Sizwe is slowly walking to the Somalian shop at the corner. He has his right hand half pushed into his pocket, with his index finger sticking out, tapping impatiently against his thigh. He’s pissed. Ta Tyler isn’t coming through on his promise. Sizwe has been waiting for his call. The deal was simple.

He slides his phone out of his pocket and goes to ‘Messages’. He starts typing.

This was easy, bra. I told u I’m
not broke. Come thru wit th gun.
I hav sum money I put away b4
those cops came 4 me. I’ll pay u.

‘Send’.

He puts the phone back into his pocket and keeps walking up the street. He passes a girl who’s busy on her phone. His anger won’t let him stop and stare at her hips, her afro, her face. He’s got more important things to worry about right now. Ta Tyler is messing up his plan. That gun is everything. No gun, no plan. No revenge. No!

From the corner of his eye he notices a guy across the street; he looks like he’s just standing there and staring at Sizwe.

Sizwe looks. The girl calls out to the guy. It’s Siyanda! Sizwe can feel the anger immediately jolt around inside him.

Their eyes meet. Siyanda’s eyes – he’s scared. Like a little dog that’s about to get its ass kicked, he looks scared. Yes.

Sizwe walks up to him. Control the anger. Be cool. Greet him. Let the games begin.

“Ntwana’m!” he says, shaking Siyanda’s hand and holding on for an extra few seconds. “So you’re still around na? I thought by now maybe you’re living overseas or something.”

“Hayi, I’m still around,” responds Siyanda, looking unsure.

“Is she yours?” Sizwe asks, gesturing towards Thandiwe.

Siyanda looks like a kid who’s about to have his favourite toy taken away. “Ya, she’s mine. Why?”

“Relax, mf’ethu, man. Why do you look like you want to press the panic button? I just want us to talk. I’m not here to fight.”

“We can’t talk now, she’s in a rush,” Siyanda says, looking over at Thandiwe, who’s busy on the phone again.

Sizwe looks over at her too. She’s fine, very fine. He’d love to take her for a night. Hell, for a week. Yeah. How the hell did Siyanda land a chick like that?

“Hallo, sista,” he says, waving at her.

“Hi,” she responds, with a brief wave, looking uninterested.

Bitch. Who the hell does she think she is? Just because Sizwe doesn’t have the swag that her little church boy, Siyanda, has, she thinks she can act like that.

Sizwe looks back at Siyanda. “You’ll hear from me, mf’ethu. I’ll come check on you.” He looks over at Thandiwe again. “Don’t mind, sista. This guy is a big friend of mine. We’ve come far together.”

“OK,” she responds, gesturing with a thumbs-up.

The two walk off, leaving Sizwe behind. He watches them as they go further down the street towards the T-junction.

She should thank Bra Mike for his plan. Otherwise she’d be the first to go. Dead. He’d kill her first and make Siyanda watch. Like that shit from the movies. That’s the revenge he’d planned. But Bra Mike’s plan changed everything.

*****

Sizwe looks up at the clock on the wall in front of him. Its ticks are loud, like hands clapping. The hours sail by. The hallway is cold and empty. He keeps hearing steps at a distance, clicking on the tiles loudly, like someone is tap dancing.

Suddenly it feels like he’s bare-foot. The floor is cold. But there’s something colder, heavy and metallic, hanging around his ankles. He looks down. Chains. Huge chains.

He looks across the hallway again. A prison guard is coming, each step heavier than the next. The guy has a gun pointed at him.

It doesn’t make sense. Something in him says this must be a dream. Yes. It’s a dream. Sizwe rubs his eyes. He opens them again. No. It’s not a dream. Or is it? Fuck! What’s going on?

“Uxolo, bra (Sorry, bra)!” he calls out, a desperate cry, to the guard. “Ndicela uphakama kancinci, bra yam, ndike ndizula zule. (Please let me stand up and walk around a little bit, bra.)”

The guard cocks his gun and fires two shots at Sizwe.

Sizwe suddenly hears Siyanda’s voice ringing down the hallway. “You’ll die today, prisoner. You’ll die like a dog!”

Sizwe feels a sharp, burning pain. He looks down at his stomach. Blood.

Something in his head snaps. He wakes up, his heart kicking like an angry horse. It’s dark and hot. He’s sweating. The blankets feel heavy. He shoves them aside until his whole upper body is revealed. He slides his hand down his chest and feels his stomach. No blood. There’s no Siyanda in the room or a prison guard shooting at Sizwe. It was just a dream. A nightmare. Relief.

He sits up and buries his face in his palms. Even sleep is a prison. This isn’t a life. He doesn’t deserve this.

Siyanda! This is his fucking fault. Bra Mike’s plan is hard. Shooting Siyanda in the head would be easier. Sizwe isn’t scared of going back to jail. He ended up having friends there. The outside is different. Only Bra Mike and Sis’ Nokuthula have his back, no-one else.

*****

“Where are we going, bra?” Sizwe calls out to Bra Mike, who is approaching along the street.

“You’ll see, ntwana,” responds Bra Mike, sounding pretty happy with himself. “These kids that smoke tik, you know how they are,” he adds. “So lock your gate and stop worrying about where we’re going.”

Sizwe takes the padlock out of his pocket and slides it into one of the chain links. “They’d only come here if they didn’t know who I am, or what I used to do with guys who messed with me.”

Bra Mike laughs. “I can see talking about these kids is making you angry. Relax, man. They know who you are and what you would do to them.”

He pauses and then continues. “What I got for you is cool. It’s what Tyler couldn’t get for you. He called and asked me to organise it. I owed him a favour so I didn’t have a problem.”

The gun! Yes! Sizwe is excited to hear the news. Bra Mike is his go-to guy, the guy who’s always had his back. “Dankie, bra. This is exactly what I need to make that Siyanda pay.”

“Don’t say that shit so loudly,” Mike cautions, his voice lowered. “What if someone hears you and goes running to the cops? I told you to be smart about this.”

Bra Mike sounds a bit agitated. He should relax. Sizwe has this under control. He knows which buttons to press to make Siyanda pay. “Sorry, bra, man, ndiye ndabaseleka (I got too excited).”

“Moja, sani (Cool, sonny).

They walk further up the street, away from Sizwe’s house. “Don’t look now,” says Bra Mike suddenly, with a lowered voice. “Behind us are two chicks from Siyanda’s church. They’re ushers there. You said you wanted his number. Charm these girls and get his number. I’m sure they have it.”

Sizwe thinks. His mind lights up immediately with a plan. “Watch a professional do his thing, bra. Those girls don’t stand a chance.”

He slows until Bra Mike’s a few metres ahead of him. The two chicks catch up to him. “Molweni, sistas.”

“Hi, bhuti,” answers one of them, while the other looks at Sizwe, like she’s studying him, carefully watching his every move.

“My name is Sizwe. I live in this street.”

“OK, bhuti, we’re happy to meet you,” she says, giving her quiet friend a nudge with her elbow. “I’m Lizeka and the quiet one here is Bongeka. She’s my sister.”

They’re hot: church divas. Look at those high-heels. Damn! Stop it, Sizwe! Focus. Stop looking at their boobs.

“You’re probably asking yourselves why I want to talk to you. The thing is, I know a brother who goes to your church. We were just talking about things – life and other stuff like that. He told me God is the only way. But he left before we could finish talking.”

Both the chicks smile, their faces lighting up. Good.

“What’s that brother’s name?” asks Bongeka.

“Siyanda.”

“Oh, uSiyanda. So what do you want to know about him?”

He feels like laughing out loud. If only these chicks knew the truth. He’d like to know everything, every detail of Siyanda’s life at this point in time. “I just need his number. I wanna surprise him with a call.”

“OK, no problem,” says Bongeka.

Sizwe watches excitedly as her hand, soft-looking, with fancy nails, goes into the handbag and comes out with a phone clutched in her palm.

He gets the number. “Thanks a lot nhe, sistas.”

“No problem, bhuti,” says Bongeka, with a coy smile.

Sizwe can’t help but wonder: is she flirting with him?

Arg. Who cares? He doesn’t need a church chick. They complicate a guy’s life, telling a guy to go to church, pray, pay this, pay that. No! He doesn’t need those complications right now.

He looks at her again as they head out ahead of him. Wow. He can’t help himself. She’s gorgeous. He’s always had a thing for chubby chicks who aren’t afraid of high-heels, dressing up and having fun. This Bongeka, she looks like she can do all three of those things and more … eish … Maybe after all this is done, he’ll get her. Maybe …

Another voice inside him snaps his mind back into focus.

You have a plan Sizwe. Forget about her. Destroy Siyanda. That’s your plan. Focus.

***

Tell us what you think: Will Sizwe’s plan be derailed by love, or is he single-minded about his revenge?