It’s been two weeks since Thandiwe’s job interview with Principal Jobela. Thandiwe’s cell phone rings while she’s surfing the internet searching for other teaching opportunities. The number flashes across her cell-phone screen but she doesn’t recognise it. Thandiwe picks it up anyway because it’s an office number. The call could be from one of the schools to which she has sent her CVs.

“Hello, Miss Velani. How are you doing today?” the caller says.

“I’m doing good. Who am I talking to?” Thandiwe asks. The caller’s voice sounds familiar, though she can’t put the face to it.

“I apologise, Miss Velani, for not introducing myself. I thought you had this number saved on your phone. You’re speaking to Principal Jobela,” the principal says.

“Oh! Sorry, Principal, I changed my cell phone and I don’t have the number saved on this one,” Thandiwe says, crossing her fingers. She’s still using her old cell phone.

Thandiwe deleted the Siyakhula number when the days were flying by without a phone call from the principal.

“It’s OK. I’m calling to inform you that your application for teaching at Siyakhula has been successful,” Principal Jobela says.

“Thank you for letting me know, Principal. When do I start?” Thandiwe says, jumping up and down. She can’t hold back her excitement.

“I’m not finished, Miss Velani,” the principal says with a chuckle, “I’m expecting you next week Monday before eight in the morning.”

“Sorry, Principal. I’m very excited,” Thandiwe says, sheepishly.

“I’m happy for you, Miss Velani. Have a nice day,” Principal Jobela says, and puts the phone down.

Thandiwe can hardly wait for her mother to come home from work so she can tell her the good news. She constantly finds herself dialling her number but stops when she’s about to press the green button.

A delicious smell escapes the house and flows into Noma’s nostrils as she approaches the door. The music is playing loudly in the sitting room while Thandiwe is dishing up in the kitchen.

“Thandiwe! Why are you playing music loud so late in the evening?” Noma shouts, decreasing the volume.

“I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t notice it was too loud,” Thandiwe shouts back from the kitchen.

Thandiwe finishes dishing up, and serves her mother a plate of pap and mutton stew.

“I got the job at Siyakhula,” Thandiwe says.

“God is great! That’s good news my child. When do you start?” Noma says, licking the gravy off her fingertips. Her face lights up, mouth slightly open, and she blinks awkwardly to stop the tears from pouring down.

“Monday, next week,” says Thandiwe.

Tell us: What do you think will happen next?