The details of the early hours of that morning are still fuzzy to me. I remember being drunk in a car and closing my eyes for a second. The next thing I heard was a loud bang, followed by my father shouting. When I opened my eyes, whatever was holding me up suddenly gave way and I fell to the ground, face first.

“Niyamshiya? Voetsek, nizonya zinja! Wena Mashamplane ngizoku bamba son!” my father shouted and I heard footsteps running out the front gate. I woke up later in the morning with a terrible hangover. To my surprise, I was butt-ass naked. At least I was safely in my own bed. But what had happened to my clothes? Normally they told me how the night had gone.

I got out of bed, put on some pants and swallowed two headache pills. Then I put on some music on the home theatre system I had bought while I was still playing for the Pumas.

As soon as my father heard Tupac’s ‘Dear Mama’ blasting from the speakers, he burst in through the door like I owed him money. He grabbed me by the neck. “Thabo! What were you up to with your friends last night?” he shouted.

I tried to wrap my head around it. “Honestly M’dala, I can’t say for certain,” I said.

He pursed his lips. “And why is that?”

I looked away. “Because I can’t remember a thing,” I said and looked out the window.

My father dragged me by the arm to the bathroom, where I found a mess. There was blood and mud everywhere. I looked at the clothes I had worn yesterday and they were soaked in blood and mud.

“Whose blood is this? Because you don’t seem hurt to me!” he paused. “Did you get into yet another fight while out drinking with your friends at the old location?”

I jumped up. “No M’dala! I am sure there’s a reasonable explanation for all this mess. Let’s wait until Mashamplane gets here and he’ll give us the full story,” I said with a half smile, trying to regain control of the situation.

My father took a long look at me. “You really don’t remember anything, nè? Because if you did, you’d remember that I cussed out your friends and told them to never set foot in this yard again. Especially that Mashamplane. I swear, if he steps foot in this house again, I will shoot him.”

My father put his hands on my shoulders and turned me towards him. “I want to see you back in training as of Monday morning, no excuses or else you’re the one who’ll get the bullet!” he said sternly.

I chuckled to ease the tension, but realised I couldn’t possibly mess it up again. Besides, it was already Saturday, so I figured I had this in the bag.

I even thought of giving Mondli a call to come over, so we could perhaps make some music together; listen to a few beats and then perhaps go over a few rap lines just to blow off some steam.

As I washed my bloody clothes, I went over a couple of rap lines I wanted to spit because they were real and from the heart and I knew Mondli appreciates good music.

When I heard my father starting his car, I went to fetch my cell phone so I could give Mondli a call. I took the cell phone and went outside to dial the numbers. By then, my father was pulling out of the front gate. As I was dialling, I saw Mashamplane out of the corner of my eye. He had ducked behind some kids playing on the street, trying to hide from my father.

Luckily, my father didn’t spot him. Mashamplane promised to fill me in on the previous night’s events if I’d agree to go out with him. I figured I would spend one last Saturday with the gents. As it turned out, that last Saturday almost cost me everything.

Tell us: What do you think happened to Thabo the previous night? What will happen next?