This is the first time our family is hosting the Cele Christmas lunch in its five-year history.

Mkhulu comes from a generation that produced large families. He has five brothers and four sisters. All his siblings are blessed with long lives, so with all their offspring and grandchildren in tow the Cele Christmas lunch becomes a big event. Everyone is attending this year. Even Mkhulu’s youngest brother, the reclusive, ex-convict Mkhulu Mlondi, has confirmed he is coming.

A catering company van hoots at the gate. The catering staff quickly erects a stretch tent in the front yard.

“Are you sure everything is taken care of, Vusi? When is the food coming?” says Mkhulu.

“Everything is taken care of. They will finish setting up then the food will come. They’ll do everything, Baba. We won’t have to lift a finger. They’ll even braai the meat for the afternoon snack. We just need to get dressed and be ready to welcome our guests.”

Festivities are on by midday. The Christmas lunch is the best the Cele clan has ever had. There’s a lot of love and happiness as we are served a three-course meal.  We snack on succulent braaied rump steaks in the afternoon. We stand out, Uncle Vusi and I, in our new Lacoste golf shirts. And all the while his brand new car glimmers in the sun.

Our younger relatives stay behind after most of the older relatives leave. We congregate around Uncle Vusi’s car and dance to the crisp sounds of the music coming out of the audio system. Uncle Vusi is on the verandah of the outside building, nursing a bottle of 15-year-old Johnie Walker with Mkhulu Mlondi.

“Mthunzi!” The liquor has raised Uncle Vusi’s voice by a few decibels.

I go over to the verandah and crouch next to his chair. Happiness glows in his intoxicated eyes. “Get yourself a glass. I’ll pour only one shot for you.”

He pours the golden drink into my glass. Mkhulu Mlondi pours into his. We all sip.

“Smooth,” says Mkhulu Mlondi.

I swallow the sip and squint as the whisky heats up my lungs. Uncle Vusi and Mkhulu Mlondi laugh at me.

“I want to move to the suburbs next year,” says Uncle Vusi. He tilts his head up, stares at the stars and blows out cigarette smoke.

I pour water and ice into my glass and sip continuous gulps to cool the burn in my lungs.

“How can you let all your hard work go to waste just like that? How can you fix up a house this good then leave? You can’t leave your parents at their age.” Mkhulu Mlondi is truly perplexed.

“No, Uncle Mlondi, I’m taking everyone, I won’t leave anyone behind. Umlazi is not a good place.”

“But Umlazi is a quiet compared to other townships. And this area especially is peaceful,” says Mkhulu Mlondi.

A bang startles all of us.

“That sounds like a gunshot,” says Mkhulu Mlondi.

“Relax, Uncle Mlondi, it’s just fireworks,” says Uncle Vusi.

We turn to see Gogo looking out of the kitchen door. She is drenched in happiness. She says, “Sorry to disturb you Vusi but your Aunt Lindiwe has to go. Will you take her please?”

Mkhulu slides next to Gogo. “It is fine, I’ll take Lindiwe. Let Vusi relax. The police are on the lookout for drunk drivers anyway so it’s not safe for Vusi to drive.”

Mkhulu starts the GTI. There is a smile of paternal pride as the engine rumbles to life. He revs the engine a bit and laughs. “Doesn’t this sound remind you of the rumble of the V8s of our youth, Mlondi?” He shouts over rumbling engine.

“Yes it does! But these cars of today are as fast as aeroplanes, my brother. Don’t press that accelerator pedal too much!” Mkhulu Mlondi laughs.

Mkhulu gives the car another loud rev and leaves.

I catch the happiest of smiles on Uncle Vusi. We are all so proud of him. I’m grateful to have him as my uncle. Uncle Vusi pays for my school fees at Glenwood High School, one of the most expensive schools in Durban. He has always been our guardian angel. Before getting the job at Transnet he was taking care of us by fixing diesel bakkies. With the little he made he paid for the DSTV, helped with the electricity bill and added to groceries.

I’m so happy that things are working out for him. He is my idol – the father figure and big brother in one I never had. A classy guy, a gentleman.

Another distant bang rings out in the sky.

“Are those still fireworks, Mshana?” says Mkhulu Mlondi. “That one sounds like a gunshot.”

Another two loud bangs ring out.

“Those are definitely gunshots. Now you see what I mean about Umlazi? We have to move out of this place,” says Uncle Vusi.

***

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