Khanyile premises.
Vumile grimaces, his mouth twitches as if
wanting to open and utter something.
“I don’t know, Ntabezikude. It was too fast.”
“A snake, in these premises? That’s
impossible.” Mathonga is the one to voice this
out, they grew up in this place. Not once did
they have any encounters with snakes.
“Bring the car around, Ndleleni,” is an order
given by Vumile. Ndleleni does not move a
muscle, his face lacks emotion, must be shock
paralysis.
“They are going to die,” he mumbles, gaze
wedged on his uncles. Ntaba wraps a hand
around his shoulder and lugs him away from
the scene.

As he pulls him away, Nandi, Sneh and

Thethelela dash from the house, it looks like the
news has reached them.
“Bopha,” if the psychiatric hospital catches a
glimpse of Thethelela, they’d lock her up
thinking her screws are loose. Ntaba meets her
halfway, his arms envelop around her from
behind, clogging her from getting to Bopha.
“Get out of my way, Ntabezikude. My husband
needs me.” Yep, Sterkfontein should be on the
way, right about now.
Thethelela collapses in his arms, crying like a
widow she is not. Ntaba is holding her too close,
and it’s not okay, Khethiwe seems to think so.
He can’t be holding another woman like that.
Wailing or not, it’s wrong, it is utter nonsense.

Sneh is doing her own share of blaring, no one

stops her from getting to Dumile. She drops
down before his rigid body, the state he is in
scares her to hell and back. She raises her arms,
tears stream past the calamine lotion on her
face.
“Oh Jehovah, umyeni wami. Thixo somandla,
Ndodana ka Davide, ngihawukele. Thethelela
Bawo, hai unamanga weSathane. Not my
husband.” (Prayer.)
Ndleleni is the one to pull her back so they can
help the brothers, he has to snap out of his
trauma, it’s raining fire here.
“Let’s get them to the car,” Vumile puts the
suggestion forward.
Government services can never be trusted, who
knows, the ambulance might pass by
McDonald’s to grab a snack on their way to the
chief’s house. Who cares anyway? They will still
get to smile at Mandela notes at the end of the
month.

With the help of some of the guards, they

succeed in putting the brothers in Vumile’s
Nebula blue, Toyota Fortuner.
Mathonga chooses to stay behind while the
others drive to the hospital.
The car is sent off by Thethelela’s loud cries,
she’s calling for her husband and begging him
not to leave her.
Why is she not allowed to follow her husband?
What if he dies and she’s not there to say
goodbye? She will never forgive herself. Sneh is
praying like the pastor promised her lunch after
church, Dumile has to make it, he is her lifeline.
“Take me to my husband please,” shame
Thethelela. She’s wrapped in Ntaba’s
comfortable arms, her blood pressure is
probably at a 100. Oh wait… she’s in her mid-
twenties.
“Shhhh,” is all Ntaba can say.
“Take her to the room, she needs to rest.” What
will the world be without Nandi Shamase? This
one has not shown any form of weakness,
someone needs to be strong for these
marshmallow women.
Ntaba whisks Thethelela up like she weighs
Khethiwe’s salary, the married woman clings on
to him and hides her face in his neck like a new
bride.
Where is that snake? Khethiwe needs to borrow
it, her envious gaze follows them till they are
out of sight. Rolling her eyes is one of her many
talents, she scuttles back to the kitchen to
nurse her shattered heart.

Mathonga is standing where he was when the

car pulled out of the premises, it’s all because
of Nala, that girl is haunting his mind. From
what he gathered, she is in trouble. Wrong
thoughts Mathonga, the ancestors have not
been attended to yet.
He catches sight of Muphumuzi, the fellow who
had come to deliver the news about Nala and
decides to go dig further.

Nandi should be joining Sneh in nattering with

God, but she can’t. Her eyes are on a woman in
black leaning against the hut that took Vimbela
and Sakhile.
If her thoughts serve her right, Mgobhozi has
been watching everything unfold from a
distance. She’s stroking something in her arms,
Nandi can’t tell what it is from this distance.
She’s not a prophet neither is she a seer. But
her prayer life is as strong as baby’s grip, it’s
not hard for a praying woman to sense the
presence of evil. There’s something about
Mgobhozi that sends cold shivers, slithering
through her body, perhaps it’s about time she
joins Sneh on that prayer session.
*
*
MATHONGA-
Forty-

NALA-

He’s gone, he ran out of here like something

was chasing him. I don’t think he’s coming back,
it’s been too long. Something is wrong with
Thobani, he is not hearing me, no matter how
loud I shout.
He’s holding Thabani in his arms, there’s so
much blood, and I just know that something is
terribly wrong.
“Thobani listen to me, please. You need to untie
me, so we can take Thabani to the hospital.”
He does what he has been doing, rock Thabani
back and forth in his arms, without giving me a
glance. There is no other escape for me, but
through Thobani, and that blood stained knife
on the floor. Our brother will die if he doesn’t
get any help.

FUNOKUHLE-

Zitha left me alone with Kenneth, she took

Buhle to the doctor for a check-up. I wanted to
tag along when she told me that Kenneth will be
my housemate for a few hours.
I’m in the lounge watching television when he
walks in, from God-knows where.
“Sir.” I’m suddenly fidgety, do I stand or remain
seated? He’s standing close to the couch I’m
sitting on, hands on his back and brows lifted.
His presence is unsettling, I wonder if he ever
cracks a smile. I find myself standing and drop
my gaze when my eyes meet with his.
“Call me Kenneth.” He deadpans, little does he
know I don’t need his permission to call him
Kenneth, not that I would ever call him by name.
It feels like he’d slit my throat if I ever breathe
his name.
He holds out a thin black phone, with that
expression.
“What is that?” Why am I asking an obvious
question? Can he smile a little, at least? Maybe I
won’t be so nervous.
“A phone, it’s for emergencies.” He replies.
For a second there, I sense some annoyance in
the tone of his voice. Maybe Zitha put him up to
this, she thought it was not okay for me to be
without a phone.
“I’m okay sir, you really don’t have to buy me
anything.” He frowns at me as if I said
something wrong.
“There are people out there who want you safe,
it’s up to you if you want protection or not. I’m
doing my part as a friend.”
Something tells me he is not going to explain
himself even if I waste my time asking. I might
as well take the phone, I don’t have one anyway.
Slowly, he cracks his head to the direction he
came.
“Enter.” His voice is demanding and steady.
This man is too formal, he speaks like he
doesn’t want to speak and has an aura of a lone
walker. How does Zitha cope? I would surely be
trembling most of the time.
A bulky man in a black suit ambles into the
living room. Great, another man with blank eyes
and a poker face like Zitha’s husband. How
many of them did God make? He forgot to add
some emotion. The man greets with a single
head nod and stands like Kenneth.
“This is Black, he will be your personal guard.” A
bodyguard? Why am I given a guard?
“I don’t understand sir.” Thoughtlessly, I fold my
arms across my chest. A defensive posture I
guess, I don’t like being followed around. I have
serious trust issues.
“He’s your bodyguard,” Kenneth continues like
any of this is normal, I’m a herd boy from
Izingolweni.

My father has nothing tangible to his name, he

lives on borrowed land and has no solid income
coming in.
Funokuhle Sangweni having a bodyguard is too
funny a thought.
“Like I said, you have people who want you
safe.” He elucidates like he sees the discomfort
on my face. “Excuse me.”
Where is he going? My eyes warily snap to
Black, I hope he won’t be staring at me the
entire time. It’s creepy and I don’t trust him
simply because he is a stranger.
“Mr. Kenneth.”
When Kenneth turns back around, I want to
smack myself on the head. He looks pissed, or
that’s just how he looks. Sometimes I forget.
“I’m sorry, sir. I…” It’s not by choice when I bite
my bottom lip, I want to ask him not to leave me
alone with this man. Yey, I don’t know him, I’ve
been through a lot to trust strangers.
“Black won’t do anything to you, he knows I’d
kill him and his entire generation if he does.” I
shiver visibly, as his words affect me. Stealing a
glance at Black, I notice how his Adam’s apple
bobs up and down. Kenneth is a demon, no way
can he be human. How do you deliver a death
threat like it’s nothing and still be able to inflict
fear in the next person?
He’s gone, leaving me alone with Black. I hope
he won’t be following me to the bathroom or my
room.

AMANDLA-

“This is for you ma,” my mother says, handing

grandmother a big floral, church hat. That’s nice
of her, my old lady loves her hats. We’re in the
sitting room, unwrapping the gifts she bought
us. There is a lot I must add, I haven’t mastered
the courage to ask her where she got the
money.
“Thank you.” Grandmother says.
I know a fake smile when I see it.
“Haibo, gogo. Where is your real smile? You are
a lover of hats, you’ll add this one to your
collection. No offense but it’s nicer than the
other ones.”
I’m trying my best here, it’s not like her, unless
something is up between them.
“I’m happy, I love the hat. Thank you,
Sabusiswa.” Grandmother articulates.
“Won’t you try it on? I want to see how it looks
on you.” I ask, wanting to get rid of her sour
mood. With a faint smile she places the hat on
her head.
“Aish! Muhle ugogo wami, your friends are
going to be green with envy.” I’m talking about
those loafers she drinks with. “Gogo, I’m still
waiting for your smile. My phone will crack with
that frown on your face.”
What’s wrong with her? This is the first time
seeing her this down, her daughter is back and
she’s rich. She should be ululating for the
neighbours to hear. Her once black eyes have
lost their pigment, I don’t know when this
happened, but it’s been years. She’s in those
years where she takes forever to stand.
I finally get the smile, and click more pictures.

“Make your mother something to eat.” The old

woman utters slowly.
I would rather sit by mom’s side and bask in her
presence, knowing this old woman, she would
make it a big deal.

My mother bought enough groceries to last us

two months, cooking will be a joy for me. I
should’ve reminded her about the fridge, we
can’t keep all this meat next door. I wonder if
we can go buy one now, she looks moneyed;
that woman.
“Ma, we don’t have a fridge.”
I think I walked into a tense conversation,
grandmother sighs as she leans back against
the couch. On her reed mat is where she prefers
to sit, she finds it more comfortable.
“What is it my baby?” Mom asks, that million
dollar smile puts a genuine smile on my face.
“Can we go buy a fridge? We don’t have one, the
meat will spoil.” Testing waters here.
“Sure, baby. Finish up there and we’ll drive to
town.”
Oh goodness gracious me, would you look at
that? I’d be damned.
Grandmother is stressing me now, she is not
happy one bit.
“I’m going to rest, make sure your mother is
comfortable.” She states.
I’m by her side in a split second, helping her
stand.
“Do you need help gogo? I can tuck you in.”
“I’m fine, make sure your mother is comfortable
and clean your room before she sleeps.”
Exposing me like this, if it were not for the
warm smile dancing on her face, I would have
argued with her. I accompany her to the door of
her room and go back to the kitchen to finish
making tea.

I unpack the groceries while waiting for the

kettle to boil, there are muffins in here. I serve
mom three with black tea, she’s grateful.
“You’ve grown, Amandla. I feel bad for not being
around to see you grow.” She observes and
says, as I sit beside her and place my head on
her shoulder. She smells nice, I must admit.
“It’s okay ma, I understand.” I don’t, I hated her
most of my life for leaving me behind.
“I’m sorry that I wasn’t around, but things are
going to be different now. We’re going to be
together.” At her words, I shift to look her in the
eyes, the sincerity lain there makes my heart
dance a thousand beats.
“You’re moving back home?” It would be nice
having her around for a change.
“No baby,” a beam, faint yet warm. “You’re
coming with me to Joburg.”
“Gogo loves this place ma, she will never agree
to this.” I have a stubborn grandmother, mom
places her cup of tea on the table, only to fill her
hands with mine.
“Your grandmother won’t be coming with us, I
spoke to her and she agreed.”
Just like that? I thought what we had was
deeper than that, yes I’m happy about living with
my mother, but my old lady can’t let me go like
that. She has to fight for me, it will be nice to
have someone fight for me for once in a blue
moon.
“That breaks my heart, I’m going to ask her.” I
stand, she won’t let go of my hand.
“Let her rest baby, you heard her say she’s
tired.”
Ai, no that woman never sleeps during the day.
It’s strange of her to suddenly succumb to
sleep when the sun is dancing up in the sky.
“I’ll be back ma, I need to know if she agrees.
Maybe I can also convince her to come with.”
“Amandla,” her worried voice chases me. I’m my
grandmother’s daughter, stubborn as a mull.
My heart suddenly feels heavy as I approach
her room, I shake off the feeling but it refuses
to leave me. I push the door open to find her
lying on her back, her eyes are on the ceiling. No
one knows this granny like I do, she never
sleeps during the day.
“Gogo, pack your petticoats and hats,
Sabusiswa is taking us to Joburg.” A good way
to start the conversation, I sit on the bed to get
her attention. She doesn’t look at me, is she
angry about the trip?
“Gogo, you’re not going to ignore me like that,
are you?” There is no movement from her as I
shake her shoulder, and she has not blinked
once.
“Gogo,”
My stomach churns, I’m pretty sure it’s not what
I think it is. That’s if my mind has not left me yet,
if I were thinking at all then I would know that
she’s not breathing. I wave my hand over her
face, her eyes don’t move, neither do her lashes.
My heart tumbles to the acid in my stomach
and I wish the acid would burn it.
“Mama,” I scream for mom as I check
grandmother’s pulse point. No, no. She cannot
be dead, I don’t understand.

MATHONGA-

I couldn’t find my car keys, so typical of me.

That’s why I’m in an old Nissan Langley GL, I
won’t be shocked if it breaks down before we
get to the destination. Somehow I convinced
Muphumuzi to take me to her.
I can’t do the ceremony without the uncles, it’s
not part of tradition. As long as they are still
alive, they have to partake in the ceremony,
guide me through it.
“How far are we, Mzi?”
He said it wasn’t that far, maybe I’m too
impatient.
“Almost there, ntwana.” That’s what he calls me,
really. He ignores my deep stare, keeping his
gaze on the road. My ringing phone demands
my attention, I think twice about taking Ntaba’s
call. Then again, that is one person you should
never ignore.
“Bhuti,”
“Tell Mzi to turn that car around now.” Sigh!
“We’re almost there, Ntaba. Nala is in trouble,
she needs me.” I hear something crash in the
background, I think he just threw something
against the wall or floor.
“Are you seriously thinking with your dick right
now, Mathonga?” He shouts. “What did I fucking
say to you, huh? I told you I will take care of
this.”
“So much was happening, Ntaba. I couldn’t wait
anymore, and the ceremony is obviously
cancelled. Abo babomncane are in the hospital,
so I presumed the ceremony has been
cancelled.”
“You presumed Mathonga? You presumed?” He
continues to shout, I’m tempted to drop the call.
“Your father has cousins, we’re going to do that
ceremony come rain or high waters. Uyalazi
ulaka lwabaphansi, wena?” (Do you know the
wrath of the ancestors?)

“Okay, I hear you. Let me bring Nala home and I

will do anything you tell me to.” I’m hoping he
understands where I’m coming from.
“Put me on speaker,” he commands. The perks
of having older brothers, taking a glance at
Muphumuzi, I find him glaring daggers. His
brows are rumpled, eyes flashing from me to
the road ahead and back to me in milliseconds.
What is he nervous about?
“You’re on speaker.” I alert Putin, seriously,
Ntaba needs to relax.
“Comrade.” Muphumuzi.
Huh? Is this how they address each other?
“Alfred’s men are probably there by now, if not
on their way. My brother stays in the car,
Muphumuzi. If anything happens to him, I am
holding you responsible.” Ntaba pronounces.
I almost feel sorry for Muphumuzi, the look he
gives me tells me he is not happy with me. I feel
like a brat that randomly throws tantrums.
He nods and switches gears “I hear you.”
“You have an hour tops to bring him home
safe.” Ntaba is embarrassing me, I’m glad when
he drops the phone.
“I’m not a spoiled brat, you know?” I’m clearing
my name with this one, he must think the worst
of me. A grown ass man treated like a child.
“Sure.” What is that supposed to mean? “You
heard your brother, stay in the car. We’ll bring
your girl to you.”
He has an air of confidence surrounding him, I
would be worried if he didn’t look as trusting.
He also gives off Ntaba vibes, the type of guy
who likes violence for violence’s sake. I’m damn
sure he is not fazed by Ntaba’s threats, as
deadly as they sounded.

We spend the rest of the drive in silence, apart

from the constant text messages he keeps
receiving on his phone.
I know we’ve arrived when he parks the car
outside a three-story building, resembling an
abandoned hostel. A white quantum is parked
outside, it must be the men Ntaba mentioned.
“You know the drill, don’t leave the car. I’m not
going to die because of some spoiled brat, I’ll
call you once I see her.” That’s very
disrespectful of this idiot, my nose flares as I
click my tongue. I’m not afraid of him, if that’s
what he thinks.

Worry clings on me like a house on fire, as I

watch Muphumuzi disappear into the building.
The streets are dubiously calm, cars passing by
are few and far between. If anything were to
happen, no one would be around to offer any
kind of help.

Checking the time, it dawns on me that not

more than ten minutes has passed since
Muphumuzi went inside. My mind is going crazy,
conjuring different scenarios of what is going
on in that building. If Nala really is in there.
Panic and worry tag team and attack me, this is
the result of neglecting my ancestors.
Results of their wrath, nothing is going right.
The old man and woman have not shown
themselves in my dreams, it’s worrying really.
I think of calling Muphumuzi and asking what’s
taking so long, the idiot didn’t give me his
numbers.

I’m about to jump out when two men stride out

of the building, each carrying a little boy. One
draped with an adult coat is unconscious and
the other clinging on to the man carrying him.
The blood stuck on their bodies has me
cringing and thinking the worst. Who are they?
Where is Nala?
My question is answered when Muphumuzi
walks out with Nala next to him. Her arms are
folded across her chest, eyes gript on the
quantum where the boys are. I climb out of the
car, the heat from outside slowly descends
around me until I wish I had something to cool
my throat.
“Nala.”
She regards me with a single glance, eyes
blown wide and jumps into the quantum as if
she did not see me.
Muphumuzi pulls me aside when I attempt to
enter the quantum.
“Her brother is dead, the other looks like he’s
seen a ghost. I don’t know what happened in
there, but that girl and her brother are going to
need serious help.” He says, and I am lost in my
own world of confusion.
*
*
A/N: 200+ Comments unlocks the next chapter,
it will be posted around 9pm. Don’t forget to like
and share. Thank you in advance.
MATHONGA-
Forty-one

KHETHIWE-

“Khethiwe, please prepare sugar water for

Thethelela.”
Nandi speaks behind me, I don’t want to do
anything for that Thethelela woman. Honestly,
she intimidates me in the most challenging way,
if there is such a thing. I can’t with her and how
she is around Ntaba. I’m a woman, we see
these things.
How she blushes when he walks into the room,
how she doesn’t bother to call him out when he
looks at her inappropriately. That flat ass bitch,
and Ntaba— he does not see me.
To go to an extent of eyeing his uncle’s wife in
front of me, he makes me feel like trash each
time he does that. It hasn’t been two days since
they arrived and Thethelela has stolen my spot
in his life, it’s not my fault she is married to an
old man. She needs to look in the mirror and
take it up with herself.

“Khethiwe, did you hear what I said?” Nandi

drags me back to her presence, I would roll my
eyes at her if she were not kind and the chief’s…
whatever she is to him.
“I heard you ma,” I reply, internally rolling my
eyes at having to serve that witch Thethelela.
I’m going to add salt, or maybe those pills that
make your stomach run. That should keep her
in the toilet for a while and away from Ntaba.

“Ntaba says the ceremony will continue when

Mathonga gets home. He’s called one of the
chief’s cousins, he will arrive in an hour’s time.”
I would care about what is really happening if
my thoughts were not centred around Ntaba.
“Okay, ma.”
Is all I can give her, I’m not in the best mood to
engage in conversations. While Nandi is alive
and kicking in the kitchen, touching this and
that. I boil the stupid water, add the stupid
sugar in a stupid white mug.

“Please check on Sneh on your way back, she’s

also not feeling well.” Nandi.
I might as well wear a nurse’s uniform, those
women should be able to take care of
themselves. Haibo! I’m also suffering from a
broken heart.
“Where is Thethelela, ma?” I only want to know
if Ntaba is with her, I will turn into a dragon if
he’s still with her. Sigh! A bloody toothless
dragon, that spews smoke not fire. My life is a
mess.
“In her room, I think.” She doesn’t disclose if
Ntaba is with her, let me just go. A servant
asking about the chief’s son would raise
questions, I won’t be able to answer.

After pouring the water, I grab the mug and

head out of the kitchen to find your highness. It
is quiet outside, the guards are still here with
their guns and menacing presence. I greet one
walking past me and wish I hadn’t when he
doesn’t return my salutation, I did say their
presence is menacing.
The room Thethelela shares with her husband
is close to what was once Nala’s room, I can’t
help but think of her as I pass by and wonder if
she is okay wherever she is.
“Sis’ Thethelela.” I call out to her when no one
answers to my knocking, I hope she’s sleeping. I
am not in the mood to see her.
A couple of loud knocks later, I decide to leave.
I’m not going to be chasing after a grown
woman. Sneh will probably do with the water,
she too is distressed.
I almost forgot about the aunt in a black dress.
No one has seen her since the men were taken
to the hospital, Nandi and I looked everywhere.
The only evidence of her visit is the gift she
brought for Mathonga, I saw Nandi tossing it in
the fire a while back and didn’t bother asking.
I’ve seen enough drama in this family.
No words were exchanged between her and
that woman, but I could sense some hostility
between them. Must be because Nandi is
playing house wife in her sister’s marital home.
“Please touch me,” that voice…
The world pauses a minute when I realise it’s
coming from Ntaba’s room, I was lost in my
nonsensical thoughts that I didn’t see I was
passing it.
My heart dives to my throat, Ntaba is with
another woman in there. We’re not an item, I
should not be doing what I’m about to do.
Maybe I distaste my heart for controlling me
and not letting me do my will, go where the
heart leads you.
Is it always a good idea? Will it always take me
to a place of peace and love?
My question is answered with a big no when I
push the door open and die a thousand times at
what my eyes are beholding. Thethelela is on
top of Ntaba, naked as the day she came into
this wold; curse it— grinding her hips back and
forth.
The cup slips from my hand to the floor, the
splattering pieces causes them to jump.
Thethelela’s eyes are about to leave her head,
she scampers off the man I love, runs to the
bathroom, and shuts the door.

“Khethiwe!” He almost trips as he jumps off the

bed, part of me finds comfort in the towel
wrapped around his waist. A big part of me
hurts for what I have just witnessed. My feet are
not fast enough when I rush out, my head is all
over the place. I don’t know where I’m going, all
I know is that I want to get away from this place.
From him and the feelings suffocating me, I
want to rip my heart out and maybe I’ll be able
to breathe.
Big arms tightly enfold around my waist from
behind, stopping me from going nowhere
hastily. It’s him, I’d recognise the feel of his
arms blind folded.
His breath is devastatingly warm on the curve
of my neck, I think I can’t breathe. My stomach
overturns in a violent wave, and I lose sight of
my surroundings and gain it just as fast.
“Peaches,” his voices dances in whispers in my
ear. If I didn’t know better, I would think he is
trying to seduce me. But this is how he always
sounds to me, seductive and erotic.
“Don’t touch me,” my voice embarrasses me by
coming out in shudders. And my heart betrays
me by not meaning what I said, I want him to
hug the pain away. I want him to bring me back
to life, make my world bright again.
He seems to read my thoughts and because he
never gives me what I ask for, his arms loosen
around me until I don’t feel him anymore but a
heavy shadow behind me. It takes courage to
turn and face him while holding back my tears.
“Nothing happened back there,” he’s always
assumed that I’m stupid. Hence the nerve to tell
me this, I know what I saw.
“I’m not an idiot, Ntabezikude.” I’m betrayed by
my voice again, I can’t take standing in front of
him. His half naked body, all I see is that
woman grinding on top of him. That… that bitch.
“I never said you were,” his retort is too quick.
I want to know what he’s thinking. I want to
know what is hidden behind that blank stare.
“Why didn’t you knock?” The question finishes
what was left of me, whatever he was doing
with his aunt is a sin. Yet, he is not bothered by
any of it.

Tears feel a need to humiliate me, they come in

numbers creating a disconcerting pool down
my face. I’m struggling to control my sobs, and
this man does nothing to comfort me. I want
him to comfort me, and if he asks, I will forget I
saw anything and take him as he is.
His face is inexpressive, there is no emotion
behind his eyes. Typical Ntabezikude.

“How could you do that to your uncle? He’s in

the hospital and you’re having sex with his
wife.” I’m disgusted by the mere thought.
“Do you really think I would do that? Why don’t
you ask me what was happening in there before
you jump into conclusions?”
I cannot believe this guy.
"How long have you been working here
Khethiwe? You should know I would kill for my
family."
“I know what I saw Ntabezikude, I am not a
fool.” I yell, it’s not intentional. I respect this fool,
and I loathe myself for it. His jaw ticks a few
times, it’s the only emotion he portrays and I
cannot tell what the hell it means.
“Whatever!” He says, as if giving up on… I don’t
know on what.
“She’s your… aunt, Ntabezikude.” More tears
mock me.
“She’s not my aunt,” he delivers, cold as ever.
He is closed off now, he’s not trying to explain
himself anymore.
“She’s married to your uncle, what kind of
betrayal is this?” I dig, thinking he will finally
open up.
“Life is a bitch Khethi, you either screw, or get
screwed.”
His lips curve into a slow smile, as if he enjoys
seeing me breaking into pieces. The look he’s
giving me reminds me that he holds my life in
the palm of his hand.
My knees are wobbly, they want to give in, kneel
before him and worship the ground he walks on.
I fight it; the urge and my heart. In slow motion,
his contracted eyes trace my body and land on
my knees. The smile is gone, but the arrogance
remains. He sees it, the war raging inside me
and how I esteem him higher than God Himself.
He’d tell me to turn my back on everything I
know and believe in, and I would do it like my
eyes have lost sight.

“Peaches,” for a minute I think he’s possessive

as his eyes lock with mine. I’m left feeling like a
fool when darkness glazes over them, I’m about
to give in— go down on my knees and beg him
to love me, promise to give him the world when
he takes a step back, turns and walks back to
his room.
I can’t still be alive, after what just happened.
MATHONGA-

Thabani was declared dead upon arrival, Nala

fainted when the doctor delivered the sad news.
The other twin; Thobani has been hospitalised.
He’s in shock and probably traumatised, the
minor bruises on his body were treated. He will
have to stay in the hospital for a few days, for
close observation.
We’re in the cold room, Nala says she doesn’t
want to leave Thabani alone. I have failed in
convincing her that he is not alone, his soul is
not one with his body anymore. We’ll get in
trouble with the hospital stuff if we continue
staying here.
“Nala, won’t you tell me what happened to you
and your brothers?” It’s the second time asking
this question, all she does is breakdown.
She keeps her gaze on Thabani’s body lain on a
metal bed, I want to drag her out of here. Her
alive brother needs her, this one is gone. There
is nothing she can do for him.
“How will I help you if you don’t tell me what’s
going on?”
I see the light at the end of the tunnel as her
teary eyes meet mine.

“Can I borrow your belt?” I’m confused by her

ask, hesitantly, I unbuckle and hand it to her.
Our eyes stay locked for a while, it’s almost as if
she’s transferring her pain into me. Every ounce,
a blink breaks the connection.
“Nala, what is going on? Who killed your brother?
Tell me and I will find them.”
She shakes her head, folding the belt in half.
Her gaze is back on Thabani’s body.
“No, Thabani will avenge his death.” She
murmurs.
Goose bumps evade my skin, Thabani is dead.
How is he going to avenge himself? Mystified, I
clear my throat, in search of clarification.
“Nala,” I place a hand on her shoulder, so she
knows I’m here and hope I will meet her gaze
again and convince her to come with me. She
pushes my hand away.

“Thabani Shange, you’ve always listened to me,

your big sister Nala Shange. Do the same today,
go out and avenge yourself and your twin
brother Thobani.”

My heart drops when the belt lands on

Thabani’s thighs, twice. She scream cries as
loud as she can as if she’s the one being
thrashed by a belt. Repeatedly, she thrashes
him as if he never meant anything to her. She’s
belting him like she would an enemy, what kind
of witchcraft is this?
I turn back at the sound of the door opening, it’s
Ntaba. I wasn’t expecting him to come, there is
a frown on his face. I know he is upset with me,
but there is still time to do the ceremony. The
sun has not set yet.

“They took you away from your twin, they dared

to split your mother’s womb in half, go punish
them. Don’t leave anyone behind, destroy
whoever stands in your way. Make them all
suffer, do you hear me, Thabani Shange? Go
and avenge yourself, only when you are
satisfied will you rest in peace.” Nala is yelling,
or sobbing rather. It’s so loud and heart
wrenching I’m convinced the nurses will run in
here.
She speaks with such hatred that it has my
heart pounding against my chest, I can almost
feel a twinge of the pain engulfed around her.
It’s unbearable, I wonder how she is able to
breathe. I can hardly catch my own breath.

“There goes my chance of spilling blood,” Ntaba

says, the smirk on his face has me feeling
confused. “But this is way better, I’m
impressed.”
“I don’t understand, Ntaba. What is she doing?” I
ask.
“Vengeance served on a silver platter,” his low
chuckle catches me by surprise. “This was
practised within the Chewa tribe in Malawi,
when a loved one is killed, the family leaves it to
the dead to avenge themselves.”
“How does Nala know this, she is not
Malawian?”
He looks at me like I’m bringing shame to the
family name, excuse my lack of information.
“Education is knowledge.” That’s a nice way of
calling me stupid.
*
*

We’re in Thobani’s hospital room; Nala and I.

With Ntaba’s help, I was able to drag her out of
the cold room. The first thing she did when we
entered was sit on the chair and hold Thobani’s
hand. She hasn’t said anything to me, nor
looked my way.

“koko,” comes a chirpy voice and a loud knock

at the door. I tilt my head to see a police officer
in uniform. He’s too happy for a sad day like
this one.
“Sho sho mfanas,” he greets too loud and
annoyingly. I don’t have the strength to
entertain his energy.
“I’m here to take the suspect in for
questioning.”
“What suspect?”
His eyes find Nala, “this one.” He points at her
with his big head. This is when Nala comes to
life, taking her gaze off Thobani.
“I didn’t kill my brother,” her voice cracks. Tears
have refused to leave her eyes, I would wipe
them away if she lets me touch her.
The officer chuckles, revealing a gold tooth.
Nothing is amusing about this.
“What’s funny?” I’m ready to throw him out of
here, law enforcement or not. He raises his
hands in defense, chuckling once again, I swear
to God if I see that gold tooth again.
“Well, this is what every suspect says.”
“Nala is not a suspect, someone killed her
brother. You should be out there looking for
them, not harassing an innocent woman.”
He grins, bloody shit. I’m about ready to lose my
cool.
“Bhuti, let me do my job, or I will arrest you for
interfering with police work.” This bastard has
the nerve to snap at me.

“Who are you going to arrest?” Ntaba’s voice

sashays into the room, his mouth is twisted
with threat. A pucker forms between his
eyebrows.
“Comrade Khanyile…” There, is that comrade
word again. The officer gulps, questioning eyes
moving from Ntaba to me. These two know
each other, police officers are not afraid of civil
citizens.
“What a coincidence…”
“Cut the crap Mabaso,” Ntaba interjects. “Why
are you here?”
Mabaso frowns, looking my way again.
“Doing my job, comrade.” He sounds confused.
“Without your superior? You’re just a cop with
no position, how is it that you’re the one
investigating a murder case?”
How did I not think of that? Maybe it’s always
okay that he fights my battles.
“Come here,” Ntaba’s voice is frosty. He
gestures with his hand when Mabaso moves a
foot backward, eyes bugling out. “It’s okay,
Mabaso. Come here.”
He sounds harmless, but the murderous fire
glowing in his eyes does not fool me.
Mabaso is not fooled either, “Com… comrade.”
It’s a squeak, his feet falter.
“Shhh,” Ntaba presses a forefinger on his
mouth, gesturing Mabaso says nothing more.
Panic is now holding the policeman hostage, I
want to ask what is happening, but I can’t. Not
with how Ntaba is right now, I can’t recognise
him.
He’s not the playful, idiotic brother I know and
love, something about his presence is
disturbing.

A growl resounds from his throat, he is clearly

growing impatient as Mabaso makes no effort
to do Ntaba’s bidding. And I know my brother,
he can be full of it when he wants to. I know he
is not about to stoop so low and meet the cop
halfway.
“Come to me, Mabaso. It’s okay, I won’t hurt
you.” Ntaba calmly says.
Yeah, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Mabaso tiptoes his way to him, trembling like a
leaf. Ntaba cups his cheeks and leans in to kiss
him on the forehead, weird brother I have. For a
moment there, I thought he was going to do
something to him.
I turn to Nala next to me, she’s watching them
with a frown on her face, like she knows what is
happening.
“You’re a good boy Mabaso.” Ntaba mumbles.
Mabaso is not a boy, he looks well in his late
forties. Ntaba’s hand glides down Mabaso's
neck, the cop panics and grabs Ntaba’s wrist
maybe to pull it off him.
“Don’t touch me,” disgust is in Ntaba’s voice.
Mabaso obliges, and removes his trembling
hands from Ntaba’s wrist. If his eyes could get
any bigger, they would.
My brother digs his fingers into Mabaso’s throat
until he’s gagging and desperate for air. His
hands lift, he wants to shrug Ntaba’s hand away
but doesn’t, he’s afraid of touching him, I guess.
“I know why you’re here and I know who sent
you.” His voice is dangerously low. “My mistake
was letting him live another second, I want you
to go back and tell him that I am coming for him
and whoever assisted him. Let this be a lesson
to all those cops who work under that bastard.
No one touches what belongs to iThonga lami
and that woman over there, belongs to him.”

Two and two is not always four, that’s why I’m

still not following. I ogle down at Nala to find
her in tears. She blinks my way, then back to
Ntaba and Mabaso.
The policeman is choking, struggling to breathe.
Not once has he tried to fight for his life. It feels
like an eternity before Ntaba removes his hand,
he lightly slaps Mabaso a few times on both
cheeks and gently cradles them.
“Now be a good comrade and go do what I said,
then go home and spend time with your wife
and kids. Life is unpredictable Mabaso, we
could be laughing together now and throwing
soil into your grave tomorrow.”
He says this with respect and friendliness, I
can’t with his chameleon side. His lips stretch
into a wide grin, and he’s laughing like a psycho
the next. Head thrown back and hand clutched
his stomach.
Mabaso can’t find the joke. It must aggravate
my brother because he stops, and glares at
Mabaso.
“Do you think I’m crazy, phoyisa?” (Police man.)
Oh Jesus, he is crazy. Oh bipolar, somewhere
between the two.
Mabaso hesitantly shakes his head. Ntaba tilts
his head to the side, I can’t describe what I’m
looking at but it can’t be human. He is cold and
dark, evil would be the right word. The twitching
smirk, the blank expression, the empty piercing
eyes.
“Then why am I laughing alone, mgodoyi?”
Ntaba whispers, cold shivers coat my skin.
Mabaso bursts into fake laughter.
“Voetsek, get out of here.” He pushes the
officer, Mabaso stumbles his way out. We hear
his footsteps echoing in the hallway in a fast
pace.

I want to say something, I’m not sure what. My

mind won’t provide me with anything, maybe it’s
because of the look on Ntaba’s face.
“Sisi wami,” he smiles at Nala like he wasn’t
representing the devil just now. “For the love of
God, come clean to my brother. We’ll deal with
the trauma after everything is said, otherwise
leave him alone.”
“Ntaba…” He stops me with a scolding glare.
“Thula wena, I’m tired of running after your ass,
when will you grow up, Mathonga? You think life
is a movie, huh?” Okay, I deserve that.
“I’m giving you ten minutes with this girl, if you
are not in the car in exactly ten minutes, you will
know me, Thonga lami.”
He clicks his tongue and leaves thick tension
behind.
MATHONGA-
Forty-two

KHETHIWE-

“I’m not playing with you, Zamangwane. You’ve

been gone the entire day, who gave you
permission to leave?”
I don’t fancy being a mother, Nandi seems to be
having a tough time with Zamangwane. Imagine
having a child who does not listen to you, I
would beat the life out of them.
“Stop lying Zamangwane,” She’s shouting,
which is not new. It’s what she’s been doing for
the past ten minutes, she went as far as
neglecting her pots and burned the onion.
“I want you home now, your friends can wait.
It’s not safe out there.” I don’t know what
Zamangwane says in return, but it has Nandi
looking defeated. She removes the phone from
her ear, and frowns at it, then puts it away while
shaking her head.
See what I mean? She must beat her, that’s how
I was raised, I never dared to raise my voice at
my mother.
Curiosity is urging me to ask Nandi where
Zamangwane is, she’s chopping
carrots—butchering them actually. If those
carrots could talk, they’d open an attempted
murder case against her.

“That child is unbelievable, how was she let out

of the premises? She knows it’s not safe out
there, but she’s gallivanting with her friends.”
Nandi complains, she’s fuming I must say.
She throws the knife on top of the cutting board
and marches out of the kitchen, headed for the
lounge.
The men are seated there, waiting to be served
food.
I can hear their voices from here, laughter,
complaints and cheering. Yes they are watching
soccer, I stopped trying to figure out the
Khanyiles a long time ago, they are a different
breed. Bopha and Dumile are in the hospital, not
fighting for their lives, thankfully. Fortunately,
the snake was not a black mamba.
They were able to flush out the poison before it
reached their… argh! I’m not a doctor.
My heart knocks on my chest when I hear
Ntaba’s voice, he’s one of the loudest, him and
Khothama. Mathonga is somewhat too quiet,
he’s not the Mathonga I know. He looked like a
Zombie when he came home with Ntaba in the
afternoon.
The ceremony went well, I don’t have much
details. I am a servant after all and this servant
has not seen Ntaba yet. I miss his face and his
smile, all of him.

“Sisi!” Yeer, what does this woman want? I don’t

bother to school my features as she nears me,
she must know that I know she’s a low class
slut. My focus is on the pap I’m stirring on the
stove, if Thethelela nears me, I will slap her with
this wooden spoon.
“Khethiwe.”
Warning! She’s too close.
“What is it?” I ask as I close the pot and give her
my attention. Folding my arms across my chest
means I am not comfortable with her around
me. It will take time for me to slap her with my
hand far from reach, I have a feeling she’s here
to spew nonsense.
She scoffs, eyeing me from top to bottom as if
I’m nothing but a house keeper.
Gee, what do you know? I am a house keeper,
but I have something to boast about, and that’s
knowing Ntabezikude naked and buried deep
inside me.
“What is your job description around here?”
What kind of a question is that? I look around,
maybe she’s not talking to me because wow…
“Excuse me?” I spit, if I could, I would spit
venom that would kill her on the spot.
“I’m asking because it’s not normal for a
servant to enter the royal rooms without
knocking.” Hehehe!
“Are you serious?” I cackle, arrogantly. “And
who are you to tell me this?”
“I’m married to royalty, and you little girl belong
under my feet.” Oh wow! My mother never told
me that I belong under Thethelela’s feet, she
should’ve prepared me for this day. I am beyond
shocked—not.
“You don’t know me, sisi. I would appreciate it if
you refrained from insulting me and me walking
into Ntabezikude’s room without knocking has
nothing to do with you, Mrs. Bopha Khanyile.” I
get into her space, she frowns, looking at me
like I’m covered in shit.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, sleeping
with father and son. Does your husband know
he married a prostitute?”
This one thinks I’m afraid of her.
“Yey wena?” She snaps, pushing me. I push her
back that she staggers and hits her back
against the counter.
“How dare you? Who the hell do you think you
are?” She sputters, she’d be shocked if I told her
who I think I am. Ntaba’s queen to begin with.
“I’m a woman who respects herself enough not
to sleep with my uncle’s son.” I make sure to
rub it in her face.
“No one is ever going to believe you, do you
have any proof that I slept with Ntaba? Anything?
A picture, a video?” She asks.
How does Bopha deal with her, she’s annoying
as fuck. Her eyes are scanning me, as if she’s
found a hidden treasure in me.

“The way you act, I would think Ntabezikude has

given you a taste of him.” I sense jealousy in her
tone, she masks it with an egotistical
expression.

“Oh my goodness, you slept with him haven’t

you?” She’s laughing, resembling a bloody
hyena. Bopha must burn this useless thing.

“You got a taste of royalty and now you think he

will take you from rags to riches, maybe make
you queen of this mansion.” She continues.
Why am I shocked by her behaviour? Oh that’s
right, she looks like an angel when her big
mouth is shut.
“You don’t know me, Thethelela and what right
do you have to pry in my affairs with Ntaba?”
“Ntaba?” She hisses. “First name basis with the
chief’s son?”
“Get out of my face Thethelela and crawl back
to the hole you came from.” I sizzle, clamping
my teeth in annoyance.
“I have every right to be here, the only person
who is supposed to leave is you. You need to
stop aiming high weKhethiwe, stay in your limits
and stop chasing my nephew.”
Wow! She said nephew.
“Says the woman who fucks her nephew while
her husband is fighting for his life in the
hospital, you define prostitution so perfectly,
weThethelela” My voice is starting to rise, it
happens when I’m provoked to the last degree.
“You uncensored bitch, do you know who I am?
I will have you fired from your job.” She yells.
Uncensored what? My mother has some
explaining to do, here is this woman calling me
things I did not know I was.
She’s smiling with so much arrogance, her face
stirs anger in me, a fiery anger that is stronger
than anything I’ve ever felt—anything but
Ntaba’s love. Actually the smile on her face
makes me sick to my stomach that I throw a
fist, punching her right on the nose. She
screams, staggering back.
The blood on her nose makes me feel like a
winner, the feeling is taken from me when she
returns a painful punch on my jaw line, it literally
throws me against the stove.
My hand accidentally smacks the pot of pap, it
tumbles to the floor with a clanging sound—all
the contents splatter everywhere. I burnt my
hand, this one punches like a man. Dammit my
head is spinning.
I grab her head, removing the ugly head wrap on
her head. Her hands are on my dress, pulling
and wanting to tear. I bite her shoulder, and it
sends her screaming in pain. We end up on the
floor, wrestling against each other. I feel like I’m
on top, scratching and biting her, but she tops
me, slaps me multiple times on the face.
There’s a sudden noise in the room, I hear
someone shouting “Stop it.”

Thethelela is pulled off me by Ntaba, like this

morning, his arms are around her. I want to kill
her for that. Khothama is taking a video with a
smile on his face. Everyone is here, including
Nandi and other house helps.
Mathonga is the one to help me up, I’m heaving
and growling, wanting to kill a bitch.
“Are you okay?” Mathonga asks, I don’t have
time to answer him. I’m jumping for Thethelela,
trying to grab her with my claws. Ntaba
releases her and whisks me up, carrying me on
his shoulder like I’m a dead body he’s going to
bury in a shallow grave.

“Ntaba put me down, I want to deal with that

bitch.” I shout as he heads for the exit, I scan
the kitchen before he steps outside. Everyone
had come to watch the smack down, I’m in so
much trouble. The chief is going to fire me.

It’s dark outside, I’m not sure what time it

is—probably after 7pm.
He takes us behind the main house and drops
me on the ground, with no gentleness.
“Why did you do that?” He’s asking me
nonsense, eyes narrowed with disappointment.
“She started it…”
“Don’t lie to me, Khethiwe. You threw the first
punch, I don’t like what I saw.” His forehead is
twitching, is that even possible? I don’t like how
he’s looking at me, I’m not a bad person.
“She provoked me, Ntaba. What, was I
supposed to stand back and let her insult me? I
can stand my ground Ntaba and I will not let
people walk over me. Being a servant does not
mean I will subscribe to nonsense.” My voice is
hushed, but he knows I’m fuming. It’s all over
my face.
“I didn’t ask you if you can stand your ground or
not, I said I don’t like what I saw back
there—you in that position, do you know what
that did to...”
“You’re taking sides aren’t you? Is it because
you’re fucking her now? Is she better than me,
Ntaba? Or you were too busy focusing on
climaxing to compare? I’m surprised you were
able to strip your uncle’s wife naked…”
He doesn’t wait for me to finish, I’m pressed on
the wall, a hand tightly gripped around my
throat. Breathing becomes a struggle, I don’t
bother to fight him. If he wants me dead, then I
will gladly give my life for him.
Funny how I’m turned on by this. I need a pastor
and a whole bottle of baby oil, or an exorcism.
The devil is always roaming this earth looking
for who he may devour and he found me the
day I fell in love with this man.

“Let this be the last time you speak to me like

that, do you hear me, Khethiwe?” He keeps his
voice low, but a cloud of warning has settled
over his face.
“If you want to act like street trash, do not
involve me. We’ll talk when you’ve grown up,
KaMandonsela.” Fuck it, I hate it when he
addresses me with my surname.
I catch my breath the second his hand leaves
my neck, my throat burns. I have to stop myself
from coughing, lest Satan feels too powerful.
He feeds on my weakness; this man.
He turns and begins to walk away like he
always does. But no, not this time. I’m too angry
to watch his back, and swallow saliva while
reprimanding my clit to act like a lady would,
until I can’t see him anymore.

“Listen to me, Ntabezikude, one day you will

look for me and you won’t find me. Mark my
words.” I yell after him, it’s enough to get him to
stop and turn back around.
“Are you threatening me, Khethiwe
KaMandonsela?”
I must not be in my right state of mind, but this
man just growled at me. He’s standing like a
predator spotting his prey and ready to attack,
it’s a calculated, sick—devilish appearance.
“It’s not a threat.” I answer when he demands
an answer without uttering a word.
“Then take back what you just said.” A
command and a step brings him into my space,
it’s fretting that I’m trembling under his dark
gaze that’s scrutinising every inch of me.
“Take it back Khethiwe.”
A second command, my clit vibrates at it and
my body visibly shudders. The bastard is well
aware of the effect he has on me, hence that
haughty smirk displayed on his facial features.
“No!” Smack my mouth and send me back to
my father’s house.
I whispered, which was so not how it played out
in my head. I meant to shout with authority,
what do I do when my body also turns on me?
I’m not loved in this world.
“Really?” He asks, raised brows and narrowed
eyes set on my lips. It’s how he licks his bottom
lip that has me gulping loudly and letting out an
awkward moan.
“Do you want me to make you? Is that what you
want, Khethi?”
I know what I want, but it doesn’t matter.
Khethiwe Mandonsela is nothing in this world.
He’s touching my shoulders, these are times I
wish I had worn something that covers my
shoulders. His bare hand on my skin burns, I
feel like a witch being torched at the stake. I
want to scream, but I also want to cry at how
my body yearns and recognises his touches.
“Tell me, Khethi. I’m here, I’m listening.” He says,
brushing his nose against mine. His warm
breathe seductively kisses my mouth.
What does he mean he’s here? He’s not here,
he’s never here.
“I don’t want anything from you, Ntabezikude.” I
feel like each time I lie, my bed in hell expands.
He’s laughing, I know it’s because he doesn’t
believe me. How will he when I don’t sound
convincing, myself?
“Stop laughing at me, I’m done.”
“Argh you’re so cute, you’re like a cub. Growling
with blunt teeth.” He’s insulting me.
“You are never going to have me again, Ntaba.
I’m choosing to belong to myself.” I tell him, I
think I’ve lost my confidence.
Whose child am I? My father ought to be
ashamed of me. Ntaba’s eyes darken, the devil
should be envious.
“Don’t fool yourself Peaches, you’ve never
belonged to yourself and you never will.” The
roughness in his voice will be my downfall, I
want to say it’s caused by his crazy loud laughs,
but no—God saw it fit to give this impulsive man
a rugged voice. Right now it sounds
premeditated and inconsiderate.
“Get behind me, Satan.” I yelp.
It takes every strength in my body to shrug him
off, he’s a brick that is grounded on the floor.
“Get away from me, Ntaba.” I repeat, I would be
proud of myself if he’d listen to my request.
His hand curls around the small of my back,
pressing me to his warm body. He’s left no
space between us, it’s always a dream come
true to be this close to him.
I know I’m going to regret snuggling into him
and breathing him in. I clutch my fingers on his
biceps, as his scent shadows my vision, his
face is on my neck sucking and biting. This is
the only thing he ever grants me, the intimate
touches, the passionate kisses.
We’re heaving as his lips crash against mine,
teeth clashing and tongues swirling. I feel his
big hand gliding under my dress until he’s
pulling my panties and tears them with just a
pull.
I scream in shock, I knew PEP was going to
disappoint.
“Peaches!” He whispers, while biting my lip in
the process. I’m waiting for more, but he turns
me around and bends me over. There’s a
strong arm wrapped around my waist, my dress
is flipped over and instantly I feel wind kissing
my butt.
“Ntaba…” I want to ask him what he’s doing, but
the feel of wet fingers rubbing my vagina stops
me. All I can do is gasp and moan with pleasure,
I know what he’s about to do and I don’t plan on
stopping him. It’s always mystic to have him
inside me, in a blink, he’s pushing his rigid
erection inside my hole.
It’s too fast and rough, he rarely gives me time
to adjust to his length before he is thrusting
inside me. I hold on to the wall lest I fall, he’s
plunging with no mercy, as if he wants to leave
a mark everyone will see. The entirety of my
body screams for me to call out his name, but
we’re behind the house—there’s no privacy.
“Why aren’t you screaming Peaches?” Is he
insane? I will do no such thing. “I want to hear
my name leave your mouth, scream for me,
Peaches.”

His breathing is picking up with each raw

thrust—raw… oh my God, he’s not wearing
protection, this is the right time to tell him not
to cum inside me.
“Ntaba… don’t…” I’m denied the opportunity as a
whirling sensation overtakes me, making me
dizzy. Electricity circuits in my belly—no it’s
butterflies—then again, I think it’s birds with
wings of fire.
My body tenses a jiffy before I’m vibrating and
convulsing, he pulls out and spills his cream on
my ass. I whimper at the warm feeling and
curse destiny as the realisation that he would
never cum inside me without protection hits me.
Gaining my strength and trying to breathe like
I’m not dying, I fix my dress and turn to face him.
Wobbly knees and pounding heart.

“I’m leaving,” I stick to my decision because

he’s still indifferent.
“Okay.” He notes.
Huh?
He’s moving away from me, I can still smell him
though, he’s imprinted on my skin—inside me
and that’s the only thing keeping me from dying.
“What?” I want to be sure I heard right, he’s not
saying anything—rather just staring at me with
hands rammed in the pockets of his track pants.
“Ntaba, I’m leaving and I’m never coming back.”
“Do what makes you happy Khethi, if leaving will,
then don’t let me stop you.”
How coldly he says this, I’m an idiot and I keep
making a fool of myself in his presence. After
giving me another piece of him, he says this to
me?
A slap lands on his cheek, leaving my palm
throbbing while the bastard did not twitch. I
want to caress his face, tell him I’m sorry—that I
will never hurt him again.
“Is that what you’re going to say to me? After
what just happened?”
Instead of offering an apology, this is what
comes out of my mouth.
He breaks my heart like he always does by
shrugging impassively and walking away from
me. It hurts so much, I can’t stand it. It is do or
die at this point, I run after him, my arms enfold
around him from behind.
“Please tell me you feel my heart breaking, only
you can make it stop. I don’t want it to hurt
anymore.” My arms tighten around him as I hide
my face on his back.
Love me! Love me! I scream internally. His
hands touch mine, a soft caress.
“I fell in love Ntaba, and that was my mistake.
I’ve fallen in love and it makes me wonder what
I did wrong in life to be rewarded with such a
violent thing.”
He breaks free from my hold and walks away, I
watch him, helpless and aching, till he’s gone
from my sight.
Enough! This time I’m walking away from him, I
have no choice but to go back to my father’s
house.
*
*
How about we do that 200+ comments thing
again? Let’s meet here at 9pm, don’t forget to
share. Thank you.
MATHONGA-
Forty-three

AMANDLA-

The house feels weird without my grandmother,

Sabusiswa called the funeral home. It’s been a
heavy day for me, nothing is going right in my
life. How can grandmother leave me? How dare
she picks death over me, I will never forgive her.
The women from church and neighbours came
to offer their condolences, and mom sent them
back. She said we will bury our own, I don’t
know what she meant by that.
I tried to put my foot down, told her it’s not done
like that. We bury each other in the village, she
went ballistic and locked the gate, and doors.

Grandmother’s hats are lined up on her bed, like

she would every Saturday before church. This is
how she would choose which one to wear, I
always thought it was crazy.
That there was no need for any of that, but that
was my grandmother, she loved to admire
beautiful things.
I cross my legs, Indian style, my gaze kept on
her collection. I would do anything to see her
wearing them again.
The one Sabusiswa bought stands out, it’s the
prettiest. I flip it over a few times, admiring it.
Tears stream down my face, she only got to
wear it once. Maybe I should wear it to her
funeral for her friends to see, it’s what she
would’ve wanted; to show off her newest
treasure.
The door opens as I send the hat to my head.
“Amandla!” Sabusiswa yells, horror is evident in
her eyes. I’m immobile, shocked by her outburst.
She marches towards me, grabs the hat. A loud
sound resounds as her backhand collides with
my cheek, I fall back on the bed, wincing in pain.
This woman has never hit me before, I would
have expected it from grandmother, not her.
“Ma?” Tears have found their way to my face,
she’s grimacing at me. I don’t get why she is
angry, why she would slap me.
“You don’t wear clothes belonging to the
deceased, you’re bringing yourself bad luck.”
She shouts, pointing a finger at me.
“It’s gogo’s hat ma, she…”
“I’m not going to argue with you,” she interrupts
with a raised hand. “The funeral is tomorrow,
we’re leaving for Johannesburg right after.”

“The funeral can’t be tomorrow, what about the

memorial service?” I’m on my feet, ready to
stand up against this injustice.
“She was my mother, I won’t be told how to
handle the funeral.”
What is wrong with this woman? She walks out
with the hat, and shuts the door behind her. I’m
left dumbfounded.

THE KHANYILES-
“I saw that.” Thethela says as Ntaba
approaches, her arms are folded across her
chest, looking like a wife who just caught her
husband fornicating.
A frown crosses Ntaba’s hard face, he chooses
to pretend that she’s not even standing in front
of him and manoeuvres past her. Thethelela
grabs his arm and pushes him back outside.
“What you’re doing is wrong Ntaba, you’re
sleeping with the house help.”
“What do you want from me, Thethelela?” He
questions, glaring sharp knives at her.
“I…” she struggles to answer him, Ntaba clicks
his tongue and decides again to move past her.
But Thethelela is not letting him, she takes his
arm again and pulls him back.
“That girl thinks you love her, I see how she
looks at you.”
Bopha has to come home and put his wife on a
leash. She’s barking at gates where she’s not
allowed access.
“You don’t know me, stay out of my business.”
He says politely and continues to walk past her.
This time, she is not the one to stop him.
He’s looking at her, eyes poring over her body.
“Your presence is not welcomed here anymore.
Get your things and go back to your house, your
husband will find you there.” And with that, he
walks back into the house.

He blames himself for eyeing his uncle’s wife,

he just didn’t think she would take it as far as
preying on him. Yes she is a beautiful woman to
behold and he plays around praising her beauty.
That does not mean he really wants to share a
bed with her, she’s his uncle’s wife—it’s
disgusting.
Nothing happened between them, Thethelela
came on to him, too strong and playing Eve
after she ate from the forbidden fruit. Any man
would salivate at the sight of a naked woman
and maybe lose their mind for a second.
Khethiwe just happened to walk in while his
mind was floating in the air, it flew back into his
head when she dropped the cup.

The men have moved outside, Sneh tells him

this and that he’ll find them around the bonfire.
Khothama laughs upon his arrival and pulls him
aside.
“Look,” he shows Ntaba his phone. There’s an
ugly video playing there, it’s Khethiwe and
Thethelela’s wrestling match and it seems to be
trending on social media. Alongside it is a
handsome picture of a menacing Ntabezikude
Khanyile that would surely have ladies drooling,
and creating fan accounts.
“What did you do?” Ntaba grabs the phone and
starts reading comments, people have taken
sides. Team K and team T, some are guessing
what the fight was about and some have it right.
Ntaba’s jaw clamps and unclamps, seeing her
in that position again—it angers him.
“Take it down.” He’d do it himself if he knew
how this Facebook thing works.
“No way, this is the first time I’m taken seriously
on social media. Do you know how it feels to
get 2 likes and 0 comments on your posts? I
broke a record in less than thirty minutes. 10k
likes and 700 shares.”
Khothama laughs, grabbing his phone back
from Ntaba.
“Do you know how this will look on Khethiwe?
Take it down ndoda.” Ntaba stresses.
“What about my step mother? It will look bad on
her too, she better thank her lucky stars my
father is using an Ericson. She’s too much that
one.”
“Should I regret ever telling you that your step
mother tried to shag me?” Ntaba’s question
tickles Khothama, he’s laughing his heart out.
“I don’t blame her really, my father was warned.
Let Thethelela live her best life, she’s still
young.”
Khothama’s words leave his cousin scowling
inquisitively.
“Are you trying to tell me something, ndoda?”
Ntaba asks, Khothama catches fast. He
wriggles his shoulders, disgust covering his
face.
“She’s not my type,” of course she’s not
because he is not Bopha, they don’t have the
same taste in women.
“Ntabezikude.” Qinisela calls, he’s seated on a
small wooden chair in front of the fire, beside
him is Mathonga and Ndleleni.
While the chief is keeping watch on his brothers
at the hospital, Qinisela Khanyile, a tall beefy
man—Vumile’s first cousin came through for
the kids. He’s in his late 80’s, and thanks to the
Khanyile gene pool the man does not need a
walking cane to help him balance his weight.
He had to leave his home in Durban where he
lives with his wife and children, as if he had a
choice— Ntaba has a way of making people do
what he wants, Mgobhozi should come right if
she spends time with him.
Nandi and Zamangwane have been put on hold,
the man of her life is not available neither is her
sister wife who is supposedly unaware of her
presence.
“Delete that video wena.” Ntaba instructs as he
nears the uncle. “Yebo baba.”
“We should go inside and eat, I want to retire for
bed. I have a long road ahead tomorrow.”
Qinisela says.
Ntaba nods, respectfully. He helps the man up
and ushers him to the dining room.
They walk in on Nandi and Sneh placing food on
the table, Sneh helps them wash their hands
and dishes up for each person. Ntaba’s eyes
linger on the door, Khethiwe is usually the one
to serve them, to serve him. Did she leave like
she said she would?
“Yini?” The question comes from Ndleleni, he’s
asking Mathonga who is too quiet for someone
who is talkative. The man in question shrugs,
he’s lost in deep thought.
Mathonga hasn’t been the same since he came
home from the hospital, the ride was a long,
quiet, dreadful one. His mood went from minus
zero to nothing after Nala narrated her life story
and how she got to where she is. She was
stone cold the entire time, probably a defence
mechanism or her heart has grown cold.
She didn’t want to come along with him, which
is understandable, Thobani would wake up
asking for her. Money buys you 24/7 visiting
hours and thanks to Ntaba, Nala and Thobani
have a glowering man with a gun eyeing their
every move.

Vumile walks in, looking distressed and tired.

Nandi is on standby with a glass of water…
must be nice.
“Sanibona, ekhaya.” He greets and gulps down
the tasteless liquid, a thank you is given to
Nandi accompanied by a small smile.
Right in these seconds, between Vumile’s
salutation and drinking of water, Mathonga falls
from the chair groaning and shaking. He kneels,
head downcast. Ntaba gets to him first, he
extends his hands to touch him.
“Don’t touch him.” A quick instruction from
Qinisela, as he swallows a chunk of meat. He
wipes his oily hands with a dish cloth while
using his tongue to clean his teeth. “Let him
be.”
He continues, and somehow appears to be
aware of the situation at hand.
“What’s happening to him?” A worried looking
Ntaba queries, ready to help Mathonga up.

“Vumile!” Mathonga groans, setting his eyes on

Vumile.
Vumile looks as worried as everyone, it’s the
first time seeing his son like this.
“Mathonga?” Vumile returns, posing a question.
“Who is this woman standing beside you, I don’t
recognise her.” Mathonga.
The question leaves everyone’s faces plastered
with confusion, they share inquisitive stares.
“I don’t recognise that woman, who is she? Why
is she standing in my presence, Vumile?” Anger
is heard in Mathonga’s voice. It’s an argument
none of them seem to understand, all eyes turn
to Nandi. She too is not following, she’s as lost
as everyone.
“Do you not hear me, Vumile? Who is that
woman standing in my house?” He shouts this
time. “Angizwani nombhedo.” (I don’t like
nonsense)

“Abadala are here, can you not see?” (The

elders)
Qinisela chides his cousin.
It’s crazy how Christianity has swallowed
Vumile whole that he’s forgotten how the
ancestors communicate. Vumile’s hearts
plummets, this can’t be. This is what he was
afraid of, having Mathonga realise his gift. This
could mean that… that… oh shucks! What if
those resting old people tell Mathonga the truth
about his identity? He would die.
“Ba… baba!” Vumile stammers.
“Have you forgotten how your grandfather
speaks? Have you forgotten Khahlamba
Khanyile’s voice?” Mathonga, or Khahlamba
rather, snaps like a parent scolding a child.
“No… no mkhulu. I remember you.” Vumile says,
slowly sitting down on the floor. Everyone does
the same except for Khothama who hurries out
of the room, eyes wide and heart thudding on
his chest. He can deal with the living, but not
the dead. He’s not about that life, it scares him
to think that dead people can speak through the
living.

“Fine, then you must remember that I don’t like

nonsense. Get that woman out of here, I will not
speak in front of strangers.”
Khahlamba tilts his hea… oops! Khahlamba tilts
Mathonga’s head to the side and spits right on
the floor, he is disgusted by Vumile’s life
choices. Bringing a woman who is not
traditionally recognised by his ancestors into
their home.
Eyes turn to Nandi again, she’s old enough to
know what to do. She does not look offended
as she strides out of the dining room.
“Lingcolile leli khaya, lisetshenziwe man.
There’s bad vibes in these premises.” (There
are bad spirits here, a spell was cast in this
home.)
Khahlamba alerts them.

“People come as they please in my yard, it’s a

playground for witches. How did you not see
that Vumile? What is this you are doing in my
house? Did I make a mistake by leaving you in
charge?”
Silence.
“Answer me, Vumile.” He’s becoming
aggressive.
“No mkhulu, you didn’t make a mistake. I have
done my best to keep my family together, I
believe I did everything I could to…” Vumile.
“You did nothing Vumile?” Khahlamba shouts.
“You did nothing but destroy this family.”
“But mkhulu…”
“Are you disagreeing with me?” His voice
rumbles with authority.
“No, I’m… I’m sorry.” Vumile drops his gaze.
“Where are my grandchildren?” Khahlamba asks,
his eyes have not moved from Vumile.
Vumile hesitates a little, he turns to Ndleleni
and Ntabezikude.
“They are here mkhulu, Vukuzakhe and Hlabela
are in Johannesburg. They will be home soon.”
Vumile answers.
Khahlamba’s eyes move between Ndleleni and
Ntaba, he’s shaking his head, disapproving of
whatever he is seeing.
“Blood! Blood! Blood! All I see is blood on them,
these children have spilled blood and you did
not cleanse them? What have you done to my
children? Why have you turned them into wild
animals?”
A scolding cannot be this intense, Vumile is
sweating thick bubbles.

“They live their own lives baba, they…”

“Are you going to continue giving me excuses,
Vumile?” He interjects. “Where are the others?
Why are they not with me?”
Agitation claws at Vumile, he wants the old man
to go before revealing things he’s not ready to
let out.
“I told you that Hlabela and vukuzakhe are…”
“Don’t act smart with me, where is Vimbela and
Sakhile? Why are they not with me?”
Khahlamba’s spirit is not having it, he’s not here
to play.
“Mkhulu, I don’t understand.” It seems Vumile
does not understand a lot of things, the man did
miss his son’s ceremony. Maybe it was done on
purpose, just to avoid… this.
“Vimbela and Sakhile were presented to the
ancestors, we asked that you accept them.”
Qinisela decides to step in, unlike Vumile, he
was present.
“Then where are they? Why have I not seen
them?” Khahlamba snaps.
“They were introduced baba…” Qinisela.
“Am I lying Vumile? Am I lying, huh?”
Khahlamba.
His anger is directed to the chief, and no one
else.
“No, mkhulu. You are not lying.” Vumile ripostes,
shame mocking him.
“Do the right thing, bring my children home or
you will have no peace. I will purposely destroy
everything you touch. Your wife is a disgrace to
this family, she has tainted the Khanyile name
and provoked amathongo. Fix this mess Vumile,
fix this mess.” Khahlamba orders sternly, his
sharp gaze fixated on Vumile who tentatively
nods in response.
“I will mkhulu, I will fix it.” Can he go now? Geez!
“And the girl? Why is she not with her brothers?
Why have you let the Khanyile blood be
consumed by our enemies?” Khahlamba brings
a confusing question forward.
The only girl child of the family is Zamangwane
and as far as they know, she’s kept safe in
these premises, alive and kicking.
“You continue to fail these children, Vumile.
When will you be a father to them? Are you
waiting to join me so you can trouble them with
demands?”
Eh! This old man, when is he going back to the
underground? A heavy sigh is sitting on
Vumile’s chest, but he can’t release it or he will
offend the elder.
“No, mkhulu. I will introduce Zamangwane and
her mother soon.” Finally, Vumile is saying
something that makes sense.
“I’m not happy with you, Ngwane. I’m not happy
at all.” Khahlamba drops his head, a smidgeon
of pain stuck in his voice. He takes a long sigh
and another one, and another one. They are all
signs of enragement, and disappointment.
The family waits for him to proceed, no one has
the courage to lift their voice in his presence.
That is one angry old man.

It’s when Mathonga clutches his hands on his

temple that they realise the old man is gone, he
screams and loses consciousness.
“That was too much for him, take him to the
sofa.” Qinisela advises, he’s eating again. No
way is he going to leave his plate empty.
Ndleleni and Ntaba carry Mathonga to the
lounge, as they place him down, they exhale at
the same time like twins who are in sync. What
in God’s name just happened?

Vumile has not moved from the floor, he knows

what to make of what just transpired. It’s the
fact that it happened that has left him in shock,
there’s movement from his vantage point. The
woman who is only known by his heart and not
his ancestors, her eyes are red, she’s been
crying.
“I’m sorry.” He tells her, he’d say more if he had
anything more to say. Like a distressed woman,
Nandi lets her breath out and walks back to
where she came from.
MATHONGA-
Forty-four

DALISILE-
She bumps into a tall man as she steps out of
Zakhe’s hospital room, her tongue goes for a
loud click. Sometimes she forgets there are
men keeping watch of this room, she finds it
totally unnecessary.
It’s been a long day, the plan is to go home,
clean up and go to bed. 10pm is on standby,
waiting for its shift.
The cold evening air hugs her as she walks out
of the hospital, it’s too empty and too quiet out
here. She’s not afraid though, it’s not the first
time leaving the hospital this late.
Approaching her BMW 4 series, she notices two
men taking pictures of it. It’s obvious they are
admiring the expensive vehicle. Like the snob
she is, Dalisile hurries to tell them to scoot and
go pick in dustbins or something.
“Excuse me! Hey, hey! What are you doing?”
She’s shouting, loudly clapping her hands and
conceited as ever, otherwise she wouldn’t be
Dalisile.
The men don’t look startled, or afraid. Neither
do they move muscles.
“This is my car, and what you are doing is illegal.
I can get you locked up for this.” This one thinks
she’s in the village.
One of them finds a joke in her statement.
Antipathy claws beneath her skin, this is not
how she is treated back in the village. Lowlifes
like them kiss the ground she walks on.
Besides, these men look dodgy, she knows she
will get into trouble if she doesn’t jump into her
car and leave. She hurries to the driver’s side,
pulls her keys out from her designer bag. Her
hands are trembling, it’s the negative energy
she’s getting from the men who have not
bothered to move, or say a word.
“I’ll take that, thank you.” Comes a disrespectful,
shallow tone.
The key is snatched from her. She was busy
fiddling with the door to notice them moving in
on her.
“If you scream, I will shoot you.” The other says,
pointing a gun at her from the other side of the
car.
“Keep the bag, magriza.” He adds, laughing
mockingly.
Why do hospital parking lots have to be empty?
The men don’t spare a second glance, they
climb into her car and drive away without giving
anything off.
You’ve got to love Johannesburg.

Dalisile is left shaken, frozen on the spot where

her car had been. She scans her surroundings
looking for anyone who might be willing to help,
this damn place is a ghost town.
It could be that visiting hours for normal people
ended hours ago and midnight is approaching.
What do you do when life decides to show you
balls of fire?
She is brought out of her obscure state by the
loud ringtone in her purse, her eyes flip to the
back of her head as she sees the name
displayed on the screen.
“Are you still alive?” Okay! Mgobhozi can be
caring, must be nice to have a sister like her.
“Some scoundrels just stole my car.” Dalisile
yells, huffing over the line.
Anger can be deadly when kept in, it’s good to
vent sometimes and maybe take it out on
someone when given a chance.
“It’s only going to get worse.” Mgobhozi says,
she seems to know something; that witch.
“What are you saying to me, Mgobhozi?” Her
eyes are as wide as coffee mugs, Dalisile never
associates herself with the word “worse.” Nice
life problems is what she is accustomed to.

“I have to say, I hate your son Ntabezikude. He’s

the one driving Mathonga to do nonsense, he’s
too smart for my liking. Can we kill him? My cult
and I are still undecided on who to eat this
month. That boy looks edible.” Mockery is
found in the tone of her voice and for a bit,
Dalisile could hear her drooling. It’s aggravating
and makes her cringe.
“You’re not touching my children, Mgobhozi. I
might not show them any affection, but don’t let
that fool you. I gave birth to those boys, and the
answer is no. You cannot have them, I
sacrificed enough in the past.”
Mgobhozi cracks into a loud guffaw, it has
Dalisile wanting to drop the call. She performs
another eye roll, why is life such a rollercoaster?
“Fine, that biltong Mathonga will do.” The
ungrateful witch grumbles. You give her a
country, she wants the whole of Africa.
“But if you ever change your mind, give us
Ntabezikude. It would be a sight to watch him
die before we devour him, your son thinks he’s a
god.” Mgobhozi serves her statement with a
tongue click as a side dish.
“Are you done? Why did you call? I have a case
to report.” Dalisile says, walking back to stand
at the hospital entrance. It’s safer there, maybe.

“How many cases will you report after this?

Don’t bother yourself, my dear sister. Our end is
near, the ceremony has broken the curse, soon
Mathonga will see you for who you are and that
idiot you call a husband is going to throw you
out of the house. The second he lays his eyes
on you, it will be over for you Dali. Don’t leave
Joburg just yet, make sure you don’t meet
Vumile at any cost. Rha! I hate that man.”
She hates everyone.
“So my life is basically over? How could you let
that happen Mgobhozi? You promised you’d
stop the ceremony.”
This is the right time to practise being a middle
class citizen, learn how to flag down taxis. The
robots are not far from where she’s standing.
“I have a plan,” well that’s nothing new—
Mgobhozi always has something up her sleeve.
I’m with Nyoni right now, she’s going to help
us.”
“Am I supposed to know who that is?” Dalisile.
Mgobhozi snorts arrogantly, “The only one who
deserves to be called a witch. We need access
to Vimbela and Sakhile’s graves. I need to get
soil or stones from there, it would be better if
you were the one to collect it.”
Dalisile sighs, taking orders from Mgobhozi is
annoying. Who is queen here? Her or the evil
sister?
“When can you get to KZN?”
Mgobhozi seems to forget that Dalisile is not a
witch, her means of transport is not a broom or
a loaf of un-sliced bread.
“What is wrong with you? Go get it yourself,
there’s a back gate, no one ever uses it.” That’s
more like it, or maybe not.
Mgobhozi can always turn her sister into a
zombie—that must be what happens when you
piss off a witch.
Dalisile tells her where to find the key,
Mgobhozi sighs— may it be her last... A silent
prayer on behalf of the Khanyiles.
“What excuse will I give when someone finds
me there?”
The question is asked rightfully because the
Khanyiles don’t bury their own where the rest of
the villagers do, no sir. It is done on the
premises, that’s how big the Khanyile
homestead is. All of them are under the same
soil, even the ones who died before the chief
and his brothers were born.
“You are their aunt, why would you be
questioned for visiting their graves?” Uh, at
night? Well… normal people don’t… sigh!
“You’re also a witch, you’ll make a plan.” Dalisile.
Dammit, Vumile’s wife didn’t finish school. How
is she this wise?
“What do you want to do with the soil?” Dalisile
asks.
“It’s time we bring your babies out of that hut
we trapped them in, they have to be useful for
something.” Mgobhozi elucidates.
Dalisile frowns, she would understand if she
were a witch like her sister.
“Explain.” Frustration escorts the word.
“Ever heard of idlozi elibi?” (Bad ancestor?)
This sister should’ve choked to death when she
went under water.
“Impossible, they were innocent children. Their
hearts were pure, you can’t turn them into that.”
Dalisile disputes, she is so sure that whatever
her sister has planned will backfire.
“That is why I need soil from their graves, it
needs to be done at exactly 12 midnight. Soil
from the graveyard can be a powerful weapon.
Vimbela and Sakhile will enter those premises
whenever I send them, they will destroy where I
want them to destroy. They will move around in
darkness while everyone is asleep, bringing
nothing but ruin.”
That’s it, who opened the gates of hell?
Something slithered out.

“I can’t allow that, what if you use them against

me?” Dalisile can’t deny that her sister can be
vicious, and it’s not cute. Mgobhozi’s laughter
erupts, she loves the idea but… no.
“We are fighting the same war my dear sister. A
soldier does not turn on their partner.” Sheesh!
They are soldiers now.
“Whenever Mathonga burns impepho and uses
snuff to talk to his ancestors, I will do the same
on my side, mirroring his actions, but I will be
calling upon amadlozi amabi. (Bad ancestors)
Whatever they throw away, we’ll pick it up and
send it back. Whether it be bad luck, stagnation,
if they try to free Vimbela and Sakhile, we’ll be
on standby fighting back. This should buy us
sometime, even if it takes us all our lives. We
will never give up.”
Good sisters are sisters who would go to hell
and back for you, look at Mgobhozi climbing
mountains for Dalisile.
It’s not guaranteed their plan will work, but
fingers with long nails crossed.

KHETHIWE-

Ntabezikude is my weakness, when he touches

me all I want to do is give in to his demands.
Staying another second at the Khanyile
homestead was not an option for me, so I left
after that embarrassing moment with him and
spent the night at a friend’s place. I have not
mastered up the courage to go back to my
father’s house, no one wants to see themselves
back home.

Leaving the Khanyile home was the hardest

thing I ever had to do, I don’t know if I will go
back there. If I ever do, how will I face that man
that lives in me?
He’s given me everything and nothing, his skin,
his warm breathes and parts of his soul. I will
forever be grateful, yet mourn the love I never
had.

Will I ever feel important in my life? I doubt it,

now I’m going back to my parents with nothing
but a suitcase full of unwashed clothes to finish
their washing powder and food.
The queue at the taxi rank is long, I’m number
thirteen and hoping we get a quantum. I don’t
want to wait here any longer.
I feel eyes on me, it’s crazy because no one is
looking at me.
Why would they? There is nothing special about
me, honestly. If there was, I wouldn’t be here, I
would be back at the Khanyile residence, openly
loving that bastard, Ntabezikude.

A white quantum stops metres away from me,

it’s chaos as people push against each other.
There’s no space at the back, now I have to
count change. Just my luck, I’m not good with
taxi maths. My suitcase gets to sit with
strangers on the first row, yeah nothing valuable
is in there.
The man seated by the door plugs his ears with
headsets. Should he not help me count change?
“Don’t be afraid, sisi. It’s not that hard.” Says the
man who counts change for a living. Haibo, this
driver.
“It’s always easy to count money that will go
into your pocket,” I utter without taking a
second glance at the driver. I hear him chuckle,
and fight the urge to sigh. My armpits are itchy,
my scalp is itchy and there’s an irritation on my
skin—all from this money that’s being passed
by some big mouth behind me.
“Can we have change, R200 for three?” It begins.
I give the ignorant bastard next to me a cold
look when he gives me R50, this fool expects
me to count his change as well while he sits
back and listens to Jay Z.
“Ehh, baba.” That’s the driver, calling the lazy
man. He removes his headsets and gives the
driver an inquisitive look. “You’re used to taking
Ubers, we count change here baba.”
He must know... he puts away his headphones
and takes the money from me. My only task
now is to tell the guy how many people have
paid, to my shock he counts like it’s 123. I will
never trust men who take taxis, men in general.
They are all fake and out there to get us.

“Are you okay?” I know this driver is not talking

to me. I don’t give him an answer, hoping he
won’t strike a conversation because I might just
be rude, I am not in a good mood.
“Is it because I’m a taxi driver?” That
amusement hidden in his voice forces me not
to take his question seriously. He can think
whatever he wants, I don’t care.
“Hau sisi, I’m talking to you.”
“I’m fine.” Keeping my voice at bay is important
at this point, I see where he is taking this
conversation. Men don’t just talk to women,
they start a conversation only when they want
something from us. I retrieve my phone from
my handbag, I forgot my earphones. Shit!
“If you’re afraid of talking to me in front of
people. Can I have your number then.” It’s
because of the amusement loud in his voice
and the fact that he is not Ntaba, that I refuse to
give him my number.
“I don’t have a phone.” I lie, scrolling down my
phone.
“Is that a vibrator in your hand?” He asks and I
have to check his face. Who would say
something so stupid? He’s smiling, a taxi driver
comedian. Clap hands for him.
“I knew that would catch your attention.” He
recites as if what he said made sense.
“It’s not funny, you don’t know me to be saying
things like that.” I’m not okay with his
forwardness.
“Sorry, it wasn’t my intention.” He articulates.
He can take his apology and shove it where the
sun don’t shine.
My destination is plus-minus fifteen minutes
away from the royal house. We’re not rich,
neither are we poor. In our yard, we have one
not so fancy house. My father works at a bakery
as a manager, or is it supervisor? I was not
paying attention when my mother called to tell
me that he got promoted.
My mother is a house executive, her husband
pays her salary.

It’s a Sunday today, around 10am the last time I

checked. My parents are church goers, if I’m not
mistaken, they are at church right now. It’s me
and my suitcase down a dusty street, nearing, I
see my father’s Toyota Camry parked outside. I
really was hoping that he wouldn’t be home.
I’m welcomed by two boys around the ages of
eight and five, one of them runs into the house
shouting “baba.”
My brother has no shame; the audacity to give
birth to kids that look like him.
“Aunt Khethiwe,” the taller one says and I cringe.
I don’t like the aunt word, makes me feel old.
Lethiwe needs to talk to his children—and there
he is, walking hand in hand with his brat.
He looks old shame, my poor brother— 39 years
old and still living with his parents, he has
nothing to show for the years he’s lived. Not
even a wife, women love and leave him saying
he’s too good to be true. Lame excuses, I know.
Let me get my hands on those witches.
“Mubiza.” (Ugly)
He laughs, he’s always been a bully, towering
over me, this is why he pushes my head and
punches me on the shoulder.
“You finally remembered home?” He’s smiling,
eyes glowing with glee. I’m not sure, but he’s
happy to see me.
“You know how we’ve always wanted to escape
this place Lethiwe, coming back here is always
stressful for me.” I remind him, he shrugs and
takes my suitcase.
“At least you and Phathiwe don’t stay here, each
time I move out, something always drags me
back. I spend the whole day following the sun,
this is not the life I envisioned for myself.”
Sadness lingers in his eyes, he exhales like a
man who has given up fighting for life. Feeling
bad, I ignore the statement and ask him about
our brother. Phathiwe is the oldest, 45 years old
and living in Joburg. I hear he works as a welder,
I haven’t heard anything about a wife or kids.
Our names in one sentence are so
embarrassing, my parents were probably high
when they named us.
“Are you ready?” Lethiwe is asking if I’m ready
to see the parents, I think I am. I’m just not
ready for their many questions and the looks of
disappointment. I nod and follow my brother
inside the house.

AMANDLA-

“What do you mean you had her cremated,

Sabusiswa?” This cannot be happening, not to
me. I’ve been kind to people all my life, I paid my
tithes, kept the Sabbath day holy, and gave my
life to Christ at fifteen. How is God testing me
when I have been faithful to him all my life?
“I mean just that, Amandla.” She won’t look my
direction, she’s ashamed of what she has
done—that’s why. I shut the suitcase and grab
my piece of clothing from her. I didn’t ask her to
pack my clothes for me, she barged into my
room, grabbed my suitcase and started packing,
and without any pinch of shame told me that
she had my grandmother cremated.
“What is wrong with you?” I yell, I don’t care
about that look on her face anymore… it’s
intimidating but I’m too angry to care.
“No ma, what is wrong with you? You can’t drop
such a bomb on me. How do you have my
grandmother cremated without telling me about
it? When did this even happen?” It’s barely
11am, we haven’t had breakfast and she’s done
this… this… GOD! It’s barbarism. What time did
she leave the house? How long does it take to
burn a body?
“Tell me!” The only way I can get through to her
is by shouting, her stubbornness is the most
annoying thing in this world.

“Lower your voice young lady, I am not your

friend.” She’s pointing a finger at me, in her
mind she must think I am afraid of her because
of that slap from last night… I am afraid of her
but that’s not the case.
“Okay,” I take a breather or I will die of shock.
She stands with her arms across her chest and
eyes condemning me, Sabusiswa is a bloody
joke.
“Where are her ashes?”
“Sprinkled them over the river.” My body fails to
support me and throws me to the floor.
Sabusiswa looks away and side eyes me a
second later.
“It’s what she would’ve wanted.” This woman is
justifying her actions, did I not have the right to
be there? She was my grandmother, how could
she be so heartless?
“No, it’s not what she would’ve wanted. Gogo
wanted to be buried, she wanted a grave where
we would visit her. You have literally wiped my
grandmother off the face of the earth. You have
killed me ma.” I’m yelling and crying, and I want
to die.
“Get off from that floor, Amandla, and stop
being dramatic.” Did she just roll her eyes at me?
“You think I didn’t care about her? She was my
mother for Christ’s sake, she meant the world
to me.”
Tears—this is the first time she has cried for her
since her passing, she lowers her body on the
bed, hides her face in her hands.
“I am such a bad daughter, all these years I
haven’t been able to provide for my mother.
Now that I have the means, she decides to
leave us. I can’t help but feel like I failed her.”
Sabusiswa.
Eish! Now who is going to console who? I have
my own tears to wipe, besides, I’m angry for
what she did. This woman torched my
grandmother as if her life meant nothing.
I stand and find a place beside her, I expect her
to look at me. She’s not even crying a river but a
whole tsunami. Guilt glides through my bones, I
find myself comforting her. Her arms clasp
around me, she hides her face on my shoulder
and sobs like a woman who has lost her
devoted husband.
It takes a while for her to recover, her eyes find
mine. I don’t know what to say I see in her eyes,
sorrow, loss or nothingness.
“I want the best for you Amandla, come with
me.” She takes my hands into hers, sniffling
multiple times. “Gogo is gone now, there is
absolutely nothing we can do about it. We can’t
bring her back, I found you a school. You will
study and be what you’ve always wanted to be.”
Does she even know what I want to be? And
what’s the point of it now? The one I wanted to
make proud is no longer with me.
“But you cremated ugogo, there is no grave to
visit.” My heart drops at the thought, Sabusiswa
has hurt me in the worst possible way.
“I know, but I did it for her. You don’t know
village people, Amandla. They steal corpses,
turn them into zombies, and use them against
the deceased’s family. I didn’t want that for your
grandmother. Witchcraft is real, that’s why I ran
to Johannesburg. And now that I have money,
they will try to come for me. Black people don’t
do well with jealousy, they sell their souls to the
devil and all that to block ways for other
people.”
Does she hear herself? She sounds delusional.

“There’s no such thing ma, gogo and I were fine

here.”
“You were blind my baby, they got to you too.
Why do you think you lost your job? And that
boy you were seeing left you? It’s people’s
things, Amandla.”
I don’t recall telling her about Mathonga
breaking up with me.
“How do you know about that?” I ask, she
shuffles on the bed and clears her throat.
“Uh… Your grandmother told me when you had
gone to make us tea yesterday.” The syllables
slowly leave her mouth, hesitantly.
“What’s going on ma? How did you attain this
wealth? Since when have you been rich?” I need
to know before I follow her to another province.
“The white man I worked for found an interest in
me, we got married two months ago.” Oh wow,
this is interesting.
“You’re married to a white man? Why didn’t you
invite us? Why didn’t you tell us?” I ask.
This is too much to take in, really.
“I was married to him, he died last week. I will
answer your questions once we have settled in
Johannesburg.” No remorse is found in her
voice, but people grieve differently. I have so
many questions that need answers, but she’s
standing up and walking away.
“I’m going to freshen up, get ready we’re leaving
in less than five minutes.” She’s out the door
faster than a whirlwind.
I have to stall her till Mathonga gets here, I
texted him last night. He hasn’t replied to my
messages, but I believe he will come. He knows
how much my grandmother meant to me, if he
cared about me, he will come.
MATHONGA-
Forty-five
MATHONGA-

The week was a hard one for me, between the

endless migraines, trying to make sure Nala and
her brother are okay and arranging Thabani’s
funeral.
Today is the day of umlindelo, a few people will
be here to grieve with us, if they have not
arrived yet. It’s kind of them really, none of them
knew Thabani. It’s the fact that there is a
funeral at the Khanyiles, they respect baba that
much. He agreed to have Nala and her brother
stay with us, I believe he’s too stressed to argue
about anything.
Their school was informed, it turns out Petros
had transferred them out of school in the
pretext that they are moving to a different
province. That’s how their absence was not
questioned. I haven’t set my eyes on that devil,
if I do… god-knows if I do.
The coffin came in before I left for the hospital,
there were a few women from our church
singing those depressing songs that make you
feel like life is nothing but misery.
Death be not proud… I’ve heard this saying
many times in my life, but death is proud, it
takes with no care. God gifts us, only to snatch
the very gift he gave. It doesn’t make sense at
all.
Vimbela, Sakhile, Thabani, Amandla’s
grandmother. Her death came as a shock, I
went to pay my last respects last week. Ndleleni
offered to come with, we arrived to an empty
house.
The neighbours said she left for Johannesburg
with her mother, there was no funeral or
anything like that. Amandla’s phone is off, I
have given up trying to call her.
Thobani was discharged today, there was no
need for him to stay in the hospital. We’re in the
car trapped in awkward silence, save for the
radio softly playing in the background. It’s
almost dark outside, three armed guards are
stationery at the gate, it’s hard to get used to
people hovering around with guns and hard
faces. We’ve never really required protection as
the royal family.

Thobani has fallen asleep in the backseat, it

must be hard to lose your twin brother, Nala
says he didn’t say anything when he woke up.
She thought he was going to ask for his brother,
she’s not sure if he can speak, or he’ll need
therapy to find his speech.
I park the car and turn to Nala, “Are you ready?”
“For what?” She laughs, it lacks emotion.
I don’t answer, instead reach out to touch her
hand resting on her thigh, our eyes meet.
“I’m sorry for everything.” She says.
I’m not imagining the regret in her tone, nor do I
say a word, waiting for her to continue.
“I was never going to kill you, I backed out when
he told me why he was sending me here.”
“He had your brothers, surely you were going to
choose them.” I say.
This conversation makes me uncomfortable.
“I will always choose them over anything or
anyone, but I also know that I would have never
killed you. It’s not in me, it’s not who I am. There
had to be another way, Mathonga. Yes, I
would’ve chosen my brothers, but I wouldn’t
have gone through with his plan.” She says
unsteadily, regarding me with an apologetic
stare.
“I wish I can turn back time, bring back Thabani.
It’s so hard Thonga, I’m alive but dead inside.
Petros has taken so much from me, I hate him,
pure, raw hatred.” Her teary eyes linger on mine,
I move in just a fraction, close enough to caress
her cheek.
“You’re going to be okay Nala, you and
Thobani.” Nala breaks the stare, sending her
gaze out the window.
“Do you forgive me?” She eyes me again,
silently crying. I wipe away her tears that prove
to be stubborn.
“I can’t stay mad at you when you look at me
like that.” I should be mad but it’s not her fault, I
have brothers, I understand her. Like Nala, I
would do anything to protect them, agree to
anything.
“How do I look at you?” She asks, flapping her
eyelashes. It’s not an act, she really is confused.
I allow a faint smile, a little something so she
sees that I am not holding anything against her.
“Like that, with so much love. Like I hold the
keys to your entire existence and you cannot
see life without me. Must you really do that?” I
add, hoping this time I will see a speck of a
smile on her face. The look on it says I am not
making sense. Maybe it’s a waste of time trying
to make her smile, or I’m not doing it right.
I’ve only been with one woman all my life, sure
my eyes wandered but I never went as far as
looking outside Amandla.
Nala is staring, eyebrows raised, my heart
speeds and halts as if commanded by hers. It’s
the minor smile on her face, it takes my breath
away.
“Am I making sense?” There is no other way to
say this.
“Yes, maybe it’s because you do look at me like
I matter. I also know that you love me and I am
grateful for you Mathonga. You are a good man,
I promise never to disappoint you. I won’t hide
anything from you anymore, and I’ll try my best
to love you right.”
Worry torments me, worry that she won’t be
able to get over her brother’s death. Her eyes
squeeze shut as she runs her thumb over my
hand, she traps her bottom lip between the
seams of her teeth and sighs profoundly.
“What are you thinking about?” A light tap on
her hand gets her to open her eyes, tears follow,
trickling down her face. I believe this is her
heart worn on her face.
“I’m afraid,” a whisper that crashes against my
heart, it’s really not hard to see the fear that has
found a home in her eyes.
“Afraid of what?” I ask.
She takes a peep at Thobani, he’s snoring. I
don’t see him waking up any time soon.
“Everything Thonga lami,” bad timing, but my
heart dances at the endearment. “I’m afraid of
tomorrow, I’m afraid of losing my brother and…
you. People I love always leave me, maybe I’m
meant to be alone.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Nala, neither is
Thobani.” I assure her.
“What if I wake up one day and you’re all gone? I
don’t want to be alone.” I don’t see myself
leaving her, this is something to fight for—us,
this relationship.
“Don’t do this to yourself, please. Do away with
those thoughts, I would never dream of leaving
you.”
She believes me, the twinkle in her eyes
confirms it. I can’t say we’ve come far, it’s only
been a few weeks. I can say though that I will
take our relationship to greater heights.
“I will protect you with my life, I don’t want you
to be afraid anymore. You have to conquer this
fear and trust in me Nala.” It has to stop, I will
do anything to make her feel better. Take away
all the pain bestowed upon her by life.

Words leave us for a minute, Nala keeps her

eyes on the white tent on the yard. I can’t tell if
it’s full from here, there are people inside
though. Having a funeral didn’t feel real at first,
now with the tent and those people… I hate
death, I hate thinking about it.
We can here singing from here, my spirit
immediately drops. I was told to stay away from
the funeral, and graveyards. Qinisela said so, he
said the guardian that lives in me might not
agree with bad spirits and I might have a
negative reaction to it.
“Is he here? Is Thabani here?” Her lips tremble,
tears drown her pupils and get the chance to
course down her face.
“He is,” I answer.

There’s a knock on my side of the window, I

turn to see Ntaba waving and looking like
Garfield with that stupid grin on his face. It will
forever feel strange to see him like this, his two
sides I mean. I’m forced to roll down the
window, or he will never stop.
“Before you say anything, I want to know if I’m
talking to Khahlamba or Mathonga.”
Unfortunately, my blood runs in his veins. Yep,
we share a father. This idiot is my brother and
his witless question does not need an answer.
“What’s going on?” My query brings a child-like
grin to his face. He opens my door and helps
me out, not that I needed it. I have to look back
at Nala and motion that she steps out of the car.
“I want you to meet someone.” He introduces, I
don’t get why he is bobbing his head. He’s in a
good mood, if I’m right.
“Who?” I ask.
He is now nodding with pride, as if he is pleased
with himself… I don’t know with him anymore. I
follow his field of view that leads me to the
unreasonably tall, light skinned man standing
with confidence.
He winks when our eyes clash, stern face on
display. Bashfully, I move my hand to the back
of my head and rub it, it’s his probing, guarded
inspection of me. People that keep eye contact
for too long and without blinking are psychos,
trust me, I know one.
My eyes shift back to my brother to find him
grinning, how does he manage this juvenile
appearance?
“He’s your landlord,” Ntaba presents and my
mind is swimming in thick liquid because I can’t
think of anything as to why this stranger is my
landlord.
“Sondela ndoda.” With this, Ntaba also gestures
for the man to come closer. He is actually an
inch shorter than Ntaba, and more intimidating
at close range.
“Morning.” I have to send my greeting, the man
objectively stands there without a word.
“As you know, the trip to Namibia has been
cancelled because my brother cares more
about women than he does about his safety.”
Ntaba takes over, his untaken eyes are on Nala
who is now standing beside me. I am hoping
she doesn’t catch anything from his offensive
statement. Ntaba can be kindly rude, I know, it
doesn’t make sense to me too.
“I had to come up with plan B, wena Thonga
lami are going to Joburg and my dear friend
Styles is going to house you.” He continues not
to make sense.
“Now I have to live with people I don’t know?” I
want to decline, do it politely lest Ntaba slits my
throat.
“He’s a friend, you will be safer with him. Your
girl can go with you if she wishes, she will
receive counselling if she wishes… the kid too. I
don’t want excuses Thonga, either you move in
with Styles or go to Namibia. It’s your choose.”
It’s not my choice but his, it doesn’t matter if I
want to stay here with the family. He will make
me leave. The Styles guy couldn’t care less, he
is a bit standoffish. He must think it’s a bad
idea too, I’m sure Ntaba forced him into it. He’s
a narcissist; this brother of mine.
“Will you come with me, Nala? It could be a new
start for you and Thobani, a new environment
will do you good.” I’m hoping to convince her.
“You’re all we have Mathonga, I want to be
where you are.” She says and I couldn’t be
happier.
“Fine, as long as we get to come back once
everything has been settled.” I tell my brother, a
few months away from my father’s house won’t
hurt, it might even teach me independence.
Someone is laughing, it pains me to point at my
brother. He punches Styles on the shoulder,
laughing his socks off and I can’t for the life of
me… I cannot deal with him.
“I’ll take the boy to his room,” he moves past me
to get to Thobani. We’re left hanging, wondering
why he is laughing. He stops as he lifts Thobani
up, there must be a site on the internet where I
can put him on auction.
“We’re leaving in two days, my wife and kid are
home alone.” Styles says.
I don’t know what that’s got to do with us, he
leaves with Ntaba engaging in a deep
conversation.

My grip on Nala’s hand tightens, I want us to

talk about Johannesburg but it’s not the right
time, she has to see her brother’s body. I ask
her if she wants to do it now, her answer put me
on the spot.
“Please come with me.”
How do I decline her request after promising I
will stand by her? Love is about making
sacrifices, this is why I usher Nala to the
rondavel Thabani’s in.
My heart starts hammering as we approach, the
church people are still in here singing. My
shoulders feel heavy, I blink away the fuzziness
to no avail. I stop and take a long breath, Nala
has not let go of my hand.
“What’s wrong?” She asks and gets no answer
from me. I’d rather be telling the spirit in me to
take it easy, it can’t be Khahlamba. I doubt it is, I
know his face. I’ve seen a picture of him once
upon a time, he has never come in my dreams.
I’m not entirely familiar with the old man and
old woman I have seen in my dreams. For three
days straight, I’ve dreamt of the old woman, the
aggressive one; that one who wanted to kill
baba.
All three times she was sitting in an empty
room on a goat’s skin, a smile was on her face,
for the first time the old woman was smiling.
I shut my eyes and try to connect with ithongo.
“Sbani sami, hambisana nami. Don’t torture me,
I need to do this. Ngyacela Sthunywa sami.”
(My guardian, please accompany me.)

I’m supposed to feel better, a connection or

something. I am disappointed that I still feel the
same, it’s getting worse.
“Mathonga?” Concern rests in her tone, I cover
my unease with a refined smile.
“Let’s go.” I cue.
We enter the room, women in black are seated
on reed mats, singing soul eating songs. There
is something forcing me to turn back around
and leave, I ignore it, but my ears start ringing,
my head starts pounding.
“Nala,” a whisper is all I can conjure up. My feet
are heavy, I can’t move further than this. It feels
as if these people are pressing me down, their
presence is heavy and unsettling. It must be
one of them, or Thabani. I’m not sure. I stagger
back like a drunk person, ready to fall head first.
It will hurt, that’s what my mind is telling me.
Instead of falling on the ground, I’m held steady
by someone behind me.
“What are you doing in here?” It’s Ndleleni,
reprimanding me.
Qinisela did say not to attend the funeral, and I
was hoping it wouldn’t be as he said. Just last
week Nala and I were standing before Thabani’s
body, nothing happened.

I’m dragged outside by my brother, far away

from the rondavel and the tent. Nala is here too,
I thought she’d stay behind. She is probably not
strong enough to do it by herself.
“You were warned, Mathonga. Why did you go in
there?” Ndleleni can be a strict parent like
Ntaba, I am so done with all this chiding.
“I spoke to the ancestors and asked that they
bear with me, they didn’t listen.” I’m explaining
myself.
One of the guards scurries over with a chair, I’m
made to sit on it.
“I’m sorry, Thonga. I didn’t know, I wouldn’t have
asked that you accompany me.” Nala has put
the puzzle together. She gets a cold look from
Ndleleni, it makes me wonder if he still sees her
as the cleaner. You never know with Ndleleni.
Nala recoils, shying away from my brother’s
unwavering stare.
I tell her it’s not a big deal, before she turns her
head at the sound of heavy feet trampling on
the ground. I follow her line of sight to a woman
pushing a wheelchair that contains a middle
aged man. I recognise him immediately, the
man from the hospital Ntaba had taken me to.
Two guards are behind them, looking ready to
attack.
“What are they doing here?” That’s Nala, hissing
under her breath. A frown finds my forehead as
I inspect the unwanted guests, the woman falls
on Nala’s feet and straightaway a foul smell
destroys my senses. I can’t help but cover my
nose, Ndleleni does the same.
“What are you doing here, Mam’Julia? Who
invited you?” Nala barks, taking careful steps
back.
“Nala, I didn’t know. I promise I didn’t.” The
Mam’Julia woman wails, hands on her head and
eyes full of tears.
“I’m sorry, on behalf of my husband. I apologise
from the bottom of my heart. Petros told me
everything, he told me what he did. Now he’s
sick, I don’t know what’s happening to my
husband. It’s a curse Nala, he smells like a dead
dog. We’ve tried every chemical out there,
nothing has worked. It gets worse every day,
I’ve resulted to keeping him in the house, away
from people. He can’t release urine anymore, he
screams in pain whenever he has to, and even
though, nothing comes out. The hospital can’t
help him, he’s pressed as we speak and it’s
killing him slowly. He is in agony, hasn’t slept in
days and when he shuts his eyes Thabani’s face
comes to him. Please help him, Nala.”
Nala snorts, “How is any of this my problem?”
“We went to see a Sangoma, more than one and
they all told us the same thing. Only you can
help him, you have to forgive him and do a ritual
so Thabani can stop haunting my husband.”
She tries to touch her, Nala jolts back in loud
screams.
“Never, I will never forgive him. This monster
killed my… my brother. He killed Thabani and I
will never forgive him.” I hear how her breathing
stutters, her wet face finds shelter in the palms
of her hands.

Isthunywa and his dramatics be damned—

smell of a dead animal be damned. I stand on
my feet and without giving too much thought to
it, kick Petros. My foot lands on his face and
sends him falling back with the wheelchair, I
grab him by his washed out police shirt,
forcefully bringing him up, and punch him on
the face. Screams break out around me, Petros
releases a pained groan.
“Please Nala, tell him to stop. He’s going to kill
him.” The woman’s cries of despair mean
nothing to me, I want to kill this man with my
own hands. Nala has not said anything, it gives
me confidence, driving me on.
Another punch, he lands on the floor with a
nauseating thump, however brings me down
with him because his hands are clutched on my
t-shirt. He’s powerless beneath me, weak and
without defence. He groans painfully, head
moving from side to side as I land punch after
punch. These punches are meant to kill him,
separate his soul from his body like he did
Thabani. He deserves to die for what he did to
Nala, years of sexual assault. I think I’m not
doing enough, the blood on his face is not
enough for me. He is still breathing, heaving like
a dying dog beneath me. It aggravates me
that’s why I strangle him.
There are voices around me, pleading with me
to stop. Baba, Ndleleni, Nandi. I hear all of them
but Nala’s.

I’m pushed away by a person stronger than me,

Styles. I’m on the ground, scrutinising him and
wanting to yell at him. The void in his eyes and
that devilish smirk send chills through my body,
it’s the only thing stopping me from telling him
off.
He stands with hands hidden in his pockets, the
bastard is intimidating me.
“As much as I’m enjoying this, I think you’ve had
enough for today.” He voices, while raising his
brows as if daring me to move. What does he
have to do with this?
Petros is barely alive, choking in his own blood,
his wife next to him inspecting his wounds. If
only I had a gun, I want him dead. Everything in
me tells me to get up and finish him off. My
plan is stopped by Ntaba, blocking my view.
He’s carrying a bucket of water.
“Here, wash your hands.” Is said with anger, his
stony glower fixated on me. His eyes are a
black hole, and I feel it, his dark aura. My body
tenses, I don’t understand. What wrong did I do?
He’s not gentle as he grabs my hands and dips
them in the warm water.
“Qinisela says you should wash your body with
sea water, we don’t have any, so this will do.”
Ntaba enlightens, I don’t stop him from
removing my blood stained t-shirt.
“You can’t afford to have blood on you, Thonga
lami. Khahlamba will wage war if we dare taint
you with blood. Now I will have to take you to
the sea to wash out this stench.” He tosses my
t-shirt on the floor.

My eyes find Nala, the tears on her face make

me want to kill that man. We’re surrounded by a
lot of people, Baba asks if I’m okay, I assure him
with a faint nod.
“Bhuti, he’s the one who killed Thabani. He
raped Nala and…” I grunt through gritted teeth,
rage is still pulsing through my veins. Nala is
sobbing now, loudly. Ntaba won’t let me go to
her, he pushes me back on the ground when I
try to get up.
“Bhuti?”
“No,” he cups my face. “I need to cleanse you
first.”
“Nala is crying,” I tell him. Can he not hear her? I
think I’m making him very angry, he turns to
Nandi and like she read his mind hugs a crying
Nala.
“You are my first priority, don’t you get that,
Thonga lami?” He’s very snippy. “I protect you
before anyone, don’t take that right from me.
Don’t strip me of my role in your life.”
Guilt is not kind, it drags and envelops me in its
uncomfortable wave.
“Ngyaxolisa bhuti.” (I’m sorry.)
“Don’t be, just let me fight your battles. Wena
make sure you’re breathing… do it for me—for
all of us.” Ntaba says, tightening his hands on
my face.
I chuckle lightly when he kisses my forehead, he
instructs some woman to bring a fresh bucket
of clean water with salt.
*
*
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MATHONGA
Forty-six

VUKUZAKHE-

It’s crazy how much progress he’s made in a

space of a week, doctors are unable to explain
it. His brothers have not come to see him, they
speak on the phone time and time. He’s been
seeing more of Hlabela and Bongiwe, Dalisile
has not shown face yet.
No one has asked about whereabouts. It’s
normal for her to disappear without a trace.
Hlabela is here, at the hospital. He came
bearing dinner and a sour face, one Vukuzakhe
has been seeing the entire week.
“What’s wrong with you?” He questions Hlabela
while shuffling on the bed until he’s
comfortable. “You look like you’re the one who
had their brains scrambled.”
He adds a laugh, Hlabela does not find it funny.
He almost died hau and here he is joking about
it. The man put on the interrogation chair sighs,
so much is on his mind, he will explode if he
doesn’t vent.
“I messed up.” That’s a start.
When a man says he messed up, it’s either the
police are after him or he broke the heart of his
significant other.
“Where is she?” Yep, Vukuzakhe knows his
brother that much.
“I don’t know, she doesn’t want to talk to me,
she won’t take my calls.” Hlabela explains.
Very dreadful, Kushi is not okay with what
happened the last time she met up with Hlabela.
He tried to explain, but how do you tell your
girlfriend that you can’t stand kids because your
little brothers were torched alive? It was a
traumatic experience, one that’s hard to talk
about.

“Give her time to cool off, she will come

around.” This he says after Hlabela has
explained what went on when Kushi came to
introduce her kids.
“What if she doesn’t? She blocked my number, I
have tried everything.”
He’s not about to cry is he? Kushi’s curry can’t
be that nice, does she even cook for him?
“Do you want me to speak to her? Or better yet,
ask Ntaba to speak to her. He can be very
convincing.” That’s a funny recommendation,
Hlabela chortles and stands from the chair.
“I appreciate it but no, Ntabezikude’s way of
talking involves kidnapping, followed by
tormenting till the person has no choice but to
agree to his demands.” Hlabela continues
laughing, he’s not sure what he’s talking about.
However, they know their brother to be violent.
He does own a gun and he unashamedly waves
it around for the world to see.
“Ha! You’ve seen him doing that?” An observant
question from Zakhe.
“He watches those documentaries where
people kill each other, I’m sure he’s taken notes
and waiting for an opportunity.” Hlabela, they
share a cheerful moment.
“Give her space, let her breathe. Even if it takes
time for her to come back, she will eventually
come back. You are a Khanyile after all,
handsome as hell.” Vukuzakhe adds.
Hlabela ogles at him for a minute… handsome
as hell? Khanyile? What in the land of the sick
happened to Vukuzakhe? He laughs it off, his
brother does not talk like this. Oh well… it
doesn’t matter. The advice has been given—he
sits back down, crosses his leg over the other
and fold his arms across his chest. He decides
the position is uncomfortable because his legs
are long, the chair was not built to
accommodate his build.

“Look at you, you’re a miracle, you even sound

like a miracle.” Hlabela views.
“I know, I can’t say what really happened. The
night I woke up feeling lighter than I’ve felt in
years, I saw our great-grandfather in a dream.”
“Khahlamba?” Hlabela asks, raising a brow in
question. He leans forward, places his elbows
on his knees and joins his hand together. Still
uncomfortable, sheesh, maybe remaining
standing is not such a bad thing.
“In the flesh.” Or spirit in this case. “He called
me dirty, untainted and said I needed to be
bathed in water. I ran like a child that hates
bathing, the old man chased me with a stick.”
He laughs, it’s contagious that it affects Hlabela.
“That’s a scene I would love to see.” Hlabela
teases.
“He was upset when he caught me, as tall and
big as I am, he gave me a hiding. I felt every
thrash, it wasn’t meant to punish me. It was
more like a parent setting their child right, when
he was done he dragged me by my ear to the
nearest river. There were other people bathing
there, unfamiliar faces. The water was white, as
if milk had been added in it. Khahlamba
scooped a hand full of mud from the river bank,
scrubbed my body with it and pushed me into
the river after. I was given a bath like a child, I
can’t recall what happened after.”

“That is a strange dream to have, what do you

think it means?” Hlabela.
“I don’t know, maybe it means just that. We’ve
neglected our ancestors for far too long, I think
it’s time we go back to our roots.” An
uncomfortable conversation for Hlabela, this is
not how Vumile raised him. They are devoted
Christians who live for Jesus and keeping the
10 commandments.

NTABEZIKUDE-

It’s only 1:07am, too early to be sleeping if you

ask him. Perhaps he would be sleeping if it
were not for Petros hovering over his mind, he’s
like that bad song that constantly plays in your
head without your permission. Him and his wife
were ousted from the premises, she pushed
him out the same way she had pushed him in,
but hardly moving the second time.

He kicks the blanket aside, scampers off bed. A

few things flash before his lashes for a while,
he starts tapping his foot warily—counting each
tap in his head. He’s agitated, it happens to the
best of us. A decision comes to mind, he sends
a text to Styles who is sleeping in one of the
rondavels. There is no answer, he knows
though that Styles got the message and he’s
game for anything. Another message is sent to
his men, telling them to go pick someone up.
He changes into his usual attire, track pants, a
black hoodie and black Chucks.
The wind screams in his face as he steps out,
he hisses and curses and clicks his tongue.
Perhaps he’s in a bad mood, a lot happened the
past week. One of the things was Khethiwe
leaving, daring her to leave was a risk his vain
mind took, she’ll be back, is what his mind
keeps telling him.
Outside, he meets up with Styles. This one
understands the assignment, his dress code
matches the night. They don’t exchange words,
Ntaba jumps into his car. Styles gets into the
passenger seat.
Less than 7 minutes later, they are outside
Petros’ house. The men he texted minutes ago
are parked on the other side of the road, he
knows they have his package or they wouldn’t
be here. Two of them dash out of the car, to join
him and Styles.
Ntaba has always been sly, opening locked
doors and breaking into houses, he does it so
well. It’s what Alfred taught him, a man of great
skills.
“You belong in prison.” It’s a compliment from
Styles actually.
“Asbonge ndoda, asbonge.” (Thank you )
Ntaba rejoinders with a smirk, it’s not every day
he gets to be proud.
He enters the house as if his father built him a
room in here, his first stop is the bedroom and
to his luck, he finds Petros and his wife curled
up in bed. A loud bang on the door startles
them, Mam Julia is the one to sit up. The light is
right at the door, where Ntaba is standing.
“I’m sorry, I should’ve knocked.” He smiles,
flashing a bright torch on their faces. He could
use the light, but he chooses not to. They can’t
see his face, while he sees every feature on
their scared faces.
“What is that smell?” The criminal… yes he’s a
criminal— spits on the ground and uses his
hand to cover his nose.
“I’m sorry, I really don’t intend to be rude.
Moreover, this space is not suitable for anything
work related. How about we go for a drive.”
“Who… who are you?” Mam’Julia asks, her voice
trembling like the last leaf on a tree in winter.
“Like I said, I’m here to work.” Ntaba gives an
answer, slowly walking towards them. He loves
the sounds of fear they are making, it’s a
beautiful melody.

“I couldn’t sleep, the devil kept me up wanting

me to go out there and do his work. You know,
like how Jesus does every Saturday or Sunday
morning. I’m team devil by the way.”
No sane human can proudly declare such an
eerie declaration, Mam’Julia is so norm to
screaming lately. Ntaba is by her side of the bed,
a finger on her lips.
“No no, sweetheart. There will be time for that,
we don’t want you to lose your voice before the
actual fun begins. Do we?” It’s whispered close
to her face, afraid for her life, Mam’Julia shakes
her head. This has Ntaba bursting into a hyena
sound-like laughter, loud and creepy.
At this, two men walk in wearing masks. It’s not
that they want to keep their identity concealed,
it’s the foul smell in the house. Petros and his
wife are taken by force, the lady is screaming
for help and threatening to call the police and
Petros... all he can do is groan in pain. She took
him to the hospital after Mathonga practised
martial arts on him, the doctor gave him an
injection, and painkillers.

Ntaba walks out to find Styles waiting for him at

the door, he observes the Khanyile man and
snickers. Must be a proud moment to see his
younger self in Ntaba, he’s more like the son he
never had.
“Where have you been all my lie?” Styles
questions the man who turns around and stares
at him, the wolfish hunger in his eyes is
insatiable. Styles recognises it, he’s been here
before, in this situation.
“Let’s go.” Ntaba says, leading the way.
Styles has not been told where they are going,
he too is oblivious.
The road leads them to Port Shepstone Muslim
Cemetery, a strange place to visit at night.
“We’re here.” An introduction from Ntaba, his
accomplice loves it. He doesn’t know the
details yet, but he loves it. Breaking into a
cemetery was not his plans for the night, but it
works.
“What’s the plan?” Styles probes as they step
out of the car.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” A smug reply from
Ntaba.
He lets his inquisitive gaze search the cemetery,
chills invade his skin. It’s spine-tingling and
borders on evil, his mouth welcomes a smile.
Why are there no mansions at cemeteries?
“Do you think I can build here?” This one needs
to be put in a straight jacket and locked up
inside a room with white cushioned walls.
Styles sniggers, plunging his hands in his
pockets.
“You do know there are ghosts here, right?”
Impossible.
“Don’t patronize me, Styles. Ghosts don’t exist,
it’s a myth white people tell to scare us, so we
don’t mingle with the dead.”
Mingle with the dea… this is a red flag.
“You need help, ntwana.” Styles throws back.
“Oksalayo, I’m building a house here. It’s so
peaceful, I like people when they are dead and
buried six feet under. I’m not one for shallow
graves, the deeper the better.” Ntaba.
A smile familiarises with Styles, this is what he
signed up for. Some Ted Bundy shit.
“Let’s get this party started baby.” Ntaba yells at
the top of his voice.
They enter the graveyard, if it were not for the
moon, they wouldn’t be able to see a bloody
thing. It’s not as quiet as Ntaba predicted, birds
of the night and crickets have claimed the place
as their own.

His men are standing by the graves with their

victims, Petros and his wife featuring the
policeman who kidnapped Nala and delivered
her to Petros.
“Juls, look at you. Fine woman, eyy.” He’s
referring to Mam’ Julia, not caring that the
woman looks like she’s about to have a heart
attack.
“Sit down.” He points at a grave behind her, the
kindness on his facial features is not fake. He is
having one of those moments when he feels
like he owns the world and life is the most
beautiful gift.
“Ple… please, I want to go home.” Her words are
slurred, syllables escaping her mouth like an
earth quake.
“You will go home, Juls. Soon, I promise. Now
sit down for me, right on that grave. I just want
to have a word with you.”
Mam’ Julia is hesitant, her eyes are popping out,
pleading on her behalf.
“I’m not a bad person Juls, I don’t hurt women, I
promise.” His fist is up in the air, innocence
found in his dark eyes. Mam Julia turns to her
husband for validation or anything, one look at
his disfigured face and almost lifeless body,
she is reminded that he has become a useless
invalid who needs people to hold him up so he
won’t fall. He can’t possibly see a thing with his
battered face.
“Petros… please.” She pleads for heaven knows
what, argh poor Petros is equally helpless.
“Are you going to sit or should I make you?”
Ntaba seethes.
Mam’Julia looks back at the grave, she is aware
that she has no choice. Her body trembles
vigorously as her butt kisses the cold
gravestone, fear is a son of a bitch from hell.
Ntaba moves to crouch before her, he makes
sure to look into her eyes.
“Are you comfortable, Juls?” He masks his
voice with kindness, Mam’Julia ignores him.
She would rather cry and pray for a saviour,
Jesus, Mohammed… at this point, Petros would
suffice.
“I hate talking to myself, Juls. What is the use of
the tongue if you are not going to use it? Do you
want me to cut it?” The kindness is thrown over
the graves.
“Now tell me that you’re comfortable, Juls.” It is
an order. Mam’Julia wants to scream,
somehow she knows it would be a mistake.
“I am… I am comfortable.”
Okay she’s said it, can she go home now?
Ntaba is happy, he deserves a lollipop. He’s
grinning from ear to ear, looking at the men
around him. They chuckle, accommodating his
madness.
“I like you Juls, you’re a very smart woman. You
know what smart women do?”
He waits for a reply, but he is too impatient to
wait another minute.
“Smart women would do anything on the face
of the earth to protect the men they love, Juls
for president.” He murmurs.
“Your husband is like your god, am I right Mrs.
Ngcobo? That’s why you kept his dirty secret,
huh?” He stands up straight, stretches his body
to his content.
“You see, I love digging, of course I had to after
that stunt you pulled at my house. If you didn’t
come to my house, then my brother would not
have fought your husband and dirtied himself
with his blood. That stunt angered me, I tried to
forget muntu omdala. But my brain wouldn’t let
me, this is why we are here at this moment.” A
look laced with animosity and annoyance is
sent her way. Mam’Julia is too terrified to
answer.
“You came to my premises, screaming that
Nala saves your dear Petros. You lied in the
presence of my brother that you knew nothing
about Ngcobo’s perverted ways, why did you do
that? Are you so desperate to save the life of
this pest?”
“He’s my husband.” For better or worse is what
Mam’Julia is sticking with, she is not about to
throw her husband to the wolves.
“I know, sweetheart.” Ntaba pats her cheek
lightly and leans in for a quick kiss on her
forehead.
“I know,” he repeats.
“Don’t hurt him, please. I wanted to protect Nala,
I was going to protect her. Maybe I was afraid
of what the world would say, Petros was a
respectable policeman. Sometimes I lay in bed
at night, thinking of how to expose him without
ruining his image.”
She cries, eyeing her terrified husband. He
didn’t think that she knew what he was doing to
Nala.
“I wanted to confront Petros, tell him to stop but
I couldn’t. I was a coward, I should’ve protected
Nala. I’m sorry, please I don’t want to die, please.
I’m sorry.” She pleads, hands joined together in
hopes that her petitions will touch Ntaba’s heart.

“Okay,” That’s all Ntaba gives in return for her

statement.
“I don’t really deal with women, but you have left
me no choice. You brought that dirty man to my
house and challenged me, and I love challenges
Juls—another reason why we are here at this
time of the night.” He continues.
This is what happens when people dig their own
graves, Mam’Julia thought she was smart—play
the good foster mother to Nala and her siblings,
and get to save the life of her husband.
“Look over there.” Ntaba points to his left, all
eyes turn there.
“That’s your grave Juls, I paid a lot of money to
have it dug for you.” He says, sighing like he
hates what’s about to happen.
Julia scream-cries. “Please, my son…” There
should be more after these words, but nothing.
“No,” Ntaba shakes his head. “You can never be
fortunate enough to birth a son like me, you
don’t have a heart sweetheart. That’s why God
didn’t see it fit to bless you with a child, your
womb is dry for a reason. You failed Nala and
those boys, exposed them to that bastard.”
Mam’Julia is not there anymore, the insults can
come like a flood, that’s okay. Her priority is to
make it till morning, heck her next birthday.
She’s on her knees, grovelling and pleading for
Ntaba to let her go. Her face bears evidence of
a terrified human, snort, tears, fear and an ugly
cry.
“Don’t cry Juls, this hurts me more than it hurts
you. Believe me, I could step back and let
Karma be the bitch that it is. But I’m a jealous
mother fucker, it’s not your fault sweetheart.
Don’t ever think that, okay?”
Ntaba pauses to look at Petros.

“Nc, nc, nc.” He’s shaking his head, looking at

Petros disgustedly.
“If you want to point fingers, blame Ngcobo, I
want your death to eat him up slowly. I want the
image imprinted in his mind until the day he
takes his last breath, that’s if he is man enough
to continue living after this.

This is the whole point, why he chooses to kill

Mam’Julia and spare Petros. Death will free the
bastard, his ancestors will probably throw him a
welcome home party while the people he left
behind have to push through life in pain and
agony.
Ntaba kneels to reach her height and brings her
in for a hug. Mam’Julia takes this opportunity to
cry on his shoulder, she has finally gotten
through to him. In her mind are these thoughts,
a tight grip on her hair flushes the thoughts out.
She falls on her back screaming and kicking as
Ntaba drags her across the ground.
“Petros, help me.” The piercing scream is spine
chilling, any human would offer help. It’s a
shame she is not surrounded by humans.
“Julia.” Petros mumbles, he’d fight the man
imprisoning him had he been stronger and not
injured. Right now, he’s only an over cooked
spaghetti that absorbs too much oil—useless
and unreliable, he’s squirming trying to escape
the strong hands holding him. Petros can’t even
scream to save his life.

Ntaba holds Mam'Julia's shoulders, and brings

her to a standing position, making sure her back
is facing the grave. He locks his eyes with hers,
it’s what he does to feed off from the fear in his
victims. He will relive this moment many times
until he is satisfied.
“Hamba juba, bayokuchutha phambili.” He
proclaims. (You reap what you sow.)
A light kiss on her cheek and he gently pushes
her into the grave, her screams don’t last a
second.
Ntaba turns to the man holding Petros’
accomplice, “throw that piece of shit in the
grave and bury them.”
Throw the piece of shit is what they do, sure he
fights for his life till the last moment. They hear
a revolting thud, he’s fallen on top of Mam’Julia.
“Ngcobo, don’t you just love me?” The Khanyile
bull sings, laughing out loud. “My men will drive
you back home, take care of yourself Ngcobo.”
Petros is on the floor, weeping. He wanted
Mam’Julia gone, but that was before he fell ill.
His wife had become beneficial to him, and
maybe just maybe, he was learning to love her
again.

Ntaba tells Styles that they need to go back

home, the man has been observing from a
distance.
“You are the glory and scum of the universe,
you know that right?” Styles exclaims.
“The world is mine for the taking, Styles.” An
egocentric answer.
“What’s next?” Styles asks as they head back to
the car. “Do you need to blow off some steam, I
can organise a woman for you. Killing makes
me feel inhuman, only in the arms of the
woman I love do I find my way back to humanity.
She strips my soul naked, cleans me until I feel
renewed.”
That is so implausible, Ntaba frowns at it. He
can’t imagine himself finding comfort in
another woman who is not…
“Shh!” Says Styles, stopping on his tracks. He is
regarded with a frown.
“What?” Ntaba whispers.
“Do you hear that?” Styles looks around, eyes
narrowed and brows raised. The sound of
shovels mingling with the soil can be heard a
distance now, that’s how far they have walked.
“Don’t play games with me, Styles.” His heart
jerks a bit, he controls it by taking a deep breath.
It’s just the two of them, standing in the middle
of graves.
“Someone is here,” Styles whispers and that
sets Ntaba off. There is no such thing as ghosts,
he repeats in his head.
“Do you hear the footsteps?”
Of course he can hear the footsteps Styles,
that’s why his heart is doing a number on him.
Ntaba’s eyeballs are ready to jump out of his
eyes, everyone is afraid of something they can’t
see.
“Fuck this, I’m out of here.” Oh, Oh. His voice
shook a little there.
“Are you afraid of dead people?” Styles is
laughing at him. “This is classic, the man who
kills people is terrified of their spirits. Wow!”
Send him back to Joburg, that’s what Ntaba
should do. His stomach swirls viciously, he can
hear it grumbling with threats to send him to
the toilet.
“Are you coming or not?” Ntaba snaps, he’d be
in the car by now if Styles had not scared him
like that.
“I’m coming princess,” a tease, Styles has
become. Ntaba huffs, showing him the middle
finger.
The footsteps have not stopped, they match
their movements. Whoever is keeping them
company is following them, Ntaba looks at
Styles thinking he would see the same fear
that’s tormenting him. He sees nothing—the
man is as cool as ice.
“Shit,” Khanyile picks up the pace, marching his
way down the graves. So do the footsteps,
Ntaba cusses and just when he’s about to take
off, a man’s voice with a thick Indian accent
stops them.
“Excuse me!”
They swivel on their heel, an old Indian man
with a long beard is standing before them. His
presence is disconcerting, it has them shivering.
“I’m looking for my wife, have you seen her?”
The man asks, he looks lost and confused.
“No, we haven’t seen your wife. Now get out of
here, we don’t know you.” The brave Styles
snaps, it’s what he says that confirms Ntaba’s
assumptions.
“Is he a… a… gho… ghost?” Ntaba’s voice
betrays him, he’s never seen a ghost in real life.
Damn, they don’t exist as far as he knows.
“Yes,” a quick answer from Styles. “He…”
Thud!!!
He turns at the loud sound and there lies
Ntabezikude Khanyile face down and barely
moving, Styles clicks his tongue. How is he
going to carry this giant to the car? When he
whips his head back, the old man is gone.
*
*
Please like, comment and share. Tomorrow
might be delayed because of load shedding.
MATHONGA-
Forty-Seven
Sponsored by Charmaigne
*
*

MATHONGA-

The funeral went smoothly—well there were a

little bumps here and there, but nothing
dramatic and no one needing to be saved from
enemies.
Last night, Thobani was made to lie face down
on Thabani’s coffin, he didn’t put up a fight but
held on to it as if his life depended on it. It was
hard for Nala to watch her brother bidding the
other goodbye, I wanted to be there but
unfortunately could watch from a distance.
Things were different today, Nala said Thobani
wouldn’t sit on the coffin, he plainly refused.
The child knew it was going to go down the hole,
the thought surely terrified him.
The boy fought a good fight until his muscles
gave up on him, he went down wailing and
came back calm. He has not said a word to
anyone, Nala is drowning in dread. This is a part
of their lives where they will need a hand to hold.
Formalities were done before they came back
to the Khanyile household for the after tears, I
waited impatiently for their return. Wondering if
they were okay, being gifted is not something
one should wish for. It’s a blessing but can also
be a curse.

Nala is sleeping with Thobani in her arms, I

don’t want to disturb her sleep but Styles says
we’re leaving tonight and Ntaba agrees with him.
I don’t know what the rush is and like always, I
have no say in it. The day is almost over, people
ate and went back to their homes which is such
a relief. We need the privacy and peace that
comes with it.

Am I so weak to be smitten by this girl?

I still remember the first time I saw her, maybe
it was love at sight and I did not know it that
time.
“Nala,” I shake her awake only for her to jolt up,
eyes stirring the spacious room. “It’s me.”
I see relief surge through her as her eyes meet
mine, she considers me with a gentle smile.
“Mathonga?”
“We’re leaving tonight, you need to pack your
things.”
Her gaze finds Thobani who is fast asleep, she
looks back at me.
“I don’t have anything really, I lost my clothes
that day I was…”
“It’s fine,” I interpose, not wanting her to ride
back to the past. We’re done attracting
negativity.
“We’ll make a plan when we get to Joburg, I
need to have a word with my father. Will you be
okay?”
I have to ask, her eyes are droopy and lips
parched. She stands, offering to walk me out.
My hand finds the small of her back, she eases
under it and leans into me.
“I’m okay, you’ve done enough for me. How can
I ever repay you?”
It's words like these that make me feel like she
doesn’t see me as her boyfriend. I’m not going
to answer her, I don’t want to say something I
will regret. I kiss her on the cheek and tell her to
be ready before dawn, and leave.
VUMILE-

Nandi opens the door to her room and lets him

in, she always does, especially at night when
everyone has gone to bed. Feeling lonely and
needing some good loving, Vumile would leave
his room to join her in bed.
No fornication has been committed yet,
although a devoted Christian, he is aware of the
wrath of the ancestors. He can’t afford to put
Nandi in that position.
He didn’t go to her last night, people were here
and there plus a dead body on the premises. It’s
been a long day for everyone, Nandi included
who has been running up and down attending to
visitors. There were questions of course,
undertones and snoopy looks from the villagers.
They wanted to know who she is, you can spot
a servant from a distance and Nandi looks
nothing of the sort.

“Are you okay?”

She’s not okay, she does not look okay. Nandi
sighs and shuts the door, she sits on the chair
by the window and not on her bed, beside her
potential husband. This is a sign, Vumile knows
she’s upset with him. This one speaks with
actions, she is a peaceful woman and does not
like quarrelling.
“Why am I still here, Vumile?” Yeah, it’s one of
those days when he’s not Ngwane but Vumile.
His brows skyrocket and fall back in a split
second, he sits forward, eyes intently on her.
Her gaze does not waver, she plans on looking
him in the eyes throughout.
“I did apologise for what happened last week, I
don’t agree with how you were treated by…”
“The elders are never wrong, we can never
question the things they do. Your grandfather’s
anger is justified, your ancestors do not know
me and it’s all on you, Vumile. You refuse to
give me a place in your life.”
“That’s not true, MaShamase. You’re here, are
you not?” Vumile argues his claim, perhaps he
is blind… in a way.
“What difference does that make? My child and
I are still outcasts, for years you refused to give
me a place in your life. You hid us from the
world, claiming that you needed to protect the
boys. I understood that Ngwane and I stood by
you, where has that gotten me? Nowhere.”
“Nandi…”
“How long am I going to carry the mistress
title?” She interjects, standing up to her feet.
Maybe a bad choice, he is still chief and
protocol says do not stand while addressing the
chief.
“What do I really mean to you, Vumile?”
Argh, stuff it. She knows him horny, naked, and
sweaty. Vumile stands, over sizing her, his
hands get the pleasure of holding hers. Their
eyes meet in an unmoving dance.
“Marry me, I love you and I want us to get
married.” Hasty! Where is Dalisile? Nandi can’t
help but sigh, she’s heard these empty
promises before. Like last time, she is deterred.
Vumile has never been a man of his word.
“I’m a grown woman Ngwane, don’t play with
me.” Nandi.
“I am not playing with you, I will send a letter to
your uncles in three days. You will become my
wife MaShamase, you and our daughter will be
given your rightful place in this house.”
A man with a vision, or… a spur of the moment
man. His brothers are back home, healthy and
moving on with life. They better be finishing
their pap because they will need strength when
Nandi’s uncles come for him. Seventeen years
with their daughter? The audacity… He hugs her
in his tender arms, he loves this woman… he
just has a weird way of showing it.
*
*
Vumile is sitting alone in the lounge fighting
demons and trying not to think of Dalisile, and
how she will react to him marrying Nandi when
a knock disturbs his peace, he opens the door
to his cousin Qinisela. A smile spreads on the
chief’s face, it dies when he spots a Sangoma
standing a distance behind Qinisela.
“What is he doing here?” He’s not happy about
this, or else he wouldn’t be questioning his
cousin who is way older than him.
“He is here to cleanse the premises, there was a
funeral Vumile, it has to be done.” Qinisela gives
reason.
“I don’t want that man here, tell him to leave.”
Vumile steps out, pushing Qinisela further out
with him.
“We have to do the cleansing, I don’t want bad
luck following your children.” Qinisela validates
his reasons.
“You know that I don’t want those people in my
premises.” Vumile argues.
“Yes, I know. I also know that you have failed to
keep your children safe, have you seen them
Vumile? Have you sat down and taken time to
study your boys? They are lost, every one of
them.”
Vumile does not appreciate this, cousin or not,
Qinisela has no right. Not even Dalisile has
bothered to tell him how to raise them, money
talks when it comes to her. Qinisela is different,
he is an African man who still practices
tradition.
“Are you judging my parenting skills, Qinisela?”
He’s not about to start a fight, it’s just a
question that deserves an answer.
“You know I would never do that, all I’m saying
is that put your children first. They don’t
deser…”
“They are my children, not yours.” Vumile has
become feisty, so defensive and boring.
Qinisela frowns, he can’t recall a day his cousin
spoke to him with such disrespect— it’s not like
Vumile to spew cheeky covered shit when
talking to elders.
“What about Mathonga?” This should bite.
“What about Mathonga?” Vumile interrogates
like a detective out to solve a Jane Doe. Four
pairs of angry eyes are locked on each other,
nostrils flaring and breaths whiffing the mid-
summer air.
“He’s not your son, the least you can do is keep
him safe for the sake of his father.”
“Qinisela?” Vumile roars grabbing him by his
shirt, it’s too late, Qinisela has said what he said
and he is not taking it back.
“Baba?” A voice calls from the side, they turn to
Mathonga. The shock in his eyes says he heard
every damn thing.

NTABEZIKUDE-

He’s never really given much thought to keeping

a close eye on Zamangwane, and she has never
given him a reason to doubt her. This is all
Khahlamba’s fault, he planted doubt in his head,
he’s the reason he’s here, checking up on
Zamangwane.
He knocks once, the second time he grows
impatient. If she is not in there, he will show her,
her mother.
He’s about to walk in when his phone beeps
with a message from an unsaved number, his
mind is not with him when he flips the screen
open and is instantly on the green app. It’s
times like these he wishes he had a Nokia 3310,
this cannot be happening to him. What in the
world of X videos has come over Thethelela?
Ntaba is given an opportunity to laugh,
something he does without faulting and
something he does not do when one of his
women send him nudes. Thethelela must have
meant to send Bopha these nudes, then again,
the old man is not up to date with technology.
His old Alcatel serves him just right.
“Nonsense.” He whispers to himself, an urge to
forward the pictures to Khothama tickles him.
Then again, he respects their brotherhood.
Things would be weird between those two if he
shows him his stepmother’s gold.
He deletes the pictures and locks his phone, he
thinks of going to ask Nandi if she has seen
Zamangwane. That one is always missing,
you’d think she has a 9 to 5 job.
“Comrade.”
One of the guards greets, Ntaba nods. He’s not
in the mood to utter a word today, he’s planning
on going mute throughout the day. If anyone
dares to speak to him, he will shoot them point
blank. It all has to do with what happened at the
cemetery last night, fainting and stuff.
He can’t recall how he got home, all he
remembers is waking up in his bed and Styles
standing by it.
The explanation was that the men helped him
get Ntaba into the car because they had no
wheelbarrow to push him.
Embarrassment showed up, Styles he can trust
but not those baboons, he wants to find them
and make sure they don’t run their mouths
around the village. However, he is on mute
mode today, tomorrow should do.

“Bhuti Ntaba.” Or maybe not.

A smile finds a way to his sour face as
Zamangwane runs to him, she looks different
today. Too happy and too colourful—come on, a
little boy died, it’s his funeral today. Showing a
little empathy wouldn’t hurt. Wait a second…
“Hold it right there.”
He pushes his palm out, she freezes, eyeballs
on display, face glazed with a frown, and hands
on her back.
“Who are you and where is my sister who
dresses like a little witch?” He’s always hated
the black clothes.
“Don’t be silly, bhuti.” Little Zamangwane sings,
if only all seventeen year-olds were this jolly and
free spirited. She throws herself in her brother’s
arms, knowing he will spin her around, and that
he does. As he puts her down, she holds a
packet of chocolate flavoured Toppers.
Unfortunately, her brother is not buying it.
“What’s the catch?” He asks, narrowing his eyes
at her. She’s giggling like the chirpy birds this
morning.
“It’s a new day bhuti, and I woke up and decided
to choose you.” That makes sense in the world
of a teenager, Ntaba is not getting it though.
“I see,” a head nod and condemning gaze. “So
you need a day to choose your brother? Why
can’t it be every day?” Yeah, Zamo. Why can’t it
be every day, pray tell? She shrugs because well,
she has no answer for him.
Ntaba snatches the biscuits, and feeds his
obsessed mouth.
“Tell me, where were you yesterday? Your
mother tells me that you’re leaving the
premises without any guards.” He’s talking with
his mouth full, throwing one piece after another
into his mouth.
Zamangwane clears her throat, she entangles
herself from Ntaba’s hold.
“This place is boring bhuti, I can’t stay cooked
up here the whole day. I have friends and I have
a life.” She defends her actions.
“Friends?” Ntaba enwraps his hands on her
shoulders, stopping her from going any further.
“Do you mean boyfriends?”
His brows are raised, eyes digging and gaze
accusing. Zamangwane breaks the eye contact,
this brother of hers sees too much sometimes.
If anything, he’s a pro in unravelling people’s
secrets.
“I’m seventeen, going on eighteen.” Another
justification from the teenager, she’s too young
to be locked up while her peers are making
memories.
“Are you sleeping with him?” Ntaba insists on
her having a boyfriend, Khahlamba’s words
have come to him.

“You let the Khanyile blood be consumed by our

enemies.”

“Eww, bhuti.” Her face is resembling Mr. Bean’s.

“You can’t ask me that, you are my brother… it’s
weird.” Look who’s suddenly feeling awkward,
little Ms “I’m seventeen.”
“Yes I am your brother, old enough to father
you.” There is no lie in that. “Don’t hide things
from me, Zamangwane. It won’t be nice for your
little boyfriend when I find out what is going
on.”
Now, where does he get off? Pouting like a
petulant child, Zamngwane folds her arms
across her chest.
“Okay bhuti, I won’t.” A pinkie promise and spit
swear might get him to back off, Ntaba can be a
kid at heart. There’s an incoming call on his
phone, Zamangwane frowns due to the ugly
mzabalazo song blaring from the speaker. With
a dramatic roll of the eyes, she springs away.
It’s an unknown number, hence the frown on his
face.
“He’s not breathing, I don’t know what to do.” A
woman is crying over the phone, for a minute,
he can’t recognise the voice. The owner comes
to his head in slow motion.
“Thethelela?” Not mama, but Thethelela.
Progress!
“Something is wrong with Bopha, he’s won’t
wake up. Please come, I’m afraid. Khothama is
not home, I don’t know what to do.”
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorne… no,
there are no scorns here, just a beautiful young
woman with Jezebel’s borrowed clit.
*
*

A/N: The insert is short due to power outages,

will make up for it tomorrow. Please like, share
and comment.
MATHONGA
Forty-eight

Sponsored by Charmaigne Kotoyi

*
*
KHOTHAMA-

He is going to be a father soon, nothing else

matters at this moment but that. It’s really
nothing new because word has it that he has
fathered many kids in Umlazi and neighbouring
towns, ask him about it and he will deny it and
swear on his mother whose face is nothing but
a distant memory.
He doesn’t have a steady job, but he is the
definition of a hustler. Going to bed with an
empty stomach is foreign to him, poverty is
something he does not like. Fake it till you make
it, that’s the moto he lives by.
You’d never find him in washed out clothes or
hand-me-downs. Life outside his father’s
premises is what he mostly dreams of, he’d
leave if his father were strong enough to bear
his absence.
Bopha means the world to him, that’s why he
abandoned his girlfriend Zilile at her mother’s
house after receiving a message from Ntaba
telling him to check on his father. He walks
around without protection, although he has
Ongezwa Sangweni's blood on his hands. His
raised eyebrow and poker face daring anyone to
touch him.
He’s driving Muphumuzi’s old Nissan Langely,
friends who borrow each other’s cars die
together.
Bopha is usually sitting on the veranda reading
a paper or just watching people passing by, not
today. Khothama’s heart does a high jump, he
doesn’t want to think the worst. He shuts the
door and runs through the gate shouting his
father’s name. Yeah, disrespectful.
Ringo and Cynthia must have heard the
commotion because they come running and
barking at their master. Thethelela scurries out
of the house dressed in nothing but a silky robe.
Shock is very much evident on her face.

“Khothama, what… what are you doing here?”

Her words run together, crashing between her
lips.
“Where is my father?” He’s not the cheerful
Khothama she knows, but a beast that would
rip her head off if she makes one stupid
mistakes.
Tears! Women learned this technique from the
devil himself. Look at her wailing like she’s
going to dress like a widow all her life.
“Thethelela, where is my father?” He barks
because really, she’s wasting his time with her
cries. He’d roll his eyes, but that’s too much
work for a man like him.
Thethelela flinches and points towards the
house, he doesn’t ask anymore questions but
runs into the house. Mrs. Khanyile is left alone,
checking the gate for any expensive SUV driven
by a giant whose surname is also Khanyile.
Where is that idiot? She was sure he was going
to come.
Inside the house, Bopha is laying on the kitchen
floor, eyes closed and mouth ajar—he
resembles a dead pig. Khothama discontinues
his escapades, heart wanting to stop pumping.

“Baba!” Is first whispered, he takes a step

closer— the second one makes him brave. He’s
kneeling before his father, checking his pulse
point. There’s a little pulse, weak but it’s there, a
sigh of relief plunges from his chest. Thethelela
walks in while he’s talking to the paramedics.
She keeps her eyes on Bopha, biting her lower
lip in anticipation.
“Is he dead?” The question comes after
Khothama’s call, he frowns at her. Why would
she ask like she’s expecting it?
“What happened here?” Now here’s a thing
about Khothama Khanyile, he’s like the Mexican
Chilli Simba chips, tasty but cuts your tongue
like a razor. He’s not the right person to have on
your bad side.
“I don’t know,” the tears return with a mission to
impress, they brought snort this time. “We were
talking and he suddenly fell, I thought he was
having a heart attack.”
Meanwhile, he is as strong as a horse.
Khothama stands, scrutinising her under his
dark gaze.
“I’m going to ask you again,” there is something
sinister about the eyes that are watching her.
Thethelela is standing in silence, body
shuddering, it must be the way Khothama is
glaring at her.
“What happened to my father?” He asks again,
treading closer to her. With every step she
takes away from him, he takes one towards her.
Before she knows it, he’s standing so
intimidatingly close. Caging her with his heated
eyes.
“Khothama… I… my husband is…” She’s a good
crier, this one.
“Your husband is not dead, now tell me what
happened to him.”
“I told you, I don’t know. We were talking and
the next thing he was on the floor unable to
breathe.
A cold smirk stretches on Khothama’s mouth,
he gives her space by stepping back. A loud
whistle from him and Cynthia and Ringo hurtle
into the house. Khothama bends as he grabs
their collars, his gaze engrossed on Thethelela
who is now trembling with fear.
“Do you want me to do this the easy way or the
hard way?” He continues patting the dogs.
There is a threat in his eyes and it has
Thethelela crying out loud. Khothama can easily
turn the dogs against her.
“Ple… please. I swear I don’t know what
happened.”
“You know, Cynthia hasn’t had any meat this
week. I’m sure she would love to taste some.”
That’s it, it’s time to send the Khanyile brothers
back to where they came from. The moon or
something because wow…
Thethelela is good at this crying thing, more
tears mean a salty meal for Cynthia. Who wants
steak without salt anyway?
Khothama is not buying it, he waits for her to
finish crying. It’s not happening, she will cry
until Jesus knocks at her door.
Saved by the ambulance siren, she runs out of
the house to welcome the paramedics.
Khothama can’t imagine what could’ve
happened to his father, he sets his dogs free
and checks on his father once again. Good, he’s
still alive—barely.

THE KHANYILES-

“Come with me,” says nandi pulling Mathonga

by the hand. His feet protest against him, not
wanting to move.
“Baba?” The question is there, right on his
tongue. However getting it out is a mission and
a half. Qinisela said Vumile is not his father,
how is that possible?
“My boy, please come with me.” Nandi
continues to pull his hand, where did she come
from, anyway? When Mathonga doesn’t spare
her a single glance, Nandi stands in front of him.
Unfortunately, madam is a lot shorter than the
Khanyile giant. Vumile’s pale face is on full view,
he looks as shocked as Mathonga.
Nandi cups his face, it’s a gentle touch that gets
her his attention. Does a mother’s touch feel
like this? It must— his heart is melting and
breaking and drowning in sadness all at the
same time.
“Ma!” His voice trembles from his chest, a lone
tear escapes his eye. One swipe from Nandi
and the tear is a thing of the past.
“Your father will tell you everything.” An
assurance with a heavy eye contact, madam
knows her man crush like her best side profile.
“He’s a chief Mathonga, please show him the
respect you’ve always shown him. There are
strangers out here, come with me.”
Her soft voice breaks the wall to his heart,
strengthened by her resolve, he guides his feet
where she is leading him. Not once does he turn
to look at his father and uncle.

“Look at what you have done.” Vumile is out to

blame the world as always.
“I did nothing wrong, don’t you think it’s time
you take responsibility for your actions? That
boy deserves answers, stop hiding behind the
bible. Not even God can save you from this, my
dear brother.” Oh Qinisela; his wise words get
him the same results—a livid Vumile who turns
towards the jungle of trees to calm himself.
At the feel of a tight grip on his shoulder, he
glances over it, Qinisela and his apologetic look
do nothing to take the fear away. He’s never
been more scared of anything than losing
Mathonga.
“He’s going to hate me.” The chief grants
permission for his shoulders to slouch, giving
his focus back to his cousin. He can still see
the sangoma waiting for Qinisela, there is no
use in chasing him away. The truth he’s worked
so hard to keep hidden has been revealed.

Nandi has brought Mathonga to the throne

room, they wait in silence for Vumile.
Mathonga’s hands are trembling, he doesn’t
bother to clasp them together since it won’t
make much of a difference. His drumming heart
wants to go on strike, take a bow for the day.
When he was a kid, there were never signs that
he was an outcast. Vumile treated him the
same way he treated the other kids, on second
thought, he treated him better than the others. It
can’t be that that man out there is not his father.
“Did you know?”
It really doesn’t matter if Nandi knew or not, he
can’t hold anything against her. She owes him
nothing, she is not the one who carried him in
her womb.
“Yes, your father told me.” Yep, Vumile tells her
every… single… thing. She is his confidant after
all. A shaky breath wallows out of Mathonga’s
trembling lips, more tears kiss the prince’s
chiselled face. What an honour!!!
“Who else knows?” Is what he wants to discern,
if Nandi knows then his bothers must know.
“Your mother.”
Oh wow, shocking!
Mathonga finds himself laughing, tears of pain
swamp down his face.
“Of course she knows, she spits on the ground I
walk on.” He says this with dry sarcasm.
“Your father loves you, Mathonga.” Nandi says,
she knows nothing about Dalisile loving him or
not. Only Dalisile knows what’s in her heart.
Mathonga closes his eyes, trying to block the
train of frustration. What Nandi is saying makes
no sense to him, you don’t hide things from the
people you love.
“Can we pray?” She asks; a solution for every
tongue-speaking, washed in the blood, Jesus
enthusiast.
His phone blinks with a welcomed distraction,
he’s thankful to Nala for texting him; she wants
to know where he is.
He replies only to pass time, praying is the
furthest thing from his mind.
Nandi sees nothing beyond his frustration, even
that light that dwells at the end of a tunnel is
not there.

Minutes later, Vumile and Qinisela walk in, the

chief takes a sit on his chair and Qinisela finds
one next to Mathonga. The room is more like a
lounge, without couches but benches. There’s a
table in the middle where the chief feasts with
important guests.
“Ndodana.” Vumile starts.
Mathonga shuts his eyes, holding back a sigh
that would most probably offend Vumile.
“Are you okay?” The chief.
This question should be banned from the book
of questions, no one is ever okay. Mathonga
presses his answer down his throat, he’d be
told how rude he is if he says what’s on his
mind.
“This is not how I wanted you to find out.” It
must be hard for Vumile; shame.
“So it’s true?” Mathonga enquires, grumbling
under his breath. “You are not my father?”
It hurts to ask this.
“I am your father.” Yhuuu! Such a misleading
answer.
“Baba please,” Mathonga snaps, his eyes never
showing light.
This is harder than Vumile thought, it’s the
same as giving his son away.
“I’m not your biological father,”
That didn’t hurt now, did it? Who needs
uTatakho when you have the Khanyiles?
Mathonga’s heart shatters to a million pieces,
sure he heard the truth. Now that it’s confirmed,
he is finding it hard to breathe.
“Who is my father? Where is he?”
He’d ask why the truth was kept from him, but
what difference would that make? The truth
was kept from him and no reasons given will
reverse time.
There is a lengthy silence, Vumile refuses to
open the can of worms. He can’t tell his son
that he is a product of rape, it will destroy him.
Mathonga looks between his father and uncle,
none of them are able to look him in the eye
and that angers him. He waits them out and
grows excessively impatient when nothing
comes from either of them.
He tries to fight down the wrath gushing
through his pulsing veins, and fails.

A second later he finds himself on his feet, an

aggressive stance on display. It’s against
protocol to stand before the chief when he’s
seated on that particular chair. If he were a
normal villager, Mathonga would be punished
for the impudence.
“Who is my father?” Mathonga is boiling with a
thousand pounds of anger, it has gone beyond
mere frustration in a snap of a finger.
“Mathonga, please…” Nandi and her holy hands
touch him.
“Ma, you do not want to touch me right now.”
His warning stops Nandi from putting her hands
on him, he’s a raging storm ready to unleash its
dangerous waves. Nandi steps back, watery
eyes cast on Vumile.
“His name is Phumlani, he was banished from
the village.” Qinisela says, it’s not his place but
what the heck.
“Where is he? Why is he not here?” The more
questions Mathonga asks, the more they rip at
Vumile’s heart. His son can’t find out what
Phumlani did, he just can’t.
“You wanted to know who your biological father
is, I have told you. I don’t want to discuss this
anymore.” Selfish Vumile closes the case, it’s
not his to close though.
Mathonga’s nostrils flare as he glares at his
father.
“What do you mean you don’t want to discuss
this anymore?”
He asks, eyes flashing angrily.
“Exactly that Mathonga, Phumlani is not a sane
man. He was never fit to be your father and he
never will. Forget about him, you are my son.”
Vumile shouts back, a wrong move.
“How is that your decision to make? He is my
father, and I want to know where he is. I have
the right to know why he is not in my life.” His
voice is slowly growing louder, his facial
muscles have become stiff. Mathonga could
feel his heart batter and his blood pressure rise,
he’s trying with all his power to push down the
rage and not break.
“I said no, now cut it.” Vumile is close to
screaming, something he never does. Nandi
stands as her mind tells her to calm him down,
she can’t take a step further than a shift of the
foot. There’s tension in the room, too thick to
slice and too heavy to bear.
“Who the hell do you think you are, Vumile?” Ehh!
Mathonga yells, eyes reflecting nothing but
malice. He swaggers into the clearing, away
from the bench.
“What did you say to me?” Vumile questions
bitingly.
Battle lines have been drawn, they are like two
bulls set to fight each other.
“Damn you Vumile, damn you. You think you
can dictate my life, tell me what to do? Do you
know who I am? Do you?” He’s growling like an
animal, more like a possessed man. It’s not
common, Mathonga has a slow burn— he
doesn’t get angry at the drop of a hat. The
sudden short fuse is not something to be taken
lightly. Nandi spins around and runs to go get
help, ithongo has been unleashed.

“Vumile you need to calm down, and tell him the

whole truth.” Seeing what’s happening, Qinisela
intervenes.
“Stay out of this Qinisela.” This is Vumile doing
just about anything to protect his beloved son
from the truth.
“You can’t protect him forever, he will find out
eventually.” Qinisela contends.
“I want to know where my father is and I want to
know now.” The displaying of the teeth and the
beating of the chest are to intimidate the threat,
which is Vumile.
“What has gotten into you?” Vumile asks, his
ears are smoking.
Oh, he sees what has gotten into his son,
alright— it hasn’t clicked in yet.
“Stop this nonsense now.” Vumile sizzles, eyes
burning a hole in Mathonga’s temple.
“Forget it, Vumile. It’s not Mathonga you’re
dealing with now, but ithongo.” Qinisela warns.
Perhaps if Vumile didn’t have his face dipped in
the bible all the time, he would recognise that
his son is not himself.
“I will not be controlled by you, Vumile. You will
not tell me what to do, is that clear?”
Mathonga roars, as he stomps towards his
father.
Grabbing him by his collar, he jerks Vumile
close to his face, gritting his teeth as he
mutters, “Enough with your scheming, take me
to my father now.”
Mathonga’s temples pound with rage, Qinisela
wants to butt in. If only he were strong enough.
“Mathonga, please. Calm down.” Vumile pleads,
eyes bursting with shock and terror.
Nandi plunges back in to a terrifying scene, she
screams upon seeing Vumile manhandled by
his son. She brought Ntaba and Ndleleni with,
the sangoma is not around. Why didn’t she
bring the sangoma?
“Thonga lami!” Ntaba shouts, running up to
them. He and Ndleleni are pulling Mathonga off
their father, they can’t seem to grasp why he’s
stronger today. Usually they would knock him
down with one punch.
“Mathonga stop, he’s your father.” Ndleleni
begs.
Instead of calming down, Mathonga explodes
with anger. Throwing his father to the ground,
he pushes his brothers off of him. They slide
across the floor, gasping in shock.
“Do not touch me, you filthy boy. You smell of
death and sin.” Mathonga sputters, dark gaze
and an accusatory finger pointed at Ntaba.
He’s groaning and growling like a raging animal,
shoulders rising and falling. He spins back to
Vumile who is trying to pick himself up from the
floor. As he charges at him, Ntaba and Ndleleni
grab each of his arms, holding him back.
Mathonga struggles in their grip, his groans are
becoming louder.
“Ahhh! Don’t touch me.” He screams like a mad
man, they are shocked by his strength.
“Don’t let him go, he will kill your father if you
do.” Qinisela alerts them, it’s easy to say when
you’re only watching. He should be helping
them.

Mathonga’s face is covered with snort and

tears, he’s heaving like a dying man and
screaming like he’s demon possessed. Nandi is
on her knees, praying. All Qinisela could do is
tell the boys what and what not to do.
Mathonga swings his body back and forth,
fighting his brothers. He’s stronger than both of
them, at this moment.
“We need to get him on his knees before he
overpowers us.” Yells Ndleleni through
Mathonga’s loudness, Ntaba gets the message
and kicks Mathonga on his knee-pit. As he
crashes knee first on the ground, Ntaba and
Ndleleni lose their grip on his arms. They are
ready to grab him again when he balls his fists
and begins pounding the cemented floor like a
deranged man.
His mouth is drooling with thick saliva, his
nostrils releasing snort mixed with blood, his
forehead bears evidence of bubbles of sweat
and his eyes are more watery than a leaking tap.
Mathonga’s heart-twisting screams affect
Ntaba in a bad way, he hisses under his breath
as he helplessly watches his brother lose to a
spirit. What kind of an ancestor has manifested?
If he could, he’d shoot it and send it back to the
underground.
*
*
How about it fam? 300+ comments brings us
back here at 9pm…
MATHONGA-
Forty-nine

KHETHIWE-

My mother was not happy about me quitting my

job; me and my big mouth. I should have told
her that I was fired. The company my father
works for is retrenching, he was demoted
instead and his salary decreased.
So, the situation at home is bad.
It’s a full house, every unemployed person is
here; in my father’s house. It’s a Sassa house
actually, my father’s sister, aunt Rebecca
moved in a month ago with her two 26 year-old
daughters.
Sono and Amafu, those two along with their
mother have occupied my room.
I have to sleep in the sitting room, on the floor.
Every day I regret leaving the Khanyile
homestead, life was better there. I had a room
that had a shower and a toilet, my own toilet.
There’s a heavy presence behind me, I
immediately turn down the TV volume. Mom
hates that I have become a potato couch, she’s
forever yelling and dictating what I can and
cannot do in this house.
“Khethiwe!” Her cold voice reaches my ears,
and causes me to flinch. Gradually, I turn my
head to face her. I did say she was not pleased
with me, I thought she’d be over it by now. Talk
about holding a grudge.
“Here,” her face is unkind as she hands me a
piece of paper.
“Kobus Moolman.” I read the name out loud in a
questioning tone.
“He’s looking for a cook, I recommended you. If
everything goes well, you will be employed by
the end of the day.”
What? I don’t want to cook for some Kobus, her
sister in-law is living rent free here and eating
my father’s food. Why didn’t she recommend
her?
“A friend already promised me a job at Spur,
ma.” I lie, she doesn’t make it easy for me. This
woman knows when her children are lying to
her.
“Khethiwe!” The folding of the arms is never a
good sign, just know you have pissed her off.
“You willingly left your job, no one forced you to.
Now we have another mouth to feed, your
father is the only person bringing in money in
this house. Stop being selfish and go meet up
with this man.”
And there she goes, marching back to her
kitchen. This is the part where I swallow my
pride and do what she says.
I should change out of these sweatpants and
wear something presentable. But I’m not really
out to impress Kobus, if he really wants a cook
then, my looks should not matter to him.
I rush to the room that used to be mine and put
on a pair of shoes. On my way out, I bump into
my father. He greets me with a smile and asks
where I’m headed, I’m trying not to sound like a
brat as I narrate the short story about me
cooking for a Kobus.
“Here, buy yourself something to eat.” He hands
me a R100 note, fresh from his pocket.
“Thank you baba,” I’m not about to say no to
money. My salary will be in at the end of the
month, I will spoil him with that little change.
“Don’t tell your mother,” he warns.
It’s funny to me, he’s always done this. Would
cover up for me or give me something and say
to keep it from his wife. She can be a dragon
that one.

“Be safe, I don’t want to see another video of

you fighting.” Geez! This father, why is he on
Facebook to begin with?
My face is all over social media, a video of me
and Thethelela fighting has been trending for a
week. Khothama has no shame, he didn’t bother
to use a fake account. I don’t care what people
have to say, what comforts me is that Ntaba is
not on social media.
My father and cousins know about the video, I
had to bride the two sisters to keep their
mouths shut. I have a mother who walks around
breathing fire.

My destination is Nyamazane Game Ranch, it’s

a cottage. Kobus manages the place, he tells
me that he knows my mother and interviews me
without a CV. I’m starting on Monday, just great.
I don’t mind a job, it’s the thought of feeding my
aunt and her two kids I can’t stomach.
I’m left with R40 and a few cents from the
money my father gave me, it’s enough to get
me a pie from the garage. The taxi rank is a
distance away from the petrol station, I have to
walk for at least ten minutes. Hopefully, I’ll be
home before dark.
“Khethiwe.”
I don’t recognize the voice calling me, or the
strange man crossing the busy road.
He’s a black man, bald and chubby. I clench my
bag like it carries gold, robberies happen in
broad day light.
Afraid for my life, I turn and begin marching
back where I came.
“Hey wait.”
He’s running, I do the same.
“Leave me alone, I don’t have any money.” I yell,
hoping he’ll listen but he’s still running after me.
It feels like the chase won’t end, so I stop and
pick up a brick from the pavement.
“I swear I will smash your head with this if you
do not leave me alone.”
Is this idiot laughing at me? I’m completely
perplexed.
Screaming is my next option, these gated
communities are a treasure hunt for criminals. I
haven’t seen anyone around here.
“When did you become so fierce, Khethiwe
Madonsela?”
Huh! He knows my name?
“How do you know my name?” I yell, brick on
standby.
“I cannot believe you don’t remember me.” He’s
still laughing.
“I don’t know you.” I backtrack, leaving no room
for him to attack when he decides to attack.
“Ouch! I knew you’d forget about me,” the sir
chuckles. I’m cracking my brain trying to
remember a face I have never seen before.
“Bahlephambikwethu Sithebe. Ten years is not
that long for you to forget your better half.”
Oh how can I not forget the guy with the longest
name in the Zulu vocabulary, I still want to
smack his mother for that.
“Bahle?” He looks so different, he was very
small the last time I saw him.
I drop the brick and giggle at my own stupidity.
“I have never seen anyone run like that before, it
felt like one of those scenes from uyajola 9/9.”
There is no reason to laugh at me, it’s his fault
for changing over the years.
“Nawe you just came at me like a thug.” I
defend my cowardice.
He laughs harder as he opens his arms for a
hug, I hesitate a bit before accepting it.
It’s been long after all and we were so close
back then. Bahle was the male bestie, we met in
primary school and went to the same high
school. We were like the Ying-Yang twins. My
father was never a fan of this man, he didn’t like
the idea of me having a guy friend.
The friendship ended in grade 11, I still
remember the day like it was yesterday. Bahle
insisted we go watch a movie Friday after
school, I agreed.

I was young and stupid, the movie ended late

and he dropped me at home using his father’s
car. His stubbornness led him to my doorstep
all in the name of explaining where we were and
why we were late. My father, being very
traditional and not wanting his little girl to date,
went crazy—while my mother threw a fit, talking
about how I will end up pregnant and bring
babies to her house.
According to her, I had a boyfriend…
I don’t know how she convinced my father to
transfer me to another school in mid-term. I
cried, having to leave my friends and start over
at a new school. He wanted to change his mind,
but my mother wouldn’t have it.
She said something about how I will never
respect her if my father takes back his word.

“How are you?” Bahle breathes as his eyes

catch mine, we exchange pleasantries and
share another hug.
“Wow, Khethiwe, you are really standing in front
of me right now. So, you change schools and
leave me behind? I thought we were tight.”
“We were kids and I had no choice, after that
stupid stunt you pulled, thinking my father will
listen to your explanation.”
He graces me with a chuckle, it wasn’t funny
back then.
“He chased me with a sjambok, I thought I was
going to die.” Bahle is on a role with these loud
laughs of his, it’s actually a breeze, I can’t resist
laughing too.
“Deep down I wanted him to catch you and whip
the stupidity out of you.” Not really, he was my
best friend and I was afraid for his life. Bahle
was a mosquito back in the day, he had an S-
curl and a little moustache. I’m not complaining
about how he looks now, I’m loving the goatee
beard and shiny head. Suits him.
“Do you want to grab some coffee and catch
up?” His eyes seductively drag down my build, I
don’t know what that little nod means.
“I can’t, I have to rush home. My father is
counting the minutes.”
Plus, I’m not in the mood to entertain another
man.
“Are they still as strict? I thought old age caught
up with them.” Bahle.
“Actually they are worse.” I’m lying, only my
mother is still aspiring to be Cruella. My father
has gotten soft, I love that side of him.
“Okay, when are you free then? There is so
much I need to tell you, ten years is a long ass
time.”
It is, he’s changed so much.
Bahlephambikwethu looks completely different,
he’s not that skinny short boy I knew. He’s a
man now, and I must admit a looker.
“I don’t know Bahle, besides, my boyfriend does
not want me to have male friends.”
Did I say that out loud? I’m such a sucker for
lies.

“Oh, I never took you for the type that is

controlled by a man. What happened to being
miss independent? You’re the girl who wouldn’t
stop bragging about how you will never let a
man dominate you.”
I was kidding about having a boyfriend, I won’t
tell him though.
“I was a girl, I’m a woman now.” My eyes are too
shifty, and he sees it. He used to read me like a
book back then, things must have changed,
right? It would be such a crime if he can still see
through me.
“Okay woman,” his smile is beautiful… a Colgate
smile, his heady scent has me salivating a bit
there.
“My car is parked at the garage, how about I
give you a ride home?”
Well, manna comes in different forms. That will
save me the trouble of taking a taxi.
“Sure.” I manoeuvre past him as he gestures
that I lead the way, I can feel the intensity of his
stare; burning holes on my back. Control your
steps Khethiwe, it’d be embarrassing if you fall.

THE KHANYILES-

When all else failed, Qinisela sent Nandi to get

the sangoma. He’s currently burning some
herbs that are not kind to the nostrils, the room
is covered in smoke— they can barely see each
other.
The family starts off hopeful because well, the
man is a sangoma, he talks to the departed for
a living. Their hope is consumed by the smoke
and dies with each transparent cloud,
Mathonga is not getting any better.
“It’s not working,” shouts Ntaba as he roughly
rubs his head in frustration.
His brother is running out of breath, heaving
and crying and groaning. He’s curled on the cold
floor in a foetus position, shuddering, and
drooling.
“Why is it not working?” Ntaba shouts, grabbing
the sangoma by his shawl. The man releases a
sound of terror, he is afraid for his life. He too
has no idea why it’s not working.
“Answer me.” Ntaba needs to calm down, he’s
angering Mathonga or the spirit in him rather.
“I don’t know,” Mr. Sangoma stutters, eyes wide
and searching for help from the others.
“Let him go Ntabezikude,” Yeah Vumile, see
what you have done.
“Get that thing out of him, get it out of him
now.” He does not care about his father’s
reprimands, it’s Mathonga he’s worried about.
“I will try, please let me go.” Ntaba seems to
soften up, not really. The only reason he does
the sangoma’s bidding is because he said he
will try to help Mathonga. The man in traditional
healer clothing touches Mathonga’s head.
“The ancestors are very angry, the one that has
come forth is the most aggressive one. I see an
old woman, too old. She looks at me with eyes
filled with anger, she wants blood. His blood.”
This he says pointing at Vumile.
All eyes turn to the chief, his are ready to leave
his head. Why is he wanted dead?
“M… me?” Vumile asks, shakily.
“You are standing in her way, she’s waited for
too long to be recognised and that has instilled
so much anger in her. She’s stubborn, hard
headed, she refuses to speak to me.” The
Sangoma elucidates.
“Then how are we going to know what the fuck
she wants.” Ntaba roars, grabbing the sangoma
again.
Mathonga bursts into loud laughter, it’s
condescending and egocentric.
“That’s her,” explains the sangoma as he tries
to escape Ntaba’s grip. “She’s laughing at you,
your bravery.”
“What?” He puckers his brows in confusion and
wrath, what game is this spirit playing at? He’d
tell her to reveal herself if he didn’t have
phasmophobia (fear of ghosts.)

“You are just like me, Ntabezikude Khanyile.

Fierce and daring.” The strange voice is coming
from Mathonga, they were so focused on the
sangoma that they missed Mathonga sitting up
on his butt, an arrogant smirk lies on his face.
It’s pride and pride and nothing but pride, that’s
what they see. His head is tilted to the side,
bowed a little, glaring eyeballs shooting
daggers.
“Who are you? Let my brother go.” Ntaba gets
to the point as he releases the sangoma’s collar.
He is no time waster, he wants his brother back
now.
“Before you, there was me and your forefathers.
I am your great ancestor. Ithongo el’khulu,
ugogo omkhulu. I am Khanyile to the bone, my
blood runs in your veins. Not even Khahlamba
and his father lived in my generation.” Okay.
Mathonga’s eyes run through every single
person in the room, they land on Nandi right by
the door. His mouth stretches into a creepy
smirk.
“I see we have intruders,” Nandi’s blood runs
cold at this declaration. Wrong time, right place
as usual. “Your grandfather annoys me,
ntombazane. He’s watching over you like a
hawk, standing in my way or else I would’ve
killed you by now.”
The spirit in Mathonga confesses, it
laughs—head thrown back, mouth wide open
and hand clutched on the stomach. Ntaba’s jaw
drops, this can’t be happening. It’s imitating him.
Who on earth is this woman?
Nandi has staggered till her back hit the door,
she’s a mess of trembles.

“What are you talking about?” Ndleleni is the

one to ask.
“She is the only woman that will make your
father happy, chosen by us and her ancestors.
But because Vumile has turned on us, I cannot
let him be happy. I have revoked my decision
and turned my back on him.”
“But why? What did he do?” Qinisela and bravery,
same WhatsApp group. He is asking a question
that’s just been answered.
Mathonga is made to set his gaze on Vumile,
the chief has not said a word.
“You, you turned your back on us. Your father
lived according to tradition and honoured his
ancestors. We watched over him and blessed
his children only for them to spit on our faces.”
The spirit is a roaring lion.
Didn’t Khahlamba cover this? What is this now?
“But we rectified our mistakes? We did the
ceremony, and appeased the ancestors.
Mathonga is ready to accept the gift.” Ntaba.
“You are still wet behind the ears mfana wami.”
A warning from the old woman, there suddenly
seems to be a war happening between
Mathonga and the spirit in him.
Mathonga is on all fours, groaning, and violently
shaking his head.
“Bhuti,” Mathonga murmurs. His family
immediately recognises his voice, he’s back.
“Thonga lami.” Ntaba runs to his side, his face
is pinched, jaw taut and eyes unwavering. He
strips off his top and uses it to wipe
Mathonga’s face after helping him sit.
Mathonga wipes his face with his hands,
chasing his breath. He wants to ask for water,
to quench the unbearable thirst. He is aware of
his surroundings and what just happened, he
saw her before she took over. The old woman
from his dreams, that one who is always angry
and wanting to kill Vumile. He knows now that
she is the one who lives in him, not Khahlamba.
This gift is too much for him, he’s not sure if he
still wants it.

“Are you okay?” Ntaba is staring straight into

Mathonga’s eyes, not wanting to miss a single
shift.
“Does it hurt anywhere? Tell me if you are in
pain, I will take you to the hospital.” Ntaba.
Mathonga’s eyes are on the chief, as Ntaba’s
hand caresses his face.
“Take me away from here, I don’t want to see
that man.” Mathonga says thoughtlessly,
breaking Vumile’s heart. This is what he was
afraid of; losing his son.
“Ngwane, let’s talk about this. I’m ready to tell
you everything, don’t go please.” Vumile
implores, regret laced in his eyes.
“Thonga lami.” Ntaba cradles his cheeks,
turning his head so he is looking at him.
“Listen to me,” his eyes pierce through
Mathonga’s soul. He needs to get that eye
contact right, it’s important that Mathonga
understands what he is about to say.
“None of this is your fault, we’re brothers. You
are my heart, Thonga lami. I love you, tell me
you know that.”
He presses his forehead against Mathonga’s
forehead, eye contact solidified.
“You knew about this?” The younger’s voice
cracks, tears break free. Not Ntaba, not the
brother who has stood by him through thick and
thin.
“Everything I have done was to keep you safe, to
protect your heart.” Ntaba’s voice is too rugged,
his calmness does not deteriorate.
“Bhuti you knew,” poor thing is crying. He is a
man who is not afraid to shed a tear, mommy
issues or not. Mathonga pushes himself back,
away from Ntaba’s hold. They are silent a while
before Mathonga is having a break down.
“Who are you people?”
He doesn’t know who he is, he’s a stranger
among strangers.
Ntaba sits flat on the floor, looking apologetic.
Vumile kneels in front of his youngest son, he’s
an emotional clutter.
“Phumlani was my cousin, he wasn’t a healthy
man.” This is harder than he thought, Vumile’s
heart is breaking. Life can’t be so unkind.
Dalisile should be here, helping him fight this
battle. But what the heck? She doesn’t give a
flying cow.
“Somehow he lost his mind, and I couldn’t send
my brother to the psychiatric ward. He was my
brother, I loved him. I didn’t know that he was
going to bite the hand that fed him…” Vumile
hides his face in his hands and tears up, his
shoulders convulsion. Nandi comforts him with
her hands on the very same shoulders, it gives
him the strength to continue; knowing that
she’s here supporting him.
Vumile lifts his head, “He raped your mother,
Ngwane. He raped her and I wasn’t there to
protect him.”
The confession is said through an ugly cry,
Nandi wraps her arms around Vumile’s
shoulders and brings his head to her bust.
Mathonga stares at him blankly, his eyes
darken as they drift to Ntaba.
“If you want your father found, I will find him for
you.” Ntaba stands, a frown knitting his already
puckered brows. “I swear to you, Thonga lami. I
will turn this world upside down for you and
bring him to you.”
This is one secret Ntaba wishes he didn’t know,
he didn’t mean to find out the truth. This one
was by coincidence, like how he found out
about Vumile’s affair with Nandi. He’d heard his
parents arguing one night, Mathonga’s name
was thrown around a lot, associated with the
word rape and the name Phumlani.
Ntaba wanted to confront his parents, make
them tell Mathonga the truth. But he was too
young back then, if only…

Mathonga shakes his head, he wants to scream

and tell them how much he hates them. Then
again, what good will that do? He’s done being
a burden, he doesn’t want to be here anymore.
“Mathonga.” Ndleleni shouts after him, but
Mathonga refuses to turn around. He’s walking
away from his family and their lies, everyone
but Ntaba beg him to stay. Mathonga continues
to saunter away, shoulders slumped, arms
hanging on his side and head dropped.

“Follow him,” Ntaba tells Ndleleni. “Styles

knows what to do, I want you to go with him.
Don’t leave his side Ndleleni, take care of our
brother.”
Ndleleni nods, and trails after Mathonga. He’s
always followed his big brother’s orders.
As they are left nursing their bleeding hearts,
Ntaba’s phone buzzes in his pocket, it hasn’t
made a sound since Thethelela’s little stunt.
He’s frowning as he opens a message from
Khothama, he has been waiting to hear news
regarding Bopha.

*My father has left us.*

The message reads, the Khanyiles are having a

second funeral.

*
*
Please share, like and comment. We have a
date tomorrow, let’s make it happen.
MATHONGA-
Fifty

Sponsored by Charmaigne Kotoyi

*
*

KHETHIWE-

“You promised to bring me home before seven,

it’s after 10pm Bahle.” My complaint goes to
the man standing before me. I’m not interested
in that look of apology, I want him to turn back
time and bring me home before sunset.
“I’m sorry Khethi, we were having fun and lost
track of time.”
He’s putting half the blame on me, fair enough. I
was enjoying his company too that when I
blinked, it was already late. Serves me right for
accepting the stupid coffee date, it turned to
drinks when we got lost in the conversation.
“Breakfast tomorrow?” He asks.
The final nail to the coffin—this man came back
to finish off what he started ten years ago, I
know he did. That’s why I’m standing with him
outside my father’s house at 10 in the evening.
He’s watching me in anticipation, I don’t know
why he won’t keep his eyes to himself.
“I have a life,” that involves laying on the sofa
and binge watching trash TV.
“Okay, it doesn’t have to be food, we can get
frozen Mayo.” His eyes light bright with a smile.
“Frozen yoghurt?” I want to laugh at him, we did
that in high school. It would be weird now.
“Need I remind you Khethiwe that you love
Mayo? You never went a day without having it
back in the day, you’d be so grumpy when you
didn’t have money to buy Mayo, but your
superman always came to the rescue.”
Yeah that’s because money favoured his family,
not mine.
“I was obsessed, remember this one time I ate
three cups and got sick.” I accept the ride back
to memory lane.
“You had pneumonia, I had never been so
scared in my life than when I saw you with your
head on the desk, your whole body trembling. I
thought you were having seizures, I cried
thinking you were going to die.”
We share a laugh, his eyes are on me, exhibiting
adoration. I clear my throat, sending my gaze
away from him.
“My dad beat me up when I came home from
the hospital, who does that?”
He took me to Milky Lane the next day without
my mother’s knowledge, he never said why, but
I believe it was his way of apologising. He’s a
big teddy bear; my father, I wouldn’t trade him
for anything.

Bahle stands beside me, leaning against his car

like I am. His hand brushes on mine, he keeps it
there, fidgeting. He wants to hold my hand, I’m
not letting that happen. He clears his throat
when I shift a smidgeon away from him.
He breathes loud enough for me to hear it and
distinguish the cause of it.
“Black parents are so abusive, and call it
discipline. I was upset with him for hurting you, I
wanted to confront him man to man.” He’s
funny.
“KaMadonsela would’ve killed you, you weighed
a cloud, remember?” I remind him and can’t
help but laugh at him, he’s giving me that look
again. The look of adoration, I want him to stop.
I don’t want him to raise his hopes on me, I’m
not that girl who will give him what he wants.
He stands in front of me and takes my hand
into his.
“I would’ve done anything for you Khethiwe, and
that hasn’t changed.”
I don’t say anything, simply because I have
nothing sensible to say. We stand through the
silence, his fingers sluggishly playing with mine.
Finally, he sighs as if discharging a load of
stress.
“What happened to us, Khethiwe? We were so
close.”
“My parents sent me away and we drifted, we
grew up Bahle.” My answer is hurried, I claim
my hand back and cross my arms.
“We can still rekindle that friendship.” He says
this with hope and expectation in his eyes.
“Things are different now, and we’re not kids
anymore. I have someone in my life, he doesn’t
like sharing.”
There’s a chariot of fire ready to transport me to
hell for lying.

“I don’t see a ring on your finger,” he’s this type

that observes too much. “I miss our friendship, I
miss you and the way we were.”
“You said it Bahle, the way we were. It’s in the
past now, we are not the same people.”
I have no choice but to push him away, life has
not been kind to me when it comes to dealing
with men. Bahle might be another Ntaba, a
disaster waiting to unfold.
“I promise, I won’t be an ass. I want to be your
friend, that’s all.” He persists, and he won’t stop,
I know.
“Okay, don’t kill yourself just yet.” Let me play
hero and save him from grovelling. “Fine, but no
random calls. If you want to talk to me rather
send a text. Outings are limited to one a week,
you’re not allowed to call them dates. We’re
friends, not lovers.”
“We can be lovers and friends.”
He’s laughing, I don’t find it funny— I want
nothing to do with love.
I need to Google how to smack a stupid grin off
a man’s face.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it when you said we
are friends not lovers. I suddenly remembered
the song Lovers and Friends. It was your
favourite, little did I know that one day you’ll use
it against me.”
Bahle seems to remember every single thing
about me, I feel bad, having forgotten quite a
hand full about him. Perhaps my head was
always filled with Ntaba… exhibit A; he’s in my
head presently.
I don’t stop Bahle as he forces my arms apart
and holds my hand once again.

*Sometime wanna be your lover,

Sometime wanna be your friend,
Sometime wanna hug you,
Hold hands, slow dance while the record spins.*

Oh no, he’s singing and swaying me in a dance.

Jesus said he will never forsake me, what is
this now?

*Opened up your heart ‘cause you said I made

you feel so comfortable
Used to play back then, now you all grown up
like Rudy Huxtable*

His hand is on the small of my back, resilient.

He’s moving us in a slow dance under the
streetlight, in front of my father’s house. His
eyes are a seductive shade— this man is stirring
up something we both won’t be able to handle.
I open my mouth to protest, tell him to stop but
nothing emits. He takes it as a sign to continue,
a faint grin on his face.

*I could be your Bud, you could beat me up,

Play fight in the dark then we both make up,
I do, anything just to feel your butt….*

My body tenses at the feel of his hand gliding

down my butt, “Okay, okay, stop.” I push back,
my cheeks are on fire. I don’t blush, black girls
don’t blush.
“Don’t you like the song anymore?” He snuggles
my face, compelling me to make eye contact.
His scent is all over me, intoxicating.
“You’re not happy Khethiwe, you smile with
empty eyes. Your laugh does not derive from
your heart. You laugh for the sake of it, not
because you want to.”
Oh, I have a therapist now.
“You don’t know me, Bahle.” I blink repetitively,
I’m not supposed to be crying, yet my eyes are
watering. My chest feels tight, I chuck a long
sigh to do away with the discomfort.
“If you allow me, I want to compete for your
heart. The man you gave your heart to does not
deserve you, you wouldn’t be so broken if he
appreciated you.”
How does he know I’m broken? Am I that
obvious? He kisses me before I can gripe and
tell him he’s lying. He cups my cheek with one
hand, the other tightens around me.
His soft lips harden against my mouth as he
skilfully guides his tongue to my own, he tastes
like my next mistake, and I’m a fool for not
pushing him away. He deepens the kiss and a
groan echoes in the back of his throat.

“KaMandonsela.”

My heart sinks at the familiar, nonaggressive

voice, the stupid heart bounces back to its
place with no warning and because of that, my
head swims like gravity has snatched it from
my neck.
I choke on my saliva and push away from Bahle
like I’ve been caught sinning.
I probably look like I’m standing in the presence
of a ghost with how I’m goggling at
Ntabezikude. He’s looking at me with those
dark eyes of his, why the hell is he wearing that
hoodie and standing in the dark like that? He
looks like a serial killer who’s hiding from the
law.

“You’re shaking.” Bahle’s thoughtful voice

reminds me that he’s still here and I’m still alive,
I couldn’t breathe for a while there while
enthralled on Ntaba’s dark frame. He’s standing
feet away from us but his aura seems to
deliciously envelop me, making me ache for him.
“Khethiwe, are you okay? Do you know that
man?” Bahle.
Jesus fix this! My mind keeps throwing Bahle
out of it, it’s how I forget that he’s standing next
to me. I cut my eyes off of Ntaba to give my
attention to Bahle, it must be a bad idea; there’s
an unexpected fear that Ntaba will be gone if I
blink and I will never see him again.
“I’m fine,” I tell Bahle and fixate my gaze back to
the man with a daunting aura, he has not moved
an inch nor removed his gaze from me.
“Do you know that man?” Bahle again, I think I
should send him away. I don’t like how Ntaba’s
face hardens with each word Bahle utters.
“I know him, thank you for dropping me home.”
He should get the message. I don’t look at him,
but feel his gaze on me. It takes a while for him
to say something.
“I’ll call you,” a finger is on my chin, my face is
turned back to Bahle.
Did this man just force me to look at him? Lord
he’s leaning in, I don’t know what will happen if
he kisses me. It feels like eons before his lips
are touching my forehead, his gait is arrogant
as he ambles to his car.

The sound of feet slowly tapping on the ground

shift my attention from Bahle, I look over and
my whole body decides to tremble at the sight
of Ntaba sauntering towards me.
There is no reason for him to come any closer,
we don’t share the same thoughts because he
moves a step in front of me. He continues on
until my back hits the fence, the look in his eyes
is… what in God’s name am I looking at?
There’s absolutely no reason for me to feel
guilty about the kiss I shared with Bahle, I
mentally convince myself. It’s not working, I feel
like a slut. I don’t know why I’m trembling, if it is
fear or that he’s too close to me.
“You better not touch me, Ntaba.” I’m afraid I
will give in to him if he does, yea I’m that weak.
The air around us has shifted, it suddenly feels
too sensual. No! No! No! This is not what I want.
I ran from him for a reason, things have been
okay in the land of know your worth. Ntaba
can’t come like a tornado and disturb my peace.
He’s too close and I think he’s going to kiss me
forcefully but he makes himself short and
buries his face on my chest; something that
must have taken a lot of effort on his behalf.
The breath from his nostrils dances on my skin,
and it burns from the contact. My fingers are
itching, desperate to touch him, a light brush of
my fingers on his skin. But I fear what touching
him would do to me, casting my fear aside
because I’m stupid and deserve to be burned
along with trashy men, I grip his biceps; his
hands stay on his sides.
My mind quickly goes to the gutter, a very
dangerous place for it to be at. I tear the
thought away, tear him away and stand straight
and confident.
“Why?” I mumble, crossing my arms over my
chest, isolating myself. I know he has no
answer for me and he doesn’t know what I’m
asking. His eyes wander, they disruptively fall
on my body, boring down my frame.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
I thought I was stronger, I felt strong without
him. Then what is this brittle pain I feel slitting
through the entirety of my body, that it shatters
the last ember in my soul? He’s not uttering a
damn word, but staring with cold eyes.
For the first time I see through him, every drop
of emotion that might be tormenting him. The
man is drowning in sorrow, he looks almost
dead. His hanging eyes tell a story of
exhaustion, I want to ask but that would mean
I’m letting him back into my life.
“You’ve done enough damage, please leave me
alone.”
A smug smile plasters on his face at my rebuke,
his eyes sweeping down my body. I know what
it means, the bastard wants a fuck with no
strings attached… as usual.
“Say something dammit.” I yap.
He has not said a word, but I can sense that
he’s troubled. Ntaba is a talker, he always has
something to say. Plus the Ntaba I know
wouldn’t have come for me, this man is here
because he wants something.
“Are you safe?”
What? That is such a random question for him
to ask, as if he cares.
“Yes, I’m safe. I’m home, with the people who
love me.” Overconfidence wants to be my friend
and I’m willing to let it in. Like I expected, he
snorts and retains his reply. Still so arrogant I
see.
“Why are you here, Ntabezikude?”
“Five hours, twenty seven minutes and sixteen
seconds with him. What is it that you two were
talking about?” He’s pointing towards the
direction Bahle’s car went. My eyes widen and
words leave me for a minute.
“How do you know about that? Were you
following us?”
“You can’t answer a question with another
question, Khethiwe.”
The arrogant bastard, may he bite his tongue
and bleed to death.
“That’s none of your business.” I proclaim.
He imprisons my gaze, standing a safe distance
from me.
“Don’t spread your wings too wide Khethi,
someone might be envious and cut them off
when you at least expect it.”
“Did you come here to threaten me, Ntaba?” A
disjointed mumble reaches my ears, I meant to
shout that out loud. Damn him for reducing me
to this timid person.
“It’s not a threat.”
The fool in me wants to believe him, but the
look in his eyes won’t let me. I’m a stupid,
thirsty whore that lusts after the devil.
“From where I’m standing, it sounds like you are
dishing out threats.” I argue his response, I
don’t like the tone he used.
Ntaba chortles, it’s not a pleasant one. I want to
fade into extinction when my feelings for him
urge me to grant him an apology. Why the hell
would I do that? He’s the jerk, not me.
“Stay away from me, Ntabezikude and if you
have me followed again, I will report you to the
police.” I whisper shout, anger deforming my
face and all sense of composure gone from my
system.

He moves in on me, holding the stare. I can’t

seem to look past the pain in his eyes, today he
decided to come to me bare and transparent.
Something happened, something terrible. I
know Ntaba, he won’t tell me if I ask. I’m
nothing to him but sex on legs.
“Can we get in the car? It’s cold out here.” He
says and I want to roll my eyes at how he
makes his body shiver at the non-existent cold,
and rams his hands inside the pockets of the
hoodie.
‘I’m not going anywhere with you.” If I do, I
might follow him wherever he leads me and I
am not taking that risk. Ntaba will be the cause
of my death one day.
“Two minutes, Peaches; sit with me.”
Ntabezikude Khanyile is suppliant? Jesus must
have announced his return. My stupid body
turns on me by shivering at the softness of his
voice.
“I don’t have two minutes, please leave, and
don’t come back here.”
I want him to gasp and complain and maybe
force me to go with him, but he disappoints.
Nothing that could attest that he’s human
shows on his features… there is no frown, no
body language or a drop of the lip. He’s
showing me nothing but cold showers.
It annoys me so much that I turn my back on
him, and enter my father’s premises.
Khethiwe Madonsela will never learn, why am I
stopping to look back at him? He’s gone,
suddenly our encounter feels like it happened
centuries ago, like time was ruptured and I was
robbed of it.
*
*
The light on the porch flashes bright, as I near
the door. Unless my father installed a sensor
light, I am in deep shit. I swallow, walking faster
and praying that God softens my mother’s heart.
I know it’s her opening that door, her face
appears first then her purple night robe, draped
body.
She is not pleased with me, I see it in her face;
in her expression that turns from sour to rage.
“Ma!” I mumble, afraid.
She places her hands on her hips for effect, her
gaze stabbing me.
“Come here,” she pulls my arm, not giving me a
chance to decide whether I want to obey her
request or deny it. She lifts her hand so fast and
lands it on my cheek. The sound echoes into
the night air, and rings in my ears.
“Two men, Khethiwe? Sies! When did you
become a certified prostitute?”
“Ma?” I try to say more, but I don’t understand
what just happened. My cheek is on fire, I want
to cry and call my father but she’s wearing the
man’s pants in the house tonight.
“Is this why you’re home late? You were busy
serving your vagina to anyone interested.”
“Why would you say that to me, ma? I would
never…”
She lifts her hand, shutting me up and walks
back into the house. I follow, ready to go and
cry beneath the covers. I don’t make it in, like
lightning, she’s standing in the doorway, a
blanket in hand.
“There’s the veranda, make yourself
comfortable.” The light blanket is thrown at me.
“You will not promote prostitution in my house,
uyeyisa wengane.” (You are disrespectful.)
With that, she turns back and slams the door on
my face.
*
*
A/N: Please like, comment, and share.

MATHONGA-
Fifty-one

NALA-

I knew that I would find him in his room, he’s

sitting on the edge of the bed. His head buried
in his hands, I stand in the door way and stare,
thinking he’ll look up, but he doesn’t so I stroll
towards him and not once does he raise his
head.
I know he heard the door open, something is
bothering him and I don’t like it, I don’t like
seeing him troubled.
“Thonga lami!” I’m sitting next to him now, my
hand resting on his lap. “I’ve been trying to get a
hold of you, we’re ready to go.”
“He died.” He murmurs, terrifying the life out of
me.
“Who?” My head is all over the place, we just
buried Thabani. We can’t have another funeral.
We’re only human, we can only take so much.
Mathonga keeps quiet, his head still bowed.
“Mathonga, who died?” My tears are here, he’s
scaring me, honestly. Could he be talking about
one of his brothers, the one at the hospital?
That’s impossible though, he said he’s made
progress and will be coming back home soon.
 My heart is performing, Mathonga is too quiet. I
have to control my breathing. I can’t afford to
freak him out, not when he’s worried like this.
He lifts his head, and trains his crimson eyes at
me. I don’t know what to make of the glower on
his face, the furrowed brow and trembling lower
lip.
“My father.”
My jaw falls and I cover my mouth in total
incredulity, I just saw his father earlier today.
What could have happened?
Dismay punches me across the face, I pull him
into a tight hug, burying my face on his neck,
“I’m sorry, Thonga. I’m here for you if you need
anything. I promise, I won’t leave your side.”
He’s not holding me back, I’m confused by his
tense body, hence I let go and look into his
enflamed eyes. That is all there is now, red eyes
and nothing more. My confusion escalates, how
he shows no emotion after losing his father. He
angles his eyebrows, his confusion matches
mine.
“Babomncane Bopha died today.”
I feel like an idiot but mostly so bad for
assuming he was talking about the chief, I’ve
heard about his uncle Bopha. They must have
been close for him to be this devastated.
“I’m sorry…” It’s all I can offer, a second-rate
apology.
“Another thing, I just found out that my father is
not my father. He’s been lying to me, all of them
have been lying to me.”
He’s telling this story but there’s no emotion in
his voice, I can’t see his eyes anymore because
he has lowered his gaze again.
I don’t know whether to comfort him or sit here
and let him finish. The latter seems like a better
option.
“My real father is a rapist, he raped my mother.
Now I understand why she hates me, I remind
her of the man who violated her.”
I feel a stabbing in my heart at the pain laced in
his voice, I want to tell him that things are going
to be okay and that he will heal. But I’m not an
expert at this, I myself am a victim who is
struggling with forgiveness. The only thing I can
do at this point is place my hand on his
shoulder, this way he knows that I’m here.
“She doesn’t hate you, Thonga. She’s probably
traumatised by what happened.” I don’t know
what I’m talking about, really. Mathonga’s gaze
sweeps over to me, there’s a diverting puckered
pleat on his forehead.
“She hates me, trust me I know.” He sighs and
that just breaks my heart even further,
everything is too much to take in.
I’m struggling to come to terms with the fact
that he’s hurting, I feel useless as well because
I don’t know how to comfort him, my mind is
not in its rightful place.
“Where is your biological father?” I ask.

My heart escapes its home and leaps to my

throat as he burns me with his sharp gaze, this
time I see need and desperation assorted with
rage.
He looks at my lips before his eyes lustfully
lower to my body and that is enough to quicken
my breathing, my heart loses its normal beat as
it races against the many thoughts in my head.
He stands up, eyes still fixated on me, reaches
out his hand and I take it without any thought to
it.
“I want to see you.” His voice is a blank paper, a
disconsolate smile drags on his face.
He pulls my dress up, I’m letting him, confused
as I am—I‘m letting him undress me.
This whole time my eyes haven’t left his, maybe
that’s why I haven’t panicked yet. I see
something in his eyes as they scan my half
naked body; praises, as clear as they come.
Tears find a way out of my eyes at the message
of love relayed behind his determined gaze, no
one has ever looked at me like that. He takes a
step forward letting his arms snake around my
waist and pins me to his body, I can plainly hear
his heart beat.
“You disentangle me, Nala and surround me
with warmth.” His statement comes with a
trigger of expectation, the look in his eyes
ignites something so strong in me. I know now
that life without him would be impossible, I
don’t want to lose him.
“Mathonga!” The call isn’t much more than a
rush of air, his name is delicious in my tongue
and leaves my lips yearning to take his name
again and that I do, leaning into him. His arms
encircle around me, his hands are warm on my
bare skin.
“Will you give me permission to hide in your
arms?” Mathonga.
He’s staring back, his eyes find my mouth
before he runs his thumb on my lower lip, and
they quake at his touch.
He leans down hunching his back, he’s too lofty.
I have to accommodate his tree-self by
standing on the tips of my toes, his lips touch
mine… it’s the first time that I shiver at the feel
of their coolness. This is not the right time or
place, my body should not be reacting this way.
Or I should blame my mind for failing to do its
job. Dear Lord, why is my body trembling with
desire for him?
He pulls back from the kiss, his gaze is doting.
“I need you Nala.” His voice has softened,
completely free of anger nor sorrow. At this
moment, I toss everything away, every negative
thought, every misgiving and let his lips meet
mine.
Nothing compares to this, my lips against his.
In response to the foreign feeling, my heart is
thudding widely in my chest.

NTABEZIKUDE-

He stands on the porch, staring down at her

curled up body hidden beneath a blanket. She’s
folded the blanket in half and fitted her body in
between, for a jiffy there, his jaw ticks. It’s how
susceptible she looks, the sight pokes him in all
the wrong places.
He bends over and shakes her awake, she
doesn’t flinch and that has him trying again.
“Peaches!” There goes her sleep with the last
drop of his gruff voice, her eyes are widely
staring at him, clearly taken aback by his
presence. He smiles, showcasing all his teeth,
there is nothing arrogant about it; the pompous
bastard goes all out for this one. Maybe playing
nice will get him noticed, it sucks being rejected.
That’s why he is the way he is, forces things
and treats people like they are nothing but gum
under his shoe.
“I thought you left.” Khethiwe drags herself up,
bringing the blanket with her. He won’t stop
grinning like a kid, this is the same man who
looked like the angel of death was after him a
while ago.
“I’m always here, Khethi.”
Sometimes his head and mouth conspire
against him and say things he doesn’t expect.
It’s too late to change his statement, he can’t
take the words back, not with how her eyes just
lit up.
Clearing his throat, Ntaba folds his arms and
shifts closer to her.
“My car is warm, you don’t have to sleep here.
Or we can go back to the homestead.” He
continues when nothing proceeds from her, he
was rejected minutes ago, asking her to go with
him is another risk he’s taking. If he could, he’d
take her by force and drive her back to the
ranch.
“Why are you here, Ntaba?”
He’s not really sure why he’s here, but seeing
her again makes him feel a little alive. Of course
it’s something he’s finding hard to confess,
maybe this is the right time to tell her that he’s
drowning and the only person he could run to
was her.
“My father will come out and find you here,
please leave.” Argh, always so polite when
talking to him. He wants to laugh because he is
not afraid of her parents, but that would be
offensive. He’s trying to gain scores here, he is
currently at 0.0.
“Your father is warm in your mother’s arms
while you’re here trembling like my existence
has depleted.” Ntaba.
Disgusting! That’s not a good thing to say to a
daughter who does not want to think about her
parents getting it on. The picture has been
painted, Khethiwe has seen it hence the look of
repulsion on her face.
“You’re not going anywhere are you?” She
ignores his outrageous sully. “Do you want to
see me dead?”
Khethiwe is glaring, she’s half past to crying. He
feels an urge to bring her into his arms, like that
day when she fought with Thethelela. He didn’t
like to see that, it annoys him till this day.
“Khethi!” Just as he touches her shoulder, the
door handle twists. Someone is coming out.
Ntaba thinks he’s invisible, pressing his body
against the wall like he’s a chameleon. He’s
literally in plain sight and whoever will come out
of there will see him the moment they step out
of the house. That’s the look Khethiwe gives
him anyway, she wants to tell him to run or hide
behind the house. The chance is snatched from
her by her father’s worried face materialising
through the open door.
“Here,” he hands her a key, thank heavens he
doesn’t step out. “Use your brother’s backroom,
he’s not coming home tonight.”
Why not in the house? Ntaba wants to reveal
himself and ask the old man, it takes an arm
and a leg to stop himself.
“Ngiyabonga baba.” A simple smile pulls at her
lips, it’s really not something to be happy about.
She’s their responsibility, the girl is unemployed
and has nothing to her name.
“Go to bed, it’s late.” Dad’s eyes linger on her,
before giving her a short hug. “Next time let me
know when you’ll be home late, I worry about
you Khethiwe.”
He doesn’t wait for her reply, but quickly goes
back into the house.

“I too worry about you, Khethi and I agree with

your father. Your disappearing acts must stop.”
That’s not what he really wants to say, the man
has no clue how to express himself.
Ntaba wraps an arm around her, it’s normal for
him to touch her without permission, and she
loves it when he touches her, that’s something
no one will ever take away from him, not even
that Morris Chestnut wanna-be. It’s shocking to
Ntaba when Khethiwe pushes him away instead
of leaning into his touch like she usually does.
He lets her walk away when she gathers the
blanket in one fold and takes a turn around the
corner, he lets her go but follows her. She can
hear his footsteps treading behind her, his eyes
burning her back. Ntaba stands a distance,
waiting for Khethiwe to unlock the door. She
deprives him an opportunity to look into her
eyes by shutting the door, but he’s just as fast.
His foot is on the crack of the door, stopping it
from closing shut.
“Really?” Khethiwe is annoyed.
“Do you want me to sleep outside?” His
question is stupid, his father has numerous
rooms, many enough to accommodate an army

“Get out of here, Ntaba, go.” She pushes him, he

won’t move, he’s a brick.
“I said go.” No need to scream, but she can’t
help it. Idols would surely add her on the
wooded mic list with how she’s talking and
crying and mumbling. She mentions something
his cold heart, she tells him how much she’s
broken and somewhere between snorting,
sobbing and hiccupping, she tells him she has
come to hate herself because of him. A slap on
his cheek should get him moving, he’s not put
off though.
“Please.” Her face is on his chest, hands
gripped on his shoulders. She’s emptying the
Nile River down her face, it’s not crocodile tears.
Every tear has a painful story to tell.
“I’m tired Ntaba, I don’t want to fight for you
anymore. Leave me alone, please.”
“Peaches!” That name came to him randomly,
maybe she reminded him of peaches or smells
like them, or maybe he just wanted someone
for himself—someone he doesn’t have to fight
hard for. The name sounded fitting for her, it
would be weird to call anyone else that.
Surprisingly, his arms are around her, tightening
every second. He pushes them inside the room,
and flips his leg back to shut the door.
“I hate you, I hate you so much.” Anger engulfs
her, every single ounce of it.
“I know.” His lips brush against her ear, the
softness of his voice invading her audible range.
“You have ruined me, you know that? Why did
you come looking for me? I don’t want you here.
You’ve constantly pushed me away, every
encounter with you left me feeling like trash.”
Khethiwe cries.
Making her cry was not part of the plan, it’s not
why he’s here. These tears, they evoke
something in him.
“It was never my intension,” it’s better than
nothing. This man never lets his heart leak. He
cups her cheeks, his forehead held on hers. His
eyes are closed, hers aren’t, she’s studying his
tight features at close range.
“Stop crying now Peaches. What am I supposed
to do when you’re crying like this?” He purrs,
lips teasingly sweeping against hers. His lucid
voice travels to her belly and gives birth to
butterflies, things might start to happen, things
that should not happen. Khethiwe pulls away,
her eyes on the ground, she’s avoiding looking
into his eyes.

Ntaba is carefully watching her as she takes

something from the trunk and disappears into
the bathroom. Normally, he would make himself
comfortable on the bed. Tonight he chooses
peace, he stands where she left him, eyes
scanning the one room.
There’s a bed in the middle of the room, a small
brown couch at the foot of the bed and a 32
inch TV facing the couch, it’s placed on a pile of
bricks covered with shredded newspaper. He
can’t really relate to this lifestyle, bearing in
mind he grew up with a silver spoon in his
mouth.

His eyes trail to the bathroom door at the sound

of it opening, Khethiwe has changed into a
dress shirt. She ignores the fact that he’s
standing there and climbs into bed after turning
off the light.
It’s hard to sleep when someone is watching
you, she sits up and switches the light back on.
“I’m listening,” she tells him. Surely there is
something he needs to say.

“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are

you?” She is not about to make anything easy
for him, a blank stare from her has him clearing
his throat.
“I’m not used to this khethi, speaking my heart
out.” It’s not a lie, he is always pushing people
away and avoiding deep conversations. He
exhales sharply and shifts a foot closer, it’s not
close enough to smell her.
“Your heart?” Khethiwe scoffs because really,
this man does not have a heart.
“I deserve that, I was unfair and treated you like
trash.” Finally, the devil admits that he’s not a
saint.
“And?” She wants more.
“You scared me with your feelings for me, you
came at me too hard that I panicked.” He’s a
man, feelings terrify him. Khethiwe shakes her
head, a message lies behind that. It piques him
when he can’t read people, this woman before
him has always been decipherable, and that
made life easy for him.
This is the part where she should be saying
something, it’s not a close conversation— he
left space for her to add anything. But Khethiwe
is staring, waiting for Ntaba to continue. Where
does he begin? If he could, he’d pay someone to
speak on his behalf. He’s a man who is not
familiar with this… whatever this is.
“Peaches.” That name again, it makes her weak
and needy.
“If you’re not going to open up, leave. I don’t
need you here, Ntaba.” It’s lies, she has never
needed anyone so much in her life. Ntaba lets
out a useless sigh that does not speak on his
behalf because Khethiwe is still quiet, glaring
with eyes of expectancy.
“I’m not sure if you know this,” He scratches his
head, eyes never leaving her. “The first time I
saw you, I got so nervous that I couldn’t speak.”
People that keep such secrets and act like
everything is okay are capable of committing
the perfect murder.
This can’t be Ntabezikude opening his heart— it
was such a long time ago, she might not
remember.
She was fresh from high school, he was a rebel
who thought the world owed him a kiss on his
ass. It didn’t make sense to him that he found
the new cook attractive, being the son of a chief
and crazy rich. No way was it attraction, it had
to be something but that. That’s how he
succeeded in pretending she didn’t exist, plus
the fact that humans are failures when it comes
to this thing called love.
“What?” Khethiwe cocks her eyebrows, it’s not
possible. For as long as she remembers, this
man has always been proud, pretending like she
was a fly on the wall. His brothers would testify
to that and seal it with one of Ntaba’s lethal
kisses.
“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”
Khethiwe.
“You’re right, I don’t have to.” He shrugs. “Can I
lay next to you?” That is a big ask, he sees the
hesitation in her eyes.
“I’m not having sex with you Ntaba, not today,
not ever.”

The chuckle is different today, it has no

undertones of arrogance. He didn’t come here
for that, yes sex makes him forget his troubles
like alcohol does to others. But today is
different, he wants to forget, but he also wants
to be cradled. His mother is not here, she hasn’t
been there for thirty one years. The topic of his
father shall not be touched.
“I don’t want to have sex with you.” Eish! That
came out wrong. He cusses under his breath.
“I mean I do want to have sex with you, not
today though.” He bites his tongue. “That’s
another lie, I want to have sex with you tonight…
right now… it’s all I’ve been thinking about. But
I’m not here to have sex with you… Dammit.” He
swears seeing the confusion on Khethiwe’s
face.
Everything feels weird for him, speaking his
heart out or is it loneliness making him think
he’s desperate for a woman’s touch; her touch.
Time slows, moving at a pace of a snail.
“I don’t know how to express myself, all I want
is to lay in your arms. Am I asking for a lot?”
Talking is tiring, he wants it to stop.
“You’re not.” She tells him, patting the empty
space on the bed. He doesn’t have to say much,
she knows what he means. A grin is on his face
as he kicks his shoes off, strips off his pants
and hoodie. He’s like a child after getting a star
for good marks, a smile finds Khethiwe’s mouth.
“Make space for me.” He tells her so he can fit
his giant self, Khethiwe lets her eyes rattle till
they almost reach her brain. He lays his head on
her chest, arm over her waist. Khethiwe wants
to hold him back, the only thing stopping her is
her mind working the double shift to convince
her that this is not real. It must be a dream.
“Can I ask for one more thing, Peaches?”
She wants to know what he wants now, but
what if it’s extreme. She’s given too much of
herself, this is all she has left. Ntaba feels he
has waited for too long for her answer.
“Hold me,” he murmurs so openly. His wish is
her command, it feels good to have her arms
tight around him… weird but good.
*
*
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MATHONGA-
Fifty-two

KHETHIWE-

I didn’t think that he would ask me to come to

his uncle’s funeral, two weeks have gone by
since then and he still looks broken, shredded
to pieces.
No one knows what happened to Bopha, his
wife can’t explain it either. Her story is that they
were talking and he suddenly fell, some think it
was a heart attack and others say witchcraft.
It’s the theories black people come up with
when doctors fail.
He wasn’t in bed when I woke up that morning,
somehow I kind of knew that he wouldn’t be
around. I haven’t seen him in a week, he keeps
contact though, checking up on me.

“Mzala, did you order breakfast? There’s a full

meal standing at our door step.” I hear Sono
shout, she’s lucky my mother is not home. That
woman does not take nonsense, I want to
respond but I’d rather converse with these
dishes, they are not going to wash themselves.
“He’s looking at me, Mzala. What should I do?”
Is she serious? What kind of a question is that?
“Eat him I guess, you stupid whore.” I tease, and
she knows it. That’s why she’s laughing like her
clit is being tickled, I have to abandon my plates
and scurry out of the kitchen to see what the
commotion is about or she will never stop. On
the corridor, I bump into Amafu, she’s also
headed to the door. I don’t remember her sister
calling her, she said mzala not wele. (Cousin
not twin.)
The corridor is not vast enough to
accommodate me and Amafu, this tall giant
pushes me aside and dashes before me. Amafu
is auditioning to be the devil’s bitch, her
bitterness reminds me of my mother. Her
mother Rebecca is nice though, like Sono. Sono
and Amafu are fraternal twins, Sono is short
and thick, Amafu is a giraffe with a long neck
that always pushes her head into businesses.
My legs have made it to the end of the house,
Amafu is standing against the wall, arms folded
across her chest. And her sister looks like she’s
buying a vibrator from a sells person with how
she is smiling at the man I have not seen in a
week.
What is he doing here? I didn’t think I would be
seeing him again.
He diverts his attention to me at my arrival, a
ghost of a smile on his face. I’m used to the
stupid grins, I’m thinking he’s not better yet.
“Ntaba?”
“I brought breakfast.” He holds up a FKC
package, I’m grateful, I’m not about to deny
food. It’s better than the porridge we had.
“Nice, thank you.” Sono grabs the package and
sends her big eyes inside, Ntaba didn’t say he
bought it for her. She does not even know him
for crying out loud.
“Thank you, Ntaba.” I grab the package from
Sono, no way is she eating my food and I am
not about to act like a girlfriend by denying food.
He’s looking at me, I think he wants to be
invited in.
“Come in,” he shakes his head. What is wrong
with him?
“Your father lives here.” He says. Did he not
sleep in my brother’s room the other day?
“I’m here to see you, Peaches.” There’s a small
fire in his eyes, it burns my sorrows away.
“Peaches?” Sono squeals, doing a little jump
that embarrasses me. “Oh my God, are you her
boyfriend?”

I quickly avert my gaze towards Ntaba to find

nothing on his face, Sono is ruining my life. I
might as well find Osama bin Laden’s hiding
place and seek refuge there.
“No,” I would deny this with my palm placed on
the bible, Ntaba does not do relationships,
that’s one thing I have learned about him and I
am learning to accept it. I’m learning to accept
that nothing will ever be between us. We can be
friends though, if he’s offering. Friends who
cuddle.
“Khethiwe can’t go out, aunt said to clean the
house.” Where does Amafu enter in my
business? I’m expecting an invoice from her,
seeing she’s appointed herself as my lawyer. I
give her a reprimanding look that sends her
rolling her eyes. I don’t know what her problem
is.
“I’m sorry I can’t come out.” I flash Ntaba a
warm smile, and get a nod from him.
“I will see you around.” He says.
I don’t think he owes my cousins a goodbye,
why is he entertaining them? I offer to walk him
to the car, it’s the least I can do after he went all
out to get me breakfast.

He’s walking too close, and that has me

slanting closer into him.
“You’re gaining weight.” He’s observing my
body from head to toe, I want to shy away but
also smack him across the face for calling me
fat.
“I know.” Admitting it stings, I went from a size
34 to a 36 in a week, of course I know I’m
gaining weight, I have a mirror at home. I blame
my father, he watches every move I make and
makes sure I have food to eat when he’s not
home. I’m the child that’s called aside when he
gets home from work and given goodies, like
pies or whatever pastries he brings home from
work. I’ve resulted to sharing with Lethiwe’s
kids and Sono, Amafu would tell on me had she
known that I get special treatment from her
uncle.
“Keep eating, it looks good on you.”
The people we choose to let into our lives, I
can’t believe he just said that. Keep eating,
really?
“Can I see you later?” I want to say yes, but I
can’t. It will take a while for me to trust him with
my heart. It’s torn to pieces.
“I can’t, I’m meeting up with
Bahlephambikwethu.” He has this little smile,
almost a smirk like he doesn’t want to smile.
“What’s that” He’s suddenly broody.
“He’s my friend, Ntaba.” His chuckle is stoical,
he jumps into his car with no goodbye
whatsoever. I don’t wait for him to drive off, but
walk back to the house. Did we just have a fight?

“Haibo Khethiwe, you didn’t tell me that you

have a hot boyfriend.”
Well, she didn’t tell me that she has a big mouth.
She snatches the KFC bag from me and digs
her hand inside, Sono can be taxing.
“He looks familiar, I think I’ve seen him
somewhere. Is it that guy from Facebook? The
one you fought that beautiful for?” Sono again,
chewing my food like a cow. Is she saying
Thethelela is more beautiful than me? She has
a big mouth, I snatch the food back and rush to
the lounge. The twins are trailing behind me.
“Yena muhle shame, what’s his deal anyway?”
These ones are model Cs, they were born and
raised in Johannesburg. They’ve heard about
the Khanyiles but have never seen any of them.
“What do you mean?” I ask Amafu, she’s glaring
across the coffee table.
“He doesn’t look like the type that would take
any relationship seriously. If he didn’t look like a
man, I’d say he’s a fuck boy. Man whore suits
him better.” I would call her a bitch if she wasn’t
my cousin, putting her up for sale sounds better.
“Don’t call him that.”
“Sorry mzala, don’t take me seriously hao
kodwa nawe. But be careful, men like him have
a type and it’s not girls like us.” Amafu is being
dramatic because of a man? Seriously though!
I’m not an expect in reading people’s faces, but
that jealous look on her face will turn her heart
black. It’s already greyish in colour.
“Girls like us?” I want to call her out on her
stupidity, it’s not a lie that I have always wanted
something more than sex from Ntaba while he
wanted only sex. Maybe Amafu is right, besides,
it’s hard for me to trust Ntaba’s words.
“Yes, girls who smell like atcher and amagwinya
or yesterday’s soup.” Sono laughs at her sister’s
reply, it’s an innocent laugh. Sono is that girl, I
guess I judged her wrong at first sight.
Spending more time with her, I have come to
know that she is a softie.
“Don’t pay attention to Amafu, she’s jealous.”
Sono intervenes, I have to agree with her. That
look Amafu is sporting is of nothing but
jealousy. She’s annoying me, and that has me
grabbing my KFC from the table, I dig in and
come out with a small wing. Sono appreciates it
with a smile.
“What about me?” Amafu shouts after me as I
saunter out of the lounge. I don’t answer her,
she will eat amagwinya and yesterday’s soup.

FUNOKUHLE-

Temptation can be a leech, I’ve lost count of the

number of times I have stopped myself from
calling my father. Something is wrong, I’ve it felt
for days now. I dream of him, seated with my
mother. They never say anything to me, the
dreams are repetitive.
I’ve been feeling under the weather and Bulelwa
was kind enough to give me a few days off. I
am an employed citizen now, Bulelwa came
through with that job he promised me. Data
capturing is not that bad, it’s tiring and
challenging but better than herding cows and
goats. I’m a trainee at the moment, I will be
permanently employed in two weeks.

“What’s wrong Funo? You haven’t touched your

drink.” Zithobile breaks me out of my thoughts,
she is keeping me company at the pool side.
She looks hot in a bikini, I’m so in love with her
skin. I throw a glance over at her when she
starts pulling her pool lounger towards mine, it’s
funny how clingy and caring she is.
“It’s nothing I promise.” I haven’t told her that I
ran away from my father’s dictatorship and now
I’m worried that something bad might have
happened to him.
“Your face says otherwise, you look like you lost
all your investments at Betway.” Her face is
serious by the way, while I can’t stop myself
from giggling.
“You know he’s not going to be happy when he
sees you down like this?” She adds and
immediately smacks her mouth to shut herself
up.
“Who?” I’m more keen than ever and give her
my undivided attention.
Her eyeballs almost jerk from their sockets, I
think she just realized that she said something
she shouldn’t have.
“Do you want something to eat?” Changing the
topic is a clever move.
“Are you seriously going to ignore my
question?” I ask.
I know she wasn’t talking about Kenneth,
there’s someone behind every good luck in my
life. From meeting that man at the bus stop to
living with Zitha and her family.
“Well, since you won’t tell me why you’re so
gloomy, I won’t tell you anything either.” She’s
smart. “Let’s go swim.” She proposes, pulling
me up with her. Bad idea, I can’t swim. My feet
refuse to move any further and that earns me a
look from Zitha.
“I can’t swim.” My eyes are shifty, I bite my lip
out of embarrassment.
“I’ll teach you.” Did I mention that she can be
persistent? It’s true that I can’t swim, but I don’t
want to either.
“I don’t really feel like swimming Zitha, maybe
next time. Let’s just sit here and eat.” That’s all I
want to do, stress eat, fill my brain with junk
and alcohol.
“Okay, let’s dance.” She rushes into the lounge,
it’s not long before a heavy pulse blasts from
the house. Zitha materialises dancing
seamlessly, however, her moves have a
clumsiness to it. I think she’s drunk, she looks
drunk actually. Fabulousness is fickle and fades
too when your drunk, but not with Zithobile. The
girl knows how to handle herself, well a little.
“Dance with me, Funo.” Is said through loud
music, the beat vibrates in my chest, that’s how
loud it is. I move a leg, tapping it continuously
on the floor. I probably look like a duck that’s
lost its way. I’m the guy with two left feet,
dancing is art and not everyone is gifted.
“Come on dance.” She’s twirling and giggling
and she looks happy, and free. My heart pounds
with the music, urging me to dance with her,
share in her joy and maybe the gloomy feeling
will depart from me.
Zitha takes my hand and tells me to imitate her
moves, I capture the music with my body,
moving to the beat—giggles proudly leave my
mouth.
I have never done anything like this before, it’s
therapeutic and I love it. The energy oozing
from every part of my being, I haven’t laughed
this much in a long time.
“You’re doing it Funo,” she says, half shouting
into my ear. We dance and goof around, making
as much noise for the neighbours as possible.

There’s a sudden heavy presence behind me, so

heavy that I freeze on the spot. Chills invade my
spine, forcing my body to spasm. I look to Zitha
for heads up, her wide eyed gaze is over my
shoulder.
I know it’s Kenneth, he carries that heavy aura, I
wouldn’t want him to think I’m corrupting his
wife. I’m afraid to turn around, the best thing to
do will be to stand like a statue until Zitha takes
him away. Lord, I’m half naked, in his house. My
cheeks flash, I’m blushing with embarrassment.
Where is Zitha going? She can’t leave me alone
with him.
The music stops, it’s dead quiet now.
Something is compelling me to turn around, I
can’t fight it anymore.
My heart jumps to my throat, he’s standing near
the pool. Hands tucked in his pockets, wearing
casual jeans and a fitting round neck, grey t-
shirt.
He’s tall, very tall and brawny. He looks different
from the last time I saw him, his hair is thick
and his beard is full. He would pass off as a
cave man, I love the look. I love that he’s here,
looking at me. It would be easy to say
something if he was not scrutinising me under
his gaze, I can’t look at him anymore so I drop
my gaze and cover my chest. A useless attempt,
honestly.
“Kenny, you’re back?” Zitha sings, throwing
herself in Kenneth’s arms. I didn’t notice her
coming in with how my eyes were trained on the
man before me.
The two engage in a tight hug, they never forget
to share a kiss. With her arms around Kenneth,
she turns to the man who has been staring at
me without blinking.
“Hey, you look great.” She tells him, I happen to
think so too. He’s never looked more appealing
in my eyes than he does now. There’s silence,
he’s not saying anything. I can still feel his eyes
on me. Had I been brave, I would’ve snatched
him in a heartbeat only to nibble on those lush
lips.
“I didn’t know you were coming this early.” She’s
talking to Kenneth now.
“I’ll be heading out soon, there is an emergency
at the rank. I came to drop my friend here.”
Kenneth says, pointing at him with his head.
Vukuzakhe! I want to address him by his name
and tell him how much I missed him, I want to
tell him that I have been going crazy with worry.
I want to tell him that life without him has been
nothing but grief.

I raise my eyes to see his reaction, he’s

frowning — he doesn’t have a friendly face. His
demeanour is standoffish but there’s
something gentle about him. Something soft
and homey.
“Stop staring Vukuzakhe, you’re scaring my
friend.” Zitha says, giving him a shake of her
head.
Vukuzakhe clears his throat, finally something
from him.
Why am I still naked? I need to find my shirt, my
skin is covered with goose bumps. I’m a
nervous wreck, twisting my head from left to
right in search of something that was here not
so long ago.
“Relax Funo, your shirt is right in front of you.”
Zitha’s tone is teasing, I’m going to strangle her
for this. With the way she’s going, I’m convinced
she knows about Vukuzakhe and me. It’s also
startling that he’s friends with Kenneth.
“Kenny, there’s something I need to show you.”
Zitha states, her arms are all over him, it’s so
like her to let her body gel with his in front of
people— it almost looks sexual. Scratch that,
those two need to get a room.
Zitha takes Kenneth’s hand and lugs him away
with her, I’m left with Vukuzakhe and a thudding
heart.

“Where have you been? Do you know how much

I’ve been wanting to see you? Why did you
torture me like this?” I didn’t expect this from
me, maybe I should have let the silence speak
in favour of me.
Vukuzakhe frowns, his eyes are searching my
soul.
“Funokuhle!”
He remembers my name, he remembers me. He
inches closer and flicks my nose with his index
finger, a smile on his face. Strange! I think he
notices how nervous I am. I’m literally frozen.
“I have missed you, my Minion.” He says.
I missed him too, I haven’t been able to banish
him out of my thoughts. He’s a pleasant itch I
love to scratch.
His arms tighten around me, he smells the way
he did the last time I saw him.
“Are you okay? How have you been?” He’s
asking me questions I should be asking him, it
is him who was injured.
“Are you okay?” I enquire, pulling away from his
tight embrace.
“I am,” his answer is far too quick. “I came back
to take you home.”
Why would he do that? “I’m not going back
there.” I dispute, unexpectedly stomping my
foot. Why would I want to go back to a place
where I’m not wanted?
“I know what happened, and I support your
decision to start over. But you can’t do that
without visiting your father’s grave, I don’t want
bad luck to follow you.”
My father’s grave? My throat clogs, before I can
help it my feet are sending me backwards. I
didn’t hear right, my father cannot be dead.
“What did you say to me?” The question is
squeezed out of my throat, worsening the pain
hovering on it.
“Your father died.”
Vukuzakhe repeats, breaking my heart with how
cold he is as he tells me that I am officially an
orphan. I disowned my father, but that didn’t
mean I hated him.
“I need you to breathe, Funokuhle.” I hear
Vukuzakhe’s instruction.
I’m on the floor, light-headed and wheezing, I
don’t know how I got here. It happened so fast,
my heart was thumping hard against my chest, I
took a step to sit down but everything became
fuzzy. The next thing he was catching me
before I hit the ground.
Now I’m looking at him panicking, I can’t speak,
the only thing I can provide are tears and my
weakness. What have I done? How will I ever
live with myself?

DALISILE-
*CHIEF’S BROTHER DIES FROM MYSTERIOUS
DEATH!*

The devil in a dress sways her hips around the

spacious hotel room, champagne glass in hand
filled to the brim. There’s a smile on her face,
occasional laughs of mockery deriving from the
deepest pit of her charcoal heart.
“Just when I thought life was turning on us,”
she takes a sip and tosses the two week-old
newspaper on the bed. She’s going to frame
this one and keep it on the wall in her house.
“And they say evil never prevails.” Mgobhozi
laughs.
Dalisile has had enough, her face warps with
irritation. Today like every day for the past
seven days, her sister’s presence pricks at her
skin. Perhaps it has to do with stress of losing it
all. She’s away from home, away from
Vukuzakhe, things are falling apart. She knows
if she is too comfortable hiding here at High
Flyers guest house in East Rand, Vukuzakhe will
lose it all.
“I don’t see anything funny with that.” She says
with a roll of the eyes, Mgobhozi’s face
crumples into a frown.
“I don’t care, I want them all dead. Every single
one of them.”
“What happened Mgobhozi? Why do you sound
like you’re on the losing end of the line.”
“That’s because we are, Dalisile. The curse has
been broken, don’t you get it? It makes us
vulnerable and weak.”
She’s shouting, and for a while there, Dalisile
flinches.
“You said you had it under control, didn’t you
get the soil from the grave?”
“I did, but I can’t reach them. There’s a barrier,
and guess who’s the cause.” Dalisile looks at
her, awaiting a reply.
“Let me guess,” A roll of the eyes. “Mathonga?”
Good guess, but why is Mgobhozi practising
how to click her tongue.
She does it until she’s satisfied.
“Is it not that loose cannon, Nandi?” Mgobhozi
states, settling down on a chair.
“What person in their right mind prays for
people who died a long time ago? I hate that
woman, she’s ruining my plans.”
“That’s impossible, Nandi has never met
Vimbela and Sakhile. Why would she include
them in her prayers?”
“She’s stupid that’s why.”
“Okay, you said you were going to kill her. What
is it sister? Are your powers dying out?”
That’s an insult, Mgobhozi stands to face her
sister.

“Sometimes I underestimate prayer, I can’t see

her when she starts praying. And once she’s
done, there’s this wall of fire surrounding her.”
She would say Holy Ghost fire if she were
powerful enough.
“There has to be a solution, you can’t tell me
that you are giving up.” Dalisile is on her feet,
ready to throw a tantrum. She wants her life
back, at any cost.
“There is a way, we instil fear in her. The only
way is by having her distracted. Bring ruin to her
life, keep her on her toes that when she kneels
to pray, she won’t be fully there. There’s nothing
more fun than lukewarm prayers. Her prayers
will hit the ceiling and bounce back to her.”
Mgobhozi stands and almost falls back on the
seat.
“And then?” Must be a muscle spasm.
“My foot feels numb, it’s been happening
frequently.” Mgobhozi explains, reaching over
to massage the affected foot. Of course Dalisile
would worry, they are sisters.
“Let me see that.” Dalisile lifts the hem of her
sister’s dress, she’s wearing sandals today.
That is definitely a first, the foot in question is a
bit swollen.
“What happened to you?” Dalisile.
“Don’t worry about me, you need to worry about
the explanation you will give your husband as to
why you didn’t attend his brother’s funeral.” Well,
not that Vumile cares.
“You said to lay low, Mgobhozi. I can’t show up
not knowing what fate has in store for me, and
this Nyoni woman you were talking about. Why
hasn’t she been able to do anything?”
“Argh!” Mgobhozi sits back, her foot is on strike.
There is no point in getting up.
“I told you that Nandi is making things difficult
for us, her God and ancestors are making sure
she is not touched. How do I fight that? I will
need physical contact to get to her. I have a
plan for Nandi, what I need right now is her
underwear and used pad.” Mgobhozi laughs, the
painful foot is forgotten.
Dalisile cringes, it’s disgusting. Her heart is
crossed, hoping that her sister will not turn her
into G.I Jane and send her on this mission.
*
*
A/N: Please like, comment and share.
MATHONGA-
Fifty-three
Sponsored by Charmaigne Kotoyi
.
.

KHETHIWE-

“You’re leaving mzala?” Haibo! Since when does

she ask me this question whenever I leave the
house? I’m upset with her because Sono and I
ended up doing all the chores while she opted
to be a potato couch.
Why is she talking to me? I don’t answer her,
another thing, I don’t want my mother to know
where I have gone. I can’t trust radio Amafu,
everything she touches does not turn into gold.
I fish for my phone in my handbag and pretend
to be on a call, so she doesn’t have to repeat
her question. A loud tongue click accompanies
me as I step outside, she’ll be strong.
The blasting sun reminds me that my
underwear and bath towel are still hanging on
the washing line, I’ll probably be home late, so I
need to take them. The neighbours have easy
access to our yard, our fence is definitely
neighbour friendly and due to that, I always
make sure to take my things before sunset.
Wait, there’s nothing on the washing line. I don’t
recall taking them, there is no need to panic. I’m
sure Sono must’ve taken them.

“Hey, have you seen my blue underwear? It was

on the line.” Amafu side eyes me, and shrugs
her shoulders. What does that mean?
“Amafu, I’m talking to you.” Why is she so
childish?
“Now you want to talk to me?” She snaps, this
girl is so rude.
“Can you not start please? I’m running late and I
need to know if you were the one who took my
things from the washing line.” I’m getting
agitated, especially because she’s increasing
the volume of the television.
“Why do you have to be like this, Amafu?” I yell,
a waste of time. Feeling extremely upset, I gasp
a bit of air in my lungs and try to remind myself
that she is this person and nothing I say or do
will change that.
“Fine, I’ll check when I come back.” These are
my last words to her before I run to catch the
Uber outside, Bahle requested one for me. He
said something about being held up at work,
we’re meeting at the restaurant. The ride is
quiet, thank God. It’s not long before we arrive
at the destination, the driver tells me the ride
has been paid for. Well, free rides are nice.
NALA-

The Sishis are treating us well, Styles and his

wife I mean. I thought we would be an
inconvenience and crowd their space, but their
house is big enough to accommodate us. We
moved in about a week ago, two days after
Bopha’s funeral.
Mathonga is taking things one step at a time, I
wish him nothing but good will in life. It pains
me though that he is not talking to his brother
Ntabezikude, Vukuzakhe comes to visit quite a
lot and spends hours with Mathonga, so much
so that I end up feeling neglected and craving
for his presence. I’m not complaining,
Mathonga needs the time with his brothers.
Ndleleni is around as well, he booked a hotel
room. Like Vukuzakhe, we see more of him
around here.
“Baby get off, I need to make the bed.” I don’t
remember when I adopted the baby endearment,
it must also have everything to do with him
acting like a big baby lately. He’s clingy, needy
and demands attention. He would ask for my
attention without shame.
“Nala, I feel lonely. Give me attention.” His
words, while locking me in his arms.

“Mathonga get up, please.” I’m talking to myself

here, this man is smiling, back against the
headboard. Just when I think he will adhere to
my command and move, he folds his hands
behind his head and continues to stare at me
with that smile.
“Mathonga!” I whine, pulling the blanket off him,
he is testing my patience. He decided on it
when he jumped on the bed after he came out
of the shower and found me making the bed.
It’s the child in him, I have been seeing a lot of it
lately. I don’t know if it’s part of a defence
mechanism, his way of coping with what’s
happening in his life.
“I’m not moving.” A grin pulls at his lips, I shall
mention again that he looks like a child when
does he that.
“So will you stay in bed the whole day?” He nods,
I give up. 11am is approaching, what will the
people of the house say?
“Okay, let me make the bed, then you can lay on
it after.” This is a good compromise, it should
work.
“No I want you next to me.” That’s it, I’m having
him adopted. He chooses not to see the
condemning look I’m giving him as he shuffles
to the side, making space for me. I’m starving,
cuddling won’t put food in my stomach.
“Stop being silly Mathonga, I’m hungry.”
“Come.” He continues, extending his hand for
me to take. How can I resist? I can’t help the
smile on my face as I throw myself on the bed
next to him, a strange feeling bursts into my
stomach, only he could make me feel like this.
“Today I want to look at you, I won’t take my
eyes off you.” He says, laying on his side to face
me. His stare is intent, burns bridges and
making me feel like a high schooler with a
teenage crush. My only escape from the
penetrating stare is to hide my face on his
chest.

“That’s ridiculous, is that even possible?” I

mumble against the fabric of his t-shirt.
“How can a person miss someone so much?”
It’s a whisper into my ear, his arms tightening
around me. “I didn’t see you in my dreams, I
missed you Nala.”
I have never heard of anything like that, I giggle
because well, I don’t have an answer for him.
“Swear you’ll always be mine, Nala. Don’t ever
distance yourself from me, I don’t think I’ll make
it.” Mathonga.
I have come to know that he never hides his
feelings from me. Every single thing he feels he
makes sure I know it.
“I won’t, you are the only one in my heart.” There
can never be anyone else, but him.
“I know,” he replies softly, hugging the life out of
me—it’s bone crushing and I couldn’t have it any
other way.
“How about I go make us breakfast and you
make the bed?” I’m actually getting good at this
compromise thingy… sigh! Why are his arms
tightening around me?
“No, this is perfect. Can’t we stay here the
whole day?” That’s not how it works, and I need
to check on Thobani. He’s forever in his
appointed room, I wish he would mingle with
everyone. He has started his therapy, his
therapist has not given me anything I can stand
on. I’m always worried that one day Thobani will
crumble and I won’t be able to bring him back.

“We had a lot of these last night,” I remind

Mathonga of the endless cuddles I was
subjected to.
“But I can’t get enough of you.” He cradles my
face and dabs my lips with soft kisses, if he
continues like this, he’ll end up wanting more
than I can give him. Like that night back in
Izingolweni, nothing happened. One minute we
were kissing and the next he was a frozen
chicken, I don’t know what happened. He looked
into my eyes and asked that I hold him, our trip
to Joburg had been cancelled because of his
uncle’s death. We made it a week later, a few
days after the funeral.
“Okay, it’s time to get out of bed.”
“Later, right now I want to have you all to
myself.” Oh my God, doesn’t he get enough of
these?
“Mathonga come on, I know you’re hungry.
Besides, you’ve showered already, and I still
have to take mine.” I whinge, my hand is on his
chest, he takes it to kiss my knuckles.
I forgot to mention that he is clingy lately, and
who would blame him? There is so much going
on in his life.
“Okay one more kiss then you can do whatever
you want.” He says with a silly smile on his face,
I’m falling hard for this man and I am never
coming back.
He sits himself up, his lips cage mine… his arms
gradually enwrapping around me. I love how he
kisses me to forgetfulness, the world suddenly
becomes colour and it’s only found here, in his
arms. His kisses are always different from the
last ones, like it’s the first time he’s kissing me
and because of that, I can’t get enough of them.
There is nowhere else I would rather be than
here in his arms.

NTABEZIKUDE-

The plan was that she finds him waiting for her
and not that big head she calls a friend and here
she is, standing before him with big eyes and a
dropped jaw.
“Sit down Khethi,” he orders as he holds a grin
on his face, showing off his pearly white teeth.
“What are you doing here?” Not in her craziest
imagination did she think she would find him
here. His mouth opens, ready to give an
explanation when a chubby man with a shiny
head, and wet armpits runs into the eatery,
wheezing like a police siren. His eyes search
the place, meeting every judgemental eyes
staring back at him. He sighs in relief when they
land on Khethiwe and a familiar face he must
have seen a while back.
“Khethiwe!” Bahle shouts, whiffing his way to
the table.
“What happened to you?” Khethiwe.
“This man stopped my car on the highway and
slashed my tyres.” Bahle snitches, pointing an
accusatory finger at Ntaba.
“What? No you must be mistaken, Ntaba
wouldn’t do that.”
“Well he did,” Bahle is losing his grip. “Ask him if
you don’t believe me.”
Curious eyes turn to Ntaba, he looks bored as
fuck. He raises a hand to signal for a waiter, in
the meanwhile, Khethiwe is sporting a frown.
“Do you have mageu? Banana flavour please.”
His eyes don’t leave Khethiwe’s figure and so he
misses the waiter’s confused expression.
“We don’t have mageu sir, but you can order
from our wide range of milkshakes.” What
language is this one speaking? There’s a look in
Ntaba’s eyes, boredom.
“What’s going on Ntaba? What did you do?” The
light bulb flicks on in her head, it explains why
she found him here and not
Bahlephambikwethu.
Seeing no one is paying him any attention, the
waiter decides to give them time, it looks like
there’s about to be a crime scene in this place.

“Sit down Khethi, please.” Ntaba says casually,

leaning back on the chair. He’s not blind to how
these two never remove their eyes from him, he
can almost hear what’s going through their
heads. He just doesn’t care, he breathes an
unaffected breathe before nicely asking
Khethiwe to join him, all innocent eyes on
exhibition.
“Listen here, bro.” Oops, Bahle is coming in like
a hunter. Blood eyes and flaring nose, it would
be nice if Ntaba was affected by it.
“I just bought that car, you have to pay for my
tyres.” Oh come on, they are just tyres.
Ntaba is stingy with his glance, to him this man
is not here, standing close to his Peaches and
annoying him.
“Khethi, what will you have?” He pushes a menu
across the table, eyes never leaving a lost
looking Khethiwe.
“Yeyi, ing’jwayela amasimba lendoda,” Bahle
sneers, trying not to raise his voice.
“Yeyi, fokof msunu.” Ntaba calmly says.
This is a warning and Khethiwe feels it, so does
Bahle—he’s not intimidated though. Ntaba is a
man like he is, and if they were to fight man to
man, they will both walk away with fair bruises.
He’s trying to compose himself, act like the
man Khethiwe expects him to be. His eyes are
on her when a harsh blow lands on his jaw.
“Bahle!” That’s a loud warning from Khethiwe,
she’s evaluating the damage. He looks fine but
it hurts like a bitch and lights a flame inside
Ntaba, he’s on his feet, grabbing Bahle by the
collar.
“I don’t fight with little boys, I will squash you
mfana.” Ntaba warns, if Bahle was small in
weight, he would be hanging mid-air with how
Ntaba’s pulling him up by his clothes.
“I’m not afraid of you.” It’s entirely a lie, Ntaba
sees it… in his eyes. And to prove that he is not
afraid, Bahle knees Ntaba on his groin. The
giant groans in pain, and releases the man.
“Bahle what is wrong with you?” Khethiwe.
Ntaba is what’s wrong with him, Khethiwe’s
arms are gentle around Ntaba’s waist.
“Are you okay?” She queries, Ntaba’s response
is a heartily chuckle. The bastard looks as good
as new, he shoves the pain somewhere in his
brain and straightens his body. Khethiwe sees it,
a fight. It’s the last thing she wants.
“Please it go.” She’s asking Ntaba. She must
know how it feels to be kicked on the groin,
that’s why she’s asking him to let it go. Sis with
balls… Sigh!

Ntaba would not be who he is if he listens to her,

he lands a hard slap on Bahle’s cheek. The
second one is a back hand that comes before
Bahle can access the first one. The slapped
man attacks with a punch, Ntaba sees it coming
and misses it. He lands two blows on Bahle’s
nose, there is chaos in the eatery. Some people
run for their lives
Khethiwe’s shrill screams are ignored.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” A
chubby white man in a pink shirt and red tie
says, the name tag stuck on his shirt screams
‘manager.’
No one pays attention to him, Ntaba is towering
over Bahle, throwing punch after punch.
Khethiwe is too busy screaming, asking him to
stop.
“You’re going to kill him, please stop.” There’s
so much blood, that’s why Khethiwe is losing
her mind. It’s nothing to Ntaba, the smell is
heavenly actually. He wants more, when he
starts, it’s hard to stop. His thirst for blood, the
urge to kill… it has taken over. Perhaps he has
anger issues, perhaps the man he’s pounding
like meat at a butcher is Dalisile… perhaps the
blood he’s smelling belongs to his father. He
wants to punish the world, every single one of
them. There’s something in his heart, twisting
and his stomach is churning. He can’t
understand the feeling, it’s not supposed to be
there. He banished it a long time ago when he
lost hope in people, why is it coming back now.
Why is he starting to feel human again, he can’t
let that happen, he just can’t.

“Sir, stop him please, he’s going to kill that

man.”
She grabs the manager’s arm, crying
uncontrollably. Her cries reach him; Ntaba. He
steps away from the injured boy. This girl is
surely losing her mind, that’s how he’s looking
at her at least.
“Ukhalelani?” He raises an eyebrow, she must
have a good explanation.
“You’re going to kill him.” She swipes her tears
away using her back hand.
“That’s why you’re crying? For this fool who
lacks respect.” Yes, he is disappointed. What a
waste of tears… Ntaba seems to think so.
“What is wrong with you Ntaba? Look what you
did to him.” She points at the bleeding man on
the floor, he’s unable to get up. The police have
been called, yep, this is a white man’s place.
Bahle is gathering himself up, and wiping the
blood off of his face.
“Let me help you,” Khethiwe offers a hand, but
the kicked dog is not having it. Anger has him
pushing her away.
“Don’t touch me!” He’s up and limping his way
out of the eatery.
“The police are on the way, I suggest you two
leave now.”
Weeh! Such a nice manager, if they leave now,
they won’t be spending the night in jail.
“Peaches,” Ntaba calls to get her attention, why
in the world was she looking at that sore loser
anyway?
“I told you not touch him, but you let your anger
control you, he’s my friend, Ntaba.”
As if that makes a difference.
“He needed to be taught a lesson.” He forgets
to add that he started it, Khethiwe’s face is
warping with anger. She’s feeling so many
emotions at the speed of light.
Me: “What lesson Ntabezikude? You slashed his
tyres and beat him up. He’s my friend, don’t you
get that? How would you feel if someone did
that to Mathonga” That should get him
thinking… he would kill the person without
giving it a second thought, but he conceals that
from her.
“I did it for you Khethi, I would do anything to
keep you safe”
Eyy! He’s revealing too much man… “Look, it’s
not a big deal. He walked out of here alive.”
The nonchalant shrug agrees with him, humans
are too emotional it’s boring.
“Normal people don’t do that, Ntaba. It scares
me that you would do that. When did I ask you
to do this for me? Why? Why do you have to do
such things for me?”
When anger comes, it stays until you face it ‘eye
ball to eye ball.’
Ntaba grabs her arm and pulls her outside with
him, they have performed enough for the
customers.
“Let go of my arm.” Khethiwe snaps, yanking it
away.
She wants to get away from here, he’s getting
on her last nerve and she can’t stand to look at
him anymore.
“Where are you going?” He yells after her as she
turns to walk away, she doesn’t care to turn
around.
“Khethiwe!”
Nope, she’s done. He pressed the wrong button.
On second thought, she is dealing with a
maniac who never gives up. His hand is tight
around her arm, he’s so frustrating she wants to
smack him across the face. She would if it were
not for the raging look on his features. It scares
her, and her face fails to hide it.

“Do I terrify you, Peaches?”

He’s so funny, it must be a rhetorical question.
Khethiwe blinks away from his gaze, lashes
flapping away tears.
“Do you really think I would ever hurt you?”
Well… he’s done it before, so…
“Let go of my arm and if you follow me, I swear,
it will be the last time you ever see me.”
Women! He’ll try again tomorrow, slowly, his
grip loosens. He steps back with hands raised
and an innocent look on his face. This Ntaba
would never hurt a fly.
*
*
A/N: Please like, comment and share.
MATHONGA-
Fifty-four

VUMILE-
He never saw this day coming, where his
children would be scattered everywhere like a
drunkard’s vomit. It’s the loneliest he’s ever
been, yes Nandi and Zamangwane are there but
his sons are not. It’s out of his control, this
morning, at the breakfast table; it was the two
of them. Him and Nandi, Zamangwane is
forever sleeping at a friend’s house much to
Vumile’s annoyance.
Her friend, Cebolakhe can be very convincing
with her bambi eyes and a natural smile that’s
accompanied by dimples. She is a family-friend,
they’ve known her since the girls were in
primary school and so they trust her like a blind
man trusts his loyal dog.

A smile finds Vumile’s mouth when Nandi walks

in the living room with a glass of orange juice in
hand. She is easy to the eye, she carries herself
with respect and humility, that’s how she was
able to bag herself respect around here. Apart
from that, her demeanour demands it.
“You know there are people assigned to do
that.” He never wants her to overwork herself,
that’s what she’s always doing around here.
They rarely spend time together, it’s either she’s
cooking, cleaning or ordering the staff around.
“I know, I just like doing things for you. Serving
you makes me happy.”
Yes she’s a submissive, but she’s also her own
person. Vumile loves what his ears are hearing,
he touches her back as he places the glass on
the table.
“Thank you, MaShamase.”
She returns a smile and finds her place beside
him, nothing beats being alone with this man. It
would be nice if they were married already and
watching their children grow.
“We haven’t been to church in a while, I was
thinking we could go this weekend.” Doing
church together is asking for too much; arriving
at the same time, hands locked is asking for
trouble.
He hasn’t told outsiders yet that he is taking a
second wife. Heck he is not even sure if it is
allowed in the Sabbath.
“We can do church, but can we fix our problems
first? I’d hate to have to explain things to the
church, why my children are scattered
everywhere and why I’m holding the hand of a
woman who is not my wife.”
That’s not how it sounded in his head, he
cringes with regret when she stands to leave.
“MaShamase, I’m sorry.” He’s holding her and
pulling her to him, Nandi keeps her gaze away.
Vumile can be insensitive sometimes, she didn’t
ask to be in this situation… to fall in love with a
married man and bearing him a child.

While pregnant with Zamangwane, her cheeks

grew fuller, and her waist, hips and thighs grew
plump. It was a drastic change for someone
who wore a small size her whole life.
Her figure changed after she gave birth to
Zamangwane, it made her insecure. Vumile was
there to assure her that he still loved her the
same, that was enough for her.

“Please stay.” His eyes assist in pleading for

mercy, Vumile is her weakness. She would sell
her soul to the devil for him, he is the only man
that has ever truly loved her— he is her future.
Vumile grabs her by the hips and sits her on his
lap, her cheeks turn red and lashes flatter. This
man is looking into her eyes, like nothing else
matters but her.
“Someone might walk in.” She tells him, it would
be a sight for gossipers if someone catches the
chief and his mistress with their fingers
reaching for the cookie jar.
“Then let them,” he kisses the crook of her neck.
“That tickles,” Nandi’s giggle softens the room
as if her gentle sound could make the weather
warmer and the sun kinder to melanin skin.”
Vumile’s lips twitch into a smug grin, her smile
strikes him the most. After his sons, it’s the
most beautiful thing he has ever laid his eyes
on.
“Your uncles must have received the letter by
now.” He dives into the topic, arms clasping
around her waist. Nandi lays her head on his
shoulder, her arms find comfort around his
neck.
“You know they are going to give you a hard
time, right?” He knows, it’s been long overdue,
he’s kept their daughter for too long without
their consent.
“Do you have to remind me?” He would rather
not think about it.
“It’s a reality we can’t run away from, Ngwane.”
Not wanting to make him uncomfortable, Nandi
had held back from talking about this but the
day is approaching. They have to be prepared
for when her uncles come knocking.
“What about Dalisile?” Nandi questions, her
voice guarded.
“She’s not answering her phone, I’ve been trying
to get in touch with her.” Vumile says.
Nandi swallows, making a small noise to show
that she is listening.
“I have to tell her about the lobola, I owe it to her
at least.”
Nandi begs to differ, the chief owes that woman
nothing. The cuddling session is over, he has
made her upset by saying things without
thinking.
“Don’t go, please.” He nuzzles his face on her
neck, locking his arms around her. “Don’t
deprive me of my right to hold you,
MaShamase.”

How can she leave when he’s making her heart

dancing like David danced before God?
“You know I’m not good with words, sometimes
I say things without thinking. Maybe that’s why
we are where we are today, stagnant with no
idea how to move forward.”
Actually, it’s because of the life choices he’s
made over the years. Maybe if he left Dalisile a
long time ago, they would be Mr. and Mrs.
“I think she has a hold on you, I don’t know if it
is muthi or you’re blinded by the fact that she is
the mother of your children.” Nandi starts, it’s
not like her to talk about her sister wife. Dalisile
is one woman whose name she would never
spit out of her mouth.

“I don’t understand why you have kept her in

your life when you don’t love her anymore, why
is she still your wife, Ngwane?”
Vumile shifts on the leather chair feeling on
edge, he lets go of Nandi so he can look her
straight in the eye.
Today he looks more like a businessman than a
chief, the crisp blue shirt is tight around his
body. Sleeves half folded and a tie hangs
loosely around the perfectly ironed shirt, he
smells like he did when he left for work this
morning.
Nandi loves it, his scent and the look of a man
who’s been hard at work throughout the day.
She loves having him come home to her after
work, taking his briefcase, and giving him a
glass of water to quench a day’s thirst.
This is her husband, traditions and law aside,
this is the man she has chosen to love for as
long as she lives. She had friends before, that
was before she met Vumile and fell in love with
him. It was imperative that she distances
herself from people, all in the name of keeping
their secret safe.

“I think she had something to do with Vimbela

and Sakhile’s death, that’s what I want to prove.
I can’t do that when she’s away.” Vumile
justifies.
“But she’s always away Ngwane, and what
plans have you made to prove that she was
responsible for the fire? Can’t you take the
matter to the police or hire a private
investigator, consult a traditional healer or
something. Time is not on our side, I’m…”
Vumile shifts, pushing Nandi off his lap, he’s no
longer desperate for a cuddle now.
“A traditional healer Nandi?” He didn’t expect
this from her.
Really, what’s the point of running away from
this? The truth is out, Mathonga knows
everything now.
Nandi looks up, gaze flicking up the outlines of
dark skin and a defined jaw, a centimetre at a
time. She is a church woman, hence the urge to
explain herself hitting her across the face. She
sighs, her small hand hides into his gorilla hand.
“Being a Christian does not mean I’m blind to
customs and traditions, my father was a
traditional man. I understand that ancestors are
an important part of my life.”
Vumile sighs, feeling overwhelmed. They have
never spoken about this matter, maybe he never
gave her a chance. He just assumed that she is
a diehard Jesus fan.
“This is why I support Mathonga in being a
sangoma.” What the hell?
“Mathonga is not a sangoma.” Vumile argues,
his son can’t be a sangoma. Anything but that,
he’s too young and has his whole life ahead of
him.
“Whatever his ancestors want him to be,
isthunywa, isangoma or a prophet. I support
him and I need you to do the same, you two
have a long road ahead of you, Vumile. You
both need to heal and sort out your differences.
If you can, find his biological father and bring
him to him.”
Hee! She’s crossing limits now, Vumile gently
takes his hand from her.
“My son will never meet that man,” the syllables
are heavy on his tongue.
“Mathonga deserves closure, don’t let him go
through life wondering what if…”
“Nandi, I said no. Phumlani will destroy my
son’s life, as long as I live, I will protect
Mathonga from that monster.” Nandi drops her
gaze at the authority dripping from the chief,
he’s not Vumile right now but the chief of the
people. He has a frown on his face as he
storms out in anger.

HLABELA-

Kushi is still angry but wants to see him.

Everything in his body screams at him to go,
however, he has a father who ordered him to
stay put. His father’s approval is treasure to him
and going against Vumile would mean
disappointing him, that’s something he can’t
have. Dear Kushi will have to wait, he’s regretful
about it, but right now, impressing Vumile is the
most important thing.
There’s a church meeting tomorrow at the
homestead, the church pastor wants to have a
word with him. He doesn’t mind, as long as he
gets to fly down to Mpumalanga after that and
see Kushi.

He’s still at the office, finishing up a few things

when Ntaba walks in. This one is not serious
about life, he’s showing up at the office after
hours, dressed in black sweats and a grey turtle
neck. Perks of being the son of a wealthy man.
Hlabela's chuckle rolls about the room like a
basketball, it hovers around his younger brother
laying casually on the two seater couch.
“Where have you been?” Hlabela asks, serving
his brother with a frown. “And why are you
dressed like you’ve been out doing the devil’s
work?”
He looks back at the notes in front of him,
there’s so much signing to do.
Ntaba’s laying on his back, facing the ceiling,
his arm covering his face. He’s in deep thought,
releasing sigh after sigh. Hlabela shakes his
head, his brother is taking too long to answer.
“I’m thirsty,” Ntaba’s statement is said
absentmindedly.
“There’s water over there and a whisky if you
can stomach it.” If he can stomach it because
he only drinks amageu. Another sigh from
Ntaba.
“I’m thirsty for blood ndoda.” Ntaba says in a
deep accented Zulu, it’s enough for Hlabela to
pause his work and look over at his brother.
Seeing that the other is lost in his own world, a
frown breaks on his face.
“Igazi? Hawu, ndoda! Are you a vampire now?”
It’s not really a meaningful question from
Hlabela, he’s only entertaining the younger man.
“Have you ever thirsted for blood?” Ntaba
ignores the shock in his brother’s voice and
continues to speak as if Hlabela never uttered a
word.
“There’s this mampara challenging me, I want
to strangle him to death. Do you think I should
do that, or shoot him execution style?”
“Haibo!” The word shoots through Hlabela’s
chest like a bullet from a rifle, his ears must be
high on drugs. “What are you saying to me,
Ntabezikude?”
His brother’s thoughts are completely unholy,
the all-seeing and all-knowing God will punish
him.
“Angizenzi ndoda,” Ntaba replies, playfully
flapping his feet on the brown couch. He casts
a quick look Hlabela’s way, whose lips thin in a
way they do when he’s thinking too hard.
“Then what is it? Did something happen to
you?” Hlabela leaves his chair, he unbuttons at
least two knobs on his shirt as he walks around
the big table and sits on its edge.
“Khethiwe left the house.” Ntaba shares, he
does not look dejected or troubled, everything
looks fine from Hlabela’s view.
“I know she left,”Hlabela shrugs. He’s getting
tired of this maze race, Ntaba needs to get to
the point. It’s been a long day, he needs to go
home and rest. Tomorrow is going to be a long
day with the pastor and his father.
“Khethiwe’s body is changing,” Ntaba smiles
contently. “Her cheeks are round, she has love
handles and thick thighs that rub together when
she walks. She looks so meaty, and appetising.
I want to poke her and bite her all over.”
Hlabela frowns, this is very awkward. He wants
to tell Ntaba that Khethiwe is not a meal, but
then again, what a waste of breath that would
be.
“I want her to come back, but she doesn’t get it.
Now she’s mingling with a man who looks like a
ballooned Vienna. She takes his side and thinks
he’s a gift from the gods. I think she’s forgotten
that I’m her god, I want to remind her so bad. I
want to bend her over and fuck her until she
forgets every existing thing in this world, but me.
When I’m done with her, she will be worshiping
the ground I walk on.”

Hlabela is done, how is this brother like this?

He’s not normal like his other brothers, and
when did he start sleeping with the cook? His
relationship with Khethiwe has always been
professional, and he thought Ntaba was on the
same boat as him. Now he’s talking about
fucking the poor child to amnesia.
“You’re not God, Ntaba. I’m sorry to break it to
you, if Khethiwe does not want you, there’s
nothing you can do to change her mind.”
Hlabela says, he walks back around his desk to
clear it. It’s been a long ass day, he still has to
call Kushi, and apologize like he’s always been
doing.
“I’m going to bring her back home, where she
belongs.” Ntaba continues to be absentminded,
and ignorant. This is a one man session.
“I want to kill that short shit, before he starts
dreaming of a life with my Khethi.” That’s too
much offloading, Hlabela freezes with papers in
his hand, looking back up at his brother. Can he
just get off from that couch and stop talking
nonsense?
“She’s not yours ndoda, stop being delusional.”
He has his own problems, dealing with kinder
garden squabbles is getting on his nerves
because… what the hell is Ntaba talking about
anyway?
The noise that bursts forth is like a cross
between a snort and a drunken laugh, Ntaba
always knows when to breathe between his
loud chuckles. It rolls about the room like an
onion falling from the food rake, animated and
gratifying as it spins around Hlabela in its
chaotic way.

Gradually, Ntaba props himself up, holding the

armrests of the couch and slides from it.
“It was a nice talk, see you at home.” He grins
and swivels on his heel. So he’s going to leave,
just like that?
With eyes full of shock and a frown on his face,
Hlabela’s gaze follows him to the door. Eyes
narrowed and brows knitted in worry more than
confusion, the frown grows when Ntaba stops
and turns back to him.
“About your mother, I have chosen a coffin for
her. White suits her best, she will be buried like
the queen she is.” The grin on his face remains,
it’s hell-a confusing for Hlabela. Ntaba must be
smoking nyaope, he’s talking like someone who
has lost touch with reality.

“You killed our mother?” An unemotional

question from Hlabela, he can’t understand why
his brother speaks like someone who is not fine
in the head.
“Only in my dreams, every night. 28 stab
wounds, her blood smells funny though. I don’t
like it, I don’t like how it feels in my hands.”
Ntaba explains and sighs.
“So all of this happened in your dreams?”
Hlabela.
“Yes.” Ntaba nods, confidently.
“You had a dream where you killed our mother
and decided to buy her a coffin?” He’s trying to
make sense of all this, it’s really not normal.
Ntaba’s second chuckle comes in fits and
bursts, loud to soft, to nothing at all and back to
loud again. He shakes and raises his shoulders
almost hiding his neck, only a child can laugh so
freely.
“Yes, it eases the guilt.” Ntaba finishes with a
shrug and walks out. Hlabela is left in total
hysteria, what just happened? Ntaba having
dreams where he is killing his mother is not
normal, and he goes on and buys a coffin for
poor Dalisile. Hlabela can’t make sense of
what’s going on with his brother.
PETROS NGCOBO-

Curse midnight and every dark thing it comes

with. People have locked themselves in their
respective homes, sounds of life outside are
swapped by sounds of children giggling out
loud and repeatedly singing the same song.

*Ring-a-ring-a-rosies
A pocket full of poises
A tissue, a tissue…
We all fall down*

In his rightful mind he knows they are not

earthly. He’s curled up under the coffee table,
paralysed by fear. His eyes are flicking from
wall to wall, catching dark shadows prowling in
the still air. There’s a pungent smell of death
and any nauseating smell on the face of the
earth. He smells like sickly excrements, his
house is cluttered, there are piles of trash,
stains on the wall and carpet.
Fear is hanging in the chilled darkness of the
night, the air in the house is hot and stale,
burning his lungs like brimstone. There are no
lights, prepaid electricity does not recharge
itself. He would’ve asked the neighbours for
help if he weren’t smelling like a dead animal.

His heart sinks when he hears what sounds like

four footsteps coming down the passageway, a
key drops on the counter in the kitchen. The
footsteps are nearing him, heavy and loud. He’s
shaking like satin against the wind, his heart is
a drum of a thousand loud beats.
“Ple… please… stop… please stop.” It must be a
sin for a man to cry like this, God himself would
surely dismiss it.
There is no help for him outside these doors,
his wife is dead.
Ntabezikude Khanyile killed his wife, he has no
one to take care of him now. Shame won’t let
him ask for help outside, a man who was highly
esteemed by his family and community has
become an invalid who smells like he works at
a dog mortuary.

“Maluuume!” Every hair on his body is up, he

recognises the sound of the ghost— Thabani.
His voice was a little scratchy compared to
Thobani’s. Petros would call his name but fear
won’t let him.
“Leave me alone.” He cries, teeth shattering and
eyes tightly shut lest he sees what no human
eye can stand.
He’s crying out loud, he can’t walk, nor can he
crawl himself out of the house and it’s dark out,
what eerie being will he come across out there.

“Maluuumeeee!” The voice of a boy whispers

his name in a spine chilling tempo, Petros
covers his ears and a shrill scream takes over
his mouth. Hiding under the table is not helping,
evil lurks around and has enveloped him with a
thick blanket of fear.
“Stop… stop… please stop.”
Okay, it’s not right that he’s crying helplessly.
“I’m… so… sorry. I’m sorry, just make it stop…
please.”
His eyes shoot a glance at the kitchen entrance
as he hears the water running, someone is in
kitchen, and they are washing dishes. It can’t be,
he’s alone in the house. The curtains in the
sitting room shake as if they are laughing at
him, he places a sweaty hand on his forehead
to wipe away the dampness on his face. All the
hairs on his arm and the back of his neck stand
on end.
Lately Petros is afraid of his own existence, he
feels hyper aware of everything, and regular
everyday things seem strange to him, as if he
was just dropped on an alien planet.

Thoughts of survival parade his mind, staying

under the table won’t help him. He hits his head
on the edge of the table and grumbles when he
goes on all fours, he crawls towards the corner
of the room to pin himself against the wall.
Then everything stops, the house is silent; that
thick, heavy silence—ears straining for any
noises.
He’s afraid to move a muscle, what if Thabani
comes back? He can’t take another trip of
torture, it’s too much to bear. He hears the
sound of the door banging and think it’s part of
the illusion he’s trapped in, there’s a male voice
outside. Someone is calling his name, the voice
is not as scary as the little boy’s.
“Uncle Petros.” This one calls him uncle in
English, it’s also a voice he recognises. It could
be a trick though and answering to it might be
the last time he utters a word.
“Uncle Petros, I’m going to break this door
down.” The male voice shouts, and break the
door down, he does.

Fresh tears fill Petros’ eyes at the sight of his

sister’s son standing in the doorway, his face is
clear due to the light eliminating from the street
lights, that’s how Petros is able to recognise the
young man.
Petros tries to speak, he wants to tell his
nephew everything. He wants to tell him how he
got here and how much he has suffered, before
he passes out from fear. The nephew kneels
before him and asks, “Malume, we have been
trying to get a hold of you for weeks. What
happened to you?”
Petros lifts his shaking hand to touch his
nephew’s face, he wants to make sure that he is
really here. The last time he heard, his sister
and her kids had relocated to Cape Town.
“Ntabezikude Khanyile.” Petros says, before he
blacks out.
*
*
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.
.

THE KHANYILES-

Nandi wakes up wrapped in warm arms, she’s

naked under the sheets, body pressed against
the man whose arms are around her. She
yawns herself back to life, and looks up at him.
Vumile always insists on cuddling, in the night
she would slip away and lay on the far end of
the bed. Her freedom would last for a few
minutes before he senses she’s no longer in his
embrace. He has panda tendencies and she
doesn’t, it doesn’t mean that she loves him less.
His eyes are closed, but she knows he’s half
asleep and half awake, he probably feels her
stare.
Last night they couldn’t resist it anymore, and
gave in to lust. Vumile was in her room to
apologise for his big mouth, and one thing led
to another.

“I love you too.” Says Vumile with his eyes still

closed, she knew he wasn’t in a deep sleep.
Nandi’s morning face is replaced by a garish
smile, her cheeks bunching up, almost reaching
her eyes.
“I don’t remember saying I loved you.”
“You don’t have to, I feel it.” Vumile says,
reaching down to press a quick kiss on her
forehead. His hands roam on her body,
squeezing every squishable part.
Nandi stiffens, she understands that he loves
her the way she is but being reminded that she
has flabs here and there is not what she wants.
“Are you going to church today?” Nandi asks, to
do away with the tension in the room.
“I’ll attend the first service, pastor Khuzwayo
wants to have a word with Hlabela. The meeting
will be held here.” He tells her, slowly rubbing
her back. This, she can take. Sure there are
bumps here and there, but it’s okay.
“Should I cook a meal or prepare finger foods?”
The real house wife of Izingolweni.
“It will be a brief meeting, don’t strain yourself.
Plus, we can’t have cooked food, I don’t want to
give pastor Khuzwayo something to preach
about next week.” His light chuckle is an
auditory hug, it envelops Nandi and brings a
smile to her face.
“You should get ready for church then, we don’t
want to give pastor Khuzwayo something to
preach about.” She leaves his arms, covering
herself with a bed sheet. She’s staring into
space, her back turned to him. Something is in
her mind, she wants to ask, although she has
the answers.
“Do I have to keep myself hidden?” Lest pastor
Khuzwayo comes wearing his holier than thou
coat, yes.

A frown finds its way to Vumile’s face. He hates

that he has to put Nandi through this, if he
could he would do things differently. His silence
answers her question, she leaves the bed to go
prepare him a bath. His clothes are in his
bedroom, she will have to go there and get
them. They were ironed yesterday before 6pm,
they are trying by all means to continue keeping
the Sabbath day holy.
.
.
Zamangwane didn’t come home last night like
she said she would, her bed is made and her
room empty. These sleepovers are getting out
of hand, the child is having her way around here.
In the kitchen, Nandi bumps into a girl wearing
tight blue jeans and a crop top that only covers
her boobs. The red lipstick painted on her lips is
too bright to miss, she’s chewing chappies like
she traded her numbers for it with the Pakistani
tuckshop owner.
“Who are you?” Nandi asks, eyes dropping and
picking the young girl. This is a royal house,
people don’t dress like trash around here.
“My name is Zondiwe ma, I’m the new help. I
was referred by Sis’Nandipha.” Sis’Nandipha is
the lady in charge of the washing and ironing,
Nandi remembers mentioning someone to take
over Khethiwe’s spot. She meant a respectable
girl, not a bad version of a black Barbie.
“We have boys around here, you shouldn’t be
walking around dressed like that.” It’s too much
really, Nandi is not happy whatsoever and she’s
not hiding how she feels from her.
“I understand ma, I just got here from
KwaMashu. I will change into something
decent.”
Like she has a choice.
“Did Nandipha tell you we keep the Sabbath
here?” Zondiwe is confused, she pops her gum
and quickly offers Nandi an apology.
“Go back to Nandipha, she will fill you in.” Nandi
tells her and walks away, she has a potential
husband to tend to.

VUKUZAKHE-
A call comes in from his wife, days of ignoring
her are long gone. That smash he received on
the head has changed him, he’s grateful for life
and the things he has. He’s grateful for Bongiwe
and he’s grateful for Funokuhle. They both
mean something to him, he wouldn’t trade them
for anything.
“Mabuza.” He’d smile if his heart was not heavy.
“When are you coming home? You said we’ll do
the cleansing ceremony this weekend.”
He hasn’t forgotten about that. How can he
forget about his first child? He didn’t want
children, and nothing will ever change that. It’s
how it has always been, but that doesn’t change
the fact that he made a baby with Bongiwe.
They did make a baby, that’s growing in the
spiritual world. They owe it a peaceful sleep.
“Mathonga still needs me, but I will make time.”
His eyes chase the young petite man sleeping
on his bed, he came here with a mission to take
him back home so he can visit his father’s
grave.
The prolonged silence creates an awkward
ambiance between him and his wife, she’s
upset, he can easily tell.
“I need you too, our baby needs you. You’ve
been away for a week, you left me alone to deal
with your father’s girlfriend. I can’t stand her,
she controls everything around here. I feel like I
have lost my place in this house…”
The complaining is one of the reasons he stays
away for too long. Zakhe has met Nandi and
Zamangwane, he hasn’t had time to sit and talk
to them. That placed aside, he has no problem
with his father taking a second wife. Like he had
no problem with Nandi the first time they found
her at the homestead, perhaps having Nandi
around will soften Vumile’s heart. It will give
Zakhe a chance to introduce Funokuhle and let
his family know that he has fallen in love with
the boy and wants him to be part of his life.

“Try not to see things that way, Bongiwe. Nandi

is not there to take your place.”
Yeah, that’s not how Bongiwe sees it.
“What about your mother? What will she say
when she comes back?”
Zakhe doesn’t care, and he is not going to
discuss other people behind their backs.
“Listen, I have to go. I will talk to you soon.” The
line goes dead, he tosses the phone on the bed.
Funokuhle is awake, staring back with droopy
eyes.
“How are you?”
Zakhe had brought him to his house in
Northcliff after that fainting incident, the two
had burdened Kenneth enough. Nothing comes
from Funokuhle.
“I won’t know how you’re doing if you don’t tell
me.” Zakhe declares.
He’s worried, that’s why he insists on knowing.
“When are we leaving for KZN?”
“Whenever you’re ready.” Zakhe.
“What am I going to say to my brothers? They
must be looking for me.”
If they were, they would have found him. It was
so easy for them to find Vukuzakhe and panel
beat him to a death bed.
“Don’t think too much about it, you’ll deal with
everything when we get there.” Does this mean
he’s going with?
“You’re coming with me?” Funokuhle asks, hope
evident in his wide eyes.
“If you want me to.”
Death must be calling him, has he forgotten
that Funokuhle’s brothers are behind his attack.

Ntaba told him everything when he came home

from Johannesburg, he told him how he went
and punished the people involved in his ambush,
he didn’t say how it was done. Zakhe knows
though that Funokuhle’s brothers are next on
Ntaba’s list, whatever that list is. He also knows
that his cousin Khothama killed the father of
Funokuhle.
Zakhe crowds him, feeling a need to comfort
him, it's out of guilt. He presses a kiss to his
forehead, Funokuhle responds by releasing a
breathless whimper.
“A stranger gave me a ride the day I left KZN, he
took me to Kenneth’s house.” He’s been
wanting to know who the man is.
“Alfred Madi, that’s his name.” The revelation is
a murmur to Funokuhle’s perking ears, his lips
quirk into a subtle smile.
“So you were behind that?”
“No, Ntabezikude was. He took care of you
while I was in the hospital, he made sure that
you were safe.” This Ntabezikude he speaks of
must be a godsend. Funokuhle’s memory of
him is vague.
“And the incident with Pule?” It’s all connected,
it has to be. Zakhe didn’t want to discussion
anything regarding this, wanting to keep
Funokuhle pure.
“He’s behind Pule’s capture too.” Vukuzakhe is
on his feet, rolling the sleeves of his t-shirt. He
runs his hand on his forehead, nerves have
gotten the better of him. If Funokuhle keeps
throwing questions at him, he will have no
choice but to conform.
“Where is he?”
Zakhe fixes him with a soft glance, he can tell
that the question is not thought of. It sounds
forced, hesitant and lacks any emotion.
“He’s alive, that’s all you have to know.” The
tone he uses says it’s non-negotiable, he won’t
talk about it anymore. “Go shower, I’ll see if
there’s anything in the fridge.”

THE KHANYILES-

Poor Vumile is grey and not getting any younger,

yet his third born son continues to stress him. If
his heart ever stops, then all accusatory fingers
should point at Ntaba. What is he doing in a
meeting that has nothing to do with him?
He walked in here, tailing Hlabela, settled down
beside his father, and crossed one leg over the
other.
“Ntabezikude,” Pastor Khuzwayo greets with a
friendly smile, he’s sitting on the opposite
couch.
“Mfundisi.” Ntaba returns the smile, submitting
a hand that the pastor grabs without hesitation.
The handshake feels tense and frightening, it
has Khuzwayo pulling back and bashfully
rubbing the back of his neck. He clears his
throat as he feels the hairs on his nape stand,
while Ntaba shows no emotion but a clear,
bottomless grin.
“I almost didn’t recognise you when you walked
in here, it’s been long son.” It’s time he finds
God, he’s a lost soul that needs deliverance.
“Yebo mfundisi.” Ntaba nods, gaze fixed on
Khuzwayo.
Time is standing on its toes, no one is saying
anything. Vumile wants to jump in, and rescue
an uncomfortable looking pastor.
“Have you forgotten the address to God’s
house?” Khuzwayo breaks the ice after letting
out a gasp of air he didn’t know he was
withholding.
“How can I forget that place? I know it like my
left butt cheek knows my right butt cheek.”
Maybe Vumile should have said something,
what the hell is this?
“Ntabezikude, behave.” Vumile chides, gritted
teeth on show. Talking to Ntaba is the same as
talking to a wall.
“Don’t scold the child, Vumile. Kids will always
be kids.” Khuzwayo says, voice echoing
uneasily. He loosens his tie when he catches
Ntaba staring holes into his face, it’s the kind of
stare that makes the man of God sweat under
his black oversized suit.
“I’m not a kid, Khuzwayo.” He’s not, he’s a 31
year-old child.
Khuzwayo’s lips work into a nervous smile, “You
are right, you are a man.”
No apology comes with that, it’s not like Ntaba
expects one.
“You’re not part of the meeting, Ntabezikude.
You may leave.” Vumile may dismiss him till the
next Saturday, Ntaba will not exercise his
muscles.
“It’s okay baba, I don’t mind that he’s here.”
Bless Hlabela’s heart.

The twinkle from Ntaba’s sadistic face is

divergent, he won’t remove his penetrating gaze
from Khuzwayo.
“You know pastor Khuzwayo has no sons and
he will be stepping down from his position next
year.” Vumile starts, he’d rather pretend that
Ntaba is not here, trying to get him to leave will
take up their time.
“Yebo baba, I’m aware of that.” Hlabela returns
Khuzwayo’s wide smile.
A laugh fills the room, it’s Ntaba. He curbs it by
covering his mouth, and doesn’t spare a second
to acknowledge Vumile’s astounded stare.
“I’m sorry, continue.” Just to clear things, they
didn’t need his permission.
“My son, not only have I watched you grow into
a strong young man. I have had the honour to
watch you grow into a God-fearing man. A man
any father would be proud of.” Khuzwayo takes
over from Vumile, pride tugging at his heart.
Ntaba chuckles, this time he’s respectful
enough to keep it down.
“Ndoda, phuma if you’re not going to show any
respect.” Maybe not…
Like the big brother he is, Hlabela sizzles. Ntaba
should be recoiling from the authority dripping
like syrup from this young man of God, if he
was tameable, yes.
“Are you kidding? And miss the fun part?
Angiyindawo ndoda.” (I’m not going anywhere.)

Ntaba grabs a scone from the pastor’s plate,

and sits back as he takes a bite. It leaves a
bitter taste in his mouth, so he puts it back on
the plate. Couldn’t they serve them toppers and
Mageu? Whoever is running this household is
burning it to the ground.
“Why are we eating funeral food?” His mumbled
question leaves everyone bemused.
Just in time, as if on cue, Zondiwe walks in with
a tray of refreshments. Nothing hot or
Khuzwayo would call them heathens and tell
the entire church that the Khanyiles turn their
stoves on, on a Sabbath day.
“Sisi wami, I don’t eat scones.” Ntaba tells the
new girl, everyone’s attention has moved to him.
Zondiwe’s face crinkles up, so what if he
doesn’t eat scones. She was told to serve
scones and juice.
“There are toppers biscuits in the pantry, and
Mageu in the fridge.” He expects her to know
what to do with that information, Khethiwe
would. Zondiwe nods, she saw the biscuits this
morning while going through the kitchen
cabinets.
The new girl bumps her foot on the corner of
the couch as she turns to walk back to the
kitchen.
“Ouch.” She grunts, she would have fallen if it
were not for the same couch blocking her way.
She removes the sandal from her foot to rub off
the excruciating pain.
“Be careful?” Ntaba asks.
A reticent smile is what he gets, it reminds him
of Khethiwe when she was a caterpillar that
wouldn’t shade out of its skin and spread its
wings. Zondiwe hums, and leaves to nurse her
pain in the kitchen.

“As I was saying Hlabela, I would love for you to

take over from me.” The pastor announces, he
is growing impatient from all this interruption
from Ntaba. Taking over from him is news to
Hlabela, he’s not sure if this is what he really
wants, dammit this can’t be what he wants.
There’s a standing ovation that surprises
everyone, it’s the Khanyile giant and his
dramatics.
“Ntabezikude, we’re not playing here. What the
hell is wrong with you?” Vumile will lose his
mind chiding this boy.
“Except that you’re selling your son off to the
highest bidder, nothing is wrong with me baba.”
Ntaba sneers, taking his seat back.
“What?” Hlabela chokes, this must be a sick
joke.
“Don’t look at me like that baba, I know you are
trying to marry my brother off to Lukhanyo
Khuzwayo.”
“Baba? Mfundisi?” Shock paralyses a man,
Hlabela is finding it hard to place his words
together.
“Tell him bab’mfundisi, tell my brother that this
offer of yours comes with a catch.” Ntaba
nudges them for an answer.
Vumile and Khuzwayo share a look, it’s not
possible that Ntaba suddenly knows about this.
It was Khuzwayo’s idea, he approached Vumile
last month with this good news that Vumile
couldn’t say no to. Hlabela has always been a
good example of Jesus on earth, he’s good with
the youth and the church loves him.
“How do you know this Ntaba?” Hlabela
enquires, glaring daggers at his brother. Ntaba
snorts with a subtle roll of the eyes.
“It’s not so hard to guess, bhuti. I knew the
second your father said you know Khuzwayo
has no sons.” Oh! Okaaay! This smart bastard,
no wonder vumile wanted him out of the room.
“Baba is it true?” Hlabela.
Vumile is the only one who can confirm this, he
trusts this man more than anyone.
“Yes.” The father agrees. “You’re thirty three
Hlabela, you’re a bachelor and the youth loves
you. They understand you, you understand them.
This will be good for you ndodana, and you love
God. Lukhanyo is a good girl, she’s intelligent,
comes from a good Christian home. She will
make a good wife.”
All this while Vumile is talking, Ntaba has
collapsed on his father’s lap, laughing his lungs
out.

“Ntabezikude!” Vumile shouts, pushing him off

of him. His son sits up straight, only to continue
laughing with his head on Vumile’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry, it’s just… are we talking about the
representative of Izingolweni fertility clinic or…”
“Ntaba stop.” Hlabela scolds him, sternly. His
brother must know that he is in the presence of
the man of God, he can’t be acting a fool. A
puckered brow finds a way to Ntaba’s face.
“Tell them you’re not interested ndoda, what
about Ku…”
“Can I think about it?” Hlabela intrudes.
Ntaba can see the look of exasperation on his
face and wants to save him from this mess
these people want to put him in.
“You’re kidding me, right?” He’s shaken by
Hlabela’s decision, why is he so bent on getting
Vumile’s approval.
“Please do think about it, it’s a lifetime
opportunity. There are a lot of young man who
would kill to be in your position.” Pastor
Khuzwayo is annoying, his church has a rain of
men wanting to marry his daughter. Can’t he
choose from them?
“Then let them fuck your daughter, just leave
my brother alone.” He’s calm, raising his voice
is not a thing he does. Be that as it may, Ntaba
can be intimidating and authoritative.
Hlabela is giving his life up for their father, he
wants him to be his own person and stop living
under Vumile’s shadow.

“I will not tolerate any disrespect from you

Ntabezikude.” Vumile roars, jolting to his feet.
Oops the pastor is around, now is not the time
to show off his human side.
Son spews a snort, “I don’t care baba. Will you
stop controlling my brother’s life? He’s not
interested in this man’s daughter, or anybody
who is not Ku…”
“Ntaba stop it.” It’s Hlabela’s turn to explode
with anger, he tries though to keep his voice
down. There’s a man who walks with God in
their midst…
“Hlabela?” The younger brother’s jaw drops, he
cannot believe his ears.
Hlabela says nothing, it doesn’t matter what
Ntaba says, the only person who can convince
him otherwise is Vumile and from where they
are standing, Vumile is on the pastor’s side.
“What about Kushi’s Rajah and Tikka masala?”
Ntaba.
Uh, okay. A frown visits Hlabela’s face, the
statement has drained all the strength in him.
“Let it go, Ntaba. I know what I’m doing.”
“Uyislima ndoda,” a click of the tongue from
Ntaba. “Don’t call me when you’re tired of eating
uphuthu namasi, why don’t you just marry
Khuzwayo once? Niyafanelana, you’re both full
of shit.”
Why is no one saying anything?
Ntaba jumps over Khuzwayo’s feet, nailing the
man of God with a glare.
“Sdididi.” (Idiot)
That’s Ntaba cursing the pastor, he clicks his
tongue for the last time and disappears to the
kitchen. If he remembers correctly, he had
asked the new girl to bring him some biscuits
and Mageu.
*
*
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MATHONGA-
Fifty-six
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KHETHIWE-

I was woken up at 5am today, my mom is out to

get me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she
hates that I’m back home.
I can count a number of times I’ve wished that I
didn’t quit my job, and that old man Kobus
refuses to give me more days. Rumor has it that
someone was demoted so I can be squeezed in.
I work 3 days a week, from 7am to 4pm. He cut
my hours, talking about how he’s doing me a
favor because he knows my mother.
My salary is peanuts compared to what I got at
the royal house, I’m an idiot, stupid to the
core—it’s been proven.

“Khethiwe.” That cold voice startles me. I whip

my head around to see her standing in the
bathroom doorway, all dressed up and ready to
go. I wonder where she’s going, I thought she
said there are people coming, that’s why I was
woken up before MamNgadi’s chickens next
door.
“You look beautiful ma,” everyone likes to be
complimented, see that twitch on the corner of
her mouth. It’s not a full smile, but it’s
something and I’ll take it.
“Thank you,” her face won’t soften up, she runs
her eyes down her pink two pieces suit, ironing
it with her hands. Then, like a flash of lightning,
she trains her stern gaze at me.
“The Ndimandes are on their way, please wash
the pots with steel wool. Take a bath when
you’re done.” Her gaze rises and falls on my
crusty looking body.
“Dress well, first impressions last longer.” What?
First impressions my foot and why do I have to
dress up for them? They’ll be coming to see her,
not me.
“Ma, I won’t be around. I have to be
somewhere.” Bahlephambikwethu wants to
meet up, apparently, he has a an apology
drafted. I’m upset with him for what he did to
Ntaba. Putting his hands on him like that, and I
didn’t think Ntaba would retaliate the way he did.
I have never seen his violent side.
“Khethiwe!” Someone snaps their fingers, I
zoned out for a minute there.
“Ma!” She’s an angry bird, this mother of mine.
“Did you hear what I said?” I’d remember if I did,
nothing is coming to me. I’m looking at her
grimaced expression, is this mother getting
some?
I’m getting the feeling that my father starves his
wife, her frustrations are high.
“You are not going anywhere, I will need you to
cook and serve the guests.” That’s it, I don’t
want to be her daughter anymore. “Finish up,
time does not wait for anyone.”
Nxa! I get a chance to roll my eyes when she
turns her back to me, oh no she’s stopping. Fear
taps me on the shoulder when I meet her stern
gaze, I don’t like how she’s looking at me.
“You’re gaining weight, you need to watch what
you eat. The next thing you’ll be looking twice
your age.” That was definitely a mic drop, I
cannot believe this woman. Is it my fault that
my father loves to feed me? Gha!
I’m done scrubbing the bathroom wall, I had to
scrub all the walls in this house, by myself. The
twins are not around, they went to visit their
paternal family in Eshowe. I should’ve gone with,
and saved my self from hard work.
Four pots? Really? Time is of the essence, I
work faster when I time myself. Fifteen minutes
should do.
Rebecca Malope is playing in the background.
Her music has a way of inspiring a person to
work hard when it comes to house chores, if it’s
not her, it’s that IPCC church group. .
.
.
I’m more comfortable in track pants than tight
jeans, my corn rows are tight already, adding a
bra and skinny jeans would be torture to my
poor body. Yep, I walk around braless in this
house.
“KaMandonsela!” My father’s voice calls behind
me, he knows I don’t like that name. He’s
opening my pots before I turn to face him.
“Smells nice.” I love it when he compliments my
food.
“What did you expect? I worked as a cook at the
royal house.” The smile on his face dissipates, I
know what he’s thinking. I’m thinking the same.
I don’t want to talk about it, so I take a different
route.
“Baba,” his eyes shoot up in response. “Who are
the Ndimandes?”
They must be special people for my mother to
go all out, she even took out her special
Christmas plates and those glasses that look
like we’re made in 1960.
“Ndimande is my brother, not by blood. Our
fathers were best friends, who did everything
together. They even had kids around the same
time, people thought we were twins because
our mothers dressed us the same.”
Never heard of him, how come I never heard
him?
“Do I know him?” It’s possible, I don’t make it an
effort to remember people, especially my
parent’s acquaintances.
“He was there when you were born.” He’s
laughing softly, I’m missing the joke.
“You were best of friends.” He continues.
Yeah no! I was a baby, it was not consensual.
“He was like a second father to you, he’d spoil
you rotten. You were light skinned when you
were born, and he nicknamed you Snowie. Only
for you to loose that complexion two years later.
He was there for all your birthdays.”
“He sounds like a present father.” I throw a
giggle in there, just for control. Ndimande was
too much in my business, sheesh.
“You could say that, he loved you like his own. It
was a sad day when he relocated to Swaziland,
you were four years old. I’m sure the memory is
somewhere in your head. You’ll remember him
when you see him. He moved back about ten
years ago, met a well off woman and got
married.”

He leans back on the counter, this Ndimande

person must be a really special friend. My
father is smiling with pride.
“Please don’t tell me he’s coming here to see
me, I don’t even know him baba.” I don’t want to
meet him, I appreciate whatever it is he did for
me as a child but I don’t remember the man and
that’s where things should stay.
“He’s a friend, he’s harmless.”
Just great, there’s no escaping this one. There’s
a presence at the door, my father is married to a
ghost. How is it possible that she carries the
aura of the devil?
“I just spoke to Nomsa, they are ten minutes
away.” She waves her phone as a gesture, her
soft gaze hardens as it leaves her husband and
lands on me.
“What are you wearing?” She asks and it feels
like she’s spitting on my comfort attire. “Go
change.” Non-negotiable. She’s gone before I
can blink and tell her no.
“Listen to your mother, she knows what she’s
doing.” My father says, and goes after his wife.
What the…

The food is ready, now I have to go find

something decent to wear. As I walk to my
room, yes my room; I hear loud hooting outside.
It’s dramatic, like someone is getting married
dramatic. It’s expected, it’s how black people
celebrate, the neighbors must know that
someone is sentencing themselves to life
imprisonment.
“They are here,” my mother yelps with
excitement. Hao, so she does get excited.
Decent according to my mother, is a long dress.
Dresses remind me of Ntaba, what I went
through with him. I hate them, this mother and
her dictatorship.

“Muzikambambo Mandonsela.” A cheerful

hoarse voice shouts my father’s second name,
we hardly hear that name around here. His
sister calls him bhuti, his wife and children call
him baba and his grandkids call him mkhulu.
“Muziwendlovu Ndimande.” Jesus Christ of
Nazareth, he did not just call him Muziwendlovu.
Their father’s took it too far, they were playing
house those people. Sounds of laughter erupt
through the house, it’s a reunion alright.
“Where is she? Where is my baby?” That’s
Ndimande shouting yet again, he’s asking for
me.
“Khethi, baby.” Did my mother just lovingly call
me Khethi baby? What in God’s holy name is
going on?
Time to pretend, and act like a saint. We live to
impress in this place.
Okay, his voice and that body don’t mix. He is
maybe my height, his weight is that of a sick
person who has days left on this earth. I
expected the bold head, old people don’t do hair.
There’s a rich looking woman standing with my
mother, must be his wife. She looks familiar
though, I can’t put the puzzle of her face
together. The two piece suit must be their thing,
look at them looking like an African version of
the Olsen twins. My parents are embarrassing, I
have concluded. We’re not even well off, yet
they are dressed to impress the queen of
England.

“Snowie, come to daddy.” Ndimande sings,

opening his arms for me to sink into them and
nope… I will not be doing that. I’m lying, my
mother is giving me the look. His arms crash
every bone in me, looks can be deceiving. He’s
stronger than he looks.
“Look at you,” he’s cupping my cheeks with his
long fingers and a wide smile on his face. I need
to be rescued. “I knew you were going to be this
beautiful, a heart breaker.”
“Let me look at her too, Ndimande.” His wife
says, crashing me in a brief hug.
“How are you?” She asks, my smile is as fake as
Sono’s Jockey panties. That D’ that replaced
the J kills me till today. What the hell is Dockey?
Speaking of panties, I found mine lying on the
ground next to the washing line, strange.

“You two are all over her, can I get a chance

too?”
I know that voice, it can’t be him. Unless there’s
someone with the same voice as him. Nomsa
steps back, clearing my view. I can taste bile in
my mouth. What is Bahlephambikwethu doing
here?

NDLELENI-

A black SUV parks outside the Sishi mansion,

he’s here to see Mathonga. It’s part of his daily
routine, as he steps out of the car, he sees Nala
approaching. Dread is on her face, something
has happened. She nears him, looking
distressed and out of breath.
“What’s going on?” Is his question to her.
“I can’t find Mathonga, I was with him this
morning and he just disappeared.”
That’s insane, people don’t just disappear.
“Where is my brother, little girl?” It’s no secret
that she’s not his favorite person in the world.
She’s crying, out of the blue. It’s frustrating as
hell, he has to hold back a snort and a grumble.
“I don’t know,” Nala cries louder. “I left him in
bed when I went to take a shower and… he… he
wasn’t there when I got back. Styles and Sethu
are not around. They left before we woke up.”
That we is getting on Ndleleni’s nerves, the
mere thought of his brother sleeping with this
woman is irking.
“Did you try his phone?” He fights back the urge
to snap at her.
“His phone is in the house, I called the Sishis
too, they don’t know where he is. Styles says he
sent some people to look for him.”
This can’t be good, Mathonga was brought here
to keep him safe. If the Sangwenis have his
brother, he will kill them. He might not be as
impulsive as Ntaba but no one touches his
brothers.
Ndleleni runs past Nala to get to the house, he
ignores Thobani seated on the couch and lost in
his own world.
“Mathonga.” What kind of he’s not around does
he not understand? He goes through every door
in the house, calling Mathonga’s name. Ntaba
said look after him, he’s going to explode with
anger when he finds out that he has lost
Mathonga.
Ndleleni comes back to the lounge, where he
started. Nala is holding Thobani in her arms, her
lower lip quavering and eyes puffy with tears.
Ndleleni gives her one good dirty stare and
scurries back out, he makes a trip around the
house twice and there’s no Mathonga. It’s time
he makes that call to Ntaba, tell him there’s a
possibility the Sangwenis have abducted their
little brother.
As he digs into his pocket, back against the car,
his eyes catch a glimpse of a figure slowly
walking through the gate. He has to shield his
eyes from the sun to see properly, he’s far
sighted and yes that person looks familiar. His
body is draped in nothing but a red sarong, with
a touch of black and white on it. His walk is
different, hunched back, hands on his back. The
figure has a walk of an old person. Ndleleni
welcomes a deep frown, questions flying
around his head.
"Mathonga?" He calls, unsure if he's really
seeing Mathonga or an old man that looks like
him. Bravery has him nearing the person, it is
Mathonga, he just looks different. His brows are
furrowed, face crumpled.
“Oh mfana wami.” Mathonga says, his voice is
that of an old woman. Ndleleni recognizes it
from that night back home, he crosses his heart,
hoping that the ancestor has not come back to
torment his brother.
“What are you wearing? Where did you get that?
And where have you been?” Ndleleni questions,
eyes inspecting Mathonga’s half naked body.
The chuckle Mathonga emits is soft, he sounds
humble and calm.
“My son, I’m thirsty and tired.” Mathonga says,
walking past him. He still has that old person
walk, Ndleleni is drowning in confusion. If that
old woman is back, he won’t know what to do.
*
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MATHONGA
Fifty- seven

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KHETHIWE-

Bahlephambikwethu has not explained why he

is here with my father’s best friend and his wife,
I’m in the dark about everything.
Everyone is in the living room, making noise and
annoying me to the last degree.
Why is my life a movie? Is it not bad enough
that I was born without my permission, now I’m
serving my former best friend lunch, disposing
his leftovers, and washing his dishes. I need to
get to the bottom of this, either that or I escape
this place.
Where is Lethiwe when I need him? Men are
always gallivanting, probably looking for the
next skirt he’ll sink his hands into.

Khethiwe.” Curses and lightning, why is it I

never hear her coming? She’s planning my
murder, I just know it… this is her practicing how
to catch me off guard.
“Ma!” The smile is not there, she’s that cold
stone again.
“Hurry up and join us in the living room.” And…
like a ghost, she’s gone. I have to close the
windows and curtains in the other rooms first,
the mosquitos that lurk around here are not
kind.
I start with the master bedroom, before
attending the other rooms. Lethiwe’s backroom
is my last stop.

And then? My eyes are deceiving me. Why is

Ntaba standing outside my fence, looking like a
thug? He’s peeping, eyes zoomed out and head
moving from side to side. If the neighbors see
him, they will think he’s here to rob us and with
that James Bond dark look, he won’t get off
easily.

I hurry to the gate, praying he won’t resist when

I pull him behind the tree next door. My mother
is a curtain woman, she likes peeping through
curtains and smacking whoever she sees at her
gate. Okay, just me…
Ntaba regards me with a frown when our eyes
meet, I’m the only one with the right to frown.
“Why are you here?” I pull him aside, out of sight,
thank God he allowed me. We’re standing too
close, his back pinned on the tree trunk and
hands around my middle. Not a good position
to be in with someone who makes your world
spin.
“I came to you, I didn’t know you have visitors.”
He’s looking over my shoulder, I follow his line
of vision to Bahle’s car. That one owes me an
explanation, as to why he is in my house.
“They are not my visitors, they came to see my
parents.”
“That expired sausage is your father’s friend?”
His questions comes through gritted seams
and furrowed brows.
“Who?” I don’t know anyone who’s a sausage.
I’m pissing him off, his eyes narrow and hands
tighten on my sides.
Wait a minute, is he…
“Stop squeezing my love handles Ntaba.” I tell
him, I should be moving from him but this is the
only way to keep him hidden from sight.
“Why is he here, Khethiwe?” He ignores me, do I
need to use a mic for him to hear me?
“He came with his parents, please go. You’ll get
me in trouble with my parents.”
“Let’s go to KFC, they have those hot wings you
like so much. I’ll buy you 20 of them, and I
promise not to ask for one.” He’s still squeezing
my flesh, just an update… it’s doing things to
me, this man has such a big effect on me.
“I can’t go to KFC or anywhere with you, I’m
helping my mom with the guests.” I should ask
what he means by saying he’ll buy me 20 wings.
Okay, okay… I appreciate it. I love it when people
spend their money on me. But this one has bad
timing.
“Why not Khethi? I came here to see you.” He
implores, and makes it hard for me to say no to
him. But I have to fight it, my mother is a… oh
shit! She’s going to kill me, I’ve been out here
for too long.
“I have to go, my mother is expecting me.
Please leave, and stop peeking through my
fence. If people see you, they’ll think you’re
looking to steal from us”

Not that there’s anything valuable to steal.

Ntaba won’t let go of me, and what’s with him
and squashing my flabby flesh? It’s making my
body hot. He bends his knees to reach my
height, it’s not happening, he’s too tall.
“Please Peaches,” He’s looking into my eyes,
intently. My knees should not be responding like
this, I’m trying to get over him hao.
“Come with me. I’ll bring you home before the
witches get to your door.” Haha! Funny.
“What do you want from me, Ntaba?” I ask
because I’m expecting the impossible. He
breathes in, pressing his forehead on mine. This
position is too intimate, something I only see in
my dreams.
“I want you with me, Peaches. I want you
looking at me, not that sausage. I want you to
think about me, not him. I want you caring for
me, not him.” The whisper is too much that I
shudder against him, my clit and heart jolt when
he brushes his lips on mine, teasing me to
ecstasy and erotica.
“Be mine again,” he says, I want to rub off the
word 'again.’ I made myself his, he didn’t accept
me. I fell hard for him and he let me hit the
ground.
“Let me be the one to taste your kisses and feel
your body.”
Another squeeze on my handles, I should be
offended. Why am I not?
His lips decide to overtake mine, taking them
into a sensual dance. The kiss is fast and
wolfish, I’m losing myself in him once again.
God I knew you haven’t forsaken me, Ntaba
wants me. He wants me…

“Khethiwe!!!” Jeer, why didn’t my father marry a

blind mute? I have 99 problems and one of
them is my mother. I pull away from Ntaba, he
releases a grumble, pressing his wet lips on my
forehead. I didn’t want to stop either.
“We’ll talk, I have to go. Please go home.” I
escape his touch, wheezing and trying to curb
my overly excited heart. “Go home.”
Another order from me, he won’t go anywhere.
All he is doing is stare at me. Ntaba needs to
leave, my mother won’t care that he’s the chief’s
son.
Her voice calls me again, I run through the gate
just as she turns to face me. I need a good
excuse, bless me with an excuse Lord.
“Where did you go? I told you to come to the
living room.”
Stone cold woman… Her arms are folded across
her chest, back straitened and nose in the air. I
won’t be shocked if she starts saying “like” like
the Kardashians do.
“I went to buy Grandpa for my headache.” Ha!
See the devil coming through for God’s child.
My eyes are too shifty, I keep them to myself.
She’s a detective…
“You’ve kept the guests waiting, wipe that oily
face and follow me.”
EISH! Ponds always disappoints, I knew I
should’ve spent my money on Gentle Magic
products. I use the back door again to get to my
room and apply ponds on my nose and
forehead. My cheeks are still puffy…

“Khethiwe, come sit next to me.” That’s my

father, smiling suspiciously. They are all ogling
at me, and Bahle has this smile I can’t pin.
“Baba, can I go out for a bit? I’ll be back before
9pm, there’s a party at the royal house.” I’m
swimming in lies and taking advantage of the
visitors, my mother cannot go against her
husband in front of people.
I’ll deal with her tantrums later, after my talk
with Ntaba.
“Don’t be rude, we have visitors.” My mother
jumps before my dad, yeah hey, African
mothers.
I turn to my father for deliverance, he pats the
space beside him. I hate my life.
“Sit down ntombazane, you can’t be talking to
us while standing.” My mother barks, she has
no shame, shouting at me in front of people.
Respectfully, I position myself beside my father.
I need to move out, first salary and I’m gone.
“They are here for you, my child. Don’t be
disheartened, parties are always there.” My
father.
Like Ntaba, he’s always around. I know he’s still
out there.
“I’m sure you remember Ndimande,” that’s
mom’s introduction, hand pointing at the
scrawny looking man.
“I don’t, but baba told me about him.” I really
don’t care about this man.
“That’s Nomsa, his wife and Bahle his stepson.”
Stepson? How? So this Nomsa woman is
Bahle’s mom, I’ve never met his parents. I’m
pretty sure I’ve seen a picture of her, no wonder
she looked familiar. It was a long time ago.
“Oh!” My eyes are on Bahle, did he set this up?
He clears his throat as he shifts on the sofa,
yes the stare I’m giving him is meant to make
him uncomfortable.

“My parents got divorced, mom met Muzi and

they got married.” He shrugs like he doesn’t
give a shit, I know I don’t give one. How is it my
business that his parents are divorced? The real
question is, why are they telling me this?
“I believe you two know each other,” Nomsa
talks, her smile is too much. “Bahle has told me
so much about you.”
Irrelevant, I’m bored. My mind is on Ntaba, he’s
out there.
“Bahle has just started his own company, it’s
going well actually. He owns property in Zimbali
and…”
Blah! Blah! Blah! I want to scream how much I
don’t care about Bahle’s achievements, they
have nothing to do with me.
Nomsa must get to the point, I just saw Ntaba
jump the gate. Tall people should be expelled
from doing anything but walking, it looked weird
honestly. My focus has shifted to him, the
curtains are closed but because they are white
and the light is on, I can see everything from
here.
“My son has achieved everything, he needs a
wife to complete his dreams.” Nomsa again, her
husband has been smiling at me. How am I
uncomfortable in my father’s house? His smile,
his eyes, they look familiar. Perhaps I’m starting
to remember him.

“You’re getting married?” I ask Bahle,

congratulations are in order.
“Yes, to you.” The stepdad finally speaks, which
‘you’ is he talking about? Can’t be me, can it?
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.” I need to breathe,
it’s not what I think it is. My father’s hand lands
on mine, he sees my panic. I wish he wouldn’t
touch me, it’s making me upset.
“My baby, Ndimande is here with a wedding
proposal. They want your hand in marriage, they
have chosen you for their son.” My father
explains, I’m still lost.
These people are not talking about me.
“No.” The word is quick and firm, my denial
creates heavy silence. They are all staring at me,
I’m not affected. What did they expect? That I’d
gladly say yes?
“I think Ndimande didn’t put it clearly, Khethiwe
you are going to marry Bahle. The lobola has
been paid, it’s done.” My mom says, shattering
my entire world. I refuse, they better have
another daughter by this name. This Khethiwe
is not marrying Bahle.
“That’s not even possible ma, it can’t be done
without my permission. I’m not going to marry
Bahle, never.” My voice peaks, I have never felt
so betrayed in my life. My mother is
expressionless, eyes scolding me. I know what
she’s think. “You better agree you damn child.”
That’s what’s going through her mind.
I turn to my father, tears pooling behind my
pupils.
“Baba, you gave me away without asking me?
Am I too much of a burden to you?”
“No, I love you Khethiwe and I want the best for
you. Bahle is well off, he will give you a
comfortable life. Look at your brother Lethiwe,
his life is stagnant. I don’t want the same for
you.”
“I don’t want him.” Tears stream down my face
as I shout, I wipe them away and stand to leave,
but my trip is short lived. My mother grabs my
hand and serves me a hot slap, dammit… I need
to slap-proof my cheeks.
“Sit your ass back down, you’re embarrassing
us.” She whisper shouts, poking my forehead
with her finger.
I can only turn to my father to save me, his eyes
flick away from me at first glance. He agrees
with his wife, I’m embarrassing them.
“You will not tarnish your father’s imagine, you
silly girl.”
“What wrong did I do, ma?” My voice trembles
from my chest, I don’t want to cry. I’ve done
enough of that in my life.
“Khethiwe, we are simply asking you to listen to
us and do as we say. How old are you? Twenty
eight? You have nothing, absolutely nothing.
You completed Matric with just a useless
certificate, and went on to work as a maid.
Don’t you think you have embarrassed us
enough?” Mom.
“I didn’t know I was an embarrassment,” I tell
my mother. I don’t want to talk about this here,
with those people as spectators. It’s a family
matter, they need to leave.
“Nkosikazi, that’s enough.” My father is on his
feet, staring daggers at his wife.
“No baba, we will not be disrespected by this
child, ngeke sizwe ngaye.”
“But I’m not a child ma, and this is not the stone
ages. Arranged marriages are a thing of the
past, I have rights.”
“Not in this house, you don’t.” She’s shouting at
me. “We gave you life Khethiwe, the least you
can do is pay us back.”
That does not make sense, I didn’t even ask to
be born.

Betrayal is a bitch and that’s what these people

have done to me and Bahle… How can he do
this to me? He approached me, claiming
friendship, and some bull about how he missed
me.
I turn to him, the idiot can’t even look at me.
“Bahle!” I notice how his jaw clenches, his
parents look normal as if we’re having a normal
conversation.
“You knew about this?” I ask, my voice cracking.
He opens his mouth to speak, I see lies and
nothing but that.
“I had an idea, I didn’t know it was you until a
month ago.” He says, rubbing his hands
together. A month is too long a time to keep a
secret.
“And you agree with this?” Please let him say no.
“He does.” His mother takes over, she reminds
me of my mother. Her strictness and authority.
“But why do I have to marry him? He can
choose any girl he wants, why me?”
“I love you Khethiwe.” Bahle says, standing to
meet my height. How dare he tell me this
nonsense, I want to slap him across the face
and spit at his feet.
“You don’t know me, Bahle.”
“That’s not an issue, you’ll date once you’re
married.” Can Nomsa shut her big mouth? Why
is she talking to me? I don’t know her.
“Khethiwe, please understand my child.” My
father says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I
owe Ndimande so much. He saved my life once
upon a time, he’s the reason we’re here today.”
He continues.
“So why am I paying your debt?” I ask, shifting
away from his hand.
“I kind of promised that I will marry my daughter
to his son, he came up with the idea. That’s how
much he loves you Khethiwe, he wants you as
his daughter in-law.”
“Baba do you hear yourself? You’re not making
Sense,” I scream, and give myself to tears.
Holding them back has become a struggle.
“Lower your voice wena.” My mother again, I’m
getting tired of this woman.
“No, I will not lower my voice. I don’t owe
Ndimande anything, he’s nothing to me. I don’t
know the man, why do I have to give my life up
to pay a debt I know nothing about?”
And this Ndimande person is quiet, he creates
havoc and sits back like he’s done nothing
wrong.
“I told you to lower your voice Khethiwe, you do
not want to piss me off.”
My mother yells, grabbing my arm with vicious
force. “We are your parents.”
“I wish you weren’t,” the shouting earns me
another slap on the face. She went all out with
this one, I stumble back and land against my
father.
“Will you stop hitting the child? What is wrong
with you?” Dad is chiding his wife, it makes no
difference because he’s on her side not mine.
I turn to leave, but my mother won’t let me go.
“Sit down Khethiwe, we’re going to talk about
this like adults.”
Adults? Well then they are the most childish
adults I know. I want to dispute but something
crashes outside, everyone is startled. My
mother is the first to run out, I run behind her,
knowing it’s Ntaba out there. Of course
everyone follows.
My jaw drops when I see his giant self wincing
on the ground, right under our tree. There are
leaves around him, God, I think he fell from the
tree. When I saw him jumping the gate, I didn’t
think he’d climb our tree. He probably couldn’t
see inside the house that he thought he’ll get a
better view at the top.

Handsome and stupid is Ntabezikude Khanyile.

“Hey, who are you?” My mother yells, her voice

carrying threat. Ntaba stands, rubbing his hip.
This man was blessed with tallness, so he won’t
have to climb trees.
*
*
*
A/N: I had to keep the insert short to save the
little battery percentage left on the phone. We
have power outage. We’re continuing tomorrow,
please give me a boost with likes, comments
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MATHONGA-
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AMANDLA-

The sun has set, again I’m alone in this huge

house. Sabusiswa is always out, doing God-
knows what. Woman is too old to be partying, I
have asked about her whereabouts and have
been left hanging and answering my own
questions with assumptions.
After emptying my plate, I dispose of it in the
sink and head back to the lounge to wait for
mom. Every room in this house is cold, the
kitchen, although we cook in it is the coldest.
An hour oozes to another one, I decide to try her
phone—it sends me straight to voice mail.
I need to find friends, I would have one or two if
she allowed me to go out. We stay in Waterfall,
I’m not familiar with the place yet.

The heaviness on my eyelids tells me that it’s

time to call it a night, the thought of sleeping in
that room drains me blood dry.

I don’t want to sleep in my room today,

Sabusiswa is against me sharing a bed with her
for a reason I don’t know. How does she not
care that that room scares the shit out of me?
There’s a negative presence in there, I sleep
with an open bible under my pillow and it’s sad
to say it has not made a difference.
My grandmother comes to me in my dreams, I
see her from the moment she opens my
bedroom door to the time she climbs into my
bed. Then it starts, where she’s touching me
inappropriately. Sometimes she looks like a
man, and has man parts.
I hate that I never fight her, I lie on my bed
unable to move as she penetrates me with... I
don’t know what. Sabusiswa says it must be
stress, I don’t agree with her. My grandmother
is raping me in my dreams, why is she not
taking me seriously?
Those dreams drain my strength, so much so
that I wake up feeling weak, and wanting to take
my own life. Some days I cry for hours, some
days, I’m a walking zombie and Sabusiswa
would say it’s just dreams.

The hairs on my body stand as I open the door

to my bedroom, the light switch is about five
feet away. I take a step in and freeze in the
middle of the door. Yes the room is dark save
for the streetlight, there… there’s a figure on my
bed, under the covers.
My knees are rickety, giving me no chance to
run. I don’t listen to them, but speed out of the
room screaming.
“Amandla.” My mother’s home?
I see her, climbing those stairs I hate so much.
“What’s wrong?”
“Ma, there’s someone in my room.” I’m
screaming, tears playing down my face. She
hates it when I cry, it annoys her. She doesn’t
have to say it, I see it in her actions.
Sabusiswa sighs and swooshes past me
without a word, heading to my room. My feet
won’t cooperate as I tiptoe behind her, I can
hear my heart beating against my chest.
Without any hesitation, she opens the door.
Three seconds later, the light is on.
“Come see for yourself.” She says, with a tint of
irritation.
I don’t want to go in there, I have seen enough
to scare me till I turn grey.
“There’s no one in here, Amandla. Stop being
foolish.”
What? That’s not possible, I know what I saw. I
rush to check and she’s right, there’s no one.
My bed is still neatly made.
“You need to stop this, or else I will start
thinking you are not normal.” She says, putting
me to order with just a look.
“I’m not sleeping in here tonight,” I quip and
rush out of the bedroom. If she won’t let me
sleep on her bed, the guest room will do. I will
have to sleep with the light on.

NTABEZIKUDE-

“Who are you?”

What kind of a question is that?

He carries the Khanyile legacy, he emerges

from Khahlamba’s bloodline that continues to
live on. He is a warrior of a king, his brother’s
keeper—he is a spark that starts a fire. He walks
with a royal stride, his rippling muscles echoing
the strength of his forefathers and he has a
stare that commands respect. He is
Ntabezikude Khanyile, a lion and a lamb.

“You better answer before I call the police.” Just

who the hell does she think she is?

He’s really not in the mood for squabbles, his

fingers are slippery as of note— everything is
slipping out of them. He hates not having
control over things, every night he is taken back
to when he was a child, when he didn’t matter in
the eyes of his parents.
The rejection, the feeling of loneliness—it visits
him when he’s alone. Now he finds himself
chasing after Khethiwe like she said he would.
He couldn’t stay at the house, not with pastor
Khuzwayo there. Finding Khethiwe felt like a
good thing to do, he’s here every night anyway.
Sometimes he avails himself, and sometimes
he lurks in the darkness, watching from a
distance.
“Call the police.” That’s Muzikambambo barking
like a man with authority, Ntaba steps out of the
shadows, a frown on his face.
Khethiwe is there, standing behind her father.
His eyes are on her and he sees the tears rolling
down her face. He scowls, eyes chasing every
suspect standing with his Peaches.
“Khethiwe.” He takes a step closer, something
akin to rage flashes in Ntaba’s eyes.
Peaches weaves through the crowd, and runs to
throw herself in Ntaba’s arms. Everyone can
hear her cries, they are loud and uncontrollable.
“Why are you crying?” Ntaba leisurely pushes
Khethiwe back to get a look at her. He’s only
granted a second before someone is pulling
Khethiwe from him. The woman has the nerve,
he would strike if she were not Khethiwe’s
mother.
“Ma, let me go.” Khethiwe’s cries reverberate,
calling neighbors to come and witness what is
unfolding under a dark blanket coated with
stars. A game of tug and war is easy to play,
Ntaba thinks as he pulls Khethiwe from her
mother whose strike back is a frown. He feels
that she is vulnerable
“Ma, please. This is Ntabezikude Khanyile.”
Khethiwe shouts just as her mother grabs her
hand for the second time. They should be on
their knees, heads bowed in respect of the
chief’s son. That’s not happening though, Ntaba
is surrounded by scowls and a bunch of flaring
nostrils.
“So?” Khethiwe’s mother shrugs, showing off
cold eyes under a deep frown.
“He’s my boyfriend.” Well, that’s what Ntaba
wants, to be her boyfriend.
“You must be insane to think this boy loves
you.” Her mother snorts, sneering over at Ntaba.
Perhaps she missed the part where her
daughter said the man towering over everyone
here is the chief’s son.
“Why not ma? Am I not lovable?”
“You are a peasants compared to royalty,” her
mother cackles mockingly, tickling her own
laugh bone. It’s short lived, her grin transforms
into a frown when Ntaba’s arm circles on
Khethiwe’s waist.
“What’s so funny about me dating your
daughter?” His face is blank, but his eyes… oh
his eyes say a bucket full.

Khethiwe’s mother sighs, snapping her head

back to her husband and guests.
“It’s funny because she’s a married woman.”
The pride on her face is garish, she folds her
arms across her chest, eyebrows snapped
skyward.
It is shocking news to Ntaba, Khethiwe never
mentioned any of this to him. They were locking
lips not so long ago, right under the tree. He can
still feel the wetness of her lips on his.
“It’s not true, Ntaba.” Khethiwe says and adds a
short pause filled with wavering restraints
before she continues, “They want me to marry
this man, and I don’t want to.”
“Then you’re not going to marry him.” Ntaba
says, pulling her closer to him. His protective
side has come to life, he’s willing to do just
about anything to stop whatever nonsense is
happening here.
“Respectfully sir, this has nothing to do with
you.” Muzikambambo says, nodding a greeting
as well.
“You’re wrong, I have everything to do with
KaMadonsela.” Ntaba is staking his claim,
ignoring the consequences that will come
thereafter.
A weary glance sent his way by Khethiwe
reveals her worries, she might as well be
throwing herself into the lions den. It’s not too
late for her to take a turn and ask him to leave,
but Ntaba is her only way out of this fire.
“What is that supposed to mean?” The father
questions, letting loose a steadying breath.

“I’m carrying his seed.” Whoa! Mother Nature

say what?
Gasps vibrate around as the exclamation lands
with a gut-punch.
Ntaba glowers towards Khethiwe, the silence
skulking around giving him a second to decide
how to approach this matter.
He wants to tell her to look at him, to confirm
what she just said. His stare goes unanswered,
Khethiwe’s gaze is on her mother. The others
step closer, shock visible on their expressions.
“Khethiwe?” Her mother sounds exasperated,
as well she might be.
“That’s the guy that attacked me.”
Now’s not the time Bahlepha… sigh!
No one pays attention to him, Khethiwe has
some explaining to do and right now, all eyes
are on her.
“Ntabezikude is my boyfriend, and I’m carrying
his baby.” Khethiwe repeats before her mother
has time to truly get annoyed, it’s pointless
really, she is forever annoyed.
“You’re carrying my… baby?” Ntaba, far more
sensitive and sensible than people give him
credit for, took his time before asking this
question.
He wants to drop on his knees, swear on his
grandmother’s grandmother that he is not the
father. That he would never impregnate a
woman because he is a cautious man, he plans
his future and creates his own destiny.

“I’m sorry baba, it wasn’t planned I swear.”

She’s chosen to give her father an explanation
and not the alleged seed planter.
Muzikambambo is showing disappointment in
his eyes, more than that, he’s embarrassed.
Why wouldn’t he be when his best friend
Muziwendlovu is scrutinizing him with a deadly
glare?
“I saw this day coming, I’ve always known you
will amount to nothing in life. You ungrateful
brat, after everything we’ve sacrificed for you to
have a normal life. This is the thanks we get?”
Any mother would react this way, right? Her
words cut deeper than a knife.
“I’m sorry ma.”
“Your sorry does not cut it, Khethiwe.” Mom
chops up syllables, nothing but scissors that
split her daughter in half.
Khethiwe squeals when she grips her hand,
pushing her back towards Bahle. Sure Bahle
catches her, locking his arms around her waist.

“I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I

wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Ntaba says,
talking to Bahle. Mr. Bald sneers, bold as brass.
The punches he received last time have been
forgotten, although his face carries evidence of
the assault.
“You don’t belong here, please leave.”
Ndimande is the one to chase the Khanyile
giant away, the audacity of this man.
Ntaba sighs, he’s losing his patience.
The worst thing anyone could do is not listen to
him, he has a side that no one would like to see.
It’s there, present with him at this very moment.
Yes, the urge to kill and he does it so well it
almost looks like a God given gift.
“Are you going to let her go, or you’d rather I
make you?” Calm, cool and collected. It is how
Ntaba communicates, shouting does not gain
one respect and he is not about to stoop to that
level.
“Fuck off, you son of a bitch.” Bahle shouts, his
eyes flashing angrily. He’s restraining a
squirming Khethiwe.
“I see,” Ntaba breathes. Blood flashes before
his eyes, it’s all in his imagination, yet the
crimson scent hovers in the air. Things could go
wrong if he pulls out a weapon and starts
slashing throats. His tactics to win Khethiwe
would be wasted, she’s never seen him dressed
in a devil’s costume. He sucks in a long breath,
ordering himself back to submission.
“Let go of me, Bahle.” Khethiwe screams and
that sets Ntaba off, a gun is in his hand in just a
blink, aimed at Bahle. Nomsa screams, while
Muzikambambo and his best friend excrete
incredulous gasps. Her mother does not appear
daunted, a definition of imbokodo.
Ntaba does have to say anything more,
Khethiwe runs back to his side.
“Are you really pregnant with my baby?” A
question, he sees how Khethiwe flaps her
eyelashes, but won’t look at him. She gives him
a single nod that answers nothing really, this
girl just told her parents that she is having a
Khanyile baby. Does she know what that means?
“Peaches!” Ntaba places a finger on her chin,
turning her head so she’s looking at him. The
dark brooding eyebrows, the slight downward
tilt of the head, the strong nose, and all those
angles on his chiseled face—it’s all fixed on her.
“You’re pregnant with my baby?” He stutters the
second time, heart swimming in the acidic pool
in his stomach. A nod from Khethiwe places
him on a fiery seat. When? How?
“Are you sure?” The guy just wants to be certain.
These prolonged silent communications are
perfect in the sense that they give him time to
think, yet agonizing as they come with threats
of changing his entire life. Ntaba despises
change.
“Yes…” Khethiwe.

“You’re getting rid of it.” That’s her mother

slicing through their moment with her bitter
voice.
“Tomorrow morning you are going to the clinic
and you are going to get rid of that thing inside
you.”
Her mother is a no nonsense type of woman,
not only does her face say it, her strides are in
on it too.
“No ma, I’m not going to kill my baby.” Khethiwe
yells, not deliberately.
“You are not killing a Khanyile, over my dead
body. Are you going to answer to my
ancestors?” Ntaba.
The Khanyile ancestors can be pretty dramatic,
and no one knows them better this man
representing the Khanyiles.
“That’s funny, what right do they have over the
baby?” That’s right, Ndimande is the supposed
uncle, and that probably gives him the right to
butt in.
“Baba, please tell your friend to stay out of this.”
Aw, they grow up so fast. Muzikambambo
scowls at his daughter. To say he is let down
would be an understatement.
“Ndimande is right, and I am disappointed in
you Khethiwe. How could you be so careless?”
Her dad objects.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I would like to steal

your daughter for a while.” Ntaba introduces,
the weapon has been lowered but the threat
remains in his eyes.
“That’s not happening, Khethiwe go inside.” Ah,
moms!!!
This is a challenge, Ntaba loves them. His lips
stretch into a grin as he plays with the gun in
his hand, everyone ducks, including the
daredevil mom and that has Ntaba chuckling.
“Relax, family. We are family, right? I mean your
daughter is carrying a Khanyile and we take
care of our own.” The smile widens, all fake.
Khethiwe is pressed to his side, eyes on him as
he plays god with her family. This is a mess,
that gun will create enmity between her parents
and Ntaba. Any chance of them ever liking him
are gone, they will never forget this day,
especially her mother.

“Let’s go Khethi.” Ntaba is dragging her with

him, towards the gate. His mind is muddled, he
needs answers. He’s not a baker, there can’t be
a bun in her oven.
“What have you done?” Khethiwe whispers,
trying to keep up with Ntaba’s long legs. He’s
walking too fast, their trip is terminated by a
horrendous noise of a gunshot tearing through
the air. Ntaba clutches his arms around
Khethiwe as they fall with a sickening thud on
the ground. Things happen when you show your
enemies your back.

*
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MATHONGA-
Fifty-nine
Sponsored by Charmaigne Kotoyi…
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NALA-

Mathonga is asleep, he didn’t say much after he

came home. Just that he was tired and needed
to rest. He wouldn’t remove the sarong, and
would not say why.
I’m worried about him, I heard Ndleleni telling
Styles that Mathonga has a spiritual gift, he
never told me any of that. I plan to ask him
about it when he wakes up.

A knock at the door gets me jumping to my feet,

I shout a low “come in” and my heart drops at
the sight of the brother who hates me. A
powerful aura emanates from him as he stands
immobile at the door, I blink to avert my gaze
from his stabbing one.
He clears his throat and that forces my eyes
back to him.
“Any change?” He’s asking me? I’m surprised
because he’s never kind when talking to me, I
probably look like a deer caught in headlights. If
his eyebrows could elevate any further, they
would. The look in his eyes conveys that he is
waiting for an answer.
“He… hasn’t woken up yet.” Syllables shudder
from my mouth, it’s a good thing he does not
speak to me in English. I would honestly make a
fool of myself, I’m still trying to find my way in
that department.
“There’s someone here to see him, a friend of
Mrs. Sishi.” He tells me, ramming his hands in
his pockets. I’m nodding vigorously, it’s not like
I have a say in this. Mathonga belongs to them.
The door opens wider as he shifts to the side,
Styles walks in and with him is a light skinned
woman.
My mouth is agape with the delightful sight of
her beauty, I don’t know her but she makes me
insecure about my body.
“Oh my goodness, she does look like her.” The
lady sings, headed my way. I look like who?
My eyes are on Ndleleni, I mean he is the one I
would turn to for clarification because he’s
Mathonga’s brother and I trust he would never
put me in a situation where I am uncomfortable,
hate aside.
“Hi, I’m Liyana.” She cheerfully says, throwing
her arms around me. The hug dawdles, I’m
caught between hugging her back and keeping
my hands to myself.
“You’re stronger than you think, you know that?”
She whispers into my ear, adding a gentle pat
on my back. Her arms tighten around me before
she lets go, our eyes meet. It’s almost as if
she’s searching me, flipping every corner and
leaving me exposed. I feel exposed, at least.

“What happened to your brother is not your fault,

don’t be too hard on yourself.” Who told her
about my brother? I turn to Styles seeking
answers, he shrugs but his eyes tell me he
knows what’s going on.
“Liyana is my goddaughter, she has a gift. Her
ancestors tell her people’s secrets.” He’s
chuckling heartily, Liyana huffs with a roll of the
eye.
“Don’t put it like that uncle Styles, they do it so I
can help people.” Liyana says, bringing her
smile back to me.
“You’re a sangoma?” I ask, gifted people are
either sangomas, nyangas or prophets.
“Nope, I don’t subscribe to any titles and my
ancestors are stingy with me. They only show
me things regarding my family, the Okolies. I
guess they like you, for them to show me what
you’re going through.” That’s a strange gift to
have.
“I know what you’re thinking,” her laughter
resonates into the room, bringing light with it.
“Strange gift, right?”
My eyes widen, can she read minds?
Embarrassed, I run my eyes back to Styles. He
finds this amusing, must be nice.
“You’re here to check on Mathonga, not make
Nala nervous.” Styles says, they are way too
friendly, it’s kind of weird.
“Yes, I know.” Liyana nods towards Styles. “I
don’t mean to overwhelm you Nala, but if you
need anything I’m here. Your little brother is not
resting in peace, the grudges you’re carrying in
your heart are keeping him from crossing over.
He’s a wandering spirit, it’s not good for a spirit
to wander.”
I did not expect this, do I tell her that I sent my
brother to kill his enemies? That I told him to
rest in peace when he has killed them all?
“I come from a spiritually gifted family, my
husband walks with his ancestors too. They
show him everything. My aunt sees and talks to
the dead, you can talk to her if you like. I believe
there are things your brother wants to say, he
died in a terrible way. His heart is still broken,
the pain he was feeling that day he died… what
that man did to him, he can still feel that.”
I didn’t want to be reminded that my brother
was raped.
“I think that’s enough,” Ndleleni articulates,
pulling me from Liyana’s presence. Maybe it’s
because I’m hyperventilating, I hear my loud
long intakes of breaths. My hands are trembling.
“Get her a glass of water.” Ndleleni tells
someone, tears have blurred my vision. He sits
me on a chair by the window and pushes it
open, the air seems to help my breathing.
He slouches before me, lacing my trembling
hands with his.
I thought he hated me, I want to ask. Liyana is
the one to hand me a glass of water, she
must’ve taken it from Mathonga’s bedside table.
She helps me drink, an apologetic look in her
eyes.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.” She
repeats herself, my reply is a nod. She’s telling
me to breathe in and out, slowly. I do that, the
look on everyone’s faces is of concern.

“Nala.” Mathonga’s voice catches everyone’s

attention. Ndleleni runs to his bedside, I have to
toddle there. There are tears in his eyes, he
stretches his hand towards me.
“Help me up, please. I need to use the
bathroom.” I rush to his side and quickly wipe
his tears away.
“Why are you crying?” I ask, caressing his cheek.
“I can’t feel my legs,” the whisper is almost
inaudible. It reaches my ears still.
“What?” I guess it reached Ndleleni too, he
pushes past me. Mathonga’s view is hidden
from me by Ndleleni’s gigantic figure.
“Bhuti, I can’t feel my legs.” I hear how his voice
cracks, it is heart breaking.
“Don’t worry, it’s probably because you’ve been
sleeping for too long. Let me help you up.”
Ndleleni.
He flips the blanket open, Mathonga's legs look
fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. Styles lends a
helping hand in getting Mathonga out of bed,
who has to circle each arm around Ndleleni and
Styles. The moment his feet hit the ground, they
fail him. I swallow a scream, unable to grasp
what is happening to him.
“I can’t feel my legs,” Mathonga says as they lay
him back on the bed. “What happened to my
legs?”
Maybe Liyana can answer that, she seems to
know everything.

KHETHIWE-

“Khethiwe, Khethiwe.” My mother’s shouts of

agony tear through me, she’s crying. Or is it me?
It has to be me, one minute I was walking away
with Ntaba, the next a gun was fired and now
I’m lying under a heavy man and my butt is on
fire.
“Peaches, are you okay?” His voice is beautiful
in my ears, maybe I’m an idiot for focusing on
that and not the pain I’m in.
“Ntaba, it hurts.” My voice is muffled, I want to
scream and shout, and curse whoever shot me.
How am I still alive with this much pain and a
bullet inside my ass? Did it go inside though? I
think it did, God it hurts.
I feel Ntaba move from me, I scream when he
attempts to turn me around.
“No, my bum hurts. They shot my bum, Ntaba.” I
don’t bother curtailing my tears, I want to cry
the pain away.
“Baby are you okay?” My father is asking, he’s
standing in front of me, I can only see his size
four feet. Lord bless my mother’s cold heart,
shame.
“Khethiwe.” That’s Ntaba calling me, there’s
something about the way he called my
name—dark and bone-chilling. A hand glides on
my buttocks, making me scream in pain.
“It’s okay Khethi, you’re going to be okay.” Lord I
know his teeth are gritted as he says this, I want
to see his face so I can believe him when he
says I’m going to be okay. It doesn’t feel like it, I
see heaven and I’m not ready yet. I owe God so
much, I haven’t lived according to his word and
he will punish me for my sins.
“Someone is whisking me up, and turning me in
their arms. It’s Ntaba, I would love to say he
looks worried for me. But no, Jesus no. The
man is fuming, eyes wild and fire blazing.
“You’re going to be okay.” He says, placing a
kiss on my forehead.
“Where are you taking her? The ambulance is
on the way.” My mother would dispute of
course. Ntaba does not answer, he’s looking at
someone on his left. I follow his gaze and my
watery eyes widen at Ndimande who is carrying
a gun. My father’s best friend is the one who
shot me, I want to ask why but the man carrying
me is walking us away and ignoring every voice
telling him to stop.

“We’re coming with you,” my father is telling

Ntaba. I don’t want those people near me, I hide
my face on Ntaba’s chest and close my eyes.
He hasn’t said anything, his heart beat though is
beating faster than it should be. He opens the
back door and lays me on my stomach.
“Are you comfortable?” Why is he asking me
nonsense?
“Of course I’m not comfortable, I’ve been shot
on my bum.” I don’t mean to shout at him, the
pain is making me do things I wouldn’t normally
do.
“I think the bullet grazed over your ass, you
wouldn’t be alive if it went through.” Oh he
thinks…
“Then why do I feel like I’m dying?” More tears, I
hate tears. “I’m seeing white Ntaba, my body is
cold. I think Jesus is coming to get me,
Christians see Jesus before they die.”
He’s laughing, why is he laughing when I’m in so
much pain?
He doesn’t answer me, but shuts the door. I
wait to hear another door opening and closing,
his scent fills the car.
“We’ll meet you at the hospital, baby.” I can see
my father from my vantage point, he’s peeping
through the driver’s window.
I don’t want to talk to him, his friend shot me.

Ntaba drives off when he moves, he’s speeding.

If I don’t die from the bullet wound, I will die
from a car accident.
“Please slow down, we’ll crash.”
“I’m going to kill him.” That’s his answer? I think
I have an idea who he is talking about, I don’t
want to get my hopes up and feel special for
nothing.
“I’m going to kill that bastard.” He repeats.
“Who?” Stupid question.
“How are you feeling? Is the baby okay?” I wish
he didn’t ask me that, I’m not in my rightful
mind to be answering questions.
“Ntaba drive faster, I don’t want to die” I scream
at him. He’s probably thinking I’m an idiot for
being undecided.
“You said we’ll crash if I drive fast.”
“Either way, I’m going to di…”
“You’re not going to die,” he interjects sternly.
It’s enough to shut me up. I made him angry
with my choice of words.
“The only person dying is that old fool who shot
you.” Jesus, he means it.
“You’re going to kill him?” Me, not wanting to
jump into conclusions. He might be just saying
it out of anger, he can’t be capable of murder. I
refuse to believe that.
The man has gone silent on me, I want to press
and get him talking. Then again, Ndimande is
the least of my worries. My butt will never be
okay.

“We’re here.” Ntaba tells me, the car is not

moving anymore. He jumps out, and comes to
get me out. My level of screams are so
embarrassing, I can’t help it, it hurts.
He’s carrying me in his arms, rushing us inside
the hospital.
“Ntokazi, she’s been shot on her ass.” He’s
talking to a nurse, I wonder if they have a mic in
this place. He might as well get one and
broadcast the news, this is not happening to me.
“You need to sign a form first befo…”
“I said she’s been shot,” Ntaba cuts in. “That
means it’s an emergency, I’ll sign the form when
you’re done with her.”
This nurse is not used to being spoken to like a
child, I see it in her eyes. She wants to say
something, this man has a way of putting one
under his feet, the look he’s giving her makes
me feel sorry for her. Perhaps if I cry louder, and
fake fainting I will save her from Ntaba’s wrath.
“I… I can’t breathe.” Tears come easily because
I’m in pain, wheezing is as easy as faking an
orgasm.
There’s panic when my head and arms hang,
they think I have passed out. I can’t see
anything but I hear how the nurse shouts at
someone to bring a stretcher. I hear a chuckle
from the man carrying me, he sees my
dramatics.
My body is laid on a hard surface, stomach
down.
“Stay here sir, we’ll let you know when we’re
done with the patient.” That’s the same nurse
telling Ntaba, I love her. Ntaba won’t have to see
me being operated on my butt. I open my eyes
when I feel the stretcher moving, he’s staring
back, a frown on his face. Before disappearing
down the corridor, I catch sight of my parents
running in. I hope they didn’t bring the
Ndimandes, Bahle has some explaining to do. In
the hospital room, I’m injected with something
that puts me out.
*
*
*

“Khethiwe are you okay?” The voice echoes in

my ears, bringing me out of a deep sleep. Pain
shoots through me the moment I’m aware of
the breath in my lungs. I’m lying on my side,
eyes taking time to adjust to light. There’s a
streetlight standing before me, he has that
frown he had the last time I laid my eyes on him.
“Ntaba.” I clear my throat, happy to see that he
is still here.
“You lied to me,” what? When did I…
“I thought I was dying, Ntaba. It wasn’t a lie.” It
did feel like I was dying, I’m shocked myself
that I’m alive.
His eyes narrow, I’m annoying him.
“You’re not pregnant.”
Oh that… Do I cry my way out of this mess, or
cry pain and faint? I need an escape.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t have a choice. I wanted to get
my parents off my back.” He has to understand,
I was caught between a rock and a damn hard
place. I could find no other way out.
“Of all the lies handed to you in this world, you
had to choose this one?” He sounds like a
father reprimanding his child.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think it through. I didn’t know
what else to do Ntaba, please don’t be mad?”
“You could’ve trusted me to get you out of that
mess, Khethi.” Oh I’m still Khethi, that’s good.
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, you
should know that by now.” He says.
Well, he’s never given me a reason to believe
that he would move mountains for me.
“I guess.” I shrug lightly. “Are my parents here?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to see them,” any of them.
“And that fool? How long have you known him?”
I want to tell him that I don’t want to talk about
Bahle or his parents, my parents gave me a
terrible fright. Never in a million years did I think
something like that would happen to me.

“I’m in pain Ntaba, can we not talk about them?”

“How is your butt?”
Is that a smirk I see twitching at the corner of
his mouth?
“I’m in pain, it’s not funny.”
“No one is laughing Khethi,” he’s serious again,
gaze probing my eyes.
“Please tell me they didn’t remove my butt
cheek.” That is my biggest fear, I can’t go
through life with one butt cheek.
“I told you the bullet grazed your cheek, relax,
you still have i-reverse yomhlaba.” (A big ass.)
He’s lying, my ass is not big. My family is a
family of flat asses, aunts, uncles, you name
them.
“It hurts, will I ever be able to sit? What did the
doctor say?” I’m worried, hence the question. I
will probably need a wheel chair, but how will I
sit on it with no ass?
“It’s just a scratch Khethi,” he’s smiling again
but his eyes are cold and empty.
I open my mouth to let the complaint out, “But it
doesn’t hurt like a scratch.”
Maybe I’m a cry baby. Ntaba sighs and lowers
to peck my cheek. Nerves attack me whenever
he’s close like this, my breathing quickens. I bite
my trembling lips, shying away from his gaze.
Why does he have to do this now?
“Who is that man to you, Khethi?” What? I was
expecting a kiss, not a question.
“Who?” The enquiry trembles through my
trembling lips, his lips slowly brush against
mine. What is he trying to do to me? I can’t
breathe for real this time.
“That old man, who is he to you?” He continues
to brush his lips on my mine, a light touch that
has me yearning for more.
“He… he’s my father’s best friend.” I mutter
nervously, my mind has fallen into the gutter.
“Then you won’t cry at his funeral? I don’t want
you crying, Khethi.” He replies coolly, I have a
comeback for him—a question rather, is
Ndimande dead? Why is he speaking of
funerals? The question is wiped off my mind
when he starts nibbling on my lips, kissing me
and pulling back and kissing me again. He has a
mission, I don’t know what and this closeness
is not doing me justice. I’m too far gone, lost in
everything that is Ntaba.
“How is the pain?” He’s asking about my butt
again, lips teasing mine. This man's casualness
has no timing.
“Painful.” I whimper, praying he doesn’t notice
how my body trembles under his touch.
“Can I kiss it better?” Eh! He wants to kiss my…
no I can’t say it. My cheeks flush, I move my
face from him to hide it on the pillow. It’s not
long before I feel his fingers caressing the
bandage, a gentle touch. I think his mouth
follows, two pecks. I can’t really feel his lips
because of the bandage, there’s a touch though.
“You won’t tell anyone about this, right Khethi?”
The seriousness in his voice makes me want to
laugh. I nod and open my mouth to speak, but a
presence at the door prevents me from doing
so. It’s Hlabela and Khothama, why are their
eyes popping out like that.
“Is it safe to come in?” Hlabela is the one to ask,
Ntaba clears his throat, regarding them with a
frown.
“How long have you been standing there?” He
asks, ramming his hands into his pockets.
“Long enough to know that you kiss ass.”
Khothama says, sharing a laugh with Hlabela. I
don’t appreciate them laughing at him.
*
*
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MATHONGA-
Sixty-
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.
.

THE KHANYILES-

“Are you okay?” The question is brought

forward to Mathonga as Ndleleni helps him get
into bed after a bathroom break. Mathonga
hums in response, his eyes are on Nala. She’s
worried sick, he sees it in her eyes.
“I’m okay, Mathonga.” She has to assure him, he
can’t be worried about his legs and her as well.
“Please come closer,” he extends a hand for her
to take. She’s a little hesitant, eyes flashing
back and forth to Ndleleni.
“My brother doesn’t bite.” Mathonga teases,
laughing at his own failed joke. Ndleleni snorts,
face bunched.

“I’m going to be okay, Nala. I promise.” He’s not

sure if that is true, his ancestors are having
their way with him even after accepting to
become their vessel.
“You’re paralysed,” she takes his hands. “This is
all scary for me, Mathonga. Why didn’t you tell
me about your gift?” She’s not upset, just
feeling a little left out.
“I didn’t think my ancestors would embarrass
me and take it this far.” It’s meant to be a joke,
that’s why he’s laughing. She doesn’t seem to
be catching it.
“Do you think there’s a way to get them off your
back, maybe until you’re ready?” Ndleleni.
He has never taken time to study the
supernatural or spiritual world, life has been just
that for him—life. God and ancestors never
fascinated him to a point of giving them his full
attention.
His question is left unanswered, Mathonga’s
eyes are suddenly hanging. He’s finding it hard
to keep them open.
“We should let him get some sleep.” Ndleleni
gestures with a head nod that they should leave
the room.
“I want to stay with him, for a while.” Forever is
what she means, leaving him alone would be
risky. He is not a man in control of his body, he
needs someone to constantly watch over him.
Ndleleni says nothing, he leaves as soon as
Mathonga completely shuts his eyes.
Liyana was not able to see beyond angry
ancestors, no matter how much she tried to get
them to talk, she couldn’t. The next solution
was to call her husband who said he was on his
way about forty five minutes ago.

Left alone with the man after her heart, Nala

swings her arm over his torso. Her head finds a
pillow on his chest, the sound of his heart
thudding brings her to tears. Life is not going
well for any of them, just when she has found
love for herself, strange things start happening.
There were days when she had dreamt of being
free from Petros and finally living like a normal
person, this life is not what she had in mind.
Maybe forever and a day does not exist.
Eventually, Nala succumbs to sleep—safe in
Mathonga’s arms.
.
.

In the land of dreams, Mathonga finds himself

seated on the throne. The throne room is
adorned in white from all corners, he’s garbed in
a golden cloak. On his wrists and ankles are
golden accessories that match the golden
crown on his head.
There are people coming in numbers to leave
gifts at his feet, they leave the throne room
crawling on their knees with their heads bowed.
Suddenly a stray dog materialises through the
wide opened door, it carries with it a dark
presence that brings darkness in the throne
room.
“Who let you in here?” Mathonga practices his
authority, he stands to ready himself for war.
The dog growls revealing its canine teeth, just
as he’s about to question it again, another dog
materialises. This one is big and majestic,
resembling a lion.

In his subconscious, he knows it came with the

intent to protect.
In a millisecond, the dogs run towards him,
barking viciously. The small one outruns the big
dog, eyes glinting murderously. Mathonga
thinks of running, but can’t move his legs. The
only thing left to do is curl himself on the floor
and wait for the unescapable.

“Back off, this is my territory!!!” He hears his

voice thundering with authority, it’s
befuddling—he knows he has not uttered a
word, confusion has him lifting his head to
inspect. The big dog is in front of him, a wide
sweeping wag of its tail calms his heart. There
is no sign of the small dog, he’s aware that the
missing dog was an enemy coming to destroy
where his ancestors are building.

“Mathonga wake up.” Nala’s voice calls to him.

With a loud gasp, Mathonga jolts out of his
sleep. He recognises his surroundings, that he’s
fully awake.
“Are you okay?” Comes a question from Nala.
“You were mumbling in your sleep, I couldn’t
catch what you were saying.”
He’d answer her, tell her what’s going through
his mind. However, he’s not present with her.
His feet are burning, the same feet that had
refused to listen to him today.
“Abaphansi bafuna ngigide.” (The ancestors
want me to dance.)
The whisper is said under his breath, he leaves
the bed and stands firm. Nala is shocked by
how he’s on his feet, dancing and clapping like
nothing she’s ever seen before. What she
doesn’t know is that his ears are ringing with
drum beats and whistles.
“Uyamemeza uma Memeza. Uyamemeza
umuntu ongasekho.” The song comes naturally
through his lips, his feet moving in a strange
pulsing dance.

“Mathonga.” Nala fails to raise her voice.

Ndleleni is around, he will know what to do. Her
feet are faster than her brain as they rush her
out of the room, Mathonga’s voice trailing
behind her. She makes sure to close the door
lest he leaves.
The house is so big yet she can hear
Mathonga’s singing and clapping of hands from
the immense foyer. The stairs are an
inconvenience, but she makes it down. The
crew in the lounge is instantly aware of Nala’s
presence thanks to her loud rasps. Ndleleni
stands upon seeing the horror marked on her
face.

“It’s Mathonga, he’s acting strange.” Acting

strange she says… Ndleleni darts past her, his
big feet rushing towards the flight of stairs.
Styles and Liyana run after him, panic stricken.
They find a sweaty Mathonga stationery, he’s
facing the door way, eyes not cast at anyone in
specific. There are voices in his head, telling
him to leave.
“Where are you going?” Ndleleni questions his
brother, blocking his way.
“They are calling me, I have to go.” Mathonga
shoves at Ndeleni’s chest, the push throws him
centimetres away.
“Don’t let him go, stop him.” Liyana shouts,
Styles gets to him first, he’s joined by a
recuperated Ndleleni.
“Don’t hurt him, please.” Nala.
Her second language is a flood of tears, thanks
to Liyana holding her back, she is not able to
get to Mathonga who is not going down without
a fight. He’s himself but the strength he
possesses does not belong to him.
“You don’t understand, they are waiting for me.”
Mathonga roars as he tries to fight the two
gentlemen, these episodes keep recurring. It’s
getting out of hand, his ancestors do not come
in peace.

“Don’t touch him.” Says a man walking through

the door—It’s Liyana’s husband; Bambindlovu
Buthelezi. The second his eyes clash with
Mathonga’s, the Khanyile calf falls to his knees
yelling with jubilation and clapping hands in
praise to his ancestors.
“Thokoza gogo.” Bambindlovu.
He’s on his knees as well, head bowed in
respect.
“Sothole, Ntunjwa kaLanga, Mthiyane,
Ndwandwe.” Mathonga’s voice has transitioned
to that of an old woman’s voice.
Dammit, this is like a bad episode of Keeping up
with the Khanyiles. Ndleleni is close to cursing,
the elders are starting to annoy him. How much
can his brother take? The old woman is
becoming more persistent with each passing
day.
She’s yelling through Mathonga, using his body
against his will. His shoulders are vibrating
energetically as she rejoices upon seeing
Bambindlovu. It must be that he’s gifted and
speaks the same language as her.
“I’m Nomkhubulwane Khanyile, ugogo omkhulu.
The great ancestor of Khahlamba Khanyile, I’m
with my husband, Mahlalehlathini. Mathonga is
our son, uNgwane kaNgwadi. I’m proud of him
and that he has accepted us, but this boy has
disappointed us. He has brought his elders to a
foreign land without informing us. How do we
talk to him in a land that does not belong to us?
I’m trespassing as it is, mina uNomkhubulwane,
indlovukazi yase bukhosini is trespassing. I’m
not happy with him, I’m not happy at all.”

KHETHIWE-

“That tall man told me not to let anyone in here,”

says a nurse walking into my room. I don’t
know how to feel about that smile she’s giving
me, returning smiles is always risky, you never
know if they come from a good place or not.
“Ngena bhuti.” She’s letting someone in after
that declaration of hers. What’s wrong with
people? I know the tall man she mentioned is
Ntaba, he won’t be happy about this.
“What are you doing here?” Bahle and his father
are behind her, looking like lost souls. The nurse
won’t be a part of this, she throws her hands up
and leaves. Why is she leaving me alone with
these people?
“Khethiwe, are you okay?” Bahle is a joke, he
sure knows how to put on a good façade, I give
him that.
“Your stepfather shot me, I’m not okay.” Maybe
he’s forgotten what happened back at the
house.
“I’m sorry Snowie…” Ndimande says, looking
truly remorseful.
“That’s not my name.” I hate it and he gives off
weird ambiances. I don’t trust him, especially
after what he did.
“I understand that you’re upset,” he exhales
heavily, eyes wet with tears. Does this man
think I will pity him? Where is my father anyway?
He needs to fetch his friend.
“I didn’t mean to shoot you, Khethiwe. It was
meant for that man, he wanted to take you
away from us.” Ndimande.
He’s getting closer with each syllable falling off
his mouth, I don’t know what I will do to him if
he touches me.
“So you thought killing my boyfriend was okay
after I told you people that I’m carrying his
baby?” I’m not used to being dramatic, more
especially with people I’m not accustomed to.
But this one deserves to see that side of me, I
can’t let him get away with shooting me.
“You want my baby to grow up without a
father?” I’m beside myself with anger, livid to
say the least.
“I would never want that for you, Khethiwe. I
love you, you’re like a daughter to me.”
“You don’t even know me.” This is what I mean
when I say he’s creepy. The man last saw me
before I knew who I was.
“I do, I kept contact. Ask your father, all the
years I’ve been gone. He’d send me pictures of
you, I wrote you letters every year on your
birthday and sent gifts.” I did say he’s coming
closer, I want to scream for the nurse, but I’m
not that dramatic.
I don’t recall receiving gifts and letters from a
long lost uncle.
“Why?” It makes no sense to me, as to why he
would go to an extent to do such things for me.
“I consider your father my brother, and that
makes you my daughter.”
“If that’s how you feel, then why did you shoot
knowing well your aiming sucks? You could’ve
killed me.” The thought of dying makes my
heart overreact, the thought of my body
decaying in a box and maggots feasting on it is
scary.
“He overreacted Khethi,” Bahle is talking me?
After manhandling me like a criminal, he has
the nerve to speak to me.
“Don’t you ever make hasty decisions during a
moment of panic?” Bahle.
It’s funny because he is here with his so called
father, asking for forgiveness. Yet has the balls
to snap at me as if I am a child.
“Nothing justifies what this man did, what all of
you did. How could you go behind my back and
pay lobola for me?” Yes, I have so many
grudges against this family.
“It wasn’t me, I told you. Our parents came to
that conclusion, they thought we would be good
together.” Bahle.
“Our parents are old fashioned, Bahle. Maybe I
can excuse them, but what about you? You lied
about wanting to be my friend, you preyed on
me and invaded my life knowing what your
intentions were.”
“That’s not how it happened.” I know this man is
not shouting at me. “I came with good
intentions, you’re my best friend Khethiwe. I’ve
known you since we were kids, what do you
think we were doing back then? A male and
female can’t light a match together, something
will grow out of that little spark.” He reaches
out, taking hold of my hand and gives it a
squeeze.
He must be used to it, taking without being
given. Like he did with me, I can’t belong to
Bahle. I refuse, I was okay with the friendship
and maybe something would’ve come out of it.
But he went and ruined everything, showed me
his true colours. I owe him a Christmas present
for that for opening my eyes too early.

“I’ve loved you since we were kids, Khethiwe. I

was too much of a coward to tell you, seeing
you again brought back those buried feelings. I
love you and I want us to be together.”
I don’t know, either he is a good actor or his
feelings are genuine.
“Bahle…”

“I would let go of that hand if I were you.”

Khothama’s voice sashays into the room, I
thought he left with Ntaba. Here’s a thing about
Bahlephambikwethu, he is a stubborn fellow.
Taking orders from people is something he will
never do, I’ve seen that side when we were little.
“And who are you?” Bahle asks, Ndimande
looks ready to attack poor Khothama. There’s a
problem though, Khothama is towering over
them. They are basically dogs barking at a
roaring lion.
“I won’t answer that, mgodoyi. Let that hand
go.” Yeah, I’ve heard how easy Ntaba and
Khothama curse. It’s nothing to them, while
normal people cringe at the sound of it.
I try to pull my hand away from Bahle’s grip, so
there can be peace. He’s not letting me go, he’s
doing that thing he did back at the house –
holding me without my permission.
“Bahle.” I murmur, squirming to free myself.
“Khethiwe is my wife, who the hell are you?” The
idiot.
“Will you stop saying that?” I spit, my voice
breaking. I hate it when he calls me that. “I am
not your wife.”
I regain my hand back, and ask him to leave.
Why is he looking at me like I have cursed his
whole existence?
“You don’t mean that Khethiwe.” He mumbles
and I cannot understand how he is shocked by
my decision. Doesn’t he get it?
“I don’t want you here Bahle, get out.” I grab the
plastic cup from the table and throw it at him,
damn I missed. My adrenalin is bursting, why
does he have to insist that we are married?
What I say does not matter to him and that
pisses me off.
“Khethiwe calm down, we’re not here to harm
you.” If only Ndimande could do me a favour
and shut up.
“No Khethiwe, don’t calm down.” Khothama
pipes in. “Go crazy if you want, climb on top of
the bed if that will get them to leave.”
Okay, I’m not doing that.
Khothama’s quick movements send him to the
exit, “Eh ndoda, come here.”
This is a hospital, is he allowed to be yelling like
that? I should’ve known that he was calling
Ntaba with that stupid tone he used. Avoiding
fights can’t be rocket science, can it? Bahle
could’ve collected his father and walked out of
here willingly.
I would hate to see two grown men dragged out
of here, kicking and barking. Anything is
possible with Ntaba and Khothama, they are
Pinky and the Brain of Zulu people. Hlabela
needs to put his teachings to practice and call
his brothers to order.
“I will see you tomorrow.” Bahle announces
when the brothers make an appearance. His
chest is puffed and gaze destructive as he
walks past Ntaba, I’m proud of Ntaba for not
reacting to it. Hlabela and Khothama leave after
Bahle and Ndimande.
“Where are they going?”
“To make sure they leave the building,” he says
this as if it’s his father’s building.
“They have rights you know that, right?”
Ntaba steps forward, wanting to hold my hand.
He’s the only one allowed to touch me
anywhere he wants, I want to be his to touch.
“If I knew leeches were going to enter your
room, I wouldn’t have left you alone.” His voice
lowers as he speaks, the last word barely
audible. He’s serious about this ‘doing anything
for me’ thing.
“My hero, please let me get you pregnant in
case you decide to leave my scarred ass.” I
declare, not entirely able to keep my smile back.
“Udakiwe.” (You’re crazy.)
He deserts my hands, a scowl on his face.
“I won’t be a weekend special mom, I promise.
Or those moms who leave to buy milk and never
come back.”
“Khethiwe tell me if you’re hungry and I will buy
food for you, otherwise stop talking nonsense.”
He clicks his tongue, turning to leave.
“Where are you going?” I shout after him,
watching him running like water.
“To get you something to eat, your stomach is
full of nothing and it’s affecting your mind.” He
articulates.
“Okay baby daddy, hurry back.”
“Doti.” The last tongue click is louder than the
first one, he’ll be back.
*
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MATHONGA-
Sixty-one
Sponsored by Charmaigne Kotoyi
.
.

NALA-

“Nala, Nala.” I’m barely halfway into a deep

sleep when I hear Mathonga’s cries of anguish,
his hand clutching my thigh. I reach for the
lamp over the bedside table and flick the light
on.
Pearls of sweat have built tiny houses on his
body, he’s tossing and turning, his arm gript on
his lower torso.
“Thonga, what’s wrong?”
“I’m not okay, Nala. ” He delivers, shuffling to lie
on his stomach.
“What’s wrong?” Please don’t let it be that old
woman again, she is not kind at all. She went
mute after voicing her concerns, apparently
Mathonga needs to go back home and talk to
his fathers. He also needs to report his comings
and goings whenever he plans on travelling.
Bambindlovu asked if Mathonga could
slaughter a chicken to appease her, get her to
calm down or something like that, and she went
mute on us. I swear that woman is still getting
her periods in the afterlife.
Bambindlovu and Liyana are sleeping over, just
in case she decides to come back.

I place a hand on Mathonga’s forehead to check

his temperature, he’s burning up.
“It hurts, my stomach, I can’t take the pain.”
Mathonga exclaims, burying his face in the
pillow as he tosses in agony. Shivers run down
my back as a scream pipes out of his mouth,
it’s muffled due to his face pressed onto the
pillow.
“What’s wrong? Mathonga you’re scaring me.”
I don’t want to panic, it’s the first time seeing
him twisting in pain. I hate it, I don’t want the
picture to play anymore. I think of screaming for
help, not wanting to leave him alone. But there
are kids in the house, Thobani in the room next
door ours, Styles’ kid is not far from us as well.
I leave Mathonga writhing in bed and dash out
to find Bambindlovu, the old woman seems to
listen to him. I find him and his wife cuddled on
the couch, I’m sure they are tired of us. Ndleleni
must’ve gone to sleep, Styles and Sethu must
have turned in too. 11pm is on duty, it's
understandable.
“He’s in pain.” I report, feeling a little diffident.
Liyana sighs, chasing her husband’s gaze. They
walk past me, giving me no hint to follow them
but I do.
We arrive to Mathonga curled up on the bed,
groaning in pain. Liyana and I stand back,
watching Bambindlovu examine him. He turns
to me, his eyes giving away nothing.
“Squeeze seven lemons into a cup, and boil the
juice using a pot. Once it starts simmering, add
three salt stones, a teaspoon of oil then bring it
here.” Bambindlovu.
That sounds easy, I know my way around
Sethu’s kitchen. The task takes me about, plus,
minus twenty minutes, thanks to the juice
maker.
Bambindlovu prays over the remedy before
helping Mathonga consume it.
“It’s nothing to worry about, he’ll be fine, let him
rest.” Bambindlovu.
I want to ask what’s going on with him, but I’m
afraid he will mention the ancestors. Mathonga
needs a break from them.
“Keep an eye on him.” Bambindlovu says, giving
me a pat on the shoulder before taking his
wife’s hand and walking out with her.
Mathonga is suffering, I can tell the pain has
not lessened. He’s lying on his side, long legs
brought to his chest and arms pining them
there.
“You’ll be okay baby, don’t think about the pain
okay.” I comfort him, trusting Bambindlovu’s
words. He wouldn’t lie to us, and I’ve noticed
how serious he takes Mathonga’s journey.
Mathonga lets out a low growl as he puts
pressure on his stomach. Failing to take it
anymore, I sit next to him and pull him to my
arms. He shifts closer and lays his head on my
stomach.

“It will pass soon, Bambindlovu said you will be

fine.” I know he’s afraid, although he won’t say it.
He is terrified, I want to take his pain away. His
arms tighten around me each time he winces in
pain.
Abruptly, Mathonga pushes off of me, he rolls
over to sit on his legs. He slouches as he hugs
his stomach with both hands.
“Baby are you okay?” He shakes his head,
humming a low disapproval when I touch him. I
figure he won’t say anything until he is fine, I
won’t push either. He is a strong man, nothing
can bring him down.
The concoction given to him seems to be
working, the pain is subsiding, and he’s calmer
now. He breathes heavily, snuggling into me
and sniffing against my neck. It’s not the right
time for me to be feeling all fuzzy and warm, I
smooch his cheek, sighing with gladness.
“How are you feeling?” I ask after a few minutes
of complete silence, we’re lazing in bed, his
head is on my chest.
“Better.” He sounds better, a bit croaky but
better.
“Is the pain completely gone?” I ask.
He hums, responding to my question.
“I’m fine.” He adds through teasing kisses.
“Nothing a kiss won’t fix.”
Yeah, he’s back.

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

I will always take care of him like he takes care
of me, Mathonga’s shuffle comes with yet
another sigh, he leans on his elbows, pooped
eyes glancing straight at me.
“You scared me,” I tell him.
I want this to be over with, his ancestors to stop
torturing him. He’s a good man, he deserves
better than what they are giving him.
“So what’s the way forward?” Since we’re up, I
might as well lay the topic at the table. I don’t
want it hanging over me while I’m in the
process of healing and trying to be a mother to
my brother.
“I’m not sure, but if I have to go underwater or
initiation school then I will.”
I heard those take months, depending on one’s
progress. It will be hard not having him around
all the time.
“It’s never the case though, some initiates don’t
require schooling. Their ancestors guide them
on what to do to complete the process, I would
be one of the lucky ones if that happens.” He
passes a dry chuckle, eyes wandering into
nothingness.

I might have a slight idea what is going through

his mind, this gift that he has is a curse. I
wouldn’t blame him if that’s what he’s thinking.
After everything that’s been happening to him,
he has the right to feel that way.
“Bambindlovu said you’re carrying a lot of
grudges in your heart— that you need to forgive
before starting anything.”
“I know, forgiveness doesn’t come easily Nala.”
He sits up, his eyes leaving mine. “I have
recently realised that I’ve always hated my
mother, my entire life I was blind to the hate in
my heart but it’s clear to me now. It’s her fault,
she made me hate her and I don’t think I will
ever forgive her.”
“Hate is a strong word Thonga,” I serve him with
his words. It was months ago when he was
advising me to forgive my mother. All I get from
him is a shrug.
“What’s on your mind?”
“Dalisile.” He scratches his head, while biting
the corner of his upper lip. “I think she’s not
okay.”
“Why do you say that?”
There’s silence for a while, he puts his hand
over his face.
“A strange feeling just came over me, we need
to find her.”
I didn’t know she was missing.
“She’s the daughter in-law of the Khanyiles, they
want her home. There are things she did, dark
things. They want her home now.”
Is he prophesying? I hope he won’t have one of
those outer body experiences.
“Mathonga?” He moves his hand and faces me,
wild-eyed.
“Do you know what just happened?” I’m trying
to make sure that it’s him and that he did not go
away seconds ago.
“Yes, the Khanyiles want my mother back home.
The time has come for her to be trialled.”
Okay! He is acting strange, or I’m not used to
this. My eyes trace his figure as he stands to
his feet, please don’t do anything weird. It’s
been a long day, and I’m tired.
“Are you coming?” He smiles and extends his
hand over to me, bright eyes staring down
inquisitively.
“I’m hungry, I want you to feed me.”
I’d be honoured.
His episodes are random, it will take some
getting used to. As far as his mother is
concerned, he needs to talk to his brothers
about it.

NTABEZIKUDE-

He lied about Khothama and Hlabela walking

Ndimande and his step son out, maybe Hlabela
was tasked to do so but Khothama had
diabolical thoughts running through his head,
thoughts he shared with his cousin.
Unfortunately, the devil has to take a bow
tonight.
Thirty minutes have gone by since he left the
hospital, the destination is not home. He’s
meeting up with Alfred at a local eatery,
midnight is around the corner, ready to entertain
people of the night. Ntaba parks the car outside
a restaurant and tells his cousin to stay put, he
won’t be long.
A few feet taken towards the restaurant, he
stops. There’s a pulse pounding in his ears, his
chest tightening—the world around him blurs,
but Mathonga remains crystal clear.
It’s only now he’s noticed his shaky hands, it
must have something to do with what he is
about to find out. Anything regarding Mathonga
makes him anxious, he hasn’t heard his
brother’s voice in weeks and that is a recipe for
disaster. The sooner he finds that bastard
Phumlani, the sooner he will have Mathonga
back.

“Comrade.” He can’t forget the grin, he nods in

greeting and kisses the old man on the cheek.
“You’re still embarrassing, I see.” Alfred
observes and finds a reason to add a comment,
his lips search for a smile and find an invisible
one. “That kiss better not be lethal.”
Ntaba’s chest pounces in a slow rhythm,
laughter hollowing in the empty diner. He
settles down on the opposite chair and folds his
arms across his chest.
“I would never think of harming you-” it’s true,
he worships the ground Alfred walks on.
“I ordered coffee, black and strong right?”
That’s kind of Alfred, but he ought to know by
now that Ntaba does not drink coffee. He’s an
African drink type of guy.
“Udlala ngami, baba.” (You’re playing with me.)
Ntaba snickers, and then sighs, placing his
elbows on the table.
“What do you have for me?” There is no time to
waste, the visit is not a social one.
“Phumlani is like lightning, one minute he’s here
and the next he’s gone.” Alfred.
That’s not good at all, why call him here if he
doesn’t have anything solid to present? Alfred
knows Ntaba’s frustration is displayed through
the popping of his knuckles, not that he’s
scratching an itch—there’s an urge to punch or
break something.
“Relax tiger,” Jeez Alfred, easier said than done.
“My brother has not spoken to me in weeks,
baba. I can’t calm down. I need to fix what I
have broken and my uncle is my only option.”
Not really, but if that’s what gets his mind active,
then…
“I understand, comrade. Family is important to
you, that’s why I have a soft spot for you. You
value family and love like you were appointed to
do so by the gods.” Ha! Ntaba and love in one
sentence? If it doesn’t rain this night, then
Ntaba is Romeo 2.0.
“My heart belongs to my brothers, they are the
reason I am still alive.” That’s the truth.
He grins when he hears Alfred laugh, a rare
sound emanating from the old man.
“Well, then you will be pleased to know that he’s
hiding at a shelter in Berea, my people are on it.”

Alfred though… he could’ve said this and saved

Ntaba from worrying.
“You’re aware that he is not a sane man?”
What doesn’t Ntaba know? The man is a god.
“I do.” Ntaba says, straightforwardly.
“You won’t get anything from him, but crazy
mumbles. My suggestion would be to leave him
wherever he is, he will be nothing but a
hindrance to the family.” Alfred.
“When can I see him?” Ntaba snubs the
suggestion, if he wants it he will ask.
Alfred is not impressed, he glances around to
gather his marbles in one place.
“Give me two days and I will deliver him to you.”
Now he’s talking.
“Thank you baba, I will await your call.” The
Khanyile giant shuffles and stirs while watching
Alfred stand to his full height, Alfred can be
somewhat standoffish.
Ntaba clears his throat seeing the man staring
at him.
“You’re leaving?” Ntaba.
“It’s late, my bed is calling me.” His statement
proves that the man is ageing and ageing faster
than Bella Swan in the world of the immortal.
“I will walk with you, my brother is waiting for
me in the car.” Ntaba offers, Alfred nods,
putting his hands behind his back.
They leave the diner after Alfred pays for his
coffee, the man bids Ntaba farewell, gets into
his car and drives off.

“Sheesh!” A voice rings behind Ntaba, he

swivels on his heel to see Khothama gracing a
clustered facial expression. “Who is that
baboon?”
Ntaba shakes his head at the judgemental look
on his cousin’s face.
“What are you talking about?” Ntaba.
He walks pasts him to get to the driver’s side,
Khothama joins him in the car.
“What shenanigans are you cooking with that
man?” This one likes things.
“He’s helping me find Thonga’s father.” He pulls
out of the parking lot, headed towards the open
road. He’s not going to tell Khothama that he
sees a father in that baboon, he won’t reveal
that Alfred taught him how to kill, steal and
always be a step ahead.

“I thought you said Phumlani is crazy.” He

thinks it’s absurd that Ntaba would want to
bring a crazy man back into their lives.
“Jesus turned water into wine, fixing Phumlani
should be a piece of cake.” Ntaba states,
lowering the volume on the radio. He is not a
maskandi fan but his cousin is, that’s why he
was having a one man bhinca-party when Ntaba
was in the diner. Excitement washes over
Khothama, he looks over at his brother with a
grin on his face.
“Remember when he raised that man
kwabafileyo?” (From the dead)
Ntaba was not there, he can’t remember of
course, but he’s heard the story of a man by the
name of Lazarus.
“You see how well you get me?” Ntaba tells his
cousin who nods.
“Shit, and that day when he walked on water.”
Another trip back to the days of Jesus, the two
share a look and burst into Nyaope laughter. It’s
how Khothama tells it like he was there.
“Yes and the moral of the story is?” Ntaba.
“Jesus was the goat, ndoda.” That’s not the
answer Ntaba is looking for, his brows furrow
as his gaze briefly darts to Khothama.
“A magician?” Khothama is confused by the
look Ntaba is giving him, if that’s not the moral
of the story then what is?
“It simply means there is hope for Phumlani.”
Ntaba explains.
Oh, that makes sense.
“But if Phumlani was crazy when he ate from
your father’s plate, will he remember what
happened?” Good question from Khothama.
“He has to remember, he owes Thonga Lami
answers and I will make sure he provides.”
Ntaba.
“You’re such a softie, you’ll make a great father
one day.” That’s so stupid of Khothama, Ntaba
seems to think so.
“Speaking of which,” a slow, rasping chuckle
leaps from Ntaba’s chest. “My heart almost
stopped today when Khethiwe said she was
pregnant, I was convinced she was.”
Someone is laughing like a drunkard, yeah, it’s
Khothama. Head tilted on the headrest of the
car seat and all adult on display.
“That’s what you get for not using a condom
and kissing ass.” So the torture begins. “That
girl gave you something, men don’t go around
kissing people’s asses.”
Khothama is laughing like he doesn’t care.
“Don’t start with me, Khothama. What about you
huh? That woman living in your house, why is
she still there?” Ntaba expected Khothama to
kick her out of his father’s house, they both
suspect premeditated murder—that Thethelela
is responsible for Bopha’s death and she is
getting away with it. It’s hard to prove anything
when the autopsy came back with no traces of
poison.
“The house basically belongs to her, my father
would’ve wanted her to have it.” Khothama
shrugs, popping his knuckles.
“She killed him,” Ntaba gambles.
“I know, I just don’t want to dwell on that for
now.” He is not saying he’s leaving Thethelela
to karma, he’s saying he needs time to mourn
his father.
Spotting an open KFC eatery, Khothama
suggests they get something to eat.

They can see from outside; through the glass

window that there aren’t a lot of people inside.
These men stride like royalty, broad shoulders
squared, chests out and eyes cast on one place.
They join the line, three people are before them,
waiting to place their orders.

“Ndoda, isn’t that Zamo?” Khothama

pronounces.
Ntaba glances up from his phone without
raising his head and darn it, it is her. She’s
standing next to the staffroom, completely
oblivious of who has entered the place.
“What the hell is she doing here?” Ntaba asks,
it’s after midnight, her peers are drooling and
dreaming of unicorns. Why the heck is she not
home?
“What is she wearing?” Khothama sounds
disgusted. “No offence but your sister dresses
like she doesn’t want.”

A man emerges from the staffroom, KFC

uniform garbed on him. Their jaws tick at the
same time. They know that son of a gun, he’s
on Ntaba’s hit list.
They stare with wide eyes as the man wraps his
arms around Zamangwane’s waist and kisses
her on the lips, that bastard can’t be much older
than Vukuzakhe.
“Sangweni?” Ntaba hisses, feeling his blood boil.
A commotion erupts, Ntaba pulls out a pocket
knife, he dashes over to pin Mfundo against the
wall and presses the knife on his neck. Behind
him is Khothama, aiming a gun at Mfundo. The
few customers in the eatery run out at the first
sign of danger, screaming in terror. Waiters
have found a hiding place behind the counter.
“Bhuti, don’t hurt him. He’s my husband, please
don’t hurt him.” Zamangwane yells at the top of
her voice, fuming eyes turn to her. She bats an
eye as shame cloaks the entirety of her body.

The feeling of failure is like that visitor that

comes unannounced, Ntaba is disappointed in
himself. He’s been so busy with his life that he
forgot about his little sister.
He snatches Khothama’s gun, knocks Mfundo
out with it and lets him fall with a thud.
Zamangwane’s teary eyes are on the man she
claims is her husband, she wants to run to him,
check if he is still alive. However, her brothers
look like they are ready to slaughter her.
“What the fuck did you say?” Ntaba yells,
something he never does. The child flinches,
afraid of the unknown. She curls up beside
Khothama, looking for safety. But this one is
another raging bull.
“I dare you to repeat what you said,” Khothama
deadpans, removing his belt from his pants,
ready to whoop her ass. It… would be weird.
Ntaba does not speak, he loads the gun, bends
over and points it at a passed out Mfundo’s
head. This drives Zamangwane insane, she
dashes to shield the man and this angers her
brother further.
“Please don’t kill him, we just got married.”
*
*
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MATHONGA-
Sixty-two
.
.

VUKUZAKHE-

He hasn’t been to see Mathonga and no one

has called him to update him on what’s
happening in his younger brother’s life. All is
well, according to him and as soon as they are
all safe, Mathonga will go back to KZN and their
lives will continue from where they left off
before a plague hit them. He has it all planned
out.

Black; Funo’s bodyguard was let go the day

Vukuzakhe came back, there is no use in having
a bodyguard when Zakhe is with the younger
man all day every day.
“I want this man found. I don’t care what you do,
find him.” He’s on the phone with a private
investigator, mission find Phumlani Khanyile is
on. Along with Ntaba, Zakhe is working hard to
dig the past. It’s a must they find the man, all
this is done for Mathonga.
The small gadget is tossed on the couch, a Zulu
man’s tongue click is equivalent to a Nigerian
man’s tongue click. He’s frustrated by the
investigator’s incompetence.
“Who do you want found?” Asks Funokuhle as
he gently bustles into the living room and
places a kiss the older man’s cheek. The power
nap did wonders to the man, he looks
rejuvenated. But it’s not morning yet, what’s he
doing up?
Zakhe’s eyebrows come to life while watching
Funokuhle throw himself on the couch and
channel searches. His world goes completely
out of focus while every detail about the boy is
clear and mesmerizing.
“Hey.” Funokuhle snaps his fingers, taking
Zakhe out of the world of thinkers. “Who do you
want found?”
“No one, kid.” He lies and settles beside him,
their knees brush a smidgeon—it sends a jolt of
shivers through the entirety of Funokuhle’s body.
“Are you hungry?” Zakhe asks. “You went to bed
before supper.”
“How can I eat without you?” Funokuhle’s reply
is quick, and dished with a shrug.
“I’m hungry.” He hints, retching for oxygen.
Funokuhle finds it dramatic, he diverts his gaze
to the big man seated next to him and a smile
finds his lips.
“Oh, is that why you’re asking if I ate?”
Funokuhle.
“Maybe that was my way of telling you that I’m
hungry.” Is he sulking? The big man is sulking,
bottom lip slightly pushed forward. He passes
another sigh and drops his head on Funokuhle’s
shoulder.
“Sometimes I wonder if you love food more
than me.”
Where did Funokuhle get the gun to fire that?
His statement invites awkwardness, it’s chased
away by Zakhe softly chuckling.
“Food before boys.” Zakhe comments, playfully.
His head heavy on Funokuhle.
“Okay, that saves me the trouble of having to
whip something fast. I’m a boy who is
competing with food for your attention and
you’ve chosen food over me.” The words
shower over Zakhe, Funokuhle starts to turn,
preparing himself to leave the room. His little
trip is denied by Zakhe gripping his hand. One
turn from Funokuhle and Zakhe is standing
before him, he scoops him up in his arms.
“What are you doing?” Funokuhle questions,
voice breaking from little use. He entraps
Zakhe’s neck with his arms, for balance, and the
softening smile on Khanyile’s face causes the
minion to feel exceedingly shy at being the
subject of the man’s attention.
“You’re making fun of my love for food.” The
older man says, evenly sprinkling a drop of
teases. Their eyes clash, adoration pulses in
Funokuhle’s heart.
“I feel safe with you.” The minion blots out
randomly.
“You are always safe with me, kid.” And that’s a
lifelong promise. He sits them down, Funokuhle
makes himself comfortable on Zakhe’s lap.
“Something strange happened today,”
Funokuhle introduces, worry glinted in the tone
of his voice. “While I was taking a stroll in the
garden this morning, I saw a man taking
pictures of the house.”
It’s not a normal thing to happen in the burbs,
unless a ‘for sale’ sign has been put out.
“Did you confront him?”
Funokuhle blinks at him, his weary eyes
suddenly heavy-lidded. “I did, he said he was
house haunting. He couldn’t look straight at me,
his eyes were very shifty and I have a feeling he
was taking pictures of me, not the house.”
His words run together, hinting at tiredness. He
shuffles on Zakhe’s lap, rests his head on his
chest and shuts his eyes. He is tired and going
to bed hungry never hurt anyone. Vukuzakhe is
left to worry alone, someone is watching them.
Who could it be?

THE KHANYILES-
Vumile is startled awake by the noise tearing
through the closed door, he flinches, eyes going
wide as he realises with a sort of confusing
fright that something is happening outside.
“Did you hear that?” Not really understanding
what is going on, and his mind going blanker
than a sheet of paper, Vumile manages to hear
his side-chick’s voice beside him. Yes, they are
sharing a bed once again… Nandi’s bed.
“What is going on?” Vumile questions upon
hearing people talking, and then among the
voices, Zamangwane’s cries of sorrow echoing
very close.
“Shut up wena.” His son’s voice is next in line,
Nandi jolts out of bed, she throws on a morning
gown and a pair of push-ins.
Vumile stands there, frozen for a good ten
seconds, his head fuzzy but clear at the same
time.
“Aren’t you coming?” This is no time to be
freaking out, he blinks as Nandi’s question hits
his ears and tells Nandi to stay behind while he
checks what’s going on.
Being a mother and hearing her child’s
uncontrollable cries outside, Nandi ignores
Vumile and flies out the door, eyes wild and
scanning every inch of her surroundings.

She catches it… Ntaba dragging a man away,

towards the main house while Zamangwane is
struggling under Khothama’s grip. She’s
choking on tears, feeling weakness pull at every
muscle of her body as she pleads for her
brothers to have mercy on the man she claims
to be her husband.
“Ntabezikude!!!” That roar would surely wake
the entire homestead, it’s in the middle of the
night for Pete’s sake.
Nandi is close to having a mini heart attack,
what under the dark skies is going on here?
Zamangwane said she was at a friend’s house,
she spoke to the mother and it was confirmed.

The old couple catches up with the kids, just as

Nandi is about to pull her hysterical daughter
into her busty chest, Zamangwane hesitates,
fear in her eyes. Nandi knows her daughter like
the back of her hand and she knows Ntaba; that
he would never do anything absurd without a
solid reason.
“Zamo?” The child’s name trembles from
Nandi’s lips, yet the question dies on her throat,
afraid of the answer.
“What is going on here?” Anger has Vumile by
his balls, blood red eyes wedged on Ntaba.
Ntaba releases his grip from an unconscious
Mfundo, he’s fuming, chest heaving and face
contorted with rage.
“Ask your daughter what she’s doing with this
old man.” Ntaba sizzles, kicking a man who’s
down and out.
“Bhuti, please.” Zamangwane has barely
stopped struggling by force to get Khothama
off of her, when she finally escapes his grip and
rushes to hug Mfundo. Khothama’s attempts to
pull her back are terminated by Vumile who
stands in front of Zamangwane.
“Do not touch my daughter.” Argh Vumile.
Khothama raises his hands, surrendering to
whatever is happening and steps back.
“Don’t protect her baba, you have no idea what
this child has done.” Ntaba hisses, Vumile turns
to his daughter. He touches her arms, to bring
her to her feet. Their relationship as father and
daughter is as non-existent as his plans to
marry Nandi, yes the man has been stalling.
He loves his daughter though and would move
mountains for her.
“Daddy.” There’s a first time for everything,
tears fill Vumile’s eyes. He’s been wanting to
hear her call him that. She buries her face on
his chest, sobbing loudly.
“Zamangwane,” Nandi’s shaky voice calls.
“Zamangwane, what is that on your finger?”
It’s a wedding ring, shiny like her dream of being
Mrs. Khanyile.
“Your daughter married this fool, ma.” Ntaba
snitches, sending a heated glare down
Mfundo’s way. His blood boiling all over again.
A numbness like anything she’s ever felt before
stirs to life inside Nandi, a feeling so
encompassing.
Zamangwane is hidden in her father’s arms,
away from her mother’s wrath.
“I said, what is that thing on your finger
Zamangwane?” Nandi explodes in shards of
anger, her hands are on her daughter’s upper
arms, dragging her away from her father’s
wings.

“I’m sorry mama.” She struggles to look her in

the eye, right after her apology she slides
behind her father, clasping the hem of his top.
“What have you done you stupid girl?”
Nandi yells, eyes dripped with spite. She wants
to hear it from the horse’s mouth, sorry doesn’t
say much. She could be sorry for sleeping out,
not washing the dishes or leaving her room
untidy… heck she could be sorry for stealing a
Rand from her purse.
“He’s my husband, ma.” Shut the front door!
Zamangwane’s cries echo in Nandi’s ears, she’s
biting her nails, face resembling an innocent
little girl who has been swallowed by the world
and needs a saviour.
“I met him a few months ago, before we moved
in here. He understood me and listened to me,
he treats me like I matter and takes care of my
needs.”
“You have noticed that he is a fossil, right? He’s
old enough to be your father.” Khothama
seethes. “No offence baba, you’re a 16 valve
compared to this idiot.”
He finishes with a request for forgiveness, no
one pays him attention—Zamangwane is the
one who should be talking, explaining herself.
“We got married yesterday, I was going to tell
you. I wanted to tell you but he said we should
wait...” Zamangwane.
“That’s impossible, you’re only 17. You need a
guardian to…”
“Y… you gave… co… consent ma.”
Zamangwane’s words dribble up and down her
quavering lips, she’s back to hiding behind her
father. No word has come from Vumile, he’s as
shocked as Nandi. How did they let this happen?
“That’s not true, I would never.” Confusion hits
Nandi like lightning.
“What’s going on?” Hlabela is here as well, no
one answers him.
“MaShamase? You gave my daughter away?”
Ehh! Vumile…
“No, I swear I didn’t, I would never do that.” She
grabs Zamangwane by the collar. “What have
you done Zamangwane? Khuluma!”
Nandi rumbles, violently shaking her daughter.
Vumile pulls his child back, and that puts a
frown on Ntaba’s face. It’s not that he has a
problem with Vumile protecting his daughter,
but Zamangwane has messed up, she needs a
good scolding... a few slaps here and there and
maybe remove one of her kidneys— that should
teach her.

“T… the day of bab’omncane’s funeral…I asked

you to sign a form for a school excursion.”
Nandi ponders back, she was busy as a bee
that day. She does recall her mentioning
something about a school outing, all she
needed was a signature and she was good to
go.
“I knew you were going to say no ma, that’s why
I lied about the papers. They were not for the
trip, you unknowingly gave consent for me to
get married and Mfundo has connections at
Home Affairs, so the process was not really
hard.”
“So what you’re saying is that this man took
advantage of you?” Ntaba is not really asking a
question, he has concluded in his head that the
man preyed on his little sister.
“No, bhuti. I love him and he loves me too.” The
audacity to let these powerful words roll past
her tongue.
“Love yamasimba, what the hell do you know
about love wena? You’re a baby.” Ntaba fires,
pointing a finger at her.
“I’m not a ba…” her vocabulary is clogged by
Nandi landing a hot slap across Zamangwane’s
face, the sound travels a distant while causing
silence in their midst. Face puffy and eyes
blown from crying, Zamangwane wails like
Mfundo has died and left her with nothing but
debts and a bitter mother-in-law.
“Do you know what you have done,
Zamangwane?” Nandi yells, slapping her on the
other cheek.
Vumile plays daddy by pulling the child away
from her mother, Zamangwane leans into him,
trembling and wheezing like a dying deer. He is
the only one who seems to be on her side.
“That’s enough Nandi,” his voice is kept low and
controlled. “We can sort this out without
resorting to violence.”
Violence? Nandi can’t understand Vumile’s
language, she wants to kill this child… erase her
existence and maybe, just maybe she wouldn’t
be feeling the shame that’s engulfing her.
“Violence is the only way out baba,” Ntaba pulls
out a gun, he’s been wanting to kill Mfundo
since they left the eatery.
“She is a child, beating her up won’t solve
anything. You will only make matters worse.”
Vumile states, he’s annoying as fuck, or so
Ntaba thinks.
“No, but killing this Bastard will.” Ntaba has a
loaded gun aimed at Mfundo.
“Daddy, please don’t let him kill him. I will kill
myself if Mfundo dies.” Oh wow!

Nandi is fighting the urge to slap her daughter

again, Khothama is laughing alone in disbelief.
Hlabela has his own problems to actually catch
what is really going on here. No one has noticed
that he’s fully dressed in jeans, a coat and
sneakers. There’s a packed duffel bag in his car
featuring a toothbrush and other important kits.
Mpumalanga is calling his name and Kushi
demands his presence, it’s an urgent matter.

“Put that gun away Ntabezikude.”

Vumile for sale, anyone?
It will be a cold day in hell before Ntaba takes
his father’s useless advice.
“This is a trap baba, this msunu is using your
daughter to get back at us. This is his way of
avenging his father’s death.” Ntaba.
“Ntaba is right baba, they are hitting us where it
hurts the most.” Khothama adds in agreement.
“Mfundo will never do that, he…” Zamangwane.
“Yeyi shut up wena.” Nandi can’t figure out if
she’s still breathing or she’s a ghost waiting to
follow the light, this is a night and a half—the
worst night of her life. Her daughter has
brought her shame.
“I hear you but I can’t grasp why you had to
bring him here unconscious, why do you have to
always act impulsively?” Vumile has always
been the voice of reason, trusting blindly and
making hasty decisions. Ntaba’s frown is visible
under the moonlight, rage flickers in his eyes—
seems it’s here to stay.
“He’s lucky I haven’t killed him.” Ntaba snaps
before he can help himself, his eyes say it
all—he doesn’t have to give out gruesome
details.
“This marriage is not even valid, I don’t care
what you people think you did with the
government people. You are a child Zamo, a
minor.” Ntaba continues.
“But we love each other, bhuti.” Argh shame.
It’s not like she did anything wrong… she’s a girl
enticed by an older man and happened to fall
for him… she loves him… he’s her… husband.
“Yeyi, you sound like a broken record.”
Khothama’s glower deepens, his jaw clenches.
He thinks Zamangwane needs a good beating
and she will be straight as a ruler.
Vumile rubs her back to shush her cries, she’s
currently resembling a spoiled brat that gets
away with anything.
“I’m not blind to what Zamo has done, I will
question Sangweni and get to the bottom of
this. We need to hear his side of the story.”
Fathers like Vumile… sigh!
“There is no other side of the story baba, Zamo
has revealed the truth. These two are married,
we need to kill this man and throw his body in
the river.
The mention of killing has Zamangwane
sobbing loudly.
“I’m not disputing that, but I suggest we all go
to bed, we’ll talk about this in the morning.”
Vumile, such a disappointment.
“I’m not a do it tomorrow kind of guy, you
should know that by now baba. I finish what I
start, that should be fucking clear to you.”
Ntaba sizzles.
The coldness has returned, dangerous and
carrying promises to terminate.
“You will watch your tongue when speaking to
me, Ntabezikude.”
“Or what?”
That escalated way too fast… all Ntaba wants to
do is get rid of the enemy and save his sister.
He can’t understand why Vumile is not allowing
him, why he’s not reacting to Zamangwane’s
surprise-marriage.
“Ngwane…” Nandi needs to say something.
“What is wrong with you? Can’t you be a normal
child for once?” For a while, all is quiet, then
Ntaba’s soft chuckle breaks the silence.
“Normal child?” Yep that is what daddy said.
“Your baby girl has been taken advantage of, it’s
strange to me that you’re okay with this.”
“I didn’t say I’m okay with it, I’m saying we can
tackle this in a more civilized manner.” Vumile.
“By civilised you mean sit down with Sangweni
and talk over a cup of tea and biscuits?”
Khothama crosses his arms, his chest seeming
to burst as anger swoops over him.
“Baba you can’t be that dumb, these people are
playing us for fools. They played Zamangwane
for a fool and she fell for it.” Khothama finishes.
“Can we all please calm down, biting each
other’s heads off will not solve anything.”
Deputy Jesus stands in between Vumile and the
boys, a man of peace, he is.
“Maybe that’s the language your father
understands, Zamangwane is seventeen. This
man took advantage of a baby.” Ntaba is not
letting go, maybe Vumile will finally put a stop
to all this by killing Mfundo himself.
“H… he didn’t take advantage of me.” Oh she
can still talk?
“Did you sleep with him?”
Zamangwane blinks, her gaze is lowered as she
fiddles with the sleeves of her jersey. She’s not
sure if she should answer Ntaba’s question.
“Did this man touch you?” The question is
repeated by Khothama.

Her subtle nod is nothing short of alarming, at

the horror, Nandi lets out a shuddering breath,
eyes full of censure.
Ntaba catches his breath, a sick sort of feeling
stirring in his throat as he thinks of how he’s
failed his siblings.
He grabs Mfundo and shakes him awake, the
helpless man mumbles, eyes slowly flapping
open. He’s so out of it that he can’t recognise
his surroundings, but he hears Zamangwane
scream crying.
“Zama…” her name drags out of his mouth and
that angers Ntaba. This old man has slept with
his little sister and somehow convinced her to
marry him and that all of this is okay. He lands a
sickening punch on his face.
“Bhuti no,” she yelps, running to— maybe
protect her husband. Khothama holds her back,
Nandi does nothing to stop her stepson. Vumile
is yelling for him to stop punching the
defenceless Mfundo… and Hlabela… well there
he goes towards his car… unseen. He has his
own problems to worry about.
“Stop!” Vumile sends his voice as loud as it
would go, but Ntaba won’t stop. Rage has taken
over…. at the sight and smell of blood, he loses
himself.
“Bhuti please stop, you’re hurting him.”
Zamangwane begs, struggling pointlessly. Her
cries kill every amber in Vumile’s soul, he’s a
father whose goal is never to see his daughter
reduced to tears and pure agony. There’s a way
to solve this matter, and maybe if they have to
kill Mfundo, they can do it when his little girl is
not around… watching.

“Ntabezikude stop.” Vumile orders.

Ntaba is momentarily disoriented when his
father grips his shoulders and pushes him away
from a blood stained and groaning Mfundo.
“I said stop!” Vumile’s authority roars to life,
suddenly the palm of his hand lands on Ntaba’s
cheek. The sound is loud that Nandi screams,
Zamangwane is not there, her main concern is
her husband. Khothama takes his place next to
Ntaba, eyes glaring at his uncle and nostrils
flaring from whiffs of anger. How dare Vumile
slap his brother.
“Please, I have had enough of your nonsense.
Till when will you act like an animal, can’t you be
like your brothers? If you continue like this, I will
have to take drastic measures.” That’s a threat
and Ntaba can spot a threat blindfolded.
“You’re embarrassing, nothing you do adds
value to anything. Life is not about killing
people and asserting your anger when the
situation does not serve you best. You’re
useless Ntabezikude, useless man.”
It’s no biggie, he’s a father scolding his child.
It’s been done for centuries… it’s normal and
hey, nothing hurts this Khanyile giant. He’s
stoical, cold and indifferent.
Vumile watches as the shimmer of anger
washes through his son’s eyes, through
Khothama’s eyes as well.

“I’m moving out.” What is happening? Ntaba is

not one to blow the horn. Gasping breathlessly,
almost inaudible— Vumile’s mind takes him to
dark places as he tries to say something… say
anything—but every word seems useless after
the words taken by Ntaba, a man who never
goes back on what he decides on.
“If that’s what you want, don’t let me stop you.”
The words are more or less pushed out of
Vumile by the pure amount of disdain and
horror he has at what is happening.
“Ngwane, no. Please stop, you’re destroying
your family.” Nandi clearly yells, nearing Vumile
faster and a tad more anxiously.
“I have done nothing of the sort, this boy has
some growing up to do. Maybe he will finally
learn responsibility… be a real man.”
Khothama mirrors Ntaba’s movements as he
wheels around and heads to the car, leaving
everything behind.
“Ngwane he’s leaving, your son is leaving you.
Stop him please.” Nandi implores desperately,
her cries swirling around.
Vumile’s eyes widen at the realisation, lips
thin—he is deeply upset. He doesn’t move, he
doesn’t blink or relax, or even so much as
breathe.
*
*
A/N: Let’s push for 9pm with 400+ comments.
MATHONGA-
Sixty-three

MATHONGA-

“Mathonga.” Her morning voice sends tingles

through my body, I lick my lips, gaze flickering
to her mouth. I want to kiss her so badly,
morning breath and all. It will be a while before I
get to taste her lips again, she covers her
mouth and shakes her head as I lean in to steal
a kiss.
“Mba?” My lips pucker up ready to take hers, the
headshake continues.
“Morning breath...” She mumbles against the
palm of her hand.
“Nala, we have about ten minutes or so.” I tell
her after glancing at the digital clock on the
bedside table, my plane leaves at 9:30am. Her
brows crinkle together, she’s confused, but I
don’t tell her what I mean instead fall forward
on top of her, flattening her on the bed.
My heart races at the darkness pooling in her
eyes, she knows what I want and that look tells
me she wants the same thing.
I don’t know how she will react to all of this,
she’s seeing a therapist, it’s been a while and
hopefully she is healing.
“Mathonga?” I feel a question coming, and send
it back by kissing down her chest. It’s strange at
first because I caught her off guard, for a good
ten seconds she looks shocked, and shivers as
I pull her nightdress over her head, exposing her
breasts. Soon our hands are fumbling over each
other’s bodies.
My heart dances joyfully as I feel her soft skin
under my fingertips.
“I can’t wait to have you, Nala.” I’ve been waiting
for this day, it’s been long coming.
I’m a tad bit stunned when she grabs the back
of my head, pulling me closer for a searing kiss.
I kiss her back with every ounce of longing in
my body. Her gasps are loud in my ear with
every breath we take, her hands are warm on
my skin. I let my mind stray into obscene
territory, my thoughts drift to lovely things like;
the way Nala’s skin feels against mine, the way
she responds to my kisses.
I position myself in between her legs, my heart
warming at the sight of her flushed face.
“What are you doing?” She asks, I send her a
smile, leaning in to whisper in her ear.
“Today, it’s all about you. But you’ll owe me
one.” She shivers and goose bumps coat her
skin.
“Matho…” she stops, probably at the feel of my
tongue on her skin as I kiss my way down to her
breasts. I hear her swallow, head tilted back and
eyes closed.
She’s kneading my back, nails digging in like a
kitten. Every little gasp and quiver of her body is
a gift, a keepsake. I take a moment sucking her
breasts before I kiss her down to her thighs, her
body tenses when I try to spread her thighs
open.
“Relax for me, Nala. I won’t hurt you.” I wouldn’t
dream of it.
The fear in her eyes won’t leave, I have to place
gentle kisses on her inner thighs to get her to
stay calm and trust me.
“Do you trust me?” I ask, blinking up at her. The
faint nod is not assurance, I wouldn’t want to
take advantage of her.
“I trust you, with my life.” She says as I attempt
to cover her nakedness with a blanket. “I trust
you.”

A little thrill zips through me, I lick my lips

desperate to taste Nala in this way.
I wet my finger in my mouth to lube it up and
gently rub it between her inner and outer lips,
heading up to her clitoris. In gentle circles, I
move it around her clit avoiding the little nub.
My heart shoots up into my throat, hearing Nala
moan softly.
Once the nub is peeking out of the hood, I go
back to her flappers, fingering them some more.
A moan escapes her throat the second my
tongue touches her clitoris, and circles around it.
My hand fondles with one of her breasts, gently
twisting her aroused nipple.
“Ah! Thonga.” I can barely hear her plea, not
with the ringing in my ears and the excitement
of being this close and intimate with her. Her
breaths are rapid, body twisting sensually. I can
feel my erection straining against the front of
my pants, I’ll deal with that later.

The licks I give Nala are slow and gentle, fast

and firm. My tongue loves where it is, I would
do this the whole day.
Her body jerks back when I insert a finger into
her vaginal opening, I look up to see panic in her
eyes, this was a bad idea. I doubt she’s ready
for it, she must see my thoughts.
“I’m okay, I want this. I want you and I trust
you.” She’s trying to assure me, but I’m not
persuaded.
“We can do this some other tim…”
“No,” her denial is quick. “I want this, don’t stop
please.” The look in her bedroom eyes is rather
convincing and it has me taking the position
again. My finger slowly slides into the warmth
of her front bottom, and my tongue goes back
to its happy place, her clit. I’m aroused by the
moans seeping into the room, how she
pleasurably takes my name.

She’s getting loud, I want to tell her to keep it

down but internally chuckle when I see her bite
down on her knuckles to keep from being loud.
Everything from the way Nala’s hips are arched,
back bowed so strongly against the mattress as
she tries to get closer and pull away at the
same time, all of it has me shivering with
pleasure. I keep the strokes of my finger gentle,
while licking and teasing her clit a few times
before speeding up the motion of my tongue.
Her hips begin to harshly thrust up into my
mouth.

From what I can see from my vantage point, her

face is twisted in a complex mixture of pleasure
and hesitancy. I know she’s getting there when
she throws her head back on the pillow and her
hips start moving roughly. To give her the final
push into the cum-train, I dive in, wiggling my
tongue on her clit. I’m not imagining sounds, the
strangled cry is definitely from her. I want to tell
her to scream if she wants to but don’t want to
stop.
“Mama yo!” She finally releases the scream,
body convulsing violently. I have to stop myself
from chuckling at her innocence, a smile visits
my lips as I gently lick her soft parts once, then
twice.
Nala has covered her face with a pillow, legs
closed. I can hear her panting, my heart drowns.
Is she crying?
“Nala?” What have I done? “Are you okay?”
She manages to peel her face open, throwing
the pillow aside.
“Thank you.” She says, diffidently or slightly
mortified. My heart pounds in my rib cage, relief
taking over me. Her giggles fill the room the
minute my arms surround her naked body, and
shower her face with my kisses.
*
*

“Shower with me?” It’s a big ask, I’m not entirely

sure if she’s comfortable with being naked in
the bathtub with me. Sex is different, we’re both
aroused at that time and nothing else matters
but getting an orgasm.
“You shower, I’ll make the bed in the
meantime.” That’s a no, I guess.
“Suit yourself.” I tease, stealing a quick kiss on
her lips.
“Hey, are we leaving?” She asks, her lips
pressed in a frown and eyes on the suitcase by
the door.
“I’m leaving.” This is not how I wanted to break
the news.
“You’re leaving us behind?” That would be
selfish of me.
“No, I will visit whenever I can.” I take her hands
seeing how upset she has become. “The
ancestors want me back home, there is so
much I need to fix. I don’t want to weary you
with my problems.”
“But I want to carry some of your burdens,”
that’s sweet of her but she will drown if I let that
happen.
“You have Thobani to worry about and yourself,
I will visit you guys, every weekend if I can. I’m
not abandoning you Nala, you and Thobani are
my responsibility. He’s halfway through therapy,
moving him around will confuse him.” I think
that little nod means she agrees.
“I’m in love with you, no way am I living without
you.” I confess.
“I’ll miss you.” I’ll miss her too, I hold her tight
against my chest and kiss her deeply, not
holding anything back. She’s clinging on me, as
if she will drop if she lets go.
“My knees feel weak…” She blurts out,
ridiculously. I can’t help the wide grin stretching
my lips, my confident smile earns me a punch
on the chest and a shy smile from her.
*
*

The past twenty four hours have been the

scariest moments of my life, I thought I was
going to lose my mind and never find my way
back. I can’t recall most of the things I did, like
leaving the house and coming back dressed in a
sarong.

Everything will be revealed back home, the

ancestors want me there and that’s where my
path will lead me today. Leaving Nala behind is
not easy, but at this point our paths are
different, if we are destined to be together then
fate will bind us together again.
In the dining room I find the man who has been
nothing but great help to me, he’s wearing
umblaselo, same fit as yesterday. He nods as
he sees me. I think he’d talk if his mouth were
not full, I want to laugh at the number of bread
slices on his plate.
“Bambindlovu.” Just when I think I have seen it
all, Joburgers shock me. I’m taken aback by
how he squashes the white bread until it’s a roll
and dips it inside a cup of hot pipping tea.
“Mfethu, unjani?” (How are you?)
“Alive, thanks to you.” I join him at the table,
there’s nothing I can eat here or maybe I don’t
have an appetite.
“No,” he shakes his head, dipping more bread in
his tea. What’s the point of all this when the
bread and tea will meet in his mouth, although
one will get there first but eventually… argh!
“Your ancestors are keeping you alive, mfethu.
They would’ve killed you by now because you
are so stubborn. You’re lucky they haven’t
turned their backs on you.”
“But they expect so much from me, how am I
supposed to keep up? I’m only human.” I’m not
complaining, it’s annoying having to live for the
dead. They are hot, then they are cold. It’s
draining honestly.
“It’s not your job to know how to keep up, just
let them lead you. Listen to your dreams, don’t
take them lightly. Every dream has a deep
meaning.” He swallows down his food, chuckles
and takes one more sip. I can’t keep up with
how fast he’s eating, my stomach grumbles. It’s
his fault I suppose, for eating that bread like a
chef baked it.

“The great Nomkhubulwane is a lioness hey?”

He laughs, and I’m lost. “The ancestor that
guards you, she is feisty and doesn’t take
nonsense.” I join him in laughing, I guess she’s
the old woman I’ve been seeing in my dreams.
“She’s a dragon, that one.” I comment, my eyes
running through the foods on the table. I think I
will have porridge, nothing here shakes my
appetite.
“Your birth was a blessing to your village, that’s
why it rained on that day. The skies were
opened, the village was granted a rainy season
once more. But the decision your mother took
regarding you and the events that took place
that day angered the ancestors. They shut the
skies, only to bless the villagers with rain on
your birthday.”
That sounds like a movie, honestly, it is hard to
believe that anything like that can happen.
However I have seen enough in my life that I
would believe it if he were to tell me that I can
fly.
“What did my mother do?” My mind is stuck on
that part.
“It’s not for me to tell, your parents will tell you
everything you need to know.” He says,
finishing the sixth slice of bread. He’s not a big
man, where does the food he eats go?
“My parents are very secretive, they will never
tell me anything.” I don’t expect anything from
those two.
“The time has not come yet, just be patient. You
need to be strong mfethu, your brothers depend
on you.”
Yeah right! It’s the other way around.
“My brothers treat me like a child.”
“That’s because they see you as one, in their
eyes you will never outgrow them. But they are
not as strong as they appear, they are fighting
their own battles.”
This worries me, I’ve been so self-absorbed that
I failed to ask them how they are.
“Listen, I have a meeting to get to. Travel safe,
I’ll see you around ndoda.” He laughs as he
ambles out the dining room. I guess it’s time to
face reality.

DALISILE-

Mgobhozi is not doing well, she’s tried all kinds

of muthi to cure her decaying foot. Nothing
seems to help, her sister won’t say why she’s
slowly losing her foot and Dalisile is out of her
wits. Doom is near, she feels it, she dreams of it
and can taste it on her tongue.
Her precious Vukuzakhe is useless with
Mathonga getting stronger, she knows he’s
getting stronger. He comes in her dreams, with
that rude old woman who calls herself
Nomkhubulwane and Khahlamba. She’s been in
the family for too long now to know their faces,
her husband’s ancestors.
That day at the hospital, the day she went to
see Vukuzakhe and found Mathonga in the
presence of two elders who are no longer a part
of this world, she knew what it meant. That her
end was probably near, what puzzles her
though is why the old woman let her see them.
Normally, she should’ve lost her mind on the
spot.

“Our plans keep failing, sisi. The only option we

have now is to go back to Izingolweni and plead
for Vumile’s forgiveness.” Dalisile tells her
sister who is lying on the bed, legs spread and
eyes on the ceiling. There’s a smell of decaying
flesh in the room, getting used to it will take
forever for Dalisile. She is so sure that this is
her sister’s end, that if she continues following
her she will meet the same fate.
“It will be a cold day in hell before I do that.”
Mgobhozi hisses, flicking her tired eyes to glare
at her sister.
“Then what do you suggest we do? Look at you,
you’re rotting.” It’s not a lie though, but
Mgobhozi does not appreciate her sister’s
honesty—bloody hell it stinks more than her
foot.
“I don’t know, your children are dealing with
me.” A confession.
Dalisile frowns, the only child of hers who is
gifted and possess power is Mathonga. The
rest are useless.
“My children?” She positions herself on the
edge of the bed, trying by all means not to cover
her mouth.
“Sakhile and Vimbela,” she breathes trying to
adjust herself on the bed. One move and pain
shoots through the entire leg like a jolt of
electricity.
“The night I went to their graves with Nyoni,
there was another presence.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, but their presence was powerful.
I’ve never felt anything like that in my life.” It
was not a big deal back then, she brushed it off
seeing how she couldn’t see the person.
“I think it followed me, it’s been following me
ever since. I tried to get rid of it, Nyoni did her
best as well but she’s lost her children. All of
them have died unexpectedly.”
“Surely there’s something you can do about it,
talk to your witch friends or your cult.” Fear is a
sweetheart, Dalisile’s heart is pounding violently
in her chest. If what Mgobhozi is saying is true,
then… then they are coming for her.
“No one wants to risk losing their lives over me,
Mathonga’s ancestors are finally fighting back.
He knows they exist, he’s accepted them in his
heart and that is dangerous for us. We
tempered with them, made them our slaves and
now they are out to get us.” It makes sense to
Dalisile, she’s suddenly reminded of the Zulu
saying ‘Okungapheli kuyahlola.’ (Something
without an ending is unnatural.)

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She jerks to her feet,

yelling.
“Then what? What were you going to do? You
don’t have a gift Dalisile, you have nothing to
protect us.” That’s where she’s wrong, Dalisile
huffs a derisive breath… she lifts her left hand,
flashing it around.
“I think I might have a weapon, something that
will save us.” She says, a smirk forming at the
corner of her mouth. Mgobhozi is smart enough
to grasp what she’s planning.
“Forget it, Vumile will kick you out the second
he sees your sorry ass.” She wants to laugh,
she opts to save her laughing bundles for sunny
days. It’s too rainy and dark to let herself be
tickled.
“But I am still his wife, bile was sprinkled on me
the day I married him. I am a Khanyile by
tradition, they will have to pardon me.” Yeah,
dreams are nice.
“Remember the broken curse? We took Nandi
from their son, we destroyed his life, took his
children from him.”
“But I gave them an heir, I made them what they
are today. Birthing seven sons is no joke, surely
I must be rewarded for it.”
“Seven and you took two of them, that is a sin I
doubt they will ever forgive.” Mgobhozi.
Dalisile’s frown is deep and coated with
confusing, Mgobhozi is suddenly negative. The
woman who’s been bent on winning and having
her way, the woman who is obsessed with living
the lavish life.

“At least I’m coming up with solutions, you’re

just lying there giving up on everything we’ve
ever worked for.” Dalisile shouts.
“I don’t know how to fight anymore, I’m nothing
compared to the Khanyile ancestors. I told you
they are fighting back, they will take us out.”
The truth is suffocating, neither of them want to
die. Dalisile muses on Mgobhozi’s words,
Vumile should have a soft spot for her in his
heart. Surely he will take pity on her.
“I’m going back home,” and there’s nothing
Mgobhozi can say to stop her.
“You are digging your own grave, you don’t
know what’s waiting for you back there. I can’t
tell you anything, I’m too weak.”
“It’s okay, you stay here. I will get someone to
look after you while I’m gone, but I promise to
come back for you. We’re going to be okay.”
She waves and leaves her sister’s house.
Vumile has a heart of gold, he will listen to her—
and she is still his wife, legally and traditionally.
Hope clings on to Dalisile, it’s all she has to
approach her husband.
*
*
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MATHONGA-
Sixty-five

THE KHANYILES-
The guards were gone this morning, no one
knows what that means. They were Ntaba’s
people, he appointed them. Ntaba is big on
family matters, keeping them safe at all costs.
So this move is questioning. He hasn’t shown
his face, no one has heard from him.
Zamangwane is locked in her room, thanks to
Nandi. She might as well be a woman scorned,
her daughter is surely testing her patience.
She’s been screaming and crying, pleading and
groveling and Nandi… well her conscious is as
dirty as Mfundo’s finger nails.
Mfundo was sent back home this morning,
without his precious wife or an explanation.
When the Chief speaks, people listen.
Vumile has so much on his plate, his sons are
not home, and his daughter is a rebel. If old age
doesn’t take him out, stress will.
He’s slouched on his bed entertaining thoughts
of his daughter when he hears screaming
outside… Darn it!
“What is it now?” He curses under his breath.
Khahlamba is definitely living up to his
promises to destroy. He’s out the door in a
flash, eyes widely searching the grounds.
“Dalisile!” Yep! The rightful queen is home and
so is his first born son.
“Are you trying to kill me, Vukuzakhe?” He hears
his wife shout when he’s within earshot. By the
looks of it, Vukuzakhe has done something to
heavily annoy this woman and where the hell
has she been? He’d ask, but there’s an issue at
hand that needs to be dealt with. Dalisile can’t
be shouting like a crazy woman for no reason.
“Keep your voice down mother.” He’d throw in
“please” if Dalisile was not attacking him like
this. Funokuhle is inside, shaking under his skin
and afraid to bat an eye lest he meets Dalisile’s
fiery gaze.

“Vukuzakhe?” Vumile calls, eyes glowing with

adoration. His son is home, he can’t express
how much he’s missed him. His arms wrap
around him before he receives a greeting from
him.
“Welcome home son.”
“Thank you baba.”
Dalisile is not enjoying the little reunion, she
wants answers.
“Did you know that your son is gay?” She’s still
shouting, Vumile sighs. He’s been afraid of this,
he thought Vukuzakhe would wake up a
changed man.
“I’m not gay.” Vukuzakhe disputes, and that
confuses the hell out of Dalisile.
“Really? Then how do you explain kissing that
dirty boy?” Her hand flings towards the car.
“Choose your words carefully mother,” it’s not a
threat, he’s just… okay it is a threat. Funokuhle
has no one, the last thing Zakhe will ever do is
let people trash talk the man he loves.
“Vukuzakhe?” Vumile starts, eyes directed to
the boy in the car. “Why is he here?”
“He’s with me baba.” So is Bongiwe, his wife.
She’s been with him for more than three years.
“I get that he’s with you,” Vumile sighs, being a
father is exhausting. If there was a way, he’d
resign with immediate effect. “What is he doing
here? This is your wife’s marital home.”
Dalisile is beside herself with shock, this is not
the family she left behind. What in God’s name
is happening here?
“Vumile!” Her eyebrows pucker with confusion,
her husband has not met her eyes. Perhaps this
is the time to shut up and go say a prayer
before coming before the chief.
“Since when are you soft spoken Vumile? Your
heir was kissing a man just now, you should be
throwing that boy out of here.”
Now, that’s risky. There’s a gorilla willing to
protect his minion with everything he is.
“No one is touching him,” Zakhe interrupts, sure
he has a small voice that carries nothing but
authority and people listen when he speaks.
Vumile lets out another sigh, the old man is
exhausted. Yes he doesn’t agree with how
Vukuzakhe is doing things, but why is Dalisile
annoying him? He turns to her, a frown pasted
on his face. Dalisile blinks her eyes away from
him then back in a split second, their eyes lock.
“Where have you been?” He sounds impassive.
Dalisile’s heart leaps to her throat, she swallows
it back down. Mgobhozi’s words swamp over
her like a flood. “Vumile will see you for what
you are the second he lays his eyes on you."

“Wh… what do you mean?” She’s asking

because she’s gone missing before and not
once has he ever questioned her. Vumile rubs
his forehead, taking yet another gifted sigh. One
more sigh should send him to an early grave,
there’s something about Dalisile that’s
unsettling. Somehow he can’t understand why
he’s married to her, why he chose her of all the
women in the world.
“Vukuzakhe, take your friend inside. We’ll talk
later.” Zakhe is glad that he’s not going to be
interrogated.
“Are you allowing this abomination?” Dalisile
yells, shooting fiery darts at her husband.
“We need to talk.” This is where he is, he wants
to talk about this so called marriage and why it
ends today.
“You’re insane Vumile, I will not allow this
nonsense in my house.”
These people are talking about two different
things here, Vumile wants a private
conversation with Dalisile and Dalisile is trying
her best to avoid the topic or going away with
him.
She thought she had a plan before coming here,
turns out her thoughts fooled her.
“I will handle my son, leave him alone.” Vumile
takes her wrist to lug her away, Dalisile is not
having it. She escapes his hand and runs to
Funokuhle, she arrives with a slap across his
face just as he dashes out of the car. Zakhe’s
minion stumbles back, eyes wide with shock
and lips ajar.
“Mother!” Zakhe's small voice travels at the
speed of light, before he can tell her to never do
that again, Dalisile has Funokuhle by his shirt,
dragging him towards the exist. The boy is
whimpering, tears threatening to leave his hazel
eyes. The mission is aborted by Zakhe, pulling
his mother away. Funokuhle hides behind him,
gripping the hem of his shirt. His tears are
controlled thankfully, he needs to be strong.
“Stop it mother, just stop.” He’s stuttering and
that has Dalisile rolling her eyes, she will never
get used to this bullshit. God just had to do this
to her precious son, couldn’t Mgobhozi be the
one to birth a son who stutters with a voice of a
woman?
“No, this is crazy Vukuzakhe. Do you know who
you are?”
“What does that have to do with him?”
“He’s… he…” Frustration fills the entirety of her
being, she pulls off her weave screaming. “My
son is not gay, do you know what people will
say? I didn’t give birth to a son who sleeps with
men, that is disgusting.”
“That’s your opinion mother, I love that kid and
he's not going anywhere.”
“That’s absurd, what you are saying is pure
nonsense. Get this boy out of here, Vukuzakhe,
or I will disown you. You will be dead to me, do
you hear me?”
She can shout all she wants, he’d never do that
to Funokuhle not after the promises he’s made.
He’d rather die than let him out of his life or let
anyone lay their hands on him.

“It’s either me or him, I will not share you with

this dirty boy.” She’s blunt, yet her words are
slicing Funokuhle so finely, leaving him in thin
pieces. The minion wraps an arm around
Zakhe’s waist, afraid of being tossed away.
What if Vukuzakhe chooses his mother over
him?
Vukuzakhe has a befitting answer, one that will
forever change his relationship with his mother.
“That is enough,” Vumile steps in. “I want you
out of here.”
A smile grows on Dalisile’s lips, her eyes held
on Funokuhle.
“Yes, you heard him, get out.” She snaps at the
young boy.
He whimpers, releasing a muffled cry. He can
barely breathe. Where will he go from here? His
brothers will kill him.
Zakhe turns to Funo, and brings him to his side
in a one arm hug. Dalisile is not enjoying the
view, she’s disgusted to say the least.
“Baba,” Zakhe says, ready to fight for his love, to
leave with him and never set foot here. But he
sees Vumile staring at Dalisile with a look of
pure hatred, it hits him that Vumile meant that
Dalisile should get out.

Silence stretches, one that’s extremely

uncomfortable.
“Get your things and leave, Dalisile.” Vumile
continues and that seems to turn her world
upside down, everything that’s been her life, her
family, her children, Vukuzakhe, it’s all vanishing
right before her eyes.
“You can’t be serious, I didn’t do anything
wrong.” Her voice is humble, lost in an unending
wilderness. Vumile notices how she’s crumbling
from a once intimidating woman down to a little
insecure girl surrounded by bitterness.
“What has gotten into you Vumile? Is it that
woman?” She didn’t want to get into this, she
wanted to avoid the topic to buy herself some
time but now she’s stuck between a hard place
and a raging wave. Nandi is in the kitchen,
looking out the open window, Dalisile saw her
and it took every humble bone in her to stop
herself from going after her.
“You’re cheating on me, Vumile. You brought
your mistress into my house, and now you’re
asking me leave everything behind. You must
be joking.” She’s laughing, a leopard never
changes its spots.
“I don’t care, I’m done with you Dalisile. Get
out.”
Her confusion long dissipated, her bitterness
has changed into anger.
“You’re choosing her over me?” She’s stunned
by it. “And wena Vukuzakhe, why aren’t you
saying anything?”
She’s directing her anger to everyone around
her.
“You’re my son dammit, I gave you all the love a
mother can give. I put you on a high pedestal
and made you king in my life. But today you’re
turning your back on me? You’re choosing this
faggot over me. Do you know the wrath of God?
He will punish you, this is a sin.”
Hehehe!

“I would fight for you if you were not so bitter

mother, you changed after Mathonga’s birth.
You became bitter and cold, I couldn’t recognize
the person you became. Hlabela and I had to
raise the boys, my brothers don’t know you as a
mother. So I don’t see why I should take your
side, I choose my brothers, I choose Funokuhle
over you.”
Dalisile gasps at her son’s words, she never
saw this day coming. Not the boy she loved and
cherished all his life. He ate Danone, while the
others ate amasi. He sat on a stool while the
others sat on the floor, he’s her prince, her
lifeline.
“I’m not going anywhere, this is my house. I am
Mrs. Khanyile, a bloody queen. No one will
remove me from my position, no one.” She
places her hands on her hips just for effect,
really. Vumile doesn’t care anymore, it’s as if he
knows this day has been long coming, that
what’s happened in the past has resulted to this
moment right here.
“You’re leaving, there are many hotels around
here and you’ve got enough money to pay for
one. Or head to your sister’s, I’m sure she will
be happy to see you.”
Mgobhozi’s words come back to her, she did
say this will happen. Maybe she should’ve taken
her words into consideration and stayed away
till they found a solution.
She glares at Funokuhle who is protected in
Vukuzakhe’s arms, then sends her gaze to the
kitchen. The woman responsible for all this is in
there, she moves as fast as wind headed to the
kitchen. Vumile sees it coming and locks his
arm around her waist, pulling her back.
“I’m going to kill her, I’m going to kill that
woman.” She’s kicking and screaming, unable
to escape Vumile’s tight grip.
“Let me kill her Vumile, I won’t let her have
everything I have worked for.”
“Stop it, Dalisile.” Vumile will have a heart attack
if this drama doesn’t stop, he thinks it’s time he
talks to Khahlamba and get the man to stop
messing with him. When he releases her, she
falls to the ground panting, hands tightly balled
into fists.
“You’re going to regret this, all of you. I’m going
to make you pay.” Tears will never know her, her
eyes are as dry as raisins. She lifts her head to
look at the man she married years ago, it’s
written in his eyes that he’s done no matter
what she does, she will never be able to
appease him.
As she stands to her feet because a queen gets
back up whenever she falls, a black Jeep pulls
into the premises. Immediately, the sky starts
to darken. Their eyes turn to the sky, there’s a
cloud as small as a man’s hand blocking the
sun. For a second they thought it was going to
rain, there seems to be more clouds gathering
around, not enough to cause a heavenly shower.
Mathonga steps out of the car, he looks
different, matured and too serious.

“Mathonga.” Vukuzakhe says, a bit stunned. He

didn’t know Mathonga was coming back and
he’s alone, Ndleleni is not with him. This boy
likes taking risks, there’s a reason he was sent
away. Little does he know that the boy walks
with his ancestors, the Sangwenis will see their
wrath if they dare touch him.
“Ngwane KaNgwadi.” Joy fills Vumile’s heart, he
missed his son dearly. He welcomes him with a
hug, Mathonga hesitates before returning. His
eyes are on the wide eyed woman who
mothered him. Her teeth are shattering as if the
clouds came with a cold front.
“Dalisile,” Mathonga shouts, moving away from
Vumile. Dalisile lets a quavering breathe,
something is different with Mathonga. The look
in his eyes and that authoritative voice he used.
“You smell of smoke.” Mathonga points at his
mother, feet leisurely moving towards her.
Dalisile staggers a smidgeon, what is this boy
talking about?
“Tha… that’s ridiculous, I don’t smoke.” She
cackles, eyes dubiously moving about.
“You smell like fire, your clothes are covered
with ashes.” Mathonga insists, his words are
accusatory. “You killed them, didn’t you?”
He shouts, his glare going from soft to enraged,
Dalisile yelps and runs to hide behind
Vukuzakhe.
“Your brother has grown crazy, stop him.”
Dalisile.
“What’s going on, Mathonga?” He’s right to ask,
he’s never seen him talk to their mother like this.
“The fire that broke out the morning of my birth,
the fire that killed Vimbela and Sakhile, she
started it. She planned it all.” He sees it, every
detail of that night. It’s that old woman living
inside him, she’s out for justice.
Dalisile’s heart is dancing to the beat of fear,
this boy can’t know this… he was a baby then.
“Tha… that’s not true, I would never.” Her voice
is failing her, giving her away.
“Are you sure about this?” Zakhe’s entire
posture shifts, a frown coming across his face.
“Nomkhubulwane showed me everything…”
This name Vumile knows, he knows his family
history and this name rings a bell. He’s heard
his elders speak of her, she is a Khanyile by
marriage.
“That’s your…” the rest of his words hang in the
air, he is in awe.
“I know who she is.” Mathonga interrupts
confidently, he will explain everything later.
“Your wife killed your sons, baba. I was
supposed to die along with them.” Mathonga.
Vumile has always suspected, he’s always
wanted to prove it but had no idea how. Look
what his forefathers dragged in, the woman
who murdered his sons. He studies Dalisile with
an unforgiving judgement, eyes blazing
murderously.
“Vumile… he’s… he’s lying.” Oh, shaky! She
pushes Funokuhle off of Vukuzakhe and takes
his space. “Son please, stop your father. He’s
going to kill me, help me please.”
Zakhe’s hand finds Dalisile’s shoulders, he
pushes them from him. All his life he blamed
himself for his brothers' death and his mother
watched as he drowned in depression and
sorrow.
“You’re evil.” Zakhe sneers down his nose,
turning a cold eye on her.
With a crazed look on her face, Dalisile starts to
panic. They all seem to be against her, the look
in their eyes judging her. There is no way out for
her, if she decides to run, she won’t run far.
“I want to call my lawyer.” She says, studying all
of them with a critical squint.
*
*
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MATHONGA-
Sixty-four

HLABELA-

He missed his flight and had to wait for the

morning flight, he’s finally in Mpumalanga,
outside Kushi’s house. She was hysterical over
the phone, crying her heart out.
“They are taking my kids from me.” Is what she
said, he would’ve stayed back with his family
but there was nothing he could do there.
He uses the house keys gifted to him by Kushi
to enter the house.
“Kushi!” He calls.
“Lock the door.” He hears her mumbling before
seeing her standing in the kitchen doorway.
Hlabela does as told, not sure why she’s asking
him to lock the door. His heart is racing
nervously as he remembers her cries over the
phone.
“Where are they…” Before he could finish talking,
Kushi throws herself in his arms. Her breath is
on his neck as she pushes them in the living,
her arms never leaving him. Then Hlabela is
hugging her back, feeling confusion tug at his
heart. He can’t help but wonder if there’s
someone in the house, Kushi is trembling and
seemingly afraid.
“What’s going on?” He whispers, his hand
gliding up behind Kushi’s neck and holding her.
“Bella.” She sniffs, her breath coming out a
ragged gasp. Hlabela hurriedly pulls away to get
a look at her face, his heart aches as he
reaches to touch the hot tears.
“Kushi, talk to me.”
She shakes her head, hands traveling up to
clasp Hlabela’s collar.
“My uncles and brothers-in-law found out about
us, I don’t know how or who told them. They
took my babies, they are taking them back to
India. I have to go back too, they want me to
fulfil my duties as their widow.” She’s spitting
out the words, suddenly sobbing. If he knew
what to do from here, he wouldn’t be panicking.
“Hey, calm down. It’s okay.” He shushes her. It’s
not okay, she’s leaving and there’s nothing he
can do about it.
“They are taking me away Hlabela, don’t you get
it? They’ll be here any minute now.”
“You’re a grown woman, Kushi. They can’t take
you by force, we can alert the cops. Get a
restraining order or something.”
“You don’t know my brother’s in-law, they have
influences everywhere. They can do just about
anything they want and get away with it-”
“I have influences too, I can protect you.” He
thinks he can, he’s got the money to pay people
to get rid of their problems. But, does he have
the heart to do it? He’s played Mr. Perfect all his
life.

“What about my children? They have my

children, I can’t let them go back to India
without me. I will never see them again.” Yeah,
he didn’t think of that.
Out of options or thinking of a way out where
everyone will win, he pulls Kushi closer, until
she takes a deep breath and rests her head on
his shoulder—clinging to him desperately.
“I don’t know where my children are, I’m losing
my mind Bella. You have to help me please.”
His eyes are on her again, head spinning as he
struggles to digest the terrible news.
“I will get your kids back, first we need to get
you to safety before they get here.”
Kushi’s body fails her, all the energy leaving her
body. Limply she falls into Hlabela’s arms.
Holding her against him, Hlabela tries to
comfort her but is met with more shivers and
weak cries like that of a suffering animal.
“I can’t lose them, I can’t lose my children.”
Hlabela stills, he’s speechless. He’s known
Kushi’s wounds and how deep they are, but he
didn’t realise how much bigger they were. He’s
breaking and softening, he pulls away to cup
her face. He has to say something, anything to
comfort her and give her hope again.
“Look at me.”
Kushi’s cries slowly dissipate, her breaths
shallow.
“I love you.” That’s it?
Kushi is silent for a few seconds, then she leans
forward, pressing her lips to his. He tastes the
salt of her tears as they share a slow kiss, lips
barely touching.
“I love you too…”

The hammering of their hearts start with the

sound of banging on the door and a voice
shouting-
“Kushi open up.”
Her eyes widen, she clings on to Hlabela’s coat
for dear life, hands trembling.
“They are here, you have to hide.” She murmurs
and Hlabela thinks it’s ridiculous. He’s not a
fighter, he’s never tried to fight a day in his life.
This is the time to Google ‘How to knock
someone out with a single punch.’
“We saw him coming in there, open the door
Kushi.”
The banging is louder, and before the two make
a decision, the door is kicked down revealing
five Indian men, probably in their late forties,
with turbans wrapped around their heads.
“Uncle.” She’s looking at the eldest, the man is
fuming, eyes burning with rage. His footsteps
thunder towards Kushi, Hlabela plans to attack
back if he makes a single move. His chance is
taken by three men lugging him back.
She wants to scream his name, but it dies in her
mouth when her uncle lands a back hand
across her face that throws her across the
room.
“Kushi!” Hlabela shouts for her.

There are hands on his body, more than three

people pulling him away as he struggles to get
to her. He refuses to move and that annoys the
men, they attack him with punches and kicks till
he’s lying on the floor. He doesn’t give up trying
to get up, especially since Kushi is wailing so
painfully.
“Stop fighting it, you’re going to die anyway.” A
voice, it might be the voice of Kushi’s brother-in-
law, or uncle. The heck, Hlabela is not listening.
He couldn’t care less, his priority is to save his
love.
His resilience is something to be admired but
not by these angry men, the more he tries to be
strong, the more they attack him.
“It’s enough uncle. Please I will do as you say,
I’ll stay away from him.”
But that’s not what Hlabela wants, he hasn’t
told his father about her but he wants to
introduce her as the woman he loves. If she
leaves… if she leaves he won’t get the chance,
and he’s so sure he will die.

“Please…” Something helpless and useless

within hlabela wants to turn to his enemy and
just plead, he can’t find the words. His mind is
muddled, his head hurts. He feels himself losing
consciousness and coming back to life with a
single jolt.
His vision is blurred, but he’s able to see what’s
unfolding before him. The uncle, pulling Kushi
kicking and screaming out the house, he’d jump
and stop them but all the strength in him has
been drained.
A chill creeps up his spine, a sick feeling like
trying to stand up too fast and unable to stop
his mind from spinning, his ears from ringing…
blackness clawing at his conscious before a
total black out.

VUKUZAKHE-

Flying home would’ve gotten him there faster

than driving, but Vukuzakhe wanted time to
think, clear his head.
Bringing Funokuhle with him, could be him
acting stupid or he’s taking advantage of the
fact that his wife is at her father’s house. Either
way, he could do the right thing, pull out of his
father’s premises and find Funokuhle a hotel.
Today is one of his trashy days, he wants to
introduce this young one to his family. There
are days when he wants to put himself first,
today is one of those.
“I must be out of my mind.” Funokuhle’s voice
breaks him out of his swirling and colliding
thoughts, he glances over at him from the
driver’s seat.
“What we’re doing is not right, we can’t just rock
up unannounced and declare our love for each
other.”
“I think we can, we can’t hide forever. I’m done
hiding you.” The man has made up his mind, he
sighs at the pure hope in his own voice. There is
a high possibility that his family will not accept
his boyfriend, he has no clue what he will do
should that happen.
“I still can’t believe…”
“I know,” Zakhe finishes Funo's thoughts.
Falling in love was an unexpected incident, it
was a mistake they couldn’t correct. Funokuhle
should have pushed him away, fought against
his feelings or at the very least fought him.
Zakhe couldn’t have imagined this boy loving
him, it must have taken so much courage for
Funokuhle to reciprocate.

“This is it.” Zakhe says, ready to step out of the

car. His pulse is beating nonstop in his veins
and his heart is trying to crawl out of his chest.
The plan is to go in there alone, tell his family
about Funokuhle and come back to fetch him
depending on how they will take the news.
“I only want to know one thing,” Funokuhle
introduces, eyes wide and hopeful.
“Yes, anything kid.”
“Am I worth it?”
Zakhe frowns, tilts his head to try and make
sense of Funokuhle’s question.
“Being gay is not really a thing in this part of the
world, people will ridicule you. You will always
be judged, it might even put a stain on your
father’s name, am I worth all that?”
He’s thought about this long and hard,
everything that Funokuhle has brought forward
and came to a decision. They are here now,
there is no going back.
Zakhe grabs him by the waist and pulls him
close, shocked and bashful, Funokuhle tries to
push him away but it’s no use. He stays firm in
Zakhe’s arms, glancing up at him.
“Yes.” Khanyile says. “You are worth all that and
more to me, you always have been.”
What a way to make a man blush.
“What about you?” Vukuzakhe’s question has a
touch of worry, as Funokuhle meets his eyes
once more, the answer falls out without him
having to think of it.
“I wouldn’t be here if you were not worth it.”
Warmth fills Zakhe’s chest, their confessions
seal it. His gulps, his gaze lowering to Funo’s
lips in a way that makes the other blush.
“We can’t do it here, your family is inside.” Funo
shyly disputes.
“Just a peck,” he replies, gradually trailing his
lips closer to Funo’s, across his chin. He kisses
him slowly, carefully luring Funo’s mouth open
with the edge of his tongue. He parts the seam
of his lips and skilfully delves inside.

A shrill scream brings their kissing to a

screeching stop, Funo’s eyes are wide,
unmoving from Zakhe’s face.
“Vukuzakhe!” Yep, he knows that voice. Only
one person is fond of screaming his name like a
crazy person.
“Shit!” He curses under his breath, turning to
face his mother standing outside the window.
She’s in one of her favourite two-piece suits, a
pair of big ass sunglasses and a long weave.
He presumes she just got home, judging by the
suitcase behind her.

KHETHIWE-

Ntaba is ignoring my calls, I know because I

have dialled his number a million times and he
didn’t bother answering one. Last night he left
with the promise that he will come back, what if
he’s losing interest again? I can’t let that
happen, I don’t have anything to fall back on.
The twins came back early from their trip, Sono
came to visit, I don’t know where her sister is
and I couldn’t care less. The only adult I have
seen so far is my aunt, their mother.
My father is at work, as to where his wife is
beats me. Lethiwe called, wishing me good
health. What’s so special about this girl he’s
always with that he can’t visit his sick sister?
“When are you coming back home?” Sono.
I want to say never, I can’t stomach the thought
of going back to my father’s house. Beggars
can’t be choosers really, it’s not like I have
anywhere else to go.
“I don’t know, I’m waiting to hear from the
doctor.”
“Your condition is not that serious, you were
grazed by a bullet.” She’s laughing, I don’t see
anything funny about this. Especially when my
life becomes a film when I have to go to the
toilet.
“What were you doing on the streets at night?”
That’s right, I told her I was mugged. I’m
surprised she believes me, when I don’t have
anything to my name. She doesn’t know about
Bahle’s proposal, this one is a hopeless
romantic, if she finds out she will persuade me
to go with it.
“I told you, Sono.” I check my phone for
messages from Ntaba, there’s nothing. I need
to breathe, I can’t breathe.
“What’s wrong with you?” She must notice my
distress.
“Ntaba hasn’t called, and he’s not answering his
phone.” I sound like a girlfriend.
“So? He has a life.” She will never get it. “This
Ntaba guy is a looker hey?”
He’s also a no-go zone, I don’t like competition.
“Stay away from him.” I don’t want to warn her
twice, having to compete with Thethelela was
too much for me. This concept that a man will
always cheat even if you set him up on a date
with Jesus should be burned with all toxic men,
I don’t see myself getting over Ntaba and
Thethelela’s betrayal.
“31 year-old Ntabezikude Khanyile, third born
son of Chief Vumile Khanyile. It says here that
he part owns KHANYILE HOLDINGS, ohhh and
he’s a bachelor.”
My mouth drops, all this information she’s
getting from the notepad in her hand.
“You Googled him?” I am dumbfounded, I didn’t
know he’s on Google. I wonder what else it says
about him.
“Of course I Googled him, like I do every guy
who piques my interest.” She replies, scrolling
through the tablet. Piques her interest huh? I
see where she’s taking this. I grab the tablet
from her, needing to see what she’s looking at.
And there he is, my beautiful Ntaba. Does he
have to be a heartthrob though? This is where
my problems stem from.
“I would appreciate it if you would not drool
over my man, please.” I’m crazy okay, in my
head he is my man. I don’t think I will ever stop
loving him, in that sense that he will always be
my first love.
“Your man?” People that like things can’t be
trusted. “I thought you said he’s…”
“I know what I said, I love him, but he doesn’t
love me and he never will.” I delve into it, there
is no point in hiding anything from this one. She
will eventually find out, that’s if she doesn’t
coax me into telling her the truth.
“So the worker fell in love with her boss?” It’s
not as bad as she makes it sound, and what’s
wrong with falling for my boss? He’s also
human, he doesn’t shit gold.
“Where is he, then? Why is he not here?”

There’s a knock at the door before I could

answer, my mother walks in with Nomsa and
three other women, her church friends, I
recognize every one of them. I thought I made it
clear that I don’t want to see her, what
happened to my rights? I have the right to say
no to my parents.
“My baby.” God should call her out on that fake
smile on her face, this woman does it so well, it
almost looks legit.
“How are you?” Definitely not okay,
unfortunately I can’t say that with the church
people here.
“Khethiwe ngane yami, your mother told us
what happened.” Mam’Ngadi steps forward
with a smile on her face, I check my mother to
see if she’s okay in the head. She told her
church friends that my ass missed a bullet,
there goes my church days.
“The ladies came to pray for you my baby.” A
round of applause for this mother of mine, great
actress she is.
“For what?” I whisper snap, but the ladies hear
me. I would be dead if eyes shot lethal lasers.
“For a quick recovery, we want you home soon.”
She says, her gritted teeth revealing her truest
form—Cruella.
“We heard about your marriage to the Sithebe
boy, you are a lucky girl.” Mam’Ngadi seems to
be the one talking the most, my mother put her
up to this. They want to plant the idea of me
and Bahle in my head, it’s not happening.
“We are not…”
“Uh, I think we should start with the prayers
before visiting hours are over.” Mom interrupts,
her eyebrows gesturing that I keep my mouth
shut. Is it necessary for me to have a mother?
Sono laughs softly when Mam’Ngadi pulls out a
two litre, Cocacola bottle from her bag. It’s filled
with water and part of me is sure that that’s
church water, we are a ‘I receive’ church. But to
come with a whole two litre of water here, does
the pastor even know about this? Holy oil would
have sufficed, I could apply it on my scar.

“Close your eyes Khethiwe,” the woman

instructs and no, I don’t want to close my eyes.
“This is the only way we can remove the demon
inside you.”
“Demon ma?” What is Mam’Ngadi talking about?
Does she even know me to assume I am demon
possessed?
“Yebo, unamadimoni.” Really? Plural!
Mam’Ngadi is convinced that the devil lives in
me. I chase my mother with a side eye, the
stoical look on her face tells me nothing. She
did this, she spread this crazy rumour.
“I was only shot at ma. I’m not possessed.”
“Denying marriage means there is a demon
inside you, my child. Marriage is a beautiful
thing, especially when you have been chosen by
a rich man. Who would ever say no to money
and luxury? The devil doesn’t want you to have
nice things, he doesn’t want to see you happy,
that’s why he’s fighting you.”
This woman looks humble and respectable, I’m
shocked by what’s coming out of her mouth.
I should have known that this is about Bahle
and his stupid lobola, as long as my parents
have his money I will never be free from them.
“Ma, I…”
She roughly splashes a handful of water on my
face shouting- “Phuma Sathane.”
I swear I feel like I’m drowning, I don’t do well
with cold water, I open my mouth to tell her to
stop but she goes for round two and three, until
I lose count. The other ladies break forth in a
church. ‘Sizowanyathela amadimoni.’ I’m done
with civilization.
“Ma, stop.” Shouting is pointless, Mam’Ngadi
can’t hear me. She’s so focused on this fake
exorcism of hers, I would run if I were not
injured.
“It’s fighting her Mam’Ngadi, pray harder.” One
of the church ladies yells hearing me scream, I
can’t see a damn thing. There’s water in my
eyes, my body is shivering from its coldness.
Why am I screaming like a possessed woman?
But why wouldn’t I scream? The water is
freezing.
“Hold her down, sis’Tracy. We can’t let the devil
take over our children.” It’s Mam’Ngadi,
sounding determined.
Hold me down? I have an injury for crying out.
Rough hands hold me down on both sides, I
can’t move to save my life. Now I’m screaming
for them to let me go. I can hear my mother’s
voice among the singing ladies, is she for real?
“Mama,” I shout for her, my eyes tightly shut.
Where is that woman?
“Phuma Sathane.” I hear Sono yell excitedly,
she’s cheering them on— this is not happening.
Son of David, this is a hospital. Where are the
nurses?
“You are powerless Satan, ngithi fusegi yezwa,
voetsek. Get your hands off the child of God,
awunamandla doti.” (You are powerless.)
Mam’Ngadi shouts, emptying the entire bottle
of water on my face. I gag, spitting as some of
the water passes down my throat. I’m panting
and trying to release myself from the hands
holding me.
“I think we should have brought a 10 litre bucket
of water, this demon is stubborn.” Mam’Ngadi
says out of breath.
I will never set foot in church, so help me God.
*
*
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MATHONGA
Sixty-six
Sponsored by Charmaigne Kotoyi
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THE KHANYILES-

“Lock her up in one of the rooms, we’re going to

get to the bottom of this.” Vumile commands
and marches off to call his brothers. Zakhe is
gentle when he takes her hand.
“Vukuzakhe listen to me, I didn’t do it. This boy
hates me, he’s always hated me and now he’s
turning you against me.” Dalisile pleads.
Vukuzakhe is listening but has nothing to say to
her, he wants to feel sorry for her and help her.
He would if she didn’t kill his brothers.
“I still remember that day like it just happened
mother,” he starts, voice straining in his throat.
“I remember how you kept me in that room and
didn’t want me to leave, I couldn’t understand
why you were so persistent that I stay with you
but it’s all clear to me now. You planned and
executed the murder of my brothers, your own
kids.”
Saying it makes it all real, he was flabbergasted
for a while but everything is aligning now,
sinking in perfectly.
“I didn’t do it, what mother would have her
children killed?” She’d say this under oath, in
front of God even.
Vukuzakhe is done talking, he pushes her into
the room, she doesn’t fight him… strange.
“You will remain here until father decides what
he’s going to do with you, although I think you
should be locked up in prison.” He tells her,
ignoring the look of hurt in her eyes. Dalisile
folds her arms, as she stands firmly and
unafraid.
“They don’t love you like I do son and when you
realise that, you will come back to me.” He’s
certain that won’t happen.
He’s ready to shut the door when his phone
buzzes, he fishes for his phone in his pockets
and swipes the screen open. It’s a message
from Ntabezikude, Vukuzakhe looks up at his
mother without entirely raising his head.
“Phumlani has been found,” he shouldn’t be
doing this, considering what the man did to his
mother. But the message says to tell everyone
and alerting Dalisile is good, that way she won’t
be caught off guard by his sudden presence.
“He will be here tonight,” Zakhe adds, ignoring
the shock on her face.
“Don’t bring that man here Vukuzakhe, I will kill
him if I see his face.” Her voice is a whisper, a
shaken low voice. He lowers his head, it’s hard
for him to have to do this to her, but he has no
choice, it’s out of his hands.
“I’m sorry mother, I’m really sorry.”
He shuts the door, and locks it after.
“Don’t let that man come here Vukuzakhe, he’s
not a good person.” She shouts after him, while
banging the door. Dalisile has messed up, but
bringing her rapist to the premises is darn right
evil. If push comes to shove, then he will protect
her from Phumlani.
*
*
“How did the two of you meet?” Trust Mathonga
to ask this question, Funokuhle feels the heat of
the spotlight he’s been placed on. He can’t tell
him that they met at a river and had a one night
stand.
“You’ve never seen me interrogating your
women?” Zakhe says, standing in the doorway
of the rondavel appointed to Funokuhle. It’s
getting dark outside, of course they had to give
him a place to lay his head.
Zakhe’s brows rise, due to how Mathonga has
taken up space on Funo’s bed and the minion is
standing in the middle of the room with folded
arms.
“What women bhuti?” Sarcasm is hidden in his
question, he kicks off his shoes, and shifts back
on the bed till his back meets the headboard.
“I’ve only been with one woman,”
Oh shit! He’s completely forgotten about the
woman who taught him to love, the woman who
was there when his mother wasn’t. He hasn’t
bothered to check up on her, she might be
going through the worst with her grandmother
gone.
“Can we talk?” Zakhe asks.
“I’m still talking to Funo, he was about to tell me
how you two met.” Mathonga grins and winks
at Funokuhle.
“I wasn’t,” the minion giggles, it has
Vukuzakhe’s lips drawing into a small smile.
“Hey, we need something to talk about at the
wedding. I can’t stand in front of people and say
‘cheers to Funokuhle, the stranger my brother
loves.’ I need a whole two page speech,
otherwise I’m not coming to the wedding.”

No one between the two lovers has ever

mentioned getting married and here is the little
brother jumping into conclusions. Zakhe clears
his throat, eyes set on Funokuhle who has
suddenly become shy.
“Come with me, Ngwane.” Zakhe tells him and
disappears out the door.
“Stay here, I’m coming.” Mathonga jumps off
the bed, he’s putting on his shoes in a hurry. “I
still want details, ndoda.”
He says and leaves without an answer.

Vukuzakhe is standing under a tree, hands in

his pockets and eyes on Mathonga as he
approaches.
“Are you okay?” That’s the big brother’s
question, after what happened with Dalisile and
today’s revelation, Mathonga ought to be in a
bad space.
“Did she finally confess?”
Mathonga’s question causes Zakhe to release a
sigh of dread, what he did was not easy.
“No, I doubt she ever will.” He shifts a smidgen,
looking over the horizon.
“I think we should let her go, she will never
accept that she’s guilty. You saw how deranged
she is, in her head she has done nothing
wrong.” Mathonga.
“I know, but we can’t let her go. Ntaba texted
me, he found your father. They are on the way
here,”
Mathonga’s ears give up their task, he is stuck
on the part where his biological father has been
found. He will see him for the first time in his
life.
“Thonga?” Zakhe’s worried voice snaps him
back to reality, he blinks fixing his gaze on
Zakhe.
“When will they get here?”
“Probably later tonight, he’s flying him down to
KZN from Johannesburg.”
What to do? What to do? Mathonga is suddenly
not sure if meeting him is a good idea, what if
he’s not what he expects? What if he will leave
him with a bag of disappointments?
“Okay,” Mathonga wriggles his shoulders,
keeping his thoughts to himself.
“Have the ancestors said anything yet?”
He shakes his head and breathes out a “no.” It’s
one of those days where it feels like they were
never there to begin with, maybe they will come
alive when Phumlani gets here. It was them
who demanded that Dalisile comes back home,
they must have a plan.
“We need to be strong, things are going to
change around here.” Vukuzakhe voices, it has
Mathonga rubbing the back of his head. He
wants to pry.
“Like your relationship with Bongiwe?” He blots
out, Vukuzakhe forehead furrows. Mathonga
has hit a bull’s eyes, he’s trading on the right
path. He doesn’t see Bongiwe agreeing to this,
whatever his brother is planning on doing.

“Are you going to marry him?” A little forward,

this boy. Zakhe’s frown grows, he answers him
with a head nod. He plans on marrying
Funokuhle, he just needs to call a family
meeting, uncles included and tell Bongiwe that
he is taking a second partner. He won’t ask her
because, well she will say no.
“That’s the plan.” This one has been too
confident since he came back from the land of
the dead.
“Well, there’s going to be drama around here.”
Mathonga is laughing… alone. Zakhe hums, he
knows how dramatic his wife can be and that’s
okay. He will have to find a way to pacify her.

“Vukuzakhe!” That's Funo's voice calling out to

him, he rarely hears him take his name and
whenever he does, something flips in his
stomach, a feeling he'd love to keep and would
be embarrassed to admit. But today, his name
rolling out of Funo's tongue has birthed a
feeling of worry.
“And then?” Mathonga questions his brother,
they are looking at Funo speeding up to them
with panic written on his face.
“What is it Kid?” Zakhe queries.
Funokuhle is out breath from running, he can
barely speak. He reaches out a hand, in it is a
phone. Zakhe takes it, a frown lined with
questions plastered on his face. Okay this is
Facebook, he's not on the app but is familiar
with it.
“What is it?” Mathonga has grown impatient, it's
because of the look of worry carried by his
brother.
He snatches the phone to check for himself,
and his mouth drops. What he's looking at are
pictures of Zakhe and Funo, spread across
social media. Private pictures, some revealing
them naked in the shower, in most of them they
are kissing or clinging on to each other.
“This is you and...” his eyes turn to Funo who
looks terribly worried. He quickly locks the
screen because he respects his brother and
seeing him naked is traumatising.
“Someone has been watching us, we only spent
two days at the house in Northcliff. When did all
this shit happen?” Zakhe roars, clenching his
fists in anger.
“It’s possible that someone installed cameras in
your house.” Mathonga’s supposition shocks
the living daylights out of the couple.

AMANDLA-

Lazing around is exhausting, I’m grateful to

Sabusiswa for arranging a date night. I’m
meeting her at a restaurant in Mandela Square,
I’ve never been there before. She said to take an
Uber that will drop me off at Sandton.
Trumps Grillhouse is up to me to find, that
mother thinks I know everything or she expects
me to know everything.
I’m not accustomed to the draped collar dress
she sent me, it’s backless and has a slit thigh.
Also, velvet is not my favourite. The dress is
beautiful though, perfect for a night out.
I have to force my feet into four inch heels, my
shoulder touching braids are left untied.
Sabusiswa hates them, she’d rather I wear a
weave. She had three weaves sent to the house
four days ago, that’s what she does, leave me
alone the entire day and have things delivered
to the house.
Anyway, I tried the darn weaves and spent my
day nursing a headache. At one point, I had a
nose bleed, for the first time in my life. Go
figure.
I’m not loving the life I’m living, I’d choose the
village over this
Time is not on my side, the Uber will be here in
2 minutes. This has me rushing out with my
belongings, it feels good to be outside in the
world.
A silver Toyota Yaris parks in front of the gate, I
have to check the number plates to make sure
I’m getting into the right vehicle. The driver
looks dodgy, I might judge him wrongly. It’s not
like my safety would be guaranteed if he looked
like Will Smith.
By the time I reach my destination, I have had
enough of his chatting.

Sandton is crowded, it’s not a surprise really.

People love eating out, I’m loving the
atmosphere here, being out of that depressing
house is therapeutic.
There’s something I can’t shake though, if feels
like there is someone behind me. I felt it from
the moment I walked out of the house, and
when I look back I find no one. It’s a creepy
feeling, at some point my body shivers coldly.

I see my mother standing by Nelson Mandela’s

statue, it’s the first time seeing it and I am
tempted to ask her to take a picture.
“You’re late.” Her cold gaze is getting old, what
is she trying to prove exactly? The temptation to
disrespect her by rolling my eyes is closer than
the presence behind me.
“You said 6pm,” I throw in a little attitude, ten
minutes late is no big deal… haibo.
“Six on the dot, not a minute later.”
Who is she? Bill Gates?
“I’m here ma, and I’m hungry.” Hao, now I must
faint because of time? This woman is not
serious.
“Follow me,” she says, clicking her tongue.
Ohho!
“Wait, I need a picture with the legend.” I hand
her my phone, now this I can faint for. Food is
not going anywhere. Sabusiswa stares at my
phone like it will burn her manicured hands at
first contact.
“Please, just one.” I’m using my persuasive
smile, not that it’s ever worked on her. She’s the
love child of thunder and lightning, angry as hell,
twenty-four-seven.
I yelp in excitement when she takes my phone,
it dies when she really takes one picture. Yoh,
hai. Life is hard, shame.

The restaurant looks lavish, too fancy for my

liking. Dinner is a nightmare, maybe I would
enjoy it had I were dining with friends. Then
again, I’m friendless.
“Remove your elbows from the table, and chew
properly.” Eh!
Some people here have their elbows on the
table, and a lot of them are chewing like goats.
She thinks her mother is the queen of England,
this woman grew up in the bundus, chasing
chickens.
“Ma, where is my father?” Yes, I did that. She
thinks she can control me, let me burn her seat
for a while. Her eyes bulge from their sockets,
right after she chokes on wine.
“Where is this coming from?”
“I just want to know, you never told me who he
really is and why he left.” She’s never spoken
about him really.
“Your father did not leave, he was never there.”
She gulps down a glass of wine and leaves it
empty, my mouth drops when she flags a waiter
and asks for a whole bottle. Soft life, must be
nice.
“I don’t understand, what do you mean he was
never there?”
She glowers at me with sharp eyes, that won’t
stop me from asking.
“That’s enough Amandla, we are not here to talk
about that man. Now cut it.” She’s snapping at
me, it’s annoying, she’s annoying.
“Excuse me, I’m going to the toilet.” I throw the
napkin on the table and push my chair back to
stand, Queen Elizabeth the second is glaring up
at me.
“It’s the ladies, don’t embarrass me.” She
whisper shouts, this one does not know me.
“Excuse me, MaCele, I need to use the toilet.”
She already thinks I’m an embarrassment, so
why not embarrass her further by saying it out
loud?
I get a few looks that don’t bother me.

Someone bumps into me on my way to the

toilet, almost knocking me down. It’s a kid, he’s
staring up at me, probably terrified by the frown
on my face. I soften my features to get him to
relax.
“Thobani, get back here.” There’s a lady headed
my way, with an angry look on her face. She
grabs the kid’s hand and pulls him to her. “I told
you not to run, what is wrong with you?”
“It’s okay, he’s just a kid. Don’t scold him.” I
don’t know why I’m butting in, as her eyes meet
mine, a smile crawls to her lips.
“Say sorry Thobani.” She’s telling the little boy,
he’s too grumpy for a child.
“Sorry Thobani.” The kid says and I can’t help
but laugh at his cuteness.
“Don’t act smart with me, apologize to the lady
for running into her.” She’s strict, kind of
reminds me Sabusiswa. Yawn!
“I’m sorry.” He finally says, totally unnecessary
if you ask me. What can I do but flash the poor
kid a smile.
“Nala can we go now?” He pleads, looking up at
her.
“Nala? That’s a beautiful name.” I start a
conversation, for some odd reason.
“My mother seemed to think so too,” her reply
comes with a shrug. It’s not really a big deal to
her.
“Do you live around here?” I have to ask, I’m in
dire need of friends and we could click. She
looks a bit sceptical, I have to redeem myself.
I’m sure I sound like a freak. “Don’t worry, I’m
not planning on robbing you. I’m new around
here, fresh from Izingolweni in KZN, I don’t have
friends.”
Sometimes you must sell yourself in life, her
smile appears again.
“Really? I’m also from Izingolweni.” She sings,
gleaming with excitement.
“Great then we can be friends, I don’t have any.
It’d be nice to have someone to talk to.” Yeah,
that’s right, I’m desperate.
“That’d be great.”
“I’m Amandla by the way, and you’re Nala.” She
laughs with a head nod.
“Yes, nice to meet you Amandla.” She’s nice, I
like her already.
We exchange numbers and go on about our
business, mom can’t find out about this. She is
against me having friends.

Sabusiswa is settling the bill when I come back,

of course as expected. She grimaces at the
sight of me, I'm still alive anyway.
“We have somewhere to be,” she tells me, grabs
her handbag and manoeuvres past me.
Right now I couldn't careless where she's taking
me, anything is better than being in that
godforsaken house.
We get to the downstairs parking lot in peace,
and no words shared between us. I'm starting
to think my mother is a special case.
My eyes scan the parking lot, searching for her
car, that bright red Jeep. As I turn to ask, I see
her opening the door of a bright red Ferrari.
Okay I get that red is her colour but that's
someone's car.
She's getting in, without looking back at me. Did
she buy a new car?
“Is this yours?” I ask the minute I jump in, it
smells brand new in here.
“Yes, it was a gift from a friend.” Okay, a friend.
“Your boyfriend?” This I want to hear, she side
eyes me. Seems I jumped the gun.
“That's none of your business,” she snaps, and
starts the car.
Whatever.

Like dinner, we're trapped in silence. In more or

less than ten minutes, she parks outside a
double story house. She tells me to follow her,
where else will I go?
The interior is way different from the outside,
it’s furnished with dark colours, dark red being
one of them. It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.
There's a long passage leading to... I don't know
where but whatever it might be must be scary.
The house itself is scary, red curtains... Really
now, that's not it.
“Who lives here, Dracula?” It’s cringing,
Sabusiswa doesn’t find me funny, she huffs like
the grumpy old hag she is. Oh well.
Everything in me is screaming that I leave, but I
can't seem to find the courage, my body says
stay but my soul screams go. A lanky man in a
hideous red suit meets us at the door, he must
be the butler.
“The master has been expecting you,” he
announces and turns to go back where he came,
his pointy shoes loudly clicking on the tiled floor.
“Can I wait in the car?”
“That would be rude, Amandla. Let's go,” she
says, directing her feet where the guy went.
We get to a door that has a huge cross sign on
it, the man must be a devoted Christian or a
pastor.
But… wait a minute, the cross is upside down.
“When we get in there, you don't speak unless
spoken to.” Yeah no, I'll probably not do that.
She knocks three times, and enters without
permission. There’s a short, and dark man
standing behind a desk. He’s bald, the only hairs
on his face is that ugly beard hanging down his
chin, and what do you know? He’s also wearing
a red suit. His eyes find me first and shivers
instantly ripple through me, my heart gives a
warning that I should not be here. I want to go
home.

*
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MATHONGA-
Sixty-seven
Sponsored by Ntombikayise Gqokoma
.
.
.
NDLELENI-

He was running some errands when Hlabela’s

call came through, the two-hour drive to
Mpumalanga was filled with worry. He bubbled
with anger when he found his brother bloodied
and nursing his wounds.
Hlabela explained what had happened, how he
was attacked by a bunch of old Indian men and
couldn’t fight them singlehandedly.

His biggest worry is Kushi, Ndleleni is not there.

He wants to harm the people that hurt his
brother.
They are in the car, heading to the nearest
hospital even after Hlabela insisted that they
find Kushi first, his wounds can wait.
“Do you know how we can track her down?”
Hlabela grunts, he’s seated on the passenger
seat, hissing in pain. He can hardly see a thing
through his swollen eye, and he reeks of blood.
“I might know someone who can find her,” he’s
frowning.
How is Hlabela in love? Does this thing really
exist? After everything they have been through,
everything they have done together. He finds it
strange that Hlabela’s heart can still feel
something for a woman.
“I can’t let her go to India, ndoda. She’s my life.”
Hiabo!
It’s that deep sir… feeling a bit uncomfortable,
Ndleleni clears his throat. His focus is mainly
on the road, his ears are perked due to
Hlabela’s words.
“What’s it like?” The questioned is hushed,
almost choking him.
“What?” Hlabela responds, as he wipes blood
from his mouth.
“Falling in love.” This is uncomfortable, he can’t
believe he’s talking about this… thing. Hlabela
has no answer for him, he is still trying to wrap
his scrambled head around Ndleleni’s question.
He glances over at him, maybe he will read him
this way but finds nothing. Ndleleni gives that
throat clearance a second round, his hands are
restless on the steering wheel.
“I don’t know, it’s unexplainable.” It is
explainable, he would explain if his head was
not pounding the way it is.
“But how do you know you’re in love with this
girl?” Ndleleni is digging.
“She’s all I think about, life seems impossible
without her.” Hlabela.

Ndleleni is tiring, now is not the time to school

him on love.
“Are you sure it’s safe to love her after what
happened that night?” Okay, that was
unexpected. Hlabela’s brows crinkle, he
remembers that night. They have kept it a
secret, it’s the shame of knowing what they did,
what they took from the family.
Hlabela keeps quite, there was no reason for
Ndleleni to remind him of the past.
“Guilt eats me up every night ndoda, I don’t
remember having a peaceful sleep.” He’s never
spoken to anyone about this, perhaps Hlabela is
the right person because he was his
accomplice.
“Why are we talking about this?” Can’t the past
be left there, in the past? No one has ever
brought it up, why is Ndleleni doing this now?
“I don’t want to suffer anymore Hlabela, the
truth is suffocating.”
“But she made us promise never to say a word.”
He sounds like a little boy suffering from
insecurity.
“She did and that was her manipulating us. We
were kids, easily manipulated. Ma didn’t care if
we died in that fire, remember who rescued us?
Vukuzakhe… we would’ve died with Sakhile and
Vimbela had he not been there.”
Hlabela starts to think back, Dalisile has never
played her part in his life. It’s always been
Vumile and his brothers.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, we’re free from
her. We’ve been free for years and I think it’s
time we tell baba what happened.” Ndleleni
says, he’s basically telling his big brother what
to do.
“He will hate us, I don’t think I can handle that.”
Neither can Ndeleni but he’s got nothing to lose.
They are suddenly caught in silence, minds
travelling to different places.

THE KHANYILES-
“Why do you kids do things without telling me?”
Vumile’s chilly voice stings Vukuzakhe and
Mathonga’s ears, the reason behind his anger is
that Phumlani is on his way here without him
consenting to it.
“That’s the thing baba, we are not kids.” Zakhe
disputes. “If you don’t take action then we will.”
Vumile springs from the seat, he can’t have a
moment’s peace in this place.
“Spare me please, I don’t want my brother
anywhere near my son.” The warning in his
voice is loud and clear, but this is getting old.
Zakhe and Mathonga engage in a conversation
with just simply looks, if they don’t stand up to
this man, he will forever have his way and his
way is indirect.
“If you don’t want to see him, then keep your
distance. Phumlani is coming and it’s not up for
discussion.
That’s it, these boys should prepare his place of
rest, buy him a coffin and choose the suit he
will be buried in. His time is near.
Vumile sits back on the sofa, he leans over,
elbows on his knees and head bowed. He’s
thinking, it’s all he’s been doing lately. His brain
is tired and overused.

“I don’t know what’s going on between you and

that boy,” he’s changed the subject. “It would be
best if you send him to a motel or home to his
family. He’s not family and should not be
involved in our family matters.” Is this him
saying yes to Phumlani’s visit? It must be him
saying yes, Zakhe is not entirely against it, as
long as Funokuhle is not thrown out of the
homestead.
“I can drive him to the nearest motel,” the place
where Mathonga gets this confidence comes
from Zakhe sharing everything with him.
“It’s okay, I will do it. You stay here and wait for
Ntabezikude.”
Shit! The plan was to escape that, he’s not sure
if he’s ready to see his father. His heart has not
settled since Zakhe shared the news, the two
saunter out of the living room, leaving their
father sighing like a depressed man.
Funokuhle doenst protest at the mention of him
staying at a lodge, this also helps him avoid
drama.
.
.

Less than an hour later, Zakhe is back. Dumile

and Qinisela are here, fortunately, Qinisela was
with Dumile when the call came. He seems to
be the happiest of them all, he was always
against the banishment of Phumlani.
He felt Phumlani was not in his right senses to
have done something so despicable, and to be
thrown away like they don’t have the same
blood running in their veins was prejudice.
The meeting is held in the throne room, there is
enough room here to accommodate everyone.
“Zakhe call your brother,” a grumpy Vumile
orders. Vukuzakhe looks at him like he’s grown
a pair of horns, his eyes browse around the
room, landing on each person that’s staring
back expectantly.
“Is there a problem?” Vumile is snippy today,
stress will kill him.
“I haven’t seen Thonga since I came back,”
Zakhe’s reply has his father heaving a sigh.
“He’s probably around, call him ndodana.” Says
Qinisela, he’s seated on a chair close to Vumile.
There’s been tension between these two since
that whole incident where Qinisela forced the
truth out of Vumile, regarding Mathonga’s
identity. Zakhe takes his phone from the table,
eyes are on him as he dials Mathonga’s number.
He meets the voice of a white man after a
couple of rings, his eyebrows gather together.
He sends his gaze to his father, Vumile is
sweating, heart hammering in his chest.
“It’s off, I’ll go look for him.” He stands and
quickly dashes out of the room.
Vumile vigorously rubs his forehead, he’s not
sure if he’s alive, or death has claimed him. He
starts tapping his foot, if he were a little kid,
he’d be biting his nails.
“Don’t you think you’re too dramatic?” Qinisela
is starting.
What, is he planning on finishing him off?
Vumile ogles up at him, eyes silently blaring
with bitterness.
“Not now bhuti, I don’t want to end up saying
things I will regret.” Well, that’s if he has that in
him.
“You two need to bury the hatchet, what’s done
is done. We can’t change the past, what we
have to do now is embrace the future. The
change that’s coming.”
Wise men like Dumile deserve all the beautiful
things in the world, his words don’t reach
Vumile on a good note.
“You people seem to forget that Phumlani is a
crazy man, what sensible thing is he going to
bring to the table?” His voice is starting to pick
up, not a good idea considering they are all
adults here.
“Phumlani is your brother…” Qinisela snaps, he
is getting fed up of Vumile’s childishness.
“He took advantage of my wife,” he would take
the word rape, but it stirs up the anger living
inside him.
“We’re not sure about that, it was makoti’s word
against his. Phumlani was mentally ill, it was
unfair for him to be dismissed without saying
his side of the story.”
“What are you trying to say Qinisela?” Okay, first
name calling is never a good sign. Dumile
buries his face in his hands, he didn’t expect
Vumile to be the first to throw in the disrespect
card. Qinisela’s eyebrows look confused, he is
raising and dropping them—all done in a space
of a millisecond.
His flaring nostrils speak of the rage stirring up
inside him, he clenches his fists under the table.
If this piece of shit was not chief, he would have
thrown a punch across that arrogant face of his.
“I’m saying, my brother is innocent till proven
guilty, an investigation should be opened. We
have to prove if makoti was raped or she cried
rape.” Yeah, the nerve is there, swimming in his
veins. Vumile slams his hands on the table,
fuming like a boiling kettle.
“Are you saying my wife lied to me?” That’s
exactly what he’s saying, Qinisela would nod but
he doesn’t want to jinx it. “Answer me, Qinisela.”
This man and roaring, thinking he’s a wild cat.
He’s on his feet, so is Qinisela. Scorching glares
on each other, Dumile finds this quarrel
unnecessary, he sits back and folds his arms.
One thing he is not going to do is chide two
greying men who’s bald heads are in June, out
here looking like Dr Phil.

“Vumile,” a small voice slithers into the room.

His heart sinks and bounces back up, it’s
thudding vigorously in promises of a heart
attack. His anger transitions into a frown, he
quickly turns to the door. Someone dial the
ambulance, the news reporters and Isolezwe;
the chief is about to breathe his last.
“Phum…” he can’t bring himself to saying his
name. Yellow eyes are staring back at him,
bright with a hidden smile. The man is deathly
thin, a tumbling mop of dreads heavy on his
head. The clothes on his body look new, Ntaba
must be responsible for that, he could’ve taken
the man to get a haircut too.
“Vumile… i… is that… you…” This one stutters
like Vukuzakhe, it’s been years, they have
forgotten his speech impediment and his
feminine voice. Like all of them, he is a giant.
“Is… that you… Vu… Vumile?” Tears…
The three brothers are standing in awe, twenty-
four years is a long time to be away from home.
“Khanyile, Ntunjwa kaLanga, Mthiyane,
Ndwandwe, Ngwane.” Qinisela takes their clan
names, in gratitude to the ancestors for keeping
their brother alive. Qinisela nears Phumlani and
hugs him like it’s the first and last time,
Phumlani panics, and pushes Qinisela off of
him.

“Eh baba, wenzani?” Phumlani says, his eyes

are popping out of their sockets as he points a
finger at Qinisela.
“Touch me again and I will stab you,
siyezwana?” He finishes.
At this, they hear a chilled laugh at the door—it’s
Ntaba, no one had noticed him since Phumlani
had the spotlight.
“Don’t touch him and you should be fine,” Ntaba
alerts them.
Qinisela is not afraid for his life, he’s happy his
brother is here.
“Vumile… my bro… brother. Co… come give me
a hu… hug.” That took a minute, his arms are
stretched out, there’s a smile on his face.
Yellow teeth on show, he has no front teeth. No
way is Vumile going into those arms, not after
Phumlani threatened to stab Qinisela.
“Don’t be afraid Ngwane, give the man a hug.” A
mischievous smile is dancing on Ntaba’s face,
he leans against the wall, hands across his
chest and anticipation in his eyes.
Phumlani is approaching Vumile, his movement
is shaky. Vumile gulps nervously, he looks to
Dumile for help and finds him smiling at
Phumlani. Qinisela is not even an option.

Phumlani is too close, Vumile can’t escape

when his feet refuse to do their job. Phumlani’s
hand collides with Vumile’s cheek that he reels
back but manages to hold on to a chair for
balance. Shock visits every soul in this room,
except for Ntaba. He’s laughing, lightly and
heartily. He pulls a chair back, positions himself
on it and sits back crossing his leg over the
other.
“This is going to be fun.” Ntaba announces to
no one, the sight of Vumile rubbing his burning
cheek is beautiful, he will never be able to forget
it.
“What…” Vumile does not complete his question,
a second slap has met his other cheek. This
time he falls on Dumile.
“Phumlani stop,” Dumile warns, trying to shield
his brother.
“Don’t meddle Babomncane, just watch.” Ntaba
dismisses, he’s engrossed on Phumlani and
Vumile’s reaction to each slap. Qinisela and
Dumile gasp when Phumlani grabs Vumile’s
shirt and start slapping him countless times.
“Ntabezikude stop him, Phumlani is not well.”
It’s not like Dumile to panic, he’s worried for his
brother who has been thrown to the floor by a
crazy man.
“Don’t worry, those slaps are not painful.” Ntaba.
Qinisela’s light bulb switches on, “You told him
to do this, didn’t you?”
“Why would I do that uncle?” The smile on
Ntaba’s face says he’s guilty. Dumile runs to
help Vumile from the floor, he receives a
threatening stare from Phumlani.
“Wenzani?” Phumlani questions him, he’s about
to attack him when Mathonga and Vukuzakhe
walk through the door. The big brother is
holding Dalisile’s hand.
“Great, everyone is here.” Ntaba announces,
shooting up to his feet. Dalisile shakes her head
as her eyes fall on Phumlani.
“No, no.” Her voice is loud, Phumlani freezes at
the sound of it. Gradually, he turns and his eyes
almost leave their home. Tears swell behind
them, fear has him by his hair.
“No, no.” He covers his ears screaming, worry
visits Qinisela, he wants to move closer to
Phumlani but is not sure if it’s safe.
“Why did you bring me here? Take me back,
take me back now.” Dalisile commands
Vukuzakhe.
“No one is going anywhere,” Mathonga seems
to carry a certain authority lately, at the sound
of his voice, people seem to tremble and obey.
“Vumile, she’s going to kill me,” Phumlani’s
words collide against each other. He’s a
stuttering disaster, he runs to hide behind
Vumile and the chief flinches thinking he’s
about to be slapped again.
Zakhe is not sure he heard right, the man spoke
like him, his forehead welcomes a few lines as
he scrutinizes Phumlani under his confused
gaze.
“How could you be so cruel Vumile? You know
what that man did to me.” Dalisile is yelling
above normality, if she’s not careful, they’d think
she’s the crazy one. Vumile can’t answer, he is
still trying to pull himself together.

“Your husband has nothing to do with it,” Ntaba

says, standing from the chair. “I brought uncle
here, my sweet mother.”
She sneers at him, this one has comebacks
from hell. She has never tried to challenge him,
he’s a demon child, as Mgobhozi would put it.
Dalisile ignores him and turns her murderous
gaze to Phumlani, their eyes clash. It doesn’t
take a genius to see that Phumlani is terrified of
her, he’s shaking like a leaf.
“Wena!” Dalisile points a finger at him and that
fuels the lit fire, Phumlani shrieks, he drops to
his knees, and crawls under the table. His
brothers are confused by the happenings, they
know he lost his mind, it’s the fear of Dalisile
that’s confusing them. Shouldn’t Dalisile be the
one who is recoiling at the sight of Phumlani?
“He’s afraid of you?” It’s more of an observation
than a question uttered by Mathonga, Dalisile
scoffs, nothing in this world will ever get her to
like this boy.
Her life is a mess because of him, she
should’ve aborted him when she had the
chance.

“So? He’s the not the first man to tremble

before me, I am a queen.” This is said with pride,
her voice tingling with menace.
“Cut the arrogance Dalisile, your time is up.” She
hates that he speaks to her using that tone, as
if she has no choice but to conform. “This is a
trial, your sins are going to be brought before
you, before baba decides your punishment.”
He’s still talking? If Mathonga knew how much
she loathes him, he would keep his mouth shut.
Dalisile clicks her tongue, she guides her feet
towards Vumile. The closer she gets, the louder
Phumlani cries. No one has tried to console the
poor man curled under the table.
“Tell that boy not to talk to me, Vumile. All of
this is his fault, I became a different person
because of him. Tell him not to speak to me.”
She states, and where would she leave the
arrogance?
“What do you mean it’s Thonga’s fault? He’s
done nothing to you mother, all his life he tried
to impress you, to get you to notice him. You
deprived him of a mother’s love.” Vukuzakhe.
Dalisile swivels dramatically, eyes stopping on
Vukuzakhe. She pats her messy cornrows, to do
away with whatever is crawling on her scalp.
“Being his mother was not my plan, even if you
paid me with all the money in the world, I never
would’ve acknowledged him.” She laughs.
“You don’t deserve to be a mother Dalisile, how
can you be so cruel?” Vumile says, he is
recovering… shame!
Dalisile turns back to him, laughing like it’s the
funniest thing she has ever heard.
“Cruel?” She utters, the smile on her face
transitioning into a grimace. “Have you gone to
bed with an empty stomach? Have you ever
begged for food on the streets and have people
ridicule you for being poor? You can’t relate
Vumile because life has been good to you and
your past generation, do you know where I have
been weVumile? Do you know what I went
through to get to where I am?”
“What does that have to do with Mathonga?”
Vumile yells back, he wants to understand her
situation, her struggles but first, he needs to
understand why a mother hates her son.
Dalisile claps her hands, letting out a loud
cackle.
All of a sudden, her mouth opens, her tongue
starts working and words pour out with no
hassles, seemingly uncontrolled.
“He threatened my future as queen, as a
wealthy woman. My sister saw it coming, she
saw him coming and the power he will possess.
I hated him before he was born, so I tried to get
Vumile to hate him, and when nothing worked, I
had to come up with plan B. I wanted him to
agree to send the boy to my sister once he was
born.”
Dalisile scratches her head, glaring at these
people who have turned their backs on her.
How can they do this to her? She deserves
better than this.
She backs away, regarding Mathonga with a
glare from hell.
There’s a stretching silence, everyone is
growing impatient.
“What was plan B mother?” Zakhe breaks the
silence, Dalisile heaves a sighs, she is taking
time to process everything, Vumile raises an
eyebrow at her sudden silence.
“Phumlani was a better option because of his
condition, I knew he couldn’t stand up for
himself. So, I made Vumile believe that his
cousin raped me.”
Gasps!
The silence is back, it has brought an elephant.
Dalisile lowers her eyes, suddenly feeling
ashamed at how these people are staring at her.
“What?” Vumile murmurs, his feet are wobbly as
he trains them towards Dalisile. She folds her
arms, and claims her haughtiness back.
“The boy is your son, Vumile. I lied okay, but I
didn’t mean it. It was the only way to send him
away, if I knew you were so soft, I wouldn’t have
wasted my time.” Her voice lacks compassion,
her face lacks emotion. She has the demeanour
of a person who has nothing to lose.
*
*
A/N: Please like, comment and share.
MATHONGA-
Sixty-eight
Sponsored by Ntandokayise Gqokoma
.
.
.
NALA-

The purpose of this dinner was for Thobani’s

sake, he needed to be out in public. Liyana
suggested it. I don’t want to lie, I had fun. She is
a cool person to be around.
“It would also be a good chance for you to meet
my friend,” there’s this friend she won’t stop
talking about. I’m eager to meet the woman she
speaks highly of.
Sethu and her daughter Asanda tagged along of
course, Thobani needed a companion. They
have grown close, although five years apart.
Asanda is a smart little girl, very naughty but
lovable too.
“I think I should take Asanda home, it’s getting
late.” Sethu introduces, patting her daughter’s
back. She’s snuggled on her mother’s chest,
falling in and out of sleep. We’re still here
because Liyana’s friend had something to do.
We’re waiting for her.
“You can go sis’ Sethu, I’ll drop Nala home.”
Whipping my eyes, I meet Liyana’s, they
resemble a question. I guess I can wait a while
longer.
“I don’t mind, please take Thobani with you. I
will tuck him in when I get home.”
The boy clings on to my arm, “No Nala, I want to
stay with you.”
He can be paranoid, he is afraid that one day I
will leave him like Thabani did, therapy is
serving him good though. He can speak and
accommodate strangers like Sethu and Styles.
It’s been easy for him to get along with five-year
old Asanda, children find it easy to befriend
each other.
“How about we get some ice-cream before we
go home?” Sethu comes to my rescue and
Thobani seems to love the idea, for the first
time in a long time his eyes glimmer with
excitement.
“I love ice-cream a lot,” he must think he is not
included. Laughter is heard around the table, he
shies away by hiding his face on my chest.
“If you go with aunt Sethu and Asanda, she will
buy you a big cup of ice-cream.” The smile on
his face is precious, mission accomplished.
Sethu heads out with the kids, leaving me alone
with Liyana.

“He’s going to be okay, you know that, right?”

Liyana.
My eyes dash to the exit, they are out of sight. A
smile crawls to my mouth, I trust Liyana’s
words. She and her husband are gifted, I
happen to think it’s beautiful. Also having
someone you can trust on your side is a breath
of fresh air.
“I know, he just needs some time.” Hopefully
not much.
“And you? Are you going to be okay?” Shouldn’t
she be able to tell? I can’t find the answer to her
question, my life has a missing puzzle and I am
yet to find out what it is.
“I don’t know,” I shrug, looking away from her
penetrating gaze, she is always trying to read
me.
“You just need to let go and you will be fine, let
go of your brother too… the one that passed on.
Allow him to rest in peace, he’s just a baby.”
Why is she making me feel guilty? My eyes run
around the crowded restaurant, eyeing people
coming in and out. I can’t help but wonder if
they are facing life problems like I am, things
seem to be okay from my view.
“Can we not talk about him please?” I’m never in
the mood to talk about Thabani, what he went
through in the hands of Petros; I wouldn’t wish
it on my worst enemy. Liyana nods, she lifts her
glass of juice and quenches a thirst. Her eyes
are on me, unblinking.
“Would you rather we talk about your father?”
She leans over the table, watching me as if I
would disappear with just a blink. Shivers rush
down my spine, a lump forms on my throat.
“I can’t talk about a man I don’t know, I don’t
remember my father.” The only face I remember
is that of the twin’s father, he was like a fly,
there one minute, gone the next.
“Your mother didn’t have a picture of him?”
Why is Liyana digging so much? And the funny
thing is that I’m entertaining her, as much as I
don’t want to talk about it.
“No,” I say, gulping down the apple juice in my
glass. I need a refill.

Liyana is smiling at me. I’m about close to

asking her why she keeps looking at me like
that when a loud voice pierces through the
restaurant, calling her name.
It turns heads, mine included. I see a beautiful
woman swinging her hips towards our table, the
smile on her face throws me into the lake of
jealousy. I want to be this happy in life, I guess
happiness is not for everyone. She wears the
patches on her skin so flawlessly, I think her
condition is called vitiligo. I had a friend in
primary school with the same patches, her skin
pilled off leaving her light in most places of her
body.
“Babe!” Liyana stands, and throws her arms
around her. That’s it, money truly buys you
happiness. Looking at Liyana and her friend, I
see nothing but happy black women who are
content with life.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Kenneth wanted me to fill in a
questionnaire as to why I have to go out.”
Liyana laughs at her friend’s explanation, her
eyes dart over the lady’s shoulder. I didn’t notice
the tall dark man behind her, he’s standing like a
statue, unapproachable and pokerfaced.
He kind of reminds me of Styles, probably the
darker version of Styles.

“Zitha is lying, isn’t she?” Liyana is asking the

man, he shrugs and emits a low chortle that
rumbles not far but enough for people near us
to catch and turn their heads.
“Why would I lie? He won’t let me move without
him, why do you think he’s here with me?
Please ask him why he is here with me?” The
way the lady rolls her eyes makes me want to
laugh.
“I think you failed the questionnaire, that’s why
Kenneth is here.” Liyana replies with a soft
laugh, his name is Kenneth? It’s a funny name
for a black man, he was probably born in the
stone ages. But I can’t really tell with that
chiselled face, his fine jawline and dear heavens,
there are no wrinkles on his face. His black is
probably the kind that does not crack. His eyes
drift to mine, he’s caught me staring. His face
does not move, flinch, or twitch. He’s a corpse.
I need to be buried as soon as possible, why am
I not looking away? I fight my eyes and send
them to the table.
“I also couldn’t stop staring the first time I saw
him, you’re trying to figure him out, right?” I hear
Zitha say and shift my eyes to her. She’s
smiling down at me, and I thought Liyana’s
flawlessness had me feeling insecure, this one
makes me want to join groups on how to look
like a woman. My tomboy body needs to go.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.” I find myself

saying, I guess I was trying to read him.
“This is her,” Liyana interjects taking my hand to
bring me up. I don’t know what’s going on, but I
let her control me. Zitha’s eyes are on me,
mouth slightly open, Kenneth is staring as well.
His stare makes me want to hide, it’s too deep.
“Wow!” The blow leaves Zitha’s mouth, things
are getting weird, and I am lost.
“I told you she looks like you,” Liyana says. Who
looks like who?
“What’s happening?” At some point I have to
ask, can’t be standing here like a mannequin
while they gawk at me.
“Who is your father?” The question comes from
Zitha, I already told Liyana that I don’t know my
father.
“He left before I could get to know him,” I don’t
care about him to be honest, he’s never been a
factor.
“Would you believe me if I said we could be
sisters?” Zitha is playing jokes on me, a dry
titter escapes my chest. Looks like I’m the only
one laughing, they are all gawking at me with
wonder in their eyes.
“Tshilidzi you son of a bitch, look what you have
done.” Zitha mumbles, unshed tears swaying
behind her eyes. What’s going on? Who is this
Tshilidzi?

THE KHANYILES-

Vumile does not resemble a man who received

a few slaps from his long-lost cousin, nope…
not with how he’s holding Dalisile’s arm. Dumile
and Qinisela are the only ones trying to pull him
back, her sons have lost hope.
At least Mathonga and Vukuzakhe, Ntabezikude
does not care one bit, a smile is resting on his
face, he’s back on that chair, enjoying what’s
happening before him. Taking a video won’t be
so bad, but then again, his mind works better
than a video camera.
“Vumile let her go, you’re forgetting who you
are.” Qinisela must be Hlabela’s father because
wow, his reprimand sashays past Vumile’s ears,
undeserved, deep down he knows he’s wrong
but who cares?
“I’m going to kill you, Dalisile.” In a frustrated
and raging voice, Vumile sputters.
“Yeah, I don’t think so. I am your queen, what
will you tell the villagers?” She scoffs, before
Vumile pins her against the wall and clasps his
hand around her throat. She chokes out a cough,
wincing with the sudden attack. She stares into
his eyes for a minute, smiling.
“Who are you?” He’s astounded by her attitude,
how she is not bothered by what is happening.
He lets her push his hand off her neck, she
clears her throat, blinking her long lashes to
gain back her normal sight.
“I am queen, your queen, Vumile.” She’s
forgetting a lioness, an untouchable rock.
Vumile snorts, fighting her is useless.
He looks over at Phumlani under the table, pain
shoots through his heart like sharp darts. His
brother was away from him for twenty-four-
years, he was alone with no family to care for
him. Vumile’s jaw clamps as he struggles to
come to terms with the decision he made those
years ago, deep in his conscious, he hears
Phumlani’s desperate plalone
“Why are you sending me away, brother? Are
you going to visit me? Where am I going to live?
Please say you will visit me.” Phumlani cried
like a child that day and Vumile turned a blind
eye, anger simmering inside him.

“I banish you to a lifetime of isolation, away

from your children.” Vumile lays down the
command, eyes still on Phumlani. The only
thing that has him turning to Dalisile is the
sound of her mocking guffaw, Ntaba is laughing
with her. A confusing moment that draws lines
between Vumile’s eyebrows.
“You still live in the past, I see. You can’t banish
me, times have changed Vumile. I’m not going
anywhere.” She marches to a chair and lowers
her body there, Ntaba is seated close. He taps
her on the shoulder, Dalisile faces him and
frowns.
“You’re a fighter, mother. I love it, please keep it
up. I’m inspired actually, and you know what, I
think you and I would have made a great team. I
have the coolest mother in the world.” He’s loud
and derisive, Dalisile scowls and replies with a
tongue click.
She folds her arms, and is so sure no one will
move her from the chair.
“Maybe you are right,” Vumile nods to whatever
she had said. “Maybe I can’t banish you from
the village, but I can forbid you from entering
the Khanyile premises. I can forbid you from
ever meeting your sons.”
“No baba, speak for the others. I have found my
muse,” Ntaba states, sending his father a wink.
Vumile is not in the mood for his stupidity.
“Leave my house,” Vumile tells Dalisile.
“I think you should leave mother, you have done
enough damage.” Vukuzakhe adds, he’s
standing next to Mathonga who nods in
agreement.
“Thula wena,” Dalisile snaps at her son. “You
don’t know what you’re talking about,
lestabane.”
Vukuzakhe decides not to stoop to her level,
keeping shut is best. This is their mother, if only
she wasn’t the person she is, he would lend a
helping hand and get her out of this mess.

“You’re not as strong as you make us think,

Dalisile. I know you are crumbling inside,”
Mathonga steps forward with these words. A
frown pulls on Dalisile’s face, she gives him the
dirtiest of looks before turning her head away.
“You can’t fight this, it’s pointless. You know
that it’s over for you.” Mathonga continues, he
slouches before her and stares up at her.
“I hate you,” she says, calmly. Her eyes though
are filled with the hate she speaks of.
Mathonga nods, placing a hand on her lap. Her
eyes react by softening, it’s against her will,
uncalled-for.
“I know, but I forgive you. I hold no grudges
against you, mom.” Now, what is this boy trying
to do?
“Ngwane, move away from there.” It’s a warning
from Vumile, he does not like the close
proximity of these two.
“You ruined my life, I hate you.” At long last,
emotion has found a way to her cold voice.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not sorry that I was born.
Deep down, you are not a bad person. Life
made you bitter and angry.”
How does this boy get her? He’s right on track.
She finds warmth as she gazes into his eyes,
and it riles her to infinity.
“Get out of my sight,” she snaps, slamming her
hands on his chest. Mathonga loses balance
and falls on his butt.

“Thonga lami!” Ntaba panics, jerking up to his

feet. He’s not as fast as Dalisile who has her
hands around Mathonga’s neck, she’s
straddling him.
“You deserve to die, I hate you Mathonga. I hate
you.” She screams on his face, saying his name
for the first time in his presence. Mathonga is
mostly focused on that, than getting the woman
off him. Tears fill his eyes, she is his mother
after all. He wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her,
forget that she has worked hard to send him
back to where babies come from.
Vukuzakhe has found his way to Mathonga in a
flash, he helps him up as soon as Ntaba scoops
Dalisile up.
“No, let me kill him. I hate him, he has to die.”
“Okay, that’s enough.” Ntaba seethes, he
releases her and rushes to check on Mathonga.
His hands cup Mathonga’s face, eyes checking
for any marks on his neck.
“Are you okay, Thonga lami?”
Zakhe has asked this question already, but
because he’s Ntaba, he has to make double
sure.
“I’m fine,” Mathonga adds a head nod to assure
his brother. He is pulled into a tight hug, one he
tries to escape with a chuckle swirling from his
mouth.
“I missed you Thonga lami,” Ntaba is too much,
it’s so like him to steal the moment. This is
about Dalisile and she is not happy that
Mathonga is the one to receive all the TLC, she
clicks her tongue and adds an eye roll.
“If you stop talking to me again, I will finish your
mother’s job and kill you myself.” Mathonga
nods for the second time. “Be angry, but don’t
stop talking to me, or you will know me,”
“I hear you bhuti, now let go. It’s getting
uncomfortable and awkward,” Mathonga
complains, eyes smiling at his brother. Of
course Ntaba has to place a kiss on his
forehead before letting go.

“This is nonsense, I’m going to bed.” Dalisile

weee!
She turns without waiting for a reply and starts
to stalk over to the door, someone grabs her
hand, and rushes with her towards the door.
“Vumile, what are you doing? Let go of me.”
She’s yelling, trying to stop her feet from
moving. Vumile does not offer a reply but
continues to pull her, she knows this is it. He is
dragging her out of here, she snaps her head
back to see everyone staring at her.
“Vukuzakhe, stop him. Look what he’s doing to
your mother, talk to your father please.” These
are the last words she emits before Vumile
shuts the door behind them, no one is certain
how far he’s going to take her. Vukuzakhe is
worried for his mother, it’s late and dark out. He
hopes he will take her back to that room, at
least she will have a roof above her head for the
night.
*
*
*
A/N: I know a lot of you are waiting for your
favs, I haven’t forgotten about them. I need to
cover up all loose ends to balance the story and
not leave anyone out in the cold. The story is
still about Mathonga, right? See you tomorrow,
don’t forget to leave a comment, they are
precious to me although I don’t reply to most of
them, I see them all.
MATHONGA-
Sixty-nine
Sponsored by Thelma Boitsi Swana
.
.
AMANDLA-

My head hurts, I try to move my body and pain

shoots through me like a fast train. I can’t
recognise my surroundings, as I let my eyes
move around the room. It’s so ugly in here, red
curtains and grey walls.
Wait a minute… red? Where is this place?
Whose bed am I sleeping on? What I can see
from my hazy view is the ugly red bedding.
What is it with this red? Panic tells me to get up,
my body feels heavy— it takes a while to
actually sit up.
I try to recall what happened before I blacked
out, and everything comes to me as clear as
daylight. My mother introduced that short man
as Qhaga Mpanza, something pricked me when
he shook my hand. I remember blood oozing
from my palm, before I passed out.

I send my eyes to my hand, praying it was a

dream. This bandage wrapped around it is
proof that I was not dreaming, I’m in a
nightmare and I need to wake up now.
I pinch my wrist, eyes clenched while pleading
with God. Why am I not waking up? Where is
Sabusiswa?
Thank God and the Holy Spirit that lives in me, I
manage to scamper down the bed. This is when
I realise I’m wearing a satin, red night dress.
What the… Red is not even my colour.

Looking around for the dress I was wearing, I

see nothing. There’s nothing in this room but a
double bed, and two doors. I am sure the one
opposite the bed is the exit. That’s always the
case, plus it’s bigger, exaggerated if I may add. I
amble on the carpeted floor to get to the door,
before I reach it, it swings open.
My whole body freezes at the sight of Qhega,
he’s changed into informal clothing. I don’t pay
attention to what he’s wearing exactly.
“Zivelele, you’re awake.” He says, stirring the
glass in his hand. The brownish liquid catches
my attention for a very short amount of time.
His eyes are on me, which I don’t get because
my name is Amandla, not whatever he called
me.
“Where is my mother?” I’m going to give her a
piece of my mind for leaving me here.
“She’s not here,” he replies too quick and sure.
“Where is she? Call her, I want to go home.” I’m
losing my cool, I’m a woman who is good at this
screaming game.
“Sabusiswa is not coming back for you, this is
your new home, Zivelele.” What?
“What do you mean she’s not coming back?” I
ignore the name, I’m more concerned about
Sabusiswa not coming back for me.
“You belong to me now, we’re married.”

This is the funniest thing I have ever heard, he

frowns as my laughter dances around him.
“Excuse me? I don’t even know you, and I’m
sure I wasn’t out that long to forget what
happened today.”
He thinks I’m a fool, I see it in his smile. We’re
basically the same height, it will be so easy for
me to slap that smirk off his face.
“We are married Zivelele,” he sniggers. “And
that’s your new name by the way, it’s how
things are done around here. New life, new
name, new everything.” His voice is starting to
annoy me, along with this thing he keeps saying
and that ugly name.
“What are you talking about?” Jokes aside, and I
need to breathe. Panicking will not get me out
of this situation. He lifts his left hand, there’s an
Elastoplast on his palm, right in the middle. He
rips it off, revealing a fresh cut, it’s not that
deep nor does it look like it hurts.
“A blood covenant, my blood runs in your veins
now. Just a single handshake and we entered a
lifetime of commitment, your soul belongs to
me. We are husband and wife, you’re mine
now.”
No, that’s impossible. This has to be a dream.

My knees are throwing in the towel, I try to

protest, get them to listen to me but they throw
me down. This man is smiling proudly.
“No, you’re lying.” I find my words, as stunned
as I am.
“This is how things are done in my world, you
are Mrs. Mpanza. I control you now, you don’t
belong to yourself anymore. Your mother gave
you to me, in exchange for her life and the
comfortable life she’s living. Where do you think
all that wealth comes from? Nothing in this
world comes free, same as being my wife. You
have a duty to fulfil but that’s a story for another
day. The appointed time has not come, yet.”
My heartbeat fast-tracks as a tense feeling
twists my stomach. Jesus, why have you
forsaken me? Whose soul did I take for you to
let the devil take mine?
“Don’t think too much, Zivelele. I will give you
the world, if you obey me and do everything I tell
you.” He’s shaking that glass again while
ambling to me, I want to scream but can’t find
my voice. I know it will fail me even if I dare try.
“My name is Amandla,” I correct the bastard,
shooting daggers at him. I want to get up from
my knees, show him that I am not weak. But
turns out I am, I’m not as strong as I thought I
was. My body is weak, I can’t find my strength.
“No, no darling. You are who I say you are, and
your name is Zivelele. You don’t want to make
me angry, trust me.” He spits, holding me the
glass. Whatever is in there smells like a sewer,
my insides swirl teasing my bile.
Unprovoked, my hand presses into my churning
stomach, I clog my nose with the other. Nausea
and disgust find a home in me, pushing me to
throw up the contents of my stomach.
“Drink this.” He commands, I am not taking that.
I shrug it away with one wave, it lands to the
ground, staining the grey carpet. He shakes his
head, disapproving of my actions.
“There’s plenty more where that came from, I
can even give it you in your sleep and you will
never know.” What he says scares me to death.
I make sure not to meet his eyes, I don’t know
what he’s capable of. He turns to leave, one
hand in his pocket and the other carrying the
glass he picked from the floor.
“I want my mother, take me to my mother now?”
I shout after him as he opens the door, he tilts
his head to the side, showing me his side profile.
I can see a grin pulling at his lips and I know
he’s not letting me go. My whole being
crumbles, I search for tears but can’t find them.
I’m too angry to cry. How can my mother do this
to me? She should’ve aborted me.

KHETHIWE-

Ntaba is still not taking my calls, I tried to call

him a couple of times today to no avail. I’m
starting to worry, he’s a man who is always
there.
I would have loved for him to see me off, I
prefer him over my father, actually.
He got here at the crack of dawn, or so he said.
This man thinks I can’t see right through him
and his wife. After telling him about my
supposed exorcism, he gave a million excuses
for his wife.
I am done with family, this time I am doing me.

“Khethiwe!” I’m so close to clicking my tongue

at the sound of his voice, a father cannot annoy
his child this much. I choose to look out the
window till we get home, he can talk to himself
if he wants.
I’m starting to wonder if this drive home will
ever end, he’s driving like a pensioner.
“There’s something I never told you, baby.”
What now, he’s going to force me to listen to
him because I’m in his car? I should’ve taken a
taxi, then again, they don’t come with pillows on
the seat.
My father brought a pillow for me to sit on, yeah,
yeah it was just a bruise but butt cheeks are
one of the most sensitive areas on a human
body.
“The day you were born, I received news from
your mother that she was in labour, so I had to
rush home. I didn’t have a car back then, we
used trains. She was in agony by the time I got
home, Ndimande was not available for me to
borrow his car and he was the only one in the
neighbour who had a car.”
At the mention of Ndimande, my ears perk. I’ve
always wanted to hear what the story is behind
that man’s smiling face.

“We took a taxi, we didn’t know that our lives

would flash before our eyes that day.”
“What do you mean?” Curiosity does not belong
to cats, his story is getting interesting. He
steals a glance before taking his focus back to
the road.
“The taxi collided with a small car, the accident
caused major damage to the car. Somehow the
taxi driver panicked, he asked us to get out and
drove off, leaving us stranded. Your mother had
passed out, I was going crazy thinking she was
dead. My biggest worry was you, getting you
into the world safe. Her pregnancy was a risky
one from the beginning, anything could’ve
happened to you or her.”
“I didn’t know that, is that why she hates me?” I
shuffle to face him as the car stops at a red
light, and find him digging his nose. His sinuses
must be acting up… still… disgusting.
“Your mother doesn’t hate you,” yeah right.
“What happened next?” I snub his statement, he
will forever defend his wife and I am not about
to entertain him.
His stern eyes are on me, reminding me of how
strict he was back in the day. I’m exhausting
him, I can tell by the sigh he exudes from his
flaring nostrils.
“The road we were on was known to be very
empty, by the grace of God Ndimande
happened to be passing by.” No, he must not
involve God in his shenanigans. “A neighbour
had told him that your mother had gone into
labour and we were on our way to the hospital
and…”
What? Hold it right there…
“Don’t you think that was too much of a
coincidence? What were the odds of Ndimande
appearing out of nowhere and rescuing you?”
Please don’t tell me my father is naïve.
“Are you going to let me finish?” He chides,
strictly. I have to compose myself and take a
breather.
“I’m sorry baba,” black parents always want an
apology, even for breathing the same air as
them.
“To cut the long story short, he took us to the
hospital. He made sure we were all okay, ran
around like a headless chicken to make sure
your mother was given special treatment.”
I wish he was a headless chicken, that way I
wouldn’t have to deal with him.
“I owed him so much and when he proposed the
marriage idea, I couldn’t say no. I was too
ashamed to deny his request. I owed him my
life, three lives to be exact.” He says.
I happen to think he was too excited, I’m angry
at him actually. How can he gamble with my life
like that?
“So out of the three of us, you sacrificed my life
instead?”
“Don’t make it sound like that, Khethiwe.” His
voice cracks, I don’t care about his feelings
right now.
“But that’s what happened baba, couldn’t you
give him money? My life means nothing to you,
that’s why it was so easy for you to hand me
over to your friend.” I don’t usually raise my
voice at him, things happen when I’m livid – and
why is he still driving like a dead man? I don’t
want to be next to him anymore.

“Khethiwe stop saying that, okay? You’re my

daughter, my only baby girl. I care about you
and your future.” Lies I tell you, it’s all they do,
lie like it’s a trend. Parents are way too good at
this lying thing.
“Then don’t let me marry Bahle, please baba.
Give them their money back.”
“If I do that, I will be known as the man who
doesn’t keep his word, what about my dignity
Khethiwe? Is it not your job as my child to make
sure I don’t lose it?”
This is a first for me. He misses the angry look
twirling around my face because he is such a
good driver who never looks sideways when
driving, unless necessary.

“Bahle is a good man, he will treat you right.”

“And who said I need a man?”
“You’re just angry, that’s why you are saying
stupid things. You will grow to love him once
you are married, give love a chance baby.” I
gave love a chance once and it tore me to
pieces.
My father thinks like my mother, and I thought
he was the innocent one between the two.
“I don’t want to be with him, I hate him baba.” I
don’t hate him, I’m just saying. I will get my way,
come hell or high waters.
“You need to stop overthinking this whole thing,
this is why you’re filled with so much anger and
hating people who have done nothing to you.”
He’s suddenly grunting, I have crossed the limit
of all limits. How can I not? This man is not
hearing me, he refuses to hear me.
“I’m not going to marry him.”
“You will,” he spits too fast.
“I will run away,” how did I think of that? With
folded arms, I keep my eyes on him to see his
reaction and he is sweating.
“I will disown you.” He says.
“Fine then,”
He clasps his fingers around the steering wheel
till his knuckles start to whiten.
“Why are you so stubborn Khethiwe?” He barks,
but I’m not deterred whatsoever.
I guess I am my father’s child.
“You will marry into that family,” the second
bark has me flinching. My father has not
spoken to me in this manner since I came back
home, what is that woman doing to my first
love?
I’m going to ignore him, he will talk to himself.
Who does he think he is, controlling my life?

My mother is home, with her sister-in-law and

her nieces. Sono and aunt-Rebecca are the only
ones who look happy to see me. I don’t blame
Amafu, sometimes I’m not happy to see me.
I haven’t had time to sit down and rest my feet
when I notice a suitcase at the corner of the
sitting room, right by the door.
“What is that, baba?” I ask the man as he walks
through the door and sways past me.
“Your suitcase,” he says, shrugging his
shoulders like it’s a trivial matter. I know it’s my
bloody suitcase, but what is it doing in the living
room?
I catch the looks of pity on Sono and Aunt’s
faces, it stirs anger in me, I’m not sure I can
control it this time.
“Why is it not in my room?” He looks over at me,
then back at his wife. She’s sitting beside him
on a two-seater couch, staring impassively.
“You’re going to live with the Ndimandes.” My
father says.
These wonders and not wanting to end, I have
to cross my arms over my chest so I don’t fall.
My body is about to give up on me, my heart is
beating a crazy beat and my head is spinning.
“Why are you forcing this?” The question is for
both my parents, I should be asking why their
brains are filled with water.
“We spoke about this, Khethiwe.” Yeah hey,
KaMandonsela has tricks, I applaud him—no,
really, kudos to him.
Shutting my eyes, I try to catch every breath I
need. I’m a dead woman walking, my parents
have dug my grave.
I take one last deep breath, and glance over at
everyone in here. They are seated, watching me
standing at the door. They want to be a family
without me, it hurts, but I will not give them the
power they think they have.

“Fine, I will go.” I announce, my voice trembling

with each syllable. They are stunned, eyes
pooping out and mouths wide open.
“You will?” My father stands to hug me, what is
he happy about. I have to fake a smile, he must
be stupid to think this is what I want.
“Yebo baba, I will do as you say. Like you said,
you owe them your life. I will give my life to
Ndimande.”
The smile on his face is priceless, he’s
genuinely happy. That Ndimande bastard must
mean the world to him.
“You’re making the right decision, khethiwe. Our
prayers have been answered.” Look at this
mother, since when does the devil offer prayers.
I don’t spare her a glance, she makes me sick.
“Excuse, I need a glass of water before we
leave.” I stalk to the kitchen, whispers break at
my departure. These people do not know me,
they named me Khethiwe in their sleep.
The bottle I need is right where I thought it was,
so is the tiny box of matches. We have a
smoker in this house, today Lethiwe’s smoking
habits are going to come in handy.

Eyes are on me as I enter the sitting room, they

are all looking at the bottle of paraffin I’m
fighting hard to open.
“Khethiwe.” My father mumbles, this might be
the last time he’s saying my name. “What are
you doing?”
Pouring the paraffin over my body, that’s what.
“Khethiwe you can’t kill yourself, life is too
much fun.” Sono’s statement doesn’t move me,
what is nice about life?
I’m drenched in paraffin from my head to my
feet, it burns, I need to scratch but fight it.

“Khethiwe please, don’t do it.” Aunt Rebecca

finds her voice, my mother and Amafu are
relaxed. It’s nice to know I am hated in this
family.
“Who said I’m going to kill myself?” I ask, and
cause confusion.
“But you…” Sono.
“I would never kill myself, I’d rather kill myself
first.” More confusion!
Let me make it clear to these hard heads, I pour
the rest of the paraffin on the sofas, spewing
some of it on these clowns. No one is safe here.
My mother is shouting that I stop, she’s talking
to herself because I am not listening.
I throw the empty bottle aside and light the
stick of matches.
“The only way I will leave this house is over
everyone’s dead bodies.” I’m sure they
understand this language, looking at their
shocked faces, and fear on them, they heard me
loud and clear.

“Switch that thing off, wena.” Mom’s lips quaver

so beautifully, I’m loving how terrified she looks.
She is a scaredy-cat, I love it. Sono and Amafu
have cuddled up next to their mother, looking at
me like I birthed Satan.
“You’re a demon child, you need help.” My
mother again, I laugh at her facial expression. If
my fingers were not occupied, I would take a
picture. “This child is evil baba.”
“Then call the pastor bitch, the devil lives in
me.” Aunt Rebecca screams upon hearing my
reply, they want possessed? I will give them
possessed.
MATHONGA-
Seventy-
Sponsored by Rethabile Mofokeng…
.
.
.

THE KHANYILES-

It’s been a quiet morning, and a peaceful day.

Vumile is not home neither is Vukuzakhe. Ntaba
didn’t sleep here last night, he stands to his
decision to move out.
Dalisile has been kept in one of the rooms, with
tight security. Vumile’s plans to oust her
changed when he received a call from his son,
Ndleleni. He mentioned something about the
death of the boys, he didn’t go into detail.
“I will explain when I get home,” Ndleleni had
said and that was enough for Vumile to keep
Dalisile around.

Mathonga is in his room when the maid

Zondiwe walks in carrying a glass of juice. He
sits up from the bed, glaring up at the woman
who is smiling down at him.
“Is this your room?” He asks, eyes narrowed.
Zondiwe is confused, she found the door open
and invited herself in… since the door was open.
“I’m sorry bhuti, the door was open and…”
Boring, he’s not interested in details, he wants
to be alone.
“What do you want?”
“Mam’Nandi asked me to bring this to you, she
said you might be thirsty.”
Nandi usually delivers food herself, she doesn’t
make use of the staff.
With a smile on her face, Zondiwe places the
glass on the table. She’s exhales softly as she
turns to leave, but Mathonga’s stern voice stops
her. She freezes, before facing him.
“Drink that juice,” it’s an order and Zondiwe has
been working here long enough to know when
the princes or chief command, you can’t deny
them.
“Huh?” She’s looking at him with fearful eyes as
he stands to tower over her short-self.
“I said drink that juice.” Zakhe or Ndleleni would
have never repeated themselves, but because
this is Mathonga and he believes in second
chances…
“B—but the juice is yours sir, a—and I can’t drink
from the royal cup.”
Mathonga crouches down to be eye level with
her, “I’m giving you permission.”
That’s a tough one, pearls of sweat start to
form on her forehead.
“I will lose my job, I can’t go against the palace
rules.” She whispers, her voice slightly wavering
as if she is going to cry. Mathonga studies her
carefully, jaw ticking with irritation. He stands
straight, towering over Zondiwe again. He can
see how she trembles under his gaze, eyes
rushing to the open door.
“You’re wasting my time, servant.” It’s not him,
it can’t be him behind that voice. Never has he
ever called the workers ‘servants.’ They would
testify to that.
Zondiwe flinches, whimpering under his cold
gaze, and fidgeting with her fingers.

With shaky hands, she retrieves the glass, her

eyes find Mathonga again. His face is hard,
eyes daring and aura terrifying. Maybe it’s
because he is taller than her or his anger is
radiating from the entirety of his body,
intimidatingly.
Her lips part, ready to emit words but she is
stopped by a guttural voice.

“What’s going on?” Ntaba has just arrived, it

takes one look from Mathonga to know that
something is wrong. A frown etches on Ntaba’s
face, he lets himself in and stands next to
Mathonga. He’s confused by the girl with the
shaky hands and wobbling glass in her hand.
“Usisi randomly brought me a drink, so I asked
her to drink it first.” Mathonga.
Zondiwe is not having it, she crumbles to the
floor, dropping the glass in the process. A river
is too small, she’s crying the entire Indian ocean,
Ntaba is lost in confusion but Mathonga is spot
on with what is happening. They don’t say
anything but wait for her to give an explanation.
“I can’t drink this, sir. I’m sorry.” She wails.
“Why not?” Ntaba asks, already jumping into
conclusions. He removes his hands from his
pockets, eyes glaring.
Zondiwe drops her head, these two are killing
her with their stabbing stairs.
“It’s…” she sucks in a breath, wiping her tears
while at it.
“Khuluma!” Ntaba whisper-snaps, if a bull was
quick to anger, he is resembling it.
“It… it has… poison.” There should be a gasp…
anyone? Ah, yes, they don’t react so
dramatically.
“Uthini wena?” (What did you say?)
Funny how Ntaba has taken over the
interrogation, Mathonga is watching intently,
like he knew what was happening from the
second she walked through the door.
Zondiwe’s cries elevate, too dramatic and too
loud.
“She made me do it, I swear I didn’t mean to.”
Zondiwe.
“Who?” Ntaba asks, Mathonga shakes his head
in disappointment. Yeah, he knows… he doesn’t
walk alone anymore.
“The queen…” where are the dramatic sound
effects, flashing lights and an Indian woman
with a shocked facial expression?
“I’m not going to force the truth out of you, spill
wentombazane or face prosecution.” A threat
from Ntabezikude, he doesn’t dish them empty
and invalid. Zondiwe bows her head, crawls to
Mathonga’s feet and touches them, crying like
she’s begging for a promotion.
Mathonga steps back, disgusted and appalled
by her mere presence.
“I was sent here by the queen’s sister to spy on
Mam’ Nandi, they wanted me to get her panties
and used pads. I couldn’t because she is a
cautious woman, and I didn’t want to do it
believe me. I’m sorry bhuti, please don’t do
anything to me. I will go away from here, please,
I have a mother who depends on me.”
“What about the poisoned juice, where did you
get it?” Ntaba asks, ignoring her snorted cries.
“The queen gave me the orders this morning,
when I went to serve her breakfast. I bought the
rat poison from the spaza shop, she threatened
to expose me when I told her no… I didn’t have a
choice. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
They are not shocked anymore, Dalisile is
capable of taking over the devil’s throne.

There must be something about Mathonga that

has these people confessing like they are under
oath, Ntaba seems to think so. He glances over
at his brother, a frown on his face.
“Why are you chilled about this? Didn’t you hear
what she said?” Ntaba.
“I knew what she did, I saw it the second she
walked through that door.” Mathonga doesn’t
even bat an eye towards his brother, he’s
glaring down at Zondiwe, wondering how a
young girl allowed herself to be used like this.
“Permission to deal with her!” Ntaba is asking
nicely, he has plans for this woman, diabolical
plans. This is his Thonga, no one touches
iThonga lakhe.
“No,” sigh!
“Mathonga…” He’s not going to jump for joy at
this, like what the…
“I don’t know if you heard, but lentombazane
was sent to kill you.”
“Call the police,” Mathonga orders.
What Vumile would do is call the village elders
and decide her fate, but this is Mathonga, he
listens to his ancestors not his heart.
Zondiwe weeps, she’s playing with tears; this
lady.
“Bhuti please, it wasn’t my intention, I would
never…”
Ntaba grabs her by her braids, bringing her to
her feet. A woman can’t be manhandled, they
are fragile and bruise easily. A scream erupts
from the sister once Ntaba starts dragging her
outside by her hair, Mathonga does nothing to
stop him, knowing how he can be.

Immediately, the palace is filled with the

screams of a woman. Like the buildings are on
fire, people flock outside with curious eyes and
hushed sounds filled with questions.
Nandi is out here too, curious as a cat. Perhaps
it’s a good thing Vumile is not around, he’d be
telling Ntaba to stop acting like a hooligan.
“Ngyaxolisa bhuti, please forgive me.” (I’m
sorry.)
It’s directed to the man who has her hair in his
tight grip, Ntaba pays her no attention.
“Lalelani la, nonke.” (Listen here all of you.)
He is addressing the servants, the ones that are
not present will hear from tittle-tattles.
“This man standing right there is my brother, my
brother. Anyone who lays a finger on him will
face death.”
Well… he is capable of taking a life, he’s done it
a number of times and enjoyed it.
The servants are in the dark, Ntaba has not said
anything that explains the situation at hand.
They are watching, and waiting for more
information.
“We give you jobs and a place to stay, and you
thank us by plotting to murder us?” He is not
shouting but his voice rumbles, it must be the
hoarseness.
“This woman planned to murder prince
Mathonga.” Prince who? Trust Ntaba to be
dramatic, that’s something he would never say.
A smile emerges and stays on Mathonga’s
mouth, either Khahlamba or Nomkhubulwane
have ordered him to remain calm, or are
massaging his nerves so his anger takes a back
seat.

“Now, I want you all to watch and learn what we

do to traitors.” Ntaba yells across the grounds.
The servants gasp and share their views, a lot
of them have been working here for years. They
love these boys like their own.
Before he can speak further, someone throws a
stone that lands on Zondiwe’s temple. She
screams and falls to the ground, that was risky
for them to attack with Ntaba standing in sight.
“Who threw that?” Mathonga’s voice is calm, his
eyes though are heated.
No one has an answer for him, “Let her die.” A
male voice materializes from the small crowd,
Mathonga finds the man with his eyes. It’s the
gardener, an elder he respects like a father.
“Cha baba, that’s not how we do things here.”
Mathonga says, before looking down at a crying
Zondiwe. The stone did damage on her
forehead, she’s not bleeding but there’s a
throbbing bump.
“Why not? She tried to kill you.” The same man
says, angry like a father.
His colleagues agree with him, “Maka bulawe.”
(Kill her.)
They shout in bolts of anger, music to Ntaba’s
ears. He wouldn’t have it any other way,
stepping away from her is him permitting them
to do what they have to do.

More stones are thrown at her, a few are brave

enough to come close and kick a lying dog. Her
screams can be heard through the noise.
“Stop what you’re doing, that’s enough.”
Mathonga will lose his voice yelling like he’s
performing at a school play.
“Let them be, mob justice is art.” Whatever that
means.
Ntaba is always okay with someone dying, just
as long as it’s not his family.
“No, I don’t want blood spilled in these premises.
Abaphansi are against it,” Mathonga is starting
to panic.
If Ntaba was good at it, he would roll his eyes.
“Get them to stop, we can’t taint their land with
people’s blood, innocent or not.”
Ntaba huffs, “These dlozis are cramping my
style, I don’t like this.” He retrieves a gun from
his waist, and releases a single bullet in the air.
It has Zondiwe’s attackers ducking and
covering their heads as they scatter to different
directions. She is left bruised and whimpering
like a wounded animal, Mathonga heaves a
sigh… that gun shot was not necessary.
Mathonga turns to Nandi, her face is cold as ice.
The old Nandi would be screaming peace, this
one looks done with life and humanity.
“Ma, please call the police.” At Mathonga’s
request, she hurries into the house to do his
bidding.
“I hope she survives prison, this is not
something I will easily forget.” The warning, or
could be a threat—is out there. Mathonga wants
to ask what Ntaba means, but he’s walking
away, to his car.

KHETHIWE-

I’m having a terrible day, the old folks of this

house are not talking to me. I wish my brothers
were here, Lethiwe and his disappearing acts
are taking a toll on me, I have a feeling who he’s
seeing is pregnant. I just hope that my brother
has not become a house husband.
I understand why he is never around, and why
Phathiwe never visits or call. My parents are the
definition of toxic, no one wants to be around
them.

I have my room back, I had to force the twins

out. If it weren’t for the stunt I pulled earlier,
they never would’ve agreed.
I’ll be sharing my bed with their mother, which I
don’t mind. She’s afraid of me, it’s in the way
she looks at me.

I’m starving, it’s been hours since I locked

myself in this room. No sounds have come
from outside my bedroom door, I don’t know if
they are still around, or they’ve evicted.
My eyes clash with my mother’s as I step into
the corridor, she quickly looks away. I’m
offended, she really thinks I have a demon.
“I made an appointment with the pastor, we’re
seeing him tomorrow.” She tells me and walks
past me, I see she hasn’t learned a thing from
this morning’s lesson.
“I’m not going,” I reply and rush the opposite
direction, her tongue lick follows me before she
yells to tell me she and her husband are going
to a church meeting.
“Your aunt is coming with us, don’t burn my
house down.” She adds.
I’m too hungry to reply, hunger and anger make
a deadly team, so it’s better I shut up.

“In the kitchen, I find the cousins.” Amafu

cackles mockingly at my presence, Sono bursts
out laughing, she comes and gives me a tight
hug.
“Did you bath? You still smell like paraffin,
unless you’re still going ahead with your plan.”
I’m falling for my cousin, I love how light
hearted she is.
I think I’m a little embarrassed, when I think
back to what I did. But they deserved it.
“The water is cold, someone finished the hot
water.” I know Amafu did it on purpose, it’s not
the first time. She clicks her tongue and stands
to stir something in a simmering pot, I’m not
eating that.
“You know Sono, I have always known you are
stupid. As to why you are promoting Khethiwe’s
evilness, beats me.”
Now this girl… I’m ready to throw a comeback
that will send her flying back to her father’s
house when Sono beats me to it.
“I’m not a fool Amafu, I know evil when I see it
and from where I’m standing, you’re the one
with a demon.” Oh, I like the angry Sono.
“Who are you talking to like that? I’m older than
you, I will slap you wenja.” Amafu.
“Please you were born two minutes after me,
and don’t forget I give as good as I get.”
“Yeyi, wena Sono!” Amafu pushes her sister,
she stumbles back with a scream. I have to
stand in the middle to stop them, I don’t want
these twins fighting. I have seen their fights,
they can get nasty.
“Please, I’m not in the mood guys.” I shout, it’s
the only way they will hear me. “I’m having a
bad day, I’m in pain and hungry.”
Hai! I can’t be taking care of them and my
bleeding heart.
“I don’t see how that’s any of our business,”
Amafu’s big mouth needs to be duck tapped.
“You’re an abomination Khethiwe.”
Her cackles are pricking at my heart, I’m
counting… and losing my patience by the
second.
“It’s how you’re so ungrateful for me, your
parents have gone to all lengths to give you a
husband but you’re so spoiled that you can’t
even be thankful to them.”
“Take that back Amafu,” I whisper shout,
moving in on her. She’s not afraid, maybe a
punch would put her in her place.
“I’m not taking shit back, the truth hurts, right?”
“Amafu shut up, before you say something you
will regret.” Sono yells behind me, twin two
should take her sister’s advice.
“The Madonselas never get married, but you’re
out here acting like a queen denying a marriage
proposal.”
“Why are you lying Amafu?” I ask, curious about
her articulation.
She steps back, places her hands on her hips.
What irks me is the arrogant expression lain on
her face.
“Twenty-eight years old and you don’t know why
no man has ever proposed marriage to you?”
The cackle is back—this witch. “Lethiwe has
two children from two different mothers, and
I’m sure he is going for baby number three.
Phathiwe is living the life of a drunkard in
Johannesburg, no child, no wife… nothing to
show that he is a man.” How does she know
about Pathiwe? He’s not really open and we
hardly hear from him, so I can’t really speak for
my brother. I can only hope that this girl is lying.

“And you Khethiwe, uyinyumba. At twenty-eight,

you don’t have a boyfriend… let alone a child to
shame the devil. The Madonsela offspring will
never taste a life of marriage, no man will ever
marry you sisi. Neither will you carry a baby in
that useless womb of yours.” (You’re barren.)
She concludes, dragging my frame with her ugly
eyes. I could pluck them out, if only I had pliers.
“You’re lying, my parents are married.” All of this
is making me upset, I shrug off Sono’s hand
from my shoulder.
“Your father is the only one among his siblings,
the rest are still wishing for it. Most of them are
childless, like the three of us, Phathiwe
included.”
I’m getting tired of Amafu, why is she scaring
me? I’d rather not get married than not have a
child.
If I die with no child, then that will be the end of
me. I will soon be forgotten, I need an heir,
someone who people will point at and say ‘look,
that’s Khethiwe Madonsela’s child.’
“How do you know so much?” I turn to Sono, the
look on her face attests that she is familiar with
what Amafu is telling me.
“We overheard mom and aunt Alice,” I know
aunt Alice, she is older than my father. Although
she has fooled around, she has never lived with
a man— not even for a month. Her womb is
pure, she’s never fallen pregnant. You can spot
her loneliness from a distance, I don’t want her
life— I’d rather die.
I need a glass of water, I’m having a hard time
processing this information. I can feel their
eyes on me as I turn to the sink, I manage a sip,
as thirsty as I am. My stomach is suddenly in
knots, my air pipes are clogging.
I spill the rest of the water in the sink and clutch
my trembling hands on the edge of it , head
lowered.
“That’s not going to happen to me, I refuse to
be like aunt-Alice. Ntaba said he wants to be
with me, I… I think he loves me, and he will
marry me one day.” I tell my cousins.
My words contradict with what I’m feeling
inside, fear has moved into my heart. Hearing
Amafu laughing turns me into an angry person
again.

“You think we haven’t been in relationships?”

Amafu’s enquiry forces me to turn back to them,
she is staring back with mockery in her eyes.
“Men come and go, they all seem interested
until they are not. Even this Ntaba of yours will
leave one day, he will forget you ever existed.
It’s not like you’re worth it anyway.”

“What is your problem Amafu? Why are you

working hard to put me in a dark place?” A
smile finds her face, I want to hate her so much.
I think I have enough hate bundles to use on her,
she’s a nuisance.
“I’m only stating facts, you’re not special
Khethiwe. Uzophelela ekhaya girl, awuyindawo.”
(You will never leave this place.)
That’s it, I’m tired of her curses.
“I told you to stop,” I’m the one who’s doing the
pushing now. She’s taller than me, a bloody
giraffe, her body is immobile.
“Do that again, and I will slap you.” Her hand is
raised, ready to land on my face but the
courage to do it is not there.
“You’re lucky I don’t throw punches Amafu, or
you would be toothless right now.” I get into her
personal space, breathing down her long neck.
“She’s not worth it Khethi, let her be.” Oh, is this
not the Sono who was ready to slap her sister
no so long ago?
My hands are itching, desperate to slam against
something, Amafu’s face to be precise.
“Oksalayo, we’re all losers. You’re not better
than us because you’ve tasted the prince’s
dick.” Amafu barks, suddenly angry. I will not be
disrespected by her, she leans back when I
throw a slap and grins victoriously as I miss her
scrawny face. She must thank that father of
hers for her height, or else…
“You’re going to pay for saying that to me,” the
only place I’m able to reach is her shoulder. I
make sure to poke it roughly, she shoves my
hand away, clicking her tongue in the process.

“KaMadonsela.” What is he doing here? Who let

him in?
Shame laughs in my face, I want to hide. This is
the second time he sees this side of me.
I turn to see Ntaba standing in the doorway, a
scowl on his face and hands hidden in the
pockets of his pants.
“Let’s go!” He says.
I’m not okay with that order, he goes missing
without an explanation, and this is what he says
to me? It’s taken a minute to realize that the
room has fallen into a deafening silence.
“Where…”
“Let’s go, Peaches.” He cuts in, firmly. Who is he
raising that eyebrow at? I’m about to protest
when Amafu’s tongue click reminds me that
she’s still breathing and standing next to me.
This is the part where I show her that I’m not
cursed like she thinks, I shelve my
stubbornness and questions, and follow Ntaba
to wherever he is taking me.
*
*
A/N: We’re doing this again in the morning, see
you then…
Please like, comment and share.

MATHONGA-
Seventy-one
Sponsored by Rethabile Mofokeng
.
.

VUKUZAKHE-

He wanted to meet up with her, it drove him

crazy that she wasn’t taking his calls. She is his
wife, does it matter that he has fallen in love
with someone else? He doesn’t seem to think
so, he loves her, as difficult and impossible as
she is.
Till death do us part can be a forever thing if
both couples are in it for the long run.
Now he is here, at a restaurant… waiting for her.
He is not used to be kept waiting, it irks him,
time is money—that’s the rule he lives by.
“Would you like a refill sir?” He didn’t see the
waiter coming, his mind is with Bongiwe,
wherever she is. He glances down at his almost
empty glass, another glass of Amstel lager
would be a bad idea. He shakes his head and
trains his eyes towards the entrance, time is
moving slow, or fast… he’s not sure anymore.
He thinks of calling her, to find out where she is,
if she is still coming.
An incoming call from his father takes his mind
off Bongiwe for a jiffy, he can’t possibly imagine
what Vumile wants. He rubs his forehead,
exasperated and answers the call.
“Come to your in-laws, there’s a meeting.” He is
not sure he heard right, he’d laugh and call his
father bluff if he had a sense of humor.
“I… d… don’t understand.” Nerves have him
stuttering, dammit! Why does Bongiwe choose
to be difficult?
“You heard me, get here now.”
The command doesn’t blend well with him, a
grumble rings from his chest as he stands to
exit the restaurant. Bongiwe should have told
him that she was not planning on coming, it’s
childish of her to stand him up.
.
.
In twenty minutes, he’s in KwaShoba knocking
at her door. A little girl opens for him, she says
nothing and runs off into the house.
He knows his way around here, it’s his in-law’s
house.
Taking a corner towards the lounge, he braces
himself and stops when he sees his wife seated
on a reed mat at the end of a passage.
Today she looks like the woman he met over
three years ago, a dress, head wrap and no
makeup.
Their eyes meet in an instant, she clicks her
tongue shooting daggers at him.
He wants to ask her what she’s done, why she
didn’t wait for him to explain. But Vumile is
watching him, he can see him from here.
He is standing in the door way between the
longue and the kitchen, eyebrows knitted deeply.
The presence of her father makes him nervous,
the man does not play where his daughter is
concerned.
“Sit down,” the chief has spoken.
Zakhe finds a seat, eyes kept on his father in-
law. Seriously, there was no need for this. He
just wanted to meet up with his wife and talk
over a light lunch, he was going to explain and
tell her he will never stop loving her and that he
still wants a life with her.
“Bantu abadala.” He salutes the fathers and
uncles, there’s a discriminating reply. He
doesn’t have to be told to sit, he clears his
throat and settles down on one of the chairs.

“Vukuzakhe!” One of the uncles begins, his eyes

are soft at least. “I believe you know why you
have been summoned.”
Sure he knows, there are pictures of him and a
man circulating the internet. His reply is a nod.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
Bongiwe’s father queries, his voice shaded with
anger.
Vukuzakhe has nothing to say, he did not
prepare a speech for this ambush. The words
he has are the ones he was to utter to his wife,
not these people who are never present in their
marriage.
“We’re listening.” Vumile is a little embarrassed,
he hasn’t been able to look these men in the eye.
“I don’t know how those pictures were taken,”
there’s a pint-size carelessness in the tone of
Zakhe's voice. The men are dazed by his
attitude.
“You’re sleeping with men, Vukuzakhe and this
is all you have to say to us?” The father scoots
to the edge of the couch, a black look aimed at
his son-in-law.
“I’m not sleeping with men, baba. It’s just him, I
love him.”
Abomination! That’s what their gasps shout,
one of the uncles stands to his feet, a
headshake at play.
“What level of disrespect is this Khanyile?” He’s
asking Vumile. “Is this what you meant when
you said you will take care of our daughter?”
Vumile is speechless, he can’t speak for his son.
He too has no clue why Vukuzakhe is the way
he is. The uncle sits back down after
bab’Mabuza tells him.
“It was never my intension to hurt uMabuza, she
is my wife and I love her.”
“Nonsense,” the same uncle. He’s the eldest of
the three, blunt as a fisherman’s knife and
candid as an A student, he knows how to make
this living room small for Vukuzakhe.
“Is this how you define love, by spitting on our
daughter’s face?” He adds.
“I didn’t expect this from you of all people,
you’re the eldest Vukuzakhe. What example is
this? What are your brothers supposed to learn
from this nonsense?” Frankly, it’s none of
bab’Mabuza’s business.
Irritation finds Zakhe where he is seated, it
squeezes and tightens his chest.
“Say something Vukuzakhe,” Vumile speaks.
“How are you going to fix this mess?”
“There is no point in asking that, Khanyile. I
want my daughter out of this marriage.”
Vukuzakhe is sanding up, Vumile knows what’s
coming. His sons harbour anger, it’s only a
matter of time till all of them unravel. Vumile
chides Zakhe with just a single look,
“I’m not divorcing my wife,” he says, ignoring his
father’s heavy stare. “I want to extend my family,
take a second life partner.”
He is not asking them, and cares not about their
shocked expressions.
Bongiwe peeks through the entrance. She’s on
her feet, unshed tears puddled around her
pupils. A tear rains down her cheek, she
swallows a sob and runs out of the house,
banging the door behind her.

NTABEZIKUDE-

A world has been lifted off his shoulders, it

happens a lot when he is around her. One would
say it is love, and he would dismiss them
without a doubt.
Not every beautiful thing boils down to love, he
has never told a woman he loves her, he doubts
he ever will. But there are things he would
associate with the word, like her natural scent
that embraced the inside of his car.
He would compare it to a light that chases away
the bogeyman, today it has a foreign scent, a
strong smell of paraffin. He thinks maybe she
was using it and had spilled some on herself.
He would ask if it was a big issue.

“What’s wrong with you?” He’s been wanting to

ask, he glances from the driver’s side, his
eyebrows puckered up. She hasn’t said anything
to him, she is just as upset.
He knows why he is upset with her, these fights
that he keeps finding her in. What is her excuse
for that pout and folded arms?
“Where have you been?” She asks.
His frown deepens, “I don’t understand your
question, Khethi.”
He doesn’t, but he thinks she’s confessing to
missing him. Khethiwe is silent a second, as if
Ntaba should know why her lips are pulled up.
“You miss me when I’m gone, don’t you?” He’s
not being arrogant about it, it’s just an
observation. A smile surfaces on Khethiwe’s
face, it’s normal for her to melt into a puddle in
his presence.
“Don’t be so cocky, it’s ugly.” Look who has
grown some confidence, shyness is a disease
and Ntaba is Khethiwe’s cure.
“You’re beautiful,” the riposte is said
absentmindedly, stolen from his deepest
thoughts. He almost wishes to take it back,
which woman has he ever thrown that word at?
None…
Khethiwe’s year is officially made, not even her
mother can ruin this. Her mouth twirls and
swirls into a smile, her mood changes as it
should’ve the moment she laid her eyes on him.
“You think I’m beautiful?” Someone is happy.
Ntaba meets her unwavering stare as the car
makes a stop at the traffic light.
He can’t bring himself to understand why this
word has made her glow like Johannesburg at
night.
“You are right, I do miss you when you’re gone. I
also worry about you, don’t stay away for too
long.” She whispers, then draws a trembling
breath. He frowns because this is getting too
deep, he thinks he likes her careless smile.
The car starts to move again, Khethiwe leans
her head on his shoulder, risking an accident.
He stiffens, clears his throat. Cuddling is nice
until you want to scratch an itch. There is a
long silence, he keeps his eyes on the road.
“You know, I was shocked to see you at my
father’s house.” Khethiwe moistens her lips,
and struggles to keep the excitement out of her
tone. Maybe walking in without an invitation
was not a bad idea, he wasn’t thinking when he
did that.
He had just arrived when he saw the parents
leave, eager to see her, he rushed through the
gate. The door had been left open, but because
it’s not his father’s house, he knocked and
waited.
It was a few minutes later when he decided to
invite himself in, and was drawn by voices
coming from somewhere in the house.
Khethiwe’s voice was amongst them, and he
needed to see her. That’s when he heard the
argument, he detests that she thinks she is a
bullfighter.

“I can take you for boxing lessons if you like,” he

blindsides her with this reply. Khethiwe rips
herself from him, and slams her back on the car
seat.
“That’s not funny,” he never said it was.
“I don’t like it when you engage in fights, you’re
not from the streets Khethiwe. Why don’t you
try to be the bigger woman next time?”
He steals a glance, anger is found in her eyes.
“People provoke me, Ntaba, I’m not going to let
them walk all over me.” Her dispirited voice
tickles his ears, maybe she’s taking this the
wrong way.
“What will you do when you have children?” Not
the route he should be taking but… he continues.
“You’re going to be a mother one day, what if it
happens that someone provokes you? Will you
fight them, in front of the children?”
“No,” offense is there in her voice. “I will lock
them in their room and beat the crap out of the
person.”
It’s verified, she is from the streets. He is silent
again, face exhibiting a furrowed brow.
“How is your behind?” He has been wanting to
ask.
Her lips are parted, unsmiling but waiting to
welcome a smile.
“Sore, but the jersey helps. Thank you for the
consideration.”
She’s sitting on his hoodie, it was the only thing
available to make her comfortable.
“So are we going to have sex today?”
“Huh?” He can tell by her response that he
dribbled her with this question, a chuckle rolls
from his chest.
“I’m horny, and I need to feel your warmth
Khethi.” Need… the giant said need.
“You want to send me back to the hospital?”
This is a nicer way of telling him she is not
going to sleep with him, Ntaba rumbles with
laughter. It echoes inside the car, the woman
beside him looks with adoration and a subtle
twinkle in her eyes.
“Let’s get something to eat, then we’ll go to my
place and have sex. I promise I will be gentle.”
It’s possible that it’s all he’s ever thinking about,
Khethiwe is defeated. She takes a vow of
silence.
They make a stop at KFC, it’s not full so, they
are out of the driveway in minutes.
“Are we going to the palace?” Her mouth is
occupied as she asks, pap and two pieces of
chicken are what she ordered.
“No,” he is not going to give a reason why they
are not going there, and he is glad she’s not
digging farther.
.
.
.
“You brought me to a guesthouse to have sex
with me?” She hasn’t moved from the door,
antipathy has availed itself on her face.
“Yes,” he is telling the truth and that seems to
annoy her more. He disappears into the
bathroom to wash his hands. When he comes
back, she’s still standing where he left her.
He is confused, the room is not dirty. There is
no foul smell or anything that’s out of place, he
looks at her, reading every flurry of emotion
running through her head.
A smirk visits his mouth, it’s there to stay. He
borders on her, his feet agreeing with every
move he takes.
“Take me home, Ntaba. I’m not a floozy.”
He knows she is not, that’s why he whisks her in
his arms and buries his face in her neck. The
strong smell of paraffin pushes him away,
frowning.
“What were you doing with so much paraffin?”
Her arms are folded over her chest, she is not
going to explain anything… so it appears. Ntaba
walks them to the bed, kissing every inch of her
body.
She’s melting, he can feel it. He drops her on
the bed, and hovers over her body.
His hands cups her face, he’s gently stroking
her cheek.
“This is where I live now, Khethi.” A need to
explain has risen, yet he doesn’t say much. It
only takes so little to appease a woman, her
eyes reveal more than they should, they are the
eyes of a young woman consumed by love—the
eyes of virtue waiting to be yielded. No one
would look at her and not be able to see that
she is in love with the man before her.
“Let me shower first,” now she wants to give
herself to him. He’s not complaining, this might
as well be the best day of his life.
“That’s not a problem,” he says. They might get
it on in there. He doesn’t think he can wait
anymore, he follows her to the bathroom.
He is standing behind her as he opens the
shower after they have stripped naked, cold
water takes first place, vicious drops hitting her
body.
“Ntaba!” She screams, jolting back. She doesn’t
move that far, his arm is around her waist,
grounding her.
“Sorry,” he opens the hot water, and waits for it
to merge with the cold one.
“Better?”
She looks up at him and shyly nods, he smiles
at her innocence, letting his hands glide up to
cup her breasts.
“Your skin is so soft,” he whispers into her ear
before nibbling on it.
“I forgot to remove my bandage, it’s wet now
and I don’t have an extra one.” Her breath is
quickening, her eyes deny her of sight. She
leans back, resting the back of her head on his
chest.
“What about you Khethi?” These whispers…
Khethiwe shivers. “I want you wetter than the
bandage,”
That smile would be to welcome him, the
acknowledgement is in her expression, long
with the anticipation of something yet to come.

“Ntaba…” she chokes his name, body

shuddering as longing and sensual tension
come together and embrace her.
Their naked bodies press against each other,
when he starts to turn her around, so she is
facing him, her eyes meet a frown on his face.
This is not his turned on face, he can’t even
fake it. Khethiwe would turn him on with just a
touch, but now… now nothing is happening. His
entire body is cold, his soldier is sleeping and
it’s starting to bother him.
“Kiss me,” he’s asking… argh shame… Khethiwe
would never say no to that, her arms loop
around his neck, parted lips meet. The kiss is
slow, unrushed. His hand slips down to squeeze
the butt that survived.
This is it, this should turn him on. It’s dim,
there’s no one at home. Panicking is not his
friend, but that’s what is happening. It’s
frustrating that his rod is not getting up, it’s up
half of the time when Khethiwe visits his mind.
Ntaba pulls out of the kiss, he takes a step back,
eyes on her naked body.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he lies.
How does he tell her that he is not hard for her,
his dick refuses to acknowledge her?
“Khethi…” he murmurs, lifting his hand to touch
her face. “I’m not in the mood today.”
Khethiwe stiffens and quickly scoots back,
away from his touch.
“What’s wrong?” She asks, panicking. “You
never say no to sex.”
Right on! Ntaba pauses, looking down at her
body before bringing his gaze back to her face,
his eyes searching hers.
“Nothing is wrong,” his voice has a quiet, final
quality. “My mind is not with me.”
But his dick is not his brain… so…
“You finish up, I forgot I have a meeting to
attend.” He’s kissing her again, fingers crossed
that his erection will spring with excitement.
Nothing…
“Make yourself at home, I’ll be back.” He tells
her after spotting her confusion.

In the bedroom, he changes into clean clothes.

The door slams behind him after he steps out,
he’s not angry but confused. This has never
happened before, he is a man who loves sex,
more with Khethiwe. What if something is
wrong with his manhood? Where will he begin
to ask for help? Where will he go?
He’s in need of someone to talk to, Khothama
seems to be the right person—his brothers are
going through their own things.
He’s rushing to his car, car keys making a
sound in his pocket. Khothama is on the other
side of the line, sending his greetings.
“I’m coming over ndoda, where are you?”
“I’m at the clinic with Zilile, but we’re almost
done. Drive home and I’ll meet you there, step
mom is visiting her family. You don’t have to
worry about her.” He can do that.

4pm finds him at the house, the gate is not

usually locked. It’s a good thing Khothama tied
the dogs, he has a gun today… one move and
Ringo and Cynthia will be going to dog heaven.
The kids playing on the streets open for him, he
waves and drives in. The extra key is inside the
flowerpot situated at the corner of the veranda,
his first stop is the kitchen. In the fridge, he
sees nothing that can put his mind in a better
place. He’s looking for a distraction, something
that will make him forget that his dick has fallen
asleep.
He cringes as the thought visits him again, and
grabs a bottle of beer from the six pack. The
liquid is bitter in his mouth, it doesn’t stop him
from taking a long gulp.
He doesn’t consume alcohol, but he has seen
men drowning their sorrows in it. Maybe it does
help, he burps and finishes the bottle.
It’s not really a bad taste but it’s not something
he would occasionally drink. A pair of footsteps
are approaching, soft and slow. It can’t be
Khothama, that one stomps the ground when
walking. Ntaba spins to face the entrance, his
mood goes down the drain. She’s smiling at him,
eyes glistering with excitement.
“That’s my stepson’s beer,” Thethelela says.
Khothama said she wasn’t home, he wants to
ask but that would be a meaningless
conversation to engage in.
“I was sleeping when I heard your car pulling in,”
she’s talking to herself.
Ntaba swooshes past her, with his beer. His
escapade is annulled by the hand she grips
around his wrist, heat seeps through his body.
His breath pauses as his dick twitches, coming
alive.
Thinking it was a spasm of some sort, he
twizzles back—their eyes meet and hold for a
good second. His eyes team up with his cock,
he is not thinking straight now.
Leisurely the windows to his soul move down
her face to her busty chest.
His mind begs him to confirm this, pin her on
the wall and go for a test drive. He folds an arm
around her waist, pressing her body against his.
It’s crazy how fast his boner comes, making his
erection strain against his pants.

There’s nothing to the ravening kiss they share,

he is a man who is out to explore.
*
*
Please give me a boost for tonight, see you at
9pm.
MATHONGA-
Seventy-two
Sponsored by Angel Nkulu Khomo
.
.

KHETHIWE-

I’m the girl who was ready to trade her vagina

for KFC pap, I’m an idiot. Why am I even still
here? That’s right, I left my bag and do not have
money on me.
It’s late, the bastard is not home yet.
I would call Ntaba, but hey this genius also
forgot her phone at her father’s house. I have to
sit around like a bored housewife, waiting for
her man to come home—it’s past midnight… the
least he could’ve done was call me.
Ntaba takes me for a fool, I can’t be going
around in circles with him.
The sound of a car outside gets me up, I don’t
know why because cars have been coming in
and out of this place throughout the day. Not
wanting to be disappointed, I decide to sit my
ass down. I can’t be dealing with
disappointment at my age.

I stand with folded arms when he finally walks

in, I don’t know if I should be glad that he is still
alive or stab him for having me worried for
nothing.
“You don’t pay me to breathe, Ntabezikude.” A
lump on my throat forces me to pause my
complaint, I don’t want to cry but here I am,
tearing up.
“Look what you’re doing to me,” I dab the tears
away, they don’t listen to me. “I told myself that
I will never shed tears because of you, look at
me now.”
He’s not saying anything, his head is slightly
bowed yet his eyes are on me. A dejected look
is seated on his face, I have never seen him this
down before.
“Why are you crying?” What a stupid question?
“I’m hungry, you’ve been gone the entire day. I
couldn’t call you because I left my phone at
home and this stupid place has no phone. Why
can’t I have peace when I’m with you Ntaba?”
It’s when I take his name, do I realise that I have
been shouting. He’s staring, no emotion
whatsoever.
“I’m sorry,” it takes a real man to admit that he
has made a mistake. I secretly applaud him for
that, but I refuse to let him know.
“Where have you been?” I need to know he
wasn’t with another woman after what
happened earlier.
“I was with Khothama,” he says.
I want more, I can’t keep letting him get away
with keeping my heart on a hot grill.
“What if I don’t believe you?” I’m serious, I don’t
have time to play house. I have cousins to prove
wrong, and parents to shame.
“What?” He walks past me, drops the chicken-
licken package on the small table, I notice a
plastic bag from Spar beside it.
His feet are taking him to the bathroom, I’m
sure he’s going to get rid of the evidence.
“Where are you going? We’re still talking.” I
didn’t think he would stop, he tilts his head to
the side.
“I’m going to pee, do you want to join me?”
What is wrong with him?
The smell of Chicken is calling my name, I
would rather focus on that now. I will ambush
him when he comes back… He bought one box
of Rock my Soul, argh Chicken Licken and their
five chips. The Spar plastic bag contains
Paninis and a two litre bottle of Sprite—my
favourite.

When Ntaba comes out of the bathroom, I’m on

my second piece of chicken. He’s rather too
quiet, men like him are speechless when they
have done something wrong. I don’t shift my
gaze from him as he settles down on the bed
and removes his shoes. That’s right, scratch
that head Satan. I’m on to you.
“Is your head itchy?” I ask, letting my teeth play
with the bone in my hand. He looks up at me,
and frowns. He is trapped in confusion, I’m
going to burn this one.
“A little,” he whispers, scratching the same spot
again.
I nod in understanding, “That’s what whoring
does, you know. Her hands were probably dirty.”
I don’t know where this is coming from, what I
know is that I’m willing to make him talk, tell me
where he’s been and why he’s so quiet.
He is looking at me, narrowed eyes and shit. I’m
upset, he should be on his feet telling me
nonsense.
That’s what Ntaba would do, he’s a free spirit
that talks and laughs at things that normal
people don’t find funny.
His lips part, whatever he was going to say dies
somewhere inside him. He breaks eye contact
and stands to take off his top.
“You’re hot aren’t you?” I ask.
The frown on his face lingers this time, he is
looking at me like I escaped from a mental
institution. The look on my face says I am
waiting for a response, his head hesitantly bops.
I have to feign laughing, I’m proving myself right,
here.
“It happens when you’re sleeping around, your
sins are burning you. How can you not feel
hot?” He ignores me and lies down on the bed,
I’m not letting him off the hook.
I’m hovering over him in a split second, his eyes
are shut, arm used as a pillow.
I scan his body, maybe I will see something out
of the ordinary. Women have that special power,
we sense and see things men can’t see.
“Argh, you’re tired, aren’t you?” His eyes snap
open at the sound of my voice, the scowl is
there, deeper. He is getting irritated by me, I’m
pushing the wrong buttons.
“Is there something you want to ask me,
Khethi?” He thinks I’m bullshitting him, that’s
what I pick up from the tone of his voice and
one wrong move will get me into trouble.
Should I even care? I doubt it.
“Was she worth it?” I’m not usually blunt, but
this man said he wants something with me. I
can’t jump with him when he won’t catch me.
He sighs, as if things are okay. This gender is
good at pretending, they have a master’s degree
and all the degrees that are out there. This one
is a professor, if he plays his cards right, I will
be the one apologizing at the end of whatever
this is.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” What

did I say? He’s blinking innocently.
“I’m not going to play games with you Ntaba, if
this is what you’re going to do to me, then let
me go. Stop coming to find me, just leave me
alone.”
I can’t find any honesty in his eyes, I can’t find
anything. He looks brutal, indifferent. It makes
me want to give up, walk away from him.
My feet carry me closer to the bed, I position
myself on the edge of it— far from him. We’re
looking at each other, I’m wearing my heart on
my sleeve while he is… I don’t know, I’m not
getting anything from him but coldness.

“What are your intentions with me?” A girl must

ask.
“I don’t follow.” He says.
Yeah, when has he ever followed?
“I made it clear what I wanted from the
beginning and that is you. I don’t play games
Ntaba, especially when it comes to you but you
seem to have been playing games from the
start.” I know I sound like a guy, my father
would be shocked. I’m looking for something
here, a steady relationship. Amafu scared me to
death today, I can’t subscribe to the Madonsela
curse. If that’s a generational curse then it ends
with me.
“Why are you talking like that?” The question is
muttered inoffensively, yet resolutely. My heart
jolts a beat, heat engulfs my body. He’s the only
man capable of making my body betray me,
looking into his eyes is the same as signing my
death certificate.
“Because I’m tired Ntaba, we’re going around in
circles like teenagers who don’t know what they
want.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,
Khethiwe. Plus, I’m not playing games.” He
scoffs, arrogance does not become him.
Although he wears it so flawlessly, I can’t ignore
how it annoys me.
“You are, Ntaba. It’s all you’ve been doing and
from where I’m standing, you are having hell of
a good time.” I snap, unintentionally. My God
knows I respect this man.
His indifferent stare makes me breathless, I
can’t crumble, after working so hard to open
this conversation.
“Watch your tone, KaMadonsela.” He snaps,
scooting closer to me. There is no regret or
compassion in his eyes, nothing that reminds
me that he is human and bleeds like the rest of
us.
This takes me back to the day he gripped my
neck and pressed me against the wall. This is
the animal side of him, the side that wants to be
in charge and control everything around, me
included.
“What are you going to do?” Challenging him is
stupid, I might not like the outcome. There’s
that jaw clench, his stare is holding me hostage.
He chooses to ignore my question and stands, I
stand with him and trace his footsteps to the
door.
Oh no, he’s not leaving. I jump in front of the
door, blocking his way. I’m a midget in front of
him, his eyes are forcing me to stand down…
recoil and let him do whatever he wants.
“We’re still talking, Ntaba.”
“If I wanted to date a guy, I would’ve. Don’t
patronize me, Khethiwe. I’m not going to stand
here and let you talk to me like I’m your child.”
I didn’t realise that’s what I was doing.
“Don’t you think you are being unfair? I’m here
Ngwane, as per your request.”
He’s smiling… what did I say?
“You called me, Ngwane.” He grins.
I didn’t notice, me and my big mouth.
“I’m not there Ntaba, can we please talk about
this now. I need to know what you want from
me, what am I doing here? Why do you want me
with you? I can easily accept Bahle’s proposal
and…”
“I’d kill you.” He interjects, and my heart cracks.
Fine, that’s how he wants to play it. I don’t see
him changing, I’m clearly wasting my time. My
heart is in turmoil as I spin and open the door,
it’s become windy outside. I don’t have anything
warm to wear, the only thing I have on is a t-
shirt I borrowed from his suitcase and a pair of
track pants.
His hand is on my bicep, clasping. It hurts, but
bearable. I’m tired of bearing all this nonsense.
“Where are you going?” He asks.
“Take me home,” I would take a taxi if it wasn’t
so late, my parents must be going crazy
wondering where I am.
“Don’t go, please.” Again, that innocent mutter.
“I can’t stay with you, Ntaba. Especially now that
I have realized the only things you’ll contribute
to this relationship are threats. Do you know
how that makes me feel? I am not your
property.” I face him, hoping I’m sporting a bold
look.
“You don’t respect me, clearly. Is it so hard for
you to respect me, Ntabezikude?”
“I respect you, Khethiwe.” He mumbles, his
hand claiming my cheek. I shrug it off, I always
want his touch but not now. He shuts the door
when I walk in.
“Then why do you treat me like I don’t matter to
you? You don’t have manners, you do as you
please and are stubborn. Did I force you into
this relationship? I left, you know that. I went
back to my father and was willing to live without
you, no matter how much it hurt. But you came
for me, and made me love you more.”
These stupid tears are back, I shake my head
and lift my eyes to send them back. But they
want to be seen by this bastard in front of me.

“Usuyakhala manje?” (You’re crying?)

No, my eyes are peeing.
“Of course I’m crying,” I yell, swiping the tears
away. I hate them for exposing me, the lump on
my throat makes it hard for me to stop.
“I just don’t understand what I did wrong, you’re
not making sense Khethiwe.”
He’s standing too close, he smells like the
inside of his car. My nostrils do a little detective
work, searching for a woman’s scent. He
covered his tracks, or I’m insecure.
“I want you to treat me like your equal, show me
that you want me with you. I’m not a blow-up
doll you will have sex with whenever you’re
horny. I refuse to be disrespected, I’m not
controlling you— I’m trying to build us. I need
you to make a decision now. Are we in this
together?”
He is frowning down at me for the duration of
my unprepared speech, the outcome might
make or break me. Stiffness engraves itself on
his facial features, I can feel my heart wanting
to leave my body and run out of here.
I’m following it, if that ever happens. My world
comes crashing right before my eyes when
Ntaba diverts towards the door, he’s… leaving.
“Ntaba…” I breathe, shakily.
I want to scream at myself for being so
talkative and gambling with my heart, I will
never see him again if he walks out the door. I
take a step toward him, hand lifting to reach out
to him. If he walks out on me, I am leaving this
province.
He stops at the door and I hear a click… did he
just… he locked the door. My ears are ringing as
he faces me and for the first time ever, I feel his
eyes on me. He’s looking at me, not through me.

“I want this Khethi, I want you. I want us, I want

everything you are willing to give.” His hands
are cradling my face, “You are my favourite
person KaMadonsela. I’m sorry that I made you
feel disrespected, I will never let you feel that
way again.”
He catches me off guard with an insatiable kiss,
it lasts a second. Fear fills his eyes, it’s that fear
he was sporting in the bathroom before he
walked out on me.
He withdraws, creating space between us. What
is with him? I know he loves touching my body,
today he is different and distant. He pinches the
bridge of his nose, blinking rapidly.
“What’s wrong Ntaba?”
I owe him, I want to pay back that pap and
chicken.
“We don’t have to do anything tonight, let me
fall asleep in your arms.” He says, pulling me
towards the bed. I have to take my position
after kicking off the shoes on my feet, and let
him rest his head on my chest. He’s a heavy
giant, I’m not complaining. I sniff around him,
searching for the smell of sex and can’t find any.
Ntaba walked in here with a guilty look on his
face, I know something happened and I will find
out what.
“You smell like chicken,” he says.
I happen to think it’s better than paraffin.
“I didn’t wash my hands,” but I did lick them,
can’t be wasting spices by washing my hands. I
hope he doesn’t mind the circles I’m drawing on
his head.
“Hold me, Peaches. I won’t fall asleep if your
arms are not around me.”
This softness needs to be caught on camera,
it’s like Christmas—only comes once in a million
years. I wrap my arms around him, my mind
traveling to forbidden places. What did he get
up to while he was away?
*
*
Please like, comment and share.
MATHONGA-
Seventy-three
VUKUZAKHE-

He managed to convince her to come home

with him, her father was against it. He didn’t
care, he’s not married to him but his daughter.
He walks into their rondavel, shoulders slumped
and a dejected look on his face. It’s a new day,
too early in the morning, the roasters haven’t
stopped crowing, yet he is ready for the day. .
She’s under the covers facing the window, he
stands there for a minute, looking at her fragile
body. He slept on the couch last night, she
didn’t want him touching her.
He takes his space in bed, shoes and all…
wraps an arm around her and pulls her into him.
“Sthandwa sami,” very rare.
Bongiwe sniffles, confirming that she is awake
or it’s her way of telling him to continue.
“Can we talk?” His face is on her neck, it’s been
crazy long months since they have been in this
position. If he must confess, it feels darn good.
“I want out, Ngwane.” Her voice is a tad bit
husky.
“We’re married Bongiwe,” he reminds her.
“Funny how you forgot that when you were
chasing that boy.” He hurt her with how he
handled everything, how he is currently handling
things. Turning back time is not even possible,
but if he could, he would in the blink of an eye.
“I admit that I was wrong, I see it now.” Yeah!
Bongiwe’s sigh surges through him, she has
changed and somehow, he wishes she hadn’t.
Can’t she be that old Bongiwe who complains
and fights for everything she wants? It would
make life easier for him.
“I didn’t do things right, I admit that as well.
Please don’t go, don’t leave like this Mabuza.”
“Am I not enough for you Ngwane?”
“You are, you are more than enough for me.”
“Then why do I have to share you with someone
else?”
How does he answer this? Yes she is tough but
that does not mean she has a heart of stone.
“Look at me,” the magic word 'please' is kept
away, however, his tone is respectful enough.
Bongiwe does not submit, tears have taken over
her face.
“I want a divorce, Vukuzakhe.” She’s crying,
Zakhe rises from his position, and kneels on the
bed.
“Bongiwe,” worry is there in his voice.
He places a hand on her hip, “Ngiyacela mkami,
please look at me.”
Bongiwe is listening, she hears him, she just
doesn’t want to face him.
“My love for you is slowly dying, I don’t want you
anymore Vukuzakhe. I’m tired of fighting for a
man who has never fought for me.” She’s
sobbing.
Vukuzakhe knows this is it, there is nothing he
can say to change her mind. His sigh springs
forth before he’s lying behind her and pulling
her closer to him, leaving no space for side
dishes.

NTABEZIKUDE-

“Don’t touch me!” He screams, bringing himself

back from the dream world. He can feel his
heart accelerating, nerves are kicking in. The
back of his hand takes up the task of wiping the
balls of sweat forming on his forehead.
“And then?”
Khethiwe is standing by his bedside, a question
in her eyes. He cusses under his breath and
quickly sits up. To avoid eye contact, he rubs
his eyes.
“When did you wake up?” He’s asking without
looking at her.
“Ten minutes ago,” she says, folding her arms
across her chest.
He can tell she is upset from the tone of her
voice, something he can’t understand. They
were okay when they went to bed last night, she
even made him confess to things he wouldn’t
have.
Ntaba climbs off the bed, he’s doing everything
to avoid Khethiwe.
“Were you dreaming about another woman?”
Khethiwe.
Women always continue from where they left
off, and clearly this one didn’t have enough last
night… Ntaba thinks.
“I’m talking to you Ntaba.” That was snappy.
He steals a look, she’s staring with
condemnation in her eyes. The staring contest
holds for a minute before Ntaba takes his eyes
to the suitcase he places on the bed. He’s
picking something to wear for today.
“Why do you say that?” He’s left in his briefs as
he strips off his track pants, after that dream he
had, a shower would be nice.
“You were moaning in your sleep, someone was
touching you.”
Ntaba breaks into soft chuckles, it’s forced and
has a dash of nerves because Khethiwe is not
far from the truth.
Thethelela was in his dreams, touching him and
doing things that would make a man lose his
mind.
“I was not dreaming about another woman, I
was being chased by a dog.”
“But you were moaning,” she argues, moving to
stand closer to him. His heart jolts, he’s heard
that women can smell the truth. Not wanting to
be exposed, he shifts a little.
“I was trying to scream for help, I don’t usually
talk in my sleep Khethi.” That’s believable. “I’m
going to take a shower.”
If he has to escape her the whole day, then he
will. What has come over her? She was never
this interrogative, relationships are too much
work. He never believed in them and avoided
them all his life. Khethiwe is making life difficult
for him.

When it’s her turn to hit the shower, Ntaba takes

this opportunity to get dressed, a call from
Thethelela comes in just as he’s tying his shoe
laces. He ignores it like he did a million times
last night, a message follows thereafter.

*I know you’ll be back, she will never be able to

handle your high sex drive.*

His jaw ticks as he reads the text, he clicks his

tongue and deletes it. He is regretful, maybe if
he slept with someone else. Why did it have to
be Thethelela?

He’s standing when Khethiwe walks out of the

bathroom, the shape of her thick curves visible
behind the white towel wrapped around her
body.
“What?”
He’s staring, it’s getting awkward for her. He
never stares without touching, he shrugs and
turns away.
“Are you done?” His question is like a slap in the
face, he misses the hurt in her eyes caused by
his silent rejection.
“Almost,” she mumbles.
He can feel her eyes burning his back and
hopes she doesn’t turn into that Khethiwe from
last night, it’s too early in the morning to be
grilled.
“Why won’t you look at me?” She asks.
Ntaba decides to play it cool, it can’t be her fault
that he is not feeling her anymore. He faces her,
and invites a smile to his face. She returns an
uncertain one, he can’t blame her for it, really
because he has been an ass.
“I am,” Ntaba.
“You’re not looking at me, Ntaba.” She returns,
confusing him.
“Unless I woke up cross eyed?”
Khethiwe does not find his retort funny.
“Something is wrong with you, and you’re hiding
it from me.” An accusatory finger is pointed at
him, irritation flocks Ntaba’s face, he is not
used to being grilled.
In his irritation, he finds a way to her, “Don’t be
that girl Khethiwe, it doesn’t suit you.”
His hands are all over her body, caressing and
squeezing. His favourite parts are her love
handles, she giggles when he touches those
spots.
“I’m worried Ntaba, you’re acting different. It’s
scaring me, I don’t want us to end.”
She’s suddenly crying, he thinks she’s playing
with tears a lot lately.
“There’s so much going on in my family, I’m not
myself.” He is half right.
There goes his phone ringing again, they both
turn to the table where the phone is spinning in
small circles.
“Are you going to take it?”
He would answer Khethiwe’s question if he
wasn’t annoyed, he feels horded… it’s getting
hard to breathe.
He quietly clicks his tongue when he sees
Thethelela’s name flashing on the screen,
Khethiwe will want to know who is calling.
That’s how these relationships work, but he is
not ready to go fully in, neither is he used to
explaining himself.

“I’m going to get breakfast, I won’t be long.” He

grabs his keys from where his phone was and
plunges them in his pocket, he’s working extra
hard not to look Khethiwe’s way. However, he
sees her from his vintage view—she’s not
moving but looking at him.
“Khethi,” he says, eventually glancing over at her.
“Thank you for being here.” It’s better than
nothing.
She has no words for him, just two nods. He
wraps his arms around her waist, hides his face
in the curve of her neck. Jeer these tight hugs…
“This is where I would rather be, Peaches. Don’t
ever forget that.” He whispers ever so gentle in
her ear.
“Is it safe for me to say I love you?” She asks,
he laughs and kisses her cheek.
“Come back soon, I’m sure my mother has told
the whole church that I didn’t sleep at home.”
What does he say to this? If she permits him, he
would take care of her mother the way he takes
care of everyone who scratches him the wrong
way.
“Kiss me goodbye KaMandonsela, hao ntokazi.”
His hands are cupping her cheeks, a smile on
his face. Khethiwe has become shy, she’s
flapping eyelashes and drawing circles on the
ground with her foot. Ntaba notices and
entertains her with a low laugh.
“Ithi mbah phela!” (Kiss me.)
His lips are slightly brushing against hers,
before he takes them into a slow, ghost of a
kiss… lips barely touching.
In this moment, Khethiwe becomes exceedingly
needy. Her arms are tight around his shoulders,
face buried on his chest.
“What’s going on?” He knows what’s going on,
this is one of the ways she expresses herself.
She is a touchy person.
“This feels like a dream, Ntaba.” It might as well
be one, he reserves his answer.
A brief kiss on her cheek and he’s out the door,
rushing towards his car. The sun is out, but it’s
a little windy. His lips quaver while he rubs his
hands together to keep warm.

The dream he had about Thethelela haunts him

more than what occurred last night, a man does
not cheat and tell. It is better that Khethiwe
knows nothing, lying is not rocket science for
him, he does it so effortlessly and proudly.
He can lie about where he was last night and
what he was up to, he can lie about not sleeping
with Thethelela and get away with it.
What he’s not sure he can fight is the urge to
tell Khethiwe that she does not turn him on
anymore.
He hasn’t been naked in front of her since the
shower scene, a good idea because his
sleeping dick will surely sell him out.
In the car, he decides to call his cousin. He has
some apologising to do, after Khothama caught
him pounding his step mother.
“Sfebe sendoda.” (Man whore.)
Ntaba winces, sure he messed up but
reminding him is cruel.
“I said I was sorry, give me a break ndoda.” He
did explain himself last night, how he didn’t feel
anything when he was with khethiwe but one
touch from Thethelela woke every living thing in
him.
“Sorry for sleeping with your dead uncle’s wife
or for failing to keep your pants zipped?”
He's a track pants, wearing bastard, sir…
Khothama’s throwback stings, if it were
someone else saying this, Ntaba wouldn’t care.
“So what, are you going to let this come
between us?” Ntaba asks, he’s joined the main
road.
“I’m not the one who…”
“This is getting boring Khothama, I did
apologise, didn’t I?” His voice jumps along with
his last nerve. “I want nothing to do with
Thethelela, but she won’t leave me alone.
Please get her to stop calling me.”
“Fix your own mess, ndoda. I want nothing to do
with any of this.” It’s so foreign for Khothama to
throw him under the bus, but it’s okay. He’s
Ntabezikude Khanyile, he knows how to make
things disappear.
“The woman is insane, I don’t know what my
father saw in her.” Oh! He’s team Ntaba now…
“What did she do now?” Ntaba.
“She changed her relationship status from
widowed to in a relationship.” Khothama
exposes but Ntaba is not there. He couldn’t
care what Thethelela does, as long as it doesn’t
involve him.
“Okay, that’s nice.” Translated— ‘I don’t care.’
“She changed her profile picture and put your
photo.” Khothama is laughing, he truly finds this
funny. This one is caught in confusion, he’s not
on Facebook so he wouldn’t know what that
means. He waits for his brother to stop being a
nuisance and explain what is happening.

“Now all her Facebook friends think she is your

woman,” that should be enough explanation.
“She’s crazy, I never gave her that impression.”
All he did was touch her and kiss her and bury
himself inside her—nothing to print and place
on billboards.
“Am I the only one who finds this odd? It hasn’t
been six months since bab’omncane died and
she’s flashing a new relationship, a non-existent
relationship.” Ntaba.
“You’re not, my suspicions stand. Thethelela
killed my father, it’s unfortunate that I have no
way to prove it. We need to get to the bottom of
this.”
Ntaba hears his cousin, but… “My life is a mess
ndoda. Let me fix things then we’ll deal with
that witch.”
There is an understanding between them,
Khothama has a baby on the way… his hands
are also full.
“Yeah, the Khanyile name is all over the place
lately. Zakhe and his boyfriend are famous.”
“Koti?” Ntaba knows that Funokuhle is around,
with how messy his life has been, he hasn’t had
time to speak to Vukuzakhe.
“Who is that?” Khothama.
Ntaba takes no notice of the question, he’s
fallen into a stream of worry. So much is going
on with his family, one problem births another.
He makes a U-turn, taking the road leading to
the palace.
“How did this happen? How can I be so
careless?” His focus is lost that he misses a
stop sign, he is driving faster than he should.
“I don’t understand why you are blaming
yourself.” Ntaba can hear the confusion in
Khothama’s voice.
“My brothers are my responsibility, I’ve always
been taking care of them. I don’t want them
suffering Khothama.”
A green light stops his speeding, the car halts
with a screeching sound, earning him a couple
of hoots from cars around him, he doesn’t
bother with them.
“What about me? You’ve never cared for me like
that.” Khothama twists the topic.
“I need to fix this, Vukuzakhe is a businessman.
This scandal is going to destroy the company.”
The company means nothing to him, he’s
proven that over the years. It’s his brothers he
cares about.
“Too late, investors have started pulling out, if
you’re going to be unfaithful to your wife, do it
privately. Most investors are family men, do you
think they will continue working him after this
scandal?”
Khothama is right, it will take a miracle to fix
this damage.
“I have to go, I’ll call you.” Ntaba says, taking off
in high speed again.
“Calling is a good idea, I don’t want you
anywhere near my house or I will feed your balls
to Cynthia and Ringo, sfebe.”
Khothama will never let him forget this, Ntaba
will need to bribe him into forgetting lest he
spills in front of Khethiwe.
“Don’t worry, as far as Thethelela is concerned, I
am a blind man.”
Fingers crossed and pants zipped up…
MATHONGA-
Seventy-four

FUNOKUHLE-

Lately I haven’t been able to go twenty minutes

without fighting back tears, I’m starting to hate
it here. I haven’t spoken to Vukuzakhe since he
booked me into this lodge, he would text asking
if I’m okay— that’s it. I don’t know what’s going
on with him, it scares me to think he would
detach from me.
His parents don’t like me, what if they got to
him?
I deactivated my social media account, I knew
joining Facebook was a bad idea, I did tell Zitha
that I wasn’t interested but she thought I
needed to join the world and be normal. None
of this is normal, private pictures of me and
Vukuzakhe are all over Facebook.

Today I plan to visit my father’s grave, I was

going to do it with Vukuzakhe but he’s not
available. I’m not sure if he will ever make
himself available, my patience is running thin.
The sound of my phone ringing fills me with
excitement, it must be him. I have it in my hand
in a split second, and in that same space of
time, my spirit drops as I see Zitha’s name on
the screen.
“You move back home and forget your friend?”
She’s loud, like usual. Her voice cheers me up
though.
“I’m sorry, so much is happening this side. I
haven’t had time to do anything.”
“How are things? Have you been to your father’s
grave?”
“I honestly don’t know, Zitha. At this point, my
future is unclear.” I tell her, trying not to sound
the way I feel.
“I saw the pictures, I’m sorry babe.” Yeah, so am
I.
“What’s done is done.” I let the sigh I’ve been
fighting fall out, the tears are close, but I’m able
to keep them at bay.
“Who would do such a thing?” I hate being pitied,
it makes me feel like an attention seeker.
“Can we schedule this call for later? I need to be
somewhere.” I should not be lying to her, she
has been nothing but kind to me.
“Wait, did you hear about the teacher?” There is
a sense of urgency in the tone of her voice, I
can’t fathom what she could be talking about.
The only teacher I know is…
“Pule?” My heart is not meant to jump like this, I
chide it, sending it back to its home.
“Yes, he was arrested for statutory rape. The
freak was having a sexual affair with a fifteen
year old. Turns out the girl is expecting his baby
and she believes they are in love. Her parents
were not having it, I don’t know how they found
him because he was in Kenneth’s custody.”
Zitha’s voice starts to fade out into the
background, I guess I’m shocked. I never really
forgot about Pule, once in a while he pops by in
my head, and torments me with the past.

“Listen, this is between you and me.” She pulls

me out of my thoughts with her hushed voice. “I
think Kenneth and Vukuzakhe set him up, I
mean what are the chances of the girl’s parents
finding a man who was kept hostage in a
different province.”
“Can they do that?” I ask, scratching an itch on
my arm. I would give the credit to Kenneth, he is
a dark man. Zakhe appears dark around the
edges, but I can’t see him harming anyone.
“Sweetie, those men can do anything.” She says,
pride painted in her voice. “Are you going to
testify? I think it’s a good idea, Pule belongs
behind bars.
He does, there is no doubt about that. I’m just
not sure I would like to see him again. It has
taken a lot for me to accept that he is not who I
thought he was, Pule was like a drug I couldn’t
get enough of. I was addicted to him, I could
see no future without him. Seeing him again will
take me ten steps back.
“I’ll think about it,” I probably won’t.
“Do that, I have to go babe, Dlozi is giving me a
headache.” I like how she is forever
complaining.
“Uh! Okay, thank you for the call.”

Zitha’s timing is impeccable, someone is at the

door. I get my feet tapping, thinking it’s
Vukuzakhe and... I’m looking at a young, black
woman standing at my doorstep, her portable
body is tucked in a black and white lady suit. My
eyes decide to be rude by drinking down her
appearance, the cornrows on her head look
brand new and tight as hell. She has a very
simplistic look, neat straight-back… perfectly
ironed formal clothes. What’s missing is that
‘stop nonsense’ wedding ring you see on ‘Our
Perfect Wedding.
I don’t know what she is going for with that
smile on her face. I don’t return it mainly
because I don’t know who she is.
“Hi, Funo.” My… she knows me. Her hand is
stretched out, I don’t take it… Who is she?
“I’m Dr Banami Fakude, a criminal profiler.” Her
teeth parade behind full lips.
“I didn’t do anything, I’m innocent.” I defend
myself, you never know with these things. The
lady laughs.
“Relax Funokuhle, Vukuzakhe sent me here.”
First-name basis?
“Why? What do I have to do with a criminal
profiler?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to confuse you. I’m a
forensic psychologist, I work with law
enforcement agencies, but I also provide one-
on-one therapy sessions for my clients.”
“I’m still lost,” I say.
Amusement plasters on her face for a good few
seconds, before she is gesturing that I let her in.
The room is not that spacious, I show her a
chair just not far from the door which she
accepts with a wide smile.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard about Mr.
Shabangu’s arrest, he’s under investigation.”
Huh! So this is what this is about? Pule?
My entire face changes, a need to be safe
swamps my being and that has me hugging my
arms around me.
“I want nothing to do with that man.” I inform
the lady, does she know what he did to me?
What he put me through?
“And that’s okay, we don’t have to talk about
him. You can tell me about yourself” The smile
on her face grows.
I see where she is taking this, she’s hoping I slip
and mention my past with Pule.

NTABEZIKUDE-
The gate slides open making way for his car, he
spots a few servants bustling around the
grounds. Among them is Zamangwane, he
doesn’t fight the urge to click his tongue when
he sees her talking to one of the herd boys,
she’s too close for comfort and it appears the
two are engaged in a lover’s quarrel. The car
screeches, coming to a stop in front of them.
“Bhekile, wena Bhekile?” The relentless man-
killer roars as he sprints out of the car, leaving
the door wide open. The man in question is
staggering back, eyes wide and lips quavering
as he fights with syllables that refuse to leave
his mouth.
“Mhlo… mhlonishwa…” (Boss.)
Shu! That was close, his voice is still there.
“What are you doing with my sister?” Anger
takes over, he clutches his hand around
Bhekile’s neck.
“Bhuti let him go,” Zamangwane tries to pull
Ntaba back to no avail, he is a brick.
“I… didn’t do anything.” Bhekile grumbles, fear
has gone away, making space for anger. No
man likes being manhandled by another man,
there are days when Ntaba lacks respect for
people.
“Don’t tell me nonsense, I know what I saw.”
There is a good reason he is so defensive and
overprotective, I mean his sister got married
stealthily.
“Bhuti stop, I just needed his help that’s all.”
Zamangwane allows tears to rain down her face,
her brother is now grimacing at her, his curious
scrutiny meeting her bloodshot eyes. Her t-shirt
is worn inside-out, she appears run down and a
bit out of touch with what’s around her.
Observing her every whimpering move, his
brows crumple at how she’s trembling.
“Help with what?” Ntaba pulls his hand back, his
gaze lingers on Zamangwane. She lowers her
head as she starts biting her nails.
This is a chance for Bhekile to keep a safe
distance between him and his boss.
Because he can’t trust her anymore, Ntaba
turns to the herd boy and says, “I’m listening.”
Bhekile grits his teeth, “I was passing by when
she called me. She wanted me to call one of the
Sangweni boys.”
They are men actually…
This is not good news to Ntaba, it’s his turn to
grit his teeth.
“You don’t learn do you?” He is disappointed in
her, it’s written all over his face.
Zamangwane is hurt but there is nothing she
can do to erase the disappointment on her
brother’s face. The need inside her is deep.
“What do you want from him?”
Hello, they are married.
Zamangwane’s eyes glow with inquisitiveness,
a smile twitches on her features but doesn’t
fully grow.
“You’ll call him for me?” The girl wants to know
but her query angers Ntaba, Vumile just had to
let her out of her room. Maybe keeping her
locked up is not such a bad thing.
“No,” he has more to say but the unshed tears
in her eyes stop him.
“I’m thirsty bhuti,” she confesses under a
quavering breath. The girl is scratching her
body as if her skin is tormented by ants.

“Please tell Mfundo to bring me the juice.” She

grovels, pulling his arms, desperation visible on
her face. “Just a taste bhuti, and I won’t ask
anymore. I promise I won’t ask again, tell him to
make me that juice.”
Ntaba can’t be entirely sure what is going on,
hence the cold look he regards her with.
“Tell him I’ll behave, please. I won’t drink more
than I should.”
“Zamangwane?” Ah, there it is.
He thinks he gets what she’s talking about, but
there is a need to dig deeper lest he jumps into
conclusions.
“What juice is that? Do you drink alcohol?” His
hands are on her biceps, he’s trying to get her to
look at him. Zamangwane would, if she wasn’t
too fidgety.
“No,” she pushes herself back, away from his
tight grab. “Mfundo says alcohol is bad for me,
so he prepares a special drink.”
The way she says this while biting her nails
makes her look like a sulky child, Ntaba’s anger
knows no bounds. His sister is perishing right
before his eyes, he can’t resist pulling her into
his arms.
“Does this mean you’ll get the juice for me?”
Her face is hidden on his chest, her arms
hanging loosely on her sides.
“No, I’ll get you something from the kitchen.”
“No, it’s not the same.” She pushes him,
panicking. “You don’t understand, his juice is
special. It gives me so much warmth and
makes me feel good. It chases away the voices
in my head, I just need one glass bhuti wami.”
No, not his sister. He’s on the verge of
impatience, as he growls under his breathe.
“Are you on drugs?” Ntaba.
The question almost suffocates him to death,
this is his little sister.
“Are you insane?” Not something you’d ask your
big brother. “I’m not like that, I would never do
drugs and why are you asking me these dump
questions? You’re so mean.” She stalks off,
away from his line of sight. Ntaba watches as
she scurries into her room and bangs the door
behind her.
Where to go? He’s conflicted, does he go after
Zamangwane, or find someone around here.
These people live here with this girl and none of
them have noticed her strange behaviour.

He finds Mathonga and Nandi in the kitchen

engaging in a light conversation, he stands at
the door and frowns.
“When last did you see Zamo?” He interrupts
their conversation, he is not easily angered.
The Ntaba they know would have walked in here
singing one of his old, boring songs of struggle.
Nandi shrugs, she is currently not on speaking
terms with her daughter.
Ntaba walks a little further in, he leans against
the edge of the table where Mathonga is seated.
“I don’t want to talk about that child, she…”
“Zamangwane is on drugs ma,” Ntaba cuts in.
The news has come as a shock to Nandi, this
child is trying to kill her. When did she become
so unruly?
“That’s impossible, Zamangwane wo…”
“Mfundo has been giving her a special juice, she
was desperately asking for it just now. She
looks like a junkie, I have never seen Zamo that
needy. Kanti ma, when last did you see her?”
It’s not like she was spending time admiring
Vumile’s face… Nandi has been wallowing in
sadness, a lot is sitting on her shoulders. She’s
having a hard time carrying the load. Maybe if
someone had offered a hand, just maybe she
would’ve seen how disconsolate her daughter
has become.
“Ma?” He’s raising his eyebrows at his future
stepmother, clearly demanding answers. Nandi
uses the edge of the cooktop for anchor, her
knees are forgetting how to hold her legs
steady.
“I ca… can’t... breathe” It’s only a matter of time,
she is human after all and not Wonder woman.
Mathonga rushes to her side, he helps her to a
chair.
“I’ll get you some water,” he offers.
“Are you okay?” Ntaba asks.
She has to teach herself how to breathe, till her
lungs are normally pumping air.
“I don’t understand what I did wrong,” Nandi
hides her face in her palms, letting the kids see
her vulnerable and defeated. “God is punishing
me for something, Zamangwane is a child. Why
is she being crucified for my sins?”
She leans back on the chair, hands on her head
and teary eyes skyward.
“I knew there was an agenda behind marrying
Zamo, ma that man is old. He has kids and a
wife, he trapped our Zamo and she fell for it. I’m
certain that he has been drugging her without
her knowledge.” Ntaba is crouching before her,
his tall build does him no justice, he is still a tad
bit taller than a sitting Nandi.
“But… could it be that she’s been starving
herself. That’s why she looks…” Nandi.
Ntaba has to disagree, “I know a druggie when I
see one.”

“Then something has to be done, we can’t sit

back while things fall apart.” Mathonga chirps in.
“Something will be done, alright. I’m going to kill
him I swear to God, I will kill that man.” Such
solutions are not a biggie for Ntaba, eliminate
the problem so your enemies don’t plan your
murder.
“I say Mfundo should be summoned, he needs
to come here and tell us what he did to her.”
Mathonga suggests.
Ntaba makes an annoyed face, he goes through
his thoughts for a second then he smirks.
“That bastard is disrespectful, let him come
here. I swear he is not going to leave this place
alive.”
“Bhuti, I understand your anger. You have every
right to be angry, but the time of spilling blood
is over.”
Boring… he refuses to agree with what
Mathonga is saying.
“Says who?” Ntaba questions, killing is a hobby
he enjoys. What will he do with himself if it’s
taken away from him?
“Your ancestors don’t like what you do Ntaba,
as it is you reek of blood. Your hands are
stained with it, it’s all they see on you. ”
Mathonga.
Bloody hell, “That’s nice, it’s so like them to
come after so much damage has been done
and dictate our lives.”
Ntaba inclines his head, a childlike smile
unveiling his face. Mathonga can talk for all the
ancestors, Ntaba’s selfish side won’t let him
care.
He kills because it makes him feel alive, he
feeds off of the fear he sees in his enemies. No
dead person will tell him how to live his life, he’s
not denying their existence, nor is he giving his
life to them.
He is simply god himself, fate bows before him
and the devil follows in his footsteps, not the
other way round.
“No one is going to tell me how live my life, if
they don’t like the smell of blood then they need
to stay clear of me.” Pride wraps around him,
most of the blood in his hands is the blood of
the people who hurt his family, he’s proud of the
work he’s done and nothing will change that.
“Ntabezikude!” Nandi can’t be shocked now,
can she? The man is infamous in Izingolweni,
ask anyone about a certain Ntabezikude and
they will tremble in their boots.
“I’m only relaying a message, no one is trying to
change you bhuti. You don’t belong to yourself,
the Khanyiles have come to claim you, to claim
all of us. It’s only fair we accept them and do as
they say. How will they protect you when they
hate the way you smell? No offence.” Mathonga
argues, his voice is practical, his face
undeniably calm.
“Hao, kanti cha khululeka, none taken.” (Don’t
worry.)
Ntaba runs a line between his brows as his eyes
burn into his little brother’s, tension hovers. It’s
not Mathonga he is challenging, it’s the
stubborn woman who lives in him. The one who
is almost similar to Ntaba, perhaps she will
understand that he is an untameable beast.

Ntaba pops the fridge open, it’s not even a week

since he moved out and they have stopped
stocking Mageu. A banana is what his eye
catches next, it will do. Khethiwe suddenly visits
his busy mind as he peals the fruit, he promised
the lady breakfast.
“I need to go, I have throats to slit.” Did I say his
mind is busy? Poor Khethiwe gets to share a
space with the likes of Mfundo’s dead body.
“Ntabezikude!” Mathonga’s authoritative voice
startles him a little, he’s smart enough to realize
that Nomkhubulwane is close by.
Disposing of the half eaten banana into the
trash can, he cradles Mathonga’s face and
smiles widely.
“Tell them I’m going to need them to cover their
noses, their son is craving for blood and I’m
afraid it’s about to stink in this place.”
He’s an animal, he’d fit in perfectly in the jungle.
Mathonga dodges the kiss that’s headed for his
forehead and shifts to move away from him,
and that has Ntaba frowning. He washes the
frown with a soft chuckle.
“Don’t be offended Thonga lami, the
underground residents can be dramatic.
Qinisela is forever slaughtering in their honour,
none of them complained about the smell of
blood.” He goes to bid Nandi goodbye with a
kiss.
“Nothing will stop me from eliminating my
enemies, even in my grave I will still spill blood.
Please Thonga lami, tell them to kindly stay out
of my way.”
Frustrated and browned-off, Mathonga shakes
his head. It’s hard to believe Ntaba defies the
ancestors in the same tone he might threaten
his enemies with.
“Zamangwane will never forgive you if you kill
that man.” What Nandi should rather be saying
is “bring me his head on a silver platter.”
“She’ll get over it,” again, he gives no fucks.

“Vukuzakhe!” They hear a sharp scream coming

from the lounge, the voice belongs to Bongiwe.
With no words, everyone runs to the living room.
They find Bongiwe seated on the edge of the
couch, balling her eyes out. There’s a second
voice, dominating over many background voice,
they derive from the TV screen.

The headlines read ‘KHANYILE HOLDINGS ON

FIRE!!!

“No, oh God no.” Nandi cries, her hand slowly

pointing at the TV screen. “Yo… your father and
Vukuzakhe had a breakfast meeting with the
board members.”
Nandi presses a hand on her chest as she feels
it curving in, she holds on to the armrest of the
sofa and lowers her body on it.
Bongiwe looks over at them, tears have made
her face a playground.
“The reporter said everyone is trapped inside,
no one has been rescued yet. He’s going to die,
Vukuzakhe is going to die.” Nandi swiftly pulls
her to her chest as the young wife wails for her
husband.
“What the hell?” Ntaba clenches his fist, his
nails digging into the palm of his hand. “How
did this happen? Don’t the elders show you
everything?” He’s talking to a distraught
Mathonga.
With a deep inhale of a breath that’s infested
with uncertainty he answers, “Not everything, or
I would have seen this coming.”
“Dammit!” Ntaba sputters, taking his anger out
on the innocent couch by throwing a punch.
Things are getting out of hand, his family is off
limits. Be it his enemies or ancestors, his family
is off limits.
Upon their departure, Bongiwe insists on going
with them while Nandi is told to stay behind and
keep an eye on Zamangwane.
*
*
A/N: My apologies for the delay… please like,
comment and share.
MATHONGA-
Seventy-five

MATHONGA-

“Mathonga drive faster.”

Bongiwe should have stayed back, or taken her
own car. I don’t mean to, but between her loud
cries and her telling me how to drive, is sending
me to the brink of insanity.
“I’m trying to get us to the hospital, not the
mortuary.” The frustration in my voice is
palpable, our eyes clash in the rear-view mirror.
She rolls her red rimmed eyes and looks away,
sniffling.
“Look, I understand your frustrations. No one
here is calm but you don’t see us biting your
head off.” That came out wrong, I was trying to
pacify her. I hear a tongue click from behind, I
won’t read much into that. She’s not thinking
straight, none of us are.
Well… I don’t know if I should speak for Ntaba,
he’s too quiet for an extrovert.
“Ndoda, are you okay?” I ask.
He nods, not removing his gaze from out the
window.
“They are going to be okay,” I think they are. The
ancestors can’t be so cruel, taking my brother
and father after I have accepted whatever it is
they want me to do.
“I know,” a flat response which births shivers
down my spine. I know this brother of mine,
baba and Vukuzakhe are the last thing on his
mind right now.
Stealing a glance at Bongiwe, I come back to
Ntaba after noting that she is far in thought.
“Whose murder are you planning this time?” I
ask.
That smirk slowly forming on his mouth brings
a sense of mischief.
“I’m not telling you shit, you have more than two
ears.” What’s that supposed to mean?
“Should I be offended?” I’m not really offended,
Ntaba is his own person. We figured this out
when he was a teenage boy, he hates being told
what to do and follows his own rules. God
knows what’s going to happen when the
ancestors start demanding things from him.

People answer questions with shoulder shrugs

lately, that’s alright.

An abrupt hazy feeling of exhaustion hits me,

my eyes flicker into darkness. I force them open,
and terribly fail.
“Bhuti,” I can hardly recognise my voice, nor
make out the word that just left my mouth.
“Mathonga, drive carefully.” Bongiwe scolds, I
don’t pay her any attention. My main goal is
keeping my eyes open, the road ahead has
become darkness clothed with heavy fog.
“Stop the car,” my brother says, I can’t see him
anymore. I can’t see a damn thing but this
heavy mist before me. I feel hands lace over
mine, the person is trying to control the steering
wheel—to stop the car.
“Oh my God, I don’t want to die.” Bongiwe’s
frantic.
What is going on, can’t they see what I’m seeing?
“Thonga stop the car,” I hear Ntaba’s voice
again.
Why am I not able to stop? In the midst of the
fog, a figure of a woman emerges in front of the
car. Time seems to slow down, everything
around me ceases to exist.
She’s looking straight at me, it takes a minute
for me to recognise her.

“MaCele?” I manage to voice out, shocked and

afraid I might run her over. I grind my teeth, a
soundless curse coming through them as I
direct the car away from her. The wild steering
causes tire squealing, a bounce or two that
scares the shit out of me. At this point I’m
thinking death, I can’t imagine myself in a
coffin—buried six feet underground.
“Mathonga!” Bongiwe’s screams bring me out
of what I guess was hallucination. I gain control
of the car and manage to stop it. My first
instinct is to check if everyone is okay.
“Are you insane? You almost killed us.” Bongiwe
doesn’t give me the chance to ask, I guess she
is fine if she can scream like a lunatic.
“I’m sorry, are you guys okay?”
Ntaba looks fine, he’s looking over at me, eyes
searching through my body.
“What was that?” He’s too calm for someone
whose life flashed before his eyes.
“I don’t know, I couldn’t see anything anymore.”
“You fell asleep, Thonga. I tried waking you up
but you wouldn’t.” Okay daddy! If I wasn’t
looking at him, I swear I would mistake him for
baba.
“Why did you sit behind the wheel if you were so
tired?” Bongiwe won’t stop screaming, I have
the urge to yell back. I’m frustrated enough as it
is, dammit—I didn’t choose this life.
“I said I’m sorry okay, quit yelling at me, will
you?” I bite her head off, not a usual trait, she is
my brother’s wife and way older than me. I want
to send an apology, I guess Ntaba sees the
regret on my face because he shakes his head
no. He doesn’t want me to apologize.
“That’s enough sis’Bongi,” Ntaba calmly says,
her reply is a sigh.
“What happened to you?” I’m glad he’s asking, I
wish I knew what happened.
“I saw Amandla’s grandmother.” His eyes bolt,
what is wrong with him?
“Which one?” What does he mean which one?
We only knew one.
“MaCele.”
“The dea…” he gulps and I’m confused. “The
dead woman?” He finishes his question, wide
eyes searching around.
“Yes!”
Ntaba is acting weird, I can...

“Drive.” I’m startled by his abrupt instruction, he

faces forward, unblinking.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Thonga lami drive, get us out of here.” He
snaps at me, is he terrified of ghosts?
“What are we waiting for? Get us to the hospital
now.” Bongiwe.
None of these idiots offer to drive to the
hospital, “If I fall asleep again and we wake up
in heaven, I don’t want to hear stories from any
of you.”
They don’t say a word, I’m in this alone, so it
seems. My brother is probably afraid he will see
the ghost if he takes over, I don’t know what
Bongiwe’s excuse is.
.
.
.
“Are we there yet?” Impatient people should be
kept away from society, Bongiwe is too much.
“We’re there sisi,” I quip, looking up at the
banner Netcare Margate private hospital.
She’s the first to exit the car, leaving us behind.
Ntaba has not uttered a word since I told him
about Amandla’s grandmother. He’s like a
frozen flake dunked in an ice cream cone, I
need a word with God for giving me such a
brother. I’m not happy about this.
“Ndoda let’s go,” shaking his shoulder actually
helps. He sucks in a breath that shocks the
living elders in me.
“Were you holding your breath this entire time?”
I probe. “Are you afraid of ghosts?”
Finally, I get his attention. An offended frown
sits on his face, yeah it better make a home
there because I’m not done with him. He’s still
going to hear from me.
“I am never travelling anywhere with you
again…w and your crazy ancestors.” Is that a
mic drop? I think it is, with how he jumps out of
the car and slams the door after him.
I need a good laugh and this is it, the timing is
just bad.

Bongiwe has gone ahead and found the room

Zakhe is in, apparently baba is next to it. I’m
surprised to see Ndleleni in the corridor, I
thought he was in Joburg.
“Bhuti!” He accepts my handshake, and right
after, Ntaba attacks him with a hug.
“And then?” Ndleleni doesn’t return it, and Ntaba
is not fazed. He kisses him on the cheek, and
fishes the PDA with a pat on the shoulder.
“What’s with you? I’m not the one who almost
burnt in the building.” Ndleleni is a little
traumatised by the affection, I don’t blame him.
I was the only one subjected to Ntaba’s hugs
and kisses… I’m not complaining, sharing is
caring.
“Don’t mind him bhuti, I saw a ghost, told him
about it and he hasn’t been the same since.”
The laugh I’ve been wanting overtakes me by
surprise, Ndleleni is not getting the joke.
“Shut up wena, before you become a ghost
yourself.” Ntaba grunts, smacking the back of
my head. It hurts I won’t lie but I’ll live.
“How are they?” Ntaba adds.
“They will be fine, ubaba got away with no
injuries. It’s Zakhe who was a little bruised,
apparently he was playing hero, trying to get
everyone out of the building.” Is that
disappointment I sense in the tone of Ndleleni’s
voice?
“Uyisyoyo uZakhe, why didn’t he grab his father
and run?” (Zakhe is an idiot.)
The same disappointment I heard in Ndleleni’s
voice is found in Ntaba’s voice.
“Bhuti’ Zakhe did nothing wrong, how is he
stupid for helping out?” I need them to balance
me, find me or something.
“He risked his life, that’s stupidity.”
Did they just say this at the same time?
The shocked look I give them should make
them feel ashamed—oh!!! A waste of sight, they
are far from being ashamed. I do not associate
myself with these men, I don’t know them or
who their father is.
“You shameless fools, I can’t believe you have
no regard for people’s lives.” I call them out on
their behaviour, Ndleleni is frowning— shame...
my brother is caught in confusion. He doesn’t
understand why I have become hostile towards
them. Ntaba is not even here, his entire focus
has shifted to the phone in his hand.
The bastard is planning something, I just know
it.

“Where is Hlabela? When did you arrive?” I

thought they’d come back together.
“He’s gone.” Ndleleni says and that quickly
catches Ntaba’s attention, mine as well.
“What do you mean gone?” Ntaba.
“Hlabela got married last night after we rescued
his girlfriend from her brothers-in-law and
uncles, those bastards were hard to kill. They
gave a good fight, before we slit their throats.”
His chuckle is cold, lacks amusement.
“I’m deeply hurt Ndleleni,” Ntaba says, and what
do you know? He looks hurt, I don’t know why or
what he means by that.
“You went on a killing orgy and didn’t call me, I
thought we were brothers.” Oh okay!
Ntabezikude has a mental disorder, this has to
be the only explanation. And Ndleleni… how can
he talk about killing people so lightly?
“Where is Hlabela?” I blindside my psychopathic
brother who is now sulking like a child because
he didn’t get to kill people.
“They boarded a flight to Botswana, they’ll be
travelling around Africa. I don’t know when
they’ll be back.”
“What are you saying?” I ask.
“It’s a long story, I need to call a family meeting
ASAP. There is something important I need to
tell you all.”
Whatever it is must be big, is he going to
confess that he killed men? I don’t see him
doing that, not with how remorseless he looks.

“We should go in and see them,” I suggest, I’m

eager to see if baba and Zakhe are okay.
“You two go in, I’ve seen them. The doctor will
discharge them today.” Ndleleni explains as he
moves to lean against the wall, it’s the
nonchalant expression that worries me while
I’m still on panic mode.
“Was anyone else hurt?” I’m the only one who
cares enough to ask, Ntaba is lost in his own
world.
“Not really,” he shrugs his shoulders ranking
this a trivial matter. “Only three people died, a
cleaner and two men.”
A cleaner and two men? He might as well be
saying a dog and two cats, what am I doing
brothering with these fools.
“That’s really sad, we have to visit their families
and pay for the funerals.” I offer, it is the right
thing to do.
Ndleleni shrugs, his demeanour tells me he
doesn’t care.
“Well, I guess.” He guesses? Oh wow. My
brother is a guesser. “You do that, you’re a good
boy anyway.” He taps my shoulder and I’m
tempted to bite his hand. Soulless bastard.
“Bhuti’Ntaba, you’ll come with me, right?” I
might be wasting my time.
“No, I’m busy.” Soulless bastard number two,
the devil must come and fetch his children.
“You two will burn in hell, I’m going to see my
brother.” I tell them and begin my walk.
My feet are alive until my eyes catch a glimpse
of Funokuhle heading toward us, he’s with a
short woman.
“Oh shit!” This is bad, Bongiwe is here.
“What’s going on?” Ndleleni asks, I believe he’s
looking at the same thing. I doubt they have
met.
“Koti,” Zakhe welcomes him with a hug and a
kiss.
“What is he doing here?” Ndleleni growls, eyeing
Funokuhle coldly. I’m guessing he’s seen the
trending pictures.
“Not now, ndoda please.” I have to put him to
order, he hated that I got involved with Nala and
by the looks of it he doesn’t like Funokuhle.
“I don’t understand how…” Ndleleni…
Okay, who am I thanking for shutting my brother
up? He’s looking at the woman with Funokuhle,
the idiot is captured by whatever he is seeing.
Is it safe to tell him to close his mouth? I think I
should let him act a fool for a while, serves him
right for being a dummy.
“How is he?” Funo asks for my attention. If I’m
not mistaken, he is blushing. It’s Ntaba’s fault,
that hug and kiss he gave him. My brother
needs help.
“He’s fine, but you can’t go in there yet…” I say
only to be cut short by Ntaba.
“And why not? You can go in Koti.” What is he
trying to do?
“Ntaba, sis’Bongiwe is in there.” I’m not good at
whispering, Funokuhle heard every word.
“So?” Ntaba.
I hear they are in need of tall men in Malawi, I’m
selling him.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking straight when I
came here. I saw the news and my first thought
was…” Funokuhle.

“Don’t worry about it,” I butt in. “You don’t have

to explain yourself, thank you for coming.”

He nods, and shies away from my stare. The

woman with him looks uneasy, I’m faulting
Ndleleni for this. He’s been staring like a serial
killer that has spotted his next victim.
“This is Banami, she was with me when I heard
the news.” Funokuhle introduces and guess
who pushes me aside to greet the lady?
“I’m Ndleleni, nice to shake you…” Yeah, these
are the consequences of being forward. The
poor lady is traumatised, no I’m serious—she
will need therapy after this.
“I mean… nice to have you…” He repeats his
mistake, blinking like he’s losing his vision.
There should be an option for dying, either be
killed or the heavens should open up and
rapture us. My brother needs to be raptured
right at this minute.
“It’s nice to meet you sisi wami,” Ntaba to the
rescue, of course he’ll rescue his partner in fool.
She forces a smile, it’s not fake though.
“I’m Banami Fakude, it’s finally nice to meet the
rest of the Khanyile brothers. I’ve heard a lot
about you from Vukuzakhe,” she says, kindly
taking her hand back from Ndleleni’s grip.
“Zakhe speaks about us?” Ntaba asks, I’m
shocked myself. Banami laughs, heartily. I have
to look at Ndleleni to see if he’s fallen for this
young woman and… yeah, he’s gone. I don’t
think he ever wants to come back.
“Not really,” she says.
Go figure.
“So…” Ndleleni starts, what a way to put himself
on a spotlight. “Are you married?”
Ah Ndleleni! Dig deeper my brother, that grave
should bury every inch of your shameless body.
“What?” She’s gobsmacked, her eyes flatter to
Funokuhle—confusion lurking closely.
“You know… do you… have a man who comes
home to you, or warms your bed?” Ndleleni.
“Do you need a bigger shovel, since you’re
about to bury yourself?” I steal a moment to
whisper into his ear, he flatly ignores me. So
much for trying to help.
“No, I don’t.” She’s reluctant, probably not sure
why she is being asked such a question.
Ndleleni goes for a smile which I highly do not
recommend, it’s not him. It can never be him.
“Me too…” Ndleleni says…
Is he sweating?
“You too what?” She entertains him, I don’t
recommend that as well.
“I don’t have a man who comes home to me…” I
hear a laugh coming from Ntaba, why is he not
rescuing his brother? The lady finds him funny
too.
“I mean, I’m not married. I’m single…” he clears
the blockage in his throat, his voice is trying to
warn him to stop talking. “I’ve been single for
six months.”
Mmh! Starting a relationship on lies, not a good
idea.
“Abort mission.” I whisper again, he’s ruining his
life.
“Twenty-nine years.” Ntaba coughs, as if it
should be a secret that Ndleleni has never been
in a relationship. “What my brother is saying is
that, he thinks you’re beautiful and he will like to
take you out some day, before you officially
become Mrs. Khanyile.”
Only Ntaba… only Ntaba. Banami is one
audacious woman, I thought I’d see a black
woman blushing but not this black woman.
“I’m not looking for a husband.” Ouch, I felt that.
She turns to Funokuhle and tells him she needs
to be somewhere.
“I’ll go with you,” Funokuhle says. He looks like
a wounded animal, I feel sorry for him. He must
be desperate to see Vukuzakhe.
His farewell is acknowledged by Ntaba and me,
Ndleleni is engrossed on Banami.
She bids us goodbye and turns to leave, Ntaba
wraps an arm around Ndleleni’s shoulders. He’s
clearly bruised, his eyes are following the lady.
He’s about to say something stupid, it’s evident
with how he’s blinking and gulping.
“Can I ride you there?” He shouts after her,
Ntaba face palms himself and I hear Funokuhle
crack a chuckle.
I wish Banami didn’t hear Ndleleni, but her
stopping means she did. She turns back around,
thank the gods there’s a smile on her face.
Ndleleni gulps, he’s suddenly at a loss for words.
“I mean… Can I drop you where… wherever
you’re going?” Ndleleni.
Run Banami, run and never look back. She
shakes her head and continues stalking away.
The second she is out of sight, I collapse in
laughter.
“Ndoda, are you a virgin?” I’m curious, his gaze
is steady, sullen.
He clicks his tongue, “Your father is a virgin.” He
spits, pushing Ntaba off him.
“You’re sweating ndoda, let’s go get you some
ice cream before you faint and maybe we can
do something about that virginity.” Ntaba says,
throwing his arm back around Ndleleni’s
shoulder.
“Ungazong’bhedela wena!” (Don’t talk
nonsense.)
The anger in his voice seeks attention, he glares
at us before walking away.
.
.
Please don’t forget to like, comment and
share…
MATHONGA-
Seventy-six

MATHONGA-

Baba and Zakhe are home, you can barely tell

they almost joined the underground family
today. I’m glad they both have people to take
care of them, I thought Bongiwe would fuss
over my brother, but no… she’s as chilled as a
cucumber.
I don’t blame her, he has put her through a lot.
Nevertheless, it’s not my job to criticise him or
the decisions he takes. It’s his life.

Ndleleni has gone from stone cold to timid, he’s

not the Ndleleni I know. I can’t imagine what it
could be that has him walking on egg shells.
Ntaba had to leave us at the hospital, he didn’t
mention his destination.
I need to talk to him, get him to move back
home. It doesn’t feel right when he is not
around, same as Hlabela. I miss him so much, it
freaks me out. We have never been apart, all of
us have never lived separately.
I’m on my way to the throne room when I
receive a text message from Nala’s therapist, Dr
Jarman. She says Nala missed two sessions
this week, I forgot to do a follow-up with her. I
haven’t spoken to her in a while. I’ve been so
caught up with family matters that I couldn’t
find time to attend to her.

“Sthandwa sami,” I say in greeting, hoping the

guilt in me won’t expose me. Her soft giggles
put me at ease.
“I saw the news, is everyone okay? Do you want
me to come down there?” She says very subtly.
“They are fine, you don’t have to come. How is
Thobani?”
“He’s improving, he’s even talking.”
“That’s nice,” good news is always nice to hear.
“So I just got a text from your psychologist, he
said you missed two sessions this week.
What’s going on Nala?”
Silence welcomes and worries me. She recently
started therapy, missing sessions would pull
her back into that dark place.
“Are you still there?”
“I am,” she says, a little less hesitant. I get the
feeling that she doesn’t want to talk about it.
“It’s the only way you can heal.”
“Who said I need healing?” Ridiculous,
everybody needs healing from something.
“I’m not going to answer that, you are not a
child Nala. What you went through…”
“What I went through has nothing to do with
anyone, it’s my business. Why must I sit on a
sofa and tell a stranger that I’ve been having
sex with an older man against my will since I
was a little girl.”
She’s burning bridges, scraping wounds that
have mucus.

When Nala told me that Petros had been

sexually abusing her, not once did she use the
word rape. She’s not comfortable using that
word, instead has used the language such as, “I
had sex with him and I didn’t want to… he
touched me without my permission I guess.”

“Sthandwa sami, I know you want to forget it

happened, but it will keep screaming louder
until you acknowledge it. Keeping it bottled up
will breed anger, and that anger will eventually
eat you up inside. The last thing you want is to
take it out on the people you love, on Thobani.”
“It’s not fair Mathonga, it’s not fair that I have to
relive those years. I don’t want to talk about
about him.”
“You’re right it’s not fair, but you can’t run away
from your problems. They will always find you.
You’re still young Nala, you have your whole life
ahead of you. Harbouring it will only hinder you,
if not for yourself then do it for Thobani. You’re
the only mother he has, how will you love him
right when you’re carrying so much on your
shoulders? But doing it for yourself should be
your biggest motivation, you deserve a better
life.”
She sighs and holds the silence, Nala has an
eerie knack for keeping things in.
“Nala, I’m trying.” I introduce, not sure what my
brain will spew to my mouth. “I might have been
brought up with a silver spoon, spoiled by my
father and brother. But I never had the love of a
mother. My mother ran from me the day I was
conceived, she made a decision then that she
will not be in my life. I had to address her by
name, as per her request while my brothers had
the privilege to call her mom.”
Despite everything, I smiled and pushed with
each day. It was impossible to drown into
depression when my brothers were around, I
couldn’t have asked for better siblings.
“Why are you telling me all this?” She asks.
“Maybe this is my chance to share this with you,
there is so much you don’t know about me. So
much we still need to learn about each other,
the road is long Nala and we have to walk it
together. Or we will lose each other along the
way, I wouldn’t want that to happen.”
Who said life’s easy? Of course I want us to be
in a better place, we both have so much going
on in our lives that we don’t have space to
accommodate a relationship. Perhaps when
everything is said and done, we will start to
enjoy each other.
“I’m sorry Thonga, I’ll call the psychiatrist and
reschedule.” she says.
A branch of hope coils inside of me at her
words.
I snap my eyes toward the gate to see a police
car driving in. Curiosity seeks my attention, and
I instantly lose focus.
“Mathonga.” Nala calls, forcing my ears open
with how she snaps over the phone.
“I’m sorry.”
I apologise before she tells me about a woman
who claims to be her sister, I’ve met Zithobile
once with her husband Kenneth. She has a wild
personality and is unapologetic about it.
“We did a DNA test today, we’re waiting for
results.” Nala continues, she sounds happy
about having a sister.
The police vehicle stops right in front of me, a
menacing lanky, officer steps out. With him are
two policemen in uniform.
“Nkosana.” (Prince.)
With a grin he sends his greetings, I have to cut
Nala short and bid her goodbye after promising
to call her later. There’s a strange man smiling
at me like I promised him the country’s billions.

“How can I help you?” I ask.

Just as he is about to say something, my father
materialises from the main house with Dalisile
by his side. She looks miserable, lost and
powerless.
No one wants to see their mother in such a
state, evil or not, she is still my mother. Had she
given me a chance, I would’ve been the best
son she could’ve ever asked for. I try for that
thing people call eye contact, she’s not focused.
Her gaze is on the men of the law, her
questions are probably the same as mine.
“Gentlemen, thank you for coming.”
I’m confused by baba’s words, why would he
call the police?
“Here’s the woman you’re looking for.” Baba
hands his wife over to the two uniformed men,
cold dread splashes over me like iced water.
Vumile should’ve lived during the times of Hitler,
he would have fit perfectly. When did he get the
time to come to such a decision?
“Baba, what’s going on?” The old man blatantly
ignores me, I’ve suddenly become air, invisible
but useful. I want to intervene when one of the
policeman begins to handcuff my mother.
“Ndlunkulu, you are under arrest for the murder
of Sakhile Khanyile and Vimbela Khanyile.
Anything you say…”
The superior is reading her, her rights, things
are happening too fast. Vukuzakhe and Ndleleni
emerge from around the house, in time for
Dalisile to shout… “They are lying Vumile, those
kids lied.”
She’s resisting arrest, I’m as startled as her?
What on earth is going on?
“You will never find peace Vumile Khanyile, do
you hear me?” These are her last words before
she’s forced into the van, if this was the
Apartheid era, my father would be swimming in
his own blood for shaking hands with a
policeman.

“What happened?” I need to know, these two

brothers don’t look as lost as I am. I’m going to
lose my mind if they don’t find me.
“Your mother is evil, Mathonga.” He sounds like
a bitter father who hasn’t been receiving pap
geld from his rich ex. (Child maintenance.)
“Okay, is anyone going to tell me anything or
will you let me walk around in circles?” Ndleleni
looks at me like I’m going crazy.
“Your mother manipulated Ndleleni and Hlabela,
she used them for her evil deeds.” Ehh! This
father is still not making sense, I’m getting tired
of talking. He gestures with his head that we go
into the throne room, and leads the way. He
takes his place and by that stern look on his
face, he wants us to sit as well.
Ndleleni clears his throat, silently seeking my
attention.
“Hlabela and I started the fire that night,” for the
first time in my life I see him drop his head in
shame. “I was young and desperate for her
attention, I needed a mother. I would’ve done
anything to get her to see me. It wasn’t hard for
me to do what I did, I hated my brothers. I hated
Sakhile even more, he came and took my
mother from me.” His voice cracks, he’s looking
at baba now. It’s easy to see that he’s fighting
back tears.
“Mother fetched us from our rooms and
dropped us outside Sakhile and Vimbela’s room.
She gave us a box of matches and a bottle of
what I know now was paraffin, because Hlabela
was older, he had to light the match stick. My
job was to spill the liquid on to a curtain. She
said it was a game… that no one was going to
get hurt and that she will put the fire out. She
told us to wait for her, that she would come for
us, but she never came. We were kids and didn’t
know better.”
Oh my God, I don’t know why I’m surprised.
Dalisile is the devil’s right hand-man.
“You were the target Ngwane,” my father
glances over at me. It’s not really news that my
mother has been trying to kill me. “She thought
you were in the room, had she checked, she
would have stopped everything.”
That doesn’t make me feel better, does it?
“I killed my brothers,” Ndleleni turns to
Vukuzakhe. I hadn’t noticed him with how quiet
he’s been. My brother looks disconsolate, for
years he blamed himself for their deaths. He
went as far as cancelling his birthday.

“Bhuti,” Ndleleni stands only to kneel before

Vukuzakhe, the big brother doesn’t move his
gaze from the top of the table.

“You must hate me right now, I hate myself too.

I didn’t know better bhuti, I was an angry child in
need of a mother’s love. Ubaba was distant too,
no matter how hard I tried to get them to notice
me, they wouldn’t.” Ndleleni.
Vukuzakhe is not saying anything, why is he
quiet? Ndleleni is apologetic, he has accepted
his mistakes.
“Bhuti Zakhe.” I’m about to call him again when
he lifts his eyes to me, they are moister than I
thought possible. “You’re not at fault bhuti,
none of you are. Vimbela and Sakhile will
understand, they loved you both.”
Without a word his shoulders drops, he breaks
the eye-contact, the confidence he usually
wears deflates. Without a word he wipes away
tears that have the audacity to trespass on his
face. Without a word he hides his tear drenched
face in his hands.
His confidence has shrunk.
Ndleleni is closer, his arms go around
Vukuzakhe, holding him firmly. Zakhe’s body
begins to shake, he’s crying.
“I’m sorry bhuti, I would turn back time if I
could.” Ndleleni says gripping one hand around
Vukuzakhe’s head.
A minute later, they break the embrace.
“I will never forgive myself, for what happened.”
Ndleleni tears up, burying his face in his hands.
I can’t watch my brothers like this, I can’t bear it.
Baba stands and places hands of comfort on
both their shoulders.
I can almost feel the heaviness in their hearts. I
knew Zakhe was hiding so much pain behind
his overriding personality, I didn’t think Ndleleni
was in the same boat.

ZAMANGWANE-

She hasn’t slept in days, so the start of her days

have no clear beginning. She’s pacing up and
down in her room with her arm held above her
head, before collapsing onto the floor. She’s on
her hands and knees with her face two inches
from the floor, she clutches her arms on her
stomach and tries to take a deep breath. It’s
midday, windows are closed, the heat in the
room feels uncomfortably hot on her aching
body.
“Zamangwane!” The call comes from outside
the door, it’s her mother. She’s not in the mood
to see her, she thinks of getting up and locking
the door but can’t move. She is too weak to
respond beyond mumbling for her not to come
in, the door opens anyway and Nandi invites
herself in.
“Oh, Nkosi yami, my child.” A panicking Nandi
cries after seeing her daughter curled up on the
floor. “What’s wrong Zamo?”
Nandi helps her up, her eyes water when she
notices her trembling.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” She knows what’s wrong,
Ntaba told her. However, it’s hard to believe that
her little girl could be on drugs.
“I’m going mama, you can’t stop me from
leaving.” That’s so random of Zamo, she’s in
tears, teeth shattering.
“What are you talking about?” These questions
though.
Nandi is not as gullible as she makes herself
seem, she just needs time to adjust to this…
crazy life.
“I want my husband, I’m going to him.” Zamo
grunts, tightly hugging her stomach. She
hunches over and winces as pain discharges
through her entire body.
“Zamo, you’re not okay. Sit down here and I’ll
get someone to take us to the hospital.” Nandi
ushers her to the edge of the bed and helps her
sit, it’s not what Zamo needs though.
She has a craving, the child wants juice made
by her husband. Plus, she is a married young
lady, shouldn’t she let her go wherever she
wants? As Nandi turns to leave, Zamangwane
grabs a lamp on the bedside table and with
great force smashes the object on her mother’s
head. Nandi falls face down, and immediately
goes into unconsciousness.
Zamangwane would care, shed a tear for her
mother. But right now, getting that juice is the
most important thing. Giving her mother a final
impassive look, the young lady runs out into the
sun.

Till this day, she is still wondering why she was

born. She didn’t sign up for this, for an absent
father or a mother who chose to be a man’s
mistress her whole life, depriving her the
chance to have a complete family. All she’s ever
wanted was a father not a weekend-special dad
who kept her existence a secret as if she were
some kind of plague or an abomination.
Vumile was there when she was born, the future
looked promising for little Zamo at least for the
first five years of her life.
Vumile would make it to every birthday and she
was content with it, until she grew up and
started noticing his nonattendance.

“Your father is a business man, he travels a lot.”

Nandi would lie to cover up for Vumile.

Zamangwane saw nothing but a load of bullshit,

the more he stayed away, the deeper her hatred
for him became. Growing up meant finding out
the truth, her father was part of the church
board, a respected chief that everyone looked
up to, plus he had sons whom he didn’t hide
from the world. Loving Vumile would take a
miracle. She thought things would change after
moving into the palace, that Vumile would try
and fix what he broke. Boy was she in for a big
surprise.
.
.
She arrives at the Sangwenis in less than five
minutes, she drives her father’s car into the
dusty premises and parks under a tree. The
yard is empty, it’s always empty whenever she
comes here.
Mfundo ambles out of one of the houses, he
must have heard the car. A frown jumps on his
face when he sees her exiting the vehicle, he
marches toward her and bangs her back
against the car. Zamangwane yelps in pain.
“What are you doing here?” He hisses,
tightening his grip on a squirming
Zamangwane’s arm.
“I miss you, I had to come.” She misses the
juice and she’s here for it, not him.
“Does anyone else know that you’re here?” He
knows he’s dead meat if her brothers knew.
“No,” she manages a whisper.
He grabs her jaw and presses his fingers into it,
“Are you sure?”
“I swear no one knows that I’m here.”
“Good girl,” he pats her cheek like a good puppy.
“Now go back home, I will come with my uncles
to fetch you.” Zamangwane doesn’t want to go
back home, after working hard to escape, he
can’t be sending her back.
“But they’ll lock me up again after what I did.”
Her face sinks to the ground, Mfundo grabs her
chin to bring her face up. It hurts, but she
doesn’t complain. She’s used to his rough sides,
him manhandling her and controlling her like a
puppet.

“I do it because I love you.” He would say.

“What did you do?” He goes back to her last half
-confession, her tears find an opportunity to see
the light of day.
“I hit my mother on the head with a lamp, I think
she’s dead.” Only now she’s remorseful, Mfundo
cracks a smile and wraps his arms around her.
“My little tigress, I’m proud of you for standing
up for yourself. This is why I love you.” It’s
words like these that always bring her back to
him, Zamangwane finds her own smile, it’s full
of uncertainty.
“I’m a good girl for you, right?” She needs
validation and the nod from Mfundo confirms it,
she’s content. “Will I get the juice as a reward?”
“No,” he shakes his head and creates distance
between them. “I can’t give you the juice,
remember your punishment? You betrayed me
Zamo, I loved you and you broke my heart.”
The need for the next fix has her insanely
distracted that it takes her a minute too long to
catch what he’s talking about. Feeling alone and
needy, she wraps her arms around her middle.
“But we spoke about this and you forgave me.”
Zamo.
“I can’t stop thinking about it Zamo, it angers
me so much.”
“Mfundo, I tried to fight them off but I was too
weak. The juice made me weak that day… and…
y… you,” she wars with her words.
“What did I do?” He becomes defensive, jaw
ticking with anger.
“You gave me more than two glasses, I wasn’t
myself.” Right! That sounds like an accusation.
“What are you trying to say, huh? Are you
blaming me for sleeping with my brothers?” He
snatches her bicep that it causes her to scream
briefly.
“But you were there Mfundo, you said it was
okay. I didn’t want to do it, you saw how hard I
tried to fight them. And… that made you angry. I
wanted you to stop them, they were hurting me.
I wanted to die, do you know how hard it is for
me to pretend to be okay in front of my family?
I’m doing it for you, you made me promise not
to say anything and I didn’t. But not a day
passes without me wanting to die.”

She has said too much, it takes a light push

from Mfundo for her to fall on the hard ground.
She’s shocked by his sudden viciousness,
Mfundo might be verbally abusive. He might
rough her up once in a while and that’s just it...
yet here she is, unable to stay away from him.
“Well, maybe you should die.” He spits coldly,
breaking Zamangwane into a million pieces.
“People will find out that you slept with three
men, they will talk Zamo.”
She shakes her head, eyes wild and flowing with
tears.
“You said you won’t say anything, you married
me to protect me. That’s what you said
Mfundo.”
That was his promise, he sat there, watching
his brothers take turns with the girl he claimed
to love. A sane Zamangwane would have never
agreed and Mfundo knew that. For his plan to
work, he had to make her high—rob her of
strength and rationality.
“I did,” he crouches in front of her and cradles
her cheek with his hand. “I would never hurt you
Zamo, I love you.”
It’s easy for him to say these words when they
mean nothing.
“I can’t vouch for my brothers, they can be
ruthless. If they start going around talking about
sleeping with you, then it will be over for you.
Baby you made matters worse by getting
yourself pregnant.”
“I didn’t get myself pregnant Mfun…” she
defends herself but Mfundo cuts in.
“You are a woman Zamangwane, you control
what goes in and out of your womb. That baby
is all on you, and will people mock you. You had
sex with three men, what kind of a woman falls
pregnant for three men? That’s an abomination,
they will call you a prostitute, a characterless
woman.” But she’s a little girl who is oblivious
to the ways of life, he’s got her under his heel,
she’s his footstool. Thanks to the juice, it was
easy to manipulate the child.
“And the baby… it will never be accepted by
society. You will both be outcasts,” a sigh of
pretentious worry kisses her face as he leans
closer to kiss her lips. “My brothers are men, no
one will point a finger at them. Only you will be
made the bad guy.”
She’s terrified, how can she not be when he’s
painting these terrible pictures for her. She sits
on her knees, curls her hands around his arm.
The shedding of tears is accompanied by loud
sobbing.
“They raped me Mfu…” he cuts her off by
sealing her mouth with his big hand.
“Don’t ever repeat those words, no one will ever
believe you. But I can help you, there is a way
out.” Mfundo.
“You can?”
He nods, crowning her temple with soft kisses.
“You can kill yourself, it’s the only way out.” He
says.
Zamangwane wails, and hides her face on his
chest.
“I’m scared Mfundo, I don’t want to die.” She
feels ridiculous but she needs him, his help.
One part of her wants to get rid of him, never lay
eyes on him. But another part needs him, in a
way that almost terrifies her. She’s aware of
what she’s doing to her family, how their
marriage has hurt her mother.
“It’s the only way out dali. I don’t want you to
suffer, we can even do it together. We’ll drink
some of that special juice, it will give us
courage. We’ll be together in the next life, I
promise.”
He’s stroking her back, drawing small circles.
Zamangwane leans into him as she cries her
life away.
*
*
A/N: 250+ comments unlocks tonight’s chapter,
9pm sharp.
MATHONGA-
Seventy-seven

SABUSISWA-

Anger and bitterness can be weapons of

destruction, she is living proof. Housing these
two emotional feelings from the day her
boyfriend denied her pregnancy. He was a
wealthy man and had the money to support the
baby, but he became part of the statistics of
fathers who went to buy milk and never came
back.
It wasn’t supposed to get this far, her daughter
was the reason she sought for riches in the first
place. She wanted to give her a good life, a life
better than hers.
Things got out of hand when she joined a
church introduced by a friend, it was in the dark
corridors of Hillbrow.
Sabusiswa was out looking for a miracle,
deliverance from poverty and stagnation. Who
wants to be a maid their entire life, anyway?
Armies of God Ministries seemed to be the right
place for her, Qhaga was a promising man of
God, a man with a vision. That’s what he came
across.
Sabusiswa thought her chance to a better life
had finally arrived when her one-on-one with the
pastor was approved. She was in deep, so when
she was told to make a sacrifice in order for her
life to change, she saw nothing wrong with it.
R5000 was no big sacrifice compared to what
the man of God was about to do in her life.
The following month, the amount had doubled.
There was no way she could gather R10 000,
when Qhaga mentioned a blood sacrifice, her
heart flew to the clouds. At first they wanted a
sacrifice of a chicken, then a goat, things
started getting weird when their thirst for blood
grew. Animal blood was not enough anymore,
she had to give away one of her family
members. Having only her daughter and mother,
she knew MaCele was the better target, seeing
that she was a living ancestor.
The hat was a special gift from the pastor, it put
MaCele to sleep making her appear dead. Her
body was given to the church, she too has no
clue what they did with it. Sabusiswa's job was
to make her daughter believe that she had
cremated the body.

A week had not passed and Qhaga was

demanding that she gives him her daughter, he
wanted her with him. No reasons were given to
Sabusiswa only promises of money in the bank,
he asked for one of Amandla’s underwear and
with no questions asked, Sabusiswa delivered.
When Amandla started complaining about
sleepless nights and seeing her grandmother
coming to her at night, Sabusiswa knew it had
to be Qhaga using her mother’s body as a
disguise to do despicable things to Amandla.
There was no other explanation.
Now Amandla is gone, Sabusiswa’s bank is
overflowing but her hearts is empty. She’s in her
fancy house, bathing her lungs in alcohol all day
long just to forget her loss.
There was no white husband to begin with,
behind that flashy lifestyle, the long nails and
long weaves is a woman consumed by greed
for money. She’s blinded by it.

The devil is always prowling the earth, looking

for whom he may devour and Sabusiswa has
fallen prey to him.
AMANDLA-

Qhaga is he’s somewhere in the house—I’ve

heard him conversing with the butler.
The butler brings me food whenever he feels
I’m hungry, I have tried to strike a conversation,
hoping he might slip and tell me something I
can use as a weapon to escape this place. But
he’d ignore me and leave the room.
Early this morning a make-up kit and attire were
delivered by the butler, he didn’t say what they
were for. But hey, I can make use of the eye
pencil. It can’t only be useful for drawing fake
eyebrows.
The door is always locked, I’m stuck in a place I
don’t know with no way to communicate with
the outside world.
The sound of voices outside the door brings me
to my feet, if my plan works, I will forever praise
God.
I’m facing the door as it pops open, he’s here, I
can’t comment on the look on his face—there is
nothing there. But he gives me the creeps, I can
sense the evil lurking around him. My body is
slouched, shoulders hunched and eyes droopy.
I’m pretty sure I don’t look as strong as a poor
man in bed with a rich woman.
“Have you come to a decision?” He frowns,
stepping closer. There’s a drive to stumble back,
I don’t know what he’s capable of, anything can
happen.
The pencil is on my waist, with the help of my
underwear. I just need to make sure I play him
good.
“A decision?” My voice is diluted, a dash of Oros
on Christmas day.
“Yes, are you going to obey or continue fighting
me?” I wish him nothing but death.
My lips quaver, following my command. I shut
my airwaves, so I choke on a breath. This has
me heaving and teary, he can see something is
wrong. What’s left is for him to ask.
“Do I have a choice?” I shrug. “It’s not like I’ll be
getting out of here.”
I sound like a drunk person, it brings a frown to
his face. It still lacks worry though.
The fool welcomes a smirk, “Sabusiswa did say
you are a wise woman.”
Damn you and Sabusiswa to hell.
“I have a meeting with one of my associates,
you will be joining us.” A meeting? Is he talking
about his cult members?
“What is the meeting about?” I try not to sound
terrified, I know how these things work.
“That’s not for you to know, your job is to look
pretty and make my associates happy. Clothing
has been provided…”
It's time to put my plan into action. My body
begins to shake, dropping me on the floor. I’m
convulsing, but I don’t know if I’m doing it right.
It has to be believable. When the man doesn’t
move, I level it up and make gagging sounds. To
make it more believable, I bring saliva to play.
“What the hell?” I hear him, he’s coming closer
to inspect. This is where I want you, you son of
a bitch.
He kneels, and places a hand on my chest. The
bastard does not bother to ask anything, nor is
he concerned.
“Dammit, Sabusiswa gave me a weak one.” He
mutters, disappointedly. I’m thinking he’s going
to walk out, leave me here to “die.” So I let out a
shrill scream and continue with the screaming
before feigning a blackout. The man clicks his
tongue, I can feel his breath on my face. He’s
probably checking if I’m still breathing, this is
my chance.
Cunningly, I reach for the pencil. Flick my eyes
open and use every strength in me to plunge it
deep into the side of his neck. Blood spews and
paints my face, I want to vomit from the smell.
He gasps as he stumbles backward, and
presses a hand on the wounded area. His eyes
are bulging in disbelief, while he tries to pull out
the pencil. I stand to my feet praying that he
takes his last breath. My hands are trembling
from fear and the blood on my hands.
“Bi… bitch…” God, let this be his last word.
“Go to hell.” I mutter, interposing on his
compliant. He drops to his knees, making
spluttering sounds. The second he falls lifeless
with a thud, I take off running out of the room.
God guide me out of here, so I don’t bump into
the butler.
KHETHIWE-

If my father could see me now, he would wish

he froze his sperms before I was conceived. I’m
standing outside the manager’s door, ready to
make a fool of myself.
After two knocks the door opens, a white
woman appears. She flashes that smile that
white people think owe us for what they put us
through during Apartheid. It’s always hard to
return that smile, you can’t even fake it to save
your life.
“I’m sorry, we don’t have left overs.”
Degraded already? Do I look that poor? It must
be my hair, I never pay much attention to it.

“I’m not here for food Madam,” I will not be

explaining why I addressed her as madam,
maybe I’m trying to score points. I’m a
desperate poor, black girl standing in front of a
privileged white woman about to ask her for
money so I can get out of this place. My so
called boyfriend left me without food this
morning and hasn’t come back since.
Of course I’m not about to tell her all of that.
“Would you mind sparing a R20? I need to catch
a taxi home, my boyfriend has a room booked
here. He left this morning for a family meeting,
my purse is in his car. I have nothing with me,
but a bank card.” My bank card is at my father’s
house.
If the lady doesn’t believe me, I will have to take
her to Ntaba’s room for her to see that I’ve got
keys to one of the rooms here.
“You can always request an Uber, I hear they’ve
got a speed point.”
“Me, I just want money to catch a taxi home.
That’s all.” It doesn’t have to be complicated.
She gives a long stare before telling me she’ll
be back, I’m kind of offended when she shuts
the door to my face. Don’t Ntaba’s clothes add
a little Kardashian to my crustiness? The
woman thinks I’m going to rob her.
She’s back with a R20 note and a few silver
coins, I thank her with a smile—it’s genuine. I’m
just so happy I will be leaving this place.

I leave with Ntaba’s room key, he knows where I

live. Finding a taxi at these high gated places is
always a struggle, there are three people
waiting for a taxi at the robots. In due course,
the taxi arrives.
I’m home before I can count 20 robots, I’m
hungry so the first place I visit is the kitchen.
The kitchen door is never locked, aunt Rebecca
is forever warning us about leaving the doors
unlocked. I prepare myself bread and Jam, as if
there is anything else to eat here.
There are voices emerging from the kitchen,
talking about Lethiwe’s children. I don’t know
why he took those children to their mothers, he
will want to go crazy when they decide they
don’t want their kids visiting.

With my plate in hand, I trace the voices to find

my father engaging in a conversation with the
twins. Sono greets with a smile while her sister
looks at me like I should not have come to my
father’s house.
“Khethiwe, where have you been?” He asks.
It’s good to know the twins didn’t snitch, I’m
surprised though that Amafu didn’t say anything
to my parents.
I’m glad he’s not looking at the clothes on my
body. My mother would have recognised them
instantly.
“I had gone with a friend baba, her grandmother
was admitted to the hospital yesterday. I
couldn’t leave her alone.” The liars association
owes me money.
I place myself on an empty seat beside him, and
feast on my bread.
“When are you going back to work?” My father.
“Next week baba,” I’m not enthusiastic about it.
“Do you think they need extra hands? I’m ready
to start making money.” Sono says.
There’s no money there, “I can find out for you.”
She can have my job, I need something new.
“Find out for Amafu too, the girls need to start
making an income.” My father is right, we would
be eating nice things if everyone was employed
in this house. Amafu makes an annoyed face,
she’s not a worker like some of us but she
won’t say anything.
“You girls should get your outfits ready for
Sunday church, it’s about time you start asking
God for big things.” It’s easy to see where my
father is directing this, it’s about the meeting
they had with the pastor. I’m changing churches.
And speaking of asking God for big things,
“Baba, is it true that the Mandonsela women are
barren?”
Amafu gasps, and gives me a cold stare. She
didn’t tell me this was a secret.
“You wouldn’t be pregnant if that were the
case.” He says, absentmindedly and loses me
all at once.
“Who is pregnant?” I ask, a bit stunned.
“You’re pregnant?” I’m startled by Amafu’s
outburst, she’s on her size seven feet, eyes
ready to pop out of her head. She retreats and
sits back down when she sees confused faces
staring at her. What is her problem?
“Khethiwe is pregnant, didn’t she tell you?” My
father.
Oh no, I forgot to clean this white lie.
“How is that possible? Who is the father?”
Amafu is starting to freak me out.
“What’s with you? You’re acting weird.” Thank
you Sono for pointing that out, the rudeness in
Amafu has her rolling her eyes.
“Nothing, I’m just surprised.” Yeah, sure she is.
“If you must know, I’m not pregnant.” I should
be ashamed of myself, my father glowers at me.
To say he is disappointed would be an
understatement.
“You lost the baby?” Yoh, this is what I get for
lying.
“No baba, I lied.”
“Khethiwe?” I should hide from that stern face.
“You wouldn’t listen to me when I said I didn’t
want to marry Bahle, I had no choice baba.”
“So lying to your parents was the only way out?”
Well yeah! Or I wouldn’t have lied. I keep the
answer to myself, taking small bites of my
bread. It suddenly tastes bitter.
“I’m disappointed in you Khethiwe, you are not
the daughter I raised.” He stands and storms
into his bedroom, I hear Amafu grumble from
across the room. She wants to say something,
if she opens her mouth, I will slaughter
someone today.
“I don’t think you should worry about that Bahle
guy, I heard aunt saying he left for Europe.
Apparently he’s finding it hard to deal with the
death of his uncle.” Sono.
Bahle’s uncle died?
“Which uncle?” Not that I know his uncles, Bahle
and I grew up together but I never knew most of
his family members. If Nomsa hadn’t come to
my house, I never would have recognised her
had we met elsewhere.
“Patrick or Petros, I don’t know. What I know is
that Bahle almost lost his mind. His parents
decided to take him to a holiday, to get his mind
off things. Must be nice, I wish I had parents
who would take me to a vacation to distress.
Being unemployed is depressing, you know?”
Sono continues.
Yeah… I feel for Bahle, clearly the uncle meant
the world to him. How do you get the
government to close the airports? I don’t want
him to come back.

MATHONGA-
Nandi was found unconscious in
Zamangwane’s room, she’s nowhere to be
found. I had an unsettling dream about
Zamangwane, it’s only now that it has come to
me.
We were at a mall with Nandi, Zamo had just
bought a shiny car, gold in colour. It looked like
a Limo and had no seats at the back. A man in a
black suit got in her car, I remember telling him
to get out of my sister’s car and he wouldn’t.
When I told Zamo about him, she said, “I’m
leaving now, bhuti. You will be okay without me,
please take mom home and take care of her.”
I tried stopping her, to get her to wait for us but
she got into the car and they drove away.
.
.
Zakhe parks his car outside the Sangweni
premises, outside are three men. I’m not
familiar with the two, but Mfundo. The bastard
who preyed on my little sister. We had no
choice but to come and look for her here.
All three of them meet us at the gate, unfriendly
faces, pot bellies and Shembe hair. I’m not
intimidated by the likes of them, they think they
are daunting yet they are far from it.
“Madoda, to what do we owe this unpleasant
visit?” Mfundo has the nerve, after what he did
to Zamangwane.
“They are here to finish us off bafo, killing our
father was not enough for them.” I don’t know
which brother is this one, but he’s earned
himself a spot on my ‘people that annoy me’ list.
“We’re not here to fight,” Zakhe says.
Sometimes he reminds me of baba with how
respectful he tends to be, shouldn’t he be trying
to climb over the fence to get to these men? I’m
not promoting violence but if it’s the only way
we can get Zamangwane then why not?
Nomkhubulwane will have to shut her eyes on
this one.
“The last time one of your people was in our
premises, he killed our father.” That annoying
brother again, he looks the oldest.
“The problem started when you people started
believing that this is your land, show respect
wenja, you’re standing on Khanyile grounds in
the presence of royalty.”
Ndleleni just had to, I like it though… and I can’t
believe I’m actually saying this.
“What did I say bafo? The other one, who’s been
quiet says. He sounds the most arrogant.
“These people will never show us respect.”
“I don’t see a point to any of this, just give us
our sister and we will be on our way.” I have to
step in, seeing they are starting to scratch all
the wrong places in me. Mfundo cracks into
laughter, he’s followed by his brothers. I don’t
know if the two men emerging from behind one
of the houses are looking to fight as well, they
are just as big and menacing.
“She’s my wife, she belongs here with me.”
Mfundo is brave, I give him that.
“You boys are brave, you’re still standing yet you
are outnumbered.” The annoying one says,
turning to the others for support. They all nod
while their eyes spark with danger.
I take a moment to calm my breathing, I usually
don’t react with anger. But these people have
completely turned me into a raging bull.
“That’s because we know who we belong to,” I
have confidence we are protected.
These men think I’m joking, they are laughing.
“My wife is not here, I don’t know where she is.
Now get the hell out of here before we start
serving your royal asses with bullets.” Mfundo
barks arrogantly.
The men with him pull out guns, their
confidence confuses me. It’s as if they are
certain nothing will be done to them.
“Uyakhonkotha mgodoyi? Do you know who
you’re talking to?” (You’re shouting?)
When did Ndleleni pull out that gun? He has it
aimed at them, Zakhe has a gun too. Why didn’t
I get the memo? These people want me to fight
guns with fists? The Sangwenis are not fazed
by the guns aimed at them, it’s five against two
gunned men and a defenceless me.

“Put those guns away madoda or the little one

gets it.”
Just who is this fool calling a little one?
“Hand over our sister.” I yell, banging my hands
on the gate. I’m trying to jump the fence, and no
one is trying to pull me away. I want them to
pull me back, I’m not about to jump into the
lion’s den unarmed. My ancestors don’t shoot
lightning with their hands.

“Why are you people so stubborn?

Zamangwane is my wife. You have no right to
come here and demand to see her.” Yet he says
she is not here. His words say otherwise.
“The Khanyiles refuse to recognise the marriage,
you think we don’t know what you’re up to
Mfundo? This is your way of avenging your
father’s death.” Ndleleni is right.
“Your opinions don’t matter to me, she is a
Sangweni by law.” Stubborn idiot.
“My ancestors will never accept this marriage.” I
fire, boldness banging against my chest.
“I think you didn’t hear me,” Mfundo hisses
through clamped teeth. “Zamangwane is a
Sangweni, your ancestors have nothing to do
with her.”
“I think you didn’t hear us,” Zakhe drops in. “As
long as we didn’t receive any lobola from your
family, my sister remains a Khanyile.”
“Be careful mfana wami, you’re poking a snake
in its hole. Uzolimala.” The tone I use is unusual,
pin-drop silence breaks forth. That was a weird
moment for me, the ancestors are forever trying
to take over my body.

“Your sister is not here, get out of here.”

Mfundo growls, he’s become agitated. “Go back
to the palace, you’ll probably find her there.”
He’s smiling, it’s creepy and definitely not easy
to the eye.
“Don’t tell us what to do msunu,” yep Ndleleni
has it in him. I stand behind my brother when he
cocks his gun, and points it straight at Mfundo
ready to shoot.
“If you want to go back to your father with one
of you dead, then I dare you to pull that trigger.”
Mfundo.
I hate that these men are threatening us, it’s
unfortunate that we came outnumbered.
“You bloody outcasts, we’re coming back for
you.” Yoh, Ndleleni.
Walking away is best, we won’t achieve
anything like this.

The cursed bastards watch us as we drive off,

Ndleleni and Zakhe are in the front. It’s strange
how I can hear his shabby breathing; Ndleleni.
He’s livid and refuses to calm down when
Zakhe tells him.
“We should’ve shot one of them at least.” He
says with a tongue click.
“We were outnumbered,” Zakhe.
“So? I don’t waste bullets bhuti, if I’m going to
shoot at someone, I do it right.”
Ndleleni sounds like an assassin.
I’m too worried about Zamangwane, my mind
has trailed off to her. Something is terribly
wrong, I can feel it, and that dream I had
troubles me.

We’re home, the gate slides open but Ndleleni

doesn’t drive in. They are looking at something,
I have to follow their line of sight to see what
the matter is. My whole world crushes
underground. Zamangwane’s naked body is
hanging on a tree rooted by the gate.
“No, no, no.” I hear Zakhe release a shaky
breath. He steps out of the car, and falls on his
knees, eyes held on Zamo’s lifeless body. I’m
too numb to move. What went wrong
Zamangwane?
*
*
MATHONGA-
Seventy-eight

NTABEZIKUDE-

Luck is always on his side, he thinks this is it

when he sees her walking down the street. He
didn’t think she would leave the lodge, it kind of
stung when he got home and she wasn’t there.
Khethiwe spots his car and paces toward the
gate, if she goes in there he will lose his
opportunity.
The first time he entered her father’s yard was
to convince her to go with him, so she wouldn’t
have to sleep outside. The second time he was
too snoopy and possessive and the third time
was by chance because the folks were not
around.
“KaMandonsela,” he’s out of the car, rushing
after her. “Mana phela, Khethi.” (Please wait.)
He has her wrist in his hand, and spins her
around with just a swipe, Khethiwe welcomes
him with a look of disgust.
“Don’t touch me,” she tugs her hand back.
“Peaches please, listen to me.” Begging is not
his strongest point, but beggars can’t be
choosers.
“I’m listening.” She places her hands on her
waist with a disinterested look on her face.
“I was going to come to you, but something
happened...”
Excuses, excuses!

“What, you had to fly to Johannesburg for a

meeting?” She’s being sarcastic, relationships
are a full time job that doesn’t come with a
salary but 99 problems and a potential heart
attack.
“No, I…”
“I’m such an idiot Ntaba,” Khethiwe throws her
hands up. She keeps finding herself in such
situations with this man, when is it going to
stop? “I don’t know why I’m holding on to the
hope that you will one day change. Why are you
this person? Is this your way of retaining me?”
This is a question she asks herself every night
when she’s lying in bed, she loves this man and
would move mountains for his.
She would kill if he were to ask her to, is it so
hard for him to see her? She’s here offering her
heart on a golden platter, she’s here wanting to
be his everything and give him a beautiful life. If
only he could let her.
“Why would you say that?”
“You leave me alone the entire day with no
money or food. A phone would have been nice
too.”
“Okay, you want a phone, I’ll buy you a phone.”
He’ll do anything to have her with him, he just
has no clue how to navigate around a
relationship. Communication is a language he is
not fluent in.
“No, I have my own phone. It’s at home, and it
works. I don’t mind you buying things for me, I
love people that are willing to spend money on
me. But that’s not the case, you don’t take me
seriously Ntaba.”
She’s said these word before, how serious does
she want him to take her? He’s trying to be the
person she wants him to be, it’s not like he will
wake up one day and suddenly be the best man
she’s ever known.
He takes her hands into his, “I really adore you
KaMandonsela.” Yeah who doesn’t? That’s not
something she wants to hear, sweet nothings
lose taste along the way. Khethiwe pulls her
hands back and turns to leave.
“What did I do?”
What did he do besides being himself? She
stops and turns back, the grave expression on
her face has him feeling overwhelmed. How
does he juggle between his family and this
woman whose attention he so desperately
needs?

“I don’t know how to be a lover, I don’t have

experience in loving a woman. The only love I’ve
ever craved in my life is the love of a mother,
my own mother. Not the woman my father
chose to love, it was Dalisile or no one.”
“Ntaba…”
“Look, I walk around acting like everything is
okay. But nothing is, this is something I will
never confess to anyone.” He can’t look at her
when he says this, he wants to be vulnerable
but there has to be a limit.
“When I found out about Nandi, I started visiting
her. She was warm and homely. She treated me
like a mother would her son and that felt damn
good, she made me feel like a little boy again.
Took me back to the days I was lonely and
needed the attention of my parents. She dusted
me, Khethi and I warmed up to her. But she
wasn’t Dalisile, she will never be the woman
that gave birth to me. Sure my mother is evil
and everyone hates her, but she’s my mother
Khethi. She nurtured me while in her womb and
brought me into this world.”
“Ntaba, she’s toxic. It’s okay to hate her.” His
thoughts are different from hers, a slight
headshake tells her.
“But that’s not what I want. I don’t want to hate
her. Can’t I give her a second chance? Can’t she
be a good mother and have me and my brothers
again? I need that, I need to at least put my
head on her chest and have her sing me a
lullaby. Am I weird for craving such?”
“You’re not Ngwane, you’re not weird at all.” He
can hear that her articulation is not thoroughly
thought of.
“Should I get her out of prison?” He’s asking
because he doesn’t trust his decision regarding
Dalisile, when he thinks about his uncle
Phumlani, how he was banished from his own
family for years because of this woman. He
can’t help but curse the day she was chosen to
mother him.
Phumlani lives with Qinisela now, the only
brother who cared enough to not send him to a
mental hospital. Vumile’s hands are tied and full.
“Do you want to get her out of prison?” Sounds
like a challenge, it lingers in the air, sizzling with
tension.
“I don’t know, I think I do. What I’m hundred
percent sure of is that I want her with us. I want
her to play a role in our lives, she owes us.” He
states.
It requires effort to keep silent, he knows she
has no right answer for him. No matter what
she replies, it won’t make a difference.
Exhaustion forces him to lean against his car,
taking a deep sigh. Khethiwe takes note of his
fatigue, she comes closer until their bodies are
flash together.
They share a long look, his hands are around
her, rubbing and squeezing his favourite parts.
It’s a blissful moment until it’s taken by the
sound of his ringing phone, Mathonga’s name
flashes on the screen.

THE KHANYILES-

Ntaba arrives with Khethiwe, there are cars and

people outside the gate. He spots his brothers
standing in the compound.
He’s already been informed, so the first thing he
does is avert his eyes toward the tree. She’s still
hanging there, her body has been covered with
a white cloth, but her face is in full sight.
His heart grows cold, his knees grow weak. But
he soldiers on, he can’t break down in front of
people. He’s stronger than this, however
Zamangwane hanging on that tree is proving
him wrong.
“Ntaba,” Khethiwe murmurs beside him. He
ignores her and dashes out of the car, why is
his sister still hanging on that tree? The entire
neighbourhood is out here, watching.
Nandi is on her knees wailing, beside her is a
sjambok. Vumile is a few feet behind, hands on
his head and shoulders convulsing.

“Why is she still hanging there?” His voice is so

loud that it catches everyone’s attention, he’s
marching toward the body. There is no answer
to his question, Nandi weeps louder upon
seeing him. “Ma, why is my sister still hanging
there?”
He yells, sounding far from his usual self, he’s
never spoken to her with such disrespect. Nandi
can’t look at him, she’s too occupied with crying.
“Ntaba,” he startles at Mathonga’s soft voice
behind him.
He turns to Mathonga and says behind
clenched teeth. “They killed her, they killed my
sister.”
Mathonga’s tears are always on standby,
waiting for their opportunity. He’s trembling,
that’s how he cries. Like a child who needs a
mother’s arms to feel better again. His
relationship with Zamangwane was not rocky,
neither was it smooth. They were still getting to
know each other, he needed more time to build
that brother-sister relationship. In the times he
spent with her, he had learned to love her. She
made it easy for people to love her, Ndleleni
himself was finding his way to her.
“They wanted to humiliate her,” Mathonga
chokes on a sob. He drops his head on Ntaba’s
shoulder, it’s easy to let it all out with his face
hidden like this. “We found her… naked… what
did they do to her?”
Mathonga is weeping loudly now, it fuels other
cries around. Nandi is heard above every
bereaved person.
“Someone get her down, now!” Ntaba exclaims,
his focus has been on getting his sister down.
“Baba or Nandi have to give her a hiding to
prevent umkhokha.” (Bad omen.)
Bongiwe explains, she’s the only one who looks
normal. It’s not easy shedding tears for
someone you don’t know, for some people
apparently.
“There is no such thing,” Ntaba argues. He’s
angry beyond explanation, tears are seated
behind his pupils. It’s getting harder to stop
them from falling.
“Sis’ Bongiwe is right,” Khethiwe says. “If they
don’t thrash her body, bad omen will follow the
family. Someone else will die in the same
manner she did. It will never stop until…”
Someone needs to act now, the scene of the
child hanging is troubling.
“I’ll do it,” Nandi steps up, standing to her
unsteady feet. Her face is suddenly cold, jaw
ticked and eyes hard. Anger is pulsing within
her, memories of her daughter threatening to
unfold from where she keeps them behind
countless doors.

Vumile walks away crying at the first whip, he’s

not weak. He’s just broken and doesn’t know
what to do with himself. The brothers watch
with clenched jaws, and fiery eyes. Vengeance
callinh their names.
After three flogs, Nandi’s eyes roll to the back
of her head before she falls into a blackout.
Someone yells, “Take the mother inside.”
Vukuzakhe tasks himself with the job, it’s left to
Ntaba and Ndleleni to bring the body down.
They use the white sheet to cover her. The
brothers surround her body with heads bowed
in respect.
Ndleleni has not shed a tear, his heart is heavy
nevertheless. He recalls how Zamangwane had
tried to bring herself close to him, if only he had
opened up and accepted her.
Mathonga has not stopped crying, guilt is
pouring in him like a flood. If only he took that
dream seriously, this would’ve been prevented.
Ntaba is fuming. There’s no air, they are outside
but his chest is tightening. He exhales once…
twice, it seems futile. Anger has come alive in
his veins, he clenches his fists and releases a
growl from his chest. His feet are itching, urging
him to get the hell out of here. His mind has
shown him the destination, where he should be.
“I know what you’re thinking,” says Mathonga
beside him. “They deserve death for what they
did to her.”
Shocking! Ntaba’s eyes hesitate when they
meet with Mathonga’s… vengeance. He can
detect it from where he’s standing, he no longer
sees the little boy he raised but a grown man.
“I say we do it tonight.” Ndleleni says, their
voices are kept within them.
The brothers share a look, they are all thinking
the same.
“We shouldn’t talk about this here, not in front
of her.” Ntaba dismisses his little brothers, no
way is he going to let Mathonga take a soul. He
keeps his thoughts to himself though.
“Do you think she suffered?” Mathonga asks.
It’s obvious that she suffered.
.
.
It didn’t take an hour for villagers to crowd their
space and ears with heart felt messages. The
body has been taken to the morgue.
Pastor Khuzwayo arrives with his church choir,
he’s walking tall waving back at every hand that
acknowledges him. The man is led into the
living room where the family is gathered.
He approaches Vumile and offers a hand shake
which Vumile ignores or he’s too weak to raise
his hand. He hasn’t said a word to anyone for
the past hour.
“Be strong Khanyile, God will never give you a
burden you can’t carry.” Says Khuzwayo.
“Awusho, where is Hlabela? I haven’t seen him
around.” He’s looking around, hoping to catch a
glimpse of his asset. Marrying his daughter to
Hlabela would put his family on the map. It’s a
matter of his dignity.
Vumile is absentminded that he doesn’t provide
an answer, Hlebala’s whereabouts are the least
of his worries.
“Eh, it’s not the right time to bring this up but, is
he still going to marry my daughter?” A chuckle
follows the question, Khuzwayo places his
hands on his knees and rubs them. It’s clear
that he’s nervous, perhaps this is why he’s here,
to make sure his daughter’s bag is still secured.

Feeling a drop of irritation, Ntaba stands and

leaves the room. He’s headed to Zamangwane’s
room, there must be something in there that will
confirm what he already knows. He knows not
of Khethiwe’s whereabouts, she might be
around somewhere because she would never
leave without letting him know after they
patched things.
Ntaba finds Nandi seated on the bed, she’s
going through pictures of Zamangwane. Tears
have come to keep her company.
“Ma.”
He feels his throat closing up, and disposes of
the feeling. His gaze is kept on the mess she’s
made on the bed, Zamangwane’s clothes are
scattered everywhere.
“Ma, what’s going on?”
Nandi looks up at him, tears trickling down her
face.
“My heart is broken Ntaba… I don’t know how to
fix it.” She grabs one of Zamo’s clothing and
presses it against her chest. The act is a recipe
for more tears.
“I thought going through her things would make
it better, that I would feel her close to me. It’s
not helping… I can smell her in this room, she’s
everywhere. But I can’t see her… my baby is not
here with me. I will never see her again…” She’s
a crying mess, she clenches her trembling
hands into balls of fists before a heart
wrenching cry overtakes her whole entire being.
It’s physically impossible to stop crying at this
point, Ntaba has no experience in comforting a
grieving person. He has no idea what to do, or
what to say. He knows a hug should follow, and
for a man who goes around throwing free hugs
and kisses, Nandi should be in his arms and
almost done crying.

It feels awkward… standing there… hands in his

pockets, watching her pouring everything out. It
takes almost forever for Nandi to get a hold of
herself.
“Did she… perhaps leave a note that explains
why she did this?” Wrong question but because
it’s Ntabezikude…
An inaudible no comes from Nandi before she
breaks into another painful sob, “She didn’t
think I would want to know why she decided to
take such a painful way out. Zamangwane has
ripped my womb in half, she has destroyed me.”
“She was murdered.” He mutters to himself,
rage pouring through his veins for the
umpteenth time. Nandi misses it, she’s curled
up on the bed, weeping.
“I’m going out ma, please give me your
blessings.” Leaning over, he places swift kiss
on her cheek. Now, what was so hard about
comforting her? Nandi pats his shoulder and
out the door he goes to do what needs to be
done.
.
.
The plan was to speak to his ancestors when
he got to his room, find answers as to why they
have let this happen. What’s this score they are
so bent on settling, first Khanyile Holdings
burns down to the ground, and now this? All in
the same day.
Lately, there’s a way he speaks to them. He
doesn’t have to burn impepho not when
Khahlamba and Nomkhubulwane are a call
away. They see and know everything, so how is
it that they failed in protecting the only Ngwane
princess? Mathonga settles down on the bed,
and tries to tap into his spirit. But it has shut
down, he’s too heartbroken to connect with
them. Failure has him lying on his back, it’s not
enough to get him to relax.
His phone disturbs his alone time, a grumble
resounds from his throat as he reaches for it in
his pocket. Bambindlovu is calling, they haven’t
spoken since he left Johannesburg. Not that
there was a reason for them to speak.
“Ndoda.” A humble greeting from Mathonga.
“Stay home tonight, don’t follow your brother.”
Bambindlovu states, there’s a sense of urgency
found in his voice.
Mathonga is shocked a second, until it all
processes.
“They killed my sister, I can’t sit back and do
nothing.” It takes very little to provoke a bull and
this calf is growing into one with each passing
day.
“Listen, your ancestors will turn their backs on
you if you stain your hands with blood. They will
take everything that belongs to them and leave,
you and your family will lose everything.”
“I don’t think I care at this moment, I want the
people who killed my sister to pay.”
He hadn’t had time to spend with her, but the
moments they shared together were special.
“Don’t ruin your life because of one moment of
anger, stay home Mathonga. Let your brother
do what he has to do.” Again, Bambindlovu
mentions one brother, which brother is he
talking about? The one audacious enough is
Ntaba, although Ndleleni is not far behind.
“But why did they not show me this was going
to happen? I could have protected her.” His
wrath is not only targeted towards the
murderers but his ancestors as well.
“You’re not fully garbed, there’s a lot that needs
to be done. They will show you in a dream or
vision. After that, you will see things happening
before you, in broad daylight. They will show
you whatever they choose to show you.”
Bambindlovu explains.
It kind of makes sense, it doesn’t heal his
broken heart though.
“Your guardians are not seeing eye-to-eye, one
is extremely happy that you have accepted
them and the other is seething with rage
because of your father. He made a promise to
your father that he will destroy everything he
touches. The chief needs to do right by his
ancestors, one child has paid for his sins. Warn
him before the wrath of the ancestors fall upon
his other children.”
Great, just when will all this stop? He thinks to
himself.
MATHONGA-
Seventy-nine

NTABEZIKUDE-

It’s easy to get into the Sangweni premises.

They don’t own dogs, nor do they have a lock on
their gate. Not that it would’ve stopped him. The
compound is not that massive, there’s a main
house neighbored by two rondavels on each
side.
He starts with the one on his left, it’s by instinct.
He’s just doing what he must.
His brothers have no idea he’s here, he wanted
to do this alone. He’s the one norm to killing
after all.

Humans don’t have buttons where they can

switch their humanity on and off but Ntaba
seems to switch his off so effortlessly. He
walks into the rondavel, armed with a sharp
knife. The lights are off but because of the
moon, he’s able to see two little girls from the
ages of nine to twelve; sleeping in one bed.
“What a waste of human,” he mumbles under
his breath. Oops, one of the girls stirs and pops
her eyes open.
A grin cracks Ntaba’s lips, he waves. But the
child looks terrified to death, she jolts up and
releases a light scream. Ntaba slits her throat
without a thought to it, she falls back on the bed,
lifeless.
The minuscule noise wakes the younger one,
the giant hides the knife smeared with innocent
blood. He cracks a grin again and accompanies
it with a chuckle.
“Baba?” The child’s tiny voice mingled with fear
should make him squeal. He can’t bring himself
to care, not really.
By nature he lacks empathy and remorse.
People don’t matter, it’s the sensation of the
blood. The rush itself is the high.
Ntaba puts his finger to his lips, “Stay quiet little
girl.” He whispers, his voice rustling like paper.
“Who are you?” The child has been brought to
tears, why not, when there’s a strange man in
her room?
“Pinky-Pinky,” he chuckles lightly, it fades as
fast as it came.
“I want my father.” The little girl has become a
victim to tears.
“Baba is my friend, he sent me to get you. They
are having candy and ice-cream in their
bedroom. Let’s go.” He’s giving her what she
wants to hear, he’s the type of person who gets
in your head. He knows what to say, it’s a sick
game of his.
The little one ogles down at her lifeless sister,
it’s hard to see the crimson colour under the
moonlight.
“What about Mabusi? She loves candy too.”
“We’ll take her with us, come on down now.” He
lifts her up and places her on the floor.
Mabusi is carried in his arms like a special child
who has lost the use of her legs.
It must be the darkness that makes the girl hold
on to his pants, trusting a man who has her
dead sister dangling in his arms.
“Baba’s room is this way,” she directs him.
Another strategy of his.

Ntaba wastes no time in kicking the door open,

the lights are on this side and the couple is
sitting on their bed. By the looks of it, they were
having a private conversation before they were
rudely interrupted.
Mfundo jolts up, seeing Ntaba with his
daughters. For a second he zooms in on the
child in Ntaba’s arms, her head is loosely
hanging and eyes closed.
Blood dripping red and heavy through her open
neck, like wax from a burning candle.
He sends his eyes to the man standing by the
door and meets a sadistic smirk and an
amused expression.
Someone screams, it could be his wife, he’s not
really sure. The world seems to have stopped.
“Baba wasendlini! San’bona.” (Man of the
house.)
Ntaba sings.
It has come to a point where he doesn’t
experience emotion, he’s fearless.
“What did you do? What did you do?” Mfundo is
screaming under a shaky breath, his head is
spinning. He doesn’t know what to do with
himself. The woman is screaming with him, one
would think they have lost their minds.
“Baba, something is wrong with Mabusi.” Says
the little girl still standing beside Ntaba.
“I just thought heaven is a better place than this
hell you and your wife brought her in.” Ntaba
utters, tilting his head a little to the side.
“Noooo! He killed my baby, he killed my baby.”
The woman wails. “Za… Zanele… come to me…
come to mama.”
The hysterical mother’s voice trembles as she
desperately calls for her daughter.
“Zanele is not yours anymore, she belongs to
God. He did say let the children come to me.”
Ntaba.
What do you know? The man did learn
something in church. “I don’t know how such a
powerful being entrusted his children with a
man like you. But no worries, I will rectify his
mistakes.”
Ntaba adds.
“What are you talking about?” Mfundo is moving
closer, a hesitant step at a time.
“One more step and I will slit her throat so fast
your head will explode.” The Khanyile freak
holds the knife close to the girl’s neck.
Mfundo steps back, hands raised in surrender.
“Call your brothers.” An instruction Mfundo is
not willing to obey. “Call your brothers or I’m
sending baby Zanele on a first flight to heaven.”
“No, no… please, not my baby.” The mother’s
cries are a waste,

Ntaba’s level of depravity boils and breaks the

scale. Guilt should be pouring inside him but his
sadistic tendencies have taken a diabolical turn.
He places Mabusi’s lifeless body on the cold
ground and with gentleness pulls Zanele to his
side, a hostage situation this has become.
The mother jumps from the bed. The woman is
with child, round as the Oros man.
“Stay back mfazi, your time has not come yet.”
Ntaba warns the pregnant mother.
She freezes on the spot, body trembling from
fear and grief. Her knees seem to give up on her,
she’s on the floor weeping with her hands on
her head. No one pays her any attention,
Mfundo’s priority is to get his family to safety,
save them from this lunatic.
“Shout for your brothers, I want everyone here.
Goats, chickens, even your fucking bedbugs.
Call them.” Ntaba’s calmness is too much to
handle, it’s dangerous and unsettling.
Mfundo moves closer to the door, cracks it
open and beckons the rest of his family.
“Scream for them, scream like your life depends
on it.”
It does…
“Nsizwa, Mfaniseni.”
This is the loudest he can go, but Ntaba does
not seem to think so.
“Come on Sangweni, I want to hear you scream.
Scream like a bitch.” Ntaba barks, giggling like a
deranged man.
“Mfaniseni, Nsizwa.”
“Louder wenja, louder.” Ntaba’s thunderous
roars are scaring little Zanele, the child has
fallen into a lake of tears.
“Please… please don’t do this.” That’s Mfundo
with his hands joined together.
His pleas for some odd reason are a trigger,
this must be how Zamangwane pleaded before
they killed her.
“Call them,” this time Ntaba keeps his voice low
and waits while Mfundo continues to call for his
brothers.
“Bafo yini?” One of them snaps from outside.
“What, are you deaf? Bring everyone here, we
have a meeting.” Irritation has gotten under
Mfundo’s skin.
“Haibo bafo, in your bedroom? Since when?”
The same voice questions.
“Just get everyone here, the children as well.”
Mfundo.
He forgot the goats and chickens and… sigh!
“I’ve called them, let my daughter go.” His voice
has turned to pleading, his teeth are clenched
and his hands are shaking. The sight of Ntaba
makes him sickof

Ntaba sits on the bed, and pulls Zanele to his

lap. The candle flickering between him and the
couple.
“Did you love her?” His eyes stare into Mfundo’s,
rage meeting grief.
“She was my daughter, of course I loved her.”
Mfundo.
The vengeful sheen of Ntaba’s stare making
shivers dance down his spine, he averts his
eyes to his still Mabusi on the floor.
His body trembles as he tries to be a man by
fighting back tears, he badly wants to hold her
in his arms, say goodbye or apologise.
“Focus Sangweni, I’m talking about my sister.”
Khanyile won’t repeat the question.
Mfundo grows nervous, he steals a glance at
his wife and practises his right to remain silent.
“Fine, one of you will talk tonight.” The giant.
He wants the whole confession. He plunges a
hand in his pocket and reveals his sister’s
phone, the girl was quiet an Instagram person.
Over 7000 followers. He adjusts the child on his
lap before playing around the screen. He finds
what he’s looking for, Zamo was obsessed with
social media and her followers seemed to have
loved her.
“Wipe your oily faces people, the whole world is
watching.” Ntaba’s announcement shocks them,
he goes live on his sister’s Instagram. In a
minute, there are 85 views.
That’s more than enough, they will spread the
word. He lifts the phone to his face and giggles
with a sly grin. Views increase, comments start
to come in, followers asking where Zamo is.

*Blaq doll can wait, who is this fine gent?’

*Is he married?’
*Is he her boyfriend?’

There is no time for that, he turns the camera

around at the sound of the door opening.
Mfundo’s brothers are here along with their
partners and kids.
“Let’s get this party started bafana.” Ntaba
sings and graces them with his famous spine
chilling giggle.
The brothers go insane when they see him,
“What the hell is he doing here?” One of them
shouts, Ntaba is not sure who is who. He has
never taken time to know them.
“Bafo what happened to Mabusi?” This is the
brother that was shouting outside, the women
have gone to comfort the grieving mother.
Surprisingly, they are afraid to approach the
body.
“She’s gone to heaven,” at Ntaba’s reply, the
women break into loud sobs. One of the
brothers grabs the door handle, probably going
to get his weapon.
“If anybody moves, I will slice this pretty
princess’ neck.” Ntaba hisses, waving the
bloodied knife in the air. “Everyone straight line
and get on your knees now.” Ntaba.
The instruction is ignored.
“I said on your knees or we’re going to have a
double funeral in this family.”
Shit is about to happen, he has a fearless urge
to kill without empathy, he lacks normal
emotional response. The look of sheer terror on
their faces drives him, he’s proud of himself and
what he is about to accomplish.
Everyone is on their knees, but one of the
brothers.
“Nsizwa, get on your knees.” Mfundo snaps at
his brother, Nsizwa looks like the stubborn type.
He shrugs, veins throbbing violently on his head.
“No bafo, he’s going to kill us.” Nsizwa.
Ntaba’s chuckle rings aloud.
“He will kill my baby if you don’t get on your
bloody knees, don’t annoy me please. Get on
your fucking knees.” Mfundo roars.
It’s up to Nsizwa to save Zanele’s life, that’s if
she will be spared. He glares at Ntaba,
unfortunately his eyes are not meant for killing.
With a deep grumble from his throat, he slowly
goes down on his knees.
Their wives are confused and crying and
trembling. No sound has come from the four
children, they are too young to understand fully
what is happening.
Boys and girls under the age of ten.

“Good, now who is willing to tell us how

Zamangwane died?” Khanyile is on his feet, he
keeps Zanele close to him and the phone aimed
at the family.
“We didn’t kill Zamangwane, she committed
suicide.” Mfaniseni, the youngest of the present
brothers says.
Ntaba snorts, the idiot just gave themselves
away.
“Word has not been sent out that my sister
committed suicide.” It is not grief that flashes in
his eyes, it is anger, all the fury of a raging beast.
The mistake maker gulps and drops his gaze.
“Somebody better tell me what happened to my
sister before I start dropping bodies.” He’s not
bluffing and they can see that.

“Baba, what’s going on?” Baby Zanele’s voice

shakes, she’s tearing up, poor thing.
Ntaba presses the knife to her neck, he’s a
daredevil.
“Mfundo tell him, tell him what you did.” The
mother of the child scream-cries as she grabs
her man’s shirt. “Tell him what you told me, tell
him how you killed that innocent girl. If anything
happens to my baby I will never forgive you, do
you hear me Mfundo?”
She slaps him after her screams have depleted,
she covers her head with her hands and mourns
for the child she has lost, and for the one she is
about to lose.
“Fine, I’ll tell you. Just don’t kill my child.” The
old man has been brought to tears, he sniffs
and heaves a sigh.
“Bafo don’t do it, this is a trap.” The
stubbornness of… who is this third brother
again?
“I got her hooked on drugs without her
knowledge, it was easy to do it. All I had to do
was add the drugs in her juice, she was
desperate for love. She would tell me how her
father was not there for her, I knew that was my
chance to avenge my father’s death. I wanted to
destroy you and I succeeded, I killed five birds
with one stone.” There’s a smirk on Mfundo’s
face, he’s proud of himself.
“Five birds with one stone huh?” Ntaba.
There must be a way to release the anger
eating him inside, it’s suffocating him and if he
doesn’t do anything about it, he will lose his
mind.
“What else?” Ntaba.
“Your sister was not as innocent as you people
thought, she would make moves on my
brothers. Get in their beds when their wives
we’re not around, that little slut finally won. She
slept with my brothers all at once and got
herself pregnant.”
The pregnancy is news to Ntaba… there is so
much to grasp. These animals raped his sister
and got her pregnant?
He hands the phone to Zanele and tells her to
keep the focus on the kneeling family, being a
child, she does as told.
In hind sight, had he known Mfundo would go to
such extents, he would’ve killed him the day he
found out about their affair.
In the blink of an eye, he pulls a gun out and
executes the three women on his far left and
one of the brothers.
Each received a fatal bullet to their temple,
blood splattering on the people close to them.
Silence joins in on the fun before horrific
screams erupt, the children, Mfundo’s wife and
brothers.
“Continue,” Ntaba orders, top lip pulled up on
one side.
The anger is still heavy and seething inside him.
If Mfundo does not say anything, he will have to
take it out on someone.
Mfundo gulps, shooting fiery daggers at Ntaba.
He wants to comfort his sobbing brothers. They
have just lost their wives, his nieces and
nephews have lost their mothers and him... he
has lost a brother. But there is no time for that.
Droplets of sweat are soaking his face, he
thinks he has fallen asleep and having a terrible
nightmare. He thinks he will wake up and tell his
family that they are fine, that there was no
intruder.
“I said continue or your wife and unborn baby
get it!” Ntaba is basically holding back screams
of frustration, his stomach clenches, twists and
turns. “If I were you, I would count my words
carefully. I want the truth you son of a bitch,
nothing but the truth.”

“Fine, I told them to sleep with her. She was a

stupid naïve girl who would do anything I said,
then we killed her. I wanted her humiliated, I
wanted the whole village to see the Khanyiles
for the scums they really are. So we stripped
her naked and hung her on the tree. Getting into
the premises was easy with her around, no one
saw or heard a thing. I guess it was to our
advantage that the homestead is so bloody big,
you greedy sons of bitches. It was fun watching
her whimper and beg me not to do it.”
Rage has taken over Mfundo, he’s singing like a
canary. The deafening cries of his family must
be the cause.

“I see, I guess it’s time to send these little

innocent souls back to the sender. You
bastards don’t deserve them,” Ntaba tells them.
He’s pointing a gun at the children.
“No, no please.” The brothers have become
hysterical, none of them came armed. They
were getting ready for bed when they heard
Mfundo calling for them.
“It’s not your fault children, tell God to give you
better parents next time.” This he says to the
children before lodging bullets in their heads,
execution style.

The cries spiral It’s getting too loud and

depressing up in here. Ntaba sighs, exasperated
by the grieving family.
“Will you all shut up? You’re giving me a
headache.” They don’t hear him, each is trying
to grab their child. Gather their brains splattered
on the floor.
Chuckling seems to put Ntaba at ease.
Mfundo’s wife charges at him, open claws
ready to scratch him. She freezes and gasps as
soon as her body presses against Ntaba’s,
something is wrong… there’s blood dripping
from her mouth, her eyes are wide and filled
with tears.
“Mka… mkami?” Mfundo bawls, afraid of the
worst. He carries his hands on his head, his
muscles are on strike. He can’t move.
Ntaba curls an arm around her neck, a knife
dripping with blood on its surface is held up
before he slits the groaning woman’s throat.
She falls with a great thud.
There’s a wound on her stomach— because of
his desire to annihilate, he plunged a pregnant
woman, killing her unborn child. To most people
these acts are incomprehensible, but Ntaba...
there’s no guilt pouring inside him.
“No, no, no. Oh God, what have you done? What
have you done?” Mfundo is going out of his
mind with grief, it feels like death itself.
“Mama,” Zanele is still alive? Ntaba looks over
at her, he takes the phone from her and directs
it toward her mother and all the dead bodies on
the floor.
The blood tells a gruesome story.
With a gun still pointed at the brothers, Ntaba
goes down on his knees, takes the phone back
and hugs the child from behind.
“I want mama,” she cries.
“Shhh! It’s okay, you’re going to see uMah
soon.” He’s promising the child and this man
does not make empty promises.
Mfundo’s eyes widen, the brothers have not
stopped crying.
“Not her, please spare my baby. Kill me instead,
don’t kill my baby.” Mfundo’s voice has turned
to pleading.

“We’re sorry, please. Stop all of this, you’ve

taken enough.” Nsizwa’s voice is a broken
record.
The Khanyile giant is not touched, he raises his
eyes, kisses the child on her forehead and
smirks.
“Oho mtwana, umama kekho. Uyothengi sinkwa,
ang’shaye ngaso. Athi ngidla amaasi.”
Ntaba sings the Zulu lullaby to the child while
he presses a gun to her back, he makes sure to
aim where the bullet will pierce through the
heart. The gun goes off and the child tumbles to
the ground like a bag of rice.
His eyes were on Mfundo the entire time, a
sadistic smug on his face.
On the surface, he is a normal citizen, on the
core he’s a murderous killer. His unrelenting
urge to kill spikes his adrenalin.

It’s too silent in here, the brothers seem to have

lost their strength. They are sitting on their
asses, hands on their heads.
“Well, gentlemen.” As Ntaba stands, Mfaniseni
stands with him. His feet carry him towards the
door in full speed—the black Oscar Pistorius.
It appears bullets are faster, he’s hit on the leg
twice. He screams as he falls to the ground.
“Why are you doing this? Haven’t you had
enough?” Mfundo growls.
The Khanyile giant giggles like a hyena and
releases bullets on Mfundo’s legs, his agonizing
screams echo in the room.
He shoots Nsizwa next, his knees becoming the
target.
Among the brothers, his first victim is Nsizwa.
He leans over, places a lethal kiss on his
forehead.
“Khothama Mntungwa, you have served your
purpose.” Ntaba welcomes the man’s death.
Swiftly, he slits his throat and leaves him
gagging.
“Help, Help!” Only now Mfundo thinks of
shouting for help, it’s funny to Ntaba, that’s how
he’s able to laugh.
Mfaniseni receives the same affectionate
farewell before his throat is slit. He’s twitching
and heaving and staring at Ntaba, while trying
to grab him.

With each throat he slits, he releases that anger

eating him inside. It’s like a drug, a rush of
actual pleasure.
Cutting the throat takes more suffering, he
loves knives and despises guns. There’s
something about the blade, seeing the gap
opening. The person gagging, chocking in their
blood. He’s become addicted to that.
“Kill me already, just kill me.” Mfundo grovels
weakly, he’s heaving. There’s no air in this place,
it reeks of blood—evil.
“No. You’re going to keep me company while
we watch your brothers take their last breaths,
it’s going to take a while before they eventually
choke in their blood.” Ntaba laughs and
crouches on the floor, a few feet from Mfundo.
The recording hasn’t stopped, this is what he
wanted. For the world to see what happens to
people who touch his family. Consequences be
dammed, he will deal with them when they
come.
“I hope it won’t be crowded when we get to hell,
so many bodies?” Ntaba sighs, admiring the
dead bodies. “Save space for me when you get
there, sbari.”
He’s telling a man who just lost it all and is half
way to his grave. He chuckles at the sound of
police siren outside—somebody called the
police?
“Looks like we’ve got company.” Ntaba.
His plan to inflict prolonged diabolical torture is
working perfectly well, Sangweni is sinking in
agony.
MATHONGA-
Eighty-

MATHONGA-

Ntaba is live on Instagram, he’s killed the

Sangweni family.
The giggling giant is what the viewers call him,
some call him a monster while others
commend him for what he has done.
I run out of my room to show everyone what I
have just witnessed. They are all gathered in the
lounge, Vukuzakhe, baba, Bongiwe and
Khethiwe. Some of the servants are here as well,
it’s a pretty crowded room.
My father looks like his heart has been ripped
out of his chest, my guess is that they have
seen the live. He’s on the phone shouting orders,
“I want you at the station before my son gets
there, do you hear me Ngubane?”
That’s the Vumile I know.
Ngubane is his lawyer, thirty years of
experience. I hope he’s not rusted, Ntaba will
need the best lawyer money can buy.
“Baba!”
All eyes turn to me, wide and curious.
“Ntaba is in trouble,” I say, nearing them.
“We’re watching the video, it looks so surreal.”
Her face is surreal.
Why does Bongiwe sound so excited about this?
“You know Ntaba will go to jail, right?” I’m
asking Mrs Surreal, she huffs and waves me off.
“The police just got there,” oh! I almost forgot
about Khethiwe, her eyes are housing tears.
“How can Ntaba be so stupid, why would he go
live? There are more than 10 000 views now,
people are spreading the word. It’s going to go
viral before morning.”
Tell me something I don’t know.
“At least he’ll be famous after this, they have
given him a name. They call him ‘The giggling
giant’. You’ll find a way to excuse his offense.
He is a prince, he can buy the country if he
wants.” Stupidity does not suit Bongiwe.
“Bongiwe!” Zakhe rebukes her, good for him.
She doesn’t care though, they are watching on
her phone, I’m sure she’s the one who called
baba. I’m glad Nandi is not here, I don’t want her
to know what really happened to her daughter.
“Bhuti,” I’m talking to Bongiwe’s husband now.
Stress is going to kill him at a young age. “Bhuti
we have to help him.”
He’s typing something on his phone, striding
towards me.
“Let’s talk in the kitchen.” Okay, he wants
privacy. A second later, he places the phone
against his ear, big brother is sweating goat
dung.
“Who are you calling?” I’m anxious to find out, I
have never seen him this terrified before.
He looks at me and with a low voice says,
“Funokuhle.”
“Oh shit!” I completely forgot about him. “Do
you think he has seen the video?”
“I hope not,” he keeps his voice down. “Thonga,
he’s alone.”
“Let’s hope he’s sleeping, besides, he doesn’t
look like the Instagram type. Let us fix Ntaba’s
mess before umjolo bhuti.” I might get a slap
for this.
A sigh slips past his lips, “You’re right let’s go.”
He’s already headed to the door.
“Where are we going?”
“To the Sangwenis, he’ll need to see a familiar
face.”
Well, Ntaba is not about that. I doubt he ever
feels alone, he’s on a high right now and the last
thing he cares about is seeing a familiar face.
I follow him out regardless, time is of the
essence.

“Did you know about this?” He’s asking me,

perks of having a spiritual gift. People think you
know everything, if that were the case, I
would’ve prevented Zamangwane’s death. I
steal a look from the passenger side and meet
his stern gaze.
“No!” That’s considered a lie right? I knew Ntaba
was going to pay them a visit, and maybe kill
one of them. Wiping out the entire family is new
to me.
“Mathonga wait.” Where is Khethiwe going?
She’s running towards the car, I have tell Zakhe
to stop.
“What’s happening?” He asks.
He doesn’t know that his brother has a girlfriend.
“That’s the woman who warms your brother’s
bed.” I’m stupidly smiling, anticipating a
Ndleleni response from Zakhe. He’s so boring,
his face lacks a reaction. Aish! Old people.
“We can’t take her with us, it might be
dangerous.” He says.
Too late, the door opens and in hops a
breathless Khethiwe.
My brother is giving me a look, he wants me to
tell her to go back into the house. I’m not doing
that.
“Drive bhuti.”
His eyes rebuke me, he’s internally complaining.
I’m not bothered really, as long as we get there
before the police take Ntaba away.
It’s awkward in the car with Khethiwe sniffing
like that, I don’t know about my brother but I’m
not about to comfort her. Comforting a crying
woman takes a lot from you, telling her lies; that
everything will be okay. Not. In. The. Mood!
Zakhe keeps side eyeing me, he wants me to do
the honours. It’s not happening. He should
answer his phone and leave me alone.
I check the name flashing on the screen, Styles
is calling. He hands me the phone, “Put him on
speaker.” He says.
Mmhh!
“Zakhe!” People like Styles don’t greet, I lived
with the man, okay.
“Styles, my brother is in trouble.” He’s not about
to cry is he? Or his voice has dropped to the
lowest common denominator?
“Yeah, I’m watching the news. The kid is not so
careless, he has unravelled.” Styles.
Ntaba has made it to the news? Trust social
media people to spread the word, this is a
disaster. He will never get out of this mess.
“I don’t want him going to jail. The police are all
over the place, he’s killed everyone. If he walks
out of that house, they will shoot him on the
spot.” Zakhe articulates, I keep checking for
tears in his eyes.
Nothing.
“Let me see if I can make some calls, I’m not
promising anything.” Thank you Styles, maybe
he knows people who know people.
“Please help him,” Zakhe’s final words before he
drops the call.
“If Ntaba gets arrested, I will never speak to
Khahlamba and Nomkhubulwane again.”
No, I’m highly upset.
How can they let this happen to their own? Are
they not ashamed? Other people’s ancestors
are sweating blood, helping their people.
“Where is Ndleleni anyway? He should be here,”
in addition, I ask.
As useless as we all are, we need to show our
brother that we care.
“He had something to do, we’re going to need
all the help we can get.”
This brother is not going to tell me what that
something is, is he?

There is nowhere to park, police cars are

everywhere. I see an ambulance, and… a TV
news van. There is no rest for the wicked, they
are going to humiliate my brother.
Neighbours in their night wears are here too,
hurdled like a herd of animals. Heavily armed
policemen have taken positions on all corners,
the bloody sherbets look well trained and
determined to come out victorious. How is
Ntaba going to escape them?
“Hey, hey! Are fucking blind? This is a crime
scene, you can’t park there.” A white policeman
barks while approaching us.
“I can park wherever the hell I want, this is my
town.” I don’t know Zakhe to be this person, but
this idiot deserves it.
The cop laughs, “Move your car boy or I will
handcuff you, jail is not a nice place for a pretty
boy like you.”
What? Vukuzakhe Khanyile? A pretty boy? This
cop has no respect.
I want to intervene, but Zakhe is on his face,
towering over the scrawny white man.
“I am not your boy,” he bubbles with anger.
“Take a look around Simon, I’m surrounded by
my people. Just one word from me and mob
justice will be the last thing you utter out of that
dirty mouth of yours.”
Sheesh!
“Is that a threat boy?” The officer mumbles, his
neck must be hurting from looking up.
“Call me boy again and you’ll find out,” Zakhe.
The officer is not fazed, he slams his hands on
his chest to push him back. Zakhe doesn’t
move an inch and that has the cop widening his
eyes in anger.
Zakhe is boiling with rage, his fists are clench
so are his teeth. I see a punch coming and
stand in between them.
“We don’t want trouble sir, we’re…” I raise my
hands to pat the arrogant cop’s shoulder, but he
tackles me, knocking me down to the ground.
His whole body is on top of me, restraining me.

“A little help here,” he’s calling for backup.

“Hey, what are you doing?” I’m doing everything
I can to pull away.
“Stop resisting arrest sir, or you will be charged
with resisting an officer in the lawful execution
of a legal duty.” He’s shouting.
A knee is pressed on my neck before I can
comprehend what is happening. He pulls my
hands to my back and begins to handcuff me.
“Mathonga!” Khethiwe yelps, it doesn’t help me,
does it?
“What are you doing?” I hear Zakhe shout, I
want to know the same. What did I do to
deserve this humiliating treatment?
“What is happening?” There’s someone else
here, another white man if I’m reading his
accent right. I can’t see a damn thing from
down here.
“He attacked me sir,” says the violent cop.
He’s lying, all I did was brush his shoulder.
“That’s a lie!” Zakhe spits out the words. “There
are witnesses, everyone saw what happened.”
The spectators agree with Zakhe, there is no
case. I’m innocent.
“You better let my brother go, or I will personally
see to it that you’re both removed from your
positions.” Zakhe’s threat must be sinking in,
the officers have gone quiet.
“Let him go,” the second one commands. He
must be the commander. The idiot on top of me
takes his precious time to remove the
handcuffs, Zakhe helps me up. I’m livid, I want
justice. I was wrongfully handcuffed by this
racist lunatic glaring daggers at me. Zakhe
presses a hand on my shoulder and squeezes,
he’s trying to calm me down.
“What are you people doing here?” You people?
“If you’re not going to address us with respect,
then please let us talk to a man of colour. My
brother is in that house, we have the right to
know about his wellbeing.” Zakhe.
The cops share a look, if only I can read minds.
“Is your brother the one who has slaughtered
the whole family?” The superior ask, his badge
reads SGT. Van Schalkwyk.
“That’s your word against his,” I sizzle.
It’s pretty obvious that I am still fuming.
“In that case, I can’t allow you to go through the
caution tape,” he says, nudges his partner
before they walk away.

“How are we going to talk to Ntaba? He’s alone

in there.” Khethiwe’s cries elevate, maybe
bringing her along was a bad idea.
“I’m going to try his phone,” Zakhe says.
We wait as he dials the number, it’s ringing.
“Bhuti,” he answers just as we’re about to lose
hope.
“Tell me you’re okay.” Zakhe’s first words.
“There are police outside,” Ntaba states the
obvious.
He does not sound like someone who is in
trouble.
“I know, we’re here as well. Why did you do it?
You murdered the entire Sangweni family.”
Has he forgotten about Funokuhle?
“They deserved it, I would do it again given a
second chance.” I agree with Ntaba, they
deserved it. But the kids, he should’ve at least
spared the kids.
“Not the children, those were Funo’s nieces and
nephews.” Just when I thought he’s forgotten
his person.
“Don’t you think I know that?” Ntaba.
“He will never forgive me for this, what am I
going to say to him?”
“Why are you blaming yourself? I killed his
family.”
Why are they debating? They should be talking
about getting him out of there.
“Khethiwe is here,” I jump in. Little Miss has not
said anything. Was she not the one who wanted
to come here?
“Ntaba, please stop. We need you back home,
please Ngwane.” Worry cloaks her voice, she’s a
mess of tears. Ntaba is silent, he has nothing to
say to her and that breaks Khethiwe because
she burst into cries.
I look around, in search of a woman who will be
willing to lend a shoulder to cry on.
“Is Mfundo still alive? Release him and let the
police take you in. I’ll take you out of prison
bhuti wami, I promise.” I believe Zakhe, if
anything, he takes care of his own.
Knowing Ntaba, he is going to take what Zakhe
said with a grain of salt.
“Take Khethiwe back home, I don’t want her to
see me like this. I’m not done with Mfundo bhuti,
I will give myself in once I finish what I came
here for.” The phone goes dead, he dropped the
call on us. Ntaba is too stubborn to listen to
anyone.
NTABEZIKUDE-

He does not have a particular preference for

gender, if he did, the women and children
would’ve been spared from his wrath. He lacks
compassion, and at this point it’s safe to
associate him with one of the world’s notorious
serial killers.
He’s not a highly egocentric murderer who kills
for narcissistic reasons, his heart has been torn
in two. This is the only way to mend it, give the
perpetrators a taste of their own medicine.
“I would build a man cave in here if I could, but I
don’t like the smell of death. Law enforcement
is outside, we can’t stay away for too long.” He
tells a weak Mfundo who is lying on his back,
strength has been drained from him.
“Before we go, pull down your pants.” He makes
sure the camera is directed at Mfundo.
“Fuck you!” The man on the floor spews spit at
him.
“Argh, Sangweni. You should be wishing that for
yourself, one last fuck before you meet your
demise. Unless, there are she demons in hell,
then no worries.” There’s that giggle that makes
him seem crazy and out of touch with reality.
Mfundo is too weak to move, so it’s left to
Ntaba to pull the darn pants down exposing the
man’s manhood.
“Wh… what are you doing?” Mfundo’s voice is
on the verge of extinction, he has finished his
crying bundles. He’s waiting for his death now,
there is nothing left for him.
Ntaba pulls something from his pocket, a small
white bottle.
“Time for the climax,” he winks at Mfundo,
twists the lid open. A barbaric act of physical
torture, he empties it on Mfundo’s nether
regions. Some spread all over his body. This is
one of the sickest element of his sadistic game.
His tormenting screams echo, the Khanyile mad
man poured acid on his penis.
Ntaba stands back, watching the man suffer
from deep burns. His harboured anger has
unleashed, he viewed the Sangwenis as objects
he wanted to destroy and the results are grisly.
The giggle attacks him again, he derives
pleasure from his sadistic torture methods.
He has degraded Mfundo and enjoyed every
second of it while displaying a reckless
disregard for his suffering.

“Let’s go give the people a show, shall we?”

The pair of pants lying on the dressing table
catch his attention, what he needs from them is
the belt. He strings it around Mfundo’s neck and
drags him out of the bedroom like a dog with no
legs. Mfundo is groaning and screaming and
drooling.
They arrive at the sounds of guns cocking, they
are pointed at him.
“Wow, smile Sangweni. All these people are
here for you.”
“You are surrounded Ntabezikude, step away
from the victim.” One of the commanding
officers shouts.
“What about my show stopper?” Ntaba
mumbles enough for him and Mfundo to hear…
oh and the audience across the world. His mind
is flooded with dark thoughts, he is a monster,
worse than evil.
“Step away from the victim now,” sounds like a
final warning.
He lets go of the leash, and the phone, lifts his
hands and goes down on his knees. The police
start moving in, as slow as they can.
A smirk stretching at the corner of his mouth,
Ntaba side eyes his right hand and right there is
a lighter. Acid and fire are not the best of
friends.
This man came prepared, a premeditated
murder might get him the death penalty. Then
again, this is South Africa.
There is nothing outside of his outer
appearance that makes one extremely afraid of
him— he can easily draw you into him, charming
like a snake.
So, what’s his excuse for these multiple vicious
acts? He can always tell the judge he was high
on Mageu and toppers.
“Kiss Satan for me Sangweni, don’t have too
much without me.” He sends the message and
drops the lit lighter on Mfundo. Lying down on
his stomach to avoid being shot at, he laughs,
eyes on an enflamed Mfundo as he runs around
like a headless chicken.
Gratification is the sense of control he has
gained and the pain he instilled on this family
who fell prey to his anger. Motivated by revenge,
Ntabezikude Khanyile has wiped out the entire
family.
“Go! Go! Go!” A sense of emergency lies in the
voice of the one who gives an order.

Khanyile is handcuffed and taken out of the

premises, he keeps looking back at Mfundo.
The man is still on fire, the police are trying to
get him to stop, drop and roll.
Blinding lights flash the moment he is taken out
the gate, the media bombards him questions he
does not answer.
“Ntaba!” He hears Khethiwe scream his name,
his eyes search until they find her. She’s in tears,
he wants to tell her not to cry, that she looks
ugly when she cries. Vukuzakhe and Mathonga
are here, amid the crowd, trying to push their
way through, to get to him. The police push
back anyone who’s attempting to get through,
including the TV media. Ntaba acknowledges
his brothers with a smile.
“We’re right behind you Ntaba, I will get you out.
I promise.” Now Zakhe’s promises can be legit,
but this is a tough one.
The cop ushering Ntaba pushes him in the back
of a police car, when the door shuts, he sits
back and heaves a sigh.
“You boys think this country belongs to you,
there is no getting out of this one.” The driver
sneers. It’s an Afrikaner, disgust is marked on
his face.
“You’re going to spend the rest of your life in
prison boy.” He finishes.
Ntaba giggles and shuts his eyes, it’s been a
long day.

MATHONGA-
Eighty-one

NALA-

Had I known the intimate moment I had with

Mathonga would be a trigger, I never would
have allowed him to touch me in that way.
It started with the dreams, then flash backs of
the nights Petros would force himself on me.
He’s back and haunting me.
He’s everywhere, his thick scent on my skin, his
soul is tangled with mine and his body is
pressed against mine. I can still feel him,
especially when I lie in bed at night.
How do I get rid of him?
Talking to a qualified stranger about it is not
helping, it might work for others. It takes me
back to those nights, sometimes his scent
randomly swooshes past my nostrils, and I
instantly become paranoid and attentive to my
surroundings.
Ninety percent of the time I keep myself busy, it
works as a defence mechanism and helps me
forget a little.

Zitha is driving me back home after a day spent

with her, we haven’t received the DNA results
yet, but she treats me like her sister. I’m
enjoying the attention I’m getting from her.
“I had fun today,” I introduce.
“We can do it again tomorrow.” Zitha has so
much time in her hands, she’s not like any other
ordinary mom. Perhaps it could be that her
husband is hands-on with their kid.
“I can’t tomorrow, Thobani has a therapy
session.”
“Oh, I can take you guys. What time is it?”
I want to tell her to stay home and spend time
with Buhle, I’ve been too selfish with her. I
haven’t met him yet, she’s shown me pictures.
The three of them look like a happy bunch.
“Don’t worry about it, transport is sorted.” I
kindly decline her offer, I don’t want her family
thinking I’m taking her from them.
“Where is he?” I ask, and the smile on her face
disperses. She knows who I’m talking about.
Curiosity has not let me rest since I found out
that we could be sisters, Zitha hasn’t said
anything about the man who might have
fathered me, so why not ask?
“He’s around and not worth it,” she says it like
he is a huge obstacle in her path.
“Why? What did he do?”
“Tshilidzi is a closed subject, we don’t talk
about him.” The tone she uses is infinitely
dismissive.
Tshilidzi must have messed up to be hated by
his own daughter. My mother never talked
about my father, maybe I was too young to
remember.

Suddenly we hear a loud bang, Zitha instantly

stops the car.
“What was that?” I’m panicking, while she looks
relaxed. I don’t remember her having a strong
drink today, why is she so calm?
“I think I hit something, I’ll go check.” She
dashes out of the car, the road is not so busy.
Rush hour has come and gone with the hours.
After checking for any incoming cars, I leave the
vehicle to join Zitha. I find her standing in front
of an unconscious woman on the ground, there
is so much blood on her I can’t tell where the
wound is. It can’t be from the accident, it wasn’t
that loud a bang.
“I think she’s dead,” she’s panicking now.
“We have to get her to the hospital, let’s bring
her to the car.” My idea could get us into trouble
with the police, but it’s the only way to find out if
the woman is still alive.
“Okay, you grab her hands and I’ll take her legs.”
Zitha.
As I move closer, the lady’s face comes to light.
“Wait a minute, I know her. I know this lady.”
This is Amandla, the woman I met at the
restaurant.
“We’ll do the reunion later, I don’t want to be
charged for murder.” She bends over and grabs
her legs, gosh it looks so wrong carrying an
knocked out woman to the car.

VUKUZAKHE-

He couldn’t stay away anymore, worry for

Funokuhle wouldn’t let him rest. He uses his
keys to enter the apartment, Funokuhle should
be sleeping in bed but it’s empty and made.
“Hey kid,” he calls out to him.
He must be in the bathroom, “Funokuhle, are
you in there?”
Zakhe knocks on the bathroom door for a while,
it’s too quiet in there. He has to check though
just to make sure, maybe Funokuhle is upset
and doesn’t want to see him.
Slowly he opens the door and his heart sinks to
his stomach when he sees him in the bath tub,
buried naked in the water.

Zakhe can’t say when he got Funokuhle out of

the water, the next thing his minion is lying on
the bathroom floor while he’s performing CPR.
“Come on kid, breathe for me.” Desperately, he
pleads with the unconscious man. “Please
breathe… please.”
There is no progress after a few attempts, his
body lies still and cold on the wet tiles.
Feeling helpless, Zakhe stands and stumbles
back, unshed tears threatening to expose the
pain in his heart.
What he’s feeling is unexplainable.
His back hits the wall, he falls flat on his butt.
It’s the shock that has rendered him weak, he
covers his mouth with his hand as tears rush
down his face.
Funokuhle can’t be dead, he can’t be.
“Funokuhle, no.” A trebling whisper.
What is he going to do now? How will he live
without his minion? The image of Funokuhle’s
body lying there will be engraved on his mind
forever.

The kid’s ancestors must have rejected him, he

coughs once before he starts choking.
“Kid,” Zakhe hurries to his side, his eyes are
slightly open giving him a glimpse of the terror
and fear in Zakhe’s eyes. Only when Funokuhle
sits up is he able to catch his breath.
“It’s okay,” Zakhe assures him.
Hurriedly he grabs a bath towel and covers
Funokuhle’s nakedness.
“You’re okay, you’re okay my love.” Zakhe
repeats with a shaky voice, his arms are tight
around the young man.
“I’m fine.” Funo is pushing him away, his gorilla
won’t let go though. “I’m fine Vukuzakhe.”
He manages to push him, his head is spinning
and heart pounding many beats a minute.
Thinking he’s strong enough, Funokuhle stands.
“It’s not what you think.” He’s trying to explain
what Vukuzakhe saw.
What else could it be? He came home to find
his minion buried in the bath tub filled with
water and not breathing, for a moment he
thought he was dead.
Stopping his heart from racing will need doctors,
it feels like it’s about to drop out of his chest.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Funokuhle
commands, noticing the intent stare from
Zakhe. Fear does not come easy to this giant,
but now, he looks like he has seen a ghost.
“Why are you doing this? Did you even stop to
think of me Funokuhle?” He is fighting back
tears.
“I wasn’t going to kill myself, I was just
sleeping.”
That was a strange sleep.
“You killed me today, you have killed me.”
Zakhe is still in shock, he has lost the ability to
move. Getting up from the bathroom floor could
be a risk, he is not sure if his legs will support
him. What the hell did this boy just show him?
“I told you I was sleeping, I don’t know how I
blacked out.” With these words he walks out of
the bathroom, the towel wrapped around his
waist.
Zakhe’s tongue click tails Funo, he needs
answers. Why would he want to commit suicide?
How could he be so selfish? Is he not worth
living for?
If this is his plan to hurt him then it worked.
In a fit of rage, Zakhe marches out of the
bathroom, he finds Funokuhle sitting on the bed.
He can’t read anything from that blank stare.

“What was that about? Why would you do that

nonsense?” He’s never yelled at him like this,
Funo should be recoiling and hiding under the
sheets. But he remains steady, a blank
expression on his face.
“I told you I was not trying to kill myself, what
do you want from me?” Funokuhle keeps calm.
“The truth,” is said with a demanding tone.
“It’s fine if you don’t believe me, there is nothing
I can do to convince you.”
Actually there might be something, at least look
apologetic.
“Do you have any idea what finding you like that
did to me?”
There is no answer from Funokuhle, he
questions Zakhe with the look in his eyes.
“Say something dammit!” Zakhe needs to calm
down.
“What do you want me to say?” The minion
shrugs and takes his gaze away.
“I am nothing without you Funokuhle, it all
means nothing without you.” He’s wearing his
heart on his sleeve.
Funokuhle shrugs for the second time, there is
no ounce of emotion on his cold face.
“I wanted to hear my heart beating.” He finally
speaks after a stretched moment of silence. “I
felt lifeless I guess. I wasn’t going to kill myself,
I would never do that.”
It’s so hard for Zakhe to believe him, no one
falls asleep in a bathtub filled to the brim and
does not realise they are drowning.
“I have never been so scared in my life,” Zakhe
strides up to his minion. He kneels in front of
him, and rests his head on Funo’s lap.
Funo’s body tenses at the contact, he shifts
uncomfortably when Khanyile wraps his arms
around his waist, pulling the younger man
closer.
“I know you’re hurting and I am so sorry kid.” Oh,
he knows why he did what he did.
“They are dead… my family is…” The rest of his
words flat out, he breaks into sobs. Zakhe holds
him tighter but Funo is on a mission to push
him away.
“I’m sorry Funokuhle, I’m so sorry.” Repeating
these words is not helping at all, the last
Sangweni kin won’t stop bawling.
This means he saw the news, he knows what
Ntaba did. There has to be a way to turn back
time and change today’s happenings.

NDLELENI-

He didn’t think she would keep him waiting,

women are unpredictable and crazy sometimes.
The restaurant is not so crowded, thankfully
and there are no TVs. The place is occupied by
people who came to eat while enjoying each
other’s company.
He checks the time on his wrist watch, and
realises he’s lost ten minutes in this restaurant.
He wants to log in on Instagram and see what’s
happening now. However, it could be risky,
someone might catch him, say… a girl he’s
looking to impress.
That’s right, he came with the desire to seduce.
‘Do you feel what I’m feeling?’ Is the first thing
he should ask her.
“Ndleleni.” His heart almost escapes his chest,
he recognises her voice even though they met
once.
Nerves attack him, he stands and tries for a
smile.
“Banami, you made it?” Relax Ndleleni, you’ll
give yourself away.
The smile she returns is legit, his gaze is all
over her body. Tonight she looks different, a red
dress that rides up her thighs ever so slightly.
The fabric tracing her figure.
Her lips are tinted with red lipstick, that’s all the
make-up she could get on her face. The smell
of her perfume is mesmerising, in his eyes she
looks perfect. This must be the only woman in
the world, the rest are one of the guys. Never
has he ever felt this way for a woman.
“Yo… you look… red.” Okay, rewind.
The fool blinks as if Banami’s giggle served as a
go ahead.
“I mean, stunning. You’re beautiful Banami.”
She keeps the warm smile, “thank you.”
Silence is golden, but not always. It’s strange
standing in the middle of the restaurant, lost in
someone’s eyes. Banami clears her throat, a
way to snap out of it and pulls a chair. It’s cue
for Ndleleni to wake up and unfreeze himself,
his hands lace hers when he grabs her chair. It’s
by accident that his face is so near to hers,
she’s such a short little thing that he has to
almost hunch to get closer.
Wait a second! Is he going for a kiss? Too soon.
“Ndleleni,” Banami breathlessly takes his name.
Her warm breath touches his face, he feels the
hair on his nape stand and his dick twitch—just
a fraction.
Definitely not the time.
Ndleleni pulls the chair for her, she takes a sit
after a confident ‘thank you.’

Vukuzakhe gave him her numbers, it was after

they saw the video of Ntaba assassinating
innocent people.
“You know what you must do,” Zakhe had said.
At first, Ndleleni was dumbfounded until he
remembered that Ntaba or Mathonga must’ve
told him about him meeting a girl and almost
making a fool of himself.
“I didn’t think you would come,” he starts the
conversation on a light note.
“Why?” She asks in a voice so sweet that he
forgets the way her eyes are adoringly staring
into his.
“I… I don’t know, most girls like playing hard to
get. We barely know each other, but…”
All this stuttering! Come on Ndleleni, get your
head in the game.
“But I’m here,” the confidence in her voice is
highly palpable. He could get used to this. “I’m
not a child Ndleleni and I’m a busy woman, I
don’t have time to play hard to get.”
This should be fun.
He likes the way she speaks, it brings a smile to
his face.
“You’re smiling?” She wears a smile so bright.
“I am?” Of course he knows he’s smiling.
“Not to come across as forward or anything,”
she takes the menu and pages to the wine
section. “When I first saw you, you came across
as intimidating. Arrogant if I may put it clearly.”
“Okay!” That’s all he can say.
“I saw the same expression and demeanour
when I walked in here, you don’t have an
approachable face.”
Judging the guy on a first date? Wrong move
Banami.
“I… didn’t know… that.” He clears his throat
again. It’s too soon to let her know she makes
him nervous.
Dinner passes through a light conversation, she
makes him laugh and that’s something many
have failed to do. Most of the time he’s too
serious that Banami holds back from being
herself. It has to do with his daunting character.
“Would you like another glass?” He’s already
pouring the wine in her glass.
Banami reaches for his hand to stop him, “No,
I’ve got work tomorrow.”
Their gaze lasts a full second, enough for each
to take in the face of the other. Nothing needs
to be said, the universe has taken care of the
message.
“Wanna dance?” Ooh! Zakhe will be proud, this
is what a man on a mission does. Ndleleni has
found a way for their bodies to communicate
without the need of words.
“I don’t dance, I suck at dancing.” She replies, a
smile in her voice tells him she’s a warm
woman. Just what the doctor ordered.
“You won’t have to do anything, just hold on to
me and I will lead you.”
This one reads Mills and Boon.
Banami cracks with laughter, “That’s so
cheesy.”
He means it though.
“I’ll dance with you,” she gobbles down the wine
leaving the glass empty. He’s not about to judge
her, people are going through shit out there. A
glass of something strong to numb the pain
can’t be so bad.
“Just don’t let go, I might fall if you do.” Banami.
He stands and takes her hand, “You’re allowed
to fall Smurfette. I am here to catch you.”
Banami moves into Ndleleni’s personal space
with just the right amount of heat in her eyes.
She’s not just looking at him, she is looking into
him as if she knows his desires.
“Really dude, you just called me Smurfette.”
“You just called me dude.” He challenges her
with a raised brow.
“Ndleleni!” How does she fight this smile
attacking her.
“Banami!” Ndleleni is trying to be indifferent,
she can never find out how much power she
has on him.
His heart is beating fast, in their eyes there’s an
invitation to learn about the other.

For heaven’s sake, Park Hyoshin’s The Dance is

too deep a song for these two. They just met,
good-god.

On the dance floor, even before he touches her,

she feels his hands and her lungs expand with
salty air. His hands fall down her back, he
presses her body against his. This closeness
comes with electric tingles and the desire to
play.
“You’re so warm,” he whispers into her ear.
“It must be the heat in here,” her voice has the
rhythm he would love to hear now and again.
She needs strepsils, this is the umpteenth time
she’s clearing her throat.
“The air conditioner is on,” Ndleleni reminds her.
He brushes a strand of her braids from her
shoulder and moves in so close she can feel his
lean body pressed up against hers. Just the
right blend of relaxation and tension.
Ndleleni lifts his hand to caress her neck, slow
and gentle. He’s making himself wait for their
lips to gather and he can hardly bare it. He
wants her lips now, but he has to play this right
lest he comes across as a pervert who is out to
dip his dick in someone’s cookie.
With a gentle touch, he cups her face and
connects his lips to hers, Banami responds with
no hesitation.
“Let’s get out of here,” this man is taking
chances.
“My place?” Oh, wow. She’s a chance taker too.
Seduce the forensic psychologist… Mission in
progress, hopefully his dick will work wonders
and get Banami on their side. Ntaba’s life
depends on it.
MATHONGA-
Bonus-

NALA-

Amandla suffered from multiple stab wounds,

that’s what the doctor said. She lost a lot of
blood, there’s a long list of people waiting for
donors. I offered mine, Zitha did too; out of guilt
I presume.
Amandla is in theatre, the wait is agonising. I
don’t know her but my heart goes out to her.
Who would want to hurt her?
“Zitha!” Kenneth is here, she called him on our
way to the hospital. I watch as she throws
herself in his arms, he’s holding her like he
never wants to let go.
“Are you hurt?” He queries, inspecting every
inch of her body. Zitha nods and goes back into
his arms.
Kenneth is turning fifty years old soon. He does
not look a day older than 35, what do these rich
people eat that has them looking young?
This black don’t crack thing is playing with our
emotions, black people need to decide if they
want to age or not. You can’t be growing in age
and not in body.
That aside, I was blown away when she told me
she’s twenty-four. A whole twenty-six year gap
between her and Kenneth.
Zitha is a year older than me, if we are sisters
then I will have a big sister. It will be nice to be
taken care of for once.
“Where was Mandla when all of this happened?”
He’s not letting her go, yet anger is visible on
his face. I would be recoiling if I were Zitha.
“I gave him a day off, I wanted to spend time
alone with Nala.” Zitha explains and his eyes
find me, I think I’m going to pee on myself.
“Zithobile, I told you never to drive yourself.” He
releases her and shoves his hands in his
pockets, he’s chiding her with an intimidated
stare. Zitha is not fazed, in fact she wraps her
arms around his waist and lays her head on his
chest.
“I’m know Kenny, but Mandla is a family man.
He deserves a break too.” This must be how
she softens him up, the man is melting under
her touch.
“Where is Dlozi?” That’s their son’s name, it’s
similar to Mathonga. Although they have
different meanings.
“He’s sleeping over at Liyana’s, she will bring
him home tomorrow.” Zitha.
Kenneth frowns, I don’t understand how he
switches from soft to hard in the blink of an eye.
“We’re fetching him on our way home, he’s my
son.” He says.
Dramatic!
From the corner of my eye I see the doctor
striding over to us, saving me from the two love
birds.
“The doctor is here.” I alert them.
The first thing I do is look for any dejection on
his face, that’s where doctors carry the bad
news.
“How is she doctor?” Zitha asks, wrapping
herself around Kenneth. They seem like the
clingy type.
“Please tell me she’s okay.” He turns his gaze to
me.
“The surgery went well, your sister will be fine.”
My sister?
Zitha and I share a muddled look, “she’s not my
sister doctor. I only met her recently.”
He probably thinks we look alike.
The confusion has transferred to the doctor, he
glances at me then Zitha, then back at me.
“But we did some tests before the blood
transfusion and your blood DNA matches with
hers, she is your sister.”
No, this must be some kind of mistake.
“Wow, to go is to see.” Zitha claps her hands as
she cackles shockingly. I’m just as taken aback,
I mean what are the odds of meeting your
sisters all in a space of a week? Life will
surprise you.

DALISILE-

“Ndlunkulu, you have a visitor.” Such respect

coming from a warden to a prisoner? Must be
nice.
A few days in and Dalisile has gained herself
some loyal followers, must be luck or her
mother is watching over her from above.
She has not been taken to trial yet, she shares
the cell with a bunch of aggressive women who
are frustrated by the mere fact of being locked
up.
A holding cell is hell for a woman who lived like
a queen half of her life.
She stands, rushes towards the cell bar, and
grabs it with both hands.
“Who is it?” She asks.
It’s shocking to her because no one has visited
her since she’s been locked up, friends, family,
or the lawyer she so desperately wanted to
meet.
“Omunye umagriza, jeer that old hag smells of
impepho.” The warden makes a disgusted face.
Dalisile is not there, her mind has gone with the
wind to find out who the old hag might be.
It can’t be Mgobhozi, that one loves herself too
much to go around smelling of muti. Besides,
the last time she saw her, her foot was
decaying.
“How come she gets visitors after hours?” One
of the cell mates complains.
“Voetsek sboshwa,” (Piss off, prisoner.)
The prisoner grumbles at the guard’s barking.
That was a good question though, how is the
person who came to see Dalisile allowed to see
her this late at night?

She’s in the visitor’s room, there is no glass

separating them, only a table. The woman is not
as old as the warden made it sound, but the
strong smell of impepho lingers about. Dalisile
frowns at the sight of her, nothing in her
appearance looks familiar.
“I’ll give you some privacy Ndlunkulu, you have
less than five minutes. I’ll lose my job if the
superiors find out about this visit.” This warden
deserves a lil’ something in her account, but
dear Dalisile is broke.
The guard shuts the door behind her.
“Who are you?” Dalisile does not greet, she
never does. The old woman sneers at her, her
gaze fixed on Dalisile till she’s seated opposite
her.
“This is not a social visit, your sister sent me.”
This gets Dalisile’s full attention.
“How is she? How is Mgobhozi?” Her sister is
the only one she has left, losing her will be
devastating.
“Don’t worry about her, I’m taking care of her.”
That should be good news, Dalisile’s face lacks
a smile though.
“She asked me to give you something.”
“Is it money? I need money and a lawyer. My
useless husband turned our lawyer against
me…”
Her complaint falls midway when the old
woman stands, she digs a hand into her panties.
God knows what she’s doing, horrified, Dalisile
looks away.
“What are you doing?”
“Here!” Dalisile looks back to see her holding
her a small black plastic tied in a knot.
“I’m not touching that, where did you store it?”
Yes, she is still queen.
“Do you want to get out of jail or not?”
That’s a rhetorical question.
“What’s in the plastic?”
“Don’t ask me questions I cannot answer in
here, make sure you swallow this. No matter
what happens, don’t spit it out. Or you will never
get out of here.”
Dalisile uses the sleeve of her garment to take
the packet, she’s scrutinising the woman under
her gaze, not sure if she should trust her.
“My name is Nyoni, Mgobhozi has told you
about me. I’ll see you on the other side.” She
leaves without any goodbyes.
Dalisile cannot trust this Nyoni woman, but
Mgobhozi has all her trust.

MATHONGA-

We were not allowed to see Ntaba, Styles had

said he was pulling some strings. How long are
those strings? I need to make sure that Ntaba is
doing okay, physically and mentally.

“The criminal is a high risk to society.” These

were the state attorney’s words.

Imagine calling my brother a high risk to society,

nonsense. The ancestors are too quiet on me.
Not only that, they have decided to take my
sleep from me.
I tossed and turned in bed till taking a walk was
the only option I was left with. Yeah, Yeah, it’s
after midnight but who cares?
I haven’t spoken to baba about the funeral,
Bongiwe had mentioned that it’s on Sunday. We
don’t bury on Saturday in the Sabbath.
It’s a sad moment for us, losing Zamangwane.
Nandi was admitted at the hospital, I don’t know
how but the old lady collapsed after she saw
the Sangweni massacre, I’m talking confession
and all.
She will never come back from this, she’s
supposed to be here, mourning her daughter.
The mattress was prepared for her to sit on, I
hope she comes back in time for the funeral.

I see a car driving in and instantly recognise

that it’s Ndleleni’s, today he will tell me where
he’s been.
“Ndoda,” I’m going for a handshake.
Okay, so he’s going to ignore me like that? He’s
headed to the kitchen, someone pissed him off
or is it Zamo’s death?
“Who ate your cake?” I ask as soon as I find him
gulping down a bottle of beer. He shoots me a
cold stare, I know when to back off but today…
today he will not intimidate me.
“More like whose cake did I eat?” Oh now he’s
talking, or scoffing rather.
“I don’t understand,” Ndleleni never makes
sense when he speaks. It could be that he’s not
a talker.
I’m given the second glare when he settles
down with two more bottles, a drunkard in the
making? Only a woman can make a man drink
this much.
“Alright, come out with it. Who broke your
heart?”
“Who said my heart is broken?”
“You’re grumpy, that’s the only thing that makes
sense. Or you are sexually frustrated, it has that
effect on people.” I’m a pro at this, I’ve been
having sex since my high school days. Pastor
Khuzwayo would call it fornication, who ever
invented that law was single as fuck.
The sigh Ndleleni emits answers me, he’s
sexually frustrated. I should not be laughing at
my brother.
“What happened?”
“Uhlekani shlama?” (What’s so funny?)
Why so violent? I’m trying to lend a helping hand.
“Listen Ndlela. I’m your brother, the only friend
you have. You need to speak to someone about
what you’re going through, or you will explode.”
I say.
I don’t want him feeling alone, he isolates
himself too much. This brother of mine needs a
woman, someone to keep his heart on the edge.
“That’s my problem,” he takes more than many
sips. “I didn’t explode.”
Confusion loves me, or these brothers love it
when I’m in the dark.
“Why do you want to explode?” I question him,
it’s what people do when they are not sure
about something. I don’t get why Ndleleni is
looking at me like I’m not human.
“Bhuti, I don’t…” Wait, that raised brow and the
shame in his eyes. “Ndleleni, why are you telling
me that you were masturbating? That’s
disgusting, I don’t want to…”
“Voetsek, mhlathi wakho. I was not doing that
nonsense.” He calls it nonsense?
I beg to differ, sometimes a man has to do what
a man has to do.
“I was out on a date with Banami and…”
“Wait, Banami the criminal profiler?” I’m beyond
shocked, I thought he was terrified of her.
“Yes, Zakhe wants her on our side. If she takes
Ntaba’s case and proves that he was not in his
rightful state of mind when he killed those
people, he might get a lighter sentence or
become a resident in the looney house.”
That is a good idea.
“But why use her? You can’t play with her heart
Ndleleni.”
He’s going for beer number two, I have to make
him a strong cup of coffee.
“I’m not entirely using her, I like her and I think
we might have something.” Nice. “We just need
someone on our side, I have to convince her to
take Ntaba’s case. She will evaluate him and
prove to the court that our brother is insane.”
“What if the court doesn’t believe it?” I ask.
“She’s a forensic Psychiatrist dummy, whatever
evidence she brings to the table will be
considered legit.” Ndleleni.
I can only wish him good luck, he’s an educated
fool who only knows how to run a business not
people’s lives.
“I hope it won’t backfire on you, bag yourself a
woman ndoda. You need one.” I pat his
shoulder but he shrugs my hand off.
“Yeah, if having a woman requires faking an
orgasm, then I’d rather not.” What is he saying
to me?
“Ndoda?” Is this what he meant when he said
he didn’t explode?
“Banami and I have great chemistry, everything
was going well. We connected and decided to
take things to her place. The car ride was
torture, it was hard to keep my hands to myself.
We didn’t make it into the house, we did it there
in the garage. On top of the boot of her car, I
could tell she was enjoying me man. She would
call my name, I loved that because we don’t
know each other that well but she called my
name.”
“Okay Shakespeare, you are great. I get it, take it
easy on the graphics.” I have to pause him a
little, he is still my brother and I’m not about to
watch Ndleleni having sex in my head.
He clicks his tongue, decides that I’m talking
rubbish and continues with his story.
“There was a bit of hesitation from my side
before I entered her, she had to direct my dick
to her hole. She thought I didn’t know which
hole…”
“Hayi, hayi Ndleleni man. What is your problem?
The only thing I want to know is how you didn’t
explode, I didn’t ask for details on how you get it
down.” He’s traumatising me, I will never be the
same. I move to get something to drink, dammit.
“Yey wena doti, you asked and I’m telling you.”
He stands with his beer to meet me by the sink,
why is he coming close?
“Move to the back a little, you were having sex
and have not taken a bath.” I think I can smell it
on him.
“Mathonga, something is wrong with me. I was
able to satisfy her but I couldn’t cum, I kept
going until she started yawning.” Banami didn’t.
I move to the fridge and get him another beer,
“Here, drink my brother. You need it.”
He takes it and goes for it, I’m not laughing at
him. He’s my brother, we don’t laugh at each
other.
“It’s not funny Ngwane, you need to fix me.
You’re a sangoma.” The desperation in the tone
of his voice.
“Haibo ndoda, I’m not a sangoma. What you
need to do is find whoever has the key to your
virginity and unlock it.” He needs the virgin fairy,
I’m not getting involved.
“You’re taking my suffering as a joke, today was
my first time with a woman and I felt nothing
but pain. It still hurts.” He grumbles.
Why are my eyes going down to his pants? My
word, he’s still hard. What kind of a family was I
born into?
“Please tell me Banami believed your fake
orgasm,” it’s a matter of his dignity.
“I think she did, she wanted to go for round
two.” He’s cringing.
“And?”
“I had to give her oral sex, I’ve never done it
before, so Google was my only way out. No way
was I going to shove my painful dick inside
her…”
“I’m not listening.” I cover my ears, it’s too much.
“Mathonga, I really like this girl.”
“Okay, we can phahla and ask them why you
can’t cum.” I tell him. “Plus there’s a death in
the family, you were not supposed to be having
sex to begin with. Maybe the ancestors locked
your dick.”
They are capable of anything, they do have the
power of life and death in the palms of their
hands.
“I think we should watch a bit of those explicit
videos first, I want to see if it still works.” We?
What does he mean, we?
“I’m not watching that with you.” I protest his
crazy idea.
“Ndoda you have to help me cum,” huh?
“No, I don’t have to help you cum. It’s not my
job.”
“You’re my brother, no one else can help me but
you.” He’s using emotional blackmail. “Please
Thonga, all I want is to cum. This thing is
stressing me. Am I asking for too much, I only
want you to make me cum.”
God, he’s like a broken record. The words don’t
make sense in my ears anymore.
“Hayi Ndeleni, make you cum for what now?
What the hell are you saying to me?”
Banami is driving him crazy, she needs to fix
this.
“Sorry I meant help me cum.”
He’s standing too close now, when I shift back
he shifts with me. Social distancing is
important at this moment.
“Okay, fine. We’ll watch only one together, then
see if your member still works.”
This is a recipe for bad luck, Zamangwane’s
spirit has not been collected yet and we’re
turning this house into Ndleleni’s brothel.
He wraps his arms around my shoulders,
“Thank you so much, I will pay you for your
services, I promise.”
Services? I’m not a prostitute.
“Ndoda stop touching me, someone might walk
in.” I try to push him off but he places his head
on my shoulder.
“Thank you Thonga lika Khanyile.” He is dead
serious.

But, what on earth is he thanking me for? We

haven’t done anything yet… Okay that sounds
wrong too.

“Mathonga,” Oh shit! I thought Khethiwe went

home. Hastily, I push Ndleleni off of me and
create a massive distance between us.
“Khethiwe, why aren’t you sleeping?” I mean she
has Ntaba’s room all to herself.
“I couldn’t sleep, the room smells like Ntaba. I
keep thinking he will walk through the door.”
Her inquisitive gaze moves from me to Ndleleni.
She’s judging us.
“Do you brothers play with each other?” She
asks, keeping the look of condemnation.
“Play with each other?” I don’t get her question.
“You know, touch each other’s genitals?”
Khethiwe.
I’m out of here, Ndleleni will answer her.
“I’ll be in your room,” I tell him and leave. He
started it, he should fix it.
MATHONGA-
Eighty-two
KHETHIWE-

The Khanyiles have been the talk of the country

for the past two weeks, their faces are
plastered on almost every paper that delivers
news. A royal scandal is what has been leaving
people’s mouths.
From the eldest son’s sexual preference to
Vumile’s love affair with a woman from his
church. The giggling giant slaying a family out
of rage and revenge, and the chief stepping
down from his position as chief. It couldn’t have
come at a bad time.
The news of the chief’s retirement is trending
number two on social media and all local
newspapers, while ‘The Giggling Giant is at
number one.

My father wants me home, he says he saw me

on the news crying for a murderer. His words
not mine. I didn’t have the strength to explain to
him, he will never understand.
With Mathonga’s permission, I moved back to
the palace working the same job. The aim is to
be here where Ntaba’s people are. Today is
visitation day, again Mathonga has allowed me
to go first. I’ve waited a whole two weeks to see
him.
There are rumours, some workers want to quit
because of what Ntaba did. They are afraid for
their lives, imbeciles.
Ntaba was wrong, but he did it out of anger. I’m
not saying the innocent people deserved to die,
I’m only saying that I will stand by my man
through it all. I have deal breakers, I guess
murder is not it.

I saw that witch Thethelela at Zamangwane’s

funeral, she had a smug look across her face.
Now that I think about it, she looked like she
had won the lottery. I wanted so bad to push
her into the grave, I want nothing that
associates me with her. There is something
uncanny about her.

My palms are sweaty, my heart is pumping so

hard in my chest. I’m a nervous wreck, Ntaba is
not here yet. I thought prisoners are brought
into the room before visitors or I have been
watching the wrong channels.
“Dead man walking,” A thick voice booms
outside the door. A loud mocking laughter is
next, the person is coming this way. The sound
is getting louder, I wish he would stop. He is
giving me heart palpitations.
“Haade ntwana, I’m practising for when I walk a
man to the death row.”
He’s with someone, it could be Ntaba. What is
stressing me is the mention of a death row. Will
Ntaba be sentenced to death?
I’m on my wobbly feet, eyes engrossed on the
door. It opens wide and I see him…my Ntaba. A
flurry of emotions overwhelm me, has he lost
weight? I can’t tell with how strong he looks.
“Make it snappy skhokho,” the warden says and
slams something on Ntaba’s chest. It’s a
condom, I’m uncomfortable.
“Voetsek,” Ntaba sizzles frowning down at the
prison guard and throws the pack at him.
It’s a gasping moment for me, he will get into
trouble for swearing at the guard. Maybe not,
the warden is dead with laughter.
“That idiot,” Ntaba mumbles as the prison guard
dances his way out.
I’m not here for that man but this one who holds
the key to my heart. He’s looking down at me,
penetrating gaze and unsaid words. I have so
much to say to him too.
Like why he did what he did, did I not cross his
mind? How do I live without him?
“Where is Mathonga?” Really? No hug, kiss or a
pat on the shoulder?
“How are you Ntaba?” I will not be answering
about Mathonga. He shrugs and slides into a
chair, it’s too small for his build. His knees are
pointing skyward, he looks so uncomfortable. I
would offer my lap, become a chair for him but
I’m not sure if we are in a good space.
“You shouldn’t be here, I’m going to have a word
with Thonga.” Ntaba.
This man can’t be serious right now, a lump
forms in my throat. I blink and drop my gaze to
avoid crying. He’s looking at me, I can’t see him
but I can feel his gaze on me.
“Why have you not been granted bail yet? I hate
that you’re in here.” I take a different route,
hoping he will see a need to give me answers.
“Bhengu is a useless lawyer,” that’s all he has to
say to me. I lift my eyes and find him staring, he
does not blink away.
“Mathonga told me that Bhengu is working hard
to get you a lighter sentence.” I inform him.
He throws his head back and dwells in a world
of laughter.
“I killed people and showed it to the world, a
lighter sentence will be a miracle.” He is right.
“But the world is on your side, you’ve become
famous. There are strikes and rallies, people are
protesting for you Ntaba. They want you out.”
It’s crazy how the world thinks he is a hero after
what he did, unless they are into sadism like
him. He receives fan mail from his fans, the
world is changing indeed.
“It’s not their choice to make,” I hate that he is
always right.
I’m trying to give him hope, and he’s not letting
me.
“Whatever sentencing you get, I will wait for you.
It’s either you or no one.” I’m pathetic and a fool
for him.
I put my hands on the table, stretching them out
for him to take. He does not acknowledge them,
stinging my heart with his rejection.
“Let’s get married.” He says from nowhere.
Heat envelops my body, I’m surprised by his
sudden request.
“What?” I whisper.
“You heard me, let’s get married.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean why? You’re my girlfriend, I
want you as my wife now.”
“That’s a bit hasty, don’t you think?”
The giggling rapidly takes me back to the day
he killed those people, I shake my head to wipe
away the images.
“Hasty is good, couples get married eventually.”
Is he trying to tie me down?
“I’m not going to cheat on you Ntaba, you don’t
have to tie me down.”
“I thought I tied you down the first time we had
sex.” He laughs, there is nothing funny in what
he said. This is a serious matter, being
someone’s wife. His wife. I don’t want to be
toyed with, Ntaba is not the marriage type.
“You have never told me that you love me, why
do you suddenly want to get married?”
“What’s love got to do with it?” He shrugs and
folds his arms.
After the chasing and pursuing, he still does not
believe in love. Will I ever hear those words roll
out of his tongue?
“Love is the building foundation of a marriage,
without it we will never be happy. If you’re not in
it for love, then it will never work.”
He’s quiet, waiting for me to continue. He needs
more convincing.
“I love you Ntaba, I have loved you for as long
as I can remember.” I tell him.
I’m not ashamed of saying it, he knows how
much I love him.
“Thank you.” He breathes, before tapping his
fingers on the table. Am I supposed to be
reading something from that? A devastating
wave of disappointment swings past me, too
hush and vicious for me to handle. My eyes
water that I fail to block the sob pushing its way
through my throat.
“So much for wanting to marry me.” I’m leaving,
I will be back soon but I refrain from letting him
know.

Arms wrap around my waist from the back, he’s

pressing me into him. He smells the same as
he always does, a drug I love to be addicted to.
“You’re my salvation Khethiwe,” he groans
against my ear, making me shiver. “I adore you,
I want you with me all the damn time. I want to
build something with you, you make me feel
alive and wanted.”
My heart is hammering too hard, it’s making me
dizzy. He tightens his arms around my stomach,
spreading kisses on my neck.
“Marry me, KaMandonsela. We’ll start a new life
together when I get out of here.”
When is hopeful, but what if he never gets out?
The law will never overlook what he did.
“Okay, we’ll get married.” He’s the only man I
want, life is Ntaba.
He spins me around, I lean into him and savour
the moment. His eyes are penetrating me,
staring too deep and probingly. All of me is
trembling, I blame it on the way he’s looking
into my eyes and running his big hands up and
down my back.
“Are you going to kiss me or keep me waiting?”
I’ve waited way too long. His lips are on mine, a
barely there touch, more shivers attack me. I’ve
been craving for this moment.
“Thank you Peaches,” is that what is said after a
proposal? “I know I don’t get hard for you, but
we will fix it.”
“What?” I pull away, caught by surprise by his
words. “You’re not attracted to me?”
“You’re twisting my words,” he says pushing his
hands in his pockets. The idiot probably doesn’t
know what to do with them.
“That’s what you said Ntaba, since when?” I’m
hurt, when did I fail to arouse the only man I
want to have sex with?
“It’s not important, we’ll fix it.” He’s chilled as if
the world did not just come to an end.
Amafu was right, we are cursed. This is
witchcraft, and whoever did this to us is
probably dead or they would have felt sorry for
us and reversed the curse.
“How are we going to make this work if I can’t…”
No, don’t cry Khethiwe. Marriage is not
everything, I can become a nun and be devoted
to Jesus. But Ntaba is everything, I don’t see my
life without him.
“That is no reason for you to cry, I did say we
will get it fixed. I’m the one with the problem not
you.” He takes my hand. “Sit down, I’m still
enjoying your company.”
My foolish ass sits back down, I need to find a
solution to this. My father must know
something about this curse.

MATHONGA-

Things are not looking good for Ntaba,

everything we touch trying to get him released
turns to dust. There is no hope for him, the
ancestors have not come forth.
Their silence feels more alive than I am, it sucks
being ignored especially by the people who are
supposed to be there for you through it all. I feel
a blockage, an invisible wall separating Ntaba
from us. I wish they would talk to me and show
me a way forward, I’d think they are enraged by
the blood that was spilled by a Khanyile.
Nandi’s family came to claim Zamangwane’s
body, baba had no choice but to let them take
her. They were seething with anger but
thankfully allowed us to attend the funeral.
Nandi’s Lobola was mentioned after the funeral,
the uncles wanted it cancelled.
“We have lost a granddaughter, we won’t lose
our daughter too.” Clearly they put all the blame
on baba, Nandi didn’t show any emotion.
Marrying my father must be the last thing on
her mind.
Khanyile Holdings is under construction,
Vukuzakhe and Ndleleni are currently working
at Durban offices. Ndleleni prefers to drive back
home after work, I don’t know what’s happening
between him and Banami. He hasn’t brought up
the Ntaba topic.
Vukuzakhe prefers to live there. He took
Funokuhle with him, unbeknownst to Bongiwe.
She gets to see him twice a week, I can tell
she’s not happy anymore.

The chief finally performed a ceremony for

Vimbela and Sakhile this past weekend, I
thought the little rascals would come to me in a
dream to tell me they were free and crossing
over.
I’m sure Nomkhubulwane told them not to
speak to me, that old woman is the love child of
thunder and lightning, straight from Limpopo.
Me being the good son or messenger I’m trying
to be, I went into endumbeni and told them I
was leaving for Johannesburg. I wouldn’t want
to set fire on burning coals, ancestors can be
dramatic.

I arrived in Johannesburg minutes ago, Nala

took a taxi to meet me at OR Tambo
international airport, so unnecessary but hey
she’s with me. I had a rental car delivered, we’re
on our way to the Sishis.
“I’ve been attending therapy with Zitha, it’s
actually bearable. I’m able to talk about my
affliction without feeling like I’m exposing my
shame. She went through something similar,
our past has brought us closer.” It’s all she has
been talking about.
She mentioned another sister who is in the
hospital, my girlfriend is the sister of all nations
and she is the happiest she has ever been.
There’s an undeniable glow bursting from
within her, her eyes light up when they briefly
meet mine.
“How is Thobani?” I ask.
She hasn’t mentioned him at all.
“Thobani will be starting school soon, he’s
going to repeat grade four since he missed so
much in the past year.”
“Have you thought of any schools? There are
good schools back home, we can look at a few
on the internet.” I frown at her long silence.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
She hands me a flyer with the words King’s
College and Preparatory School in bold letters.
“Bryanston?” I’m shocked really, I thought
Thobani will be living with us. Then again,
Thobani goes where Nala is. Does this mean?
“Zitha says it’s a great school, she enrolled
Buhle there.” Zitha this, Zitha that. It’s all I’ve
been hearing.
“She’s going to cover his school fees, and she
offered me a bursary to finish my studies, I’ll
write my matric first.”
Wow! From what I have gathered, Nala has
planned so much with this Zitha.
“Okay, so while you and your sister were
discussing your future. Did I perhaps cross your
mind, or you completely forgot about me?” I
need to know if I’m wasting my time with her,
not once has she mentioned me in her plans. I
park on the side of the road and give her all my
attention.
“You did, of course you did.”
“I’m listening,” I tell her and unbuckle my
seatbelt. I don’t know why she’s sighing, I’m not
being tough on her, I hate that she has made a
decision that affects both our lives.
She grabs my face in her hands, “I love you
Mathonga, you know that.”
“That’s not what I want to hear, Nala.”
“Look, studying will be good for me…” She says
like I’m stupid to think she should not pursue
her dreams.
“You can do it in KZN, there are good schools
there. Most people study through Unisa, it’s a
good institution. You will do while working part
time. Plus, I can afford to pay for your school
fees, Thobani’s too. Your sister does not have
to do anything.” That was the plan anyway, to
take care of her and her sibling.
“But Zitha is my sister, I will feel less guilty if the
money is coming from her.”
That does not make sense, she just met that
woman and already her world revolves around
Zitha, I don’t like what I’m hearing.
“What is that supposed to mean? What’s my
role in this relationship? Are we even in a
relationship or you don’t see me like that?”
She gasps and eyes me disbelievingly, there is
nothing wrong with what I have said. I can’t say
I have invested so much in this relationship, but
I have plans for us. I chose her over Amandla
thinking she wanted the same thing.
“That is not fair Mathonga, you don’t get to
question my love for you.” Love? Yeah right.
“Actions speak louder than words, if you have
planned this great life without me, then there’s
nothing I can do about it.” I start the car and
drive on.
Her head is twisted my way, I keep my eyes on
the road. For a while, we are trapped in thick
silence and heavy tension. I should have stayed
home, had I known I was going to come to this,
I would not have bothered. What a way to spoil
my day…
A long distance relationship is not on my bucket
list, travelling back and forth till the soles of my
feet wear out. I shall pass.

“Can we talk about this without arguing

please?” Nala’s voice breaches through the
silence.
“What is there to talk about? You have made up
your mind, nothing I say or do will change that.”
Like I said…
This is not an open conversation that needs a
response, I don’t want to talk about this
anymore. I see from my peripheral view how
she folds her arms across her chest and looks
out the window.
“Drive to Helen Joseph Hospital, please.” Her
voice has changed, I hurt her with my words.
Is it a crime to love the fragile Nala over the
fierce Nala? I want her to need me, not her
sister. I’m not against their relationship but I
came before Zitha, I should be number two
after Thobani.
“What’s there?” I ask.
It always feels good when she asks me for
favours, I love doing things for her.
“My sister, I told you I wanted you to meet her.”
The excitement in her voice is back.
Will I compete with her sisters all my life? I want
to ask how her sister is, without sounding bitter.
I’ll find out when we get to the hospital.
.
.

We walk in a ward filled with sick people. Six

beds are lined up on each side of the wall, it
smells like medicine in here.
“She’s this side,” her hand holds mine, pulling
me to the right. I frown upon her enthusiasm, I
myself have never been so excited to see my
brothers.
I understand where Nala is coming from, she
had to take the responsibility of a mother at a
young age.
I’m not looking at her with red eyes wanting to
take her happiness away. I only want her to
make space for me too.
“We need to keep it down, she’s sleeping.” Nala
introduces, in time to release me from my
thoughts.
I don’t see her sister, but my ex-girlfriend. Shock
has got to be a living thing.
“Amandla?” I don’t have a high pitched voice, as
to why it escalated like that.
“You know my sister?”
At her question, Amandla flicks her eyes open.
At first she is confused, shock steps in but
doesn’t eliminate the confusion. I know
Amandla when she is about to cry, her nose
crumples, followed by flaring nostrils.
“Ma… Mathonga?”
And there it is, a dam of waterworks. People are
staring, patients have forgotten their pain and
are staring with wonder. That is how loud she is.
Something pushes me to hold her in my arms,
she tightly holds on to me, curling her hands on
my t-shirt. My ancestors have turned their
backs on me.
*
*
A/N: I’m sorry for the late update, it’s been a
hectic week.
MATHONGA-
Eighty-three

VUKUZAKHE-
.
.
The house he purchased in Umhlanga is
everything a family home should be, it speaks
highly of who he is and what lies in his bank
account. The grey walls are plastered with
pictures of his family, Vimbela and Sakhile
included.
It’s not that Funokuhle or Bongiwe were in his
mind when he went house haunting. Perhaps
fate paid a huge role in it, men do not control
their own destiny.
Days have passed and Funokuhle’s heart has
not healed.
An argument broke out when Zakhe flew Black
to Durban to keep an eye on him, after the stunt
Funokuhle pulled, he cannot trust him with his
life. The young man didn’t go down without a
fight, he argued that he is not a child to be
babysat but Zakhe had to because he can’t stay
away from work and there has to be someone
keeping a close eye on his treasure.
Funokuhle needs to get it through his head that
he’s more important than anything, that there
are people who love him.
Connections and all, the younger man wanted
to start from scratch. He works at the call
centre department as a temp. Three days a
week, that was the only available spot.

“It’s too big, I won’t be able to drive it.”

Funokuhle’s attitude is that of a person who
gives zero fucks, the brand new Toyota Rav4
parked before him does not fancy him.
Why the hell did this gorilla buy it anyway when
the only thing he can drive is a donkey chariot?
After leaving work early to make sure the gift
was what he ordered, he was convinced that
Funokuhle would at least be ecstatic.
He’s standing beside him, looking like a man
who has been hard at work. Shirt sleeves rolled
up, tie unloosened and three buttons
unbuttoned.
“You don’t like it?” He’s willing to change it if he
wants a different model.
“You can’t make it go away by buying me gifts.”
Funokuhle turns his back on his man. Maybe he
would have jumped for joy for a Bajaj Qute.
“That’s not what I’m doing.” Vukuzakhe
mumbles.
Warmth envelops the younger man when
Zakhe’s arms enwrap around him from the back,
he leans down to kiss the minion’s nape.
“I want you to be happy.”
Is that too much to ask?
“Expensive gifts won’t make me happy, you
should know me better than that.” The minion
pulls away, rejecting the embrace. He hitches
when he meets the hurt in Zakhe’s eyes, his
mouth opens to utter a whole lot of things but
nothing seems to come to him.

The Khanyile brothers have obvious similarities,

it’s easy to tell they are related with how they
look so much alike thanks to Vumile’s strong
genes, and this one reminds him of
Ntabezikude.
Funo turns his eyes away.
“Tell me what to do, I’ll do it, just don’t push me
away. Don’t shut me out.” This is the only
person Zakhe can be sensitive with, Funokuhle
made it easy for him to wear his heart on his
sleeves.
“I have to prepare dinner, it’s late.” The last of
the Sangweni offspring says, ready to walk
away. At least he cooks for him, there’s hope.
“You’re cooking?” He gets a nod for his
question. “That’s great, I love your cooking. Can
I help?”
Shame he’s trying.
“I’m not preparing a feast, I can manage.” Funo
goes back into the house and leaves Zakhe
outside. What is the point of trying when he
refuses to give in.
He has completely shut him out, but no matter
how much Funo has built walls around him, not
a single night does he go to bed before Zakhe
gets home.
Every night he would wait for him. His heart
would jump at the sound of the door opening
and his eyes would itch with the desire to see
him.
Zakhe finds him pouring water in a kettle, he
takes a sit on a high stool and watches in awe.
It’s a beautiful sight, he’d love to never forget.
“Are you good?” Funo nods at his question
without giving him much attention.
“We need to talk, let’s go to the lounge.” This
statement could very well be followed by an
unbearable rejection, Khanyile takes a breath
and brushes the thought of them breaking up
out of his head.
First Funokuhle pours him a cup of black coffee,
strong as the man who is about to consume it.
He takes it with zero sugar, a dash of lemon
and teaspoon of honey. It helps keep his tummy
tight, not that it needs to be tightened.
Done with his daily task since they moved here,
Funokuhle turns off the cooktop and toddles his
way to the lounge, leaving Zakhe to decide if he
will follow or not.

“What’s wrong?” He notices the sadness in

Funo’s eyes.
“Please sit.” The younger man points to the
empty sit beside him.
He hates having to bring up the subject. He
can’t break his heart like that but also marrying
him while he is such a mess wouldn’t be fair to
any of them.
Zakhe makes himself comfortable right next to
his minion and puts the cup of coffee on the
wooden coffee table, tingles attack him when
his knee brushes against Funo’s. There’s a
throat clearing from both parties, Khanyile goes
for an eye contact and finds that he’s alone in
this.
“It’s about us.” Funo exhales.
The consistent rubbing of his knees tells how
nervous he is.
Vukuzakhe can only think the worst, he side
eyes Funokuhle and pulls out the tie around his
neck.
“What about us” Zakhe.
He composes himself and breathes, it can’t be
what he thinks it is.
“We can’t get married,” funny how they talk
about marriage like Zakhe ever proposed.
“Why?”
“What do you mean why?” Funo throws a
question at him, he glances into his eyes for a
few seconds wanting to see what’s in them.
“Do you still love me, Funokuhle?”
“Yes,” he replies softly with no hesitation.
Given hope and a new leap of faith, Zakhe
entangles his fingers with his. Argh! Love…
“Tell me what to do, tell me how to make it go
away.”
Not knowing what is going through the young
man’s head is pure torture. “I will give you all
the time you need but don’t keep me waiting too
long kid, I miss you.”

Khanyile’s heart sinks when Funo gets up and

makes his way back to the kitchen without a
word.
“What is this Funo? Why are you punishing me
for my brother’s wrongs?”
He’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, a
frown splashed on his dark features.
“At least you acknowledge that he did
something wrong.”
To avoid being emotional, Funo keeps himself
busy with the pots, it seems to be his only
hiding place.
He’s never really spoken about how he feels, all
he does is portray a stinking attitude and push
Zakhe away. It’s never on purpose, he’s having a
hard time getting through what he saw.
“Why are you talking to me like this?” Zakhe’s
question is valid, there has to be a way to
address the problem than this juvenile route.
“Will you look at me please?” Zakhe.
Funokuhle stops bustling and turns to face him,
arms over his chest and a scowl on his features.
Zakhe sighs and pulls him to his chest.
“Let me kiss away the pain, give me a chance to
show you how much I care.”
The cuddle does not last long, Funokuhle
becomes selfish with his hugs. He pulls away,
takes a few steps back.
For someone whose nerves are internally raging,
Vukuzakhe remains calm.
“It doesn’t matter anymore, just… forget about
it,” this one is not thinking straight.
“Yes it does.” Zakhe sputters, and rubs his face
in frustration.
“It matters to me,” he continues. “When did you
decide you don’t want to be with me anymore?”
This is what he has read from this conversation,
Funokuhle probably wants out and has no clue
how to go about it.
“It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it?” He chases Funo’s gaze till
they are eyeball-to-eyeball. “You hardly look at
me, you never notice me when I’m around.
You’re pushing me away, I can’t hold you
without you flinching. What game are you
playing kid?”
“You think this is a game?” Narrowed eyes
condemn Vukuzakhe, the kid is offended by his
statement.
“I don’t know, I don’t know what to think. You
refuse to speak to me.”
“I don’t want to talk about this right now.” Funo
spits, and turns to give his attention to the pots.
It’s exasperating for Vukuzakhe, the one sided
relationship is driving him insane.
“You don’t want to talk about it? You don’t want
to talk about it Funokuhle? How will we solve
anything if you won’t speak to me?” He’s yelling,
trying to get him to speak.
Funokuhle is too reticent, he’s not used to
yelling. He keeps his mouth shut and does what
he’s been doing which is to cook for this man
he refuses to acknowledge.
Vukuzakhe knows he is not getting anywhere
with him, walking away is the only option at this
point.
.
.

MATHONGA-

Bambindlovu came to the hospital after I told

him about Amandla and what she’s been
through, he had a lot to say thereafter. I look at
him and wonder if this will be me one day,
helping people—predicting futures and seeing
the supernatural.
It’s crazy how my spirit agrees with his, I don’t
have friends outside my brothers. But I have
found a friend in him.
Amandla’s story is that she was attacked by a
truck driver who wanted sex as payment for
giving her a ride, she can’t remember what
happened next because she blacked out.

Cults are common, people are desperate for

money out there and would do anything to
attain it. I’m not a saint to judge them, but to
sell your daughter off for riches is the purest of
all evil.
We’re on our way to Sabusiswa’s house, it was
Bambindlovu's idea.
“I’m led by those who own me,” he said when I
asked why.

Bambindlovu is a talker, he reminds me of

Ntaba in a way. I have not been able to say
more than two words to him, my mind stayed
back at the hospital with Nala and Amandla.
The disaster that awaits me when I get back-
there was no time to explain to Nala how I know
her newly found sister. Perks of being a man,
you need to always have an explanation of
some sort packed in a shelf just in case push
comes to shove and you need a way out.

“Why am I talking to myself? Are you even

listening or you’re thinking of a way to lie to
those girls.”
His ancestors better not have told him what’s
on my mind, I judge him with my eyes and wait
to hear what he has to say about what he just
said.
“Relax,” he laughs, taking a left right after the
traffic lights. “Anyone can guess what you’re
thinking about.”
“Am I that obvious?”
“Yes and relax, they will understand, both of
them.” The seriousness of the tone of his voice
leaves me questioning his remark. Something
tells me we’re talking about two different things.
“Amandla needs to be taken to the river for
cleansing, she has blood in her hands. The man
she killed will never leave her alone. His spirit
will come for her and torment her life.”
Bambindlovu chooses to be random.
He goes on to tell me that Amandla’s soul is
tied to the cultist because of some blood
covenant.
“You have to help her ntwana, she has no one
now.” Bambindlovu.
That’s not true, her mother is alive. She also has
her grandmother’s family somewhere in KZN,
they are not close but family will always be
family.
“Can you arrange the cleansing?” I don’t know
how these things are done, getting rid of a bad
spirit.
“I know a place, if she is willing. I’m free this
coming weekend.”
I don’t see why Amandla would say no to a
cleansing.
“I hope you understand your purpose in this,
why you crossed paths with those two sisters.”
I don’t say anything because really I don’t
understand.
He chuckles like he heard something funny,
“They never would have met if it were not for
you. Their journey with you was destined to
happen.”
Destiny is a joke, what the hell is Bambindlovu
trying to say anyway?
“Are you saying meeting Nala was orchestrated
by someone?” I’m dumbfounded.
“If you want to put it that way, your ancestors
want you to help people. You might not
understand some tasks they give you, but we
learn from them. Nala would’ve stayed in
bondage forever if your paths did not cross.
Amandla would have never met her sister,
everything boils down to you.”
I feel used, no matter how much he tries to
sugar coat it.
“Sounds too farfetched to me.” I groan,
suddenly upset.
I have a bad feeling about this.
“After what you have been through in life,
farfetched should be the last word to leave your
mouth.”
What, is he trying out for motivational speaking?
“I’m trying to grasp everything you are telling
me, but you’re not making sense ndoda.” He
can tell I’m mad, that’s why he steals a glance
and smirks.
“It will make sense eventually, don’t stress
yourself.” He’s laughing.
I guess the ancestors have something up their
sleeves, it can’t be good.
.
.

We’re in Waterfall City, outside Sabusiswa’s

house. She must be home because the gate is
not locked. We are impatiently waiting for her to
open the door, she should have been here three
knocks ago. I’m about to twist the doorknob
when Bambindlovu pulls me back.
“Don’t go in there,” he warns urgently.
“Why?”
“Ugogo refuses to enter, she says it’s not
clean.” He delivers and oh boy I believe him.
The old lady is sitting on my shoulders, they felt
heavy the moment we walked through the gate.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it’s an
ancestor. Try needing something and asking
them for favours, they don’t show up but when
I’m about to enter people’s houses, she flies like
lightning to dictate me.

Nomkhubulwane thinks this is her body, she

has made herself too much at home. I can
almost see her, laid back and watching
everything unfold before her eyes, through my
eyes of course.
“I’ll go instead,” nice! His ancestors are not
control freaks.
I have no choice but to wait for him here.
Rich people don’t lock their doors and gates, the
area must be a crime free zone. This can never
be me, I don’t trust any place located in
Johannesburg.
A foul smell swooshes out the door as he
swings it open, it’s nauseating. My stomach
churns violently, I quickly cover my nose.
Bambindlovu squeezes his face.
“Smells like something died in there.” I tell him
the obvious.
He nods and enters, I respect his courage.
Meanwhile, I won’t be eating anything for two
weeks, the smell is stuck on my tongue.

He’s back in less than three minutes, a gloomy

look on his face. I give him a questioning look,
expecting him to read my mind.
“She’s dead, we have to call the police.” He says.
We’re not in April, so it can’t be April’s fools.
“Her body is decomposing, looks like she’s
been dead for weeks. Evil takes when you can’t
pay back what you owe, Amandla’s escape
meant her mother’s death.” He says and pulls
me with him away from the door. “Ugogo is
complaining, there’s too much evil in this place
it’s weighing her down. We have to leave.”

“How am I going to tell Amandla that she is an

orphan now?”
“She will be fine, just take care of that girl
Mathonga, she’s been through more than
enough.” Bambindlovu advices as we step into
the car.
Take care of who?
Like I have time, not that I don’t care about her.
She will always have a special place in my heart
and I’ll always love her but I don’t have the time.
.
.

DALISILE-

Crossing the border with a sick woman was not

a walk in the park, they had to hide her rotting
leg from the authorities. That Nyoni woman
works wonders, the day she bid her sister
goodbye felt like the last goodbye. But here they
are in Kampala Uganda, living in a one room
shack that works as a bedroom, kitchen and
living space.
It can be crowded in here, especially during the
night when humidity pays them a visit.
It’s better than jail, she would say. That packet
Nyoni gave her that day had a root inside, all
she had to do was swallow it and go to sleep. In
the morning Dalisile had found favour in the
eyes of the devil… no, in the eyes of the law.
“You’re free to go.” The warden had said. “There
is no case, go home.”
She was not shocked whatsoever, knowing how
black magic works. Dalisile didn’t look back
when she left the country, neither did she report
her release from prison.
Life gets harder with every passing second, two
weeks in Uganda and nothing special has
happened.
She works at a market selling fruits and
vegetables along with Nyoni, they don’t make
much but enough to buy something to fill their
stomachs.
If Vumile did not freeze her accounts, she
would be living lavida loca.

Sometimes she looks back, and thinks of her

children. If she didn’t let greed get the best of
her, life would be soft like before.
She’s outside, Mgobhozi is sleeping in the
house.
Her hand is trembling so much so that she
almost drops the phone in her hand, she’s
dialled his number but the courage to press call
has not visited her yet.
It’s do or die, slightly she presses the phone to
her ear. Her heart jumps to her throat as the
phone starts ringing.
“Hello.” The voice of her first born sashays
through the line, fear has her mute. “Hello.”
“Vu… Vukuzakhe.” Finally. “It’s me, please don’t
drop the call.”
“What do you want mother? I’m busy.” The
coldness in his voice is torturous.
“How are you? I miss you.”
Silence.
Vukuzakhe has always been coldish towards
her. Floating in Mandela notes, it was easy to
bear it. Now it hurts like a bitch.
“I told you I’m busy mother, why are you calling
me? I’m not coming to visit you in jail, I don’t
want to see you.”
He’s not cutting onions, he’s dicing meat into
lean strips causing her heart to bleed.
A deep breath, she leans against the corrugated
iron. Her knees have alerted her of their
weakness.
“I’m not in jail, I was released.” She can’t tell him
that there is no case now, can she? Vukuzakhe
is silent again.
“I need money, your father froze my accounts.”
Damn you Vumile.
“Maybe that’s your punishment since prison has
failed.” Ouch!
“Vukuzakhe please, I only need R500 000 and I
will be able to start from scratch.” Please is
more like Chinese to her.
“I can’t help you, not after what you did to my
brothers. Don’t call this number again.”
For the first time in a long time tears stream
down her face, being the queen she is, she
disposes of them. They are disconnected, she
sucks in a breath and throws her phone on the
ground. Her heart springs up and drops, making
her dizzy.
“No,” she cries and jumps to check if it’s not
broken. She’s not rich anymore, smashing
phones against hard surfaces is a luxury she
will never experience again. Throwing it on the
bed should do, that way it will softly bounce up
and down and live another day.
MATHONGA-
Eighty-four

BONGIWE-

She is done running after a man who does not

appreciate her, her mind is made up. She’s had
enough, she thought he would fight for her and
show her that he’s willing to keep her in his life.
She knows she has fought a good fight, went
through great lengths to stay in this marriage
and chose her husband over, and over again.
This time she chooses to put herself first.
In her hand is a letter explaining everything, she
wrote it last night while waiting for her husband.
Thursday is one of the days he remembers her
and comes home, but he didn’t. It hurts that
he’s slowly forgetting her existence in his life.
Vukuzakhe wants two life partners yet can’t
handle one. What a joke…
The letter is placed under his pillow, one last
look at the room she slept in since she became
Mrs. Khanyile. Memories flock in her head, she
knows she’s giving up a lot. If she had a choice,
she would take it. She drags her suitcase
outside, and bumps into Khethiwe.
“Are you going somewhere?” She looks at the
suitcases, Bongiwe chooses to be rude and
walks on. She owes no one an explanation.
She decides not to report her departure, and
gets into her car. Her heart is heavy, she is tired.
There has to be something better for her out
there.
Tears start to pour down her cheeks as she
drives out of the premises.
NDLELENI-

“A call came through from prison, Pule was

rapped and hung by a fellow prisoner.” Ndleleni
is listening to his brother over the phone while
speeding to Banami’s place.
Vukuzakhe has grown a tendency of telling
Ndleleni everything, they have grown closer
since the secret of how Vimbela and Sakhile
died came to light.
“Do you think Ntaba had anything to do with it?”
What a question from Ndleleni. Then again,
Ntaba is capable and they both know it.
“I don’t want to say anything that might be used
against our brother, anyone might be listening
to this phone call.” Zakhe sends a clear warning.
“The jailer said a group of boys did it, some kind
of jail mob justice. No one is willing to come
forth with sturdy information. I don’t care about
Pule, my baby finally got his own pound of
flesh.”
By baby he means Funokuhle, Ndleleni winces
at the sound. He’s having a hard time wrapping
his hand around the fact that his brother sleeps
with a man every night.
He’s been to their house once, invited by
Vukuzakhe and the man couldn’t stay for dinner.

“You really love him don’t you?” He didn’t mean

to sound judgemental, he’s talking to his big
brother after all.
He knows Zakhe loves Funokuhle, he’s seen
how he looks at the young man. It seems
Ndleleni will not be getting an answer for his
rhetorical question.
“I’m not against your happiness bhuti, this
comes from a concerned brother. You’re
married to sis’Bongiwe, now there’s this boy…”
“Bongiwe left me,” Vukuzakhe cuts in. “She
texted me saying she’s leaving and not to look
for her, divorce papers were delivered to the
office today.”
That’s quite a giant step taken by the wife.
Ndleleni would send words of comfort if he
were that person.
“Maybe she’s better off, she wasn’t happy
anymore.” Ndleleni.
Almost everyone in the Khanyile household
noticed it, but everyone was too occupied to
actually ask how she was doing.
“I guess,” comes a reply.
“Are you two okay now? The kid I mean.”
“No, he’s still very much upset. He refuses to
speak to me, I have tried everything but he
won’t budge.”
“Maybe if he went to the funeral he would be
less resentful.” This must be a reminder
because Zakhe has gone quiet on the other side.
“What is it?”
Sensing that something must be wrong,
Nldeleni pauses a question.
“I was so focused on Ntaba and the family that I
forgot about the funeral… and… he didn’t go.”
Zakhe stutters. “Dammit, he never said anything
about it.”
There’s a chuckle, it’s Ndleleni. These brothers
are not experienced in this thing called love.

He arrives at the house, and pulls up at the gate.

He’s not going to blow the horn, it’d be
disrespectful of him.
“He probably didn’t want to upset you, knowing
his brothers killed your sister.” Ndleleni says.
He could be right, Funokuhle is a man of few
words. He doesn’t express himself much.
“But not to go to his family’s funeral and not say
anything about it…” Zakhe stops midway, in his
voice lies a twinge of irritation. “I’ll talk to him,
maybe accompany him to their graves.”
“I don’t know about you, but I think it’s best we
don’t set foot there. Our own blood took their
lives, who knows what the uncles did to the
graves.”
That’s a strange thing for Ndleleni to say, he’s
never really sat down and thought about black
magic.
“He’s not a child ndoda, let him make his own
decisions. Don’t think for him, there is a reason
he didn’t go to the funeral or mention it to you.”
Ndleleni.
Zakhe has taken another vow of silence.
“Have you spoken to Thonga? He’s not taking
my calls.” Ndleleni changes the subject.
“He won’t be taking calls for seven days, he’s at
a mountain. It was a request from the
ancestors, maybe they have something to tell or
show him.” Zakhe explains.
“Hopefully it’s about Ntaba, we need a miracle.
The trial starts next week, our brother will need
all the luck in the world.” His eyes are on the
door that just opened, Banami looks confused a
second before a smile takes over her face. She
goes back into the house and not a minute later
the gate slowly slides open.
“Yeah, can you do me a favour? Mathonga
asked me to look for Amandla’s family from her
grandmother’s side, apparently ugogo was
buried outside some weird church. The family
needs to come and collect her bones and call
her home.” Zakhe.
“You want me to look for the Celes?” He asks
as he parks the car and turns the engine off.
“I’d do it if my hands were not full,” Zakhe’s
hands are forever full.
“I’m on it,” they end the conversation on that
note.

Eager to see Banami, Ndleleni rushes inside the

house. She’s seated with her feet on the couch,
in her nightwear and a remote in her hand, as if
she did not see him.
“Banami!” He calls, leaning against the door
post. He wants to come in but an invitation
would be nice.
“What are you doing here dude?” He will never
get used to this word, it irks him to the ends of
the earth. He doesn’t want to be her dude, they
are sleeping together for Christ’s sake.
“You’ve been ignoring my calls,” he tells her.
Banami has not met his eyes, seems like she
would rather watch TV than the snack standing
at her door.
“You ignored mine first,” what a self-indulgent
response. It still makes Ndleleni smile though.
“I thought you don’t play games, MaFakude.” He
steps forward.
“I don’t, that’s why I’d rather we stay away from
each other.” Is this a breakup session? They
have barely started dating.
“What if I don’t want to stay away?” Not what
if… he doesn’t want to stay away. “Huh?” He
adds, furthering his question with a cocked
brow.
Banami pops a short sigh and graces him with
her eyes.
“If you want me to take your brother’s case,
then we have to stay away from each other.”
She says but the smile lingering on her face
speaks a different language.
“Do you want to stay away from me?”
A sudden burn of warmth bursts in her stomach
as Ndleleni takes her hand and brings her to her
feet, the eye lock will be the death of her.
“Your first time shouldn’t have been like that, on
top of the boot of a car, below a raging heart. It
should’ve been special, just tell me I didn’t mess
up, MaFakude.” He presses her body against his.
She rolls her eyes, scoffing arrogantly.
“Please, Mr Khanyile.” Her voice is unwillingly
careless. “I’m a big girl, sweet words don’t
pamper me, and I can handle anything.”
Her words are enough to pull a smirk across his
face, arrogance takes over his eyes. There’s
that temptation to roll her eyes at him again, the
cocky bastard.
“Are you sure, MaFakude?” It’s times like these
she’s convinced he’s a player. “Even a big
cock?”
Her breath catches, she freezes, staring into his
half-lidded eyes. He just had to do that, didn’t he?
“That’s quite an ego you got there sir, careful,
your big head might not be able to carry your
body.” That’s not what she wanted to tell him,
she wants to tell him that his cock is not big,
but then she would be lying to him and possibly
bruise the stupid ego that has him on a high
horse.

Ndleleni’s hand glides to the small of her back,

the other holds her chin.
“No one has to know what we do behind closed
doors, no one has to know that I enjoy fucking
you and you love screaming my name.”
Actually they… argh, no one has to know.
“No one has to know,” she grins, voice sounding
pouty as she further presses herself against
him like she wants to get under his skin. She
curls her hands on his shirt, waiting for that
long awaited kiss.
“You smell like gas,” that’s so random of her.
“I was driving, and I need to use the toilet.”
Would you look at that, Mr. and Mrs. Random…
he cages her lips with his, the kiss is too deep
and wolfish.
Ndleleni pulls out, he knows his way to the
bathroom. He’s been here a million times
before.

The bathroom floor is empty of any mats, just

cold tiles. She must have washed them. He
could care less, he needs to release before a
disaster happens.
He barely gets far, belt unbuckled and zip
undone before arms grab him from the back
leaning his backside against a soft chest.
“What are you doing Banami?” What is she
doing in here? Should be his question.
“This fell out of your pocket,” in her hand is a
flyer from the man’s clinic.
Some random guy carrying a million of those
dropped it inside his car while waiting for the
traffic to give him a pass. It happened weeks
ago when he was questioning his manhood,
why he couldn’t cum. Manna from heaven
comes in different forms. He’d forgotten about
it until he saw it in his car this morning, as to
why he shoved it into the pocket of his pants;
only he knows.

“It’s not what you think.” Someone is defensive.

“Do you have a problem?”
He can’t tell her that she broke his virginity and
he was so nervous when they had sex, reaching
an orgasm became hard for him.
“No, no. Why would I? I’m just making sure all is
well down there… taking care of my health you
know.” That sounds believable.
She’s sniffing his back, her face buried in it and
arms tight around him.
“Let me go now, I need to pee.”
“Hold it, don’t let a single drop fall.” She runs her
hands down to his front and grabs it. Ndleleni
hisses, the pressure is too much.
“God dammit, Banami. What do you mean hold
it?”
The toilet bowl is just a step away, if only he
could free himself from her. His tip is hot and
throbbing.
“What’s wrong Ndleleni? You can hold it in for a
while, can’t you?”
No he can’t. Where is she even getting that
from? The fact that her tone is stern and sturdy
is darn attractive, he can only trust his bladder
won’t betray him before Banami makes up her
mind.
“Hold it for me, love.” She comes forward and
kneels in front of him, his eyes widen.
“What are you doing?” Ndeleni purrs.
“Don’t let a drop out Ndleleni.” She giggles as
she pulls his pants down, she keeps her eyes on
him, seducing him with a look only she’s
capable of mastering.
Mini Ndleleni springs out, if it could speak it
would plead for a release too. She touches it
and slowly licks the tip of his mushroom head.
Ndleleni’s head falls back, he’s hissing like a
snake.
“Banami let me pee first, you can’t do this.” He
moans, feeling the faucet begin to leak and his
bladder uncoil. “I’m so clo…”
Ndleleni gasps highly when she swallows him
whole, he’s trembling and fighting his bladder. If
he releases in her mouth, it will be the end of
him.
He can feel her warm tongue swirling around
his cock, he also feels a drop pass through his
throbbing tip. Banami increases the torture by
cupping his balls and squeezes them like stress
balls.
He forgets how to breathe for a while and grabs
a hand full of her hair.
“I’m going to pee… on myself.” He muffles and
bites his lower lip, the heavy pressure is killing
him.
“Our father who art…” signs of bunking church,
he’s forgotten the prayer. He clenches his teeth
and tightens the grip on Banami’s ponytail, he’ll
be paying for her new braids after this.
She’s sucking and teasing him, she muffles a
scream when he pulls her hair too tight.
“Lead us not into temptation,” the prayer is
coming together. His dick does not have ears, it
can’t hear his desperation to hold on. His body
is burning, he’s sweating balls of fire.
All of him is visibly trembling, who knew holding
pee was the hardest thing in the world? Pens
down!!!
He wants to tell her to stop, to pull back but
what he is feeling is insanely crazy. He’s never
felt anything like this in his life, he’s never been
sucked while desperate to pee. It’s sweet and
sour.
“Banamiiii…” his voice takes a high note as he
screams like a woman.
The sexual sounds he’s making would get him
arrested, his knees have gone weak.
There is a possibility that he has died and gone
to heaven or hell, nothing can feel as good and
painful as this.
He’s reaching his high, an orgasm he easily
accumulates and wants to reject because he
will pee in her mouth. It’s bad enough that he
has let a few drops out, Banami would fit so
well in Dubai.
“Baby let go, let go. I’m going to cum.” And
pee…
The neighbours definitely heard that hoarse
scream.
“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.” He repeats the name
when Banami grabs his butt and starts sucking
him faster. Jesus should be looking away,
considering how Ndleleni slept in church.
“Lord… take my… my soul when I die…” He
hisses, his eyes are closed, he’s praying for
salvation. He thinks he won’t survive this. The
explosion is close, there is no way he is going to
release his sperm and pee inside her.
He jumps back with a loud shout and runs to
the toilet bowl, it hurts like hell as he releases
both liquids. It’s a good hurt, one he’d want to
experience again.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He groans and hisses with
his head thrown back, his body has not stopped
trembling.
Banami can see his butt vibrating, she bites her
bottom lip, drooling over the man.
It takes a lifetime for Ndleleni to finish, his
lungs are pumping air like people will be
breathing oil from tomorrow. He is a heaving
mess.
Banami is behind him, he can feel her gaze on
him. He turns his heavy eyes filled with lust to
the lady, and finds her grinning like a Cheshire
cat and arms folded over her chest.
“I want you to bend me over the sink and fuck
me.” She hums seductively.
“Can we pray first?” Ndleleni sighs, rubbing his
throbbing penis. He looks worn-out, maybe he
should write his will after the prayer. That's if he
knows how to pray.
MATHONGA-
Eighty-five

AMANDLA-

Sabusiswa and my grandmother were buried

next to each other, it was the Celes’ request.
They didn’t care that Sabusiswa had my
grandmother killed and gave her body in
exchange for riches.
“We’re going to perform the necessary rituals,
and lay them to rest next to each other.” I was
seething.
I will never forgive my mother for what she put
me through, wherever she is, I know she is a
bad ancestor.
I wish she told me why she did what she did,
sure Mathonga’s friend explained everything but
I wanted to hear it from the horse’s mouth.
Her house in Waterfall City is vacant till today, I
want nothing to do with it or her money. She
had no will, which I’m grateful for. I wouldn’t
have taken the devil’s money.
The cleansing ceremony went well I presume, I
sleep like a baby at night. Bambindlovu gave me
things to drink to clean me on the inside, it took
me a month to complete the process. If I ever
have to drink anything bitter in my life again, I
will dig a hole and bury myself.

My wounds are healing, slowly but surely. For

two weeks I had to depend on a wheelchair and
Nala to help me with things I couldn’t do myself.
My mind hasn’t gotten used to the fact that
we’re sisters, Zitha too. Who would’ve thought?
It’s too bizarre for me. Sometimes I wake up
thinking it’s a dream.
They have been very supportive, we’re staying in
one of Zitha’s rentals in North Riding. A nice
two bedroom apartment, Nala shares one of the
bedrooms with her brother. It’s been good I
must say but there are days when it’s awkward
between us, especially when I bring Mathonga
up.
Fate is a deity, playing with people’s lives like
that.
“Amandla, can I come in?” That’s Nala.
I look at my reflection in the mirror for the last
time and shout for her to enter.
“Hey! Are you ready?” She’s smiling.
Nala and Zitha look so much alike, they must
look like our father and I had to have
Sabusiswa’s features. I wouldn’t want to look
like either of my parents, I resent them both. I’m
not interested in knowing about my father, the
three of us decided we are better off without
him. I don’t want my life complicated again.
“How do I look?”
I’m only wearing a dress, nothing fancy. A girl
needs to look like she just walked out of
Instagram once in a while, I’m still trying to find
my way through that.
“Let your braids loose and you’ll look amazing,”
the sister has spoken. I’m not saying I trust her
fashion sense.
“We should get going before it’s crowded.” She
says.
We’re having a picnic in Emmarentia dam with
Zitha, she has too much time on her hands.
She’s always planning something.
“Just a second.” I need this second to gloss my
lips. By the time I’m done, she’s wearing a
weary expression. That’s a quick transition for
someone who was jolly early this morning.
“What?” I shrug.
“I saw Thabani in my dream, he was on the
other side of the river. I wanted to cross over
and get to him but I couldn’t, he kept waving at
me. There was a smile on his face, I couldn’t
understand why he was happy when I was in
tears. My mother suddenly appeared, she took
his hand and walked away with him.”
The story about her dead brother is sad, and I
thought I was going through the most.
“I’m not knowledgeable on African spirituality
but I think your brother has crossed over, he’s
gone to be with his ancestors now.”
I hope she doesn’t break into tears, telling
people to stop crying can be exhausting. It
should come with a six-figure salary.
She’s nodding, her eyes have cleared up. I’m
saved.
“I’m ready,” I sing sending a smile her way.
“Before we go,” she sits on my bed. I guess it’s
going to be a long talk then. “Have you thought
about what to do regarding going back to KZN?”
“I’m not sure what to do yet, I don’t know if I
want to be in Gauteng.” I’m not sure what I want
actually.
Nala wants me here with her, she told me she’s
going to be studying part time and working as
well. I was inspired, I want to apply for
education when registrations reopen. I would
do well as a teacher.
“Whatever you decide, I’m always here for you.”
I appreciate her. I return the smile she’s giving
me and join her on the bed, something is
weighing heavy in my heart… it’s important I let
it out.
“Have you made a decision regarding
Mathonga?” She looks taken aback by my
question.

When Nala told me who Mathonga is to her, it

took me a while to get over it. I was taken back
to the day he left me, how he ended things. For
a while, I blamed her for destroying my life.
Mathonga was not here to explain himself, no
one knows when he’ll be back.
When he came back from the mountain, he had
to leave again. It’s been almost three months
since his departure.
“I want to be able to stand on my own, Amandla.
But he wants me to hold his hand.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” there are
independent women who are in relationships.
“I know, but Mathonga wants me back at the
village. I’m not sure I’m ready to go back there.”
She’s biting her nails, she must be nervous.
“Did he ask to get you pregnant or marry him?”
I can’t believe I’m talking about my ex with his
current who happens to be my sister. Life…
“No,” she timidly shakes her head.
I find myself in an awkward situation looking at
Nala smiling at me. Should I drop it? She loves
Mathonga, his name is visible in her eyes. I
know she will do anything for him but put him
before herself which is good, but if she is not
going to commit then I wouldn’t mind taking
him for myself. I will never stop loving him.
“I want to study, get my degree then I’ll give
Mathonga all the attention he needs.” I’m
guessing Nala is inexperienced in the love-life
department. Men don’t wait for anything, neither
do they change their plans out of nowhere.
Unless she is that special to him.
“Okay,” I stand and move to the mirror to check
if I haven’t wrinkled my dress. I can see her
from the reflection, there are questions in her
eyes that are hovering over my body.
“Do you still love him?” She asks.
I saw this day coming, we never really got into it.
Mathonga had to leave immediately, there was
no time to discuss this matter. At first I feared
that in Mathonga’s absence, Nala would seek
answers from me.
Now here we are, I have to tell my sister that I’m
still very much in love with her boyfriend. She is
aware that we dated, he was my first love and
he left me for her.
“He was my life, I will never love anyone like I
loved him. I don’t think I will ever love again.” In
all honesty.
Her eyes are suddenly teary, I understand her
pain.
“So if an opportunity opens, will you take him
back?” Nala is asking questions that will only
hurt her.
“Given an opportunity,” I spin to face her as a
sigh emanates from my chest. “I would take
him back with no hesitation.”
She looks at me like I’m here to destroy her
dreams, like that’s my mission in life.
“I don’t want to lie to you Nala, you are my
family. I know we have only just met but I care
about you and that means I have to be honest
even if it will break your heart.” I take her hand
and pull her up to my height.
“I’m sorry that I can’t let him go, he’s become a
very important part of my life.” She sniffs as
she wraps her arms around my shoulders.
I’m hurt by hers saying, it will be hard for me to
watch my sister marry the man of my dreams.
I have to pretend that I’m okay with this, it’s not
like Mathonga wants me anyway.
“I think we’ve had enough of sad talks, let’s get
out of here.” That’s me.
The lump on my throat wages war with my
voice, I grab my bag and rush out before I shed
unwanted tears.

NTABEZIKUDE-

One of the most high profile trials of the century

began over two months ago, friends and family
gathered, desperate for justice.
The defence team made a surprising
move—blamed the victims.
*The Sangweni brothers preyed on an innocent
little girl, got her addicted to drugs without her
knowledge. She was gang raped and later
murdered. Any normal person would be
enraged and unravel.*

The defence team painted the Sangwenis as a

family with animalistic behaviour.

With the evidence of the murder, it would

appear the case is an easy win.
However, the videos of the bloodbath trending
on social media are a thing of the past, the
evidence kept in police custody disappeared as
if it was never there to start with.
As a hacker, Styles would take credit, but he
swears it wasn’t him, the only thing the
authorities have is word of mouth which does
not help much in the court.
Ntaba is kept behind bars, new evidence has to
be gathered. The world has not forgotten, but
how do you convict a man with no evidence?

The last time he spoke to Mathonga, he told

him he was going to plead for him, ask their
ancestors to intervene and pardon his iniquity.
“I’m going to the mountain, the ancestors have
spoken.” Mathonga laughed, finding a joke on
how his life is not his anymore.
“I will make sure to pray for you bhuti, they will
have to hear me this time.”
Ntaba found no hope in his promise… his life is
falling apart, and it is his own doing. If the
Sangwenis have the lives of a cat, he’d haunt
them down and slaughter them the way he did
the first time—without remorse, and without
regret.
Taking a life is so easy for him, that’s why it
was easy to arrange Pule’s attack and death
when he found out they were in the same prison.
The world is too small for him and his enemies,
one of them has to live and it’s got to be him by
all means.

Alfred Madi has visited him with promises of a

prison break. But that’s not the life he’s looking
to live, a life of a fugitive.
The world belongs to him, he wants to be free
and accepted in the community. Yes there are
some who call him an animal and wish death
upon him and his entire family but he still has a
place in the world.
.
.
This is Khothama’s first visit, like all his
brothers, he has been waiting for this day.
Ntaba has talked about everything but what
happened that night and why he went as far as
taking out every single Sangweni.
They have five minutes left before he is sent
back to the cells, that’s what the prison guard
tells them.
This one does not leave them alone, he’s
different from the clown Ntaba gets favours
from.
“Who would’ve thought that you would ever
wear an orange uniform?” Khothama down
plays his statement with a chuckle, he finds no
smile from Ntaba.
“Yeah,” the giant sighs. “If you ask me to narrate
what went on that day in detail, I will be as lost
as you.”
He’s not making sense, Khothama is confused.
“Are you saying you were not aware of what
was happening?”
“I was fully aware, I saw everything. The fear in
their eyes, the blood spilling from their bodies. I
heard their screams and smelled their blood, I
was aware of what I was doing. There was a
point where I wanted to let the children go, but I
couldn’t stop killing. I wanted all of them to be
wiped off the face of the earth, it was as if
something was pushing me to do it. I’m not
sure if it was the rush or anger but the force
was stronger than me.”
He scratches his head and lets out a brief
chuckle.
“You’re laughing?” Khothama doesn’t catch the
joke but he laughs too.
“Yeah because I enjoyed it,” this confession can
get him convicted. Khothama shakes his head,
he knows they are the same. Men who would
kill without thinking twice.
“Must be a Khanyile thing then,” Khothama
gloats.
Ntaba doesn’t want it to be a Khanyile thing, he
doesn’t want his brother to go down the same
route.
“What about Zakhe’s woman?”
“Bongiwe?” he frowns.
“No, that pretty boy.” Khothama is talking about
Funokuhle, Ntaba sneers at his cousin.
“Koti is not a woman, respect him.” That finger
pointed at Khothama might as well be a gun,
Khothama surrenders by throwing his hands up.
“You’re protective over him, why does he get to
live?”
“He’s my brother’s heart, I will never rip his heart
out. I’d rather die myself.” He is not apologetic
about killing Funo’s family, if the young man is
heartbroken, then Vukuzakhe will have to work
hard in pacifying him.
“How come you don’t love me like that? Am I
not your brother too?”
Jealousy is not a disease, it’s a bloody emotion
and every man has the right to feel it. You just
need to know how to put a leash around it and
control it.
“How about you be my best man the day I get
married?” Ntaba asks, laughing at the look of
sadness on Khothama’s face.
“You’re getting married?”
Yeah, it’s puzzling.
“Khethiwe agreed to marry me, we’re tying the
knot when I get out of here.” The giant lacks
emotion, maybe that’s how he is as a person.
Impassive.
“Who would’ve thought that you’d ever get
married? That’s Zakhe’s things.” Khothama.
“I want her close to me, she makes living worth
it.” Just say it already, you love her.
“Let’s have a double wedding, I’ll tell Zilile to
contact Our Perfect Wedding. You and I will
wear matching suits and…”
“Usuyasangana ndoda,” Ntaba cuts his
rumbling short. No way is he doing all of that.

He clears his throat and adjusts himself on the

chair, it’s about time they get him a customized
chair if he is going to be in here for a while.
“How is everything? Are you taking care of your
stoko?” (Woman.)
The only reason he calls Zilile that is because
he can’t remember her name.
“Zilile is fine, she gave birth two days ago. I’m a
father now.”
That’s funny to Ntaba, “You mean you’re a
father again? Don’t forget that you have children
all over the world.”
As if he’s been outside KZN.
“Trust me, they are fine without me. I will stick
with Zilile and Khethintaba.”
Ntaba’s eyes widen, he’s not sure he heard right.
“Who?” He asks, running a finger over his left
eyebrow.
“I was going to name him Ntabezikude if it was
a boy, but Zilile gave me a beautiful little girl.
Khethintaba seemed fitting, Khethiwe changed
you ndoda. You opened up and became less of
a dick, I believe she is the one for you. She’s the
one who will love and protect you, you’ve been
through shit and deserve a woman who lives for
you and only you. Khethiwe is the one.”
Khothama has said too much, Ntaba didn’t
think he could ever be so deep. He’s feeling
uneasy and thinks his cousin is weird. He clears
his throat, he doesn’t cry this one.
“I feel bad for not remembering your girl’s name
but you know Khethiwe’s and even named your
baby after her.”
Point of correction; after us—after us.
“Like I said, you are a dick.” Khothama teases. “I
want you at my wedding, we’ll get married when
bum-bum turns one.”
Who’s Bum-bum now?
“She poops a lot, her bum is always cooking in
poop.” The only man who can utter such
rubbish in this world is Khothama. They fall into
outbreaks of laughter, talk about the baby and
how weird it is to have a stranger living with
them. It’s a big step for Khothama, a man who
has never taken responsibility for his other
children.

“Speaking of strangers, Thethelela went back to

her father’s house.” Khothama is telling the
wrong person. “I woke up one day and her bags
were packed, she said she needed a break. I
don’t know from what.”
Ntaba shrugs, he’s really not there. Silence
sweeps into the room, it’s not the
uncomfortable kind. Both these men have
something in their minds.
“You’re getting out of here ndoda, you’ll see.”
They stand, Ntaba wastes no time in hugging
him.
“I love you, thank you for being my brother.”
Ntaba says and hides his face on Khothama’s
shoulder.
Khothama is crying and not doing anything to
hide it. His sniffles are loud and his shoulders
are convulsing. As they pull out, Ntaba places a
kiss his forehead.
“I didn’t know you were a cry baby.” He
references his statement with a raised eyebrow,
Khothama’s head is dropped—he needs to wipe
away his tears first.
“It’s your fault, you’re making it sounds like this
is goodbye.” Khothama uses the collar of his t-
shirt to wipe away his tears. “I will see you in
court and we’ll go home together after that.”
Khothama.
Nah, it doesn’t work like that. The jailer tells
Ntaba it’s time to go, he gives Khothama one
final look.
“Wipe your tears ndoda, that’s Khethintaba’s
job.” He giggles and lets the warden lead him
out of the visiting room.
*
*
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MATHONGA-
Eighty-six

NDLELENI-
.
.

Living at the royal house became too much for

him, and so he did what he has always wanted
to do. Follow his heart.
He lives in Umhlanga in a three bedroom, estate
house, cosy for him and the partner he found
for himself.
Primarily, Cape Town was what he had in mind.
Once upon a time he wanted to be independent
and build a legacy outside his family. Going
solo would mean denouncing the Khanyile
name, his children would be denied a chance to
partake in building the Khanyile legacy.
It’s not who he is. He doesn’t walk away from
what built him and made him the man he is
today.
Moving in with a girl three months after
knowing each other is a big step, a step his
father is not proud of. Had Vumile tried to build
his relationship with him, he would still have all
his sons under the same roof.
The fact of the matter is that he and Vumile will
never have their father-son relationship, no
matter how much any of them try. The bridge
collapsed years ago, it’s too late to take broken
bricks and build something solid.

Banami had no problem with moving out of her

home to start afresh with him. He knows she is
for him and would follow him wherever he leads
her.

He walks in the house tired and irritated, he’s

hungry and has a lot in his mind. It’s lunch hour,
he makes sure he’s home around 1pm to have
lunch with Banami. It’s a promise they made to
each other.
The smell of chicken tickles his nose and adds
to his frustration, he can hear the clanging of
spoons and dishes in the dining room and
knows that Banami has dished up.
“Banami!” He’s letting her know that he’s home.
His first stop is the bathroom, he rolls his shirt
sleeves up, releases a pee he's been holding for
ten minutes while driving home, and washes his
hands. He’s in the dining room before they are
cold again, Banami smiles at the sight of him.
She greets him with a soft peck on the lips, they
sit down and Banami digs in.
“Are we having chicken again?” He’s looking at
his plate, displeasure detectable on his face.
“Dude, you love chicken.” It’s his favourite meal.
“I never said I love it every day, can’t I also have
beef or wors? Don’t I buy meat in this house?”
No, he buys chicken apparently.
“That is not fair Ndleleni, I’m trying here.”
“Well, you’re not trying hard enough, that’s why
there’s yet another damn grilled chicken on my
plate.”
Banami clicks her tongue, grabs his plate and
leaves for the kitchen. Ndleleni sighs, he didn’t
mean to start a war.
He can hear her banging pots and dishes, he
finds her taking out a packet of beef from the
freezer.
“I didn’t say cook something else.” Guilt can be
an irritating itch even a scratch can’t get rid of.
“You hate my chicken, so I’m making beef.” Her
words dribble against each other, she doesn’t
usually cry. She bites her lip to push back the
tears, after all the effort she put into preparing a
meal for his ungrateful ass, he does this to her.
“I don’t hate your chicken, I only said I don’t
have to have it every day.” Ndleleni says.
“It’s okay Ndleleni, I know I’m not a good
girlfriend.”
Sigh! She’s putting words into his mouth.
Ndleleni frowns as confusion takes over his
face.
“What are you talking about?” He asks, raising
his brows at her.
Anger has taken over Banami’s hands, she
tosses the meat packet into the microwave to
defrost it. Everything she’s touching falls victim
to her anger, she bangs a pan on the cooktop
and pours more than the required
measurements of oil.
“That’s too much cooking oil, don’t you think?”
He wants to further tell her that it’s expensive;
R100 per 2 litre, but the look in her eyes stops
him, and probably saves his life. Do not upset a
woman standing in front of a hot pan with
expensive oil in it.
The microwave calls for her attention, time to
make this man a steak.
“Sthandwa sami…” he’s about to plead, he
knows how to melt her heart. And who said
short girls have a short fuse?
“You hate me for not wanting to help your
brother.” Maybe they do.
She’s not looking at him.
Ndleleni releases a sigh and puts his hands in
the pockets of his pants, a Khanyile habit.
“I don’t hate you Banami,” another sigh
volunteers to leave his now gasping mouth. At
his dispute, Banami swivels around and aims
her narrowed eyes at him.
“Oh please, I’m not a child Ndleleni.”
“I know, sthandwa sami. I know. I have never
asked you for anything. Just this once, I’m
asking that you take my brother’s case.” He’s
desperate and she is the only person he can
turn to.
For three months and at every chance he got,
he brought it up; asked for the impossible.
“Not when I’m sleeping with you, I will lose my
job if anyone finds out. No offence but that is a
risk I’m not willing to take. I love my job Ndleleni
and you know that.”
“Of course I know you love your job,” a short
circuit of irritation seeps through his veins. It’s
unintentional, he treats this woman like an egg.
Any mistake and she will crack; that’s what he
thinks.
“You love it more than anything in this world.
Sometimes I wonder if I have any place in your
heart. Am I just a walking dick to you Banami?”
Banami’s heart flat-lines for a jiffy, her wide-
eyed gaze fixed on him. She’s blinking faster
than usual. She grabs the nearest thing and
throws it at him, the dish cloth lands on his
chest before it tumbles to the floor.
“I hate you!” She turns the stove off and storms
out of the kitchen in a fit of rage.
Anger was not supposed to bud in, he doesn’t
know how he let it.

He finds her in the bathroom pouring a handful

of Handy-Andy inside the bathtub, she’s taking
her anger out on household goods.
“Are you taking a bath?” He’s standing in the
doorway, arms across his speeding heart.
He sighs when she ignores him, their rule is that
they don’t go to bed angry with each other. It’s
in the afternoon, he needs to make things right
before sunset.
“Smurfette.” He lovingly calls her causing her to
stop cleaning the bathtub and look at him with
soft eyes. The endearment usually has her
playing in the palm of his big, warm hand. “Talk
to me please.”
Banami shakes it off, she huffs and puffs and
almost blows profanity at him.
Ndleleni is asking for too much. No man in this
world is worth giving her life up for… a few
lessons from Khethiwe would be highly
appreciated by Ndleleni.
She drops everything and faces him, “You left
the toilet sit up again and there’s a drop of urine
on the sit. We spoke about this, Ndleleni.”
“I’m sorry,”- Ndleleni
He winces and scurries to clean up his mess
and pull the sit down.
“Where are you going?” He asks.
She’s leaving her work undone.
“Kitchen, I’m hungry.”
“But we’re still talking.” He tries to sound
apologetic, as if he has a choice.
“Talk to yourself.” She shouts back as she takes
the long walk to peace, her appetite is back and
she is going to finish her boring-grilled chicken
like she intended to.

Not a second later, Ndleleni goes after her. He

finds her seated on the barstool, their eyes
clash, he clears his throat and goes to get his
plate on the counter. Quietly, he settles down a
chair away from her, he’s trying to make eye
contact but she’s gawking at her plate.
“Did you use a different recipe this time?” He’s
talking with his mouth full, the chicken he was
grumbling about is dancing on his tongue and
seducing his saliva glands.
“You’re a great cook sthandwa sami, this is so
good.” He continues.
The power of an angry woman.
He’s singing her praises now, Banami gives him
a onceover, their eyes do that thing again where
they clash beforehe looks away and stands to
take her plate to the sink.
Ndleleni is looking at her, a sad look on his face.
The man is trying.
He rushes the meal, cleaning his plate. To show
he is grateful and appreciates her food, he goes
to the extent of chewing the chicken bones till
they look abused and in ICU.
He dashes to the sink to wash his plate,
crowding her on purpose. Banami won’t move
because he found her here.
A song randomly comes to mind, he’s humming
and slightly moving his shoulders.
“Are you humming?” She asks and stops to look
at him.
She has never seen this side of him before, he
can be sweet, he can be sour but never playful.
Ndleleni looks at her and smiles.
“When I get this feeling, I want sexual healing.”
He sings and takes her hand, laughter erupts
from her when he spins her around. She falls
back on his chest, against his body… in his arms.
“Get up! Get up! Get up! Get up.” He continues
to sing swaying with her in his arms. “Wake,
wake up! Wake up! Wake up!”
Banami crackles with horse laughter, it’s the
weirdest thing Ndleleni has ever heard. She
literally laughs like a horse and he’s okay with it.
“That’s not what the song says, and you’re off
tune.” Banami.
Like it’s the funniest thing she has ever heard,
she continues to laugh.
Ndleleni shrugs, Marvin Gaye doesn’t pay him to
perfect his songs and harmonize like him.
Everything seems to be okay again, it’s how he
desires them to be. In this perfect place, loving
and enjoying each other.
“Ngiyak’thanda MaFakude.” His eyes repeat
what he said, his hands let her feel it as he
caresses her.
“I love you Ngwane.” She sighs with content and
accepts his kisses.

“Do you think there’s hope for Ntaba?” He asks,

taking her hand and leading her to the living
room.
“There might be, seeing that the evidence went
missing. But everyone knows what happened,
everyone remembers how he mercilessly killed
that family.” Banami.
Ndleleni sighs, this is not what he wants to hear.
Banami sits on the couch and places her legs
on his lap, he knows which type of massages
she likes.
“Does your brother have a violent history?”
“No, Ntaba kept to himself most of the time. He
didn’t have friends outside us, he never
expressed himself at all. He was a quiet kid,
who enjoyed spending time alone, I guess.”
Ndleleni says.
He can’t really vouch for his words, they were all
going through something growing up.
“Some killers evolve into criminality, but others
are programmed that way from birth. They are
born evil.” Banami says.
Ndleleni frowns, he can’t associate the word
evil with his brother’s name.
“He’s not evil.”
“Babe come on, that’s not what I meant.” She
defends herself.
“Your brother might be suffering from antisocial
personality disorder, it’s characterized by the
disregard of the feelings of others. He might
have showed symptoms in childhood. Hostility,
aggression, violence. The jury will see your
brother as a ruthless monster, like he did the
Sangwenis, they will not have mercy on him.”
Ndleleni is baffled, “You’ve diagnosed him
already?”
“No, just a theory I came up with.” She wiggles
her feet when he touches a ticklish spot. He
touches her feet like he touches her body, she’s
squirming, moaning and biting her lower lip.
If he continues like this, she will be riding him
before he goes back to work.
.
.
.
VUKUZAKHE-

Signing the divorce papers would break all ties

he had with Bongiwe, she will be nothing but his
ex-wife.
They have nothing that ties them together, a
child or anything solid that tattoos her to him
for life. He’s not sure he’s ready to let her go,
she left in a fit of rage. He knows because of
the letter she left him which he got a week after
her departure.
In it, she specified her level of hatred for him
and confessed her undying love. She told him
how she wished he was a better man, how
desperately she wanted to have a family with
him.
He shattered her dreams, killed her soul and
took away the most important thing in her
life—Him!
He’d do anything to speak to her, for the sake of
closure. If only he knew her hiding place, she’s
suddenly become a needle in a haystack.

He arrives home a little earlier than usual, it’s a

Friday today. He plans on going home to
Izingolweni for the weekend, he needs to see
Ntaba and his father regarding marrying
Funokuhle.
It’s not a tomorrow thing, but it’s part of his five-
year goal. If Bongiwe didn’t pull the stunt she
pulled, he would marry Funokuhle tomorrow.
The garden is very clear from the driveway, he
frowns upon seeing Funokuhle laughing with
the gardener. The last time he saw his smile
was… it was… dammit, he can’t recall the day.

He’s supposed to park in the garage but he

leaves it in the driveway. He sucks in a breath to
calm himself, before exiting the vehicle.
Funokuhle has not turned to look at him, he’s
trimming lollipop trees like he gets paid to do it.
The gardener is standing too close to his
Minnie minion, or Funokuhle is standing too
close to the gardener. Either way, it angers
Vukuzakhe.
“Funokuhle.” Zakhe’s voice rings out, startling
the young man.
“Inside, now!” He commands and heads to the
house.
He’s gulping down a glass of water when
Funokuhle walks in and stands in the doorway,
arms over his chest.
“You are such a prude, did you have to
embarrass me like that?” Funo says, he has a
new found attitude Zakhe has never seen.
“So you were enjoying the gardener’s
company?” It’s more of a statement than a
question.
“Mlungisi is a friend, and he listens to me.”
It’s shocking to Vukuzakhe really because this
Mlungisi person was hired last week. Does this
friendship have a beginning? He knows it
definitely has an end, and that’s today.
“He listens to you?” He raises his brows in
question and gets a nod in return. “He’s fired.”
Mic drop!
“You can’t do that, Mlungisi is…”
“Mlungisi is irrelevant.” Zakhe interrupts harshly.
“I’m not going to discuss the staff with you kid,
and I sure as hell will not argue with you over
them. Your focus should be on becoming my
husband and not flirting with the employees.”
He’s never been so blunt and harsh with him,
it’s the anger talking. Funokuhle’s jaw drops at
the indifference in Zakhe’s eyes that are staring
daggers at him.

“I don’t want to get married.”

What’s new? It should be a yawning moment for
a fed up somebody—say… Vukuzakhe?
Khanyile’s shoulders tense, his eyes turn cold.
Not a single flicker of emotion, he knows rage
boils within Funo and this must be the results.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that to me.”
Zakhe.
If provoked further he might let out his rage.
“That’s how I feel and you should respect it.”
Funo fires with an attitude.
“Fine, pack your shit and get the hell out.”
The minion’s eyes widen, “Wh… what?”
“You don’t want to get married, so I don’t see
the need to keep you around.” Zakhe is
unsympathetic.
“Your brother killed my family.” He’s crying.
“Are you going to remind me of this every
fucking day? Wear a banner already.”
“Why are you saying these things to me?”
Funokuhle asks, slamming his fists on
Vukuzakhe’s chest.
Zakhe grabs his wrists, “Because I’m tired
Funokuhle, you’re not the only one going
through shit. We all are, but you don’t see us
walking around pointing accusatory fingers.”
“But you only lost a sister, I lost my entire
family.” The young man spits, tearing himself
free and creates a huge space between them.
“What the hell are you saying to me? Huh? Was
my sister’s life worthless?” Zakhe cannot grasp
what he just heard.
Funokuhle sighs and covers his face with his
hands, “You’re twisting my words.”
He shakes his head as his hands fall away from
his face.
“That family didn’t care about you, they hated
you and treated you like garbage. Your brothers,
gang raped and killed my sister, my little sister.
Have… I ev…ever called you out on it?”
Silence.
He charges at him, Funo staggers back. He’s
never been afraid of him till today.
“Have I ever ca…called you o… out on it Fu…
Funokuhle?” His speech impediment worsens,
and his voice becomes more feminine. But his
anger is tangible, Funokuhle fearfully looks at
the finger pointing at him.
“N… no.” Funo answers, his mouth working
wordlessly to try and come up with more.
“I’m tired of this shit, I have too much on my
hands to be entertaining a spoiled brat who
won’t grow the fuck up.”
Zakhe walks out and slams the door behind him.
So much for coming home to a happy, peaceful
place.
*
*
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MATHONGA
Eighty-seven

VUMILE-
.
.

Ntabezikude has always been the unruly child,

but not once did he think he would live to see
the day his son turn into a monster. This is what
he calls him in secret, where no one can hear
him, not even his beloved Nandi.

On the outside Vumile looks like a retired

pensioner, but on the inside he’s falling apart.
His family is not complete, his sons are his life.
He has tried over the months to fix what he
broke. He’s seen the damage his ignorance has
done, a grown man should be able to
differentiate between right and wrong and
Vumile has done just that.
Life with Nandi is slowly picking up, the house
feels empty without his sons though.
Vukuzakhe has found a home in Durban,
Hlabela is somewhere around the world.
Ntabezikude is in prison, Ndleleni moved out
too and Mathonga is god-knows where.

“You’re deep in thought Ngwane,” Nandi’s warm

voice saves him from his thoughts. He blinks
and averts his gaze to her, it’s a hot afternoon
yet the oldies are enjoying each other’s
company over cups of hot steaming tea.
“What’s on your mind?” Nandi continues as she
shifts closer to him as if he will need a shoulder
to cry on.
“Do you think they will ever come back home?”
Nandi is aware he is talking about his sons, it’s
all he ever talks about. Sometimes she is
convinced that he has an obsession over them.
“This is their home, it’s where they were born.
There is no place like home.” Will they ever
come home was the question.
“It’s been too long,” he speaks like a man who
will die if they don’t return.
Nandi sighs heavily, she’s tired of convincing
him as if he is a child that needs constant
reassurance.
“We spoke about this Ngwane, they are grown
men.”
Maybe his head is too thick, that’s why he’s not
getting it. Vumile takes a sip from his mug and
heaves a sigh, Nandi’s words of comfort are not
helping.
She decides to let him be and focus on her own
tea before it gets cold, she takes the plate filled
Marie biscuits and offers it to Vumile.
“I’m fine MaShamase,” he goes for an
appreciative smile.
“Baba,” his heart stops at the sound of
Hlabela’s voice. At first he thinks he’s imagining
things, imagining Hlabela standing in the middle
of his living room. His mouth pops a smidgeon,
he drops the mug on the table with a loud clang,
spilling the tea Nandi made with love.
“Hlabela?” His long legs bring him up. “Ndodana,
you’re home?”
The great Vumile sheds tears, he wants to go
for a hug but Hlabela drops down on his knees.
Beside him is an Indian woman, there’s
something affectionate in how he’s holding her
hand.
“I’m sorry for taking your sons from you baba,”
takes a real man to admit he was wrong. “I was
young and…”
Vumile raises his hand, gesturing that he stops.
Hlabela must be reading it wrong because he
drops his head in shame, the woman beside
him squeezes his hand.
“I know what happened son and I do not hold it
against you.” Vumile.
Relieved, Hlabela lifts his head to look at his
father who is contently smiling at him. Vumile
tells him to get up and hugs him, it feels
absolutely amazing to have one of his sons
home.
“Who is the beautiful woman with you?”
Humans are naturally curious.
To answer Nandi’s Question, Hlabela regards
the young woman with a soft smile.
“I found a flower baba, the only woman who is
capable of making my heart beat. Her name is
Kushi, we’re married. She is kind and takes care
of me.” Hlabela chokes on a chuckle. “All my
life I have been craving for the love of a woman,
to be taken care of. Well, look at God. I can’t
fulfil the church duties, it was all for you, so
you’d be proud of me. I can’t live under your
shadow anymore, and I’m not sorry about it.”
Vumile does not seem to mind, Hlabela being a
pastor is the last thing on his mind.
“I understand ndodana, I’m happy you found
love.” Vumile.
“She is beautiful,” says Nandi with a smile
dancing on her face. Khushi’s face gleams, she
drops her gaze like a newlywed and thanks the
woman. Vumile silently approves.
Nandi asks them to sit before she’s running to
the kitchen to get something that will excite
their intestines.
.
.

“Ntunjwa KaLanga, Mthiyane, Ndwandwe!!!”

Everyone is abruptly astonished by the voice
loudly reciting the Khanyile clan names outside.
Those who have heard it before are aware of
who it is, they drop everything and run outside
to find Mathonga dancing around the yard.
He’s barefooted, dressed in ibheshu, a leopard
gear around his shoulders. Around his neck is a
blue and white beaded necklace.
Behind him, at the gate are three grey haired
men and a young man they already know as
Bambindlovu Buthelezi.
Mathonga breaks in loud whistles, stomping his
feet on the ground while swirling around in
celebration.
“What’s going on?” Khushi has clung on to her
husband, as she should. Hlabela is too
astounded to give her an answer.
“It’s a celebration, the ancestors are celebrating
Ngwane's homecoming.” Vumile lets that out,
he’s not going to cry because grown men don’t
cry, right? The wetness on his face must be his
sweat. Bambindlovu approaches the family, he
greets the head of the family with a handshake.
They turn their eyes back to Mathonga’s body
being used by his great ancestor, it’s an
ethereal sight.
It’s crazy how he moves with perfect rhythm,
this specific ancestral dance is to inform and
guide.
“What’s going on?” Hlabela is the one to ask.
He wouldn’t know considering he grew up in the
seventh day Adventist church.
“Mathonga’s journey is complete, the ancestors
are happy. That’s Nomkhubulwane celebrating
through him, she has something to say to the
family.” Bambindlovu puts them at ease.

“Bakhanyisile oKhanyile, Mhlambululi has

arrived, uNgwane KaNgwadi. UNtunjwa
KaLanga. I am proud of my son, he has shut the
mouths of my enemies.” The spirit yells at the
top of her lu… Mathonga’s lungs.
To cleanse the family is what Nomkhubulwane
has always wanted Mathonga to do hence the
name Mhlambululi. He is their cleanser.
“Mhlambululi is his ancestral name,”
Bambindlovu tells the crowd watching.
Eventually, Nomkhubulwane gives Mathonga’s
body a break.
“I’m here to bring peace in the family, I have
removed our enemies from our land. My
offspring will live in peace on their forefather’s
land, the Khanyile name and legacy will live on.”
Her voice seeps through Mathonga’s Adam’s
apple.
“I don’t understand gogo, what do you mean
you have removed our enemies?” Vumile asks.
It is what he thinks it is.

She turns a stern gaze towards Vumile, “you

never understand anything, that’s why your
family was falling apart.”
That’s not what Vumile asked though.
“I, Nomkhubulwane Khanyile…” she’s proudly
banging Mathonga’s chest with a firm fist.
“…Stepped in to calm the wrath of Khahlamba,
your grandfather. At first I wanted you dead.
You were standing in my way, preventing me
from getting to my son Mathonga. My rage
diminished when he accepted me, but
Khahlamba remained seething. He wanted to
take everyone from you, all your children. I
couldn’t allow that, I took his wrath upon myself
and let it fall on the enemies who occupied my
land.”
“Are you saying you killed the Sangwenis?”
Vumile is flabbergasted. Nandi wants to slap
his hand to reprimand him lest they strike him
dead with lightning.

The great ancestor throws Mathonga’s head

back and falls into giggles that bring shivers
down everyone’s spine. Hand on his belly,
mouth wide and head bopping arrogantly. For a
minute there, they see a version of Ntabezikude.
“It was that or the Khanyile children, Khahlamba
is calm now. He wants umhlabelo so he knows
he has not been forgotten by you Vumile.”
Nomkhubulwane spits, she’s pointing at Vumile.
“But what about Ntaba? My son is behind bars
because of you.” Eh!
The nerve Vumile has to point a finger back at
his elder. She tilts Mathonga’s head, shoots a
cold stare at Vumile and points a warning finger
at him.
“My son… Ntabezikude is my son. You have no
children Vumile Khanyile, all these big heads
walking around these premises are mine. Do
you hear me?” She roars.
Vumile gulps, eyes wide.
“What do you take me for Vumile? How dare
you assume I will let my son rot in jail? My son,
a Khanyile blood?” She spits on the ground.
“I know how to take care of my own, why do you
think these children are still alive today? Your
wife’s sister would’ve consumed them all if it
were not for me.” She’s doing that thing again,
banging her fists against her chest. Mathonga
will be nursing a swollen chest the entire week.

Nomkhubulwane lifts his head and a broad

smile spreads across his face, she sucks in a
long breath with hands lifted high.
“The skies are open, the village will forever be
blessed with rain.” She declares loudly.
Suddenly, the clouds gather, thunder resounds
and lightning strikes. There’s a drop of rain,
then two before showers pour down from the
skies.
Mathonga is brought to dance in the rain, loud
whistles leaving his mouth. He alternates,
singing praises to his ancestors and God.
Kushi screams and runs back into the house, it
cost a fortune to get her hair done.
The others relish the rain, it’s been so long
since it rained.
.
.
.

KHETHIWE-
Mathonga said Ntaba will be out soon, or was it
his ancestor? These things confuse me, I know
nothing about African spirituality.
I can only hope Ntaba won’t expect me to chase
chickens and slit their throats once we’re
married, I grew up in the village yes but with two
brothers who did everything.
It’s been raining cats and dogs for the past
seven days, since Mathonga’s arrival. He came
like a miracle, you can actually taste and smell
the difference in this place. There’s more, light
than there was before.
Today is day eight, we woke up to clear blue
skies. We kind of knew yesterday was the last
day, a rainbow appeared in the sky before the
sun set.
The house is full, and I mean both his girlfriends
are here full. Nala made it clear that she is
visiting, and will go back to Johannesburg as
soon as she can.
Mathonga’s welcome home ceremony is what
brought her here, I can’t say the same about
Amandla. She is like a belt, goes where he goes.
She doesn’t miss a chance to land a helping
hand whenever he is concerned.
They are not dating but Amandla wants him, I
see it in everything she does for him.

Vukuzakhe left with Funokuhle yesterday, I

didn’t get time to get to know him. He seemed
nice, too quiet and reserved.
Hats off for him for sticking around after
Vukuzakhe’s brother killed his family, he is me…
I am him. He is my spirit animal, we’d get along
pretty well.
Ndleleni showed up alone, but rumour has it
he’s seeing someone. Good luck to her, Ndleleni
is too standoffish it’s scary.

The kitchen is loud today, Nala and Amandla

are helping me prepare breakfast. It’s nice to
have six hands, we get things done. It will be
sad when they leave.

“Khethiwe, how is breakfast going?” That’s

Khushi, Hlabela’s wife. My mind went to search
for answers as to how and why he married her,
it hasn’t come back yet.
No offense but she is not his type, Hlabela is
the type that marries those pastor’s wife
material. The girls who sing the loudest in
church, walk around showing all adult teeth and
pray like Jesus will prize them for the best
prayer.
Kushi is the housewife type of girl, I haven’t
seen her lift a spoon since they arrived seven
days ago.
The only thing she lifts are her heavy eyelashes.
It doesn’t look like she baths herself, I can just
hear her say “Siri wash my back.”

“Oh, it smells nice.” Kushi.

She is opening the pots of a black woman, how
do I tell her that this is against all laws? Nala
and Amandla gasp, they are expecting me to
react. I’m trying to be a good person, Ntaba will
be proud of me.
“What are you doing?” I ask politely.
I don’t know if they do this in Bangladesh but
she will finish the cooking if she continues to
test me.
“Hlabela is hungry, he won’t stop nagging me.”
She says and takes my wooden spoon from my
hand. I have to watch as she dips it inside the
pot of baked beans and takes a subtle lick.
“Hlabela must wait,” I grab the spoon from her.
I will burn this when she is not watching, I’m
cooking for royalty here. Not Rajesh and Ashok
selling Go’Slows at the tuck shop.
“My man is locked up in a prison cell. I don’t
know if he has eaten or not, at least Hlabela can
smell curry as we speak. The aroma should be
enough to fill him up.”
I’m not usually this this rude, Kushi has not
offered a helping hand around here. All she
does is walk around looking pretty and ready to
board flights. Haibo! We’re going to be sister-
wives, no one should be getting special
treatment.
“I think we should dish up for Hlabela, Kushi will
take his food to him.” That’s Amandla, she’s in
charge of the eggs and sausages. Nala is
making toast.
“Isn’t Khethiwe the maid? I just did my nails
yesterday, I can’t afford to break them.” She
called me a maid.

Can she afford to take care of a village man

though? Those ones don’t care about money,
they want a woman who is willing to bend over
and blow the burning coals on the firewood till
the fire starts dancing under the pot.
“Khethiwe, can I have a word with you?”
Mathonga emerges from nowhere, he looks too
serious.
I wonder what could’ve happened. I leave the
spoon in Kushi’s hands and hope she doesn’t
put it back in the pot.
“Wait, here’s your tea.” Amandla pushes past
me to get to him, instinctively, I send my eyes to
check Nala’s reaction. She’s not bothered by
this. She needs to hotspot me her liver, I’d be
pulling braids and splashing tea on a girl.

It’s the two of us in the living room, he heaves a

sigh and glances directly into my eyes. My heart
is beating very hard, I’m thinking the worst.
“Did something happen to Ntaba?” My voice
trembles, I pray I’m jumping into conclusions.
Mathonga shakes his head and tells me he’s
fine.
“Is everything okay at home?” Huh? I thought he
called me here to talk about Ntaba.
“I think so.-” I’m really not so sure about my
answer. First I need to know where this is going.
“You have an underwear that went missing.” He
says.
I knew something was up.
“Yeah, I found it days later but I never wore it.” I
wanted to burn it but with how my mother kept
me on my toes, I completely forgot.
“You did wear it,” he says and I disagree with
him.
“I didn’t, I remember placing it separately from
my clothes because I have two more that are
similar. They came in a pack, they were on
special at PEP and… I was planning on burning
it.” Mathonga shakes his head and then laughs.
“Khethiwe you wore that underwear, when you
were at the hospital your cousin brought
clothes for you. It was in there, you have to burn
it.”
No, I couldn’t have worn. The one Sono brought
looked new, I thought maybe she washed and
ironed it.
The one that went missing is wrinkly and dirty.

“That means I would have to burn the other two,

I won’t be able to tell them apart. And
underwear is expensive, have you seen the
prices at Mr. Price?”
He doesn’t care, his eyes are penetrating
through my soul. They move down to my belly.
“I feel something heavy here,” he says as he
presses a hand on his abdomen. “There’s a frog
sitting in your womb.”
He continues and my head spins.
“I don’t understand, are you saying I’m pregnant
with a frog?” I’m baffled honestly, more like
confused.
Mathonga chuckles lightly and scratches his
head.
“If you want to put it like that,” what does he
mean if I want to put it like that?
“That’s a weird thing to say Mathonga, it’s not
funny.” People don’t randomly have frogs in
their wombs, it’s farfetched, unreal. Mathonga
brings the cup of tea to his mouth, he’s drinking
after telling me I’m going to be a mother to a
frog.
No, no. I must be dreaming, Nandi will wake me
up any minute now and tell me to go sweep the
yard before the roaster rings the alarm.
“This is not a joke Khethiwe, I don’t know why
I’m being shown this. But someone close to you
is working tirelessly for your downfall, they put
a frog in your womb. It’s spiritual and I don’t
expect you to understand.”
I stand, I have no idea what I’m looking for. My
mind has not come back yet, it has to. I need
understanding, to make sense of all this.
“Khethiwe,” Mathonga calls.
I don’t realise I’m tearing up until he’s telling me
to keep it down, too late, my sister-wives are
here. They will think I’m a freak that slept with a
frog.
“Nala, I…” Something twitches in my stomach or
it’s my imagination but I flinch and press my
hand on my belly.
“Mathonga it’s kicking,” I scream.
“What’s going on?” Nala asks, I don’t have
answers for her.
“Please bring Khethiwe a glass of water or
warm milk to calm her nerves.” He’s instructing
one of the ladies.
“Warm milk?” My eyes are wide as I ask him, he
nods. “W… why are we feeding it?”
My voice is trembling, I can’t control it nor the
tears streaming down my face.
“It’s to calm your nerves Khethiwe, you need to
relax or your blood pressure will rise.”
Mathonga.
A rising blood pressure? That happens to
pregnant women right?
“Then let it rise, I want to die.” I’m wailing.
“Khethiwe what’s going on?” Nala again, she
looks worried.
If only she knew how I feel, I knew something
was wrong with me. When I sit with my legs
open, I always felt something trying to push its
way out of my vagina. Now I know I’ve been
nurturing a frog… Oh God, that’s why I gained
weight. I’ve been feeding it McDonalds and hot
wings and pies.
“Where is that water?” I hear Mathonga shout,
snapping me out of my thinking zone. I don’t
know when I got on the floor, I’m heaving and
tearing up. Mathonga is on his knees, right
between my legs.
Why are my thighs open? My eyes widen out of
their sockets, I quickly shut my thighs and cry
for my father.
“Call my father, please call my father. I don’t
want to give birth to a frog.” God, why have you
forsaken me?
“Khethiwe you’re not going to give birth to a
frog.” He’s irritated. I don’t care, he’s not the
one whose womb is a home to a frog.
“Khethiwe is pregnant with a frog?” Amandla
sounds surprised before she’s laughing.
I’m going to make her the God-mother before I
die and see who gets the last laugh.
“Tell her to push so she can get it out,” her
request is directed at Mathonga. It offends me
still, my heart is racing and I’m about to pass
out from shock.
“It’s not funny Amandla, after your predicament
you should be the last person to laugh. Now
please, try and be helpful by getting me a towel
and a glass of water.” Mathonga scolds her.
He’s not helping though, the things he’s
requesting from these women…
“Are you going to take it out?” I grab his hand
and open my legs, I don’t care about my granny
panties being exposed. I need this thing out of
me.
He’s sweating, he has no business being
nervous. He's not the father, I’m the mother-to-
be.
“I’ll make some butter milk, it does wonders to
shock.” Khushi decides to be handy, I’m grateful
but no.
“I’m not going to eat anything until this thing is
out of me,” I cry and tighten my hand on his.
“Nala help me get her outside, she needs some
air.” He requests.
“No, please let’s take it out first. I can feel it
inside me, please take it out.”
“That’s your mind telling you that it’s moving, I
told you it’s a spiritual thing. It’s not something
that will come out when you push, it’s meant to
make you barren. It was given instructions, that
any man who wants to sleep with you will not
be aroused.” Mathonga.
“Then we can take it out right? I can’t imagine
not having sex with Nta…” I stop when his face
becomes awkward.
“You’re going to be okay Khethiwe.” Nala’s
comforting words are useless right now.
I realise I’m still lying with my legs open like a
woman who is about to give birth.
I feel the twitch again, Mathonga says it’s my
imagination. It can’t be when he just told me I’m
carrying a frog, spiritual or not. Something is in
my womb.
“Khethiwe please calm down, you’re burning up.
You will go into shock if you don’t.” Dr
Mathonga instructs, he knows better because
he’s had a frog growing inside him before.
“I can’t breathe, I’m scared.” I cry.
Mathonga and Nala help me up, they are
dragging me across the room, literally. My legs
feel numb, I can’t move them.
“Please tell my father not to bury me with this
thing in my womb.” It’s my last will and
testament, I can hear Amandla laughing behind
me.
There’s also a smell of warm milk and
cinnamon, the milk from India is here.
“You’re not going to die Khethiwe,
Bab’Manyanga will help you. He specialises in
these things.” Mathonga utters.
I don’t know who that is, but I know death is
near. Nala and Mathonga better catch me when
I fall, I don’t want to hit the ground like a sack of
potatoes.
He pulls the door open and standing on the
doorstep with his hand up like he’s about to
knock is Ntaba. His brows furrow, he’s looking
at me.
“Ntaba?” My tears triple, I must be dreaming.
He’s in jail as far as I know.
“Ntaba there’s a frog in my womb… I’m pregnant
with a frog.” I tell him, he needs to know as the
stepfather.
His face blurs, I can’t make out his features
anymore. The last thing I see is a confused look
on his face before I feel myself falling and black
out on the way to the ground.
MATHONGA-
Eighty-eight
.
.
KHETHIWE-

“I leave for a second and you become a drama

queen,” he hands me a glass of water. I place it
on the bedside table and fold my arms across
my chest.
“You have to drink to keep hydrated, unless you
want to pass out again.” Ntaba doesn’t
understand anything, I don’t want anything
going into my stomach.
He sighs and sits on the bed next to me when I
don’t reply.
“Khethiwe, I know you’re terrified. But you need
to drink something, I don’t want to worry about
you.”
What does he mean he doesn’t want to worry
about me?
“I thought you’re always worried about me, what
are you saying now?”
He throws his head back laughing, the last I
remember we don’t have comedians in my
family.
“Does fear turn you into this dramatic person?”
Him.
Dramatic? I’m offended, there is nothing wrong
with me wanting him to worry about me. I want
him to have sleepless nights thinking of me,
heck I want him obsessed with me.
He takes the glass from the table and tries to
make me drink, he didn’t hear what I said…
“Ntaba don’t give it water, let’s wait for
Bab’Manyanga to get here first.” There’s a lump
in my throat I’m trying to push down, my hands
are shaking.
Mathonga called Bab’Manyanga, it’s been too
long. I’m starting to worry if he will come or not,
I can’t go another day with this thing inside me.
“Turning me against my kid already? Shame on
you Khethi.” He’s frowning and I get the feeling
he’s judging my parenting skills… shit, what am I
saying?
“Ntaba don’t do that, don’t plant thoughts in my
head. This thing inside me is evil.” I’m an over
thinker, sometimes I entertain things that will
send me to hell.
The last thing I want is to think of this thing as
my child, unwanted thoughts can be like a bad
song on replay in your head.
“It’s a joke,” why is he not laughing then? People
laugh after saying it’s a joke. “I’m trying to
lighten up the mood, you’re too sour Peaches.”
Does this guy know how sacred a woman’s
womb is? How will my children feel when they
find out they shared a womb with a frog?
He should be telling me how he was released
from prison instead.
“How did they let you go?” I ask.
I’d do anything to get my focus elsewhere, his
face scrunches into a deep frown. I know that
look, he doesn’t want to talk about it.
“I was let go,” he sighs and takes his gaze to the
open window. “They let me go, just like that.”
“Your ancestors came through for you Ntaba,
you’re out because of them.”
“I know, Mathonga told me.” His eyes are
looking at me again.
I don’t need to know anything more, he’s here
and that’s all that matters. I’m not sure about
that look on his face but I think he’s feeling
lonely, so I take his hand into mine.
“I’m happy we’re together again, thank you for
coming back to me.” He needs to know I love
having him around.
This is the part where he tells me he missed me
and almost died without me, I’m expecting
kisses and a long hug and tears to make it look
real.
Why is he not saying anything?
“Ntaba?” I have to snap my fingers to get his
attention again, the frown is back.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says and my heart stops.
Men are not manufactured to think, they are not
good at it. When a man thinks it means a
woman will be nursing a broken heart.
“It’s about the wedding.” Ntaba.
“Yes!” I’m trying to stay calm, Ntaba is
unpredictable. He might call the wedding off
and I can’t have that.
“I’m not perfect Khethi, I make mistakes and…”
“What did you do Ntaba?” He couldn’t have
cheated while in prison, right?
I’ve watched Lock Down, those guards can be
thirsty.
He takes a long moment of silence, I’m not okay
with. He could be thinking how to get away with
murder.
“I want to send my uncles to your family, I want
to make this legit.” He says.
Don’t cry Khethiwe, you deserve to be loved too.
I want to throw myself in his arms but the knock
at the door stops me, it’s Amandla.
“The Sangoma is here.” She says.
Great.
Ntaba helps me up, I’m not too weak to make it
outside.
.
.

If anyone had told me that on this day my fiancé

would be driving me to my father’s house to
confront my parents, I would’ve called them
bluff.
Bab’Manyanga is with us, he said he can’t help
me without talking to my parents first.
They know where this thing started and if he
has to send it back to where it came from, he
will need to talk to them first and get them to
cooperate.
I can only decide on it if they disagree, I don’t
see my parents agreeing. Even though they are
descendent of Judas.

“Call me when you’re done, I will come and get

you.” Ntaba says.
Are we not doing this together? Couples do
things together and frankly I don’t have the
strength to face my parents alone.
“Aren’t you coming in? I can’t do this by myself,
they won’t believe anything I say.” I sound needy
and I don’t care, I’m allowed to be fragile.
“Khethi, if I want to clear my name with your
parents I have to respect them. I can’t come
into your house, it’s wrong.”
Today it’s wrong?
I see, he’s throwing me under the bus because
he wants to score points.
“Fine, but don’t go far.” I tell him.
I missed that grin he’s giving me, I missed
everything about him. I need to remember to
buy a Christmas present for the guard that
unlocked his cell.

My father’s house is forever crowded, everyone

is here but Aunt Rebecca. Her twins are
squashed on the same couch, I bet Amafu
bullied them into holding the remote.
“What are you doing here wena?”
The last time I checked this was my father’s
house, my mother should go to her own father’s
house if she has a problem with me being here.
“Go back where you came from, where do you
think this is?” She stands with a threatening
look on her face. I’m not going to argue with her,
there’s no time for that.

In this family, we don’t believe in ancestors, and

traditional healers. But it’s time I drop a bomb
on them.
I take a peek outside and ask Bab’Manyanga to
come in. Blood drains from my father’s face, his
wife looks like she has seen a ghost.
“What the hell is this man doing here?” The
woman who wears the pants in the house yells.
“Khethiwe, I don’t know what you are digging
but you need to stop. Get that man out of here.”
My father is pissed.
They can shoot me if they care to,
Bab’Manyanga is not going anywhere.
“My life is a mess baba, all three of your
children are suffering. I had to bring
Bab’Manyanga here. He’s going to help us.”
“Am I not your father Khethiwe? Why make a
decision without letting us know? Without
letting me know?” He’s yelling and pointing
fingers.
“I had no choice baba, there’s a frog in my
womb. It won’t let me have children or a man.”
The sound of my voice matches his, this is how
he wants to communicate. Like two baboons
fighting over a banana.
“Did you know about this?” He’s asking my
mother.
Didn’t he hear what I said? My mother shakes
her head.
“No one knew, I brought him here. Baba we are
going to listen to him and we will do as he says,
or I will call my brothers. I’m sure they’d love to
know why their lives are a mess.”
My father is forcing me to threaten him. He can
look at me anyhow, the truth will come out
today.
.
.
These people look petrified of Bab’Manyanga, I
asked him to sit on the one seater couch right
across my father. We have two of those so why
not let the man sit like a king?
“Baba can we start?” I have to ask, it’s his house
even though I had to force the sangoma in.
He moves his eyes to Bab’Manyanga and gives
him a subtle nod.
“You can begin baba,” I tell the sangoma.
I’m waiting for him to throw bones and starts
groaning but he does the opposite, he’s on his
feet praying.
“Please kneel down here,” the instruction is for
my parents.
My mother looks away with a frown on her face.
Relax Khethiwe, you just need to remember that
this woman is for your downfall. She birthed me
to kill me.
“Baba please tell your wife to cooperate, this is
your house KaMandonsela and she only listens
to you.” I’m too nice and polite for someone
who is pissed.
My mother murders me with her eyes, I’m not
playing this time. We will get to the bottom of
this, come hell or high waters.
“Khethiwe please,” baba throws his hand up.
“What are you trying to do?”
“Fix my life,” what does he think? “This curse
ends today baba, your life is perfect, right?
You’re married, you have a home, a job and
children. At least you have something to shame
the devil. I’m not going to go through life
fighting demons I know nothing about.”
He looks over at his wife then back at me.
“There are no demons Khethiwe. Please stop
this nonsense.”
Jeer, this father.
“Bab’Manyanga asked that you kneel, please
respect him and do as he says. He has other
people to attend to.” I’m showing respect
because of the elder in the room. I have an A4
page full of shitty words for these two.
“It’s okay my child, don’t resent your parents for
what they did. This can be fixed.”
Bab’Manyanga.
So he’s seen what they did? I thought he’d see
right through them the moment he walked
through the door.
“What did they do mkhulu?” I ask, before
staining them with a dirty look.
“Khethiwe calm down.” my father.
What the fuck? I’m not going to calm down.
Bab’Manyanga looks at my father with raised
eyebrows.
“Tell your children what you did, and you need
to apologise to them.” Bab’Manyanga continues
to bring the pots.
“Baba talk,” I snap at him. The man who
fathered me drops his head, he’s carrying the
posture of a defeated man.

“I didn’t mean to do it, we we’re struggling.”

KaMandonsela is talking. “You know when you
give a child money and tell them to buy bread
but it goes and does something different?”
“Baba don’t this,” my mother is not serious
about life. We’re not starring in a movie, our
lives are at stake.
“Mkami don’t stop me please,” Good men still
exist. Look at my father making me proud, I still
hate him though.
“You and Lethiwe were not born yet, life was
hard. We were not making enough money to
buy a month’s groceries, I was a street vendor.
Your mother was unemployed, we had nothing. I
was failing as a man, it was embarrassing.
When I confided in Ndimande, he suggested
seeing a witchdoctor.”
Ndimande! Why, am I not shocked?
“The witch doctor gave me a root, he said to
plant it in the middle of the gate, it will bring me
riches. All I had to do was tell it what to do and
it will follow my instructions. For the first three
months nothing happened until one night I
heard a noise in my room. When I woke up there
was a monkey on my bed, when I called
Ndimande he told me to give it instructions. But
it did the opposite, I thought it needed time or
training. So I kept it, things got out of hand.”
His voice is shaking, I want to believe that he’s
regretful.
He sighs and buries his face in his hands, it’s
taking forever and I’m getting impatient.
“What happened next baba?” I ask.
He looks up, there are tears in his eyes. Is he
kidding me?
“It became unruly and started giving itself to my
wife, we tried to get rid of it but we failed. It
destroyed everything it touched. Phathiwe was
always sick. He started failing at school, the
same things happened to you and Lethiwe.
When you reached the age of five, it started
sleeping with you Khethiwe. It’s the reason men
never took you seriously, it chased them away. I
don’t know how the prince has stayed in your
life for so long, he’s not supposed to be
around.”
Jehovah!
What is my father saying to me? Did this
monkey of his get me pregnant? My whole body
freezes, I’m slowly forgetting how to breathe.
I glance at my mother, her head is dropped.
She’s usually the talkative one around here.
“It drinks the blood of Phathiwe’s children,
that’s why he’s childless. Things were not
meant to go this far, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to
hurt you, I tried to get rid of it but the witch
doctor said the only way was for me to find it
another owner. Where was I going to look?”
That is not an attitude of an apologetic man, he
is shrugging like he’s suffering from muscle
spasm.
“What about the frog? Where does the frog
come from?”
I want to know everything. Sono suddenly jolts
up, her eyes are popping out. What’s wrong with
her?

“Sit down sisi, don’t run away from your mess.”

Bab’Manyanga points at my favourite cousin.
I’m a little lost or slow maybe.
“What’s going on baba?” I’m asking the
sangoma.
“Your sister went to seek the help of inyanga to
destroy your life, there are eggs kept in this
house with your name on it. Those eggs are
meant to bring bad luck in your life.” Is he
talking about Sono?
I look at her, puzzled and in shock.
Sono is visibly trembling, her twin stands next
to her. She’s asking if she is okay, but Sono
bursts into a loud cry.
“I’m sorry Khethiwe, I got jealous when I saw
Ntaba. The man I went to see told me to bring
your underwear, he said he will put something in
your womb that will make Ntaba break up with
you.” She confesses through a flood of tears.
Witchcraft on top of witchcraft? What did I do to
deserve this?
“Sono, I thought we loved each other?” Words
can’t describe how I feel right now. “I thought
Amafu was the one who hated me,”
“Please, you’re not special. Why would I waste
my time hating on you?” Amafu.
“But you were the one who told me the story
about the Madonsela children being barren.” I
say.
“Because that’s the conversation I heard
between aunt and mom, why would I make it up.
I don’t want your life, I just happen to think
you’re an annoying entitled brat who deserves
nothing.” Amafu.
Argh! I will deal with her later. Right now I want
to know where those eggs are.
“Where are they?” I question Sono who looks at
me with regret in her eyes.
“What?”
“The eggs, where are the eggs?”
“In your room, under the bed.” She stutters.
I knew not cleaning under my bed would come
back to bite me one day.
“Go get them now!” I demand.
Why is she looking at me with big eyes? I grab
her hand and pull her to my bedroom. My family
follows.
“I don’t think touching it with her bare hands is a
good idea,” Bab’Manyanga says.
I really don’t care, she touched them when she
placed them under my bed.
She’s trembling and crying me a Nile river, I’m
not touched. It was fun when she wanted to
take me down, she must continue having fun
while taking those bloody eggs out.
“Do it Sono or I will gather the entire
neighbourhood and expose you for the witch
you are. You know how black people deal with
witches, right?”
She chokes a sob, snort spews from her
nostrils. She bends over and half of her body
disappears under the bed. I move my eyes
around. Everyone is looking at me like I have
lost my mind, they can’t judge me for this.
They are lucky I didn’t call Moja Love, I’m sure
there’s a show called Umndeni that would love
to cover this story.
Sono is back, with a calabash in her hands. The
opening is covered with a black cloth and
around it is a red thread. I’d be damned.
“Open it,” I give her an order.
Her hands are trembling as she unties the wool
and flips the cloth open.
So this is witchcraft? I never thought I would
see the day.
There are three eggs bound together with a
black and red wool, there are writings on the
eggs written with a black pen.
I tell her to untie them and show us what’s
written.

*Khethiwe- Job*
*Khethiwe- love life*
*Khethiwe- Brain*

She wanted my brain too? She can have the

man, not my brain.

“What’s this one supposed to do?” I’m asking

about my brain, somehow it worries me the
most.
Sono is having a hard time looking at me.
“After the prince breaks your heart and leaves
you because you can’t make him hard, you’re
going to lose your mind.” Sono.
Why is she speaking as if she is calling it into
existence?
It’s too late to pick my mouth up, it’s on the
floor. My cousin wants me to go insane?
“Sono how could you? How could you be so
evil?” I’m screaming.
I know I’m not the prettiest girl in the world but I
don’t deserve to be counted amongst the crazy
people. It wouldn’t suit me.
Acting out of anger, I drag Sono to the kitchen.
The family follows, no one has dared to stop
me.
“Since you like eggs so much, you will make
these and eat them.”
“Khethiwe, I can’t eat the eggs. If they crack,
Amafu will die.” Sono.
“What do you mean I will die?”
“If the eggs crack, a life will be taken. I told the
nyanga to take your life Amafu, instead of
mine.” Sono says.
“Sono, I’m your twin sister, how could you?”
Amafu yells.
“They were never going to crack, I wasn’t going
to let it happen. You are my sister, I would never
let anything happen to you.”
I can’t believe she just said that. Khethiwe’s life
matters too.
“Oh, so I’m one of the cockroaches in this
house? My life means nothing? Do you hate me
that much Sono?” I shout out of anger.
“I don’t hate you, I hate that your life is perfect.
You have a job and a man who would do
anything for you, it’s not fair that you get
everything. I wanted your life, the prince, the
favour and the job.”
She forgot the frog and the monkey, plus
parents who are witches.
“You know what, I’m done with you. All of you.” I
yell, judging everyone with a single look. “Cook
those eggs Sono now.”
I don’t sound as scary as I think I do, she’s not
moving.
“I can’t eat them,” she cries.
“Sono you will eat those eggs today.” We can
argue the whole day, I don’t mind.
I’m glad Bab’Manyanga is not saying anything,
I’m out for revenge. My parents are next.
“Malume, please talk to her.” Sono pleads with
my father.
Malume for what? He has his own sins to atone.
“Khethiwe stop this nonsense, she’s your
cousin.” What nonsense is this father talking
about? Amafu is also telling me to stop, my
mother doesn’t seem to care.
Take a deep breath Khethiwe, you have been
through worse.
“Everybody shut up, Sono will eat these eggs.
I’m done playing nice, you people don’t see me
in this house. How dare you make me your
puppet? I thought I was surrounded by family
but you’re all a bunch of snakes.”
I take the pan, place it on the stove and pour a
small amount of cooking oil. There’s water in
the kettle, it’s warm. It won’t take long to boil.
“Choose sisi, egg salad, hard-boiled or
scrambled.” She should thank me I’m giving her
options.
No one messes with my life and gets the fuck
away with it.
MATHONGA
Eighty-nine
.
.

NALA-

*Are you there yet? Please take lots of

pictures.*

Amandla has sent four of these and I have

deleted them all. She wants to know where
Mathonga is taking me and what time we’re
coming home. How am I supposed to know
when I was not told? He’s different lately, acts
and speaks differently.
I was rearranging my clothes when he came
into my room and told me to follow him, I didn’t
dispute.
Disputes come with lies and you don’t lie to a
gifted person. I still want to see many days on
earth.
“Your phone is busy today.” That’s him beside
me, on the driver’s seat.
“Amandla wants to know where we are,” I keep
my eyes on him to see if she affects him. He
gives me nothing but an eyebrow raise.
“What did you say?” Him.
Insecurity will not win this time. I need to
remember that this man loves me. He’s said it
and I believed him each time.
“I’m not going to reply, where we’re going has
nothing to do with her.”
But where are we going?
He doesn’t say anything, self-doubt is telling me
that he’s hiding something. I need to self-
inspect, this can’t be good for my health.
I feel his eyes on me, he must see the
displeasure on my face.
“You okay?” Why is he asking me this?
“Never been better,” I lie.
I hate competition, I’m not good at it. My whole
life I’ve never had to compete with anyone.
Amandla is beautiful, she’s curvy and knows
Mathonga inside out. I have nothing to show for
our relationship.
What if he realises that he made a mistake by
choosing me?
It’s been troubling me how she is all over him,
she’s my sister, I can’t confront her. It will ruin
our relationship.

He’s taking a narrow road that looks kind of

familiar, questions in my head bring a frown to
my face.
“Where are we going?” I know this road leads to
the river, we can’t be going fishing.
“The river,” he replies.
I’m waiting for a more reasonable answer, he
gives me nothing.
“Okay, what’s at the river?” He will never tell me
if I don’t ask.
“Water,” smart ass.
Maybe he’s planning a surprise picnic, it would
be strange. Not only do we not fish at the river,
we don’t do picnics.
Let me not complain, quality time without my
sister would be nice. I don’t care if it’s at a river
where people wash off their bad lucks.
We’re there, he steps out of the car without
saying anything to me. Today I want to feel
special, so I wait for him to open the door.
I watch as he opens the boot and takes out an
empty 10litre bucket and a blue plastic bag
from Pick ‘n Pay.
Before I can register anything, he’s knocking on
my window.
“Let’s go,” he says frowning at me.
His gentleman days are falling away, nothing I
can’t fix.
“Where are we going?” I’m trying to keep up
with his long legs, he’s not making it easy for
me with how fast he’s walking. Does he have to
be ridiculously tall? We’re all ants compared to
these Khanyile brothers.
“Mathonga wait up,” I jog to get to him but he’s
still faster. I give up and walk on my own pace, I
can’t get over that bucket and the plastic.
He will probably use the bucket to sit. But
what’s in the plastic bag? It can’t be food, it’s
too empty. Unless he’s the type that eats
peanuts on picnics.

The water is moving violently it’s making my

head spin, there’s no one around but us. I’d be
afraid if he wasn’t with me.
He places the bucket on the ground, and fiddles
inside the plastic bag. If I’m not mistaken, it
smells like muti in there. Our eyes meet, he
smiles and I return it. I can feel the chemistry…
sigh! I love this man.
“Take off your clothes.” Huh?
Just when I was singing his praises. I look
around again, letting my eyes search every
corner. The coast is clear, if he’s thinking what
I’m thinking then we have to be quick.
“I don’t usually do this Mathonga, I mean I hear
that white people love it. But we are black, our
ancestors are watching our every move, so if
we’re going to do it here. We have to have a
blanket at least, I don’t want them to see us
naked.” It would be so embarrassing.
Rivers are sacred places, the water spirits will
strike us dead if we dare.
“We can’t use a blanket Nala, tie this around
you.” How will a sarong cover us both?
“It’s too small, didn’t you bring a blanket?” I’m
worried, didn’t he think this through?
“Why would we need a blanket?” He’s frowning
a confused frown.
“To cover ourselves,” must I tell him everything?
“Why do we need to cover ourselves?”
Mathonga is confusing me with his confusion. I
probably forgot to put on my brain this morning.
“If we’re going to have sex under the sun,
emlanjeni we need to cover our nakedness.
We’re not white, they…”
He’s laughing, my dress and head scarf have
left my body. I don’t think I will need the panties
either.
“You think we’re here to have sex?” He asks.
I’m missing something, my blood runs cold
when he rolls into more laughter. Today I hate
the way he laughs, I never want to hear this
sound ever again. I cover myself with the
sarong, and wrap my arms around my middle.
“You were excited before we left the house, you
even said I was glowing today. The kiss you
gave me in the car made me wet because your
hands were all over my thighs. I thought you
planned a getaway for us, since the house is full.
And we haven’t had sex, so I…”
Why am I explaining myself? He won’t stop
laughing, and it’s pissing me off.
“Mathonga stop,” I don’t like being confused.
“I’m sorry Nala, you’re just too adorable.”
There’s a grin I do not appreciate on his face.
“We’re not here to have sex sthandwa sami,
we’re here for a cleansing.”
“Cleansing for what?” I snap.
He finds my annoyance funny.
“For you, Petros is dead. I want to remove every
print he left on your body, physically I can’t. But
spiritually I can help, if you would allow me. I
don’t want his spirit tormenting you.”
If I would allow him? He’s asking for permission
after bring me here without my knowledge? I
will never understand men.

“Oh!” I want to jump into the river and let the

current take me wherever it’s flowing. I can’t
believe I thought we were here to have sex.
“If you would allow me,” he’s touching my face.
It’s comforting. I give in, I trust him.
“Did I really make you wet?”
I’m kneeling in the water waiting for him to do
what he has to do, and he has the nerve to ask
me this?
“Mathonga, it’s cold. Can you hurry up?”
He graces me with his ugly laugh again, it will
take time for me to love it again. I don’t know
what he mixes in the bucket, the smell is strong.
“Use your hands to scrub yourself when I start
pouring the water.” He says.
The water is ice cold, I scream under my
shivering lips.
Three buckets later, he helps me up and out of
the water. The sun feels good on my skin.
“Are you okay?” He’s hunching over, caressing
my frozen cheeks. I’m too cold to utter a word,
a nod does it.
“You can change when you’re ready.” He
instructs.
Nope, I will stay here and bond with the sun.
“We can have that sex date tonight.” The man is
not even looking at me, he’s packing his things
and there’s a smile on his face.
“I’m not wet anymore,” why are we talking about
sex after my cleansing? Is it even allowed?
“That’s fine, we can fix that.” He turns and
winks at me, I’m not in the mood for his
boyishness. I click my tongue and turn to look
away from him.
“Hurry babe, the sun will set soon.” He hands
me my clothes, I’m being forced to break up
with the sun.
He takes my hand once I’m done, his hands are
warm, I love it here.
“Walk straight and don’t look back,” his
instructions make my heart jump a little. What’s
behind us?
“You’re leaving all the bad luck behind.”
Mathonga.
Oh! That explains it.
I cling on to his hand and lean into him, he feels
so warm and homey. I’m an idiot for wanting to
be away from this man.
.
.
KHETHIWE-

This is not how I thought I would leave my

father’s house, I dreamt of leaving in a white
dress with my aunts and elders ululating behind
me. Not like this.
Bab’Manyanga stopped my plans of forcing
Sono to eat her evil eggs, Amafu was going to
die and it was going to be on my conscious.
My father asked them to pack and follow their
mother, they will come back after everything
has cooled down.
Amafu wasn’t talking to her twin when they left,
and knowing how strict and very black my aunt
is, she will deal with Sono accordingly. I don’t
wish to be her.
I’m leaving the house, I gathered everything that
has my name on it, including my favourite
spoon and plate I use when I’m here. No one
ever uses them so why not?

“Khethiwe don’t leave like this please,” my

father grabs a hold of my hand stopping me
from walking out the door.
I hate seeing him like this, but I also hate him
for what he’s done and what he refuses to do.
“I’m leaving baba, and I’m never coming back.”
He grabs the china bag filled with my
belongings and tosses it in the living room,
something breaks. I know it’s my favourite cup.
“You’re not leaving, I’m your father and I’m
telling you that you are not going anywhere.” Is
he kidding me?
“Then let Bab’Manyanga cleanse the house, let
him fix your mess baba.” I’m begging.
Bab’Manyanga said if he helps us, there might
be death in the family. That’s when my father
said his help is not required, he told the elder to
leave.
“You know I can’t do that Khethiwe, one of us
might die.”
“So, am I supposed to accept this fate? Is that
what you’re saying to me baba? Is that it?” I
can’t stop myself from shouting, he’s pissing
me off.
“Lower your voice young lady, that’s your father
you’re talking to.” My mother better not test me,
I am not in the mood for her playing Hitler.
“You should’ve spoken to us first before
bringing a sangoma to my house…” My father
takes over.
“And then what baba? What were you going to
do?”
He never would’ve told me the truth, he
would’ve let my brothers and I continue living
this miserable life.
“Listen to me both of you, you will never see me
again. Your curse will not work on me and my
brothers, I will make sure of it. Even if I have to
send it back to you, so help me God I will.”
If they refuse to take action, then I will.
Bab’Manyanga said if they don’t want his help,
then he’ll help me and my brothers.
I’m going to call them today.
“We are your parents Khethiwe, you can’t do
this to us.”
Yesis!
My father seems to forget that I am his
daughter, if he thinks he’s stubborn then he
hasn’t met me.
“Watch me baba, it’s over. You will stay here
with your monkey.”
“You ungrateful fool,” it’s too late for me to duck.
My mother’s palm leaves a burning sensation
on my cheek. “I should’ve aborted you when I
had the chance.”
“Then why didn’t you? You would’ve saved me
the embarrassment of having parents like you,”
I’m too seething not to shout.
How dare she lay a hand on me? Who the fuck
does she think she is?
“I am still your mother Khethiwe, I brought you
into this…”
“Please mama, don’t even humour me. You
have failed as a parent, you can’t possibly be
telling me you brought me into this world. You
have no right to gloat about being a mother.”
“Yeyi wena!” She’s going for another slap but
my father grabs her hand.
“That’s enough mkami, you have done enough.”
He says.
At least we agree on something for a change.
“I hope you find it in your heart to forgive us,
Khethiwe. We are truly sorry, parents are human
too. We make mistakes,” my father.
“That was not a mistake baba, you knew what
you were doing when you went to fetch that
thing.”
A mistake is spilling tea while trying to get to
the couch in time for your favourite show. A
mistake is adding too much salt in rice. What
he’s saying is utter bullshit.
He nods, his eyes are not able to look at me.
“You have grown up my child,” I wish he would
stop calling me that.
I wish I was nothing to him.
“One day you will wake up and realise that what
we did was for you, so you can have a good
life.” This man is sick.
He can’t possibly think what he did was for my
good.
“Baba!” I’m wasting my tears on these people,
they don’t deserve to see me like this. “Where is
this thing? Does it live in the house with you?
Does it know where I live?” I ask.
He exhales deeply and graces me with a sad
look.
“You’ll never be able to see it with your naked
eyes, it roams around the house in the dark. I
don’t know if you’ve ever heard any sounds at
night, maybe on the roof, outside. It mostly
stays in the kitchen,” he says.
That’s where we keep food, does that mean it
eats with us? I’m not even going to ask.
“What about the palace? I lived there for years,
did it ever come there?”
“No,” his confidence has dropped. “Somehow it
couldn’t get to you anymore, there’s boundaries
at the palace. But the bad luck stayed with you,
it claimed you as its wife Khethiwe, that’s why
you are not lucky in love. Whether it takes a
month or years, no man will ever stay with you
forever. In your absence, your mother became
the target because you were not accessible, it
started sleeping with my wife.” Is he crying?
My father is a joke, he didn’t cry for me when
his monkey was harassing me.
My mother is shooting fiery darts at me, what
does this woman want from me?
“She grew bitter towards you, you were gone for
too long and…”
“Are you saying that’s why she hates me?
Because the demon that you and your wife
brought to the Mandonsela premises turned on
you?” I can’t be hearing right.
I must have forgotten to clean my ears this
morning.
“We were going to fix everything Khethiwe,
Ndimande said he had a plan. That’s why he
wanted to marry you to his son?” My father
says and I’m starting to think I was given crazy
people as parents. Seriously, God took these
two from Hospice.
“I thought you said Ndimande saved your life
and you promised to marry your daughter to his
son?” I move away from the door, I don’t see
anyone leaving this house alive. I am murdering
someone today.
“That was a lie,” my father. “We were trying to
fix what we did wrong, Ndimande…”
“Ndimande is a fraud baba,” I scream. “Look at
your life, look at your family. He’s destroyed it
but you can’t even see that.”
“Ndimande is a good friend, we grew up
together. He would never hurt me…”
Yeah hey! My father is a gone man…
Bamthathile!
“God, you’re so ignorant KaMandonsela.”
“Khethiwe…”
“No baba, I am leaving. And I will make sure
Pathiwe and Lethiwe find out about this, we will
fix our lives. You don’t want to get rid of the
monkey right? Then stay, if you dare come near
me again, I swear to God I will not be
responsible for what I do.”
I grab my china bag from the floor and hang it
over my shoulder.
“You will be back, this is your home.” My mother
says.
She is funny this woman.
“If that will comfort your evil heart, then don’t let
me stop you from thinking like that.” I’m done
arguing with crazy people.
“You’re going to regret this, both of you.”
These are my last words to them, my mother
clicks her tongue and disappears into their
bedroom.
I bet she’s going to comfort her monkey.
It’s my father and I, staring at each other for the
last time. It’s hard for me to grasp that he will
not be the one to walk me down the aisle, I will
never feel his comforting arms again. The first
man to ever love me and take me as I am.
I feel tears behind my pupils, the only way to
get rid of them is to blink a couple of times.
“There’s still time baba, let Bab’Manyanga fix
this.”
“Your mother or I will die, I can’t let that happen.
I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me sisi,
I love you Kethiwe.” He drops his head and
takes the direction his wife took. This is it, this
is how I say goodbye to my father?
Ntaba is parked outside, he knows everything. I
texted him after the incident with Sono, that
bitch is going to hear it from me one day. If it
were not for Bab’Manyanga and me wanting to
keep Amafu alive she would be history along
with her twin.
“Are you okay?” Ntaba asks as soon as I enter
the car, I’m struggling to control my tears.
“I just lost my father,” I say trying to fight the
tears falling down my face. “My father is as
good as dead to me Ntaba, I’m an orphan.”
I stop because talking makes me cry more,
that’s not what I want.
His arms pull me to his chest, it’s supposed to
calm me down but it makes me cry even more.
“I’ve got you, we’ll take it one day at a time
KaMandonsela.”
I want to believe him so bad, but it doesn’t
seem like it at this point. I hide my face on his
chest and shake my head no because I will
never be okay.
“Look at me,” Ntaba says.
He pulls me back and cups my face with his
hands, his thumbs are wiping away the
stubborn tears and his eyes are penetrating
through my soul.
“I love you,” he says softly.
Heat overtakes my whole body, I swear my
heart is doing a break-dance.
“What did you say?” I ask, needing confirmation.
Ntaba chuckles, “Don’t act like you didn’t hear.”
He says and hugs me again. God help me, your
daughter is in love.
MATHONGA
Eighty-nine
.
.

NALA-

*Are you there yet? Please take lots of

pictures.*

Amandla has sent four of these and I have

deleted them all. She wants to know where
Mathonga is taking me and what time we’re
coming home. How am I supposed to know
when I was not told? He’s different lately, acts
and speaks differently.
I was rearranging my clothes when he came
into my room and told me to follow him, I didn’t
dispute.
Disputes come with lies and you don’t lie to a
gifted person. I still want to see many days on
earth.
“Your phone is busy today.” That’s him beside
me, on the driver’s seat.
“Amandla wants to know where we are,” I keep
my eyes on him to see if she affects him. He
gives me nothing but an eyebrow raise.
“What did you say?” Him.
Insecurity will not win this time. I need to
remember that this man loves me. He’s said it
and I believed him each time.
“I’m not going to reply, where we’re going has
nothing to do with her.”
But where are we going?
He doesn’t say anything, self-doubt is telling me
that he’s hiding something. I need to self-
inspect, this can’t be good for my health.
I feel his eyes on me, he must see the
displeasure on my face.
“You okay?” Why is he asking me this?
“Never been better,” I lie.
I hate competition, I’m not good at it. My whole
life I’ve never had to compete with anyone.
Amandla is beautiful, she’s curvy and knows
Mathonga inside out. I have nothing to show for
our relationship.
What if he realises that he made a mistake by
choosing me?
It’s been troubling me how she is all over him,
she’s my sister, I can’t confront her. It will ruin
our relationship.

He’s taking a narrow road that looks kind of

familiar, questions in my head bring a frown to
my face.
“Where are we going?” I know this road leads to
the river, we can’t be going fishing.
“The river,” he replies.
I’m waiting for a more reasonable answer, he
gives me nothing.
“Okay, what’s at the river?” He will never tell me
if I don’t ask.
“Water,” smart ass.
Maybe he’s planning a surprise picnic, it would
be strange. Not only do we not fish at the river,
we don’t do picnics.
Let me not complain, quality time without my
sister would be nice. I don’t care if it’s at a river
where people wash off their bad lucks.
We’re there, he steps out of the car without
saying anything to me. Today I want to feel
special, so I wait for him to open the door.
I watch as he opens the boot and takes out an
empty 10litre bucket and a blue plastic bag
from Pick ‘n Pay.
Before I can register anything, he’s knocking on
my window.
“Let’s go,” he says frowning at me.
His gentleman days are falling away, nothing I
can’t fix.
“Where are we going?” I’m trying to keep up
with his long legs, he’s not making it easy for
me with how fast he’s walking. Does he have to
be ridiculously tall? We’re all ants compared to
these Khanyile brothers.
“Mathonga wait up,” I jog to get to him but he’s
still faster. I give up and walk on my own pace, I
can’t get over that bucket and the plastic.
He will probably use the bucket to sit. But
what’s in the plastic bag? It can’t be food, it’s
too empty. Unless he’s the type that eats
peanuts on picnics.
The water is moving violently it’s making my
head spin, there’s no one around but us. I’d be
afraid if he wasn’t with me.
He places the bucket on the ground, and fiddles
inside the plastic bag. If I’m not mistaken, it
smells like muti in there. Our eyes meet, he
smiles and I return it. I can feel the chemistry…
sigh! I love this man.
“Take off your clothes.” Huh?
Just when I was singing his praises. I look
around again, letting my eyes search every
corner. The coast is clear, if he’s thinking what
I’m thinking then we have to be quick.
“I don’t usually do this Mathonga, I mean I hear
that white people love it. But we are black, our
ancestors are watching our every move, so if
we’re going to do it here. We have to have a
blanket at least, I don’t want them to see us
naked.” It would be so embarrassing.
Rivers are sacred places, the water spirits will
strike us dead if we dare.
“We can’t use a blanket Nala, tie this around
you.” How will a sarong cover us both?
“It’s too small, didn’t you bring a blanket?” I’m
worried, didn’t he think this through?
“Why would we need a blanket?” He’s frowning
a confused frown.
“To cover ourselves,” must I tell him everything?
“Why do we need to cover ourselves?”
Mathonga is confusing me with his confusion. I
probably forgot to put on my brain this morning.
“If we’re going to have sex under the sun,
emlanjeni we need to cover our nakedness.
We’re not white, they…”
He’s laughing, my dress and head scarf have
left my body. I don’t think I will need the panties
either.
“You think we’re here to have sex?” He asks.
I’m missing something, my blood runs cold
when he rolls into more laughter. Today I hate
the way he laughs, I never want to hear this
sound ever again. I cover myself with the
sarong, and wrap my arms around my middle.
“You were excited before we left the house, you
even said I was glowing today. The kiss you
gave me in the car made me wet because your
hands were all over my thighs. I thought you
planned a getaway for us, since the house is full.
And we haven’t had sex, so I…”
Why am I explaining myself? He won’t stop
laughing, and it’s pissing me off.
“Mathonga stop,” I don’t like being confused.
“I’m sorry Nala, you’re just too adorable.”
There’s a grin I do not appreciate on his face.
“We’re not here to have sex sthandwa sami,
we’re here for a cleansing.”
“Cleansing for what?” I snap.
He finds my annoyance funny.
“For you, Petros is dead. I want to remove every
print he left on your body, physically I can’t. But
spiritually I can help, if you would allow me. I
don’t want his spirit tormenting you.”
If I would allow him? He’s asking for permission
after bring me here without my knowledge? I
will never understand men.

“Oh!” I want to jump into the river and let the

current take me wherever it’s flowing. I can’t
believe I thought we were here to have sex.
“If you would allow me,” he’s touching my face.
It’s comforting. I give in, I trust him.
“Did I really make you wet?”
I’m kneeling in the water waiting for him to do
what he has to do, and he has the nerve to ask
me this?
“Mathonga, it’s cold. Can you hurry up?”
He graces me with his ugly laugh again, it will
take time for me to love it again. I don’t know
what he mixes in the bucket, the smell is strong.
“Use your hands to scrub yourself when I start
pouring the water.” He says.
The water is ice cold, I scream under my
shivering lips.
Three buckets later, he helps me up and out of
the water. The sun feels good on my skin.
“Are you okay?” He’s hunching over, caressing
my frozen cheeks. I’m too cold to utter a word,
a nod does it.
“You can change when you’re ready.” He
instructs.
Nope, I will stay here and bond with the sun.
“We can have that sex date tonight.” The man is
not even looking at me, he’s packing his things
and there’s a smile on his face.
“I’m not wet anymore,” why are we talking about
sex after my cleansing? Is it even allowed?
“That’s fine, we can fix that.” He turns and
winks at me, I’m not in the mood for his
boyishness. I click my tongue and turn to look
away from him.
“Hurry babe, the sun will set soon.” He hands
me my clothes, I’m being forced to break up
with the sun.
He takes my hand once I’m done, his hands are
warm, I love it here.
“Walk straight and don’t look back,” his
instructions make my heart jump a little. What’s
behind us?
“You’re leaving all the bad luck behind.”
Mathonga.
Oh! That explains it.
I cling on to his hand and lean into him, he feels
so warm and homey. I’m an idiot for wanting to
be away from this man.
.
.
KHETHIWE-

This is not how I thought I would leave my

father’s house, I dreamt of leaving in a white
dress with my aunts and elders ululating behind
me. Not like this.
Bab’Manyanga stopped my plans of forcing
Sono to eat her evil eggs, Amafu was going to
die and it was going to be on my conscious.
My father asked them to pack and follow their
mother, they will come back after everything
has cooled down.
Amafu wasn’t talking to her twin when they left,
and knowing how strict and very black my aunt
is, she will deal with Sono accordingly. I don’t
wish to be her.
I’m leaving the house, I gathered everything that
has my name on it, including my favourite
spoon and plate I use when I’m here. No one
ever uses them so why not?

“Khethiwe don’t leave like this please,” my

father grabs a hold of my hand stopping me
from walking out the door.
I hate seeing him like this, but I also hate him
for what he’s done and what he refuses to do.
“I’m leaving baba, and I’m never coming back.”
He grabs the china bag filled with my
belongings and tosses it in the living room,
something breaks. I know it’s my favourite cup.
“You’re not leaving, I’m your father and I’m
telling you that you are not going anywhere.” Is
he kidding me?
“Then let Bab’Manyanga cleanse the house, let
him fix your mess baba.” I’m begging.
Bab’Manyanga said if he helps us, there might
be death in the family. That’s when my father
said his help is not required, he told the elder to
leave.
“You know I can’t do that Khethiwe, one of us
might die.”
“So, am I supposed to accept this fate? Is that
what you’re saying to me baba? Is that it?” I
can’t stop myself from shouting, he’s pissing
me off.
“Lower your voice young lady, that’s your father
you’re talking to.” My mother better not test me,
I am not in the mood for her playing Hitler.
“You should’ve spoken to us first before
bringing a sangoma to my house…” My father
takes over.
“And then what baba? What were you going to
do?”
He never would’ve told me the truth, he
would’ve let my brothers and I continue living
this miserable life.
“Listen to me both of you, you will never see me
again. Your curse will not work on me and my
brothers, I will make sure of it. Even if I have to
send it back to you, so help me God I will.”
If they refuse to take action, then I will.
Bab’Manyanga said if they don’t want his help,
then he’ll help me and my brothers.
I’m going to call them today.
“We are your parents Khethiwe, you can’t do
this to us.”
Yesis!
My father seems to forget that I am his
daughter, if he thinks he’s stubborn then he
hasn’t met me.
“Watch me baba, it’s over. You will stay here
with your monkey.”
“You ungrateful fool,” it’s too late for me to duck.
My mother’s palm leaves a burning sensation
on my cheek. “I should’ve aborted you when I
had the chance.”
“Then why didn’t you? You would’ve saved me
the embarrassment of having parents like you,”
I’m too seething not to shout.
How dare she lay a hand on me? Who the fuck
does she think she is?
“I am still your mother Khethiwe, I brought you
into this…”
“Please mama, don’t even humour me. You
have failed as a parent, you can’t possibly be
telling me you brought me into this world. You
have no right to gloat about being a mother.”
“Yeyi wena!” She’s going for another slap but
my father grabs her hand.
“That’s enough mkami, you have done enough.”
He says.
At least we agree on something for a change.
“I hope you find it in your heart to forgive us,
Khethiwe. We are truly sorry, parents are human
too. We make mistakes,” my father.
“That was not a mistake baba, you knew what
you were doing when you went to fetch that
thing.”
A mistake is spilling tea while trying to get to
the couch in time for your favourite show. A
mistake is adding too much salt in rice. What
he’s saying is utter bullshit.
He nods, his eyes are not able to look at me.
“You have grown up my child,” I wish he would
stop calling me that.
I wish I was nothing to him.
“One day you will wake up and realise that what
we did was for you, so you can have a good
life.” This man is sick.

He can’t possibly think what he did was for my

good.
“Baba!” I’m wasting my tears on these people,
they don’t deserve to see me like this. “Where is
this thing? Does it live in the house with you?
Does it know where I live?” I ask.
He exhales deeply and graces me with a sad
look.
“You’ll never be able to see it with your naked
eyes, it roams around the house in the dark. I
don’t know if you’ve ever heard any sounds at
night, maybe on the roof, outside. It mostly
stays in the kitchen,” he says.
That’s where we keep food, does that mean it
eats with us? I’m not even going to ask.
“What about the palace? I lived there for years,
did it ever come there?”
“No,” his confidence has dropped. “Somehow it
couldn’t get to you anymore, there’s boundaries
at the palace. But the bad luck stayed with you,
it claimed you as its wife Khethiwe, that’s why
you are not lucky in love. Whether it takes a
month or years, no man will ever stay with you
forever. In your absence, your mother became
the target because you were not accessible, it
started sleeping with my wife.” Is he crying?
My father is a joke, he didn’t cry for me when
his monkey was harassing me.
My mother is shooting fiery darts at me, what
does this woman want from me?
“She grew bitter towards you, you were gone for
too long and…”
“Are you saying that’s why she hates me?
Because the demon that you and your wife
brought to the Mandonsela premises turned on
you?” I can’t be hearing right.
I must have forgotten to clean my ears this
morning.
“We were going to fix everything Khethiwe,
Ndimande said he had a plan. That’s why he
wanted to marry you to his son?” My father
says and I’m starting to think I was given crazy
people as parents. Seriously, God took these
two from Hospice.
“I thought you said Ndimande saved your life
and you promised to marry your daughter to his
son?” I move away from the door, I don’t see
anyone leaving this house alive. I am murdering
someone today.
“That was a lie,” my father. “We were trying to
fix what we did wrong, Ndimande…”
“Ndimande is a fraud baba,” I scream. “Look at
your life, look at your family. He’s destroyed it
but you can’t even see that.”
“Ndimande is a good friend, we grew up
together. He would never hurt me…”
Yeah hey! My father is a gone man…
Bamthathile!
“God, you’re so ignorant KaMandonsela.”
“Khethiwe…”
“No baba, I am leaving. And I will make sure
Pathiwe and Lethiwe find out about this, we will
fix our lives. You don’t want to get rid of the
monkey right? Then stay, if you dare come near
me again, I swear to God I will not be
responsible for what I do.”
I grab my china bag from the floor and hang it
over my shoulder.
“You will be back, this is your home.” My mother
says.
She is funny this woman.
“If that will comfort your evil heart, then don’t let
me stop you from thinking like that.” I’m done
arguing with crazy people.
“You’re going to regret this, both of you.”
These are my last words to them, my mother
clicks her tongue and disappears into their
bedroom.
I bet she’s going to comfort her monkey.
It’s my father and I, staring at each other for the
last time. It’s hard for me to grasp that he will
not be the one to walk me down the aisle, I will
never feel his comforting arms again. The first
man to ever love me and take me as I am.
I feel tears behind my pupils, the only way to
get rid of them is to blink a couple of times.
“There’s still time baba, let Bab’Manyanga fix
this.”
“Your mother or I will die, I can’t let that happen.
I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me sisi,
I love you Kethiwe.” He drops his head and
takes the direction his wife took. This is it, this
is how I say goodbye to my father?

Ntaba is parked outside, he knows everything. I

texted him after the incident with Sono, that
bitch is going to hear it from me one day. If it
were not for Bab’Manyanga and me wanting to
keep Amafu alive she would be history along
with her twin.
“Are you okay?” Ntaba asks as soon as I enter
the car, I’m struggling to control my tears.
“I just lost my father,” I say trying to fight the
tears falling down my face. “My father is as
good as dead to me Ntaba, I’m an orphan.”
I stop because talking makes me cry more,
that’s not what I want.
His arms pull me to his chest, it’s supposed to
calm me down but it makes me cry even more.
“I’ve got you, we’ll take it one day at a time
KaMandonsela.”
I want to believe him so bad, but it doesn’t
seem like it at this point. I hide my face on his
chest and shake my head no because I will
never be okay.
“Look at me,” Ntaba says.
He pulls me back and cups my face with his
hands, his thumbs are wiping away the
stubborn tears and his eyes are penetrating
through my soul.
“I love you,” he says softly.
Heat overtakes my whole body, I swear my
heart is doing a break-dance.
“What did you say?” I ask, needing confirmation.
Ntaba chuckles, “Don’t act like you didn’t hear.”
He says and hugs me again. God help me, your
daughter is in love.

MATHONGA-
Ninety-
Sponsored by Rethabile Mofokeng.
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MATHONGA-

The homestead is crowded today, family has

gathered to celebrate baba and Nandi’s union.
The oldies signed at the magistrates this
morning. Who would’ve thought they would
follow the trend? And with the money my father
has, he should’ve at least given Nandi a big
wedding.
These two became official two weeks back
after their traditional wedding and had a
ceremony to introduce her to the ancestors,
she’s finally a Khanyile. It worries me that
Dalisile has not signed the divorce papers, she’s
hiding in Uganda and I know desperation will
bring her back here one day.
Nandi does not need stress, she’s been through
enough. Baba better make sure she doesn’t
shed a tear.

It’s night time, and I haven’t seen Nala today.

The preparations have kept her busy, I don’t
understand why they didn’t hire catering. I’m on
my way to look for her in the kitchen when
Thobani comes running over to me.
“Mathonga, look what uncle Funo got for me,
cool right?”
He holds up a yellow toy car, he’s obsessed
with these. I’ve resorted to leaving him at home
whenever I go to the grocery store.
He wants to sponsor PnP with my money, I’m
sure the owner is rich enough. Nala moved back
with Thobani last month, she will be studying
through Unisa and working part time.
Moving back was her decision alone, she called
me one day and said she was coming home.
Amandla is around as well, she never left. She
stays in her grandmother’s house but never
misses a day here.
She left early today, something happened that
made her leave early.
“That’s a nice car,” I whisk him up.
Here comes Funokuhle, he’s never been the
same since he watched his family’s massacre
on national television. Sometimes I get the
feeling that he doesn’t want to be here, maybe
I’m exaggerating.
“Thank you, but you don’t have to spoil him. He
gets enough as it is.” I tell him.
“I never enjoyed my childhood because my
father thought I didn’t need toys,” touchy
subject.
His eyes water, how do I get away from this? I
don’t know how to comfort a crying man. “He’s
a child, he deserves everything in the world.”
Funokuhle argues.
Okay… I see.
“Come Thobani, your favourite show is about to
start.” Funo.
I have to place the child down when he takes
his hand, now I’m certain he hates all of us. He
smiles at me and walks off with the Thobani,
maybe I am exaggerating.
“It will take time for him to heal,” Nala says
behind me. Her eyes are trained on Funokuhle
who is dragging Thobani toward the main
house.
“Sometimes I think he’s secretly planning our
murder.” She laughs, it’s what she does, laugh
at most things I say.
“That’s ridiculous, Funo is hurt. He watched
your brother slaughter his family.”
Another touchy subject I’m not going to engage
in.
“Where have you been?” I wrap my arms around
her. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Mathonga, people will talk.” She’s suddenly shy.
“Were are a couple, everyone here knows that.” I
put that out.
There is no reason for her to be shy about it, my
lips are all over her face. I love how her breath
quickens, it takes less effort to have her melting
in my arms.
“Thonga,” she breathes into my ear. “We’re not
married, we can’t be touching each other in
public like this.”
“Okay, let’s go to my room then.” I pull her hand,
denying her a chance to stop me. You need to
be clever when it comes to dealing with this
gender.

The door slams behind us, and immediately, I

have her pinned to the door. I lean in and kiss
her from her ear down to her neck, a whimper
leaves her throat and I feel heat pooling in my
stomach.
“They’ll be looking for us, can’t we do this
later?” Nala whispers huskily, her hands are
telling me a different story. She is grabbing on
to me, and breathing my name.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak foreign.” I slide a hand
down her oversized top and cup her breast. My
lips are teasing the sensitive skin on her neck.
“Okay let’s be fast,” she says.
“Ohh, I love it when you speak French.” She
giggles at my response and captures my lips.
“Two minutes okay?” Mood killer, what the hell
is two minutes?
I move back and glare down at her, “I don’t
know how to cook noodles Nala.”
Fuck, I hate noodles. How am I supposed to
cum in two minutes?
She’s laughing at me.
“Do you want it or not?” Her question hurts me.
What am I? A sex hobo?
“Fine,” I have no choice but to accept her offer.
When I lean in for a kiss, hungry to taste her,
she slips out of my hands.
“Let me use the bathroom first, you warm the
bed. I’ll be back.” There she goes running to the
bathroom.
I’m not a very patient man, but I will wait. To
make things faster, I strip naked and wait for
her in bed.
“Mathonga, are you in there?” What is
Khothama doing here? I don’t respond because
I’m not here.
The door handle is twisting, he’s trying to break
in. It hits me that I didn’t lock the door, I think of
running to lock it but it cracks open, and my
first thought is to cover up with a blanket.
He walks in with Ntaba, Khethiwe and
Funokuhle just as Nala saunters out of the
bathroom. She gawks at me then back at them.
Yeah, I’m also stunned my dear Nala.
There’s more, Hlabela and his wife along with
Vukuzakhe, Ndleleni and the ever silent Banami.
I don’t remember calling a meeting to my room.
“What the hell? This is my room, get out.” They
are not listening, everyone finds a comfortable
place to sit. Ntaba of all people sits on my bed, I
have never been so uncomfortable in my life.
These people should be out there fake-fainting
to ‘idibala’ on the dance floor with everyone.

“We’re here to bond with you ndoda, it’s a good

thing Nala is here.” What is Khothama talking
about?
“I don’t need a bonding session, get out people.”
I’m shouting but no one is paying attention to
me. They are having conversations like I’m not
here and they are invading my space.
“Who do you think your father will appoint as
chief?” Hlabela asks.
I shrug when I see him looking at me because,
how the hell am I supposed to know?
“I don’t know ndoda,” I say.
Any answer I give will be nonsense, my brain is
the form of a dick right now.
“I think Ntaba should take the throne,” of course
Khothama would vote for Ntaba. He’s his
favourite cousin.
“Forget it, I’m too busy.” Ntaba argues.
He lies flat on my bed and uses his arms as a
pillow. I’m overthrown with shock, my eyes find
Nala. She hasn’t moved from her spot, baby girl
wants these baboons gone too.
“Only father knows who he will ordain, whatever
decision he takes, we need to respect it.” Says
the man who lives in Durban and has no plans
of moving back. Honestly, Nldleleni is a prodigal
son. Zakhe too, they are cut off from the same
tree.
“I agree with Ndleleni, but I will never accept the
throne. I love Durban, I don’t want to come back
here.” Zakhe says.
I’m getting bored and tired. Condemning eyes
fall on me. What? Am I not allowed to yawn loud
in my room?

“When are your kids visiting, Kushi?” That’s

Khethiwe asking.
I’m glad she has changed the topic, then again,
my father’s land is huge. There are many rooms
where Khethiwe and crew can discuss Kushi’s
kids.
“I will have to ask permission from my mother,
she’s too protective of them.” Kushi replies.
Kushi, Khethiwe and Banami are squeezed up at
the foot of my bed, I never should have installed
a carpet in here. Look at the fruits of my labour
coming to bite my flat behind.
“Aren’t they your kids? Why do you need
permission?” Funo questions, leaning into
Vukuzakhe.
These two chose to sit on my couch, I’m giving
it away tomorrow. I mean that’s why they are
comfortable in being in here because there’s
more space to sit. I will have to trade my king
sized bed for a single one, a boat in fact. Ntaba
looks too comfortable.
They are still talking about Kushi’s kids, the
conversation is exhausting.
I search for Nala, she has settled in with the
ladies. She can’t be serious.
I give her a questioning glare and she has the
audacity to shrug her shoulders, so much for
injure one injure all.
“I thought we were in this together?” I mouth
the complaint, she smiles.
“Mathonga did you know that Kushi is a mother
of two?” Khethiwe…
Sigh!
Bloody hell! Why are we counting Kushi’s kids?
Taxi maths showed me my mother back in high
school, so numbers and I are not friends.
My reply is a frown, she smiles and turns back
to Kushi.
“Why do you look frustrated?”
Because I am sexually frustrated, Ntabezikude. I
wish to tell him this but they will laugh at me.
“I don’t know,” I mumble, pulling the blanket up
to my chest. Ntaba is sitting on it, he won’t
move.
“Asphelelanga madoda, Vimbela, Sakhile and
Zamangwane should be here.” I don’t like the
route Khothama is taking.
Actually, these people should leave my room.
“Can we not go there please, today is a happy
day. Let’s not ruin it by dipping our hearts in
sadness.” Vukuzakhe takes the flashlight.
He turns his gaze to Funokuhle, their fingers
intertwine. Great, this gives me a chance to get
rid of these two.
“Funo looks tired, don’t you think you should go
tuck him in bhut’Zakhe?” I ask, and use my eyes
to plead my case. His face crinkles up in a
frown, he thinks I’m weird. I feel weird.

Is that music playing? In my room? On loud

speaker?

“Who brought a speaker to my room?” I snap,

frowning at all these motherfuckers. A finger
points at Khethiwe, I should’ve known. And why
would she play Brenda Fassie? I can’t deal with
this.
“Cima sisi, it’s giving me a headache.” I snap.
How far are they willing to go to destroy me?
My enemies have sent them here.
“It’s a wedding Thonga, we can’t have a
wedding without playing Vulindlela.” Khethiwe.
I never signed up for this trauma.
“It’s not my wedding, go play it for the couple
that just got married, and take everyone with
you.”
I see Ntaba frowning at me, his eyes are
searching me. Oh no, he’s looking at the blanket.
I hate how he’s so smart.
“What’s wrong with you?” He shouts through
the music.
Nala turns to face me and shakes her head,
she’s warning me about something.
“They will see that you’re naked under there,
calm down.” She mouths the words, producing
no sound. It’s easier said when you’re fully
dressed.
“Tell them to leave,” I mouth back.

“Let’s dance Nala.” Khethiwe pulls her up.

I want to tell Ntaba to take his woman out of
here, if they leave, the rest will follow.

“Turn it down please,” I shout. She turns it down

a little. “I’m going to sleep, please turn off the
light on your way out.”I
I inform them and hope Nala will stay behind.
“We’re not going anywhere.” Khothama laughs.
“Madoda if you want to hang out, please go to
Vumile’s room and hang out with him and
Nandi.” I’m yelling now.
“Vumile is getting laid, we won’t disturb him.”
Ntaba.
But they will disturb me? That’s an offensive
statement, I was about to get laid too.
“It’s too hot to be under the covers, don’t you
think?”
“It’s too late to be in my room, don’t you think?”
I return Hlabela’s question with a question.
“Mathonga get out of there and join us.” I sneer
at Zakhe for his stupid request.
Like hell I’m letting them see I’m naked under
here, they will know Nala and I were about to
bake some space muffins.
I should be high on ecstasy but nope, I’m
tolerating my siblings.
“Can I borrow your blanket Mathonga? I’m
feeling cold.”
And I’m feeling horny! No I don’t have a bloody
blanket for Kushi.
“Take the one he’s using Kushi, he won’t mind.”
Hlabela will sell me for free in India, I don’t trust
him anymore.
“No, I…” He’s pulling the blanket from me. Who
does that?
I’m beside myself with insanity and shock.
“Hlabela stop.”
“My wife is cold, borrow her a blanket.” He’s
starting to piss me off, I’m booking him and his
wife first class tickets out of this country.
“It’s my blanket, leave it.” I’m holding on to it as
if my life depends on it and it does. Nala shoots
up, her eyes are wide and looking at me.
I know she wants to help me pull the blanket,
she hurries to my side and just stands there.
Why am I alone in this world?
I’m glancing up at her when someone snatches
the blanket, exposing my nakedness.
My eyes can’t go wider than they already are,
Nala gasps in shock as her eyes move to my
private parts. The room has gone quite, even
Brenda has given up on me. I can feel heavy
eyes judging me for breathing.
I’m too embarrassed to look at my brothers. But
I curse the Goliath who snatched my blanket.
I’ve always known that I’m too slow, that’s why I
don’t think of grabbing something and covering
myself like Nala does.
She throws a pillow over my privates and I
press it down like it’s my saving grace.
“Thonga lami, you’re naked?” Ntaba is judging
me like he never gets naked.
Of course I’m naked, that’s an obvious
observation. I’ve been caught red handed, I
might as well face them and get it over with.
They are staring at me, mouths wide open and…
wait a second. Why is Vukuzakhe covering
Funokuhle’s eyes and why am I offended by that
the most?
My body is not ugly, Nala would attest to that
and put a stamp on it.
MATHONGA-
Bonus-
Sponsored by Rethabile Mofokeng...

Explicit content: Reader's discretion is advised,

this chapter contains sexual content 18+
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FUNOKUHLE-

Staring at the man sleeping on the bed, a smile

spreads across my face. The past few months
have been hell for me, I fell into a dark pit and
didn’t know how to come up.
Instead of asking Vukuzakhe for help, I wanted
to drag him down with me.
My selfish efforts made me feel like the biggest
scum of the earth.
I’m willing to come out of the dark pit and hold
his hand again, I miss him so much yet he’s
always here with me.
I haven’t let him touch me sexually for seven
months, but not from his lack of trying. I’ve
seen and ignored every advance he made, I
knew he wanted more by the way he would hold
me every night.
It’s not that I don’t want him, I want him more
than I want air.

I lie down beside him and kiss him awake, his

eyes flap open and the first thing I see is
confusion.
“Have you forgiven me?” He asks.
I know this is what he’s been waiting for, I was
never upset with him to forgive. My anger was
directed at the wrong person.
To answer him, I kiss him again and quickly pull
away. Vukuzakhe caves with a smile, he loves
what I’m doing.

He must see the distant look in my eyes

because he asks, “What’s on your mind kid?”
My mouth goes dry, unable to bring up the topic
that would inevitably put us in a sour mood. A
small smile crosses my face, when Zakhe
places a hand on my chest and leans in to softly
peck my lips.
“I’ve been in contact with Banami, she told me
that Pule died in prison.”
I tell him, and sit up from the bed.
“Oh!” That’s all he has to say, he pulls himself
up till he’s sitting.
“Did you know?”
“I did, and I know I should’ve told you. I’m sorry.”
It’s easy for him to apologise, I love this about
him.
“When I was with Pule, there were days when I
would dream of his death. It made me feel so
guilty and evil, I’d find myself mentally
apologising to him. I thought when the day
eventually arrives I would die too.” my
confession brings a frown to his face.
I can tell he’s not comfortable talking about
Pule, Banami said avoiding my past would pull
me steps back.
I have been attending therapy sessions since
she moved to Durban with Ndleleni, I don’t know
if a doctor and a patient can be friends. But
that’s where we are, I want to host her and
Ndleleni before we go to Izingolweni for Ntaba
and Khethiwe’s wedding.
When Ntaba was released, I was afraid for my
life.
What if he comes for me? This was one of the
thoughts I had.
“Kid,” his voice brings me back to life. There is
something about the way he calls me kid, only
he makes it seem special. Like it’s a name I was
given from birth.
“I lost you there, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I think I am okay. Perfectly okay, I’m
happy and in love with the best man in the
world.
“Good, for a second there I thought you were
going to cry over that bastard.” He says, rubbing
his nose against my cheek.
“Pule’s death does not affect me, I don’t feel
anything. If anything I feel safer that he’s not in
this world anymore.”
I’m more than certain about this, the world is
too small for Pule and I.
I straddle my giant and wrap my arms around
his neck.
“I’m sorry I gave you a hard time, I didn’t know
how to deal with my heartbreak. I needed
someone to blame and you were the closest
person I could find. I should have opened up
and told you how I felt, instead I kept you in the
dark and acted like an idiot.” I say.
Vukuzakhe sighs and cradles my face.
“I’m also sorry kid, I’m sorry your heart is broken.
I’m sorry you had to go through all that pain and
I’m sorry your family was taken away from you.”
I don’t want to talk about my family, not today. It
still hurts and it will take time for me to get over
their deaths, my nieces and nephews were
deserving of a second chance.

To avoid more talks about them, I scamper off

the bed and strip naked, leaving nothing on my
body. I perch myself on the bed, my legs folded
beneath me and place my hands on my lap.
“What’s going on?” His brows furrow.
“I need you,” I confess, biting my bottom lip.
I’ve never needed it so bad before, and I have
never initiated sex before.
“A- And work?” He stammers, shifting
uncomfortably on the bed.
I have to clock in at 8am, and be logged in by
9am. I’m sure I’ll make it.
“My boyfriend is the boss, I’m allowed to be
late.” It’s very irresponsible of me but what the
heck? I’m dating a millionaire.
“You’re cunning, you know that?” Zakhe says as
he leans over and nuzzles into my neck like a
puppy.
“Babe stop, it’s ticklish.” So much so that I
laugh and push against Zakhe to get him to
stop. It must work because he stops, and looks
at me.
“You called me babe?” It’s not that big of a deal.
“You’re my babe,” I enwrap my arms around his
neck.
“I’m your babe, and you’re my Minnie Minion.”
He mumbles with a grin as he runs his fingers
on my head. The sensation has me leaning into
his touch.
“I promise to hold you when you need me, you’ll
never feel alone again kid.” He says.
I have no words but attack him with a greedy
kiss, dominating over my giant. A first time for
me, it feels like I’m on top of the world until
Vukuzakhe takes over the kiss.
We pull away heaving, eyes heavy-lidded and
lips swollen from the kiss.
“I want you to make me sweat,” I’m sure of this.
A mischievous glint lies in his eyes, before he’s
running his tongue down my throat. I whimper
and cling on to him.
He captures my lips with his, taking me off
guard before I respond hungrily.
My fingers are tangling on Zakhe’s spine, pulling
him impossibly close to me. The kiss is close to
animalistic as if two souls who have been
craving for each other.
“Zakhe,” I moan, nonverbally begging for more.
“I know kid,” my blush deepens at his words.
There’s a bottle of lube on the bedside table, I
grab it and squirt the liquid on my fingers. My
eyes are on him as I get into a position on my
hands and knees.
“Funo,” his voice is strained, he’s watching me
with dark eyes. A smirk of satisfaction draws on
my lips as I move my hand behind me and slip
in two fingers.
My breath intakes are sharp, I hiss and moan
his name a little extra loud just to get him to
squirm.
I’ve never done this before and Lord knows
where I got the courage. I pump my slick fingers
in and out of my hole, biting down my bottom
lip.
I hear him growl from his chest, before he
reaches his hand and uses his thumb to free my
lip from my teeth.
I move my lips to his ear, nibbling at his earlobe.
“I’m begging for it Vukuzakhe, please help me.” I
purr in his ear.
He grabs the back of my neck and presses our
lips together, the kiss quickly grows desperate.
He slips his tongue past my lips, it’s roaming in
my mouth until it finds my tongue and swirls
with it.
I pull away heaving and trembling, the
mischievous smile on his face makes me
wonder what he’s thinking. My eyes run through
his body, his cock is straining against the
confines of his pants.
I desperately want to release it. I lie down on
the mattress, pulling him down with me. I take
this opportunity to lock my legs around his
waist grinding my hard erection against his
carved stomach.
Vukuzakhe grinds down on me, his erection
brushing against my balls and making my eyes
roll back. He releases himself, only to remove
his clothes and lube his erection, before
connecting our bodies again.
His hips rock forward, he’s rubbing his tip
against my hole. Need engulfs me, making me
push myself towards him. He directs his cock,
his tip breaches me, making me grasp from
how thick he is. It sends my mind into a wild
frenzy.
“Are you okay? Tell me if you want me to stop.”
He’s worried, I don’t want him to stop.
“No, don’t stop.” I manage to breathe out. “It’s
not our first time.”
“Yes, but it’s been so long.” He says.
“Just… go slow and gentle.”
He presses his forehead against mine, and
captures my lips
“I need you Funo,” I need him too.
He takes a deep breath and slowly inches
himself forward until his cock slides in to the
hilt. A breath I didn’t realise I’ve been holding
sways out of me, my legs are tight around him.
He peppers kisses on my face, whispering
soothing words while waiting for me to adjust
to his size. A second later I give him a go ahead
with a subtle head nod.
Vukuzakhe kisses me, pulls his hips back and
thrusts back into me. His erection stretches my
walls, I grasp at his back.

“You feel so good, kid.” He groans through

clenched teeth. “It’s such a shame you can’t see
what you look like right now, my cock is buried
deep inside you, and your drenching it. And it’s
taking everything in me not to fuck you right
into this bed?”
“Do it, fuck me harder.” I plead, digging my
fingers into his back. “Plea… please.”
“I don’t want to hurt you…” Zakhe.
“I’m giving you permission to hurt me, fuck me
so hard that I can’t walk, make me cry, I want to
feel you completely.”
I feel him shiver before he’s grabbing my legs
and hooking them over his arms to give him
access to thrust deeper. He’s hitting my
prostate, that pre-cum spills from my tip and
drips down my length.
“Zakhe!” I cry out, my hands grabbing on any
part of his body that I can get my hands on.
“Please don’t stop, don’t… stop.”
He groans, snapping his hips harder, I know I’ll
be walking with a limp for a week. I don’t think
I’ll even pitch for work today, I’ll call in sick. I
really don’t care.
Vukuzakhe is all that matters right now, he’s all
I want.
“You’re so warm, Funo. I love how you’re
receiving me, it feels so good.” His voice has
become smaller than it is, he’s heaving and
panting above me.
“Mmmh! Zakhe…” My cries are getting louder
and louder, I’m getting closer to my release. My
trip to the skies comes to halt when Zakhe pulls
out, leaving me feeling empty and frustrated.
He flips me around on all fours before I get a
chance to complain, his arm is around my
shoulders, pulling me up towards him. My back
presses against his chest as he thrusts back
into me.
This position allows him to hit my prostate with
each thrust, my body is in heat. Tears blur my
vision, I’m not familiar with the butterflies in my
stomach. My moans are breathy, as pitiful as I
reach my hand back and grab onto his neck for
support.
He turns his head to me, locking our lips in a
sloppy kiss while he continues to fuck the life
out of me.
Pleasure erupts through my limps, a tingling
feeling that has me gasping and begging for
more. Flames of desire lick at every corner of
my body, the pleasure becomes so intense that
I begin to sob, tears pooling down my face.
“I’m almost there,” Zakhe tells me, nuzzling his
face on my neck.
I’m close too but I don’t have the strength to tell
him.
“I want to see you when you cum for me, Kid.”
He alerts me, flips me around, and thrusts back
into me.
Our eyes lock, I wrap my lips around his Adam’s
apple and he releases a moan that will forever
stay with me.
“I’m… com… co… fu… fuck.” His stuttering has
worsened, but I know what he’s trying to say.
His hot seed pours inside me, the feeling of his
cum inside of me sends me tumbling over the
edge. I have to bite my lip to keep myself from
screaming as I release. My cum smears my
stomach, while Zakhe slows his thrusts to a
stop before we both collapse.
.
.

NALA-

I roll over on the soft mattress, instinctively

reaching out to his side of the bed. My heart
sinks at the emptiness. Another morning,
another heavy heart. If it were not for the love I
have for Mathonga, I wouldn’t be here. I
wouldn’t have chosen to live away from Zitha.
Amandla has created a barrier between us. She
is distant, I can’t grasp why.
It could be about Mathonga, she loves him and
will never stop. Unfortunately, I’m not willing to
give him up, the man really broke down all of my
walls and settled himself comfortably in my
heart.
I feel like I can be myself and let loose with him,
without fear of being judged or pushed away.
I moved into his bedroom after he left two
weeks ago, I miss him every day, no one knows
where he is.
It was over two weeks ago when he woke up
from what I thought was a bad dream, he
wasn’t himself the entire day and the day after
that. He hardly said a word to anyone, he wasn’t
the bubbly talkative Mathonga everyone knew.
His brothers tried to cheer him up, pulling
pranks on him, like that one prank they pulled
that night in his room where they deliberately
invaded our privacy. Nothing seemed to work.
On the third day I woke up and he was gone,
Ntaba told me not to worry, that he was okay.
I haven’t heard from him since, something is
not right. He can’t be gone for so long without
saying anything.

I walk in on Ntaba and Khethiwe conversing in

the kitchen, piles of magazines are scattered on
the counter. Their wedding is nearing, I have
never seen anyone so happy before, she is
literally glowing.
Ntaba already looks annoyed, he knows I’m
about to ask him the same thing I ask every
morning.
“Have you heard from him?”
He shakes his head, and like each time he does
that, my heart sinks.
“He’ll come back Nala, the ancestors probably
summoned him. You know how it is with gifted
people.” Khethiwe is trying to comfort me. It’s
not working but I take it still.
“Where is little man? I can drive him to school.”
That’s kind of Ntaba.
Thobani is fond of him.
“He’s in his room, he’ll be out for breakfast.”
I was able to find a good school for my brother,
he has made a lot of progress. He talks about
Thabani a lot, which is a good thing. I don’t want
him forgetting his brother and what he did for
him. Thabani was a hero, he saved our lives.
“Come see this, we’re looking at cake
catalogues.” Khethiwe gestures with her hand
that I come closer. She’s paging through
pictures of wedding cakes, looks like this is
going to be the wedding of the century.

Ntaba is excused from us by his ringing phone,

I’m glad that he doesn’t go far. It could be
Mathonga on the phone.
My focus leaves Khethiwe, her voice trails off
and becomes background noise.
“Nala are you listening?” Khethiwe asks.
I nod nothing but lies, I’m listening to Ntaba but
I can’t make out a word he’s saying. His face is
gracing a frown that puts me into a flurry of
anxieties.
He turns his eyes to me and catches me
watching, my heart instantly jumps to my throat.
He’s putting the phone in the pocket of his
pants, his worried gaze trained on me.
“Dammit! Dammit!” Ntaba growls, banging his
hand against the fridge it almost falls.
My body suddenly goes cold, completely
contradicting with the rushing of my blood
pounding in my ears.
I take steps backwards, not sure where my legs
are directing me.
“Ntaba what’s wrong?” Khethiwe asks, fear has
made a place in her eyes.
I have the same question, but I can’t muster up
the courage to speak.
“Ntaba talk to me, did something happen to
Mathonga?” She raises her voice, shooting
Ntaba with worried daggers.
“Hlabela, Hlabela!” Panic resounds in his voice
as he calls his brother.
Hlabela is somewhere around, but why is Ntaba
frantically calling him.
“Ntaba you’re driving me crazy, what’s going
on?” Khethiwe again.
Why am I not able to utter a single word? Am I
that weak? It must be the thought of living
without Mathonga that has rendered me weak.
“The elders think they can give and take? Not
iThonga lami, he doesn’t only belong to them.
He’s ours too Khethi, ours. I’m not going to lose
my brother.” And with that he storms out of the
house. I don’t know where he’s going, I don’t
know what’s going on or what he was talking
about.
Tears fill my eyes, a choked sob escapes my
mouth and a pang of hurt ripples through my
pounding heart.
“W- What happened to Mathonga?” I hear
myself ask, my voice cracking with each
syllable.
“I think something happened to him,” Khethiwe
answers. But I refuse to believe anything could
happen to him, he promised me a life together.
MATHONGA-
Ninety- one
Sponsored by Rethabile Mofokeng.
.
.

THE KHANYILES-

Standing at the mountaintop, crazy drunk and

suffering from a broken heart is not how he
pictured he would die. This is where he finally
connected with his ancestors, it might not be
the exact mountain but it was at a mountain.
And this is where he wants to end it.
He’s not a man that easily gives up on life, he’s
been tested before but this one seems to be the
toughest test, one he is so sure he will fail.
“Thong lami.’ The frantic voice calls for his
attention and startles him, he tilts his head to
see Hlabela and Ntabezikude.
“Why are you here?” Mathonga sniffles, turning
back to the vast nothing before him.
“Let’s go home, Thonga.” Ntaba is not telling,
he’s ordering. A loud chuckle is released by
Mathonga, he sips on the bottle of whiskey and
his face crumples in distaste as he swallows
the liquid.
“I didn’t ask you to come here, go back to your
lives madoda. I don’t have a life, my ancestors
have taken it and made it their own.”
Mathonga’s second chuckle is bitter.
He was going for sarcasm but the gods of
humour fail him, the brothers don’t find him
funny.
“Okay, you didn’t ask us to come but we are
here and we’re taking you home.” Hlabela
replies.
“You don’t understand, they want me to…” The
thought seems to anger him, he swings his
hand and tosses the bottle over the cliff.
“They chose me to be their chief, to lead their
people. I don’t mind that, but why does it come
with a condition? I can’t do that to Nala, I can’t
break her heart like that.”
Tears come as they are, plenty and
disrespectful. He’s royalty for goodness’ sake.

“We’ll talk to Nala, we’ll explain everything. Don’t

you think your death will hurt her even more?”
Ntaba tries to be the voice of reason, he’s not
good at this speech thing but when it comes to
his brothers, the poor thing tries.
Mathonga shakes his head, his gaze meets the
long trees at the bottom of the mountain. He
knows if he jumps from here, he will die before
he hits the ground.
Tears burn his eyes, he offers a subtle
headshake.
“I always listen to the ancestors and do as they
say but not this time. Let’s see who they will
control when I die.”
“Don’t be stupid Mathonga, how will your death
be beneficial to Nala? Killing yourself will be
killing her.” Hlabela thinks yelling will knock
some sense into Mathonga’s head, it has to.
Otherwise, how else will they get him to go
home with them?
A frowning Ntaba takes a careful step forward,
his move brings a frown to Hlabela’s face.
“You want to jump, right Thonga lami?” Ntaba
asks. “Then go ahead and jump.”

“Ntaba, what are you doing?” Hlabela’s jaw

tightens. How stupid can Ntaba be to tell their
little brother to kill himself?
“Go ahead and kill yourself Thonga,” Ntaba
persists.
His request confuses Mathonga, sure he wasn’t
asking for pity but he wasn’t asking for a
cheerleader too.
“It’s not funny Ntaba,” Mathonga.
“Yeah Ntaba, it’s not funny. Stop provoking
him,” Hlabela grunts, his scrutiny burning
Ntaba’s giant form.
“I’m not provoking him Hlabela, if Mathonga
wants to jump then he should. Strip Vumile of
his sons, it will be like he never had children to
begin with.”
No one seems to get where Ntaba is going,
Mathonga ogles back at him. Hlabela is
spotting a puckered brow.
“What are you talking about?” Hlabela queries.
“If Mathonga jumps, we’ll jump after him.” We?
Did he just say we?
Hlabela is tempted to dispute this, he has a wife
and stepchildren to raise.
“I’m sure Vukuzakhe and Ndleleni will do the
same once they hear about the triple-suicide.”
Ntaba is going overboard with this, it’s not what
Mathonga had in mind. Ntaba is ruining his
plans.
“You can’t do that.”
Yes he can and Mathonga knows it every well,
the man who dares God and the devil is capable
of anything.
“Try me, Thonga lam, jump off that cliff and we
are following you. You want to test my love for
you, right? Then here’s the opportunity, grab it.”
Ntaba grunts.
Mathonga’s mind is muddled up in different
colour strings, the challenge is a tough one. If
he chooses to live then the ancestors will
always expect him to do the impossible, things
he does not agree with. But if he dies, then he’ll
be killing his brothers and Nala.
Mathonga steps backward, his vision is clouded
by a well of tears.
He falls flat on his butt the minute he’s away
from the cliff, he’s silently weeping.
Hands fall on each side of his shoulders, his
brothers are here and it makes him feel whole.
“I’m sorry,” Mathonga’s voice trembles. “I’m so
confused, I don’t know what to do.”
“You have no choice but to obey, Nala will have
to understand.” That’s so nice of Hlabela to
understand that when ancestors speak, you
obey.
“I don’t want her to leave me, what if she…” it’s
not that he can’t live without her. He just loves
her too much to wake up without her by his side.
“You will still live if she takes that decision, it
won’t be the end of the world.” Ntaba sounds
too insensitive, he’s forgetting he’s talking to a
broken man who almost took his life.
“Now let’s get out of here before it gets dark
and demons start hovering around.”
Demons live in mountains? Hlabela has
something to say about what just came out of
Ntaba’s mouth but he’d rather not, he accepts
that his brother is special and perhaps one day
he will be put in a straightjacket.
The brothers help Mathonga up, he drops his
gaze due to the anger exhibited in Ntaba’s eyes.
“I’m sorry bhu…” Mathonga’s apology is stopped
by Ntaba slapping him across the face. Hlabela
gasps, and grips Mathonga’s hand to get him
away from the angry giant.
Mathonga does not move, he’s rubbing his
throbbing cheek.
“If you ever try that shit again, I will kill you
Thonga lami. Do you hear me?” Ntaba’s voice is
firm but quiet.
Mathonga hides his face on Ntaba’s chest, and
wraps his arms around him. He’s crying again.
“I will never do it again, I promise.” Mathonga
says.
Seeing Ntaba’s hardened expression, it hits
Hlabela that his brother is triggered by the
attempted suicide.
Ntaba took Zamangwane’s death harder than
everyone, not once has he ever mentioned her
name nor does he stay around when she is
mentioned.
“Let’s go home,” they listen to Hlabela and find
their way out.
.
.
.
Vumile’s lawyer has been in contact with
Dalisile, she refuses to sign the divorce papers.
She is demanding half of everything he has. If
he would have it his way, he wouldn’t give her a
cent.
Today is the day of the inauguration, it was a
spur of the moment decision. Vumile who has
been distant and out of touch with reality half of
the time woke up and decided to crown the next
chief.
He’s always known who will take over from him
and nothing has changed.
Vukuzakhe and Hlabela arrived last night after
getting a call from Vukuzakhe, the throne is
waiting to be occupied.
The ceremony started this morning, a band was
hired along with dancers. It’s a big deal in the
village, the people are pregnant with
anticipation.

It’s 3pm on the dot, Vumile stands in front of

the wall mirror and emanates a deep sigh as he
feels a hand on his shoulder.
“You’re doing okay,” Nandi is here to comfort
him. Their eyes clash in the mirror reflection.
Vumile wants to say something in response but
he heaves another sigh instead. He drops his
eyes to his trembling hands, Nandi follows his
train of sight. Worry fills the windows to her
soul.
“Your hands are shaking?” Her heart is
pounding in her chest, that’s not a normal
shudder. Vumile uses his one hand to stop the
other, it’s an epic fail. The faster he hides this
from her, the better. He rams his hands in his
pockets as he swivels on his heel to face the
woman he loves.
“Let’s go, the people are waiting.” He’s headed
for the door.
“Ngwane,” Nandi lovingly calls his name. He
whips his head around, brows lifted and eyes
curious. “You’re not wearing shoes.”
Vumile nods but doesn’t move his eyes from
her, his eyes remain curious and that births a
frown of concern on Nandi’s features.
She picks a pair of brown moccasins from the
shoe rack and takes them to him.

He sits and wears the first, the shoelaces seem

to give him trouble. He’s struggling to tie them,
he stops and sighs deeply.
“Ngwane!”
Vumile ignores her, he’s going to tackle this
while kneeling. His fingers are fiddling with the
laces, he groans and huffs.

“What’s going on?” Nandi keeps asking

questions, she’s worried.
An exhale resounds from Vumile, he is
becoming restless. Beads of sweat form on his
forehead, he swipes his hand across it and
goes for the second round.
Another exhale, he’s now fighting with the
shoelaces. He jumps when a hand lands on his
shoulder.
“You’re touching me, MaShamase. Don’t touch
me.” Vumile snaps and stands. Tears have
coated his eyes, he takes a long shaky breath
and goes back to try and tie the shoelaces.
He’s confused and afraid, he’s an old man with
experience. He can’t be forgetting how to tie his
shoelaces.
“Vumile, what’s going on?” Nandi cries.
Vumile gives up, he lowers his now trembling
body on the bed and hides his face in his hands.
Nandi wants to wrap arms of comfort around
him, she would if she were not afraid of his
reaction.
“Where are my sons Nandi?” His words are
muffled under his big hands
“They… they are in their rooms.” Nandi replies,
fiddling with her hands.
Vumile jolts up and grabs her shoulders. It’s
tight, he’s hurting and scaring her.
“Where are my sons? I want my sons with me.”
It appears Vumile didn’t hear her the first time.
“Ngwane… stop it. Stop doing that, you’re
scaring me?” Nandi pleads, she’s looking into
dead eyes.
“I want to see them, I want to see their faces
and talk to them. They have to know I love
them.” His words shatter like glass, all he can
utter are stuttering sounds. His tears render his
vision out of focus.
“Vumile!” She screams, tearing herself from his
grip.
Vumile blinks and detaches his hands from
Nandi.
“Whatever happens, don’t let me forget them.
Don’t let me forget my babies.” It’s as if he’s
afraid to talk, as if he will forget them if he
utters more words.
“Why would you forget them?” Nandi scowls in
confusion.
“I know I will forget them, their birthdays. The
first time I held them in my arms, their voices,
and how much I love them. It’s going to happen
Mashamase, little by little. I will forget my
babies and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“I don’t understand, why are you so sure that
this will happen?” Nandi.
He’s suddenly failing to look Nandi in the eye,
he’s fumbling for his words.
“The doctor said I… he… he said I have
Alzheimer’s disease.” He can barely breathe.
Nandi has no words, they are not coming to her.
She watches as her husband sits on the floor,
holds himself and starts rocking back and forth
while staring at nothing.
“Ngwane,” Nandi kneels before him and cups
his cheeks. She knows she needs to be strong.
If she crumbles too, nothing will go right. One of
them has to hold the fort and it has to be her.

“Look at me, Ngwane.”

Vumile squeezes his eyelids shut, his uneven
breathing and watery eyes remain for quite
some time.
“I need you to pull yourself together Ngwane, do
it for your sons.”
The magic word ‘sons’ has him opening his
eyes.
“You will go out there and crown your son, then
we will tell them together. They love you
Ngwane, those boys would die for you. If it
happens that you forget, we will be here to
remind you.”
She says ‘if’ because she refuses to believe that
her husband has Alzheimer’s disease, it can’t be
her Vumile.
Nandi helps him up and helps him with his
shoes.
If he ever forgets how to dress himself or brush
his teeth, then she will be here to do it for him.
She will be here to do anything he can’t.
“Thank you MaShamase,” that’s him professing
his love. Tears tease Nandi, she hugs her
husband so he doesn’t see her crying.
Strength is the key word.
.
.
.
No one but Hlabela and Ntaba know what
happened at the mountain yesterday, Mathonga
made them promise not to tell a soul.
He hasn’t seen or spoken to Nala, plus he’s
done a great job avoiding her.
Once again, the Khanyile ranch is packed and
that has worked on his behalf.
There’s a single knock at the door before
Hlabela walks in, he slept in Zamangwane’s old
room to avoid bumping into Nala.
“Are you ready?” Hlabela.
The former pastor looks ready to go, a body-
fitting, maroon suit that compliments his dark
skin.
“I will never be ready for this, I wish they had
prepared me earlier.” Mathonga is talking about
his ancestors. Hlabela agrees with a slight nod.
“My life will be destroyed Hlabela, how will I
ever look Nala in the face and not feel guilty?”
He’s not about to cry again, is he?
Hlabela is not in the mood to dig comforting
words, he taps his shoulder.
“You don’t walk alone Mathonga, the elders are
with you. You need to trust the process, trust
them.”
Argh! They grow up so fast, look at Hlabela.
“Trust them huh?” Mathonga.
It’s not really easy to trust people who do
whatever they want with your life. Mathonga
takes his leopard skin attire and dons it over his
suit, he turns to Hlabela and finds him smiling.
“You look like royalty.” Hlabela says with pride.
“Yet I feel like death,” Mathonga returns and
heaves a long sigh of exhaustion.
“Is she here?” Mathonga adds, his voice full of
sadness.
“She’s here, I told her everything. She didn’t put
up a fight or chase us away. As a matter of fact,
she was over the moon.” Hlabela’s response
does not seem like good news to Mathonga.
“What about Nala? Have you seen her yet?”
Mathonga.
Who hasn’t seen Nala? She’s walking around
asking people where Mathonga is.
“The last time I saw her she was outside the
tent with Khethiwe. You need to tell her what’s
going on, she can’t find out in front of people.”
That’s great advice Hlabela, but he’s not sure
he’s that brave. Sometimes showing is better
than telling, it saves lives.
“The ceremony is about to start, let’s go.”
Mathonga’s voice is not usually fragile, he’s on
the verge of tears.
He knows he needs to calm down and so he
inhales and exhales.

The stretch tent is packed, the loud music gives

him a headache. He wants to walk out because
his spirit does not agree with this loudness.
Nomkhubulwane can wait, Nala is his worry.
On the podium, he spots Nandi and Vumile
looking like royalty. He has no time to greet, his
eyes search until they eventually find the
woman he’s looking for. She’s on the second
row, beside her is Khethiwe, Funokuhle and
Banami.
Nala is staring back, she smiles and slightly
waves. He’s about to wave back when out of
the corner of his eye, he sees movement that
grabs his attention.

He looks over at the attention grabber, the long

purple gown draped on her body is too dramatic,
but makes her look majestic. Mathonga had
asked Hlabela to get her ready and his brother
went all out, Amandla looks like a million bucks.
But so does Nala, she too is dressed up like a
queen. Although her dress and makeup are
simple to the T.
As he gets to the front, his brothers, seated on
the first row stand and bow their heads.
Someone starts whistling, it’s Ntaba. The others
join in except Vukuzakhe, the guests give him a
standing ovation. The word is out, he’s the next
chief.
“Mathonga,” Vumile calls him to the pulpit. One
last look at Nala and he joins his father on the
stage.
“Okay, who was it? Who spread the rumour?”
Vumile is addressing the guests who break out
in loud laughter.
“Come on father, it was obvious that Mathonga
is the next chief. He looks the part anyway, a
typical village boy.” Ndleleni answers his
question and that stirs up more laughter.
Vumile smiles and nods, Mathonga is planning
his revenge on Ndleleni.
“Settle down everyone,” Vumile calls for silence.
“I know most of you have…”
“Save us the speech baba, and give the boy his
crown.” Ntaba interrupts, much to the
amusement of the guests. They laugh,
entertaining his silliness.
Vumile will not listen to a little boy, but he does
keep his speech short lest his memory gives up
on him.
Mathonga is told to kneel, Vumile hands him a
sceptre and adorns his head with umqhele.
Mathonga turns to face his people and smiles
at their standing ovation.
He finds Nala with his eyes again, sadness
visits. He knows the time has come, he has to
pick the woman who will accompany him
throughout this journey.
“Ngwane, bring your future wife.” Vumile
whispers into his ear.
His heart is pounding so hard he’s so sure it will
tear out of his chest, he steps down and heads
Nala’s way. All eyes follow him, his brothers
look tense and suddenly serious.
Nala welcomes him with a soft smile, she’s not
used to being under the spotlight.
“Nala, will you have me?” It’s not a marriage
proposal.
Nala does not hesitate, she takes his hand. She
was told this would happen and why it’s
happening, it’s not a marriage proposal…
Mathonga walks hand in hand with the woman
his heart has chosen, as they get to the
pedestal, he looks her dead in the eyes.
“I love you, and I’m sorry.” This he whispers and
it brings unshed tears to Nala’s eyes. She’s
confused.
Their moment does not last, Mathonga is
leaving the stage. Nala’s eyes tail him, a frown
growing on her face as she sees the direction
he’s taking.
Mathonga stops in front of Amandla and like he
did with Nala, offers his hand but wordlessly. A
huge smile spreads on Amandla’s face, he
doesn’t return it.
As he turns back to the stage with Amandla
proudly holding his hand, tears fall out of Nala’s
eyes. She’s frozen in time and can’t move a
muscle.
A sister wife is not what she wants, she’s never
even given the idea any attention. Mathonga
puffs out an irritated breath, Nomkhubulwane
and Khahlamba are abusing their power. He’s a
little boy and can barely use a toothpick, how
will he handle two wives?
MATHONGA-
Ninety-two
.
.
MATHONGA-

The party seems to be going well for everyone,

but Mathonga and Nala. They haven’t had time
to speak. The villagers are flocking over him
wanting to converse with him, he’s been trying
for a smile but the Khanyile calf is failing
dismally.
“Baby,” says Amandla behind him. Frustration
overtakes him.
After making promises he’s not sure he will
keep, he bids farewell to the elderly man who
has been loading him with complaints about the
lack of public services in the village.
Mathonga shuts his eyes, takes a long sigh and
abruptly turns to her.
“I’m so glad I finally have you to myself, the
villagers have been hovering around you the
whole day. I was wondering when they’ll leave
you alone.” She says with a wide spread smile.
“I belong to them now, and that means all my
time will be dedicated to them.” He forgets to
mention the one he loves the most.
“Not just them alone, you’re going to be
husband now.” Amandla debates.
That’s right, he’s never told her that marriage is
not for him. Marrying one woman he loves, yeah
that shouldn’t be a problem. He’ll figure out this
marriage thing along the way, but how will he
live with a woman he has no intimate feelings
for?
“Amandla, I’m not in love with you anymore.” He
takes in the look on her face.
Amandla is flushed, but not enough to be
deemed stricken. Mathonga notes the smudge
of blush on her face, the faintly dazed, and
focused gaze, and a carefree grin. She is over
the moon and gives no fucks what he says.
“But you chose me, your ancestors told you that
I’m the one for you.”
“I love Nala, she was chosen too.” He almost
snorts at the look of offence on her face.
“That doesn’t matter, we can share you. I don’t
mind.”
Now that sounds wrong in his ears, he needs a
stiff drink and this damn animal attire is heavy.

There’s a shadow behind Amandla, a dark aura

that has shivers rippling through her. She turns
around and gulps at the sight of the stone-cold
face staring down at her. Fear flashes past her
face, she staggers backward and collides into
Mathonga.
“MaCele,” Ntaba greets with a slight tilt of the
head. His eyes are too penetrating, sweeping
through every corner of her soul.
“Is everything okay, Thonga lami?”
Mathonga looks like death, hence the worried
look on Ntaba’s face. He’s waiting with
furrowed eyebrows and a tight jaw.
Mathonga gives him a sad smile and a subtle
nod, Ntaba finds his way without glancing over
at the lady staring at him like he’s about to slit
her throat.

“I’m not okay with how your brother has been

looking at me today, he makes my blood run
cold. Is it okay that he’s here, around people?”
Her statement is frowned upon, that’s a
statement Mathonga is not going to answer.
“I mean… after killing people, I don’t think he
should be around people. Is he going to live
here, in the palace with us? Will our children be
safe? I’m not judging or anything but…”
But he’s a menace to society, a threat to
humanity and his conscience is as dark as the
devil’s heart.
Amandla is in her right mind to worry.
Mathonga pinches the bridge of his nose, his
eyebrows meet and greet in irritation.
“I don’t think this is ever going to work,” he’s
repeating himself, completely ignoring the
Ntaba issue.
“So you keep saying,” her shrug is careless and
without airs. “You loved me once Mathonga,
you will love me again.”
“That’s not how it works,” his head shakes, he
scratches it and gusts out a loud breath.
“I’m going to appeal this, there has to be a way
to reverse this mistake. You’re not the one for
me, I don’t understand how this happened.
You’re just… you’re not it.” Mathonga.
“It’s not a mistake, we are destined to be
together. You picked me out in front of the
entire village, you can’t change what has
happened Mathonga. How will I face people
after that? You cannot do this to me,-”
“But we’ll never be happy together Amandla,
don’t you get that? Any feelings I had regarding
you don’t exist anymore, I can assure you that.”
“You love her right?” It’s not a secret, she’s seen
the way he looks at her sister. It’s how he used
to look at her back in the day, when they were
young and careless and restless.
“Nala is off topic,” he says and turns to walk
away.
At his turn, his eyes fall on Nala in the crowd.
Her dark gaze is on him, Nala shakes her head
in disapproval and paves her way out of the tent.
.
.
The only thing he did wrong was promise he
wouldn’t lie and won’t break her heart, words
matter.
Of course she would’ve understood if he had
told the truth, it would’ve hurt like a bitch, but
she was going to take it like a woman and move.
They are exclusive, heck, it’s not as if she asked
or expected him to be faithful, just honest.

He’s outside her rondavel when he senses that

she is behind the door, before he could touch
the handle. He needs to think about what he will
say to her, she feels betrayed and is hurting.
One mistake and he will lose it all.
The sensation of a tightness in his chest and a
quickened heartbeat is so loud, like the sound
of Oscar Pistorius’ footsteps in a race.
He needs to face her, he can’t run away forever.
When he walks in the room, she stands.
The door slams behind him, he’s looking into
her eyes. There’s so much hurt in them, she is
so transparent that he feels every ounce of pain
that’s suffocating her.
“Are you going to congratulate me?” His voice
sounds calm, however there is a hint of pain in
it.
Nala holds her breath and tears instantly fill her
eyes. Mathonga gulps and rubs the back of his
neck, this is not what he wanted.
“Congratulations… for being… chosen.” Every
word feels like thorns coming out of her mouth,
scratching her throat on the way up.
“I wasn’t serious when I asked you to congra…”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asks innocently.
“I’m sorry,” Mathonga whispers like it’s a secret,
a forbidden prayer.
“That’s not what I asked, I want to know why
you would humiliate me like that? What did I
ever do to you?” Nala.
Mathonga blinks, a cat has run away with his
tongue.
“Ugh!” Nala slams a hand on his chest, she is
too overwhelmed to translate her feelings into
words.
“Nala!” He doesn’t stop her from pounding him
like dough.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I thought we tell each
other everything.” She screams.
“I’m so mad Mathonga, I’m so mad at you. Why
would you do this to me? What did I ever do to
you but love you? I gave up everything for you, I
chose you… Mathonga… only you, but you spit in
my face.”

Suddenly the feeling to destroy takes a turn, the

tension in her limbs reaches a little deeper.
There’s a deep desire and urge to act on it, she
feels like throwing something against the wall
just to feed this anger that has engulfed her.
Instead, she slams her fists harder on his chest,
he lets her, and stumbles backwards against
the door.
“Hit me if it will help you release the anger.”
Mathonga.
“Why her? Why does it have to be her,
Mathonga?” Her loud voice echoes in his ears.
Amandla loves him, probably more than Nala
ever will and that hurts more than anything
she’s ever felt.
“It wasn’t me Nala, I swear on my love for you.
The ancestors chose…” He stops as he realises
he’s about to say something that will send her
over the edge.
“They chose my sister for you, she is your
destiny.” Nala finishes his statement…
confession or whatever that was.
She twists his shirt in her fists and pulls him.
Mathonga is looking down at her, a little
stunned by her violent side.
He understands her anger though, that her
emotional scale is small and a huge slice of it is
devoted to rage.
“They chose you too Nala. You are the one my
heart loves, I choose you and not her.” His
hands try for a touch, but there is a fear of being
rejected.
“That’s not enough, I don’t want to share you
with my sister. I can’t share you with her, tell her
you can’t be with her.” Nala.
He should be able to listen to her and do her
bidding. Love is about sacrifices.
“You know that’s not how it works, if I don’t do
what the ancestors want, they will punish me or
my family. I’m tired of fighting, I’m tired of
burying people I love. I need you to understand,
please. I’m not interested in Amandla in any
way.” Mathonga is saying it all but not what she
wants hear.
“She doesn’t have to stay here, I’ll find her
somewhere else to live. I won’t do anything with
her, I promise.” Mathonga.
If only that were possible, Nala grew up in the
village, she knows how polygamy works.
She steps away from him and exhales loudly.
“You might as well let her go, you can’t bind her
in a loveless marriage. She’s human too, she
will also need someone to warm her bed at
night.” Nala.
What kind of a woman is this? In her rage, she
has managed to be selfless.

Mathonga is amazed, but letting Amandla go

would be going against his elders and not
keeping her around is not humanly optional.
“Amandla will have to agree with me and
choose a different path. She has to reject this
alliance. I don’t know how it’s done, or if it’s
been done before but the elders will have to
hear her.” What he’s saying does not make
sense in his head.
Nala realises this is more complicated than she
thought, Amandla will have to be a Khanyile in
order to speak to the Khanyiles ancestors.
The thought of her sister carrying the name of
the man she loves is shattering, she drops her
head on his chest and sobs.
“We’ll figure this out together, we can get
through it together. Just… don’t… please don’t
leave me,” that’s a desperate man right there.
“Why do I love you so much? Why is it hard to
walk away from you?” Nala is yelling again.
She plants her hands on his chest and shoves
him backwards.
The door is the dead-end, Mathonga can’t move
further than that. He reaches for her face to
wipe away her tears, but she shrugs his hand
away.

The stubbornness in him has him nestling her

wet cheeks, his face hovering over hers, he
intertwines their lips together.
She meets the intensity of his kiss just as he
pushes his tongue deep into her mouth. His
hands latch onto the softness of her waist with
an iron grip.
“Nala,” her name tastes like honey in his mouth.
He thought maybe she would bat him away like
a fly, reject him. But on the contrary, Nala’s
hands are all over him.
Mathonga pulls her between his legs, against
himself like he wants to embrace her.
He breaks the kiss to gasp for air, briefly
overwhelmed by her response. Then he goes in
for more, taking her lip in his teeth and bites
hard.
His hand slides up her back to grip her braids,
he yanks his mouth away, forces her head to tilt
and licks the side of her neck.
Nala shivers and sparks dance through her
entire nervous system.
“Mathonga!” She slurs, breath uneven and heart
pulsating aggressively in her chest.
“You’re the only one for me, Nala. Let me show
you how much I love you.”
With a nod from her, Mathonga tugs her back in
for another teeth-and-tongue kiss.
He flips both of them around so she is pinned
between him and the door, his hand settles
around her throat just below her jaw and applies
slight pressure.
Nala seizes his wrist and squeezes, digging her
nails in between his muscles.
Mathonga grips a little harder, making her gasp
for breath, in turn she pounds her fist on his
unyielding chest, there’s a growing wetness
between her legs.
He lets go and crashes his lips against hers.
It’s a battle between love and rage.

Nala fumbles for the waistband of his pants, his

erection hard against her thigh. Once his pants
slide to his knees, she grips him tightly, strokes
him a couple of times. His response is an
animalistic growl.
Electric tingles of pleasure attack them, their
heated bodies are in need and sexual arousal
washes over them.
Nala releases his erection, she plants her hands
against his hips and somewhat pushes him
away.
She tugs his shirt to rip it open but her hands
are not so strong. Mathonga takes the job upon
himself and rips his shirt open, buttons shoot
across the room. His carved chest is revealed.
“Make me forget…” Nala slurs, fingers wrapping
around his biceps for dear life. “Fill me up till I
can’t breathe.”
His erection jerks at her words, their lips find
their way to each other. He pulls her towards
the bed and watches hungrily as she lowers
herself on the mattress.
“You look breath-taking,” he breathes.

His eyes are lustful and all over her body. Nala
is growing impatient, she sighs and regards him
with a frown.
Her breath catches in her throat when
Mathonga runs his hands up her thighs, gliding
them under her dress and peels her underwear
down to her ankles.
His eyes are on her as he pulls the dress off her
body, she is left naked.
He kisses her breasts, nibbles and sucks before
finding her lips. As he kisses her senseless, he
guides his fingers to her clit and circles it slowly.
He moves his lips to bite at her earlobe. The
sensation is too much that Nala cries out and
glides her feet on the bedsheets.
Mathonga slides his finger along her slit, not
deep enough to enter her, just enough to make
her clench.
“You’re so wet,” he chuckles in delight and
snacks on her breasts.
“Baby,” she finds her voice, desperate and
rugged. She almost grunts in frustration when
he stands back to strip off what’s left on his
body.

“I need you Nala,” he spreads her legs and gets

between them.
Her breathing is heavy and body tingling with
anticipation, she whines at the sensation as he
teases her entrance with his tip and grabs her
ass with one hand.
He’s turned the stove on, her skin feels like it’s
on fire.
“Mathonga please, just do it already.” The
words are barely out of her mouth before his
cock plunges into her, almost the full length
forcing between her folds. She has never
begged for it, today he is seeing a different side
to her.
Nala lets out a cry of satisfaction and shudders
under him.
He’s filling her up like she asked him, splitting
her in half as he hits every corner of her walls
with a punishing rhythm that has her cautiously
searching for something to hold onto.
“Nala,” he mumbles in her ear thrusting like he’ll
never taste her again.
“That feels too good baby,” Nala hums.
Electricity rumbles in her, she feels it surging
through her veins.

Mathonga pulls out and allows his tip into her

moist opening, he repeats the process until she
is falling apart. When she lets out a pleasurable
sob, and tears up; he slowly enters her again
and buries his face on her neck. His strokes are
slow, deep and passionate.
Nala bucks her hips, trying to meet his deep
thrusts. Her nails scrabble on his butt, as he
pushes on like a man with a vision. His pace
barely letting up.
Pleasure flows through her, starting off as a
tickle of a feather and eventually turning into a
tidal wave that threatens to take her offshore
and drown her in the deep waters.
“Baby, I can’t brea… I can’t breathe.” She
screams when an orgasm hits her like a raging
tsunami, making her thrash and tremble
beneath him.
She’s loudly speaking in tongues, mumbling
words she would never repeat because, what
the hell is she saying?

Mathonga presses her hips down when his

orgasm knocks, it hits him like lightning bolts.
He sinks his teeth in her shoulder, his thrusts
are faster than Caster Semenya.
His heartbeat skyrockets, his skin looks like it’s
been dipped in oil and his breathing can be
mistaken for the whizzing of the engine.
Unhealthy and exhausted.
The tingling feeling explodes in his veins, he
grits his teeth before crashing on top of a
shuddering Nala.
His bare skin is warm and his rock-hard weight
crushes the air from her lungs.
Nala is done for, finished like a head of cabbage
in the middle of January. Her legs are trembling,
and numb, she’s certain she will never be able
to walk again.
At this moment, she realises that Mathonga has
brought her to a high peek, so high it scares her
a bit because she realises that she is far gone
and will never find her way back.
She realises she might die here and part of her
wants to because it’s just so impeccable and
electrifying and so marvellous that it shatters
her a little.
There is no turning back from here, even if the
way back is presented to her, she will never
dare take the path.

“I love you,” Mathonga breathes into her mouth

and devours her with a hungry kiss. “Don’t ever
leave me Nala, I love you.”
Nala has no strength to repeat the words, she
has no strength to do anything. Her energy
bundles have depleted for the day.
She moans and her body shudders when
Mathonga pulls out. Their eyes are locked for a
while, no words shared, just deep penetrating
stares.
Tears seep down the corners of her eyes, she
cups his face and lets out a long breath.
She flips over, facing the wall and pushes her
body to snuggle up against him. Mathonga pulls
a blanket over them.
He knows she is okay. She wanted this, she
practically begged for it. What he does not
know is if she is going to stay with him. More
tears escape Nala’s eyes as Mathonga wraps
his arms around her and cuddles her to comfort.
.
.

NTABEZIKUDE-

His eyes must be deceiving him. He blinks a

few times lest he’s seeing things, turns out it’s
not in his head. She’s really here, across the
room from him.
He turns his gaze around the room in search of
his fiancé, and there she is, conversing her life
away with a few ladies.
It’s an opportunity for him to approach the
threat, she sees him approaching and a
seductive smile leaps to her face.
“What are you doing here?” Ntaba is too clam
for someone whose insides resemble a wild fire.
“Hello to you too handsome.” Thethelela’s
response is coated with arrogance.
Not every waking moment is spent on fixing the
path of the past, he would if he could; reverse
time and undo what he did.
“Ouch, Ntaba.” She screams when he grabs a
hold of her arm. No one seems to be paying any
attention to the man manhandling a woman, it
could be that she does not look bothered by his
hands on her.

He unlocks his car, pushes her inside, and shuts

the door. Thethelela sits back and folds her
arms across her chest.
She’s startled by Ntaba slamming his door shut,
he starts the car without granting her a look.
“Where are we going?” She asks, nothing in and
on her screams panic. “Where are we going
Ntaba?”
She repeats when he says nothing.
“Why did you come, Thethelela?” He’s speeding
out the driveway, hands tightly gripped on the
steering wheel and teeth grinding.
“I am still a Khanyile, so it was imperative that I
come. Does my presence bother you?” Her
hands stealthily land on his lap, he gives it a
brief look before clicking his tongue.
“Don’t start something you won’t be able to
finish, Thethelela.” A warning is what it sounds
like.
However, the seductive smile on her face is
back. She’s slowly running her hand up his thigh,
it’s clearly headed to Khethiwe’s property.
“I won’t have a hard time finishing this one,” her
eyes are heavy-lidded and her throat has dried
up. Lust has taken over her whole being.
“Get your hands off me, sisi.” That’s an order
accompanied by arched eyebrows.
“We can do it in the car, don’t mind my big
belly.” Thethelela.
At the mention of the belly, his blazing eyes
glare down at it. Ntaba is confused, he frowns
and snaps his glare up at her.
He saw the change in her body back at the
homestead, the bulging stomach and chubby
cheeks. He just didn’t care to think that she
could be pregnant, that’s how irrelevant
outsiders are to him.

“You’re pregnant?” He asks the recognisable

and an obviously happy Thethelela hums with
excitement.
“The baby will arrive anytime, we’re going to be
parents.” She shrieks, slightly bouncing on the
seat. Ntaba is bothered by that ‘we’ she used.
“What are you talking about?” Ntaba.
“You’re going to be a father Ntaba, I found out I
was pregnant four weeks after we slept toge…”
“It’s not mine,” he interferes.
He’s so sure it’s not his baby, it can’t be his
baby. This man is getting married next week, he
won’t let anyone stop his wedding. Rejection is
not a friend of his.
“What reason would I have to lie, Ntaba? I’m
having your baby, that’s what I came to tell you.”
Pin-drop silence takes over, Ntaba slows down
until the car comes to a stop. They are in the
middle of nowhere, a few cars are passing, two
to three minutes apart.
“Do you have anything to prove that the baby is
mine?” The question has Thethelela winded.
“I’m not a prostitute. You’re the only person I
have slept with since my husband died. I’m
carrying your baby.” She cups his face.
“I don’t want your money, it means nothing to
me. All I want is you, I want you to raise this
baby with me. We can be a family together, you,
me and our daughter.”
This must be the craziest thing he’s ever heard,
this woman was married to his uncle. What she
is saying has to be a joke.
Ntaba pushes her hand off and drives on.
“Who else knows?” He asks coldly.
“What?”
“Who else knows that you’re pregnant?” He
sounds so casual and light.
“My mother, she threw me out because…”
Thethelela tries to explain but he eats the rest
of her words.
“You’re leaving the country, I will organise
everything for you. No one should ever find out
that you’re pregnant.” He gives out orders
without looking over at her.
Tears have glazed her cheeks, Ntaba can hear
her sniffling and refuses to give her a single
glance.
“I’m not going anywhere, I don’t want to go.”
She claims.
“It’s not like you have a choice, I will never
accept that thing you’re carrying. I don’t feel
anything for you Thethelela, there’s not even
room for hate. You might as well be non-
existent.”
Sometimes he’s an insensitive bastard who
speaks without thinking about the
consequences.
It must be pregnancy hormones that have
Thethelela tearing up like her heart has been
broken in two.

“I don’t care, you can say whatever you want. It

won’t change the fact that I am carrying your
baby. I’m sure your father will be interested to
know about his first grandchild.” That’s
definitely a granite.
Ntaba sides eyes her, he cracks a brief chuckle,
before his lip curls up and eyes flash angrily.
“What about that ugly maid you chose over me?
How will she feel when she learns that you
fucked your dead uncles’ wife and got her
pregnant?” Thethelela continues.
In his ignorance, he’s given a name and a face
to sadism. It lives in him, it is him.
Ntaba forgets the road ahead and slowly turns
to face Thethelela, anger snatches away the
frown on his face.
“I’m sure you’re going to be a good mom,”
there’s a hungry look in his eyes, one you get
from not eating for a while.
His words have brought a smile to Thethelela’s
face, it fades a tad when Ntaba; while minding
the empty road leans in toward her. His cheek
lightly brushes against hers, making her shiver
due to the contact.
There’s a sudden clicking sound that catches
Thethelela’s attention, he’s opened the
passenger door.
“Tell God I said wrong address, I’m sending it
back to sender.” The whisper is eerily in her ear.
Without looking at her face, he pushes
Thethelela out of the moving car and continues
driving like nothing has happened.
From the rear view mirror, he can see her lying
face down on the tarred road. Minus one
problem.
Now, how to close the door while driving?
Argh shame! Vumile’s son is going through so
much.
MATHONGA-
Ninety-three
.
.
KHETHIWE-

Bab’Manyanga has been a blessing, I can’t

thank him enough for what he’s done for us.
My father was admitted into the hospital, he’s
not doing well. It started with bad dreams,
before hallucinations. A stroke followed. My
mother would call me in the middle of the night
cursing and wishing me all the bad luck in the
world.
I won’t lie and say it doesn’t hurt, I cut ties with
both my parents.
Aunt Rebecca didn’t know what my parents
were up to, she knew there was a curse in the
family but not where it originated.
It turns out their siblings are also up to no good,
that’s why there is a thread of poverty,
unemployment and infertility in the family.

I have officially moved in with Ntaba, lobola

negotiations were finalised two months ago.
My parents were not informed about the
negotiations, I didn’t want them knowing.
There’s too much witchcraft going on in that
house, plus, they would’ve reminded me of
Bahle and the bride price he paid.
I don’t know where the guy is, neither do I care
to know. I’m better off without him and the
drama he comes with.
I’d like to think the party went well last night, I
don’t know about Nala. I’m surprised that she is
still here after the man she loves made it known
publicly that he will marry her sister as well.
I love my Ntaba but I will never agree to share
him, even if God himself comes down and tells
me that I have to share him with another person,
I would deny his request point blank.

“Khethiwe are you in there?” I hear him shouting

outside the door.
I wonder where he’s been, firstly he came home
late last night. There was something dark and
unsettling about him, he was less talkative.
When I woke up this morning, he wasn’t here.
“Yes,” I answer and finish making the bed.
I woke up at my own time today, I should be
ashamed of myself.
The door opens just as I put the last pillow on
the bed, his scent greets me first before I see
his face.
“You’re awake?”
What is he asking me? I’m offended.
“What did you expect? It’s after 10:00.” I say.
His eyes seem to be digging for something, it’s
the smirk on his face that bothers me. Does he
know that I woke up late?
“You were sleeping when I left?” He says,
walking in the room with dusty shoes.
I am not okay with what I’m seeing.
“Ntaba, I’m not going to spend the entire day
cleaning this room.” I want to push him outside
but he’s a rock.
“Yes, I know because today you are going on a
cruise ship.”
Mother-Father say what?
He’s taking out a suitcase from the wardrobe,
my eyes follow his every move until he’s
throwing my clothes on the bed.
“Can you repeat what you said? I’m not sure I
heard right.” I ask as he starts packing my
clothes.
“I thought you might need to get away for a
while, live a little before we get married. So I got
you tickets to a cruise ship to Pomene
Mozambique, Nala and the others will
accompany you.”
Shocked is not the word I’m looking for.
“Ntaba, when did you decide this?” Wrong
question. “We’re getting married next week, I
can’t just up and leave.”
“You’ll only be gone for seven days, Peaches. I’ll
be here when you get back.” He stops and looks
at me.
“You won’t be going alone, Koti and the ladies
will go with you.”
No, something is not right.
“It’s so sudden, plus we’re preparing for the
wedding. Why do you want me away? What’s
going on, Ntaba?”
His hands find my shoulders, he squeezes them.
“You are tense and under a lot of stress. So
much has happened Khethi, you disowning your
parents, finding out about the curse, and all the
muti that sangoma made you drink. You need a
break before you become my wife, I want you
fresh and energized the night of our wedding.”
He leans down, nuzzling my neck and pulls my
skin with his teeth, it sends shivers through
every bone in my body.
He feels and smells masculine, and clean.
Sometimes I pinch myself to see if I’m still
dreaming, if this Greek-God really chose me. It
feels like a dream most of the time.
“Nala and Koti have been through a lot as well,
please take care of them. Make sure they have
fun.” He folds his arms around my middle,
crushing me against him and showers my neck
with wet kisses.
I press my palms on his chest as I struggle to
control my giggles.
This man is too sly for my liking, he knows
which buttons to press.
“Fine, I will go.” The idiot in me whispers in
agreement.
The smile on his face must cost the entire
universe.
“I’m taking your card, right?” He smiles at my
question.
The only trip I’ve been to was uShaka Marine
world back in grade 09, my parents were never
interested in my school trips. ‘Too much money
wasted.’ My father would say.
My mouth opens to tell him how much I need,
but he shuts me up with a kiss. I don’t get these
every day, Ntaba is not the most romantic man
ever to live. Days like these should be cherished
like Ultramel on Christmas.
“You’ll never leave me, right Khethiwe?”
I look confused right now, why would he ask me
this?
“Will you ever give me a reason to leave you?”
For some reason my voice is accusing.
Ntaba doesn’t give me an answer, he nuzzles
my neck again, sniffing me.
“I’m only human,” his breath is warm on my skin.
I don’t know how I should feel about his answer.
.
.
NTABEZIKUDE-

He’s on the move again with his dusty shoes, he

left Khethiwe packing in the room. It was a
close call, he will need her gone while the family
attends Thethelela’s funeral. Khethiwe can’t
know about her death, she can’t know that she
was pregnant. He knows people will talk,
especially since Thethelela’s mother knew
about the baby. His Khethiwe is smart, she will
put two and two together and find him out.
Thethelela is still a threat even in her death.
He looks down at his feet, then at the door in
front of him and prays that Nandi is not in the
main house. She will shout if he walks into their
room with dusty feet.
He’s glad to find Mathonga in the dining room,
his brother looks terrible. Like he’s in the middle
of a storm.
As their eyes meet, Mathonga makes a
disgusted face.
“The smell of blood on you is too strong,” he’s
accusing him basically.
Ntaba scoffs and goes for the pantry, he finds
his favourite snack; chocolate flavoured
toppers before joining Mathonga at the table.
“What are you eating?” He’s judging the soft
porridge in his little brother’s plate, like he’s
eating anything better.
Mathonga has not removed his eyes from
Ntaba.
“How could you kill her Ntaba? Are you trying to
get yourself punished?”
The giant knows very well what Mathonga is
talking about, he’s never hidden who he is and
he sure as hell won’t start now.
“It’s not a big deal,” really, he just wants to eat
his toppers in peace.
“You killed your aunt, and say it’s not a big deal?
Are you kidding me?”
Ntaba is not one to kid, Mathonga should know
that by now.
And Khahlamba and Nomkhubulwane should
mind their own business. What right do they
have to show Mathonga his sins?
“That’s why I want Khethiwe out of the country, I
don’t want her knowing about Thethelela and
the baby.” Ntaba.
“Did the baby die too?” Mathonga asks.
As to why he sounds surprised is surprising,
Ntaba fills his mouth with two pieces of
biscuits and focuses on chewing than
answering his brother.

Perhaps he’s thinking, the news was that

Thethelela died at the hospital. His informant
said the mother and baby both died. He
wouldn’t lie to him, he pays him well. But, why is
Mathonga asking him this silly question?
“Thethelela and the baby didn’t make it, her
mother told me.” Says Nandi striding in with
two cups of tea, she places the cups on the
table.
Ntaba and Mathonga glance at each other, the
young one is reproaching his brother and
Ntaba… well he couldn’t be bothered.
Nandi stands with her hands on her hips, and a
sad look on her face.
“How did Thethelela get herself pregnant?
Bopha is still fresh in his grave and…”
Ntaba stands with his half eaten biscuits,
Thethelela is the last thing he wants to talk
about.
“I have a meeting, tell baba I said get better
soon.” He’s walking out as he leaves a message
for his father.
The meeting Vumile called should be peaceful
without Ntaba there.
.
.
.
He looks back at Alfred walking behind him and
gestures that he waits outside.
He wouldn’t be here if it were not for Mathonga,
his little brother looks like he’s fighting the
entire world singlehandedly.
It takes one knock for the door to slide open.
“What are you doing here?”
Amandla was never scared of him before he
became known as a serial killer… intimidated?
Maybe.
Now he makes every bone in her body freeze.
“MaCele, how are you?” He greets like he’s a
normal person in the head, the tilt of the head
has Amandla gulping. She has a hand on the
inside door handle, lest this man tries anything.
“Fine,” her answer is rushed.
The thing about Ntaba is that he can smell fear
from a distance and Amandla is drowning in
fear. He clears his throat, shoving his bloody
hands in his pockets.
“That’s good to know, are you going to let me
in?” Yeah, who would let a serial killer in their
home?
“I’m going out,” she’s cold.
Ntaba takes in the clothes on her body, she
looks like someone who is going fetch water at
the river.
“I won’t be long, don’t worry. His eyebrows rise
in question, he wants her to let him in. When
she doesn’t move a muscle, Ntaba pushes his
way in. Amandla is beside herself with shock,
her face says she’s trying to keep calm. The
door will remain open for the duration of this
conversation.
The tilted head and raised brows are back, it’s
because of the fear he sees in Amandla's eyes.
“If I wanted you dead MaCele, you wouldn’t be
standing in front of me right now.”
Now, why would be go and say something like
that?
Amandla remains quiet and stationery at the
door.
The giant is doing well, it’s important that he
speaks to her. Humans are not ants you’ll
sweep away because they are annoying.

“What do you want to do in life?” He asks.

It is a nice way to start, he plans on controlling
himself which is a good thing.
“Excuse me?” Amandla is stupefied.
“I know you didn’t do well in school, you have no
qualifications. The only thing you can add to
your CV is ‘Cashier at Sasol Garage.’ You must
have a vision.”
Sure she does, who doesn’t?
The lady blinks a couple of times as if
searching for an answer that won’t embarrass
her.
“Teaching.” She replies, a little hesitant.
“Come on MaCele, you must have bigger
dreams.”
How can she think when he’s looking at her with
those piercing eyes? It also does not help that
he’s intimidating.
“I don’t know, but I want to be rich.”
Her answer brings a smile to Ntaba’s face.
“Good, you want to be rich.” He removes his
hand from his pocket and scratches his chin.
The other hand comes out with a small white
envelope, he steps forward and hands it to her.
Her hand is shaky, but strong enough to hold
the envelope.
“There’s 3million in there,” he starts, ramming
his hands back into the pockets of his pants.
“In… in the envelope?” Amandla stammers, she
can’t be holding such a huge amount of money
in the palm of her hand.
“There’s a bank card with an available balance
of 3Million and it’s all yours,” Ntaba.
Her mouth drops farther down, what is this man
saying to her exactly?
“Plus a ticket to Dubai, your flight leaves
tonight.” Eh!
“I don’t understand,” Amandla says.
“You, MaCele are going to board a flight to
Dubai. You will start a new life there and forget
you ever met my brother.”
Now she gets it, why would he randomly visit
her? This man had no idea where she lived,
although she spent so many years with his
brother. Heck, he didn’t know she existed.
“Are you paying me to leave your brother?”
“No,” Ntaba’s headshake gives her the bad kind
of goose-bumps. “I’m giving you a safer way out,
it is better than being buried alive in a shallow
grave. Don’t you think, MaCele?”
He’s not threatening her, it’s his love language.
Those closest to him understand it. Amandla
has no business looking as terrified as she
does.

“Mathonga won’t agree to this, we’re going to

get married. That’s what your ancestors want.”
Of course she will dispute this, her love for
Mathonga is real.
“The ancestors want a lot of things, and my
brother won’t even notice that you’re gone. He
doesn’t love you MaCele, think of yourself.
Unrequited love will send you to your grave, will
you survive seeing Mathonga and Nala loving
each other, while you get nothing?”
“He will love me again, I know I’m still in his
heart.” There’s certainty in her voice, she is
confident about the love she once had.
Ntaba disagrees with a shake of the head.
“Don’t do that to yourself, don’t be that woman.
Mathonga is done with you, his ancestors are
forcing things. They think they know better
because they are on the other side of life. If you
marry my brother, you will never be happy. He’ll
only hold you back, I’m sure a beautiful girl like
you doesn’t want to be a housewife, popping
out babies from January to December.”
Amandla flaps her lashes, the look on her face
says she’s confused.
“What if I leave and he finds me? Your
ancestors will show him where I am, and I don’t
want bad luck. Going against ancestors will
only…”
“That’s all in your head,” Ntaba interjects as he
moves to the door. “Mathonga and his
ancestors will never stop me from making sure
my brother is happy. Even if my grandfather
breaks out of his grave to come find you, I will
send him back where he came from.”
Only a crazy person would say that.
Amandla makes sure to keep a safe distance
between her and Ntaba, she has no reason to
trust him.
Her eyes are curious as she watches him peep
outside and utters something. A man
materialises, making her heart react violently.
Her wide-gaze scans the room, looking for an
escape.
“Relax, he’s not going to harm you.” Ntaba says.
“This is Alfred, a friend of mine. He will
accompany you to Dubai, and make sure you’re
settled in. I’d love to come with but I’m getting
married.”
“Please let me talk to Mathonga first, I want to
say goodbye.” She deserves to bid him farewell
and maybe tell him she loves him one final time.
“Don’t worry, I have that sorted.” He winks as he
fishes for something in his pockets and reveals
a piece of paper. “I had the letter printed, so he
won’t question the handwriting.”
Amandla is defeated, there is no way out of this.
Ntaba has really thought it through and from
what she has heard, whatever this man wants,
he gets.
“To whom it may concern,” he starts to read.
Not wanting to hear the lies written in the letter,
Amandla presses her hands to her ears.
“Are you sure you don’t want to hear it? It is
rather juicy.” The bastard smirks.
“Don’t you fear God?” Amandla spits, glaring up
at him.
That’s a good question, he should at least fear
God.
There really is nothing to smile about, but Ntaba
has a huge one on his face. It disappears as
fast as it came, he towers over Amandla and
pecks her forehead.
“Ntokazi, I am god.”
And with that he’s gone like the wind.
Mathonga
Season Finale: Part 1.
.
.
MATHONGA-

The voices in my head won’t let me rest, anger,

complaints, and threats of death. I can’t really
articulate them, they are giving me a splitting
headache. I’m in my car, driving to god-knows-
where.
Surely there has to be a destination, I know the
forefather that lives in me has taken charge.
She is sending me somewhere, but I don’t know
where.
“I need to know what you’re saying, please calm
down.” I say through gritted teeth.
My head hurts when I speak, I can’t stand it. I’m
on the highway, driving through light traffic.
Where on this godforsaken earth are the
ancestors sending me?
My phone buzzes, signalling an incoming call.
It’s Vukuzakhe, I didn’t tell anyone before I felt
the house.
“Bhuti,” I answer, pressing the phone to my ear.
“Where did you go?”
I can’t tell him the truth, he’ll worry.
“Have you heard from Ntaba? He’s not taking
my calls.”
I hope he’s not planning on confronting him, I
didn’t tell him what Ntaba did for him to
interrogate the man.
“Let me call him, I’ll let you know once I’ve
spoken to him.” I’m tempted to tell him not to
go Chuck Norris on our brother, Vukuzakhe can
be a father sometimes—make you conform
involuntarily.
I have Ntaba’s number on speed dial, it’s ringing
but he’s not answering. Worry attacks me and
settles in, something is terribly wrong.
“Ntaba where are you?”
I try his phone again, it continues to ring
unanswered.
The voices in my head have not stopped, what
is it with Nomkhubulwane? She is usually blunt
and outspoken. There’s only one person that
can help me with this.

Bab’Manyanga answers his phone like he’s

been waiting for me.
“Mathonga, what nonsense has your brother
done? Your ancestors are seething, they are out
for blood.” This is how the old man greets, with
bad news.
“Bab’Manyanga, what do you mean they are out
for blood?” I ask.
“You know what I mean, it’s too late to fix it.
They have reprimanded Ntabezikude, ulaka
lwaba phansi lunzima ndodana. Their wrath
births tragedy.”
My head starts spinning, and the voices in it
increase. I’ll go deaf if this continues. I have to
slow down. I can’t pull over, they’ll think I’m
disobeying them.
“Baba, I’m not sure I get you. Is my brother safe?
And there are voices in my head, angry voices. I
can’t make out what they are saying, please
help me.” I’m desperate.
“Your ancestors are angry, there’s a war in the
spirit world. The old man and woman have
waged war against each other. Your brother is
in the middle of their wrath. One is for him and
the other against him.”
Bab’Manyanga is not making sense, he’s
actually making my throbbing head spin.
“Just allow them to take you where they are
leading you,” he continues to say.
“It better be to my brother, I can’t be doing
anything else. I’m too worried about Ntaba to
focus on other things.” I tell him in anger.
After knowing what Ntaba is capable of, I am
still baffled by what he has done. Where does
he get the courage to challenge the ancestors?
Does he know who he’s dealing with? Those
people don’t have favourites.
“Mathonga don’t be stubborn, do not play with
fire. You will not like the heat.” Eh. This old
man…
What do Nomkhubulwane and Khahlamba want
now? What are they fighting about? Could it be
about Thethelela’s baby? She too was a
Khanyile by marriage, it’s possible that their
death has angered them. Why won’t they show
me anything then?
I take a turn and instantly see the banner ‘King
Shaka International airport. Really? This is
where they have brought me? I leave the car,
ready to see why I’m at the airport.
What is Amandla doing here and with that old
man? Is this what they brought me here for? To
see Amandla’s shenanigans?
“Amandla?” she turns, glossy eyes and all.

.
.
That Alfred guy is annoyingly stubborn, I had to
threaten him to get him to back off. Amandla
has agreed to come with me, it didn’t take much
convincing. It’s not like I have any other choice,
the ancestors brought me here for her, or they
would have killed me. I can already hear people
discussing my cause of death.

‘What happened to him?’

‘He started saying headache, headache,
wathula.’

Amandla has made it clear that Ntaba scares

her, she didn’t want to take the money he
offered but Ntaba threatened her. I’m not even
mad at him, how can one be mad at a mentally
unstable person?

“Please take me to my grandmother’s house,

your brother will kill me when he sees me.”
Amandla says.
It’s understandable, a lot of people are terrified
of him after what he did to the Sangwenis.
“My brother is not home, I’ll drop you off at the
ranch before going to look for him.”
I’m only allowing this because Nala is leaving
today, she’s probably on her way right now.
Thobani will be staying with Zitha during her
absence.

“What if he comes back while I’m still there? I

don’t want to die Mathonga, I’m too young… I
haven’t lived yet.” She’s too dramatic.
“You’re not going to die Amandla.”
“But he gave me money and said I should leave
the country. I don’t want to fight. I want out of
this, please. I know that Ntaba is capable of
anything.”
“He’ll never hurt you, I promise.” He wouldn’t
hurt her. I might not be in love with Amandla
anymore but I still care about her. My brother
knows that and he wouldn’t do me like that.
“I want out,” Amandla randomly says.
I know what she’s talking about, it could be fear
talking. But I am glad to hear those words. I
decide to keep quiet and let her continue.
“I’m tired Mathonga, I loved you and dedicated
my life to you. But you have hurt me. You chose
Nala over me and you will continue to choose
her, no matter how hard I try.”
“Hurting you was never my intention, I swear on
the love we once shared. I care about you
Amandla and I want the best for you.” She
might not believe me but I am telling the truth.
I hear her scoff and sigh.
“How do I get myself out of this mess? I want to
be with you Mathonga, I want you to love me
but it’s all a dream. Wishful thinking. I don’t
want to be bitter and hateful towards my sister,
and you. Maybe it’s time I do my supplementary
exams and go to college or something. I want
to make something of myself, build a legacy for
my future self and generation.” She says.
If this is what she wants, I’m not going to
oppose it.
“Okay, there must be a way to appease the
ancestors. They will surely understand if we do
it the right way, I know who to talk to. We’ll
perform the ritual and set you free, but I want to
help you. I want to pay for your studies, help you
get back on your feet.” It’s the least I can do
after everything I have put her through.
I take her silence as a yes.
I’m not far in my thoughts when the voices in
my head come with a threat to split my
headache in two. I recoil, almost losing control
of the steering wheel.
“Mathonga?” I catch the question in my
Amandla’s voice. I’m too far in my head to
answer, struggling with the emotions
simmering beneath the surface. Images flash
between my eyes, I can’t make out a single
picture. It’s too bright, a blinding light.
I pull over on the side of the road and sprint of
out the car, dropping to my knees on the green
grass.
Ntaba’s face suddenly comes to light, he’s in a
car— driving 60mph. There’s loud music
blasting his speakers, a song from his
umzabalazo album collection. I’m not sure what
really happens next, but he’s losing control of
the car. The panic on his face is visible as the
car skids out of control, and crushes against a
tree— a direct impact.
“Ntaba!” In between heaving and this gut
punching vision, I hear myself scream.
Why am I being punished? I don’t want to see
this anymore.
I can still see him, he’s trapped in the
car—bleeding and barely able to move.
There’s smoke everywhere, everything forward
of the rear window is crushed and messed up.
The engine is shoved back into the glove
compartment, the entire front of the car is
almost unrecognisable.
“Not my brother please, you can’t take my
brother.” I’m screaming, facing skyward—palms
pressed on my temple.
As a spiritually gifted person, I should know this
is not how I ought to speak to my forefathers.
The vision clears away like nothing happened,
Amandla is looking at me as if I should be
locked up in a mental hospital.
“My phone is in the car,” I tell her.
She’s frozen, and staring with a wide gaze.
“Get me my phone in the car, Amandla.” My
voice raises a little, she flinches and runs back
to the car. I’m unable to move, or else I would
be speeding home.
Amandla is back with the phone, her hand
shakes as she hands it to me. I want to tell her
not to be afraid, but there’s no time for that. I
need to call home and tell them to find Ntaba.
“No one is answering their phone,” I don’t know
why I bother telling Amandla. She’s lost in
shock.
My hands are trembling as I redial my brothers’
numbers. What the hell is going on?
.
.
NTABEZIKUDE-

“Come home now.”

That was the order from his big brother over 50
minutes ago.
He had no choice but to drop everything and
head back to the house.
Vukuzakhe’s car is parked outside next to
Ndleleni’s, they haven’t left for Durban yet.
He walks into a full longue and his brows come
together in confusion as he sees Khethiwe and
the ladies squashed on a three seater couch.
Funokuhle is perched next to Vukuzakhe,
strapped to him like a belt to pants.
Ntaba cannot understand why Khethiwe is still
here, why they are all still here when he told
them to go.
Khethiwe is looking back at him, she wants to
say something but her shifty eyes keep finding
Vukuzakhe.
“KaMadonsela?” He addresses her, while
sauntering into the room.
“Don’t look at Khethiwe like that, I asked them
to stay.” Vukuzakhe is on his feet, scrutinising
the young giant under his gaze.
“Why?” Ntaba frowns at his brother.
He’s trying to stay calm, although his brother is
ruining his plans.
“Khethiwe is family now, there’s a funeral and
she needs to be here.” Vukuzakhe.
Ntaba turns his gaze to his wife, there’s fear in
her eyes. It could be fear of him or Vukuzakhe,
he’s not sure.
“KaMandonsela, you’re running late. Get your
things and go.” His voice is a deep rumble
crusted with authority, his eyebrows have
moved from their place, pulling his eyes up a bit.
Khethiwe stands, there’s uncertainty in her
movements.
“Ntabezikude!” The big brother has always been
stern, it solidifies with age.
Forget that he has a tiny voice, Vukuzakhe can
be intimidating and strict like a parent. He did
raise them and has every right to discipline
them.
“Khethiwe is my wife bhuti, if I say this has
nothing to do with her then please respect that.
If you want Koti to stay behind, then whatever. I
will not go against your decision, but my wife is
leaving for Mozambique.”
He takes notice of the anger laced on Zakhe’s
face, the jaw tick and dark eyes and heavy aura
permeating from him.
He is sure now that Vukuzakhe knows what he
did, Mathonga must’ve told him.
“Are you going against my word Ntaba?” The
man in question is graced with a frown, he
doesn’t move an inch when Vukuzakhe charges
at him.
It all happens so fast, Funokuhle is gripping his
hand. Ndleleni is in front of the elder, sporting
flaring nostrils and a puffed up chest.
“Get out of the way Ndleleni,” Vukuzakhe snaps.
He’d push but the minion has a tight grip on his
arms, Zakhe can feel how terrified the kid is
becoming.
“Please bhut’Zakhe, we won’t go. Just don’t do
anything to Ntaba, we won’t go.” Khethiwe
pleads her man’s case, however Ntaba is not
okay with her staying.
She can’t find out about the baby at any cost.
Nala, Banami and Kushi have never felt so
uncomfortable, they are on their feet as well,
waiting for the final word.
“You have ten minutes to get your bags and
leave,” the giggling giant says stubbornly.
“Let them go, bhuti. You know how stubborn
Ntabezikude is, he won’t back down.” Hlabela
says.
“That’s the problem Hlabela, we always use his
stubbornness as an excuse. That’s how he gets
away with every bullshit he does out there.”
Vukuzakhe.
The ladies are startled by his roar, meanwhile,
Funokuhle tightens his grip on his arm, silently
begging him to stay calm.
“I don’t think we should discuss this in front of
the women, please bhuti. Let them go to the
trip.” Ndleleni intervenes, refusing to move
aside.
He knows though that this will not stop
Vukuzakhe from getting to Ntaba.
An exhausted sigh escapes Vukuzakhe, he
yanks his arm from the minion and rubs his
hands together.
“Go,” Vukuzakhe says.
The ladies understand the order is for them.
Each to their own but Nala.
Ndleleni offers to walk Banami out, Hlabela and
his wife follow suit. Khethiwe has pulled Ntaba
aside.
“Please don’t say anything that will get you in
trouble with your brother.” She means, try not to
get hit.
“I’ll be fine, you should go.” Ntaba says.
Does no one get that this is an emergency?
She’d kiss him goodbye, but Vukuzakhe is
staring.
“Take care of yourself, I don’t know what I will
do if anything happens to you.” She knows what
she will do. It involves a coffin and after-tears.
Their hug is brief.

Vukuzakhe has Funokuhle in a tight embrace.

Why not, when he’ll be seeing his person after
seven days?
“Don’t be hard on your brother,” Funokuhle
implores against his ear.
It’s a dazing moment for Zakhe, this is the same
Funokuhle who hated Ntaba months back.
He pulls out of the embrace to kiss his lips.
“Don’t be gone for too long,” Zakhe can be
needy at times not that Funo is complaining.
“I love you,” Funokuhle confesses, burying his
face on Zakhe’s chest. Khanyile kisses the top
of his head and suffocates him in a bear hug.
“I love you too, Kid.”
Once the room is cleared of anyone who is not
a Khanyile, Vukuzakhe turns his attention back
to Ntabezikude.
“How far are you willing to tarnish your father’s
reputation?” Zakhe is asking the unbothered
brother who’s standing with folded arms over
his chest.
“What did I do?” Ntaba answers with a shrug, he
sounds like a child being accused of stealing
sweets.
“What did you?” Zakhe scoffs. “Ntabezikude,
you got away with killing Funokuhle’s family
only because the ancestors were part of it. But
that is no excuse for you to go around killing
people, what the hell is wrong with you?”
“Not everyone deserves to live bhuti,” a careless
shrug as he scratches his five o'clock shadow.
“I did what I had to do.”
“You killed your child, are you aware of that?”
Zakhe is slowly losing his mind, he tries to not
show it.
“Who said the kid was mine? Besides, I saved it
from the evils of this world, it would’ve died
anyway.” Ntaba speaks like a man who does
not care about anyone.
Vumile is not well and he needs to take over as
the older brother.
Taking over means putting the younger ones in
line, it means slapping them when he feels they
are too stubborn. The back-hand slap he
rewards Ntaba creates shocked silence in the
room.
Hlabela and Ndleleni try to intervene but Zakhe
is not having it.
“Do you know what you have done?” He asks
the third born, landing another back-hand slap
on the other cheek. It has Ntaba stumbling
backwards, he’s expressionless, giving no flying
cow.
“You killed one of your own Ntabezikude, how
could you be so heartless? Will you be able to
face the repercussions of your actions?” He
slaps him for the third time and the forth and
the fifth, the giant finally tumbles to the ground
and only then does he raise a hand to nurse one
of his throbbing cheeks.
“What about Khethiwe? Did you stop to think of
her, if your sins will fall upon her?” Zakhe asks,
towering over him.

Ntaba has not looked Vukuzakhe in the eye, his

gaze is lowered. There’s an incoming wrath
surging through his veins, he can never act on it,
Vukuzakhe is his elder. He deems him higher
than his own father Vumile.
“Are you even sorry for what you did?” Zakhe
asks.
Not once has he raised his voice at him, that’s
how he raised his brothers. They never listened
when he shouted, calmness was always the key.
It still is.
“Look at me,” Zakhe snaps and leans down to
grab him by the hood of his sweatshirt. Ntaba
lifts his empty eyes to his brother.
“I asked you a question.” Zakhe grunts.
“No,” is Ntaba’s answer.
The muscles along Zakhe’s jaw flick angrily, he
scurries behind the couch and comes back with
a sjambok.
“Bhuti, no.” Hlabela jumps in, shocked to the
core.
“You can’t do that Zakhe, he’s your brother.”
Ndleleni adds.
Vukuzakhe ignores their complaints, his blazing
eyes are on Ntaba who is on his feet now. The
giggling giant is doing what he’s notorious for;
giggling. He stops and averts his eyes
elsewhere at the scolding in Zakhe’s eyes.
Vukuzakhe hesitates a second, he thinks of not
affording his brother any sympathy.
The rage simmering in him just won’t allow him
to, he lifts his hand and whips Ntaba on his side.
The giant hisses in pain and runs to the other
side of the couch, he’s not fast enough, the
sjambok lands on his back. He arches his back,
trying to sooth the pain with his long fingers.
“Vukuzakhe stop, please.” Hlabela is behind him,
Ndleleni has left to call for help. Only Vumile
can stop this nonsense.
Ntaba jumps over the couch he thought would
shelter him, but Zakhe is right behind him.
Landing the whip anywhere on Ntaba’s body.
“Vukuzakhe stop,” Ntaba growls.
His instruction falls on deaf ears, Vukuzakhe
doesn’t think he’s had enough. Ntaba is
scuttling towards the kitchen, with plans to run
out of the house. But the next whip that lands
on his back throws him on the floor, a humpty-
dumpty fall it is.
For the first time, fear has painted his eyes.
He’s looking up at Vukuzakhe, hovering over
him.
Hlabela has given up, he folds his hands on his
head and sighs in exasperation.
“What kind of a human being are you,
Ntabezikude? You kill your own child? A
Khanyile and say you’re not sorry.” Vukuzakhe.
“He was going to be a problem between me and
Khethiwe. I couldn’t allow that, I would never let
anyone come between us.” Ntaba justifies his
actions.
It sounds so perfect in his head.
The eyes gazing down at him are condemning
him as a person, looking at him like he’s lost all
his marbles.
“That is a stupid excuse, are you going to kill
everyone who threatens your union with
Khethiwe?” Zakhe is heaving, tired from running
after his giant of a brother.
“Yes,” Ntaba replies honestly.
You spoil a rod, you spoil a child. That’s
something Vukuzakhe is not going to do. He
continues to thrash his little brother, it’s a form
of discipline. Ntaba is curled up on the floor,
taking every painful lash like a man. He is not
weak to be taken down by another man. But
Zakhe is not another man, he’s his big brother,
the one who loved him when his parents
couldn’t. He respects and worships zakhe, like
he does Hlabela.
“Vukuzakhe!” Vumile growls, he’s behind him.
Ndleleni came back with help, two actually.
Nandi is here too.
“That’s enough.” Vumile.
Zakhe has stopped mid-way, there’s an eye lock
moment between him and Ntaba. He wants to
help Ntaba up but that will be the same as
giving him permission to repeat his mistakes.

The sjambok drops to the floor, right where

Ntaba is. Vukuzakhe steps back, he’s sweating
pearls.
Hlabela offers Ntaba a hand.
“I’m fine,” he rejects it and tries to stand on his
own. It takes a while to get his tree-self to stand
up straight.
“Ntaba are you okay?” Nandi is worried.
They are looking at his back, as he’s limping his
way towards the fridge and gives her a thumbs
up. He has to hold on to the wall to maintain his
balance.
“Ndoda, where are you going?” Hlabela shouts,
he’s ignored.
Ntaba winces in pain, pulling the fridge door
open.
He dips his head in and takes out a cartoon of
pineapple flavoured Mageu. He shakes the box,
before gulping down a measurable amount.
He doesn’t turn to his family, but limps out
through the kitchen exit, and slams the door
behind him.
“Let him go, he’ll be back.” Vukuzakhe says and
exits using the other door. The others are left
dumbfounded.
.
.
MATHONGA-
Season Finale: part 2
.
.
MATHONGA-

Looks can be deceiving, you’d swear

Bab’Manyanga is a clean freak when you meet
him on the street. His consultation room looks
so shabby, something I didn’t expect.
“Sit down,” he instructs us and keeps his
inquisitive gaze on Amandla.
“Sit with your legs straight young lady,” the
sangoma tells her.
Amandla appears to panic a bit before she
stretches her legs forward.
Her agitation is understandable, she grew up in
the Sabbath. Ancestors are a topic that is never
to be touched. God is a jealous God— one of the
ten commands.
You do not put other gods before him.
“Your grandmother blames herself for what
your mother did to you, she wants to make up
for it and that’s by getting you married to the
man you love.” Bab’Manyanga says.
After throwing his bones this is what he gives
us? Another thing, what does Amandla’s
grandmother have to do with my ancestors?
“How is that possible baba? I was told by my
ancestors that I should marry Amandla.” I state
judgementally because what he just said makes
no sense.
He regards me with judging eyes.
Please, I’m new to this. Besides, if
Nomkhubulwane and crew saw it fit to fill me in
on many things, I wouldn’t be here seeking help
from other people’s ancestors.
“Did they give you a reason why?” I don’t know if
he’s trying to intimidate me with that look, or I’m
solely intimidated by him.
“They didn’t.” I say and drop my eyes when
disappointment flashes in his.
“You should know better, ndodana. Ancestors
know everything, but they still want you to
communicate with them. Tell them what’s on
your mind, ask questions if you have to.
Communicate with them.” He says.
“I know baba,” not really. I want him to get off
my case and tell us where to go from here. I will
talk to Nomkhubulwane later, my brother is in
the hospital, I need to go and see him.
“Gog’MaCele was able to find favor in the eyes
of the great Khanyiles. She pleaded for her
granddaughter to be considered and her
request was heard.”
I’m not sure I follow what he’s saying.
“How was Gog’MaCele able to communicate
with my ancestors? Amandla and I are not
married neither do we have a child together.”
“Did you not take the girl’s virtue?”
Bab’Manyanga asks.
What does that have to do with all of this?
Amandla clears her throat, she’s uncomfortable.
“People who date do that baba, we don’t wait
for marriage like they did in the old days. But
having sex with someone you’re dating does
not mean you are tied to them for life.” That’s
my theory, I don’t know how my forefathers feel
about it.
“I know how you youngsters do things, you need
to be careful who you sleep with ndodana. You
too young lady. You don’t know what people are
carrying out there. Soul ties are nothing to be
taken lightly, ucansi is not something to be
taken lightly like you people do.”
It feels strange to be having this conversation
with Bab’Manyanga, he’s suddenly become a
father and temporarily ceased to be a sangoma.
Very unnecessary, we need a sangoma not a
father.
“I hear you baba, but how can they agree to
such a big thing without my approval? Do I not
have a say in what happens in my life? I’m not
the first guy to have an ex-girlfriend. Why am I
being punished for having once loved a girl?”
Amandla eyes me, she’s hurt by my choice of
words. Directness was not what I was going for,
my heart decided to sign an agreement with my
mouth to assassinate me.
“It is not a punishment Mathonga,”
Bab’Manyanga chides. “Never question the
gods, they are wiser than us.”
Not from where I’m standing.
“Is there a way to change their minds? Amandla
is not alone, I will never abandon her. I will make
sure she has everything she needs in life, but I
don’t have to marry her in order for that to
happen.
Gog’MaCele will have to forgive me, I can’t give
her what she wants.”
The woman hated me when she was still alive,
her granddaughter was too good for me. How
did Nomkhubulwane agree to this?
“Like I said, you should’ve asked why they want
you to marry her and told them you were
against it. Instead, you cried like a baby and
threatened to kill yourself.” Blunt aren’t we?
“I’m new at this baba, but I will try to
communicate next time. I will ask when I have
questions.” I tell him, feeling a bit relieved that
this matter can be resolved.
“Is there a way to talk to my grandmother?
There is so much I need to tell her.” Tears have
come to Amandla’s eyes.
“There is, first let’s sort out the issue at hand.”
Bab’Manyanga says.
That’s what we are here for.
He instructs us on what to do and buy, and tells
us to come tomorrow.

Now that that’s done, I can rush to the hospital

to see Ntaba. The call came in when we were
scattered all over the village searching for him.
His car crashed into a big tree like I had seen in
the vision. The accident was close to fatal,
almost claiming his life. He hasn’t woken up yet,
the doctors don’t seem to have hope.
*He’s going to be okay.*
The mantra lives rent free in my head, he’s all I
ever think about, no matter where I am.
Two weeks later, the media still won’t leave us
alone. The news of the accident is all over every
news channel.
Khethiwe has it the hardest, they should be
married by now and figuring out life in the
prison of marriage.
“Are we going to buy the items today?”
Amandla asks.
“I thought you had a date with Nala?”
That’s what Nala had told me, they are working
things out. In a way I’m relieved, I wouldn’t want
to be the reason behind their squabbles. They
are both orphans, their relationship should
come first.
“There’s still time, we’re meeting up at 6pm.”
Amandla.
“I have to go see my brother, let’s reschedule
for tomorrow.”
She nods and looks out the window.
Silence falls between us, we have a lot of these
awkward moments lately. I turn the radio on to
ignore the fat elephant crowding us.
.
.

NTABEZIKUDE-

Pain!
A splitting headache is what welcomes him, he
can barely flap his eyes open. The next thing
he’s introduced to is the surface he’s lying on,
his brain tells him it’s a bed, he is immediately
aware that it’s not his. His bed feels softer, and
his bedsheets smell like Khethiwe.
Khethiwe!
She should be back from the vacation, he opens
his mouth to speak but there’s something stuck
down his throat. He gags and his brain sends a
message to his hand to pull whatever it is out.
Why can’t he move?
Panic!
He thinks he’s dreaming because there is no
way he can’t move. He loses track of his
breathing, as he tries to get his muscles to toe
the line- follow his instructions.
“Ntaba?” The voice of the one to cross his mind
first, calls out. She’s here—with him. “You came
back to us, I told them you would but no one
wanted to believe me.”
That’s probably not what happened.
Her arms are warm around him, they should be
calming him down. But confusion won’t
abandon him, his brain won’t stop reminding
him that his muscles feel dead.
“Your brothers are outside, I’m going to get
them and the doctor.” She says.
Doctor? That could mean he’s in the hospital?
It feels like Khethiwe has been gone for a
century, his eyes are heavy, dragging him back
into a deep slumber. Like the fighter he is, he
keeps them open and on the door where his
Peaches disappeared.
The sound of many footsteps trampling on the
ground are too loud in his ears and bring a deep
frown to his face. His hospital room is crowded
before he knows it, the faces are familiar except
one of a potbellied, medium-height man in blue
scrubs.

“Mr. Khanyile, we’ve been waiting for you.” What

a way to start the day, having your family name
butchered by a white man.
There must be something amusing about the
state he’s in, otherwise the doctor wouldn’t be
smiling like a fool. Maybe, he’s getting a raise
for saving a life.
Ntaba wants to push the doctor’s hand away
when he forces his eyes open and flashes a
bright light in them, as a doctor he should know
that his patient is suffering from a headache.
“How many fingers am I holding up? I want you
to hold your fingers up if you can hear me.” The
doctor again, holding two fingers up.
Ntaba doesn’t care, he’s not in crèche to be
asked such a senseless question. His
stubbornness has a question for the doctor, like,
why is there a tube thingy plunged down his
throat?
Why is he connected to so many machines?
Why can’t he move? And can the doctor turn off
that bloody beeping sound? It’s torture to his
splitting headache.
All his brothers are here, along with Nandi and
they are watching with big eyes as the doctor
moves to his feet with a worried frown on his
face.
“Yesterday you said he can hear us, why won’t
he respond to you then?” Worry is present in
Nandi’s voice.
It’s a hint for Ntaba, he needs to follow the
instructions so his family knows he’s okay. He
thinks he’s okay, he is after all Ntabezikude
Khanyile.
“Nod for me if you can feel this.” The doctor
says, totally ignoring the patient’s stepmother.
Ntaba waits to feel this thing he’s supposed to
feel according to the doctor.
Why is everyone gawking at him in expectation?
The doctor is the one in charge.
“I’ll try the other leg,” says the doctor.
Ntaba’s frown deepens further, he wants to ask
the doctor why he’s not feeling anything. The
bloody tube in his throat prevents him from
uttering a word.
“He’s supposed to be feeling something, right
doc?” Mathonga asks.
“You’re not poking harder, poke harder
dokotela.” Hlabela snaps.
“Wedokotela, you’re tickling the feet of a black
man, they are hard as a rock. How will he feel
anything?” Ndleleni shifts closer and snatches
the needle from the annoyed looking doctor. He
pushes the needle into Ntaba’s heel, there’s no
movement but a small drop of blood peeks out.
“Do it again Ndleleni, he didn’t feel it the first
time.” Vukuzakhe says.
Panic has settled in all the brothers, so deep
they can’t help but freak out.
“You can’t do this,” the doctor snatches the
needle back, chiding Ndleleni with a frown. “It
doesn’t work like that, I’m not trying to make the
patient bleed. That’s exactly what will happen if
I plunge this needle in his foot.”
Doc is frustrated, being grilled by giant Zulu
men towering over him is stressful enough.
“Is he going to be okay though? Will he ever feel
his legs?” Khethiwe questions.
She’s crying and Ntaba’s not okay with it, there
has to be a way to tell her to stop. That he’s
here and she’ll never shed a tear as long as he’s
alive, but his vision is plummeting.
It must be because of the unbearable headache,
he tries to retrace the cause. Nothing comes to
him, something must have happened for him to
end up in here.
“We can talk outside, I don’t want to say
anything that will upset the patient.” Are all
doctors so frustrating?
Ntaba also needs to know why he can’t move
his legs.
“What are you not telling us doctor? Will my
husband ever be able to use his legs?”
Khethiwe’s question has the doctor sighing,
he’s realized he’s dealing with a stubborn crowd.
“No, that can’t be possible. Ntaba is a Khanyile,
we are stronger than lions.” Ndleleni says with
confidence, his brothers begin to add their two
cents and ignore the white man who has turned
red from irritation.
The noise is too much for Ntaba’s headache.
The complaining voices begin to fade,
eventually they become background noise. He’s
grown tired, his eyelids feel heavier each time
he blinks. He doesn’t want to sleep, what if he
doesn’t wake up? Fear dares to test him. He’s a
stranger to fear, just like he’s a Stranger To
Love.
MATHONGA-
Season Finale: Part 3
.
.

NALA-

I’ve had my suspicions for weeks now, I guess I

was too afraid to confirm it. The doctor had a
huge smile on his face when he told me the
news, I couldn’t return it. Why would I when it’s
the last thing I expected?
I don’t know about Mathonga, he’s never
tackled the topic before. Having a child is a big
step, there’s a human growing in my womb. It’s
been in there for six weeks. It scares me that I
will be responsible for another human, a human
that will completely change my life.
It was different with Thabani and Thobani,
Mam’Julie had taken the role of mothering
them. Although she did a crappy job, in the first
few years she was there and hands on.

After a good wipe, I pull my panties up, wash

my hands and head back to the bedroom. He’s
hidden under the covers.
“Baby,” I wake him up with a kiss. He stirs and
turns with a soft smile, his arms capture me
and pull me into him.
“What time is it? You should be in bed, I don’t
want you falling sick.” His voice is scratchy and
hoarse.
“I didn’t know getting up early can make a
person sick.” I’m actually questioning him. His
tired eyes come to life, I’m tempted to iron out
the crinkled brows.
“I’m feeling cold, can I wrap myself with my
favorite blanket?” Mathonga says, pressing his
pair of lips against my ear.
“Wow, and the award for the most romantic
man in the world goes to chief Mathonga.” I’m
unfortunate… a blanket, of all things?
He’s laughing, I am spent. His hand slithers
beneath my pyjama top to caress my breasts,
I’m given a seductive look as he pushes the top
up to my neck. He’s looking at them the way I
look at food when I’m hungry.
“What are you doing?”
The feel of his hand rubbing my breasts makes
me shiver pleasantly.
“Your boobs are bigger, I love them.”
What do I say to this?
“Why are they so hard?” He asks.
Should I tell him there’s milk in there? It would
be a good way to tell him we’re going to be
parents.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think there’s milk in
there.” The smirk tells me he knows. “Let me
suck and see.”
This moron is actually sucking my boobs, hard.
“Mathonga stop, are you crazy?”
“I want to see the milk.” He’s smiling up at me.
“Why would you think there’d be milk in them?”
Spiritually gifted people know our secrets,
what’s the use in hiding things from them?
“You can never hide anything from me, Nala.”
“I wasn’t hiding anything, I just found out
yesterday. I was looking for the right time to tell
you… today seemed suitable.” I’m explaining
more than I should, aren’t I?
He puts his lips on mine, chills go up and down
my spine.
“I’m terrified as you are, but we’re together in
this. We will figure it out, when we feel it’s
becoming too much, we’ll hand the baby over to
Nandi.”
He’s crazy, Nandi has a sick husband to take
care of.

The couple will be travelling to Greece after the

wedding, they want to add to their memories
together.
“We will do no such thing, it’s our mess and we
are dealing with it.” I debate.
I want to do this right, for my child. I want to
give them everything and love them
unconditionally.
Studying through Unisa is so fitting, especially
now that I’m expecting. I’ll think about work
after the birth of our child, this one wants me at
the Khanyile Holdings offices. Isn’t nepotism a
crime? Still, I don’t want to work in the same
building as him, we’ll bore each other if we’re
together all the time.
“Can you massage my feet? It feels like I’ve
been standing for hours.” He denies my request
by pushing me off him. I’ll excuse it, he's been
lying down for too long, a man must sit.
“Yoh, Nala!”
Please don’t get it twisted, he’s not really a lazy
person. My feet aren’t even sore, I’m testing the
waters, preparing him for when I’m heavy with
swollen feet.

“Are you okay with being a father?” I need him

to be okay with it because my baby is not going
anywhere.
“I don’t know, I think I’m doing okay with
Thobani. We get along pretty well.”
Okay! I didn’t expect him to bring my brother up,
all this while I thought he saw him as that; my
brother.
“Do you think he would like it if I asked him to
call me dad?”
Wow! This man continues to win my heart with
every breath he takes.
“Thobani would love that, he’s never had a
father figure in his life.” For his beautiful soul, I
allow the temptation to place a kiss on his
cheek.
He looks in to my eyes, a reason for my heart to
leap with joy.
“I can’t lie, I’m afraid of getting married. The
thought is pretty scary, then again, I want you
as my wife and the mother of my kids. There’s
no one else I’d rather knock up than you
MaShange.”
“Knock up?” I question, taking an Indian style
sitting position while judging him with narrowed
eyes.
“Isn’t that what I did?” In his head, knocked up
sounds normal.
I’m startled when he shifts and gently lands on
top of me, his body pressing me down. He has a
tight grip on my waist.
“Mashange wam. May I put another baby in
your womb? We’ll have twins, two is always
better than one.” He says, pressing his face
onto my chest.
That’s not how it works, my womb is booked for
the next nine months. Nothing goes in, but I’m
not going to tell him that. Let him act a fool for
a while.
“We can’t have sex before you give Ntaba his
bath and massage.” I dodge his lips, trying to
push him off me.
This giant believes he has rights over my body
because of love.
Anyways, Ntaba came home last week after
spending two months in the hospital, his legs
aren’t working. Mathonga was instructed by his
great- ancestors to gather certain types of
herbs and add them into Ntaba’s bath,
Mathonga is the only one who is allowed to
touch the water.
“I already did, he woke up early today.” He
answers.
How early is early? It’s only fifteen minutes after
8:00.

He glides a hand to my nape, takes hold of my

neck and pulls me in toward his lips.
We strip each other naked, our lips meeting
gracefully and hands wandering over heated
skin. I spread my legs wider to make enough
space for him to fit in.
Hungry kisses travel down my chest, and linger
on my breasts. The sounds escaping my lips
should have me hiding away, but I don’t want to
care about that right now. I’m craving the
intimacy.
He penetrates me without a condom, this is
what got us into where we are. I’d have to tell
him when we’re done with this marathon. If I
could pay him with love for his sweet strokes,
he’d be the most loved man in the world.
My throat is heaving with each breath, his body
covering my breasts and his erection plunged
fully and deliciously inside me. His touches are
dignified and slowly driving me insane. He
moves like a mad man at my desperate behest
not to hold back.
I can only gasp when he pushes deeper, sinking
me into the mattress. I’m a tad bit surprised by
his change of rhythm, he’s not pleasing me
anymore. It never takes this long for him to hit
my g-spot, I’m starting to worry, yet he’s clearly
having a blast.
This man is enjoying every second, pounding
me harder, with eyes tightly shut.
“Let me have this one baby, I promise to make it
up to you.” He’s groaning as he races to the end.
My life ends with the last drop of his semen
spilling inside me.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry.” He’s heaving against my
neck like an overused hairdryer.
“How could you do that?” I ask.
I am shocked, this has to be the biggest sin
ever committed.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t take you with me, I was so
close I had to ejaculate.”
“What about my morning glory?” I push his
sweaty body off me and kneel on the bed. Lucky
bastard. I didn’t even get to sweat.
“It won’t happen again, I promise. I got too
excited and burst.” That’s his explanation?
He looks like a fool with that ugly grin on his
face.
“I’m going to bath,” I’m done talking to him for
the day. Like a shameless woman, I’m walking
around naked, the evidence of his betrayal
dripping down my thighs.
“Can I join you? We can continue from where we
left off.” The sarcasm in his tone is the last
straw for me.
He jumps off the bed, against my will my eyes
land on his dangling shaft. I’m angry with it as
well.
“Stay away from me, you and your selfish…
selfish stick made in China.” I storm out.
I should’ve called it a short pencil. My brain is
always on vacation I hate it. I leave him
laughing like a fool. He must stop breathing for
two seconds.

He’s out of bed, wrapped in a white towel and

typing away on his phone when I exit the
bathroom. He’s so engrossed on it that he
doesn’t sense my presence.
Mathonga hardly ever uses his phone, unless
he’s talking to his brothers. It can’t be them
because they are around here somewhere.
“Is everything okay?” He catches my question
as I walk past him, headed to the dressing table
to lotion my body.
“Y… yeah!”
You know a man is up to no good when he
stutters, it’s not that I don’t trust him. I’m only
human and it’s normal for me to feel jealous,
especially when there’s another woman out
there who will always love my man.
I feel him standing behind me, I’m not going to
turn around. This man owes me an orgasm and
my goal in life is to remind him at every waking
moment.

“Amandla texted,” he starts.

I knew it was her.
Amandla relocated to Dubai, it was her decision.
Our relationship is okay, a little awkward at
times but we will be better than okay.
“Dubai is treating her well.” He adds, his tone
undecided.
“I’ll call her later.” That’s my final answer.
Matter of fact, I have nothing to discuss with
him concerning Amandla.
I don’t hate my sister, I just happen to think her
friendship with her ex-boyfriend who happens
to be my fiancé should be nonexistent. This
comes from deep in my heart, no girl wants to
share her man, not even with his mother.

My ears are ringing with a piercing silence as a

long tense moment moves past us. His
presence is heavy behind me.

“MaShange, will you make me a permanent

resident in your heart?”
What is he… Oh my God! He’s on one knee,
looking up at me.
“What are you doing?” It can’t be what I think it
is.
“I love you and I want to put a stamp on it,” a
nervous smile loiters on his face. “What do you
say Nala? Let’s do life together.”
He holds up something, a string. It’s orange in
color and… it’s a string from the sack used to
store oranges. We use that to clean the bathtub
and sink, he must be asking me to throw it away
because wow…
“What do you say? Let’s get married?” He’s
holding his breath, it’s easily detectable. That
fear of getting married he spoke about
harasses me, for a while I think I know what he
meant. Maybe I am afraid too, maybe it’s not all
glitz and glamour. Fear put aside, I love
Mathonga. I’m his and he’s mine. Maybe this is
the reason I agree to be his wife.
“Yes, I will marry you.” The smile on my face
shows what’s in my heart.
Lord have mercy, I’m stretching my hand out for
him to tie the string on my ring finger.
Mathonga stands and kisses me softly, he
looks into my eyes and kisses me once again.
“I’ll buy the ring soon,” he says pulling me closer
to him and locking me in a tight hug.
I’ll believe the ring story when he buys it,
Khethiwe is getting married on Saturday, yet
she still has no engagement ring. These
Khanyile men are something else.
.
.
MATHONGA-

No one had anticipated what has befallen baba,

we spend as much time with him as we can.
The symptoms have improved, due to the
medication and management strategies he’s
undergoing.
We have hope that he will be fine, if only the
great Khanyiles can step in and heal him. I know
Alzheimer’s disease is incurable, I also know
that with God, nothing is impossible.
I will never stop praying for him.
Today, like every day, under Nomkhubulwane’s
instructions, I’m taking Ntaba for a stroll in the
bush. It’s imperative he inhales fresh air and the
smell of trees, it’s part of his healing process.
He doesn’t get it, nor does he see any results.
As long as my guides can see it, then we will
continue till we see the results.
“Are you ready?” Ntaba glares up at me and
shrugs. “Same answer as every day, but we’re
still doing this ndoda. Let’s go, the forest awaits.
You need to be refreshed on Saturday, Khethiwe
will not marry a zombie.”
“What’s the point? We’ve been doing this for a
while and nothing has changed.” Ntaba.
“Hey, put a smile on that face. Or you will push
yourself today.” I won’t really do that to him.
It’s hard for me to get used to the snappy and
grumpy Ntaba, his stinking attitude can be a lot
sometimes. It’s understandable though, I can’t
imagine how he feels each time he has to sit on
the wheelchair.
He ignores me like he does most of the time
and focuses on putting on a cap to shield
himself from the sun.
It’s mid-day, a perfect time for the sun to show
off.

“She loves you,” I remind Ntaba as I push his

wheelchair towards the back of the ranch.
“Who?”
“Ugogo.” She’s not his favorite topic, he knows
there is a higher power but refuses to believe in
it.
“Why put me in a wheelchair if she loves me?”
“You know why ndoda, the things you did. You
almost killed your own blood.”
He looks up at me, I can’t see his eyes through
the dark shades covering them.
“Almost?” He asks.
“I think Thethelela’s mother lied to us, the baby
didn’t cross over. It could only mean that he’s
alive, you need to find the baby and do right by
it.”
“I’m not going to do that, after everything I have
done to stop that woman from ruining my plans
with Khethiwe. I can’t… I know how she felt
about Thethelela.”
“How sure are you that Khethiwe won’t forgive
you? She has a pure heart Ntaba, have you
forgotten that she is the same woman who put
up with your nonsense for so long? She stayed
when you couldn’t love her, today you’re able to
feel because of her. Give her a chance, give the
baby a chance.” There has to be a way to
smack the truth into his stubborn skull.
“Yeah, KaMadonsela is special.” He laughs for
the first in months, I didn’t realize he had a nice
one until today.
“Then don’t be stingy with her, share her with
the baby. Bring the child home, give her your
surname, it’s what your forefathers want. I don’t
want their wrath falling upon you, you’re my
brother. Do you think I love seeing you this
helpless?”
When Ntaba takes too long in his silence, he
never comes back. I’m not going to push him,
he’s old enough to take my advice and ponder
on it.

“By the way, I’m going to be a father.” He’s the

first person I’m telling.
“Asbonge ndoda, you’re finally growing up.”
“I grew up long ago, it’s you who treated me like
a child.” It’s my brothers’ love language, I will
never complain about it.
“I’m happy for you Thonga lam, you are a good
man. Your child will be lucky to have a father
like you.” Ntaba.
I’m utterly at a loss for words.
“Just like Sponono will be lucky to have you as
a father,” I’m rubbing salt on an open wound.
This is what my guide expects from me, I have
to pass the message no matter how
hardheaded the receiver may be.
“Who the hell is Sponono?” He’s laughing again.
“Your baby, she is a Khanyile, surely she is the
most beautiful girl in the world.”
Again, he has nothing to say about this matter.
His body is sagging on the wheelchair, to put
him in a good, I tell him about my engagement.
He’s excited and worried at the same time, he
thinks we’re rushing things. If my decision to
marry Nala is wrong, I trust my elders to let me
know.

We pass through the graves on our way to the

forest, the morning air is refreshing—a bit chilly
but bearable.
“Can you stop here?” He says, removing his
black cap.
We’re in front of Khahlamba’s grave, there is no
tombstone, just a flat surface and a pile of
rocks. I want to have tombstones put on their
graves, perform a ceremony just to please them.
They are our elders and deserve to be taken
care of.
Just like you should never wear a hat in the
house, you don’t do wear one in front of elders. I
shove it in the pocket of my pants.
“Do you think he’s still mad at me?” A lump
forms on my throat, I don’t know how to answer
Ntaba’s question.
“I can tell you that Nomkhubulwane is not, she’s
always with you.” Me.
Her grave is at the far end, right where the
graves start. The grave yard is huge, the
Khanyiles are a nation on their own.
“Talk to him and tell him how you feel.”
Khahlamba wouldn’t ignore him after this.
“I don’t know how it’s done. What do I say to
someone I cannot see?” He asks.
“You might not see him but he sees you,” well, I
believe so.
“You mean he’s here… with us?”
I want to laugh at the fear in his voice and how
he’s frantically scanning our surroundings. He
can’t still be afraid of ghosts.
“Relax ndoda, he’s not a ghost. Tell him
anything that’s in your heart,” silence joins us.
He’s crushing the cap in his hand, a nervous
trait I’ve come to take note of.

“I’m scared,” he mumbles but I heard him.

“Khehla lam, I was unfortunate to be born in an
era where you didn’t exist. You didn’t have to die
so young you know? Couldn’t you wait a few
more years, I was going to find you here and
learn so much from you.” Ntaba
From what I have heard, Khahlamba was in his
60’s when he died. That’s not young in my
books but whatever strokes Ntaba’s ego.
“I wish you were here to guide me, and show me
the way through life. I’m not justifying my
actions Khehla lam’, but maybe your upbringing
would’ve shaped me into a better man. Maybe
you would’ve loved me better than my father
ever did, his love was different. It made me
insecure, it made me question love itself. I was
just a boy with no direction and when baba
turned his back on me and found another
reason to live, my life changed drastically. I shut
my heart out from the world, and built walls
around me. All I wanted to do was punish him.”
This is getting too personal, I shift aside to give
him some privacy. But it’s too quiet as a tomb
here that I can still hear him.
“I was livid, I hated Vumile and Dalisile. You
remember her right? She’s in Kampala now, you
probably don’t know the place. The world was
not advanced during your time.” He says.
That’s not true, he’s our father’s grandfather.
They had just discovered technology during his
time… I think.
“Maybe I took the anger I felt for him out on
other people, maybe killing them was like killing
my parents. I have a heart too, I’ve seen and
been through things that made me question
God’s existence. Your punishments are harsh
muntu omdala. I’ve been sitting on this
wheelchair for far too long…” He stops, I think
he’s crying—taking time off to gather himself
but no, what he says next finishes my strength.
“A wheelchair is a chair that has…”
“I’m sure he knows what a wheelchair is, he was
born in 1912.” I can’t help but roll my eyes at his
stupidity.
It’s hot out here, he’ll never finish if he’s here to
educate Khahlamba.
“I don’t think he does, he wouldn’t have put me
in one if he knew how uncomfortable and
depressing it is to sit in one.” The seriousness
in his tone takes me by shock. “How do I
explain this in a nice way, without sounding
disrespectful?”
“Explain what?” Why am I even asking?
“That he needs to come and walk a mile in my…
no, no. He needs to sit in this damn thing and
tell me how it feels.”
What’s wrong with him? He was doing great,
who changed the channel?
“Ntaba…”
“Is this about the baby? I haven’t had sex since
the accident, I’m sexually frustrated. Peaches is
kind enough to want to ride me but I’m not
going to lie down like a wounded deer while
she…”
“I’m sure Khahlamba does not want to hear all
of that, spare him please.” I interject. “We
should go, we’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
Tomorrow is a new day, this grown child is
getting too much.
“Okay, we’re leaving Khehla lam. While you’re in
there, idla amathambo enqondo. Tell your
fellow tenants about this chair with wheels,
think of me. I’m getting married on Saturday, I
want to stand at the altar, not sit. I will probably
fall asleep while waiting for my bride. She takes
forever to get ready.”
He drops his head, it’s either he’s crying or
paying respect to the old man.
MATHONGA-
Season Finale: Part 4
.
.

KHETHIWE-

“When you get there and you find them climbing

tress at night, you also hop on and climb the
tree. If they eat poison, you also eat poison. If
they tell you to stop breathing, you stop
breathing.”
Please! The house executives think they know it
all, telling me to ask how high when my in-laws
tells me to jump.
That’s how I spent my morning, surrounded by
women in pinafores and head wraps telling me
how to behave in my matrimonial home. The
only advice I pocketed is giving him sex
whenever he wants it.

If Hlabela knew where his wife has brought us,

he’d drag her to church every Saturday. A club
of all places, I had my bridal party last weekend.
But someone’s wife thought I needed a second
one.
She dragged me, Nala, and Funo to this place,
kicking and screaming.
I’m not going to mention Banami, the criminal
profiler is in on it.
“Earth to Khethiwe,” drunk Khushi’s voice jolts
me back to life. We’re hurdled up on a long
couch, waiting for…
What are we waiting for again?
“What?” I mumble.
This woman works on my nerves more than my
periods, come to think of it, they all have been
annoying me throughout this day. It could be
that I’m home sick and terribly miss Ntaba.
“Why do you think we were sent away?”
I don’t get Khushi’s question, I honestly didn’t
know that an all-expenses paid holiday means
you’re not wanted around. My mother would
chase me outside when she didn’t want to deal
with me anymore, no trips were ever mentioned.
“Why are we talking about this now? It
happened months ago?” I question her.
Boredom can be a pain in the ass, where is the
entertainment anyway?
“I think something happened during that time,
something they didn’t want us to know. I know
Hlabela when he lies to me, he blinks a lot.”
Khushi knows what’s happening in this family.
She’s well aware that Ntaba is special but has
the guts to dig for bones. I’m too tired for this.
“I don’t think we were sent away, it was just a
romantic gesture.” Argh! Funokuhle is so sweet,
bless his pure heart.
He’s too innocent and still very much quiet and
reserved, I have lost count of the number of
trips he has made to the bathroom. Drinking
Fanta orange while everyone is getting drunk
must be sad, I understand why Nala has only
been pumping her stomach full of juice… babies
don’t drink alcohol.

“Vukuzakhe has a romantic side, he always

does nice things for me.” I’m loving the wide
spread smile on his face.
He’s lucky, Ntaba’s romantic side is non-
existent. I swear sometimes it feels like I’m
dating a member of the EFF.
“Well I happen to think they are hiding
something, the trip was so sudden. Too sudden
if you ask me.” Kushi.
She is always suspicious of everyone, I blame
her past. Her life was a Bollywood movie.
“Can we not talk about the past and get this
party started? It’s getting late.” I announce,
impatiently.
And my frustration is frustrating me.
“I agree, Mathonga was against me coming
here.” Nala says.
Mathonga is against her doing anything, she’s
carrying his golden egg in her womb.
“Our guests should be here any minute from
now,” that’s Banami.
I’d be lying if I say she’s not drunk.
“What guests? I thought it’d be just us.” That’s
right, I’m judging her with my eyes.
The look she gives has me shaking my head, I
don’t trust anyone at this point. Women do
strange things at bridal showers, last week I
was made to wear a giant penis and speak to it
like it was my husband’s eggplant. I have not
recovered from that.
Fifth Harmony’s Worth It’ bursts through the
speakers before Khushi is on the dance floor,
shaking what her mother didn’t give her.
Banami joins in, I should take a video to show
Hlabela and Ndleleni how their people act when
they are drunk. If only I was that girl.
Khushi pulls Funo to the dance floor, it’s an
awkward moment for him. But I’m not
imagining the smile on his face.
“Go ahead Funo, you know you want to.” I yell
over the loud music, he’s not shy, just a little
antisocial. The only thing he’s moving are his
feet, I’d pay 80 cows to see him break out of his
shell.
“Come on, you’re getting married tomorrow.”
The same Khushi has my hand and is dragging
me to hell, I love parties but I can’t dance, so I
let my body control my moves.

I’m actually having fun, until I feel someone

grinding behind me. None of these girls have a
penis, what the hell is this thing poking my ass?
I turn around and to my shock, there are two
strippers in my personal space. Bodies
drenched in baby oil, or is it cooking oil?
The only thing they have on is a pair of black
leather underwear and facemasks covering
their eyes.
“Whoah! What the hell?” I scream, jumping back.
“Surprise!” Khushi and Banami.
“No, no. What have you guys done?” This is not
happening.
Ntaba will know, and who the fuck said I love
watching half naked men acting slutty? Their
face masks are quite creepy.
“It’s your last day as a free woman Khethi, come
on, let loose.” Is Khushi not religious? I’m
starting to wonder.
“I didn’t order for this…” I yell.
The dude with the black mask takes my hand
and pulls me to a chair in the middle of the
dance floor. My eyes can’t go this wide for no
reason, it’s really shocking.
I’m waiting for one of the ladies to stop this
nonsense, also, is it too late to tell this black
masked guy to get off me because the man I’m
marrying tomorrow is Ted Bundy’s sidekick?
“This is so uncomfortable,” I mumble, trying to
stand and hopefully run out of here.
He pushes me back on the chair, straddles me
and starts grinding on my lap. Eww, his penis is
rubbing on my thigh. The second guy is beside,
harassing my shoulder with his... This is too
much.
“Help!” I mouth the minute my eyes land on
Funokuhle, I trust him to get me out of this. But
no, my friend is watching like the rest of the
ladies and… they are cheering these men sluts
on.
And Nala? As my maid of honour, she needs to
stop this.
This is a ticket to hell, God has given my
mansion in heaven to someone else.
The ladies and Funo join the sinful party at the
behest of the strippers, look at them, looking
like thirsty housewives.
“This is amazing,” Khushi shouts above the
music.
She thinks having a half-naked man touch her is
amazing. Maybe Hlabela never takes his
clothes off during… sigh!
“Excuse me, stop touching me.” I shout at this
man dancing like he’s going to get a share of
Ramaphosa’s billions after this. He’s too close,
how is it I can’t get away from him?
He grabs my hand, I yank it back but the fool
has handcuffed me, he cuffs his wrist too.
“What are you doing?” I gasp, eyes wide.
I’m all squirmy as he pulls me to him and
whispers, “Relax baby girl, let me cater to you.”
Cater to who? I’m about to protest when he
pulls me towards the bar.
“Funokuhle, help me.” He has to save me from
this idiot.
“Stop complaining Khethi, I asked him to give
you a private session.” Khushi will hear it from
me when all of this is over.

The only comfort I’m getting from being alone

with this stranger is that there’s a curtain in
place of a door. The music is not so loud in here,
I clear my throat to get it ready for an ear
splitting scream, just in case he tries anything
stupid.
“Don’t try anything with me, I grew up in a family
of boys. I used to watch Power Rangers.”
I have never seen a single episode, I’ve heard
Lethiwe’s kids talking about it in passing.
The stripper chuckles and for a second, I kind of
recognise his voice.
“My fierce Khethiwe, you haven’t changed a bit.”
What?
“Bahle?” These wonders insist on finding me all
the damn time.
He removes his mask, revealing a bright smile.
What the hell happened to him? He lost so
much weight.
“What’s going on Bahle? What game are you
playing?” I want to be away from him, but
there’s no escape because of these stupid
handcuffs.
“I heard you were getting married, this is the
only way I could get to you.” He said ‘get to me.’
“Get to me for what?” I’m angry, this is stalking.
“I wanted to talk to you, are you sure you want
to marry him? Do you know who he is? He’s a
murderer Khethiwe…”
“Get these cuffs off me now,” I’m trying to keep
calm although he is driving me crazy.
His black leather underwear has a little pocket,
that’s where the key comes from.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ambush your party.
It’s the only way I could talk to you.” I don’t care
what he has to say, I’m done with the drama in
my life.
“Stay away from me, Bahle, I want nothing to do
with you and your family.” For all I know, his
witch of a father sent him here.
His eyes are apologetic, “Can I at least
apologize for the lobola thing. I didn’t mean to
hurt you Khethiwe. I was only following my
heart.”
He rubs the back of his neck as his eyes find his
feet.
“Your father is not a good man Bahle,” I wonder
if he knows what Ndimande and my father did.
“He’s my stepfather, and he’s not that bad.”
He doesn’t know about him, it’s not my job to
tell him.
“I’m not here to talk about Ndimande, I want to
ask for your forgiveness. I’m not your enemy
Khethiwe, I want the best for you.”
“Let me guess, Ntaba is not it?” He doesn’t
really have to answer me, it’s evident in his eyes.
“I care about you, I don’t want you making
mistakes. Are you sure you want to have kids
with a man who kills without remorse? Think
about it Khethiwe, your children will be calling a
murderer baba.” Maybe if he wasn’t wearing
those stupid underwear I’d take him seriously.
“What if I want to be his Mrs. Smith? What if I
love him for who he is and wouldn’t change a
thing about him?” Bahle must Google ride or die,
my name is right there next to the definition.
“Khethiwe…”
“We’re done Bahle, please don’t ever try to meet
me again. You know about the man I’m going to
marry tomorrow, I wouldn’t want anything to
happen to you. Respect my husband please, do
it for the sake of our friendship.”
There’s no friendship here.
I’m leaving, this party is over.
“Khethiwe,” I stop but don’t turn around.
“I hope you find happiness.” He says.
I continue my stroll, the ladies and gent are still
dancing with Bahle’s stripper buddy. The mood
that took forever to get here is gone, Bahle took
it.
I’m about to tell them the show is over when my
phone vibrates in my pocket.
“Stop the music,” no one pays attention to me, I
have to run outside. Ntaba is so unpredictable
he probably knows what I’m up to.
“Ntaba yami,” it’s the first time calling him this.
“Where are you?” His voice is stoical, some
people were never taught respect.
“Is this how you greet the woman you’re
marrying tomorrow?” I’m trying to soften him up.
“Where are you, Khethiwe?”
“Ntaba you know where we are, I told you.”
What he doesn’t know is that there are strippers
here and one of them is Bahle.
His silence can be nerve wrecking, you never
know what he’s thinking.
“Are you there?” I ask because, why is he silent?
“Your mother called, I don’t know how she got
my number.”
Strange! What does she want now?
“Why would my mother be calling you?” I ask.
“I don’t know, maybe she wants you to help her
choose a coffin for your father.” It’s not like him
to be so snappy… Wait, did he…
“What are you talking about Ntaba?” My heart
drops to the pit of my stomach, drowning in the
acidic liquid.
“Call your mother Khethiwe, and don’t come
home smelling like that mampara. Angzwani
nama simba mina.”
The calls dies, leaving me perplexed. I know
Ntaba, he knows where I am, what I’m doing
and with who.
.
.
The ladies and I have been staying on the east
wing of the ranch for over a week, Ntaba is not
allowed to set his eyes on me. Something about
bad luck which I don’t believe.
Tonight I’m needy and shaken, I need to see
him and be under him, beside him and in his
skin.
21:06 finds us at the ranch, too early if you ask
Banami and Khushi. They are both against me
going to meet up with Ntaba, what they don’t
know is that you don’t deny that man. Nothing
will stop him from coming to meet me.
I find him waiting outside the main house. He
looks up at me, an undecipherable frown on his
face. Is he upset? Is he judging me? I don’t
know what’s happening.
“KaMadonsela!”
Jeer, can he be readable for once?
“Hey,” I want to kiss him but… bad luck.
His eyes run through every inch of my body,
from the top down to my last toe. He lifts his
eyebrows, now I’m certain he is judging me. It
must have everything to do with this little
number I have on. Too tight, too small and too…
argh! Who cares? I’m getting married tomorrow.
I’m ready with my A4 page speech about how I
don’t know how Bahle got there, I will do it once
my heart calms down.
Ntaba makes me nervous sometimes, I just
need a minute.
“Did you call your mother?”
“Not yet, I’ll call her when I get to the room.” I’m
scared to ask about my father, I’m scared to
confirm if he really died. My hand is pulled in a
split second, he makes me sit on his lap and
wraps his arms around me.
“You will never be alone Peaches, I promise.”
He says.
Something tells me this is about the death of
my father, I didn’t want to dwell on it.
A lump forms on my throat, I don’t want to cry…
I can’t cry for him. Bab’Manyanga said if
anything ever happens to either my mother or
father, we shouldn’t shed a drop of tear for
them. He gave no reasons, I’ve learnt never to
question him. He knows what he’s doing.
“Is he really dead?” It takes a lot for me to ask
him this without sounding like I’m going to
break down, I keep my focus on the vast
darkness before us. If I look into his eyes, I will
burst into tears.
“He’s gone Khethi, I’m sorry.”
He’s not really sorry, if anything, he is glad the
man is out of my life.
“We can postpone the wedding if…”
“No,” I whip my head to glance at him. “We are
not postponing the wedding, we did that when
you were hospitalised.”
“But your father…”
“No Ntaba, postponing a wedding is considered
bad luck. I’ll talk to my aunt, maybe we can send
someone from the Khanyile family to go on our
behalf.”
“I’ll talk to bab’omncane Dumile,” he gives me
an apologetic stare. Perhaps he sees the tears
wanting to escape my eyes.
My face is quick to hide on his shoulder, I might
just cry with how he’s looking at me. His fingers
are fiddling with mine, I love the feel of his
hands on mine. They are a bit rough, but I
wouldn’t change anything about them.
Something is placed in my hand… car keys.
“What’s this for?” I ask.
“Look over there,” he says gesturing to the left
with his head.
There’s a small car parked right next to his SUV,
it must belong to one of his uncles.
“What’s that?” Honestly, what am I looking at?
“A car for you, it’s your wedding present.”
He’s kidding me, right?
“That old junk,” it must be April fool’s today,
forget that it’s February.
“It’s still a Mercedes, I know how crazy women
are over that brand.” He says it’s still a
Mercedes.
My grade 9 English teacher drove a better car.
“What model is it?” Maybe knowing that will
make me feel better about driving it.
“It’s a classic W124,” the excitement in his voice
though.
I think I’m supposed to know what a W1234 is, I
know nothing about cars. On that note, I will not
be getting my driver’s license soon. All that
cramming just to drive Bab’Pete’s old junk?
“Thank you baby, I love it.” Lies.
I’m thinking who I can gift it to, Lethiwe would
love it.
“Now go on, go and show your friends.” Is he
serious? They will laugh at me.
“They’ll be so jealous,” he says.
I doubt it.
“I’ll show them when we come back from our
honeymoon.” Another lie from me.
There is no honey moon. He said he’s not going
anywhere with the wheelchair.
“I can’t wait to make you my wife,” his
declaration makes my heart jump with joy.
Unfortunately, I can’t kiss him yet but I can hug
him.
MATHONGA-
Season Finale- Part 5
.
.
KHETHIWE-
My father deciding to die the day before my
wedding is utter cruelty, couldn’t he wait a little
longer?
Why did he have to ruin things for me? Force
me out of his house due to his poor parenting
skills? That’s where I’m supposed to leave in a
white dress with my mother and aunts ululating
behind me.
I can’t help the heaviness in my heart, it’s not
fair because today is supposed to be the
happiest day of my life.
Aunt Rebecca is here, along with my brothers.
Lethiwe will be the one walking me down the
aisle. My father’s side of the family couldn’t
make it due to the funeral, they know I can’t
postpone the wedding. It’s not done, next thing
there’s another death in the family and they will
be pointing fingers at me.
I wish my parents were better people, I wish
they were here. I wish my mother was the one
standing in front of me, looking at me with tears
of joy in her eyes. She hates me, and wants
nothing to do with me.
How did I become so unfortunate where
parents are concerned?

The wall length mirror is doing justice to my

plump body, I think I look good in this mermaid/
trumpet wedding dress. It’s a V-neck and has
long sleeves. Hands down, I have never looked
this good in my life. Tomorrow I will be back to
looking like a hobo.
We’re having a white wedding, we’ll do the
traditional to wedding when Ntaba is up and
running and I mean that literally.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

What is my aunt asking me? Such a question
should not be asked a girl who is already
wearing a wedding dress, ready to marry the
love of her life.
“He loves me aunty, I know he doesn’t say it
much.” I would marry him even if he didn’t.
“I know you do, you’re very open about it. But
Khethiwe, your father is being laid to rest today,
I hate that you’re not there to pay your last
respects.” I don’t have to pay anything to that
man.
Bab’Manyanga said not to go to the funeral, or
cry for him. I shouldn’t even be bringing him up.
Besides, why does he have to die on the day of
my wedding? That’s so selfish of him, does he
have to ruin me even beyond the grave?
I turn to look at her, she looks saddened
obviously, her beloved brother died.
“You said it yourself aunty that cancelling the
wedding is bad luck, I sent some of my in laws
to go on my behalf. That’s what is to be done
right? Some attend the wedding, and some
attend the funeral?”
How do I tell her that the sangoma told me not
to go, for my own safety?
“Let me not stop you my child, today is your day.
Your father’s family will understand.” She says,
nestling my cheeks.
Yet she’s looking at me like I’m a monster, aunt
Rebecca is old and old people think their peers
are always right.
It will take time for me to forgive my father. I
don’t hate him, my heart is bruised that’s all.

We’re having a garden wedding right at the

palace, having found no suitable venue, the
palace became my second choice.
It is beautiful and spacious enough to
accommodate over 100 guests. Ntaba wanted
to keep it small because my man is in a
wheelchair, but invitations were sent out before
the accident.
I guess my family did me a favor by choosing to
bury my father instead of attending my wedding.
Amafu will be attending, Sono was invited too
but declined. I know, I know… I’m an idiot.
Maybe I want to make things right, we were
once close.
There’s a knock at the door before Nala shows
face.
“It’s time, we need to move.” She says, a huge
smile on her face.
My heart is not okay, it’s hammering too
violently. I’m about to marry the man of my
dreams, maybe that’s why my stomach is
churning. It’s in knots, I think I need the toilet. It
must be because of the food I ate last night or
I’m nervous.

Aunt Rebecca is suddenly in tears, she better

not be mourning at my wedding.
“You look so precious my child, I’m proud of
you.” She says, placing a kiss on my cheek.
That time I have not achieved much in life, life
doesn’t stop after marriage, right? I will better
myself for myself, my husband and children. If
God blesses me with any.
Aunt’s hug feels homely, like a mother’s touch.
“You guys go ahead, I want a few seconds with
myself.” I tell them.
In actual fact, I need to use the toilet. This dress
better not disappoint me.
.
.
NTABEZIKUDE-

He is convinced that their love or whatever he

feels for her is timeless, that she is the only
woman he wants to spend the rest of his life
with.
It has to be her or no one, that’s why he is
standi… sitting at the altar, dressed in a black
tuxedo, waiting for his bride to walk down the
aisle. All his brothers are his groomsmen,
standing behind him ready to accompany him
to a lifetime of prison…

Argh, marriage is not jail… marriage is not jail…

marriage is… Sigh!

The beautifully decorated garden is packed,

from distance relatives to acquaintances.
Ntaba almost startles when someone grips his
shoulder and squeezes
“Breathe ndoda, you look like you’re about to
pass out.” Mathonga is trying to get him to
calm down, the man is sweating under his
melanin skin.
“You mean he looks constipated,” Hlabela steps
in. “I told you to stop eating boiled eggs, just
hold it in ndoda. The bride will be here soon.”
The bride will be here soon… these words alone
are comforting, and that’s all he wants, his bride.
“But she’s taking too long, we said 12pm on the
dot. We made a deal that if she’s a minute late,
she owes me 10K.” Ntaba reveals to his
brothers, his heart won’t stop pounding in his
ribcage.
“And that 10K will be coming out of your pocket
even if she wins, the partners we chose are
bullies. Trust me, all my cards are in
Funokuhle’s possession. I have to ask him for
my money.” Vukuzakhe states, his sally
resulting in laughter between the boys. Ntaba
can’t bring himself to cracking a twitch of a
smile.
“Speak for yourself, Nala is not controlling.” A
proud Mathonga sings, he’s taken aback by the
laughter that erupts. The loudness of it turns
heads.
“Ndoda don’t even go there, we all know Nala
wears the pants in the house. You’re too weak
for MaShange you need a punch in the face,
making us look bad.” Ntaba.
It’s good that he’s talking, a bit of distraction is
what he needs.
“That’s your observation Ntaba, how will you
see properly from down there?” Mathonga’s
clap back has all of them chuckling.
“Khushi and I both wear the pants in the house,
we’re a couple. Adam and Eve.” Trust Hlabela to
bring the bible into the topic.
He’s laughed at like everyone else.
“You mean Khushi borrows you her pants when
she’s tired of wearing them,” a clap back from
Ndleleni. If they continue laughing at each other
like this, someone might start to worry and call
Sterkfontein.
Hlabela smacks Ndleleni on the head, “Shut up,
virgin boy.”
They are suddenly silent, glancing down at a
worried Ntaba.
“Kodwa madoda, it’s been fifteen minutes.
Someone needs to check up on her.” Ntaba
says, worry playing in his voice. He is sweating
meatballs.
“Let me ask Funokuhle what’s taking so long.”
The big brother offers.
Someone makes a joke about how he’s using
that as an excuse to see Funokuhle, Zakhe
ignores them.
Minutes pass by like hours, the bow tie around
Ntaba’s neck feels tighter with each given
minute. He unfastens the damn thing, removes
the suit coat because well, it’s getting hot in
here.
“Calm down Ntaba, Khethiwe loves you. She
probably didn’t sleep last night thinking about
the wedding, I know she can’t wait to spend the
rest of her life with a loser like you.” Mathonga.
Ntaba believes him, he knows she loves him.
What he is not sure of is why she hasn’t come
to him like they promised.

Vukuzakhe comes back hand in hand with his

lover, his eyes are everywhere but on the groom.
“What’s happening?” Ntaba asks, seemingly too
calm all of a sudden.
“Khethiwe is gone.” Oh, Funokuhle! Opening
your mouth is not always necessary.
“What do you mean she’s gone?” Not wanting to
alert the guests, Ntaba has to keep his voice
down.
“Her aunt said she wanted to be alone for some
time, I don’t know where she went.” Funokuhle.
Panic strikes Ntaba like lightning.
“Mathonga push this damn thing, and take me
to her.” He grunts, trying to push it himself.
“Relax, you’ll hurt yourself.” Mathonga says,
steadying the wheelchair so Ntaba won’t fall.
“What’s going on?” That’s Vumile behind them,
he’s with his wife Nandi.
“Where is Khethiwe? The wedding should have
started already.” Nandi.
“Don’t tell me the bride got tired of your ass and
ran away.” Where did Khothama come from?
Ntaba regards him with a frown, had it been
under different circumstances, he would be
laughing his head off. But he’s terrified as fuck.
Mathonga explains the issue at hand.
“We should split up and search the premises.”
Hlabela offers, they all scatter to different
places.
The guests are left in awe, harboring faces filled
with questions.
“Do you think she found out about Sponono?”
Mathonga asks.
He's pushing the wheelchair down a passage
that leads to the room Khethiwe was supposed
to be in.
“Maybe, she wouldn’t just leave like this.” Ntaba.
He knows this for sure, Khethiwe would rather
die than live without him.
“Where are the ladies?” Ntaba continues.
“Probably looking for her as well, the
homestead is huge. She must be somewhere
around.” That’s Mathonga trying to comfort his
brother.
It takes them less than ten minutes to check
the entire building in search of Khethiwe, she’s
not in her room. She is nowhere to be found.
“Ntaba,” his brothers scurry to him heaving and
unsettled. “We looked everywhere, she’s not
here.”
He ignores Ndleleni’s report and keeps his
focus on a tired looking Nala sauntering
towards them, hands on her waist and face
snapped together.
“MaShange, have you seen Khethiwe?” He asks.
They are waiting for Nala to say something,
when they see Khethiwe approaching. She
doesn’t look tired but weak.
“KaMandonsela!” He calls out as soon as she is
within earshot, he’s never been so happy to see
her.
“Where have you been? We have been looking
for you, are you trying to kill me?” Ntaba chides.
He’s a TV person, he’s seen a lot of runaway
brides, men crying after being left at the altar.
“Didn’t aunt Rebecca tell you? I had to use the
bathroom.” She explains.
“Aunt… no she didn’t… she didn’t tell me
anything.” Well this is frustrating. He’s been
searching for her like a maniac while his wife-to
-be was having a meeting with nature. The
brothers condemn her with narrowed eyes, and
like it’s planned, they shake their heads and
leave them to talk. Of course Mathonga stays
behind with Nala.
“Sorry, I blocked the toilet in my room and had
to use the one in the main house.” Khethiwe
says.
No one bothered to look in the toilets.
“Who does that Khethi? Who uses the toilet on
their wedding day? You were supposed to
dispose of everything last night, what were you
doing last night?” Ntaba wipes his sweaty
forehead, and sighs in frustration.
Khethiwe has found a joke in his irritation.
“Last night I was busy eating Indian cuisines, I
didn’t know that hot food would upset my
stomach. Hot-wings treat me well, so I thought
the samosas would…”
“Let me guess? Kushi right?” He folds his arms,
and cocks a brow. “You know what? Don’t
answer that, please get ready KaMadonsela.
The guests are getting restless.”
It’s not about the guests really, he wants to get
this over and done with before another disaster
happens.
Khethiwe makes a sour face, she has her hands
clutched on her stomach. It’s boiling eggs in
there.
“I just need to use the bathroom one last time, I
promise I won’t be long.” There is urgency in her
tone.
“Khethiwe you…” It’s too late to stop her, she’s
taken off running.
“Where the hell is Khushi?” He grunts, looking
up at Mathonga. The little brother is
suppressing a serious laugh.
.
.
.
She’s walking down the aisle in a white dress.
Her brother striding beside her, ready to give her
away to a serial ki… ahem! To the man of her
dreams.
“I have a sjambok that was soaked in chilli
powder overnight. Break her heart and I will
whip you so hard you will…”
“Bhuti!” An embarrassed Khethiwe scolds him
with a serious look.
He smiles and hands her over to Ntaba.
The wedding has started, nerves kick in when
it’s time to recite their vows.
“I have waited for you all my life Ntabezikude
Khanyile, you were nothing but a dream to me.
A distant dream I couldn’t reach. God favored
me and gave me you. I promise to stand by you
all the days of my life. I will love you till my last
breath.”
Khethiwe’s A4 page speech is cut short, she will
finish all her tears if she continues.
The mic is handed to Ntaba to say what’s in his
heart.
“Stand me up, madoda.” Ntaba.
The eldest brothers, Vukuzakhe and Hlabela
help him up. He gestures that they let go when
he feels he’s got it. They have to be slow in
doing so, his legs are clearly wobbly.
Khethiwe is all teary eyed as she watches how
Ntaba is standing on his own, but his face is
pinched motioning the pain he’s under.
“I think that’s enough now,” she says worried he
might injure himself. Ntaba takes her hands into
his.
“I’m fine, KaMadonsela. I want to look you in the
eye when I tell you how happy you have made
me.”
That just stirs more waterworks in her eyes.
“All my life I have been running, mostly from
myself. But you came and held me down. For
that I will forever be grateful to you, love is a
language that sounds foreign to me. It will take
a long ass time for me to get used to it, but I
promise to be open minded and learn from you
Peaches. You’ve taught me patience, and made
me believe in life again. Ngyabonga
KaMadonsela, iyakthanda lensizwa.”
That took long, his impatient legs are done for
the day.
He almost falls, Zakhe and Hlabela help him
back on the chair. Ntaba glances up at
Khethiwe and sends a smile her way.
“Now that that’s done, let’s go home Peaches.”
He extends his hand out to take hers. Khethiwe
answers him with a giggle first.
“The wedding is not over yet,” she tells him.
How longs does these things take?
“Slima,” Mathonga pulls his ear.
Ntaba has to be patient, weddings take the
whole day.
MATHONGA-
Finale-
.
.
.
FUNOKUHLE-

Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I take a walk

outside. Tonight I’m thirsty and maybe hungry.
I’ll decide when I get to the kitchen.
It’s Thursday night, we’re at the Khanyile
residence, here to celebrate Vukuzakhe and
Mathonga’s birthdays, and to witness
Mathonga and Nala tie the knot.
The merged party is tomorrow, and the wedding
on Saturday.
I find a slice of cheese cake in the fridge, I’m
too lazy to boil water from scratch and make
tea, so I settle on a barstool with my cake.
As the spoon slices into the cheese cake, my
mind starts to wander. For some reason, the
smoothness of it reminds me of Vukuzakhe.
His gentleness, his irrefutable love.

I recall the day I opened up to him.

For the first time ever, we talked. He asked me
one question, “How are you?”
The most difficult question I was always afraid
to answer because for many years I didn’t know
the answer. He asked and I thought hard about
it, it took a while to reply because I had to
search myself. I wanted to give him the right
responses, I wanted to let go of the past.
When all was said and done, I did something I
hadn’t really done since my father and brothers
started abusing me. I cried.
I let go of repressed tears, emotions that I didn’t
want anyone to see, feel or hear.
The copying mechanism my mind forced me
into had not been easy, hiding away the
suffocating pain, tears and not being able to
express myself emotionally.
Vukuzakhe hugged me with everything he had,
while my body shuddered in his arms. He held
me down with a silent promise to never let go.
I forgave myself, and everyone who ever hurt
me intentionally and unintentionally.

Today here I am, picking up pieces of myself.

Slowly building what I had lost all those years
ago, my confidence.
“Hey, why are you sitting in the dark?” I didn’t
see him come in.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I say.
“I couldn’t sleep either,” he kisses my cheek,
grabs a chair and settles down beside me.
I think I might know why insomnia has visited
him, his divorce with Bongiwe has been
finalised. She’s taking half of what he owns, but
that’s not what he’s worried about. He wasn’t
ready to separate from her, he never says it but
I see it when he’s talking about her.
There’s guilt too, how she left and never looked.

“I can’t stop thinking about Bongiwe, I wish I

could turn back time and fix what I broke. She
had dreams but I crashed them with my
selfishness.”
“You’re not selfish Zakhe.” It can never be him.
“How is she?” I have to ask, I am the reason that
they broke up. Maybe one day we will meet and
I’ll get a chance to apologise to her. I was ready
to share this man with her, he was never mine
to begin with.
“I think she is okay, she is a strong woman.
She’s starting work on Monday…” his inquisitive
eyes find me. “At Khanyile Holdings. Now that
she has shares there…”
Yeah, that was part of the divorce agreement.
My eyes follow him as he stands and strolls
towards the fridge. He opens the door then
turns back to me.
“Dance with me?” That’s random, we were in the
middle of a conversation. Dancing around the
kitchen in the refrigerator light, in the middle of
the night is somewhat strange. But I love it.
His touch is different tonight, he’s holding me
like he’s never done before.
“When are we going back home? I miss making
love to you everywhere in the house.” He’s
insane, we just got here.
“Everywhere? Why do I not remember any of
that?” I ask, looking up at him.
“Oh really?” That’s a challenging question.
“Yes, my memory is blank.” I say.
“Oh, I see. You don’t remember doing it on the
kitchen counter? The lounge? The toilet?”
“Toilet? Vukuzakhe, what do you take me for?”
He laughs softly, a familiar sound that always
offers comfort and love.
“What about the river? We can drive there right
now for a little reminder.” Him.
My cheeks flush, I’d be beet red had I been a
few shades lighter. He captures my cheeks,
bringing my eyes back to his. I lock my gaze
with his, searching for something I find each
time I do—belonging.
“I don’t regret meeting you at the river that night,
Kid.”
I don’t regret it either.
“You wouldn’t let me die, I’ve never met
someone as stubborn as you.” I say.
A brief chuckle escapes me, bringing with it a
lone tear. Vukuzakhe uses the pad of his thumb
to wipe it away.
“It’s a good thing I stopped you, we wouldn’t be
here today if I didn’t.”
He’s right, my life would still be the same. I
wouldn’t be wearing his engagement ring. I’d
still be a prisoner to my family and myself,
perhaps there is a God and he really does care. I
try to form words of gratitude, but nothing
seems to be enough.
I fill my lungs with air and exhale slowly.
“I will forever be grateful to you, my gentle giant.
I love you Mr. Khanyile.” The words roll off my
tongue with ease.
“I love you too Kid,” he says, gently placing a
soft kiss on my lips. In him I find my worth.
.
.
.
MATHONGA-

Twisting and turning every sunrise has become

a routine, my morning alarm changed seven
months ago when Nala came home with a
whole stranger.
He cries like he pays the rent in this place, tells
us how high to jump and has us running around
like headless chickens. We’d chide him and tell
him to behave because he is a stranger but his
innocence and beauty won’t let us take that
step.
We love him like he’s the only one in this world,
well… I love him because he looks like me.
Kwakhekonke Phakade Khanyile was born over
seven months ago, weighing 2.4kg.
He was a very tiny baby that the nurses scolded
Nala for not eating enough while pregnant, on
the contrary she ate more than anyone I’ve ever
known. She just didn’t gain much. She wasn’t
allowed to leave the hospital until the baby
weighed 3kg.

“Nala, he’s crying again.” I groan while digging

my face in to the pillow.
“It’s your turn today,” Nala reminds me that we
actually take turns in taking care of Phakade.
The crying won’t stop, willing me to leave the
warm bed to tend to the baby. Babies are fun
and adorable until they start crying.
His wailing seems to be getting louder, he’s
looking up at me from his crib expecting to be
carried.
“What’s wrong Zandla? Must you make a noise
every morning?”
The nickname Zandla came from Zakhe after
taking note of how much Phakade loves being
carried by everyone. He cries for anyone who
enters or is leaving the room.
“How much time do we have?” Nala asks from
beside me, her hands touching my skin and lips
seeking contact. A peck should be enough, I
don’t want my baby seeing funny things.
“About an hour or so.” Phakade has calmed
down, I don’t trust his silence. It usually means
he’s passing stools.
“Baby, we’re going to be late.” She’s bustling
around in a flash, touching this and that.
Today is my birthday, we’re having a party. And
hey, bless amathonga, it’s not going to rain
today.
Phakade has his head on my chest, he wants to
sleep again. He’s forever sleeping, I can’t enjoy
my son because all he thinks about is napping.
“Was it not you who set the alarm for 9:15?” I
don’t want to be blamed for things I know
nothing about.
“It was, I was too tired and thought I’d need an
extra hour to sleep.” Nala replies.
“Listen, don’t put him to sleep before you
change his diaper. I don’t want him to have
nappy rush.”
She continues while tossing clothes on the bed,
they were supposed to be ironed yesterday.
Literally, there is no time, we’re having a family
breakfast and Nandi wants everyone at the
table.

I’m stunned by the amount of stools Phakade

has released, it’s going to be messy.
"A little help Nala, I think he wants to be
changed by you.” I’m lying. I need break.
She puts her tasks on hold and rolls her eyes at
me.
“We’re a team, right?” I know what she means
by this, we’re equal in this relationship.
“Yes, my precious Nala, we are a team.” There’s
a smile on my face when she takes over from
me.
“I’ll handle it, you go take a shower. We’re
running late.” She’s the boss.
My phone buzzes, I shot a glance over at Nala.
She’s thinking what I’m thinking.
“Is it her?” She asks.
It is her, my mother Dalisile. The first time I
received her call was the day Nala gave birth,
somehow she knew about the baby. She
congratulated me, although it lasted a few
seconds before she was asking for money.
“Are you going to take it?” Nala asks as she sits
to breast feed the baby.
I don’t know if I should, I don’t want to talk to
Dalisile today. Maybe one day, honestly I have
nothing against her and Mgobhozi. They are
family, I’m hoping though that Dalisile becomes
a better person one day.
“If she wants a second chance, she needs to
earn it. She owes all of us an apology, my uncle
Phumlani was accused of rape and banished
from the village.”
That was very low of Dalisile.
Phumlani’s healing process didn’t drag, I was
shown what to do in order to remove the curse.
He’s sane now, and starting life from scratch.
The woman whose daughter had accused him
of rape and cursed him after her daughter
committed suicide, died a long time ago. Her
family came forward during our investigation,
he never raped that girl. My uncle was falsely
accused.

Phakade has fallen asleep in her arms, giving

him a bath will be a mission. He’ll wake up and
start crying again.
“Don’t rush it, just take it one day at a time.”
Nala says. “I’m going to bath him.”
She leaves for the bathroom.
I take my phone with the intent to text Dalisile,
“Don’t call me, I’ll call you.”
I don’t know when, but definitely one day. As far
as finances are concerned, I will help where I
can.
Nothing grand, just enough for her to go to bed
on a full stomach. She’s on probation, if she
proves herself worthy, then I will treat her like
my mother. A woman who is deserving of the
world.
.
.
.
KHETHIWE-

“Khethiwe what is this? What happened to the

face-beat we talked about? Girl it’s a party, you
can’t be looking dowdy. Like you just came
from farming.”
As always, Khushi is looking at everyone from
her high horse, nose in the air and right hand
dangling, ready to wave people off.
It must be the colorful clothes she’s wearing,
they make her think she can say anything to
anyone. It has taken some time and controlling
my anger to get used to her.
“Why are you in my room, again?” I don’t
remember asking for company. She rolls her
eyes, and trust me, it’s coming from a good
place.
“I wanted to check up on you, you’re a wife sis.
You need to keep the image.” Did she just call
me sis? Next thing she will be calling me
‘moghel’
“And who gave you the fashion magic wand?
There is nothing wrong with her face.” Banami
steps in, placing her hands on her hips. She is a
lover of red, so I’ve noticed. She has the full
face-beat Khushi wants on my face.
I bet Miss. Make-up has everything to do with it
because Banami is simple like me.
People are out here looking like Bonang’s
photocopy, while I look like a female version of
Steve Harvey.
“Sweety, I’m the fashion goddess.” Khushi
declares, as she takes as spin to show her lime
pink two-piece suit. And I mean that “piece” part,
that skirt is barely covering anything.
She’s a real definition of ‘umfazi wephepha.’
(City wife.)
“We are in the village, if you haven’t noticed.” I
stand my ground, this one thinks she’s the
fashion guru.
“You guys are not hearing me, pictures are
forever. They’ll still be around when we’re old.”
Like I care what Khushi thinks, I love my
simplistic look.
“Please don’t tell me that’s ponds on your face.”
Ouch.
This one woke up and chose violence today.
My idea of dolling up is wearing Vaseline on my
lips and ponds on my face, who cares? I still
look good.
In fact, the Ponds Company should start paying
me. I’m one of their loyal customers.
“I’m out of here, Khushi go find your husband
and ask him to give you a quicky. Your wrinkles
are starting to show.”
I leave her with her mouth hanging, she must
eat my words while at it and do as I say. We’ll
die young because of that girl.
.
.
Over the past months, I have tried to connect
with my mother for the sake of my children. I
want them to have someone they’ll call gogo,
but she’s shut me out. Eventually I gave up,
perhaps one day, if God wills it, she will come
around.
She is left alone in that house, aunt Rebecca
and the twins moved to Port Shepstone.
Lethiwe won’t let his children visit.
It's almost lunch time, the big birthday lunch. I
need to find my husband.
“Makoti,” uncle Qinisela calls me. He’s sitting
under a tree with Vumile, Dumile and Phumlani.
“Yes?” I should have walked behind the house,
that uncle talks for the entire nation.
I have to greet respectfully when I get to them,
the head bow is very important when
addressing elders, it makes them feel important.
“Please get us some beers,” if that’s all he’s
going to say to me then I’ll dance to the kitchen.
“Okay,” I could say more, ask how Vumile is
doing but I don’t have the time for that. The
medication seems to be going well for him,
sometimes he gets confused and forgets but
bounces back.

“It smells like home in hear,” I tell the ladies

busy in the kitchen.
“It always smells like home in here,” Banami’s
reply brings a smile to my face.
Maybe I’m thinking of asking her to serve the
elders, but Ndleleni has not made it ‘lobola
official’ yet.
Zilile should do, she’s Khothama’s wife now.
“Hey, please do me a favor. The pensioners
want a second round of drinks. Won’t you be
kind...”
The smile on her face must be a yes.
“Khethintaba has fallen asleep, let me put her to
bed first.” Zilile says, rocking her baby who is
soundly asleep on her back.
The name took me by surprise really, I’m
honored that Khothama named his child after
Ntaba and me, especially knowing the tight
bond they have.
“You look restless, are you okay?” Nandi asks,
taking a break from slicing greens.
“Have you seen Ntaba ma? I’ve been looking for
him.”
Ntaba sure knows how to disappear on me, he
does that quite often lately. I’d walk in on him
and his brothers muttering and mumbling, it’s
the looks they’d give me when my presence
alerts them.
“He’s in the throne room with the boys,” by boys
she means his brothers.
What are they doing there?
“Tell them lunch is almost ready, I need
everyone at the table outside, now.” Nandi.
I take her message and exit the kitchen.

I find the door half open, and get a chance to

hear Ntaba’s chuckles, soft rumbles that warm
me from the inside.
“Baby language is strange, what is she saying?”
That’s Khothama’s voice. Phakade only says
‘gaga’ and leaves it to us to guess what he’s
trying to say.
I’m about to walk in when Mathonga’s voice
stops me.
“Phakade can’t wait to meet his cousin, you
should tell Khethiwe already. It’s about time we
introduce Sponono to the ancestors.”
Who is Sponono? Phakade does not have a
cousin, he’s actually Vumile’s first grandchild.
“Who gave you the right to name the baby?
What kind of a name is Sponono anyway?
You’re embarrassing yourself Mathonga.”
Khothama says, adding to my confusion.
“The only one who has the right to name the
baby is Ntaba, he’s the father after all.”
Khothama.
Wind is knocked out of my lungs, it shouldn’t
hurt like this. Maybe it’s my heart reacting to
what I have just heard.
“Speaking of being a father, you have to tell
Khethiwe about Thethelela and the baby before
she…”
I find my way in, interrupting Zakhe. Khothama
is holding a baby in his arms, dressed in a
yellow jumpsuit. She’s well over fourteen
months. The brothers look like they have seen a
ghost, I wish I was a ghost. Maybe I wouldn’t be
in so much pain.

I look at the man who might further break me,

or heal my heart with what he’s going to say to
me.
He stands, yes he can walk now. I try to read his
expression, I can’t— he’s giving me nothing.
“I think sis’Nandi is calling us, lunch is ready
madoda.” Khothama is the only one who calls
Nandi sis’Nandi, something wrong with his left
brain.
I struggle to look at the baby as Khothama
walks past, the others fail to spare me a glance.
It’s just us two now, my mind is all over the
place when I should be focusing on him.
“You slept with Thethelela and got her
pregnant?” The question drops out of my mouth,
leaving me feeling like hell.
He drops his gaze briefly before he’s looking
back up, the bastard.
“When?” I’m asking because he’s standing there
like he’s lost his voice. “Were we together?”
His gaze finds the floor, this time I get a subtle
nod that throws me into the pit of despair.
There’s an undeniable tightness on my chest,
my feet are shaky and so are my hands. I need
to sit down but I can’t seem to move.
Why her? Why Thethelela of all people?
“Do you know I esteemed you higher than God?”
I ask him, and drink the tears trying to
embarrass me. I never should’ve followed my
heart, my feelings for him were insufferable but
there had to be a way to control them, hide
them from him.
Maybe I wouldn’t be here today, standing in
front of him, thinking of how we will move on
from this.
“Khethi-”
I interrupt him, stepping away when he moves
closer.
“I’m still talking,” I snap.
There’s a way in which he flares his nostrils that
tells me he doesn’t like my tone.
“I think you knew how much I love and worship
you, and you took advantage of that?”
This is so funny, my idiocy is the funniest shit
ever known to the world of idiots.
“Why are you laughing?” He does not get to ask
me shit, and he sure as hell does not get to
frown at me like that.
“Because I’m an idiot,” I have not mustered up
the strength to scream. I don’t think I ever will.
“Don’t say that Peaches.” The devil says,
smooth like a criminal.
His touch burns, I escape it while a muffled
gasp escapes my mouth. It’s the damn tears
fighting back, I refuse to let them out. I will not
let Thethelela and this man make me cry.
“You’re my Peaches, umkami. You are not an
idiot.”
“I am. I’m an idiot and you bloody know it… You
know that eleven times out of ten I would give
my whole existence for you. Only an idiot would
do that for a man who has hurt her countless of
times. Only an idiot would choose to love a
stone-cold man like you.”
His eyes are so close to popping out of their
sockets, I may have stabbed his black heart
with my declaration.
“It was a mistake please, I would never hurt you
like that.”
“But you did.” I didn’t intend to scream and bang
my fists on his chest, I want him to fall and hit
his head. I want him to feel my pain but it’s not
happening. He’s a wall in front me, a wall with
arms that have brought me closer to his body.
“It was a mistake, I swear on my love for you. I
had a moment of weakness, a moment I regret
every day.”
I don’t care, he shouldn’t have slept with her,
even if I personally asked to do it.
“Please don’t leave me, I’d crumble without you.
Give me a chance to make it up to you and I
swear, I will spend the rest of my life doing just
that.”
“Let go, Ntaba.” I scream, pulling myself off of
him. He won’t let go, instead buries his face in
my neck and tightens his arms around me.
“Please,” he randomly says the word.
I feel a wetness on my neck, the fool is either
crying or sweating from his sins.
“I’m a bad man, but bad men deserve to be
loved and given second chances. Punish me
any way you like… just don’t go.” His words are
said against my ear. “Take a chance with me.”
Dammit!
I’m sending my body back to its maker, it’s
betraying me by leaning and crumbling into his
arms. I hate myself for this, why am I this
person?
“I love you KaMadonsela.”
I love him too, more than the word itself.
I’d take a chance with him, I did, I am. That’s
why I’m here, loving him every day since the day
my heart could recognise him.
I’d die a thousand deaths if he asked me to,
heck I’d tell him how much I love him after he’s
plunged a knife down deep in my stomach.
But this… I don’t know how to feel about this.
There is always a calm at the heart of the storm,
I’m not sure if I will ever get to the heart of the
storm. I don’t know if I will ever heal from this.
.
.
.
MATHONGA-
Life really has tested us, we’ve had our fair
shares of trials and tribulations. Our different
issues kept us from fully bonding and getting to
know each other, while I had my family
problems, finding myself and spiritual journey.
Nala had to deal with her traumatic past and the
loss of her brother.
In the midst of it all, we managed to make time
for each other.

I’m standing in the garden, beside a marriage

officiate and in front of family and very close
friends. Ntaba is behind me looking prim and
proper, he’s my best man. We didn’t want to do
the five groomsmen and five bridesmaids,
tradition, since it’s a small wedding.
My other brothers have occupied the front row
with their partners.
Khushi’s kids are here, Hlabela has conquered
his phobia of kids. He’s good at this fathering
thing, he’s still a church goer. What he’s not
interested in is being a pastor. Khushi has not
bothered to go with him, Hlabela thinks one day
she will follow him, my brother is a patient man.
They have plans of moving provinces one day.
Phakade is in Khethiwe’s arms, Ntaba told me
she didn’t take the news of the baby well. She’s
a good woman, she needs time to get over the
betrayal.
Sponono’s grandmother has allowed Ntaba to
have a relationship with her. She fetched her
yesterday, Ntaba needed time to speak with
Khethiwe.
Thethelela named the baby Zamangwane, it
was a shocking revelation. We’re yet to do a
ceremony where we ask my sister Zamagwane
to use the name.
Ndleleni is seriously serious about Banami, his
first love.

There’s a stone pathway where Nala will walk

down on her way to me.
Everyone stands when Zitha appears, she’s her
maid of honour. I spot her husband Kenneth
with their son Dlozi and Thobani. The only
family of Nala’s that couldn’t make it is
Amandla, she prefers to stay where she is.
Bambindlovu winks when our eyes meet, I want
to punch him in the face when he blows me a
kiss. Our friendship has grown, I will always see
him as my brother.
Nala is next to walk down the aisle, she looks
beautiful in her white dress. Our eyes meet,
promises wander in my head.
I can’t promise a perfect life, nor a smooth ride.
I can’t promise to always be the best husband
or father, but I promise to always be steady, and
sure. For all the harsh realities and doubts, I will
be here, grounded.
This is the beginning of the rest of our lives.
The best things in life come when you least
expect them, I will forever be grateful to
aMATHONGA and God for the life they have
given me.

The End*
.
.
.

A/N: Firstly, I’m sorry for how long I’ve made

you wait for this last update. I didn’t know how
to end the story, it’s the most difficult story I’ve
ever written.
Another royal journey done and dusted, thank
you so much for staying with me throughout
this long journey. Without your support, I doubt I
would’ve been able to finish it.
I wouldn’t trade you for the world, sending all
my love to each and every one of you, kings and
queens of Ashanti Kingdom.
You’re fabulous.