Another year passed. I’d turned twelve now, but my birthday was never celebrated. Still, I accepted life as it was. I was very grateful to be with Mrs Naki and her siblings as often as I was. But I also understood that I could not stay with them permanently, since Mrs Naki was my teacher and many other kids in the class would have wanted the same. As it was, I was already so privileged with my visits.

It was in January 2005 that my life took an unexpected turn again. Most of the other kids had gone to their relatives as usual and Mavusi and I had just received another phone call from our mother.

I had told a neighbour of ours, a young woman called Zoleka, that I had not seen my mother for five years and that I would like to visit her, even if only once. I said it without expecting anything. But Zoleka mentioned it to Gogo, and the two women started shouting at each other.

‘Why do you never allow Mbu to see his mother? That is cruel!’ Zoleka fired at Gogo.

Gogo hit back: ‘Who do you think you are, Zoleka? What do you know? Do you take care of any children at all? Mbu’s mother does not care about him. She sends no money. Must I even pay for the ticket, then?’

‘You never say anything nice about Mbu!’ Zoleka shouted back. ‘Why don’t you let him decide if he wants to see her? He’s not a baby anymore!’

Suddenly Gogo looked at me: ‘Do you want to go to your mother, Mbu?’

I nodded my head. A second later, Gogo grabbed me by the arm and pushed me back into the house: ‘Ngoku – now, Mbu, put your stuff together and go! I will take you to the bus station right now!’

Zoleka shut her mouth in surprise. Mavusi shook his head like he thought I was just crazy. Then he walked back into his room. I wanted to say goodbye to Mrs Naki, Ayanda and Andiswa, at least, but Gogo didn’t let me go anywhere. ‘I will tell Mrs Naki tomorrow. She had enough time with you these past years.’ She then pushed me out of the house and together we marched straight to the bus station. There she negotiated with one of the drivers, all the while watching me closely to make sure I didn’t run off anywhere.

We had to wait about an hour until departure. Neither of us said a word in all that time.

I climbed onto the bus with the other passengers. This time I had luggage, a small suitcase that Mavusi had given me along with some of his clothes. Gogo was still watching me, but she did not wave as the bus started to move. The driver shouted to me so that all the other passengers heard: ‘Your mother must pay for the trip; just so that you know, boy!’

I looked down and did not say a word. How would mother receive me after all these years?

What do you think will happen when Mbu gets back to Cape Town?