“By now I’m sure you already know the rules.”

Vuyisa started adjusting his helmet. In the previous round, it kept bouncing up and down on his head, distracting him from focusing on the game.

“Remember. Your points are cumulative”, the announcer continued. Points from the previous round play into this round. And your wins or losses from this round play into the next round. So you have a lot at stake”.

The clip from his helmet finally snapped in a comfortable position. The sweat that had already drenched the inner forehead cushion gave a weirdly cooling sensation. He ignored the fact that the same helmet was probably worn hundreds of times before, unwashed.

“I’ll assume that you’ve all had enough rest from the career round. Shortly, we’ll be starting the romance round. Your visors will move down, and the playing field will be augmented onto the parking lot, just like before.”

They all stood in a line, waiting for the whistle blow. To Vuyisa’s left was Roan. Vuyisa had beaten him in the career round. His points would give him a head start in the romance round, so he wasn’t too worried. On his right was Divya. He barely even noticed her in the previous round.

“And GO!”

Vuyisa started running. The Fourways Crossing parking lot wasn’t too big. Finding the green flags would be easy enough. The crowd of contestants surrounded him, so his aim was to get enough distance from them to start seeing the augmented clues on his visor.

After some distance, he started seeing an image forming. Could she have the green flag? She certainly looked the part. Kept Brazilian hair. Tight jeans. Glasses. He loved girls with glasses. He slowed down his run, and pace-walked. Slow enough for him to assess more. Fast enough to get to her first. She slowly started turning towards him with a beautiful smile on her face, while pulling a small flag out of her pocket. His heart started racing. Could I win this early in the competition? The flag was a white flag. In confusion, he then stopped.

Her face turned sad. He felt bad, and started walking slowly towards her. “Hello?” he said to her. “Why don’t you want to come?” she asked. Then he stopped again. Her accent was rural. I’m not doing that again. I left that world and I’m not going back. Slowly, her white flag started turning red. And he ran off.

“You may have noticed by now”, the announcer interrupted, “for this round, the flags change colours during the course of the game. The helmet is wired to your brain, and all historical thought is aggregated into the perfect outcome for you”.

At least that will filter out the garbage.

Vuyisa thought that the women from back home were too simple for him. Ever since moving to Fourways, he had struggled to relate to them. They didn’t get the jokes. They didn’t have the witty retorts, and lacked the general social cues. He’d left that life. And wasn’t about to go back.

“Remember!” the announcer blurted. “If you’ve found a red flag, you need to get back to the centre, and to start again.”

Vuyisa ran back to the middle of the parking lot. He was already getting tired of the game, but he was already in it, so the mental effort of leaving was far more than that of staying.

From the traffic circle in the middle of the parking lot, he started jogging in the other direction. He looked to his left. Nothing. He slowly turned his head towards his right. An image of a lady seated on the tarred ground with her legs crossed started buffering into focus. She was playing guitar and singing along. With a well-kept afro, neat enough to know that it took time, but rough enough to look like she wasn’t trying, she appealed to his progressive sensibilities. He looked at her and smiled. She smiled back. “Hi”, he started. “Hey there”, she said back, with her tilted head carrying her cute smile.

He started sitting down next to her. She put her guitar down next to him. She picked up her rucksack and started pulling out the white flag. He started looking at the stickers on her guitar – stickers with slogans that only seemed to be used in places like these and never back home. Thembalethu. Imizamo Yethu. And stickers of afro combs and raised fists.

Performative, he thought to himself. As the flag came out of her bag, the white quickly turned to red. He stood up quickly and started walking away from her. He’d met a few of these ones. Looking for a home they’d never known. Embracing tightly what he’d been trying to let go of. She looked surprised wondering what she’d done wrong. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else” he said to try and console her. And he ran back to the centre traffic circle.

“We only have 5 minutes left in this round!” blurted the announcer. “If you don’t find your green flag, you’ll leave this round with zero points!”

Now Vuyisa started panicking. He started running in every direction. His head swerving to the left. Then jolting to the right. While dizzying himself from the search, an image started appearing directly in front of him. A beautiful woman. Dressed in a corporate suit on top, yet wearing cute teddy bedroom slippers. She had an apron on, with flour sprinkled all over it. Something about her spoke to his ambition. Yet something about her felt like home.

He started jogging towards her. She lifted her head and looked at him. Then she turned her head and looked to his side. Then she looked back at him. He turned his head to try and see what she was looking at. Roan was also jogging towards her.

I can’t be beaten by this idiot.

Vuyisa then started sprinting towards her. Roan picked up his pace and started sprinting too. The baking utensils in her hand fell to the floor as she lifted her arms in confusion. “Hi! I’m Vuyisa!”, he shouted to her. He noticed that Roan started to slow down. Maybe he’s given up. With the confidence of a win, he also slowed down and walked slowly towards her with a swagger in his step. As he got closer, she was indeed beautiful. The most beautiful he’d seen since arriving in Joburg. Yet, as she started reading him more, the confusion on her face started turning to a frown.

The visor on his helmet started flashing red. “What’s happening!” he shouted.

“Oh, you’re also being eliminated from this pursuit”, the announcer said.

“But how! I have more points than this clown over here!”

“I’m so sorry”, the beautiful lady said sheepishly. “I found your eagerness attractive at first, so I made myself visible to you for your choosing.”

“And then what went wrong?” Vuyisa asked.

“Your career points were a red flag. I saw it with my dad. And I don’t want to play the game that I saw my mom play”.

“But I’m not your dad!” Vuyisa shouted. He tried unclipping the helmet, but it wouldn’t budge. “Take this damn thing off me! I want to talk to her properly!” he said looking at the announcer.

“Unfortunately, you can’t just get out of the game you’ve chosen to play”, the announcer replied.

Vuyisa stood still as he watched Roan approach the beautiful lady and embrace her. From the pocket on the front of her apron, she picked up a flag and gave it to him. As he took a hold of it, the flag turned green.

“And time is up!” shouted the announcer from the centre circle. “Next week this time, we will continue with the next round”.

Vuyisa walked slowly carrying the weight of shame to his car. Divya walked next to him, awkwardly embracing a partner. “I didn’t see you in the game. How did you end up with a green flag?”

“I bowed out at the beginning. My family chose him for me.”

“Oh wow!” Vuyisa exclaimed. Seems backward. Too much could go wrong.

Photo by bruno neurath-wilson on Unsplash

Maria du Plessis sat back in her chair, with her freshly brewed cup of coffee in one hand, and Youtube opened on her phone in the other hand, after opening her quaint Dullstroom coffee shop.

“The mainstream media does not want you to know this, because they are all a part of this. They are all, literally, in bed with the politicians, and the women from rural South Africa who are preying on our young men.”

Maria’s eyes widened in disbelief. Her hand over her gasping mouth in shock. “Pieter!” she called her husband from outside. “Kyk hierso!”

Pieter ran in with his spade in the air, ready to fight. “What’s wrong”?

“Look what’s happening there in Fourways. Isn’t that where Paul stays?”

“Paul is now an adult”, Pieter answered. “He can look after himself. Don’t you think you raised him well enough”.

“Ja, maar I don’t trust what’s happening there. Look what they are saying here. You have to go to check if he’s ok.”

“Go to Joburg!? Nee man. Why don’t you just call him?”

“If he’s trapped in this thing, he won’t tell us the truth.” Maria replied. “Please, you have to go tomorrow”.

“No! The Datsun bakkie will never make it that far. You know it’s been giving problems for years. That place is dangerous. What if I get robbed. What if they kill me. Then what are you going to do!?”

Maria started sulking. A tear started rolling down her cheek. She turned on her chair to face away from him.

“Don’t do this now Maria”. Pieter walked towards her and put his hand on her shoulder. “You know I’d do anything for you”.

“Well why don’t you love us enough to make sure your son is safe?”

Pieter looked down. He sighed. He looked out towards the window. “Ok fine. I’ll leave tomorrow morning”.

The next day, at the crack of dawn, Pieter was grumbling to himself as he prepared to leave. He packed a tog bag and threw it into the passenger seat. He packed some bread and put it into a plastic container. Maria stood on the porch with her purple nightgown. He grumbled past her, walked into the car, and drove off.

The journey was a tiring one. Past the beautiful countryside of the Eastern Transvaal. Past the industrial coal mines of Emalahleni. Past the townships of Daveyton, and through the suburbs of Benoni. Onto the N3 North, continuing onto the N1 South, until he finally reached the Winnie Mandela offramp.

As the car approached the hill of the offramp, driving onto Winnie Mandela drive, the engine of the old Datsun started coughing. Black smoke started coming through whichever gap the bonnet would allow. Pieter’s foot pressed onto the accelerator, and the car jumped forward. Then stopped. Then jumped forward. Then stopped. The cars around him started hooting. The cars behind him swerved to his side, slowed down to look at him, then sped off.

He eventually managed to get the car to the Leslie Street intersection and turned down towards Douglasdale. He found a small sideroad and parked there. “I’m so stupid. Why did I agree to do this”, he whispered to himself, closing his eyes, and putting his head back to find some relief. Until there were two taps on his windows.

“Give me your wallet and your phone now!”

He opened his eyes and turned to see a gun pointing at him through the windows.

“I said give me your damn wallet and your damn phone now oupa, and nobody needs to get hurt!”

With his hands shaking, he took the wallet from his pocket and the phone from the dashboard, and handed it to the man outside. The man grabbed them, ran to the car idling nearby, and drove off.

Still shaking, he slowly got out of the car, covered his head with his elbow placed on the car, and started crying.

A while later, after composing himself, he remembered some cash he kept in the cubby hole for emergencies. He picked up the R2000 and started walking down the road towards Douglasdale Village Shopping Centre.

“A coffee would put me in the right state of mind”, he thought to himself.

Entering the coffee shop, the overly friendly barista lady asked “Hello sir, what can I get you today?”.

“Umm, can I get a cappuccino asseblief?”

“Sure sir, that will be R40. Please tap or insert your card into the machine”.

Pieter took out a R100 note from the inner jacket of his pocket. “I have cash. Can you give me change?”

“Sorry sir, we are a responsibly cashless establishment. We only take Visa or Mastercard”.

“I just got robbed. I don’t have a card. Can you please just take my cash.’

“Sorry sir, we are responsibly cashless. We also take Apple Pay or Google Pay”.

“Are you deaf? I told you I just got robbed. Just take the money. You don’t even have to give me change.”

“Unfortunately sir, we are responsibly cashless”, the barista said, with her irritated eyes betraying the forced smile.

“Responsible to who? Fine whatever!” he said, as he stormed out of the coffee shop.

Pieter saw the large Pick ‘n Pay sign, and crossed the road hoping to find a phone. At the kiosk, he asked the man, “Can I please have a sim card and that cheap phone there”.

The man behind the counter answered, “Sure, just give me your ID so I can RICA you”.

“I just got robbed and they took my ID”, Pieter tried to explain. “Isn’t there any other way?”

“Unfortunately not sir. You’ll have to go to the police station and get an affidavit. Then go to Home Affairs and get a temporary ID document. But eish, you first have to book online before you get an appointment at Home Affairs”.

“How do I book online?” Pieter asked.

“Using your phone. You can do it on both an Android or iPhone”.

Pieter closed his eyes and bit his tongue to hold himself from exploding. People here didn’t know him like they did back home, so they wouldn’t understand.

“Sorry meneer”, Pieter started slowly. “Are you telling me that I need to have a phone, before I can buy the phone that I need to have?”

The man behind the counter paused to think about what he just said. Then burst out laughing. “Ya neh. Things are crazy these days. I don’t know what I can say.”

A lady behind him in the queue tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hello sir, I see you seem to have a bit of trouble here. You seem to not be from around here. I think I can help you.”

He turned around, and saw that the woman talking to him was a fairly beautiful middle-aged woman. Her beauty drew his focus into her eyes, which somehow instilled a childlike trust.

“I’m also a rural lady, and I can see one of our own”, she said.

“Ya, I’m from Dullstroom, in the Eastern Transvaal”.

“This world is so different from the one we know”, she said as she put her hand on his shoulder. “I help people navigate this new world much more easily. Come, let me get you a coffee and talk you through it”.

They crossed the road, back to the coffee shop.

“Take a seat while I buy the coffees. Is a cappuccino ok?”.

“Yes, that would be perfect.”

The barista looked on them with an amused smirk. As if she’d seen this all before.

The lady sat down with the coffees and took some documents out of her bag. She started explaining to Pieter, putting her hand on his, “The world we know is so different from this world here. To understand all of it, and to know the right thing to do will take anyone years to do! That’s I want to make it so much easier for you. You’ll be able to buy things in this world without having to get money from the bank, travel around without the burden of a car or a friend to help you, find places to stay, and do so much that you never even knew of.”

After the day that Pieter had, this sounded so appealing. “So where do I sign up?”

The lady took papers out of her back. “You just have to sign the following papers, and I’ll get all the things organised for you.”

Pieter started reading through what he was about to sign:

“I, the signatory, pledge allegiance to the flag of …, with liberty and justice for all.”

Photo by Yoal Desurmont on Unsplash

“Oorlog! Oorlog!”

He took up his position at the Cedar – Wiktoppen intersection. Shield in one hand. Spear pointing North in the other.

“From the Magalies mountains, they are coming! Get ready to fight!”

For the past two weeks, Siener van Rensburg had been trying to warn whoever would listen about the impending doom. He had seen visions of soldiers, coming down the Magalies mountain ranges, storming towards Johannesburg.

“The Uitlanders from the Kaap are trying again! Get ready to fight!”

It was the morning rush hour traffic, but nobody stopped to listen. Each day, his pronouncements would get more animated. On Monday, he brought drums that he started beating to signal the start of war. On Tuesday, he brought a ram’s horn which he blew. And blew. And blew. On Wednesday, he enacted a battle, using his spear and shield against the traffic light pole. And now on Thursday, he’s looking to try something new.

“Ey grootman, what’s this thing you’ve been saying this whole week”. Someone finally gave him attention. James normally stood near the traffic lights, waiting for them to magically go out, so that he was ready to direct traffic.

“Who is asking?”, the Siener shot back.

“James Tshabalala. Who are you? This is my intersection. And you didn’t get my permission to do this nonsense you’re doing.”

The Siener jumped off the drinks crate he was standing on and looked James intently in the eyes. He whispered: “They are coming again! They want to take over the government! They want to make war!”

“Who is coming again? Ey, uyahlanya”.

“The Cape Government!”, he shot in a hoarse shout.

“Taking over what? We vote here grootman.” James replied.

“Vote!? They own all the shops. They’re buying all the shopping centres. Now they want the government too!”

“Mara maybe they’re going to make it nice. You can see these people here are just eating the money. We also want nice things”, James smiled.

“The propaganda of the Reform Committee has hit you too!” Siener turned his back towards James, then turned back at him, staring intently at him. “You don’t understand what you are saying”.

“You think these rich people are going to listen to you from here? Closed windows, closed ears. They all think you’re mad”, James said.

“Do you have a better plan Mr Clever?” the Siener said, climbing back onto his crate.

“Come with me. This thing is wasting your time”.

They walked past Fourways mall, across Winne Nicol, towards the food trailers along the road. “Wait for me here”, James motioned to the Siener.

James went to 2 of the food trailers and started talking with the people inside them. They were laughing, and this was irritating the Siener. James then walked back with the 2 food sellers.

“These are the people you have to convince. They’ll get the message out to the most people.”

“How!?”, Siener asked. “Do you just want to waste my time!? I need to get onto radio and TV and the internet.”. He started walking back down the road to his platform.

“Ey bra. Which radio station will talk to someone like you? Also, only news about yesterday is on the radio.”

The Siener stopped. He looked down for a few moments. He then turned back. “Ok, what’s your plan?”

“Most of the people who work in most of these houses and shops all around here come by these trailers.”

The Siener was now engaged.

“You tell them”, James said. “Then they tell their customers buying food here; their customers tell others on the walk to work; they all tell the people they work for. By the weekend, everyone is talking about this thing.”

“But… how do I know I can trust these guys?” the Siener asked. “The Uitlanders have spies everywhere.”

James laughed. “Your uitlanders have no time for these guys. They think it’s too expensive to control them.”

“Ok, I’m in”, the Siener said as he walked towards the trailers. “So here’s what’s happening. The Cape Government wants to control this land. They say their economic interests here justify it. But even they are just puppets for foreign governments who want to control it. They are too blind and power hungry to see it. So they first controlled all the food through the shops. All the money people pay for food here ends up in the Cape and sponsors their war effort. Now they want to buy the land, so that we all end up as peasants.”

“Wait. What is your point. This story is too long”, said Funeka from one of the food trailers.

“People must start buying from local shops only. We just need to convince them of that”, the Siener said.

Funeka laughed. “We are the only local shops left. And these people in their nice cars aren’t going to buy from us”.

Slowly, a crowd started gathering around them. More people started listening. The Siener finally had an audience.

“If we come together, we can overcome! Just like it was done in 1896, it can be done today!” he tried encouraging.

There were mumbles from the crowd. Everyone trying to figure out whether to take him seriously, or ignore him. A lady in a car slowed down near them. She looked around suspiciously, trying to figure out what the commotion was about. She then picked up her phone and started sending messages.

“Everyone listen”, Funeka started. “We have a chance to do something big here. Wena Sipho, you’re delivering for that app, but you can deliver for us. Wena Thabisa, on your walk to work, you can collect orders people on your route. Same with you Velenkosi. Same with you Rita. From here, we will then start to…”

Suddenly, 8 metro police cars surrounded them, blaring their sirens. Black BMW X5s also arrived, parking next to them. It was the provincial government. Flagged with the metro government. The mayor stepped out of the car with a megaphone.

“It is Operation Tlosa Matlakala here. You have no permits to be here. You must leave immediately, and never come back!” the mayor shouted.

Behind the mayor were the new owners of the shopping centre they were standing in front of. They started putting red tape around to stop people from entering the area.

“Traitors!” the Siener shouted. He ran towards the mayor with his spear stretched out. One of the mayor’s bodyguards ran towards him from the side and tackled him. “Not today Oupa.”

“You don’t understand what you are doing”, the Siener said while trying to resist. A metro policeman handcuffed the Siener and pulled him towards the police van. A second one held onto him to lift him up into the van. They eventually threw him into the back and locked the door. The crowd had scattered. The trailers had started packing up. One vendor had her hands on her head in disbelief.

And from the back of the police van, the Siener kept shouting at them, “You don’t understand what you are doing!”

“Sandra, you are home!”

Xola, her husband, walked up to her and gave her his ritual welcome kiss. He moved his hand to her lower back. He pulled her in more tightly. He kissed her more. She obliged. She was tired.

“Here, I bought you some flowers”, Xola said, picking up the bouquet from the kitchen counter. “They are your favourite”. They were white lilies. They were her favourite. 2 years ago. When they got married. She smiled. She said “Thanks”. He kissed her again. She was too tired to give the thanks he wanted.

“Let’s go out for dinner”, she suggested. Maybe that will lift the troubles from her shoulders. The bad performance review. The report that is due. The tension in the team. And now the expectations from him.

“I ordered in”, he said. “I just have something for work to finish for tomorrow, then I’m all yours.”

“Ok cool. Let me get out of my work clothes while you finish off”, she said.

He went back to his desk. Opened his laptop. He put his headphones on. Put on the lo-fi beats that get him going.

“Did you hear about that incident on the N1?” she asked from the other room. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t hear her. She wasn’t too bothered.

She changed into her warm winter pyjamas. She sat on the couch. She picked up her reality-augmenting phone. She started to unwind. She started scrolling.

The singer LordKez found her way into her living room. Her genre of sound was just what were needed. She looked up and could see her dancing. “It’s so interesting how 90s music is now coming back”, she thought to herself. She wanted to join her dancing in her living room. Remembering the dances she used to see her older sisters doing growing up. Until Xola came in. “Supper has arrived. I ordered you a lemon and herb quarter chicken. Something not too exciting” he said laughing. “I’m almost done, but you can eat in the meantime”.

She sat back down on the couch. Quarter chicken held by the thumb and index finger of her right hand. She continued to scroll with her pinky finger. Her living room was then transformed to the White House Oval Office. LordKez continued dancing in the corner, somewhat out of sight but somehow still in mind.

Her living room was now surrounded by world leaders. Stammer from the UK. Merz from Germany. Zelensky from Ukraine. Ramaphosa from South Africa. “Ramaphosa? What are you even doing there?” she asked. But the augmented reality never spoke back.

“I’m done now babe. I’m going to bed”, Xola said standing next to her. She never noticed he came in. “Ok cool, I’ll be there right now. Just finishing off something quickly, she said”.

He walked away. She continued scrolling. Investigators from true-life crime stories started entering the room. The oval office ended up on another corner of the room, somewhat out of sight but somehow still in mind.

“It looks like one of the doors wasn’t locked properly at night”, one of the investigators said. “It doesn’t look like there was forced entry into the room”. She wondered if she had locked the door properly when she walked in. Xola normally double-checks. But maybe he didn’t. Snap. “Xola is probably waiting for me” she thought.

She pulled herself up from the couch and walked towards the bedroom. LordKez followed first. Then Trump and his entourage of world leaders. Then the investigators. They entered the bedroom. They had company.

Xola had been scrolling on his augmenting-reality phone too. In the room, Sandra saw historic scenes from Maqoma’s imprisonment on Robben Island. She also saw men in suites docking in the UK, to appeal to Queen Victoria on behalf of their people back home. She didn’t see Xola though, he was under the covers.

“Babe, are you still awake?” she asked.

“Yeah”, he said pulling down the covers from his face. “Are you done with everything you needed to do?” he asked.

“Ya I am”. She opened her cupboard to put on something more exciting for him. But she felt awkward now because of all the company they had. Even though they had different guests every night, tonight particularly she felt too self-conscious to let Victoria know all her secrets.

So she climbed into bed in her winter pyjamas. Xola was still entertained by his guests. Sanda was entertained by hers. And they really cared nothing for each other’s guests.

15 minutes later, Sandra heard a light snore. She turned and noticed he had fallen asleep. She was somewhat disappointed. Somewhat relieved.

Jeremy walked towards the sound of her voice. Pushing through the other people around him, and shoving through their shrieks of fear, he eventually found her. “Where is mom?” Skye asked. “She was next to me before the lights went out. I don’t know where she is”, Jeremy replied, with tears starting to run down his eyes. “Let’s run up to the roof parking, we’ll be able to see better there”.

This day was not supposed to be like this. What started off as a boring whiney trip to Fourways Mall with their mother had turned for this 9 and 11 year old. Since they started conquering the rest of the world, their dad always said to them that they won’t be affected by the military might of the Sino-American Empire. “Who would care for us on the southern tip of Africa”, he kept trying to assure them. But as soon as Jeremy heard the first big bang, he knew what was happening.

With all their might, they pushed the automated sliding door open, until they could get onto the roof. Military helicopters were flying above them. They could hear the sounds of sirens on the street below. “They could shoot us from here, we are out in the open”, Jeremy exclaimed. “But we can’t go back inside, it’s too dark”, Skye replied. She looked out, and saw a small door a short sprint from where they were. “Come quick!”, she said grabbing Jeremy’s hand before he could protest.

She opened the door, and they entered a store room with some light from the windows. Jeremy started sobbing. “This is not the time Jeremy”, Skye said sternly. “Crying is not going to help us”. “But we’re going to die, Skye.”

Suddenly, a big flash of light appeared in the corner of the room, surrounded by smoke. As the smoke started dissipating, a man with Mokorotlo hat and a Seanamarena blanket draped like a cape, appeared in the shadows. “From the echoing walls of the Maloti Mountains, I heard the sounds of distress! I’m here to save you!”.

After the initial shock wore off, Jeremy looked at him sceptically. “Umm… how do you plan to do that? Have you seen their guns?”

“I am Kutla! For centuries my clan have been the defenders of the peoples of these lands from outside invaders! There’s more to power than guns!”

The door suddenly swung open. Skye was the one who now screamed. The silhouette of a female figure eclipsed the light from outside. As it walked towards them, one could start making out her facial features.

“Mxm, is this clown already here?” she said, looking condescendingly at Kutla.

Skye was enamoured by her beautiful red umbhaco dress, her red headscarf, and her beads forming an intricately woven cape behind her. “She’s so beautiful”, she whispered.

“Nomfundo! If I knew you’re coming, I would’ve never even come.” Kutla said.

“How did you get here from Maloti mountains so fast”, Jeremy asked Kutla. “Can you fly?”

“Maloti Mountains?”, Nomfundo laughed. “There are no unused mines there for someone like him.”

“Heeyi, you don’t talk to me like that. My clan is the defender of the peoples of these lands from outside invaders! I am Kutla!” he said with his chest out and arms at his side.

“Did defending the peoples of this land also mean begging the British to protect you from Shaka?” Nomfundo asked cheekily.

Another bright light appeared at the corner of the room.

“Wat kind? Hows it vaaiing”, said a voice from the shadows. “Are these two at it again?”

“Who are you now?” asked Skye.

“To the the world, I’m Captain Naidoo. But to my friends, I’m Nesh”.

“So what can I call you?” Skye asked for clarity.

“You are 11. You are not my friend. So to you, I’m Captain Naidoo. Unless you have some pocket money to buy nice things. Then you’re my friend. Then you can call me Nesh.”

An unknown trapdoor to the ceiling then opened. It caught everyone by surprise. And a man jumped down, dressed in bright British military attire, with medals and honours lining his shoulders.

“Aweh Santa! It’s not Christmas time”. Nesh joked.

“I’m Major General Murray, descendant of His Majesty’s regiment in his territories of old. From the fairest mountain in the Cape I heard the cries, and I’ve come here to lead the effort to save the land.”

“Mxm lead!?” Nomfundo said with her arms crossed. “I’m the most qualified to lead here. I have my two degrees from South Africa’s top university, and my Master’s Degree from Cambridge. And you? Just a matric!?”

“History! History and civilisation is what I have. We built this land with its mining and industry . We were building empires, palaces and underground railroads, while your people were presumably sacrificing goats to your deceased”.

“Ey bra”, Nesh started. “It sounds like you’re the one busy worshipping your deceased, if that’s all you have to go on.”

“Guys stop! We have invaders we need to conquer!” Kutla summoned. “Nomfundo, I think General Murray has more experience leading this kind of thing.”

“Centuries later and still selling out”, Nomfundo replied.

“H-h-h-i guys, my name is Skye. I really need help finding my mom if you could help me. I don’t know if she was captured by the Sino-Americans.”

Nomfundo drew her close and gave her a warm hug. Tears now started flowing down Skye’s face. “As soon as we organise ourselves, we’ll be ready to rescue her.”

“Are you guys even real?” Jeremy asked, breaking the moment.

“Come on bra”, Nesh started. “Not real like a wooden chair is real, but real like your ouma’s wooden chair is real. You think a flying Sotho is real? This is Fourways, not Thoyondou”.

A big bomb suddenly exploded, rattling and cracking the walls of the building they were in.

“I don’t care anymore about your stories”, Skye said. Filled with a newfound courage, she declared to them: “I’m going to be the leader from now on. Let’s go and save our land!”

“At least she’s young”, Nesh said following her out of the door. “The stories haven’t caught up with her yet”.

Zethu had been sent by her dad to put up his campaign posters. Following the collapse of the Johannesburg city council and the balkanisation of the metro, Tom was now running for a seat to represent Douglasdale at the Fourways Senate. Before the city crisis, being seen putting up political posters would’ve been very embarrassing for this 17 year old. But now the right politics was fashionable.

“I hope you put them nice and high for everyone to see”, Tom said to Zethu after she arrived back at home.

“High enough for all to see”, she said with rolling eyes and air-quote hands.

“I’m going to finish my speech for the big debate. If anyone comes looking for me, I’m not here”, he said walking off to his home office.

“I hope you’re not gonna make promises you can’t keep. Remember I still have a reputation to uphold here”, Zethu said.

“That’s the mistake my girl”, he said turning back to her intently. “It’s not promises for me to keep. It’s promises and responsibilities for us all to uphold!”

He started walking around the room with his stomach in, chest out and shoulders broadened, talking to the walls as if re-enacting his high school theatre days.

“We have been fed a diet of my right this and my right that, and do you know where we have ended up as a result of this?” he asked rhetorically.

“In Fourways?” she sheepishly answered anyway.

“No, in a place where nobody wants to take” he turns around and stares her in the eye, with a dramatic pause for effect, whispering “res-pons-i-bi-li-ty!”

With her dad still staring at her, Zethu turned her eyes to the side of him to break the awkward impasse.

“Here in Fourways, we could be great!” he continued towards the walls. “We could be better than all the other territories in this place of gold!”

He paused. His eyes raced around the floor, propelled by the spinning cogs processing in his mind.

“I think I’ve got it! Make Fourways Great! That’s the anchor to the speech!”

Debate day had finally arrived. Attendants started gathering at Norscot Manor. Chairs had been laid out in the tea garden. The ritualistic Fourwaysian greeting was humming in the car park.

“Hey, how’s it been.”

“Ey, busy hey”.

“Ya, I know what you mean bud”.

Tom sat in a toilet cubicle, reciting his speech in his head. And calming his nerves. And avoiding Rufaro, who was running for the same seat. They used to work together, until Rufaro was promoted and Tom couldn’t stand the thought of his performance reviews being done by someone half his age. So Tom left, and started a not-so-successful consultancy, to successfully keep his ego intact.

“Ey, I’m not too sure about these candidates”, he heard someone saying from outside the cubicle. “Ya hey, this seems like a personal thing we are all being dragged into” another replied. “Isn’t that the whole of politics?”, they both laughed.

His confidence further shaken, Tom waited for them to leave the bathroom. He got out of the cubicle and washed his face at the sink. He stared in the mirror, broadened his shoulders, sucked in his stomach, and put out his chest. After a deep breath, he went to the crowds.

“Ladies and gentlemen”, the announcer started. “Debate day has finally arrived, and we have Rufaro Moyo on my left, and Tom Jonas on my right”. They both stood up and waved to the crowds. “Tom, you’re going to start us off with your opening remarks.” Tom got up from his chair and walked up to the podium. He looked around the crowd, and locked eyes with Zethu to give him solace. She was sitting next to that boy from school whose opinions generally irritated him.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Fourways”, Tom started. “We start at this historic moment of our very first ever local election. With years and years of misrule and neglect, we now have a chance to make Fourways great again!”

There were loud cheers from the crowd. His confidence started building. He started walking from the stand to engage the crowd.

“This community was built by people who worked hard to make it what it is!” Nods of agreement from the older in the crowd lifted his soul.

“Whether you were a plumber or a banker, there was a place for you here. And we worked together to build up our communities, and to put in parks, and to make this place the in-demand place it is today! With that same spirit, we build on its glory and make the Fourways of tomorrow!”

Rufaro put up his hand. Tom glanced at the announcer to see if that was ok. The announcer signalled for Rufaro to speak.

“I hear this pie in the sky vision of everyone living here, but then what happens to our property prices?”

“Property prices!?” Tom exclaimed. “Our sons and daughters aren’t able to get jobs and you’re worried about property prices!? We can bring industries nearby so that our children can have a future!”

“Bra, I don’t want to work in a factory. I’m gonna be famous, and not just TikTok famous” Zethu’s friend said in the crowd. Tom couldn’t hear what he said but could see those around him laughing, and Zethu hiding her face in embarrassment.

“To make us great, we need to move from passive beneficiaries to active citizens, and there is a place for all of us to play our parts!” Tom tried to regain their attention.

“What are you talking about!?” Rufaro said as he stood up. “Everyone wants to live here! We are already great.”

The younger ones in the crowd cheered loudly.

Tom then lost his composure. “You don’t know what it took to get us here!” he shouted at Rufaro.

“It’s our time to shine now sir.” Rufaro replied while laughing. “Thanks for bringing us here. We’ll take it from here.”

The older in the crowd were saddened by the loss of control. The younger in the crowd were laughing and jeering. Tom watched Zethu stand up and run out the gardens. And to keep the last shred of dignity he had remaining, Tom walked through the crowd, out of the gardens and into his car.

After a long drive, he went back home. He found Zethu slouched on the couch scrolling through her phone.

“I told you not to embarrass me” she said without looking at him. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

He had the weight of betrayal hanging on his shoulder. But it was his daughter, and he knew that she was oblivious to it. He looked at her, and muttered “I didn’t know that was my responsibility”, and walked away.

Do they tell of when they could nest among all the trees along the Jukskei? Or of which flowering trees announce the start of the summer rains? Do they tell the stories of waves of conquest by the humans below? And how each band of crusaders have divorced their rhythms from the melodies of the birdsong?

Tau was now irritated.

They had achieved the South African dream. Well, the black South African elite dream at least. They had the university degrees. The middle-to-upper management corporate career track. The Instagram marriage, and complementary baby photo shoot. Stats on Strava. And now, a house with a swimming pool. It even had a veranda, with outdoor furniture for the summer dinners they’re barely going to have. All which came with a cost.

“You’ve been cleaning the pool for the last hour Tau. You’re supposed to have been finished by now”, Martha said as she walked out the veranda door.

“I’ve been trying to. But then the wind blows and these stupid pink flowers fall from this damn tree”, Tau tried to explain.

“People are coming at 5! It’s the first time anyone has come to our house. Please, don’t embarrass us”. Martha rushed back inside to busy herself with the cleaning she doesn’t normally do.

It’s a familiar pattern in a recently-moved-in Northern Suburbs home. The humans fight for territory in the minds of their neighbours. They colour their feathers and brighten up their homes, to get ready to dual in the pageantry of perception. It’s a winner takes all honour competition. At least until the next bout. Which has gone from months to minutes online.

It's 3pm and he has to go and fetch Thabo, his son, from his club soccer games. He puts the pool tools down and enters back into the house to fetch his keys.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Martha asks.

“Thabo’s game is finishing. I need to go and fetch him.” Tau replies.

“But there’s still so much to do! We don’t have time for you to go galivanting around town”.

“Who’s idea was it that a 9 year old should be playing club soccer every Saturday, because all his friends are doing it?” Tau’s restraint was now running out of patience.

“Heeyi. Don’t come to me with that attitude. I’m the one who takes them to school and fetches them from practice all week while you leave early and work late.” Martha now put the broom against the wall and place her hands on the side of her waist. “I’ve been asking you to clean this pool since Sunday last week, and it’s always ‘no my boss said this, no my KPI that, no my project this’. Who sets the rhythm of your life?”.

It really wasn’t the time to be disrespected like this. Tau got the keys, got into the car and drove to the soccer grounds.

“Dad, why couldn’t you come to my game like all the other parents did?”, Thabo said after he got into the car. “Even Mike’s parents were there and they’re normally the ones who are busy.”

“Today everyone’s coming for me” thought Mike to himself.

“When we get home, we need to help your mom with cleaning up. Start with your room. We have visitors and the kids will be playing in your room.” Tau explained to his son.

“Oh thanks. I scored 3 goals in case you were interested”, Thabo said as he looked out the back window. Tau ignored the comment and kept driving home.

It was 4:30 and the house was in a semi-decent state. Most of the pink flowers had been cleared from the pool. All Tau’s toys had been cleared away. Tiles had been mopped. Carpets had been vacuumed. And the snacks were laid out on tables along the edges of the veranda.

Martha had now been calmed down by the sense of control she had over the situation. She knew her words had been piercing, but there just wasn’t enough time to make it right. And then the gate intercom rang. “Who’s here so early?” Martha asked.

“It’s Jake.” Tau said. “I forgot to say, he said he’d be coming early because of somewhere else he has to be at 7”.

Martha didn’t like Jake’s wife. Ofentse, Jake’s wife didn’t like Martha. Jake and Tau had grown up together and were best of friends, forcing Martha and Ofentse to have to bear each other’s one-upmanship ever so often.

“Hiiii!!” said Ofentse in her high-pitched trying-to-be-nice voice. “Welcome guys, please come outside to the veranda”, said Tau, inviting them in.

“Oh, this place is so cute!” said Ofentse. Martha didn’t know what that meant. Tau didn’t either, and didn’t want now to be the time to find out. “It’s been such a hot day man. Thirty-two degrees at midday”, he said trying to diffuse whatever may or may not be.”

“Ya, but I’m surprised you guys chose a late afternoon outdoor supper”, Ofentse said.

“Whyyyyy?” Martha asked in a high-pitched-trying-to-be-nice voice.

“Sweety look up. The clouds are covering. It’s Joburg. 5pm thunderstorms.”

Crap.

Living in the sanctity of their flat had shielded them from nature. And now the black birds were flying in their flock to shelter, making what Martha perceived to be sounds of mockery. From a distance, the first lighting struck, followed by the sound of thunder.

“Tau, my love”, started Martha in her sweetest voice, forgiving herself of her worded arrows earlier. “Won’t you get Thabo and start moving some of these snacks inside then.”

Tau gave her a side-eye, and then went to fetch Thabo.

“Don’t you worry darling”, said Ofentse. “You’ll eventually get used to the way things work”.

He sat in the car in the parking lot, flipping through TikTok, hoping to buy five more minutes, until he heard a knock on the passenger side window. “Hey Amo, we’re late, let’s get inside”, Meg said. His corporate smile gripped his face, as he opened the door and left the car. “Wow Amo, I haven’t seen you in months. I’d even forgotten how you looked like” she laughed. “Ya well, you know I don’t like that Camera On button”.

Entering the reception of The Great Escape, Amo and Meg saw the whole team standing awkwardly.

“Ah, there you are”, said Nevesh, their manager. “Did you two come together?” he asked suspiciously .

“No!” shrieked Meg. “We just arrived at the same time”.

Oh well, that door is closed. Amo sighed internally. I guess her online voice was deceptive.

“Is that everyone?” asked the guy from The Escape Room.

“Yes, all the latecomers have finally arrived”, Nevesh said with a side-eye to Amo.

“Great. I’m Rob, and I’ll guide you through this experience”, he started. “We’ve recently upgraded our room in line with international trends, and so we now have an AI-powered experience. First, you can connect to our Wi-Fi, download our app, and register to start”.

Everyone started fumbling on their phones to get this whole thing started and over.

“It’s asking for permissions to my contacts and photos”, Dineo asked. “What do I do here?”

“Just accept it”, Rob said. “We delete everything we use at the end of your session so there’s no need to worry about privacy”.

“I guess I have nothing to hide”, she whispered back.

“From what I understand, you all work remotely”, Rob continued. “Today’s game will help you know your colleagues all the more better, which will result in better collaboration and teamwork going forward, and maybe even a better bottom line for the team”, he signalled to Nevesh. “Let’s walk inside the room”.

“If anyone’s been here before, you may have noticed that we replaced all the old antique furniture and tools we had with these digital screens and devices. They’re all touch screen. Your pairs will then have to go through all the clues given on the screens, and find the way to escape. The pair that escapes in the shortest time wins”.

“Sorry, I haven’t been paired up with anyone”, Meg interrupted.

“Oh, we chose our pairs before you and Amo arrived, so we just paired you guys together”, Nevesh explained.

A cocktail of awkwardness and excitement started to stir in Amo’s bowels.  “Ok that’s cool, we can work with that”.

“Ready, set, go!”, Rob shouted to start the game. The lights dimmed, the screens brightened and the game started.

Meg ran to the first screen. A question popped up on the screen: “Which one of these is Amo’s most recent girlfriend”, with a set of four pictures to choose from. Wow, this is embarrassing, thought Amo to himself.

“I didn’t know you’re into white girls”, giggled Meg.

“To be honest, I only dated one of those”, Amo defended, “and two of them I haven’t spoken to in years”.

“Well, I pick option C”.

WRONG! – the words on the screen emboldened. “The correct answer is A”.

“What!? I never dated her! We just chatted all the time! Rob, if you can hear this from outside, can you please…” until he was interrupted by the prompt on the screen.

MOVE ON TO THE NEXT STATION – read the words on the screen.

It was Amo’s time to pick the clue.

“What is Meg’s preferred drink” asked the screen, followed by 4 pictures on the screen: two with bottles in her hand in a nighttime scene, and two taking shots surrounded with friends.

“Wild girl aren’t you. I didn’t know this about you”, Amo returned the giggle. “We should hang out more”.

“I stopped drinking 4 years ago! That’s not the same me, I promise”, Meg tried convincing. “I’m really not that person anymore”.

“Well, I’ll say B. You seem to be a cider kinda girl.”

WRONG! – the words on the screen emboldened. “The correct answer is D”

“Jägermeister! Oh wow”, laughed Amo. “I’ll remember that the next time you tell me I need to change my life”.

“I don’t want to play this game anymore!” shouted Meg. “Can I get out!”.

MOVE ON TO THE NEXT STATION – read the words on the screen.

“Which of these is Amo’s best friend”, followed by 4 pictures of Amo in his younger days with different people”

Amo’s smile disappeared into a frown as he walked backwards to the door. “I don’t want to play this game anymore. How do I get out?”

“What’s wrong?”, Meg asked.

The pain of betrayal simmered by the unresolved bitterness of the years in between couldn’t be explained to a familiar stranger. “It’s nothing, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s just something I thought I’d forgotten about that I’d prefer not to be reminded of”

The screens suddenly started flashing and the lights went bright again. “Nevesh and Nathi have won! Nevesh and Nathi have won!” The screen flashed.

The doors to the room opened as they made their way to reception.

“I guess we know each other more”, Meg joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Amo waved to get out of all of this, and started walking away.

“Or maybe even less than before”, he whispered laughing.

Her small crowd seated near the communal playground of the Dainfern Golf Estate burst out in laughter. “Gen-e-ral Ma-na-ger at the Shop-rite Group of Com-pa-nies ladies and gentlemen”, Noxolo punctuated each syllable with a finger in the air.

It was the 10:30am, when the domestic workers gathered to find relief from the sterile banality of suburbia. Somehow, their employers had respectively synchronised their contractual schedules to allow for 43 minutes of pram walking, so that the little ones get enough Vitamin D to prepare them for a successful future.

“Heeyi, and that husband did nothing. Just complaining that she’s always studying, and always working, and isn’t spending enough time with the kids. Even though he was doing the same thing. I wake up, feed the children, dress them, bath them, walk them, everything!”

“Be careful, you don’t know who’s listening” said Isaac, one of the ground staff managing the gardens.

“Hawu tsek”, dismissed Noxolo. “Even your boss was there yesterday, and he said he’d get ‘one of his guys’ to look at the weed problem at home. Has he told you yet?”

Isaac looked down, and continued his work.

“But”, Noxolo started imitating again, “’Malawians are such hard workers, not like these lazy South Africans’”, she said, holding in her laughter. “So qhubeka, work hard”.

“Anyway, I better get back home. It’s time for this child’s sweet potato mash snack. Another new idea she had which means more work for me”.

Suddenly, a large blast was heard from the direction of Dainfern Square. Black smoke rose up, and the sound of gruelling screams followed interspersed gunshots. They all looked at each other, and ran back to their houses for safety.

These were the days when the banks had been given a monopoly on the movement of money; the retailers had been given a monopoly on the movement of food; and the private security companies had been given a monopoly on the movement of people.

3 months later…

“Where is Noxolo!? She’s supposed to have been here by now! It’s 7pm and she was supposed to be back by 6!”

Athi was now frustrated. Being locked into the house with kids for a whole weekend was not the successful future she had been promoted to. Ever since the private security companies had started their nationwide territorial wars 3 months ago, the life they knew had been wrecked.

The handle of the kitchen door slowly creaked. Noxolo tried to slip in unnoticed, but found the whole family distressed in the kitchen, waiting for her.

“Where have you been!?” Athi raised her voice.

“Calm down babe,” Sipho said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “She’s here now’.

“Sorry ma’am. It was hard getting transport back here now with the fighting”.

She put her bags down at the door and started to make her way to the children’s room. Danger, the household Labrador started sniffing her bags curiously.

“Noxolo, what’s in your bag?” Athi asked suspiciously.

“There’s nothing ma’am, just my clothes.”

The dog continued, trying to open the zip with its teeth.

“Do you have food in there?” Athi now folded her arms, staring at Noxolo. Noxolo had the unfortunate genetic trait of wearing her heart on her sleeve, her face unable to hide what’s within. “No, ma’am, I don’t”, she tried.

“Where did you get food from!?” Athi now started shouting again. “The banks are rationing how much money you can use, and the shops are rationing how much you can buy. You can’t get past the Financial Intelligence Centre. You can’t get past the retailers!”

Noxolo put her face down and tried walking away. “I’m still talking to you!” Athi said.

“I have a garden near home where I grow them. Next to Diepsloot, there’s an open field where we grow our food”.

“Then why didn’t you tell me this whole time!? You’ve seen that we’ve been struggling to get food!” Athi raised her hands in frustration.

“You said you didn’t have cash to pay me on time ma’am. You can only buy there with cash. So I thought you wouldn’t be able to.”

“What!?”. Athi walked away to her bedroom to calm herself down.

Noxolo stood awkwardly, unsure of whether to stay or to go.

“How many of you are growing there?” Sipho asked, breaking the silence. “Can we drive there and see?”

“If we go, we’ll have to go at 10pm to avoid getting caught by the security. It’s on the border between ADT and Thompson lands”.

“But how will we get outside the estate gates?”, Noxolo asked. “I just saw they’re not letting anyone out”.

“Don’t worry. Most locked doors can be greased open.”

At 10pm, Sipho waited until Athi was asleep, then got into the car with Noxolo. She opted to sit in the back seat. As they passed HeronBridge College, Sipho switched off the car lights so as not to be noticed. They turned right into a dirt road, and drove until there was no more gravel. Men with guns then surrounded the car.

“It’s fine, he’s with me”, Noxolo said as she got out of the car.

“Why are you bringing people here? They’re going to take all of our things!” one of the gunmen said.

“Don’t worry Scelo, this one just knows numbers. He can’t take anything.” she smirked. Sipho gave her a side eye, unsure of whether to be relieved or offended.

“I-I-I w-w-want to buy some of your s-s-stock”, Sipho asked with the confidence of a man with a gun on his back.

“How much cash do you have?”, the gunman asked.

“R-r-right now, I don’t have. But in two weeks, I’ll have the cash” he assured them.

The gunman let out a loud laugh. “Mxm, how? You’re going to try and sell the stock to people with no cash, so how will you get the cash?”

“Don’t worry about that. I have relationships with the private security companies. They have the cash. We can set up payment plans between them and the buyers.” Sipho explained.

“So why can’t we then do the same?”

“Because you don’t have the relationships with the security companies. And if you try, you don’t have the guns that they have. They’ll come and take everything of yours”, said Sipho, trying to justify his relevance.

“The one without the guns is always a slave to the one with the guns. And right now, you don’t have any guns.”

All at once, bright lights surrounded them. The field was besieged by the headlights of private security pick up trucks, with armed men at the back pointing their automatic rifles at them. “Put all your guns down!” blurted the loudspeaker. All the gunmen threw their guns on the ground and raised their hands.

A man walked towards them, his form silhouetted by the bright lights. He walked up to Sipho and shook his hand. Then turned to the gunmen.

“From now, everyone answers to Sipho. He’s be your manager from here on. Also, we’ll take all your guns from here.”

These were the days when the banks had been given a monopoly on the movement of money; the retailers had been given a monopoly on the movement of food; and the private security companies had been given a monopoly on the movement of people.

Photo by Casey Connell on Unsplash

“SISEKO!”

Shock forcefully stole the sleep from Siseko’s body and he jolted into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes with his fist to try and make sense of the new day.

His dad walked towards his bed. “How are you still in bed at 11!?” He grabbed the duvet off of him and threw it onto the floor. “Were you playing your stupid games again late last night? I told you that you can’t play past 9!”.

“Umm, sorry… I’m getting up.”

“Just sorry!? You’re supposed to have cut the grass by now before it gets too hot. No man. You are 14. What kind of man do you think you’ll become like this?”

Siseko slowly started making his way off the bed. He had heard this speech over and over again. He was already mentally reciting the when I was your age song he was so used to hearing.

“By the time I get back, I want the dishes washed and the kitchen clean” his dad said as he slammed the door, and walked out of the house.

Walking along Camdeboo Road out of Fourways Gardens estate, Bandile started calming down.

I probably shouldn’t have reacted like that. I probably should’ve stayed to do it with him.

Ever since he became a single father after his wife disappeared to find her dreams or whatever, he wrestled with the fear of messing it up. All he knew was how he was raised, but those traditions didn’t seem to transplant so nicely into Johannesburg North. Being so far away from family, and the couple-friendships that just dissipated after he was no longer a couple left him to figure out this thing alone.

Arriving at the Spar shopping centre, he looked around to make sure he wasn’t being followed. He turned into the empty corridor, walked towards the back of the centre, and found a derelict door. Knocking gently, he said “hello, are you available?”

“We expected you sooner” said a harmony of voices from inside the door. “Come inside”.

The door creaked open as he slowly stepped inside the dark room. Without the light of windows, candles only lit the silhouettes of the three ladies who sat on the floor in the middle of the room: Gogo, Ouma and Aya. Clad in beads, banas and a Cape Dutch bonnet

“M-m-molweni”, Bandile said respectfully as he sat on the floor in front of them.

“What can we do you for today? I see your heart rate was high. Fighting with your boy again?” Ouma asked.

Bandile raised his arm and looked at his watch. “I see you’ve seen my vitals”.

“And Siseko’s” Gogo added.

“I just hope that kitchen is clean when I get back home” Bandile said.

Aya laughed. “He’s been on a call with that neighbour girl since you left. I doubt there’s any kitchen cleaning going on”.

Bandile let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“We can tell you what’s in store to prepare for the future” they said in unison, as if scripted in a children’s marketing crash course.

Aya started crawling around the room to light the incense. Ouma’s eyes started rolling around as if entering a trance. Gogo reached out behind her, and grabbed a sackcloth bag. She started shaking the bag, and threw its content onto the floor. Out of the bag flew microchips, and motherboards, and pieces of paper with mathematical formulae, and small hard drives labelled with people’s names, including Bandile and Siseko’s.

“Reading these bones”, Gogo started, “washing dishes may not be the best use of Siseko’s time.”

“Then what should he be doing instead?” Bandile asked confused.

“The future is digital!” Ouma exclaimed. “He should be learning to code to prepare for it.”

“Yes! And AI is going to take all the future jobs!”, Aya interjected. “Including that of those blue-collar programmers!”

“But why is he learning something that will be taken over anyway?” Bandile was now paralysed by the conflicting messages.

“It’s not for you to speak now!” Gogo rebuked. “Only to listen and obey”.

“I hope they are learning with augmented reality in their schools, otherwise he’ll be falling behind the rest of the world.” Aya continued.

“No need for getting dirty playing outside, they can now visit the Himalayas, the Grand Canyon or Stonehenge at the flick of the wrist”, Ouma added. “And not only that, but…”

They were interrupted by loud noises outside of the door. Then it went quiet. Then loud banging on the door. “You better open this door right now!” came the shouts from the other side.

“We are busy! Not right now!” Gogo pleaded.

The rackety door then started shaking at their shoving. Bang. Boom. Until it burst open.

“We want our money back right now! You are charlatans!” shouted one woman.

“We are in session right now. You are disturbing our sacred ritual. Please, respect the spirits” Gogo pleaded.

“You said physical school was over, so we enrolled our daughter in this online school and she now failed!” shouted a man from the back of the crowd.

“I put all my money in this crypto nonsense because you said fiat currencies were on their dying legs. Now I lost everything!” shouted another.

“You didn’t come back for the follow up meeting!” Gogo said now standing up. Her domineering figure towered over the others, casting a shadow on their silhouettes. “Every 6 months, you need to come back to hear what’s next, otherwise you’ll be left behind!”

A middle-aged woman pushed through to the front of everyone, and fell down crying on the floor. Everyone stood in silence to hear what she had to say.

“All I wanted was the best for my girl”, she said sobbing. “I got her all the things you said I should get her, the tablets and the phones and the goggles.” Her teary cries started confusing her words.

“And now we have lost her. She first stopped talking to us. Then stopped talking to her friends. She spent all her time with these stupid things in her face. And now she’s gone.”

Her story seemed to touch Bandile the most. The crowd then started getting even more angry. They started lighting tiki lights with fire, ready to burn the ladies in the middle of room. Bandile found a gap in the middle of the crowd, crawled out, and ran back to Fourways Gardens.

Arriving home, he found it just as predicted. The kitchen was still in a mess. Siseko stood there wide-eyed and still, shocked that his dad was home so soon. “I’m sorry dad. I was just getting started.”

Bandile looked down on the floor. Looked up at his son. Grabbed a mop and said “no worries, let’s finish it together.”

Which is why the move to Joburg was a somewhat relief from his increasingly alienated life in the southern suburbs of Cape Town. Despite all his apprehensions from the stories of decay, danger and shallow materialism, his second week was proving to be not-so-bad. He had even managed to score a date this coming weekend.

He hadn’t yet built up the resilience to handle the Winnie Mandela traffic to Sandton, so he was taking the Gautrain bus from Monte Casino. On Tuesday morning’s trip, she came and sat next to him. He was first intrigued by her business suite matched with pink pumps. Her dreadlocks tied beautifully backwards into a professional bow with hints of a more colourful after-work life. Her perfume strong enough to be noticed, but subtle enough to notice her. As the bus turned into Sandton drive, he had to make conversation. And as they arrived at the station, they had exchanged details and agreed to meet at Lonehill Park on Saturday morning.

As to why he chose to climb the Lonehill koppies with her for their date, the average Fourways resident would never understand. But now here they were.

“Do you normally bring girls here on dates?”, Thato giggled asking Phakamani.

“No, this is the first time.” he replied, trying to forget the Cape Town sneers. “Should I have suggested something else?”

“I thought this was cute.” she said. He wasn’t sure whether that’s a good cute or a condescending cute. He looked at her wearing his confusion on his face. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t have come if you suggested going to Tiger’s Milk”, she assured him.

They started up the rocky hill, slow enough to enjoy each other’s company, yet fast enough to encourage words to come in between the awkward silences.

“How are you finding the move to Joburg?”, Thato asked.

“It’s different hey. People live in prisons here in these secure complexes. I’ve been here 14 days and 4 of those days have been without water. The traffic lights are being directed by hobos. Do y’all just get used to all of this?” he started to rant. He could see some irritation in her face.  “But I would’ve never met you if I hadn’t, so it was worth it I guess”, he threw in.

“But you give off playboy vibes” she said aided by the side of her eyes. They both kept quiet questioning how long this date will last.

He eventually broke the ice. “How long have you been in Joburg”?

“My whole life. Born here, in the East Rand. Grew up in the West Rand. And now I’m here in Fourways. I wouldn’t be in any other city in the world.”

Phakamani looked down. “Sorry for talking down on it then. Cape Town habit I guess.”

As they were nearing the top of the koppie, there was some water on one of the rocks which seemed to have been spilt by another hiker. Not seeing it, Phakamani stepped on it and slipped, falling to the ground. He managed to hold onto a rock to prevent himself from falling, but let out a scream because pain bolted from his ankle, through his leg, to the rest of his body.

“Oh my gosh. Are you ok? So sorry!” Thato stood frozen with her hands out, unsure what to do.

“I don’t think I can stand up. I’ll need someone to help me down. Wow, this is so embarrassing.” he said, holding back the tears to prevent even more embarrassment.

“I’m going to ask that guy over there to help us” Thato said, pointing to a middle-aged man further up the trail.

“Isn’t there anyone else? A white guy won’t want to help me” he said a bit too loud.

The man turned back to see who said that. When he noticed that Phakamani was injured, he called his son from ahead, and they both ran to him.

“Are you ok? I’m Francois. H-Hold onto my arm.”

Francois grabbed Phakamani’s arm, and put it over his shoulder. “Are you guys together?” he asked Thato.

“No, just a friend” she said quickly. “I mean, yes we were walking together” she said even more quickly, trying erase her blunder.

“We need to get him professional help as soon as possible. Here, take his water bottle and I’ll help him down the hill.”

Phakamani didn’t really know how to handle this situation, and kept his mouth shut besides the occasional “oooh”’s and “aaah”’s whenever the pain hit.

As they reached the parking, Francois asked Thato, “where’s your car? You can take him to Life Hospital down the road”.

“I’m sorry to do this to you, but I don’t know him that well, and won’t feel safe having him in my car. Could you please take him?” Thato asked shyly.

Francois stared at her for a moment in confusion. Phakamani was even more nervous to get into his car. “Ok, let’s go. I’ll just need to drop off my son at home first”, Francois said.

“You like hiking?”, Francois asked on the drive down Uranium Road trying to break the awkward silence.

“Ya, I used to do it a lot in Cape Town, so I guess I do”.

“The views from the top are amazing aren’t they”, Francois said.

“It’s why I do it every time. Worth every climb. The world just seems so much simpler from there.” Phakamani replied.

They finally arrived at the entrance boom of Life Hospital and parked.

“Ya, the views are beautiful from the top, but life is lived in the messiness of the ground. And somewhere in that messy ground a white guy can help you”, he laughed.

Zweli, you can do this. You can do this in 3, 2, 1, GO!

I jump out of the car resisting the pull-back and run through the doors. First place, Checkers. To the bakery section. I find the bread and put it in the basket. I can see they’re selling fans. Maybe I should check on the price of fans elsewhere in case I need to buy it from here. Put the basket down, run out of the store, and off to Game.

Getting inside of Game I look for the electronics aisle. On the way there, I see a bicycle chain. I’ve been meaning to buy a bicycle chain. But will a chain from Game last? Let me keep this in the back of my head for now. Where are the fans again? One-thousand-four-hundred-and-ninety-nine-rand!? For a fan!? How much was the Checkers one again? Flip, let me run back there to find out. 

On the way there I pass through the atrium. Crowds are passing through everywhere. I hate understanding what people are saying. Now their conversations are in my head. But I like the pretty summer dresses. I can see on the big advert screen that Jumanji is out. The kids would love that. I should probably buy tickets and surprise them before getting home. Where is Ster-Kinekor again? 

“Zweli!?”

If I ignore her maybe she’ll go away.

“Zweli! Wait up!”

I guess I can’t ignore her. I turn around slowly “Hi Claire.”

“Hey. What are you guys doing next week Friday? We are having a braai.” Claire says.

I really don’t want to go. “I’ll have to check with Liz and get back to you. What time will it be?”

“ZWELI!!” a shriek comes from across the atrium. I can see hands waving in the air but can’t quite make out who it is as he walks closer. Oh, it’s Mkhokheli from work. Is now the time to be talking about work?

“Bro it’s all over the news! There’s been a data breach. They’ve sent us company-wide communication and we need to act now. Go read it yourself”

I still need to give Claire an answer. But I need to rush to Exclusive Books to get the newspaper to read about this. Maybe also buy a book about data breaches. Then rush to Postnet to look in my postbox for the company comms. 

I tell Claire “let me get back to you, I promise” as I rush to read the news. The incomplete threads in my head are getting entangled into a ball of anxiety and sinking slowly down to my stomach. What did I come here for again?

This restless trip has been ludicrous. But would probably appear less so if it happened on my phone. As it usually does.

 I really don’t belong here.

They’ll never understand me.

They’re so toxic and oppressive.

I don’t know how much longer I can last here.

Thoughts swam through the muddied waters of his mind, making sense for a moment, only to be washed away by waves of confusion.

“I’m going to my meeting now Tambu”, his dad bellowed from the other side of the door. “We’ll talk more later when you have calmed down. I don’t have the patience for a teenager shouting at me”.

Well then, I’ll ease your burden.

He sat up and watched from his window as his dad drove out of their estate onto Concourse Crescent in Lonehill. As soon as the car was out of sight, he picked up his school sports bag and squashed 1 trouser, 4 shirts and 3 underwear into it. He rushed into the bathroom and grabbed his toothbrush and bath sponge, shoved them into the bag, and walked out of the door.

From Concourse Crescent, he turned into the green area and walked towards the Jukskei River. His parents had always warned him against coming here, but now he was free from their oppressive ignorance. At the riverbank, he saw crowds of people participating in some ceremony. Looking up at Main Road, he could see scores of cars parked along the side of the road. He turned and saw a shack with steam coming out of its seams and started walking towards it. His anger had now started dancing in tandem with nervous fear.

As Tambu started getting nearer to the door of the shack, the door swung open, startling him to the floor. An old lady walked out. She was reassuringly beautiful, giving him an embracing smile. “Are you looking to go somewhere today?” she asked him as she reached out her hand to help him up.

“Umm… Yes, I am, but I don’t know where to.”

“Well there are many places you can go from here” she started explaining. “You can either go from here down the Liesbeek River as many from around here have done, or to the Tsitsikama which nobody ever does. You can take a further journey up the Nile, or the Niger, but those are normally return trips and rarely for first time wanderers from here. But judging from your accent, the way you walk and your umm… ‘socio-economic demographics’, you’re probably looking to take the boat going to the Thames.”

He had heard all these river names at some point in school but wasn’t sure exactly what or where she was talking about. All he had to go on was her reassuring smile and his hatred of home. “Are you sure I’d like the Thames?” he asked.

“Well, they speak the same language as you down that river, so it may be easier for you. Come inside to open your eyes and prepare your soul for travel.”

He walked into the shack and closed the door. A few minutes later, he opened the door with a burst of steam, and could suddenly see all the estuaries she talked about branching out from the Jukskei River. “Come into this boat” she guided him, and they started the journey towards the Thames.

Sailing on the boat, they approached a dense fog. All Tambu could see was the oar which the old lady rowed the boat with, the light at the end of the boat, and a silhouette image of the old lady eclipsing the light. Now the anxious fear dominated the dance with the hatred of home, leaving a part of him longing for the comfort of his bedroom. “Are we going to be safe?” he asked with his lips quivering. “We’re almost there my boy.”

The fog started clearing, and they found themselves on the Thames at the heart of London. An explosion of excitement and anticipation suddenly hit his senses. “Here is all the money I’ve saved. Can you give me pounds for it?” he asked the old lady. She looked down at his measly rand savings and gave him a blank stare. “This may get you some lunch my boy. Here are your pounds. All the best. I’ll be going back in 3 hours, so if you want to go back with me, you better meet me then.”

He left the boat, walked up the ramp and found himself at Waterloo station. People were zooming past him with expressionless faces, rushing to some place that he too wanted to rush to. “Hello sir” he signalled to a middle-aged man who ignored him and walked on. “Sorry ma’am” he tried saying to another lady whose face didn’t flinch at his Johannesburg North private school politeness. He touched one person on the shoulder to get his attention, and he turned and shoved him to the side, and continued walking on.

I thought she said we speak the same language.

He walked into the station, and it was the biggest thing he’d ever seen in his life. Walking slowly and staring at the ceiling, he marvelled at the detailed finishings. He was awestruck by the trains and their schedules. He found himself at a fast-food restaurant and ordered a burger. After paying, he found that he had no money left. 45 minutes after that unsatiating meal, lonely, broke and still hungry, Tambu started longing for home. He decided to get advice from the old lady.

Back at the boat on the shores of the Thames, he started firing questions at her “why does nobody want to talk to me here? Why can’t someone just look and smile at me? Is there something wrong with me?”

Having seen this familiar routine so many times before, she had an idea. “If you go across the bridge towards Trafalgar Square, look for the statue of John Chilembwe. Your eyes should still be able to see, so you’ll see a door at the base of the statue which others can’t see. It will take you to Hertford, somewhere you may like. Remember, I’m here for 1 more hour, so if you want to go back down the Jukskei, you better be back by then.”

He ran across Westminster bridge, found the statue and the door and rushed through it. Opening the door on the other side of the tunnel, he found himself in a cemetery. Now he was completely freaked out.

Am I going to die alone here?

What’s going to happen to my body?

Why did I even leave home in the first place?

He ran out of the cemetery and crossed the road. Across the road, he found small agricultural allotments, and an old lady working in one of them. With tears in his eyes, he pleaded with her “Please ma’am, can you please talk to me. I don’t know where I am, and I want to go home”.

She stood up from weeding the ground and looked at him strangely. “Who are you and where do you come from?”

The tears now started flowing as she was the first person who had talked to him since arriving. “My name is Tambu. Omutambuze from Johannesburg. I ran away from home and now I want to go back because nobody here wants to talk to me”, he said sobbing.

She placed her arm on his shoulder to comfort him. “Omutambuze? Do you even know the meaning of your name? Whoever named you must have been a prophet” she laughed.

Comforted by her laugh, he let down his guard. “My parents told me it means traveller. Sorry, what’s your name ma’am?”

“Just call me Jjajja. I can see from the steam residue on your forehead, you came through the river system. I also came from there a very long time ago, but from the Nile. Why did you come? Aren’t you too young for those things?” she asked curiously.

“I needed to get away from my home. It’s just toxic.”

“But are your tears here better than your tears at home?” she asked.

He stared at the ground for a moment, and then whispered, “it may get better here”.

“My dear. It will get a lot worse before it gets better. If I were you, I would go home.”

With the dance of anxious homesickness no longer coordinated to the memory of any anger he once had, he realised there were 30 minutes until the boat was leaving back home. Tambu tried to give Jjajja a big hug, but her sensibilities didn’t allow for that. He ran back to the cemetery and found himself back at Trafalgar square. He ran back across Westminster Bridge, down the ramp and found the old lady undocking the boat. Just in time, he jumped into the boat.

“I hope you can see more clearly now”, she said as she began the foggy journey back home.

Gomolemo was packing the last bit of her belongings into her bags, rushed by her anger and irritation.

“I told you; it will just be for a few days. My grandfather is here for a medical procedure, and as soon as he’s able to travel back home, you’ll be back”, Khaya tried to explain.

“I’ve been living here for 9 months now! Your mother knows me. You’re 32 years old for goodness’ sake! Why are you ducking and diving like a teenager?”

Khaya had grown tired of explaining what she couldn’t understand. “I told you; they don’t know you at home. Anyway, I’ll make it up to you, I promise. After you come back, we’ll go on a holiday to Sun City, or wherever else you’d like to go.”

“Well, I’m done packing now” she said trying to calm herself down. “So what does this mean for the next few days? Do we not see each other? Am I allowed to call you? Or do we have to send delegations of uncles to talk to each other?”. Khaya didn’t have the energy for her sarcasm.

“Babe, I need to get to Park Station now. His bus will be arriving soon. I promise, I’ll make this up to you in a big way.” He tried to give her a kiss to say goodbye, but she turned away. Kissing her forehead in consolation, he picked up his keys, and left the Beverly flat to the station.

An awkward silence engulfed the car on the drive back from Park Station. Khaya hadn’t visited Cofimvaba in about 8 years and had forgotten how to make conversation with people from the rurals. His grandfather on the other hand was perfectly at peace with the peacefulness after the chaos of the station. “How are things at home?” Khaya asked trying to break the silence.

“Things are ok. All the young people are gone now so there is nobody to maintain the things. Why haven’t you come to see us?”

“Things have been so busy this side Mkhulu. It has been very difficult to find time to go home.” Khaya tried to explain. He hoped that his grandfather believed the lie.

“Ya you people in these big cities get swallowed up here. Luckily or unluckily, nobody has died to force you to come back home.”

They arrived at the parking of The William apartment block. Khaya’s grandfather was welcomed into his flat by a whiff of woman’s perfume that Khaya had become so accustomed to, that he forgot it was there. He slowly looked around, taking in his home for the next few days. Khaya stood proud of his leather furniture, large screen TV and art pieces he’d collected over the years. “Can I make you some tea?” Khaya offered.

His grandfather sat on the couch looking out into the tiny patch of grass outside, while Khaya took his bags into his room. “There’s space there at home to start buying some cows. I can make sure they are safe and one by one, over years you’ll have many”.

This is why I stopped going there. Khaya braced himself for this conversation again. It was over 8 years ago, but it feels like it was just yesterday. After a deep breath, he explained “We don’t need cows here in Joburg Mkhulu”.

“A cow can produce more cows. When your father needed to finish school, I sold a cow to pay the remaining school fees. If you need money, what are you going to sell? This couch and this tv?”

“I’ll save from my job” he started. “Things don’t work like they worked in 1865”.

His grandfather stood up, irritated by the seeming disrespect. “Things work exactly the same. You’re just a shepherd boy in someone else’s kraal when as a man you should have your own. And why aren’t you even married yet?”

Couldn’t your cows buy you a hospital next to your kraal? Khaya held his thoughts in. This is going to be a long couple of days. Rather not make it worse now. “I’m just going to the bathroom. I’ll be back soon”.

Sitting on the toilet seat, Khaya heard a faint knock on the door of his flat. He started getting anxious. “Hello?” he heard his grandfather answer. He heard the door being opened. He heard Gomolemo’s voice. His heart started beating faster. “Hi, I’m Khaya’s friend. He promised to allow me to use his phone charger” he heard her say. He finished his business and rushed out of the bathroom door. “Hi friend” she said with a cheeky smile on her face. The smell of her perfume then became so apparent, and he realised his grandfather had probably figured out more than he’d have wanted.

“Hi frieeeend”, she emphasised.

“Hi. Let me get the charger”, he said in a hushed tone. He went into his room to look for her charger, and could hear them making small talk in the lounge. He was paralysed, as one side of him didn’t want to go out there and face that situation; yet the other side of him wanted to get out and end it as soon as possible. He saw the charger in the corner of his eye, grabbed it and rushed back to the lounge. “Here you go. You can bring it back to me tomorrow”.

Her walk back to the door and outside seemed to be taking much longer than it should’ve, with her hips swinging from side to side in mockery. “See you tomorrow then”, she smiled as she closed the door.

With Khaya staring at the door, and his grandfather staring at him, it was his grandfather to break the awkward silence this time: “So, we were talking about cows”.1

Snap. It’s payday weekend and there are such long lines at this Checkers. I’m already late for this braai that I don’t really want to go to, and these long lines at the till are going to make me even later. Quick rush to the meat section, grab a juice along the way and the join them. Come on, psyche yourself up. This is going to be fun.

“Hey Tshidi!”

I turn around hesitantly while waiting for the butcher to cut my pieces of meat. I don’t really have the energy for small talk conversation right now. Oh, it’s that cute new hire in the marketing department. “Hey, Mike is it?”

“Yes, you remembered. I didn’t know you also stay around Fourways?”

Flip. I can’t lie because he’ll probably see me here again. And he used to be a journalist, so he’ll probably double-check what I’m saying. Let me just say as little as possible. “Yes, I do. How’s the new PR role? Are you enjoying the company culture?”

“Ag it’s alright you know. Since they started letting go of the journalists with this AI thing writing a lot of the news, it’s the easiest thing for us to get into to put food on the table.”

“Sorry ma’am”, the butcher interjected. “We are short lamb because the truck broke down from the Free State because of the roads. Can I get you beef instead?”

“Ya, that’s fine” I replied, disappointed that I hadn’t been saved from this small talk.

“So, how’s the transition been to corporate life?”

“It’s different hey. Staying in one place the whole day isn’t what I’m used to” he said laughing. He has an irritating laugh. “At least I still get to write a bit”.

Sounds like he’s gone from covert propaganda to overt propaganda. But I probably shouldn’t make that joke. Let’s leave my options open. And finally, my meat is ready. “See you at the office on Monday then”, and dash to the line through the juice aisle.

Oh goodness. 4 full trolleys in front of me. What’s Twitter saying this afternoon?

When it’s time to go, you’ll know it’s time to go - @SothoGoddess873

Why am I still following her? She used to have home renovation tips, and now she she’s just become a philosopher. Unfollow.

EFF calls for boycott of lamb products from Free State farms – @News24

Scroll, scroll, scroll some more.

“Sorry, can I ask a favour?”

It’s the guy in front of me in the line. I really hope he’s not trying to make conversation. “Yes?”

“Can I please use your Xtra Savings card? I forgot mine at home”

“Sure, let me get it.” Now where is this card. Why do I have so many cards? Ah, found it. “Here you go”.

I finally get to the till, pay for my items, into my car, and drive to Douglasdale to Zama’s house. How does she even afford this place?

“Tshidi, I thought you weren’t coming”, Zama says while giving me a hug. Feels a bit cold. I wonder what they were saying about me before I got here. “Put your things in the kitchen. Let’s make a nice cocktail with that juice.”

Wow looks like I am really the last person to arrive. Everyone is in the lounge.

“Hawu Tshidi, you didn’t tell us”, Asa says as if I’m supposed to know what she’s talking about. “Tell you what now?”

“Just before you arrived, we read on the news that you’re in a relationship with Mpho Bojosi”, she said folding her arms with that annoying smirk on her face.

“Who the hell is that?” gosh at least gossip about something that’s true. “I’ve never heard of that person”.

“It says in the news that he broke up with Bokang Mokwena, and there are records that he used your Checkers card along with his credit card this afternoon. How do you explain that?”

I don’t know what this cocktail of confusion, anger and irritation that I’m feeling is called. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about! I gave my card to some random to use before coming here. I don’t know who he is”.

“Then why did you unfollow his ex, Bokang, on Twitter? We have all the receipts here” Asa pressed in.

“I unfollowed @SothoGoddess873. I don’t even know what her real name is. Please, can we stop this or I’m leaving”.

There was an awkward shifting among them as they looked at each other through the corners of their eyes. Why did I even come here?

Zama, ever the conciliator tried to change the subject. “Did you hear about the EFF boycott of Free State lamb? I just read on the news that it’s already starting to show its effects here in Fourways with lower sales”.

I don’t have the energy for this.

Musa now had the attention of all the other kids. They started lifting their backs from the lazy sloth on the paved ground outside of his garage. All the kids in the conformant townhouse complex regularly gravitated towards his house during the school holidays.

“Let’s build a rocket to go into space!”

Keryn, the oldest of them started rolling her eyes. “You know it’s impossible to build a rocket to go into space Musa”.

“How do you know? Have you ever tried it?” Musa shot back.

Keryn looked at the ground in defeat. “I guess not”.

“But where will we get all the things to build it with?” Zintle asked.

They were now all standing in adventurous excitement. “My mom only gets back from work later, so I can’t ask her to buy it” Musa dismissed. “Ya, mine too” Jacob added. After a short contemplative pause, Zintle picked her hand up in excitement, exuding her orderly school training. “We can use trash and recycle it! We can go to all the black bins in the complex and find stuff people have thrown away!”

“We are all going to be astronauts!” Jacob shouted.

Whenever adventure began, the kids entered an imaginary world, unconstrained by the limitations of their senses. Trees suddenly grew taller and bigger. Gates became portals to other worlds. Roads became intergalactic pathways to multiple universes. And gravity became a useful tool which could easily be put back into the toolbox when it became inconvenient.

All seven kids started running up towards the house at the top of the hill. Many bins lined the side gates of the houses. They swarmed around the bin at house number 13 in hopes to find something useful. Musa and Zintle held it tipped over, while Keryn and Bongs started digging through it. Their imaginations had transported them to a desolate scrapyard, with wind and tumbleweed surrounding them. After minutes of foraging, they unfortunately found nothing. They tipped the bin back up, and started picking the trash that had spilled over onto the grass. Musa turned towards the house and could see someone peeking through the curtains. As soon as their eyes met, the curtain quickly and aggressively closed. “I think Malume Wilson is onto us” he said cheekily.

They went onto the next house, number 15. They could already see empty cardboard boxes placed next to the bin. “Jackpot!” Zintle shouted. “I’ll carry these quickly back to your house Musa. You guys can go onto the other houses”.

As she turned the corner towards Musa’s house, Keryn’s mom started storming towards her. “Where is Keryn!?” she asked angrily. Her hands shaking, she pointed to the direction of the other kids. “Keryn! Come here right now!” her mother shouted out loud in her why-are-you-embarrassing-me tone.

As she desolated the sanctum of their imaginary world by entering into it, they were deflated back to earth, their imaginary bubbles blown and found themselves firmly back in gravity’s clutches.

“There have been complaints on the WhatsApp group that you kids are digging into dustbins!”

“Yes mom, we are building a space rocket”, Keryn answered shyly wondering what would happen after this”. Zintle had walked back and was now standing next to Keryn with her head jolted towards the sky, trying to make out the meaning of Keryn’s mom’s facial expressions.

“A what!? People are saying you are getting your hands dirty and making the whole complex filthy with dirt and disease!”, her mom continued shouting.

“But we’re just playing mom. I’ll wash my hands when we get home.” Keryn pleaded. Zintle stood shocked with her mouth wide open, surprised Keryn could talk back to her mother like that. Zintle’s heart then skipped 2 beats when Keryn’s mom turned to her with piercing eyes and said, “I’m going to speak to your mom about this.”

“Please don’t! I’m begging you! We’ll stop right now! I promise!”

“Then I think all of you should just go home. This is not a place for kids to play. You have school for that where your teachers can deal with your nonsense.”

With heavy shoulders, they each dragged their feet back to their houses. Musa closed the door behind him, slouched on the couch, picked up the remote, and switched on the safe imaginary world that had been created for him.

After her time at UCT, Refiloe couldn’t bear the thought of chaotic imprisonment in her parents’ Bryanston home, so she opted for a place in Broadacres. All the belongings from her parent-sponsored flat in Cape Town could barely fit into the modesty of her self-funded one-bedroom apartment. The corner of her bedroom had a piled stack of boxes of things to throw away, but between earning and living, there was barely enough time to do so. Until now.

She mustered up the energy to overcome the inertia of 5 months of procrastination and started loading the boxes into her car. One by one. In and out of the apartment, until the car had no more space for anything else. Energised by the achievement of carrying 4 boxes, she started the car and began the drive up Cedar Road, looking for a place with large dumpster bins.

She came to the parking lot of Food Lovers Market at Fourways Mall and asked the security guard if he knew of a place that she could throw things away. He looked at her suspiciously, but after his face indicated that she’s not his problem, he directed her around the back of the shop. She drove, and finally saw 3 large dumpster bins. She got out of the car, and opened the boot until she noticed a ragged man hunched over and digging through the bins. Her chest started beating in panicked paces as her mind started the common and familiar calculations to assess the risk that she was in. The man stood up as straight as his hunched posture could allow and turned towards her in shock. Her heart calmed down. He was an old white man.

“Could I please throw some boxes in here?” she asked.

 “Why are you asking me, I don’t own this place, do what you want” he said in his Northern-Cape-small-dorpie accent.

Refiloe opened the boot of the car and started carrying one of the boxes to the bin. She tried tipping it over but struggled to do so. “Could you perhaps help me?” she asked the old man.

“Just put it down on the floor there, you people always have nice things you throw away”, he said.

Unsure whether to be offended or grateful, she reached back into her old private school manners and put out her hand to greet him. “I’m Refiloe”, she started. With a cynical look, he slowly lifted his hand to shake hers. “You can call me Gogo”, he said. The awkward uncertainty of what was going on turned her quickly back to the car to pick up the next box.

“You know this electricity nonsense is getting out of hand,” he started. “Before, you put on the switch and like magic the light went on. Now you have to know about Kusile and Medupi, about batteries and inverters and the path between the switch and the light is no longer magic.”

She paused confused because she didn’t expect him to know about batteries and inverters. Before she needed to muster words to add to the conversation, he continued: “it’s just like with the water. Before you turned on the tap, and the water came out. Now you need to know about the Bryanston reservoir or the Randburg reservoir, and the old asbestos pipes and the newer pipes. The magic is gone.”

At least now she knew that she didn’t need to contribute to the conversation, so she went to pick up the third box.

“You know, people like you come here to throw away things that were supposed to make them happy. I’ve found the most amazing things here. Books, and plates and old cards and decorations and letters to best friends with their pictures attached”. He turned, pointed at her and looked deep into her eyes and started as if telling a secret: “I even once found a wedding ring thrown out here into the trash. Imagine, on the altar they stand there with all sorts of lies to each other until the magic fades and there’s an overpriced ring in the trash.”

The conversation started getting too heavy for their unfamiliarity to carry. Refiloe kept trying to push the thought her parents’ imminent divorce into a closed box, but it kept springing out at the most inconvenient times. Like this time. “Well, they can try and work at it” she whispered.

“Let me guess, you’re one of those university graduates who has the whole world in front of you, and wants to change the world and become a billionaire while doing so”, he said followed by a mischievous smile. “Shut up!” she shouted. “You don’t know me!”. She lifted her hands to push him in anger, until her sensibilities returned. She remembered that he’s a hobo.

“Don’t worry. I’m not some fortune teller. I don’t know your future” he tried to reassure her. “I guess we all need some magic just to get by”.

Irritated and angered, with the last box out of the car, she got in and started the engine. She rolled down the window and said “thanks for your help, have a great day” with as much sincerity has her tenuous social position could allow. While driving back down Cedar Road, the traffic lights turned bright, signalling the return of electricity. The magical relief filling her heart started drowning out the competing nihilist thoughts. Life could finally return to normal again.

Sabelo asked Zoleka as she was taking a video of every part of their living room with her phone. He was growing tired of her ever-new discoveries and project ideas, and he didn’t know if he had the energy to stomach this new one. But she was too busy with what she was doing to even notice he had come into the room.

“Umm babe, hello. Your husband here. Remember me? Married for 8 years? Sleep in the same bed? 3 children together? Wenzani?”

“Just wait! You’re distracting me. I’m trying to do this properly!” Zoleka said irritated

“Do what properly? Starting a YouTube channel? Becoming an influencer? ‘Welcome to my Fourways home, please subscribe’” he laughed sarcastically.

She tripped over a toy truck while walking backwards and the phone fell out of her hand.

“Mxm. Look at what you made me do. I now have to start again”

“Start what again?” he asked again.

She knew he was tired of hearing of the ever-new things she had discovered, and she hoped to keep this one quiet until the last moment. Sheepishly she looked down, internally herding all the confidence needed from the many fields of her mind to the kraal of her speech.

“So, there’s this new app” she starts.

Sabelo already starts rolling his eyes. “So, what does this app do?”.

“Well, you take a video of your whole house, and link everyone’s Spotify, YouTube and social media accounts, and based on the family’s tastes, the AI suggests interior design ideas. I mean, we’ve been talking about renovating for a while now”.

Sabelo looks to the side shutting his eyes tight, forcefully restraining words that he’ll regret later.

“What does the new Ed Sheeran album I listened to have to do with the colour of the wall in my house?” he asked as nicely as his conscious allowed him to.

“The AI knows, and it’s always learning. It suggests things that you need, even things that you never knew you needed. And at the press of the button, it automatically links up to Leroy Merlin for material and Kandua for contractors, and gets the work done without you having to think about it”

“But I can paint the wall. Like I did the last time”, Sabelo said while looking for serenity on the couch, accepting this thing he probably can’t change.

“The kids provide enough craft projects for the whole house. We don’t need more” she said cheekily.

Zoleka stood silently, waiting for him to have some kind of response. Sabelo just sat on the couch staring at the floor.

“There’s one more thing”, she started shyly.

He lifted his eyes slowly her in fear of what she’d say next.

“The app suggested we get a dog”

Sabelo shot up from the chair in shock. “Inja! No no no, not in my house”.

“It’s already on its way. A black Scottish Terrier” she slid in.

Sabelo opened and walked out of the sliding door in rage. 10 seconds later walked back into the living room. “How can you decide something like this for our whole family without even talking about it? Who’s going to feed it? Who’s going to train it? Who’s going to wash it? Where is it going to sleep?” questions started firing out of his mouth.

“I put all our budget details into the app as well as our schedules and it recommended us as the perfect family for this. I promise, it will be great for us and the kids.” Just then, her off-the-cuff reasoning was saved by a knock on the door. “I think that’s the dog”.

Escaping the tense situation, she called her kids as she made her way to the door. “Khethiwe. Nomvula. Ayabonga. Come meet our new surprise!”.

She opened the door, and a man walked in with the Scottish Terrier held in his arms. “Hi, I’m Johan. We spoke on the phone earlier. Here’s your new friend.”

“Can I hold it first!” Khethiwe, their 6-year-old daughter begged.

“Sure, you can” her mom said, and Johan carefully placed the dog in her arms. Khethiwe then put the dog on the floor, and it started running around the living room and the dining room while the kids chased it in gleeful excitement.

Sabelo stood in the middle of the living room, bewildered by the apparent loss of control. His mind didn’t have the capacity to symphonise the seemingly inharmonious sounds that surrounded him – the dog barking; the children laughing; his wife getting care instructions from Johan; the now unresolved budget; the unforeseen change in household rhythms; the anger of not being consulted; the loneliness of insignificance.

He sat down back on the couch and stared at the floor, back slouching and shoulders collapsed in defeat. After Zoleka let Johan out, she came and sat down on the couch next to him. No words could stand up to the gravity that the app didn’t anticipate introducing.

“What do you think we can call him?” she said trying to lighten the mood.

With no energy for restraint left, he responded: “coloniser”.

He could still hear the rest of the captives in the distance singing loudly the songs they had sung under better times in their Christian meetings:

Bulijjo Tutendereza Ekibuga Kyaffe,
Ekyakubiwa Mu ggulu, Yesu kye yazimba.

Singing of a heavenly city gave them strength to handle their earthly plight, despite their impending fate and betrayal by Mirundi. His back could no longer support the weight of fear and guilt, so he decided to lie on the ground. As his head reached the ground, a twig broke, breaking the rhythm of nature’s chorus. Time felt like it stood still. Until suddenly, the branches behind him were forcefully broken and,

Andrew woke up again in a cold sweat. His consciousness transported back over a century to the present time.

His mind fully alert by the shock, he looked at his bedside clock. 03:00. Again. Just like the night before. And the night before that. His wife slept peacefully next to him, completely oblivious to the dreams that had been tormenting him.

He threw the bedsheet off his legs, and made his way slowly downstairs to drink some water. The tickles dancing on his parched throat waved rhythmically to the attempted recollections from the dream. He switched on the kitchen light, and his thunderstruck heart threw his body backward. There was a figure of a man standing in the middle of the kitchen. yet, it was not a man.

He slowly started to lift his body from the ground, keeping his eyes fixated on the figure in front of him. “You’re from my dreams”, he said with his lips quivering. “I recognise your face. You were one of the other captives.”

“Yes, I am. I am Kakumba Mako, from Nateete. Who are you?”

“Andrew Mirundi, from, umm… Fourways?” he responded with more ease. “Are you a ghost?”

“What I am doesn’t really matter. We’ll just be spending time together over the next few days. Don’t try and explain it to anyone, they’ll say you’re mad.”

Unsure whether to be scared, excited or confused, he asked, “Can you please at least explain what is happening in the dream?”.

“They said we had been disloyal to the Kabaka”, Kakumba tried to explain.

“To the who?” Andrew asked.

“Kabaka Mwanga, our king. We were accompanying our friend Alexander Mackay to Munyonyo, and they said we tried to escape the kingdom with the foreigners without the Kabaka’s permission. They had been against us for some time because they said we are living contrary to the way our forefathers lived.”

“Woah. So you couldn’t just get up and leave?” Andrew asked in disbelief.

“No, of course not” Kakumba responded as if stating the obvious. “How does it work here?”

“Well, if we leave the country, we just need a passport and a visa for the country we are going to”, Andrew tried to explain.

“And who do you get this passport thing from? And the visa?”

“Well, from the Department of Home Affairs, and the visa from the other country’s embassy”, Andrew tried to explain.

“So then you need to ask for permission from your leaders to leave? And from the other leaders to enter their territory?” Kakumba asked.

“Well, yes, I guess.”

Andrew heard the footsteps of his wife coming down the stairs behind him. He turned around to look at Kakumba, and he was gone. “What are you doing down here? It’s 3:30 in the morning”, she asked.

Thinking about how he could even start to explain what had just happened, he settled with “I couldn’t sleep, so I just came to get a glass of water”.

While sitting having breakfast, he really wanted to try and explain to his wife what had happened. “What do you think about ghosts and spirits?” he asked her. “What? Umm.. I don’t know, haven’t really thought about it” she answered in confusion. “Why do you ask?” Again, tongue twisted with no idea on how to build a bridge between his new world and hers, he shut it down and said “just saw a funny tweet which made me wonder”.

Reversing out of the garage, Kakumba was seated in the passenger seat. “I told you not to try and explain to people. They’ll think you’re mad.” They both laughed with a sense of familiarity. “So where are we going?” he asked. “On the way to work”, Andrew answered grudgingly.

As they passed a group of passengers getting off a taxi to get into Fourways Mall before its opening, Andrew asked: “So tell me about this, ‘Kabaka’ did you say?”

“He’s the leader of all people. Of all lands. Of all our laws, customs and ways of life. The ultimate leader of everything!” Kakumba said proudly.

“Wow, that sounds intense. Of all people, of all land, wow.” Andrew said in disbelief. “So, if you want land to stay on, you have to ask the king? And he can kick you off it anytime if he’s having a bad day?”

“We stay on our land at the pleasure of the king, yes, governed by his administrators throughout the land.” Kakumba explained. “And about kicking us off, I can’t say. Are things different here?”

“Well, most of us get loans from the bank to buy our houses, and we pay it off over a number of years. So at least we are secure on the land.” Andrew said proudly.

“And what happens if you can’t pay for it anymore?” Kakumba enquired.

“Well, they take it and sell it to repay the loan. But why wouldn’t you be able to pay it back? You’ll always have a job.”

“Sounds to me like you stay on your land at the pleasure of whatever gives you your money to pay. And if it has a bad day, you too can be kicked off anytime.”

A contemplative silence filled the rest of the trip to Andrew’s workplace. They turned from William Nicol Drive into Sandton Drive. As they approached Sandton Central, Kakumba was awestruck by the majestic buildings and structures. “Are these palaces for your king or temples to your gods?”

Andrew laughed out loud. “We don’t have kings or gods in this place. People don’t have time for that stuff here. It is different from your time.” Kakumba stared out the window as they drove through the heartbeat of the city.

Andrew parked in the underground parking of his celestial office building. He picked up papers from the back seat, stared at them for a while and let out a deep sigh.

“You are here because of the oil transaction, aren’t you?”. Andrew slowly lifted his face and looked at Kakumba. “In the long term, we’re told it will be better for the country. Ugandans will be uplifted”.

“But in those papers in your hand, you have weaved magic tricks to pull wool over people’s eyes.” Kakumba started probing. “Special purpose vehicles? Companies registered in British Virgin Islands? ‘Consultation fees’ to companies linked to top politicians? For whose benefit?”

“That’s just the way things work around here. You can’t get anything done otherwise. These are just our”

“Traditions?” Kakumba completed.

Andrew slowly started getting agitated by the confrontation. It was 7:48, leaving him with 12 minutes to get to the meeting when the transaction would be finalised. He had been wrestling with this for weeks, and didn’t need this last minute twist.

“I have to do it. I’ll lose everything if I don’t. I won’t be able to get another job, and we’ll lose everything we have”

Kakumba looked at him intently as Andrew tried to hold back tears. “You have a king, but you don’t want to give it a name. You have palaces for your king, but you don’t call them that. You have gods that you worship with shrines built on hills, but you call them shopping malls. And yet, you think that you are so different to those that came before you.”

“What do you want from me?” Andrew shouted. “You were killed for not ‘following the ways of your forefathers’ as you said. Why do you want me to suffer like you did?”.

“I know exactly how you feel. I was also once an official in the Kabaka’s court. Honoured above most men in the kingdom that I love. And that suddenly all changed. Stripped of everything.”

They both stared in front for an awkward period.

“Then what’s the point?” Andrew whispered.

“Those of us who were martyred sang longingly for the heavenly city where our Kingdom of Buganda will be elevated to its beautiful intended purpose” Kakumba said with tears rolling down. “We see it as it will be, not as it is. We died to be a part of that”.

Kakumba sat silently for a moment, an anxious expression filling his face.

“You are called to the same life that we were called to.”

“But who’s going to teach our sons to become men?”

Gcinikhaya asked this while squashing the newspaper within her clenched fist. Her lips were quivering, her face contorted to hold back the tears of anger and fear.

“My brother went to the mines in Kimberly and came back dead. As did so many people we know. Now you want to go to Johannesburg and leave me with a life of suffering?” she asked rhetorically to her husband, Sakhumzi.

“But I won’t be working on the mines” he responds apologetically.

“What’s the difference? You’re leaving your responsibilities as the head of your father’s house to go and be someone’s slave? Who’s going to make sure the cattle are not stolen? What’s my place on your father’s land when you’re not here? Why can’t we come with you?” she continuously questioned.

“You know the laws of the land there. I can only go by myself. And they’re looking for those of us who went to the mission schools to work on some of the farms there. If you open the newspaper, you can see the advert for Witkoppen cattle farm. We really need the money. We need money to pay this tax on the land to the government, and maybe even have money to send the boys to that Zonnebloem College in Cape Town” he tried to explain.

“Cape Town!” she screamed, as she started making her way towards the door of their rectangular stone house. “Wasn’t the reason of going to the mission school so that we can improve our lives here? You carry your father’s name, and now you want to throw his legacy away in someone else’s cow dung, as someone’s boy?” She opened the door to the cold evening’s winter breeze, flickering the candle mounted on the surface of her crumbling foundation.

He grabbed her by the arm before she could walk out of the door. “You don’t talk to me like that. I’m still the man of this house. The world we live in now is not the world my forefathers lived in.”

He paused and looked at her face moistened by drips of tears. “I’m doing what’s best for our home”.

Gcinikhaya slowly made her way back to the table in the middle of the room. She sat down in silence for 10 minutes, staring at the newspaper advert.

“So, when do you leave?”

“Next week Thursday, I’m going with Rev. Samuels to East London. From there, I’ll take the train to Aliwal North, then to Bloemfontein, and take the last train to Park Station in Johannesburg.”

13 February 2022, Fourways Gardens, Johannesburg.

“Nkosivumile! Hurry up, your dad and I are already late!”, Phatizizwe shouted to her daughter in her usual use-her-full-name angry tone.

“Why do we even have to have someone come and stay with us?” Vumi asked in her usual pre-teen whine as she dragged her feet down the stairs. “We are fine just the way we are”.

“I’ve told you 100 times Vumi, with the new job I’ll be travelling out of the country a lot and your dad’s job also gets hectic at times.” Phatizizwe tried to explain.

“So you just handing me over to someone else then” Vumi sarcastically retorted, while rolling her eyes. She walked past her mother flicking her blonde braids in the air with attitude.

“Hey little Miss. Don’t forget you’re talking to your mother here. Don’t come here with that attitude. We will still be here”, she tried to reassure. “Nothing much will change, don’t worry. We’ll still be very much here. You know that we love you and would never abandon you”.

Vumi stopped walking and stared at the ground for a few seconds. She turned around slowly and asked, “Then why did you even have to take this new job?” as if the question had never been answered.

“So that you can go on your nice expensive hockey tours in your nice expensive school” Phatizizwe answered, returning the sarcasm back.

Mark had already reversed the car and was waiting in the driveway. Phatizizwe entered through the passenger door, opened the window and reminded Vumi: “we’ll pick you up from Jackie’s house once we’re back, we just need to talk to her first. Please just make sure her room is in order before you go.”

The first 15 minutes of the trip was carried by deafening silence, fuelled by the tension of this decision which was never actually agreed upon. The irritation of the traffic jam caused by malfunctioning traffic lights added to the volcanic mountain of unvoiced strain.

“At least I managed to get someone from back home. They’re more trustworthy and loyal than those you find here”, Phatizizwe said to break the ice.

“Ya, I guess”, Mark shrugged. He kept looking through the driver’s side window to avoid eye contact.

“How is Vumi taking it?” he asked.

“I think she’ll be fine. She’ll get used to it.”

They arrived in the parking lot of Park Station and made their way to the platform. In front of the bus ticket office, they saw Ncamisa standing with her bags, looking lost.

“Molo mkhaya! Welcome to Johannesburg! I hope the trip from Mthatha was comfortable” welcomed Phatizizwe. “This is Mark, the father of the house.” Mark stretched his hand to greet her as she turned her eyes to the ground in reverence. “Let’s get your bags to the car” he said.

As they drove up the M1 North back home, Mark tried making small talk: “so do you know anyone in Johannesburg?”.

“Yes Tata. My brother moved here when I was younger, but I haven’t seen him since”, she answered.

“Ya, it’s the thing about that place. Maybe you’ll bump into him soon” Mark said, not knowing what else to say.

Burdened by the weight of responsibility of the awkwardness, Phatizizwe jumped in:

“You’ll meet our daughter when we get home. She’ll take some time to get used to you, but she’s a great girl”.

“Ok Mama. How old is she?” Ncamisa asked.

“She’s 12 but thinks she is 16” Phatizizwe laughed. “I may be travelling a lot, so you’ll get to spend a lot of time with her”.

“Umm Mama. Has she, umm.. started the way of women?” Ncamisa sheepishly asked.

“Not yet, but some of her friends have. So it may be at any moment now”.

They all sat quietly for some time, with Ncamisa’s eyes staring at the bright billboards along the highway, and the tall buildings lining the distant landscape, yet her mind pondering more distant questions.

“And Mama, what if it’s when you’re away?”, Ncamisa whispered.