Siyanda is at the end of his shift as a waiter at the Thirst Buster Bar in Rondebosch. His feet ache. He stands at the bar counter, counting his tips. His mind suddenly zones out. He stares into nothingness and is oblivious as the coins he is counting fall and scatter on the floor. The memory of the letter he received yesterday makes him lightheaded.

‘We regret to inform you that your application for a bursary has been rejected by the bursary selection committee.’

Life isn’t fair, Siyanda knows this. But why must life be unfair to him for all of his twenty-six years on Earth? The realisation that he will have to drop out in the second year of his BCom Accounting degree hits him like a kick to the gut. He pulls a chair from the table closest to the bar counter.

His girlfriend, Mandisa, is standing outside the bar, watching him through the large window. She quickly makes her way to Siyanda. She picks up the scattered coins and sits next to him. The sound of the coins on the table as Mandisa arranges them in two neat piles brings Siyanda back to reality.

“I don’t understand why,” says Siyanda, his head in his hands. “I passed well! I did my best but it wasn’t good enough!”

“Shame, babe. I’m sorry you didn’t get the bursary,” says Mandisa, reaching out for one of Siyanda’s hands. “But that criteria is unfair. I mean, who gets distinctions in varsity?”

“I could have got distinctions if I’d had enough time to study. But I have to work all the time,” says Siyanda. “This year, Mr Stevens, the owner of the farm where I grew up, loaned me the money for registration and a few months of accommodation. I have to pay him back.”

Mandisa rubs the back of Siyanda’s neck with her other hand.  She says, “Try not to stress about it too much, babe. I brought your flip-flops. I can only imagine how much your feet are hurting, having to deal with drunk people watching soccer and rugby on the same shift.”

“It was terrible. Thanks, babe,” he breaks into a tired smile.

They walk along the main road in Rondebosch, their arms around each other. It is unusually quiet for a Friday night. Only the occasional swoosh of a passing car breaks the silence. Most students have already gone home for the Easter holidays.

“I’m worried about you, babe,” says Mandisa. “I have never seen anyone work as hard as you. I’m worried you will burn out.”

“This is nothing, Mandisa. Where I come from I did hard farm labour from the time I was seven years old. Every day after school I had to be in the sugar cane fields. I had to work for eight years after I passed matric just to save enough money to register for my first year. I just cannot go back to the farm. I know I’m mentally and physically strong, but I don’t think my mind can stand going back there.”

Mandisa looks up at him. Yes, Siyanda is tall and handsome but what makes Mandisa fall deeper in love with him every day is his good heart, which has remained tender in spite of all the hardships stacked against him.

Siyanda dives onto the bed in Mandisa’s room, lands with a thud and exhales loudly.

“I just don’t know what to do. The farm is in trouble, and that’s where the money used to come from. When it was still functioning, I could ask Stevens for a loan and pay him back in easy instalments,” Siyanda looks at the ceiling. “But the last time I was there Stevens was not well. He had that look in his eyes.”

“What look is that, babe?”

“The look of people when they are about to die. Have you never been to a hospital? Or lived in the same house as someone who was terminally ill?”

“I have, but I’ve never seen what you are describing.”

“Well, I saw it with my mother a week before she died. I was twelve but it was evident. Something in her eyes said she was no longer of this world.”

Mandisa comes over to the bed, lies next to him and plants a kiss on his cheek.

“That aside,” she says, “Have you decided about the Easter holidays?”

“Yes, babe. I’m not going home. I’ll be here working. I’ve got to make money for rent, otherwise my landlord will kick me out.”

“But you have to visit your family. You also need to rest.”

“I miss them. It would be good to see them. But life is just rural in the farm. There is nothing to do but work in the sugar cane fields. If I’m here I can easily apply for jobs. I can find part-time work. I can truly be myself.”

“Or,” Mandisa breaks into a mischievous smile. “You can come visit me in Joburg. My mom wants to meet you.”

Siyanda thinks of being around a stress-free family environment. Maybe her mom knows someone who knows someone important. Maybe someone who can offer him a well-paid job. Siyanda’s life has been a series of maybes. But he knows miracles happen to other people, never to him. He has to work, pay rent, buy food and study. Mandisa looks into his worried eyes with her perpetual smile. Her large innocent eyes melt his heart.

His cell phone vibrates on the desk just as his mind is getting sold on the idea of spending the Easter holidays with Mandisa and her mother. He looks at the screen, exhales and turns to Mandisa.

“It’s my father,” he tells her, and answers.

“Siyanda, are you sitting down?” his father’s sombre voice says.

“What’s the matter, Baba?”

“Sit down, my boy. What I’m about to tell you is heavy,” says his father, his voice breaking.

***

Tell us: Siyanda worked for eight years to be able to afford to study for one year, and now his dream of becoming an accountant is ending. Apart from a miracle, what do you think are his options now?