uGULUVA Chapter 3

PHINDILE GWALA.

The morning has already bled into afternoon when Phindi stirs awake. Sunlight filters through the thin, tattered curtains, casting golden streaks across her small, bare room. She stretches lazily and exhales a long, steady breath, feeling the weight of yesterday’s struggles still pressing lightly on her chest.

Kneeling on the cold, worn floor, she folds her hands and bows her head, beginning her daily prayer. Her voice, soft but deliberate, trembles slightly with emotion.

“Namanje, Nkosi yeZulu, Nkulunkulu onomusa,” she whispers. (Now, Lord of Heaven, merciful God,)

“Ngibonga ukuvuka, Mninimandla onke, angalesi sikhathi ngimema wena, Jehovah, ngisayoqala emsebenzi wezandla engiphiwe nguwe, akube nguwe obesengivikela, ungihole, namuhla, kuze kube naphakade. Ameni.”

(I thank You for waking me up, Almighty One, and at this moment, I invite You, Jehovah, as I begin the work of my hands that You have given me. May it be You who protects me and guides me, today and forevermore. Amen.)

Her eyelids flutter open slowly, and she lets out a quiet sigh. The sound barely leaves her lips, yet it carries the weight of her hopes, fragile but persistent. Her heart aches—not with pain alone, but with the delicate hope that has somehow survived everything.

She thinks of the words she has carried for years, a verse etched into her soul: “For I know the plans I have for you, plans not to harm you, but to prosper you.”

Her throat tightens as she whispers under her breath,

“Uma lokhu kunguhlelo lukaNkulunkulu…” (If this is part of God’s plan…)

The thought steadies her. Even if she doesn’t understand it fully yet. Even if it scares her. She pushes forward. Slowly, she rises to her feet. Her knees ache slightly, a reminder of the hard floor she has knelt on, but it does nothing to diminish her resolve.

She moves to the small basin by the window, splashing cold water onto her face. The water wakes her senses and clears some of the fog that has settled overnight.

Looking at her reflection, she notices the weariness in her eyes. Yet beneath it, a flicker of determination burns. She touches her cheek lightly, feeling the faint sting of a tear she has wiped away, and whispers,

“Ngiyakwazi ukumelana nakho konke, Nkosi.” (I can endure anything, Lord.)

Dressing quickly, she pulls on a black, fitted skirt and a crisp white shirt, pairing it with her reliable Nike sneakers. She ties her hair back neatly, smoothing every strand, and then smears a faint layer of lip gloss across her lips. Her reflection reveals a young woman ready to meet the day, despite the uncertainty it carries.

She hums softly, a tune that has been with her since childhood, a melody like an invisible shield around her heart. “Nilinde nithandaze…” it’s Nontokozo Mkhize’s voice joins in her memory, followed by Thami Mthabela’s, reminding her to remain patient, grounded, and faithful, even when the road ahead seems unclear. Her shoulders relax with each note, the tension in her chest easing just a fraction.

She glances at her phone. 15:35. Her shift starts at 16:00. A rush of nerves prickles her stomach. She cannot afford to be late. With a resigned sigh, she opens the Uber app, her fingers moving quickly over the screen. Being punctual feels more than professional; it feels like a small victory in a life that rarely allows her victories.

Waiting for the car, she leans against the chipped wall near the door. The city outside hums with activity—people rushing, vehicles honking, life moving at a pace that feels almost cruel in its indifference. She closes her eyes for a moment, inhaling the faint scent of dust and sunlight, grounding herself.

“Everything will be okay,” she whispers, not entirely certain she believes it yet. But she has no choice—hope is a stubborn thing, and it refuses to leave her.

The sound of the Uber approaching makes her heart skip a beat. Pulling her bag over her shoulder, she takes one last glance at the small room she calls home. Tomorrow, maybe, it will feel lighter. Today, she simply survives—and perhaps, just perhaps, thrives.

Phindi’s Uber rolls to a smooth stop in front of Club Nova, its sleek glass façade reflecting the city lights that begin to glitter in Sandton’s evening haze. Music thumps faintly from inside, vibrating through the ground and into her chest. She pays the driver, gives a quick nod of thanks, and steps out into the cool evening air.

Her stomach flutters nervously. This is new. She’s has never worked as a waitress before and everything about this feels bigger than herself—the glamour, the energy, the sheer volume of people who will pass through these doors tonight. She adjusts her skirt and smooths her hair again, a futile attempt to steady her nerves. She pushes open the revolving glass door, the scent of polished wood, perfume, and faint alcohol washing over her.

A hostess smiles, guiding her toward a tall woman standing near the bar.

“You must be the girl from yesterday,” the woman says, her tone professional but warm. “I’m Zinhle, the floor manager and you’re?”

“Phindile. Phindile Gwala,” she responds after clearing her throat, why is she so nervous?

“Welcome to Nova. Let me introduce you to the team.”

Phindi nods, swallowing the lump in her throat. Her hands are slightly clammy, but she straightens her back, trying to radiate confidence. Zinhle leads her past the bar, introducing her to the bartenders, waiters, and hosts, each offering a quick smile or nod.

“This is Sanele, he’s been here for three years. He’ll show you the ropes tonight,” Zinhle explains. Sanele extends his hand, strong and reassuring.

“Don’t worry. You’ll pick it up fast.”

Phindi returns the handshake, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Ngiyabonga.” (Thank you.)

The team moves efficiently, checking tables, adjusting menus, and prepping the service stations. Phindi follows Sanele closely, learning the layout, the locations of the glasses, the cutlery, and the drinks. Her stomach still flutters, but she focuses on absorbing every detail.

By 18:00, the first crowd begins to trickle in. The low thrum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the steady beat of music begin to fill the club. The air buzzes with energy, intoxicating and overwhelming all at once.

“Alright,” Sanele says, leaning close so only she can hear. “We’ll start with the floor tonight. Watch, learn, and keep smiling. Your shift officially starts now. Let’s go.”

Phindi nods again, taking a deep breath. Her hands grip the tray tightly, but her eyes scan the room, memorizing every table, every corner, every familiar and unfamiliar sound.

The first guest approaches. She greets them with a polite smile, her voice steady. “Good evening, welcome to Club Nova. Can I get you something to drink?”

It’s just the beginning, and already her heart races with anticipation and fear, but she moves forward, step by step, tray in hand, letting the rhythm of the club guide her. The night has only just begun, and so has her journey into this world of lights, music, and fleeting smiles.

*

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