"My name is Tarin Dube, and I'm a 22-year-old man , who's made more mistakes than I can count. Some are hard to forgive, and the ones I regret most are those that hurt my family. They say even a snake protects its own nest—but I didn't protect mine."
I grew up in a small house in Cowdray Park, Bulawayo. After my father abandoned us, my mother and sister bore the weight of survival. My mother did everything she could to provide, working long hours despite our poverty. An organization stepped in to help us stay in school. I was in Form 3 four years ago, and that December, my mother was juggling two jobs to keep our roof from collapsing. While my sister stayed home, cared for the house, and played with the only two friends who hadn't abandoned us, I chose the streets.
I spent my days with a group of boys, laughing, wasting time—trying to forget reality. One day, Jacob, the oldest in the group, suggested we join a local gang. Everyone hesitated—everyone except me and Kailo, Jacob's brother. We approached the gang, and we were sent to the gang leader, a broad, dark-skinned guy with a shaved head and a knife scar. His teeth were yellowed, with two golden teeth in the front. He wore expensive-looking clothes and a gold Rolex watch. When he saw us, his serious face and scowl sent a chill down my spine, making my knees weak.
We were made to kneel when speaking with him. With a smile that didn't seem like a smile, he agreed to let us into the gang—but under certain conditions. We had to complete specific tasks. I wanted to back out, but the way he looked at us made me feel like there was no turning back. Jacob, however, seemed calm, unlike me and his brother.
The first task was to deliver bags to the gang leader's friend a few kilometres away. Discretion was crucial. We delivered the bags and returned in the evening. The gang leader told us there was one more task to become full members: we had to give him a significant amount of money by the end of the day, no matter what.
I didn't know where to get that kind of money, and I lacked the skills to steal. But one place came to mind—a place that would provide the money without trouble, but at the cost of betraying the one person who had always been there for me.
I arrived home around 7 pm, knowing my mother wouldn't be back until late, her second job keeping her at work. My sister was already asleep in our small, dimly lit house, the faint glow of the moon casting shadows on the walls. I knew once she was out, nothing short of an earthquake could wake her, but I still shook her gently to make sure, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed deeply. Convinced she was deeply asleep, I set my plan in motion.
I hesitated for just a moment, my conscience screaming at me to stop, before doing something that would haunt me for a long time, a decision that would unravel consequences I couldn't yet imagine. I walked to the head of the bed, making sure not to trip over anything, and I slowly raised the bed and slipped my hand into the tear that was on the mattress. My hand moved for a few moments, and I pulled out some money, though there was a quite significant amount of money in my mother's savings, which she had always been open with us about, trusting that neither my sister nor I would ever think of taking from her.
I pulled out 200 rand and 10 US dollars from the stash and carefully put back the rest. A part of my mind was telling me to stop what I was doing before it was too late, and my heart was aching from stealing my mother's hard-earned money, but I quickly dismissed the thought from my mind and calmed my heart. I made sure that nothing was amiss and everything was as it was before and got out of the house.
It was now around 7:30 pm when I stepped out into the dimly lit streets, the sounds of vendors calling out their last sales of the day and the hum of kombis driving by filling the air.