THE RISE OF TUMELO By Author’s Voice Chapter 18

THE RISE OF TUMELO
CHAPTER 18
ITUMELENG
I’m no good at fighting, but I know there are fake slay queens like Nthabiseng whom I can take down. As Tumelo drives us back to his apartment, he keeps stealing glances at me, his eyes filled with concern. I can feel my nose throbbing, that bitch’s long nails are going to leave a mark. I can already feel the scratches swelling.
“You’re breathing heavily,” Tumelo says, his voice low and smooth, as if he’s trying to calm a wild animal. I snap my eyebrows at him, my anger still simmering just below the surface.
“You should have let me deal with her,” I say, my voice firm, my jaw clenched. I’m done with Nthabiseng, and if we ever cross paths again, things won’t be pretty.
Tumelo chuckles, his eyes cr crling at the corners as he looks at me. “You think it’s nice seeing a cat fight?” he asks, his voice teasing, but with a hint of relief. I glance at him, my expression unimpressed. I thought I was throwing punches, not just swatting at a fly.
I fold my arms, facing away from him, and stare out the window. The city streets blur past, a messy mix of colours and sounds. “Come on, babe, I’m being honest here,” Tumelo says, his voice gentle, as if he’s trying to placate me. “I insisted on going inside with you, but you refused and told me to remain in the car.”
He’s right, and I know it. That was a cat fight, and now my nose is hurting. I can feel the weight of my anger slowly dissipating, replaced by a dull ache. I don’t respond, just keep staring out the window, my eyes fixed on the passing scenery.
Tumelo’s hand reaches out, and he gently brushes a strand of hair out of my face. “You’re going to be okay, babe,” he says, his voice soft, his touch sending shivers down my spine. I glance at him, my eyes meeting his, and for a moment, I forget about Nthabiseng and the fight.
I walk into Tumelo’s apartment, feeling a mix of relief and exhaustion after the drama with Nthabiseng. My phone suddenly rings, and I see it’s my mother. I answer it with a warm smile, trying to shake off the remnants of the fight. “Ma,” I say, my voice filled with genuine affection.
“What did I do to deserve a good daughter like you?” she says, her tone light and happy, catching me off guard. I don’t understand what she’s talking about, but I’m sure it’s something good.
“I don’t understand, Ma,” I reply, curiosity getting the better of me.
She laughs, a warm, throaty sound that makes me smile. “Don’t be silly, I got the 5k. Thank you so much, I’ll add groceries, and buy school shoes for Thembeka. The ones she’s wearing are torn, and Kgomotso doesn’t seem to care.” Her voice takes on a hint of frustration, and I can almost picture her shaking her head.
I feel a pang of sympathy for Kgomotso’s kids. They’re innocent, and they deserve better. I’ve always tried to help out when I can, even if it means dealing with Kgomotso’s attitude. “Please do buy the school shoes, don’t give Kgomotso the money because she won’t buy the shoes,” I say, my voice firm.
“Alright, are you good though?” Ma asks, her concern evident in her voice. I hesitate for a moment, unsure how to respond.
There’s a lot I want to tell her, but some things are better left unsaid, especially with my mother. Like Tumelo’s weird behavior… “I’m alright, Ma, and you?” I ask, trying to deflect attention from myself.
Tumelo’s watching me, his eyes intense, as if he’s trying to read my mind. He’s standing next to me, holding a bottle of water, looking relaxed but attentive. I know he’s the one who sent the money, and I’m grateful. Now Ma will believe I’m doing okay, that I’m working and taking care of myself.
“I’m also fine, we’ll talk. Let me deal with Andile, he skipped school again,” Ma says, bringing me back to the conversation. I nod, even though she can’t see me.
“Okay, Ma, talk later,” I say, smiling.
As I hang up, I glance at Tumelo, who’s still watching me with that knowing look. I feel a flutter in my chest, but I push it aside. “Thanks for the help,” I say, trying to sound casual.
Tumelo raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Anytime, babe,” he says, his voice low and smooth.
I’m being called babe again? I can get used to this.
———
NARRATOR
He didn’t have it easy growing up. His ‘mother’, Nomusa, always made sure he didn’t go to bed with an empty stomach, scraping together whatever she could to put food on the table. But his ‘father’, Mandela, was a whole different story. The man was abusive, and Ntando still bears the scars, both physical and emotional, from his beatings. It’s a relief that Mandela passed away when Ntando was in grade 8.
Ntando Moroka is a newcomer in Nelspruit, a handsome, slim 33-year-old with light skin. When he was 21, Nomusa finally told him the truth – that he was adopted, and that he has a twin brother out there somewhere. But she refused to reveal any more, saying it was better if he didn’t know. Now, Ntando’s on a quest to find out who his biological parents are, and why they gave him up for adoption. It’s a question that haunts him every day, and he won’t rest until he knows the truth.
Ntando stands at the gate, his hand hovering over the worn wooden post as he takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. The sun beats down on him, making the sweat trickle down his face, and he can feel the weight of his small bag slanging over his shoulder. He’s been searching for piece jobs all morning, but so far, nothing has panned out.
He knocks on the door, the sound echoing through the quiet afternoon, and waits. Footsteps approach, and the door creaks open, revealing a short, light-skinned girl with curious eyes. She looks up at him, a hint of a smile on her face. “Can I help you?” she asks, her voice bright and cheerful.
Ntando’s eyes lock onto hers, she’s pretty, in a understated kind of way. “Hello,” she waves her hand in front of his face, a teasing gleam in her eye.
Ntando clears his throat, feeling a flush rise to his cheeks. “Sorry, I… I am looking for a piece job. Maybe taking care of the lawn?” He glances at the neatly trimmed grass, trying to regain his composure.
Boipelo’s eyes follow his gaze, and she nods, her smile faltering for a moment. “I’m sorry, we already have someone taking care of the lawn.” She looks back at him, her eyes lingering on his face, and Ntando feels a shiver run down his spine. She can’t move her eyes away from him. She never sees light-skinned men, but this one here takes the cup.
For a good minute, they stand there, locked in a silent stare, the only sound the distant hum of a lawnmower and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. Boipelo’s eyes are like magnets, drawing him in, and Ntando feels himself getting sucked in, like a leaf on a windy day.
“Come in for some juice, it’s hot,” Boipelo says finally, breaking the spell, her voice a little softer than before. Ntando looks at her, feeling a flutter in his chest, and gently shakes his head.
“No, thank you,” he mutters, backing away from the door.
“Bye,” he says, turning to face the gate, his heart still racing from the encounter. He doesn’t dare look back, afraid of what he might see. Maybe it’s enough for today; he’ll try again tomorrow.
As he walks away, Ntando can’t shake the feeling that he’s just been a little too rude. But something about Boipelo has thrown him off balance, left him feeling like a leaf on a windy day.
Ntando walks away from Boipelo’s house, the warm sun beating down on him as he heads to the nearby market. The pavement is hot under his feet, and he can feel the sweat trickling down his face. He grabs a loaf of bread and a Fanta Orange, the sweet fizz of the drink a welcome comfort. He’s hungry, but he’ll eat once he gets to Esihle, his girlfriend. They’re renting a small room for R1000 a month, and he can’t wait to see her.
As he walks in, he’s greeted by the savory smell of cooking. Esihle’s in the kitchen, stirring a pot, her 4-month baby bump visible under her worn dress. She looks up, a smile lighting up her face, and Ntando’s heart skips a beat. She’s the reason he keeps going, the reason he gets up every morning.
“Hey, love. How was your day?” she asks, her voice bright and cheerful.
Ntando drops the bread and Fanta on the table, feeling a pang of disappointment. “Didn’t get a single job,” he says, trying to keep his tone light. “I was so sure I was gonna get it.”
Esihle’s expression falls, and she quickly recovers, wiping her hands on her apron as she walks over to him. “It’s okay, babe. Everything has its time. Don’t pressure yourself, love.” She puts a hand on his chest, her eyes searching his face.
But it doesn’t sit well with Ntando. They’ve got a baby on the way, and they barely afford their needs as it is. Of course he’s gonna pressure himself. He feels a knot forming in his stomach, worry and frustration swirling together.
“I just want to provide for you guys,” he says, his voice a little rougher than he meant it to be. “For our baby. I want to give her everything, and I’m stuck here, with nothing.”
Esihle’s eyes soften, and she wraps her arms around him. “You’ll find something. You’re smart, you’re capable. And we’re in this together, okay? We’re a team.” She leans back, looking up at him. “And besides, we’re doing okay. We’ve got each other, and that’s all that matters.”
Ntando takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He knows she’s right, but it’s hard not to feel like he’s failing. He looks at Esihle’s baby bump, and his heart swells with love and worry.
“I’m just scared, Esi,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared I won’t be able to give our baby the life she deserve.” He wants a girl child, hence he’s always reffering the inbox baby as a she.
Esihle’s expression is gentle, and she pulls him close. “You’ll be an amazing dad, Ntando. And I’ll be right here with you, every step of the way.”
Ntando smiles, feeling a sense of peace wash over him. But a job is something he must find. By fire by force a job is a must have.
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