I was not down for selling drugs. That wasn’t what I had signed up for. I didn’t sign up for guns either but here I was with a gun in my pocket. I didn’t even know how to use it. Nobody had even bothered to ask if I knew how to use it. It wasn’t loaded when I first got it, I knew that at least.

Ish was crazy now. Things were starting to get real. Every time we went housebreaking I had to have my gun with me. Jomo later gave me a crash course on how to use it. It was always loaded now that we were at work.

Then one night to our surprise the owners were home – and before we knew what was happening the father of the house had pulled out a rifle and shot Ali in the leg.

Skhokho retaliated and shot the man in the chest and stomach, three times. His wife screamed and ran into the bedroom wing where she locked the door.

I have never seen that much blood in my life; it gushed out of the man’s belly like water from a broken tap.

Jomo shouted, “F***! Mas’hambeni! Move it!”

Skhokho still wanted to stay and kick down the door that the wife and kids were behind and raid the rest of the house, but Jomo grabbed him by the jacket and pulled and we were out.

Jomo cussed all the way home but Skhokho just rolled a joint and started smoking. Sindi and TK attended to Ali whilst Spijo drove the car they were in. Sbu and Rush drove the van.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” I said, shaking.

“Shut up wena son!” Skhokho snapped at me.

“I’m out J. This isn’t for me!” I was shouting. I was angry. Jomo was driving, but he adjusted the rearview mirror to see my face. His dark eyes stared at me.

“There is no such thing as ‘I’m out’,” he said in a dark, heavy tone that filled me with horror. I had never heard him speak like that before.

We drove to Uncle Rob’s house. Jomo told him the story. He was not happy, not at all. Lucky for Ali the bullet had grazed his calf; it was just a flesh wound.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the dead man and his family. I wanted to cry but I knew that if I was seen as the weakest link I would be next. Skhokho would not hesitate to kill me. He had killed many times before, I just knew it, I could feel it. He wasn’t even slightly moved by what had just happened.

Uncle Robby told us to lay low. He gave us all money; each person had their own roll of hundreds. Everyone left accept for Ali, who remained at Uncle’s house.

When I got home I counted the cash. It was R3000. I was not happy. For the first time since this whole mess had started I felt like a criminal. I felt like the lowest of all species ever created.

I had to act normal though, for my own safety. I hid the gun in my cupboard and went to school, where Spijo kept his distance. He didn’t want to raise suspicions I guess.

Fani came home that Friday afternoon. He had just signed a long term contract for another job in Witbank. He was doing well and taking good care of me.

As promised, he came every second weekend to see me, to buy me groceries and to check my school books. My marks were OK but they had been better before. I was scared for Fani to see my report at the end of that term. I knew I had dropped.

I felt foolish, hollow. I wanted to die. I still hadn’t told Fani about Naledi, whose belly was now showing.

I wanted to get rid of the money but how, without raising suspicions? I couldn’t give it all to Naledi. It was too much – she would have asked questions. She was already questioning my whereabouts, telling me I didn’t spend enough time with her. She noticed my moods and said she could sense that something was wrong.

Themba was concerned about me too but all I said when he asked was, “Ngi grand mpintsh’ yami.”

I just wanted to withdraw from society, to be alone. I couldn’t get that image out of my head: the man Skhokho shot. And how we all ran and left him for dead. I thought about his wife and children. I wondered how many kids they had. I thought about my parents, my mom and my dad, and that this was not how I was raised.

Another Saturday came. I had planned to just go through my books and catch up on school work, but then Jomo showed up.

“Uncle wants us to come over tonight. The shipment is coming. You and Spijo need to run this ish tight. Bring your gun.” I was scared to say no. I just nodded.

“Six this evening at my crib. Don’t be late.”

What was I going to tell Fani? The study group thing was getting old. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay with Fani. I missed him and he was home for the weekend so I decided to rather be with my big brother.

Fani had cooked rice, veggies and chicken. I had decided to tell him about Naledi and that he was going to be an uncle soon. I was going to wait until we had eaten and I had washed the dishes. Fani was a coffee addict – I was going to make him a good cup of coffee and then tell him.

He dished up at around seven thirty. We sat down to eat and talked in-between. He told me about Witbank and how happy he was there. I was mostly listening but at times I zoned out, obsessing about the gang and what they were doing or what they were saying about me, about my absence. I knew it was not going to be easy to leave them. Jomo was not going to just forget that I didn’t show up. I thought about my life and how simple it had been without crime, and without Naledi and the stress of the baby. Things were so complicated right now. I was living in fear, frustration, stress…

Yet things were going so well for Fani.

In that moment I had an epiphany: I realized that suffering was temporary. That one needed to sometimes endure suffering or at least find ways to overcome it, ways that didn’t cause more suffering. In my quest to end my suffering I had created even more of it. If only I had endured for a little while. Fani was now working; we were OK. I should not have been desperate.

We continued to eat and talk. We were having a great conversation and then the power went out.

“Let me go and check the main switch,” said Fani.

“OK. I’ll go check in the kitchen drawer for a candle.”

****

Sizwe stopped his story. He looked at the students, scanning their faces across the quad, from left to right. Their eyes were wide open. Even the ones at the back were paying attention.

Tears rolled down Sizwe’s cheeks, collecting at his chin and dropping onto the podium. He used the sleeve of his white shirt to wipe his eyes. There was a murmur through the crowd. They were wondering what happened. They all had so many questions. He took a deep breath and continued his story…

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Gunshots outside.

I froze for a few seconds then called out “Buti! But’ Fani!” The door was open. As I stepped outside I saw Fani was on the ground. He had rolled down the steps head first. His legs were still on the last step; the rest of his body was on the gravel.

A car was reversing from the gate, the lights on bright. As soon as it turned, I could see the driver. It was the unfriendly face with the ugly red eyes. When his eyes locked with mine he realised he had shot the wrong person – I could read the dissatisfaction in his expression.

With the gun still in his right hand he lifted his left index finger and swiped it across his neck – his gaze intensely fixated on me. His wide nostrils were puffed up like those of an angry bull. His lips were pressed together, folded into many tiny creases. His cheeks were blown up, no doubt with his offensive weed-stinking breath – a smell my nose had come to be familiar with. He was angry, fuming mad. Then he, Skhokho, drove off.

I ran towards the gate to see the car’s number plate. I saw it, memorised it and then ran over to Fani. My tenants came rushing out after that and called the police who then called the ambulance.

Fani’s blood was all over the front step. His body lay there looking broken. I knelt down, afraid to touch him, to move him, in case I hurt him even further. I moved my face close to his, with my knees on the ground and looked straight into his eyes. He was bleeding from his mouth. The fluid was a mixture of blood and foam. His breathing was heavy, laboured.

I lay flat on my belly in the same position he was in, our eyes level. “I’m sorry buti.” I said. He blinked twice, slowly, and then his eyes shot wide open. He took in a heavy breath; it sounded desperate, as if he was struggling to drag in the air. That was his last breath. My brother died that night…

“Hhhuuuhhhh!” The shock in the school quad was unanimous.

Sizwe was nearly finished his story…

Skhokho had cut the powerline to my house from the street, and he wanted me dead but instead he shot my innocent brother. He was caught though. The wife of the man he shot during the robbery identified him in a line-up. I too identified him in a line-up as my brother’s killer, and I turned state witness, confessed my role in the gang. They were lenient with me, due to my youth. Several other people were witnesses to other crimes and murders. He was charged with an endless list of crimes and sentenced to seven life-sentences. Skhokho had so many enemies that he was murdered within his first week in maximum security prison.

I later learned that the police raided Jomo’s house that evening before everyone else arrived. After a police chase that turned violent, Jomo was killed by the cops, but Skhokho managed to escape. He must have thought it was me who snitched to the cops. That’s why he came after me; he thought I went to the police because I wanted out of the game.

I did want out of the game. I should not have gotten into it in the first place. I got rid of the gun. I threw it in a lake. I told Spijo to stay far away from me. I never saw the rest of the gang again. A few weeks later I read in the paper that Uncle Robby was caught by the police. He was apparently a ‘wanted’ criminal.

Naledi gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. That has all ended well and we’re getting married in a few months. She took a year off to raise the baby before it could go to crèche. I failed Grade 11 that year but went back the next year to repeat it. I stayed far away from anything illegal. I applied my brain and found legal ways, as I have told you, to earn a bit to keep us going. That was the start of my business success.

Decisions, decisions, decisions – our decisions shape a big part of the story that is our lives – our decisions sometimes leave others with no choice and that is the burden I carry.

Rest In Peace, buti.

***

Tell us what you think: Will Sizwe ever be able to forgive himself for what happened?