“So that’s the end of your story Mkhulu? What a great ending. So Phia ran away and the story ends just like that. Now I get it.” I said unimpressed by my grandfather’s diminished prowess of telling a story.

Perhaps my father was right, this cancer thing has eaten away Mkhulu’s brain, I thought to myself. The Phia story didn’t make sense at all to me. At his best, Mkhulu would regale us with stories that included a core message. Where was the core message in this absurd Phia story?

But Mkhulu was not perturbed by my sarcastic comment. He went on, “The following day Phia was nowhere to be seen. A psychiatric combi full of nurses came to take him away but he was nowhere to be seen. Baas Pieterson called me aside: “Wilson, did you tell Phia that he was going to a mental hospital today?” Baas Pieterson asked.

“No Baas, I didn’t say a word to Phia!” He called me names and said I was fired for being dishonest to him. I was devastated.

My other co-workers watched in shock as my wife and I packed our belongings. I must say that was a blessing in disguise. As we were packing, another co-worker by the name of Chillies came to me with a metal silver box.

“Hey I am sorry Wilson to see you leaving us like this,” Chillies said, “Here this is a box that I got in the bushes. I saw Phia hiding it the other day. I took it but I could not open it. Take it and if there’s money inside it will help.”

I refused: “No I can’t do that to Phia! You must give it back to Phia.”

“Please take it Wilson, I don’t think he is coming back here.” Chillies insisted, “if Baas sees it he would take it anyway. You know what he is like.”

“Ok, I’ll take it, but I am going to give it back to Phia who is the rightful owner of this box.” I took that box with trembling hands and hid it in my luggage. Since that day I have been looking for the owner of the box. And here today I still have it.”

I looked at the rear-view mirror and saw Mkhulu holding up a metallic box, all along it was hidden under his jacket. We were already reeling through the streets of Sandton, and I turned to Dorothy street.

“Please slow down Mduduzi, the person I want to see lives in this street, at number 44,” said Mkhulu glancing around.

“Wait Mkhulu, is that person Phia?” asked my mother.

Mkhulu kept gazing outside struggling to read the numbers. Finally, we stopped at number 44.

Bongani pressed the intercom. A husky voice that must have belonged to an old man came on, “Hello this is Mr. Morake’s residence, do you have any deliveries for me?”

Mkhulu leaned out of the window and said, “Hello, this is Wilson Gumede, I am looking for Phia Morake, I hope this must be his house?”

“Yes, this is Mr. Morake’s residence and may I ask, who is this?”

“I am Wilson Gumede, the man you used to work with Mr Morake back on a farm in Putfontein in the 60s. Remember baas Pieterson?”

There was silence then the voice said, “Wait, I am coming out.”

Tell us: What do you think Phia is going to say to mkhulu Wilson?