It’s a Friday evening; the lights gleam and some shimmer from a distance. The streets of Amaoti are bustling with people and the chattering and giggling of children. Cars hoot here and there. The smell of grilled meat in the air comes alive and then dissipates. Music of many genres blares and blends. The billowing smoke from the houses on either side of the street gives a foggy view of Amaoti township. 

Dlamini emerges from the fog, dragging his feet. He is carrying his tool bag over his shoulder. He hasn’t been home in a long time: he works full-time now, and only comes home every two weeks.

Dlamini nods to each person who greets him as he walks. Ahead of him is a bubbling river. He almost slips on the rocks when he crosses it, and that makes him smile.

“Knock, Knock,” says Dlamini when he walks in. 

“Baba,” Khulekani greets him with a noncommittal smile. 

Dlamini nods to him and then plunges onto the small sofa by the bed. He takes a yellow envelope from the pocket of his overalls. He counts the hundred rand bills inside and then gives one to Khulekani.

“Go out and get me a Black Label beer and tell Mam Zoe, I need it cold,” Dlamini says.

Khulekani accepts the money with a slight bow.

“What have you cooked in this house?” Dlamini inquires.

Musa emerges from the other room, followed by Mbali.

“I have cooked rice, Baba, and Mbali helped Khule with curry, she chopped onions,” says Musa.

“Good,” says Dlamini. He looks at Mbali and sees Cecilia’s face flashing in his mind. He feels a mild thud from his chest. 

“Your tooth finally came out?” asks Dlamini to Mbali.

Mbali nods and keeps her eyes on the floor. 

“Show me,” says Dlamini.

Mbali picks up her upper lip with her salty fingers and shows her father the gap between her teeth.

“Where is it? Did you put it into your shoe so the mice will come and exchange it for money?” asks Dlamini. He has a smirk on his face. 

“Yes Baba, but when I was…” Mbali takes in deep air, “When I was looking for my shoe, I found a photo album and there’s…”

“Stop right there! Where is it?” asks Dlamini. 

“I put it back, Baba,” says Mbali, feeling the weight of her father’s stare.

“Don’t go over my things… ever again!” commands Dlamini.

“But Baba Khule and… and Musa say that the woman smiling in the picture holding me is my mother,” says Mbali.

Dlamini remains silent, but he growls when he stands up to go outside to smoke. Khulekani emerges from the shadows, clutching the beer.

“Leave it here,” Dlamini says as Khulekani walks by into the house.

Khulekani gives his father the cold beer. His hand is freezing. 

“Mbali sleeps here today Baba, Bongiwe…Mam’ Bongiwe said she can sleep here since it’s Saturday tomorrow, no school,” says Khulekani. 

Dlamini nods and blows out smoke from his cigarette. Mbali has been living with Mam’ Bongiwe since Dlamini separated from Mam’ Thandeka. A year after Cecilia’s awful death, Dlamini was already in a cosy relationship with their neighbour, Thandeka, for some godforsaken reason. It didn’t last long, soon Dlamini was wiggling Mam’ Bongiwe’s panties down and ripping her pink blouse in a house just a few miles away on the hills. Mbali had lived with Mam’ Bongiwe full-time since she was 4 years old. 

“It’s the only way she can learn to be a woman,” Dlamini once said.