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NOMCEBO KHANYILE SITHEBE

FLICKER

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 COPYRIGHT © Nomcebo Khanyile Sithebe, 2021
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted by the owner, no part
may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or
transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written
permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are
either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely
coincidental.

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손을 잡고서 같이 걸어요
비가 오는 밤에도 외로웠던 낮에도
그대 환한 빛깔을 내게 가득 칠해줘요
내가 더 잘할게요 이렇게 같이 있어준다면

Let’s hold hands and walk together

Even on rainy nights and lonely days
Please colour me with your shiny light
I’ll do better when you promise me we will stay together
— Lee Hi, Only

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Flicker
Prologue

His eyes fixate on his father’s grave, outside their homestead, like some sort of
outcast, and his heart twinges tightly in devastated anger. His anger isn’t just
anger; it’s the hurt one, the one that produces timeous lumps that are hard to
swallow, it’s the one that burn the back of his eyes with unshed tears and
make his head hurt from lack of sleep and food.
He’s been too busy looking after his mother and brothers, because he’s 14
years old, the oldest amongst his siblings and now that his father is really
gone, he has to step up and become the man of the house. This will no longer
be some part-time responsibility, him assuming his father’s responsibilities
only two to three times every other week because his father would be
working in Durban, for their comfortability.
This, this is permanent.
A familiar hand tightens on his shoulder, crushing, a show of support as it
leads him away from the gravesite, back within their homestead, where
everyone is busy with something. “Are you ready, Mfana wami?”
Sthelosamangwane’s eyes raise to meet Malume uMfanamfuthi, lips pursed
tight in concealed emotion, his shaking fists betray him. He’s been ready for a
long time, he was ready from the moment he understood the nature of his
father’s shady work in Durban and his parents would spend nights arguing
about how dangerous of a life his father led because death had always been a
certainty when associating with that kind of life.
Death had always been a certainty, from the beginning.
“I am ready, Baba.”

He is not ready, not at all.

Life is not the same after his father’s death. He doesn’t need to ask, he just sees
it. They are treated differently from Malume uMfanamfuthi’s children, it’s

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always worse when he is not around. MaNxumalo makes sure his mother feels
it. His mother, MaZuma, has become their domestic worker—the cleaner, the
cook, a mother to MaNxumalo’s three children. Its Sthelosamangwane who
has now become a mother to four years old Misungwane, it is him who has
become a mother to two six-month olds : Siphiwesamangwane and
Nsikayamangwane.
He is not ready, not at all.
Malume uMfanamfuthi announces that his duties are going to change a little,
he’s the eldest at home, and its getting expensive to keep the herdsboy who
tended to the livestock that belongs not to Malume uMfanamfuthi, but
Sthelosamangwane’s mother because everything that Muzikayise Khanyile
owned he left in her care—no, it’s not written, but he was a man vocal about
his love for his family, through his actions the most.
He is not ready, not at all.
It’s not working, Sthelosamangwane’s responsibilities of waking up with the
first crowing rooster to help his mother with the twin boys and then herding
the livestock – that is suspiciously lessening with each passing day despite
Sthelosamangwane’s careful care of them – before leaving for school. It’s not
working so, despite his mother’s warnings, Sthelosamangwane drops out of
school just after his 15th birthday—to properly do his job, and tend to their
livestock. He doesn’t need his mother’s permission, his uncle’s permission is
the only one he needs.
He is not ready, not at all.
Almost a year into it, and clearly this is not working out. Clearly. It’s obvious to
Misungwane as well, that they’re different from Malume uMfanamfuthi’s
children. Misungwane asks too many questions and notices too much for a five
year old. Why didn’t they get their new clothes for Christmas? Why did they
only receive only one box of biscuits? Why doesn’t he have any new toys like
Xolani and Mxolisi?
He’s not ready at all.
MaZuma is the talk of the village when she leaves, and builds a tiny house for
all of them just two houses away from her husband’s homestead. The talk is
negative, and Sthelo knows she cries when she thinks they’re asleep. He hears

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her cry for his father, her husband. She is losing weight, she is not the
beautiful woman he once knew, not the most beautiful—and sometimes he is
embarrassed to be associated with her and her filth.
Its Muzikayise’s fault. Sthelo knows the life he was living in Durban and how it
robbed them of him and their comfortability and their happiness. Nkangala
thrives on putting them down, the village thrives on calling them names—
sometimes in their faces, sometimes in hushed whispers that knock on their
ears. Its tiring.
When he turns 18, Sthelosamangwane is Mhlengi Zuma, to anyone who will
ask. Mhlengi was given to him by his mother. Zuma will always have more
honour than Khanyile. From Muzikayise to Mfanafuthi, the Khanyiles have
proven themselves unworthy of having a son like him.
He is Mhlengi Zuma, and he writes his own destiny.

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Flicker : One
Sthelosamangwane

He’s cold.
There’s a chill in the bedroom that has nothing to do with the silver moon
casting bluish black shadows in the darkness of his room. He’s sleeping, and
he’s cold—goosebumps spreading over his arms like a nasty infection from a
horror movie. His sleep is made up of tossing and turning—left and then right.
It’s made up of cold perspiration, and equally chilling dreams that are really
nothing but memories.
He’s cold, what feels like shards of icy particles sneaking through his flimsy
grey shirt to bite into the skin of his back. Beside him, in his line of sight, his
brothers lay peacefully asleep, cloaked by the warmth of Sthelosamangwane’s
body shielding them from the cold. On the other side, his mother does the
same—bearing the cold wall behind her to protect the younger ones. As their
eyes clash, she gives him her beautiful smile—and the cold doesn’t seem so
bad anymore.
He jolts awake.
His heart is pounding, and he is freezing in his own sweat as he rubs his eyes
tiredly, willing himself to recover from all the tremors. Face still covered, he
breathes warmth into the iciness of his hands, and exhales softly—one, two
and three. The moon’s light casts shadows in his room that threaten to drag
him under but he’ll be damned if something as insignificant as his memories
enable any darkness to reside within him, and weigh him down.
Instead, Sthelosamangwane leaves the bed, sparing the dark cracked screen of
his bedside clock a glance—02:11am. Another mournful exhale trespasses
because his body is tired, he can feel it, today was a long day at work but here
he is, less than 3 hours later—awake. It’s not fair, he thinks, but he can’t
control his sleeping patterns, no matter how hard he tries.
There’s noise outside, he can hear it as he dons his sweatpants, and slides a t-
shirt on because it’s cold, and he’s always so cold, cold, cold. The bomber
jacket remains in his seat, Sabelo will shit on him for wearing it so late at

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night, and sometimes Sthelo isn’t in the mood. He has on his flip-flops and
hesitates a second, hand squeezing the metal of the doorknob—a second—
and then he steps into the cool night air.
Syllables upfront, too soft for him to hear.
He gets closer, taking notice of how Nhlanhla’s feet are too comfortable on
another man’s lap and snorts quietly to himself, making his presence known
by clearing his throat. “Madoda, anibuyeki lobutabane benu namanje?”
Nhlanhla makes one of his usual confused frowns, although he’s understood
the gay part well. Its Sabelo who snorts out laughter, throwing Nhlanhla’s feet
to the floor as the younger’s frown deepens, he picks up his newspaper that
fell to the ground from the harshness Sabelo had used to remove Nhlanhla’s
feet from him. “Uyanya, masende enkawu!”
“I don’t understand,” Nhlanhla says, still frowning. His name doesn’t give him
away, the fact that he’s actually Malawian—who else would think there’s a
Malawian Nhlanhla Zulu who didn’t buy the name because it was given to him
by his parents? Who knew there were Zulus in Malawi? Who knew there were
Nhlanhlas there? It’s still so funny to Sthelo, that this boy—just because he’s
twenty-three, doesn’t mean he doesn’t look like a teenager—with his Zulu
name and surname doesn’t know how to speak the language.
“He’s talking kak this boy! Don’t mind him,” says a clearly still offended Sabelo,
as his face pulls together in distaste. “He thinks just because these boys who
confuse their identities from around this place want him, that means everyone
is gay!”
Its Sthelosamangwane’s turn to frown, as his lips thin into a straight line and
he tries hard to control his temper. Sabelo knows, he knows Sthelo hates
being reminded about the faggots from around this place who always assume
they stand a chance with him—like they can see something he hasn’t. He’s not
gay, has never desired another man ever in his life. He hates it when these
boys assume that, and make moves on him, he hates that he’s punched most of
them in their faces because no is no, right?
“I must’ve missed the part where God appointed both of you to judge others
for being gay,” Nhlanhla speaks his mind, like usual, blinking his eyes. He
always speaks his mind, Sthelo thinks it’s because he didn’t get much of a

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chance to when he was still in Malawi. “If I say I am gay, will you stop being
my friends?”
Of course not, Nhlanhla is like a brother to them. Its Sabelo who brought him
in and introduced him to Devkumar, and he’s still a baby at 23 years old, so
much younger than Sthelo and Sabelo’s ages of 28 years. They protect him like
a little brother, although it makes Nhlanhla unhappy because there’s no need
to and he can ‘protect’ himself, but he’s just another short Malawian in
Sthelosamangwane’s eyes—typical of each Malawian man he’s ever
encountered. The fact that he looks younger than Misungwane—Sthelo's 17
year old brother—says enough.
“Are you gay?” there’s a challenging edge to Sabelo’s hoarse voice—laced with
undertones of… something that Sthelo doesn’t have the words for.
But they lock eyes—Nhlanhla and Sabelo. Just a blink.
“No. Its just a question.”
“Very unnecessary if you’re not gay,” – Sabelo.
“This is why its important to exercise your brain as well,” Nhlanhla quips, and
smirks when Sabelo makes an offended face—but the younger’s attention is
on Sthelo now, gaze flickering up and down. “That nightmare again?”
The cold seems to assault the other man immediately, as if beckoned by the
younger’s words, and a long finger unconsciously trails to his chest to tap, tap,
tap. It digs into the scars there—and there’s a vicious burn. Scorching.
“Hey, hey. Are you okay?” – Nhlanhla.
“No dreams, Ntwana.” Sthelosamangwane finds his voice—calm and steady—
he looks at the younger man squarely and smiles. “You’re too young to be
worrying after me.”
“You’re right, but you punched Mpendulo’s nasty face on my behalf the other
day so I must return the favour.”
Sthelo chuckles, shaking his head, and snatches a cigarette that Sabelo was
just smoking, putting it to his lips to inhale deeply. Ah, relaxing. He feels the
tension seep out, the cold making way for delicious warmth. Warmth that
smells like Sta-soft and Sunlight bar.

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He misses his mother, he should call tomorrow.
“I thought you hated me for that.”
“Because I don’t need you to fight my battles. You think someone calling me a
kwerekwere can hurt me? Think again. Nothing can hurt me, not anymore.”
He always does this, Nhlanhla always hints at a past that wasn’t too rosy but
never reveals anything. But Sthelo can just imagine, leaving your home
country for a foreign one—and getting there just to sell fruit in a trolley the
whole day, then living with over a dozen others in your situation and sleeping
on floors. It must’ve not been easy.
“That’s my boy!”
“Hey, fokof mahni!” the accent comes out strong, a little funny.
Familiar warm chuckles fill their quiet place, and a calm that he usually just
receives after a phone call made home eases into the pit of Sthelo’s belly. This
right here, him with these two men, feels just like home—another home. Many
a night they’ve met in their yard like this, with Nhlanhla using his owl vision to
read the newspaper or play Sudoku, his feet resting on Sabelo’s lap, the older
man trapping a cigarette in between his fingers and lips.
Sthelosamangwane will join them, and they will talk about any and
everything. Nhlanhla likes to mention his family back home, and will reveal his
dreams of continuing his education at UKZN. Sabelo was always so stupid. He’s
different from them, with a lawyer for a father and a councillor for a mother,
but he’s here because he could never live up to their expectations. He’s not
smart like his sister and he never misses the opportunity to tell them how that
made him the black sheep of the family and why that forced him to leave
eventually. He’s not intelligent but he’s smart.
But he’s accepted here, family, because it’s their imperfections that bind them
together. They’re a family, and when Sthelo is freezing cold, he will come
outside—and the warmth he gets outside beats the one that his room is
supposed to give him. The warmth outside, in the company of these two men,
feels familiar—like his mother, like his family.
>><<▪︎>><<

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He doesn’t know when or how it came to be but in Mphundumane, he is some
sort of celebrity. Not a celebrity, celebrity—but the boy next door.
Respectable. Kind. Helpful. The one that every parent wishes their daughter
could bring home. Many have said his roguish and rugged masculine
epitomize his personality, because Sthelo is too dark. And dark is rough, and
tough and unbreakable—the epitome of what true masculinity should look
like.
Strong. Desirable. But still ugly.
Its not like he’s forgotten all those jokes from his schooldays. Jokes that still
follow him today—casual but poking deep into parts of him that have never
outgrown the swift remarks. Rarely does he poke back, because again, he’s the
boy next door. The one whose ugliness you’re able to look past—as
MaMbambo is doing, when they get off the community bus together, and he
helps her carry the heavy load of groceries, and a door; all these things bought
in town for the village.
“Ngyabonga, Mfana wami. Nhlangano was supposed to meet me at the stop
with the wheelbarrow to carry all these things back home but he’s so useless!
Can you believe I called him when we were fifteen minutes away from here—
fifteen! But where is he? Where?”
Sthelo runs his callused hand on the back of his neck—a regular nervous trait,
and gives the elderly woman a smile that appears bigger than his face, it
stretches the hairs of his neatly trimmed beard. “You know how boys are,
Mah…”
A scandalous noise gives the sound of hurried footsteps coming from an army
of little children dashing past them a run for its money. Egg-shaped eyes
elongate in front of him, MaMbambo shaking her head, she adjusts the Boxer
plastics in her hand. “That boy’s 30 years old. If memory serves me right, I
gave birth before your mother which means he’s older than you.”
“Ah,” a charming syllable, “but he’s just a boy as you’ve so kindly pointed out.
He errs because you feed into his delusion of still being a young boy when in
truth he’s a man who should be working hard and giving you a break, it’s only
fair. He should be your husband now, not the other way round.”

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Maybe his father dying early, and him being forced to step up when he was
only a boy—truly a boy, not like Nhlangano is doing—maybe it strengthened
him and shaped him to become the man he is today. He cannot afford to make
excuses, he’s a provider, and the head of a home.
“You think?” MaMbambo sighs, stopping a second as if to process her thoughts
because multitasking that with walking is too daunting a task.
“He’ll never grow in his comfort zone, Mah wami. Trust me. Life hurts us
because it’s the only way we can grow. When we’re hurting and hurting until
we cannot stand it and decide to do something about it. The brave make it out
alive—stronger. The weak crumble under the pressure of not breathing, and
suffocate.”
“Who taught you this?”
Two nonchalant shrugs. “Epiphanies.”
Together, they continue to walk in comfortable silence, and Sthelo doesn’t
hide his eyeroll when Nhlangano finally appears, pushing a wheelbarrow that
is barely surviving. He’s gained weight since they last saw each other, and he
looks so much older, in his navy overalls that are undone. “Ndoda,
asisakwazi.”
Sthelo comes home every two weeks.
“I’m around, Bafo. Work keeps me busy.”
“If you have a chance, maybe you can talk to your boss about him getting a
position where you work. If it means he has to guard some papers, it’s still fine
as long as he gets an income.”
“Hawu, MaMbambo!” an incredulous expression that’s matched with a quiet
glare of the eyes. “I don’t need to work. We’re surviving just fine with your
grant money. Who’s going to look after you when I leave? You need a man in
your house, it’s not up for discussion.”
“Ngixolise bakwethu but I have to meet my family.” Sthelo announces before
MaMbambo can say anything. It’s no use listening to them argue, he knows
that Nhlangano will conquer his mother verbally—the usual.

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“Hawu, kanjalo nje, Sthelo. No problem, be with your family. Greet your lovely
mother for me and tell her I’ll bring her the concoction she asked for—for the
nausea.”
Nausea. His mother is sick?
Sthelo doesn’t entertain the bickering between mother and son, too busy
thinking about his own mother. What could the problem be? Last night he
called home and she didn’t mention any illnesses when they were speaking.
Maybe its nothing serious.
He still clings to her like his life depends on it when he reaches home and finds
her busy in the dying rondavel that serves as the kitchen. She smells like
sweat and wooden ash. She doesn’t use the electricity. Old school she is, in
everything. “Ndlovukazi yami, Sibusiso sami. Finally, I see colour again
because I am with you.”
“Weeeh!” MaZuma pinches his side. She also smells like fresh flowers. “How
you think you can sweet talk me.”
“Obviously I cannot do that when I mean every word I say.” Pulling back
fractionally, he cups her hamster cheeks in his hands and practices the
complicated art of mind-reading through forged eye contact. “You’re sick,”
comes his matter-of-fact statement.
“Sick?” loud chuckles spread over the warm kitchen, chasing out one of the
hens that had rudely intruded their space. “No, I am not sick.”
“Then what is this about nausea I hear?”
“Oh that!” a dismissive wave of the hand, she pulls out of his hold and walks
outside—a silent instruction for Sthelo to do the same. They settle on the large
brown bench. “I’ll tell you later. You’re staying the night?”
He always does.
“Good!” all it takes for her is to look into his eyes and nail the art of mind-
reading, unlike him. “Then I’ll tell you late tonight. How are you? Is Durban
still treating you right? I hope you’re not spending your money on girls like
some of your peers do. Are your bosses treating you okay? You must get tired
standing on your feet all day, this is why I wasn’t happy when you told me

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you’re a security guard and I hope you tell the supervisor when you’re tired of
standing.”
Sthelo laughs at her, cradling her hand in his, amused by the rambling that
never stops. “Durban is fine. My job is…good. I’m working hard to save money
to build a better home for you guys.”
Something flashes in his mother’s eyes that Sthelo cannot fully read—worry
maybe. Or guilt. He will not address the matter because its always there, a
persistent painful wound of a mother who feels she isn’t doing enough to take
care of them. Maybe she blames herself for Sthelo not finishing school. Maybe
she blames herself that he’s had to take care of them for over a decade now,
and maybe Sthelo grows tired as well sometimes but guilt eats him up like a
nasty plague whenever he allows himself to grow exhausted—mentally,
physically, emotionally.
“That’s good. You’re going to prove to your no good uncle that you were
always the better man. He’s run your father’s legacy to the ground, selling his
livestock, not taking care of his home; you’ll change that.”
Years ago, he would fight with her about this. No, he’s not doing this for his
father. Because his father doesn’t deserve such an honour, not when he died
without it. But his two years in KwaMashu have challenged him and his
morals, pushing him to do things that he didn’t think he would ever do. He’s
had to fight and conquer his conscience—crushing it with the heels of his feet
to make sure it stays helpless on the ground.
So yes, he’s rebuilding his father’s legacy by following in his footsteps. This is
why he doesn’t correct anyone around here when they call him
Sthelosamangwane instead of Mhlengi. He’s long given up fighting people to
call him Mhlengi because he’s just like his father—a Ngwane through and
through, and crime runs inside his veins, as it had with his father.
“I bought a few groceries, but tomorrow we’ll go back to Eshowe and get
more. Smanga will lend me his car.”
“Thank you,” MaZuma smiles, and squeezes his hand, “you smell like too many
cigarettes. Do you want to darken yourself more than you already are?”
Airy laughter merges with the sunny wind of Mphundumane, as Sthelo gazes
into the far distance and shrugs his shoulders in that characteristic indifferent

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manner that says ‘who fucking cares?’. Dark is dark, there’s no competition.
“Are you sure that’s what happens?”
“Stop it, don’t act smart. Your brother told me that’s what he learnt at school.”
Well then, maybe it is true. Sthelo doesn’t know, but he trusts Misungwane—
the boy’s bringing honour to their family, the most educated among all in
Mphundumane, top student at Sithola Imfundo. He says he’s inspired by
Siyabonga Shandu-Ngubane, that’s the gay doctor who’s well-known for his
big brain. The man’s not that much older than Sthelo.
“I’ll cut down, I promise.” This is a lie, of course, cigarettes calm him. When he
wakes up in the middle of the night, and his friends are not outside, nicotine
keeps him company and wraps its addicting taste around him, cradling him
and shielding him from his demons.
Their chat is interrupted by rushing footsteps. Culprit number one shows face.
“Bhuti!” Nsikayamangwane announces himself, schoolbag flying on his back.
“Sphiwe has a girlfriend!”
“This punk!” Sphiwesamangwane is an angry volcano as he attempts to tackle
his twin brother to the ground, but Nsika is faster—dodging him. “Do not
believe a word he says. And more importantly, do not ask me questions when
you discover a dead body in the morning.”
“Uyanya!” Nsika counters, making fists that he aims in the air. “Ngyokudlisa
amasende mina.”
“Ngwane!” MaZuma makes a horrified face.
“Which one?” the smartass continues, gesturing with his head toward Sthelo.
“Anyway, its him who taught us this. Punish him… respectfully, I say this of
course, bhuti.”
“I’ll have a talk with him, MaZuma.” Sthelo shakes his head, hiding his
amusement as he ruffles Sphiwe’s small afro. “If you’re not going to comb your
hair then just have it shaved all off, Ngwane.”
Sphiwe looks bashful, nodding his head.
“This is why I wonder how he got a girlfriend,” Nsika comments with a scoff,
“what’s for lunch? Please tell me KFC, we can afford it now.”

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“In my room. Not for consumption until Misungwane gets here.”
“Yes!” the twins say at the same time, rushing off to the small rondavel that
they share with Misungwane. Sthelo has his own rondavel just next to theirs,
and their mother sleeps alone in the small one-room house.
“You’re an amazing brother, Ngwane, an outstanding son. You do so much for
your family.” It’s a compliment, yes, but every time his mother says this, Sthelo
feels as if she’s shoving his head in a pail of water—suffocating him. Because
no, he hasn’t done a lot.
Look around Mphundumane, take a look at the endlessness of serene green—
rising as if it touches the great sky one minute, only to shrink to the size of an
army of ants the next. Look at the rich livestock—on the other side,
Mthembu’s cows graze in the meadow. Look at the houses—from here, the
largest homestead in their region can be seen… KwaNgcobo, everyone says,
the place resembles Jacob Zuma’s Nkandla empire. Those men are not that
much older than him. Educated. Powerful. Second largest home, here in
Mphundumane, KwaMzimela—just as luxuriously powerful.
And Sthelo buys simple KFC and his mother praises him for it. No, he hasn’t
done much. He’s done nothing at all.
The noose of adulthood is around his neck, tightening and tightening. Work
harder. Work harder.
28 years old and he’s done nothing at all.

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Flicker : Two
Fuzelihle

Dawie broke up with me. Seventh or eighth boyfriend? I’m not sure, I don’t
remember. To be honest, I don’t keep tabs on the trash that throws itself in the
bin. Good riddance actually. My heart is intact because the relationship didn’t
even last that long, less than a year, but I wouldn’t have cried had my heart
been torn to shreds anyways.
Men… men don’t deserve a woman’s tears.
Ironically, it’s a man who told me this. Sqalosenkosi. He told me this the first
time I had my heart broken, and I’ve kept the advice since. But Dawie… Dawie
with his forest green eyes and a chin dimple, he told me I was ‘untamed’ and
‘aggressive’ because even white men will disappoint you. The ones I’ve
encountered may not forcefully penetrate me or beat me to the point that it
feels like I am dying, and unable to breathe but disappoint you they will
because… men.
It’s his stupid cousin, Jan, that caused our breakup. You call a white gay man to
order—because just because he’s queer, it gives him no right to be
misogynistic—and all hell breaks loose. White people always band together,
don’t they? This is why some of us lose relationships for telling feminine gay
males that it’s not cute to talk about women condescendingly, to make nasty
remarks about their bodies because its problematic and enables misogyny—
and proves that men – gay or not – always want to say something about the
bodies that don’t even belong to them.
Anyway, the skinny little twink threw a hissy fit because I wasn’t backing
down and told his cousin that the black bitch was being dramatic and
dismissive of his views as a gay man. So what happened was Dawie broke up
with me before I could get the chance to tell him that fuck him and his stupid
cousin who fetishes black men and uses them for their sex game.
Good riddance—for the thousandth time.
To treat myself for the trash throwing itself out, I decided to do this—but the
sight of me is too funny.

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“Slow down! Danger, slow the voetsek down!”
Giggles erupt from deep inside my throat as Angie does anything but, and
drags Palesa down the street, pulling Gaston with her. I shake my head, still
laughing, it gives me great joy to watch my best friend suffer like this. It’s the
standard between us—best friends were made to rejoice delightedly in the
face of their best friend’s struggles. Normal struggles like them being dragged
around by Rottweilers that they have misgendered.
“Fuze, help me here!”
“Angie is offended that you called her Danger and stereotyped her just
because she’s a dog, and assumed that voetsek is a universal word that works
on every dog.”
The dogs are still dragging her by their leashes, her umbrella has decided to
keep the sidewalk company, not wanting anything to do with her struggles—
wise girlie. “Stop!” I order my kennel of dogs, bending to pick up the umbrella
with one hand, before strolling on leisurely.
“FUZE!”
I roll my eyes behind the sunglasses that cover half my face.
Fine.
“Angie, down!” I don’t have to shout or anything.
“What the fuck!” Palesa is panting, the sun and dogs have been grilling her
long enough, she’s two seconds away from passing out it seems. This is why I
always tells her to hit the gym with me and she always makes it about her
weight when I’m not even there, it’s about maintaining a healthy lifestyle and
being fit. “The Ice Princess speaks and bloody moerskonts listen! Hhayi fok!”
“Ice Princess?” my lips curl up in amusement. “Really?”
“Oh please, like you don’t know that’s the name you go by.”
“Careful,” I warn lightheartedly, “I just may tell Angie to repeat this process all
over again. And she won’t stop until you’re braaied meat on the sidewalk,
maybe then we can share you. I call dibs on your boobies.”
“Angie? This little bitch’s name is Angie?”

20
Ah, my beloved friend. No wonder Angie drags her around, she has no respect
for these animals. “Angie—”
“Don’t you dare!” Palesa screams, holding her water bottle out in defence, with
the clear intention of pouring her lemon water on me. The audacity! “If this
little bitch makes me run around again, girl I will annihilate you.”
“I will spare you just this once.”
A grateful expression passes over her features, two saucers rolling to the back
of her skull. “Thank you, your highness.”
I giggle again, collapsing beside her on the sidewalk. The neighbourhood is
quiet, like usual, I’m not counting the random white granny jogging slowly
down the street. May I die before I start trudging like her.
“How long do you need before we walk the dogs back again?”
Palesa’s bare mask turns bashful, she scratches the back of her neck, stealing a
dirty glance at the Rottweilers and then me. “Why don’t you walk them back
to the shelter? I’ll wait here, then you can come and collect me.”
“No.”
“Don’t forget that you ordered me to come here with you, you demanding bitch
you. This is the least you can do for me, given the torture I was subjected to by
these ill-mannered brutes! Clearly black-owned dogs are better.”
“If you called her by her name instead of Danger, she would’ve listened.”
A sigh. “Whatever.”
“Tell you what, I can see how tired you look so I’ll take these four back. All you
have to do is relax your feet, rest. Am I good friend or what?”
She looks at me like I’ve lost my damn mind.
“What?” my amused grin deepens, until my eyes are slits.
“Just go. I have something to tell you when you get back.”
I do as she says, beginning the twenty minute walk back to the shelter. Aside
from spoiling myself, once every two weeks, I come here to volunteer, animals
are my first love. From the time I was a young girl in Ntumeni, I would spend

21
most of my time with our dogs and did the chicken business thing when I was
nine years old. My father was always the one who bought them, ripping me off
by giving me R20 every time he ‘bought’ one.
Right now, I have two pet dogs in my care, I adopted them from the animal
shelter. A Yorkshire terrier named Zizi. And a Labrador retriever named Izzy.
I’ve had Zizi for about six months, she’s angel. Izzy doesn’t like anyone who
isn’t family, I’ve had him for about a year now. They’re the only babies I need.
“Karen!” I call out, beaming at the middle-aged, purple-haired woman. “I’m
back. Palesa’s idea of struggling has nothing to do with dogs so she’s bailed,
I’m dropping these guys and girl off then I’m on my way.”
“Shucks, you’re not staying?” pale blue eyes regard me disappointedly. “Martin
is on his way, I told him you were here today.”
Martin’s her friend’s son. I know he has some sort of pathetic crush on me, but
he’s not my type. There’s not much reason to why he’s not my type except…
no. Just no. “What a shame that I have to leave.”
“Indeed.”
“I’ll be on my way then.” I nod my head, stopping in the bathroom facility to
wash my hands thoroughly. My face still looks perfect albeit a little sweaty. A
smile stretches my lips, I make a pleased expression before leaving. “Get in!”
Palesa gets off her phone, sighing exaggeratedly.
“Finally.”
I roll my eyes, cranking up the volume as she secures her seatbelt. Justin
Bieber. I don’t like this dude but my best friend does, and this is to make her
feel better, we don’t just laugh at our best friend’s struggles, we make them
feel better as well.
“I GOT MY PEACHES OUT IN GEORGIA, OH YEAH SH—”
Aaand no!
Palesa glares at me, lips pouting petulantly, she folds her arms like a child.
“You were yelling too loud.”
“Mxm.”

22
Its 11:00am, we’re both hungry and decide to stop at our favourite food spot
near my house. I’m in no rush to get home, my beloved mother spends her
lonely days there, waiting for me to keep her company, like she isn’t truly in
Johannesburg for Phawulothando’s impending arrival. Thatego and
Sbanisezwe’s surrogate is fast approaching her due date, and mommy dearest
is here to oversee everything, but Thatego wouldn’t allow her to stay with
them because their lovely surrogate is temporarily living with them—and he’d
rather she stayed stress free, something that can seldom be achieved with my
beloved MaSibusisiwe around.
“There’s this guy…” Palesa divulges breathlessly as the waitron gives us our
privacy. “You’re going to love him.”
I suppress an eye roll, putting on my disinterested mask, with my fingers
tapping on the table rhythmically. “My relationship just ended.”
The deadpan expression I receive in return makes me snort. “Its not like you
last anyways. Try again.”
“Race?”
My question annoys her, I can tell, but I don’t care. She’s been my best friend
for nearly four years now and she was privileged enough to learn about my
history with black men. I don’t mean to be offensive, sometimes I think she
feels that way; she’s had a steady relationship with a black man for three years
now—its working just fine for her but not every black man is her boyfriend.
“Fuze, really?”
“Yes really, Oe.” Her chubby face scrunching up in distaste will not deter me, it
prickles my skin with annoyance actually, and there’s a bite to my voice as I
absently remind her, “I don’t date black men, you know that.”
“Your father is black.”
“Don’t like him!” Why is she even bringing him up? “Try harder.”
“Fine!” a wiggle of the shoulders. Shame, kodwa. “Your… fine ass brothers!
Sqalosenkosi is black and a good representation of how good a black man can
be when he chooses to be.”

23
“Keyword is choose. The black men I’ve encountered are top tier assholes,
they rank high on the scale of men who’re the most the biggest assholes.”
She laughs, I don’t because I wasn’t trying to be funny.
“This guy is your type—tall and buff. He’s a freaking Burj Khalifa, plus he’s
moneyed. Really moneyed. He’s just inherited his father’s mining company. He
is swimming in money.”
“I do have my own money, Ausi.”
“I know. But a business magnate? He’s not even dark-skinned. He’s a light skin
nigga with hazel eyes.”
“No.”
“I heard white people don’t have big penises.”
WTF!
“Their treatment gives off big dick energy. And the penis thing is a myth.” I’ve
been with enough men to know. Some men I’ve encountered with pinky
finger-sized penises were my own race, and some who were well-endowed
were white people. Besides, big penises don’t always mean an amazing sex
life. I’ve been fucking around long enough to know.
“If its treatment then how come you’re not in a stable relationship with any of
the white boys you were dating?”
“They’re assholes, but they still rank lower on the asshole scale than the black
men I’ve been with.”
“Haike, I give up ngwanyana ke wena.”
Finally!
“Good. Don’t pester me anymore,” I say.
Palesa giggles, snatching some chips off my plate before I can even dig in, lazy
smile pulling at her lips. She’s the only person allowed to do this, because
she’s very much the only best friend I have here, in Johannesburg, aside from
my uncles’ spouses. She’s 24 years old like me, although I’m turning 25 years
old in late December, and we make a mean team. We met in varsity, I told her
to come work with me at Sqalosenkosi’s company and it’s hard to separate us.

24
It was, until Thabang pitched up.
He’s her boyfriend. I hate him. I don’t like to share, and I hate him for stealing
my best friend from me. I hate him even more because she gushes a lot about
him, and every beautiful word she speaks about him isn’t a lie, I’ve seen his
treatment of her firsthand and it’s… disgusting.
Butterflies and all that romantic shit.
They go on cute dates to the Farmer’s market, he buys her hardcovers from
bookshops and sends her flowers at work.
Eurgh!
She’s so in love with him and its disgusting. Love is pathetic. We should all die
single. The world would be a better place if we all practiced celibacy and we
stayed away from dating. Love is truly disgusting.
“Did I mention the car this guy’s driving?”
“He’s black,” I deadpan, “I’d rather date a dog.”
“Ouch!”
“Woof, woof!” I make paw fingers and growl softly.
Laughter that rivals Beyoncé’s iconic voice bounces on the tip of my bestie’s
tongue, she wipes away her tears, shaking her head as she does so. “This is
really, truly it, I give up on you. Let’s talk business. How’s everything going
with the flower shop you’re opening soon?”
Right. The flower shop. It won’t be here, it will be based in Eshowe and to be
honest, I am not expecting a large revenue from it but it’s the joy flowers give
me that’s inspired me to begin such a business. I love the scent of flowers, I
love to feel the texture against my fingers and I love how different all of them
are—ranging in colour, ranging in shape, yet still so beautiful.
“I’m just waiting for the incompetent Indian to run his business to the
ground.”
“Fuze!”
“Its true,” I have met this man once, and from what I’ve learned the business
was inherited from his elderly brother who is now one with the earth. What a

25
stupid move he made leaving his business in the care of someone who trades
meat for pussy—it’s a known secret among the locals.
“I hope you don’t say that to this man’s face.”
“We’re not friends.”
She rolls her eyes, offers to settle our bill but I refuse, like usual, I don’t like
feeling indebted to anyone who isn’t Sqalosenkosi. Sometimes Nqobizitha.
Sbanisezwe’s money belongs to Thatego.
“I’m doing him a favour actually, he just doesn’t know it yet. Soon, he won’t be
able to afford rent and—”
“Just leave it as a butchery then, buy him out of his own business. I’m really
worried about his workers, they have families and are the victims of a—”
“The world is a cruel, harsh place—they’ve learned that already and if they
haven’t, they will. I’m not interested in selling meat, Palesa, flowers make me
happy, this is why I’m starting a flower shop. Its unfortunate that people will
be losing their income in the process, but Ahmed is to blame, not me. I am not
their boss. Don’t worry, I will give them parting gifts—all of them.”
“Nc…nc!”
I shrug my shoulders, this is out of my control. Why the hell would I hire ten
individuals for a simple flower shop that probably won’t be making that much
anyway? This store is solely for my guilty pleasure, its not an employment
program.
“People with money.”
If that was a jab meant for me, I don’t take it to heart.
>><<▪︎>><<
The sky is darkening by the time I make it home, the house smells like home-
cooked food. Take me back to my days in Ntumeni! We lived there with my
mother, until I left for Durban before permanently moving to Johannesburg.
Most of my memories of that place are positive, but it got too much for me and
it was stifling, I couldn’t breathe, rural KZN will always be too conservative for
my tastes. Mbongolwane is just as conservative, but I have a strong support
system there, it’s nothing like Ntumeni.

26
“Sawubona, Mama wami.”
“Ubuyaphi? Its 06:00pm, do you have any idea how dangerous it is out there
for your kind? On top of my BP, I now have to stress about you being outside
for extended—”
“I’m 24 years old, an adult, Mah!”
“And how many men have had their way with you with this ‘I’m an adult’
speech of yours? You’re an endangered species, Fuzelihle, sometimes I think
you forget that!”
No, I can never forget. She reminds me any chance she gets! Honestly, I’m
never moving past my traumas with her constantly reminding me that I’ve
been fucked by one too many men. Her words are causing my skin to crawl, I
will not focus on the distant smells that… no, not thinking about it. “I’m sorry,”
I say. “It won’t happen again.”
“It won’t, you’re right. Otherwise, you’ll just have to move back to
Mbongolwane with me and stay there for the rest of your life.”
We’ve had this talk one too many times. No, I will not move to Mbongolwane
because my entire life is here and maybe that place makes me happy but I
wouldn’t survive life there for longer than one month. I will not live with a
bunch of transphobes who will endanger my life simply because I breathe.
Joburg is bad but it’s not bad like Mbongolwane, I will never find love there!
“Let me wash up and join you.”
My mother gives me a wave of the hand. “I better not catch you with those
colourful vibrators shoved down your hole again. Like the last time.”
I don’t miss how she calls my vagina a hole. It will never be a vagina to her,
this is why she wasn’t there when I needed her the most during my beginning
healing stages having undergone bottom surgery. Sqalosenkosi was there.
He’s always there.
“They’re not vibrators!” I yell, with zero embarrassment, before making my
escape to my bedroom and locking the door. My dilators are not vibrators,
they don’t really serve the same purpose. I don’t insert a dilator in there with
the aim of getting off.

27
Dilation is something that every woman who has had bottom surgery has to
do, to maintain the depth of these vaginas that some of us so badly needed. It
helps prevent contraction of the skin graft inside vagina and also improves the
elasticity of my vaginal wall in order to comfortably accommodate penetrative
sex.
I don’t have to dilate daily now, like I did in the beginning stages, and have
been subjected to this torture only once a week. But I do it two times a week
because I am no longer having sex, and sex helps to keep the depth. And if I
decide to not dilate then I’m fucked because I’ll have to do surgery again
because my vaginal opening, to make things simpler, can be compared to
pierced ears in that if you don't use earrings regularly, the piercings will
eventually close and similarly, my vagina can contact or close up and this can
lead to the complete closure of my vagina.
This is why I’m stuck doing stretches, to get comfortable, before I’m laying on
the bed with my dilators on the bed. Fun times! I have to relax my body, to
take steady breaths, and grab the second dilator to begin with. They vary in
size and colour. My body’s trained now, and I don’t have to use Jacques at all—
that’s the name of my first dilator, and he’s the smallest one. Instead, Pierre
preps me for Thierry and Eoin. Eoin is my biggest dilator, and his name means
God is Gracious. Honestly, I always feel grateful when mercy allows me to take
him inside, because dilation is extremely uncomfortable, and sometimes it
hurts like a fucker—this is why I believe God is gracious.

A good hour of dilation done, my body freshly cleaned, I head to the dining
room. Mah and I have a quiet dinner, I’m the quiet one, she talks a lot about
my siblings. I have four of them—three boys and an older sister. I’m the
youngest one in my family. She misses them, although she sees them regularly.
I also miss them, Nelisiwe, Philasande and Melumndeni are the oldest, we talk
but it’s not the same, they’re like strangers. Hlosokuhle is… he’s not
Sqalosenkosi but he makes an effort, perhaps because he’s the second-last
born and cannot relate to the older ones.
“Your father was seen taking out some cheap floozy to Durban recently,” Mah
talks about him… Zizwezikhotheme Zungu. “He’s growing younger mentally

28
but shame uyabonakala yena ukuthi usegugile. I wouldn’t be surprised if he—
never mind. He’s always been useless.”
I know she misses him, my father, no matter how much she pretends not to.
Me, I think I will hold it against her if she ever gets back with him.
“Go to sleep, I’ll do the dishes.”
“Are you—”
“Now!” she snaps. All her emotions are written all over her face, sometimes I
think she secretly resents me for who I am and what it has led to. “Hamba!”
I don’t need to be ordered twice, my body is already buzzing uncomfortably,
like a silent phone in the darkness. My feet carry me to the bedroom, I collapse
on the bed, switching off the light. My eyes close, I hug my pillow tight and…
the comfort is not enough.
Sleep evades me, the same usual, as the shadows of my room surround me. My
heart is cold, shivering, as overwhelming sadness crashes through me with the
force of a destructive thunderstorm. I don’t know why, I am not even thinking
hard this time. Emptiness resides in my mind—blank, black. My eyes close.
Someone is sinking their large hands into the tender skin of my throat—
pressing. Then another joins in. Soon, it’s too many hands, varying in size and
texture but what’s common is the damage they’re doing to my oesophagus.
I can’t breathe. I cannot breathe.
Wake up, wake up! You’re going to die. Wake up! Please.please.please.
A strangled sound, like someone choking from sea water, jolts me to life. Fuck!
Did I—what’s the time? 02:02am. I fell asleep and… a bad dream. My hands are
trembling leaves in windy Spring, and just as fragile, as I raise them to wipe at
my drenched face. The room suddenly feels too menacing for a breakable
thing such as myself, the monsters can leap up from any corner in the
shadows of this room.
The smell of sweat is overwhelming, it makes me nauseous. My airway feels
shredded and inflamed, my pelvis hurts as well, my behind is just as sore—
everything hurts and the pain is coming from every place. I force my eyes

29
closed, ignoring the numerous dark eyes glaring back at me. No matter how
hard I try, I cannot recall Snenhlanhla’s tasks for nights like these.
Just a while longer and this will pass, is the only thing I can keep repeating to
myself.

30
Flicker : Three
Sthelosamangwane

He left his phone home on purpose when he went into work today. It didn’t
remain behind with Nhlanhla who knows better than to answer it, because of
this, when he grabs it—three stolen cars later—and finds several missed call
from the same person. The same person who called yesterday, several times
as well, but Sthelo couldn’t bring himself to answer.
He’s in a bad mood, and everyone around him can sense it. It’s not like he’s a
talker, most of the time he focuses on his job and avoids too much talk
because it leads to arguments and he’s not a confrontational person… most of
the time. And it’s quite funny to see how Sabelo has been tiptoeing around
him, nothing at all like Nhlanhla who’s approached him so many times this
week—wanting to play therapist, to find out what’s wrong.
Sthelo couldn’t bring himself to tell him, its… aside from the bubbling anger,
there’s levels of embarrassment that cannot be pushed down. He is angry, and
he is embarrassed and he is hurt. He doesn’t know why he’s hurt, for so long
now he’s been trying to place his emotions and make sense of them all and
find their root cause but…
The only thing he knows is that his mother is pregnant and it wasn’t exactly
the best news for him to hear.
She’s young, of course, 44 years old doesn’t mean she’s nearing the corpse
stage but… she is pregnant. She is pregnant, and this means that she’s been
seeing someone, this means she has slept with this person, and that she’s
expecting his child.
It feels like a slap on the cheek if Sthelosamangwane is being honest.
His mother wouldn’t even give him this man’s name because she’s trying to
figure him out and ‘isn’t sure about him’. His mother wouldn’t meet his eye as
she said this, looking a goddamn teenager that had been caught doing
something she shouldn’t. And it’s not that she shouldn’t be falling in love or
moving on from his father—its been long enough—but she’s pregnant, and
she isn’t sure about this man.

31
She’s pregnant and she appeared guilty to be making the confession. Because
it’s up to Sthelo to step up again—if this man is shady, and does not meet her
requirements then he’ll have to step up and father this child, he’s had plenty of
experience from raising his brothers and he should know what to do.
It’s not that he’s holding this against his mom but he worries, and he knows
nothing about this man that she won’t divulge more information about. Is he a
good man? Has he mentioned marriage? What is this man’s family history?
What does he do for a living because there are many Nhlanganos around this
place. Most importantly, is this man single? Sthelo knows how these men from
Mphundumane are.
It’s not that he’ll forever remain bitter or angry but he has… sacrificed. He’s
not sure when he last slept with a woman or even thought about going for
something more than a simple one night stand and here his mother is, dating
men and falling pregnant. Like Sthelo hasn’t thought about his own family—
outside of his mother and siblings—and felt guilty for it. Like he doesn’t have
so much on his plate, and now… this.
There are heavy bricks resting on his shoulders as he collapses on the bed,
and faces skyward to the peeling wallpaper, a soft exhale leaving his chapped
lips. A hammer is smashing into his skull, forcing him to close his eyes and
groan. His phone is ringing again—its his mother. He answers because he’s
ignored her enough and he feels guilty, punishing someone with silence is not
the way to go. He never wants to make her feel like shit.
“Maka-boy!”
“Sthelosamangwane, you listen here… uthini?” a breath—stuttering. Her
giggles are his favourite sound in the world. “Maka-boy? You must think
you’re funny! The gender hasn’t been confirmed yet, it’s too soon.”
Still so strange, he clears his throat, tries not to be weird about this. “Its going
to be 22 years old when I am 50… imagine that? Its going to make jokes about
me being on the verge of extinction—a fossil.”
“Habe! Not on my watch, you know you’re my favourite firstborn. I cannot
imagine life without you.”
What would she do without him? Carrying her burdens, and helping her too
offload—being her husband, and father to her children.

32
“I’m not going anywhere, MaZuma.”
“Good…good.” A solemn silence passes between them—awkward. “Ngwane,
why are you angry? I want to understand.”
Sthelo shakes his head, a lump that tastes like cement lodging itself in his
throat. “I am not angry, Mah. You’re a grown woman, you knew what you were
doing.”
It sounds like a quip doesn’t? Maybe he sounds like a smart-mouth.
“Yes, I did. It’s only fair that I move on from your father, don’t you think? I’ve
dated, Ngwane, it’s just this time I fell pregnant—and I am still trying to
manoeuvre my way around this pregnancy, and how I will break these news
to this man but—”
“Of course he doesn’t know, you’re a goddamn teenager lately!”
“Deserved.” She expected him to say this, judging by her voice. “I’ll take that.
This was a mistake, Ndodana, I didn’t know I’d fall pregnant but its happened
and cannot be undone. I am not willing to terminate this pregnancy.”
He doesn’t want her to as well, a baby is a blessing from God, regardless of the
circumstances they are conceived under… well, he’s not sure if he’d be able to
accept a child that was conceived in rape. But his mother has said this was
consensual, she willingly found her way to bed with this man who clearly isn’t
the best partner if he wasn’t the first person she told about her pregnancy,
and now days later still hasn’t.
“I’ve bought you…pads,” the word tastes funny on his tongue—a bit
embarrassing. He’s still a man, and sometimes he feels like he knows too much
about women because of his mother. Is it a good thing? He’s not so sure. “I
know I’m not learned, a bit stupid—”
“Don’t you dare call yourself stupid! Education isn’t all that, its not.”
Her words are not helping. If education weren’t all that then how come he’s
not able to walk into the offices in Durban and demand a job where he sits in
front of the computer and makes money that way? Why can’t he apply for
those esteemed positions? Anyway, his education wasn’t all that. 40s and 50s
in high school, it was better for him to drop out. But he’s worked hard to

33
ensure that his brothers with their 80s and 90s remain there, because they’ll
go to university and Misungwane is already Mphundumane’s pride.
“You’re going on your monthly cycle, Mah. How would you not know that
there’s a possibility of you falling pregnant?”
“I just didn’t.”
An eye roll, Sthelo rubs his chest as a feeling sensation of something heavy like
layers of bricks presses down on him. Of course many times it feels like he’s
not breathing enough, as if any moment he’ll collapse and never wake up, but
its worse now and he has to sit up to not abuse himself like this.
“You’re lucky I am working. Because I know for a fact that you’ve found a bum
of a man who won’t be bothered with this child—what it eats or wears.”
“He’s not, he will take care of the babies. Trust me.”
“If you say so.”
“Hmm. Are you feeling sick? Your off days are on Fridays and Saturdays, why
are you home?”
“I wasn’t feeling well,” comes the quick lie. A hammering of his heartbeat
against his chest. Fuck! Fuck! “I called in this morning, and told them I wasn’t
going to make it. They gave me two days off.”
“I’m glad you’re resting. Don’t pressure yourself too much there, you’re so
young and must have fun but responsibly. Don’t let those Durban girls fool you
into impregnating them, they’ll sink their claws into your skin and never allow
your escape.”
An absentminded nod. “I’ll do better than the man who bedded you—and
continue using protection.”
Awkward giggling touches his ear. “I am still your mother.”
“I am still your son.”
“And I love you very much.”
“Nami… Ndlovukazi yami.”

34
“Your brothers are doing well, Misungwane will be in Durban, for that
camping trip you paid for. He won’t stop talking about it, and the new clothes
he’ll be wearing.”
“He works hard, he deserves it.”
“Thank you for everything you do. Please come home this weekend if you can,
I will cook your favourites.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Usale kahle, Nkanyezi yami.”
The call disconnects the next second, and Sthelo disposes of his phone beside
him on the bed. Winter has approached but its not dark outside, even at
06:00pm, and he knows that Sabelo and Nhlanhla haven’t left yet. Maybe if
he’s fast enough, he can surprise them by going with them to Zuko’s Tavern.
A quick wash session in the tub later, and he’s dressed in a black t-shirt and
Nike trackpants, paired with sneakers and a cap. Sabelo will lend him his
expensive Dior cologne, he and Nhlanhla are into the finer things, they spend
their money on such—though Nhlanhla is wise enough to save as well. Sabelo
spends his money like a man told he had to spend as much as he can because
he is dying the next day.
Nhlanhla and Sabelo share a one-bedroom house that the former got from his
parents, they’ve always bought him with money—always. The backdoor is
locked so Sthelo goes to the front of the house, and opens the door, it leads to
the small kitchen. There are hushed voices coming from the bedroom, fiery
low whispers that Sthelo knows belong to Nhlanhla.
He knocks on the door—once, twice. “Hey, madoda, are you fighting again?”
Silence.
The door opens. “What!”
“Watch your tone.” Calm. A darkened brow raises, infinitely black gazing into
flaming coppers that deflate a little, as the agitated Nhlanhla blows hot air in
Sthelo’s face. “What’s wrong? Nibangani?”
“Lutho.” Nhlanhla shrugs. “He just… he stole my… my pants!”

35
What?
Nhlanhla’s lying, he’s not a terrible liar but he’s not a person who can think up
a lie from the top of his head. Sabelo’s a gym freak, people around here call
him KwaMashu’s Roman Reigns—and with reason. Nhlanhla is… an ant
compared to him, surely he doesn’t expect Sthelo to believe that someone
small like him to share pants with someone bigger than even Sthelo who’s also
much bigger than their stubborn midget.
“What really happened?” and Sthelo knows that he sounds like a parent but he
doesn’t care. After Nhlanhla, he’s the parent here. Sabelo is always the child,
always.
The same Sabelo who is donning his Adidas golf-shirt, stubbornly evading
confrontation by glaring at the mirror, tattooed arms bulging as he now works
on the buttons of his shirt. He looks good, the brush-cut and neatly trimmed
beard. The honey brown skin that resembles glinting treasure. He’s the most
desirable among them, it’s not even about his money. Nhlanhla always comes
last. He’s too short, the definition of a skinny chubby man, and he dresses like
he’s trying to show the police he’s a foreigner.
“Nothing.” Nhlanhla eventually concedes, and pushes past Sthelo to make his
way back inside the bedroom, he sits down and puts on his sneakers.
Sabelo looks at him, headed tilted, face unreadable.
“If you guys are going to make going to Zuko’s awkward then I may as well
stay home. I’m trying to get rid of stress, not have it added upon.”
Flaming coppers find him, they sparkle. “You’ve changed your mind? You’re
going!”
“Enough excitement, Ngane.” Sthelo ruffles Nhlanhla’s bald head. “I’m just
looking for an overnight stress-reliever, that’s all.”
“Do you have condoms? I can borrow you my stash—expensive kind.”
Sabelo snorts.
“I have.” There’s a batch from when he last visited the clinic for testing.
“Khululeka. I just want your perfume.”

36
“Cologne.” The smart-ass corrects like it’s still not perfume. “Here, use
Sabelo’s.”

The two are still not talking as they take Sabelo’s parent-funded GTI. Funny
because it’s the midget driving, he’s training himself because he wants to do
his driver’s license—and maybe find something legal to do soon.
Its packed at the tavern, someone’s celebrating their birthday, a few cars are
lined near the many braai stands under gazebos. This is where Nhlanhla parks
as well. Sthelo leaves them there, to their own devises, because he has his own
problems—sometimes he doesn’t want to be the problem-solver. Sometimes
he wants to be irresponsible, and behave childishly.
Three beers in, Nhlanhla shows face. He looks out of his element, and Sthelo
wouldn’t be surprised if the reason they’re fighting is because Sabelo dragged
him here. Nhlanhla isn’t the partying type. He plays Sudoku and solves puzzles
on newspapers. He’s obsessed with Maths and Technology. He’d rather watch
a documentary than go out. But when Sabelo asks him to, he goes out for a
drink and they come back home drunk.
Four beers in, Sabelo shows face. Women flock him like moths drawn to a
flame. He eats up the attention, like usual, giving his charismatic smiles.
“Disgusting!” Nhlanhla is on his fifth beer—yes, he forslings his beer—and
shakes his head. “I was hoping I’d be drunk enough by now.” His eyes are
upfront, to the rowdiness surrounding Sabelo and his women.
“I was hoping I’d have found someone to take to the toilet by now,” Sthelo
retorts, sipping down his beer, “but he’s taking all the hot ones.”
“Dis-gusting!” Two burps. “Do you want more beers?”
“Why not?”
They’re getting drunk now, Sthelo knows because… because his head feels like
clouds—grey, thunderous one that cause noise in his ears. He knows
Nhlanhla’s getting drunk because Nhlanhla gets emotional when drunk. He’s
rambling about something his father made him do, that’s why he has many
scars on his body—and his father lied to him. He lied and said he would be
better but he’s not better because he’s here, and there Sabelo is.

37
“The scars were burning today. I told Sabelo not to touch me, and that’s why
we fought.”
Sthelo knows what he means, sometimes his own scars burn him. Sometimes
it feels like he can still feel the sharp blade of a knife slitting his femoral,
creating nasty constellations. And the bullet hole on his chest, sometimes he
thinks that may be why he’s always feeling like stacked bricks are pressing
down on his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he responds, unsure why. It feels right to say, and his head is
swimming.
“S owkay,” slurs Nhlanhla, “its love.”
Eventually, Sthelo can hardly register the lisped syllables routinely rolling out
of Nhlanhla’s mouth. He’s too drunk, rambling, laughing. He wants to dance,
he’s a terrible dancer. Sthelo is drunk and just looking to get laid. There’s a
woman—long, slender. Her light skin is her best feature. He’s drawn to the
regal yellow.
“Lucia Nkosi.” She introduces herself, they’ve been sharing looks for a while
now. “You?”
“Mhlengi.”
“And your surname?”
“Why? We’re not getting married,” laughter slips past Sthelosamangwane’s
mouth, unsteady.
“I don’t want to fuck my brother.”
“We’re fucking?”
“I didn’t come here to ask you about the weather, bhuti. You’re sexy, I want
your dick.”
Forward. Not really his type.
“Let’s go then.” Beggars can’t be choosers. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
Make it worth her while he does. The second round is sloppier, but it feels
better than the first round—hotter. Sthelo pounds Lucia against the wall, her
breath is hot in his ear, she’s whimpering and sniffling every other second. It

38
feels good, she tells him, he’s long and he’s thick and she’s never felt so full in
her life. She wants to have his babies. He feels really good.
She’s just as good, Sthelo thinks.
Something else is going on in the toilet next to them. Quiet moans and the
sickening sound of skin smacking against skin. Some thumping. Someone
groans. A familiar voice he knows. “This is wrong.” The person keeps chanting
softly, and maybe he’s… crying? Why would Nhlanhla cry? “Please stop. Please
stop. It hurts.”
Sthelo has the mind to stop what’s happening here, to check on Nhlanhla
because something weird is going on. But he’s nauseous and his head is
swimming and his vision… black, white…grey. Colours.
“Ahhh!” the lady screams—what’s her name again?—and shoves at him,
making him fall. He’s already lightheaded. “You’ve vomited on me, you stupid
fucker!”
Maybe Sthelo would care if the colours in front of him weren’t fading to black,
black, black. And then he just doesn’t wake up.

39
Flicker : Four
Sthelosamangwane

He’s dying, that’s what it feels like. The butt of a cold gun has been repeatedly
smashed against his skull and its cracked, he heard the sickening sound. His
vision is too dark and there are bricks pressing down on his chest, to keep him
down, like his broken bones aren’t enough to guarantee his immobility. The
taste of blood is heavy on his tongue. He’s in so much pain—on his thigh the
most, maybe his chest or head? Everywhere, really.
The prayers to God are not working. The ones to his father are just as futile.
He’s going to die tonight, and his family will never know, and maybe they will
think he left for Durban just to abandon him. The thought makes him want to
cry but he doesn’t have the energy to. He’s just so tired and he’s going to die.
He can feel it.
Blinding white meets him. Heaven?
Ouch!
He knows light represents God but this level of bright? Trying to move his
body feels like such a daunting task. Has the pain followed him to the afterlife?
“I think he’s waking up.” A familiar voice says hoarsely. “Where’s his water
and medication?”
“Here. Should I—”
“Please.” Nhlanhla clears his throat.
“Right. Just know I will laugh at him once—”
“Bye, Sabelo!”
Sthelo’s brows twitch, and he doesn’t make an effort to open his eyes just yet.
But… so he’s not dead? This pounding headache he has… he probably got
drunk really badly last night, and why would Sabelo laugh at him? Hopefully

40
Sthelo hasn’t done anything embarrassing. He hopes he’s done nothing
embarrassing.
“I know you’re awake,” Nhlanhla announces.
Sitting up slowly, Sthelo grips his head and groans. “Why am I in your room,
Ntwana?” a million blinks later and his eyes adjust, a chipmunk resembling
face is looking back at him. Worry dances in flaming coppers.
“Hi.” Nhlanhla clears his throat. He looks so timid, very unlike him, as he
searches Sthelo’s face. “Do you remember anything from last night?”
“We drank beers and I must’ve passed out.”
Nhlanhla lets out a breath, his posture is stiff—defensive. What’s wrong?
“Okay, and?”
Sthelo comes up with nothing else, they went out, right? They drank beers and
maybe he didn’t get laid as he was planning. “Angazi, mfethu.”
Relief shows itself in the form of Nhlanhla exhaling softly. He stops squeezing
his thigh and nods his head. “Okay. I, um, you vomited on some girl and she
left you in the bathroom. I’ve seen her around a few times, she likes to call me
a kwerekwere, anyway she left you there and that’s where me and Sabelo
found you.”
Oh great.
He doesn’t face-palm himself fast enough. Sthelo groans—embarrassed,
ashamed. “Did anyone else see?”
“No. It was just… I found you and asked Sabelo to help me.”
“Thank you.”
“No pressure.” Nhlanhla shakes his head. “I, um, there’s your water. Sabelo’s
making food to make you feel better. You can sleep here for a while.” He
makes a pained face as he stands, arm folded around his middle. “Its nothing.
Alcohol doesn’t agree with me sometimes, you know?”
A nod.
Sthelo watches him awkwardly walk out of the room. He falls on the bed,
draping an arm over his eyes to fight the migraine knocking softly against his

41
skull. It hurts. “Please stop,” he speaks softly to himself. And he’s sure he
heard the words last night—here and there.

Fuzelihle

They scatter as soon as the lift announces my arrival. Me, I school my

expression—emotionless, indifferent. My shoulders square, hinting at the
confidence that I don’t have the energy for today, but it shows because my
body is trained for this. All it takes is stepping out in public. I can feel every
stare though, and the feeling behind each one—awe, fear, anger. The usual lust
as I sashay past the Indian man who wears spectacles, very unwelcomed. But
fake confidence surges in my bones.
I’m almost there, my destination, when someone threatens to shatter that
confidence. They’re following me, making me uneasy, they’re matching my
fast movements and panting behind me. Their scent is subtle but I smell it—
unnecessary.
“Excuse me, will you stop following me around!?” I snap at the young woman,
ignoring the little jump she gives me. “I don’t need to smell you.”
“She’s um, she’s—new.” Some girl speaks up, appearing nervous. “I am sorry
for jumping in, ma’am.”
Deep breath.
“Well tell her not to follow me around, it’s weird. Anything she needs, she has
to go through Nosipho. Whose job is it to induct new employees and give them
the dos and don’ts of this place.”
Reluctant now, the same young woman seems, as she pushes loose strands of
brunette hair to the back of her ear. I don’t remember her name but I’ve seen
her around a few times, with those forest green eyes that remind me of my
stupid ex Dawie.
“Its you, isn’t?”
She nods her head.

42
“Then make sure to do your job right. I can’t have people I don’t know
hounding me, threatening my safety and not respecting my boundaries. Are
we clear?”
Another nod.
I let out a breath, collecting myself, and continue with my journey. The noise
that restarts as soon as I turn a corner helps to ease my nerves. Boardroom
36A is in front of me. I’m early, too early, as I open the door. My eyes connect
with him—and the tension seeps out of my body, a wide-lipped beam
beautifying my facial features. “Hey!” I skip over to him excitedly, sitting on
top of him to hug him deeply, my face buried in his neck. “Hey! Hey!”
“You’re missing something,” his deep baritone vibrates into the skin of my
forehead. He holds me like he’s missed me. I was dying without him, barely
surviving. “Hey? Just hey? I didn’t raise you this way.”
Was he expecting a pink cupcake with my face on it?
“Ever fun, Sqalosenkosi!” I quip, welcoming the subtle scent of his cologne, it
makes me feel safe. “Kade ngikukhumbule, bhutiza. How was your
honeymoon? Where’s Temasiko? Why didn’t you tell me you were back?”
“Calm down, pretty princess.” He grips my shoulder, squeezing. “Breathe—in,
out. We cut the honeymoon short, she missed everyone here. She’s home, with
Sphesihle, they’re going to some mall later. I am doing good. How are you
doing?”
“Really good.” I summon up another beam. “I slept well, and I am not feeling
under the weather today.”
“You’re so thin though.”
“Hey!” I smack his arm—respectfully. “Its bad to comment on a woman’s
weight, didn’t they tell you?”
“You’re not a woman, just a little girl.”
His words are matched with a gaze that pierces my soul, he always knows me.
“Only in your eyes.”
“You’re coming to lunch with me, my treat.”

43
I’ll never turn him down when he offers to take care of me. He’s the most
important man in my life. “I want kimchi fried rice.”
“You’re going to eat kimchi fried rice.”
“I’m going home this weekend; not home, home but… Baba’s house. Its his
birthday, I didn’t want to go but you know how my mother is. Frankly, I think
she wants me to spy on him on her behalf.”
A disapproving glance visits his face, eyes full of visible resentment, and anger.
“Why didn’t MaSibusisiwe discuss this with me?”
Hehe! Trust him to say this.
He’s serious, I know, but I don’t think I will ever fully get used to his
overprotective nature. “Without my knowledge? So that you could tell her no,
and shield me from that man as if I am not a grown woman.”
“Your age means nothing, you’re not immune from heartbreak just because
you’re 24 years old.”
With how much my father has put me through, I have to agree. Maybe he
should be worried, Sqalosenkosi, but I’m older now and I can stand my
ground. He taught me, he taught me to do so. I’m his tough, gentle-hearted
princess and he treats me kind of like how Sbanisezwe likes to treat Thatego,
like breakable glass. This is why this one thinks I’m just a child.
“Okay but I still have to go.”
“I’ll go with—”
“No,” I interrupt—respectfully, “you have your own home, your own family
and they need your attention. I’m sure the quads have missed you. It’s not fair
to take you from them so soon. I know its who you are—the protective
behaviour and need to be there, always, but I will be fine. I am fine.”
“And you’re sure?”
“Always.” I hold my pinky finger out.
He entwines it with his larger one, and rolls his eyes.
Foreign, for someone so super serious. I give him my best smile, the ones he
deserves—tender and truthful. Thank you for always being there, I silently

44
inform him with my heart. He hugs me back, only releasing me as the door
opens, announcing the first of his employees who’re joining us for this
meeting. Reluctantly, I shift from him and move to my usual seat. The
indifference, it comes back—a mask that I cannot put down.

Its quarter to lunch time, my stomach is grumbling. My eyes hurt from looking
at the screen for so long, it’s bad because I left my glasses at home which
means the torture is ten times worse than usual. Fuck! There’s a bottle of
opened Coca Cola that has been sitting idly on my desk, and a squashed
wrapper of a finished Bar One. I am tempted to revisit the vending machine to
buy more chocolate but I’ve already cheated on my diet.
It’s just the same, Palesa rescues me by waltzing in my office, looking like a
true baddie in one of her hugging black dresses. “Who did you give an attitude
this morning?” she doesn’t greet, nothing out of the ordinary for her.
“Hmm?”
“Office gossip.” She collapses on the chair across from me, drinking the
unfinished soda on my behalf. “Rumours are the Ice Princess attacked again.”
Wow.
Call someone cold for wanting their boundaries respected!
“Who said that? They’re fired.”
Giggles brighten my office, belonging to the woman who has her head thrown
back and clasping her trembling boobies. “Naur, I won’t tell you.” A recovering
sigh. “Seriously, what happened?”
“Some girl was following me,” I say, “and she was walking too fast behind me
and had a foul smell.”
Palesa’s jubilance quickly dies, replaced with a frown that comes for my soul.
“That’s not a nice thing to say.”
I nibble on my lower lip, folding my arms only to untangle them a second
later—not defensive, we’re going for that. “You know I don’t mean it in a bad
way. I don’t mean the girl smells but… scents overwhelm me. She was behind
me and her scent was too strong, I didn’t like it.”

45
“Clearly therapy isn’t working mos.”
What does she mean? She knows I’ve come far from my bad days, things are
not so bad now. “It is,” I defend, pulling my phone toward me with my index
finger, “but it’s not an overnight solution to my issues. I’m fucked up…like
really fucked up.”
Another sigh, accompanied by a sympathetic smile. I don’t need her sympathy,
I am a strong woman. Its only in Sqalosenkosi’s eyes that I am weak, always
needing his protection.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I warn her.
She giggles, walking out with me. “You’re sure I cannot come to KZN with you?
I wouldn’t mind seeing Melumndeni again, that hot fucker! How is he a police
officer when his father’s legacy is waiting for him?”
Because it means he’s able to handle whatever shady dealings my father
sometimes involves himself in. Its no secret he’s a taxi boss, that’s a risky
business to be in, and so many people die.
“He’s seeing someone, getting married soon. And you have a boyfriend, little
bitch!” I remind her.
The eye roll she gives me tells me no fucks are given. “Whatever. What do you
want to eat today?”
“Sqalosenkosi is treating me.”
Her face falls slightly. “Aowa sesi, then who’s going to pay for my lunch?”
“Here.” I give her R250. “Should be enough, right? It’s what we agreed on.”
“Don’t forget to ask him what it will take for him to make me the third wife!”
she shouts after me, laughing loudly to herself.
Argh! Little bitch.
>><<▪︎>><<
The stares are a given immediately I step out of the car. Ugly judgment from
one of the older helpers—MaSibisi, she was my favourite as a child—screw
her, her stupid son pesters my DMs every week about meeting up for a fuck or
two. My head is held high, everything about me screaming elegant power, as I

46
hand my purse over to the still judging grey-haired woman. “My room, please
Mah. Please ensure it’s on the couch, this is YSL.”
She begrudgingly nods her head.
My fake smile that I reserve for almost everyone pastes itself on my face.
There’s a taxi parked near to the side, belongs to Sizwe who considers me
with longing, not something I want but… I am a beautiful woman, godly,
confident, kind-hearted and powerful. Naturally, heads turn when I make an
appearance, people do double-takes and stare.
She’s beautiful, their eyes speak.
And my beauty is something I am sure of. I do not hate the person that stares
back at me when I look in the mirror. I love her. Sometimes her beauty
surprises even me, not in a narcissistic way, but that confidence thing. The
same way a person would hype themselves up about something they’re good
at, like Maths or Sciences, is the same way I hype myself up about my beauty.
Daddy dearest isn’t the one welcoming me, I find Melumndeni instead, still in
his police uniform. He gives me a onceover, I’m not sure if the furrow of his
brows is because of me as a person of it’s because of what I am wearing.
Sensual blood-red, short satin dress with slits on either side that trails up to
my thighs—and shows off their moisturized elegance.
“Sawubona.” My voice doesn’t tremble but my brother still scares me. Not in…
I know he wouldn’t beat me but I just fear him. “Where is everyone?”
He doesn’t reply, but the scrutiny remains, making me uncomfortable. What is
it with men and this bad habit? Sqalosenkosi will do it too sometimes, only his
gaze is deep and penetrating, it touches your soul.
“You look good.”
“I know.” His snort doesn’t make me back down, and I swear I can see a little
twitch of the lips. “So do you. Palesa was asking about you.”
It deepens his snort, as he makes an offended face, distant look in his eyes and
I just know his thoughts are on Yenkosi. That’s his girlfriend, they’ve been
together for a nearly two decades now, since their high school days actually.
“Tell her to back off, I have a lovely woman at home. She has a boyfriend.”

47
“Noted!” I giggle, looking around the spacious kitchen—and notes of awkward
silence stretch between us. “How are you, bhuti?”
He frowns, sometimes I think he forgets that I still love him, Philasande and
Nelisiwe like I love Hlosokuhle. He always used to look out for me, that
changed some time later and the responsibility fell on Sqalosenkosi instead.
“Good,” is his emotionless reply, “life is going good. Yenkosi’s going to give
birth anytime soon.”
Right… the pregnancy I wouldn’t have known about had my mother not told
me. The awkward tension deepens, I don’t think I want to stay around for a
second longer. Some men behave like shrivelled penises and they do not
deserve the time of day. My brother is one such penis at the moment, with his
audacity to update me about this, when he… I still hold it against him if I am
being honest. Actions speak. For a long time most of my family’s actions have
been speaking.
We don’t care for you, their actions say.
“I have to go out. Pep is still open I think, maybe I can find Baba a cheap mug
there or something. I don’t want to attend his party empty-handed.”
Bhuti Melumndeni chokes on air. Good. The rhythmic click-click of my heels
reenergizes me, boosting my confidence. This party will be a breeze, I will not
tolerate slander or disrespect.
My subconscious scoffs at me—my mirror.

48
Flicker : Five
Fuzelihle

Baba wasn’t happy to see me but since I was already there what the fuck could
he do? Put on his best fake smile of course—he taught me well—and suffocate
me with deathly hugs that couldn’t send me to the hell I’m sure he’s been
hoping for years I’d be in by now. I’m not sure what’s holding him back from
hiring an assassin or two to off me, he’s hired inkabis to kill people for many
petty things after all.
We’re here now, in the large dining hall, having dinner with him. All five of his
beloved children. Hlosokuhle is beside me, attempting to make conversation,
and I humour him because he’s the only one who isn’t secretly hoping I die. I
mean I’m not sure about the others but their eyes are fake, they’re fake
because they look like mine—and how I am looking at them.
“Nelisiwe is getting married,” Baba announces, seemingly randomly, “out of all
of you, she’s the only virgin, and has done well keeping herself pure. I’m proud
of her, this boy is a… he’s an archaeologist, right?”
“Yes. His name is Johan,” – Nelisiwe.
“Sounds like a fossil’s name!” Hlosokuhle comments uncaringly, chugging his
beer and then snorting out in laughter, he’s just noticed his double-meaning
and seems proud of himself. “That wasn’t planned. Kodwa nawe, Dade, what
self-respecting chick fucks Johan. Johan? His name make it sound like this
dude’s two months away from death.”
Philasande guffaws, spitting out his food in the process. A pig. Out of all my
father’s sons, he’s the definition of a pig. He says it’s because he doesn’t have a
wife to take care of him, his backward thinking is the reason why he can’t keep
a girl. “I said the same, bro. Ion—” oh yes, he’s also a stereotypical nigga
whose life purpose is to ‘smash bitches’ and become a famous rapper.
He’s been an upcoming artist for nearly seven years now.
“This Johan… is he a virgin as well?” I ask.

49
Sounds of condescension touch the dining table, mingling with Philasande and
Hlosokuhle’s laughter.
“Oh, oh… here she comes!” Melumndeni mocks.
“No, he’s not.” Nelisiwe’s eyes are glaring.
“Then he isn’t pure but he’s worthy of you?” I feign confusion. “According to
Baba, your virginity makes you pure and I think you deserve someone just as
pure otherwise what’s the point?”
“Its not the same.” Baba looks at me, he’s unhappy. This time he doesn’t bother
to hide the sour face that was hiding behind the smiling mask. “Keeping
herself has prevented her from lots of things—early pregnancy and diseases.
The biggest thing one can be proud of is to find a good partner and get
married, and then have children. There’s an order to these things.”
“Hmm.” My tone calls bullshit. This is the usual talk when they threaten young
women into keeping themselves for men who fuck women like they change
their underwear. Like the same men can’t impregnate more than five girls a
day if they wanted to. Like they don’t go around having sex unprotected and
risk their health.
“Don’t give me attitude, Mcebisi!” Baba snaps quietly, he wipes the corners of
his mouth with his napkin. “Does it hurt you that you’re the biggest
embarrassment in this family? Look at you. Even before you could become
this, you were allowing men old enough to be fossils like your brother likes to
say. Some of them are men I know, married men with families—and your
demonic nature could’ve destroyed families, and caused trauma for their
spouses and children. Yet you come here and act smart because your sister is
a virgin?”
Ouch!
“Jeez, all that because I simply asked if the man she’s marrying is just as pure?
I’m sorry for thinking your daughter deserves better.” My fake smile deepens.
“No. It’s because you’re acting smart when there’s nothing for you to act smart
about. You’re the joke of Ntumeni and you think you’re better than everyone
here? A boy trying so hard to be a woman.”

50
“Its because he knows he’ll never be one, Baba. It’s because he knows he’s
ruined his body and he will never give you an heir. He’s used and damaged.
Now he hides behind this arrogance because it makes him feel better about
himself. But I’m not offended because I know where he’s coming from. I’ll keep
him in my prayers.”
“Haha!” laughter rolls on my tongue—unstoppable. I probably sound
deranged but I don’t care. “You got me there, I concede. I’m so jealous! Life is
miserable because I’m a boy and I’m really jealous. Suggestions?”
“Mxm!” – Nelisiwe.
“No? I have one, let me find my way to Baba’s office and get my hands on his
expensive whiskey to drink my problems away.”
They don’t say anything, but Hlosokuhle comes with me when I stand. I wasn’t
serious about drinking but now that I have company, why not? He tells me to
sit down and finds Baba’s stash. “Why do you always torture yourself like
this?”
“Maybe I’m just a masochist.” My shrug is nonchalant, I force a smile to my
lips. “Maybe I’m so used to the conflict that these dinners are boring unless I
start shit. Y’all should be thanking me for being your source of entertainment.”
Hlosokuhle laughs with me, head thrown back in euphoria, as I match his
laughter. See, this is what I mean. They’d all be nothing without their resident
clown—the joke of Ntumeni my father likes to say.
“I give up on you.” Hlosokuhle is still chuckling loudly as I down the burning
whiskey straight from the bottle.
“Join the queue!” I laugh, and laugh.
Hlosokuhle has to leave eventually, to continue with the family dinner. I’m not
going back there to face those insults, I’m not going back there to be miserable
Mcebisi—envious of his sister, as Nelisiwe said. Is it a crime to hate God for
hating me? So I had to buy my vagina, and have to spend the rest of my life
ensuring it stays open and healthy and in good shape. So I have to take
injections that make me queasy sometimes, and make me an emotional bitch…
but they helped me grow my A-cup boobs. So what if I’m paying to be this
woman?

51
I’m happier than I was before. Maybe I’m not always happy, but at least my
unhappiness with what I’d see in front of me has decreased exponentially. So
what? It doesn’t matter that Baba’s words have a way of getting to me. Or that
what Nelisiwe said tonight cut deep. A reminder is always there, constant, I’ll
never be woman enough… no matter what I look like. I’m not going to be a
mother, I’m not going to fall pregnant.
Who gives a fuck? Honestly.
Babies are hard work anyways. Sqalosenkosi’s quadruplets are proof enough,
always wanting one thing or the other. Thatego’s stressing about
Phawulothando and he’s not even here yet. Nqobizitha and Chris have five
babies to deal with and they almost never go out now. Babies suck! I’d
probably abort if I could have them anyways.
My face feels wet. Eurgh, tears! Embarrassing. I need to go out, but I don’t
know where. Ntumeni isn’t that interesting. It’s late, maybe 09:00pm? If I go
out now, hopefully I’ll run into some lowlife thug and die. Giggles tumble out
of my mouth at the mere thought.
The noises are still there as I attempt to walk out with my head held high—a
confident Queen. Yes. Yes, gheyl! Alright, we can do this. I experience a little
misstep but still manage to step into the limelight regally. “Let me go get
myself killed real quick.”
“Fuze—”
“Let him.” Baba stops bhuti Melumndeni. “It wouldn’t be the first time that he
threatened us with his tantrums. Let him, boy. Maybe he’ll be successful and
they’ll kill him for real this time—and we won’t have to bear another day of
embarrassment.”
“Daddy, this is why I love you!” I flap my lashes sweetly. “See y’all around.”
Outside of our family home, the homestead, the rural streets of Ntumeni are
too dark. It’s too windy, a bit of dust gathers in my eyes, and I should’ve
carried an umbrella with me because I think it’s going to rain. When you’re
drunk, you’re not really scared of anything. The ghosts that people always talk
about become a myth.

52
Another bad idea I had was walking out with heels on. My beloved Louis
Vuitton heels that are limited edition. They were expensive as fuck but I’m a
rich bitch who’s worked hard without any funding or assistance from daddy
dearest.
My feet are growing tired, I wish Sqalosenkosi was here to drive me around.
He’s a family man now though, with two wives and five children. At the office,
he smiles a lot and his personality has improved so much. He’s uptight but not
too much. Serious but not too much. Protective but not too much. I love that
for him, bask in his happy glow and growth. He’s my favourite man in the
entire world, I love him so much.
Thinking about him makes me emotional but happy. If I hadn’t left my phone
home I’d call him to tell him I love him. I left my jersey as well, the weather is
getting cooler and rain is fast approaching. Whistling sounds surround me,
making me walk faster but I stumble—behind me are two glaring lights.
Ghosts! Ghosts!
Fuck! I remove my heels, they’re holding me back, and summon up my inner
Caster Semenya. I don’t want to but I ditch my other heel as soon as the first
one falls and begin to cry because they were my favourite. The glaring lights
are catching up with me. Then sounds of a… someone hits the hooter.
A fucking car.
I am angry! After that sprinting session I just had. You mean to tell me that all
of it was futile, that all of my hard work was because of a goddamn car. Wait a
minute… if it’s a lowlife thug like I’d wanted then maybe my father’s wishes
can be fulfilled. But I don’t want to die. I lied.
“Why are you running?”
Pause. The voice sounds familiar.
“Mcebisi, get in the goddamn car!”
My stupid father! And he’s still calling me Mcebisi. He wants to lecture me and
tell me I am going to hell. He wants to make my life miserable and remind me
that I am not woman enough, not like Nelisiwe. I don’t know why I’m crying.
Sqalosenkosi would be so disappointed in me. This is not me at all, I am strong

53
and confident and I don’t break down… not over men. Not over people who
make it their life’s mission to put me down and continuously break me.
“Get in the car!” his voice is behind me, summoning the first droplets of rain.
“Mcebisi, stop this nonsense and get in the car.”
No, sir. I can walk. I’ll walk to Mbongolwane, its not far from Ntumeni. I’ll
make it, I’m sure. My feet hurt, I don’t know for how long I’ve been walking.
“GET IN THE FUCKING CAR!”
NO!
“Fuzelihle…”
My footsteps falter, that’s my name. It shouldn’t be so simple for him to
manipulate me like this, to use my own name against me. He knows how badly
I’ve longed for him to call me this again—and he only ever uses my name
when its convenient for him. For when he wants me complacent and
emotional. I stop, and turn to face him.
“Ba—”
“Get in the car,” is his soft command. He’s drenched in rain, and his dark green
shirt clings to his dad body.
I do as he says, my teeth chattering, and wrap my arms tight around me in
comfort. Its not as cold anymore with the heat of the car. My body jumps
slightly as Baba closes the door harshly after he enters the car. “Mcebisi—”
“Fuzelihle,” I correct him, although he’s doing this on purpose. Didn’t he call
me by name just seconds ago? Didn’t he? “Why do you continuously take joy in
breaking me?”
Nothing. Jabu Khanyile makes up for the silence.
I won’t cry of course, even when my emotions beg me to, I will not succumb to
such a weakness as I had earlier. Instead, I hum along to the old school tunes
and close my eyes—reminiscing of simpler days. Back when I was really,
really young—and I’d sit like Nelisiwe on the toilet seat, using my dangling
vagina to pee like her and wipe with tissue.

54
“He’s only five years old and will outgrow it, many children are like him,”
they’d say.
I didn’t outgrow anything. I’ve been showing them since I was a child. They
just never bothered to listen and understand. They never cared.
>><<▪︎>><<
The lecture I got this morning. Phew, chile!
Baba gave me a lecture about safety, very funny actually, I almost thought he
cared. He was bulging veins and tomato red face, the poor yellow-bone. I
wasn’t listening to half the things he was saying to be honest, too busy trying
to nurse a pounding headache. He talked until I decided that maybe going out
to treat myself for having such a lousy father wasn’t a bad idea. Also, I found
out that I lost one of my favourite pair of heels last night and I wasn’t okay.
This is how I find myself at Gateway mall, treating myself for all I’ve been
subjected to since I came here. Maybe I’ll drive back to Mbongolwane instead
and sleep there tonight before driving back to Johannesburg in the morning.
This is to protect my mental health, because I don’t want to surround myself
with negativity any longer. Maybe another day, we’ll do it again.
My phone’s ringing, its Palesa.
“Heyyy, bitch!”
“Call me that again and I’ll hang up,” I tease, though I’m not particularly fond
of being called bitch.
“Oh please!” her sweet giggles make love to my ear. “How’s KZN treating you?
You’re not replying to my WhatsApp.”
WhatsApp exhausts me. I don’t like talking to people. Maybe we can call me a
loner like Sqalosenkosi but at least I have fun and I do go out and drink and
meet people that I never want to meet for the second time. “Really? I didn’t
notice.”
“Tsek!” Palesa is still laughing. “Where are you? There’s too much noise in the
background.”
“Gateway mall,” I say, ignoring the many gazes that follow my every
movement—desiring, as if they’ve never seen someone beautiful as me before.

55
The attention is never what I aim for, it’s just always there. “I lost my favourite
LV shoes and—”
“Those ones that cost 50k?”
“Yup!”
“You’re not serious, ngwanyana ke wena!” the reprimand is soft but firm.
“How did you lose them? Why did you take them to the bundus to begin with?”
“Because I’m an idiot!” I admit, walking out of the mall, juggling my shopping
bags in one hand. “And because my father—wait!”
What the fuck!
My shopping bags fall to the ground and my new pair of heels meet the harsh
sun. I don’t care. Removing my glasses to make sure the darkness wasn’t
deceiving me, I blink my eyes rapidly and… not here.
Panic climbs to my throat—strong and achy.
Where’s my… my car was just here! It was right there, in my parking spot
where I left it, and now its… fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
“Palesa my car’s gone!”

56
Flicker : Six
Sthelosamangwane

“Work hard for your siblings so that I can die peacefully knowing they’re well
taken care of,” his mother’s words have followed him to Durban, and now that
she’s pregnant, the words at him more than ever. There’s a new child on the
way, whose father most likely doesn’t have a proper relationship with his
mother—and Sthelosamangwane will have to step up, to become a father
again, and help his mother.
He has so much to do, and isn’t doing enough. It’s been two years of hard
work, two years of suppressing his morality, two years of lessons—never to
judge first and foremost. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever think he’d be
following in his father’s footsteps, doing the exact same thing that he despised
the man for. But he understands now, sometimes sacrifices are made—and
sometimes one’s conscience must die for the greater good.
The car he’s driving is comfortable, a Mercedes GLS600; he didn’t even have to
do anything this time, the lady hadn’t locked bothered to lock it—clearly
feeling secure about her surroundings. What she doesn’t know is that security
in malls work hand-in-hand with them, and that too many times this is why
the likes of Sthelo get away with stealing their cars without sweating too
much.
Like usual, he fights his self-righteousness and fake morality. It’s the end goal
that matters, that beautiful goal of building a fine homestead in
Mphundumane, similar to the one Nhlakanipho Mzimela has built. If he keeps
working like this, getting cars like this—a GLC doesn’t go for anything less
than R3 000 000!—then he should realize his goal soon, and his mother will
not die until she sees him do all her husband had done through him.
The back-gates are already opened as he drives into the dealership, and they
quickly close behind him as he parks the car. Toxic rowdiness spreads as soon
as he steps out of the expensive luxury, masculine pats meet his back. Well
done, they scream. Good job, comes the tight squeeze on his shoulder. “Hhayi
uyasebenza, Ndoda!” Bab’ Sbu comments, as soon as the younger ones stop
crowding him.

57
The man’s 47 years old, not much older than his mother, but he works like
he’s still a teenager. Its him who’s helped Sthelo fight against his guilt—and he
never fails to remind him why he’s doing this job. Rich people will always have
money for a new car, because they’ve made so much wealth off of the
desperate—like him—working them to exhaustion and paying them peanuts
in return. There’s nothing to feel guilty about, these people aren’t being killed.
All Sthelosamangwane and others like him are doing is taking… taking to put
food on the table; and to educate Presidents in the making, Doctors,
Accountants… if anything, taking is good.
“Bafo, drinks on me tonight!” he tells Ntuthuko as soon as he’s done with the
big boss. There’s already a notification on his phone about half his payment
being done. “What do you say?”
“Not today, Mhlengi.” Ntuthuko shakes his head, something a bit like
unhappiness on his face. “I promised Luyanda to spend more time together.”
Right. Ntuthuko’s girlfriend. She had a miscarriage just last month, apparently
it’s because of how infrequent Ntuthuko spends his time with her. Stress and
all that shouting made her lose the baby. Sthelo thinks they should break up,
clearly they’re no longer the same people who came together to Durban, with
hopes and dreams of a better life together.
Both of them are from Ntumeni, not far from Sthelosamangwane’s own village
in Mphundumane—and Sthelo grew up with Ntuthuko. They’re both the same
age, both facing problems of taking care of their families… only Ntuthuko is an
orphan raising three teenage girls who still live in the village. Ntuthuko, he
introduced Sthelo to this lifestyle, found him a job here. He’s also been with
Luyanda for more than a decade—high school sweethearts—but they’re
growing apart and they’re changing.
“Call me if you change your mind,” Sthelo says, wrapping one arm around his
shorter friend to hug and let go. “Or come with Nhlanhla, he knows drinks are
on me tonight.”
“Sure, Bafo.”
He’s at the very front of the entrance when someone shouts after him. Quick
reflex has him catching the phone thrown at him, his brows draw together in

58
befuddlement as his intense brown pierce deeply into the soul of the man
lazily grinning at him. “Yini, udakwe imali usulahla namaphone abizayo?”
The phone doesn’t belong to him, but Sthelo doesn’t bother to correct
Mthiyane. He puts the gadget in his back pocket, and leaves the dealership.
This is an iPhone 13… the latest model, right? He’s not sure, he doesn’t know
much about technology. Maybe the Nigerians can work their magic, and he can
give the phone to Misungwane.
He walks a good distance to the train station, and meets a boy there selling
fruits in a trolley and buys himself some. He buys a cigarette from the elderly
woman next to him, and tells her to keep the R8 change—as he’d done with
the young boy selling in his trolley. The soft inhale of nicotine is accompanied
by the ringing of a foreign phone. The iPhone, he realizes.
My other phone, the caller ID says. Against his better judgment, Sthelo decides
to respond—but remains silent.
“Really?” it’s the voice of a woman, she sounds pissed than emotional.
“Really!? Are you out of your mind!”
Sthelosamangwane pries the phone away from his ear at the shrill screams,
and thinks about hanging up but… the voice is beautiful. There’s an elegance to
it—so delicately authoritative. “Next time don’t—”
“No, shut the fuck up! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Yes, Sthelo knows. He’s taken her car—it probably made her three million
rands less richer but… next time, she shouldn’t be so confident about the
safety of her car, especially in malls. Heck, he would’ve gained access even if
she locked it; the car was screaming for attention.
“My shoes! Why did you take my shoes?”
Wait… what?
Maybe Sthelosamangwane hasn’t heard right because he’s sure shoes should
be the woman’s least concern. He’s just taken her bloody car. A car worth the
lives of every poor person in his village. “Nkosazane?”
“Don’t give me—that!” A delicate crack.
“Give you what?”

59
“I want my shoes. My Gucci loafer heels and my Jimmy Choo sneakers. They’re
in the back of the car. Uyazi… gosh—AAAHH!” Her frustrated scream
somehow manages to fight the already loud sounds of the hooting cars and
taxis all around Sthelo. Her voice stands out amidst the different voices on a
busy street, shouting this and that. With all the shrillness and trembling,
there’s still beauty in the voice. “Listen to me carefully, there’s a large gift bag
in the back of the car; please bring it to me. Those shoes are limited edition, I
won’t find them again and—my date! I will not look poor in front of Johan,
wearing last season’s shoes.”
“The car is what I would be concerned about,” Sthelo points out, side of his
body sagging against the robot, this woman is strange.
“What difference does it make? You won’t bring it back.”
That is true. But she thinks he’s stupid enough to bring her shoes that will
surely get him arrested. She’ll see his face—or maybe she’s setting up a trap
with the police. Yes, he’ll be out the next morning but he’s not eager to have
money taken from his account to pay for the damage.
“And what makes you think I’m stupid enough to bring you a pair of shoes?”
There’s silence—a flicker of unsteady breathing.
“Because I have a date, okay? I really like this guy, I haven’t had a boyfriend in
365 days and I deserve this.”
He doesn’t give a single crap about the date the lady has to go to. He doesn’t.
But… the desperation in her voice—that mellifluous tone—pinches dead
heartstrings, and he’s rubbing his lower lip in contemplation. “How long have
you known this guy?”
“Umm… two, I mean three months.”
Sthelo rolls his eyes, dragging smoke into his lungs.
“Johan, you said. Is he quarter to death or something? What respecting man
goes by Johan in this day and age?”
“I—you have a point.” Giggles touch his ear—entrancing. It’s like a song he
can’t describe. Absently, he matches her laughs—quietly. “He’s 30 years old,
he’s an Architect. His father is Dutch, from the Netherlands.”

60
“Kahle Munt’ weNkosi, I am only knowledgeable on cars. Don’t tell me about
foreign places, the last grade I did at school was Grade 9.”
“You sound like the boys from Mbongolwane. They don’t like school much.” A
teasing tone carries every syllable, she’s not breaking down like she was a few
minutes ago.
Guilty, Sthelo thinks. He doesn’t voice it out.
Balancing the phone with his ear and shoulder, he retrieves another cigarette
in the pockets of jeans, and a light. Ntuthuko’s bad influences have turned him
into a heavy smoker, a drinker—an addict. “Where’s this date of yours? You
can’t trust people with names like Johan, maybe I can ensure you’re safe from
a distance.”
She laughs loudly, the woman, and he can picture her shaking her head—all
light skin and perfect face. Looking expensive as the mansions with views.
“Now it’s you insulting my intelligence. Why would I trust a fucker who’s just
stolen my shoes?”
This obsession with shoes.
“I’ll bring your shoes. You’ll find them with… there’s a boy selling fruit in a
trolley near the train station, I’ll send you the address and leave them there,
make sure to tip the boy for safekeeping them for you.”
“Thank you.”
Sthelo puffs out the smoke from his cigarette, and nods his head—blindly.
“One more thing. Tell the fucker to treat you right or I’ll kill him myself.”
The silence that follows seems to last an eternity. He knows it’s less than that.
Mellifluous giggling captures his ear again, the sound is connected to the
strange churning in his belly, and the urge for him to smile. Twice now, he’s
made a woman whose car he stole laugh. Crazy.
“My brothers would get to him first. But thank you for the offer.”
Oh, so she’s the princess of the family.
“The offer stands until I drop this call.”
“Just send me the address.”

61
Sthelo inhales sweet smoke again, and watches it chime out slowly. “Usale
kahle, Nkosazane.”
She doesn’t respond, so he hangs up. He’s on his feet; the twenty minute walk
back to the dealership is all worth it.

“What if it’s a trap?” Nhlanhla’s voice vibrates on the table—or is it the tacky
amapiano track that Zuko is blasting full volume? It’s very busy today at the
shebeen—too loud. “Why would you be stupid enough—”
“Language!” interrupts the older man, taking another pull of his beer. “Its not.
I… all she cared about was her shoes. Its just like Bab’ Sbu likes to say—the
wealthy don’t give two fucks about losing their valuables, they can always buy
something better…shinier.”
“Tsk, tsk!” Sabelo is sitting next to Nhlanhla, pressed like glue to his side, eyes
scanning the busy tavern. “Clearly he hasn’t met greedy rich fuckers! Those
ones who question every cent they spend. I worked at Spar before this, you
know that.”
Sthelo shakes his head, losing his thoughts to the voice he heard earlier—and
its…strange, the beauty he heard in it. Like he’s heard it a million times
before—frustrated, happy… annoying. Not the offputting annoying. The good
one, the ‘you piss the fuck out of me’ but I still want to see you, today,
tomorrow… forever. He cannot describe it.
“There’s your xenophobic girlfriend!” Nhlanhla interrupts his thoughts, with a
saccharine smile in his voice, copper eyes fiery. “Pray she doesn’t come here.”
Sabelo starts to laugh.
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Damn right, she isn’t.” A just as sweet, just as condescending snort. “What
girlfriend leaves you lying on the ground after you pass out? It’s like she didn’t
care to check if you were still breathing, if you were going to be fine.”
Sabelo is still cackling. “Baleka, Bafo. She keeps glancing in this direction…
soon, she’ll be talking marriage and kids.”

62
The mere thought terrifies Sthelo, he still doesn’t remember much about that
night but he’s sure they used protection. Shoving the thoughts to the back of
his mind, his focus lies on his friends. Nhlanhla wants to get an education, but
he didn’t have the opportunity to go to school much when he stayed in Malawi
with his family.
“Maybe I can start attending a night school or something. But I don’t want to
live this life forever—finding new escape routes. Helping the big boss with
hacking into security systems and all that. I’m not a criminal.”
Self-righteousness overcomes others, squeezes them with guilt until they
cannot breathe. Nhlanhla has never liked his job, but it paid waaay more, it
gave him financial security and a place to stay.
Sthelo is too stunned to reply, it doesn’t show on his face as he scrutinizes
every inch of the short man with round cheeks on a thin body with too much
baby fat. Nhlanhla is smiling, drinking his beer, and then drawing the
incoherent on their small table.
“What about me?” Sabelo breaks the silence. “What do you think I can do?”
“Stay with me so I can keep you safe. You’re too reckless!”
Laughter bubbles out of the tall, dark man’s throat. He finds himself silently
agreeing with Nhlanhla, though part of him can’t help thinking that Nhlanhla
needs just as much protecting as Sabelo. He cannot fight his battles, he’s just a
mere ant around this place.
“Good enough for me!” warm grins appear on Sabelo’s face, he puts the beer
bottle to his mouth and gulps it down. “I’m nothing without you, you know
that.”
“Seniqalile!” Sthelo snorts, patting the front of his jeans for his pack of
cigarettes. “I swear you’re both gay. What, do you fuck in the dark when I’m
not there? Maybe it’s true since I don’t live with you.”
“Fuck off!” comes the gym junkie’s snicker. Sabelo cuts his eyes at him—
offended. “Last I remember, its you who the girl-boys of this place are after.
Not us.”
“Right… I forget that being gay is wrong sometimes.” Condescending, maybe…
bitter. Nhlanhla is smiling, eyes dead set on Sthelo it makes him nervous. “But

63
there’s too much going on in the world—depression, and too many trying to
hold themselves together. Is it really so wrong to show affection to your
brothers? To show that you care and speak fondly of them? I don’t know why
saying I love you to you guys should be taboo. I don’t know why I’m not
allowed to admit that life would be pretty tough without both of you when it’s
the truth. As for me, I always want to be there for you. I want to know that you
love me and cannot imagine life without me. I want you to know that I’m
always here for you—and for you to not equate that to gayness.”
“I…” he always makes sense when he talks… Nhlanhla. “You just don’t know
how men around here are raised. Saying I love you to another man is… weird.
I’m not homophobic or anything but—”
Nhlanhla’s laughter denounces whatever Sthelo was saying. “They always say
that… what you said. The equivalent of the white man saying I’m not racist but
black people this and that.”
“I love you. You’re my brother here—you and this idiot. Ntuthuko as well. This
life I’m living is easier with all of you in the picture. I don’t want to imagine life
without you because I don’t want to lose you. Happy now?”
“Why yes.” Nhlanhla doesn’t hide the truth in his eyes.
Sthelosamangwane rolls his eyes, sighing around the last traces of his beer. “I
need a smoke, madoda. I’ll be back soon.”
The night air is a dead cool, unmoving. There’s too much noise coming from
every direction—the cars lined outside playing kwaito full-blast. The women
chanting ‘yebo’ like a song they just made up. The rowdy men. Turning a
quieter corner, Sthelo lights his cigarette and inhales the relaxation. His
thoughts are all over the place… unimportant.
It takes two cigarettes for him to feel satiated, and he makes his way back to
the shebeen. Sabelo and Nhlanhla have disappeared, someone else has kept
their table company. Footsteps faltering as Sabelo’s words come back to haunt
him, Sthelo hesitates as he nears the woman.
“Ntokazi.”
“You’ve forgotten my name already, Mhlengi.”

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Well, they met under the conditions of a fuck and leave. To further solidify
this, this woman had left him unconscious on the floor of a bathroom. How is
he to blame for not remembering her name?
“Guilty.”
The lady giggles. “Lucia Nkosi.”
“Okay.”
“That’s it?”
“I’m not looking for marriage, Ntokazi. I don’t want children. We met once and
I don’t go for seconds. What else are you looking for?”
If she’s offended by his straightforwardness, Lucia doesn’t show it. Her eyes
are rolling to the back of her head, she chews her chappies with attitude laced
in her voice. “You don’t beat around the bush, I like that. Me, I was just looking
for seconds. Sure the night ended sourly but I haven’t forgotten how you made
me feel.”
“And how did I make you feel?”
“Like a woman.”
Maybe it’s the way she says this that makes Sthelosamangwane’s dick react
positively. He smiles a small smile. “A pity I can’t relate.”
“Of course you can’t, you’re not a woman.”
“Touché.”
They talk and talk—Sthelo and Lucia. They laugh. They flirt. She’s not so bad, a
little too forward but her company is great. Sthelo follows her to the
bathroom, they cannot wait long enough until they reach the other’s house.
One of the stalls is already occupied, they occupy the remaining one next to it.
Hot kisses are shared, as Lucia’s skirt falls off quickly, and one of them lands
against the wall.
In the next stall, a masculine voice is breathing harshly, whimpering. Its
familiar.
Pained yet sensual whimpers—like a wounded animal crying out in agony…
rapturous agony. Is there such a thing? The pain doesn’t sound like a bad one.

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It’s accompanied by low moans and pants, pleas for what sounds like more… if
only the music weren’t reverberating even in the bathroom stalls, then maybe
Sthelo would make sense of the harsh whispers.
“—fuck!” The only syllable he hears… familiar.
Memories of this is wrong, this is wrong, play at the back of his mind. He
cannot focus on them long enough, not as Lucia grabs his throbbing cock to
shove into her vagina, coating it with delicious moist.

66
Flicker : Seven
Sthelosamangwane

Nhlanhla has injured himself, sometime last night it seems. Well, he hasn’t
confessed this but Sthelo has no idea how else how to explain why he walks
with a slow limp—groaning and huffing. He seems to be in a bad mood, a
really bad one; and complains about pains all over—his headache is the worst.
Sabelo is exact opposite, there’s a shit-eating grin on his face; he’s singing
songs about making love—the old school kind.
Its noon, they’re sitting outside their porch, nursing their different pains.
Sthelo was supposed to be home for the weekend but he’s here, making sure
he’s emotionally healthy before he can meet his mother again. “The big boss
wants to see me,” he reveals silently, after he’s read a message from the
Nigerian man.
“What’d you do?”
“Nothing fucker!” Sthelo snorts, on his feet, the message said to come to work
as soon as possible. Maybe he has to stand in for someone who couldn’t make
it today. “Maybe it’s an opportunity to make more money.”
“But he would’ve called Nhlanhla in as well, you work well with him.” Sabelo
points out, blowing out smoke.
Sthelosamangwane shrugs his shoulders, patting the other man’s jeans—the
front of his pockets, and then snatching his car-key. Sabelo’s in a really good
mood, doesn’t even complain today. His car smells like Nhlanhla’s favourite
sour worms candy and nicotine. Good. Sthelo turns the radio on to drown out
the quietness, and makes it to his destination in less than fifteen minutes.
Jesse, his big boss, is already waiting for him outside. He’s the only man darker
than him around this place, but he’s also an exception to Nigerian men with
his shortness and thin body. “My friend, you’re here.”
“You said as soon as possible,” the other reminds him, following behind the
short man inside the office. There are two other men with him and… it
happens too fast. Sthelosamangwane doesn’t know what hit him when

67
something hard connects with his cheek. Fuck! Pain explodes behind the skin
protecting his skeletal organs, but then its landing on another part of his
body—and he cowers, gripping the loud throb in his abdomen.
What. The. Fuck. Is. Happening?
Soon, it feels like the pain is coming from every direction. A kick on his
abdomen. Another one right on his temple. Too many punches and kicks. His
eyes are closing up, maybe he’s squeezed them tight, and the voices are
coming back.
Bulala lenja! Ungayishiyi iphefumula!
Panic wraps its noose around his neck, tightening with every voice that shouts
in his ears. His breathing is ragged, shallow, and he’s barely surviving. He
thinks he will die, these men will get what they want—and his family will
never see him again. He’s done nothing at all for them, hasn’t built any legacy.
The fear is no longer there, it died when one of the men took out a gun and hit
him with it. He stopped begging then, stopped trying to convince these men to
let him go because he doesn’t have money. He came to Durban this morning,
with hopes of making it just like them.
“Get up! GET UP!!”
Sthelo tries to blink behind heavy eyelids.
“GET UP, LOUSY FUCKER! They just touched you a little and you’re behaving
like such a little bitch. I didn’t take you for such a coward, my friend, fix
yourself. This is your fault.”
Jesse’s words are fuddled, like an ugly writing that’s too difficult to read.
Sthelo can only understand a few words as he forces himself to sit upright, and
sceptically looks around—there’s no blood. It’s funny… how strong the stench
was a second ago, how he felt dirty with it, bathed in it. His own blood, and
tears and dirt. Trembling hands find anchor on the chair in front, as his body
shifts to settle on it.
Jesse’s pacing up and down in front of him—a pissed off gesture. Dark eyes
land on him, and then narrow. “You’re so fucking careless!” the man shouts.
“Whose car did you steal yesterday?”

68
He only stole one car yesterday, and was allowed to leave early because it was
his finest car yet.
“A woman’s,” he says, recalling the conversation he had with the woman.
Hopefully, she didn’t set any traps and caused him trouble. “I don’t know her
name.”
“You don’t?” Jesse’s face bunches up in anger. “Young woman with light skin. A
fucking Ngcobo! Her brother was here this morning, claiming some fucker got
away with his niece’s car and had the audacity to reply to her calls even
though he stole her car!”
“I—”
“You do not mess with Sbanisezwe Ngcobo! You don’t touch him… you don’t
touch his family. Are you out of your mind?”
Ngcobo. Ngcobo…
Sthelosamangwane didn’t fucking know!
“You should’ve alerted me, Jesse. I didn’t know.”
“Well tough luck! Its your responsibility to know. This is why you’re fired!”
Dark eyes widen. What?
“Jesse—”
“Get out of my fuckin face, my friend! You’re not going to make me lose
business by targeting the wrong people. I’ve worked too hard for you to mess
it up.”
“I didn’t know!”
“Then why did you answer the fucking phone? How could you be so careless!”
“I—” Sthelosamangwane doesn’t know. He wasn’t thinking straight, maybe
adrenaline confused his brain. He doesn’t know why he did it. “It won’t
happen again.”
“Damn right it won’t. I don’t give second chances, you know that. I don’t care
how good you are at your job, you’re fired! Get out of my face.”

69
His body remains in place, refusing to leave the chair. “Boss, it won’t happen
again.”
“I know! Get out of my face.”
The sun is hotter than what he remembers when he steps out of the office.
Eventually, he had to leave Jesse’s office—but not before he got a few more
punches. Wetness clings to his skin through his black t-shirt, and the others
are glancing at him with judging eyes. Unfortunately, the dark man cannot
bring himself to care.
He sits in Sabelo’s GTI, and… numbness. The emotions are refusing to register,
maybe later. His scalp is itchy for reasons that have nothing to do with
hygiene, the sensation spreads to his face—and he keeps on rubbing, and
rubbing, and rubbing… at the nasty itchiness—gaping, painful.
His forehead slams against the steering wheel repeatedly, and the tears that
want to escape are held prisoner by his heavy eyelids, reminding him not to
cry. To never cry. He’ll figure something out, he always does, maybe he can be
an actual security this time… and wait all the days of his life to build his
mother that house.
Sabelo is towering in on Nhlanhla when Sthelo gets home, exhaustion
encouraging him to not question why the younger man doesn’t look terrified
as he usually does, why they seem almost… intimate. He dumps the keys on
the counter, and watches Sabelo escape Nhlanhla like he was touching a
burning pot. “Fuck!”
“Mhlengi, you’re—back!”
Ignoring both of them, the dark man looks between the two men, and smiles
blankly. “I lost my job.”
>><<•>><<
He’s gone home for a while, less than one week after losing his job, because he
felt useless back in Durban—a nuisance to those that work to make their own
money. He cannot stomach the thought of leeching off his friends, and having
someone else support him, take care of him… and so he bailed, he bailed
before the little money in his account could run out and he really started to
feel useless.

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His mother is happy to have him around the house, she believed his lie of
taking leave because he missed them. There’s a proper man in the house,
fulfilling the duties of a man around the house. He’s fixed the front gate, it was
dying; his presence has chased away the rude idiots who think their
homestead is the perfect grazing spot for their livestock and things are
different now that he’s here.
Misungwane jumps when the door closes behind him, and tries to hide a pair
of women’s shoes in one of his brown boxes.
“What are you doing?” Sthelo snatches the box, and presses his large hand on
the younger’s head to create distance between them—even with his younger
brother’s persistent fighting to get to him. “Shoes? Where did you get these
shoes? Are you gay now? You’re stealing people’s shoes.”
“No!” Misungwane hisses, as if disgusted by the mere thought—being gay or
stealing, Sthelo isn’t sure, but he desperately hopes it’s the former. He’d rather
they were a family of thieves than men who fuck other men.
“No what, Ndoda?” the older brother asserts his authority, smacking the
younger’s head slightly, making Chinese eyes look into his own. That’s what
they all share as brothers—the Chinese eyes, people say. “Do you want to be a
girl or did you steal these shoes?”
“Bhuti, don’t disgust me! Ngihlanaphi mina nobutabane? I didn’t steal these
shoes either. I just… I found them lying near Bab’ Zondi’s house and took them
because… because I want to give them to my girlfriend!”
Misungwane has a girlfriend?
Sthelo can’t help chuckling in relief, the look on his face transitions from one
of danger to approval. In his grasp, Misungwane’s shoulders also deflate in
relief, the teenage boy letting out his cocky chuckles.
“Did you really have to scare me like that?” the notes of wide-eyed fear, tense
and taut, are disappearing. “Of course I’m not fucking gay! I lost my virginity
faster than you, Bhuti! In primary school, I was smashing high school chicks.
Do you have that kind of experience, huh, do you?”
No. Not really.

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At 17 years old, Sthelo lost his virginity, and he was too old… but the
woman—MaZuma’s friend didn’t seem to mind. She was 33 years old—all
banging body and womanly breasts. She’s the first woman who held his
attention for longer than 2 seconds. But she was married, had a child, and
Sthelo was just a little boy in her eyes at the end.
She’s the first woman ever to break his heart.
He didn’t dare think about love again, building a legacy for his family seemed
more important. It’s the only thing on his mind, nothing else.
“Vala umlomo, Clever!”
“I’ll take that as a No.” Misungwane’s grin is smug.
“Ngizokugqema ingozi!”
“Lutho, Bhuti, I know when you’re truly angry.”
He’s right, Misungwane, Sthelo isn’t really angry. To be honest, he doesn’t get
angry a lot—and he always tries his best to not react violently when he is.
Under fear, he desires not to raise his brothers… he always wants them to
know he’s available, to cater to their needs and answer their questions. Maybe
they don’t throw around the ‘I love you’ speech a lot but his actions prove this.
“Who’s this girl?” Sthelo changes the subject.
Misungwane rubs the back of his neck… bashful. “She lives in Johannesburg
with her parents, but we met last year, and I love her. I’m working hard in
school to ensure I have money like her father so that I can impress her more.”
Hmm.
“What’s her name?”
“Lisakhanya Ngcobo. You know her, right? Nqobizitha Ngcobo’s—”
The family of gays.
They’re famous around this place. For all the homophobia people harbour, the
Ngcobos are untouchable—with their wealth, and their power and authority.
How else did Sthelo lose his job… even in places like Durban.

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“The gay family.” Something nasty tickles Sthelosamangwane as he erupts in
laughter—aimed toward his brother. “Weeeh! They’re going to turn you gay
as well, you’ll be wanting the girl’s brother and not her soon.”
“Khohlwa!” Misungwane is offended, the way he dumps his body on the bed
and frowns reveals that. “Her young brother is not even ten years old, that’s
disgusting! Those people didn’t turn themselves gay, they just are. I heard gay
people are born like that.”
Sthelo begs to differ, maybe he doesn’t know much about gay people, but he
remembers how obsessed with women Nqobizitha Ngcobo was. Yes, he was
younger, merely 13 years old then, but conversations flew around about him
fucking people’s wives. Maybe someone finally got to him and bewitched his
family with the spirit of turning gay.
“Just be careful. That family is… something else.” He’s unemployed because of
a beautiful girl with light skin. “Know who you are, don’t allow that girl to turn
you into what you’re not.”
Misungwane grins softly. “Khululeka, Munt’ Omdala. I know what I am doing.
Me and this girl, we understand each other.”
“You must really like her if you’re picking shoes off dirty roads to gift her
them,” the older one teases, looking at the fine details of the heel in his hand—
a diamante black. It looks and smells brand-new. “How do you pronounce this
thing? Lewis View-ton.”
Cackles seep into the muddy walls of the rondavel Misungwane shares with
the younger ones, bouncing back to smack Sthelo’s cheeks with
embarrassment. He throws the shoe at his brother and it narrowly misses his
big head, he’s still cackling.
“Masende enkawu.”
“Hawu, Bhuti!” Misungwane calls after him.
Sthelo shakes his head, he refuses to allow himself to be the source of his
brother’s entertainment. Fuck him! His hands are in the pockets of his black
Nike sweatpants as he steps out into the scorching sun, it grills him
mercilessly, as if he’s not dark enough already.

73
“You’re going to be as black as tire soon. Phuma elangeni, nsizwa kaNgwane!”
Lolo shouts from her parents’ home just a few meters away.
His ears tune out rubbish, and so he doesn’t spend his time listening to
everything else she has to say.
“I’m not sure if its good for you to be in the presence of someone who’s
smoking.” Sthelo peers up at his mother, blowing out the addictive nicotine.
“How many of these things do you smoke per day?” she smacks his cheek
lightly, only to caress a second later. “I’ve seen you send your brother to buy
an entire pack from the Pakistanis. Awusazenzi, ulawulwa ugwayi.”
“Lutho.” His uneven laughter chases the sunny wind, dying out quickly.
“Lutho, Munt’ Omdala, khululeka. Do you need help with anything?”
“I’m feeling queasy.”
Again?
“Lie down in bed.”
She shakes her head. “Its all I do lately. We haven’t seen much of each other,
and I know you will leave for Durban again soon. I want us to talk… have you
found someone there—a girl to bring home, who help you keep this home
standing long after I am gone.”
“Girls are the last thing on my mind,” he confesses lowly, throwing the stub of
his cigarette on the ground and crushing it completely.
“I suppose that should make me happy, girls in Durban are no good. But even
the ones around here are just as bad, and I don’t know where you’ll find
someone worthy, Ngwane. But you’re 28 years old now, turning 29 soon—and
you still haven’t found someone. People talk. What do you think they’ll say
once I start showing and you still haven’t given me a grandchild?”
Sthelo shrugs his shoulders.
“Its embarrassing, Sthelo!” MaZuma snaps, pushing his big shoulder.
“Mah, with all due respect, then you shouldn’t have gone and fallen pregnant.
I’m just a… I’m only a security guard. Where do you think I get the kind of

74
money that will sustain everyone in this house? Now you want to bring two
more people into the picture? It’s not going to work.”
“I told you not to worry about me. This father’s child will support it, that’s
guaranteed. It’s me who’s not sure about him but he’s an amazing father to his
other children and I have no reason to believe that he’d behave differently to
this child.”
“So he has other children? You never did tell me if he’s married or not.”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
MaZuma says nothing.
Sthelo pulls out of her touch in repulsion, standing to create even more
distance between them, and looks down at her with a frown that doesn’t hide
his judgment. “Eyy, kodwa nawe, MaZuma!” she flinches at the tone of his
voice but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t. “You’re behaving like a goddamn dick-
hungry teenager and what you’re—”
“Don’t you dare!” a silent hiss, MaZuma stands, cuts her eyes at him. Before he
can register it, something hot lands against his cheek. “I am still your mother!
You will respect me… what the hell is wrong with you?”
“You.” The younger’s chest is heaving—bricks are stacked upon each other,
pressing him down, down. “You. It’s always you! You’re not appreciative, my
mother, not when you can carelessly sleep with married men and let them
impregnate you and then come back to lecture me about embarrassing you.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re just a little boy, Sthelo.”
“Thank you.” Anger plants itself in the depths of his chest, searing his airway.
“Then tell this man in your life to pull up his socks. He must marry you, and be
a father to your unborn child. As for this boy, he’s tired of assuming roles he
never wanted to begin with.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”

75
Flicker : Eight
Fuzelihle

Sbanisezwe was able to find my car, this was after the idiot who took my car
idiotically responded to a call I made on my other phone. Clearly he’s from
Mbongolwane—aside from him admitting he didn’t go to school—he also
sounded familiar. His voice. A reserved gravelly voice—attractive—that I’m
sure I’ve heard a thousand lifetimes.
Does that make sense?
It didn’t feel weird to talk to him. It felt normal… like the man was someone I’d
talked to a million times before. I don’t know why. But he made me laugh, I
could’ve even liked him when he made fun of Nelisiwe’s boyfriend’s name—a
fossil’s name like Hlosokuhle had said. I don’t know why his name popped up I
lied about dates with men I don’t even know.
It doesn’t matter, my car is back, my shoes are back and life progresses. Work
keeps me company most days, it’s even better with Sqalosenkosi back, I am
his sixth child and cling to him because I am an emotionally fragile little girl
with daddy issues… that’s what Palesa likes to say—with her backdoor
therapist qualifications.
“Hey bitch!”
The next time she calls me this, I’m going white-woman on her and playing
victim to every little thing she does, I’m sure my pretty privilege will work
well enough for me to get her fired. Joking. Just joking. I just hate it when she
calls me this. Flashbacks and all that. So stupid of course, the only way I can
overcome certain things is by not letting them affect me… my backdoor
qualifications have helped me reach this conclusion.
“Don’t call me that, Palesa.” My eyeballs touch the back of my skull, they’d
remain there if possible. “Why are you in my face, annoying me.”
She cackles like that one unfunny guy I went on a date with a while back. What
a disaster that was. Men that are too forward annoy me, you know the ones
that behave like girlies and know who’s done what with who. The ones who

76
greet you with that Yizanazo, Mzala face. It’s worse with white men, always,
because people mistake them for being the ‘mature ones’ who discuss the
economy and politics. That’s boring enough, but it’s worse when the white
woman in them comes out. Ugh! That date was my worst experience ever.
“Because I love you, and want to know your plans for the night!”
Its Friday, I’m spending time at some club. Thatego and Temasiko’s invite.
They’re besties and do these celebrity events thingies a lot together.
“I’m hanging out with T&T,” I say.
Excitement paints her light-skinned, chubby face. The big smile she gives me
reveals that piercing on her gums, she got it last weekend, it doesn’t look good.
For me it doesn’t, what if it rusts and she gets nasty infections or something?
Does it smell? How will she brush her teeth? How is she expected to take care
of it? Seems like too much admin.
“Am I invited?”
“No.” I deadpan, shaking my head. “Its an invite only event. Thatego and
Temasiko were doing the same project and that’s why they’re going with their
spouses. Well, Sqalosenkosi would rather stay home. I’m using his invite.”
“Mxm.”
Laughter tickles my throat, I let it out—apologetic to my pouting best friend.
“Sorry, babes.”
“Whatever.”
“I’ll take plenty pictures of you, and have fun on your behalf.”
“You don’t even know how to have fun!” she smacks my arm. “I hate you.”
Whatever.
>><<▪︎>><<
Thatego and Temasiko are in my home. MaSibusisiwe is not here, she is in
Eshowe—defending my honour. I didn’t tell her about how the family dinner
went but she found out, nearly three weeks later, I suspect that Hlosokuhle
has something to do with it. And like the most loving mother in the world, she
has gone to Ntumeni to give my beloved father a piece of her mind. I suspect

77
she’s sexually frustrated, I wonder if they solve their fights in between
bedsheets—her and my father.
The worst thought to be having with a dilator shoved inside my vagina.
I check the time on my phone to see how much time has passed… only 10
minutes remaining. Coolio. I’m done. Done, done. Its uncomfortable when I
pull the dilator out of my vagina, it comes back with my juices, I use the cloth
on the table to wipe it clean. Outside of my bedroom, Nigerian music is
blasting through the walls of my home—too fucking loud.
My shower takes less than fifteen minutes. Temasiko is an impatient tramp
who loves partying almost as much as she loves Sqalosenkosi. She’s in my
bedroom when I step out of the bathroom, giving me a raise of the brows.
“Sistaz?”
“Phuma, Satane!” I snap, holding the towel tight to my body. “I need to get
dressed and I refuse to do it with your annoying presence in the room.”
She giggles. “Does Sqalosenkosi know you treat me like crap?”
“I don’t care. Out!”
“I love you.” A soft peck touches my cheek.
“Thanks.” Sqalosenkosi is the only one I can say this ‘I love you’ thing to
honestly. Him and Nqobizitha. They’ve proven themselves. Sbanisezwe too,
but he looked at me weirdly when I told him this one time, and asked me why.
I am clad in a chocolatey white dress that stops mid-thigh, and has a slit that
stretches to my pelvic area. Nude heels beautify my feet and I finish the look
off with a pendant I received from an ex on my birthday. My makeup is
minimal, and my cologne has made love to my pulse points. I look beautiful—a
regal queen who posses confidence and power.
The bedazzled faces on Thatego and Temasiko’s faces make me smile
knowingly. Woman or not. Gay or not. It’s not hard to charm people with my
features, how aesthetic they are. I tick all the books where beauty standards
are concerned—soft-looking, delicate, light-skinned. I’m the kind of black
woman many men desire.

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“Absolutely divine!” Thatego compliments. The other beauty. He easily passes
off as a woman, a very beautiful woman whose features seem almost…
unrealistic.
“This is how I know God has His favourites, and I am not one of them!”
Temasiko snickers playfully… but there’s always undertones of insecurity in
her jokes. “You look amazing, baby.”
“You do too.” I mean it. It’s not her fault, the insecurity that knocks on her
door sometimes—the same one I get when thinking about how it feels like I’ll
never be woman enough in the eyes of others. Her insecurities, they stem
from the fact that the world has set the beauty standards on what a black
woman should look like in order to qualify as beautiful.
Generally, darker skinned women like her, they’re not considered beautiful.
Chubby women like her, they’re not considered beautiful. For them to be
considered beautiful with their darkness, they have to have Eurocentric
features, and look like melanin-nated white women. For their fat to be
attractive, it has to have curves and be firm with no cellulite or stretch-marks.
“I know.” Her usual confidence says ‘you thought, bitch!’ as she gives me a
beautiful gap grin. “I look fucking gorgeous. We all do. Now let’s go have some
fun.”
Temasiko is driving, she doesn’t get to do it much, her husband’s ensured that
his wives are driven around and Tema hates it so much sometimes. Korean
music fills Thatego’s Jeep, he looks at me and rolls his eyes. I laugh, shrugging
my shoulders. “How is your surrogate?”
“Her name is Nontokozo,” he corrects me softly—ever delicate—dazzling
beam stretching his cherry-red lips. “She’s fine, resting most of the time. Our
son’s on his way.”
“July baby like you, right?”
“Mmhmm.”
“And Sbanisezwe is excited?”
I get that face that tells me I know him better than that. Its light-hearted,
mischief dancing in earthy irises. “Jealous, yes. He doesn’t like to share.”

79
Ridiculous! Imagine a 35 year old not wanting to share his partner with
children. I mean it’s Sbanisezwe so its expected because there are childish
traits trapped inside him that refuse to leave but haibo. “He must lelax… He’s
lucky your man boobs can’t produce milk.”
“I don’t have man boobs.”
“You don’t.”
Thatego shakes his head, laughter echoes in the car. “I should enjoy this as
much as I can. Soon, I’ll be like Christophe, trapped home changing diapers.”
“Lucky for me, I have another ten to fifteen years before I have to be about
that life.”
Thatego pouts, he’s not really offended. A family is his lifelong dream.
We reach our destination, and this event is classy. It smells like Dior and Gucci,
like cocktails and caviar, and tastes like Dom Perignon. It sounds like fake
pleasantries and laughter. I’m bored an hour into it, as they discuss the impact
of fashion across the globe.
Who gives a fuck monsieur Henry?
There’s too much generic beauty here, the kind of beautiful I am, that
entrances those who’re not used to it. But here, we all look like one another—
all of us are pretty dolls. It makes me uncomfortable, I like to stand out, as my
own person—and usually my beauty ensures that. It’s a good thing, my
subconscious, chides softly. Your brains will be your attractive point this time,
not just your beauty. You get tired don’t you?
Of course, I do. Imagine not being taken seriously because people just focus on
what you look like. But fashion is not my strong point, Thatego helps me buy
my clothes and sometimes he coordinates them for me. He’s the fashionista of
the family, once upon a time, he used to do the same for Sqalosenkosi.
Playing it cool for a while, the only time I finally let myself loose is when party
time officially begins. Fucking finally! Thatego is behind me, hands splayed on
my thin hips as he sways our bodies back and forth. Temasiko is dancing with
Henry—the old idiot whose husband passed on just last month. I didn’t like
his husband. I don’t like him.

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“You’re a terrible dancer!” Thatego giggles in my ear.
“I date white men…what else did you expect?”
His giggles rival the music that is making the dancefloor vibrate. I spin around
to give him my sassy grin. Gheyl. He’s an amazing dancer, and moves that
snatched Beyoncé waist of his. I am jealous. Men aren’t supposed to look this
sexy when dancing. To make matters worse, he’s doing get-downs with his
heels on, and a bottle of Bernini in his left hand.
My eyes connect with some guy’s. He’s tall and buff, black, I don’t think I’ve
met him before but he’s creeping me out. The moment lasts less than a second
before the man’s giving his attention to Thatego. Ah, so its him that he’s after.
“Do you know that guy?” I query when he gets up again, grinning at me.
“Where?”
“Behind you.”
Thatego peers over his shoulder a second, then turns back to look at me,
shrugging his shoulders as he continues sexy-dancing. “That’s just Levi…
Sbanisezwe’s friend… my damn bodyguard sometimes.”
“Why is he looking at you like you’ve fucked before and he wants to do it
again?”
“I don’t know!” Thatego smacks my arm, and then wiggles his shoulders—
cringing. “Ew! Don’t say that. I’m married, I have never slept with the man.
What is wrong with you?”
“I’m surprised your husband trusts you with the kind that look like they want
to see you naked. Or maybe he’s playing blind, because Sbanisezwe knows
everything.”
The beautiful man nibbles on his lower lip, and then shakes his head a second
later, causing his lustrous curls to bounce off his shoulders. “Or maybe you’re
just reading too much into nothing. Not every man wants me in bed.”
“Most of them do.”
“True. But I just want my husband in bed.”

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It’s my turn to giggle hysterically. He sounded corny, I can’t help it. But I do let
the issue slide because maybe I’m wrong, and this guy is just guarding
Thatego like a good bodyguard. But I still don’t like him, he gives me the
creeps.
Thatego allows me leave to get another drink. He’s dancing with Temasiko
now. Black people here keep shouting, “Aww yebo! Aww yebo, yebo, yebo!”
like this is a Soweto house party. The others are horrified. The Coloureds
mustn’t pretend they don’t do the same thing in Eldos.
This is so much fun!
From my spot, I zoom in on Thatego and Temasiko with my phone. I’ll send
them bomb-ass videos and pictures later. Like the bad dancer I know I am, I
usually just record my friends do their thing. Once I feel like the video’s
getting too long, I stop recording, and focus on my alcohol. “Whoa there,” I tell
the waiter moving around with a tray carrying champagne flutes.
The alcohol is buzzing nicely in my system. I feel alive, and I feel horny. Dick. I
haven’t had it so long—and the withdrawal symptoms are revealing
themselves now. A random pussy throb that has no shame doing this in front
of all these people. I could do with a hand around my throat right now,
silencing my moans and thoughts, and something thick and long rearranging
my insides. Maybe one in my vagina and another one sliding deep in my anus.
Maybe a third one in my mouth.
Its happened one too many times.
My hand is trembling around the flute as the sex flashbacks attack me.
“Fuze?”
Oh fuckin! That voice is familiar.
“Go away, Jaco!” I snap. What is it with men and not allowing women to
orgasm peacefully? I swear I would’ve, had this bastard allowed me to see my
sex flashbacks through.
“You looking stunning, sweetheart!”

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Tell me something I don’t know! Men would spend hundreds of thousands on
me per month would I allow them to but I am not impressed by money. I have
it, and it doesn’t buy happiness… just makes this miserable life bearable.
“I know.”
“Ah, still a know-it-all I see.” His laughter doesn’t conceal the cynicism in his
squeaky voice. Gods of my ancestors, what did I ever see in this pink fucker?
He’s a fucking wrinkled dick.
“And you’re still an infested penis!” I match his energy, flashing my best fake
smile. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“I’m here with my girlfriend.”
“Does she know you’re a poor penis? I’d sleep with one eye open if I were her,
we both know how you leech off women.”
“Desperate women.” The fucker says smugly, like he’s done something, his
blue eyes stay on me. “Women like you who’re so desperate to feel loved and
desired because they can’t offer anything beside good pussy.”
“Look who’s talking,” I scoff.
“The guy who played you for months.”
That wasn’t my proudest moment. Even with the alcohol rushing in my veins, I
cannot pretend that I am not still embarrassed by how much I was miserable
because of this fucker. To make matters worse, I saw the signs, but like a
proper desperate girlie, I ignored them.
“Come with me outside for a sec.”
“Why?” the idiot makes a confused expression.
“To talk,” I say.
He rolls his eyes, but helps me stand on my unsteady feet. Lord have mercy on
me, I better not break an ankle in these things! I push his offending hand away
and collect myself, and then grab my champagne flute… better not forget it.
“What did you—”

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I smash the flute against the wall behind him, and aim it at him. “What were
you saying?”
“I’m not scared of you.” He laughs in my face.
“And I don’t mind killing you, knowing my brothers will help me bury your
body—and I will help your family look for you, knowing very well you’re
rotting six feet under somewhere, like the scum you are.”
I’m sure I can do it. It’s just my legs feel unsteady, wobbly, and there’s two
conniving faces looking back me instead of one. Just my luck! Two Jacos are
more than I can take. Actually, I feel like vomiting all the alcohol I was
drinking.
“You’re crazy!”
“It runs in the family, Jaco.” That’s not entirely untrue, Sbanisezwe wouldn’t
have asked questions… this pathetic animal would be choking on his own
blood by now. I just know. “Why did you—” pause, I need to burp!
Argh!
The taste is nasty, it feels like my body will banish any alcohol in my system
and I don’t think I will be able to do anything about it. So much for looking like
a baddie in Jaco’s eyes, the broken flute is trembling in my hand and might fall
any minute. “Where do you think you’re going?” I ask, watching the two Jacos
manoeuvre past me with ease.
“You’re embarrassing, Fuze!”
Oh. Hell. No!
I manage to catch up to the bastard and use all my useless strength to turn his
lanky body around, and aim the broken flute quickly to his neck. “I’m not
afraid to kill you for what you put me through!” I snap. I’m not going to cry,
not over a man but I can get angry and have him feel my wrath. The tip of
jagged glass is touching his throat.
“Is everything okay?” gravelly.
The familiar voice is coming from behind us. Even with the alcohol swimming
in my brain, I remember it. It sounds like I’ve heard it before, before, before.
So reserved, quiet… as if the person isn’t really interested in a lover’s quarrel.

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“No, this psycho has broken glass against my throat. Are you blind?!” Jaco
snaps, voice quivering. What did I ever see in such a fucking coward?
“I see that, this is why I was asking the lady if everything is okay. Does she
need any help?”
“Wh—at!” Jaco squeaks, bloody coward! “She has glass against my throat,
threatening to stab me!”
“I know.”
Mirth escapes my tongue, making me giggle loudly! Ow! My head is actually
spinning, and I shouldn’t have had so much alcohol because it’s making me
uncomfortable but I am still laughing, and laughing. The tip of broken glass
touches Jaco’s throat again, and he flinches. “Careful, dammit!”
“I don’t want to be careful. I don’t want to be rational. I want to hurt you like
you’ve hurt me without regret. I want to kill you and then go about my day,
and reward myself with KFC.”
The man laughs, behind us, and the sound is like a pleasant song—trapping
itself in my memory. I look behind me, the man’s tall with lean muscles, clearly
he’s dark-skinned because he blends in with the night, making it difficult for
me to catch more of his features. If only he’d… ah, there.
A white shirt that clings to his muscular body, and formfitting formal black
pants that hug just as muscular, long legs. I may not date black men, but
they’re the Beyoncé’s of good-looking men. His endlessly dark-brown skin is
something like rich soil, a beautiful invaluable colour, there’s the Asian eyes
and lips that are a shade lighter than the rest of him.
“Nkosazane?”
I knew it… there’s that heavy Zulu accent. It was there in his English as well—
slightly broken. He reminds me of the warm version of my father. Maybe it’s
the way he’s looking at me intensely—awaiting my response. Only, my voice is
a little caught in my throat. Because of him or the alcohol I am not sure. All I
know is a gorgeous black man is looking at me, and my hand is gripping the
broken flute for anchor—begging all of my body to not fall.
Something about this moment seems recherché.

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“Hey!” My alcohol levels drop a notch, making me snap out of it. “Hey! I was
just scaring him.”
“He must’ve hurt you pretty bad for you to want to harm him,” he says this in
IsiZulu—very deep. “Its none of my business, of course, just checking to
ensure you’re safe.”
“I am. I’m fine. Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.”
The man nods his head, although there’s something about the gesture that
tells me he finds me amusing for some reason; it’s in the eye-smile that
remains just that—and doesn’t reveal itself beyond those eyes still gazing at
me intensely. Does this guy know me or something? He’s looking at me as if
we’ve met before—in a thousand previous lifetimes.
And me, he’s annoying me because of that smile that only remains in his eyes,
and keeps his features impassive.
“It won’t hurt you to show your teeth just once,” I say.
“Or will you turn the broken glass to me as well?” He’s still smiling with his
eyes, keeping the distance between us.
“If you keep tempting me with that eye-smile.”
He gives me a confused expression, and scrubs his five o’clock shadow,
shaking his head. Then he’s just frowning and staring, and staring, and
staring—piercing into my soul. Familiar, his eyes. The little voice in the back
of my hand wonders if he’s ever touched me without permission, and made
me uncomfortable—sometimes I don’t remember everyone that has defiled
me—but I would know.
This one, his eyes are intense and melancholic and reserved and amused all at
once. I love his eyes, just as I love how beautiful his face is.
“Let the gentleman go, and go back inside.”
Who the hell does he think he is, telling me what to do?
I’d forgotten Jaco for a good second, not my fault with how quiet the idiot had
gone. I use my weak strength to push his lanky body away from me. Bloody
wrinkled penis! There, he’s gone. What now?

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I give the man my best smile.
He gives me a onceover, careful, and starts walking toward the entrance of the
venue. I’ve never seen him at these functions before, I mean I don’t think I
would’ve remembered him but still… is he some sort of designer? The sexy fit
of his shirt and pants hint at that. Or maybe he’s just a stylist.
“You didn’t thank me!” I shout after him.
He stops, peers over his shoulder. His eyes are ridiculously deep for someone
who looks so young. “What for?”
“Not killing that insignificant idiot who wouldn’t be missed by his own
parents.”
“You’re so angry,” he notes.
“Damn right I am, I should’ve—”
“You’re an angry person. Always.”
Oh… another therapist with backdoor qualifications. My hand is trembling, it
has nothing to do with alcohol. “You don’t say.” I give him my sardonic beam.
“Count to ten next time; if you’re still angry, make it to twenty and then
thirty—until it doesn’t feel like you’re going to stab insignificant men with
bottles… even if their parents won’t miss them.”
“I’ll be sure to remember, Dokotela.”
He gives me the eye-smile that tells me he finds me amusing but won’t
humour me with his teeth… maybe he has none. It feels like I blink and then
he’s gone. Bummer!
I head back inside, being outdoors has returned my senses mostly, and search
the crowded place. Temasiko is dancing with the grey-haired man again. She
winks at me when our eyes connect, blowing a kiss in my direction. Beaming
feels weird, like my mouth will fall off so I give her a thumbs up and giggle
when she sneers. I search around for Thatego, nearly choke on my saliva as
the guy from outside captures my attention.
A fucking waitron!

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That explains the black and white. Now he has the bowtie around his neck as
well, and he looks glorious. Blushing giggles and eyes follow him. I don’t think
he’s noticed, actually he’s no longer the man I met outside, now he seems
really uncomfortable. Our eyes clash, the eye contact doesn’t last a second
before he servers it. That bruises my ego a little bit—the no acknowledgment.
I need another drink but I don’t think it’s a good idea.
And there, there in the sea of bodies is that bodyguard guy. I follow his gaze,
not really surprised that it’s on Thatego. The man seems obsessed actually, as
he watches my big brother’s husband talk to another woman passionately. I
blink my eyes, and just like magic, a familiar presence is beside me. The Tom
Ford cologne.
Sbanisezwe.
“Ah, so you’ve met him.”
What? Who?
“He’s just like you—maybe more mature. But he’s just a child… like you. No, I
didn’t see this, I am observing it now in his behaviour so visibly.” His eyes,
they’re following the waitron.
“Do you know him?” I ask.
“I know everyone.” He chuckles, eyes now on his supposed friend… the
bodyguard. “See you around, pretty princess. Thateho’s body is calling my
name.”
Argh, TMI!
“Sies, bhuti!”
“Focus on that 11 year old boy whose in love with 12 year old you. Dance with
him in the rain and lose yourself. That’s what you want, right?”
Must he always be so damn random?
And just like that he’s gone. I know he is shading the bodyguard/friend when
he passes the man like a stranger, and heads straight to Thatego. Earthy eyes
light up, Thatego leaps into his arms and kisses him. It’s getting a little too
provocative for my tastes, the way Sbanisezwe gropes Thatego’s ass—and just

88
squeezes, and how Thatego smiles against his lips, stroking my big brother’s
Shembe beard. All three of them—Sbanisezwe and his brothers—are going for
this look, Christophe told me it must be a triplet thing. They all look really
good, dashing.
They’re leaving—Sbanisezwe and Thatego. They don’t even say goodbye.
I follow them outside, watch Sbanisezwe’s Lexus speed down the street. The
strong scent of nicotine seduces my nose, I turn around and there he is
again—leaning on a brick wall, with one knee bent and the other propping his
entire weight. A cigarette rests idly between long fingers. White smoke twirls
from the ends of his lips, diffusing in front of his closed eyes—maybe it’s the
quietness of the night that makes the aura around him seem so melancholic…
almost as if he’s embraced by a strong sense of solitude, and he revels in it.
“Hey!”
His eyes open, and he’s just a little boy—maybe, maybe 11 years old.

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Flicker : Nine
Sthelosamangwane

“Sthelosamangwane Khanyile?”
Finally.
“That’s me.” He has a bad habit of raising his hand, like this is high-school all
over again, but he manoeuvres through the crowd until he reaches the
Zimbabwean man. “Thank you.” He accepts the white envelope.
The only acknowledgment the man gives him is a less than a nod. “Right,
pipo!” the man claps his hands to attract the attention of the low murmurs
surrounding their tiny hall. “There’s another job in Rustenburg. I will
communicate with you via WhatsApp, but be on standby and wash your
uniforms if you haven’t.”
Sthelosamangwane’s sighs lethargically drift into nothingness, as he puts the
envelope in his back pocket and nods his head—present but not really.
Munashe is talking about one thing or another, mentions something about
them needing red bowties for the event in Rustenburg. That’s R100 coming off
their salaries for those bowties, its not a surprise that there’s low grumbles of
protest that will never amount to actual rebellion.
“I’m R200 short of my money,” a guy sidles up to Sthelo outside, matching his
movements. “This man is really killing us. Its like he knows we’re stranded.”
The man’s Zimbabwean, the accent gives him away. Most of Sthelo’s
colleagues are Zimbabwean actually, and he didn’t believe Nhlanhla when he
said they call each other where job opportunities are concerned but he sees it
now. It’s not completely a bad thing, he thinks, it just means they’re not
jealous of affording each other opportunities that will put bread on the table.
“I haven’t counted mine,” he reveals, only to fall into silence a second later.
Nothing makes him lazy like talking to people, and indulging them in small
talk.

90
“You should. What if he’s robbed you of more money than me? We’re only
making R1000 per gig, my brother. Are you sure you’re willing to walk back
home and put less than R800 on the table?”
“Nothing about this pay is something to be prideful about,” he tells the guy,
shrugging his shoulders, “R800, R600… it’s all the same.”
“C’mon, you know what I mean.”
He does.
Retrieving the white envelope from his back pocket, Sthelo pries it open and
grabs the wad of cash in there. 100x6. 200x2. “R1000, square.” He reveals.
“Good for you.” The man nods his head. “I’m Charles by the way.”
“Mhlengi.”
“Oh… I thought you were Sthelo, your IsiZulu is very convincing. I wouldn’t
have guessed you’re not from here. Whose ID are you using? My friend let me
borrow his.”
“I was born here. My other name is Mhlengi.”
“Oh, I get it now.” The man, Charles, chuckles. “Do you want to do something
together later? Maybe grab some beers.”
The invitation makes Sthelo frown a second, as he observes the man from top
to bottom. He doesn’t seem gay, not like those confused boys from his
neighbourhood but he’s seen men with beards kissing other men with beards.
He’s seen men kissing men pretending to be women. This was in
Johannesburg, when they were waitrons at that Johannesburg fashion event.
Sbanisezwe Ngcobo… he showed up and caused quite a stir. He was kissing
another man, the one he married.
Sthelo wouldn’t have thought the man with curls and light skin was a man. He
didn’t know until Sbanisezwe showed up, because he knows nothing about
celebrities and isn’t up to date with current affairs. He’s ashamed to admit that
initially, he thought the man was so goddamn breathtaking… only because he
thought it was a woman—those curves, the soft facial features… it’s only
natural that he assumed the man’s gender to be female.

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“I’m busy with something, my brother.” He finally gives his lie, and lends the
man his fake apologetic mask. “Maybe next time.”
“No problem. Maybe you have to give the money to the wife.”
“Exactly,” he continues his lie.
They part ways, him and the man, as he goes to the train station. Its rowdy as
usual, the usual whistles from thieves alerting each other that they’ve found
their victim. A woman who was wearing an expensive wig is their victim, they
rush off with it, as the woman screams her lungs out—attempting to hide the
messy map of her cornrows.
Sthelo only R20 to spare that he gives to her, and then continues to board his
train. It’s only 10:00am. He probably won’t find Nhlanhla and Sabelo home.
They’re always working at the dealership, and when they come back, they
never fail to remind him how his absence is felt at work. They have to work
with some random bhari every day, Sabelo likes to say.
He’s not sure if they’re just saying this or if there’s truth to their words but
Sthelo finds himself missing a job he never thought he’d miss. It’s not about
the actual job but the relationships he’s built there—Bab’ Sbu. Bra
Ncumolwakhe. He met Sabelo and Nhlanhla because of his job. Right now, he
feels… useless, uncomfortable.
Imagine other men giving you money to help you buy basic hygiene products,
as if you’re a woman. Imagine not having enough to assist with groceries. It
feels like Sthelo is back to that place where everything seemed so hopeless,
that place where he was never man enough. The man is a provider, that’s what
his father was, and that’s who he was raised to be… but he’s failing. Just when
it seemed like finally, he’s there, it all fell apart again.
This money he made, he’s not going to spend, and will add R300 to the grocery
money instead. It’s not much but he’d rather he gave Nhlanhla and Sabelo that
little than nothing at all. R700 will be put into the bank… there’s only a few
cents remaining but if his mother asks for money then at least he will have
something in his bank account.
The streets are only filled with the usual jobless gossips, having conversations
from their metal fences and judging every person who walks past the semi-
busy streets. Sthelo always feels eyes on him, always. Maybe it never shows on

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his face but it makes him uncomfortable—the giggles and whispers. He
doesn’t like feeling uncomfortable.
“Ntokazi!” surprise fills his voice, as he notices the woman whose face seems
familiar outside the house he shares with his friends. “What’s wrong?”
The lady rolls her eyes. “You don’t remember me.”
He shakes his head, noticing the small suitcase at her feet. What’s going on?
Has Nhlanhla or Sabelo found a girlfriend that they’re bringing in? Sure,
Sthelo’s job is whack, and he doesn’t bring in much income lately but they
should’ve told him. Now he’s stuck feeling awkward around women he doesn’t
know. “Should I?”
“My name is Lucia.”
Okay…
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” the woman snaps, aiming at him with
her umbrella that he dodges. “You’ve fucked me twice now—multiple rounds,
mind you—and you still don’t know who I am!”
“It must’ve been quite a while ago, that’s why,” he defends himself, itching to
get away from the sun. The longer it braais him, the more likely he’ll be a
walking charcoal.
“Not that long. Aren’t you going to welcome me inside your home? Where is
your room? I have to put my bag inside. Do you have a bathroom or do you use
this basin? Even the basin is fine, I’m not a fussy girlfriend. I’m hungry, the
baby is making me hungry. I eat a lot of kotas lately, its my favourite craving.
Do you have R20 so that you can buy me one two streets from here, at
Mzolo’s? Let’s get inside, this sun will have your skin looking like a car tyre.”
She’s talking and moving, pushing her small suitcase over to Sthelo for him to
deal with. He’s too stunned to speak at this point, and does what she says, only
stopping outside his door. “I’m sorry but what’s going on?”
“I’m moving in,” Lucia responds, as if it should be obvious, “I’m pregnant with
your baby and my mother doesn’t want me living with her. She told me to
come to you and that’s what I did.”
Heh!

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Sthelo’s eyes bulge like saucers.
What. The. Fuck!!!
“Maybe you’re mistaken, I don’t think I made you pregnant. I make sure to
always use protection. I don’t even remember bedding you.”
Lucia’s face scrunches up in distaste, eyes turning red like she’ll be crying any
minute. “No. No, don’t give me that!” her voice is cold and desperate. “We slept
in the toilets of Zuko’s tavern. We did, many times before. Now I’m pregnant
with your child and you’re not going to turn me away. Where am I going to go?
I am not working, I’ll have to drop out of school and my mother wants nothing
to do with me.”
Wait a minute… did she just say school?
“Ntok—Sisi,” a strong sense of repugnance overtakes Sthelo, he balances the
palm of his hand against the corrugated iron of his small house, and revels in
the burn the hot metal subjects him to, “just how old are you? You’re telling
me I have impregnated a school child?” he feels sick.
“I’m in college, silly!” The girl rolls her eyes. “Let’s get inside please, I’ll faint
here. I need something cold to cool my body.”
He doesn’t want to, but Sthelo still unlocks his door.
“And how old are you?” this question, he feels, is important. He doesn’t know
what he’ll do if he slept with a minor. College kids are very young these days.
“20.”
Oh God!
“Hey! Hey! Are you okay?”
No, he’s not fucking okay! Is this girl blind or something? He’s heaving,
wanting to retch the disgust he feels at himself for allowing himself to sleep
with someone so young! Twenty is not… maybe she’s officially an adult by law,
but it still… 20 is just a baby in his eyes. How could this shit happen?
It takes a while for him to recover, after which, he decides to…
“Ngyaxolisa sisi for sleeping with you. You’re so young and I didn’t know.”

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This girl giggles, and her uncaring mannerisms hint at someone who hasn’t
experienced a lot to life. In all their interactions, he wonders if he ever saw the
signs? He doesn’t remember. She looks familiar the longer he stares at her, but
he doesn’t think their conversations were all too interesting.
“I’m 20. I’m not young, I am a grown woman… and this grown woman wants
you.” The way she says this is too forward for his tastes. He doesn’t like
forward women, he never knows what to do with them. “This is why I’m here,
to live with you, when I give birth I will look for a job and we’ll raise the baby
together nicely.”
She must be high or something. Naïveté is drugging her immature brain.
“I don’t think so. Who is your mother? I will… I will—” he doesn’t know. What
will the mother say? A 28 year old man impregnating a girl almost a decade
younger than him? He’s embarrassed… ashamed. He’s no paedophile, and yet
this happened. “Why didn’t you bother to give me your age?”
“Why didn’t you give me yours?”
Because! Isn’t it obvious that he looks his age?
“I wouldn’t have slept with you had I known you’re just a child.”
“The fact that you didn’t notice not once but twice should tell you I am a
woman. A grown woman. This is why we had sex, there’s no need to make it
such a big deal.”
Sthelo will lose his mind.
“But you’re still a child!”
Lucia shrugs her shoulders, plopping down on his bed like she has a steady
relationship with it—and lets her big eyes wander the expanse of his room.
“Actually, now that I think about it, you should’ve asked for my age because
you were the one who wanted into my pants. That aside, stop treating me like
a 5 year old, I’m 20 years old. Anyway, who lives in the main house? Uqashile
yini? Ukhokha malini?”
This girl is too loud. Too damn loud.
“I’ll find you something temporary, so that you’re not homeless—”

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“No! No, you can’t do that. I want to—”
“It doesn’t work that way, I’m sorry. You’re not going to make this
uncomfortable more than it already is.”
I’m not prepared to leave this place.”
Deep breath.
Sthelo shakes his head. “I don’t care, I wasn’t asking. You can only spend the
night in my room, after that you will be staying on your own. I’m sure there
are cheap backrooms for hire around KwaMashu.”
“No.”
Fucking hell!

“Nothing about all this is funny.”

“We know.”
Sabelo breaks again—annoying chortles fill the expanse of the kitchen. He’s
gripping his belly, all chattering teeth and weeping eyes. Nhlanhla has laughed
all his shock out, and now he simply observes Sthelo like something to be
pitied. “She’s really just 20 years?”
This! He didn’t know as well.
“It makes me sick just thinking about it. She’s just a baby,” Sthelo tells
Nhlanhla. “I’ve never been more confused in my life.”
“Well…” Nhlanhla sighs, rubbing his bottom lip in that ever thoughtful manner
of his, “technically, you’ve done nothing wrong. She’s an adult, Mhlengi. As
long as all your interactions were consensual then you have nothing to be
ashamed about. But I also get you, 20 is practically baby, and its not a good
idea for men old like you—”
“I’m 28 years old, not an ancestor!” Sthelo frowns.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m just saying I understand where you’re coming from… that girl
hasn’t experienced much life, she shouldn’t be with guys your age. She needs
guys her age; mentally, I feel like they’re better suited. I’m not blaming anyone

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here, the most important thing is that she has no permanent place to stay and
is pregnant. Has she told you what she plans to do with the baby? Keep it?”
“She’s talking about getting a job as soon as she gives birth, and raising the
baby together with me like a proper family.”
“UBab’ wekhaya, madoda!” Sabelo will piss his pants with laughter. “Eyy
kodwa nani, nihamba nigxisha imithondo yonke indawo!”
It’s easy to overlook this boy’s idiocy because of his good looks. Usually
women sweep his stupidity under the rug because of it, but not Sthelo, he’s
not impressed by how humoured his friend is by his suffering.
“Fuck you, my brother!” Sthelo sneers, lighting a cigarette and putting it in
between his teeth. It’s his fifth one in thirty minutes. At this rate, he’s finishing
the entire pack. “Do you know if Zamo is still looking for someone to occupy
the backroom?”
“Forget it.” Nhlanhla shakes his head. “You won’t afford it. Anyhow, you can
move in with us and let her sleep in your room. Take this couch, it’s always
free.”
Sabelo’s laughter does almost immediately.
“He can?” clearly he wasn’t expecting Nhlanhla to make such an offer, and
even more, he’s not on-board with the idea. “He can?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
Sabelo’s Adam’s apple bobs. He is communicating something with Nhlanhla
through the eyes.
“Its fine I can find her something.”
“No!” this time Sabelo protests with Nhlanhla. “No, my man. We’re a family
here, all three of us, and we always help and accept each other—no matter
how flawed or fucked up. Let the girl stay it’s fine. This couch needs someone
to wank on it.”
Nhlanhla coughs his embarrassment.

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Sthelo is used to this, and considers his friend like any other crazy creature.
“I’m just worried that people will accuse us of kidnapping the girl. Three men
living with—”
“No. Fuck that!” Nhlanhla again. “She’s living in the backroom. Besides, some
of us aren’t attracted to 20 year old loud girls.”
There’s a knock on the door.
“Heeello! What are you doing in there? Where is Mhlengi? He promised to buy
me a kota and he’s still not back. What kind of treatment is this?”
“You better go deal with that.” Sabelo starts to laugh again.
>><<▪︎>><<
It will take a bit of getting used to, living with Lucia. Its been a month and
things not getting any better. There’s a loud female presence in the house,
things are sometimes rearranged and Sthelo has found thongs in his washing
basket more times than he can count… never mind that he actually bought
Lucia her own washing basket.
He hasn’t been home in nearly a month, making his mother worried, she
thinks he’s holding grudges against her. Truth is he’s just not sure how to
approach the matter that he’s gone and made some girl pregnant. He thought
he used protection but the girl he impregnated has insisted that sometimes
they didn’t.
It’s like life has smacked him across the cheek, the same thing he was chiding
his mother for, he’s gone and done. Maybe its karma for the manner in which
he handled the matter—how angry he was—maybe this is why his mother
will recognize her dream of being a grandmother. Finally. Finally.
The house is silent when he steps inside, after disappointing Lucia numerous
times by telling her that he wouldn’t be sharing the bed with her. Never in his
life has Sthelo come across someone so needy and demanding… even over the
things that this girl can do herself.
He flips the light off, and outsmarts the dark by landing safely on the couch.
Exhaling softly, he uses his phone’s light to grab a cigarette and lighter from
the debilitating coffee table. Nhlanhla will kill him if he detects the scent of

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nicotine spreading over the house but Sthelo is too lazy to go outside, and he
desperately needs a smoke.
Lately, all he ever does is smoke.
White mist that smells like tobacco gathers right in his eyes, as he gets
comfortable in position—facing skyward. For a while he will allow himself to
forget about the headache that is Lucia, he will forget about his mother and
focus his thoughts elsewhere.
Fiery, unfocused brown eyes are looking back at him when he closes his eyes.
A beautiful face, and the elegant golden honey skin. Sometimes, he meets the
face in his dreams—smiling, annoyed. Most of the times annoyed, with
mischief in those brown eyes that reveal the owner’s true feelings.
Its… that girl.
The woman that he met almost two months ago, drunk and uncoordinated but
sure in her intention to create harm to the man that she’d had held hostage
against the wall. It was all so amusing to him, how serious she looked, how
petrified the white man was—as if the woman would’ve done something with
how unsteady her form was.
Sthelo hasn’t been able to forget her. He remembers her face clearly. He
remembers the moment their eyes locked and how… how it felt like he had the
breath knocked out of his sails. The feeling felt right, like he’s felt it a thousand
lifetimes before and it was only natural for him to feel again.
That doesn’t make sense, does it?
Yeah, Sthelo can’t explain it either. But he felt drawn to the woman, he felt like
he’s met her before—and that the headache she was giving him from their
small interaction had been nothing out of the ordinary.
He wonders if he’ll ever meet her again, maybe another work function will
land him in Johannesburg again.
His thoughts of her are being crashed into—and the pieces are scattering all
over, silencing every picture of her he still remembers. Its 01:49am, too much
time has passed, too much… but he’s hearing sounds. The rhythmic tune of
someone smacking against something. He snorts, and wonders if Sabelo’s
sneaked in a woman home… but where would that leave Nhlanhla?

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A sound that resembles one a wounded animal would make captures
Sthelosamangwane’s ears.
“Fuck! Mmm…hmm…mmm.” The voice is familiar. “This feels so good, I hate it.
I hate this so much. Keep going, keep going. Please don’t stop.”
Sthelo sits up too fast and drops his cigarette on the carpeted floor. Fuck! He
picks it up and stumps on it with his thumb on the table, ignoring the
agonizing burn. His heart is beating fast as the voice recalls past memories of
the same voice.
Please stop. Please. It hurts… this is wrong.
He leaps from the couch with something angry pulsing in his veins. His jaw is
ticking, eyes narrowing on the door down the hallway, as he sprints toward it.
“Sabelo!” he shouts, and pushes at the door with violence—smacking his
shoulder against it. “Hhe Sabelo wena, what are you doing? What are you
doing to Nhla—”
The door trembles open.
There on the bed, folded in half, with his t-shirt pulled up and his pants off is
Nhlanhla. Sabelo is on top of him, hand around the younger’s throat.
Rape. The word is cautioning Sthelosamangwane.
He lunges, pushing off Sabelo’s body off Nhlanhla. The force of his push sends
them tumbling off the bed, but he gets the upper hand, and he uses all the
strength in his body to hold his friend down by the neck. His other hand balls
into a fist, anger causing his jaw to bunch up. And he aims his fist on the body
beneath him.
How dare Sabelo do this. How dare he!
“Sthe—lo, wait!” Nhlanhla shouts behind him. “Wait! I wanted it. I wanted it.
I’m gay, okay? I’m gay, and I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Sthelo snaps his head behind him quickly.
What?

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Flicker : Ten
Sthelosamangwane

It seems that life enjoys making a fool out of him, it constantly plots against
him to force him into this sense of humility and meekness. With his father.
With his mother. And now with his friends.
Sabelo has thrown a pair of Adidas trackpants and a t-shirt on. Nhlanhla, he
just has on a pair of shorts that Sthelo knows belong to Sabelo. The room
reeks of sex, the evidence of what has been going on is in the messy sheets and
the numerous condom wrappers on the floor. The evidence is on Nhlanhla’s
chest and stomach, even though he tried to wipe himself clean, he’s stained.
Something bitter wafts in the air, something awkward and angry and
emotional. Nhlanhla has opened the windows. Sabelo is lighting a cigarette,
and holds out the pack to Sthelo who turns it down with a look of disgust.
What he’s seen… it remains burned to his memory, like a nasty infection that
won’t leave.
“So…” Sabelo clears his throat, right after exhaling tobacco smoke.
“I’m sorry, please forgive me.” – Nhlanhla.
“Would you stop fucking apologizing!” Sabelo snaps, unbothered, he grips
Nhlanhla by the back of his neck as his lips press on the younger’s forehead.
“Nx!” Sthelo cannot contain his disgust, he doesn’t try to. It’s so disrespectful,
the fact that Sabelo can even do this so openly in his presence. “Eyy
niyanyanyisa.”
“Pho uzokwenzani, masende enkawu?” still so nonchalant, Sabelo. He always
behaves like he has no fucks left to give. Like he’s just living his life—fuck
opinions and judgment. Clearly running away from home because he couldn’t
keep up with academic pressure has done a number on him. He’s taken to
fucking other men, and it doesn’t get lower than that, it doesn’t get lower than
choosing to become an animal. “Humour me here.”
Sthelo hasn’t thought about it yet but he’s angry. He cannot accurately
describe the feeling of wanting to peel himself out of his own body to stop this

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sickening sensation of crawling, or the balled fists and trembling lower lip. All
he knows is that Nhlanhla and Sabelo are responsible for it. “I could just beat
the crap out of both of you until you return to your senses!” he snaps.
“We’ll stop, I—promise!” – Nhlanhla.
Something about him, and the way he’s behaving is off. Sthelo can’t quite put
his finger on it, but he’s not the assertive chipmunk he usually is, and looks
way to breakable… maybe this is all on Sabelo. He coerced the boy and now
look at him.
“No, we won’t.”
“Sabelo—”
“NO!” The gym freak’s voice booms in the room, and again fragile Nhlanhla
jumps. He begins to rock back and forth, hands against his ears, and he starts
to cry. It’s an ugly cry. Men were not created to be such breakable creatures,
fragile, emotional. “Nhlanhla ngyakuthanda yezwa? Awusangithandi yini
wena? So soon… just last night, we were confessing, weren’t we?
Uyakhumbula nje… ngikutshela amazwi othando?”
Nhlanhla is still shaking his head.
“Usukhohliwe kanjalo nje?” Disgust curls around Sthelosamangwane’s chest—
pungent—and he wrinkles his nose at the sight in front of him. The sight of
Sabelo handling Nhlanhla like something to be cherished, the same way a man
cherishes his wife—as if Nhlanhla will break any minute. Who gave him the
right? Who gave Nhlanhla to think he can be so fragile? Who gave him such a
right to dare act like a woman?
“Amasende awani weNhlanhla? Kusobala ukuthi uwena onengquza kini
nobabili. This is what you came to South Africa for wena Nhlanhla? You didn’t
want to traumatize your parents with this rubbish and figured this is the place
you’d do it? How did this nonsense start? And right under my nose! Have you
checked me out as well, have you—”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Mfene emnyama!”
“Uthini?”

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“I—we… we were drunk, r-right? And I can feel the—the lashes when I’m
drunk so I-I told Sabelo about them, and he was touching me, and it felt like
his touch was grounding. And then we were kissing. I thought it was dead but
it wasn’t and I wanted to kiss him, and then I couldn’t stop. And we-we began
sleeping together and it didn’t work when I promised myself it was the last
time. I know it’s wrong but I… I fell in love with him and I—”
“Enough. You don’t need to explain yourself to him.”
“No.” Nhlanhla makes a desperate face. He tries to stand but Sabelo’s pinning
him down with a hand to his thigh. “No, you don’t understand. I-I have to try
and—”
“Nothing, Nhlanhla. This man is not your father, he is not your family. You do
not owe him anything. Just like you don’t owe anyone back home anything. All
that matters is that we love each other. That’s all. Don’t think about anything
else. Don’t overthink this. I’m always here.”
This thing is turning out to be worse and worse. Sthelosamangwane frowns,
standing to his feet. “Don’t allow him to pressure you, Nhlanhla. Don’t listen to
this animal. I don’t know what’s going on here but you’re feeling guilty
because you know it’s wrong. That’s your conscience telling you to stop this.”
“Bullshit!” Sabelo sneers, he gets up and stomps toward his friend, sizing him
up. They’re the same height, only different builds. “Eh baba, you have no idea
how hard we’ve worked to get where we are—me and him. To admit that
honestly what we feel for each other. You’re not going to come here with your
homophobia and tell us what we’re doing is wrong.”
“Its unnatural! If God wanted you to be this way, he would’ve given him a
pussy! Clearly he’s the woman in this animalistic arrangement. But you both
have penises for a reason, you cannot go against what God has decided. Who
the fuck do you think you are!”
“Sabelubizo Nxumalo, what do you plan to do about it?”
The man’s in Sthelo’s face, breathing down on him, glaring. And Sthelo doesn’t
appreciate the closeness. It makes him uncomfortable that a man who sleeps
with other men is this close to him, looking him in the eyes, thinking he can try
the bullshit he’s pulled with Nhlanhla on him.

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He lands a quick fist on the other man’s face.
“Stop it!” Nhlanhla screams.
They’re tumbling down again—a mesh of tangling bodies with punches and
kicks flying. Then too many sounds crash against the walls—the place is being
trashed.
“I’m going to kill myself!”
Its Sabelo who pushes Sthelo away quickly, rushing toward Nhlanhla. When
did he get the knife in his hand? His face is blotchy, and he’s trembling—
desperate, done.
“I-I don’t care anymore.” Quivering notes of anguish slip past thin trembling
lips, his tears sinking into his skin—weeping for the same body he has no
control over, the same brain that tortures him. “I’m going to kill myself. I’m
tired, I can’t do this anymore. You’re right, Sthe—”
“No, he’s not.” Sabelo approaches him like one approaches a rescue animal.
“You only feel guilty because they’ve managed to crush your spirit, Nhlanhla.
All of them, from the time you were young. They failed you and it makes them
happy when you’re like this, when you’re second-guessing yourself, and it
feels like maybe God truly doesn’t love you for who you are. But its them, and
years of abuse that makes you like this. It’s not God. You know that. You
know.”
Sthelo cannot speak, too stunned. The sight in front of him is like a punch to
his internal organs, this… the sight in front of him wasn’t his intention. All he
wanted to do was try and get these two to snap out of it, to overcome
whatever rubbish was planted inside their brains, whatever rubbish alcohol
was influencing them to do… and yet here Nhlanhla is, threatening to kill
himself because he cannot bear the thought of going without a penis for the
rest of his life!
Pathetic… this is really bad.
“I can go to church—”
“No, you’re not taking him to any fucking church! You’re not killing him more
than the others before him have. I’ll kill you with my bare hands before I allow
you to do that.”

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“He can speak for himself!”
“At the moment, he can’t.”
Sthelo wants to protest and call Sabelo a liar. Nhlanhla can speak for himself,
he’s more than capable. He always has words on standby, profound, to make
their dumb asses perceive life differently. He’s a bloody self-appointed LGBTQ
rights activist, the same one that he’s so ashamed of now, as he fights and
struggles in Sabelo’s hold—thrashing and fight. Strong-willed even in his
weakness.
The knife is on the floor.
“I will need you to leave this place—permanently. This is my home after all,
and if you’re not going to agree with who we are, then you’re not welcome
here. I don’t want to force anything on you… but I don’t want you to force your
beliefs on us as well. Not when they could have dire consequences, I’m not
going to lose this boy because of your crap, Ndoda.”
Shock smacks Sthelo across the cheek.
He recovers quite quickly, not surprised really. He’s heard stories of how
these people being unkind to anyone who will not accept them for these nasty
acts they engage in. He’s fine with it.
“I’ll do you that favour and do as you say. I’m not willing to live with animals.”
Nhlanhla makes that sound again, the one that alerted Sthelo to all this crap. A
wounded animal. Only this time he really is wounded, its all in his eyes—the
raw pain. He’s dead… even with his heaving chest.
“I—hate you,” is what he says. His hands are clenched into fists, his face puffy
and full of volcanic tears, his body trembling.
Sthelo sneers, heart beating too fast, there’s a gaping hole in his heart—
stretching and stretching. “I’ll keep you in my prayers.”
He walks out.
>><<▪︎>><<
He’s getting late. Well, he doesn’t know. But its dark now outside—shades of
salmon skies fade into sparkling black ink. They’ve been driving around

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forever, this taxi drivers, and Sthelo is sure its not supposed to take this long
to reach Durban. His stop. His first time in KwaMashu. Ntuthuko has been
calling until Sthelo’s battery died. There are five of them in this taxi now,
including the driver. The taxi keeps on moving, moving, away from every
street light and sign of life. They’ve moved, until they’re in the middle of
nowhere—and the taxi is stopping. “Get out!” the driver shouts.
Someone is shaking him, his body hurts all over, he wants to tell this person to
stop. He wants to tell them to not shake him so much, his bones are broken,
they will only create more damage than good.
“Hey, hey!” the voice belongs to a woman. “Gosh! Again, bhutiza? Seriously, I
didn’t know I was attracted to a whimpering bulldog!”
Deep-set eyes slide open, blinking and blinking. Sthelosamangwane’s
breathing is ragged, a second ago he was dying, but he thinks God has spared
him. Breathing is getting easier by the second, but he’s so wet, drenched in
cold sweat that he escapes his floor bedding in a hurry to rid himself of the
soaked t-shirt. “Huh?” the simple word burns his air passage.
“Who did you steal from that’s attacking you in your sleep?”
Lucia—this annoying girl—sits on his bed, gown wrapped around her body,
she gives him a bored but suspicious look.
Sthelo scrubs his inflamed face, mentally trying to get himself to calm down.
Just a dream. This was only a bad dream… a vicious memory. He’s not lying on
a ditch somewhere—shot and afraid his family will never find him. He’s not
even in Durban anymore, not in KwaMashu. He’s so much closer to home, so
very close. He’s practically home. Home is Eshowe.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?!”
Somandla.
How did he end up stuck with someone so clingy?
“I need a smoke, Lucia,” he speaks slowly, she’s only a little child after all,
right? “In the meantime, go back to your bed. Leave me alone, will you?”

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“Tjo! You’re such an asshole lately. I didn’t say act tough with your friends,
now look at you and how miserable you are—always cutting meat in Ahmed’s
butchery and smelling like it. Unes’dina yazi!”
He walks outside, he’s not going to waste his time quarrelling with young girls.
Its embarrassing. He’s not even a talker. This girl knows this and yet she
always tries her luck.
Its 02:12am.
Its windy outside, his body gains goosebumps from the night air that touches
his skin—and panic settles in his throat tightly. His hands are trembling leave
as he puts the cigarette to his lips and lights it. He draws as much nicotine into
his lungs as possible, and holds the addicting drug in, only letting it out a
second later. Tension seeps out of his body, just a portion of it but enough.
It’s too quiet out here, in the backroom he’s renting, Ntuthuko spoke to his
connections and helped him find this place. The people living inside the four-
bedroom house are not so bad, they even give him food sometimes, its just
that Sthelo doesn’t really appreciate handouts… but Lucia is always ready to
chomp and chomp.
Still, he cannot find fault in these people. In the three weeks that they’ve been
here, they’ve treated Sthelosamangwane with nothing but kindness.
It’s still so quiet though, and Sthelo doesn’t know how to handle not hearing
familiar whispers laughing about something. He’s not sure how to handle the
sight of not seeing a certain chipmunk sitting on a chair, feet occupying the
thighs of a gym freak as he skims over numerous newspapers—and playing
dozens of Sudoku games.
His heart is achingly empty, has been for quite a while now—maybe since he
was just a child, but now… now it’s worse. Now his heart is always empty.
Now his airway is always being squeezed tight. Now he always can’t breathe.
That lifelessness he saw in Nhlanhla’s eyes, he feels it in the depths of his soul
every time he wakes up or comes outside like this, to chase his bad dreams
away.
He left his phone back inside the room, but its just the same because he
wouldn’t call had he had it with him. They’ve both blocked him—Nhlanhla and
Sabelo. It hurts worse than when MaGoba broke his heart. Should friendship

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breakups hurt this bad? It’s not like Sthelo was fucking those idiots. He didn’t
bed them like they were doing each other, he’s never kissed them or saw them
as anything else other than brothers, family.
It hurts to lose family.
His mother mourned for years when she lost her family. Her husband.
Four cigarette smokes later and he decides to head back inside. Lucia has left
his mattress on the floor thankfully. Now he’ll be able to sleep. Sure it’ll only
be for a few hours, and he will feel like a dead body when he heads into work
but at least he has a job, at least he’s making money. At least he’s closer to
home.
As he attempts to get comfortable on the mattress, and closes his eyes, falling
into slumber once more, annoyed brown eyes are the ones looking back at
him. “Smile for me. Please smile for me,” the voice is a persistent giggle.

It’s raining heavily today.

Sthelosamangwane is in a bad mood. It started just after their usual morning
meeting with Ahmed about the day’s events. Only three weeks, that’s how long
he had this job before he found out the business is being shut down in the next
month because they’re not doing that well.
“Its too short notice!” people were grumbling. “Where are we supposed to go?
How are we supposed to feed our families?” some asked. Sthelo didn’t bother.
He’s known Ahmed for a few weeks but everything about him screams
carelessness. Stock has always been running out, and now it will run out for
good.
Sthelosamangwane is in a bad mood.
He’s in a bad mood and he’s covering Javier’s duties today. That’s double the
work but he threatened to deal with Ahmed should he not get his full pay plus
Javier’s salary for today. The slimy Indian understood, and this is why Sthelo
is arranging the Lucky Star tin fish on one of the shelves. It’s not that busy
right now, perhaps people don’t like rain, as a few customers pay at the tills
upfront and then leave just as quickly.

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The doors open again, signalling the arrival of new customers.
Giggles accompany these customers—loud and carefree. Seemingly begging
anyone with ears to hear how happy they sound. They only add to Sthelo’s
sour mood because what a great day for someone to be happy when he’s going
to lose his job. He has a loud 20 year old at home that his mother still doesn’t
know about and he’s going to be a father.
How dare these giggles sound so cheerful and light.
“That’s the one!” someone says, he thinks its Mam’ Busi. “She’s buying the
store to open a bloody flower shop, can you imagine?”
“They’re called florists, Busi, that means it’s a florist shop.” – Mam’ Thembi.
“I don’t give a damn, man!”
They continue to bicker.
Sthelosamangwane’s ears tune them out, as he focuses on the giggles and
follows the direction from which they’re coming. He’s distracted by a young
boy skidding past him with his mother rushing after him before he’s
refocusing on the giggles again. And isn’t funny how a second can change
everything?
A second later and Tiny Fairy With Fiery, Annoyed Eyes connects with his
eyes and doesn’t attempt to break the stare as she continues giggling. A lot can
happen in a second because for a moment Sthelo was listening to a mother
yell to her son to slow down, and the next he’s seeing the most beautiful
creature he has ever laid sight on… again.
Small world. This must be the woman buying this store.
In her company, is a man much smaller than her—his skin dark like Sthelo’s,
big Bambi eyes and a face that looks like it hasn’t left its teenage years.
“Fuzelihle Ngcobo. These Ngcobos think they own Eshowe!”
In his starstruck state, Sthelo barely registers Mam’ Busi’s venomous words.
He is simply too busy taking in the endless golden honey skin tone—so
effortlessly beautiful, as if the woman bathes in expensive milk. He is taking in
the see-through, soaked white clinging to the woman’s body, and how her

109
small breasts are so visible—darkened nubs perky. The woman doesn’t care
clearly, skipping along the place like she owns it.
She does, of course she does.
“Hello, Mah.” She stops to talk to Mam’ Busi who is busy with the bread. “Is
Ahmed around this place?”
“He’s at the… wait one moment. Mhlengi!”
Sthelo doesn’t reply as he momentarily dumps his job, and wipes his hands on
his navy overalls, before heading to where the elderly woman is standing with
her new company. “Sanibonani,” he greets briefly, giving Mam’ Busi his
undivided attention, “how may I help you today, Mah?”
“This girl is looking for Ahmed.”
A nod is what he gives her in return. “Ah, let me find him.”
“Hey!” the woman, her name is Fuzelihle they said, interrupts him. “I didn’t
know you worked here.”
It’s only been three weeks. He had to resign at his previous job because
they’re based in Durban, even though they do travel a lot, and Sthelo wouldn’t
have enough money for the back and forth between Durban and Eshowe. “Just
started.”
“Oh…” she puts on an awkward mask—Fuzelihle. “I’m really glad I saw you.
Imagine the number of times I randomly thought about you over these past
few weeks. Maybe I can finally get a proper smile from you before I leave.”
“Fuze!” The man in her company giggles. He seems… like Nhlanhla’s type. But
more obvious—with his dress sense and the glowing pink lips that hint at him
wearing some sort of gloss. He’s married, Sthelo notes. “What’s wrong with
you?”
“Nothing!” Fuzelihle returns his giggles. “I just, I thought about him and I don’t
know why. It kept happening and happening and now he’s here. It feels right
to tell him.”
“I’ll find Ahmed,” Sthelo says.
“Okay.”

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“Okay.”
He doesn’t move, simply stares—and he doesn’t know why. This… Fuze seems
amused by him, albeit a little confused, maybe even…shy. Her face is open and
happy and childish, opposites of how he’s feeling today.
Maybe he’s standing there because maybe the lightness around her will
eventually find its way to him too, and he won’t walk home feeling like there
are bricks pressing down on his chest.
Maybe Fuze’s just too beautiful to look at—and he likes the way she looks at
him as if they’ve met before. Maybe for a thousand lifetimes now.
“Fuzelihle Ngcobo,” she extends her hand.
It’s not entirely random, but Sthelo is taken aback by the introduction—and
maybe too starstruck to extend his own hand in greeting. There’s no
electricity like the books like to say—only calm. He was right about her light
enveloping him.
“Mhlengi.”
Something lingers in the air between them as he lets her hand free. She’s still
smiling—light and childish and carefree. Its raining outside. Her smile is the
sunshine. He is attracted to her, he can admit this to himself. As he turns away,
the giggles and whispers begin.
His confidence takes a knock, it never shows with the way his broad shoulders
are always squared—hinting at powerful masculinity.

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Flicker : Eleven
Fuzelihle

“Hey! Hey, hey!” Chris repeatedly smacks my arm. It doesn’t hurt for a few
seconds actually—but I feel breathless, annoyed, and happier than when I
stepped into this place. “What was that? What the hell was that?”
“What?” I still cannot breathe, it’s worse than all those pointless jogs I have
every morning—no matter where in the country I am.
Chris gives me his ‘Chile, you better not!’ expression. He’s not really
intimidating with the way he tries to more assertive, I’ve known him for over
a decade now. “That… that moment. You’re into dating black men now? Never
thought we’d see the day you’d try them again!”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” my heart clenches, I am not ready. “Date? No. But do I
find them attractive? Yes. Would I sleep with them if they could guarantee
they wouldn’t grate my heart? Totally! Only black men don’t just stop at
grating your heart, they want to leave marks on your body as well, to make
sure you remember them—and the hurt they’ve caused you. I have their
marks all over my body.”
“I’m sorry.” Sincere, the look on Christophe’s face. He’s biting his lower lip, and
absentmindedly playing with his wedding band. “I—”
“Have done or said nothing bad. We’re just, love isn’t going to be the same for
everyone, right? I have to kiss a few wrinkly pink penises before I find the
perfect curved and veiny one. Then I’ll be happy because it’ll be the kind I
dreamt about all my life.”
“You and calling men penises!”
I laugh with Chris, shrugging my shoulders, men are penises. Some are not
even worth the effort, and some are good and deserve a pat on the back once
every while. “Its what they are.”
Chris giggles, clinging to my arm. He looks so tiny, you wouldn’t say he’s a dad
to five whole children. Its worse with Lisakhanya because she’s taller than
him, looks like his younger sister than someone he would actually father. It

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makes sense because she’s technically Nqobizitha’s daughter but Chris accepts
her as his too. Only she calls him bhuti a lot. Everyone in our family is either
bhuti or Baba, it doesn’t matter whether or not that is what they are.
“Oh look, your man’s coming back. I have to admit he’s cute.”
He’s not cute, he’s a rugged handsome that mixes with adorableness…
somehow. I don’t know, the way he always seems so out of place tugs at my
heartstrings. No, I don’t revel in how uncomfortable he seems sometimes—
but he doesn’t talk a lot, and I always like men who never say much. I like how
his body isn’t overly masculine, he’s not the John Cena type, he’s very tall and
has the perfect amount of muscle on his lean body. He has broad shoulders
and he’s the Burj Khalifa of Burj Khalifas.
His face is gorgeous, the traditional incisions on his face add to it. He looks like
a proper Zulu man—not really out there. But I just know he’s violent. I just
know. “You’re back!” I try not to sound too… desperate. That’s not me at all
actually and I’ll need to snap out of it soon.
“Yes.” Okay, Mr. One Worded Answers. His eyes are amused again, talk about
weather changes, but he won’t smile. I’m glad he’s not right now because he’s
drowning me in breathlessness, with how close he is, and the sweet scent of
masculinity with no other form of fragrances. Its not a bad smell. He smells
like the sun and hard work.
“And?”
“He said to wait for a while. He’s busy with something.”
For once, I am not disappointed. “Good!” I chirp, bouncing on the heels of my
feet. The eye-smile turns the Asian eyes into mere crescents. “Let me buy you
coffee while I wait for him. It’s raining today!”
The eye-smile disappears instantly. “No.”
“Why?” I have to know. It’s the perfect day for coffee, and then we can sit
outside together and get wet… not in that way. But we can enjoy the rain
together, and maybe I can convince him to show me his teeth—even a tooth
will do. He’s too handsome.
“Because I said no.”

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“But—”
“Fuzelihle.” This is the first time he’s saying my name—quietly, impatient. As
if he’s said it a thousand lifetimes before, just as impatiently. It mesmerizes
me, something strange twisting my insides. “Just no. I don’t need a valid
reason.”
“Respect his no’s, babes.” Chris puts a hand on my wrist and tugs gently. You
don’t like forceful people, do you?”
I want to pout and protest. Hell no, I wasn’t being forceful. He said no and I
simply asked why. Of course he didn’t want to give me a valid reason but his
no is enough, I guess. “Fine!” I roll my eyes, letting my bottom lip jut out in a
pout. “See you around then.”
The man, Mhlengi, he rolls his eyes mentally, I can see it. “Yes, see you
around.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
He doesn’t move, it’s funny, how his Adam’s apple bobs audibly as I get closer
into his space—and beam up at him. Ah, I affect him. It’s nothing out of the
ordinary, many men have behaved like him before, but this one is very subtle
about it… he’s so damn composed all the time, reserved, wearing an
impenetrable armour. I like it.
I’m not sure who’s teasing who here, because I’m too close now, and this kind
of proximity should make me afraid but it’s not. Maybe it has to do with the
fact that we’re in a public setting. Maybe it just has to do with how his eyes are
familiar—deep, calm, collected, lonely and all the in-betweens.
“Coffee?” I ask again, maybe he’ll say yes this time. I know for a fact that he
finds me just as beguiling, I can hear it in his uneven breaths. “Its not a date. I
promise you’re safe, I don’t date black men.”
He sneers, but I don’t think he finds my words offensive. “Of course you don’t.”
What’s that supposed to mean?
“I have a lot to do, excuse me.” His hands are on my shoulders, burning
through the cold dampness that was touching my skin not too long ago. Ow!

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My heart is beating too fast. It’s as if all the water that resides in my body has
been drained. The dryness is felt even in my chest.
The bastard responsible for this… gone!
I watch the broad shoulders contract. The confident movements, and
authoritative nature of his walks. Damn! “I want him,” I whisper, my head
tilted to the side, “I’ll make an exception just this once. I really want him.”
Giggles disrupt my gawking, I wipe away the drool and turn my gaze to my big
brother’s cute husband. What’s so funny? I don’t know but I laugh with him.
“You like him!” he accuses me, pinching my side. “Oh My God! This is big! Not
you crushing on a black guy.”
I don’t know where they get the idea that I am only attracted to white men. Of
course I’m attracted to black men. Has this man seen Mhlengi? But I still don’t
prefer to date them, I’d rather protect my life span for as long as possible,
even though it’s not long but still.
“And what of it?” I don’t bother to deny this.
“And what of it?” Chris giggles sassily, he whips out his phone. “I’m sharing
this on our group chat, that’s what I’ll do!”
The family group chat.
It has most of our family members but not the older ones. MaSibusisiwe
wasn’t included for a reason. “Don’t do—”
“Sent!” A smug expression paints the midget’s face. “Three hundred bucks
says Thatego will be the first one to reply.”
“Temasiko actually, she’s always on her phone. Second is Nontethelelo.”
The first ping.
Chris and I look at each other.
Great! Tnx a lot, Fuze. Now I owe my husband R1000! 😒 – Thatego
“Yasss!” Christophe claps his hands like a child. “Pay up, you owe me R300.”
Deal with it. I owe Chris R300. And you lot are making bets on the men I date? 😩
Thatego doesn’t respond. Typical!

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“I told you he’d be the first to reply. He and Sbanisezwe live off of this family’s
dramatics, it should be obvious by now.”
I roll my eyes, though I cannot refute him. It’s just the same, Ahmed is finally
here… it took him long enough. He’s smiling profusely, looking a mess, with
those flip-flops of his. Flip-flops are Indian and Nigerian couture, those are the
only shoes they wear. “Baby!” he gives me and Chris a big smile. “I’m sorry I
took so long but I had to take care of things at the back.”
“But you set the meeting to this time—10:30am. I didn’t.” I am not impressed,
now that he’s here, I have to let him know. “I should’ve left this place and gone
about my day the minute the clock hit 10:31am.”
“Of course. I am sorry.”
“Save your apologies, let’s get down to business.”
Ahmed’s store is closing in a month to make way for my flower shop. Before
my store opens, Thatego will be working with his team of contractors to
renovate this place. I’m paying him for his services, of course, and cannot wait
to see what he’ll be doing with this place. Ahmed knows all of this, its what to
do with his current employees that’s an issue.
Unfortunately, I don’t run a Donations facility, and cannot freely give money to
every underprivileged person every month. Some of these people will be
losing their jobs, most of them will be placed in different fields within the new
store. Two cleaners. Two people handling the tills. I’m planning on having
training done for those who’ll be directly handling the flowers. I’ve hired two
cleaners.
“What about… him?”
My eyes have remained on him, Mhlengi, since the meeting began—that I
insisted we hold here and not at the back like we usually do. So they had to
move Ahmed’s small table and chairs here, Chris has left to buy groceries at
Pick n Pay. He always comes to Mbongolwane at least once a month, to check
in on things here at home, and then go back to Johannesburg.
“Who? Oh, the new guy!”
“Mhlengi,” I correct, fake beam plastered on my lips.

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“He’s just here for a month. We didn’t make any arrangements for him, I am
sure he’ll find something else. Hard worker, he is. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried,” I say, my gaze straying to the man in his blue overalls,
packing Pilchard’s tins on the very top shelf. Lord, he’s so tall, I’m a sucker for
tall men, “he’ll be working for me.”
“He is? Doing what exactly?”
“His job, Ahmed.” The annoyance is thick on my tongue, I don’t bother to hide
it. “Is there anything else we should discuss?”
“Well…”
My ears tune out the sound, I don’t listen to garbage, as my attention is stolen
so effortlessly once more. It’s not my fault, I swear, there’s just a… pull—
magnetic. This explains why this man, in all his glorious beauty, looks back at
me. We hold the eyes contact, and the air turns electric. Scorching actually.
Oh yes.
It’s there. The attraction, the tension. Its palpable.
My hand curls around my chest, as I tilt my head to the side and consider Hot
Stuff with my best beam. He should feel flattered that they’re my real ones,
only ever reserved for the ones I hold dear to my heart, but I like him and I
want to smile for him.
“Stop looking at me,” I mouth happily. There’s a giddiness in my belly that
won’t leave. In return, I am given a confused furrow of the brows. This man is
so gorgeous, so ruggedly beautiful, masculine. I stare until it gets to the point
that it hurts to look at him.
He’s handsome as hell, and he glitters. He’s made of the stars and the Milky
way. He’s too ethereal for my eyes, and it really hurts to stare so openly. But
even harder is to look away. Clearly, I’ll be going blind. I don’t mind at all.
“Will you stay here a little while longer?” Chris pleads as soon as he finds me
sitting alone at the table. I wasn’t planning on going anywhere actually.
“Nqobizitha called me, I have to get something at the hardware store. I’m not
sure what this thing is but there’s a picture and I should be able to get it.”
“Chris—”

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“Yeah, I know you have plans but this is my husband we’re talking about. He
always brings what I ask him to, and I really love to return the favour. Just a
few minutes please.”
I roll my eyes.
They’re so in love its pathetic.
“Take all the time in the world,” I beg him.
Surprise masks his features, then he’s just smiling and nodding gratefully.
“Great! Let me drive back then, I’ll fetch you soon.”
“Soon better mean tomorrow,” I tease.
Chris just shakes his head. “You’re so hopeless.”
Yeah, yeah.
Nope. Not at all.
I just know what I want and go after it.

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Flicker : Twelve
Sthelosamangwane

It’s been a long day. Interesting, but still so long. That woman, Fuzelihle, she
was at the store he works in. Maybe he pretended to not be interested in her
but the truth is her beauty is the type that is hard to ignore, and not just that
but who she is as a person. The only sun in a room full of thunderous clouds.
Everything about screams light and carefree, while also screaming sensuality
and softness.
He saw it in her movements, that looked sensually light, and he heard it in her
laughter and it was there in her beams. For most of her duration there, he
tried hard to keep his eyes off her but it was nearly impossible—and he was
drawn, the same moths are drawn to a flame. He was drawn and bewitched,
rendered helpless to her presence—how strong it was.
“What is this?”
Sthelo looks at Lucia, and raises his brow, it’s obvious from the brown paper
bag with that white man’s face that this is KFC. “Food,” he tells her, “I am tired
of eating seasoned water and rice.”
“Haibo, what do you mean? I don’t make seasoned water. If you bought
enough braai pack then it would last us the whole month.”
It’s only the two of them, he makes sure to buy two 5kgs to last them a month.
Not only that, he also buys other meat. But it doesn’t even last them three
weeks, most of the time he’s at work so the blame of overeating cannot be
placed on him. It’s getting to the point that he fears he’ll have to sit down with
Lucia so they can discuss this, and it annoys him how much this girl has him
compromising who he is as a person, and doing things he wouldn’t normally
do—negative things that shouldn’t even be a factor.
“Just eat, Lucia.”
“The smell is making me sick. I am not craving this.”
“Then go to bed.”

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Pin-drop silence.
“Ini? Haibo, angidlanga mina.”
“Then eat, and then go to the bed, and cover your body. Then close your eyes
and sure they remain shut, make sure it’s the same for your mouth as well.”
Mocking laughter penetrates the walls of their small room. “Hhe, hhayi
ngiyavivinywa ngempela. Do I annoy that much? That you’re doing this to me
as the mother of your unborn child. You’re willing to mistreat me this much.”
Sthelo scrubs his face tiredly. Now that he’s here, all light he felt at work is
slowly vanishing. Bricks visit him, stacking themselves on his throat, until it
feels like he cannot breathe. Phew!
“Lalela, Munt’ weNkosi, I’m going to lose my job soon. If I were you, I was
going to enjoy being spoiled while the opportunity was still available. Also, if it
won’t be too much, I would suggest you cut down on your eating habits. Soon,
we’ll really be eating seasoned water for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”
“Losing your job?” Lucia fimbles, she pauses her task of retrieving a plastic
plate from their feeble kitchen drawer, and sends a glare in his direction. “Did
you steal meat or something?”
“Eyy, sisi, noma usungawuvala umlomo.”
“Why? I just want to know.”
“Kanti angilambi ngaleyondlela mina.” Even those sheep they stole that one
time at the Ngcobos wasn’t eaten by him and his family. He and Misungwane
sold it and they made enough money to last them a while at home.
“Pho? Why are you losing your job?”
“The new owner would rather sell flowers.”
“How selfish!” Lucia spits, she takes the big pieces and puts them on her plate.
The bread he bought is sliced in half, and she sits down. “You forgot to buy
Kingsley at least—but I think there’s Fusion juice somewhere here. I’ll make it
after.”
“I am leaving you here again for the weekend. My family hasn’t seen me in two
weeks, that’s very unlike me.”

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“Okay.” She doesn’t swallow her food, and speaks with her chipmunk cheeks.
“But… when am I meeting your family? I am the mother of your unborn child,
the most important person in your life right now I would say, so I don’t
understand why I always have to be hidden like a dirty secret. This is not high
school, Mhlengi.”
“Kahle sisi, I don’t remember asking you to be my girlfriend. This is just a
temporary arrangement until I find something better. I’m not looking for a
wife, Lucia, I am sorry to disappoint you. To be honest I wasn’t even ready for
a child but it’s supposed to be a blessing from God so we’re here.”
Barely surviving. Lucia is nearly four months pregnant. Sthelo has to find
something better quickly, something that will be enough for him to
comfortably support all the people in his life. He’s already begun the
depressing task of looking for a new job, maybe even jobs this time. Even if it
means sleeping only one hour, it’s fine.
Something hot and oily smacking his cheek hits him by surprise. This crazy
girl! She’s looking down at him with an angry storm in her eyes, deadly.
“Now that you’ve slept with me, this is how you plan to discard me? I’m no
longer worth anything right? Not even a simple meeting with your mother.
You are such an asshole! And you take advantage of girls like me because you
know—”
“No. No, I didn’t know anything!” he hisses, standing, and tugging her arm to
try to get her to keep her voice down. Shame burns his dark skin. “I’m sorry,
okay? Every morning I wake up and see you here, you don’t know how much
regret fills me.”
“What?” a slightly chubby face pulls together in a frown. “You are such an
asshole! You’re so damn cruel.”
“I—” Sthelo feels winded, he scrubs his face, the bricks are too heavy on his
chest now. “I am sorry. I don’t want to fight, Lucia, you know I don’t enjoy
quarrels. You’ll meet my mother, let me talk to her and explain the situation
first. But I am so sorry.”
She doesn’t reply, Lucia, but she’s in his personal space. Her chest is heaving,
and he can feel her breasts touching his chest. “Show me how sorry you are.”

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How?
She grabs his hand, puts it on her breast. “I am horny. I’m always so damn
horny. Masturbation isn’t enough, it’s not. I just need to feel something filling
me. I’m horny and I want you.”
No. He’s not comfortable.
“I’m sorry, I can’t.”
She pushes him away, tears dancing in her eyes. “Am I that disgusting to you?
That you’d find it hard to touch my body? Oh I know, I’m only good for toilet
fucks right.”
“Of course not.”
“Then—”
“No!” He snaps, and charges toward the door. His cigarettes are in his back
pocket, he puts one to his lips and lights it. Hues of indigo and salmon
surround him, signalling the end of the day. Loneliness embraces him like
usual, and his heart is so empty.
>><<▪︎>><<
“Bhuti, Sphiwe said I want to fuck Ntando and that’s not true. She walks like
this, bhuti…” Nsikayamangwane makes one of his legs shorter than the other
and starts to wobble dramatically. “Imagine! No boy in their right mind wants
to sleep with a girl like that. What if I wake up and I’m walking like that too?”
“But everyone saw you talking to her!” Sphiwesamangwane chuckles, sticking
his tongue out. “When everyone teases you don’t do it, why?”
“I did today!” Nsika defends himself, he has a short temper. “Stop starting
rubbish rumours. Everyone will think I like her when I don’t. Didn’t I show
you how she walks?”
“Nsika and Ntando sitting on the tree. K-I-S-S—”
“You shouldn’t even be thinking about sex, masende enu!” Sthelo points out,
pinching both twins by their ears. Sphiwe starts to croak like a raven,
bouncing around as Sthelo makes sure to pinch his ear good. “Above that, it’s

122
not right to make fun of people for something they cannot help. Did Ntando
ask to be born crippled?”
“No.” Nsika says, his voice tinged with anger. “I tell them that and they think I
have a crush on her and make me feel bad. If I had a crush on her, which I
don’t, then what’s wrong with that? Everyone deserves love, bhuti.”
“That’s true.”
“Give me permission to punch their faces in next time then.” Nsika looks at his
older brother. “Especially this one. Now that he has a girlfriend he thinks he’s
better than everyone. He thinks she’s special just because her legs are
straight.”
“Punch their faces in.” Sthelo smiles.
“What?” – Sphiwe.
“Starting now.” Nsika starts to run after his twin brother.
“A second, Ngwane!” The eldest shouts after Nsika, and grips his arm before
he can really show off his Usain Bolt abilities. “Let’s talk. Sit down here.”
“But you’re smoking, bhuti.”
“I’ll stop.”
They sit on the bench, and Sthelo kills his cigarette. He stares into the
distance, and from here, he thinks he can see Ntando Khuzwayo’s homestead.
She’s an active young girl, only 12 years old, and very intelligent also.
“What is it, bhuti?”
Nsika looks just like him, a younger version; everyone in this family is his
younger version—the infinitely dark skin and eye shape—just as he had been
their father’s younger version. “Don’t lean out like that, you’re burning your
skin with the sun. You’re already too dark.”
“I’m sexy.” Nsika smiles.
“I don’t know about that,” Sthelo can’t help snorting out his laughter, “you’re a
good-looking man though, I’ll give you that.”
“I’m sexy.”

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Laughter continues to roll out of the older’s tongue. He mildly recovers with
another snort of amusement, and rubs his lower lip in a back and forth
manner as he regards his brother. “Awusho, do you have anyone you like at
school?”
“Me?” Nsika runs his hand to the back of his head, and peers down nervously.
Ah… bingo! “No, I don’t like anyone.”
“You know I could give you R20 to buy something nice for Ntando.”
“I’m not an idiot, bhuti, I see what you’re trying to do.”
Of course he is. One of Sthelo’s brows raise in amusement, he rubs his hands
together, and tries to keep the amusement out of his voice as he queries, “And
what am I trying to do?”
“You want me to admit I like Ntando.”
“You do.”
“Huh?”
“You made the confession all on your own—I like Ntando, that’s what you
said.”
Nsika’s face pulls into an unimpressed frown, he is bashful as he looks at his
feet and then his brother again. “Okay, so what if I do? Just because one of her
legs is shorter than the other and she walks strange doesn’t mean that she
doesn’t deserve to have a boyfriend.”
“Ngivumelana nawe, Ngwane.”
“Ngempela, bhuti?” Nsika’s eyes are saucers, hopeful.
“If you really like this girl then follow your heart. Don’t let other people keep
you from having something possibly beautiful with her simply because they
find humour in someone dating another human who doesn’t match what their
ideology of perfection is.”
“She is my girlfriend!” comes the excited confession. “For almost a month now!
I really like her, she likes me too.”
“Just don’t have sex. You’re both too young, wait until you’ve done high school
at least. Maybe when you’re eighteen.”

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“But Misungwane was my age when he had sex.”
“This is why he’s so unwell here…” Nsika’s temple is knocked on. “Don’t be like
him.”
“Fine. I think sex is pretty disgusting anyway.”
“Hey wena!” Sthelo’s eyes widen. “How do you know that?”
“See you around, bhuti!”
The mischievous midget is gone!

Dinner chases away most of his loneliness. Family, he is surrounded by his

favourite people in the world. Misungwane boasts about coming out first place
in the entire school where his academics are concerned—as if there’s ever any
doubt that he has a big brain. This is the same person whose role model is that
gay doctor—Shandu-Ngubane.
“You wanted to talk.” His mother joins him outside later that night. “Can you
stop with these cancer sticks? I swear you’re killing yourself on purpose.”
“I’m not dying until I build all of you a home.”
“That’s good.” MaZuma frowns, she’s still glaring at the cigarette in between
long fingers.
Sthelo disposes of it on the ground and crushes it. “You’re pregnant, I am
sorry.”
“What did you want to talk about?”
He sighs, facing skyward to the infinite black of constellations and stars. What
you had been hoping for, its happening. There’s a girl… I got her pregnant.
She’s expecting my child.”
“Whaaat!” MaZuma smacks his arm repeatedly. “Haibo! Hey wena. You didn’t
introduce any girl to me. How did this happen? I thought I’d meet someone
first and that you’d marry her before rushing to have a child.”
“Things happen.”

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A sigh that is lost in the sound of crickets chirping loudly. MaZuma brushes his
arm, perhaps to soothe the sting of pain she subjected him to just seconds ago.
“It’s just the same. You cannot change what has happened. I’m just happy I am
going to be a grandmother.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“For me? Not for yourself? You’re going to be a father, Sthelo, about damn time
if you ask me. You’re turning 29 years old and your age mates are preparing
for their second babies. I swear for a while, I was beginning to suspect you’re
gay.”
That word—gay—makes his heart twinge.
“I know better than to defile my spirit.”
MaZuma chuckles. “In all honesty, I don’t think… I don’t think I would’ve held
it against you—as long as you gave me a grandchild. But at the same time, I
cannot say its not a relief that you’re into women. These village idiots know
nothing but to gossip.”
“Hhayi khululeka, I plan to stick on honouring my father’s legacy. Makwande
kwaKhanyile.”
A gentle pat touches his shoulder. “I don’t tell you, but I hope you know I love
you. I am so proud of you.”
Sthelo swallows a dry lump, and smiles. “Asibonge, Munt’ Omdala.”

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Flicker : Thirteen
Sthelosamangwane

“I have great news!”

He has barely closed the door when Lucia bombards him, skipping excitedly,
light found in her eyes. They’ve smoothly moved past her horniness when she
finally accepted that he wouldn’t be sleeping with her ever again. Even as she
ages, she’ll have to find someone else because Sthelo really wasn’t looking for
a wife or girlfriend.
“Really?” he humours her with a smile, placing his lunch bag on the table. He
flexes his sore muscles, and lets out an exhausted sigh. “What is it?”
“Two more weeks until your store is closing, right?”
Yes. Ahmed told him not to worry because he would still be having a job.
Fuzelihle wants to keep him around apparently, what for, Ahmed doesn’t
know either. Sthelo needs the money, but something about the idea of keeping
his job simply because some woman with expensive money seems drawn to
him rubs him the wrong way. He couldn’t hide how unimpressed he was when
Ahmed told him this… but he has a child on the way. A family to support. He’s
going to stick around.
“Yeah. Why are you asking?”
“Well…” Lucia claps her hands together, seemingly proud of whatever she’s
about to tell him. “You know that I don’t just stay in this small hole all day,
right? I actually go out, network for us, and make friends.”
“Okay…”
“I may’ve found you a job!” she shouts in his face. “Isn’t that exciting?”
“Heh?”
“I know you can drive but do you have a licence?”
“I do.”

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“Good!” a pleased beam shows on her face. “I met Nqobani’s girlfriend who’s
cousin works for Jobe and Jobe’s boyfriend drives taxis. Long distance to
Johannesburg. His boss is some taxi owner from Ntumeni. They’re always
hiring!”
“You want me to drive long distance taxis to Johannesburg?”
“Well duh… what else can you do?”
Work for Fuzelihle.
He’s not comfortable.
“How much is the pay?”
“Above R3500. The man’s really fair to his employees, and get this—it’s a
basic salary. That means you get it every month right?”
Yes. The same amount every month. “I think so.”
“Okay then when are you going to Ntumeni?”
“Let me think about it first.”
“Gah!” Lucia wiggles her shoulders, stomping her foot on the floor like a
petulant child. “What’s there to think about?”
“Many things. I’ve never done something like this before, and it would mean
leaving you here all on your own. You’re pregnant, I need to be there for—”
“No, you don’t! You won’t even have sex with me, I’m just a little girl in your
eyes. Take this job and give me some breathing space. Maybe you’ll decide
better when we’re apart. You know what they say about absence and hearts.”
“I… do you have an address? Contact details?”
“I’ll give you Jobe’s number. Talk to her first and then she’ll give you her
boyfriend’s number. She promised me a job at the salon as soon as I give
birth.”
“Okay give me the number.”
“Yesss!” too comical, the excitement on Lucia’s face. Sthelo has never seen her
like this before—but happiness looks good on her. She’s not so bad when she’s
not getting on his nerves about every damn thing. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

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That night, they lie in bed together. He has his back turned to her, keeping as
much space between the two of them as possible. This means that he’s very
close to the edge, he’s bound to fall over sometime into his slumber. The only
advantage he has is that people like him rarely ever sleep enough to relax that
his body will be tempted to fall over.
He dreams about his father. He dreams about Sabelo. And he dreams about
Nhlanhla.
>><<▪︎>><<
He’s nervous. It’s not showing on his face but he is. This house in Ntumeni may
as well be like the most famous mansions in Mphundumane and
Mbongolwane. The main house is huge—and centres itself right in the middle,
with just as beautiful smaller rondavels surrounding it. Many cars line up on
opposite ends of the premises—from Quantums to luxurious BMWs. A place
like this is every hijacker’s wet dream.
Maskandi music seems to be coming from every direction—deafening,
unapologetic. Sthelosamangwane has tried to research all he can about
Zizwezikhotheme Zungu but all he knows is that the man wears a friendly
mask to hide his ruthlessness. He’s taken out many rivals apparently, and
practically owns Eshowe rank.
He has five children—four boys and one girl. Sthelo has heard rumours about
one of his sons, and how he’s a woman now… but people keep it hush-hush
because the topic is very sensitive to Zizwezikhotheme. Shame was brought
into his family, and he hasn’t recovered. His ego has been bruised, and he’s
become a mockery among some of his fellow associates from the taxi
association.
“Awu, sanibonani madoda!” A man in police uniform greets.
The other men with Sthelo they humbly return the greeting, whispering
amongst themselves as soon as the man is out of sight. Sthelo catches a few
words here and there. The man is Zizwezikhotheme’s eldest child.
Melumndeni Zungu. He’s marrying soon, a woman that he went to high school
with.
“Are you scared?” a random man nudges Sthelo’s arm to grab his attention.

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“No.” He lies, rubbing his hands on the fabric of his Adidas trackpants. “Not at
all. I’m just not a talker.”
“Ah… it will spare you a lot of trouble. Good luck!”
“Thanks man, you too.”
It turns out that Sthelo does need luck, because apparently Zizwezikhotheme
is in a bad mood today. He’s taking it out on everyone that comes in direct
contact with him. Sthelo is not sure why the man is angry but rumours fly
about Mcebisi Zungu—the boy whose turned himself into a woman.
“How do you expect to drive my taxis when you’ve never even been to
Johannesburg before?”
Sthelo shakes his head. “I’ve been to Johannesburg before, Baba. As a waiter
for an event. I’m just not sure how to get there, but I’m a quick learner and—”
“I’m not looking for a learner, I need drivers!” Zizwezikhotheme’s voice
booms. He’s pacing up and down, it doesn’t even seem like he’s fully present
here with Sthelo.
“I know how to drive. I’m here, the person you need.”
The man stops pacing, and scrutinizes him from head to toe. It’s hard when a
man old enough to be his father is looking at him as if he’s unworthy, just a
little boy. But Sthelo has been a man since his teenage days, when his father
would leave for Durban and task him with taking care of his wife and children.
He’s not a little boy. His shoulders are squared, he doesn’t back down, as he
meets the Eshowe Taxi Association’s chairman eyes fearlessly—determined.
“Call Melumndeni outside!” Zizwezikhotheme barks out.
Sthelo does as told.
“Get out!”
He walks out again, the sun grilling him, as he goes to stand near one of the
cars—and lights a cigarette to ease his nerves.
“Mfowethu!” he’s on his second smoke when he hears someone behind him.
It’s that man, the policeman—Melumndeni. “Woza, is’khathi asikho.”

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“You’re going to be travelling to and from Johannesburg with Hlelo for the
whole of next week. You’re doing the job on your own the following week, and
if you prove incompetent then you’re fired, I won’t even pay you.”
“Understood, Baba.” He gets up, squashing the Adidas baseball cap in his
hands. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
“Where do you think you’re going?!”
Freeze.
Sthelo whirls around, confounded by the question. “Home. I thought we
were—”
“You thought nothing!” the elderly man snaps. “Do you think you’ll be driving
my taxis without prior training? Ungijwayela amasende kayihlo! Ayigubhe!
Melumndeni will show you who to go to.”
A quiet exhale.
“Njengoba usho, Baba wami.”

The day has been fruitful, Sthelo has found the perfect trainer in Hlelo. He still
has to come on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday for more training. On
Monday, he needs to be here by 04:00am, ready to get the entire learning
experience from Hlelo.
“I saw him driving in, Ndoda. He looks like a real woman, the curves and big
ass, that short dress he was wearing. I swear these people are confusing us
lately, you’ll only find out shit like this in the bedroom,” one of the men who is
standing in a circle with the others says.
A few chuckles are shared between them.
“And you wonder why his father is stressed when his son looks like that? Who
knows maybe he’s tempted to smash it too sometimes.”
“Sies, Mthunzi!” the previous man, with the K-way hat, sneers. “Uyanya wena!
How can you think that of the big boss?”

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“Oh please. Tell me you don’t look at that boy and become tempted to defile
him at least once. Tell me you haven’t imagined yourself fondling that ass or—
”
“I’ve never, Ndoda. I’m not attracted to men mina, I won’t be fooled by the
shape of his body.”
Everyone laughs, some share the same sentiments by nodding their heads.
“Uyistabane wena!”
“Eyy fuseg, Lwazi!”
Sthelosamangwane is confused, but he suspects it has to do with
Zizwezikhotheme’s son, the one who’s defied God and decided he’d become a
woman. Honestly, he doesn’t care about this person. All he cares about is
making money.
>><<▪︎>><<
The trip from Eshowe to Johannesburg is too long, it took even longer to get
here because Hlelo asked him to take over at some point, promising to direct
him—and the hours just piled up on each other. Its 09:00pm, the final
passengers have been dropped off, and they’ve entered another rank—but
Sthelo is not familiar with Johannesburg, all he knows is that it’s in Park
Station.
Hlelo told him that they’d be traveling together with other taxi drivers, to the
hostel, and rest for a day before transporting people to Eshowe again. Its
packed in the Quantum filled like overly stuffed sardines, the usual Maskandi
reverberating in the vehicle, only rivalled by louder men talking jubilantly.
Sthelo is one of the silent ones, he can barely keep his eyes open as sleep calls
his name. Its good to be this exhausted, he can’t help but think, it means
maybe he can fall into a deep slumber that not even his nightmares will wake
him from. He cannot bring himself to sleep though, not yet, as uneasiness
knots his stomach uncomfortably.
There are too many men in this car—not one single woman.
It may be strange to find that men fear other men but it happens.
Sthelosamangwane is not a super God. Men have proved to be animalistic

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creatures even to other men like him—remorseless, heartless. Sthelo will not
relax until he knows he’s not going to land in some ditch somewhere, with
broken bones and another bullet hole to his chest.
“Eyy, you okay man?”
Sthelo gives Hlelo a stilted smile. “Tired.”
“It gets better. You get used to it.”
A nod.
Hlelo nudges his shoulder—playful. “Awusho, don’t you want to go out with
me and the gents? Mzobe here, he organized some quality stuff—fine ass
women with big bubble butts.”
“I’ll pass, mfethu.” The last time Sthelo slept with a random woman, he got her
pregnant, and now she lives with him and annoys him often with her
loudness.
“Eyy, uyabhora wena!”
Laughter leaves Sthelo, he cannot bring himself to be offended. He’s not
interested in women, he just wants to sleep.
>><<▪︎>><<
He’s been driving his taxi for nearly two weeks now. It wasn’t easy, the first
time he did this on his own—but perseverance births success, and he doesn’t
look like he doesn’t know what he’s doing now. His job is… not bad at all. It’s
better than what he was doing before, and he has a pay of R4500.
Maybe it’s not a lot because at the end of the day, every responsibility under
the sun falls on his shoulders—and broad as they are, sometimes it feels like
they will crumble under the weight of pressure. Misungwane has to go to
Durban, to represent his school, they will pay for his stay there but he has to
have his own spending money. The twins need money for a science project.
His mother is five nearly six months pregnant and he has to support her.
There’s his daily headache called Lucia.
You should’ve been home hours ago! Where are you?
Are you dead? Is that why you’re not answering?

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You’re not responding because you don’t want your mother to meet me. You’ve
changed your mind right?
MHLENGI!!!
UYISENDE MSUNU WAKHO!
All of these messages belong to his headache. Sthelo shakes his head, he’s not
going to call, the only thing he does is send a message.
Ngisendleleni.
As soon as the WhatsApp message double-ticks, he turns his phone off. Hlelo
is around here somewhere, he was talking to Melumndeni, and Sthelo cannot
leave without him because the man’s his ride back home. But the dark man
will not risk going back inside Zungu’s office again, to once more become the
elderly man’s errand boy.
Its windy outside, sand threatens to blind him, and Sthelo rubs his hands
together as if the warmth there will spread to his arms and chase the
goosebumps there away. He pulls his cap down, and pulls out a cigarette with
shaking hands, putting it to his lips. He struggles to light it for a while because
of the air, and manages four wasted match sticks later.
On his second cigarette, he momentarily decides to look at the time. An entire
hour has gone by. Fucking shit! Where the hell is Hlelo?
Another second he looks up and there, in his line of sight, a ghost in white is
jumping the high black gates of the Zungu homestead. Too stunned to
investigate, Sthelo drags another pull of his cigarette and watches everything
unfold. He wonders if he should go back inside the house and get one of
Zungu’s men to deal with this.
Nah, it will make him seem weak—cowardice.
“Stop right there!” he yells quietly, still loud enough that culprit freezes.
The ghost is wearing a short dress, its barefooted, and has long blonde hair
that it tries to pull out of its face. The ghost succeeds, and giggles.
Freeze.

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All of Sthelosamangwane’s insides freeze as he recognizes the familiar sound.
Notice me, please. He hears it in the giggles. Like the last time. “Fuze?” he’s
walking too fast toward her. There, a few inches away… it is her.
Tiny Fairy With Fiery, Annoyed Eyes.
“I didn’t think you’d remember my name!” is the first thing she says, and
stumbles the rest of the way toward him—to close the distance between them.
“I like my name very much when it’s coming from your lips.”
Sthelo can practically taste the heavy alcohol dripping from her breath,
extending to him—touching his nose. A frown draws lines on his forehead, he
grips her arm, to prevent her from tipping completely on one side. She was
going to fall otherwise. “You’re drunk.” His voice turns cold.
“And what of it?” Fuze giggles in his face, all gleaming teeth. “Are you going to
punish me, Daddy? Alright, let’s go then, to my bedroom. You’re lucky, I
usually don’t sleep with black men but you’re going to be the exception.”
“No. No, I don’t want to sleep with you!” Sthelo snaps, irritated by her
drunkenness—and how forward she is. “I don’t need to feel flattered by
anything. You don’t like black men, good for you! I’m not sure how that’s my
problem.”
“Don’t… don’t shout at me!” still she giggles, her eyes are unfocused, only
meeting Sthelosamangwane’s for a flicker of a second. “Who do you think you
are? What are you doing here? Do you know who I am? I can destroy you, just
like that.” She snaps her finger. “Tread carefully, please.”
“Oh I am shaking,” Sthelo smirks.
“I want to shake too. My very expensive vagina would like it very much if you
could make it shake. No, I mean—forget it.” A very loud burp, the strong scent
of whiskey whips Sthelo’s nose. “What are you doing here?”
“I work here.”
“Another taxi driver?” Fuzelihle’s giggles touch his lips. “Welcome! Don’t
worry, he treats his employees better than he treats his own child.”
Huh?

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She’s too close suddenly, pressing her tiny hands on opposite sides of his
arms. The touch grows braver—as Sthelo stands frozen, surprised—she folds
her arms around his neck, an embrace. “You smell like a very bad idea.”
“Remove your arms from around me.”
“So that you don’t catch me when I want you to?”
“I won’t let you fall.”
Inebriated giggles melt into his ear. “Pinky promise?”
Sthelo snorts.
“No?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, you’re holding me?”
She is unsteady against him, he puts an arm around her waist—supports her
weight against his. “Yes, I am holding you.”
“Look at that, the black man promises to hold me. I believe him. Ha!” Soft sighs
sink into Sthelosamangwane’s neck.
“You’re really drunk, Nkosazane.”
“In love with you,” the inebriated giggles are still there, “I, uh, have to uh—
sleep.”
“Okay, let me—”
What. The. Fuck!
She’s gone lax in arms, all of her body relying on him to help keep her upright.
Sthelo mentally curses. Fuck!
Of all the unlucky bastards, why him?

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Flicker : Fourteen
Fuzelihle

Ow! Ow, ow, ow!

My body hurts all over. What happened last night?
Light penetrates my eyes, even behind closed eyelids, and I can accurately
describe the pain in my head as the same one Harry would feel around
Voldemort. My brain is going to be fried, but not before my skull cracks open.
It’s not just my head though, everywhere hurts, the pain becomes more
evident as I slowly drag my body up only to sag against the headboard.
My eyes remain closed for a second, as I take shallow breaths, massaging my
temples.
Echoes of drunk giggles are at the very back of my brain, reminding me that I
was having myself a lovely evening with Christophe, after MaSibusisiwe went
to bed—and he drunk-dialled Nqobizitha to profess his undying love, the
usual with him, and then he told me he’s going to bed because his husband
told him to. I was laughing at him for being a ‘yebo, Baba’ but he didn’t care
and I was bored without him so I decided to go for a walk.
This is not my room.
Well… it is, but not the one I have in Mbongolwane.
Bitter panic wraps its vicious hand around my throat as I struggle for breath.
My hands are trembling, I push the bedding off me, and leave the bed in a
stumble. Ouch! My body really hurts, and I have a bad feeling because this
happened once before—not just to me, but to them, my siblings as well.
I am half-naked in just my black lace, no bra, I don’t wear them because my
breasts are A-cups. There my dress is folded neatly on the chair, I limp my way
over to it and freeze, with my hand outstretched, as the purple bruises created
by what looks like a cane or belt capture my attention.
What the fuck!

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This… I thought this wouldn’t happen to me again. Not me. How dare he put
his hands on me! As if I am still his child and need rebuking. As if he corrects
me because he loves me. It’s the usual speech with him, I know.
I slip the dress on, my dress, and wrinkle my nose when the heavy stench of
alcohol touches my nose. Just how much did I drink last night?
The door opens as I am looking for my flip-flops in the walk-in closet.
Its the devil himself, dressed impeccably, his tall and large frame looks
awkward against the low ceiling of my room. Only Melumndeni takes after
him, the rest of us just inherited my mother’s face and his complexion. “Yah,
uvukile.”
“How dare you!” my bubbling anger forms every syllable, as I near him,
unsure what to do. God, I hate him so much! He breaks me in half like a fragile
tillow, and glues me back with his rough hands. “How dare you put your hands
on me! Do you know that this is child abuse, huh? Who the fuck do you think
you are?”
He doesn’t laugh, anger burns in his frigid eyes, as he raises his hand again,
forcing me to scurry backwards and raise my bruised arms in defence. “Your
problem is that you think there are 24 year old children. This is why you act
out, you’re suffering from Last Born Syndrome, and you think this is like all
those years ago when you were an obedient little boy. You’re a grown man,
Mcebisi. You’re not a child, and you certainly don’t respect your elders—
inkinga yakho ufuna ukwelawula uyihlo kanti akusoze kwenzenke lokho.”
“Why did you put your hands on me?”
“Because I am your father. And because my blood pumps in your body, and for
as long as you’re my blood, I will never cease to correct you when you err.”
Look at him!
So self-composed and righteous, arms folded on his potbelly, expression
unapologetic. Sometimes I wish he’d just die. “You have no shame beating up
an unconscious body. It screams weakling, Zungu, the least you could’ve done
was wake me so that I could laugh in your face and embarrass you.”
“Bala amazwi akho, mfana wami.” He takes a step forward, I take one back.
“You did enough damage last night, stepping into my home uninvited,

138
embarrassing me in front of associate members, having one of my employees
carry your lifeless body because you drank too much and vomited on him.”
What?
I don’t remember that, he’s lying.
“That’s not true,” I deny, shaking my head.
“You always do this!” he snaps, voice trembling with anger, and his hands
clench into fists. “Every single time you’re drunk, you find your way her—and
think to yourself : how can I send my own father to an early grave today?”
“Considering you’ve been killing for so long now, maybe… maybe it’s not so
bad that I am. Maybe we’ll join each other in hell.”
“Mcebisi!” and he kills me again, as he had immediately he stepped into this
room and went on with he’s. “Are you hearing yourself? The kind of disrespect
that you’ve grown so comfortable dishing out to your own father? Why are
you here if you hate me so much? Why stay and scream for attention like
this?”
Offended snorts make it past my lips. I match him with the folded arms. “I’m
not screaming for any attention. Not yours, Baba. You don’t exist in my eyes.”
“Then why are you here?” he asks again—firm. “Why not do both of us a
favour and stay away? I’ve told you before that no son of mine will be a
woman, and that should’ve explained enough. Why are you here?”
“I was drunk and—”
“No, you know what I mean.”
I do.
Quivers rack my heart, as I avert my gaze, thinking hard about his question.
Snenhlanhla, my therapist, she’s asked me questions about my father for as
long as I remember. Some of our sessions centre around him. “There’s totally
nothing wrong with cutting off family when their sole purpose is to make you
suffer. And by the way you speak about your father, you suffer a lot at his
hands.”

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Why bring children to this world if you won’t support them wholeheartedly? If
you want your love and acceptance to come with terms and conditions. “As
long as they’re not gay,” a parent will say. “That is one thing I will never allow
my child to be.”
My father’s love, it has its terms and conditions.
1. My name should always be Mcebisi Arnold Zungu.
2. I should not argue with him because he is always right.
3. He doesn’t care about me, what I identify as, and should never bother
him with issues of gender and sexuality.
He doesn’t care, he just doesn’t. Many a time, he has proved this and yet here I
am. Why do I always come here? Embarrassing him doesn’t work so why…
“You never stop me,” I say.
“Don’t patronize me, wengane.” Frigid eyes cut at me, sending chills down my
spine. “As if it’s possible to stop such an embarrassment when it’s already
within my premises, fainting in the arms of any man it comes across.”
“As if its not possible to simply dispose of this embarrassment outside, and let
it die there—problem solved.”
“You always have to threaten me with death.”
“Its not like you care,” I remind him.
“I want you out of my home. Hlelo has organized transport for you. Don’t come
back unless you’ve aged mentally, Mcebisi. I’m sick of these games you play. I
do not have time to entertain them.”
My chest feels cold, freezing.
“Don’t trip on your way out of my life!” I shout after him.
The door is already closed on the last syllable. He didn’t even care to remain
behind and hear all I wanted to say. He doesn’t care at all.
Fuck him!
I will not wait around for his stupid ass driver. The same way that I made my
way here, I can make my way back. Its just that my feet hurt like I’ve been
walking on pins and the damn beating I received makes things worse. My

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siblings aren’t here, I know, Philasande still lives with Baba because his whack
rap career isn’t going anywhere. Melumndeni lives with his girlfriend.
Nelisiwe has Johan. Hlosokuhle would rather be in Durban than here.
Fuck it, I’m stealing one of the keys to this man’s many cars. It’s his fault and if
I am in this much pain now, walking a mere five meters, then it’ll be worse if I
actually entertain the idea of going back to Mbongolwane.
Car key snatched, I step out into the sun and make my right hand my
temporary cap as the scorching light threatens to blind me. This key, it
belongs to the Lexus—the fancy one Baba likes to say he bought for half of five
million. It’s one of his favourite cars, but Melumndeni drives it sometimes, and
he lets just about anyone drive it.
“Why is it so hot?” I am get angry at the sun for daring to grill me like this.
“Who do you think you are!”
No response, not surprised.
I huff out my laughter, starting the engine. Quicker I escape this hell is the
quicker my emotions can cool off.
There’s a phone ringing. Crappy ringtone that sounds like a boring version of
the famous Nokia song. Another sound joins in, a muffled groan that confuses
the fuck out of me. Did Melumndeni sleep in the car?
No. No, actually.
The culprit is sitting up—familiar dark skin and those gorgeous eyes, I find
myself grinning mischievously. How fun! He’s here… Mhlengi. Actually no,
what is he doing in my father’s car? In our premises?
“Hey you, are you a lazy criminal or something?”
No reply. He’s still coming to his senses, rubbing his eyes, and that stupid
phone I am now sure belongs to him is still ringing.
“If you’re not going to answer it, chuck it out the window!” I snap, the
irritating sound is grating my ears.
That seems to awaken him, as he pats next to him, and retrieves his phone.
“Yah.” This is how he answers his phone. I want to laugh at how stubborn it

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sounds, I do. Our eyes meet on the rearview mirror, he breaks eye contact a
second later. “Ngiyezwa… kulungile. Sho, mfethu.”
“Who was it?” I ask as soon as he drops the call.
The unimpressed glower he shoots at me, my expensive vagina trembles
deliciously.
“So sexy!” I tease. “Wow!”
He snorts, continues rubbing his eyes. “Pull over.”
Now why would I want to do that?
“Nuh uh,” I make my point by giving him a very serious headshake, “I am
driving. You still haven’t explained how you got into my father’s car and what
you were doing in our home. What if you’re a criminal or something?”
“So because my skin is dark it means I’m a criminal?”
“If that’s what you think then…” my lips press into a thin line. He seems angry,
I don’t know why.
“I work for your father, I drive his taxis. I make an honest living and don’t rely
on daddy’s money to sustain myself. Now stop acting like a spoilt brat and pull
over, my job is to drive you home.”
I will ignore everything he said about daddy’s money and spoilt brats. My dad
calls me that all the time. But his money? I work very hard for my own money,
everything I have, I have accomplished using my own strength. How dare this
man insinuate otherwise! How dare he think he knows every page that is me.
He knows nothing.
“Since when?” my eyes cut at him, I grit my teeth.
He seems confused by the… hostility. Am I being hostile? I think not. He was
just too quick to make an ass out of himself by assuming.
“SINCE NOW!” His voice booms, it makes me flinch and infuriates me. “Stop
the damn car and allow me to do my job… please!”
The fuck… who does he think he is?
“No!”

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His head falls on the backseat, his eyes close—oh, he’s counting in his head.
And counting, and counting.
Good. He should just do that, and leave me to my driving.
“Fuzelihle.” His voice is calmer now, soft.
“Mhlengi.”
The look he gives me, it’s a weather change—that infamous eye-smile of his
that pisses me off. Now, now he finds me amusing.
“I need you to stop throwing tantrums.”
I wasn’t. Anyway, I’m not about to let him take over now, I’m two minutes
away from home. There, the eye-catching Ngcobo homestead reveals all its
glory—too breathtaking, no matter how many times I’ve looked at it.
“You’re hindering me from doing my job efficiently.”
“What’s your job? To chauffer me around like I’m a spoilt brat who cannot
drive a car?”
That shuts him up.
The two minutes feel like they’ve stretched as silence befalls us. It’s not
awkward, just… strange. He’s making it his mission to not stare at me, and I
am making it mine to look at him as much as possible. I don’t think I
intimidate him, maybe annoy him more than anything. And evil me just wants
to keep annoying him so he can give me the eye-smiles that say ‘try harder’.
Allowing myself to actively like a black guy like this is turning me into an idiot.
He’s gorgeous, I am not to blame.
“We’re here,” I announce, parking the car outside my family’s home, “thank
you for keeping me company.”
He snorts, unamused. “I’m getting paid for it.”
Jeez, does he keep having to remind me?
“Good for you.” Angry sarcasm drips off my tongue.
His response is to leave the car, and come over to my side. He opens my door
and gives me the eye. A second. His eyes drift the next one, he looks at my bare

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arms and frowns—confusion evident on his face—before he’s looking back up,
to scan my facial features. Oh fuck! Is it really that bad? I didn’t bother to meet
the mirror on my way out of the devil’s house.
“This is one of those rare days where I look horrible without makeup,” I
defend, stepping out of the car now. “It shouldn’t matter, I’d rather be known
for more than my looks anyway.”
“How the hell did you make it all the way here with a half-shut eye?”
This question is embarrassing. Actually, I feel like getting swallowed by a giant
hole.
“Told you I’m more than my looks.” Unwilled, my body inches toward him, I
bounce on the balls of my feet. “Do you… want to grab coffee inside?”
His hands are rough as they push me away, and my shoulders collide with the
sizzling metal of the car behind us. Ouch! A low whimper bursts free, as my
eyes widen in surprise.
“Don’t!”
“You pushed me,” I accuse, fear making my heart clench in pain. “Why?”
“Don’t… I—sorry for pushing you but you need to stop throwing yourself at
me. I know what you are, and I’m not going to help you enforce this grudge
you have against your father.”
What?
He’s looking at me with… a familiar expression. I’ve seen it a millions times
before—right before a vicious punch or kick or hair-pulling moment. I’ve seen
it, helpless, scared… crying. Eventually, the tears just stopped and it become
another usual. Another punch. Another kick. Another man offloading inside
me. Just another usual.
“Wh-what am I?” my stupid voice trembles, vulnerable.
His jaw clenches, he shakes his head.
“Tell me.”

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“I’m just warning you, Fuzelihle… Mcebisi. I’ve heard, last night, they told me
about you—and I am warning you that I’m not like the boys you toy. I don’t
want you to force my hand… I’m not attracted to men. Stay away from me.”
“Who told you I’m a man?”
He doesn’t reply.
“Tell them… tell them to get their facts straight next time. Tell them to ensure
they’re brains are working, and that they don’t yap away about matters that
don’t concern them. As for you, I’m not even going to waste my time
correcting you. You’re not worth the effort.”
Still that jaw clench, the way he’s kept this distance—as if I am a disease that
will affect him also. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”
“Me too. I can’t believe I almost fooled myself into thinking black men are
worth the effort. A few flattering comments and you think you’re the best
thing since sliced bread.”
“Eyy Munt’ weNkosi—”
“Lutho!” I snap. “Don’t you dare. You’re just a worthless taxi driver who used
to pack tin fish for a living! Other men your age are driving their own
expensive cars and what are you doing? Begging to drive this spoilt brat
because you’re nothing! Don’t you dare!”
I’ve bruised him, he’s close to me now, and the rapid breaths touching my
mouth reveal how fast his heart is beating. He’s all tense muscles and clenched
fists. “Lalela la, awungazi kanti futhi nami angikwazi, bengisacela
singajwayelani ngama gama abheke eceleni.”
Laughter escapes me. “Wow! Now you say this, like you weren’t calling me a
man just a second ago? Kwenzenjani, liyababa iqiniso?”
He shakes his head, steps closer, and bends his legs so that we’re eye-level.
I’ve hurt him because I feel hurt too. That is how I know. But he poked first,
when all I was doing was offering him coffee—as I’ve always done. But he hurt
me first. “Fuzelihle—”
“Hey!” Chris shows face, he’s clutching the smaller gate and looking between
me and this… this… asshole! “The camera showed your father’s car parked

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outside and MaSibusisiwe told me to investigate. I covered for you… said you
were still sleeping. But, is he responsible for that eye or is it your father?”
“Both of them. This one may not have bruised me physically but his words
have. Luckily, he’s a non-factor in my life.”
“Owkaaay!” Chris makes an awkward face. “Should I, um, stick around and I
don’t know ensure you’re safe?”
“Should he?” I challenge the tall, transphobic asshole looking down at me.
“I wouldn’t hit you.” This he gets out through gritted teeth.
“Oh I feel so much better!”
“Fuze…” Chris starts, Bambi eyes nervous, “tell me, should I go back inside?”
“I’m fine!” I snap, proving this by pushing the transphobe away from me. He
doesn’t budge, Mr. Brick Wall. “Get out of my way, you peasant!”
“Fuze!”
“No, no it’s not me.” I glare at Chris. “Its not me, its him.”
“Right, let me get out of your way.”
“Permanently!” he didn’t ask but I make sure he knows. There’s enough
transphobic bastards in my life, I don’t need this one as well. He stands aside,
and… ow! He grips my arm, saving me from what would’ve been an
embarrassing fall. “DON’T TOUCH ME!” I yell at him.
“I just don’t want you to fall.”
“He doesn’t want me to fall,” I echo bitterly, “funny!”

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Flicker : Fifteen
Sthelosamangwane

He’s in a bad mood. It happens a lot lately, ever since he left Durban, but now
it’s worse. Lucia does not make things, like right now as she complains about
the heat inside the bus they’re taking. He swears she acts like her roots cannot
be traced back to some part of rural KwaZulu Natal, with how much she acts
like a diva.
“Use the fan I bought you,” he advices her. “I cannot tell the driver to stop the
bus just so you can get some air. He’s already places you at the very front, and
your window is open.”
“It would be better if you had a car. Why can’t you buy a car?”
Because Sthelo has too many things he has to do. They’re going home, and this
girl will be meeting his mother for the first time, he’s not sure whether they’ll
like each other. Regardless, he is not planning to wife her. But he wants to take
care of her, and he thinks he’s slowly getting used to the idea of what’s to
happen. He’s slowly accepting that he will be a father—and he’s started
praying to God for strength and guidance.
“Because it’s not a necessity at the moment.”
“What about when we have a child?”
He’s losing his patience. “I’m not an ATM, Lucia. I don’t make millions a year,
I’m sorry to disappoint you but I’m just a peasant. If you wanted to have a
child with a moneyed man then you should’ve looked elsewhere. There are
plenty of men my age who’re doing far better, with cars, I’m just a taxi driver.”
“Do you want me to feel sorry for you?”
He sighs, resting against his seat, and his eyes close. No, he doesn’t need pity.
He detests it, doesn’t like to it when poverty seeps through his clothing, his
demeanour. He’s not looking for pity. “No, Lucia.”

“Then work hard and stop complaining.”

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“I just hope you’ll follow your own advice soon. Remember, we’re not a
couple, just together for the day our child is born. In fact, you’re free to start
looking for a woman right now.
That silences her. Thank God.
His eyes are closed the rest of the trip, until the bus stops KwaMaGabela, and
they step off together. He carries her overnight bag, as she clings to his arm,
panting heavily. Feeling sorry for her, he extends her his bottle of water. “I’d
give you a piggyback ride but your belly is turning round and I don’t know if
it’s safe for you and the baby.”
“I’m not handicapped, it’s fine.”
Well… at least she doesn’t have an attitude this time.
“Are we there yet?”
He chuckles, pointing at the near distance, to the house that resembles a Rea
Vaya. That’s what Misungwane likes to call them their home. Its circled by two
rondavels. “There.”
“Better than I expected.” A pleased hum.
Unbelievable!
With an unoffended snort, Sthelo drags the young woman by her hand as they
enter through the rusty fence. MaZuma was at the tap, rinsing some blankets
it seems, her round belly preventing her from working efficiently. At the sight
in front of him, Sthelo nearly suffers a heart attack. His eyes bulge as he
dumps Lucia and quickens his movements toward his mother.
What the hell!
“Haibo, MaZuma!” he can’t help snapping at her. What the hell is she thinking?
“Do you want to injure yourself? What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I'm pregnant not handicapped!”
Is that a pregnant woman anthem or what?
“But you’re still not supposed to do hard labour, my mother. Your sons are
here to be your helpers as well. When they get back from school, they’re
supposed to do the house chores and help you around the house.”

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“Cha.” MaZuma shakes her head, slightly displeased. “Cha. Their duty is to go
to school, they can’t come back here—tired, and then work like slaves again.”
The words, muttered so innocently, sting.
“That is true.”
“Ah.” A gentle tap, tap touches his shoulder. “Is this the young woman? She
looks so beautiful!”
“Yes. Lucia,” he calls her name, and she makes reluctant footsteps toward his
mother, “please meet my mother. Mah, this is her, the woman expecting your
first grandchild.”
“I’m still surprised he’s so old without a child!” Lucia gossips, this is how she
introduces herself to his mother.
MaZuma’s giggles reveal that she approves, that she shares the same
sentiments. “Tell me about it, for a while I thought he was gay.”
Sthelo’s mind wanders. It feels like someone has punched him in the gut.
“In Durban, he had these two other men he was staying with. I had my
suspicions but this babe in my belly has proved me wrong.”
“The friends? I know about them, I’m just not sure what’s going on with them.”
“A lover’s quarrel.” Lucia giggles. “I think we’re going to get along really well,
Mah. You feel like a sweet friend. Let’s go inside.”
With disbelief painting his face, he watches his mother walk toward the main
house with Lucia as if they’re the best of friends. He’s glad, he supposes, that
they’re getting along without subtle snide remarks or anything. It means a
smooth relationship going forward.

It’s clear to tell that everyone is taken by Lucia. Sphiwe thinks Lucia is more
beautiful than the girl he’s dating, and he promises to buy her something
sweet the next time she comes back, because she’ll be leaving on Monday, and
he won’t be seeing her when he gets back from school.
“That is not a girl you marry.”

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Huh?
The voice was coming from behind him, the culprit joins him a second later,
and stands next to him. Even with the solid darkness, he can see his mother’s
glare at the cigarette in between his fingers. Today, he just wants to tell her to
go back inside her small home and take refuge there because he needs this
smoke.
“What are you talking about?” he stumps the cigarette with his fingers.
“She’s lovely, that girl, but I don’t think she’s your type. I’m afraid she’ll
constantly defeat you with that bucket of a mouth, and you’re not a talker,
Mfana wami.”
“She’s not so bad,” he lies.
“I know. Her heart is in the right place but her maturity is yet to grow.”
Sthelo laughs because he shares his mother’s sentiments. With every second
spent with Lucia, he wonders just how he never saw her for what she is—a
bratty child who thinks she’s old enough to associate with men much older
than her.
“Khululeka, I have no plans of marrying.”
MaZuma smacks his arm, she’s irritated. “That is not what I said.”
Sthelo is already walking away, teasing smirk on his face, that she doesn’t see.
“I heard you loud and clear, my mother. My loyalty shall lie with you, I am
your husband.”
“Ave unesidina!”
Sthelo’s laughing all the way to the rondavel his brothers sleep in. Lucia is
occupying his room for the next two nights.
They talk and talk, him and his brothers. They talk until their words fade into
exhausted silence.
Nhlanhla is smiling at him, all chipmunk cheeks and glowing coppers. He is
explaining something to him, sneaking in his smartass jokes once in a while
about what a domkop Sthelo is, like Sabelo.

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Sthelo laughs his heart out, unoffended, because this boy is his family—and
for every lame joke about how Sthelo and Sabelo are domkops, there are many
more sincere compliments about how smart they are and caring and loving.
Intelligence means nothing if it goes with arrogance, he likes to say.
He reminds Sthelo this again, and takes his phone back from the other man.
He’s sitting on the lounge chair, facing skyward, eyes now hidden by his
glasses. “I remember I didn’t want to come here. It’s bad home, between me
and my family, they love me but they don’t understand me. This is why they
hurt me. Moin told me to come to South Africa, he said he was going to follow
me. I did. I don’t regret it. I met you.”
He is so sappy.
Sthelo is never sure how to handle such, a man in touch with his emotions, one
unafraid to say what he feels—the sadness, pure joy and the in-betweens.
Sthelo just knows to say he’s angry.
“I know,” he jokes.
“I really love you.” – Nhlanhla.
Awkward, the other man feels. He nods his head, and pats around his jeans,
searching for a cigarette and lighter.
“You’re not going to say it back?”
“I love you too, happy?”
“Very.” Nhlanhla removes his sunglasses, and then slides them on again. “Very,
very happy.”
A terrifying sense of panic envelopes him, as Sthelo wakes with a cold start.
Fucking shit! Shit! Shit!
He is drenched, wet with his dreams and pain. His throat is constricting and
his chest is so tight—there are too many bricks on there.
This room is too dark and he cannot be here. He steps out into the cool night
air, taking his pack of cigarettes and lighter with him. As soon as the
goosebumps spread over his arms, he regrets not having slipped on a hoodie
to keep him warm at least.

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His phone is in one hand, the cigarette deftly in between his fingers in the
other hand. He sucks in the addictive nicotine and relies on it to cool him
down, but give him warmth… somehow. He looks at Nhlanhla’s number, and is
brave enough to call.
It doesn’t connect. Of course it doesn’t. He’s blocked.
“I am sorry for trying to be there for you.”
He can almost hear Nhlanhla breaking down maybe. He can almost hear
Sabelo convince him that what they have between them is not a sin, that it’s
not dirty, that its right. That it’s not wrong to love and the heart wants what it
wants.
Sthelo has been thinking about Fuzelihle throughout the week.
It’s been nonstop thinking, and dreaming, and more thinking.
He’s not blind, he saw that hurt in her eyes—the fear, even as she stood her
ground and dished him the crap he had served her.
Yes… Her.
No matter how hard he tries, he cannot view her as a man. He cannot view her
for what she truly is. It’s like his brain cannot fathom how someone so
beautiful, so delicate-looking, someone so heavenly, can be a man. Fuzelihle is
a walking goddess, it’s clear in her sensual movements, the way she carries
herself and how she garners looks of awe without really doing anything.
He cannot stop thinking about her.
He cannot stop dreaming.
Sabelo’s fierce defence of what he shares with Nhlanhla visits him often.
Nsika and what he feels for Ntando crosses his mind, and he thinks about their
conversation, and how they agreed that it is okay to love who you love.
He has his phone in hand, and he scrolls through his contacts.
“Hello?”
Its 02:00am.
“Hlelo, it’s me.”

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“Yes, I know it’s you, you fucker!” the other man snaps over the line. “Do you
know what the time is? You better have a fucking good reason for calling me
so late! And that reason better be a matter of life or death!”
“I—don’t know what I am doing.” He chuckles, dragging more smoke into his
lungs. “I don’t know why I called… I do, but you wouldn’t understand. I need a
favour.”
Hlelo releases a couple of colourful swear words.
This fucker. Its 02:00am! Masende alengayo!
Sthelo wants to remind his new friend that they’ve never seen each other’s
private parts. He bares all the swearing, and stares into the dark distance,
grateful for the reprieve the man is offering him. “Usuqedile? Udelile, mfethu?”
“Eyy fuseg wena!”
Silent laughter slips past dark lips.
“What do you need?”
“Do you… you’re close to Melumndeni right?”
“Yah. We’re best friends.”
“That’s good,” the caller stalls by clearing his throat, “I don’t know, I’m just
wondering… would you ask him for his sister’s number?”
“Nelisiwe?” Hlelo makes a sound of disbelief. “Uyanya wena, leya cherrie is
taken. Some church boy with an old man’s name.”
He finds himself laughing again, Sthelo, and shakes his head. “Lutho, mfethu.”
Of course he’s heard about Nelisiwe but he’s never met her—and he’s not
looking for a girlfriend. “I mean his other… the… Mcebisi.” It feels weird to say
that name, like it doesn’t belong to Fuzelihle at all.
“Did you just call him a girl?” Hlelo bursts out in a laughing fit. Oh, he’s
definitely awake now. “Why do you want the number, Mhlengi? Don’t tell me
you’re fooled by that banging body and beautiful face.”
“Are you outing yourself here?” Sthelo buys time again, uncomfortable, as he
swallows a nervous lump. “Banging body? Beautiful face?”

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“Fuseg!”
“Just get me her—his, his number. I was driving him that day, remember? I left
some things in the car and now I can’t find them.”
“Fine! But you owe me a six pack.”
For just a number?
Sthelo wants to tell the man to go fuck himself with that but he’s not
desperate, he just wants to speak to her desperately. “Uyazi nawe.”
“Good. I have his number, I’ll send it now.”
Sthelo shrugs his shoulders, the bricks are still on his chest.
>><<▪︎>><<
Her number haunts him like a ghost that has been wronged by someone they
trusted. It’s been almost a week, and he’ll wake from a night terror to sit
outside his room at the hostel in Jeppe and just stare at it with a fearful
expression. He’s not used to being made shy by women, granted he hasn’t
been with a lot of them, but the last time he felt this way was with MaGoba.

Part of him feels unworthy. Part of him is battling with morality and what he
knows. Many a night he dreams about her… Fuze. The dreams are getting bad,
very bad. He’s tasted her lips in his dreams—how sweet and fragile they are.
He’s tasted them—how strong they’ve become. He knows them, the cherry
taste, the softness and how succulent they are.
He’s held her in his arms, and apologized and apologized. He’s shared her bed,
and relied on her warmth. He’s kissed her forehead and promised to never let
her fall. He’s held her and confessed, “I am holding you, you, you. I’m not going
to let you go. Trust me.”
It’s all so stupid of course. So silly. But such is his life.
Every time he thinks he has something figured out, life comes to bullshit him
and puts him in scenarios he never thought he’d find himself in.
Right now, he’s awake at 03:30am, thinking about a girl who is actually a
man—and desperate to see her face again. He’s like a man starved, denying

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himself food that he will eventually have to eat—because there’s no other
way.

155
Flicker : Sixteen
Fuzelihle

I don’t like coming KwaMai Mai. Calling me a brat whose lost touch with her
roots but I’d much rather be pampering myself in a spa, and then shopping,
before spoiling myself with a five course meal at my favourite restaurant in
Greenside. Then I’d go home and be with my dogs, cuddling them as we watch
an episode of The Good Doctor.
Instead, Sbanisezwe keeps shaking my shoulders and telling me to relax.
We’re all here—every Ngcobo, new and the OGs like Christophe. Inkosi
Yamagcokama will be performing apparently, and because Sqalosenkosi and
Temasiko cannot live without this man, we’ve all been dragged here. Palesa is
here with me, she brought Thabang along, he’s a Tswana Zulu. His mother is
Tswana and he grew up with her instead of his Zulu speaking father.
“There are so many Braam kids here, man, this is not on!” Palesa comments
with a snort, she’s been looking at the poor souls with judging eyes. “They’re
even wearing Thrift clothes, like what the hell?”
“Oh let them live.” I poke her arm, peering into the distance as my brothers
take up most of the space from the little shelter they’re buying our food from.
“Your boyfriend used to be a Braamie, worse he smoked weed like it was his
daily bread.”
Palesa giggles, I dodge her punch, giving her the eye roll.
“Did I tell you I’m pregnant?”
I’m tempted to actually punch her because I don’t know her being this stupid.
Imagine asking your best friend such a question when they were right there
with you, helping you with the tests. “You are?” I feign shock and touch my
chest. “Marvellous news, darling! Good luck with the diaper changes.”
Oh hell no, I am not.
“I’ve been changing diapers for every kid that’s arrived into my family. I think
I am done now, even Sbanisezwe and Thatego will have to do it themselves.
But they’ve hired a nanny.”

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“I still can’t believe there’s something that’s going to bug me for the rest of my
life inside me!” she sighs, taking another sip of her orange juice. “You’re lucky
you cannot get pregnant, bitch! A few sessions of raw sex here and there, and
now I am fucking knocked up!”
“Yeah, I’m so happy I will never fall pregnant! Imagine that, life growing inside
you, your belly turning round and growing… feeling those kicks and thump
thumps.”
“Wait!” Palesa considers me, pressing her hand on my knuckles. “Is this like
the… menstruation thing?”
I give her an awkward smile.
“Oh shucks!” she smacks her head softly. “I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”
“Not at all…” I shake my head.
Cis-women, most of them just won’t get it. I don’t want to put the blame on
them, it’s hard to really understand another’s struggles when you’re not in
their situation yourself. Palesa despises her periods, getting them, having the
cramps and having to feel ‘dirty’ for almost a week.
The only time I can say I had my periods was after I had bottom surgery,
everything looked weird and a bit disgusting—but I was wearing freaking
pads and it made me so happy! I was crying all the time, Sqalosenkosi was
there, and MaSibusisiwe was helping me here and there. I was so happy I
kinda wished the periods would come again but it doesn’t work that way, and
I was healing and the bleeding stopped eventually.
I cried for almost a week when that happened.
And now here is Palesa again, telling me how lucky I am I cannot fall pregnant
when… deep down, something like that would make me really happy. Pushing
my baby out of my platinum vagina, and holding them against my chest,
making them suckle on my breast—it seems like a beautiful experience.
“Eish! I wish I could do something so that—”
“No. I am more than happy with the woman I am today.” It’s the truth. Yes,
sometimes its hard. It’s even harder with family. It’s just as hard when it
comes to dating. If I’m not men who’re fetishizing me, then I’m with men who

157
would rather we have flings because at the end of the day, they have families
to build and poor Fuze cannot bear babies. If it’s not them then its black men
who’ve used my body against my own will and subjected me to unimaginable
physical and emotional pain.
It’s a never ending cycle.
I date to break up. I date to be told I was just an experiment. I date for many
reasons but it’s almost never for love where the other person is concerned. I
don’t care. I don’t think I do. Relationships aren’t everything, right? The one I
have with the Zungus prove just how little relationships mean.
And yet sometimes I’m so exhausted.
“Good.” Palesa’s sweet voice draws me to the present, she throttles my arm
gently—supportive. “Good. You’re an amazing woman. You’re enough.”
I love it when she speaks facts.
“Speak on the truth, Mami.”
Giggles leave her, she rolls her eyes.
Thatego disrupts my quiet thoughts by standing too quickly, there’s a look of
panic on his face, he’s on his phone. Sbanisezwe must sense that something’s
wrong because even with the distance, he turns all of a sudden—undivided
attention falling directly on Thatego. They share telepathic powers these two.
“What’s wrong?” – Chris.
“My birthday’s tomorrow.” An emotional expression dances in earthy eyes.
Hawu.
“That’s why you’re standing up like you’ve heard something terrible?” I cannot
contain my laughter.
“Our son’s on his way.”
Wait… wow!
“Phawulothando?” I have to confirm.

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Thatego nods his head as a tear glides down his cheek—ever the cry-baby.
“Those are beautiful news, Thatego!” – Chris, he’s smiling bright. “Nqobizitha
and I can—”
“No, stay here and enjoy the show on my behalf. We have to leave, my
husband and I, please tell Tema I’m sorry for not staying behind.”
“Coolio!” I nod my head.
“Do not leave this place. Be patient a while longer,” Sbanisezwe says to me.
Random dude strikes again.
He talks about taxis a lot lately. I almost thought he wanted to venture into the
industry as well but no, he just has friends who owns taxis.
Temasiko is disappointed that Thatego had to leave. I think they’re best
friends, they hang out together a lot. The same way Sphesihle is best friends
with Siyabonga. I guess it’s the same way that I feel I am growing closer and
closer to Christophe. But Chris is for everyone, he’s the most comfortable
person in the world to talk to—very warm and full of advices.

As soon as the artists start to do their thing, the place turns rambunctious. I
can barely keep up if I am being honest. Palesa is a part time Zulu, this whole
joint is nothing new to her, she’s having the time of her life. I’ve drunk a few
beers but not enough that I can start screaming after every lyric that Inkosi
Yamagcokama sings. He is a hunk though, very easy on the eye.
“Fuck, I need to pee!” I yell in Palesa’s ear.
Does she give a fuck? Of course she doesn’t, she dismisses me with a wave of
the hand. Rude!
The toilets are a bit far, but I remember which route to take. There are a
couple of taxis lined up along the curb, making me feel like I’m trespassing,
intruding in on my father’s haven—but these are not his taxis. Local distance
around Eshowe he deals with. Long distance from Eshowe to Johannesburg,
he deals with—and vice versa.

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Its lessened here, the noise level, and the people are not many. I let out a deep
sigh, basking in the cool air—so fresh, clean. I should call my housekeeper to
find out how my dogs are doing. First, I just really need to pee.
It says the toilets are closed.
Fuck!
They were open half an hour ago!
I snatch the paper stuck on the gate and read it. How do they go from having
water to not having it in so little time? It’s not fair at all. I desperately need to
pee, this is what happens when you drink too much liquids.
Ah, there’s this spot with tall flowers—on the bright side, I am watering them.
It’s taking too long, this water inside me won’t drain fast enough, I hear voices
but I am well hidden. I don’t even have tissue to wipe myself clean. Argh! I pull
up my thong with my jeans and try to make myself appear as presentable as
possible.
Right. Not caught, thank… really?
“Oof!” my forehead hurts from the force of colliding with brick walls places in
the middle of roads meant for people to pass in. “Ow! Who did this?”
Walls can’t speak of course, but they have hands now apparently? Callused
hands that help to keep me upright—and wow, this wall smells like too much
nicotine mixed with a heady masculine scent.
“You should really stop having this weird obsession with falling.”
Heh?
My ears flutter—is that possible?—as they recognize the familiar gravelly
voice almost immediately. Teasing. I don’t want to think its possible but
immediately I aim for the stars, there he blocks my vision with his tallness,
and those Asian eyes that only ever eye-smile or seem uncomfortable.
“You,” I say, and I don’t mean to sound accusing.
But he hurt me. I asked him to have coffee with me, and his response was
violence—a push to the back of a scorching car, like he hadn’t been examining
my bruised body just seconds earlier… pretending to care.

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“Fuzelihle.” The softness in his voice matches the one found in his eyes.
No, don’t look at me like that.
He said all those things to me—and it’s all so normal. I’ve heard the words a
million times before, from so many different people. How many times has my
womanhood been invalidated? It’s not like I wasn’t born with a penis. The fact
that I was born with it means I will never be woman enough in their eyes. And
the fact that I even dare to boldly insist I am one angers them, angers them so
much that they’d rather beat and humiliate me to force me to accept what I’ll
never be. I’d rather die.
“Hey you. Good to see you again. I’m with my family, please let me go.” Brief. I
just need him to let go of my arm.
“I’ve been…” he clears his throat, looks down as if he cannot maintain proper
eye-contact. “I’ve been thinking about you. A lot.”
“In what position?” I ask. It always goes this way.
“I don’t understand.”
“What position were you thinking of fucking me in?” I elaborate. I forget he’s
just a taxi driver… obviously he’s one of the slow ones.
The way his eyes widen and he sputters is comical. But I am not going to
humour him with my laughter. I just want him to let go of my hand, and allow
me to continue on my way.
“That’s not what I—Fuze…”
Why so soft?
I don’t get what it is about him that has captured my attention so effortlessly.
Sure, he ticks the boxes : tall, dark and handsome, notes of mystery and the
reserved nature. He’s my type of quiet—seemingly respectful but still quiet.
“What? What do you want?”
He drops his eyes again—a goddamn toddler.
I don’t have time for this. This man hurt me.

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“Let me go then, Mhlengi…please,” the plea comes as an afterthought. Men
love a vulnerable woman, they love our helplessness and pleas.
This one is different, he doesn’t let go.
“Did you know… I have had your number for almost two weeks now and I’ve
been trying to sum up the courage to try and call you.”
“Why? Were you worried I’d rushed and told daddy dearest about our little
encounter? Or maybe you’re looking for something else? Did one of your
colleagues tell you they’ve had sex with me? I know they like to lie about that
a lot. Why, why did you want to call?”
“I… to apologize. It’s taken some thought but I realized this, and I just wanted
to call you and apologize.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, I don’t accept your apology,” I explain, my heart is sinking, I feel guilty.
“The fact that you had to go home and think hard about basic human decency
shows me how crappy you are as a human being.”
“I’ll take that.”
Now what, does he expect a medal?
My wrist won’t break free from his iron clutch.
“Gotcha. Please let me go now.”
I don’t think he wants to, but my eyes are dead serious, he has no choice
really. There, my hand is free. I should move now and never look back. But I’m
just standing here, looking at this tall transphobic fucker, wondering when he
got so close.
I cannot breathe.
“I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head, meant what I said about not accepting his apology. My back
turns to him, I am not heading back in the direction of the noise. I don’t know
where I am going, I’m just walking.

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It’s not for hours but it definitely feels like it. I feel like crap right now—guilty
again. Mhlengi wasn’t the only one who had a vicious tongue that day, I did as
well. I don’t like all those things I said to him, I don’t like how I possibly made
him feel less than others, all because he isn’t making enough money by my
standards. I hate myself for it. I hate that he pushed me to it, and that I never
want to become the bigger person in such situations.
Bigger person will always ensure you’re disrespected.
My feet are starting to hurt. This is why you don’t wear heels to bloody
Maskandi events. Silly me left my phone, bag and car key. I hope Chris keeps
them safe for me, I’m sure I’ll be making it back home… eventually.
Now if only I could tell where the fuck I am.
Its getting too dark now, perhaps this is the day I finally die.
Regret smacks me with reality as I realize how empty this street is, and how
anything can happen. As if it’s not enough being endangered species, I put
myself in these fucked up situations. My chest hurts, I really don’t want to
walk anymore, I should’ve worn a dress instead of pants, it’s hot and I can’t
breathe right. I’m just exhausted.
Blaring lights come from behind me, lighting up the semi-dark street. I keep
on walking while bracing myself for the worst. The worst thing in the world is
to be a woman or a child. You just lose, and you keep losing and losing. How
many times have I felt unsafe even in the presence of men who’re supposed to
protect me?
And then men like Mhlengi will have the stinking balls to accuse me of
wanting to pretend to be a woman. Like it gives me great joy to be someone
who constantly has to fear for her life. Every moment I wake up I’m fighting to
live another hour, another minute, another second.
And men like that… that fucking—
The hooter is been smashed on.
I swallow a lump the size of 20kg cement, and ready myself.
Someone’s footsteps are walking fast behind me, rushing, like they’re trying to
catch up to me. I don’t think, and disappoint my father by acting on instinct,

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picking up my pace and going full blown Caster Semenya. I don’t get very far
with the heels I am wearing, one misstep has me tumbling down, but I never
touch the ground.
“There you go again, wanting to fall so desperately.”
This transphobe… what is he doing here?
“You’re holding me.”
“Yes, I am holding you.”
I don’t know why there’s something like a smile in his voice. Nothing about
this moment is meant to be cute. Nothing at all. “Step away from me, I may just
infect you with my queerness.”
“Hmm?”
Oh, the taxi driver!
Bad thought, my subconscious chides—and right.
My body sags against him even more, its embarrassing really, my lashes are
moist against his t-shirt. He smells really good, clean. I feel so dirty. Of their
own will, my trembling hands snake around his back as I breathe him in,
letting out the softest of exhales. “I’m so—tired,” I confess.
He holds me for a few seconds, and then lifts me and throws me on his
shoulder—walking down the street with me fireman style. I make a squeaking
sound, hit by a sudden sense of shy surprise.
What. The. Fuck!
“What are you doing?!” I scream.
“Ensuring you don’t fall,” I hear the amused undertones in his voice.
“Put me down!” I try to wiggle my body but his hold is firm, ensuring I cannot
escape. “Mhlengi!”
“My name is Sthelosamangwane.”
What?

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“My surname is Khanyile. Do you see why I was given that name?” he
continues walking and talking, doing it so effortlessly, like I weigh nothing at
all. “I’m 28 years old and I have nothing in life to show for it except a child on
the way. But my brothers are successful in their school careers, and as my
mother is relying on me to change our family’s situation, I am looking to them
to help continue whatever legacy I build for them.”
He stops abruptly, and puts me down.
“Get in.” He’s talking about the white Quantum, the passenger seat. “I won’t
hurt you, trust me.”
Trust him? He proved to me why I shouldn’t all those weeks ago.
I get in the taxi, and get comfortable. My body can finally rest.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, pulling out of this unknown nowhere I was
wandering in.
“Yeah.”
“Let me buy you KFC.”
It’s one of my favourites, I won’t tell him though, I am still so mad at him, so
unimpressed.

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Flicker : Sixteen
Fuzelihle

Its 09:30pm.
I saw it on the slip of the KFC he bought me. An entire six-piece meal that he’s
not eating. Should I feel guilty because what if he spent one of his last cents on
me? What I’ll do is ask for his account number and then send a few hundreds
to him. He shouldn’t have done all this knowing his home situation and how
poor he is.
“Yini indaba?” He’s looking at me.
I shake my head, watching him squash his K-way explorer hat, and giving me a
look that says ‘tell me, tell me, tell me’. The desire to deny him hints into my
mind is strong, I will be successful in it when I tell myself to be serious but he
bought me KFC and I just know it was his last money.
“How much?” I query.
“How much what?” he gets easily offended, always trying to prove he’s a good
guy. “You don’t need to pay for this.”
“And if I want to?”
“Then the answer is still no. Argue with your hand if you don’t like it.”
Alright, Daddy.
I am tempted to laugh in his face and tell him that no one really tells me what
to do. I dance to the rhythm of my own beat. “Why did you bring me here?” I
question instead, shoving a bunch of chips in my mouth.
“Because you said you were hungry.”
He really takes me for a fool. “You know what I mean,” I push, keeping my
stare on him—unmoving. “How did you know where I was and why am I here
with you?”

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Clearly he hates talking, the way he sighs and crushes that hat of his as if his
life depends on it reveals exactly that. “I don’t know, I just found you.” He is
dismissive, as if I shouldn’t even be thinking about that.
“Okay…” we share a eye-lock moment, and all of my insides bunch together as
my belly does an intense flip-flop. This time, I drop my eyes and focus on the
two remaining pieces of chicken. “Ngenzani lapha ke and why did you tell me
all those things? Your name and family life.”
Shrug of the shoulders. “Isn’t that what people on coffee dates talk about?”
I don’t think he’s heard himself, he’s still squashing the poor hat in a death
grip. He’s… nervous. Maybe I intimidate him, the same way he can be very
intimidating—with how soft-spoken he is. A devil hides under all his
reservations.
“This is not a date,” I point out. My hopes are not going to be raised and
dashed.
As if it weren’t possible, his face turns even more serious. “Then it’s just two
strangers having coffee together at KFC.”
I glance around, to the practically empty store, and then to the TV playing
silently above us. We had to drive to Park Station to get food because this is
the only KFC he knows that opens 24/7. “I see…”
He clears his throat, and tries to get rid of the awkwardness brewing between
us. “I just feel like I need to apologize again for—”
“Save your energy, you’re not forgiven.”
He looks at me like I’ve just punched him in the gut.
“On the other hand, I will also understand if you’re not ready to forgive me for
all those words I said that day.”
Hurt morphs into confusion. “I must’ve missed your apology.”
“This is it,” I say.
He wants to laugh, but he won’t do it, as usual he disappoints me. “You’re
something else.”

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That makes me smile, I wipe my hands clean, looking at him. “I am sorry, for
every bad word I uttered that day, and for any negative impact they may’ve
had on you.”
I’ve hit a nail on the head, my words did hurt him, it’s just I don’t know how.
But it must be a different kind of pain. He said he’s 28 years old and has
nothing to show for it except for a baby on the way. I swallow my disappoint
as I wonder if he has a girlfriend. A very good-looking guy like him can capture
the attention of any girl simply by walking past them.
“No hard feelings.”
I still… I still feel bad.
“How’s work going? Is my father fair where salaries are concerned.” Light is
how I keep my voice, not wanting to come across as overly nosy. Also, I just
really want to see something. “Last time he was pretty fair.”
“Indoda ayibuzwa ngey’mali zayo.”
Weeeh.
My laughs are hard as I shake with them, recovering with hiccups later. “So…
you’re expecting a child. My brother and his partner are expecting a newborn
baby boy as well. Who knows? Maybe he’s being born as we speak. Their
surrogate was going through labour earlier.”
“They have infertility issues?”
“Well two man cannot make their own biological babies so there’s that.” I
watch his expressions carefully, not blind to that frown, but he’s not surprised.
“You’re… someone told me you’re related to the Ngcobos. Technically you’re a
Zungu but you use Ngcobo now. Aren’t you scared that your ancestors—”
“Maybe the Zungu underground gang are relieved to not have a man
pretending to be a woman in their midst any longer.”
He hears the sass in my voice, laced with sarcasm, and he raises his hand
that’s carrying that K-way hat to brush the back of his neck bashfully. “Yes, I’m
going to be a father.” Topic change, how nice! “The woman… girl, she’s nearly
six months pregnant now. And my mother, she’s about eight months into her
own pregnancy.”

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I spit my meat.
Fuck!
“Haibo, you’re telling me you and your other—”
“Cha!” it’s his turn to choke—he coughs and coughs. “I don’t know who the
father is, she won’t say. Haibo, ngiphelelele mina ekhanda.”
The way he’s so defensive and offended is comical, I laugh at him, as he
patiently sits through it—soft notes of annoyance peeking through sighs and
tap, tap, taps on the table.
“Usho musuqedile, siqhubeke.”
“Siqhubeke senzeni?”
Reluctant eyes. He’s back to being an intimidated toddler as he peers down,
Adam’s apple bobbing as he clears his throat for what feels like the
thousandth time. It’s no longer awkward, just too cosy. I could fall asleep like
this, and maybe I wouldn’t wake up with a constricting throat.
“Please don’t hate me.”
I take a huge breath as the atmosphere shifts into seriousness, and look him in
the eyes. They’re unique, aside from how he could pass as a dark-skinned
Asian, they’re also so deep-set; and I can’t believe he’s hitting me with the
intensity of them right now. It feels like they penetrate my soul and leave me
bare. “I shouldn’t hate you?”
“I don’t think I can take it.”
“Why?” I’m so insignificant honestly. All of our interactions have been me
blindly crushing on him. “Why shouldn’t I hate you? Why would it matter
anyway?”
A frustrated scrub of his brush-cut. The traditional incisions on his face pull
together when he frowns. “I don’t want to add on the list of people who hate
me. I’ve already lost two I care deeply for.”
What does he mean by this? He cares for who… me? I’m really finding it hard
to believe.

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There’s pain written in his eyes, evident with the jaw clench, his eyes are
suddenly blood-red as if he doesn’t sleep at all. Silly me. I want to reach out
and touch his cheek and tell him everything is going to be okay, that he can
leave the pain with me and I will feel it for him because I’m a tough cookie.
“If you don’t matter to me, then you cannot hurt me.”
He’s… I don’t know how to explain his blank expression. He didn’t get it, what
I was saying.
“Okay.” His hands squeeze that darned hat, and I am starting to feel sorry for
it. “You see… with these people I care about, I saw something I shouldn’t have
and its haunted me since. I didn’t expect that from them and I got angry
because they wouldn’t listen to reason. Or maybe I didn’t try to listen to them,
I don’t know. Now here with you again, I don’t want the same thing to happen,
and I just want to understand you better… how you work. This… how you
claim to be a woman. How does it work?”
“First, you really need to educate yourself on what transphobic remarks are!” I
snap, he’s lucky I’m not leaving this table. “You cannot keep hurting me with
your comments all in the name of ignorance. The internet exists for a reason
now, if you really care then you’ll educate yourself.”
He is uncomfortable, there’s the throat-clearing again, and how he chokes the
poor hat. I snatch it from him in a rescue effort. Surprise paints his features
but he makes no efforts to get the hat back from me. “I wouldn’t know where
to start,” he says instead, almost embarrassed.
“Trans people maybe. I don’t know.”
“Trans what?”
Oh Lord.
Is this how I am expected to pay him back for buying me KFC? I have to spend
my time here educating him on issues that he can literally go to the internet
for. No one should have an excuse for ignorance lately, not when the
information is there, not when there are spaces created to educate people.
“People like me, Mhle—what did you say your other name is?” I know it, I just
want to irritate him a little.

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“Mhlengi is still fine.”
“Trans people are assigned genders different from the one they identify with.”
I tell him, in the simplest way possible. “That’s what to be transgender means,
Sthelosamangwane. I don’t identify as a man, even when I was little, and I
played with my dollies and wanted to wear my mother’s heels to school.”
He laughs. “You seem like the materialistic type.”
Where’s the crime in that?
“Okay.”
“If I want to ask more questions?”
“Just don’t offend me.”
He offends me. A lot. A lot, a lot.
Wow!
I can overlook it because my facial features seem to clue him in, and he will cut
himself short. Here I am, a lecturer basically giving lessons on the basics of
LGBT issues. Mostly he doesn’t seem to understand a single thing. Or maybe
he doesn’t want to.
“What about God?” he asks me.
“What about Him?”
“You’re basically slapping Him in the face and telling Him that He made a
mistake. You’ve taken it upon yourself to go against what He has—”
“Well then he should’ve given me a vagina that I wouldn’t have had to pay
hundreds of thousands for. Now this one, its platinum, I paid for it and he can’t
tell me I can’t have it.”
He laughs again—and I am in love with the sound.
For a thousand lifetimes, I swear I have heard it, prettier than any pretty voice
I have ever heard—even Beyoncé’s.
“I just think it’s very hypocritical for people to preach about God’s wrath and
him not making mistakes when they want to push their hateful narrative. I
find it funny how the same people are not afraid to forsake God when things

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are not going as they want. How they’re quick to question Him and point out
why he’s wrong for not giving them a job, for taking away someone they love.
But let someone be gay and suddenly they’re going to hell? Because this is not
what God wants… how do they know?”
“The bible—”
“Thankfully, my brothers are teaching me to come to terms with the fact that
the bible is not for me, as a black person—sure there are valuable lessons in
there, but that bible is the same one white people used to enslave and abuse
for years. It’s the same one they used to make people of our skin to feel
inferior—and here you black people are, doing the same thing, telling us we’ll
be burn in hell. Calling us sinners. Respectfully, fuck all of you!”
His lower lip is succulent, the way he rubs on it in a back and forth manner is
so tempting. I want to ask him to kindly stop it. Our gazes lock for the nth time
tonight.
It feels like he has his big veiny hand wrapped tight around my heart and
throat.
His eyes are the kind you can’t help drowning in, they’re turning me into a
clichéd emotional-wreck of a person—desperate. Under his scrutiny, I am
drowning, always sinking. I don’t know how to make it stop, if I want it to
stop.
“I tried.” His fists are balled, I think the hat was really helping him. “It just
doesn’t make sense to me how you’re not a woman—”
“Sthelosamangwane…”
“I don’t mean it like that,” he explains, giving me a furrow of the brows. “I’m
just saying, I heard what everyone has said about you. The only thing you are
to me is a woman, like how I first met you, and there’s no other version I know
of you but this one.”
“Congratulations, you get a medal!”
Was I supposed to feel flattered?
He takes my snipe in stride, and helps me up. I give him back his hat, and he
puts it on as soon as we step into the cool night air. I’m cold now. His jacket

172
blankets me, I smile up at him, rolling my eyes. “Do you mind if I smoke for a
second?”
Oh... that must explain that unhealthy throttle of his hat. He’s addicted.
“Not at all.” I shake my head.
“Its cold out here, you can wait in the car.”
Like a lousy Taxi Queen?
I snort to myself, standing beside him, as his trembling hands retrieve the
cigarettes and a lighter. “Let me help you,” I offer.
His clenched hand opens, and I make crawly fingers as I take the cigarette
from him and slowly guide it to his luscious lips. He is breathing too fast, I can
smell the caffeine that he had earlier. Our eyes are boring deep into each
other, and I think I am too close because I can feel my nipples poking his chest.
“There,” I say, whisper really.
He bends his legs and they touch me, as he lowers his head so that I can light
the cancer stick for him. He smells so good, like nicotine and pure masculinity.
I am weak in his presence—worse with this closeness, wondering how he
does it. “Thank you,” comes the low, gravelly reply.
I nod my head, standing in between his legs, too mesmerized by the slow
dragging inhales and just as slow exhales. There it is… that pull. Fireworks
explode in my belly, I want it to stop. “All good?” I ask. He’s done.
“Better.”
“You’re so addicted.”
He is laughing but when I ask him what he finds so funny, he simply tells me,
“Secret.” Our eyes are locking, I think he’s nervous. Nervous but brave as he
bends his head again, and our foreheads touch, he raises his hand to caress my
cheek. I light on fire, my cheek blazes where he is touching me.
Please stop.
The burn doesn’t show physically, but I feel it. It’s hard to breathe with ashes
in my lungs, it’s so hard to breathe.

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“What are you doing?”
“I… I am not sure.” His voice is a mere whisper.
“Then let me go,” I plead.
“I can’t,” he seems embarrassed, “my legs are not working like they should.”
Does this mean he has weak legs?
I am amused, I always thought only women have weak legs. The novels have
fooled me big time!
What is he doing?
I can taste his own laughter against my lips, his touches are growing confident,
and… I feel it.
Our lips touch and I am no longer breathing.
My lungs are filled with the ash from the burn of his touches.
It sears, every part of my body he touches, and I press my lips against his just
as ardently, wanting so much more of him. He presses me to him, hands
digging into my back, I get closer and feel him against my pelvis. “Ah,” I moan
softly, eyes closed as one of his hands move to grip my ass. He could ask to
take me here, and I wouldn’t deny him.
“Better than I imagined,” he whispers.
Hmm?
Another press of the lips, I return his fervour.
“Spend the night with me.”
I almost missed his words. He’s serious, the look in his eyes, it makes my
knees weak.
“Spend the night with me… please.”
My first instinct is to turn him down. Maybe I’ll wake up dead tomorrow.
Maybe I’ll wake up with a sore vagina and heart. There are so many reasons
why I should turn him down. He persuades me with a kiss that makes me lax
under his touch, as if my body has turned against me. “I… okay.”

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Flicker : Seventeen
Sthelosamangwane

What are you doing?

The question has followed him back to the hostel, it had been there as he
drove here as well—one hand on the steering wheel, the other one in between
Fuzelihle’s legs. They didn’t talk. Even now, their gazes fail to meet. This, this
is normal for him, everyone around him knows he’s not a talker. But Fuzelihle,
she speaks her mind—ever fierce and beautifully big-brained. Yet here she is,
walking slowly behind him, burning him with her stares.
At the door, Sthelo looks at the key in his hand—hesitant.
“Um… everything okay?”
He clears his throat, and unlocks the door, opening it to reveal his small room.
Embarrassment suddenly burns his dark skin, he almost tells her that they
don’t need to go through with this, that he will take her home. But her head is
resting on his back, she is breathing him in. “Excuse how small everything is.”
“Okay,” her voice is dismissive. She looks around. “Nice place.”
The door closes behind them as she nears him, and puts her arms around him,
she’s on her tiptoes. Sthelo quells every storm, and doesn’t second guess as he
leans down to mesh his lips with hers. His fingers rake through her hair, he
takes hold, as their lip locking turns heavier, more tension-filled.
Its clear, without words being muttered, that Sthelo is in control. He lays his
claim in the sizzling kisses, there is some desperation in them, a little distance
that he cannot help attaching to every partner he sleeps with.
Clothes are falling over as they stumble their way over to the bed. Fuzelihle’s
body is even more perfect half-naked—the black lace of her thong, how it fits
her so sensually, as his hands roam over her butt-cheeks. They fall in bed
together, and the woman beneath him arches her body, looking too innocent.
And she is obscenely beautiful.
“I’m not sure how this works,” he tries not to be awkward.

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“I have a vagina, Sthelo. Just make me wet first.”
Sthelosamangwane nods his head, and helps her to remove her thong. He’s not
sure what he was expecting but she was right about her vagina looking
normal. Its… perfect. All of her is perfect. And for tonight, he doesn’t want to
think about anything but burying himself in her perfect body.
His lips find hers again, as she leans up to meet him halfway to return the kiss,
gently wrapping her hands around his neck. She moans, and pulls her lips
away from his, breathlessly giggling about how he’s electrocuting her body. He
shakes his head, planting his lips on parts of her body, her breasts.
Make me wet.
The instruction remains as he makes it his mission to discover her erogenous
spots, attacking her with his tongue and his thumb circles where she guided
his hand. “It… uh… it feels good when you touch me here.”
Sthelo nods his head. “Good. Tell me more, teach me.”
“I’m teaching you a lot tonight.” Breathless, her giggles. “I deserve a pay in the
form mind-blowing orgasms.”
“You’re so wet,” the dark man marvels, as his cock jerks over the cries that
leave Fuze, the way her hips buck up—jerking in an erotic movement, a
throttled cry falling from her lips. “Do you like this?”
“Argh!” comes the desperate cry, she fucks herself on his fingers, movements
becoming more erratic and frantic. “Please… Oh God, please…” her thighs are
quivering, she cups her small breasts and pinches her nipples. Sthelo’s lips are
on her neck—teasing and tickling and stimulating. Her voice is changing in his
ear, her breaths growing heavier and heavier.
Warm thighs quiver around his waist, as she moves faster and then stops as if
to savour the moment. Sthelo applies pressure on her clitoris, and strokes, he
pins her down and relentlessly moves his thumb. Soon, she cries out her
climax—exploding on his finger. Sthelo continues to apply pressure,
prolonging her release until he’s reducing her to a whimpering mess. She’s
still quivering with pleasure when he teases her with the head of his steel
dick… it hurts so bad. He strokes himself, slickened with her juices.
“Condoms?”

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Fuck.
“Nothing,” he clenches his jaw.
“Clean?”
“Clean.”
“Then do it.” Clearly she is too far gone on lust to care. Her hands are still
stroking her small breasts.
With little warning, he tries to push into her, nudging the bolus head of his
cock into slick warmth, as a shiver passes through Fuze. There’s resistance,
and his cock rubs against her slippery swollen folds, sensitive head tapping
against her clit.
“Oh God!” she moans, and Oh God is right indeed. The friction of his
movements against her pussy is out of this world. He is shivering, going insane
with the need to penetrate her. “Do it please… please, its been so long…”
A frown scrunches Sthelo’s face. “I don’t remember asking.”
Unfocused eyes meet his, she bites her bottom lip and nods her head. No
apology. With a shake of the head, Sthelo lines up his pulsing cock against her
slick vagina. And then he pushes up against her, forcing through the resistance
he meets again—ripe purple head stretching Fuze.
“Wait… wait.wait.wait.” Her breathing comes out laboured, her eyes are
squeezed tightly, face pulled together in what looks like pain. “Christ, you’re
gifted!”
“Its because I’m black,” he teases her.
Laboured giggles trespass, accompanied by a dampening of the cheeks. Sthelo
leans down to kiss the tears away and begs for her permission to move
silently. Her nod is frantic, almost delirious, her teeth clamping down on his
shoulder to muffle her screams, manicured nails digging deep into his back.
“HA!” she is breathless, in pain, face hidden to hide it.
“Should I stop?” he’s in his own pain.
“No!” she snaps, clinging to him for anchor. “Please move.”

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Sthelo is afraid he’ll be the quickest man to climax in the history of men who
cum too early. He has no idea what drug is laced inside her vagina, but its
velvety and its scorching—and he has the pleasure of filling it. She chokes his
cock so exquisitely, making him groan in pleasure. “You’ll have to forgive me if
I cum too soon.”
“It’s because I paid for my vagina,” Fuze giggles.
Whatever it is, Sthelo just knows that he’s in heaven. All he knows is that Fuze
is so tight he’s going out of his mind, and that he has to grit his teeth to control
himself because he’s going to burst from the incredible pleasure of her hot
tight flesh against his sensitive rock-hard cock. The more he moves—slow and
deep—the more the pleasure becomes unbearable.
“O-oh!” Fuze gasps in his ear. “O-oh, it’s starting to feel good.”
“Your body feels out of this world,” he confesses in a roughened voice, his
body consumed by a rush of sensations he’s never felt before. “Everything
about you is so damn sensual and enticing. You’re a forbidden sin, Fuze.” He
changes his angle, and begins to thrust hard and fast.
“Sthelo…” a sharp breathless gasp, her hands seek purchase on his shoulders.
She whimpers as their lips join in a passionate kiss. He is fucking her mouth
with ardent authority, and fucking her pussy just as harder. In their current
position, Fuzelihle’s clit takes an unforgiving rub every time Sthelo pumps in
and out of her. He is squeezing one of breasts, and he’s kissing her deep, and
thrusting even deeper.
The rush of sensations are coming from every direction.
Soon, Fuze is attempting to match his movements—each stroke of Sthelo’s
throbbing flesh inside her core elevating her pleasure. Her breaths are
irregular cries and moans. “I-I can no longer hold it, the itch.” She croaks, as he
watches her eyes roll to the back, her toes are curling. “Aaah! I… need to… I’m
going to—fuck! Fuck me.fuck me.fuck me.”
Fuck her he does, plunging deep inside her, painfully hard from the erotic
whimpers leaving her mouth. His lips close around a taut nipple, he fucks
through her orgasm, as hoarse screams tear out of her, delicious contractions
racking her whole body—again and again.

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Sthelosamangwane’s cock pulses with each contraction her body lets out, with
every quiver against his cock, her delicious vagina causing his dick to pulse
and swell. “HA!” her body grows tense as he expands against, until it feels like
there’s nowhere else left for him to probe as she grips him like a vice. Pressure
builds everywhere—his head, inside his chest, in his balls, in his chest and
inside his belly. “Its—starting to hurt,” she sobs in his ear, “it—hurts.”
He wants to reply, to tell her that it’s almost over and she needs to hold on for
him. He cannot do it, his body has succumbed to its basics, his animalistic
biology as he pounds and pounds, all of his strength going into this one thing,
his fists are braced on the wall, above the small body under him. His jaw
clenches, eyes squeezed tight as he experiences that sweet intensity right
before his orgasm.
He thrusts harder, and groans like a dying animal as his essence spills inside
her. His vision fades into black with the intensity of how hard he cums, and he
loses himself in the best sexual experience he’s ever had in his life. His body
can no longer hold itself as he collapses on the body under him. Lips press
inside her neck, and his hand cups her small breast.
When he eventually gathers himself, he raises his head to look down at Fuze.
She looks spaced out, face blotchy with tears. There’s an air of vulnerability
around her that makes her seem younger, smaller—breakable. “Hey.”
No reply. She is peering up at him, and those tears slide down again. Sthelo
panics, scrambling to pull out of her but her arms fold around his neck. “That
was the best sex of my life!”
Bashful, Sthelo can only smile at her.
“Thank you. I enjoyed that very much.”
“Then why are you crying?”
Her eyes lose focus again, she furrows her eyebrows. “I don’t know.
Chemistry, maybe?”
Sthelo’s chest tightens, he felt it too.
>><<▪︎>><<

179
Morning comes with the salmon hues peeking through the two windows of his
room. He didn’t sleep a wink last night and kept his position, facing skyward,
one hand serving as his pillow and the other one around the woman with him
in bed. His arm has gone numb since. His thoughts are just as still, and he has
no idea how he’s feeling.
Slowly he turns his head to regard the woman on his chest softly. She’s a deep
sleeper, and only stirred once, whimpering about something. She looks
peaceful now, delicate in her repose. “Stop looking at me.”
Sthelo blinks his eyes and change has occurred in less than a second because
now she gazes at him with amusement in her eyes.
“You’re awake.”
“The look you’re giving me was piercing me even in my dreams. What did you
expect?”
“I… nothing.” A shrug of the shoulders.
Fuze says nothing else, and observes him.
Sthelo figures he should address the elephant in the room. Fuze is already
freeing herself as he sits up. “Fuze,”
“Let me get dressed,”
“We need to talk about this… what happened.”
She can’t find her thong, and pulls on her jeans, flinching as if in pain. The crop
top she was wearing is next. “This was fun and all but I have to leave. My
family’s probably asking themselves of my whereabouts, and my nephew has
probably been born already.”
“Wait, I thought that—”
“What?” her brow raises. “That we’d start dating after this? I know you’re
transphobic, Sthelosamangwane, and I know it’s not going to simply change
now that we’ve had sex. There are many others like you out there, you’re not
the first man I’ve done this with.”
Confidence knock. Sthelo leaves the bed as well, grabbing the sweatpants that
are thrown at him. “Fuze,”

180
“No, tell me I am wrong. Tell me you’ve miraculously changed overnight now
that we’ve had sex.”
“Obviously I cannot change my mind-set overnight, Fuze, but the fact that I
came to you and apologized… maybe it should count for something. I am going
through some things at the moment, and I admit it that I do not completely
understand this… the LGBT. But I’ve lost people I love because of it, and I want
to try and… learn.”
“I wish you luck on your learning.”
The coldness of her tone blindsides him. What has changed between last night
and this morning? Heck, between now and a few minutes ago? When she woke
up and smiled at him. What’s changed that she’s telling him about other men
who’ve had her like he did last night?
“Do you regret what happened last night?” he has to know. Maybe she
changed her mind overnight, and decided that she didn’t want what was
happening between both of them. “Have I hurt you in anyway?”
“My vagina does feel like a crime scene, thank you for asking.”
He knows it’s meant to make him laugh but he cannot bring himself to. The
strange thing is that he should be happy that she wants to go their separate
ways, that she’s willing to forget last night and move on like it didn’t happen,
this will spare him trouble with his colleagues. And Fuze’s father—who knows
how he would react if he ever found out that Sthelo slept with his daughter?
He’s heard the others talking when they’re in Ntumeni. The man may be a
freezing iceberg but he cares deeply for Fuze. It’s just hard for him to accept
her as this person—Fuze the woman, not the son. But he loves her, and he’s
killed men who’ve hurt her before. Sthelo thinks its inevitable that he would
hurt Fuze eventually, he doesn’t know how but being this person now, he
knows they wouldn’t work.
And yet his chest feels tight with bricks.
“Okay.” Sthelo nods his head, swallowing a bitter lump. “You’re free to forget
about last night. It was just sex, it meant nothing.”
“I didn’t need your permission to forget about it to begin with.”

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Ouch!
“Understood.” He peers at her a second, and then searches around for a t-shirt
that he can put on. “Let me take you home.”
“Louis Pasteur Private Hospital actually.”
“I don’t know where that is.”
“I’ll give you the address.”
She won’t even eat when he offers her something light before she can go. Her
coldness makes him shiver, he rubs a hand on one of his arms and tries to
chase the cold stickiness away. Its 07:00am but that’s like noon in a hostel
surrounded by taxi drivers. Maskandi is already being blasted in one of the
rooms. Someone is washing their taxi.
Sthelo tries to keep his head down as he feels all eyes on them. Others here,
they know exactly who Fuzelihle is. From a few judging glances, he knows
they know what happened between them, the walls here are paper thin after
all. He’s not ashamed, just… nervous. Maybe it’s a start. His hands are in his
pockets.
“Yah clever!” Someone shouts. “Hlelo he’s still here!”
Fuck!
This is about him, no doubt. Sthelosamangwane’s eyes wander and they clash
with Hlelo’s. The man gives him a knowing smirk. What is this? The self-
satisfied expression is on his face. “Ngwane! Suster! Niyaphila kodwa?”
Fuze nods her head beside him. Sthelo doesn’t say anything as he leads her to
his taxi and gets her door for her. “Put on your seatbelt.”
“Really?”
“Yes, please.”
She looks at him, sultry, looks ready to turn him down. Sthelo is beginning to
think he has the worst luck in the world, attracting stubborn women. Not in
the mood, he decides to task himself with ensuring she’s completely safe while
traveling with him and buckles in her seatbelt. His arm brushes against one of
her pointy nipples, and he wonders if they’re always so peak.

182
He slightly straightens, to look at her, but she won’t meet his eyes. “Fuze,” he
speaks softly.
She’s chewing the inside of her cheek.
Unbidden, his hand raises to stroke her cheek. Its instantaneous, the way she
leans into the touch. He clasps her tendrils softly and pushes his face inside
her neck. “Sthelo, please,” a choked whisper, she arches her back, “Sthelo,
please… please.”
His hand is in between her legs, the back of his thumb tapping against the
treasure he was buried deeply in last night. “I will never forget this… and how
it made me feel. Thank you,” he says.
She puts her hand on his wrist. “I’m sore.”
“We’ll stop at Osman’s and I’ll buy you painkillers.”
Her lips are on his, a second.
His lungs are on fire as he bangs her door softly, and he goes to the other side
to get in the car. Music is already playing. RnB. It suits her well. For most of
the drive, she’s looking outside.
And Sthelo is a man dying for her attention.

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Flicker : Eighteen
Fuzelihle

Phawulothando has been in this world for five hours now. He was born on
Thatego’s birthday, and they celebrated in the hospital. Nqobizitha and Chris
have met him, me… not yet. It feels like some sort of silent punishment for
getting my vagina railed while the little boy was being born.
“He’s the most perfect creature in the world!” Chris swoons for the
thousandth time, his smile is beautiful. He is sitting on Nqobizitha, and has his
phone in hand, scrolling through the few snaps of the little one that he took.
“Don’t call the baby a creature, Dali.”
“Yeah, yeah. Yebo, Baba.” Chris rolls his eyes, snuggling into his husband.
“How long until Thatego leaves the nursery? I have to get home before the
girls wake up from their nap and start crying their lungs out. Mam’ Grace will
never survive on her own.”
“I can drive him on my way back to work.”
“No that won’t do.” A headshake. “You’re meeting a patient and what if there’s
a bad accident that delays you. I’ll take him back, it’s fine.”
Nqobizitha stands with Chris still in his arms. Their kisses are too intimate for
my tastes, I look away, suppressing an embarrassing gag. Lovebirds! They’re
so annoying.
“Stop that, Bafo! You’re my son’s uncle and you’re embarrassing him with the
public kisses you’re giving the elf.”
I snort out a quiet laugh.
Nqobizitha shakes his head, ambling toward Sbanisezwe with the biggest grin
on his face. “Son of a bitch! Congratulations again.”
“Thank you. Thank you.”
Chris offers to walk Nqobizitha out as I remain with Sbanisezwe. We only saw
each other for a few seconds before Phawulothando was stealing his attention

184
again. But now, his all too knowing orbs are on me, the smile he gives me
makes me stupidly shy. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head, still looking.
Why must he be so child-like? The grin.
“Then don’t look at me.”
“Why not? You’re acting guilty like all those girls who’d lose their virginity
would behave around their parents.”
“That is a myth, Bhuti.”
He bursts into laughter. “You’re the exception to the myth. What are those
bruises on your neck?”
What? Where?
My hands snap to my neck.
“Oh, looks like a mosquito bite. They were not giving you a break last night
were they?”
Eish.
“I’ll kill you, Sbanisezwe.”
Tears dance in his eyes as he continues to explode in laughter. Argh!
“You tell him I’ll rip his balls off should he even think about hurting you.
You’re this family’s pretty princess, he must treat you as such.”
“That’s not…” deep breath. I hate this look he’s giving me—the pure light in
his eyes. “It was just a once-off thing. A one night stand that won’t happen
again.”
“Oh…”
“Yeah.”
He smiles, the wide-eyed grin that no one ever understands. I don’t deny him
my hand, and allow him to drag me towards the hospital nursery. “Okay then.”

I get a call from Sqalosenkosi later that day.

185
“I’m coming over later, make sure there’s food.” That was his order before he
hung up. The food… I think he just wants to make that I am eating. I know it’s
for me more than it is for him.
It has been ordered, the food, and has been delivered. My house is always
clean, always. Even with my pet dogs. Learnmore takes care of them. Right
now, he’s offered to walk them because I cannot walk without my damn
platinum vagina reminding me that it got some last night. I’m not even going
to bother with dilating today because that man’s penis stretched my hole
enough last night.
It felt as if he was breaking my virginity.
Maybe its because before him I hadn’t had sex for a while but he was too big
for me, too thick and long—pulsing, pulsing, pulsing. It was all so perfect,
every moment of it and it feels like he’s still moving inside me. It’s such bad
thoughts to be having with how bad my vagina is throbbing.
My phone is ringing somewhere. Thatego brought it home, along with my bag.
It rings until the person drops the call, but they do try again. And then
voicemail again. Argh!
I have the worst headache, I wish this person would stop calling.
Never mind, I find my phone under the couch. How it got there, I have no
freaking idea. Palesa was calling. I don’t think its urgent though, part of me
wants to mize her but best friends must pick up their best friend’s call when
they’re not busy.
“Babes!”
“Bitch!” she screams in my ear, I move the phone away from me and wince in
pain. Ouch! What the fuck? “I’ve been worried sick! You didn’t come back
yesterday and if Sbani hadn’t told me you’re back, I’d be on my way to the
police station right now. What happened? Where were you?”
“Remember I needed to pee.”
“And you pee for over an hour.”
I shrug my shoulders, pulling my legs on the couch and wrapping my free arm
around them in comfort. “Nothing like that. I am safe.”

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“Yeah, we’ve covered that. But where were you?”
With Mhlengi Sthelosamangwane whose surname is Khanyile. He’s a Burj
Khalifa. I really like him and I don’t know how it happened. Before its because
he’s tall, dark and so handsome. Because he’s reserved but he seems so kind. He’s
black and it was nothing serious at first but I can’t stop thinking about him.
“I came home.”
“You’re lying!” she doesn’t sound too angry. “Are you okay? It sounds like…
you’re sad or something.”
No, of course not.
“I’m not.”
“You’re lying again,” she sighs. “We’ll talk. Face to face when I see you, we’ll
talk.”
“Bye.” I’m the first one to cut the call.
A thought visits me, making me feel icky, and I scroll through my contacts to
find Hlelo’s number. He’s been Melumndeni’s best friend since they were
teenagers. I find his number and put the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Send me Mhlengi’s number,” I say. They all call him Mhlengi.
“You slept with him and you don’t know his number?”
The little bitch talks like a woman. He’s always been a clown and nothing but a
clown. Fucking twat. “Send me the damn number and stay out of my business.”
“Jeez, so sensitive. He must’ve wrecked shit up last night.”
I hang up the call before he can continue blabbering.
The number comes in less than a minute. Good. I save it on my phone and then
send him an e-wallet of R500. I also send him an SMS because he doesn’t have
WhatsApp. He’s so outdated.
Payback for last night’s food. Thank you. – me.
I’m sure he’s busy.

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My phone rings the next second, his name appears on my screen. Shit! Holy
Mother of such a handsome Burj Khalifa. Why is he calling me? The phone is
dropped on my coffee table too fast, I stare at the phone with wide eyes,
almost as if he can see me and is calling me out for not responding to his call.
He tries again.
I’m not prepared to answer.
Then next thing my phone chirps with a message.
This I can open, it’s not like he’ll know I’ve read it. Another message pings just
as I am digesting the first one. It’s an e-wallet of R400.
I believe the food didn’t cost half a thousand rand. I know you have money, Munt’
weNkosi, but I am not your charity case. – Mhlengi.
Ouch!
My vision blurs as I glare at the message. I swear he’s so freaking insecure
because what rubbish is this? Anyone else and they would take the money
without giving out speeches about them not being charity cases. Any other
person and they wouldn’t be so damn prideful over rubbish! He’s a special
breed who makes everything about his stupid pride!
Then you shouldn’t have given me that sob story about having nothing at your
age. Clearly your pride is more important. It wasn’t even about you being a
charity case, your insecurity is your one unattractive point. – me.
I switch my phone off afterwards, unwilling to entertain the back and forth.
It’s just the same, I can hear some footsteps down the hallway that I know
belong to Sqalosenkosi. He shows face and looks around his surroundings.
“Where is this boy?”
Really?
I don’t want to roll my eyes at him, I stand to give him a big hug before letting
hold drag me back to the couch. He pulls me into his chest and I breathe in his
delicious warmth. “Bhuti.”
He strokes my hair. “What happened?”
I shrug my shoulders.

188
“You disappeared last night. Did you sleep with him?”
My silence tells him all he needs to know.
I can feel his sigh touch the top of my head. “Are you okay, Fuze?”
I am completely fine.
“We slept together.” He clears his throat, I know he doesn’t like hearing about
my sex life. “But he’s like every other guy, Sqalo. He was pushing me before
this and misgendered me on purpose. Then he’s asking me to stay with him
for the night. I did because I already liked him right—black and all, he was the
exception. I was careless and I risked not seeing any of you today for him, for a
few hours.”
“You’re angry.”
“That’s what he told me the first time we met,” I laugh bitterly.
“Why?”
I don’t know.
“I’m angry because he was the best sex of my life and he’s no different, Sqalo.
I’ve seen it personally and the cycle gets tiring. I’m exhausted and I’m angry
because I like him. I’m angry because I feel guilty even though I have no
reason to be because I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Fuze…”
He has no idea what to say, every time he’s like this, he just holds me until I
feel better.
“I can’t tell you what to do because I haven’t met this guy and don’t know his
character. But he sounds crappy, it’s never a good idea to start something with
a man who boldly disrespects you. You leave the first time it happens.”
“I know.” I nod my head. “This why I told him it wouldn’t happen again. It
won’t. It was a once-off thing.”
“Good.” His lips touch my temple. “You haven’t eaten, let’s go.”
“I ordered something, it’s in the kitchen.”
>><<▪︎>><<

189
Sthelo never bothered to reply to that SMS I sent him. I didn’t bother to send
him back the R400 he sent me. Life moves on. Work keeps me company most
of the time, I nab business for us like a skilled fisherman catches fish in a river.
Sqalosenkosi is proud of me… when is he never?
I think I am happy.
Only when I get home, everyday feels lonelier than the previous one. Even
with Izzy and Zizi. Thankfully, I am going to Eshowe this weekend. Thatego
and his team were moving fast with renovations, mostly I think its because he
wanted to be here with his brand-new son, enjoying the family life with
Sbanisezwe. They’re not even hosting braais lately, too taken by their little
one.
Its absolutely boring for a Thursday night. I would’ve gone out with Palesa but
she has date night with her man. The rest of my family head homes with
children, they cannot afford to go out every night. I need new friends, I really
need people I can chill with no matter what the day of the week. These ones
around me are too busy falling in love and building families.
Phone in hand, I entertain the idea of indulging any man I’ve ever ghosted
before. I cannot just call them out of the blue. WhatsApp is the better option,
I’m sure one of them has some interesting status they posted that I can
comment on.
Let’s see…
Most of them are boring. I scroll down and I almost drop my phone.
The fuck!
When did he get a functional phone that allows WhatsApp?
I almost click on his name until I remember that he’ll probably see I was
stalking him. Let me go hide my read receipts first. As soon as that’s out of the
way, I go back to check his statuses. They make a full circle. Can you believe
that? He must think people have time to go through each and every thing he
posted.
I am people.

190
He takes his horrible pictures! Not of him no, but of younger versions of him.
These three boys must be his brothers. There are no captions just pictures of
this and that. He clearly loves his Maskandi and he wrote a caption about
some Maskandi festival taking place in December. Pretty boring.
My phone rings just a second later.
“Zithobile Ngcobo, what do you want?”
Christophe giggles happily, sighing into my ear. “I need a favour. Lisa claims
she’s desperate to see her grandparents back home so I was wondering if she
could tag along for the weekend and come back home with you again.”
“That’s code for she has a boyfriend in the rurals, I just know.”
“Well she is fifteen years old, it was bound to happen at some point.”
At least he’s not cringe about it. That’s the beauty of having young parents.
Most of the time, they tend to be more understanding. “Have you told her not
to have sex with this guy?”
“She went all ew on me so her father’s going to do it.”
“Ah!” I chuckle. “I just love her.”
“But can you do it? If this is truly about a boyfriend, please find out who this
boy is so that we can do a background check on the type of home he comes
from. I don’t want my sister’s daughter associating with criminals, Zenny
would rise from the grave.”
“Gotcha!”
“Thank you.” There’s a breathless smile in his voice, he pleads with someone
to wait until he’s done with his call in the background. Five hundred bucks say
its Nqobizitha and that he’s begging for sex. “Anyway how’s your night going?”
“Can't talk, your man needs to fuck!”
“Hey!”
I laugh and drop the call.
Izzy comes to join me and curls into my side, licking my face in comfort, as if
he can feel the loneliness bleeding out of me. It makes me sad.

191
 >><<▪︎>><<
Lisakhanya rushes upstairs immediately we enter the house. She’s mentioned
something about bathing before going to meet her grandparents. I shake my
head because she really thinks she’s smart. For today, I won’t follow her
around because driving for an extended period of time can tire anyone out
and I just really need to sleep.
“Where are you going, Mah?”
She’s drinking from a small bottle of water, wearing her favourite Queen
Elizabeth inspired pieces. Her cologne is pleasing to the nose. She’s beautiful.
Her glower that she nails me with isn’t. “Learn to mind your own business.”
Mxm.
“I heard Baba broke up with his floozy,” I gossip, trying to gauge her reaction
to the news. I swear to God if she’s back with him…
“Good for him.” Her face is blank. “I have to go now. Take care of yourself,
you’re an endangered species and you know how men love to force
themselves on you.”
Hai!
Every time she wants to break me by reminding me this. “Thank you for the
reminder.” I don’t know how to hide my attitude.
“Its because I love you.”
Haike!
Her and Zungu deserve each other.
I’m going to nap, and yell at Lisa for daring to disturb me by reporting her
departure though deep down I am proud of her. Sleep eventually finds me.
There’s someone shutting my door with a vicious bang.
I wake with tears in my eyes, trembling.
“Sis’ Fuze!”
Oh Thixo!

192
“Lisakhanya don’t do that. You’re supposed to knock on my door, not just
budge in.”
“I did knock,” she clarifies, holding a poorly wrapped box in her hands. “You
will not believe what my boyfriend bought me.”
“So you do have a boyfriend?” I roll my eyes. “That’s why you’re budging into
our rooms like you own this place? Alright, let’s see it.”
She throws the silver wrapping on the floor, and opens the box. My eyes bulge
at the sight before me. “Lisa!” I call her name in shock. “Where did you get
these shoes?”
“Misungwane bought them for me.”
The boyfriend.
I snort because he hasn’t. Although they’re still brand-new looking, it’s easy to
tell that the shoes have been worn before. They’re my size and I know they’re
mine because they’re limited edition and I don’t think anyone around
Mbongolwane owns them. I lost them the night I was running away from my
family. On my father’s special day.
Seriously who owns a pair of LV shoes that cost 50k around Mbongolwane?
“Where did he buy them?” I ask.
“I um, he didn’t say. It doesn’t matter, they’re gorgeous right?”
“Very.”
“You said the boy’s name is Misungwane?”
“Mhmm.” She nods her head. “Khanyile household in Mphundumane.”
Mphundumane is rural compared to Mbongolwane.
“I see.”
My heart begins to pound inside my chest. “Gogo wants to see you. She called
me,” I say. “Go now because she was desperate to spend her time with you.”
I watch her rush out without the shoes, she knows she’ll be finding them here
when she gets back anyway. As for me, I just need to borrow them for a few
minutes.

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The Khanyiles’ main home strangely reminds me of a bus. It’s the way its
shaped like a cute tiny bus. They have two other debilitating rondavels on
either side of the main house. As I am approaching, I see two boys running
around and yelling something. There’s a washing line with dry clothes hanging
on it. “Sanibona.” I greet quietly as I enter their premises. “I’m looking for
Misungwane.”
One of the boys giggles. “Wait are you his other girlfriend? Did you see the
first one with the shoes? Let me call him.”
“Let me call Bhuti because he warned him to only have one girlfriend. Maybe
he’ll use the belt on him!”
“Oh boy now I’m excited. Hurry Sphiwe!”
I remain awkward near the entryway, clutching a shoe box that was wrapped
in silver not too long ago. My eyes travel to the laundry of what looks like
blankets in a large basin near the tap. Someone must’ve been doing washing. I
look behind me to my car—a bit antsy. The last time I was careless with it and
some thief had almost succeeded in stealing it.
“Fuze?”
Huh?
My eyes whip in front of me way too fast. It’s that voice.
We share eye contact and—my belly unfurls with warm heat. His eyes are still
so deep and it feels like he’s staring deep into my soul right now. I grip the box
in my grasp as if my life depends on it.
Sthelo.
I had figured that this was his home but I hadn’t thought that I’d seen him. I
mean of course I came here hoping but I hadn’t thought… I hadn’t thought…
“Mhlengi.”
He doesn’t look amused. He’s holding a plastic bag that looks like it has
washing soap and he has pegs fastened to the bottom of his shirt. He looks
really good—simplistic, handsome.

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“Bhuti, this is her!” one of the boys comes back to say. “Look at that box, it’s
the one Misungwane gave to that girl.”
“She’s my niece,” I clarify, not wanting the poor boy to get in trouble, “these
shoes were mine but I lost them a while back and now they’re here.”
“You were drunk,” he says.
“Guilty.”
The frown he gives me offends me. He’s addicted to nicotine and he has the
audacity to judge me for loving my alcohol, at least it’s not daily thing with me.
“The one you’re looking for will explain himself. Excuse me I was busy with
something.”
His arm brushes mine, and my breath hitches. I feel like crying and I don’t
know why. His scent is heavy on my nose, and I can almost feel it making love
to my nose like it had that night he was on top of me—moving and moving.
“Here he is! This is Misungwane!” the boy comes back.
“Lalela Munt’ kaJehova, I just found the shoes ditched on the sidewalk as I was
walking to my friends in Ntumeni. Ngyaxolisa, I—”
“Its fine,” I shake my head. “Lisa’s my cousin anyway. If there’s anyone I’m
glad those shoes are going to, it’s her. They are pretty expensive.”
“How much?”
I hesitate before revealing, “R50 000.”
“Yho! Yho! Yho!” he loses his cool, snatching the box from me. “Did you tell
her? Did you tell her how much I spent on her?”
Excuse me?
He’s crazy, this boy.
I can’t help laughing.
“So you’re not his girlfriend? Our big brother is not going to beat him with the
belt? Thanks a lot!”
“Sphiwe’s crazy in the head,” the other boy says. I think his name is Nsika.

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These kids are characters. I laugh again as Sphiwe chases the other one
around. All this while the older one still marvels at my heels. Unable to resist, I
steal a glance behind me to… him, Sthelo. He’s busy at the tap, with the
blankets, not even looking at me.
I try but the temptation is too strong. “May I help you?”
He raises his eyes and forces me to look down.
What has he done to me?
I never drop my eyes in the presence of a man. Never ever!
I remove my shoes, and place them on a dry spot on the grass. He’s already
inside the washing basin, stomping and stomping on the blankets. “Sorry,” I
apologize quickly when I accidentally stomp on his foot. The glare he just gave
me.
A dismissive nod, and he continues doing what he was doing. Lord he makes it
seem so simple. How the fuck does this thing work? The water is splashing
and wetting my thighs. It’ll be a painful experience to step into my car while so
wet. I almost trip again, but balance myself against the tap.
“You really are a spoilt brat, aren’t you?”
I could choose to be offended, maybe he wants us to argue.
“My parents had the means so why not?” it won’t work when I return his
goading, sarcastically.
He shakes his head, keeping me steady by balancing a hand to the small of my
back. Fuck! My hands quickly find purchase on his chest. In this position, I
become completely aware of him—and that rapid beating of his heart. I am
affecting him, I can tell. My lips twitch when I feel him looking down at me.
His masculine scent is invading my senses...
I am bewitched, struggling for breath, lost in his deep gaze.
Someone clears their throat and I push him away quickly.
Shit! He puts his arm around me again and helps to balance me.

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“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” It’s an older woman, she has
Sthelosamangwane’s face. Well, he has her face. “I didn’t know we had
company.”
“I, um, I’m not. I mean—”
“This is Fuzelihle Ngcobo, MaZuma. You know who her family is—the
celebrities of Mbongolwane.”
I think that’s a dig. What the hell is wrong with him?
“Why are you so angry?” I don’t mean to do this with the mother here, but I
have to know what his problem is.
The glower makes me shrink a little. “Come with me,” he says, and helps me
out of the basin without permission. He’s pulling me with him, and I am
cringing at the sensation of sand against my wet feet. Sies! He’s moving fast as
I attempt to drag this out as much as possible. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to investigate the thief who stole my—”
“Just because we don’t have a lot of money, doesn’t mean we’re thieves. My
brother explained how he got those shoes, so what the hell is your problem?”
“I know that now!” I snap, trying and failing to shrug off his grip from my arm.
“And what the hell is your problem with poverty? Why are you so obsessed
with it? That’s not what I was thinking, dammit! Why is everything about
money? Why are you always so quick to assume that I’m judging you? You
have serious issues, Mhlengi!”
“Look who’s talking,” he snorts.
“Why? Because I wouldn’t let you fuck me again?” I am frustrated, searching
his eyes. “Maybe you thought I’d be crumbling because its hard for you to
fathom that women can fuck and leave, right?”
His jaw clenches. And his response is to twist his hands in my hair and grab
purchase—he smashes his lips with mine.

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Flicker : Nineteen
Sthelosamangwane

Sweet.
Fuze’s lips are like the sweet peaches his father would bring them from
Durban, freshly picked from a friend’s home. Her lips are succulent, her
tongue velvety as she returns his kisses, not fighting as her back is pushed
against the wall behind her. Sthelo cannot get enough, and his dick twitching
is proof enough of the way she makes him feel.
“Ha!” a sigh trespasses her luscious lips—and she’s stroking his cheek, moving
slower to encourage him to slow down. He doesn’t want to slow down. He
wants to bed Fuze again, have her thrashing and writhing beneath him,
desperate and warm and moist. “I… I can’t breathe.”
He doesn’t want her to.
The only way he can still get his fill of her while allowing her breath is to focus
on another spot that will drive her insane. His lips latch onto her pulse point
and he suckles once before peppering the sensitive spot with kisses and nips.
His hands are moving from her waist to her butt.
“Sthelo…”
With one hand trapping her firmly, his other one travels to grab an ass-ful of
her round thick meat. It’s better when its skin on skin, he’s glad she chose this
dress today, as his hand moves higher up to hook in the thin band of her
thong. His hand caresses around her side until he’s reaching her front, and
worming his hand inside her warmth.
“Fuck!” she moans and rests her forehead on his shoulder.
“So you didn’t think about me?” he asks, pressing his thumb against her
bundle of nerves. “Not even once?”
“Yes… yes… no.”
“Hmm?”

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“I—did. I—did.”
“And what did you do?”
She moans and attempts to push him away but his touch is firm, his thumb is
circling and circling and her body is reacting so sweetly to his touch, inching
towards him—begging for more. “I… I… touched. I touched myself.”
That pleases Sthelo, its confession enough, and he thinks he can let her go.
“What?” she pushes him away, and her face dawns with realization. “Really?
That’s why you were touching me? You are such an asshole.” She’s fixing
herself, pulling down her dress with trembling fingers. The glare of her brown
eyes burns him with guilt, he takes a step forward, and it’s too late for her to
try and escape. “I need to, I need to get back to your brother and take the
shoes. Please get out of my way.”
Sthelo doesn’t budge.
“Goddammit!” her attempts at pushing him away are unsuccessful. “Listen to
me, I am not someone you can use when you need to feel powerful. You will
not toy with me and think I’ll take it lying down.” There’s a fire in her eyes.
On the other hand, Sthelo is… nervous. He tries to collect his thoughts so that
he can properly articulate himself without angering her. He wants to tell her
all he’s felt and what he’s been trying to learn. Of course he’s not perfect but…
not a day has gone by that he hasn’t thought about her.
“I… crumbled without you,” he starts in a low voice, embarrassed to be
admitting this out loud, to be talking about emotions like this, “I don’t know
what I was expecting the morning after we had sex but what you did was a
blindside. Granted, it was deserved. And I let you go—”
“You didn’t let me do anything. I left all on my own!”
“You’re right.” He nods his head, looking into her fiery eyes. “I deserved it. And
it made sense why you left but I still couldn’t accept it, and what made things
worse was when you sent me that money—it felt like a slap to the cheek.
Again, I know I deserved it. And… but life has strange ways of fucking with me,
Fuze. Here I am, unable to stop thinking about you when I never thought
something like this would happen to me. You’re unexpected and scary but… I
can’t stop thinking about you.”

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“You keep saying you can’t stop thinking about me.”
“Because it’s true.”
Fuze shrugs her shoulders. “Pho ngenzeni mina?”
Warm embarrassment pokes Sthelo in the cheeks. He thought… He doesn’t
know what he thought but she’s not interested clearly. He thinks he… likes
her. It’s about more than the sex they had, he was attracted to her from the
first time he set his eyes on her—and her trans-ness didn’t stop his feelings.
“Lutho, nganeyakwethu, bengikwazisa nje.”
A puff of air leaves the short woman’s lips. “Ngiyezwa.”
Sthelo allows her hand free, and looks at it as it hangs limply on her sides.
“Maybe it’s hard to believe but life has a way of teaching me things by… I
already told you. I’m not familiar with trans people, but I tried learning, I don’t
understand it much but I’m willing to learn. I’ve already learned that its
possible for me to be attracted to one. Nothing’s changed since I’ve known, no
matter how hard I wanted it to.”
“Hmk.”
He’s beginning to feel stupid.
“I’m sorry for how things are between us, and the part I played,” he says—and
starts to walk away. He’s not enjoying the bored expression on her face, and
the one-worded responses.
She stands there as he walks away.
At the tap, he rinses his muddy feet before resuming what he was doing
earlier in the washing basin. His foot stomp on the blankets angrily as he
moves. He doesn’t look at her as she rinses her feet, and then… her feet stomp
him again as she helps him with the blankets. “Sorry,” a soft murmur.
He says nothing.
She’s very bad at this, nearly tripping over a number of times, until
Sthelosamangwane’s arms are folding on her lower back to keep her secure
and they move in tandem. Her breath hitches, her always pointed nipples

200
brushing against his body. His hand brushes her ass discreetly before it raises
again. “I could give you extra lessons on how to do this if you want,” he offers.
“I… why not?” she looks into his eyes—careful.
“I’m holding you,” he tells her, “I’m not letting you fall.”
No verbal response, her head presses against his chest.
Sthelo allows it, he can even forget about his surroundings, and the fear.
People around here know who this woman is, they know about her
upbringing, they know about her father. They know.
And yet he can’t bring himself to care.
She’s soft against him, flowery, and so small.
But she pulls him toward her with the force of a raging windstorm—beautiful,
destructive.
“And if I ask for those lessons right here, tonight?”
Sthelo’s hand sinks into her hair, he looks at her pretty face, nodding his head
softly. “Whatever you want.”

His mother asks him about Fuze later that night when they’re done eating, and
the younger ones have gone to sleep. “Which one is she? Their family is so big
I can barely keep up.”
“Her mother was the headmaster of a school. The father is a taxi boss. I work
for him now.”
“Oh… is that where you met?”
“No.”
“Okay.” MaZuma nods her head and sighs. “Why did they name her after the
Ngcobos when her father has paid his dues?”
Sthelo hesitates this time, wanting more than anything to light up a cigarette
and ease the nerves emanating from every pore. “Because they have problems
with her father. She was born with a penis but she identifies as a woman.”

201
“Heh!” MaZuma chokes on her saliva. “What kind of woman is born with a
penis? I know Gabela’s son was born with both parts. Was she like that as
well?”
Sthelo shakes his head. “She was born with a penis, MaZuma. They assigned
her a boy when she was born but she’s not a man, she is a woman.”
“A woman with no vagina?”
This will keep getting awkward. He lets out a groan, and kicks at stones,
buying time by listening to the crickets all around them. After what feels like
an eternity, he peers at his mother and shakes his head. “She has a vagina.
Technology is advanced now, you can have surgery to reconstruct your
private parts.”
“Hawu!”
“I… It angered me at first. If I’m being honest, I still don’t fully understand how
that becomes possible—and the thought process behind such. But I’m trying
to learn because… because I see the stars in her. And she intoxicates me with
her light. I think about her a lot.”
“You like her.”
He scrubs his face tiredly, too nervous to admit it to her. “Maybe… maybe I do.
I cannot see any man in her, no matter how hard I try. I’ve tried, Mah, but the
harder I try the more I like her.”
“I like her too.”
Surprise has him whipping his head fast toward her. “Serious?”
“Ehhene.” His mother doesn’t lie. “But what about children?”
“Many other women don’t have the ability to make babies. Are they less of a
woman than you because of that?” he read this on the internet.
“Never thought of it like that.”
“Me too,” he says, “besides I’m not talking marriage and kids here. I’m just
saying she’s the first girl I want to know for longer than three seconds.”
“Haibo!” MaZuma smacks his arm. “Is that how Lucia fell pregnant? Over
something that happened in less than three seconds?”

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Sthelo snorts at his mother’ childless. He doesn’t come back, even as she begs
him to.

Fuze comes on her feet later that night. The car that Sthelo noticed was
familiar, the one he stole from her and lost his job over, he saw it. Of course
he’s known for a while now that this is the same woman whose phone he
answered, the same one who tricked him and mentioned dates that were
never there. It’s not her in a relationship with Johan, but her older sister. He’s
known and he thought he would be angry. Angry because he lost his job
because of her.
But everything that has happened, everything, has led them to this—them, in
his small rondavel. She’s standing near the doorway, wearing a different dress
than the one she was wearing earlier. White is her favourite colour, this one is
looser than that first one.
Sthelo peels himself from the other side of the door, and moves toward her.
She smiles, and puts a hand on his waist. “Teacher, teacher I am here.”
“Take of your dress.”
“Yes, Sir!” her voice is teasing, she pulls the dress up and drops it in a heap of
white on the floor.
Sthelo marvels at her body, how beautiful it is, and strokes her arm—taking in
the petite hour glass frame and small breasts. Her honey-golden skin is
patterned with constellations that he wants to take his time kissing. His hand
covers her right breast, and he bends his legs to kiss her softly. This doesn’t
feel disgusting, it doesn’t feel bad. “You are so beautiful, Nkosazane.”
“What else should I do, huh? Undress you and suck your cock?”
Fuck!

He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, as she does so of her own bidding.
She’s on her knees, looking up at him with wide eyes, “I really wanna suck
your dick.” The words take Sthelo’s breath away. But before he can react, Fuze
is already licking her way down his V-line, and goes lower. She stops just as
she reaches his erection. Ever so slowly, she runs her tongue along the
underside of the cock, then flicking it at the already leaking slit. Sthelo is

203
impossibly hard, and the woman on her knees hasn’t even taken him in her
mouth yet.

When she finally does, Sthelo lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was
holding. Fuze has her pretty mouth wrapped around his cock, going up and
down slowly, almost teasing. Her eyes are wide open, looking straight into his
own. Something in his stomach flutters.

Fuze looks so obscenely beautiful, that Sthelo wishes he could keep her
there. Forever.
>><<▪︎>><<
Morning comes with the sound of birds chirping loudly outside, and a warm
body lying beside him. Sthelo doesn’t want to look at Fuze lest history repeat
itself and she threatens to bail again. Instead, he tries to steal glimpses of her
from his peripheral. Her mouth hangs half-open as she drools onto his numb
arm but the imperfection doesn’t take anything away from her beauty.
“I know you’re looking at me.”
This feels like a sad amount of bad luck.
“I promise I wasn’t,” he defends himself. Truth be told he doesn’t want her to
leave yet.
“Before I leave—”
His heart sinks, the dreaded word.
“Do you want to go another round?”
Of course he wants to go another round, but he wants to go for many other
rounds and rounds that are not even about the bedroom. A round to the pub.
To wherever she wants to go, maybe the fancy places her money can afford,
he’d swallow his pride and welcome any uncomfortability.
“Why not?”
He gets on top of her and softly presses his lips on hers, gently spreading her
soft thighs so that she is exposed. She looks sinfully innocent like this, yet
seductive. Her pussy lips appear thicker, juicier, wetness from the session

204
they had a few hours ago evident on her body. Sthelo leans over to kiss on and
press his tongue against her swollen clit... her hole quivers as he blows on it.
He marvels at the way her head falls back, as she fondles her boobs and
pistons up for more, more, more. More he gives her, stimulating her body,
before lying behind her, and gently running the sensitive head of cock along
her pussy lips in a back and forth manner, before stopping right against her
little hole and slowly pushing in, feeling her swollen warmth stretch open as
she tries to get up but he’s holding her down by her waist.
“Oh God.” Fuze’s fingers dig into the bedding.
Sthelo raises her leg and begins to drill in and out of her moisture, taking her
from behind—thrusting in and out of her with considerate gentleness. Fuze
moans softly, hiding her face inside the pillows—desperate, warm, pliant.
“You feel out of this world. I love fucking you, Fuze. It feels like you were made
for this, to be throwing it back on my cock like this.”
“Yesses!” she hisses, and starts to throw it back against him—smacking her
ass so hard it starts to jiggle against him, and he’s losing his self-control,
entranced by the sight. “Fuck me! Argh… so-so good.”
“I want it to burn, Fuze. I don’t want you to be able to think about anything
else but what we did. I want you to feel it in the toilet, in the bathroom, when
you’re sitting down… even when you’re walking.” He fucks her even harder
going deeper as she moves her waist away trying to salvage what’s left of her
swollen warmth but his arm curls around her waist, and he flips them so she’s
on her belly. “Take it, Fuze, I want you to feel good. Akukho mnandi, Sthandwa
sam?”
She whimpers, fingers holding the bedding for dear life.
“Fuze?”
He stretches her hole, filling her pussy with all of his hardened dick, probing
and probing until it feels like there’s nowhere else to search. He pushes her
past her limits, needing her to feel it. To always remember him and crave no
one else but him. Her drug. He’s pushing her past her limits, bicep around her
throat and breath in her ear, as she taps on his pelvis and begs for mercy.
“Kumnandi yini?”

205
Fuze lets out a breath. “Kumnandi, Baby.”
“Then I won’t stop,” he says, pounding her deeper.

206
Flicker : Twenty
Sthelosamangwane

As it is with his personality, Sthelo finds himself getting addicted to Fuzelihle

in bed. When he’s not driving her father’s taxis to Johannesburg and Eshowe,
he’s spending his time with her, getting his fill—in the bedroom, in his taxi, in
her car sometimes. At the hostel. Home in Mphundumane. He cannot get
enough of her, and she seems just as addicted. Its… unexpected, the way she
makes him feel.
Fuzelihle’s legs are hanging over his shoulders, as he slams into her deeper,
her arms are around his neck, her A-cups moving softly to the rough rhythm
that Sthelo has set. She shudders, eyes rolling to the back of her head when his
hand finds her throat, and she bites on her bottom lip.
“Ahhh… Mmm…hmm…mmm.”
Sthelo flicks her clit while thrusting into her, pounding and pounding, until the
headboard is shaking. His lips are on her, intense in the way he’s kissing her
and just as intense in the way his pulsing dick is shoving into her. Her flesh is
warm around his dick, strangling him until he’s barely breathing.
“Keep going, please don’t stop.” She begs.
Sthelo doesn’t. He makes sure to make her cum first. Soon after, he’s shooting
her load inside her as well. With his last strength he rides out his orgasm, and
collapses on her small body. His face hides in between her breasts, he exhales,
and latches onto her nipple. Fuze strokes his head—almost babying.
The only thing that disrupts the post-coital bliss is his phone ringing.
There’s a few tense seconds between them before Sthelo reaches out, with his
dick still buried deep in Fuze, and grabs his phone. “MaZuma?”
Something like relief passes Fuzelihle’s expression, she presses tiny kisses to
his jaw as he listens to the call. It becomes a full-fledged kiss as soon as his
mother disconnects the call. “Let me guess, she needs you.”
He nods his head.

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Fuze winces as he pulls out, and rushes to help him, setting the pace on how
slowly that softening dick is sliding out of her. “What if you were in Joburg?”
“Then she wouldn’t have called,” he says.
A sigh, she finds one of Sthelosamangwane’s t-shirts and puts it on. They’re in
her room, in Mbongolwane, Sthelo sneaks in like a goddamn teenager and
then sneaks out again. This is their arrangement, because he has to prove
himself and Fuze isn’t sure of him… the only thing she can acknowledge with
certainty is that she loves having sex with him.

It’s a daunting task of tiptoeing in the dark as they make their way downstairs.
Fuze clings to the door and beams at him. “Thank you for tonight.”
He smiles, doesn’t say anything.
He’s walked a good distance when she calls his name. “At some point you have
to stop overcompensating to please your mother. You do too much and if she
can’t see it then maybe you should stop trying. You have to live at some point.”
“Let’s just stick to fucking,” his voice remains neutral.
“Fuck you!” is the sneered response. The door shuts with a bang, just as one of
the lights inside the house turn on.
Sthelo makes his escape, Fuze can take the blame, and come up with a creative
lie. Her words have made him quite irritated though, and the more he dwells
on them, the more he wishes he’d told her where to get off.
Rich people don’t get it.
They’ll come with their woke theories on black tax and why its abuse. Abuse is
a word used a lot by people who don’t want to hold themselves accountable
lately. As if Sthelo doesn’t watch his mother struggle with them. He left school
because he could see her suffering, and he had to become a man.
Deep down, his heart clenches sometimes when he thinks about the things he
has to do. His mother gave birth just last week, and Lucia is approaching her
final stages of pregnancy as well. Sthelo had been right about his mother’s
boyfriend being a fucker who wouldn’t support his goddamn child because its
him who had to buy Pampers and clothes and food.

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Was he angry?
No, he was seething.
It hurt for weeks, there was a deep gaping wound within, one that reopens
every time he looks at his mother. Before he can get inside the house, he just
needs to smoke a cigarette to ease his nerves. As soon as he’s done, he knocks
on her door and makes his way inside. She’s lying on the bed with her baby
girl right next to her—their first princess.
The girl’s name is Ingibusisile. She uses their Khanyile surname, although
she’s clearly not. Sthelo didn’t question his mother, maybe its shame that has
made her like this.
“Sawubona.”
She looks sick. He rushes to kneel at her bed, inspecting her temperature by
placing his the back of his hand on her forehead. She’s burning up. “MaZuma,”
his voice shakes, “what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“But you look sick, my mother.”
“Just a fever,” she says and smiles at him warmly, “I called you here because I
need you to take care of your little sister for tonight. I’ve prepared her milk
here and her diapers, they are in the bag. Do you think you can do that for
me?”
Why even question him?
“When have I never been a responsible father to your children?” he teases her,
grabbing the baby as per her instruction.
“You’ve always been such a hard worker.”
Sthelo laughs awkwardly. “You’d think I have something to show for it now
but I don’t have the Midas touch. Some people work hard all their lives just to
stay poor.”
“Don’t say that, the tongue is powerful. It has the ability to curse.”
“Then I’ve been cursing myself for many years now.”

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MaZuma shakes her head, stroking his arm. “Well then I am blessing you.”
A smile visits Sthelo, he bows his head. “Hhayi, k’shuthi nomuzi walay’khaya
uzoma kulonyaka.”
“Sekunjalo, Ngwane.”
He grabs what she’s told him to grab and orders her to rest. He’s not working
this week, so he’s available to take care of the little princess.

In the morning, he’s the first one up. He couldn’t sleep. The baby cried all night
and she wasn’t hungry, she wasn’t wet and he doesn’t think she was sick. His
eyelids are mourning the loss of sleep as steps out of the house with baby
Ingibusisile in his arms, to check in on his mother. Has she recovered from her
fever or what?
Misungwane is sitting outside the main house with his cheek pressed to his
palm. He looks down, unblinking, clearly he has a lot on his mind. “Manje
wena?” Sthelo questions, kicking his brother’s foot gently. “Kwenzenjani,
wadabukisa kangaka ekuseni?”
“Mah won’t wake up.”
“Pho?” a shake of the head from the older. “She was sick last night maybe she
didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Eyy awungizwa wena!” Usually, Sthelo would be smacking his brother upside
the head for daring to talk to him like that but Misungwane is never this rude.
“I’m telling you that I tried to wake her and it’s like she’s… she’s dead.”
A frowning mask crosses Sthelo’s features, he puts the baby in his brother’s
arms. He has a bad feeling, his stomach is sinking. The main house is
ominously silent, as he heads to his mother’s bedroom. She’s lying on the bed,
on her stomach, head turned in the door’s direction. Approaching her slowly,
Sthelo kneels in front of her and… something is not right.
Her eyes are opened but they’re not moving.
He tries to wake her but it’s not working, no matter how hard he tries, and
eventually he has to give up. He has to sit on her bed and cradle her and be
strong for his brothers and Ingibusisile.

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 >><<▪︎>><<
There are rumours about an argument MaZuma had with Malum’ Mfanafuthi’s
wife, MaNxumalo. Words flew and it was nasty. His father’s brother had been
spending a lot of time with his mother apparently and MaNxumalo wasn’t
pleased. Rumours went around the village, about Ingibusisile’s paternity.
Sthelo hears all these things as he’s planning his mother’s funeral.
He’s alone, Mfanafuthi’s nowhere to be found.
Ingibusisile cries a lot. He doesn’t know what to do with her. Lucia has her
own pregnancy—and she’s short-tempered. By the end of everything, Sthelo is
a dead man walking. Zungu has given him leave, the man is kinder than people
assume and Sthelo spends most of his days at home.
He’s fixing this and washing that. He just always has to keep busy. At night his
mind won’t let him rest. He thinks about a lot of things but at least he’s
cracked one thing, his mother gave Ingibusisile their surname for a reason.
She was trying to tell him, to show him.
And it’s like Sthelo’s a teenager all over again with how… complicated his
heart is. There’s dust inside, very messy. Every time he crosses paths with his
uncle the anger reignites. He cannot stop how infested his heart is becoming,
how rotting.
This is why he follows him one night, he can no longer ignore the gaping
wound and it needs to bleed. Mfanafuthi’s bones are as broken as that fateful
night Sthelosamangwane nearly lost his life in Durban.
“Sthelo?”
“I’m—right outside your house,” he speaks into the phone.
A huff, he can see the irritation clearly—even though they’re not with each
other. “And how do you know I am in Mbongolwane?”
“I saw your car.”
“You know I don’t want to speak to you. Two weeks! Two whole weeks you’ve
ignored me and now you want to talk?”
“I wasn’t in the position to fuck you, Fuze, that’s all we do—you and I. You
wanted it this way. I’m sorry I couldn’t fuck you, my mother died and I am

211
trying to figure things out. Will you meet me outside now? I am ready to fuck
you.”
“NO!” She screams into the phone. “No! How dare you?”
Sthelo sags against the nearest tree and sighs. “Fuze—”
“No, Mhlengi!” her breath is fast in his ear. “I’m not letting you disrespect me
like that! You better watch what you say to me and how. Now sort your issues
out and leave me the fuck alone.”
The call disconnects.
The gaping wound opens again, as his bloodied hands tremble, he’s searching
for his cigarettes and a light. He puts it to his lips and inhales shakily. His chest
is being pressed down by bricks and it’s too dark outside—maybe if he were
in Durban, it wouldn’t be so lonely.
He stains his phone with blood as he goes through his contacts. Nhlanhla’s
name appears before Sabelo’s. Of course he’s still blocked.
Any other time and Sthelo would convince himself he doesn’t care. Right now
he cannot do it, Ntuthuko’s number goes through, the man’s happy to hear
from him. “Can you do me a favour when you get to work tomorrow? I need
you to speak to Nhlanhla or Sabelo—”
“Is this some kind of sick joke?” Ntuthuko snaps into the line. “Eyy wena, those
two followed each other to grave—like Romeo and Juliet. The Malawian one
committed suicide, Sabelo blamed you for it. He killed himself as well.”
What…?
Sthelo’s world comes crashing down.

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Flicker : Twenty-one
Fuzelihle

I have a pounding headache that has nothing to do with alcohol. Maybe its
depression from not getting dick anymore. I’m sad actually and I cannot place
the feeling but its there and its weighing me down. My hormone shots have a
bad tendency of making me feel like I have PMS sometimes. I’m also assuming
this is the reason why I’m such an emotional bitch.
It’s the weekend and I am in Eshowe, my flower shop is opening soon, and
Sqalosenkosi has allowed me to be based here for a while since what I do
doesn’t require that I trap myself in an office all day. Today I woke up late, I
ate late and I bathed late. Now I have to decide what to wear. It’s hot. I love
dresses, I grab the yellow one and a pair of white Crocs.
There’s lots to do today. I am going to check in with Thatego’s team to see how
decorations for the store are going. Then I want to head to Pick n Pay to buy
the list of items MaSibusisiwe wants me to. She’s all the way in Johannesburg
but she still goes authoritarian mode wherever she is.
I grab my phone, and key and bag.
My phone rings before I even leave the house, for a moment I panic… thinking
its him. It’s been how long? Close to a month now. I think I’ve been doing fine,
I haven’t cried for him no matter how tempted I am. Because
Sthelosamangwane is not worth crying over—and we weren’t even dating,
were we?
The only thing he’s ever given me were orgasms. Nothing else.
It doesn’t make sense now, why I miss him. He wasn’t even all that. Maybe I
just kept him around to stroke my ego. It’s not true, that man is handsome as
hell and I… I liked him. But him not calling after that one time when he talked
to me like I was a prostitute at his beck and call, proved that he was worth
getting over.
My phone rings again.
“Bhuti?” I answer.

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“Your father’s hosting us tonight, your ass better be there.”
“Sbani—”
“No excuses, I left my own family in Joburg because your father wanted us
here. Now you get your ass here and you better look presentable.”
“Baba doesn’t want me there.”
“I didn’t know you could read his mind.”
I can’t, but I can never be in his presence. We fight a lot, that man and me. But
Sbanisezwe will be there and I trust him. He wouldn’t let them disrespect me
in his presence. “I’ll be there.”
“Good.” He hangs up.

Sthelosamangwane

He has been trying his best to move on with life as peacefully as possible. Its
just hard when he knows all the things he knows. These days his night terrors
are no longer filled with him getting into a taxi with criminals who nearly took
his life. His dreams consist of Sabelo and Nhlanhla; day in, day out. He misses
them so much it hurts. He misses them so much that his pillow is drenched
every morning—but he never remembers crying.
Guilt has its noose around his neck, with each passing day it squeezes and he
thinks he’s going to die soon. He’s afraid to die, afraid to leave his family
behind—his brothers, his baby sister and now his own son. Lucia complains
often about how he isn’t showing interest in their son, and how it feels like he
doesn’t love him at all but Sthelo has no idea how to tell her that he’s trying,
that he’s trying so hard but everything seems to be drowning him, and he’s
also fucking tired that he’s close to giving in.
His job is his sanity, and he works so hard he barely ever has time for anything
else. Zungu has decided to keep him in Eshowe for now, transporting people
from Mbongolwane to town and back. He’s not making as much money as he
was when he drove long distance but being in Eshowe means sticking close to
his family and his child.

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“Bafo, you’re going to buy food?” one of his colleagues asks him.
Sthelo nods his head. “Do you want me to bring you anything?”
“Shwarma and cold-drink.”
Accepting the R100 note from the man, Sthelo nods his head and leaves the
taxi rank. The sun is hot, wanting to burn its victims to the ground and Sthelo
is one of them. He’s going to buy himself something at Hungry Lion, and
collects the receipt, walking out of the eatery because it’s so packed and he’ll
probably be back in time for him to get his food.
The shwarma place is less than five minutes away. There’s about five people
in the queue. Sthelo makes his order and sits down, waiting for it. He checks
his phone and notices the many missed calls from Lucia, he sighs, not in the
mood. Maybe she needs diapers for the babies or something.
“Lucia?” he says as soon as she answers his call.
“You were ignoring my calls.”
Eyes travelling around the semi-packed place, he shakes his head. “Remember
I work, Ntokazi, for you and all the others. I was busy with work.”
“I don’t trust you taxi drivers.”
“I am not your husband. We’re simply co-parenting, and you have nowhere
else to go.”
“Some men were here for your brother.”
What has Misungwane done now?
He has been acting out a lot since their mother died, and Sthelo cannot bring
him to order, no matter how hard he tries. “What men?”
“Two of them. They are identical. One of them was infuriated! He burst into
the house like a security guard and went around searching the place even
though I told him that your brother wasn’t home.”
That has him sitting up. “What?”
“They’re going to come back.”
“Did they tell you when?”

215
“Soon.”
“Order 115! Order 115!”
“Lucia I have to go,” he says and drops the call. He collects Ntaba’s order and
walks out the store only to collide with someone. The shwarma flies to the
ground and he curses loudly. “WATCH WHERE YOU’RE FUCKING GOING.”
“I-I…” The voice pauses, and when Sthelo raises his eyes, all breath leaves him.
“Mhlengi!”
Tiny Fairy With Fiery, Annoyed Eyes.
“Fuze.”
“I, um, I’m sorry about the food. Here, I uh, I have some…money in my purse,
just hold on a minute.” She’s too busy going through her bag.
“You don’t need to—”
“No!” she snaps, won’t look at him. “I said I have money so please let me give it
to you.”
Sthelo shakes his head, put off by her stubbornness. Clearly nothing’s changed.
Instead of telling her to forget it, he just walks away.
“Hey!” a familiar hand grips his wrist. “Take your goddamn money,
Sthelosamangwane. I don’t want to feel indebted to you. I am telling you that I
made a mistake and I want to pay for it.”
“Fuze, don’t do this.”
“Do what?” she snaps.
“I don’t want to fight.”
“This is about your shwarma, you asshole! Not about you disrespecting me
and me never hearing from you again.”
“You’re angry,” he notes.
“Boo-hoo.”
“Not everything is about you, Fuze. I didn’t call but maybe you could’ve tried
to call me back and—”

216
“I did for a week straight and you just, you just tortured me with silence and
you didn’t care. I wanted to be there for you, we didn’t even have to address
our sex life. Just as someone I know, I wanted to be there for you!”
She’s shouting, and making a spectacle out of them. People are rolling their
eyes and whispering. They think this is a lover’s quarrel. They probably think
he cheated. Sthelo grabs her hand and drags her inside the shwarma shop. He
drags her all the way to the bathrooms. She was making a spectacle out of
them, and screaming, and crying.
Crying. He’s never seen her cry before—not tears of pain.
“Please stop screaming.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!”
He’s not trying to. But she’s screaming, and his life has already turned for the
worse, he doesn’t want to be accused of being a predator or an abuser. He is
holding her as she thrashes against him and talks about too many things, she
sounds delirious. “I am sorry.” Its all he ever does—apologize.
How did they get here?
He’s not sure, they shouldn’t be here, they were just fucking. It wasn’t for that
long, and sure he feels something for her—but Fuze, she’s not supposed to be
feeling anything for him. She said no strings attached, and Sthelo wanted the
strings but he knew that she was going to hurt one way or another.
“Let me go,” she sniffles.
“I found out my friends committed suicide and it was my fault. As if it weren’t
enough that one of them had been through so much in his home country, I
made things worse but acting like God. They’re no more and they will never
know how sorry I am. I want to call them and apologize, to tell them I care for
them deeply but where do I start? Do I kill myself and follow them there?”
Fuzelihle’s breath turn soft.
“Why did they—kill themselves?”
Sthelo shakes his head. “You’re going to hate me.”
“Why?”

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He cannot say, guilt is eating him alive.
He tries to reach for her but she’s escaping his touch, her tears are being
wiped away by her own hands, she’s collecting herself. “Let me guess, your
fucking phobias right? What is it? You told them they’re going to hell. Or you
told them they’re worthless.”
“I did.”
“Congratulations on driving them to suicide!” she says, tears dance in her eyes.
The clap she gives him is unexpected, her anger is palpable, and she’s putting
her hands on him—and yelling. Sthelo cannot fight her, he allows her to do as
she pleases, bears the name-calling. Obviously this is going to hit Fuze hard,
she knows what it’s like, Sthelo doesn’t. His privilege allows him to judge and
sneer and point fingers. He doesn’t know what it’s like… He never knew.
Someone’s joined them to inspect the noise.
“He’s a killer!” Fuze shouts, shakily grabbing her bag from the floor and
walking out.

He knows even his night is going to be ruined when MaMbambo is waiting

outside for him, seated on the bench. He greets her, and decides to cater to her
first before going inside the house. “What should I do for you today, Mah?”
“How are you holding up?”
Sthelo runs his hands on his head, brushing softly, frustratedly. “Excellent,” he
says finally, nodding his head himself. “Everything is going as it should, Mah.”
She doesn’t believe him, he can tell. He’s not looking to be believed.
“Manje awusho, ithini indaba la ngengane kaMah wakho. Has Mfanafuthi
expressed interest in helping to raise the baby she made with him.”
“With all respect, my mother, we didn’t need that man when my mother was
alive… we don’t need him now. As I said, everything is going as it should. I’ll
raise my mother’s daughter as if she is my own child.”
“And you’re sure about this? I worry about you, Sthelo, you walk around like
you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

218
He’s done that for so long that it feels normal now. Only sometimes, he’s just
tired but he’s used to this. “Hhayi kanti khululeka, Munt’ Omdala.”
“Kulungile.” She stands and puts her hand on his shoulder. “Usale kahle.”
After bidding her farewell, he walks into the house and finds Lucia. She’s
sleeping, he knows it must be hard for her taking on his mother’s
responsibilities. She’s just a child and shouldn’t be living this kind of life. He
shakes her, regretfully waking her. “How did you sleep?”
“Amazing until you woke me.”
“I am sorry. I brought food, I know you’re always tired.”
“We should find a nanny. I am not equipped to raise two babies. I barely know
anything about the one I have. Then there’s the headaches that are your
brothers!”
Sthelo runs his hands on the fabric of his jeans. “I can find a nanny. Maybe I’ll
take on another job to ensure they’re well-paid. People around here don’t
want much anyway—a simple R200 or R300 will do.”
“Okay. Thank you so much!”
With a nod, Sthelo places the KFC paper bag on the table and walks out. He’ll
join her later when the babies are awake, and she needs his assistance. In one
of the rondavels, the twins are doing their homework. They have no idea
where Misungwane is.
Its 08:30pm.

219
Flicker : Twenty-two
Fuzelihle

I don’t know what type of party this is but I am not having a great time. I’m not
even sure why we’re here actually and if it were up to me, I would be shoving
dilators inside my vagina. People are mingling, a few eyes are on me, and I
know it has to do with Hlelo. That stupid man gossips like his life depends on
it. I am just glad that Melumndeni is not confrontational because I know he
would’ve approached me about Mhlengi long ago.
“Are you having a great time?”
“Brilliant!”
Sbanisezwe shakes his head. “You’re a goddamn liar. You’re a walking zombie.
And your eyes are swollen. I take it the boyfriend has not taken heed to my
advice when I said not to hurt you.”
“People can just be sad, Bhuti!” I snap, irritated. “Not everything has to do with
men. That’s just a myth you men like to create.”
“Okay, then you’re the exception here—and the myth was created specifically
for you. What has this boy done?”
Lots of things.
This other time we did the going out thing and he got jealous.
“He killed people. Two queer people.”
Sbanisezwe’s eyes widen, though I know he’s just humouring me. I know him
well enough to know he doesn’t care about people he doesn’t know. “Really?”
“He drove them to suicide because he’s such a judgemental prick—and hetero
folks always think they can decide for others what is right and what is wrong!
He said they were his best friends but he’s just lying, he didn’t love them,
because you don’t hurt the people you love.”

220
“Oh fuck that, we all hurt people. Thateho hurts me every night lately, because
he’d rather have Phawulothando in his arms than have me hold him like we
used to. I wrote this down to always remember it.”
I’m not surprised that he’s jealous of his own child.
“This is serious.”
“Unintentionally, we hurt the people we love. Unintentionally, they hurt us
back. We say fucked up shit we don’t mean because we’re scared, and
sometimes we’re angry and cannot control our tongue-lashing. Not me… but
you know what I mean.”
I explode in laughter. “Not you?”
“I’m perfect,” he says.
Cocky. Cocky.
“What about you? You’ve never done or said something in anger and regretted
it later?”
I… have said some things to that asshole. But every single moment was
justified. At least I didn’t drive him to suicide. “Not really.”
“Good for you. Your father can’t relate, right?”
I shrug my shoulders.
“He’s looking at you now, Fuze. I want you to stand your ground and find out
where you stand. If he cannot accept you, walk out. You don’t need his love.”
I do. Sthelo told me once, he told me I act out because I am begging for my
father to love me. And then he said my father lashes out because he has no
idea how else to show me he loves me—he’s been doing this for so long that
its become normal for him to. We share eye-contact, my father and I.
“Go to him.”
No. No, this is me standing my ground. “He must come to me.”
“That’s my girl.”
He’s walking away.

221
Zungu comes soon, I didn’t expect him to. “Your Sbanisezwe is a special
character, did you know?”
“He’s been a brother to me for more than a decade now. Yes, I know.”
“You love your mother’s family.”
My shoulders lift casually. “I don’t wake up with painful bruises on my body.
My anxiety does not stem from me being afraid that someone will cause me
harm while I am sleeping. I am not misgendered or called a confused boy. It
may be chaotic sometimes and we fight, but we’re still family.”
“Do you blame me?” my father cuts his eyes at me. “We’ve never seen such a
thing before. This kind of behaviour wasn’t there when we were growing up.”
“There’s no behaviour, Zungu, this is just me being me. You’ve always seen
this version of me, from the time I was a little girl—your little boy who
actually hated being a boy. How many times should I try to make you
understand?”
“Its hard to accept this, to call you by something you’re not.”
“Yet you have no problem doing it when you want me weak, defenceless, just
desperate to hear you call me correctly and say my name. You know how to,
Zungu, you just don’t want to.”
Baba exhales. “I hear you’re hurting now, one of these boys who drive my
taxis. Who is it?”
“No one. I only date white boys.”
“But they’ve seen—”
“I could die anytime, this is why he used to drive me around. I’ll forever
remain grateful for the way he drove me around and ensured my safety.”
“We will talk… Fuze.”
My heart jumps wildly in my chest.
“Sbanisezwe spoke to me, and I want to try.”
The smile he gives me is awkward, the first step… I return it.

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KwaMai Mai is not my favourite place to be in but I don’t think I mind as he
parks his Quantum and tells me to stay put. He gets my door and seatbelt for me,
pausing to languidly smooch my lips before helping me out of the vehicle. No,
this is not a date—I reminded him last night, he had to prove to me why we
should have something more than what we share in between the bedsheets.

But this, I don’t think this is a date. He didn’t mention anything about dates.
We’re just two friends chilling together and having fun. “So who’s performing
today?” I query.

“I actually don’t know,” he shrugs his broad shoulders, as his arm brushes up
against mine. There’s an unspoken urge between us—to stick together like
magnets. “Maybe no one at all. Are you hungry? I am here to feed you.”

“Tsk, tsk! I also have to teach you manners as well. You don’t ask a woman if she
is hungry, you simply tell her that you’re feeding her and that is sexy as fuck.”

“You want me to be more sexy?”

“Well,” I start in a teasing tone, taking in the basic black jeans and t-shirt, with
that K-way hat he loves so much, “you’re already sexy but sometimes more
means good. I am greedy and always want more.”

“So you can handle it? More sexy me.”

I nod my head, folding my arm around his—and bursting with joy.

He halts my movements by stopping in the middle of a busy place. Light dances

in his eyes—and his face touches mine. We share the same breath. “I love how
your nipples are always poking me.”

“I love how your dick is always poking me,” I return.

An amused roll of the eyes. There’s the obsession with my ass, he gropes a
handful as his lips link with mine—lazy, intense. A drug. Everything about him
pulls me in, I am helpless in his presence… falling and falling.

The sounds of pained whimpers capture my attention just as I jolt awake. I am

soaking, and my chest aches. “Fuck!” my lower lip is trapped in between my
teeth. Another dream… memory.

223
It hurts to think about him. I keep trying and trying to convince myself I am
fine but I don’t know what juju used on me. Its getting so bad that I hate
myself for pursuing him, that I wanted to have sex with him, because I was
doing fine without him—and now I am heartbroken.
I saw him today and I cried. I cried in his presence. How fucking
embarrassing! But I couldn’t hold it anymore, I didn’t expect to see him and
there he was. I have been miserable without him, sad, and I didn’t understand
why he was ignoring me. I wanted to be there for him, but he was ghosting me
and he made me feel so crappy, so used.
I’m glad we’re broken up.
Who knows? Maybe he would’ve drove me to suicide as well.
The thought is a bad one and I know it, the same way I think I was wrong for
what I said to him back there. I called him a killer. Deep down, part of me had
wished he followed his friends and killed himself as well.
Too many queer people have died because of the abuse they suffered at the
privileged hands of heterosexual people—and sometimes I get angry.
Sometimes I think about how simply breathing air is offensive to others, how
simply looking for love could result in me being dead in a ditch somewhere. I
was angry when I said all those words to him. Because he’ll never know what
it’s like.
Part of me is tempted to call, and explain myself.
I won’t do it. He needs to suffer for what he’s done, and know to practice
kindness next time, and to be more tolerant.
My phone has a message on it.
I’m sorry for today. Hurting you is the last thing I want. – Mhlengi.
Why is he texting like this? As if we dated or something.
It… felt like it. Our moments were short but they felt like it. I was on the edge,
ready to tip over and free fall.
He always said he wouldn’t let me fall.

Sthelosamangwane

224
By two identical-looking men, Lucia meant the Ngcobo brothers. A boy who
works for them came in last night to leave a message that Sthelo had to come
to their home if possible because they needed to discuss something urgently,
and Misungwane was somehow involved.
This is how Sthelo finds himself here late at night, after dropping off some
passengers, with Misungwane in tow as the boy from yesterday allows them
inside. “Did you steal anything?” Sthelo has to know, because he told
Misungwane that they had to leave those days behind—a long time ago.
“Lutho, Bhuti!” Misungwane defends himself, he puts on a hurt expression.
“Hawu! You do everything for us at home… why would I do that?”
“Pho senzani la?”
The younger boy shrugs his shoulders.
A tall man muscular man opens the door. Sthelo doesn’t know if he’s
Sbanisezwe or Nqobizitha, they look alike. He introduces himself as well as
Misungwane, and the man scowls as soon as he locks eyes with Sthelo’s
younger brother. “Get in, please.”
They do as he says.
Sthelo has seen this house a million times before from when he had something
with Fuze. This is why he doesn’t embarrass himself by looking around in awe
like his younger brother. Refreshments are placed on the fancy table as a
woman Sthelo knows is Fuzelihle’s mother makes an appearance with a young
girl in tow.
“Bafana anisasho ukuthi lesiskhohlakali somfana sesikhona.” – MaSibusisiwe.
Misungwane tenses up beside him.
What’s going on?
“Bingelela, azishe!”
The young girl greets, she looks on the verge of tears. Sthelo returns
everyone’s greeting and collects himself, hands clenched on the K-way hat he
was wearing.

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“To put it simply, Mfana, the reason we’re here is because your brother with
his raging penis has impregnated my son’s fifteen year old daughter.”
Sthelo stares blankly at her, stunned.
Its awkward, he knows people are expecting him to say something but his
mind is slowly digesting the words as disbelief messes with him. “My brother?
You mean this one… Misungwane?” he cannot believe it.
“Is there any other boy I pointed at?” The woman is rude. “Do you see any
other boys in our presence? Are you not grown men?”
Sthelo nods his head. “I… just, it’s hard to believe.”
“Well you better believe it!” MaSibusisiwe snaps. “Lisa point the boy you
opened your legs for.”
The girl blushes, as one of the man widens his eyes in clear rage.
“Him,” she points at Misungwane.
“Boy did you defile my daughter—yes or no?”
Misungwane looks at MaSibusisiwe and nods his head.
“Good. We have that out of the way, now let’s discuss what’s going to happen.
You need to pay damages, we insist.”
“Who’s we, MaSibusisiwe?” the man that was glaring asks. “I don’t want
anything from these men, I just wanted to know who impregnated my
daughter.”
That must be Nqobizitha. His anger is like a storm.
“I wasn’t asking for your permission, Nqoba. You’ve already failed as a parent,
your teenage daughter became pregnant right under you nose.”
They’re arguing, as Sbanisezwe looks at Sthelo with creepy amusement in his
eyes. Sthelo is too busy trying to contain his own anger, and the urge to
scream into the void.
How could Misungwane be so irresponsible? How could he go and make a girl
pregnant when he knows what their home situation is? That’s three newborn
babies. Sthelo doesn’t think he has enough money to accommodate another

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child. He covers his face with his hat and clenches his eyes—fighting back all
emotion.
“Right, Mfana wami, let’s get down to business. Your blood here has caused
damage within our own family. We need to reach an understanding on the
way forward but you definitely have to pay damages.”

By the time the meeting is finalized Sthelo a pounding headache. His heart
nearly jumps out of its chest as connects with familiar fiery brown eyes and
they widen. Fuze is walking down the stairs, looking beautiful as ever in her
nightie. Only freezing for a second, the tall man then proceeds to step into the
chill, night air. He snaps at Misungwane for him to go wait in the car, as he
walks off to the side and lights a cigarette. His forehead is banging against the
wall softly as he tries to control his emotions, to breathe—and accept his fate.
“Are you okay?” that is Fuze. Why is she here?
“I’m doing just fine,” Sthelo replies, dragging smoke into his lungs.
“No, you’re not. I know I shouldn’t care but—”
“Please don’t,” Sthelo shakes his head, “I don’t need you to care.”
She doesn’t leave, Fuze, stubborn as ever. “Did they ask for money?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“You don’t need to be so rude, I just want to see if there is any possible way in
which I can help you.”
“Why?”
“Because I have the means.”
“Then you go tell your people to not ask me for anything because your family
already has the means right?”
“Yeah but it’s our culture to do things that way. What is wrong with you?”
“Everything, Fuze.” He pushes his weight off the wall, and shifts to stand in
front of her. He’s missed her cornered with no way to escape. “Everything is
wrong with me.”

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Her breath hitches, he’s too close apparently.
“Sthelo…”
“Everything is wrong and I don’t know what to do.” His eyes are soft, and they
are desperate. “I—am so tired.”
Her arms are on his back, she holds him and clings. He buries his face in her
neck and steals her flowery scent into his nose. Lips press on the pulsing skin
there, and he drags his lips up to mouth at the corner of her mouth. “Ah!”
“I miss you,” he confesses, growing bolder, planting passionate lip-locks all
over her face. “I miss you, Fuzelihle.” He palms her breast, other hand stroking
her butt. “I really miss you.”
“The—sex?” Fuze moans against his lips.
“Everything.”
No words follow, as their lips continue moving languidly. Silky red is being
dragged up as a big hand travels to caress soft skin, a temptingly round butt-
cheek. Skilled fingers pull aside the lacy thong covering a semi-shaved vagina,
and those same fingers tap against the owner’s sensitive clit.
“I miss you too,” whimpered. Sthelo retrieves his aching cock from inside his
pants to rub frantically against Fuze’s moist warmth—and he moves, and taps
and circles until Fuze is gripping him for anchor as she trembles against him,
slicking his exploding dick with her juices. She sighs and throws her head back
as Sthelo cleans her with the mushroomed head of his dick.
She’s now looking at him.
Sthelo wants to say so many things but he doesn’t know where to start. Fuze
rarely allows herself to be vulnerable, and Sthelo is just as bad—but he’s not
afraid to admit he feels something for her, as he had admitted the first time
around. He doesn’t just want sex, he wants so many things with her.
“Flicker.”
“Huh?” he gives her a confused expression.
“What we share—it flickers unsteadily. Bright one minute, dull the next.”
“Really?”

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Fuze nods her head. “I don’t know what it is about you that continuously pulls
me in, without fail.”
Sthelo’s reply is to kiss her.

229
Flicker : Twenty-three
Fuzelihle

“I met someone.” This the first thing I tell Snenhlanhla, and maybe I can’t keep
the smile out of my voice—grinning stupidly at her, like a little girl.
“Oh?” she seems surprised, but happy, with the slight beam on her face.
Granted, she smiles at me a lot, its not a therapist thing because the one I had
before her made me anxious. She was a MaSibusisiwe lite—forever
judgmental. I know that’s why mother sent me to her.
“Yeah.” I sit down and place my Dior handbag on my lap, it’s expensive and
deserves Queen treatment. “I really like him.”
“And does he like you back?” she sounds like a teenager dying for gossip,
aching for it. I think this is why I love her, aside from her inexperience, she’s
young like me and feels like a friend more than anything.
“I mean…” Maybe. I mean I affect him a lot, and just a week ago he said he
missed everything about me and not just my body. “He is pretty sweet. And he
treats me with kindness, but anyone can do that and it doesn’t really mean
anything right? Sqalosenkosi treats me with kindness and respect but that
doesn’t mean he wants to date me… actually, that’s a weird thought.”
Snenhlanhla gives me the eye roll. “But those are the basics of any healthy
relationship. Treating people with kindness, and respect and consideration. If
he’s doing all these things then it’s a start at least. You deserve anything but a
crappy partner.”
“Mind-blowing orgasms!” I point out, discouraging any sex flashbacks—those
things have no consideration and occur at the worst possible time. “I get those.
I get them all the time, he always makes sure I cum first. And let me tell you,
it’s better than before I had bottom surgery.”
“I love that for you.”
“You love everything for me,” I remind her. Another reason I love Snenhlanhla
is because she celebrates my achievements—happily.

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“I do. I love, love to see ordinary people like you and me making it in life. I love
the idea of black families doing happy shit, in love, living soft lives. I love when
we overcome our past traumas, no matter how insignificant they seem, and
live life to the fullest.”
“Nothing about me is ordinary. I am freaking rich, put some respect on my
name please.”
Cat-eyes roll to the back again, Snenhlanhla snorts out her laughter. “Okay
then Ms. Boss Girl. Did you reflect on what we spoke about last time?”
“It was two weeks ago, I don’t remember.”
“Fuze…”
I behave like a child sometimes.
“I remember,” I say, nodding my head, “I did. But can we pause on that for
now? I really want to talk about this guy!”
“Eish…”
“Please?”
She sighs, its light, her smile is genuine. I watch her fix her skirt before raising
her eyes. Undivided attention. “I’m here to listen to you, we walk on your pace
and although I have structured planning, its still better when you prefer to
open up. So yes, by all means, tell me about this man who’s captured your
attention.”
“I’m seeing him tonight!”
“And you’re excited?”
How can I not be? I haven’t seen him since my mother insisted that he pay
damages on his brother’s behalf. To think Chris foreshadowed this. “Nervous
as well. This is like… I don’t know if it’s a date. We’ve gone out many times
before but I feel nervous about seeing him again.”
“Why do you feel that way?”
Angazi nami.
“Maybe because I like him,” I suggest.

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Snenhlanhla keeps a neutral face, but she does nod her head.
“His name is Sthelosamangwane Khanyile. His other name is Mhlengi. I like to
use both his names interchangeably. When I’m really angry at him, his name is
Mhlengi. When he makes my belly flutter he is Sthelo.”
“Why Mhlengi for when he’s angry?”
“Because I know he prefers to be called Sthelosamangwane by me.” Its
childish of course. “You know how spouses have term of endearments for
their partners, and how they switch it up when they’re angry at their partner.”
Glossy pouty lips twitch, as this one raises one eyebrow, a good friend
thirsting for more gossip. “Spouse? I don’t have an English degree but…
spouse? You guys are married.”
Haibo… wait. Wait a damn minute!
She is chortling, my eyes are like saucers. It’s too soon. “Marriage? What, I
mean, marriage?” I sputter.
“So he’s… black?”
“No, he’s white. He was just adopted by black parents from rural
Mphundumane.”
A headshake that says ‘you’re done’ is directed to me.
Chill out, Ms. Therapist.
“That is… such a big step. You must really like this guy.”
I take a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts and feelings, but I agree
with her. “I think I do. I really do, I mean. It’s not like I’m not attracted to black
men, Sne. It’s just they have this bad tendency of being really violent and
putting every other person above black women. The violence I hate the most,
the entitlement. You know how many men of my own race have felt they own
my body? Its worse when you’re trans, they expect you to feel grateful that
they’re even giving you the time of day.”
“What has changed with this one?”
Yho, I don’t know, Dokotela.

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“He took my side the first time we met?” another suggestion. “When I had Jaco
up against the wall with broken glass to his throat, he took my side. He said it
was Jaco’s fault and he wasn’t wrong. That’s why I like him.”
Sne laughs at this, I think its because of the way I said it. “He put a black
woman above some random white dude.”
“And you know how black men like to kiss ass, especially if its pale.”
“You’re so hopeless, Fuzelihle!”
“I’m not wrong though,” I laugh with her, “I love him because he defended my
honour—broken English and all. That was when I knew he’s the one.”
“You do know that sometimes one’s true feelings are revealed in the jokes
they make, right? So… love… him being the one… Hmm, huh-huh?”
“You’re a terrible therapist!”
I love her because she knows I am joking, she never takes things to heart. It
feels like we’re lifelong friends right now, as she reminds me that I wouldn’t
be paying her so much if she didn’t know what she doing. She’s right.

Eshowe can be a pretty boring place to live in. Sometimes I don’t think I’ll get
used to how life can be so laid back here, yet strangely, this is why I love being
here so much. My store opened last week, mostly it’s the Indian and White
women with failing backs that visit the place. A random cheater will pop in to
buy his side roses to appease them for not answering their calls.
Its nice.
Even nicer is that I get to be close to this man. He’s standing with another man
I know if from Zungu’s association, head lowered in a show of respect, maybe
he can sense me because he briefly peers over his shoulder and locks eyes
with me. Then he’s looking back just as quick to the elderly man.
Okay. Clearly I’m not the showstopper I thought I was.
Dramatic, my subconscious chides.
Sue a girl for trying to get noticed by her man.

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Its busy at the rank today, it always is actually, some of the vendors are
already packing away their stock. There’s still the few that are trying to sell
any passer-by some random thing or the other. The women who sell boiled
and braaied mielies are still here, I think I’d like to buy it. There’s only R8 in
my wallet. I was planning to withdraw money but the queue was heavy at
Standard Bank, tomorrow is month end… this is always the case.
I occupy one of the steel benches awkwardly, and bear the embarrassment of
these nosy taxi drivers doing double-takes of me. Yes, the chairman’s daughter
is here—and what of it?
Zungu isn’t around. I mean I hope he’s not here somewhere, he does have a
bad tendency of being umanyonyoba and pitching out of the blue. Maybe he
does the same at the rank.
“Ntokazi!” one of the younger men shouts.
“Suster!” another one greets. “Akekho uBab’ wakho.”
Kodwa Jesu.
I’m not even here for him. To be honest, I shouldn’t be here at all. This man,
the one lighting a smoke as he approaches me, looking sexy as hell in a white
t-shirt and black jeans, that K-way hat of his shoved in the front left of his
jeans pocket, he was supposed to sneak into my house late tonight for at least
an hour but I wanted more time together so I had one of our drivers pick up
my car and now I’m here at Eshowe rank, unsure how I’ll be making it back
home.
“Sawubona.” I don’t wait for him to greet me, and stand as the space lessens
between us. “I wanted mielies but I only have R8 on me.”
He gives me his eye-smile. “I’ll buy it for you.”
“Ngyabonga. The—”
“They cost R20 around here, and since you prefer doing e-wallets to pay back
people for helping you, I don’t think it will be possible to send me that R20…
the only option you have left in order to pay me back is to collect the staff with
me and calculate the money.”
Huh?

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“Do you have taxi money? Its R40 from Eshowe to Mbongolwane and those
surrounding areas.”
No! No, I don’t have R40!
“You don’t?” There’s a smile in his voice, oh he’s just enjoying this! I can’t
believe this man actually makes my belly flutter. Argh!
“No.” I lower my voice.
“Then you’re going to work for it, you’re an independent woman. That’s
another day of helping me with staff. Tomorrow, I want you here at this time
and not a minute late.”
Bastard!
“Sthelo—”
He throws his cancer stick on the ground, and puts his hands on my back and
draws me in. My heart jumps to my throat, as something warm settles in the
pit of my belly. Finally. Today he’s really confident with his touches, one of his
hands is on my ass, and he’s affording me a show of the teeth. My breathing
quickens. Damn Burj Khalifa.
“Waze wamuhle.” I don’t think my ears deceive me. This man’s rural, he
doesn’t like compliments and he rarely gives them out. “I love your hair.”
“I bought it today,” I reveal, “my real hair’s a mess. You wouldn’t want to see it,
trust me.”
“I’ve seen it a few times when you wake up. It usually resembles a beautiful
bird’s nest.”
Tsek!
“I give you A-grade sex, from platinum vagina that I paid major bucks for and
this is what you do to me?”
His other hand rests on my cheek, the other one is still planted firmly on my
other cheek—the ones he likes to split and fondle when pounding me—as he
bursts into a laughing fit. “It’s a compliment.”
“Rejected by the owner of the birds’ nest.”

235
“Then what should I do to appease the owner of the birds’ nest?”
“Kiss!” I place my order, one of my fingers tapping on my lips. “Right here,
please.”
He rolls his eyes, but I can tell he’s pleased with my response. In fact he has a
smile of victory on his face—satisfied, like I’m not gaining from his lips
latching onto mines as well. My attention is momentarily stolen by the same
guy who said my father wasn’t here, he’s whistling, undertones of smugness in
the tune. Bastard! I can tell he’s just like Hlelo, and everyone is going to know
our business.
Sthelo’s a lot closer than I remember him when I shift my attention to him
again. His face is touching mine and his lips… they’re a mix of gentle and
domineering against mine. Everything in me clenches deliciously as he holds
my face, making me taste the nicotine on his tongue, and the caffeine, he tastes
like everything good and pure.
I am breathless by the time he’s done with me.
“Sthandwa sami…” giggles threaten to part my lips so I clamp down on the
bottom one, afraid that he has the ability to weaken me so simply… in front of
everyone nogaal! How else do I explain the forward butterflies in my belly? “I
was thinking about you the whole day.”
He likes to say he’s thinking about me. I always believe him.
“And I missed you too, very much, you Burj Khalifa.”
The smile turns awkward, he has no idea what I mean.
“My friend and I… any hot guy we call a Burj Khalifa.”
“Then I don’t want a name that associates me with other guys.”
He does get jealous, I’ve seen it a few times.
“You’re so hopeless,” I tease, my pointy nipples pressing into the thin fabric of
his t-shirt. “You’re just lucky I like you so much. Then I’ll call you ‘baby’.”
“My names were just fine.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You behave like a jealous baby so I’m going to call you
that. In fact, baby please buy me mielies?”

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His laughter is my favourite sound, I love it more than I love Beyoncé. The
tone is deep and gravelly—calm. Like a perfect day filled with only the azure
colour of the sky. “Take the front seat, I’ll come back soon.” His eyes direct me
toward a white Quantum in a sea of other Quantums of the same colour.
“Which one? They all look the same.”
Eye roll moment… but at least I am given the number plate registration. It’s
not an embarrassing walk for me among these people but yerrr the prying
glances are going to get on my nerves. I just know all of my family will get
these news somehow, and MaSibusisiwe is my biggest concern.
“There you go.” Baby—I think I’ll keep this name—gets in the car and hands
me a black plastic carrying two fresh mielies. “R40 total. It should cover
today’s labour.”
Why this asshole!
He loads a few passengers, telling me that he’s going to fill remaining seats
with the staff. One of the ladies called him and said only six of them need
transport today. “They can pay now. The staff pays R44 because I fetch them a
distance away from here.”
Argh! He wouldn’t even let me finish eating.
My glare isn’t working on him, I think something’s changed between the last
time I saw him and today. He’s grown hella confident. He’s making me labour
for wanting mielies and shit. Tsk, tsk… this guy. “R40, right?”
He nods his head, and puts on his hat.
I haven’t even placed my property properly and already I am being tapped on
rudely on the shoulder. Oh I never…
“Three!” the man snaps in my ear, and Sthelo grabs my bag and plastic bag of
mielies. The food sits in the glove compartment and my bag on the floor. I
almost scream. This is Dior, goddammit! This bag costs people’s lives.
Okay… how many people does a taxi lift?
Wait… this man gave me R150. Another one gives me R200.
“How many I ask?”

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“I told you four. Why did you sit in front if you weren’t going to listen?” an
elderly woman says this.
My body boils but my lips remain shut out of respect. The previous man is
giving me three R20 notes and an exhausting amount of coins. “Three.”
Lord kill me!
Okay, okay… no one else is paying. That means there’s 3 plus another 3 and 4.
That’s like ten in total. Taxi’s R40 per passenger and that means Sthelo should
have… R400? I just need to count this cash and give them back their coins if
possible. How dare they!
Its taking a bit of time to calculate the coins, I don’t know how to balance them
with the paper cash in my other hand. I tried placing it on my thighs but the
R50 fell and I knew then that it was a bad idea. “Let me help you.”
Thank you, baby.
I hand over the coins for him to count. He has this skill of doing it while
driving, and I’m just hoping we don’t crash or something. “R60 coins. How
much notes did they give you?”
“The ones that went with the coins were R60,” I say. Alright that’s square.
“There was R200 for 4. And R150 for 3.”
He hands out the change, and calculates the remaining notes. I give him a
scandalized face. Is he really keeping all those coins? “Its change for the
others,” he explains himself. “Are you comfortable?”
Not really. I’m not used to traveling with people like this. Public
transportation is not my thing, this is why I have two cars. “Very,” I lie, my
gaze flicking to my poor bag briefly, “you?”
He gives me a onceover, a smirk forms on his lips as he shakes his head. “No.”
“No?”
“I’m aching.” Mischief dances in his eyes.
Ah.
“I’m your assistant today. I’ll be glad to be of help.”

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His eyes widen comically. I don’t know why when I am just matching his
energy. He must forget who I am. I don’t think I’m ever shy around him, not
truly. “But you don’t know where the aches are.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I mutter dismissively, smile pulling at my lips. “They’ll be
aches of pleasure by the time I am done helping you.”
Eye-smile. He cranks the volume up.
Stupid Maskandi music!

I was short by R2. When we collected the staff, who are really just people
working for different retail companies, I wanted to let him know that I’ve got
this Math thing down like a good… whatever it is I am to him. But the staff is
ruder than the actual nobodies, and I miscalculated, they were giggling like
something is funny. My mood has been slightly sour since.
The door bangs softly as he gets in again. “Here.” He hands over a KFC paper-
bag. Ah, it really is my favourite. No matter how much money I have.
“Will my vagina be bruised for this also?”
He chokes audibly, it’s a good thing we’re at a red light because I wouldn’t put
it past him to cause an accident. His saucers regard me with surprise. “You’re
very blunt.”
“I have to know. So I can try and determine the extent of damage I’ll be
suffering.”
“Does it hurt when we have sex, I don’t think it’s supposed to.”
I shake my head. It’s good all the time, but overstimulation isn’t my niche and
it hurts eventually when he’s chasing his own orgasm after I’ve had mine. My
body’s selfish, it gets what it wants and bails. “You take your time to cum.”
“To savour every sensation.”
Hmk.
“Manje ngimnandi ngaleyondlela vele?”
The way he goes all soft, shy boy on me…

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My question is never answered but he has his hand in between my thighs,
squeezing gently as he continues driving, and then he’s raising my dress up
higher. My breath starts to pick up. “I love when you wear dresses and these
sexy panties under them.”
“They’re… thongs, Baby.” He won’t disrespect my underwear like this. “Lacy
thongs.”
“I love how they feel against your warmth. I want you to remain still for me,
lest I crash your father’s taxi and potentially kill both of us.” Sthelo’s fingers
explore the inside of my thighs, gently stroking them with two fingers, teasing
me. I rub my lips together and try to keep my cool but he’s sliding inside…
there, and I feel the demand in his touch, so wonderful, my back arches as a
moan trespasses softly.
“Don’t move, Fuzelihle.”
I nod my head quickly. His fingers are delving deeper, until they’re halfway in.
My teeth clench together as I aim for silence, but he’s starting to move, subtly
and sensually, inside me. His middle finger thrusts in and out, as his thumb
softly fondles my clit. My body spasms. I stop breathing.
His fingers don’t stop.
He has me where he wants me, and uses the fingers of the hand that’s free to
spread my pussy lips, his index finger aiming for my sensitive spot. “Look at
me,” he orders, I can’t think but I have the bad feeling that he’ll stop when I
don’t do his bidding. His eyes are soft as he continues to tease me, steadily
rubbing on my clit and moving faster and harder. I grip my thighs in a tremble.
I am on the brink of rapture, breathing too fast and aching to move in time
with his rubbing and thrusting. I can’t not move, find myself doing it without
permission as I free fall. My orgasm hits me something strong and tender.
“Sthelo…” I rasp his name breathlessly, quickly.
“I’m right here,” he says, prolonging every sensation by pressing onto and
rubbing my tender, exhausted clit, almost… tauntingly.
“Please… please,” I plead with him.
“I love the way you beg.”

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Asshole!
He’s just like every man out there. They love a woman’s pleas. I’m heaving,
panting brokenly as I steal a glance at him, clearly he’s done a number on me
because my glare isn’t working on him. The taxi is dark because of how it is
the same outside. There’s no music playing, just my breathing. The scent of my
orgasm drifts between the two of us.
“You’re so beautiful, Fuze.”
Really? How many times has he said this today.
“You’re handsome, Ngwane.”
He shakes his head, grins as if I was just tickling him, it’s strange to see him
like this. Usually his face is serious and his eyes carry all his pain. I can still see
it there but… there’s light. I hope I am slightly responsible for it.
“You’re getting anal tonight, Baby.”
He starts coughing like a shy virgin.
Help! I think I love him.

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Flicker : Twenty-four
Fuzelihle

I think he thought I was joking when I told him I wanted anal. It’s because I’m
smart, you see. Anal today. My resting vagina tomorrow. Okay, that wasn’t
funny but I want to do this. I want him to lose his mind. I want to drive him
insane and watch him fall apart. I want to please him and ensure that I am the
only thing he’ll be thinking about. I like him a lot.
His lips are on mine, tentative, as he plays with the string of the dress I still
have on. Fireworks explode whenever he touches a new patch of skin. I am lax
under his touch, allowing him to lead as his tongue twists in mine and asserts
dominance. “Remove your dress,” hoarse, his demand.
“Kind of hard to do when you won’t set me free,” I tease, holding him in place
by the back of his head. His lips are attached to the expanse of my skin,
exploring, as he nears my left nipple and latches on. “You’re making me feel so
good,” I encourage, as he helps me to remove the dress.
He’s already half-naked in his boxers, poking my belly with his dick. I squeeze
it and enjoy his little groan of pleasure. We’re falling back on my bed—a lot
more comfortable—as he situates himself in between my spread legs, foreplay
he does really well. It’s rare to find that with any man. He pays attention to my
body, my every need, taming every fire with expert skill. My sensitive points
are being stimulated—every point.
“So perfect,” he breathes against my lips, his fingers circling my throbbing clit.
“Thank you,” I say. His touches make me weak. “Make… make love to me. I’m
yours, don’t you see?”
His response is to kiss me. “I don’t know how… I don’t know how it works.
What you want me to do to you.”
I love him for how boyishly shy he can get. My heart is going to burst with
emotion, I have to take a breath—very deep—because he’s so overwhelming.
It feels like my mind, body and soul is filled with him… nothing else but him.

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“I’ll guide you,” I press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’m already turned
on. But we’ll need… lube. It’s in my drawer.”
He retrieves it as I try to collect my thoughts. I have to summon up all my
strength and tell him that he needs to coat his fingers and press them inside
my hole as gently as possible. I don’t forget to tell him that I’ve douched and
that he needn’t worry about nasty surprises. “What was that?”

I want to tell him desperately but he keeps on nudging my prostate and

causing me to jerk, tingles explode in my body, and I moan deeply—my body
writhing with pleasure. “Fuck!” I hiss, slowly opening my eyes. “You’ve found
it.”

“You’re tight,” he murmurs. “It’s gonna feel so good around my cock.”

My reply is a breathless moan, as I clench hard around his fingers, and he

edges me on. His lips are touching me everywhere again, and his tongue is
finding its way to my puffed clit. I grip the sheets for purchase, my hips
bucking up when he curls his fingers on my p-spot again.

“I need you,” I plead with him again—vulnerable. It feels like he has power
over me like this, on top of me, exposed to all of him. Very naked. Very bare.
Emotion pulses through my chest. “Make love to me.”

The kisses he gives me next are deep, calling for my soul, as he flips me onto
my belly and puts a hand on my back, forcing an arch. My trembling hands
seek purchase in the bedsheets as my cheek rests against the pillow. With my
eyes closing, I give up to sensation, allowing the world to shrink until it
contains only us and no one else.

The first hint of his mushroomed head slightly pressing against my hole sends
me reeling. I bite my bottom lip and… he carefully applies pressure. Ouch! My
body tenses beneath him. There’s resistance, I have to tell him to apply more
lube. Another attempt and the resistance is there but he’s fighting his way
through it as my hands grip the bedding for dear life.

It feels as though he’s ripping through my virginity all over again.

I scream into the pillow, my throat growing hoarse. “Don’t pull out!” I order,
the head has already latched onto my body, now I need to breathe so that he

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can make love to me. He only sinks in deeper when I tell him to, making me
whimper with the burn of him stretching me. My body shudders, I keep
willing my body to relax.

I feel him bracing his fists against the wall above me, and my hand is firmly on
his pelvis as I continue relaxing my body. “You’re so tight. Am I hurting you?”

“Yes… it’s been a while.”

“Fuze…”

“I know, I’m—sorry.” I don’t know why he gets jealous, only he does this to
me. I lift up, taking him just a fraction more as he groans and pulls back,
almost halfway out, before slowly pushing in again. “You don’t—have to be so
jealous. None of them compare to you.”

He rewards me with gentle thrusts, considerate with how many inches he’s
giving me, as I completely lose myself in the moment, desperate to commit
every sensation to memory, knowing I would never accurately remember, no
matter how hard I wish. It hurts for some reason but I focus on what he’s
making me feel, how my heart feels.

When withdraws again, I cling to the bedding, with my cunt brushing up

against the sheets in between my legs. I push back against him to try and bring
him back. He’s worked my body enough that I can match his every move,
rolling my hips, taking more of him on every thrust. Everything ceases to
matter. How heartbroken I was without him, how angry and frustrated and
emotional... none of that remains attached, and for some blissful, sweaty
minutes we are just two people caught up in a primal drive.

Our hands link together, he pulls me up and puts one arm around my waist
and another one on my throat. “Touch yourself,” close to my ear. I moan as my
hand rubs my clit furiously with my fingertips, arching and gasping as I race
toward my climax.

He has a fistful of my hair as I breathe hard, taking it like a big girl, his big girl.
He’s pounding now, making it hurt and tingle so good at the same time. My ass
is clapping against his pelvis, jiggling hard as he alternates between slapping it

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and choking it with his rough fondling. My nipples are deliciously rubbing
against his arm.

“Good girl,” a whisper in my ear. “You’re doing so well.”

“Your dick feels so good inside me, Baby. I’m so full with you.” It feels like his
cock is pulsing through every inch of my body, probing and probing. “You’re
going to put a baby in me. You’re going to do it, right? I want you to fill me up
with your babies.”

“Damn, Fuze!”

I giggle breathlessly, throwing my head back on his shoulder as he assists me

with my slick pussy. He flicks my aching clit in time with his thrusts, and the
sensations are attacking me from every corner—a rough slam to my p-spot,
his finger dipping inside my throbbing cunt and his thumb flicking my clit. It’s
too much, my vagina feels like its melting away.

Nonsensical pleas leave me as he quickens his thrusts. When I cum, bursts of

white explode behind my eyelids. Sthelo isn’t far behind me, shoving hard,
almost too hard, my eager hole still spasming around him as he finally groans
and stills. The deep pulse of his cock sends shivers of delayed pleasure
through me, and I whimper, clinging to the sheets. “Are you all right?” his
voice is warm in my ear.

“I will be,” I say, without energy to lie.

“Did I hurt you?”

I shake my head, wincing as I rush to move my hand behind me to help him

pull out. It’s uncomfortable, my hole quivers and trembles. He’s collapsing
beside me as I shift my body slowly to face him, feeling my puffy flesh. I’m
going to be in hell come morning, but I don’t mind it, not when his essence is
trickling out of me. “Your—babies are escaping,” I sound breathless.

He rolls his eyes, pulling me on his chest. “I have to leave soon.”

Its 08:00pm.

Please stay… or take me with you.

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“Okay. Do you want to get dressed?”

Where is my dress? Leaving the bed takes a strain on my back, he was using
his hand to crush me to the bed. My legs are still trembling, as I limp my way
over to the pool of soft white on his side of the bed. “Fuze…”

“You should get dressed. I will walk you out. Where are your pants? Oh here!
I’m coming, will you wait a bit? I just need to use the bathroom real quick.”

“MaZungu, please stop.”

How dare he!

“Do not call me that!” my glares don’t affect him lately. It’s as if I get weaker
and he gets stronger. “Please.”

His arms are around me, I breathe him in. He smells like sex and everything
that is good and pure. “I’m so sorry.”

“You need to stop this bad tendency of apologizing all the time.”

He laughs, I am in love with his laughter. “Maybe we should talk, Fuze, before I
leave. I want to try my hardest to ensure… if anyone should get hurt, I need to
make sure it’s me and not you. I think we need to talk.”

My teeth clamp on my bottom lip anxiously. He’s right. Just now I felt… hurt. I
think I’ve become attached to him somehow and don’t know how to put a wall
between us. Maybe I just don’t want to. Maybe I enjoy being weak in his
presence. Maybe I just want to cuddle with him, and feel his breath touch my
skin and have his presence chase away every bad encounter I’ve ever had with
black men. When all is said and done, I just want him, with me, all the time.

I just want to be selfish with him.

“Um… okay. Why not?” I hand him his jeans.

He settles, and pulls me on his lap. Ow, ow! My ass feels sore. He soothes me
with soft kisses to the inside of my neck. My belly flutters as I make myself
completely comfortable in his arms. “Talk then.”

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“Clearly the friends with benefits thing isn’t working.”

Friends? LOL!

“We’re friends?” I enjoy teasing him, he needs light in his life. I am personally
volunteering to be his sun—and to fill all his days with nothing but sunny
warmth, if he will allow me.

“Lovers.”

“Lovers?”

“Partners… uyintombi yami.”

Cocky. Cocky.

This is what I mean when I say he’s growing confident a lot these days. I don’t
know what’s changed but I love it… him. “Usho ukuthi uyisoka lami wena?”

“Ngemvume yakho.”

I shift in his embrace, finding another comfortable spot to sit in. It’s my lips
that are attaching to his neck this time—light. One of my hands rests on his
shoulder and I want to touch any part of him I can get to. “Then we can try it
out… dating. I really like you, Sthelo. So damn much. I didn’t enjoy when we
were apart, strange because we weren’t dating. But you’re just a thief who’s
stealing my heart and I can only helplessly watch as you do it.”

“You stole my heart the first day I met you, acting gangster.”

Giggles burst from inside my chest. “That’s not possible.”

“It is… I just didn’t know it then.”

“So we’re dating?”

“I should warn you that I come with baggage.”

I shake my head, peering into his eyes, they’re still so deep-set. Sometimes it
feels like they undress me wholly and leave me bare, bare to his will. “Its okay

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because I come with my own baggage. I think its better when we know we
both have it because then we can talk about it, right? That way we’re both
easing each other of the burden.”

“Usho kanje?”

He entwines our hands, and inspects them against the light of my bedside
lamp… light fills the gaps that our hands create. I clench my hand and pull it to
my lips so that I can kiss his knuckles. “What has changed in your life since we
were last good? I know your brother has impregnated my niece. But what else
is going on? Your son, how is he? How’s the baby mama?”

“You sound like a journalist.”

I shrug my shoulders, unapologetic. “Maybe as your girlfriend, I really want to

know more about you. And then update you about my life as well, because
you’re my boyfriend and I should be able to share things with you.”

“As long as it’s not about other men.”

Yah no, his jealousy makes me roll my eyes.

“Ok, Baby. Please tell me about what has been happening in your life.”

“A lot.” Sthelo clears his throat, his embrace tightening around me. I place my
hands atop his and sharpen my ears. “You know I have to find ways to pay
damages to your family. No, I don’t need your help, Fuzelihle. I’m trying to find
Misungwane a job so he can raise some of the money, he has to take
responsibility. Lucia is… she’s tired a lot. It’s not easy for her to have this much
responsibility at such a young age. MaMbambo has offered to help her, in
return I will be paying her R500.”

That is a lot of money! For him, for him it is. Does he even make enough
working for my father? I doubt it somehow, I feel like he’s always working to
simply make enough to put food on the table. “She’s asking for too much.”

“These are two new-borns that she’ll be taking care of. And if your family—”

“Lisakhanya’s child will be well taken care of. Nqobizitha has more than
enough money to ensure that she lives a real comfortable life.”

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“Right.” He clears his throat.

I feel like I’ve said something wrong somehow.

Ah… he’s such an idiot!

“Boyfriend, I need to tell you something.” I press my lips on his gently. “I need
you to please try and not… I don’t know how to explain this to you without
sounding insensitive because… eish how do I say this? Having money, right? It
means sometimes I won’t understand where you’re coming from… it means I
will sound like a privileged bitch when I tell you that you shouldn’t make
everything about money.”

“True.”

I can only laugh, not offended. “Okay… but I need you to not get offended
when I say certain things. I need you to please know that not everything I say
is about you, that you need to try and not always dwell… okay I just want to
say that not everything that comes from my mouth is about you. It’s not a dig
at you. I don’t care that you’re not making much money. I care that I like you,
and I want you to be happy.”

“Ngiyezwa.”

It shouldn’t sound so funny, the way he said he heard me.

“Are you happy?”

“Right now, yes. Other times? I work hard to be happy.”

We all have to work hard for it, this is what I’ve learned. Happiness doesn’t
just come to you, you have to work for it and want it. “What else do you want
to talk to me about? I’m here, let’s gossip, I want to listen.”

His laughter touches the back of my neck, as his lips press against mine. My
belly flutters. “What do you want to talk about? What’s on your mind?”

“Let me see…” I hum softly. “I am addicted to you and wish you could spend
the night but you have a family. I don’t mind it. I hope Lucia and I get proper

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introductions one day and that she won’t hate me. I hope to meet your family
properly as well. Mostly, I’ll just miss you.”

“All these things you want, all of it can be arranged.”

“Soon… right now, I don’t mind us the way we are, just getting to know each
other.”

He says nothing, I think he’s tired of talking. His arms are warm around me,
firm, they feel like security and everything good and pure. The moment is
perfect, it smells like our post-coital juices mixed together, it sounds like our
mingling breaths and heartbeats and its everything good and pure. In this
moment… I may even love him.

“Do you want to do it again next time—anal?”

Reverberating laughter tumbles from deep in his chest, he shakes with it and
bruises my body that won’t have recovered enough come tomorrow. “No!”

“No?” I’m a bit disappointed, I thought he liked it.

“No… only because it felt like you were choking me. It felt like I was going to
shoot my load too early.”

“Manje ngimnandi ngaleyondlela vele?”

His kisses inside my neck tell me all I need to know.

“You have to leave soon,” I remind him. “I want to spend more time together
but your family comes first. They always should.”

He sighs, kissing behind my ear. I hear him agree with me silently.

250
Flicker : Twenty-five

Sthelosamangwane

His body has gotten used to waking up at the crack of dawn, and being out of
the house as early as possible. Things are done differently in rural areas of
course but he tries to make as much money as possible. Its 08:30am and he’s
on his third and final load to Eshowe. Its month end and he’s hoping that the
shops are not full in town, though deep down he knows it’s useless wishing.

Villagers flood Eshowe any time of the month but the end of it always seems
worse. It’s not just people around Mbongolwane, around Mphundumane or
Ntumeni or Ngudwini. Its fuckers from Nkandla and places even further than
that that also avail themselves to every Boxer shop, every Shoprite and every
Cambridge.

Sthelo drops off some of the passengers at Eshowe mall, and then a few other
random stops before he’s finally dropping off the last ones at Eshowe rank. Its
09:34am and the sun is already burning down on them, the devil playing God
with their skin-tone. Sthelo puts on his hat and steps into the cacophonous
crowd. A few men he’s talked to before are looking at him strangely—and he
just knows that this is about. He knows because Fuze was here yesterday and
her presence caused quite the commotion. He knows because the prying looks
they’re giving him are the same ones Melumndeni gave him this morning.

Keeping his head down, he turns a blind eye to every curious glance, and goes
to tell one of the queue marshals to tell Mandla that he’s gone to Boxer to buy
a few things that must be sent home soon. Lucia was in a bad mood last night
when he returned, she’s not coping, even when he told her that MaMbambo
had agreed to be of assistance.

No blame can be placed on her, Sthelo can’t even begin to place himself in her
shoes—at her young age, taking on the responsibilities of married women
who have experienced all there is to life. Part of him feels like blaming her
when she gives him her bitter looks.

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“This is all you,” he feels like saying, “you were so damn stubborn and
insistent on your adulthood and look at you now? This is all you so what do
you want from me? Why do your eyes speak of resentment and anger?”

He never voices this of course but the blame doesn’t completely lie with him.
Never once did he ever force anything on Lucia. It’s only unfair now because
she finds herself playing mommy to not just their son but his mother’s
children as well… and this is where he feels for her. He’s trying by all means to
lessen her burden, to do everything good and take care of them.

NgikwaBoxer. Awusho ushoda ngani ngikuthengele?

This message he sends to Lucia as he grabs a basket and walks around

uncomfortably, searching for the baby aisle. He finds it and reaches inside the
pocket of his pants, retrieving the squashed little paper that Lucia shoved in
there—a list for what to buy the babies. Four packs of Huggies diapers, they
should last the babies for about a month and large tins of baby milk. He has to
stock up on baby medicine.

Sthelo looks at the numbers with bulging eyes. Sure, he’s been a parent to
new-borns for a while now, and maybe the prices shouldn’t surprise him
every time he sees them but his heart is beating too fast. He grabs the red-
cakes and Yogi Sip Lucia wants, and buys Bar One chocolates for the twins.

There’s an incoming call on his phone. Fuze’s name appears. He doesn’t

answer because he’s standing in the queue now and people are nosy… besides,
he’s two people away from the next available cashier. As soon as the call
disconnects, his phone beeps with a message.

You better answer your phone!

I should give you lessons on how to boyfriend because WOW!

Not even a ‘good morning, sthandwa sami? What must I do with you?

I waited and waited. For someone who claims to think about me, it didn’t show.

The messages are coming in too fast, one after the other, all of them are in
English. Sthelo only understands a few words here, he never liked English

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when he was a student and his results always revealed that. Even speaking it
is uncomfortable, it makes him feel… inferior somehow.

Angikuzwa mina. Angilwazi ulimi lwezilwane.

He puts his phone back inside his jeans, and heads to the free cashier. There’s
messages coming in again as he’s exiting the store. He shakes his head, and
juggles all the plastic bags in one hand and he retrieves his phone with the
other, putting it to his ear. “Yah, Muhleza.”

The line distributes the owner’s breathing for some seconds, before the owner
snorts—and Sthelo can almost see her shaking her head, timelessly beautiful.
It’s strange how she needn’t say a word to capture his attention, how
effortlessly she does it—and he is beguiled by her, by every little gesture.
“Muhleza? That won’t soften me up yazi. You wrecked my ass and didn’t have
the thought to check in on me.”

“Its not 10:00am yet.” He says, apologetic. This is what his mother taught
him—never call too early in the mornings, and never call too late in the
evenings.

“Huh?”

“Maybe you wake up late, Fuze, I didn’t want to disturb your sleep. For others,
sleep doesn’t come easily, therefore it must be respected.”

“Hmk…” a softened hum, a bit unlike her. “Next time I would love a message
then. I woke up at 04:00am today to collect flowers from my supplier because
their trucks aren’t working. Both of them, imagine that! But they’re a small
company and they’ve been consistent so I gave them the benefit of the doubt.”

Sthelo hasn’t the slightest knowledge on flowers. “They all fit in your car?” he
can’t imagine her wanting flowers all over her space—in her car especially.

“Hell no!” her horrified giggles make him snort out his own laughter. “I took
one of my family’s trucks. I didn’t drive it though, Nqaba did.”

“How are you feeling?”

“My belly hurts—cramps.”

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Sthelo’s brows furrow, he dodges a small, speeding car and silently curses the
driver. “Is that supposed to happen? The… cramps?” he hasn’t been with
enough women. Maybe he can even go a step further and say Fuze is his first
girlfriend—and many times he will stumble and fall.

“Yeah. It happens sometimes, it’s nothing serious. I just need to rest, I will do
that after my virtual meeting with Sqalosenkosi and his team.”

“So you’re going home now?”

“No.” She laughs. “I’m going to have the meeting in my office here, it’s more
convenient.”

“Oh…” Sthelo nods in understanding, as he enters the taxi rank again. “How
long is this meeting?”

“Hopefully just an hour long. Its starts at 12:00.”

“I hope its productive.”

“I’m joining it, of course it’s going to be productive!” at Fuze’s light laughter,
Sthelosamangwane shakes his head. “What about you? How’s your day going?”

He tells her about his day, the half-naked woman who ran into his taxi in her
drunken state, with a boyfriend’s wallet. Fuze laughs and laughs, asking him if
this is what he has to experience on the daily and Sthelo reminds her that she
can find out for herself when she collects customers with him later today.

“This is abuse!” her protests are lighthearted, he thinks he can hear a pout in
her voice. “Do you know who I am?”

“A woman who couldn’t afford her own mielies and transport money.”

“You’re very cocky lately.”

“Maybe I’m just a different person with you.”

“Maybe I’m a different person with you too. I’d never be dead caught in a taxi
or waking up from hostels surrounded by men with their taxis.”

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“But that’s a good thing, to experience other things outside of your comfort
zone. It’s a learning experience.”

“True. But you haven’t stepped out of your comfort zone with me. We haven’t
visited five-star restaurants or gone Wing-suiting or even to a skating spot.
Sbanisezwe wanted to take me racing once but I drive like I bought my
driver’s licence.”

Sthelo dissolves in laughter. “So its regular folk like you that are problematic
and not taxi drivers like most like to claim.”

“Between me and you, yes. But don’t tell anyone I told you.”

A headshake. “Ngiyezwa.”

“I have to go. I’m not sure if they’re done with the funeral flowers for the
Smithson family, I have to check.”

“Usebenze kahle.”

“Nawe futhi. I, erhm, really… like you. Okay, bye!”

The call disconnects, and Sthelo looks at his darkening screen in surprise.
There’s a weird churning in his belly that gives him goosebumps. He tries to
shake them off but is unsuccessful.

There’s a small crowd of men standing two taxis away from his. He tips his
head in greeting, and ignores the mumbled responses. Something about the
way he feels their gazes follow him tells him that he’s the topic of their
discussion. Placing his plastic bags on the passenger seat, he then retrieves his
pack of cigarettes and a light from the glove compartment.

His hat isn’t enough to protect him from the harshness of the sun but he
desperately needs a smoke before he can drive back home. The addicting
smoke is trapped in between his lips as he lights it and draws in tobacco into
his lungs.

Obnoxious laughter to his left captures his attention. It’s the crowd of men he
passed earlier, they’re still looking at him. Sthelo ignores them, puffing out
clouds of white that disappear almost immediately.

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“Hey, Bafo!” someone shouts. “How is the girlfriend? Or is it boyfriend? My
friend here says you were making a spectacle here yesterday—kissing as if
you were banging in the bedroom. How does that work? I hear they look
beautiful for nothing, they still have something dangling in between their legs.
Does she dick you down as well?”

The buffoons with him cackle ridiculously.

“Maybe it’s uSis’Bhuti who bought him those groceries in that taxi!” another
one joins in.

Something is wrong with the cigarette he’s smoking because it doesn’t ease
him of the accelerating trembling rage Sthelo is feeling, as his free hand
clenches into a fist. He looks at the men laughing—the recent joker. “Sis’Bhuti
is your father whose weak seed couldn’t produce a masculine heir, and
disgraced his ancestors with a woman who looks like a puffing gorilla with a
beard that looks like scattering ants.”

The fools betray their clown by laughing at what Sthelo has said. One of them
has their jaw touching their ground. It’s not like Sthelo to talk, they know this,
and clearly they thought he would keep his ‘quiet loner’ demeanour even now.

“Angizwanga?”

“Ezibhekene nawe awuzizwa, ezabanye uzizwa kahle.”

“I’m warning you, Mfana wami, don’t—”

“Warning? Why don’t you stop showing your vagina for once and show me
what your fists can do.”

“Hehe!” the man looks around him. “Akangazi lomfana.” He’s already
approaching Sthelosamangwane, balled fists and puffing chest.

Dropping his cigarette on the ground, Sthelo squashes it with his foot and
waits for whatever the man wants to do. The first punch lands on his cheek.
He staggers backward, his back touching one of the man who pushes him back
to the other man. Sthelo dodges an arrogant punch and holds his right fist up,
using all his strength to punch the man’s face.

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He sees an advantage when the man is gripping his eye and screaming like a
woman to land another punch and another one. The last one, near the man’s
temple sends him staggering to the ground. His back touches the dirt with a
loud thud that doesn’t overpower the raucousness all around them. Sthelo
tries to escape the crowd shaking him enthusiastically only to be met with
someone halting his movements with a firm grip to his wrist.

Turning quickly, ready for another fight, he deflates when he’s met with one of
the taxi rank’s queue marshals. “Woza. Woza, Ndoda.”

Sthelo shakes his head, doesn’t fight, and prepares himself for a possible
dismissal. He’s going to fail his son and siblings.

As if he is in primary school all over again, he was sent home and when he
wouldn’t, he was told to come back tomorrow. He was given the chance to
explain himself and still sent home—because, because the man he defended
himself against has worked at the rank for a long time and he’s not usually
problematic. Or maybe people just fear him and unfortunately for him, Sthelo
wasn’t one of those men.

“You should’ve told me that you’d be coming home early permanently…

because I would’ve cleaned earlier. Now you’re here making me look bad.”

He’s not in the mood, not currently. “Pretend I’m not here.”

“How can I do that when your presence is very visible and you’re in a sulky
mood? I swear this place is so depressing. I didn’t sign up for this! Just because
I have a child with you doesn’t mean I have to stand for all this.”

“You don’t.” Sthelo reminds her. “You have a home, I’m sure your parents—”

“I cannot believe this!” an exaggerated breath of air. Lucia drops the blankets
she was carrying, and glares. “Are you kicking me out?”

“Eyy awukahle!” he doesn’t mean to snap but every day he spends with this
girl, he finds himself losing his patience. MaZuma must be turning in her
grave. “Would you zip your mouth for longer than 3 seconds? I’ve had a long
day and I don’t want to deal with you at the moment.”

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“Long day? Long day when you came back home at 11:30am?”

“I don’t have time for this, Lucia.”

“Then make some! You’re never in the mood to talk about anything—and
you’re the only adult in this house. Don’t you think I lose my sanity? I have to
hear your childish brothers ramble about homework and their girlfriends
everyday! I wanna talk about adult stuff! Sex! Money! Traveling!”

“Do you have money for all these things?”

“I just had your baby, where am I—”

“Exactly. You just had a baby. A baby that heavily relies on me—like you and
everyone else around this place. You need to remember that before thinking
about fancy lifestyle changes, I do not have that kind of money. The fact that
you go to bed with a full stomach every night should please you.”

“Yeah well, I didn’t sign up for this.” A careless shrug.

“I didn’t either!” Sthelo snaps again, standing on his feet, inexplicable anger
surges through him and he’s done. “Life’s a bitch, Lucia! People like me and
you don’t get what they want. I’m stuck in a bus house, with rondavels that are
a violent windstorm away from crumbling, and guess what? There’s little to
nothing I can do about it. I’m stuck with you and my mother’s children and a
baby I never wanted but life fucking happens! You’re all here now so what can
I do?”

Lucia pales, her light skin becomes ashen, as she regards him with hurt eyes.
But Sthelo doesn’t care, he doesn’t! He’s here, trying to make everything work,
feeling guilty for being home because that’s money he could be making at the
rank. This woman and her monotonous complaints, she has no idea what it’s
like for him. How if she’s tired then he’s drained and on the brink of death.

Sometimes it seems like death would be better.

His mother is resting peacefully with his father in some afterlife and Sthelo is
here—slaving away because this is his fate. From the time he was a child he
was meant to do this, and he’s scared that if he continues slaving away in vain

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then his son will suffer the same traumatic fate, he’s scared for his mother’s
daughter.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Out!” he snaps, glancing over his shoulder briefly. “I’m giving you space to
fulfil your duties as a woman. The same way you expect me to provide as the
man of this house.”

“Why, you sexist piece of—”

“I want to find this place spotless when I come back, Lucia. I want my food
warm and ready. Take care.”

She’s shouting after him but he’s not listening, he’s on his way out already. He
feels bad of course, he’s tired of being the good guy and playing nice. He’s tired
of accommodating everyone’s feelings. He’s tired and he wants the whole
world to know.

259
Flicker : Twenty-six

Sthelosamangwane

He couldn’t go far with Zungu’s taxi and his petrol. Sthelo already has
problems at the taxi rank, he’s not going to shoot himself on the other foot by
allowing his emotions to fully control him. This is why he drove… here. His
Quantum is parked a few meters away from the most glamorous homestead in
Mbongolwane—as he blankly stares at the mansion that peeks over the high
electrical gates. This is how far he could get, how far he was willing to drive.

Its 04:00pm, he knows Fuze should be home by now. He’s not sure why he’s
here, but this is how far he could get, this was how far he was willing to drive.
Actually, he thinks he’s here because she’s been trying to call him and he…
Sthelo hasn’t answered. What would’ve been the point with how he’s feeling at
the moment? He just, he needed to calm himself down and maybe Fuze got the
message because she stopped calling, stopped trying.

There are lumps in his throat that are making it hard for him to swallow, and
his heart has been ripped out of his chest. For ignoring Fuze or for his
problems, he doesn’t know. Maybe for both. He thinks it’s both. Shakily he
exhales and decides enough. If Lucia were here, she’d be lecturing him about
how pointless it is to wallow in self-pity. He doesn’t like to. He thinks his
problems would’ve killed him long ago otherwise.

Fuzelihle doesn’t like it when he smells like too many cigarettes, she told him
once… the same way that Sthelo doesn’t like the fact that she drinks alcohol.
He’s seen how irrational she becomes when it’s in her system, how
hardheaded, and how she unthinkingly gets herself in scenarios that could
prove dangerous. Still, she doesn’t like it when he smokes and calls him out for
being addicted, so Sthelo has been trying to cut back.

His nerves are all over the place as he jumps out of his taxi, seizing a small
white plastic and his hat. It covers his face from the sun—and he wipes his
hands on the front of his jeans as he walks the short distance to the fancy
gates ahead. He presses the buzzer and waits… waits… waits.

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A young woman emerges from one of the rondavels. Nozinhle smiles brightly
at him as she’s done numerous times before, a key in her hand. “Fuze didn’t
tell me to expect you today.”

Sthelo rubs the back of his neck, the expected bashfulness making an
appearance. He clears his throat and looks at the forever kind Nozinhle. “Let’s
just say I was feeling spontaneous.”

“Hmk…” a knowing look passes Nozinhle’s features. She nods her head toward
the main house, “Your girlfriend is back there, she was complaining about a
stomach cramp and how she suspects she’s pregnant—and then she cursed
you.”

“This is why I brought her pain meds.” He tries to salvage his reputation.

“Will they flush the babies you put in her belly?”

No reply… still so bashful.

Nozinhle breaks into laughter as she opens the door, and allows him in. “You
know I’m just joking. But seriously, I wish you could make babies of your
own… they’d be so cute! Little loners walking around, resembling their
parents.”

Sthelo snorts out a composed laugh. He wants to tell Nozinhle that Fuze is not
a loner and that she talks and talks but he’s never actually seen her with
friends. He knows about the chubby woman, the one who is expecting a child
with her fiancé and no one else. Loud doesn’t necessarily mean extrovert,
right? Fuze is loud in her quiet corner, she’s loud with the people she knows
and is comfortable with.

“Maybe in another lifetime,” Sthelo suggests.

Nozinhle giggles. “Those things don’t exist. We’re only given this one life to
make the best of, and to live to the very fullest. Its important to chase
contentment with this one life we’re given—and to focus on the things that
matter.”

“And what matters?”

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“Love.” There is an undeniable conviction in her voice. “Humans were created
to love. We all need it. Life is pointless without love.”

Maybe.

“I have to see my girlfriend,” he tells her.

“Good!” she is already walking in the direction of the kitchen. “Be with her.”

He jogs up the flight of stairs, taking a nervous breath on top, and then heads
to the giant white door on the far left—and knocks. While waiting for it to
open, he takes off his hat and shoves it into the pocket of his jeans. Between
that time and when he looks up… the Tiny Fairy with Fiery, Annoyed Eyes is
giving him her inquisitive smile.

“Sawubona,” he sounds like a shy boy attempting to ask his crush out to the
dance.

“Sawubona, Ngwane.”

Sthelo’s belly churns uncomfortably—although the sensation is welcomed—

as she calls him Ngwane. For a second, he misses MaZuma badly. Clearing his
throat, he gazes into inquiring eyes. “How are you feeling? I brought you pain
meds.”

Fuze accepts the white bag. “Ngyabonga. So thoughtful.”

It was nothing. On his way here, Sthelo stopped at the small pharmaceutical
firm that was built by Dr. Shandu-Ngubane. “I… erhm, actually my baggage led
me here as well. I, uh, didn’t know where else to go. I also… I don’t know why I
am telling you this.”

“Because you want me to hold you and assure you that things will work out.
That your baggage won’t always be heavy.”

Sthelo says nothing, he doesn’t have the energy to lie.

“Come in.”

Fuze’s bedroom is light, not just the interior of golds and whites and blacks—
but the aura as well. The bricks that were stacked on his shoulders and in his

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chest have decreased. He stands in the middle of the room and looks around
as if he hasn’t been here a thousand times before. His hands are in his pockets,
as Fuzelihle approaches him to caress his arms, gazing up at him as if she
wants to strip him bare.

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

Sthelo gives an awkward laugh, searching the eyes that he’s finding his
comfort in. “Have you taken a warm bath?”

“Hmm?” Fuzelihle’s brow raises.

“For your cramps. I asked the pharmacist for home remedies aside from
medication and he told me that a warm bath helps. Did you know that
drinking lots of water can also help with it? Even ginger and mint.”

“Wow…” a soft whisper, Fuze’s smile is invaluable. “My smart man. Look at
you working hard to get more ticks for boyfriend of the year contest. Thank
you, I did take a hot bath. I didn’t know about the mint and ginger, I’ll try them
next time but I feel really better now. I can see it on your face that you’re
concerned but I’m feeling so much better. Thank you for caring.”

Sthelo shakes his head.

“I mean it.” Fuze places her hands on his cheeks, and grips gently, forcing eye
contact. “This may seem small to you but it means the world to me that you
were concerned about me. Enough to buy me medication and even ask the
pharmacist what would make me feel better. I appreciate it… you.”

A nod this time.

“My bed is yours,” she says suggestively. “Are you hungry? No, we don’t ask
that here. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll find you something to eat.”

Sthelo does as asked of him, removing his shoes and clothes so that he’s only
in his boxers. Fuze has this thing about outside clothes touching her bed. He’s
on the verge of sleep, maybe he was sleeping, but the bed dips and a familiar
scent of honey and wildflowers touches his nose—warm, comforting. Her
scent is… enticing, Sthelo can almost taste it, she smells like something that is
too good to have.

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“We have… Shrimp and Spinach pasta. I know you’re cutting down on your
alcohol but wine… you have to drink wine.”

He tried wine once and didn’t like it. The only reason he was a drinker in
Durban is because he was surrounded by too many of them. This is why it was
easy to suppress any urges for it when he came home, its unfortunate he can’t
say the same for the cigarettes that have sworn to be parted with him by
death only. “Okay.” He looks at the food, dished meticulously, the bowl of
water on the tray and a dishcloth. Clearly effort was put into all of this.

“Have you ever eaten shrimp?”

No. It looks like fattened worms that have orange veins.

“I’ll take your silence as a no.” Fuzelihle’s giggles are his favourite sound, he
looks at her face scrunch up as her body shakes with amusement. “But we
already said that you’ve not stepped out of your comfort zone with me. I want
you to please try this and if you don’t like it then I’ll find you something else to
eat. Just please try it, Baby.”

“I like it better when I am Ngwane.”

“Earn it then.”

Its Sthelosamangwane’s turn to dissolve in laughter. He wants to tell Fuze that

being like this with her is stepping out of his comfort zone. Because he has
never done this before. He has no idea how to woo a woman. He’s learning
with her—all these things. “I think I need a smoke for this.”

“No!” Fuzelihle’s lips touch his—soft, peachy. “No. You smell like a tobacco
factory already. I’ll play music to help you calm down. Adekunle Gold. You’ll
love him, I promise.”

Nigerian music plays as soon she comes back to join him. Sthelosamangwane
suppresses a heavy roll of the eyes and takes the plateful of food. He won’t
look at it strangely because his time with Nhlanhla taught him how important
it is to respect the foods that others enjoy. The spinach and pasta, it tastes
good. Fuzelihle’s eyes are alight with joy, probably from the visible approval in
his eyes. Now the shrimp… Sthelo hesitates.

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“For me… Ngwane.”

He has no idea where to start eating this thing or how but its fine because
Fuze has grabbed one from his plate. Sthelo follows her lead. It tastes… good
in his mouth. Maybe if he focuses enough, then he thinks it tastes like chicken.
Only the flavours bursting on his tongue are slight sweetness mixed with
saltiness. The meat is tender to bite into but essentially, it tastes better than
he expected. “Its not bad,” he admits.

Pure joy emanates from the woman sat across him Indian-style. She claps her
hands like a little child and seems really proud of herself. “Stepping out of
your comfort zone is not always a bad thing.”

No… it’s not.

Sthelo agrees with her by a nod again. Fuze doesn’t show any dismay by his
lack of talkativeness, Sthelo thinks she’s gotten used to this version of him by
now. Yes, sometimes he’s confident—a talker—but too many times he prefers
to keep to himself, even with his thoughts and words.

He’s in between her legs now, face buried in her sweet neck, lips touching
smooth and thin skin like pink paper, pulled taut over a vein, where every kiss
is like a prayer whispered to Fuzelihle’s pulse, her scent is so thick it’s almost
solid on the tip of Sthelo’s tongue. “Do you love this?” her voice is a whisper, it
doesn’t disrupt the serene ambiance, doesn’t cause a crack to the now RnB
song that’s softly playing in her room.

“Ngithanda wena mina.”

“Sthelo…” she shoves at him gently, punishing him with soft glares. “Don’t…
don’t say that.”

“Ngempela?”

There’s a brief pause, even the caressing movements on the back of his head
stop, and Sthelo swears he can no longer hear Fuze breathing. “I… it’s too
soon, right? We haven’t been doing this long and it could go wrong. You could
hurt me and if I love you then I can also come to hate you.”

“So in this moment, right now, you don’t love me?”

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Their eyes lock when Sthelo raises his head to look at her—searching. Her
face turns a blushing rosette colour, he knows she wants to look away but his
stare imprisons her. Maybe this is one of those times that she likes to call his
confident ones.

“You have no damn right to look at me like that and expect me to tell you
anything else but how you make my heart flutter—and how it doesn’t really
matter if I don’t feel those flutters all the time, because its enough for me that
you feel like a relaxing massage after a long day.”

Sthelo exhales heavily as he adjusts himself, to properly look into fiery eyes,
and he cannot help smiling. “MaZungu… your presence alone has made it feel
like today’s struggles have been washed away. This is why I came.”

Fuze lets out a teary laugh. “That’s good, right? Do you see what I meant when
I said we’d work well with our baggage?”

Laughter rolls onto Sthelosamangwane’s tongue.

“I love you too, by the way.”

She says this way too causally for someone who looked three seconds away
from a meltdown just minutes ago. Sthelosamangwane shakes his head, taken,
he leans down to press his lips on her—again and again. The taste of peaches
is strong on his tongue, the honey and wildflowers scent clouding his senses—
addictive. “Good. Good. You won’t regret it.”

Fuzelihle giggles, guiding Sthelosamangwane’s head on her chest again. She

cradles him and plants a kiss on his forehead. “I was told that you got into a
physical altercation today at the taxi rank.”

Tension sinks into the taxi driver’s skin. “I wasn’t at fault,” he defends himself.

“I know.” The feminine voice remains neutral, sweet. “You avoid conflict,
Sthelo. This is who you are. This is why you apologize a thousand times.”

Sthelo doesn’t deny it. “I have too much weight on my shoulders to allow
conflict to add on it.”

“Why did you fight this time?”

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A moment’s hesitance, he clears his throat, caught between telling the truth
for what it is or bending it a little. He doesn’t want to hurt Fuze, maybe if he
reveals the truth then she will be. He doesn’t want her to act out of anger and
cause him problems at the rank. He didn’t want to admit it then but his pride
had taken a knock back then, when those fuckers suggested that he was being
supported by a woman. It was embarrassing, and now he wonders if they
think that’s how he got his job as well.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I thought we could talk to each other about anything,” her voice doesn’t
sound accusatory but the persistence is there—tell me.

“They just said some things about you. I tried to ignore them but one of them
was clearly looking for a fight and I gave him one.”

“Bhuti Dludlu.” Small hands create caressing circles on his head. “I know who
he is. What angered you there? Their transphobia or how they think you’re
sleeping with me to make money? Is it… both? Why?”

“Because you’re not what they say you are. You’re not a man, you’re a woman.
I’ve seen your vagina, I’ve felt it. And because… because I’m not with you for
your money. They’re out of their minds if they think I enjoy looking poor next
to a woman like you.”

“A woman like me?”

Silence.

“You’re just… you’re an idiot like those illiterate fools. No, it has nothing to do
with you not having matric. But… argh! Of course I love money and doing
luxurious things that only big money can afford. But I love spending my money
on me. I can afford to do it. If you had big money, you wouldn’t even impress
me with it because money doesn’t impress me. I’ve been surrounded with it all
of my life. I’m here, with you, because I… is it love we’re using now? I do. It’s
not about money. I don’t want to sound like a privileged bitch but money
shouldn’t be a factor in this relationship. I don’t care for it.”

“I know you don’t but people… talk, MaZungu. And—”

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“Let them. They talk because they have nothing better to do with their time.”

Quiet exhales fill the room, Sthelo sits up, throwing his legs over the bed and
rubs his face tiredly. “Maybe I want them to have something positive to say
when they talk about me. Maybe I’m tired of all the chatter revolving around
how poor I am.”

“Then do something, Ngwane. It doesn’t always have to be this way.” He feels

her front press into his back, as she puts her arms around him. Her lips touch
the back of his neck. “What are you passionate about? What dreams do you
have? What are your short term goals? How are you going to make sure you
see them through? What do you want to do with your life?”

She’s going to give him a headache.

Sthelo grips his temples, groaning quietly. “I don’t know. I’ve never thought
about it.”

“No pressure.” The softest kiss on his cheek. “Think about it. Maybe life
derailed your dreams but you’re still so young, Sthelosamangwane. You’re not
even 30 years old, life still has so many good things in store for you. Tell it
what you want.”

“That manifesting shit is a dream sold to poor people by moneyed people who
wouldn’t last a day living the lives we live.”

“Money does give you an advantage, I agree. But would you rather fail before
you try?”

“That’s the thing, Fuze, I’ve been trying all my life and I’m tired. I’m tired of
everything, of working hard, and I just want to rest.”

A sigh sinks into his ear. “Rest then. I’ll take care of you.”

“Unganginyeli, MaZungu!” Sthelo’s face turns too quickly, his lips brush up
against Fuzelihle’s. Her breathless giggles breathe life into him.

“No? Your pride won’t allow it. Okay then you continue trying and trying until
you succeed. I am always here, to help ease the burden—in any way. The
baggage. But you try, Munt’ Wam. You try, and pray that it will all be worth it
one day.”

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A resigned sigh. “I try and hope it will all pay off one day.”

“Yes. And you will stumble and grow tired, that’s still fine—pause and take all
the breaks you need, before getting up and resuming where you left off.”

“Ngiyezwa.”

“Good! Please think about your dreams and your goals. How you think you can
achieve them, the resources you’ll need to make them a reality. If you’d need
help, who do you think you can go to for that help? If me, then I’m here. If your
pride won’t allow it then who else?”

She really wants to make his head crack.

“I’ll think about all you’ve said.”

“Thank you.” Fuze kisses him, her sweet tongue finding its way into his mouth.
“Also remember that a woman’s gender isn’t determined by what’s in between
her legs.” Sthelo nods, digging his fingers into her thighs, he wants to fuck her
until she’s pleading for mercy.

269
Flicker : Twenty-seven

Fuzelihle

Baba wants to meet me today.

I woke up to an SMS saying I should prepare myself to spend the day with him
today. This didn’t make me happy, but Sbanisezwe told me to go, before I
could even tell him about the message I got this morning. He’s acting like this
mediator between my father and I. Me, I called Sqalosenkosi to fill him in on
all of this and he wanted to fly down here to make sure Zungu doesn’t act like
an ass.

It bruised me when I turned him down because I don’t trust my father but
still… Sqalosenkosi is a family man. He has two wives. He has children. These
people need him in their lives, it’s not fair that I should steal him away from
them, it’s not fair that I have to still rely on him so heavily. He’s taught me to
be a grown woman now, I need to act like it.

I have my big girl panties on.

Not panties, panties. Ew!

My favourite red thong is worshipping my butt, the band digging gently into
my waist. I admire the body of the woman staring back at me—small breasts
and all. It’s taken so much for me to get here, I used to resemble an iron-board
once, a debilitating one.

But this woman tearfully gazing back at me is a goddess. She is the epitome of
soft femininity and divinity. She carries herself as such and isn’t easily swayed
by the male gaze because she’s come to realize it means nothing, and adds no
value to who she is as a person. I think this woman is… content. In many ways.
Maybe she has problems here and there but mostly, I think she is happy.

For me, dresses represent sweet divinity. Anytime I wear one I feel like a
celestial creature—pure and light in every way. I love the way some cling to
my slender hips and define this body I have cried many a night for, teasing
every person who dares to do a double or even a triple-take. I love the way

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some of them free flow, embracing me with calm serenity and joy. I love how
happy I look in them, how the feeling shows so visibly even around people—
and how the same people do double-takes because of this.

Today I am draped in passion and beauty, that is what the colour maroon
symbolizes. I have on a Michael Kors Georgette pleated shirtdress, paired with
white platform Crocs that Palesa bought me for my birthday last year. An
anklet clings to my left leg, my favourite watch gifted to me by Sqalosenkosi
sitting comfortably on wrist. My Peruvian hair extends to my lower back and
my makeup is very light today.

Perfecto.

I shouldn’t have put in so much effort, I’m only meeting Zungu after all, and no
one aces spoiling my mood like him. But I never want him to see less than
perfection from this daughter of his.

There’s a knock on my door, it opens and Christophe walks in. He’s just like
MaSibusisiwe this one, they think they own every corner of this place—and
come and go as they please. I don’t mind it much with Chris, he’s like a close
friend. MaSibusisiwe goes through my things and treats me like a goddamn
teenager. “What if I had my dilators shoved down my vagina?”

“Something I’ve seen before, nothing traumatizing there. I’ve been stuck
looking at vaginas since Lisakhanya was born and I’d help change her diaper.
Now with the twins.”

Hmk… valid point. Siyabonga is still freaked out by looking at women parts, he
doesn’t even like talking about his experiences. I guess this is why he and
Nhlakanipho have sons only. “What are you doing here then?”

“My husband wants to talk to you about something. He’ll call now.” Chris
waves his phone, it lights up and reveals a picture of his big family. He sits on
one of the chairs in the room and gives me a onceover. “You look chubbier.”

“Its dick.”

“Very good for your health, dick.” He doesn’t bat an eye, agreeing with me.
Were it Thatego he’d be sputtering and choking by now. “The taxi driver’s

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dick, right? I’m still so surprised that you’re dating a black man, a taxi driver at
that. It’s so unlike you.”

“He’s… different.” A grin creeps onto my face—unbidden. “From the first time
I met him, he was different. I love him,” I say.

“Wow!” Chris giggles. “How long have you known this guy?”

A while. More than six months now. Thing is, I haven’t been paying attention.
All I know is he makes me happy and I smile a lot around him. “Long enough.”

A classy nod. “Wow!”

If he keeps it up with those ‘wows’ of his, I may just smack his mouth and
throw him out of my room. Well he’s older than me, and I respect him so I
won’t do that. His phone is ringing. Thank God!

“Engiyikho!” There’s a hypnotized giggle in his voice.

Ew!

Chris rolls his eyes when I tease him with a gagging sound. “She’s here, I’ll give
her the phone,” he says and stands to pass the phone to me.

“Hey Bhuti!” I greet merrily, turning away from my brother’s husband. No way
am I giving him a chance to eavesdrop on this conversation—childish, I know.
“How are the kids?”

“They’re spending time at Sqalosenkosi’s.”

Oh… they do this a lot—rotational visits.

“Okay. Your midget says you want to talk.”

“Fuze—”

“Ngiyadlala, bandla, yehlisa umoya. What’s so important?”

“You’re dating this boy… the taxi driver?”

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“He’s not a boy,” I frown, jutting out my lower lip petulant, “just because he
doesn’t have money, doesn’t make him a boy. You’re 35 and he’s 28 years old
with his own child and family that he takes care of.”

“Its not about the money.” Nqobizitha snorts, I flinch, can almost see the
chiding stare. “He just looks quite young, Fuze. Besides, he’s still younger than
me, but fine he’s not a boy. So you are with him?”

“Yeah…” where is this going?

“He’s the same one whose sibling has impregnated Lisakhanya. Did you know
this?”

I bite the inside of my cheek anxiously. “Yes. He has nothing to do with it

though. It’s not like I can get pregnant.”

These two are connected—Nqobizitha and Christophe. It’s in the way they
start coughing in the same fashion. “I wasn’t asking about your sex life. I just
want to know his home situation, so that we can plan around this… this mess
my daughter and his brother have created. MaSibusisiwe is being irrational
right now and I don’t… I can’t help thinking we’ll be tying a noose around his
neck and suffocating him.”

“So you’re no longer mad?” I wasn’t there in their first meeting, but I
remember. Saying Nqobizitha was livid is putting it mildly, he was seething—a
scorching volcano that only Chris could tame.

“What’s the use? Zithobile spoke to me and it’s not easy to accept but what has
happened, happened. My daughter is pregnant, abortion wasn’t an option with
us, you know how I feel about it. Still Chris talked to Lisa and… they agreed
with me. It’s best to keep the baby.”

“If every party involved is sure.”

“Tell me about this… I’m sorry. What’s his name again?”

“Sthelosamangwane Khanyile. He’s from Mphundumane.”

“Right. What’s his home situation? I know MaSibusisiwe wants to control this,
as she did when she demanded that we go to that… Sthelosamangwane’s place.
But I’m Lisakhanya’s father—and I want what’s best for her.”

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“I don’t think he will afford a cow. He barely has enough money to support his
siblings and did you know that he’s raising his mother’s new-born daughter?
He has his own new-born son in the picture and now you want him to do
this?”

“Its culture, Fuze, you know this. I’ll see what I can do but don’t try and
convince him to not do what is right.”

“Wow!” Look at me, turning into a mini-Christophe. Mxm.

“Don’t ‘wow’ me. I’ll keep in touch after I have a talk with Sqalosenkosi. I am
not hating on this man and his family, but he should really try to keep his
siblings on a leash next time. He has two other teenage brothers, right?
They’re a menace to society clearly.”

It shouldn’t be funny the way he says this. I snort out my laughter, smacking
Chris’ arm as I do this. “All teenagers, regardless of gender, should be taught to
protect themselves against these things. The only way to do that is by
ensuring that you’re open with them, and not making discussions about sex
seem dirty and taboo.”

“Ngiyezwa.”

“Stop copying my boyfriend!” I laugh.

“Tsk, tsk. Hand the phone over to Zithobile.”

My phone is buzzing anyway, I’m sure its Zungu.

“Here!” I give the phone to Christophe. “Please don’t have phone-sex in my

room. Don’t go through my things, my man’s underwear is in there.” I’m lying.
Only two of his hoodies, they smell like him, I put them on when he leaves.

I have it bad. This is embarrassing.

Sqalosenkosi likes to call me a little girl. Even when I throw all my toys on the
floor and insist that I am a grown woman, who grew up too soon, but mostly
turned out okay. He will watch me throw my toys, smile solemnly at them, and
then appraise me with the same look. He does this, knowing I succumb
eventually on his lap and become the little girl he speaks of.

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He’s not here now, to hold my hand, as I step out of the comforting safety of
home and into the lion’s den. There Zungu is, a predator, leaning against his
favourite 80s Cressida that has the association’s logo on. People like to say I
look like him, but I don’t think I look like a monster. He could fool anyone into
thinking he’s a Nazareth, with his beard and afro—but he’s just stuck in the
olden days, with his leather jackets and those khaki jeans that he loves so
much.

My palms are sweating, as a feeling like something pressing down on my chest

visits me. I blink my eyes, to chase away the watery sensation, and attempt to
steady my heavy breathing but boy it’s hard. He’s hurt me one too many times
that I am scared of him. I don’t trust him. Imagine that… fearing the man
whose seed created you. Imagine not trusting your own blood.

“Zungu,” I say as a way of greeting.

His jaws bunch up, I backtrack—afraid of what he might do.

He takes a deep breath. “Fuzelihle.”

My heart leaps to my throat, I clench my trembling hands into tight fists. No. I
refuse to show him that it affects me when he calls me this. When he pretends
to see me. When he pretends to acknowledge me. “I’m here.”

“Get in, I promise not to hurt you.”

As if I’d trust oaths made by someone who’s put their hands on me in my

sleep—and violated me like all the others, even if not sexually.

When I get in the car, I position my body as close to the door as possible. The
inside smells heavenly, like peaches, the scent has stuck with me. I even buy
cologne with peach notes because it reminds me of my childhood—Tom Ford
Bitter Peach is my favourite right now. Sometimes I switch it up with honey
wildflower fragrance.

“How have you been?”

Argh!

275
I honestly thought we’d bask in the awkwardness until we reach wherever
he’s taking me. I was fine with the silence that not even Amaphoyisa Asolundi
were severing. “Excellent. Amazing. Fantastic. Really good. Happy.”

Zungu clears his throat, his hands tighten on the steering wheel. Oh, oh. He
definitely heard that sass in my voice. “I’m doing fine too.”

I asked this when?

His phone is ringing. He better not cause an accident with the way he leans
down to pick it from the floor. Yes, that’s where it was chilling. He curses
softly as the person disconnects just as he was about to answer. It doesn’t
matter because it rings again just a second later. “Gatsheni, usekhona?”

He’s talking to one of his oldest friends. We used to visit each other’s homes,
the man has a daughter who married some wealthy guy from Denmark. That’s
where she lives now, but at least she gave her parents two lovely
granddaughters to raise right here.

“Do you mind if we stop by the rank? There’s an urgent matter I need to
attend to.”

The rank?

As in Eshowe Taxi Rank?

The same place where some transphobic fucker was fighting

Sthelosamangwane?

This only happened yesterday. Lord. Lord! What if this is why they’re calling
my father? What if those idiots say something that makes Sthelo look bad and
he loses his job? Or worse, if they tell my father that its him I am seeing and he
doesn’t like it. Yes, he knows I have something with one of his drivers but he
doesn’t know who. Baba can be just like his wife, too materialistic and status-
hungry… Sthelo will look like a peasant in their eyes.

“Not at all.” I shake my head. He was already taking the route that leads to the
rank. “What’s going on?”

My father snaps his head to me. “I didn’t know you were interested in the
boring world of taxi business.”

276
“I’m not,” I say.

That’s all the ‘you don’t need to explain yourself’ he needs. The prick! I didn’t
tell him to not go on, to not elaborate and tell me just why we’re going to the
rank. Exhaling, I grab my phone from my purse and unlock it…
Sthelosamangwane’s face appears. He’s looking directly at the camera of my
phone, unimpressed—everything about him screams elegantly rugged
masculinity. His skin is as precious as smoky quartz, everything about him
represents the stone—how he chases every negative energy and purifies with
just those deep-set eyes of his.

My shy man.

“We’re here.”

I blink my eyes and shift the attention from my phone to stare outside the
window. Zungu is driving into the rank. Already? Damn, he’s a fast driver!

“This shouldn’t take longer than an hour, stay put,” comes the instruction as
my father steps out of the car.

Hour?

I am expected to stay here for an hour at most? Oh hell no! But where do I go?
The sun is working with the devil outside and I am not trying to be one of the
unlucky ones. I watch dejectedly as the masses gather around my father, their
celebrity, and greet him like he’s Ramaphosa himself. The thing is… they’re
both equally useless.

Taxis come and go, some random woman tries to sell me mielies but I am not
craving them today. I want the hake sold by a little girl near boxer, I just need
to convince myself to leave the comfort of this car with its amazing aircon and
make the short trip there. The only energy I have is for watching these taxis
pass by until something beautiful coils in my belly.

There he is… my loner.

Unsurprisingly, he is standing alone. He’s not smoking this time, just

standing… with his hands in his pockets. I don’t think I will ever get tired of
looking at him—how subtly powerful his aura is. I say subtle because he’s

277
clearly not the type that likes the spotlight. I admire his features—the endless
dark brown that represents royalty for me. He is so powerfully handsome,
captivating even in simple taxi driver couture, standing out, even though I
know he tries hard not to. He hates the limelight; Sthelosamangwane chapter
one, first paragraph says this.

My name is Sthelosamangwane Khanyile, pretend I am an invisible.

If only it were so simple.

The thing with this man—with all his beautiful shyness and quiet nature…

The thing is he has the kind of face that stops you in your tracks. Part of me
would like to think he has become used to it, the sudden pause in a person's
natural expression when they look his way followed by overcompensating
with a nonchalant gaze and a weak smile. Of course the blush that
accompanies it is always a dead give-away. But I don’t think he notices with
how his eyes become uncomfortable, revealing the deep hatred of any sort of
attention on him. He detests it.

Funny how he never notices how he makes it worse with his loner
mannerisms. Many women prefer a man that isn’t out there. A man you know
won’t be dead caught in gossip affairs or embarrassing situations. Sthelo’s
preference for being a lone wolf saves him from such… and increases his
attractiveness tenfold for me. For the girlies who look at him and giggle
dreamily.

Our eyes connect.

My heart flutters. I try to suppress my smile by biting my lower lip but it

doesn’t work—and he sees. I know he saw because he’s giving me his eye-
smile. Really? I want to roll my eyes.

What are you doing?

Shut up, subconscious!

My movements are nervous as I leave the car. My body begs for anchor against
Baba’s car for a few seconds, and my legs are granted mercy. Confident now,

278
my walk. The usual staring starts again—wanting to embrace me. I slap the
gazes away by focusing on the man watching me intently as I approach.

He is removing his hands from his pockets, he folds them on his chest and
just… stares. Creep! My previously confident footsteps falter, I grip the edge of
my dress, both sides, and hold my head high. I refuse to be visibly flustered in
the presence of so many people… because of a man?

Hai ngeke!

“Sawubona!” I feel like a goddamn teenager as I stand in front of him. It’s

taking all of my self-control to suppress the urge to leap into his arms and kiss
him to my heart’s content. I truly love him. He makes me happy.

“MaZungu.”

Only he can call me this. I swear I’d lose my cool were it anyone else. Maybe
it’s how respectful his voice sounds—reverential… a man acknowledging the
presence of a deity. He looks at me like he worships the ground I walk on.

And I look at him like he’s the most important person in my life. I look at him
like he holds all the secrets of love. I look at him with all the contentment,
knowing he is enough for me. His eye-smile reflects the light of the sun when
it is brightest. My sun, this handsome man is.

“I’m here with my father.” He’s looking over my shoulder, to the car I was in.
“Don’t get jealous and act irrationally.”

“By doing what?”

“I don’t know. I’m yet to discover what else you do when you’re jealous. Right
now, I know you sulk like a baby… and most times, my vagina feels numb in
the morning.”

He chokes.

Still not used to my bluntness, I see. My giggles are rewarded with a roll of the
eyes. I lean into his touch when his hands touch my face and he draws me in, I
look into his eyes—and bask in his sincerity. “Waze wamuhle.”

“Ngyabonga, Ndoda yami. Nawe umuhle.”

279
I offend him. “Ungazodlala ngami, MaZungu. Men were created to be ugly.”

“Not my man. He is the epitome of Eros—all of him in his black perfection.”

A shake of the head. “How are you feeling?”

“My vagina was spared last night, thank you very much for being considerate. I
can walk semi-normal now, that means my back and ass are healing too. Why,
do you want to rearrange my insides again?”

Another choke.

“You really behave like I’m your first sexual encounter.”

“Uyanya.”

Zulu hothead alert.

I dissolve in laughter as this tall Burj Khalifa of mine rolls those deep, ever-
knowing eyes of his. My face is still in his large ass hands, he is squeezing
gently as if trying to ground me—and I submit. “They just allowed you to
work? They didn’t bother you about yesterday?”

He shakes his head.

“I’m glad.”

I don’t think as I stand on my tiptoes to press the sweetest of kisses on his lips.
His body touching mine fills me with an ache to get even closer, it sucks that I
can no longer sleep in his arms. “Wait, Fuzelihle…”

No. I continue kissing him, shaking my head and smiling against his lips. He
takes like goodness and sincerity. If it were possible, I’d be offering him my
vagina on a silver platter right this instant…

“Eyy uxolo, bakwethu.” Someone interrupts us. It’s one of the queue marshals,
he has an embarrassed smile on his face. “Is’khathi sokuthetha amacala akho
sifikle, Ndoda.”

280
Flicker : Twenty-eight

Fuzelihle

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

For a few stupid seconds, I am frozen, just staring at my boyfriend’s retreating

back as the urge to run after him to prevent him from meeting my father
strengthens. I know that they’ve met before but what issues is he being called
for now? Yesterday’s events or… did he see us? Did they tell him about the day
before yesterday as well? That we kissed, just like we were doing now.

I should’ve listened to Sthelo telling me to stop!

Thing is I don’t mind showing affection. I don’t care if it offends anyone, I

prefer to love openly and honestly. This is who I am, its who I’ve always
been—even with previous boyfriends. But I didn’t have to kiss previous
boyfriends in taxi ranks with everyone watching. A kiss in a mall is fine. A kiss
on a camping trip. A kiss on a dinner date at a high end restaurant.

Not the goddamn taxi rank.

My hands are trembling as I move around, I squeeze my fresh manicure into

my palms and convince myself that Zungu won’t cause damage to Sthelo. The
man’s cruel, I know, but he treats his employees better than his own children.
This is one thing I’ve always noted… and this is why everyone always has
something good to say about him, this is why he’s the chairman of this rank.

I turn to face the building that Sthelo disappeared into with one of Baba’s
employees only to be distracted by Hlelo jogging toward me. I didn’t know he
was here. But seeing his chubby face now, anger sparks a flame within, I nail
him with my deadliest glare—and he backtracks. “Whoa!”

“Its you, right?” I grip the front of his shirt, very brave for someone who can’t
defend herself against men who’ve forced themselves on her. The bitter
thought is quickly squashed, as I allow my growing anger to take over. “What
did you say to Zungu? What can’t you mind your own damn business!”

281
“Awukahle ulaka ekuseni kangaka!” his easy grins irritate me the most, I
swear! “Hawu, kanti isende elani mangabe uvuka ngentukuthelo? You
should’ve asked for more rounds if you weren’t satisfied.”

Argh!

“WeHlelo…” I start, my teeth clenching in annoyance. The only thing that runs
through his mind is sex, nothing else. “Ungangijwayeli amasimba.”

“Kanti lutho wena Fuze.” He still has this annoying beam on his face, that
reveals those dimples of his that used to make Nelisiwe swoon, but she
couldn’t ignore his stupidity any longer—and good looks were no longer
enough. “I’m just here to take you out. It’s only 10:00am, let’s grab McDonald’s
while we wait for your lovely boyfriend.”

Why would I want to go out with him?

“Do I look like Melumndeni to you?”

He giggles, the bastard! I don’t think I’m successful in hiding my surprise as I

watch him retrieve a wad of money. Too many notes. It’s like something out of
a hip-hop music video. He’s counting now. “Let me bless you. If an expensive
princess like yourself doesn’t want McDonald’s, then what are the expensive
restaurants you go to? I want to live like a celebrity for the day.”

“Where did you get this money?”

“Your father.” As if it weren’t possible, his smile broadens. “He gave me this to
spend on you. He’s worried that you’re going to faint with this pacing you’re
doing. So what will it be? What restaurant can we go to here?”

I’m not going anywhere with you.” Is he insane? My boyfriend is trapped in

the building with my father and who knows how many of his men are there
with him? And this one expects me to go eat breakfast! I may just vomit and
then he’ll spread rumours of a pregnancy that isn’t even possible.

“Hawu, Sengwayo… kanjalo nje?” the disappointment on his face tells me the
money comes with T&C. “You know I can’t spend this money without your
permission.”

282
I wiggle my legs, raising my head to peer over his broad shoulders, to the still
closed building. “How many people are in there?” I ask.

“A few. Don’t worry, his job is safe.”

Okay… sigh of relief.

“Then what does Baba want with him?”

Hlelo shakes his head. “Just tell me what you want me to buy you then. I’ll
bring it here to the rank.”

“Hake. If you buy it from the little girl near Boxer, I’ll be really grateful. Buy…
sandwiches—many of them. The ones with the burgers and cucumbers and
cheese. Add in two bottles of 2-litre Coke. Add fries in there. Keep the change.”

He nods his head. “You really support this man with your money, huh?”

Lord help me!

The hot clap to the face I want to give this man…

“The same way that I’m supporting your desperate ass now, that’s begging to
use another man’s money like you don’t have the same parts. Watch what you
say around me, please. We’re not friends.”

His jaw is touching the ground but I don’t have time for him. I’m nervous, and
leave this man still gaping as I go to occupy the long bench with an old woman,
under the shelter. I have my phone in hand, scrolling through my contacts. I
wonder if Palesa will answer if I call her now, she’s at work. This is why I need
more friends with flexible schedules.

“Heeeeyyy, bitch!!!”

Yeses!

“Palesa,” I lower my voice, embarrassed although she cannot see me. “Stop
calling me that. I don’t sleep around.”

“Oh please, you know what I mean!” her giggles are loud. Did she bunk work
or something? Her floor is noise-sensitive. “Why are you calling?”

283
“I just miss you.”

“Bitch you don’t expect me to believe that!” the sound of her laughter is
reverberating in my ear. Argh! It’s too early for this. I regret calling. “What’s
wrong? Don’t tell me you’ve broken up with the boyfriend again!”

What does she mean again?

“We had sex last night and he sent me an I love you message this morning. I’m
at the rank now where we kissed and now he’s trapped in my father’s office
and I fear he’s being murdered.”

“Whaaaat?”

“And that’s why I’m calling you to distract me because I don’t want to think
about my man being manhandled by my father. I don’t even know why he’d do
that when he doesn’t care about me. How many men have broken my heart?
And the one guy that I actually feel like I have something worthwhile with—”

“Stop being dramatic, haibo!” Palesa rudely interrupts my moment of venting.

“Maybe he’s called him for something else,” she suggests.

“Well, Hlelo…”

Oh, thank God!

“Got to go. Bye!”

“Fuze—”

“Hey!” I hope I’ve hung up on Palesa. Sthelo’s here, he looks unscathed, still
gorgeous. But he won’t let me touch him. My stomach sinks. “My dad… was it
about us? The reason he called you.”

He shakes his head and gives me a smile. Only I know his genuine smiles, the
ones that show also in his eyes and turn the shape into mere crescents. He’s
not giving me that smile now. Something happened. “The man I got into a fight
with—”

“Dludlu?”

284
“He’s suspended. Your father gave him a few punches for what he said about
you. I shouldn’t be telling you this… but I wanted you to know.”

Oh…

Something nervous twists my belly.

“What about you? I hope you told him that you keep to yourself all the time.
That Dludlu came with the first punch.”

“I am not a child, Fuze. I don’t need to defend and explain myself, the truth
came out on its own. Witnesses were there. I don’t like to explain myself.”

I roll my eyes. “You and your stupid pride. So that’s why he was calling you? I
was worried that someone told him about us and he didn’t like it.”

He gives me a weak smile, but his eyes are crescent-ing now. Yes, it’s not a
word but his eyes are doing that. He shakes his head, raises his hand as if he
wants to hold my cheek… but it drops again. He takes a step back…two. I
frown. Confusion visits me when he extends his hand in what I assume… he
wants a handshake?

“Hmm?”

Dumbfounded, I watch him reach out to link my pinky finger with his—and he
squeezes my much shorter, much thinner digit gently. Huh? A glance over his
shoulder, behind him, to the building he was in with my father. A glance back
at me. “This is my solemn promise to you, to do my utmost best to never be
the cause of your pain again. This is my solemn promise to you, to work hard
to deserve you—even financially.”

“I don’t care about your money,” I say, shaking my head.

“I do. If I plan to marry you then your family shouldn’t have to worry about
you walking straight into poverty. They should have peace of mind that you’ll
be well taken care of. I can’t do that when—”

“Did my father say something to you?”

“I am being realistic, Fuze. There’s nothing attractive about a penniless man

who can’t provide for his woman.”

285
“Except I don’t need anyone to provide anything for me. I can do all those
things for myself, I have for a long time now. I have my own money.”

“Which is why I’ll have to work harder to deserve you.”

“Well being deserving of someone is a flawed idea. There’s gross entitlement

that comes with that mindset… if you make enough money then it means
you’ll finally be deserving of me? I am not your property or an
accomplishment, Mhlengi. You’re not doing what you think you’re doing at the
moment, you’re making me hate you.”

A flinch strikes his face, he blinks his eyes. “I don’t want you to hate me. I want
you to love me.”

“I do love you. With or without money. Please let’s drop this, I thought we
agreed that I don’t care what you do for a living, and what you earn.”

His response is to squeeze my pinky finger with his larger one again. The little
action makes me grin, I look at our linked fingers and then his eyes. “I only
have good intentions with you. I hope you know that.”

“I do now.”

A nod. “I promise to not make you cry again.”

“And if I want you to?” my lips twitch, I don’t know… something tells me they
had a talk with my father. I hate the bastard, its insulting to think that he
may’ve even attempted to look out for me—after everything he’s put me
through. “I like it when you make me cry in bed. I like it when I’m under your
mercy and you’re using all your strength to drive into me. Make me cry,
please.”

He groans—takes a step forward only to backtrack again. “You’re not making

this easy, MaZungu.”

What?

My best smile appears. “I love you,” I say, it feels good to admit.

286
He nods his head and gives me that look, the one that shows me he worships
any ground I walk on. “MaZungu…” I guess this is his way of saying he loves
me back.

“Kiss?”

I’m not going to get one… the look in his eyes tells me so. He’s shy all of a
sudden, not the same man that groped my ass two days ago and kissed me like
the world was ending. There’s someone behind us anyway, clearing their
throat, Sthelo unlinks out fingers quickly, and puts his hands in his pockets. I
laugh when he starts to whistle.

“Mfana…” its him… my father. “Fuze, where is that talkative boy?

Melumndeni’s boyfriend.”

Funny how he makes these jokes but would actually flip had it happened that
Melumndeni and Hlelo had something between them. He’s lucky I’m the only
black sheep of the family, it makes his job easier—at least he’s not beating all
his children. At least not all of them miss his affection.

“I don’t know.” Maybe he still annoys the fuck out of me. I know he makes me
so angry one minute that I don’t even want to be in his presence. I know that
I’m dying for his love the next. “He wanted food.”

“And he just left you here?” his voice isn’t pleased, he frowns.

I nod my head. “I wasn’t going to go anywhere with him.”

He sighs, looks between me and Sthelosamangwane. This man I love, he’s

leaning against the pillar of the shelter now, he gave me and my father space, I
know his ears are tuned to the conversation we were having, but he’s trying
hard not to show it with how he’s looking at his hands in rehearsed interest.

Oh, Baby.

I want to laugh at him.

“Woza, Mfana.” My dad calls out, he sounds kind—nothing out of the ordinary
when he’s talking to his employees. “Meet my… daughter. This is Fuze.”

Ohkaaay.

287
I don’t know which part to focus on, him calling me his daughter or the
introductions. Didn’t they cover my identity back in that building? Sthelo tips
his head once. “Nice to meet you.” He’s so serious.

I’m not doing this.

Perhaps my lack of response is making things awkward. Baba clears his throat
again, he’s taking out his wallet. “You’re an impressive driver and our
passengers always compliment your service. Because of this, I know it’s safe
to trust you with my daughter… right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I need to discuss something with the members of the association. I’m giving
you permission to drive her to an eatery of her choice, I don’t want her to
starve while I attend to this. This should be enough.”

A wad of money lands in Sthelosamangwane’s hand. There’s an offended mask

on his face, and they share a look—him and my father. Defiance is written in
my favourite deep-set eyes, he’s antagonistic, with the jaw clench. “As you
wish… Sir.”

I am still baffled by the weirdness of all this, the air surrounding my boyfriend,
as my father gives him more instructions and the key to his Cressida. Sthelo is
in front of me as we walk back to the car, I maintain a little distance—
thoughtful. He gets my door for me, my heart jumps frantically. “Ngyabonga.”

Simplistic nod, and Sthelo is going to the driver’s side. I switch the music to
something more bearable while waiting for the boyfriend to join me. Johnny
Gill – There You Go. I love this song, it’s my favourite one by him. “Weeeh…”

“Don’t you dare,” I warn this man, with his tastelessness when it comes to
music, “old school is very nice. Music isn’t as good as it used to be in the old
days.”

“That’s because you don’t listen to Maskandi.”

Mxm.

288
“I’m relieved,” I confess, looking out the window as he drives off and leaves
the rank behind us… thank God! “I thought maybe you were offended that you
had to drive me around. The way you were glaring at Zungu…”

“The sight of money just makes me uncomfortable.”

Laughter tickles my throat. He’s crazy.

“Then how do you deal with it 5/6 days a week?”

“I pray for momentary blindness until its hiding in the glove compartment, out
of sight.”

I’m still laughing when he gives me his brilliant eye-smile. He shakes his head
as I attempt to recover with soothing sighs. “Well, I’m glad you’re not put off
by spending time with me. I’m glad you’re still honoured that I bedazzle you
with my presence.”

“I am. You do.”

Simple words like this shouldn’t disarm me so easily but I giggle like a
schoolgirl, letting my expensive wig serve its purpose of hiding my blush
because this is embarrassing.

I think I quite like feeling this way.

289
Flicker : Twenty-nine

Fuzelihle

“You know you didn’t tell me what my father called you,” I remind him as he
drives back to the rank. It’s still early, only 01:00pm, but Sthelo asked—code
for demanded—that we head back because my father has probably made
plans to spend time together.

“Secret.”

A firm one word answer… I’m not going to get anything else out of him. His
eyes are focused on the road, my thighs are painfully bare—spread to his will
but he won’t touch me. He barely touched me in that restaurant we went to.

“You don’t have to do everything my father tells you to, you know. It’s not like
he’s been a consistent presence in my life, matter of fact, he likes it when I piss
him off because it gives him more reason to hate me.”

Silence.

Argh! He’s offending me, getting on my last nerve—and it’s even worse
because I am in love with him. He’s not supposed to do this, his job is to help
fight my battles… my enemies. Well not really but he shouldn’t listen to a
word Zungu tells him that has nothing to do with his job, especially about us.
The man didn’t care for a long time, its unrealistic to think he’d change
overnight.

“You’re annoying.” I huff.

Still so silent, maybe it’s this Maskandi music he’s playing. I succumbed to it
eventually, and allowed him control because he was mocking my taste in
music… like Khuzani’s any better. “I don’t know much about your relationship
with your father. It’s not my place to tell you how to handle your relationship
with him. All I know is that I have to respect him, as an elderly person… that is
what I am doing. This is why I didn’t want you kissing me so publicly, knowing
he was in the same vicinity as us… but you’re so stubborn.”

290
“Spare me. He’s been kissing women younger than him and embarrassing my
mother but you don’t hear me complaining.”

“Maybe it’s not your place to complain, he is your elder after all. You’re not his
wife, it’s not your place to fight your mother’s battles. There’s a way to say
things, disrespect towards the elderly is distasteful.”

“You just… you don’t know how he’s hurt me.” My shoulders shrug as my arms
fold together, and I stare outside the window.

“I don’t.”

“You don’t,” I agree with him, “this is why you should mind your own and let
me curse him to hell and back if I want to.”

“There can’t be two bulls in a kraal, Fuze. One of them has to yield eventually,
and swallow their pride—to make things right. Or just sever ties, and go your
separate ways.”

I laugh. Silly him for thinking I haven’t tried. This is what I’ve been doing for
half a decade already, from fucking men who used to be his friends to
recording videos I am not proud of. I’ve done it all. Rebelling to sever ties
doesn’t work. It never works. All I’ve done was taint myself instead, desperate
for his love. It’s not as easy as Sbanisezwe expects it to be, forgiving my father.

“You make it sound so simple,” I snort, “you and Sbanisezwe. It’s not.”

“Maybe it’s not easy for him too. He’s trying hard to love you the way you
want.”

“Did he tell you this?” my giggles are mirthless. “Struggling to love your own
blood… ha! That time some of us can’t help loving men like him who put us
through so much pain… even with all the physical and emotional abuse I have
been subjected to. For a long time, he was the only man who could make me
cry. Then there were others, eventually I was too weak.”

“I’m sorry.”

Why is he apologizing?

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He sighs when I say nothing, and chooses that moment to place his hand in
between my thighs. The touch is welcomed by it pushes a button deep in my
chest that makes it ache worse than it was hurting before—and I have to take
a deep breath. When I let it out, a few trespassing tears sneak past. I wipe at
them away harshly—irritated.

“I’m sorry that I don’t really understand. Me… I’d do anything to have even my
mother alive, life was hard but it feels worse now. I haven’t had a father in so
long that I… I don’t remember what it’s like to have one. Maybe this is why I
don’t want you to be on bad terms with your father… life is too short.”

“I thought you said to sever ties with him.”

“Its your choice.”

“Mxm.”

My attitude won’t deter him, not when he squeezes my thigh. “That baggage
talk… when yours is heavy, you can tell me to hold it. I will do it, no questions
asked, no hesitation. All you have to do is tell me to.”

The tears are leaking out like a faulty faucet. I don’t know why he’s making me
cry. He’s making my chest ache and burn. His caressing touch is making things
worse, poking at the wound—and all I can do is cry.

Baba is not the one to welcome us at the taxi rank. Its Sbanisezwe.

I’ve known them for a long time now, it’s easy to tell them apart. That and only
Sbani would play with unknown children in a busy taxi rank, he’s crouching in
front of a little boy, listening in earnest as the five or six year old boy draws
something on the ground with a small stick. Also, his shirt is a little rumpled;
Thatego must be preoccupied with their baby, I know he likes to handle
laundry and ironing—its therapeutic, he likes to say.

As the car parks at an available spot, I watch Sbani rise to his feet and pat the
little boy’s head. He walks toward us as I check my face for any remaining
tears… nothing. I stopped crying long ago but I had to be sure. My dress is

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lowered until its covering my thighs as I step out of the car with Sthelo. He
doesn’t touch me… again.

Mxm!

“Bhuti.” I greet him with a hug. He smells safe and familiar. “What are you
doing here?”

“You smell like fresh tears,” he says softly, and tips my head with his chin, “you
look ugly too.”

Rha!

“Look whose talking!”

“Sbanisezwe Ngcobo—face of Bvlgari.”

“I only know Thatego, not you!”

Wrong thing to say, there’s a proud creepy smile on his face. His world begins
and ends with Thatego. Life itself exists because of him. I should never forget
this. “Mfwethu…” his tall self peers over my head, and the smile spreads wider,
eyes mysterious as he regards Sthelosamangwane. “How long will you plough
this field and not pay for it?”

I choke on my saliva.

Sthelo’s eyes widen.

Sbanisezwe looks between both of us with a mischievous smirk. His hands are
in his pockets, and he’s laid back. The audacity of a 35 year old man who can’t
even wash or iron his own clothes. I’m not that much better but still… sies!

“Let me tell you a story,” his voice is always so deceptively warm while
maintaining a level of dangerous coolness, “some laughs are our favourite
songs not because of a thousand lifetimes, but only because they remind of
peaches and everything that is good and pure in the world, they’re familiar
because they sound like friendship and comfort.”

The look he’s giving us—as if we’re expected to connect these invisible dots
makes me laugh awkwardly. “You’ll get used to him,” I tell Sthelo.

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He nods his head and extends his hand. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced
before, my name is Mhlengi Khanyile.”

“I know who you are.” A secretive smile makes Sbanisezwe’s lips twitch. “And
you know who I am. But to be boring… I am Sbanisezwe and I married
Thateho. We have a newborn son, I like him a little. There’s a little girl as well,
her name is Nkanyezi, I like her a little too.”

My laughter is real this time. “He’s a proud family man now.”

“And why did you make her cry?” the smile has disappeared a little. Whoa!

Sthelosamangwane clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “It wasn’t
my—”

“Its not him!” I am quick to jump in, my hands matching the negating
movements of my head. “We were just talking and you know Zungu is a touchy
subject. He didn’t make me cry. Please, Bhuti…”

“It wasn’t my intention, we were just talking.”

Wow, dude!

My glares don’t affect him anymore, Mhlengi. He just observes me like a

toddler throwing a tantrum and goes back to matching Sbanisezwe’s stare
head-on. There’s something happening between both of them, a silent
conversation of sorts, it has to do with me, I just know. This time I’m going to
cry again, I feel like wiggling my shoulders. It’s the HRT injection, I swear it
makes me an emotional bitch when it’s the last thing I am.

“I like you.” Sbanisezwe has a way of handing out compliments in a

threatening manner, warning. “A lot. You’re like a dark, vicious tide—so full of
light.”

I’m not the only one confused.

“Thank you.” Sthelo doesn’t smile.

“You will when I send you to your grave… should you ever hurt the princess of
the family. I won’t ask, just act.”

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“Sbani…”

“I like him.” Sbanisezwe laughs like he finds something funny, clutching his
belly and stomping his foot. Creepy. “I like him so much, it will make things
even better when I kill him if he ever dares to hurt you.”

It’s time to drag my man away from serial killers.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Freeze… eish!

“Bhuti, I just want to—”

“Get in the car, your father’s coming for you soon. I’m spending time with your
sugar baby today.”

He shouldn’t have said that.

Sthelosamangwane’s jaw clenches, he says nothing.

I know he’s offended. This money thing, I’m beginning to think it will always
be a factor between us because even when I don’t bring it up, those around us
do. He’s not even making peanuts compared to me, he’s making just one, and
its evident. And I don’t think he likes it. It doesn’t make him confident. Maybe
he feels it strips him of his manhood.

“Sbani—”

“I don’t mind to spend time with your family members. If I’m planning to
marry you one day then I better acquaint myself with them right now, don’t
you think?”

My heart does somersaults.

Dammit!

He really should stop risking me heart attacks with this marriage talk. We
haven’t talked about this, I don’t even know if I want to get married. All I know
is I love him, but marriage? He’s giving me bloody anxiety! “Mhlengi, please
stop!” I plead with him, gripping his arm. “You’re going to kill me.”

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“Not before I kill him.”

Thixo! What is it with Sbanisezwe?

“Bhuti…”

“He wants to spend time together. Your father’s coming, I’d tone down the
touching if I were you… lest the boyfriend bruises his ribs again.”

What?

Sthelo doesn’t answer my questioning gaze, and gently pries my hand from his
arm. He’s walking toward my father to meet him halfway, and they’re having a
conversation while getting closer to us. “Are you ready to go?” – my father to
me.

“If you don’t hear a word from me in 3 hours, know he’s killed me.” I am not
joking but Sbani still laughs.

“Fuze—”

“This is what he usually calls me when he wants me to submit. When he’s

manipulating me. Because he knows how badly I want him to see me.”

“Fuze, stop it!” Zungu shouts, he’s not amused as he grips my arm. “Will you
stop acting out, and respect yourself enough to respect me. I'm trying here, I
need you to meet me halfway.”

“Let’s let them solve this… shall we?” Sbanisezwe tells my boyfriend.

No! No… they shouldn’t leave me alone with him.

“That grip looks a little too tight.” Sthelo doesn’t move.

“It does, doesn’t it?” – Sbanisezwe.

Baba sets me free. He’s looking directly at my boyfriend. “You can leave now. I
promise not to touch her… she’s my blood.”

Ha!

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I snort out my laughter. When has that ever stopped him?

But… I’m no damsel in distress, and its irritating me a little that Sthelo thinks I
need any saving. Yeah, taking hormones makes me an undecided bitch. Just a
second ago, I wanted to cry because I didn’t want them leaving me with this
man. Now… now I just want him gone because I really don’t need saving. He’s
making my chest burn all over again.

“I thought you had to leave,” I manage to murmur.

Sthelo is taken aback, the expression is gone too fast. He collects himself by
squaring his shoulders and carefully searches my eyes. “We do.”

“Call me in 3 hours, if I haven’t died by then.”

“I will remember that,” my boyfriend promises, as he walks away with

Sbanisezwe.

“I love you, Mhlengi!” I shout after him. “A lot.”

He glances over his shoulder, to me, and gives me his eye-smile.

He’s gone.

Now its just me and my father.

I don’t know what that look on his face means, but its softness won’t fool me
into lowering my guard. There’s an invisible shield around me as I walk
behind him, back to the Cressida. I get my own door and make myself
comfortable. He gets in, cranks the volume up on the song that was playing.
“Khuzani?” he’s evidently surprised.

“Um… Sthelo,” I clear my throat.

“Your boyfriend…” his voice remains casual, he peers at me a second and then
focuses on the road. “I always thought black men were beneath you. At least
black men your age. It’s the white men your mother claims you go for.”

This feels like a dig of sorts.

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“You and your wife are just so lovely, this is why I spend my time most with
both of you. I definitely see why you married her.”

He disappoints me by laughing, the sound makes my belly twist—its strange

to hear the sound. “And you’re disrespectful, just like your mother.”

I’m anything but MaSibusisiwe 2.0. I wouldn’t remind my child of the trauma
she’s been through any chance I get. Hell no. Others may think I’m cold but not
to the extent of the woman whose vagina birthed me. “You really don’t know
me.” I mean to give him a mocking laugh but its just bitter, and burns like the
ache in my chest. It’s sad. There’s something really sad about a parent who
doesn’t know their own child.

“I know that you have a bad habit to get yourself in dangerous situations all in
the name of rebellion. This is why many men have gotten away with using
your body—and it makes me angry any time I encounter someone my age
because I can’t help but wonder if they’ve taken advantage of you somehow.”

“It shouldn’t bother you because it doesn’t bother me.”

“You’re lying.”

Laughter dances on my tongue again, this time I promise myself to not cry.
“Why, because I’m a woman, I’m not allowed to say I enjoy having sex with
many men? Its hard to believe that those encounters were consensual and
welcomed?”

Zungu sighs. “So consensual that you’ve visited the hospital more than you
come home? Maybe I don’t know how consensual works when you’re battered
and bruised—and raped. Clearly it doesn’t bother you, I’ve seen you move
past it like all of it doesn’t matter… for some of us, it cuts deep to see you like
that. I’m sure you don’t think about that when you land yourself in these
situations.”

“Yes, it’s my fault that men can’t keep it in their pants. It’s my fault for
allowing them to get away with the physical and emotional abuse. Its not like
my father wasn’t doing the same thing, and maybe I just normalized it as
something black men just enjoying doing—the never-ending abuse.”

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“Of course, you don’t take accountability for your actions. All I’ve tried to do is
protect you.”

“All you’ve ever done is hurt me—and forced me to look for love in the wrong
places. I admit that, Baba, I am just a weakling in your presence… on my knees
and begging you to love me. To protect me. But it’s too hard for you.”

“Because once upon a time, you were my son and I love you dearly.”

I’m tired of this conversation, I don’t want to talk anymore. He’ll never
understand, he doesn’t want to. He won’t even try. It shouldn’t hurt so much
but it does—for years now. To take accountability, I will say that I’ve hurt
myself so many times hoping to gain his acceptance. It all leads back to him…
everything.

“Are you crying?”

“Its my hormone shot. Or maybe I’m just pregnant.”

“What!” His tone turns bewildered, I know he’s panicking. “Is that possible?”

“No.” I wipe my tears, looking out the window. “You’re safe.”

“You mean your boyfriend is safe. I’m surprised he’s okay with this
relationship with—”

“Not everyone is hateful like you, Baba.”

“I could never hate you, Fuze.”

All I can do his laugh.

Khuzani’s voice replaces my laughter, its awkward in the car. I am drowning

in the tension, wanting to escape. Where are we even going?

“Your mother said you love to be pampered. We’ll start at the nail shop to
replace your nails. Tell me about your business.”

Nail shop? I snort my laugh—and look at him. But Zungu’s eyes are trained
ahead, as he makes it a point to not look at me.

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Flicker : Thirty

Sthelosamangwane

Breathing properly is an extreme sport at the moment. It has nothing to do

with bricks stacked on his chest or gunshot wounds. His ribs took a few
punches just hours before and he hasn’t completely recovered. This is why…
this is why he told Fuzelihle to not kiss him publicly; not when her father was
around but she is so goddamn stubborn, and Sthelo, he had to pay for it. For
disrespecting the man and his reputation in front of so many people.

“He got you good, didn’t he?”

Sthelo thinks he would’ve missed the calm voice were he not hyper aware of
the man in his Quantum with him, even with the way Sbanisezwe rests so
freely in the passenger seat—eyes shielded from any form of light by his arm.
“What do you mean?” hopefully, the driver doesn’t sound too awkward. It goes
without saying how introverted he is.
“Your future father-in-law, he got you good with the punches.”
Oh…
Sthelo clears his throat, fingers casually tapping on the steering wheel.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” he says.
Laughter fills the car, it belongs to Sbanisezwe. He’s removed his arm from his
eyes and looks at Sthelo, laughing as if he has been told the funniest joke ever.
“This… you, me and you are going to be best friends. That’s if Nqobizitha
doesn’t steal you away from me, I have a feeling he will.”
Nqobizitha… Nqobizitha…
He’s the father of the young girl Misungwane has impregnated, only 15 years
old she is. Her father was spitting volcano on the night they met and Sthelo
has a hard time believing they can ever get close. “Right…” He doesn’t know
what else to say.
“Where are we going?”

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“I don’t know.”
“There’s a spot near Mphundumane that my friend and his husband would
frequent as teenagers. Let’s go there.”
Other gays? Of course… It’s like they run a gay cult.
Sthelo nods his head. “You will direct me.”
“Okay!” His company goes back to throwing his arm across his eyes.
Bewilderment distracts Sthelo as he steals a glance at Sbanisezwe. Shouldn’t
his eyes be on the road so that he can direct him?
Apparently not.
The good news, they make it to this spot that Sbanisezwe was talking about.
Sthelo knows this place—eMasimbeni. Leaving the vehicle together, the taxi
driver makes sure to grab his cigarettes, he hasn’t smoked in a while and his
body is feeling it. For a while now, he’s trying to limit how much he smokes…
especially around Fuze, she doesn’t like it when he smells like a tobacco
factory.
Donning his hat, Sthelo’s eyes fixate on the scenic distance as he lights his
cigarette and stands next to Sbanisezwe awkwardly. If it were up to him, he’d
be picking up passengers and making money for his family. But Fuze’s father
gave him today off—but with no possible pay.
“So you’re the one whose brother’s raging hormones have put a baby in Lisa’s
belly?”
An awkward shrug of the shoulders, Sthelo drags out the smoke in his lungs
and nods his head. “I guess so.”
“My brother is uptight, but not unfair. He has no right to judge, he was making
babies as a teenager himself… older at 20 years old but what did he know
about babies and diapers and shit? I’m 35 years old and most of the time
Thateho takes care of all those things.”
So casual, the way this man talks to him… as if they’re lifetime friends who’re
catching up since the last time they saw each other. Sthelo isn’t sure how to
handle all this, what to say. “20 years is far better than 15 years old.” Or
maybe not, he is stuck with Lucia back home.

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Laughter sails with the wind.
Sthelo has never met a person who laughs as much as Sbanisezwe, everything
is funny to him—and his face tells a story of someone carefree, as if there is no
single wrong in his life. He doesn’t get it. Even people with money have
problems. Fuze has plenty of money and she seems happy but Sthelo thinks
her happiness isn’t complete… he sees it in the way she looks at her father.
Everyone has something that makes their insides twist in sadness, it doesn’t
matter the amount of money they have.
“Twenty is just like fifteen, Mhlengi.” Sbanisezwe looks at him, his eyes are
gleaming childishly. “I will call you Mhlengi. Twenty and fifteen are immature,
maybe not equally but they’re not adults either.”
Warmth spreads over the other man’s cheeks, as he clears his throat and
inhales nicotine deeply to help the embarrassment he feels. He feels the same
way of course, this is why he made it such a big deal when he found out Lucia’s
age but it was too late. The girl wouldn’t get an abortion, and Sthelo wasn’t
prepared to force her to… maybe deep down he was relieved. He doesn’t want
to associate his name with killer.
“Do you know what’s worse than just being twenty?”
“Fifteen?”
Sbanisezwe laughs his genuine laughs again, shaking his head. As he recovers,
he grabs Sthelo’s cigarette and puts it to his mouth—dragging and dragging.
There’s a cool way about the way he lets the smoke out before taking another
drag.
“I didn’t know you smoke.”
“I don’t.”
A headshake, the taxi driver takes back his cigarette when Sbani offers. The
man kicks at the stones mixed with the grass and laughs. “What’s worse is not
feeling anything at all—do you know how that is?”
Feeling nothing? No, of course Sthelo doesn’t know how that’s like. He’s been
feeling his whole life, from the time he was a child and even now he’s feeling…
it’s the worst thing in the world, he thinks, to feel every emotion attached to

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the bad that happens in your life. To have little control over the pain, even
when you try to squash it and keep it pinned to the ground. He thinks life
would be easier if he were like his uncle, moving around and fucking people’s
wives and then continuing on with life normally. The same way his wife had
done when she killed his mother.
“Maybe for the one who has gone through life feeling everything they possibly
could, everything, since they were young… maybe feeling nothing at all would
be nice just once.”
Again that laughter.
“Maybe. Maybe… my doctor told me I couldn’t feel much because my brain
decided to protect me. It’s like a sponge, only too fragile, it absorbed
everything and eventually it was too much so it decided I wouldn’t be feeling.
Do you believe in shit like that?”
“I didn’t finish school, I wouldn’t know.”
“Only Sqalosenkosi and Nqobizitha were meant for school. I was created
solely to love Thateho.”
Sthelo thinks he knows this Thateho. If this is Sbanisezwe, then he’s married
to the man who looks like a woman. With a face that looks impossibly delicate
and a body to match, there’s something surrealistic about his beauty—and he
looks like a woman, Sthelo was fooled once. From the curvaceous body to the
soft facial features, he was fooled and he cannot be blamed.
“How did you feel, when you found out he wasn’t a woman?” Sthelo can’t help
asking, Fuze said it’s not her responsibility to educate him—and he’s been
trying to learn, but here’s a man, married to another man… he wants to know.
He wants to understand Sabelo and Nhlanhla.
“When? The Thateho you see now isn’t the Thateho from ten, thirteen years
ago. I mean he is… it was easy to tell that he wasn’t meant to be the manly type
even back then, but he dressed like a boy most of the time. If you’re asking
how I could fuck him knowing he was a boy, it’s because he looked like very
fuckable.”
Shock chokes the other man, he sputters, pulling the cigarette from his lips.

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Sbanisezwe observes him with sadistic humour, amused by the crystallized
liquid dancing on the corner of Asian eyes. “Don’t die yet, my niece is in love
with you.”
A shake of the head. “I just didn’t—”
“He looked like he was meant to be fucked by me, Ndoda. Everyday. For
eternities… but I did run away for a week.”
Sthelo laughs in disbelief, can’t imagine Sbanisezwe being the type to run
away in the face of something that makes him uneasy. “Why?”
The careless chortling joins the wind again, only this time, notes of…
something are in the sound—melancholic. Sthelo is on his second cigarette, he
passes it to Sbanisezwe. “Because I’m a fucked up son of a bitch. Everything is
a game to me.”
“I didn’t run away from Fuze. She ran away from me.” He doesn’t know why he
feels the need to say this but he does. “It felt like I wasn’t breathing without
her.”
Sbani laughs a lot. A lot. “That’s the thing, right? You meet this one person and
suddenly it’s as if life makes no sense without them. You know this is
impractical but that’s the way it feels.”
All Sthelo can do is hum in agreement.
“With me, I went almost all my life without feeling—and it’s not normal, it’s
not… its fucked up. Thateho is on his knees and crying, I want to care but I
don’t know how to. My brain is telling me you should care that you’re hurting
him but I don’t know how to bring my emotions on-board. Going without
feeling makes you a monster, I’d rather walk around feeling every pain in the
world if it means I can feel a pinch of Thateho’s pain because I’d think before
acting. I’m lucky he found home in a crazy sociopath… imagine that—the
sweet lamb with a predatory lion.”
Smoke taints the air.
“All I’m saying is that there’s an advantage to feeling, Mhlengi.” Sbani looks at
Sthelo, tapping the remainder of the cigarette against his finger—ashy white
dropping. “You must allow yourself to feel things, it’s what makes you human.”

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“I’ll remember that.”
“Otherwise your balls will be hanging on the Christmas tree comes December
25th – and this animal will toast in your honour.”
His threats are always so casual—and his face never changes from impassive
childishness.
“I’ll hurt myself before hurting Fuze,” Sthelo vows.
“I’ll kill you before you hurt her,” this threat again, “like I’ve helped her father
kill many before you. I may not care for a lot of things but my family is
important to me. They humanize me… Thateho more than anyone.”
“If you can’t feel then how do you know you love him?”
“I’ve loved him many lifetimes before, it makes sense to love him now. The
way it makes sense that the sky is blue. The same way it makes sense for you
to love our princess—everything is written in the stars.”
Laughter tickles Sthelo, softly. “Fate?”
“Maybe… sometimes I just think we create it ourselves. Whoever you’re meant
to meet, you will meet—that’s fate. Life plays its part. What happens
afterwards, it all lies with you.”
“How is it that everyone in your family is gay?”
Sbanisezwe chuckles. “Does Fuze let you get away with these kinds of
questions?”
“She won’t let me ask,” Sthelo is bashful, he rubs his neck.
“If you mean my brothers—none of us are gay. Nqobizitha is only attracted to
Chris. Sqalosenkosi doesn’t attach labels to his relationships, he’s married to
two women. Me… if you have a hole, I’ll probably fuck you. I don’t need to be
attracted to you. I’m not gay. I’ve been with women… obviously they don’t
compare to Thateho. Fuze isn’t gay, she wouldn’t be with you if she was. Many
people are like us out there—too few will admit.”
Sthelo is yet to see these people. “My… friends, they were hiding it from me.
When I found out, I wasn’t happy and I said some things. They killed
themselves.”

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“On the bright side, they’re fucking in the afterlife without your whining about
how wrong it is for them to be in love with each other.”
The words cause Sthelo to choke.
“Sometimes people are freer on the other side. They can be in love all they
want there—and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“I’d apologize if I could. I’d tell them I am learning all I can, and that I support
them.”
“You can do that by being happy here. By living your life. They’ll probably
resent you for all the fun you’re having but a job is a job. Its now your job to
live life to the fullest on their behalf.”
He laughs, Sthelo, and shakes his head.
“You can regret the past but there’s nothing you can do to go back and fix it.
All you can do now is look to the future, and live your life.”
“Ngiyezwa.”
“Don’t let Nqobizitha steal you from me, okay?”
Huh?
“Let’s get back to work.”
Sbanisezwe is already moving back toward the Quantum. Sthelosamangwane
gets his feet to work… trailing the tall giant ahead of him.
>><<▪︎>><<
They met again with Lisakhanya’s family. Sthelo doesn’t think he’s ever met a
woman who spits venom like the matriarch, MaSibusisiwe, does. Nothing
about the woman is lovely, not when he was subjected to most of her insults
and the judging glances he still remembers so well.
When you have nothing, people have no reason to respect you.
He saw it in the way she suggested that he was the one who probably advised
Misungwane to trap Lisakhanya. The Ngcobos are a prestigious family after
all, and who wouldn’t want to associate with them? Sthelo didn’t even touch

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their food, it was Misungwane who ate like a pig—embarrassing him so
comfortably, like Sthelo doesn’t already provide for them at home.
He was angry, he still is.
Its been a week and Sthelo still glares at his brother when he looks at him. Its
been a week, and they’ve reached the agreement that Sthelo would be making
monthly instalments to cover the price of the damages. MaSibusisiwe made
him sign this agreement, because children who head themselves, with no
guardian tend to be hot-headed. They have this agreement on paper, Sthelo is
trying to find Misungwane a job so that he can help to make payments.
December began three days ago, Sthelo is hoping to make a lot of money
because people come home for the holidays—and most of them frequent
Eshowe during this time. Then he’ll be able to help his brother, and maybe the
matriarch of the Ngcobos can finally get off his back. Deep down, he knows
he’s fooling himself… here he is, a taxi driver, in love with the woman’s
daughter. With how MaSibusisiwe feels about him, he doesn’t think she’ll
make a great mother-in-law one day.
The sound of chirping crickets greets him outside. Ntanzi’s chickens are
having their usual family meetings at this time of the morning. Sthelo is
distracted by the starry darkness as he waits for his water to fill at the tap. He
has money to make, its true what they say about early birds catching the best
worms—at least for Sthelo.
An interruption takes place in form of light coming from one the main house,
followed by a door creak. Excessive light shrouds the perpetrator at first, but
Sthelo can make out the silhouette of Lucia’s small body, he wonders why
she’s awake so early in the morning… maybe she needs to use the bathroom.
“Sawubona. Yini, uyagula?” he gives her a onceover. She’s wearing one of her
favourite dresses that she bought at Mr. Price, and her face is light like she’s
put on her Pond’s already. “Its unlike you to be up so early in the morning. Its
04:00am. Or… did I miss Nsindiso’s check-up or something?”
“I need a favour.” Her eyes won’t touch his, there is something defensive about
her posture. “And you can’t tell me no because I won’t listen.”
Okaaay.

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“What is it?”
“I have to leave for a little while.”
“Lucia…” a scrunch of the nose. “You know MaMbambo is an old woman, she
can’t afford to wake up too early just to look after the babies. Why didn’t you
tell me this last night so that I could make arrangements with someone else?”
“Because I wasn’t sure but I couldn’t sleep all of last night because… because I
have to leave. I was stupid and I hadn’t thought things through, I want to go
back home…to my mother. I am still a child, too young to be a villager. I have
big dreams for myself, if I stay here then I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. Did
you know that Luhlusuku is going to Malaysia next year? She’s done with
her—”
Sthelo shakes his head. He is slowly digesting every word that she’s saying but
it’s like he doesn’t understand at all. “Eyy angikuzwa mina!” he doesn’t mean
to snap but what the fuck is she saying?
“I’m leaving!” she snaps right back. “I’m going home for a while, but I’ll be
back. Maybe when I’m done with my studies. My mother won’t accept
Nsindiso so I need you to stay with him for a little while.”
The world stops a second, and then comes crashing at his feet.
“Lucia—”
“Its just for a little while.” Her voice is so firm, unwavering. How can she be so
bold about this? Mothers are not supposed to behave this way. They’re
naturally nurturers, always putting the needs of their offspring ahead of their
own. Has Lucia become the exception overnight?
“No.” Sthelosamangwane’s voice goes cold. He grips the tap that is still heavily
leaking water for anchor. “You’re a mother! Do you think you can just up and
run away from your responsibilities? What kind of a mother are you?”
“One who realizes that it’s okay to leave when things aren’t working! I tried
but this place is so depressing, you’re so poor and life was better home with
my own mother. Think of it this way, men abandon their responsibilities all
the time—how many single mothers are out there, hmm? Now I am also
saying the responsibilities that come with motherhood are too much for me
and I want to go back home. I’m not abandoning the baby for good, I’ll visit.”

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“You’re punishing my son and I for what other men do? What happened to
individuality?”
“Its not about that!” her tone is dismissive, the sigh and eye-roll she gives him
tells Sthelo that she doesn’t care. “You just chose to focus on that. I’m leaving
for a lot of reasons. This place will kill me, Sthelo. This village. Your brothers.
Your sister. I am not their bloody matriarch, I’m only 3 years older than
Misungwane. He’s out here getting an education and I’m stuck with raising
them? You’re getting into relationships and I’m just wasting away!”
“Lucia—”
“Its okay. I’m not even into you like that. You’re handsome but you’re poor…
it’s a bad combination. This woman you’re with, I hear she’s rich, only her kind
won’t mind poor people. The rest of us won’t stand for it. I’m sorry.”
Suffocating silence.
Sthelo can only stare, suffocated by his own shallow breathing, mind
completely blank. Maybe at the moment, he’s just to numb to allow his
emotions to take over and fight. But with the confident sound of Lucia turning
away from him, leaving, it’s like every emotion he’s ever felt from the time he
was a little boy, comes to attack him.
The bricks stack themselves on his chest, they’ve built a dilapidating home
inside him and imprisoned him there—to make him feel. He’s not sure when
he fell to his knees because his chest aches badly. He feels and it aches so
badly.
Is this what Sbanisezwe meant when he told him to allow himself to feel? Does
he know how bad it is? Has he ever found himself trapped in perdition? He
has, Sthelo remembers the former boxer told him this, he has and his brain
wouldn’t allow it—the unending pain and torture. The heavy burden of
feeling. This is why he’s protected.
Sthelo wishes his brain could do more, that it’d protect him too.

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Flicker : Thirty-one
Sthelosamangwane

He couldn’t make it to work, it has nothing to do with his mental wellbeing, he

just hadn’t negotiated with MaMbambo to look after the babies. Lucia left, she
was serious, but he didn’t stop her. He didn’t want to be that guy, a villain who
holds a woman hostage against her will and so he let her go—out of his life,
and their son’s life. He can stand it, he’s strong enough to not be affected by
her leaving him but his heart is shredded by her leaving their son.
Every child needs both parents in their life, not just one. One parent can’t do
everything, they can barely allow a child to be one when it’s two of them…
how much more when they’re alone? Sthelo remembers, all those times he
had to step in for his father and assume responsibilities instead of being a
little boy, he remembers how it worsened when his father died. He
remembers he had to be a husband, a father—the head of a home.
He was only 17 years old.
He remembers all those idiots that would judge him for dropping out of
school, how their parents enabled their behaviour. He’s reminded all the time,
when he sees a few of the men he went to school with drive their fancy cars
and build their luxurious homes for their parents—and the pictures of them in
their graduation gowns that are on their clean walls.
He didn’t have any of that. Sure, he wasn’t the brightest at school but he
scored more than enough to promote him to the next grade. Maybe he
would’ve done well in university, and maybe he would’ve built his mother
something sensible. Instead, he was forced to take care of her by sacrificing
his own dreams… because she couldn’t do it alone, and needed him.
Sthelo is scared that his son will be subjected to the same fate.
He is scared that he’ll be so busy trying to build a better future for them that
he won’t have time to love his son. He’s scared that maybe he’ll be so busy
trying to build and build while neglecting what’s important.

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“Bhuti…” Sphiwesamangwane is rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, languidly
approaching him in just his boxers. “I didn’t know you’re off today. Why didn’t
you tell me so that you could help me build my car?”
Big brother clears his throat, and blinks away the foggy view. “School project?”
“Cha. Ngifuna ukuchitha isizungu, this place gets boring with all those city
brats coming here, thinking they’re better than everyone because of the cool
toys they’ve come with.”
“What cool toys?”
“Cars that operate with batteries. Did you know? Anele’s car can transform
into a robot that flies! Suka, lesas’cefe namasende enkawu… we won’t hear the
end of it. He came yesterday.”
“Language,” comes the absentminded reply. Sthelo sighs, scrutinizing Sphiwe
from head to toe—the fiery jealousy burning in duplicate eyes. “I've seen cars
controlled by the remote at Shoprite, I’ll buy them for you and your brother
tomorrow. Stop making a big deal out of nothing and acting jealous.”
“Pffft…” a soft, reserved snort. Sphiwesamangwane’s lips make a pout that
make him look five years old, it’s worse when he stomps the ground. “You
don’t know how much that brat shows off, Bhuti! All because their family is
filthy rich! Even then the Ngubanes are richer than them, it’s pointless to act
like he shits platinum.”
For the first time today, Sthelo manages a little laugh. “I know their family, I
went to school with Sandile.”
“And was he also a jerk?”
Not him necessarily… just the rest of his family. It didn’t even begin when
Sthelo dropped out of school, it was before then, when they were just little
boys and Sandile’s family wouldn’t allow him to play with Sthelo. They always
had this superiority complex—women old enough to be his grandmother
would sneer at him, and tell him to go back home because he was dirty.
“It doesn’t matter.” A shrug of shoulders. “I’ll buy you the car, don’t worry.”
“He’ll probably cackle about it being cheap compared to his fancy ones. It
doesn’t matter as long as I have one too.”

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Sthelo nods his head.
“You’re off today?” Sphiwesamangwane asks again. “Is Lucia awake yet? Do
you know that she can’t cook?”
Lucia… Sthelo feels his heart clenching. “She’s gone,” he informs his brother
quietly.
“Gone where?”
“To her mother, she’s going to stay there for a little while.”
“Where is Nsindiso?”
“Here.” Sthelo says, standing as the cries of a baby get louder. Its Ingibusisile.
She is fussy, very fussy compared to Nsindiso—and he doesn’t have the
energy today, Sthelo, but he can’t catch a break.
“Bhuti?”
The older brother walks away, Sphiwe can look after himself. He’s a big boy.

Fuzelihle

“Your mother is driving me insane!”

Weeeh, Thixo!
My eyes meet KaMazibuko’s—and hopefully they convey my message clearly,
I want to step out a bit for air. When she nods her head, I make my exit and
breathe the warm air in. It’s hot today. It’s always hot in Eshowe, I swear, and
this is why I miss Joburg sometimes. It’s been too long, I’ve found myself
staying here longer than planned… even Mah called me—worried my father
was holding me hostage or something.
“Thatego—”
“Don’t Nyatego me, Fuzelihle!” his voice always cracks when he’s emotional. I
didn’t think whatever happened was that bad but he sounds on the verge of
angry tears. “She’s been invading my home for how long now?
Phawulothando’s no longer fussy, he’s four months old! I’m so sick of her
inside this house, telling me how to raise my son.”

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“Shouldn’t you be discussing this with your husband?” I don’t know what I can
do for him honestly, MaSibusisiwe is just as problematic with me.
“He should.” A deep voice says from behind me—as I am suddenly shielded
from the sun by a black umbrella and a darker presence behind me. Dark but
light… does that make sense? “Tell him to shut up.”
Huh? Sbanisezwe!
“Not in a rude way. Tell him to shut up in a gentle way. Shut up… darling.”
Argh!
The glare I give him won’t threaten him, not surprising, he is smiling at me like
he finds me impossibly funny. I haven’t even said anything! “You’re so
creepy!” I snap, momentarily halting conversation with his distraught
husband on the line.
As if it weren’t possible, his smile broadens. “Thank you.”
What the… eish, that wasn’t a compliment!
To him it was, obviously.
“Give me the phone,” his voice is quiet.
I do as he says.
“Cikicane.” There’s a distracted smile that forms on his face, he raises his hand
as if meaning to touch someone, only to drop it a second later. Sbanisezwe is
the type of person who’s not able to stop kissing his beloved. At home, we see
it all the time—how he can’t stop putting his lips onto any part of Thatego he
can reach. The top of his head. His forehead. His eyelids. The corners of his
lips. His cheeks. His neck. When they’re casually talking, when we’re all
gathered together for a hangout, when he’s drunk, when he’s not drunk. Every
time Thatego is within his reach, basically.
“Okay, do you want me to kill her for you?”
My eyes widen. No way he’s killing my mother!
He blinks his eyes. “Really? Send me the proof.”

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I’m not sure what Thatego says but his violent giant’s retrieving his phone. He
throws it at me and expects me to guess his password. I get it right on the
second try because its Cikicane. There’s a WhatsApp message from Thatego,
about killing being a punishable crime in South Africa.
Eish.
“Is it a crime?”
I nod my head.
“Even when the person is an asshole to my beginning and end?”
Duh…
“Bhuti…”
“Fine, I’m just joking… of course, I won’t kill my own mother. You said our son
is four months old, right? That means you can travel with him here.”
Sometimes I forget that he needs constant reminding when he wakes up.
Thatego makes sure to call him and explain things, and Sbanisezwe believes
him, this is why it’s gotten easier for them—managing a relationship when
one of them can’t retain any long term memories. Sbanisezwe says it’s become
instinct, to know that some things make sense even when they don’t.
“Tell Christophe to fly down with you. Nqobizitha won’t have a problem with
it, it’s fine.”
Chris was just here last week.
“I love you too, Thateho. I can’t wait to be inside you.”
I choke on my saliva.
“Kodwa, Bhuti…”
“You look fat, your boyfriend is making you happy.”
He’s telling me this, like some sort of prophet, and I cannot refute him. The
best feeling in the world is to feel loved—not just by yourself, but by others.
Sthelo does that, he was late in texting me this morning but he was sweet like
usual, with his “Ulale kahle?” messages and the ever rare ones of,
“Ngyakuthanda.”

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It doesn’t offend me, I prefer actions over words. As long as his actions reveal
respect, kindness and love then I am good with not being told I am loved every
single day of every hour. Words don’t matter, actions do.
“He does. I’m no longer a size 30, Bhuti. I’ll be hitting size 34 if I’m not careful.
Right now, I’m sitting at 32. My pants are too tight, this is why I prefer
dresses.”
“You’re pregnant.”
I snort out my laughter. “Yeah, I wish!”
“It wouldn’t work well, Fuze. There are obstacles that you still need to
overcome, you and your beloved. Mountains. Seas.”
Haike. I don’t like this.
“What do you mean, Bhuti?”
“For example, the little boy who offered you peaches in Durban—when fate
decided that maybe you made each other happy—he needs to learn to trust
you and allow himself to need someone. Is he to be blamed when he’s been
taught independence all his life… I don’t think so. And then there’s the raging
dragon—but you’re your own woman.”
I cannot make sense of what he’s said. Little boy who offered me peaches?
When? In Durban? How old was I? Sbanisezwe wasn’t around when I was but
a baby so… he says things that hold no meaning sometimes. As for the raging
dragon… does he mean my mother?
“MaSibusisiwe will understand. She knows what it’s like to fall in love with
someone who’s still building their empire. Baba is where he is today, partly
because of her.”
“Because her manner of approach was harsh but effective. Is it the same for
you?”
“No.” I frown, my arms folding to my chest. “I don’t need to be mean to my
boyfriend to get my point across.”
“Just wait until certain words taunt you.”
Huh?

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“I met a young woman, her name is Lucia, she’s left for Johannesburg. I met
her because she left her son home with her baby daddy. Well, I didn’t meet her
exactly, I just heard her talking about leaving Mhlengi because he was keeping
her trapped in the village when she was so much bigger than that.”
My heart starts to sink as the words make sense.
“What do you mean?” I have my stupid moments. But Lucia?
Sthelosamangwane’s baby mama is Lucia. His other name is Mhlengi. He has a
two month old baby boy named Nsindiso. If Sbani is talking about another
Mhlengi then the coincidences would be too much. “When was this?”
“Not long ago. You know how loud you women are. Can you believe this
woman left her child? Mothers can be selfish… they don’t make any
MaKhathides in the world anymore.”
I barely interacted with MaKhathide, my mother shielded me from her a lot
when she assumed I was behaving too feminine for a ‘boy’.
“Has she left already?”
“I stayed to watch her leave.”
“Bhuti!” I smack his arm, tearing up. “How could you let her go just like that?
You said yourself she was selfish!”
“I didn’t say it was wrong for her to be selfish.”
Mxm. So what was does that comparison with MaKhathide?
Sthelo must be… I don’t know. He’s probably hurt, it must suck for him that
everyone leaves. I know he’s probably feeling alone right now. But for fuck’s
sake, why didn’t he say anything?! What happened to all that talk about us
carrying each other’s baggage? He’s such a hypocrite, a major one!
“I have to go,” I tell Sbanisezwe.
He looks at me with something mysterious, a self-satisfied smile, and nods his
head. “Don’t fall pregnant.”
I wish I could!
“Too late, I’m already gaining weight,” I say.

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“You have babies, Fuze. Do you believe in God? Lately I believe in him because
he’s a killer. Did you know this? Anyway, he gave you babies. Don’t fall
pregnant.”
I seriously wish I could.
“Noted, Bhuti.”
He grips one of my hands, helps me hold the umbrella he brought with him,
always so caring. He hugs me and comforts me with his dark aura that’s also
so very light, that makes me feel safe. Sometimes I wonder how Thatego bears
his overwhelming aura—so very different from his brothers. Chaotic. In a
beautiful way.
“This little boy spent a week of summer with you. This little boy smells
peaches whenever he’s near you. This little boy is reminded of home because
you are home. This little boy will build a family with you—and the pretty
princess will live happily forever and ever.”
“Sweet.” I giggle.
“Remind him I don’t care that the law’s against me, killing is my speciality.”
Argh.
“Don’t threaten my boyfriend, you better not be talking about him. I love you
so much, Bhuti. I’ll see you later.”
Ah, there’s the awkwardness…
He’s asking himself why I love him?
Such a weird creature.
I really do love him.
“Don’t fall pregnant,” he says one final time—and then he’s disappearing off.
Really? As if I can fall pregnant.

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Flicker : Thirty-two
Fuzelihle

There’s a boy sitting outside, playing with an old tennis ball that he’s rolling
on the sand when I enter the Khanyile premises. I think this one is… Nsika?
Honestly, these boys all look like Sthelo’s photocopies so I never know who’s
who. At least with Misungwane, he’s older.
“Sawubona.” I pull at my dress, not sure why I’m made nervous by an eleven
year old. I mean I think he’s ten or eleven. “Your name is Nsika, right?”
“Nsikayamangwane.” He nods his head, blinking those lovely Asian eyes. He’s
like a younger version of his brother I swear I’ve met before. He also looks like
his brother when he’s sad.
“Where’s Lucia?” I don’t know why I feel the need to ask, and join him on the
stoep of this bus-house. My mind is lashing out, offended that I dare plant my
designer dress on the dirty ground but sacrifices are made.
“She didn’t like my brothers and I so she left. I’m guessing she didn’t like her
own son as well.”
The only way I keep my composure is by breathing in deeply, to try and quell
the desire to choke out my disbelief. How old is this kid again? “That’s not
true,” I say.
“It is. You’ve never heard her complain about living with so many men. Which
was false because the only men are Bhuti and Bhuti Misungwane. They’ve
made women pregnant, Sphiwe and I only kiss girls, we don’t sleep with
them.”
This time I choke.
“She didn’t like us. Do you know she complained like someone who’s always
hungry? Did you know people with big mouths only have big mouths because
their mouth are empty from lack of food? Have you heard someone who had
food in their mouth complain?”
Giggles tickle me. “No,” I shake my head.

318
“That’s because you hadn’t met Lucia.”
Tentatively, I reach out to caress the little one’s arm. “Don’t say that.” He’s
only speaking this way because he’s upset, I can see it in his eyes—they’re
Sthelosamangwane’s. “I’m sure she’ll be back. I’m sure she had her reasons
that you’re too young to understand.”
The boy shakes his head and laughs. “You’re a woman, you don’t know what
it’s like to need a woman. This is why I miss my mother.”
He’s so wrong, everyone needs a mother’s love. I don’t care who says what, we
all need it… the same way that we need a father’s love—and find it in other
men who represent positivity. Sometimes, people don’t always seek out
parental love in wrong places, sometimes they’re blessed with a loving
teacher, a loving uncle or aunt. We may not know at the time that these
people—who positively influence us—represent that love that we’re seeking.
I’ve never experienced this with the older men in my life, they’ve always taken
advantage of me. This is why for a long time, Sqalosenkosi, Nqobizitha and
Sbanisezwe were the ones who I truly trusted.
“Your feelings are valid,” I tell him. “At the same time, I think we all need a
gentle touch—regardless of our gender. Women have proved themselves to
have such touches, right? Men like your brother have such touches too.”
“Its not the same. We ate uphuthu with gravy that had raw onions. I’m not a
taxi driver, I like to eat soft porridge with Rama in the morning.”
Someone is very opinionated. It’s a good thing to be able to voice out your
thoughts and say what you need to without fear of judgement. I’m actually
proud of this talkative boy who seems to be completely different from his
older brother—personality wise.
“How do you make soft porridge?” I cannot cook ke mina. We have cooks for a
reason at home but maybe if this boy teaches me, I can learn and make it for
him now.
“I’m not sure. Lucia’s gone.”
How do I make him un-sad? I don’t want him to wallow in the pain of being
left by that girl. To be honest, I think I understand Lucia. What 20 year old
would want to subject herself to a life of motherhood like this? Taking care of

319
all these boys and the little girl Sthelosamangwane’s mother gave birth to. She
was too young, it’s not fair that she would’ve spent all her life living this way.
“Okay. Let’s Google it on the internet!” I try to show enthusiasm, hoping it will
rub off on him. “Do you want the porridge now?”
“Why not? It’s better than eating raw onion gravy again.”
I shake my head, laughing.
Nsika’s eyes drift, freezing on my phone, and I know he can see the picture of
his brother. He clears his throat and awkwardly looks away. “You smell really
good, Sisi… like flowers and peaches.”
“Thank you.”
He nods, seems to have something on his mind as he looks at me. “You’re my
brother’s girlfriend?”
I give an affirmative hum, checking his face for any signs of displeasure. I’ve
never dated someone like Sthelosamangwane before, a man who practically
heads an entire household—the family patriarch. I may’ve fucked them but
never actively dated them. This one, Sthelo, is so damn young—and he’s like a
father to these boys… what if they don’t like me?
“I knew it!” he punches the air.
Wowza… totally didn’t expect him to cheer like he’s won the goddamn lottery!
“Then why doesn’t he allow you to come here more often and why doesn’t he
ask to drive your car to take us to school? All those—”
“Enough, Nsika!” the reprimand is quiet but authoritative.
We both look behind us to find Sthelo glowering at his younger brother. He’s
handsome like usual but his eyes are heavy with emotions. I stand on my feet,
dusting the dirt off my dress. “Sawubona.”
“Go find something useful to do. Your brother was looking for his textbooks.
Did you find all yours?”
Nsika looks between the two of us. “Its just the same, they won’t give me my
certificates and awards because we don’t have money for the award
ceremony.”

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What award ceremony?
Sthelo is just as confused as me. I can tell with the way his brows bunch
together, and I am so tempted to iron that frown out for him and kiss him
passionately. “What award ceremony?”
Nsika kicks the tiny stones in his path. “I told you about it, Bhuti, but you said
nothing.”
“When did you tell me?”
“A week ago.”
Reading the confusion on the boyfriend’s face, I just know he doesn’t
remember any form conversation about award ceremonies taking place
between him and his brother. “I don’t remember. You should’ve reminded me.
When do they want this payment?”
“Final payment is on Monday. The ceremony is on Saturday.”
“R300?”
“R600. Sphiwe is getting one for NS Tech.” The boy is proud, he looks at me.
“I’m getting awards for all my subjects, Sisi. I’m the top performer for the
Grade 7s. Did I do well?”
“Very well! I’m so proud of you.”
I am blindsided by a hug that snakes around my waist. Awkward laughter rolls
smoothly down my tongue, my gaze connects with my boyfriend’s. He’s not… I
don’t think he appreciates what’s happening. But he’s just standing with his
hands in the pockets of his jeans, no upper clothing in sight.
“If you promise to come here again, I’ll show you my report card!”
“I'll come.”
“Hamba ke, Nsika!” is snapped out by this asshole I call my boyfriend. The
audacity… what’s his problem? Lucia. I know it’s her but he shouldn’t be so
standoffish toward his siblings—its important to treat them with love and
kindness and respect.
I watch the young boy take off in the direction of one of the rondavels. My
attention only goes to Sthelo when Nsika has entered the house. “And then…?”

321
Unimpressed, I fold my arms on my chest. “What’s wrong with you? Why are
you so rude to your brother?”
“You’re not here to mother him, you’re just a girlfriend. He has to learn
boundaries, it’s not your duty to check his report cards and to treat him like a
mother. He must know the difference between a mother and a girlfriend.”
Oh wow!
“Mhlengi…” I fail to hide my disdain.
“Its true.”
“And Lucia was their mother? Since you had no problem with her doing the
same thing.”
His jaw clenches. “She was Nsindiso’s mother but she couldn’t even handle
that. She…” he goes mute.
“I know she left, Sthelo.” Now it’s my turn to get upset, I don’t know why he
didn’t tell me in the first place. “You should’ve told me instead of acting as if
everything was fine… but you’re too damn prideful in your independence,
even when you don’t need to be.”
Guilt dances in his eyes. Good!
“I was going to tell you,” he says through clenched teeth.
“When?”
“Eventually. Maybe tomorrow or the day after… eventually.”
Mxm!
“Where’s your kitchen? I promised to make your brother porridge. He spoke
of nearly dying from food poisoning this morning,” I tease, placing my hands
on his shoulders.
“This is what I mean, Fuze. Don’t do all this, you don’t have to. Those boys
need to learn how to be independent, they don’t need to be babied, not by
women. This is why Nsika’s acting out now—as if he’d spent an eternity with
Lucia when that isn’t the case.”
“Maybe she felt like home, and she felt warm. Where’s the crime in that?”

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He shakes his head. I think he’s annoyed by my questions but I just want to
understand why he’s so against this.
“I googled how to make porridge. Show me to the kitchen please… or should I
ask Nsika to show me?”
“Fuzelihle!” he softly snaps, and grips my wrist to prevent me from moving.
“Awuyeke lento oyenzayo. Kusekhaya la, yimina ophethe—and please respect
my wishes. I wouldn’t go to your home and start acting like I own the damn
place!”
Oh… okay.
“You’re right, I’m so sorry.” I put on my best fake smile for him. “Silly me for
loving you so much that it’s only natural to extend those feelings to those
important to you. What was I thinking?”
“Fuze—”
“I think maybe I should go home.”
“But you’re already here, I thought you came to see me.”
“Yeah well not everything is about you. Did you see how your brother hugged
me? That big sparkle in his eyes when I told him I was proud of him. I came
here for you, sure, but your brothers—”
“Are exhausting. You’re going to grow tired before we can envision ourselves
growing old together. Leave them to me, they’re my responsibility, you’re here
to girlfriend, Fuze. Why don’t you understand that?”
“Selfish prick!”
“I’m not thinking about myself—believe it or not. I’m thinking about them as
well, I don’t want them to have to miss you. They’re upset about a girl who
didn’t even care that much for them, if you allow yourself to be weakened by
them and they get used to you and—”
“You’re basically hinting at me leaving but not being upfront about it.”
That shuts him up.
“Even if I leave, if we developed a beautiful relationship together with your
siblings then I’d always be there for them. I know what it’s like, Mhlengi, to

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need a positive parental figure in your life. I wouldn’t build something with
them just to destroy because you and I wouldn’t be together anymore.”
He sighs, only to be distracted by the sounds of a baby crying a second later.
Giving me an apologetic expression, he makes his move back inside the house,
I decide to follow him. I’ve never been inside the bus-house. It’s too simplistic,
there’s barely anything inside—and the furniture is too old. Part of me
wonders how they live like this, I know I wouldn’t survive.
The bed looks shady, like it’s not an actual bed but one made with crates and a
mattress or something. Sthelo’s sitting on it, holding one of the babies, a girl
judging by the pink romper. Our eyes clash, it’s not difficult to find the
discomfort in there—and I can only hope that he hasn’t seen my surprise
about how everything here seems so simplistic and cheap.
I wasn’t judging, just surprised that people actually live this way. Privilege has
never allowed me to live in poverty, and I would be lying if I said I weren’t
grateful that I never had to live like that. “This must be Ingibusisile,” I say to
break the tense silence.
“Utetema kabi.” I don’t think he knows how to properly hold babies, she is
screaming her lungs out… it’s a wonder that the little one on the furthest
corner of the bed is still peacefully sleeping.
“Maybe she’s hungry,” I suggest, looking around. There’s a bottle of milk on
the bench in the left corner of the room. “Has this expired?” I know baby milk
expires—Chris told me. He’s been raising babies for years now.
“It expires?”
Eish!
Uyabona… maybe he’s feeding the poor thing expired milk and making her
little tummy upset. She’s only three months old. What’s wrong with him? I’m
sure he’s the type that doesn’t even believe in changing baby diapers. This is
why he’s so clueless.
“Yes, Mhlengi!” I voice out in irritation, softly, as I rush to take the baby from
him. I’m two seconds away from gaining a migraine. “Baby, do you help
around the house?”

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He gives me an insulted expression. “Ucabangani wena? Angivele ngineke
amasende nje ngoba ngiy’ndoda.”
Whoa… calm down, daddy.
“No need to get offended, I was just asking.” This little one is so damn
beautiful, with this pink that’s too big on her. She curls into my chest and
makes me smile. Now her screaming has turned into pitiful whimpering. “Do
you at least have a flask ready with hot water? It’s going to be easier to give
her food that way—faster.”
The way he rubs the back of his head.
“Then you wonder why I ask if you help at all around here. I’m not a mother
but I’ve spent time with my nieces and nephews and I know what to do to take
care of a baby. You need to learn these basics now that Lucia’s gone.”
He nods his head.
“Please ask your brothers to boil water.” I tell him, still rocking his baby sister.
She doesn’t look like she even had a bath… I get being out of it because your
baby mama has left but that doesn’t mean he should’ve neglected the little
ones. “Tell them to boil enough for her bath as well. Maybe for your son too… I
have a feeling you haven’t bathed him. Maybe she’s fussy because she feels
dirty—sweat and all that.”
Another nod—he’s like a toddler now.
At the door, he looks back at me. I don’t know why he’s so embarrassed. I
understand perfectly… clearly he’s struggling to adjust. It hasn’t even been a
day, I don’t blame him at all. I just don’t want him neglecting these ones
because they can’t do anything for themselves.
“MaZungu…”
First time he’s calling me this since I arrived.
“Ngyabonga, Mama.”
Nope, I’m not letting his words affect me. “Tell your brother I haven’t
forgotten his porridge.” My lips stretch into a smile unbidden.

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Flicker : Thirty-two
Fuzelihle

“Fuze!”
Aaaargh! Shut up… please.
“Maaaaahh?” I drag my voice out, tossing and turning in my bed. This is why I
hate that she’s back. All of this is Thatego’s fault—him and Christophe!
Footsteps echo down the hallway as I ready myself by snatching my
nightgown and slipping it on. The door opens just as my head falls back on the
pillow and I pretend to be asleep. I don’t know how to protect my head from
the childish stomping these rascals are doing on my bed but I am eternally
grateful that they seem to dodge it somehow.
“Auuuuuntie!”
Yeses, I hate it when they call me this.
“Wake up! Wake up! We didn’t see you last night.” Zandile announces quite
loudly. I still say her parents did her dirty—a five year old Zandile? Worse
they named her after one of our 55 year old aunt.
“Please let me leave the bed.” They’re already dragging me out, unknowingly
torturing my bruised body. My vagina is throbbing, you don’t need to be a
genius to guess why. Siphumelele looks up at me with his big round eyes—a
three year old version of Sbanisezwe who thinks it’s okay to stare. “Hey, boy-
boy!” I carry him and follow the others outside.
Zandile and Siphumelele are Kwandile’s children, she’s married to a Pedi guy
who grew up in Newcastle. Most of my family is already in some part of the
house, there’s voices coming from everywhere, and this is all the reminder I
need that we’re in December now.
“Sanibonani!” Thatego is in the kitchen with Christophe and Nontethelelo.
“Where is MaSibusisiwe?”
“Complaining about one thing or the other.” Thatego has a little attitude. He’s
chopping onions so badly they don’t look edible. It reminds me of what Nsika

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was saying three days ago and I find myself grinning like an idiot. “You look
strange… why are you smiling?”
Because.
“Do you know why I was called here?”
“An interrogation obviously.” Ntethe laughs—maniacally. Pregnancy is making
her weird… yes, she’s pregnant, everyone was shocked when it happened. Five
months now? We discovered through MaSibusisiwe because she’s always in
everyone’s business. The guy’s an Indian Durbanite. “You were missing for
most of last night.”
“I am not a child!”
“Endangered species.” Christophe quotes MaSibusisiwe’s favourite words with
a giggle. “I tried to cover for you but it didn’t work this time.”
Eish.
“So where were you?” – Ntethe.
Chris divulges everything on my behalf, it’s annoying actually. But I trust
everyone here more than I do the others—and I know Chris and Thatego
mainly gossip with their husbands. Ntethe couldn’t be bothered by this
family’s politics.
“Hawu wena na.” A curious onceover. “Is this that black guy you were crushing
on months ago?”
“A taxi driver!” Thatego reveals with quiet laughter. “She’s lowered her
standards.”
“What is this about a taxi driver?” MaSibusisiwe walks in, holding
Phawulothando in her arms. Her obsession with this boy isn’t healthy, no
wonder Thatego was starting to get annoyed. “One of you is seeing a taxi
driver? Good luck with not getting diseases.”
Shiiit!
The others are looking at me, Thatego goes to wash his hands, I know he
wants his son back. MaSibusisiwe seems to forget her vagina hasn’t popped
out a child in over two decades.

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“Fuze, awusho, where were you last night?”
Thatego buys me time by gently snatching his baby from my mother, whose
response is to frown because they share this precious boy, Thatego may not
know it but in MaSibusisiwe’s head, she has a brand-new son.
“He was asleep when I left him in the bedroom,” says Thatego.
“He was awake when I entered.” Full stop. Lmao! Her unbothered face is
comical, it was when she wasn’t looking in my direction but now she is… left
brow raised in question.
“Work.” Full stop. If she can do this Thatego then surely I can simply return
the favour.
“That’s it?”
Yes, that’s it. Does she want to know the details about my sex life? How
someone’s son had his dick shoved deep in my soul—plunging deep and
destroying me from the inside out?
“Yes.”
She shakes her head and goes on a rant about how irresponsible I am, what a
risk-taker. Thatego was right about the endangered species statement, my
mother never forgets it, I half-listen… my mind is on some pain-killers. My
back is killing me. If its possible, then maybe Sthelo should consider buying a
more comfortable bed. My body and dignity have suffered enough with the
springing sounds of the mattress of his bed.
“Ngane.” Nqobizitha walks in and ruffles my head, messing my weave. The kiss
he places on my head pacifies me, I find myself grinning, settling on one of the
stools in the kitchen. Chris is already pretending to back away as Nqobizitha
nears, only to smile brightly and fold his arms around the giant’s neck as the
husband lifts him like he weighs nothing at all.
He stands behind Chris an X-rated kiss later, to watch over him as he cuts fruit
and puts it in a big bowl. I watch absently, on the verge of sleep. Last night, I
didn’t get enough time to rest.
Thatego disturbs me by joining me at the island. “Sphesihle and Temasiko are
flying down here tomorrow.”

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I know, we talked with Sphesihle.
“Not sure how I’ll survive with these brats once all the brats are gathered in
one place. Menaces to society the whole lot of them,” I complain.
Thatego shakes with laughter, movements careful to not disturb a sleeping
Phawulothando. His hands are absently caressing the little one’s cheek.
“Sbanisezwe said you’re going out with him and Christophe today.”
Huh?
“Why?”
“He misses your boyfriend.”
I choke on the apple I’m eating, giving Thatego saucer eyes. “What now? He’s
not planned some sort of murderous crime. Sthelo’s done nothing wrong.”
“You’re funny,” Thatego giggles, shaking his head.
“She is.” Sbanisezwe materializes from thin air, he’s behind us. “Do you plan to
visit him smelling like cum? You haven’t touched my son yet, have you?”
Hey! My body doesn’t smell weird, I took a quick shower and fell in bed
comfortably. He’s just overreacting because he seems to be able to read
everyone in this house. “Bhuti—”
“Hurry. Chris wants to make a stop at his favourite restaurant.”
Let me bath now then. I think Christophe’s just making fruit for everyone,
most of the time he doesn’t cook in Mbongolwane. Only in Johannesburg.
“Where are you going?” – Sbanisezwe.
“To bath.” Wasn’t he the one complaining about the odour on my body just a
second ago? “Apparently, I smell like sperm.”
Sbanisezwe laughs in unbothered like usual. Thatego is blushing—all rosy
cheeks and wandering eyes. He acts like a virgin. I roll my eyes and laugh,
leaving both of them in the company of their beloved son.

They wouldn’t agree when I asked them for some time to allow me to talk to
Sthelosamangwane. Well Sbanisezwe wouldn’t allow it, he’s the gang-leader

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here, that somehow roped Chris into this… and I’m guessing Nqobizitha was
fine with it, trusting his very unpredictable brother with his husband.
There’s blankets hanging on the washing line, a large basin near the tap and
water guns that are caked in mud. Sbanisezwe and Nqobizitha have been here,
I remember. Chris has never, but at least he doesn’t act like he’s afraid of the
boondocks like Thatego does, though I have no right to judge—my personality
best matches Thatego, we’re both beautiful princesses.
Nsika spots me and comes rushing. “Oof!” I make a pained sound, blindsided
by the crushing hug. Still I melt, he’s more welcoming than Sphiwe who lives
in his own world of transforming cars most of the time. “Sawubona nakuwe.”
“You’re just in time to see my report card!” his smile is truly beautiful. At his
words, I notice his school uniform—torn here and there. He still looks so neat,
presentable. “Bhuti didn’t want to call you, he said I’m a cockroach for asking.”
Chris clears his throat. I look behind me, meeting his pleasantly surprised
face—and the confused but thoughtful expression of his husband. Sbanisezwe
is never bothered by anything, he’s with Sphiwe—conversing him like they’ve
met many times before, and looking at the car the boy is holding curiously.
“This is Nsika,” I say to the other two, “that’s his twin brother. They’re 12
years old. They’re Sthelo’s youngest brothers.”
“Misungwane is the middle one. Out of all of us, he’s the most intelligent. I’m
second place. The others are average. My birthday’s in January.
Sphiwesamangwane and I are turning 13 years old. You’re invited, Sisi, since
you kept your promise.”
“He’s cute!” Chris giggles, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Nsika nods and shifts his eyes to me once more. I give the others an apologetic
smile as I allow myself to be dragged away by a 12 year old. He’s shouting at
Sphiwe to tell Sthelo that they have company but the boy is too lost in his
world with Sbanisezwe. Misungwane shows face from the bus-house and
widens his eyes, rushing back inside the house.
“You have a nice place.” I tell Nsika, only half meaning my words. Sthelo is
very clean, it’s easy to tell with how orderly everything is—but there’s barely
furniture here, and this room, they only have a large rusting trunk as a piece of

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furniture. There are three reed mats on one corner of the rondavel, and two
blankets stacked atop the trunk. “How many of you sleep here?”
“Just me and Sphiwe.” Nsika replies absently, as he drags a large suitcase that I
hadn’t noticed before to the centre of the room and goes on his knees as he
opens it and reveals the many documents in there. Wow! “Here…”
Okay…
There’s too many 80s and 90s. Actually there’s one 80% and its for English.
Everything else is 90% and above. I’m impressed, I don’t think I was this
dedicated to my studies at his age. “You’ve done very well, Nsika. I’m so damn
proud of you… this is really good.”
“Really?”
“Yeah!” I give him my best genuine smile. “This is really good.”
Nsika punches the air and seems equally proud of himself. He returns his
report card in the mess of documents found in the suitcase. We’re walking out
together, only to find Nqobizitha talking with Sthelo. My belly clenches
uncomfortably—and I try to focus on their body language. It seems normal.
Chris is… nowhere in sight. I don’t know where he is.
“Sanibonani… am I interrupting anything?” I have to know they’re not fighting.
They share a look—and Sthelo is the first one to give in, shifting all the
attention to me. A head shake. “Lutho, Sthandwa sami. I didn’t know you were
coming with your family.”
“You didn’t know I was coming at all,” I tease, clinging to his arm. “Why didn’t
you tell me your brothers collected their report cards? You’re lucky I bought
something for them, it would’ve looked so bad for me not to reward them on
their hard work.”
“Fuze—”
“Mhlengi.”
He sighs, shakes his head and looks at my brother.
“Should we step in?”

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I drag him by his hand, knowing Nqobizitha is following behind us. Surprise
morphs my features when I find Chris there, he’s already dished all that
breakfast he bought at Gianna’s.
“Hey guys!” I swear he’s always so sunny—happy. “Your brothers are still
outside, right? Let me give them this. I’ll join y’all later.”
Desperately, I want to follow him. Sbanisezwe was still outside, like he didn’t
come up with this idea. Now it’s just me and Nqobizitha and my boyfriend.
Nqobizitha who is still so angry that his daughter was impregnated by my
boyfriend’s younger brother.
“Nice home.” Nqobizitha sits down on the bench. I join him as Sthelo occupies
the bed.
“There’ll be more chairs next time. We’re not really used to visitors here.”
“No problem.”
Nqobizitha gives a dismissive gesture of the hand—acknowledging. It’s a bit
awkward without the laid back ones to lighten the mood. I don’t know what to
say. Sthelosamangwane doesn’t talk unless talked to. Nqobizitha only really
talks when he’s comfortable with you. Right now, knowing how Misungwane
messed up, it’ll take him a while to warm up to my boyfriend.
“Who died and why wasn’t I invited?”
Phew!
Thank you Sbani for showing up. He stands in one corner of the room and
stares for some seconds. Then he starts laughing, but all of us have missed the
joke apparently. “The best relationships always begin awkwardly, don’t they?”
he’s still laughing. “Who’d say the two of them are like brothers?”
Chris walks in, and now I have to move to sit beside Sthelo as Chris occupies
my previous seat.
“Baby…” I start as Chris giggles. “Don’t mind him, he’s very childish. We came
here because… Sbanisezwe had an idea.”
“You’re going on vacation for at least two days with the pretty princess.
Tomorrow morning, you’re flying out. My family will care after your family.
Don’t worry, the babies will be in good hands—Christophe has experience.”

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“Why Zithobile?” – Nqobizitha. Clearly he’s not happy. I don’t blame him,
they’ve been about the diaper life for a very long time now, they deserve a
break. “Why not you and Thatego this time?”
“I’m looking after the older ones, they think I’m cool.” A small confused frown
paints Sbanisezwe’s face. Only he takes offense to being called cool, and finds
being called a creep complimentary. “Whatever that means.”
“You don’t need to start all these debates, the answer is no.”
“Mhlengi.” Sbanisezwe smiles threateningly. “It wasn’t a question. This is an
act of kindness that you just have to accept.”
“I am not leaving my family with strangers,” Sthelo speaks through clenched
teeth, rising to his feet—as if to be more assertive. Sbanisezwe doesn’t care
about any of that, this is a man that not even Sqalosenkosi can keep in order.
“Of course you’re not, you’re leaving them with family.” Unbothered,
Sbanisezwe removes his hands from his pockets to fold them on his arms as
his body sways back and forth. A huge smile plays on his lips. “This is how I
know you’re so responsible. Truly, this pretty princess found a catch in you.”
“Psh…” I pout. “He’s just as lucky to have someone like me in his life. He’s very
lucky I am so in love with him.”
“You liked him the first time you saw him!” Chris gossips, he’s pretending to
tell me this but it’s his husband that he’s retelling the story to.
“But he didn’t want me,” I recall.
“He did, he was just confused.” – Sbanisezwe.
Sthelo clears his throat, looking at me with mysteriousness. He’s awkward.
Maybe my family’s overwhelming him. I should’ve just stood my ground and
come here on my own, to propose the idea that Sbanisezwe came up with. It
makes sense after all that he get a break… from all of this.
“Sthelo?” I look at him.
“No.” His voice is firm but quiet.

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Flicker : Thirty-three
Sthelosamangwane

“Aahh!” she hisses, one of hands groping her tender breast and the one a
flattened palm against Sthelosamangwane’s chest to prevent him from coming
closer, and pushing deeper. Fuzelihle grits her teeth as a searing ache spreads
through her core when Sthelo continues to push his hips forward, letting his
cock slip further into her warmth.
“You can take it,” he reassures her, caressing her thighs and kneading the skin.
He breathes heavily as she squeezes around his tip. “I know you can take it.”
“I can’t,” she cries out, shaking her head rapidly. The tears form in her eyes
and with one final shove to his chest, Sthelosamangwane slips out of her, his
aching cock slapping against his stomach.
Fuzelihle’s hand immediately comes down to touch her fluttering hole,
wincing from the pain that spreads in her inner thighs. Sthelo tuts and knocks
her hand away, replacing her fingers with his own as he delicately rubs her
folds, fingertip grazing against her clit.
“Is my dick too big for you?” Fuze rolls her eyes childishly at her boyfriend’s
teasing tone but she nods anyway, sucking at her bottom lip as he continues
playing with her clit. She flicks her nipples and caresses her breasts, softly
rocking into the fingers that are rubbing circles around her little sensitive
bundle and a smirk spreads across Sthelosamangwane’s lips as he hears her
whining. “Do you want to try again? I know you can take it.”
“Its too big.” She pathetically whispers as Sthelo resumes his position in
between her legs, nudging his cock head against her entrance and she gasps
loudly, long nails reaching out to dig into his shoulders as he leans over her
body.
His breath fans heavily against her face as warm walls clamp around the tip of
his cock, basking in the sound of her whines with a smirk on his face.
“It’ll fit, baby.”

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He takes one of her tits into his mouth, sucks on her hardened nipple as he
grips the back of her neck, other hand holding her firmly to the bed. “You’re so
beautiful, MaZungu.” He presses kisses to her chest then the hollow of her
throat. The ecstasy sweeping him away as he allows himself to get lost with
her. “And I want to punish you so badly for what you did earlier—and for your
stubbornness. Awunalo ikhanda, awulaleli.”
Disoriented eyes gaze up at him. “Punish me—then,” her voice cracks, she
caresses his cheek, “until I am sorry for always defying you.”
Sthelo shakes his head, rocking inside her—once, twice, ratcheting Fuze’s
arousal higher and higher with barely any movement at all, and watches her
out of control, shouting, shuddering, trembling. Using all his strength, he
wraps an arm around my waist, and holds her tight beneath him
Her pussy feels impossibly tight and far too sensitive around his throbbing
cock. She is practically sobbing as he withdraws with torturous slowness, then
eases back in. He slips one arm beneath the bend of her left knee and raises
her leg, driving deeper, holding her hard to him. “Please, please, please,” she
gasps.
Sthelo pumps into her with long, slow strokes, his hand splayed beside her
head, pinning her hair to the mattress. At first, she just holds on to him, but
soon she’s clutching the pillows, lifting her hips, riding incredible waves of
pleasure until another climax slams into her.
Sthelo takes over then, groaning, his cock jerking deep inside her being. His
thoughts are all over the place but his body is here—with Fuze. His throbbing
cock harder than it’s ever been, as he rams himself inside her slick pussy.
“Mmm…hmm…mmm.”
Her moans are so beautiful, almost as beautiful as her lying beneath him like
this, with her legs hanging over his shoulders he slams into her deeper,
balancing one of his fists against the wall and picking up his pace, and flicking
her clit to overstimulate her—beguiled by the sight of her juices clinging to his
cock… the squelching sound of their bodies moving together.
Her body is trembling again, she taps his pelvis and arches her back, pussy
spasming and clamping down on his dick. Sthelo looks at his cock sliding in

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and out of her, focuses on her falling apart just a second later. “Ngwane!” she’s
long stopped screaming, her orgasm exhausted and breathless.
Now it’s his turn. He pumps and pumps—fucking into her stretched hole,
irritating her already sensitive nub, and breathing against her temple with his
hand wrapped around her throat. His body is holding her down, in place, and
she has nowhere to escape. He pumps harder, deeper… moving even as his
dick feels like an explosive, on the verge of exploding.
He’s in pain as her walls grip him, only focused on easing the burning ache, on
sating his hungry body. Fuzelihle’s sobbing softly in his ear, clenching her
teeth until they’re grating—her hole so full of something that seems to be
fattening and fattening until her walls can no longer stand it. “I’m sorry! I’m
sorry!” she cries in his ear. “Baby, I’m sorry!”
The words do something to him, as Sthelo continues pumping. “Angizwanga?”
he’d be lying if he said he weren’t enjoying this.
Sharp nails dig into his soul, as their owner looks up at him.
“Tell me,” he says.
She’s so warm and desperate—and apologizes again. Sthelo fucks her soul,
pistons until he’s shooting deep inside her. Trembling fingers touch the small
hairs at the back of his neck, shaky breaths drifting into his ears. He holds her
with one hand on her back, and another one cupping her small breast.
“I—love you,” she breaks the post-coital silence.
“Nami ngyakuthanda, MaZungu.”
Laughter touches his ear. “Lies!”
Sthelo is trying to collect himself, he says nothing as he pulls out his softening
dick—gentle. Fuze still winces and whimpers. He hugs her, pulling her upper
body on his chest. She smells really good, sometimes her scent is
overwhelming—in a good way. Peaches. All around him he can smell peaches,
and they remind him of his childhood.
“What am I too heavy for you?” she teases him when he groans at her slight
movements.
Sthelo shakes his head.

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“Its okay to say I’ve gained weight. My pants no longer fit me the way they
should… actually, I’ve had to buy new ones.”
Sthelo hasn’t noticed. It’s not in his nature to obsess over a woman’s
looks…especially how much weight she has gained.
“You’re still so beautiful,” he tells her.
“Ngiyazi…ngiyabonga.”
Trust her to say this.
“Are you excited for tomorrow?” Again, she breaks the silence. Weird doodles
are being done on his chest—burning him sweetly. “Wait… I have to pee
badly.”
Pulling out of his touch, she makes an aching sound as she escapes his excuse
of a bed—and he really needs to buy something bigger, more comfortable—
only to bend to collect his t-shirt, the moon reflects her golden thighs, how his
essence decorates them. Sthelo has also left the bed, boxers already covering
his private parts, and he flips on the bedside lamp.
Its 02:28am, his phone says.
“I can’t see a single thing out here!” Fuze complains nervously, clinging to him
pathetically—she’s too slow in the way she’s walking. “I’m—scared.”
Sthelo would’ve thought she’s used to the darkness by now.
“The faster we make it to our destination, the faster we can get back.”
“My body is sore, okay?” she huffs, and Sthelo can see her fiery eyes in the
darkness—ever pretty. “If someone hadn’t woken me up in the middle of the
night to ask for more sex then maybe I’d be doing better than I am now.”
No, that’s not how this whole thing went.
“You had my dick in your hand, MaZungu.”
“Because it’s mine, and I have to make sure to protect it from the village
ghosts and witches.”
Laughter penetrates the air, at least they’ve reached the outdoor toilet. This
whole thing would be easier if Fuze didn’t have anything against peeing inside

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a bucket but she makes lectures about personal hygiene. Sthelo wants to tell
her that plenty of people leave like this here… most of the time, even men with
their full beards and potbellies get terrified of the dark. Sthelo isn’t really
scared of the dark… he’s been walking on foot from places like Mbongolwane
during all the hours of the night since he was a teenager.
“Baby, don’t you want to stand inside with me? You’re not scared of ghosts?”
Sthelosamangwane’s laughter causes his body to shake, and the phone in his
hand that’s lighting the inside of the small shelter creates distorted images.
“There’s a ghost behind you!”
“Not funny.”
It is, Sthelo continues laughing until he’s recovering with soft breathing. He
pulls Fuze into him as they walk toward the tap. “I am not scared of the dark
because my skin is like night, Fuze, to confuse the ghosts.”
A surprised sound leaves him as small hands push at him. “You better not be
making self-deprecating jokes about yourself, Ngwane. They’re not funny,
there’s nothing wrong with having dark skin. I find it very beautiful. I find
everything about you very beautiful.”
Awkwardness wraps a hand around his throat, making him choke out
chuckles that die as soon as they reach the dead air. “Men are not beautiful.
Men were created to be ugly creatures.”
“Then God must’ve made an exception with the men in my life. Everyone from
Sqalosenkosi to your brothers—all of you are beautiful.”
They’re heading back inside the house. Its weird for Sthelo to walk around
without caution, or fear of his mother or brothers waking up to him sneaking
Fuze back inside the house, because as the eldest, he’s supposed to lead by
example. It’s weird to be surrounded by so much quietness, part of him is
expecting a baby’s cries to echo from some part of the house. But everyone is
gone, they’re with the Ngcobos—and his brothers probably don’t miss him at
all.
Sthelo gives Fuze a glass of water, and two more at her request.
“You’re nervous?”

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“Hmm?” he looks at her, she looks so comfortable on his chest—vulnerable.
Sthelo caresses her cheek, pressing his lips to her forehead. The smell of
peaches is strong, overpowering the enticing one of their previous
lovemaking.
“You keep glancing at your bag so I’m just wondering if you’re nervous. I know
you’ve never done anything like this before but it’s a good idea. Everyone
deserves a break, Sthelosamangwane, and that includes you.”
“I’ve never been on a plane before.”
“Same.”
“Uyabheda wena.”
Fuze laughs, her soft eyes unmoving, as if she’s scared she’ll miss something
important if she does. But Sthelo isn’t doing anything but blinking at her.
“Okay. I’ve been in planes since before I could walk. My father hasn’t…
sometimes I think he’s like you—or you’re like him, a kinder version. You’re
rural, I’ve never been with someone like you before.”
“That’s a compliment.”
“Yebo.” Her lips press into his neck, she adjusts her arms around him and
sighs. “You’re going to love everything! Have you ever been to the North West?
I don’t usually go there myself but its Thatego’s birth-place and Sbanisezwe is
sort of obsessed with that place. We’re going to a safari lodge, and we’ll be one
with nature and we’ll get to see some animals and…”
Sthelo’s mind wanders, Fuze is excited, and maybe he is as well… but he’s also
overwhelmed. It’s only natural, he thinks. Fuzelihle’s world comes with too
much—the glitz and glamour. Large family. Too much power. Its
overwhelming. He was overwhelmed when he saw her here, unannounced
with her family, and how expensive and powerful they looked. He’s not sure if
he will ever get used to it… they come from two completely different worlds.
“We have animals here, I see them everyday. Yesterday, MaMbambo asked me
to kill a snake that she found hidden in her daughter’s rondavel.”
A pinch to his nipple and Sthelo winces in discomfort.

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“I’m not talking about cows or goats, Mhlengi. Lions. Giraffes. Monkeys. We’ll
get to interact with some of them maybe.”
Well Sthelo would rather not. He’s not an invasive person and something tells
him animals prefer to be left to their own devices as well… but it’s in human
nature to feel self-important and to think they own the world and everything
in it. It’s in their nature to insert themselves in places they’re not welcome in.
“We’ll see how it goes,” he says.
“You’re going to love everything!”
Maybe… maybe he’s just worrying over nothing.
“I love you.” He thinks its enough to try and live in her world—completely
different from his.
Fuze looks at him like he’s everything. Her eyes are the sparkling twinkles of
his favourite place in the world—home. She looks softer than usual
illuminated by the blue moon, as it worships her face. The tender moment is
gone too fast as her eyes widen and then her giggles start filling the quiet
place. Sthelo’s belly clenches nervously at the familiar sweet song.
“Kwenzenjani?”
She is still laughing, prettily. “I think…” a soft lip bite. “I think it’s been
occurring to me a lot lately how I want to hang out with you for the rest of my
life—and lie on your chest forever like this.”
Sthelo doesn’t usually smile like this… but his lips stretch into a wide smile.
His heart is fluttering. Its hard to believe—this woman with her prefect not
perfect world and she looks at him like she thinks the world of him. It doesn’t
really make sense.
“MaZungu…”
“Do you want to go again?” her hands are wandering, finding his dick.
Sthelo groans, tempted. “This is how it went before and you ended up blaming
me for your sore body.”
“Only because I love your dick. Let’s do it again.”

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A small body is already straddling him, smooth thighs warming him perfectly,
he looks up at his woman—beguiled. “Wenzani?” he tries not to sound too
amused by her confident spontaneity.
“I’m going to fuck you.” As if to emphasize this, her swollen clit rubs against
Sthelo’s dick—victory painting her lips as his body reacts positively.

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Flicker : Thirty-four
Sthelosamangwane

They’re in a place called Mziki Lodge. It took them about four hours to get
here—they were moving from car to aeroplane to car. Sthelo survived the
aeroplane, Fuze told him he’d feel less nervous if he drank at least one beer
before their flight and that’s what he did. He fell asleep during the flight and
only woke up when Fuze told him they were going to land soon. She told him
he clearly wasn’t worried about crashes or anything like that because he had a
good time sleeping. Maybe Sthelo slept because Fuze kept him awake most of
last night.
“Its beautiful, right?” she looks at him.
Looking around and taking in his surroundings, the taxi driver is impressed,
their room is remarkable. Fuze called their temporary home a chalet-style
house. It has everything they need. “Kuhle ngyavuma.”
The way her face lights up makes his heart smile. She skips over to him and
jumps in his arms, wincing briefly before grinning again—and fireworks
explode at the beauty of it all… this woman, his. “Do you want to do something
now or do you want to relax for the rest of the day? We can always do
something together tomorrow. We’re here for two days after all.”
Right… and they’re still going to drive back to Johannesburg because Fuze
wants to show him her home—and pictures of her dogs. They’ve never met
before but Fuze has told him about them. Sthelo loves dogs but the ones he’s
used to are those who understand voetsek back in Mbongolwane, the ones
that always look in need of a meal. Fuzelihle’s dogs probably drink sparkled
water and excrete perfumed shit.
“Eyy ngikhathele mina.”
“Calm down,” she giggles, stroking his cheek lovingly, “angilwi. I’m not forcing
you to do anything. We can just spend the day indoors its fine.”
He sets her on her feet and gives in when she suggests bathing together before
sleeping in. This morning, she had to bath from a basin and Sthelo had the

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time of his life watching her struggle. Anyone can tell from a mile away that
Fuze is the type that has never lived poor black all her life—but even some
moneyed people know what it’s like to wash up from a basin. Sthelo did help
her in the end because he loves her—and he sees how she’s just like him, and
trying to fit in a world that she was never apart of.
“Your—brothers want me to bring them something nice. This is why they
agreed to let you go, but it was supposed to be a secret.” They’re in bed, Fuze
sits with her legs crossed—ever flexible—wearing one of his hoodies with no
underwear on. Her face is bare, she looks angelic… the round cheeks from the
Chicken Licken she’s eating. She enjoys these kinds of foods.
Anyway, Sthelo could be grumpy about his brothers thinking his girlfriend is
their money-making machine. Any other time and he’d be telling her to not
buy them anything, because they’re not desperate and he provides for them to
the best of his abilities. But he’s learning to loosen up, to not view gestures of
kindness as something meant to undermine his financial status.
“Nothing expensive,” he says instead.
Fuzelihle’s eyes widen—funnier with her cherry-coloured cheeks and lips,
spicy food makes her skin heat up. “Ngempela?”
A nod.
Seductive lips touch his softly. “Ahh, I thought you’d be mad and tell me not to
do it. You’re so uptight and think everything is an attack on your financial—”
“Ungasaqhubeki ngiyoze ngishintshe umqondo… phela uyakhuluma wena.”
“Hey!” she smacks his arm. “Hey, be nice. I’m your girlfriend.”
“Uyathandwa uyazi nawe.”
“Mxm!” she giggles and crawls onto his lap. Large arms fold around her small
frame, a big hand splaying on her belly. “This is nice—me and you.”
“Ngyavuma.”
“We should probably sleep.”
Sthelo agrees, helping her clear up the mess of food she was eating. He follows
her to the bathroom, waiting patiently at the doorway as she washes her

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hands—and then grabs her hand to lead her toward the bed. They settle, with
her back to his front—spooning. His hold tightens, as he breathes in the
beautiful scent of peaches. She smells like home and everything good and
pure. His lips touch the back of her neck. “Ulale kahle,” he whispers.
“Nawe… ngyakuthanda.”

Black people weren’t meant for these fancy places. Sthelo is bored out of his
mind being one with nature. The animals don’t look welcoming enough—at
least in his eyes, and it all goes back to that invasiveness nature of humans.
Being trapped in bed with Fuze sounds waaay better, at least they’d be having
plenty of sex there.
As soon as the game viewing session ends, he thinks he can breathe easier.
Fuzelihle’s bouncing happily beside him—all eyes are on her, ever glowing,
divine… a goddess. Sthelo is lucky to have her, he looks down at her short self,
not surprised that she’s already looking up—always, always. “I had a great
time,” he tells her… it’s not lie. It’s her company that he was enjoying.
“You were frowning most of the time.”
“Because I frown when I’m having a great time.”
“Ohho!” a gentle push to the arm. “What do you want us to do? This was my
idea, so… anything interesting you want to do?”
“Ufuna ngikubhebhe?”
Fuze stops in her tracks—jaw dropping. “Ngwane…”
Sometimes she calls him this, and he’s reminded of his mother. He misses her.
But he’s so thankful for Fuze and how she makes the hole seem less deep.
“That’s the only thing on my mind, Sthandwa sami. You and me playing
wrestling in between the bedsheets. Maybe I can get a repeat of you fucking
me like last night.”
Sthelo has been having a difficult time suppressing all the sex flashbacks. She
did fuck him—with how she rode his dick. Her body drives him insane but it
was worse when she was on top of him and Sthelo could see every expression
as she held control—pushing and pushing. Every single thing about Fuzelihle
is seductive and sexy.

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“I knew that would drive you insane.”
“Awungiphinde ke, MaZungu.”

Misungwane went out with Nqobizitha. Sbanisezwe assures Sthelo that he

shouldn’t be worried, and jokes that no one is coming back in a coffin. The way
he jokes about death a lot, Sthelo is bewildered that the twins seem to love
him so much. He watches the former boxer build something like a wooden
house with Nsika at the back.
“Bhuti?”
“Yah?” Sthelo was a bit distracted. Fuze’s bathing in the next room and she
takes her time though she insisted that he keep his family on the line until she
returns. “Ufunani?”
“Malume Sbani said it’s okay for us to spend all of our Christmas holidays with
him!” Sphiwe shows visible excitement, and pleading hope. He’s holding a car
in his hands that Sthelo has never seen before. “Please let us? I will wash the
dishes until I’m seventy years old. Just let me eat delicious food here and let
me swim with my friends.”
Sthelo wants to say no. He has no idea how many times he’s lectured his
brothers on their visible preference of food found outside their home. Nsika
almost gets it. Sphiwe acts like he doesn’t feed them at all. He’s always eating.
And he never seems to understand how dangerous that can be. Or maybe he
doesn’t care. “Sphiwe…”
“Please, Bhuti. Malume Sbani is so cool!”
“Aww, thanks!” Sthelo hears a voice sarcastically murmur in the background.
“My doctors call it a personality disorder.”
“Huh?”
“Indeed I am cool,” the man continues with a laugh in his voice. “Say yes,
Khanyile. Don’t be a party pooper. Your brothers are having a great time here
with kids of their age, it’s clearly boring to play transformers with you.”
Sthelo snorts lightly, brushing his nose. “Kids of their age is you?”
“I’ve been told a kid at heart,” still so sarcastic. Sbanisezwe gets closer and
peers at him. “We’re a family now. Families take care of each other.”

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Yes...
Sthelo has seen how well they’ve been looking after his family. Ingibusisile
and Nsindiso don’t seem unhappy. Nqobizitha’s husband… Chris? He’s very
good with babies—and he seems very happy around them. Sthelo tries hard to
look for signs of discomfort in another person and it wasn’t there with Chris,
he doesn’t seem angry about having Nsindiso and Ingibusisile in his care for a
while.
“It still doesn’t seem right to allow them to spend—”
“Obviously they’re family. It seems right to allow them to spend time with
their new brothers and sisters—creating chaos all around this place.”
Defeated, Sthelo sighs in resignation. He peers behind him as the bathroom
door opens to reveal a freshly bathed Fuze, wearing a gown. Her face is
already bright as she nears him and sits on his lap. “Sawubona, Bhuti. Hey
guys!”
Nsika abandons what he was doing. Out of three of his siblings, Sthelo knows
that Nsika fell in love with Fuze the most. Maybe he has a bit of a crush on her
too… it’s not funny. Sthelo didn’t think he’d have competition in his own
brother but here they are. Fuze is talking and talking with him. She’s just as
taken, the boy loves some of the things she does, they’ve become best friends.
“Fuze, look at you pregnant with happiness!” Sbanisezwe amusedly says, he’s
looking at them intently.
“Bhuti…”
“We’ll chat later.”

They’re in Johannesburg now. Sthelo has never dined in a fancy restaurant

before but Fuze spoke of her best friend wanting to meet up. She’s getting
married to her boyfriend soon and expecting a baby in the next year. Fuze
speaks of her fondly, they’ve been friends a long time apparently.
Anyway, Sthelo had to get something ‘classier’ for this dinner they’re having.
Jeans and a t-shirt won’t do in Sandton, she told him. He’s wearing formal
pants and a white dress shirt that brightens even the darkest of souls. Sthelo
hates white, he hates the contrast it creates against his dark skin tone—and
how it practically makes him stand out.

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“Umuhle, Ndoda yami.” A feminine voice compliments from behind him, arms
wrapping around his torso. “You look so damn handsome.”
“White is not my colour, it makes me look darker. Sengiphenduke ilahle ke
manje.”
“Musa, Mhlengi!” irritation coats the voice. Fuze steps away from him, she’s
headed toward the bed—putting on her heels. “Stop it! Nothing’s wrong with
your skin. Your son is just as dark… do you think he’s ugly? What about your
brothers? What’s wrong with you?”
To be honest… Sthelo would’ve preferred that his son come out a few shades
lighter. Maybe something caramel like Ingibusisile’s skin tone. Clearly their
father was the problem because as soon as his mother slept with someone
who wasn’t him, she had a baby with a gorgeous skin tone. Unfortunately, she
hadn’t figured this out when she had him and three other children by the same
man. Sthelo is lucky that he and Fuze will never have children of their own…
he can’t imagine her repeating his mother’s mistakes.
“He’s a beautiful baby… it just would’ve been better if he looked more like
Ingibusisile. Or you… your skin is impossibly light and beautiful.”
Fuze snaps her head toward him very fast. Clearly he’s said something wrong
because she shakes her head, eyes widened in clear disbelief. She grabs her
purse and walks out of her bedroom. Sthelo waits around for a while until he
decides to go after her.
He finds her in the garage.
She’s in her car, the GLC that costs more than Sthelosamangwane’s life, sitting
on the passenger seat and peering out the window. Okay, so he’s driving. She
must be really angry to trust him with her car like this. Sthelo gets in the
driver’s side and starts the car. Its awkward. He doesn’t like it. Sometimes, he
listens to western music—well, he only likes one artist. From his primary
school days right through to his short-lived high school career.
Neyo – One In A Million.
He has plenty of other songs by him. Back when he was just a boy in primary
school, he aspired to look good like the singer. Even with his dark skin, the
man looked very smooth because of how he presented himself. Sthelo isn’t

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sure when he stopped day-dreaming about winning girls over like Neyo with
his smoothness.
Fuze keeps glancing at the screen, Sthelo suspects she’s in disbelief that he
knows any such artists. He knows many songs like this but he doesn’t know
the artists—and there’s the fact that he will always prefer Maskandi.
They’ve arrived at the restaurant. A valet takes Fuzelihle’s key as they step
into the fancy place. Too fancy. Luxurious… overwhelming.
The restaurant has an un-missable rich stench that causes
Sthelosamangwane’s head to become slightly dizzy. It is decorated by too
many people that look like each other in the crisp whites and sharpened
creases of blacks that there’s no room for originality. The laughter sounds the
same—grating and obnoxious. And many eyes are on them as their host
guides them to their table… almost as if these people are compelled to keep
staring—looks of entrancement making their pupils appear larger.
Sthelo is uncomfortable at the attention. Fuze basks in it. That’s the difference
between both of them. Even though the reason for all the staring remains the
same. The sight they create together is beguilingly breathtaking. It’s hard to
miss with how they effortlessly capture the attention of those around them by
simply breathing—and maybe it’s the power they create together.
But Sthelo has never been a fan of the limelight. He’s never wanted to be out
there, to be noticed or the centre of attention. So naturally, he rejects the
attention but it doesn’t reflect in his powerful strides or posture. With Fuze, it
reflects in the way she walks beside him, just as powerful and even more
confident. She is a goddess, and she will walk in a room full of men and ensure
they know very well just how majestically divine she is.
“Palesa!” she giggles out her emotions. A chubby woman whose nose appears
bigger than her pregnancy bump gets up to hug Fuze. “Oh my god, you look
beautiful!”
This Palesa sniffles, eyes on Sthelo over Fuzelihle’s shoulder. “Oh please… I
look like Shrek, stop trying to make me feel better.”
Fuze shakes her head and tells her best friend words of sincerity, she still
thinks Palesa looks gorgeous. Her smile is gone and she glares when looking at
Sthelo. “Babes, this is Mhlengi Khanyile. Apparently I love him? I don’t know.”

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Ouch!
Palesa giggles. “Oh-oh… what did he do?”
“Personal!” the other woman childishly says. “Mhlengi, meet my best friend
Palesa Moloi. That’s her fiancé Thabang Magudulela.”
A light-skinned man stands to greet Sthelo. He’s impeccably dressed like
everyone here —and even smells rich.
They settle. Sthelo has no idea what to order… but Fuze will make suggestions
about the foods he can eat. Her approach is not embarrassing, more polite and
subtle, and her boyfriend smiles with his eyes. He’s thankful. Clearly she has
been taking the time to learn about him because the food she’s ordered is the
food that goes well with him.
“We finally meet, Sthelosamangwane.” Palesa grabs his attention, she’s smiling
giddily. “Am I allowed to call you that? I know Bestie here likes to call you
Mhlengi to piss you off but your name is Sthelo, right?”
Sthelo smiles awkwardly and nods his head.
“Aww, I forget that you’re not a talker. Fuze told me you don’t talk a lot and
that it can get frustrating when she’s mad at you because it means she can’t
ignore you because then it means you won’t reach out since—”
“Palesa!” Fuze laughs stiltedly, pausing her task of cutting into her steak.
“Don’t… please. Just because we talk about these things, doesn’t mean you
now have to blurt everything out to him.”
“Sorry!” the pregnant woman giggles. “I talk a lot, I’m sorry. Sthelo, you’ll get
used to me. I’m a people person. But anyways, you’re so gorgeous. I’m sorry
but the pictures she’s sent me don’t do you justice, you look like you’ve
stepped off the runway—the dark skin and those sexy eyes. Morris Chestnut
didn’t tell me he had a son your age!”
“Eish…” Fuzelihle’s gaze finds Sthelo, he tries not show his confusion and how
overwhelmed by her friend he is. “Eish…eish…”
That’s all she keeps saying.
“Don’t mind her my brother, I cello-tape her mouth when we’re home
sometimes. She doesn’t know her limits.”

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“I’m sure I’ll get used to it,” says Sthelo. He doesn’t like wine but he’s drinking
it here—from the fancy glasses women love so much. He’s never felt so out of
place.
“You will!” Palesa again.
Thabang shakes his head, taking a sip of his white wine. He seems so at ease,
so very pampered. “Its nice to finally have someone who isn’t white on these
dinner trips these ladies drag me to. I can comfortably roast them without
feeling awkward because Jannie boy won’t understand my jokes.”
What is Sthelo expected to say?
He nods.
“So what do you do for a living?”
“Boooring!” That’s Palesa, she’s muted her conversation with Fuze to jump in
on this one. “But he drives taxis. Your father’s taxis, right Babe?”
Fuze swallows a lump. “Palesa come on, boundaries, I don’t tell you these
things for you to go around embarrassing my boyfriend. What’s wrong with
you?”
“Hawu, I’m not embarrassing him. It’s what he does for a living. I think it’s an
interesting career choice—especially amongst young people. He’s still young
so I wonder why he chose that path because wow! You Zulu folk are always
happy with the triggers, taxi wars left and right.”
“Its not like that actually.” Sthelo tells her through clenched teeth. He’s finding
Fuze’s best friend irritating by the second. Maybe his girlfriend lied about this
woman not being snobby. “It’s a very different atmosphere. Many of us are like
family. In all the months I’ve been working as a driver, I haven’t seen or
experienced any form of taxi violence.”
“Also it’s not just Zulus that engage in taxi violence, babe. It’s very ignorant of
someone educated like yourself to assume that,” – Thabang.
“Okay, okay… I’m sorry.” She doesn’t seem very sorry, with that dismissive
hand gesture. Sthelo watches her eat two, three spoonfuls of her food. “But do
you like… plan to be a taxi driver for long? Fuze knows how materialistic and

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driven by status her mother is. Imagine you’re still a taxi driver and she asks
for R1 000 000 lobola. The drama, yho!”
“Palesa—”
“Kulungile,” Sthelo interrupts Fuze, “I was thinking about it real hard lately.
When I was younger, I was fascinated with cars and how they’re made.
Sometimes, my father would take me to visit his friend’s car repairs shop and
I’d be his little mechanic.”
“Aww, that’s cute!”
He looks at Palesa and shrugs his shoulders.
“I hope you make it… hopefully, Fuzelihle’s mother won’t accuse you of
milking her daughter to be that mechanic. You do want to start your own
business, right… otherwise it’s just pointless.”
“When I make enough money, yes.”
“Piece of advice… get a loan from Fuze, she’s a millionaire. No, that won’t do. If
Fuze trusts you enough that Thabang and I can give you a loan. We can discuss
repayments but we’ll have to check how much you make per month.”
Anger slowly injects its toxicity inside Sthelo’s veins—and his hands are
trembling. He really doesn’t like this woman. He’s never met someone who
talks like her before. Lucia was bad but this is horrible.
“Excuse me a second, I need the toilet.”
“The bathroom’s the other way!” she shouts after him.
Right… it’s called a bathroom.

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Flicker : Thirty-five
Fuzelihle

That dinner was just a disaster!

I’m so angry at Palesa, so damn angry. I don’t know why when I know that’s
her personality, she talks too much—without filter, and will say what’s on her
mind. She’s done this garbage with plenty of my previous boyfriends but those
white men have always had a superiority complex and I enjoyed that she
wasn’t intimidated by them.
Sthelosamangwane’s different.
He’s too silent and doesn’t bother to entertain arguments. Its just who he is as
a person. Which makes it hard for him to be around people like Palesa who
never know when to shut up. To prove this, he has remained quiet from the
time we left the restaurant. Its tense as I step out of the car with him, and let
him lead me to my own house like I don’t know this place like the back of my
hand.
The lights flip on as soon as they sense us.
It’s still silent in the bedroom. Sthelo unbuttons his shirt and then just sits on
the bed, staring straight ahead. Lord.
“Sthelo…” I’m not really sure what to say.
His eyes raise to meet mine and wow, they’re really deep-set. He’s not looking
at me but inside, piercing…chiding. I want to defend myself, I’ve done no
wrong, its not me who said all those things, its Palesa. Me… I think the world
of him, and he knows I don’t care about money. I have my own money.
“What were your intentions exactly?”
Heh?
“I don’t understand.” Shaking my head makes me feel like a goddamn toddler.
“That girl is your best friend, Fuzelihle.” Argh, he never calls me this! “You
know her better than anyone. And I know that you know me, I saw it in the

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way you knew what foods I’d like, you know me. You know your friend, you
know me. Our personalities are not the same, they would clash, you must’ve
known this. And you let me attend this dinner just for your friend to make
herself feel powerful at my expense? You sat there and you watched—”
“That’s not true,” I defend, looking at him for a second before looking at the
wall—the white shade is such an interesting colour. “I did tell her to stop but
Palesa doesn’t listen and—”
“There again, proving that you know her well. So what were your intentions,
Fuzelihle? I want you to tell me why you dragged me to this thing when all it
did was humiliate me in the end?”
“I didn’t sit by, Mhlengi—”
“Nayo lenyongo kaMhlengi,” his voice is silent, “tell me now how many others
have the details of our relationship so I can be better prepared next time. How
many know about me, what you call me when I annoy you, and how you find
my silence problematic. Tell about the ones who know about me working for
your father and how much I earn.”
“She doesn’t know how much you earn. I didn’t say you were annoying. I like
your silence. I’ve never said anything bad about you to her, Sthelo, she just has
a bad habit of sounding mean when she’s not. She likes you so much.”
I don’t think I’m getting through to him, not with the way he’s looking at me
darkly. Now he’s making me scared because the darkness seems to emanate
from his aura and he looks angry, so damn angry. Everything about him, his
aura, makes my soul heavy. I don’t like how he looks violent, like he’s only a
second away from…
“I’m leaving,” I say.
No response.
“Let me, ah let me…” my chest is tightening. I backtrack with my careful eyes
on him, the door’s too far away. Why did I think bringing someone who
wouldn’t even talk to me when we left that restaurant okay? I sensed the
anger from him even before we could leave that place, now why did I allow
him to come here with me? “I’m… bye.”
His hand is on my wrist.

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The hold is not painful but it burns and it feels painful.
My chest keeps on acting up, as if its pressing in on itself and stealing any
room for breath. Maybe it’s because he’s angry but it dawns on me now, just
how much bigger than me he is. It’s usually sexy but there’s nothing sexy
about him in my space right now, my face practically touching his chest, his
hand preventing me from moving.
“Ss-thelo…” my voice trembles. “If you put your hands on me, I will not
hesitate to—”
“I’d never put my hands on you, Fuze.” His voice is dark… silent. “Not in the
way you think.”
“What—”
His lips touch mine. I’d push him away if his hand weren’t rushing to my boob
to caress, and my body reacts to his touch—coming alive. “Ahh,” I moan in his
ear as he uses his one arm to lift me and press my back to the wall.
His other hand is sneaking to my thighs, to caress in between my thighs, the
sound of ripping is in my ears—its my dress. I whine softly, this is a designer
dress, it was worth R7 500. “Are you okay with this?” his voice is quiet in my
ear—almost a whisper, so like him.
“No.” I feel like crying.
His hard body tenses against mine, I feel him trying to pull back but my arms
fold on his neck and my legs tighten around his waist. “You ruined my
designer dress,” I sniffle.
“And I’m not sorry…” another whisper. His lips are on mine again. “I want your
ass, Fuze. I want to take it from the back.”
I’ll give him whatever he wants.
But he needs to kiss me first. I take what I want and kiss him with everything
in me—apologetically. Please forgive me. I love you. I wouldn’t hurt you… not on
purpose. Please forgive me. The sadness is heavy on his tongue. I didn’t even
voice my thoughts.
He helps to my feet and turns me around. His body is warm and firm behind
mine—commanding me to submit so easily.

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His hands grip my waist and he fixes my posture to his content, my back is
arching and my ass is pushed to his fully view. “Suck…” another whisper to
which I easily oblige and wet his fingers until they’re slick enough.
He teases my pucker, creating a wet trail that leads his middle finger to my
pussy and he slides in, breathing heavily as I moan impatiently… my toes
curling slightly in anticipation. “You always smell so good,” he breathes in my
ear, making me shiver, “like home.”
“Ahh!” his finger is moving. I feel so empty when he pulls out… only to yelp
when his hand connects with my ass. He rubs gently and then slaps my ass
again, it jiggles in his touch. His fingers slide in again—two. It’s easier with my
juices clinging to him desperately.
“You like this.”
It’s not a question, my body tells him all he needs to know. There is pain from
his touch but it hurts so good that I can’t stop screaming as he hits me again
and again. His fingers are inside again, moving. He uses that juice to trail a
path back to my pucker—and presses a finger in. There’s resistance but he’s
gently fighting through it.
“You’re so tight, Fuze, I can’t wait to be inside you,” he breathes, turning my
head to the side. His fingers know where to probe because they’re stroking my
bundle of nerves, making me scream again and again—in heaven.
The sound of a belt buckle.
His chest is on my back, skin on skin, his erect cock brushes against my thighs.
He kisses the back of my neck gently, and tells me he’ll fight his way in. My
legs are already spread apart, as he makes my butt stick out even more and
starts to push in. The resistance is always there, we don’t do it like this a lot. It
hurts but I want it to hurt for hurting him. Twisted.
He gives me time to get used to the sensation.
And then slowly he pulls out and pushes in again, his fingers pressing in and
rubbing against my clitoris, driving me insane. His other hand goes to my
throat and it feels like he’s everywhere at once. He’s moving too fast, smacking
my quivering ass with pelvis.

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I tremble against him, screaming with pleasure, as he pushes me closer to my
breaking point with every thrust. “Faster… harder.”
He stops.
“Sthelo…” I cry out.
“Do you deserve it, Fuze?” his movements resuming, torturingly slow I want to
cry. I want his hands back on my clit but he’s squeezing my breasts now,
pinching my nipples. It hurts so good. “Answer me,” heavy.
“I—”
He picks up his pace and fucks me hard, rough, the side of my face is close to
smacking against the wall. His fingers are back to punishing my clitoris and
my back tingles, I close my eyes and lick my salty lips. God, please… I’m so
close. So very close. Please give me this.
My vagina is leaking, as he uses juices to spread around my folds, stroking up,
circling. “Please!” my ass is jiggling hard against his front, as two of his fingers
grasp my cunt, the other two working over my hard clit until I’m just
exploding.
He’s moving, unbothered, like he usually does. A conglomerate of orgasms are
flooding over me, I make it rain under his command, until I can no longer…
until it’s starting to hurt. But he’s not deterred, the sound of his front hitting
my butt is loud in the room, he continues to irritate my clit. I tap on his pelvis
and attempt to push him away.
My teeth gnash together, my body is glistening with sweat, it’s all so much. His
fingers rubbing and stimulating my sore clit and the friction of his dick
persistently probing that my vision blacks out every time he pistons my p-
spot.
He has utterly possessed me and made me completely defenceless.
My nails dig into the wall, scratching. I can’t… I can’t take anymore. “Please,”
my body shudders, broken whimpers escape me. “Sthelo, please…”
“Respect me, Fuze, my wishes. If you’re used to disrespecting your boyfriends,
I am not the one. I don’t fight with women, my mother didn’t raise me like

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that… walking away is better. I will not hesitate to do it if I feel disrespected
by you again. Are we clear?”
It’s hard to nod with his dick torturing my very being.
“I need words, Fuze.”
He has that dark aura again, it makes me tremble and I want to cry. I want to
push him away but I don’t. I love him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” I scream, just as
he explodes inside me.
He pulls out quickly and my legs wobble, sending me to the ground. Pain
explodes in my back, making me scream. Then I’m just crying and crying.
Sthelo isn’t here. He just left. I don’t even know why I’m crying.
“Don’t touch me!” I snap when he gathers me in his arms. “Let me go.”
He’s saying something, I just cannot hear him over the sound of my sobbing. It
doesn’t help that he speaks like he doesn’t want to.
He puts me in bed and gets in behind me. I want to tell him I’m thirsty but my
pride won’t allow it. It’s the same one that refuses to remind him how I need
the bathroom after we’ve done this. He’s flipped the light—and sleeps with his
back to me. Really? He should’ve just said he wants up to breakup, not this.
I scoot away from him, nearing the edge of the bed. My trembling hands
tighten on the soft pillows. I’m not crying now. The only problem, my chest
aches badly. There’s snort trailing down my mouth that won’t be pushed back
no matter how much I sniffle.
The bed makes a soft sound with the movements of someone. I feel his arm
snake around my waist. He pulls me close to him and holds me tight. “Forgive
me, please,” his voice is quiet in the dark.
“Wenzeni?”
“I… I hurt you.”
No, he didn’t. I am just crying.
“Nami ngyaxolisa.”
He says nothing.

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I sniffle and turn in his arms, so that my face is in his chest. He grips my chin
and forces me to look up at him. Our eyes are touching. He’s still not fine. I
don’t blame him, Palesa was too much. I shouldn’t have agreed to the dinner, I
should’ve spoken to her beforehand. It wouldn’t have helped but I should’ve
tried.
“I don’t like it when you’re angry.”
“I’m sorry for being angry.”
I shake my head, I don’t know what to say.

He’s not in bed when I wake up. My body is on fire.

I need to pee badly.
He’s not in the bathroom either. My vagina hurts like a fucker, it wasn’t bad
like actually sitting on the toilet seat. I limp my way to the sink to wash my
hands and rinse my face and teeth. My face looks swollen today, like I didn’t
get enough sleep. My eyes are red from crying.
I don’t know why I cried but I’ll forever blame it on my shots.
There he is in the kitchen, playing Maskandi from his old Samsung. I don’t
know why I’m nervous about entering but I do, and bear the aches in my body
as I stand in a corner and watch him attempt to cook something edible. We’re
both horrible, I don’t know why he tries.
He turns around, our eyes clash. “Sawubona.” Its him who greets first.
“Sawubona,” my voice is steady at least. “How did you sleep?”
Bad question… he has no idea how to answer it.
“Good,” the reply comes after a long while.
I nod my head, wincing from standing in place for too long but I can’t bring
myself to move. Anyway, he comes to help me… with my chair also. I shouldn’t
it sweet that he removed his t-shirt to create a mock pillow that he placed on
the stool before helping me settle.
“Ngyabonga,” I say.

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Head nod.
“I’m making eggs and pap.” He moves back to his chef duties. I shouldn’t find it
endearing that he moves around the place like he owns it. But I love it.
“Its 06:39am.”
“I know.”
Ohkaaay.
My headshake of disbelief doesn’t deter him. It’s not completely awkward as I
watch him move around. The only thing, it’s hard to maintain eye contact
without seeming uncomfortable. I keep looking at my hands. “Sthelo…” I don’t
know what I want to say. “I never say anything bad about you to Palesa. We
just talk about relationships, like all women do, and… I should’ve protected
you more last night. I should’ve defended you. I just… Palesa isn’t a bad
person. Sometimes, she has no filter.”
“I don’t need a woman to protect me.”
Sexist piece of shit.
“I just didn’t expect you to stand by when she said all those things. If I had
friends, I know I wouldn’t allow them to grow comfortable with disrespecting
you, MaZungu. Because it would tell them that that is how I treat you too. Even
if that wouldn’t be the case.”
First… I’m MaZungu again.
My belly flutters.
“Ngyaxolisa.”
“I don’t know how these things work with women, Fuze. For me, I don’t really
see the need to discuss our relationship with anyone else because its ours.
Maybe I’d go to someone levelheaded like Sbanisezwe if we ever had
problems.”
Sbanisezwe, levelheaded?
LOL!
I nod my head, super apologetic. “You’ll never see Palesa’s face again.”

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He starts to laugh. Nice to see that he can laugh comfortably, without wincing
in pain. Me on the other hand, my body’s a crime scene.
“I don’t mind seeing her, but people will only respect you when you set
boundaries and show firmness in them.”
Like how he left abruptly after Palesa made one of her comments again…
He did say his mother taught him to walk away instead of arguing.
“Ngiyezwa.”
A roll of the eyes.
I laugh, he doesn’t do this a lot.
“Please kiss me?” I make my request.
He’s beside me, gorgeous, and captures my face in his hands. He’s kissing me
softly—and I taste the heavy nicotine on his tongue.

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Flicker : Thirty-six
Sthelosamangwane

It’s one week to Christmas. Sthelo has been working and working. He’s always
working. Sometimes, he thinks he understands why Fuze wanted him away
from home so that he could catch a break. He wishes he were trapped in their
chalet in the North West all over again. He loves his brothers, and he loves his
sister and he loves his son but sometimes their chaos gets to him.
Part of him regrets putting his foot down and telling his family to come back
home when most of them had clearly wanted to spend time with the Ngcobos.
But he didn’t want to land himself in a situation where they think their money
and status means they can order people around. Each and every Khanyile that
comes from MaZuma’s lineage is still his family—and he, as the head, has the
final say as to what happens in their home.
Today, Fuze went out with his brothers. She asked to have them tag along with
her own nieces and nephews. Sthelo allowed it because he’s not always
uptight about his siblings having fun. But he did tell Misungwane to stay
behind and help him with the laundry. Last week, Sphiwe and Nsika did it but
they always rob the blankets.
“Bhuti, someone’s looking for you.”
Sthelo raises his eyes, giving Misungwane a questioning expression but his
photocopy merely shrugs his shoulders—appears nervous.
Walking outside, the taxi driver is surprised to find… is it Nqobizitha or
Sbanisezwe? He doesn’t know. They look alike. And when they’re not
muttering a word then he can’t tell one from the other.
“Sawubona,” he’s cautious. Sbanisezwe calls him often, the man isn’t serious
about anything—and his personality allows it for Sthelo to hang out with him.
They’ve gone to shebeens in Mbongolwane together.
“Hey, Ndoda.” More serious this tone… Nqobizitha? “One of Lwandile’s
daughters was in your taxi yesterday, right? Here’s payment for the trip…
apparently you gave her stranded ass a life. She was drunk.”

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Oh yes.
The taxi driver remembers her well. A teenage girl of about 15 years. Her
group of friends dumped her at the taxi rank yesterday afternoon, and went
about their day with their boyfriends.
“I didn’t know she was your family.”
“I don’t claim her.”
Sthelo doesn’t know what to say.
“It’s a joke,” – Nqobizitha.
“Oh…” Sthelo releases awkward laughter. “Teenagers are a problem.”
“Tell me about it—between your brother and my daughter, we’ll both end up
having grey hairs by the time this baby is born. They insist they’re in love.”
Glancing over his shoulder to Misungwane, who is near the tap and stomping
on some blankets, Sthelo shakes his head and continues laughing. “I think my
brother loves your daughter. He’s been saving money to buy their child its
first Christmas present.”
“Her… it’s a girl. Zithobile confirmed yesterday.”
Hawu…
“I’m sure he’ll be over the moon,” Sthelo says.
“Let that be their first and last child together… until they’re 50 and 52 years
old.”
“Udlala ngabo ke manje.”
Nqobizitha rolls his eyes. “Ikhanda nje, awazi wena.”
“Do you… there’s a bench that side.” Sthelo points to the bench outside their
bus-house. “What do you drink? Misungwane will buy it for you.”
“Water… even from the tap is fine.”
Sthelo shakes his head.
“Awukahle… even Coca Cola then?”
“Ehh… kulungile.”

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Calling for his brother, Sthelo tells him to fetch money inside the house that
will buy their guest some refreshments. Nqobizitha looks at Misungwane with
fire in his eyes but nothing dangerous.
“I’m here to make payment for the money you spent transporting that brat
yesterday,” he tells Sthelo.
“You don’t need to. I was just helping out.”
Nqobizitha shakes his head. “Hhayi, Ndoda. Doesn’t it come off your salary?
You have it hard enough as it is… I’ll pay.”
Sthelo hates it when they bring his poverty into the conversation. “Kanti
khululeka… asishodi ngemali lay’khaya.”
Nqobizitha starts to laugh loud and hard. He stomps his foot and clutches his
belly. In this moment, he has turned into Sbanisezwe. Sthelo stares with awe
in his eyes. All of this is so creepy.
“What’s so funny?” It’s hard to resist the temptation to ask.
“Nothing,” Nqobizitha gives him a onceover—eyes watering, “you just remind
me of my best friend when he was younger. Ever stubborn. Always wanting to
prove a point. He’s a millionaire now, the only one from Mphundumane.”
Sthelo knows who he’s talking about because there’s only one millionaire that
hails from their rural community. “Nhlakanipho Ngubane.”
“You’re going to love him. He’s attending the family’s Christmas event, you’ll
meet him there.”
Sthelo doesn’t remember agreeing to any Christmas parties… but he has a
feeling that he and his family will be attending anyway. What he’s learned
about the Ngcobos is that they rarely take no for an answer.

His brothers look like something out of a Maskandi music video.

Sthelo wasn’t there when they were picking out their Christmas clothes but
they did it with Fuzelihle. She has tasked herself with the responsibility of
being their sister—and he doesn’t know what he’d do without her in his life.
She’s changing his brothers for the better… yes, they were well behaved but
they’re different now—positively different.

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The taxi driver sees it all the time. Even Sphiwe has stopped his bad habit of
making fun of the disabled. He carries himself with a bit of maturity now.
They’re cleaner than they’ve ever been. And Sthelo just knows its going to
reflect in their schoolwork as well…although Nsika has always been excelling.
“Do I look like Inkosi Yamagcokama, Bhuti?” Sphiwe asks.
Sthelo holds in his laughter and nods his head.
Nsika strides in, pretending to be carrying a guitar as he sings different
Maskandi hits. “Bhuti, why aren’t you dressed up? Sisi bought you these
clothes as well.”
Yes, they bought him outfits that match theirs. Sthelo still doesn’t know how
they convinced his girlfriend to buy these ridiculous clothes… complete with a
towel that has his clan names engraved on it.
“Later. Are you ready to be fetched?”
Nqobizitha will drive by to fetch them. Sthelo has to work for Fuzelihle’s
father for an hour. He called this morning to ask.
“Ehhene!”

Fuzelihle’s father is waiting outside for him. Sthelo greets the elderly man
respectfully. He’s tall like the Ngcobo brothers, with a potbelly and Shembe
hair and afro that make him look intimidating. “Sawubona, Baba.”
The man looks at him, doesn’t reply.
“I’m here,” he continues, “as you requested.”
“And you’re taking care of Fuze?”
Sthelo blinks his eyes.
Yes, he knows about them. He’s suffered her father’s wrath once or twice
before but they don’t usually talk about the relationship he has with her.
Sthelo still nods his head. “Of course, Baba. I think the world of her, she’s
everything I never knew I needed. My love for her runs as deep as the ocean.”

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“Smooth talker,” the man rolls his eyes. He coughs and smiles. “I trust you
because Sbanisezwe told me to trust you. He told me a day will come when her
belly is round with your babies. That you’re happy now. And you will be happy
again.”
Ohkaaay.
Sthelo is still learning on transgenderism but he thinks it’s not possible for
Fuzelihle to hold a baby in her belly. She does not have the parts that would
allow her body to do such a burdensome task. “I don’t think that’s possible,
Baba.” Sthelo informs the older man respectfully.
Zungu laughs like he’d expected the reply. “I know. But it will happen,
Sbanisezwe told me. Not now.”
Confusion etches itself on the taxi driver’s face. Still, he nods his head. “I’ll
always take care of her.”
“You won’t do it without money. I know her mother, the wrath that will befall
you if you’re not moneyed. Sbanisezwe tells me you have dreams of opening
your own automobile repairs business…”
Eyy iscefe sodwa…
Sthelo can see where Fuze gets her talkative nature from. It’s not that
Sbanisezwe is a loudmouth because most of the time he just stares and smiles.
But sometimes he talks like he knows things no one else does, and sometimes
he’ll speak as if he’s from a different time. Sometimes he’ll speak about the
future like he’s watching a movie unfold right in front of him. Sometimes, he
has the most relaxed aura that it’s easy to be vulnerable with him.
“Yes. This is why I’m working hard—”
“Others work hard their whole lives in vain, Ndodana. You should know that
better than anyone else.”
Of course Sthelo knows.
Zungu gives him a onceover, as if he’s reading him, and it makes the younger
man very uncomfortable. “I only trust you because I’ve learned to trust
Sbanisezwe. This is why… you’re no longer working for me as a taxi driver.”
Heh?

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“Am I… losing my job?”
“Yes.”
Sthelosamangwane’s stomach sinks.
“I’m sending you to a school where they’ll teach you all you need to know
about car repairs. You’re going to take a short business course while at it. If
you’re going to marry my daughter one day, you need to be worthy of her.
She’s worked hard making something of herself.”
Maybe he isn’t hearing right.
“Sir…”
“I know your pride refuses it… but you’ll always feel inferior in her presence if
you don’t allow for your pride to be trampled on for a short while. It is better
to lose it to another man than a woman.”
“I don’t feel inferior—”
“Not one man on this earth feels good about himself when his woman
provides everything for him… as if he is the one with the vagina. There’s no
pride in your woman making more money than you.”
Fuze would disagree.
“What do you say?”
Sthelo has to accept. Not even for his woman. He has to accept for his family.
For his brothers. And sister. For his son. For his deceased mother and the
house she never got to see.
“Why are you doing this, Baba?” still he asks.
“We’re living on borrowed time—all of us. I’d rather die knowing my children
knew I loved them… no matter how hard it was showing it.”
Sthelo has a bad feeling.

The party is in full swing when Sthelo arrives with Zungu. It’s only the 24th but
the Ngcobos host this Christmas-themed party every year on Christmas Eve.
Fuzelihle’s eyes meet his, as if she had been waiting for him, and the boyfriend

366
cannot remove his eyes from his woman because she looks good in a body-
hugging red dress matched with red lipstick. He wants to remove that dress
from her and fuck her silly and maybe kiss her while at it but he remembers
all those punches from Zungu about a month ago.
“How nice of you to make him work on Christmas day, Zungu.” Fuze’s voice
has an edge to it.
“I don’t want to fight. Let me speak to your mother.”
Sthelo looks at his girlfriend who is watching her father walk away, with
something dark in her eyes. He grips her waist and pulls her to him, discreet
about it… most of her family doesn’t know they’re together.
“Hey… don’t be so tough on him.”
“Okay.” Her smile is too fake for his tastes. “Kindly keep out of it.”
“Fuze…” he can’t hide his frown.
“What? You’ll fuck me into submission?” her eyes burn at him—accusing. “Not
when it comes to this… keep out of it. He needs to feel what I felt all those
times I was desperate for his love. All the times it felt like I—couldn’t breathe.”
She’s walking away, clearly upset.
Sthelo follows after her, he doesn’t want her to be sad.
People are looking at him weirdly, they’ve never met him before. Sthelo tries
to hide how awkward he feels. He picks up his pace and blocks the door she
went into from closing completely. “Sthandwa sami…”
“I’m not upset, I just want to check my makeup.”
Laughter rolls on his tongue—disbelieving. “Fuze…”
“I love my father. I’ve loved him even when he gave me every reason not to.
It’s not going to suddenly change… but I need him to feel what he made me
feel for years. He needs the same punishment. It’s too soon to just forgive
him… not when I don’t even know the reason for his sudden change of heart.”
“Just… sometimes time is not on our side, Fuze. Everything must be done
when there is time.”

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“I know.”
She turns to face him, lips pressing on his deeply.
Sthelo follows after her, and bears the introductions—a random aunt. A
famous uncle who refuses to grow old. He’s a 50 year old womanizer. He
meets Fuzelihle’s favourite nieces and nephews. Sbanisezwe drags him away
for a while. “This is my whole world,” the man says when introducing Thatego.
The beautiful man giggles, he’s wearing a dress that matches the one Fuze is
wearing—and looks beautiful. Sthelo tries to look for signs of masculinity…
nothing. They’re never there. “Hello. I am his whole world.”
The driver shakes his head in laughter. “Its good to meet you.”
“You too. Fuze is in love with you to the point of no return.”
“Wait until she’s expecting his babies… her world will revolve around him
more than it already does.”
An awkward rub to the back of his neck. Sthelo continues to chuckle.
“Mapholoba, Fuze cannot biologically have babies with Sthelo.”
“Not now.” Sbanisezwe echoes Zungu’s words from earlier.
“Khanyile.”
Sthelo looks over his shoulder and meets Sqalosenkosi and Nqobizitha. With
them is the man Nqobizitha wanted to introduce him to. He’s probably the
only man in the world who makes dark skin look appealing—it must be all his
wealth. He looks rich and powerful and dangerous. Sthelo cannot explain it.
It’s in the infinitely dark and cold eyes.
“Sanibonani.” He greets them, tipping his head a little.
“Here, Nhlakanipho, a younger version of you.” Nqobizitha is amused.
Sqalosenkosi is also looking at him, just as amused. “I see, Ndoda. Should we
call Siyabonga here to introduce—”
“Kahleni, Madoda.” He sounds like a robot with a deep voice. “Don’t scare the
boy. You’re overwhelming him.”

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Sthelo shakes his head, he’s not scared. “The boy must be invisible then. I
don’t see one here.”
Sbanisezwe chuckles, but Thatego is dragging him away.
“Of course,” Nhlakanipho bows a little.
“Stubborn like you, I told you.” – Nqobizitha.
Nhlakanipho smiles, it adds life to his dead eyes.
“How are you finding the party?”
Overwhelming. Sthelo is always overwhelmed.
“Not bad.”
Nqobizitha seems pleased with the answer. “Sbanisezwe says he’s family
now.”
Sqalosenkosi smiles a lot.

369
Flicker : Thirty-seven
Sthelosamangwane

Fuzelihle spoke to him one night… two days after they’d spent New Year’s
together? It must’ve been. “I don’t like how you hold these colourist views that
only light-skinned people can be pretty so I want you to speak to someone
about it. You hate the internet so I’ve worked hard to find you people that you
can talk to. It doesn’t even have to be a therapist.” This is what she said to him.
Sthelo was offended that she called him a colourist. He wanted to defend
himself because just because he thinks dark skin is ugly, it doesn’t mean he
hates it. Anyway, he usually notices how beautiful on women and thinks it was
actually a compliment that he thought dark skin on men was ugly because
men are supposed to be ugly anyways.
But he finds himself here—sitting with another guy talking about colourism.
His name is Lungelo and he’s not a therapist but he took short counselling
courses. The man has asked him a question : when did he start recognizing
that dark means ugly?
And it’s quite tough question because Sthelo doesn’t really remember. Most of
his memories are of his later years, when the boys didn’t know what the girls
saw in him because only his eyes would be visible if they put him in a dark
room. And even later memories of when they’d call him dark and stupid after
he dropped out of school.
Besides, isn’t it a black people thing?
The colourism.
Maybe Sthelo started knowing when he was much younger… when other
parents would rate their children’s darkness to his own. When they’d only be
relieved that their children weren’t as dark as him. It’s just there… the
judgment of his skin tone—laced in fake concerns about him being in the sun
for too long. The backhanded compliments about him being gorgeous for a
dark-skinned boy.
“Since I was a little boy,” says Sthelo, dragging smoke into his lungs.

370
“Which is why it’s hard to blame you or others who think like you when we’ve
all been conditioned since we were little. Remember how worried they would
be in our families about how dark the next child born into the family would
be?”
Sthelo never saw it with his mother but he knows.
“Yeah.” He chuckles around the cigarette he’s smoking.
“Have you ever dated a dark-skinned woman?”
“I’ve never dated at all before Fuze,” he admits.
“Virgin?” the man seems surprised.
Amusement tickles the taxi driver. He shakes his head. “I have a son, Bafo.”
“Right…” Lungelo laughs. “Ever been attracted to dark-skinned women then?”
Of course. Women are all beautiful. He’s not blind to how beautiful God made
them—but Sthelo wouldn’t… he wouldn’t… “Obvious, Bafo. Date and have
babies with them? Weeeh khohlwa. Two charcoals will create what exactly?”
another round of laughter—tinged with pain.
“Your eyes are distant like you’re travelling.”
Sthelo shakes his head, lighting another cigarette. “Fuze will have to forgive
me this one time, I smoke a lot when I’m nervous.”
“Nervous of me?”
Another shake of the head. “Just…”
Lungelo sighs. “You don’t hate dark skin, Sthelo, you’ve just been taught that
its ugly. It’s not your fault, society and its fucked up views on beauty
standards. It’s not secret that the closer you are to resembling the white man,
the more you’re considered beautiful. The sharp nose and—”
“Then I must be blind because I’ve never seen a beautiful white person in my
life.”
Laughter cuts into the soft noise of the restaurant they’re in. Lungelo is
howling actually. “Imagine that… and they’ve made them the beauty standard!

371
Black people with all their beautiful shades and diverse features have been
convinced they’re not beautiful enough if they’re dark.”
“Who said that and when are we killing them?”
Lungelo’s eyes widen.
“Don’t mind me… I’ve just spent too much with a sociopath.”
It’s easier to talk when they’re joking here and there. Sthelo is at ease—and
maybe it’s not hard to talk to Lungelo when it feels like they’re friends. Fuze
proves over and over again that she knows him, that she’s taking the time to
learn every little thing about him.
Sthelo hopes he’s returning the favour.

“My mother wants to meet you.”

Huh?
“Hey, don’t be so—rough!” Fuze whips her head around to meet his eyes and
bites her lower lip… moaning just seconds later.
“Fuze…” he tells her, groaning as she pushes back on his dick—gripping her
seductive waist to halt any form of movement. Her response is to clamp her
scorching heat on him. “MaZungu this is—not something you tell me while
I’m… pounding into your delectable body!”
“Yeah but this is more fun.” Her voice is breathless.
Sthelo shakes his head, tries to concentrate but she’s throbbing around him
and moving her body in ways that he considers a crime. He pushes in more,
and shoves deep into her being, dragging her by her hair. Their bodies touch,
skin on skin—they are one.
“I didn’t know she knew about me.” He tells her and furiously pumps into her
core, extending his hand to touch something that belongs to him, that he
always wants to belong to him. “Mine,” he growls in her ear.
“Yes, yes!” Fuze is breathless. “Yours.”
“How?” he asks again, holding her body tight to him while pounding.

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“She… mmm ahh, has nothing to do better with her time. I—she was following
me around.”
Sthelo’s laughter is ragged—and inflames Fuze. “Ngempela?”
“I’m so close… rougher please.”
He gives her what she wants and fucks her into oblivion—pushing and
pushing. Her breasts are in his hands, he’s moving faster as she matches his
thrusts, rubbing her itching clit. Her body is shuddering, she starts to whimper
as if in pain; and then screams his name.
Sthelo is worried that his brothers may’ve heard her.
But he is more worried about getting his own orgasm. “Your legs… squeeze
them together,” he orders hoarsely.
She does and clings on for dear life.
Sthelo holds her tight to him as he cums and moans her name.
Its silent as they attempt to recover. The room smells like sex and Sthelo
leaves the bed to open the windows.
“Nooo!” Fuze whines. “Rural bugs enter when you do that. And grasshoppers.
You know I’m scared of grasshoppers.”
“There’s—”
“Baby, please.”
“Kuyashisa, MaZungu.”
“Think of the babies then… look at them.”
Must she mention that they have the little ones with them? Sthelo is never
comfortable remembering that they have sex in their parents but they’re too
young. And Sthelo would rather keep them in his presence. But Fuze is just as
sceptical. She adores his son and Ingibusisile. Because of her, Sthelo thinks
he’s slowly learning to be a father to Ingibusisile as well.
To both her and Nsindiso.
“Fuze, this is ridiculous.”

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She turns her back to him, silently telling him to fulfill her wishes. Sthelo sighs
and closes the windows. “Thank you!” her smitten voice finds him in the
darkness. “How did your thingie with Lungelo go?”
Sthelo updates her. “He says it’s not my fault.”
“That is partly true… but now that you know why you’re like this and where it
stems from, it’s your responsibility to make sure that you unlearn Sthelo—
because I don’t want you to subject Nsindiso and your brothers to such
toxicity. I don’t want them hating who they are. Love them properly please, it’s
very important.”
The driver pulls his girlfriend close and breathes her in. Peaches. Home. “I
don’t know what I’d do without you, Fuze,” he admits. Most of his life he
thought he was fine but he wasn’t. “I’m learning so much because of you.
You’re changing me.”
Fiery eyes find his in the darkness. “You’re changing me too,” there’s a smile in
her voice. “I never thought I’d find myself having two 12 year old boys as
bodyguards that I have to take everywhere with me. Tomorrow, I’m taking
them to buy new school uniforms. They didn’t know my birthday was in
December but I got a rose today and Cadbury chocolate.”
“Are you crying?” she sounds emotional.
“My shot!” snapped lowly. “Don’t accuse me of things that can’t be helped.
Puberty is torture.”
Ah… she did tell him that taking hormone shots comes with side-effects, and
that one basically goes through puberty all over again. Sthelo thinks they’ve
come far, he thinks that maybe he’s working hard enough to prove himself to
Fuze that she trusts him with her most vulnerable parts. Sometimes, he helps
her with her dilators. They use the time spent stretching her to talk about any
and everything in the world.
“Also never thought I’d see the day where my nails would have to remain
short because I don’t want to hurt the babies when changing their diapers.”
It happens… a lot.
“Are you happy?” he has to know. “This life of mine is not glamorous. Don’t
you feel you’re sacrificing too much?”

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“What—did you and Palesa talk behind my back?”
What… no.
Sthelo has not met with that woman since that disastrous dinner.
“Lutho, MaZungu.”
“She was complaining about the same thing. Ha, I’m turning into another
Lucia… not really. I really love spending time with you and everything that
comes with you. Your brothers are my favourite. The babies make my heart
soft. Things don’t feel difficult when you’re surrounded by love, Sthelo. Even
when they do get difficult, the burden isn’t so bad because the love you’re
surrounded by is so much more powerful. I love us like this.”
Phew…
“I’m sorry that I’m glad you feel this way.”
“Weeeh!” Fuze giggles. “I knew you were a goner from the first time I laid eyes
on you. I knew you were mine.”
“Ngempela?”
“Lutho.” She is still laughing. “You gave me such a hard time!”
“I was never asked out by women before.”
“Amanga!”
Okay yes he’s lying. But Sthelosamangwane’s never been a fan of being asked
out by women. “Women shouldn’t—”
“Lala ngoba siyoxabana.”
Sthelo chuckles.
“I love you,” Fuze murmurs.
“Me too.”

375
Flicker : Thirty-eight
Fuzelihle

I can feel my mother’s eyes on me. They follow my every movement, making
my hands tremble around the salad bowl I am holding. Why did I think this
was a good idea? Why did I agree to this? Christophe has been giggling with
Sphesihle all day. They find joy in my misfortunes, I see. Eish… it would’ve
been better if Temasiko were here but she went out with Sqalosenkosi. They
do this a lot—sometimes it’s her and Sphesihle.
December holidays are ending soon, and they’ll have to be back in
Johannesburg. Me, I can work from anywhere in the world… even a goddamn
toilet so I’ll be based in KZN indefinitely. Sqalosenkosi seemed to understand,
though he was as worried as Palesa about all these adjustments I am making.
They don’t seem to understand that I’m okay with being here, and accepting
everything that Sthelosamangwane comes with. His brothers don’t even need
caring after, they’re pretty responsible, and they can take care of their basic
needs. I’m their emotional support human, the one who cheers them on and
reminds them that they can do anything in the world.
Its important to have someone positive in your life. I just want them to do well
and know that they’re being supported and rooted for all the way. Too many
black children are raised without affirmations—a disadvantage, the world is
already rooting against them from the time they’re born.
This is why I believe it’s a not crime… to be a positive force in the twins’ lives.
They seem to enjoy having me around. I swear they follow me around and
stick to me like glue whenever I am in their presence. I’ve fallen in love with
Sthelosamangwane’s family.
“Oh look… that’s him!” Christophe giggles, pointing to the screens.
Sthelo’s car is outside the gate.
Yes, his car. It’s my father’s beloved Cressida that they somehow negotiated
for and he ended up buying. Melumndeni wasn’t even bothered to fight for it,
he’s the heir for the more important things. Sthelo told me he’d be paying in

376
monthly instalments. It’s not just with the car, recently there are men coming
into his home talking about rebuilding and building. My boyfriend has another
job working for my father and he’s making enough money apparently.
I had to confirm with Zungu that he’s not an inkabi or something.
“Oh he’s cute.” I hear Siyabonga murmur to Christophe.
“He’s younger than you—behave.” – Sphesihle.
“But I see why he’s Siya’s type,” Chris giggles, “doesn’t he remind you of
Nhlaka?”
“Zip it!” I hiss at them.
“Tell him we’ll meet in the dining room.” MaSibusisiwe dictates before as her
intimidating footsteps resound.
Great…

I’ve never seen Sthelo look so awkward—almost robotic. Those pained

expressions Edward Cullen would make? Yeah, that’s what he looks like. I
tried to reassure him that it’s okay but no its not. My mother keeps staring
him down. He’s not even badly dressed. Sthelo never dresses badly, he always
plays it safe with the blacks and greys.
“Mah…” I smile awkwardly. “How is the samp?”
“Delicious, I cooked it.”
But of course.
“So you’re the one replacing her colourful dildos that are in her room?”
Eyy kodwa!
Sthelo chokes on the juice he was drinking and silly me rushes toward him to
help. I don’t know why I sit on his lap and wipe away the liquid with my
thumb. “Are you okay? Don’t die on me please.”
“Weeeh.”
Fuck!

377
I return to my chair and attempt to collect myself.
“Lovebirds. Do you do this rubbish in your father’s presence as well?”
Eish…
“I’m sorry, Mah.”
She doesn’t seem interested in my apologies, and waves me off rudely,
continuing her staredown of Sthelo. “Why aren’t you eating? Is my food not
good enough for you?”
“Its delicious…” Sthelo clears his throat.
“What do you do for a living?”
Right… she was just waiting for him to say something to properly interrogate
him. I watch my boyfriend swallow a nervous breath. Calm down, Baby. I want
to hold him and protect him from the ugly dragon but even I am intimidated
by her.
“Well… I’m a mechanic, Mah.”
Yes, Zungu told me.
“How much do you make?”
“Mah, that’s not an appropriate—”
“I’m not asking you, little girl!” my mother’s voice is harsh. “I suggest you keep
quiet before I remove you from this place.”
Sthelo clears his throat again. “Its not much but I am working hard on self-
improvement. Maybe one day I’ll be on your level, for now the R25 000 I get is
helping me chase my dreams.”
R25 000!
That’s what my father pays him?
Very unfair.
He should be making waaay more. But maybe it’s a start. He’s worked hard to
get this R25 000. He’s even bought himself a car. And now he’s trying to build
his siblings a home. Proud is an understatement.

378
“I’m sure he’ll be making mo—”
“Not bad at all.” My mother cuts in and surprises me. “For a young black man,
you’re not doing too bad. And how many of your family members is this salary
supporting? Does my daughter even get an allowance?”
He hasn’t gotten paid yet… the 25k. But he wants to take me to a fancy
restaurant, he’s already planned it to be a surprise but Nsika told me… the boy
can’t keep anything to himself. He doesn’t know the name of the restaurant
just that it’s made of glass walls and trees hanging from the ceiling. I’ve never
been to such a restaurant before.
“I haven’t gotten paid yet but—”
“Don’t bother… women must learn to work for their money. I didn’t get here
by depending on Zungu for every little thing.”
Sthelo clears his throat, he does it a lot—and peers at me. “Really, my
mother?”
“Ehhene!” Mah makes a scandalized sound and goes on a rant about women
who milk moneyed men. Sthelo just nods politely. They seem to be getting
along well, the 25k must’ve impressed my mother.
“That wasn’t so bad,” I whisper, as my mother disappears off into the hallway.
She needs to use the bathroom.
“Not bad at all,” Sthelo agrees, his hand is shaking as he puts his glass down.
“She reminds me of my grandmother.”
“Hey!” he’s too far for me to smack his arm. “Are you throwing shade?”
I am given a confused expression. “Throwing shade?”
“Forget it.” I giggle.
“I’m back!” Mah announces, and shifts to her seat again. “You told me about
your babies—the boy and girl?”
Our babies… they’re mine too.
“Ingibusisile isn’t fussy,” I say, “Sthelo didn’t know how to handle her.
Basically, she needed a feminine touch… now I’m there.”

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The lunch went well.
MaSibusisiwe seems to love Sthelo. I guess it shouldn’t have been a surprise
with how much she loves hard worked. Sthelosamangwane’s the epitome of a
hard worker. And then there’s Ingibusisile and Nsindiso that she fell in love
with. I think she’s reached that old age that makes her obsessed with babies.
She’s just as obsessed with Phawulothando.
“Let me borrow your boyfriend,” that’s Nqobizitha.
They’re close now, I swear. I don’t know what’s changed.
“No.” I cling to my boyfriend’s arm, keeping him to me. “No. He’s mine.”
Nqobizitha explodes in laughter. “Awukahle, Hlanyo.”
“Ngwane, uyangisukela!” it’s nice to have a boyfriend who is always ready to
defend your honour.
“Let me go, I’ll be back soon.”
Really? Does Nqobizitha have a vagina that he needs at night?
“I can’t believe you’re choosing dick over me!” I pout, wrapping my arms
around him from behind. Really, he shouldn’t leave.
Nqobizitha is choking. Sthelo groans.
I only let him go because Chris comes to drag me away. The sooner I let my
boyfriend go, the sooner he can get his husband back.
“Honeymoon stage feels good, doesn’t it?” – Chris.
I help him pack all the dishes, and we take them to the kitchen. I lean against
the kitchen sink and sigh happily. “Does it last forever?”
Chris shrugs his shoulders. “No.” I’m sure he’s giggling at the disappointed
expression I am making. “Its true. Love isn’t only about the good times, Fuze.
It’s not about the good times or the bad times, it’s about being with the person
you love—and how the struggles are worth overcoming when you’re
together.”
“I’ve had enough bad times with him, I’m ready for the good ones.”

380
“Ahaha. I get you.”
“Flicker… I don’t want unsteady light. I want stability and happiness forever. I
want what you have.”
“You wouldn’t be able to handle what I have because its meant to be mine. The
same I can’t handle what you share what you have with Sthelo.”
“Are you punished with sex? Because if no then you’re right.”
Chris snorts. “Chile, please… my husband and I invented punishment sex.” His
smile is a little careful. “But I’m glad we’ve passed that stage. I wouldn’t want
us to go back there.”
“Hmm?”
“You must tell Sthelo to allow his brothers to visit more often.”
“That man is stubborn… in a good way. I love him.”
“Tell him then, hmm?”
The midget looks behind me. “Daddy!” he calls Nqobizitha that—and I gag
sometimes. The giant tree is carrying him as if he weighs nothing.
“Did you have a good time?” I ask my boyfriend.
“Good.”
Still the one-word answers… after so long.
“I’m really glad.”
He still looks like the vampires from Twilight though, I’m worried. Did he
meet my mother somewhere and did she say something bad to him?
“Baby.” I get closer—and stroke his cheek. “Are you okay?”
“Not—really.” He groans and clutches his head with his one hand.
Okay, I’m worried. Headaches all of a sudden?
“Kwenzenjani?”
“I was just thinking about… when you walk in my room and dump your
dresses on the bed because you’ve had a long day.”

381
Oh… he hates that.
“I haven’t done that—”
“I’m just thinking about how I wish to have you throw your dresses on every
bed I buy for forever if it’s possible.”
Huh?
I shake my head. My heart will combust.
“I… don’t understand.”
“Is it possible to annoy you with my silence forever, Fuze?”
“I… yes.” I nod dumbly.
His lips are on mine—and then his soft embrace. I scream like an idiot as he
holds me tight and spins me around. This moment feels perfect.
Rushed footsteps echo down the hallway.
“What’s wrong?” – Thatego.
“He’s going to annoy me with his silence forever!” I shout, happy.
Thatego shakes his head, he was worried, teary-eyed. Sbanisezwe is already
embracing him and glaring at me.
“Con-fucking-gratulations!” Sbani growls. “Mrs. Khanyile.”
Wait… do I want to take his last name?
I do… I will.
“Thank you!” I say.
“Five months…” Thatego croaks.
“Don’t worry, I’ll propose sooner next time.” – Sbanisezwe.
I giggle happily and shake my head. They’re leaving. I don’t care because this
man that I love is kissing me like I’m the only thing that matters, that will ever
matter again.

382
Flicker : Epilogue
Sthelosamangwane

Its been a crazy year.

The thought is persistent in his brain as he gets dressed. He has been working
hard through Zungu’s help—getting an education and learning all there is to
learn about running a successful business. His mentor is Fuze’s father and
there is a lot he has learned from him. On relationships, he’s learned a lot from
Sqalosenkosi… and how the man handles having two women.
Most of their principles are the same.
Sthelo never voices out how much he looks up to him, and aspires to be a
father like him… a husband like him.
He lets out a breath and fixes his bow-tie, he ordered a black tie but
Sbanisezwe can convince dolphins to buy water. His reflection seems satisfied
on the mirror, Sthelo thinks he looks like one gorgeous motherfucker—and it
has taken him a lot here. To look at himself on the mirror and meet his dark
skin tone and not think bad of it. He’s proud… proud of he can look at his son
and love every little thing about him. His brothers also.
Nqobizitha stands, standing a few meters away from to properly scrutinize
him. “That’s it… you look handsome. Ready to leave?”
For the first time in his life, Sthelo is ready.
“Ehhene.”
They meet Sbanisezwe standing outside, he smiles and throws his phone at
Sthelosamangwane whose quick reflexes have him quickly catching it. “Lover
girl wanted to talk to you. She’s on the line.”
Sthelo puts the phone to his ear. “MaZungu?”
“I love you, Fiancé.”
This is why she called?
“Ukahle, Sthandwa sami?” his voice is quiet.

383
“Just wanted to say that for the last time before I officially start saying I love
you, Hubby.”
Can the others hear their conversation? They’re laughing.
Sthelo nods. “That’s sweet, MaZungu. I love you too.”
The laughter increases tenfold… like they don’t tell their partners they love
them. This is why Sthelo prefers Sqalosenkosi. Nqobizitha is just a copy of
Sbanisezwe who pretends to be mature when he’s not.
As soon as the call disconnects, the laughs grow louder.
Weeeh.
“Like you’re not both weak for your partners.”
They continue laughing, but they don’t deny it.

There’s a song playing. Sthelo doesn’t remember the artist but he knows the
song because Fuze has played it for him many a night when she spoke about
their wedding day… that is finally here.
I can’t imagine how it is
To be forbidden from loving
‘Cause when you walked into my life
I could feel my life begin

Like I was torn apart the minute I was only born

And you’re the other half
The only thing that makes me whole
I know it sounds like a lot
But you really need to know
We are leaning out for love
And we will lean for love forever, I know
I love you so

She’s sang to him too—many a night.

384
He feels strange as his brother, Misungwane, stands beside him. Sphiwe and
Nsika said they want to observe everything like the other VIPs and that’s why
they’re not standing beside him. Sthelosamangwane’s gaze will travel to them
and this Ingibusisile and Nsindiso who seem to be wanting all the attention all
them along with Phawulothando.
He feels strange because he’s in a church and he’s getting married.
He is getting married.
His eyes will water but not enough to leak down his face and embarrass him.
The music is playing and Fuze, his MaZungu, is walking down the aisle. She
burns too bright and Sthelo is finding it hard to look away from her. He
doesn’t want to. He always wants to look at her. She’s ever pretty—in those
dresses that look like princess dresses and the minimal makeup.
Sqalosenkosi is the one handing her over, she wouldn’t let her father. They’re
rebuilding but that does not take a day. “Waze wamuhle,” Sthelo whispers
honestly.
“Nawe, Munt’ wami.”
The priest is a man from Thatego’s church. He talks a lot about what a good
thing it is to marry. He talks about love. He talks about the importance of a
partnership. Sthelo listens to every word… until it’s time for their vows. Sthelo
follows the priest’s every word—and means each syllable.
“I want to say something… please!” Fuze whispers and makes the priest laugh.
“Thank you. You took the time to memorize me. My fears, my hopes and
dreams. I just like hanging out with you—and thank you in advance for
allowing me to do it for the next seven hundred years.”
It feels like a dream when Sthelo slips a ring on her finger. Just as the ring on
his finger feels heavy but… it belongs. Fuzelihle’s lips are warm against his—
they taste like peaches from when he was just a little boy in Durban.
He remembers he met a friend once, he was in Durban, and he gave some of
peaches to the friend he made. He remembers they were inseparable that
whole week.
“I love you so much.” Even her breath is made of peaches.

385
Sthelo pulls her close, wanting to get even more closer—to feel their bare
bodies together. He wants the addictive scent of peaches to drive him
completely insane.
“I love you too, Fuze.” He means every word, from the first time he’d said
them. It makes sense to love her like it makes sense that fish only survive
underwater.
“And even when we Flicker, what we feel for each other will hold us steady.”
She hugs him like she trusts him—and thinks of the world of him.
Sthelo has never been more honoured.

END.

386