“Mthunzi!”

I am putting silicone on the tyres of Uncle Vusi’s brand new cherry red Golf 7 GTI when he calls out to me. The Umlazi Township December sun gets too hot, too early, so I woke up before sunrise to wash his car.

Uncle Vusi’s car is gleaming as the first light of day appears in the sky. The sun bursts through the clouds, bathing our home and Uncle Vusi’s achievements in glorious light.

I take a moment and fully appreciate all the miracles Uncle Vusi has performed since he started working at Transnet eighteen months ago. He extended our four-room house, which had been bare red bricks since my grandparents bought it when they were a young couple back in the 1970s. The extension resulted in our home having four big bedrooms, a generous living area and finishings to rival an expensive suburban mansion. On top of that he constructed, for me and him, an outside building with two large bedrooms and a beautiful bathroom in between. I’m so taken by Uncle Vusi’s achievements that I have forgotten he was calling me just few seconds ago.

I hear the click clack of Mkhulu’s knee brace. Uncle Vusi paid for the operation to fix Mkhulu’s knee, injured in a car accident five years ago, which meant that he could no longer drive delivery vans to support our family. Mkhulu wears a knee brace now but he can get around the house and he can drive, albeit only automatic transmission cars for short distances.

“Your uncle is calling you, Mthunzi,” says Mkhulu.

Uncle Vusi is in shorts and a vest. The vest lays bare his tall, wiry frame. He always has this cool expression on his face like he is just about to break into a smile. I run to his bedroom.

“Yes, Uncle Vusi.”

A new white Lacoste golf shirt and a pair of blue Armani jeans are laid out on his bed. His big fan whirs gently – sending the citrus scent of his Giorgio Armani cologne wafting up my nose. He is sitting on the edge of the bed, in front of the fan, his eyes glued to the soccer highlights playing on the flat screen TV mounted on the wall.

“Mthunzi, what did I tell you to do first thing when you wake up?”

I know what I did wrong – I didn’t make my bed. “You said I must always make my bed, Uncle Vusi.”

“Yes, make your bed. Why?”

“Because it gives order to your day.”

“Yes, it gives order to your day. I bought you something. It’s on your unmade bed,” he says.

I’m in total disbelief when I see a red Lacoste golf shirt and white sneakers on my bed.

I bearhug his tall frame. “Thank you, Uncle Vusi!”

My ear is on his chest so his baritone sounds amplified as he speaks. “That’s for keeping your promise to improve in Maths and Physics. You’ll see what I’ll buy you next year if you keep it up in Grade 11.” He pats me on the back and takes a step back.

I run into the main house to show Ma, Gogo and Mkhulu my Christmas present from Uncle Vusi. I can hear Uncle Vusi dragging his flip flops and entering the kitchen.

“Oh Vusi!” Gogo hugs him.

My mother, Sbahle, is close behind Gogo and in tears as she also hugs Uncle Vusi.

“Thank you, Vusi, for being so good to my boy,” says Ma.

“God will bless you tenfold for your giving heart,” says Mkhulu from the lounge sofa.

“Mthunzi has to be rewarded for his hard work. Stop it with these tears now, Sbahle. We have to prepare for the Cele Christmas lunch,” says Uncle Vusi.

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Tell us: Would you like to have an uncle like Vusi?