“And now? Who are you? What brings you here?” I asked, as I opened the door to a short pale-looking boy. As I stared into his eyes, I thought I recognised him, but I quickly shook that thought.

The boy looked scared and he didn’t answer me.

“Little boy, are you lost?” I asked him.

I was getting impatient. Very impatient. I wasn’t in the mood for this, I had a very handsome man waiting for me inside the house before I got back to my regular mining job. Yep, I am a miner. I go underground, digging for gold. Many say, “It’s a man’s job,” but hey, I’m tough, I can handle it. I stared at the little boy, his small nose, his beautiful eyebrows and his thin structure. He was wearing blue denims and a black jersey. He looked at me. I breathed out.

“What’s your name?” I knelt down.

He looked away from me. He smelt of ice-cream. I wondered where his parents were. I was getting highly impatient. I’ve never been a patient person. Why the hell did this boy have to do this to me? Today of all days. It was a bit cold, the rain was drizzling. I poked my head outside, looked side to side.

“Are you playing these silly knock and run games?” I frowned down at him.

He just stared back at me, his hands in his pockets.

“Are you deaf or mute?” I shouted at him.

A small breeze passed through us. I shivered and folded my arms. I noticed him looking down at his shoes for a second, then he dug in his pockets and came back with a piece of paper. He handed it to me.

I hesitated, “What’s this?” I took it.

He looked up at me, in anticipation.

“Where’s your mom?” I asked him, before reading the letter.

He didn’t reply. This boy was getting on my nerves.

I read the letter and what was written in it was enough to make me faint or have a seizure. I looked down at him in horror.

“Come in,” I said.

He dragged his huge bag in. I’m surprised I didn’t see the bag earlier.

I signalled for him to sit down. I sat down, opposite to him.

“Get back in here!” shouted the handsome man waiting for me.

“Just shut up!” I shouted back, trembling.

Just then, he came into the living room, a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Who’s this?” he asked, when he saw the boy seated.

“You need to leave,” I said to him, throwing his clothes at him.

I shoved him out the door. He cursed at me. I had no strength to fight back. I sat staring at the boy, he stared at me too.

“I’m looking for Zinzi Ngcobo,” he finally said.

“I am her,” I said, in shame.

Slowly his eyes lit up. “Mom?” he said.

I froze. I stood up and paced up and down the room. I’m sure you’re wondering why I can’t even recognise my own son, but let me explain. Ever heard of deadbeat dads? Well, I was a deadbeat mom, but a bit better. I mean. in contrast to deadbeats, I sent R4000 home every month end, for clothes and groceries for my s…this boy. I looked at him. His eyes were warm. He was shivering. I made him coffee and handed it to him.

***

Tell us: What do you think about Zinzi’s attitude towards her son?