BECOMING
CHAPTER 16
MESULI
The alarm on my phone buzzes at 5:30 a.m., pulling me from a dream where I’m chasing Kungawo through the farm fields back in Entabeni, his laughter echoing like wind chimes. I reach over and silence it quickly, not wanting to wake anyone else in the house. The room is still dark, but a sliver of dawn light sneaks through the curtains. I lie there for a moment, listening to the quiet, the soft hum of the air-conditioner, the distant call of a hadeda bird in the garden. This house in Port Serenity has its own rhythm, one that’s grown familiar over these days since Chulu and Kungawo moved in.
I swing my legs out of bed, my feet hitting the cool tiles. The master bedroom is spacious, with its king-sized bed, walk-in closet, and en-suite bathroom that I barely use half of. I dress quickly in gym shorts and a T-shirt, lacing up my running shoes. Exercise has always been my way to clear my head, especially now with so much swirling in my mind. I glance at the door leading to the hallway, wondering if Kungawo is awake yet. He’s an early riser, just like me.
Downstairs, the kitchen is empty, the counters clean from last night’s dinner. I start the coffee machine, the aroma filling the air as I prepare a quick protein shake. While it brews, I check my phone, emails from suppliers about the next crop rotation, a message from my father asking how things are going, and a reminder for a meeting with Monwabisi later at the office. He’s my business partner in the agribusiness expansion, the one who handles the logistics while I focus on the farming side. We’ve been friends since university, and he’s the only one outside family who knows the full story about Kungawo.
I sip my coffee black, leaning against the counter, my thoughts drifting to last night. Chulu and I sat on the patio after Kungawo went to bed, talking about the therapy session. Her eyes lit up when she described how he signed “more” for the first time, and I felt that familiar warmth in my chest, the one that comes from seeing her happy, from knowing our son is progressing. But I keep those feelings locked down. This arrangement works because we’re focused on Kungawo, not on whatever might spark between us. Living under the same roof is already complicated enough.
Footsteps on the stairs pull me from my thoughts. Chulu appears, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail, wearing yoga pants and a loose T-shirt. She’s been joining me for morning stretches sometimes, saying it helps her start the day. Kungawo trails behind her, rubbing his eyes, his pyjamas rumpled.
“Morning,” Chulu says softly, her voice still sleepy.
“Morning.” I set my mug down and crouch as Kungawo approaches. He walks straight into my arms, saying “Tata” in that clear, insistent way that’s become my favorite sound in the world.
I lift him up, kissing his forehead. “Morning, nyana. Did you sleep well?”
He nods against my shoulder, then points to the coffee machine. “Hot.”
“Yes, hot. Want some milk?”
Chulu smiles as she pours herself a cup of tea. “He’s been asking for you since he woke up.”
That hits me right in the chest. I pour Kungawo a sippy cup of warm milk and hand it to him. He takes it, sipping contentedly while I hold him. Chulu and I exchange a look, one of those silent conversations we’ve started having, where words aren’t needed. She’s grateful for these moments, and so am I.
After a quick breakfast of oats and fruit, Chulu takes Kungawo to get dressed while I head to the home gym in the garage. It’s nothing fancy, just a treadmill, weights, and a punching bag, but it does the job. I run for 30 minutes, the steady thump of my feet matching my heartbeat, sweat dripping as I push through the last kilometer. My mind clears, focusing on the day ahead: a supplier call, reviewing the latest yield reports, and that meeting with Monwabisi.
By the time I shower and change into work clothes, khakis and a button-down shirt, Chulu and Kungawo are in the living room. She’s reading him a book about animals, and he’s pointing to the pictures, saying “Lion” and making a small roaring sound. I pause in the doorway, watching them. This is what I always wanted, a family under one roof, my son growing up with both parents present. But it’s not without its tensions. Chulu and I are careful around each other, keeping things platonic, focused on co-parenting. No dates, no lingering touches, no crossing lines that could complicate everything.
I step in. “I’m heading to the office. Need anything while I’m out?”
Chulu looks up. “We’re good. Lindiwe’s coming today, and I have some Hazel orders to pack. We’ll see you for dinner?”
“Definitely.” I kiss Kungawo’s head. “Be good for Mama, nyana.”
He nods, then says “Bye, Tata.”
My heart swells every time.
The drive to the office takes 20 minutes through the city traffic. Port Serenity is alive this morning, cars honking, pedestrians crossing with coffee cups in hand, the ocean glittering in the distance. My office is in a mid-rise building downtown, shared with a few other agribusiness firms. Monwabisi and I have a corner suite with views of the harbor.
When I arrive, he’s already there, feet up on his desk, scrolling through his phone. Monwabisi is my age, 31, but he looks younger with his easy smile and always impeccable style, today a tailored shirt and jeans. We’ve been partners for five years, turning the family farm’s crop side into a regional supplier. He’s the numbers guy, the one who negotiates deals while I handle the soil and seeds.
“Mesuli, ndoda,” he says, standing to clap me on the back. “You look like a new father, tired but happy.”
I laugh, dropping my bag on my desk. “That’s accurate. Kungawo’s up at dawn every day.”
We settle into the leather chairs by the window, coffee from the machine in hand. The office is simple, desks, filing cabinets, a whiteboard covered in yield projections and supplier notes. Monwabisi leans back.
“So, tell me, how’s fatherhood treating you? Last time we talked, you were just getting them moved in. Now it’s been what, a month?”
I smile, the kind that comes from deep inside. “It’s incredible, ndoda. Having him in the house, hearing him call me ‘Tata’ every morning, it’s like everything I didn’t know I was missing. He’s speaking more now, thanks to the therapy. Simple words, but it’s progress. And living together means I don’t miss the little moments, the way he stacks his blocks or asks for ‘more’ when he’s eating. I’m happy, man. Truly happy to have my son under the same roof.”
Monwabisi nods, grinning. “That’s beautiful. I can see it on your face. You’re glowing like a new mom. And the babymama? Chulu, right? How’s that going? Living with her must be interesting.”
I take a sip of coffee, choosing my words carefully. “It’s working. We’re focused on Kungawo. She’s a great mother, patient and attentive. We co-parent well. No drama.”
He raises an eyebrow, leaning forward. “Co-parent under the same roof. That’s a big step, bro. How does that arrangement even work long-term? You two aren’t… catching feelings or anything? Living together, seeing each other every day, it’s bound to happen.”
I shake my head, firm. “No, we’re keeping it platonic. No feelings involved. That’s the rule. If we fall in love and then break up, it ruins everything. We couldn’t live under the same roof anymore, and that means Kungawo wouldn’t live with me full-time. I can’t risk that. He’s my priority. The setup works because we’re not complicating it with romance.”
Monwabisi studies me for a moment, then chuckles. “Okay, I get it. Protect the kid at all costs. But come on, Mesuli, you’re a man, she’s a woman, both single, attractive. You’re telling me there’s no spark? No late-night talks turning into something more?”
I shift in my chair. “There are talks, sure. About Kungawo, about the day. But we keep boundaries. It’s better this way.”
He sets his coffee down, expression turning serious. “Alright, let’s say you stick to that. What about her? You expecting Chulu to stay single forever? Because if you don’t make a move, someone else will. She’s young, building her business, out in the city now. Guys are going to notice. And when she brings home a boyfriend, how’s that going to sit with him? His girlfriend living in the same house as her baby’s father? No man’s going to be okay with that. It’s a recipe for drama.”
His words hit like a punch to the gut. I stare at him, the office suddenly feeling smaller. “I… I hadn’t thought that far.”
Monwabisi leans back, crossing his arms. “You should. You’re happy now because it’s just you three. But life doesn’t stay static. She’s not going to put her life on hold just because you’re afraid of feelings. If you want this arrangement to last, you might need to figure out what you really want from her. Otherwise, some other guy steps in, and boom, shared custody, weekends only with your son. Is that what you want?”
I run a hand over my face, stress building. “No. God, no. But if I push for more and it goes wrong…”
“Then it goes wrong. But at least you tried. Look, bro, I’m not saying jump in tomorrow. But think about it. She’s the mother of your child. You respect her. You like her company. Why not see if there’s something there? Before someone else does.”
We talk a bit more, about the latest supplier delays, the new maize hybrid we’re testing, but my mind is elsewhere. Monwabisi notices, claps me on the shoulder as he heads to his next meeting.
“Think about it, Mesuli. Don’t let fear cost you more than you already lost.”
He leaves the office, the door clicking shut behind him.
I sit there, staring at the harbor view, but I don’t see the ships or the water. I see Chulu’s face last night on the patio, the way she smiled when Kungawo said “goodnight.” I see her in the kitchen this morning, tea in hand, looking like she belongs.
Is Monwabisi right? If I don’t make a move, will someone else? The thought of her with another man, of Kungawo calling someone else “tata” or even just “uncle”, twists something inside me. But the risk… if we try and it falls apart, the fallout could shatter this fragile peace we’ve built. Kungawo needs stability. I need him here every day.
I pace the office, hands in my pockets. The yield reports on my desk sit untouched. I pick up my phone, scroll to Chulu’s number, but don’t call. What would I say? “Hey, my friend thinks you’re going to find someone else, so maybe we should date?” No. That’s not me.
I call Zinzi instead. She answers on the third ring, voice bright.
“Bhuti! How’s city life?”
“It’s… good. Kungawo is settling pretty well.”
She laughs. “That’s my nephew. And Chulu? How’s she?”
“Fine. Also settling in. Listen, sisi, do you know if Chulu is seeing anyone, or is there a possibility of her dating someone? I was talking to Monwabisi today. He asked about the living arrangement. Said if I don’t catch feelings, someone else will for her. That no guy will be okay with her living with me.”
Zinzi is quiet for a second. “He’s not wrong. Chulu’s beautiful, strong. Men notice that. If you like her, tell her. Before it’s too late. To answer your question, she’s not seeing anyone.”
“But if it doesn’t work…”
“Then you co-parent like adults. But bhuti, life is risk. You can’t hide from it forever.”
I sigh. “I know.”
We talk a bit more, about the farm, Sonwabile’s latest project, and Mama’s health. When I hang up, the stress is still there, a knot in my stomach.
I leave the office early, drive home with the radio off, thinking. When I pull into the driveway, Chulu is in the garden with Kungawo, helping him plant seeds in a small pot. She looks up, waves.
I wave back, the knot tightening.
She’s right here. My son’s mother. My… what? Friend? Roommate?
I get out of the car, force a smile.
“Need help?” I ask.
She nods. “Always.”
We plant together, Kungawo between us, dirt on our hands.
But in my head, Monwabisi’s words echo.
Someone else will.
I can’t let that happen.
But I can’t risk losing this either.
The stress follows me into dinner, into bedtime stories, into the quiet night.
What do I do?
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