Eleven of us – cousins and the younger of my uncles and aunts who live in Umlazi – are drinking and laughing in the space between the main house and outside building. The sound of a car screeching to a halt at the gate puts a stop to the fun and laughter. We all rush to see what is going on.

Under the yellowish glare of a streetlight I see Sphe, Uncle Vusi’s best friend, jump over the fence and head straight to us. I have never seen such terror in a man’s face. Sphe scans our faces but doesn’t say a word.

“Sphe. What’s the matter?” I say.

“Vusi! Where’s Vusi?” His voice trembles with terror.

Uncle Vusi comes out of his bedroom with another bottle of whisky. He instantly makes out Sphe and the smile that seems to be perennially on his lips breaks into full laughter.

“Sphe!” Their eyes lock. Uncle Vusi is confused by the terror in Sphe’s eyes.

“Sphe, what’s wrong?”

“Your father has been shot at the robots at M Section! He got hijacked!” Sphe blurts out the words that will break my family.

The doors of Sphe’s car bang shut. Tyres screech and Sphe and Uncle Vusi are gone.

Someone has told Gogo and Ma what is going on and the confusion in their faces instantly turns to wailing. I take off, running after Sphe’s car.

“Mthunzi! Don’t go! Come back!” Ma screams after me.

I press on until her voice is out of earshot. Whisky is heavy on my breath. I glance back to see all the male relatives that I have just left behind following me. All of them are young, their faces straining as they run full tilt, but it is Mkhulu Mlondi who is gaining the most on me. His inanimate face is not straining at all, it’s like he is not even breathing. I run harder until I can only hear the swooshing of the wind in my ears, my feet tapping on the tarmac and my hard breathing.

We are so quick up the incline to the robots at M Section you’d swear we were running down a hill. We crest the incline and arrive at breakneck speed to the most horrific thing I have ever seen.

Uncle Vusi is sitting on the pavement under a street light, cradling Mkhulu’s convulsing body on his lap. His white Lacoste golf shirt is red with Mkhulu’s blood; he is frantically trying to stop the bleeding from three gunshot wounds sprouting blood on Mkhulu’s chest.

“Vusi! What happened?” Mkhulu Mlondi bellows.

“Uncle Vusi! Mkhulu! No!” I hear that I am crying.

Sphe paces back and forth on the pavement screaming and crying into his cellphone. “We are at the robots at M Section by the bottle store! Send an ambulance quick!”

“Let’s put him in Sphe’s car! The ambulance will take forever to arrive!” says Mkhulu Mlondi.

We are screaming and wailing and hyperventilating and confused.

“Now!” says Mkhulu Mlondi.

Just as we crouch to pick Mkhulu up, he gurgles a guttural breath. His eyes roll back into his head and his body goes limp. We all know that at this moment Mkhulu is dead. We huddle over his lifeless body and scream and sob and wail.

I look around through a blur of tears and see the crowd part to make way for Ma and Gogo. Their first release of emotions upon realising Mkhulu is dead is a shrill sound of loss that shatters the humid night with such anguish that I know right there and then I will always hear it in my head when I think of this moment.

We are inconsolable. The shock in our hearts is complete. We try our best to be strong through the night but then one of us cries and we all break into fits of wailing that last for several minutes at a time. I eventually doze off on the lounge sofa.

***

Tell us: Why do you think Mkhulu was shot?