“I said get away from me, Mpilo!” Joyce shouted, as Mpilo grabbed a piece of her clothing.
“Just listen, Joyce,” Mpilo begged, grabbing desperately.
“You can’t be in its life, Mpilo,” Joyce said, stopping to look at her ex.
“Why not? I love you both!” Mpilo was now holding Joyce’s stomach.
“Argh! How naive are you? This baby won’t survive with only the love you’ll provide!” Joyce removed his hand.
“I have a job.” Mpilo looked at his greasy hands.
“Come on. Do not tell me you believe that. Fixing cars isn’t a real job.” Joyce rolled her eyes dramatically.
“What will you do, then?” Mpilo asked, staring at her.
“Don’t worry. I’ll give this burden to someone else,” Joyce said, holding Mpilo’s rough hands.
“I can take care of the both of you, Joyce,” Mpilo assured.
“You can’t. How much do you make a month? Three thousand? Babies are expensive!” Joyce replied.
“I’ll work three jobs if I have to.” Mpilo knelt down.
“Just, let it go! Forget about us,” Joyce said, letting go of his hands.
“Please, Joyce. Give me the honour of being a father to my child,” Mpilo begged more.
“You’re a good man.” Joyce turned her back and walked away. Mpilo ran after her.
“What will you do to it?” he asked.
“Don’t worry. Just, carry on with your life. You have your own sick mom to take care of. Focus on that,” Joyce said, kissing his cheek.
“Let this be my burden to carry,” Mpilo replied.
“Leave it, Mpilo! Stop being stubborn. Please!” Joyce shouted again. She got closer to him, staring at him intently, then whispered, “I have a plan. Just move on with your life.” She gave him a quick kiss on the lips.
“What plan?” Mpilo asked.
Joyce just walked away, leaving him with his mouth wide open.
Mpilo walked to his house situated in an underprivileged neighbourhood. It was a two-bedroomed shack, his father’s life work. It was raining, but Mpilo did not bother to run or seek shelter like the other people. He just let the rain wet him. He walked inside the shack. His mom was lying peacefully in her bed.
“Hey Ma,” he said, taking out a Lunch Bar from his pocket. His mom smiled. Her long bony wrinkled fingers reached for the chocolate.
“How are you?” His mom smiled at him, breaking the bar in half.
“I’m OK. How are the pains?” he asked her.
“I’m a big girl,” his mom smiled, then coughed loudly. She handed the other half of the chocolate to him.
“It’s yours, Mama,” Mpilo said.
“What kind of a mother would I be if I ate alone?” his mom teased.
He took the bar and ate it.
“I made cabbage and pap for dinner.” His mom pointed to the pots.
“Ma, I said I’d cook. You’re not OK.” Mpilo stood up.
“I figured you’d be tired.” His mom coughed again.
“I’ll dish up,” he said, walking to the stove.
***
Tell us: What do you think of Mpilo’s character so far?