It was a sunny Saturday morning, but it might as well have been gloomy. The cold bitterness of the previous day’s events persisted. No hellos or good mornings. It was like the morning after a tragic disaster. How the mighty had fallen.
“Papa, I’ll be back in the afternoon. I’m headed out to buy a newspaper.”
My father didn’t even look up as I left.
As the sun hit my face, I was reminded of my restricted upbringing, how I’d sacrificed the leisure and pleasures of the weekends to prepare for my studies, as I’d be a doctor, unlike the other kids in the neighbourhood, to use my father’s words.
Trying to preserve the little peace of mind I still had, I headed to the store by the T-junction down the road.
“Ahh, Ahmed, my friend, how are you?”
“I’m good and you?”
“Nothing much, man. Nothing much. Give me two cigarettes…Oh, give me the Lotto ticket also, let me try my luck…Eish, the world is against me, you know!”
***
Three weeks had passed. At home, the cold sneers gradually warmed to greetings and continuous errands, but the unspoken rebuke lingered…To say I’d become the talk of the town would be an understatement: I was interrogated, stared at, and speculated about.
Following my routine, I walked into Ahmed’s supermarket early Monday morning to buy cigarettes.
“Wena, did you hear the news? Someone didn’t claim their R7 million Powerball Lotto win…hehe, crazy, crazy I tell you,” he said, excitedly, the minute I entered the empty store.
“What?”
Ahmed’s gleaning smile expanded fiendishly. Rubbing his clasped hands, he day-dreamed. “I buy my everything cash, baba. Mercedes, BMW. Big, big house. Buy citizenship, your girlfriend and baby, I tell you, wena, haha!”
I burst out laughing. But while I walked home, a nudge stabbed at the back of my consciousness…what if my ticket was the one? How my luck would change, the girls, the community who’d been so judgmental and let down by my potential, and most importantly, my parents, because I’d elevate their lives to new heights and regain their pride in me…I quickly scampered through the dusty streets, winding through the serpentine design, and finally got home.
One drawer after another, I dug through my nightstand to no avail, and searched about the house like a madman…Just when I’d given up, I went through the pockets of the grey trousers I was wearing, looking for the door keys. I withdrew the roughly folded ticket. I wasted no time dashing for my phone to check the winning lottery numbers on the internet.
Winner winner chicken dinner!
I’d struck jackpot.
“Yeyi. Yoh! Yyeyi wuha! Yeyi modimu, badimu!”
“Are you doing drugs now, my boy?” my mother asked, worriedly, hearing the noise and coming from her bedroom to stare at the circus I’d become, her hands balanced on her waist.
“Momma. Papa. Yeyi, yeyi, yoh! Come see please, I did it. I did it…I won. Look Ma, look! I won!”
She lifted the ticket in the air, and focused her aging eyes in thorough examination. Sure enough, the numbers on the phone matched those in her hand. The inert mood in the house was immediately replaced by joy and ceremony.
“David, Dave, baby, come see, come see! Yoh, yoh, yoh! We’re rich. We’re rich…Our son has done it. Oh Lord, thank you, Jesus!” Tears of joy now trickled down her cheeks.
My father tried to withhold his emotions, but his smile and his childlike jitters gave it away. The mood was overwhelming… I warmly embraced in the unconditional adoration I had so long desired.
Tell us: Do you think money will solve Thuso’s problems? Why or why not?