THE RISE OF TUMELO
CHAPTER 08
He didn’t end up talking to his mother because he was pissed, the anger and hurt swirling inside him like a storm that’s been brewing for hours. Seeing his little brother crying had hit him harder than he expected, and he couldn’t bring himself to confront his mother anymore. The guilt and frustration were eating away at him, making it hard to breathe.
As he drives to his apartment, something in him tells him Itu has already left. The feeling settles in his stomach like a bad omen, and he can’t shake it off. He tries to focus on the road, but his mind keeps wandering back to the conversation with his mother. How could she do this to him? Doesn’t she know he’s been taking care of them, providing for them?
He parks his car and walks into the apartment, the door isn’t locked, and he knows she’s gone. The silence hits him like a slap in the face, and he feels a pang of disappointment mixed with anger. He walks to her bedroom, the door wide open, and scans the room, but she’s not there. The bed is made, the clothes he bought her are gone, and the room smells like her perfume. It’s like she’s never been there at all.
He goes to his room and checks for her phone, it’s still there, lying on the bedside table. It was going to be easy to find her if she took her phone with her, but she left it instead. He picks it up, feeling a mix of emotions. Why would she leave without her phone? Does she want him to find her?
His heart shatters, the pieces falling like broken glass. Again, he’s betrayed by a woman, and the pain is familiar, a bitter taste he knows all too well. He takes his bottle of whiskey, a glass, and tosses in a few ice cubes, the clinking sound echoing in the silence. He heads to the balcony, the cool night air a welcome respite from the turmoil inside him.
It’s almost 9 pm, and the streets of Nelspruit are still alive, people moving around like ants. The city is buzzing, but he’s not seeing any of it. His eyes are fixed on the darkness, his mind replaying the events of the day. They’ll know him well tonight, he’ll make sure of it. He clenches his jaw in anger, the whiskey burning in his hand, and ends up throwing the bottle against the wall. The sound of shattering glass is cathartic, a release of the tension building inside him.
He stands there, his chest heaving, his eyes scanning the city below. The lights blur together, a mix of anger, hurt, and frustration. He takes a deep breath, the cool air filling his lungs, and lets out a roar, the sound lost in the night. The city doesn’t care, it keeps moving, but he’s stuck in this moment, unable to move on.
–––
Boitumelo hums softly as she moves around the kitchen, the scent of scrambled eggs and toast filling the air, mingling with the sound of sizzling bacon. She’s been up since dawn, trying to process the events of the previous night. The Mandla issue has clearly unsettled Tumelo, and she’s worried about how he’ll react when he finally meets Mandla. She glances at the clock on the wall, noting that the kids need to get to school soon.
As she finishes up breakfast, Puleng walks in, her school bag slung over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the room, taking in the spread before her. Tisetso follows, his eyes still red-rimmed from crying, and plumps himself down on the high chair, his small frame looking lost in the oversized seat. Boitumelo’s heart aches for her little boy; he’s always been a sensitive soul, wearing his heart on his sleeve.
“Mma,” Tisetso says, his voice barely above a whisper, as Boitumelo dishes out breakfast. His eyes, pools of uncertainty, search hers, seeking reassurance.
“Yeah, baby?” she replies, trying to sound cheerful, as she sets a plate in front of him.
“Abuti Tumelo hates my father,” Tisetso asks, his eyes welling up with tears, his lower lip trembling.
Boitumelo’s heart sinks; she’s worried Tumelo’s anger is affecting the kids. She quickly moves to reassure Tisetso, “No, no, he doesn’t, he just didn’t expect the news. He’ll come around, he can never hate him,” she says, forcing a smile, trying to brush off the unease creeping up her spine.
Tisetso sighs, picking at his food, his mind clearly elsewhere. Boitumelo’s worries grow; she’s not sure how to navigate this situation. She glances at Puleng, who’s watching the exchange with a thoughtful expression, and wonders what she’s thinking.
After breakfast, the kids grab their lunch boxes and head off to school. Boitumelo watches them leave, feeling a pang of guilt, mixed with a dash of anxiety. She heads into the lounge, the silence of the room enveloping her, and pulls out her phone, dialing Mandla’s number. The phone rings a few times before he answers, his deep voice a soothing balm to her frazzled nerves.
“My love,” he answers, his voice husky from sleep, the sheets rustling in the background as he shifts in bed, the sound sending a flutter through Boitumelo’s chest. She loves this man, and the thought of Tumelo’s disapproval threatening their relationship makes her heart tighten in her chest. She keeps quiet, her silence speaking volumes, as if she’s afraid that saying too much will shatter the fragile balance they’ve maintained.
Mandla’s concern grows, “Are you okay?” he asks, his tone laced with worry, the sleepiness slowly fading from his voice as he sits up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The sound of his voice, warm and reassuring, makes Boitumelo’s anxiety spike; she doesn’t want to be the one to bring him pain.
“Tumelo doesn’t want our relationship,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, the words feeling like a betrayal, like she’s admitting defeat. There’s a pause, a heavy silence that hangs in the air, thick and oppressive.
“Why?” Mandla asks, his voice a mere whisper, his tone laced with a mix of concern and trepidation. He knows Tumelo, and he’s not the type of guy you want to mess with – tough, uncompromising, and fiercely protective of those he cares about. The thought of Tumelo’s anger sends a shiver down Boitumelo’s spine.
Boitumelo hesitates, unsure of how much to reveal. “I don’t know, I guess it just doesn’t sit well with him that I’m in a relationship,” she lies, her words tumbling out awkwardly, trying to brush off the unease creeping up her spine. She knows exactly why Tumelo doesn’t approve – it’s because Mandla doesn’t provide for her, and the thought of his mother being taken advantage of at her old age is a hard pill to swallow.
Mandla’s voice is tinged with understanding, “Boitumelo, I know I’m not perfect, and I’ve got some skeletons in the closet, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.” His words are laced with a deep sadness, a sense of resignation, as if he’s expecting the world to turn its back on him at any moment. Boitumelo’s heart aches for him, a mix of guilt and love swirling in her chest.
Her mind is racing, praying that Tumelo doesn’t dig deeper into Mandla’s past, because if he does, he’ll have a solid reason to reject their relationship. She knows the truth – Mandla was a principal at a high school, seducing vulnerable students with money and promises, until it was discovered, and he lost his job and was sentenced to 7 years in prison. The memories of those years still linger, a dark shadow that threatens to consume them both.
The weight of their secrets hangs heavy in the air, the unspoken truth simmering beneath the surface. Boitumelo’s heart is racing, her mind racing with worst-case scenarios. What if Tumelo finds out? What if Mandla’s past comes back to haunt them? What if…
“I love you more, look we’ll talk let me finish up doing my chores. Bye.” She hangs up and sighs, hopefully Tumelo does dig up in Mandla’s past. She knows everything about him because he told her everything.
–––
ITUMELENG
I walk into the yard, the warm sun on my skin a stark contrast to the mix of relief and worry swirling in my chest. The taxi ride was a blur, my mind stuck on Tumelo’s request – telling my mother I’m working. I sigh, feeling like I’m trapped in a web of lies, and it’s getting harder to keep the truth hidden.
Kgomotso’s glare greets me, her hands on her waist, a look of indignation on her face, like she’s been waiting for me. “Ohh, so you decided to send mom R5000 but sent me nothing, knowing very well I have 3 children,” she says, her voice dripping with accusation, her eyes narrowing.
I sigh, trying to deflect the tension, feeling a bit defensive. “How are you, Kgomotso?” I ask, attempting to greet her, but she doesn’t reciprocate, her expression unchanging.
“Itu, I asked you a question,” she snaps, clearly still fuming, her voice rising, and I realize she’s not going to let it go.
I try to reason with her, “They got fathers, don’t they?” I say, trying to keep my tone even, but Kgomotso’s not having it. She’s 30, for heaven’s sake; she can’t expect me to shower her with money. Her chest rises and falls with each angry breath, and I hold tight the few boxer plastics I got, trying not to escalate the situation.
The air’s thick with tension, and I feel like I’m walking on eggshells. I quickly head inside, escaping the drama, grateful for the respite. I find my mother watching TV, a warm smile forming on her lips as her eyes land on me, and for a moment, I forget about the drama outside.
The TV’s blazing with a soapie, and my mother’s eyes are glued to the screen, but she manages a warm “Hello, my girl” when she sees me. A genuine smile spreads across her face, and I feel a pang of guilt for not being able to tell her the truth about Tumelo’s request.
“Mom…” I start, but she interrupts me, “My girl, I’m so glad you’re here. How was your day?” Her eyes sparkle with genuine interest, and I wonder how she’s always managed to see right through me.
I’m standing there, trying to maintain a calm facade, but inside, I’m squirming with guilt. My mom’s eyes are on me, full of pride and trust, and it’s making the lie even harder to swallow. “I’m good and happy to see you, mom,” I say, forcing a smile. “But aren’t you working?” she asks, her brow furrowed slightly, and I know I have to think fast.
The smile on my face slowly disappears, and I hesitate for a moment before speaking. “Uhm… they… I mean my boss gave me a few days off,” I stumble, hating the way the lie tastes in my mouth. I know she’ll expect me to go back to work soon, and I’m not sure how to navigate this web of deceit.
My mom’s expression is understanding, but I can see the curiosity lurking beneath the surface. “Ohh, so early? He trusts you, doesn’t he?” she says, and I fake a smile, nodding, feeling like I’m trapped in this charade.
My mom helps me with the plastics while I grab my luggage with my other hand. I head to my bedroom, trying to escape the weight of the lie, and she starts offloading the groceries, chatting about her day.
As I settle into my room, I can’t help but think about the plan for tomorrow. I’ll head to the mall and stock up with the money I stole from Tumelo.
Hopefully, Andile wasn’t playing me and stealing from the spaza shop. The thought sends a shiver down my spine.
–––
It’s later on that day, and I’ve forgotten to mention that I have a best friend this side, her name is Okuhle, she’s around cargo while I’m round Jim Brown. It’s 7pm, load shedding just did its thing, and electricity this side is a problem. I arrive home, and there’s no one, so I head into my bedroom and lock the door, thinking I’ll have some peace.
As I turn to face my bed, I see a human shadow near the window, and it sends a shiver down my spine. I know it’s Tumelo – who else could it be? It could be the thugs around Jim Brown, but something tells me it’s him. “I trusted you,” that’s the first words that come out of his mouth. How did he get here? He doesn’t know where I stay… it’s obviously Tumelo.
“I trusted you, Itumeleng, but you broke that by running away from me,” he says, and there’s something different in his tone today – he sounds hurt.
“I… I…” words won’t come out, I’m scared that I stole his money, which I still haven’t counted how much it is.
“Let’s go back,” he’s still standing in one position, not moving. I reach the wall and turn on the lights, and his eyes are bloodshot, there’s one huge vein on his forehead. Now I regret switching on the light.
“I know you might hate me for keeping you hostage, but can we please go back to Nelspruit?” he says. I honestly don’t understand what this man wants from me. I don’t know what to say, so I don’t respond because I’m scared.
“I really don’t know how to explain this, but the beast in me will unlock and a lot of innocent souls will suffer. Please let’s go back,” he says, stepping closer. The closer he gets, the more scared I get. I slowly walk back until my back hits the wall.
…..
Im sorry for been distant lately, just that the phone I use for drafting is busted and drafting with an iPhone is hard work. Sorry bana baka don’t be mad please.🙏
Stickers & emojis not allowed.
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