‘Once a rural boy, always a rural boy,’ they say. Well, that’s not the case for my brother, Zweli. He’s a city man now, living his dreams every day. Here in Natal, however, my days bring nothing new and exciting; just the same old routine. Nothing amazing or out of the ordinary ever happens to me.

I imagine that Zweli lives a far more interesting life. He probably has a beautiful home, a car, and more money than he can spend. He hasn’t sent a letter – or come to visit, for that matter – in a very long time. He also hasn’t sent money in a while. We don’t want to complain about Zweli; he’s great, and he has his own needs to take care of.

That’s why I’ve started working for Malume Joseph in his trading store, just four doors down from our house. It’s a way of helping my brother provide for our family. I’m at the shop every morning at 6am. Except on Sundays, when Mama makes Malume Joseph and I go to church, and so we open the shop after 11.

Mama says Johannesburg is the devil’s city and she prays that Zweli hasn’t been corrupted by fast girls and alcohol. But I believe Zweli is doing well. The newspapers say that Johannesburg, in this year of 1954, is booming with opportunity: a place where dreams come true. Whatever Mama says, it can’t be worse than being stuck here in the rural areas as Uncle Joseph’s shop help and handyman.

I’ve mopped the floor and re-stocked the shelves and now I’m waiting for Malume Joseph to come back from town to pay me. Today was a slow day. If I’m lucky I can leave early and go see Nokulunga. She’s my girlfriend. We can only see each other for an hour before her parents get home from work; otherwise she has to sneak out after 10pm while they’re sleep. She is sweet and very beautiful.

Zweli told me once that the girls from our village here in Empangeni are especially groomed to become wives and mothers. He said, before he left us, that our father told him a man has needs and it isn’t easy to corrupt a wholesome girl from the rural areas. This is true. I’ve been dating Nokulunga for three years and I’ve yet to see her in her underwear or touch her intimately. This is frustrating for me, as I am on the brink of becoming a man. All I need to do is to take that next step.

“Muzi! Muzi! Wake up, boy! Stop with that daydreaming and help me unload the van,” Malume Joseph says, making me jump.

“I’ve packed all the new stock into the storeroom, Uncle. Can I please leave early today? I would like to surprise Mama with a special meal before she gets back from selling veggies in town.”

Malume Joseph suddenly looks as though he has swallowed something bitter. He clears his throat and I prepare myself for the worst. He has a sad look in his eyes.

“Listen, Bekumuzi. My son Mpendulo is coming back home. I have decided to hire him here in the shop. I know this is hard, as you have not heard from your brother in weeks, but Beki is my son and he has a child on the way.”

So much for nothing new and exciting happening in my life! I have no idea what to say to Joseph. I can’t exactly blame him for wanting to help his son. I, on the other hand, need to find a new way to support my mother.

“Uncle, I understand. Thank you for letting me know. Could I please use your phone?”

I need to call my brother urgently. Zweli gave me a number in the last letter he wrote and said to use it in case of an emergency. I think needing a job qualifies as an emergency.

Joseph agrees without a murmur of protest. Normally he gives me a lecture about how expensive the phone bill is.

I dial the number. It rings twice and a woman answers. There is loud chatter and music in the background. “Suzy’s, hello,” the woman says in an annoyed tone.

“Hello ma’am. May I please speak to Zweli Dlamini? I’m his brother.”

There is a moment of silence and then I hear her calling for Zweli. I hear Zweli’s voice. I think the woman mentions that I’m the one on the phone because I hear him say, “Give me the phone. Something must have happened. Muzi, what’s happened? Are you alright? Is Mama fine?” He sounds so worried, almost frightened.

“Zweli, don’t stress. It’s not about Mama. It’s about money. You know you haven’t been sending money for a while and we’ve been struggling to make ends meet. Now I’ve lost my job. You’re going to have to send money regularly until I can find work again.”

Zweli is quiet for a moment. Then he says: “Why don’t you just come to Jozi and look for work?”

“Do you think I can do that? Can I just leave Mama here alone? How will she manage?”

“She’ll manage. She’s tough. She’s proved that, since Baba left us. Plus, the money we send will give her stability. And it’s a chance for you to stand on your own two feet, to be a man.”

“Maybe you’re right, Zweli. I don’t know. Let me think about it and talk to Mama. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

***

Tell us: This story is set in 1954. Do you think attitudes about sexual activity between young men and women in rural villages has changed since then?