THE RISE OF TUMELO
CHAPTER 05
ZIBUYILE
“FEW DAYS LATER”
It’s been 5 years since I left South Africa, and I’m currently in Botswana, trying to keep a low profile in a small rented house on the outskirts of Gaborone. The dry heat of the Botswana sun beats down on the dusty streets, a stark contrast to the fear that grips my heart whenever I think of going back home.
I left as soon as I found out Tumelo was out of jail – I couldn’t stay, not with him rumoured to be having a cold heart, a man with a reputation for being ruthless in business and unforgiving in life. The memory of his piercing eyes still sends shivers down my spine.
I miss home, the warmth of my family, the familiar streets of Nelspruit, but I fear for my life. Life’s getting hard here, bills are piling up, and jobs are scarce, but I’m afraid to go back to SA. I’ve had to take up odd jobs just to make ends meet, and it’s been tough, but it’s a small price to pay for safety.
I have a 14-year-old daughter, Vuyiswa. She’s cute, light-skinned with a sprinkle of freckles across her nose, and way too smart for her age. She’s growing up fast, and sometimes I worry I’m not doing enough for her. I wanted to leave her behind, but I was afraid Tumelo might harm her if he finds out she’s mine. The thought of him using her to get to me is a constant nightmare.
My mother is always calling to confirm if we’re alright, always pushing me to come back. She doesn’t understand why I’m so scared, but she was there, she knows what happened in court years ago.
“Vuyi, put that phone away and finish up doing the dishes,” I call out to her, trying to sound firm but ending up with a hint of pleading. She’s always glued to her phone – I hope she hasn’t started dating, I don’t think I’m ready for that conversation yet. She places it aside and proceeds to do the dishes, a small smile playing on her lips.
My phone rings, it’s my mother calling me. I sigh, answering, hoping she’ll not try to convince me to come back.
“Ma,” I say, trying to sound casual.
“Zibuyile, when are you coming back home?” she asks, like it’s no big deal, like Tumelo isn’t a threat.
“Ma, you know I can’t come back there. He’ll kill me,” I say, and immediately my daughter steals a glance at me. I fake a smile, standing up and leaving the kitchen to talk privately, trying to keep my voice down.
“He’s not going to hurt you, if you play your cards right. I have a plan,” she says, like she’s got a magic solution. This woman doesn’t know what Tumelo’s capable of. Thanks to me, he now hates females – imagine what he’ll do to me if he sees me? The thought sends a chill down my spine, and I know I can’t go back, not yet, not until I know it’s safe.
“And how am I supposed to play my cards right when I’m the reason he’s like this?” I ask my mother, frustration creeping into my voice like an unwelcome guest. My mother can be confusing at times – does she really think it’s that simple?
“Trust me, come back home Zibuyile. He won’t even touch you,” she says, sounding so confident, like she’s got some secret insurance policy, like she’s forgotten the danger that drove me out of SA in the first place. I shake my head, even though she can’t see me, trying to process why she’s being so… unbothered.
“Ma…” I take a deep breath, trying to keep my voice level. “Alright, I’ll come as soon as I have enough money to come back.” I say, partly to shut her up, partly because for how long am I going to stay away from home? The thought of going back to Nelspruit is both familiar and terrifying – the mountains, the people, Tumelo.
“I’ll send you money month end, please please don’t disappoint,” she says, and I can almost hear the smile in her voice, like she’s ticking off a box.
“Of course… let me get started with lunch, we’ll talk.” I end the call and let out a slow breath, feeling the tension settle in my shoulders. I glance around the small kitchen – Vuyiswa’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
“How long have you been standing there, Vuyi?” I ask, my voice firm but laced with a hint of guilt. This child better not be listening to my conversation.
“Long enough to hear that we’re here because you wronged someone,” she says with a full chest, her eyes flashing with a mix of curiosity and accusation, like she’s piecing together a puzzle. Uh-oh.
“Vuyi, it…” She cuts me short, her voice rising.
“No Ma, I heard everything. I might not know what you’ve done but I will find out. I can’t be always locked here without going to school! I’m 14, not a baby!” She yells before walking away, her footsteps echoing down the passage like a statement. This child…
I sigh, leaning against the wall, trying to process. I don’t want her to find out anything, imagine her finding out. My life is in danger because I accused someone of rape 15 years ago – Tumelo. The weight of it still presses down on me like a physical thing, and now Vuyi’s got questions. And what if she digs? What if she finds out?
—
KEKETSO
I scream my lungs out seeing a bank notification from Capitec – a whopping +R5000 lands in my bank account, making my heart skip a beat. The sudden rush of excitement propels me into action, and I dash into the house, waving my phone triumphantly as if it’s a trophy.
“Papa, bona! (look)” I exclaim, my voice bubbling over with excitement, leaning in closer to show Phuti, my husband, the Capitec message flashing on my screen. My eyes are wide with excitement as I try to contain my grin.
Phuti’s eyes widen in utter shock, his gaze darting from the phone screen to my face and back again, clearly struggling to process the sudden windfall. “Our daughter sent this?” he asks, his deep voice tinged with disbelief, seeking confirmation.
I nod vigorously, a huge grin still plastered across my face, feeling an overwhelming sense of pride and relief wash over me.
“This means she’s working well, yhoo I’m so proud of her,” I say, my voice laced with a mix of relief and maternal pride. “I guess there’s life without matric,” I add, trying to sound casual despite the pride swelling in my chest.
Phuti gives me a knowing look, one eyebrow raised in a judging manner, his expression a perfect blend of skepticism and concern.
“Okay, okay, but she tried and didn’t make it, Papa, there’s no need to be hard on her,” I say, instinctively jumping to our daughter’s defence, my tone softening. He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath about choices and consequences, but ultimately lets it go, turning his attention back to the TV, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips.
Itu’s no longer a child – she’s grown up, made her choices, and is navigating life in her own way. She gave it her best and couldn’t pass her matric, but hey, at least she’s trying, and that’s what counts, right?
Meanwhile, Kgomotso– 30 years, our other daughter, passed her grade 12 with flying colours, and we were beyond proud of her. Though instead of chasing her dreams, Kgomotso’s got a different path – busy popping babies from different fathers, and it’s a worry that keeps me up at night, wondering if she’s got her life sorted out.
And then there’s Andile, our last-born – he’s a different story altogether, a hard-headed young man repeating grade 10 for the third time, with a long way to go before he finds his footing. People and teachers always complain about him, and at 21, he’s running out of excuses.
The message on my phone also includes a note from Itu saying I should enjoy, she’ll call when she’s free, and it brings a warmth to my heart. Anyways, I’m thankful she remembered us – this money’s gonna help with the bills and maybe even leave a little extra for a treat.
Tomorrow’s plan includes a trip to the mall to stock up on groceries, maybe treat the family to something nice, make a bit of a celebration out of this surprise. Phuti’s already back into his TV show, chuckling at some joke, life’s simple pleasures, and I’m grateful for this moment of joy.
—
Itu’s mind’s made up, and she’s sticking to her plan – even if it gets messy. She grips the big knife tightly, her fingers wrapping around the handle as she walks barefoot across the quiet floor, trying not to make a sound. The cold floor sends a shiver down her spine, but she pushes the feeling aside, focusing on the task at hand.
Tumelo’s at the counter, making tea, shirtless in his black sweatpants and Adidas slides. He’s a big guy, and Itu’s starting to wonder if this plan’s a good idea. His broad back tapers down to a narrow waist, and his muscles ripple beneath his skin as he moves, making her wonder if the knife will even make a dent.
She’s two steps away when he turns, coffee in hand, a hint of a smile on his lips. He looks at her, then the knife, and sits down on the highchair, sipping his coffee like it’s no big deal. The sound of the liquid hitting his lips is the only noise in the room, and Itu feels a surge of annoyance at his calmness.
“Either you let me go or… this gets messy,” Itu says, trying to sound brave, but her voice betrays her with a slight tremble. She’s not even sure what she’ll do if he doesn’t comply, but she’s determined to see this through.
“Didn’t you hear me!” she shouts, taking a step closer, the knife feeling heavier in her hand. Her eyes are burning with tears, but she refuses to back down.
He’s unbothered, still sipping his coffee, his eyes fixed on his coffee. “Do whatever fulfills you,” he says, his voice even, like he’s trying to hypnotise her.
Tears prick at Itu’s eyes. Why isn’t he scared? Why isn’t he taking her seriously? “What do you want?” she asks, her voice cracking, the knife feeling like a lead weight in her hand.
He doesn’t answer, just keeps sipping his coffee, the silence stretching out like an eternity. Itu’s mind’s racing, wondering what to do next.
Itu’s eyes well up with tears, but she bites her lip, holding herself together. Tumelo’s still not looking at her, and it’s like he’s taunting her with his indifference. She tiptoes to the door, hoping against hope that it’s not locked, that there’s a way out of this suffocating situation.
“Itumeleng, I hate being disturbed when I’m enjoying my coffee,” he says, his voice dripping with annoyance, still not looking at her. The sound of her name on his lips sends a shiver down her spine.
“I don’t have time to chase you around – the door’s locked,” he adds, his words stopping her in her tracks. Itu’s heart sinks, and she feels a wave of desperation wash over her.
He places his mug of half-drunk coffee on the counter and stands up, his movements slow and deliberate. Itu’s eyes widen as he’s finally facing her, and she’s met with the full force of his presence. She swallows a lump, her gaze drifting to the tattoos on his chest, the deep scars etched into his abs like a map of a painful past. She steps back, her legs hitting the chair, and almost falls over. What happened to him?
Tumelo’s eyes flicker to his own body, and for a moment, Itu sees a flash of something like shame, or maybe even regret. He hates it too – the scars, the tattoos, the mess of him. At least the ink managed to cover the worst of it.
Without a word, he turns and walks towards his room, leaving Itu shocked and nervous, her heart still racing from the close call. The sound of the door closing behind him is like a gunshot, and she’s left standing there, frozen in uncertainty.
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