The chill in my bones wasn't just the winter night. It was the memory of my choices, a cold knot in my gut. Tarin Dube. Twenty-two. I'd made more mistakes than I could count, each one a fresh wound on my conscience. The ones that cut deepest were those that scarred my family. They say a snake protects its nest. I hadn't. I'd burned mine down.
Our small house in Cowdray Park, Bulawayo ,Zimbabwe, had always been a sanctuary, even with its peeling paint and creaking floorboards. After my father vanished, my mother and Lira, my sister, carried the weight of our world. Mother worked until her hands ached, two jobs just to keep a roof over our heads. An organization helped us stay in school. Four years ago, when I was in Form 3, my mother juggled every hour, every cent. Lira, younger, stayed home, a quiet shadow, caring for the house, playing with the only two friends who hadn't forgotten us. I chose the streets.
My days blurred into a haze of laughter and wasted hours with a group of boys. We drifted, trying to forget the gnawing reality of our empty stomachs and threadbare clothes. Then Jacob spoke, his voice low, almost a whisper, but it cut through the haze. He was the oldest, his eyes holding a glint I hadn't seen before.
"There's a way out." He nodded towards the gang's territory. "We join them."
A hush fell. The boys shifted, uneasy. Everyone hesitated. Everyone except me and Kailo, Jacob's cousin brother. We followed Jacob, a silent procession of three, towards the heart of the serpent.
The gang leader sat on an upturned crate, his presence radiating a cold authority that stole the air from my lungs. Broad shoulders, dark skin, a shaved head. A knife scar pulled his left eyebrow into a permanent snarl. His teeth, yellowed, bore two glinting gold caps in front. He wore clothes that screamed money, a heavy gold Rolex glinting on his wrist. My knees went weak. His scowl deepened as he watched us approach.
"Kneel." The word was a rumble, a command that echoed in the sudden silence.
We dropped to the dusty ground, eyes fixed on the cracked earth.
He leaned forward, a smile stretching his lips, but it never reached his eyes. "So, you want in?"
My throat tightened. I swallowed, a dry rasp.
He chuckled, a sound like gravel grinding. "You understand the rules?"
Jacob's voice, steady, calm, cut through my fear. "We understand."
"Good. First, you deliver these." He gestured to a pile of nondescript bags. "Discretion. No questions. No mistakes. To my friend, a few kilometers away."
We delivered the bags, the weight in them unfamiliar, unsettling. We returned in the evening, the sun bleeding orange across the sky.
"One more task," he stated, his gold teeth catching the last light. "Full members, you'll be. Bring me a significant amount of money. By the end of the day. No matter what."
My heart hammered against my ribs. Money? Where? My mind raced, desperate. I had no skills, no experience in stealing. But one place, one terrible, unthinkable place, flashed into my mind. A place where money sat, unguarded, waiting. A place that would demand the ultimate betrayal.
The moon cast long, ghostly shadows as I slipped into our small, dimly lit house around seven. Mother wouldn't be home for hours, her second job keeping her tethered to the bustling city. Lira lay curled on her straw mat, a soft, even breath rising and falling. I knew her sleep, deep as a well. Still, I knelt beside her, a gentle hand on her shoulder. No stir. Nothing.
My conscience screamed. *Stop.* But the gang leader's scowl, the glint of his gold teeth, pushed me forward. I moved to the head of the bed, carefully, my eyes adjusting to the gloom. My hand found the tear in the mattress. The fabric yielded. I plunged my hand inside.
My fingers brushed against the bundled notes. Mother's savings. She'd always been open about it, a small stash for emergencies, trusting Lira and me implicitly. My heart ached, a sharp, twisting pain. I pulled out two hundred rand, then ten US dollars. The rest, a substantial sum, I carefully pushed back, smoothing the mattress.
*Stop. Before it's too late.* The thought echoed, but I shoved it down, suffocating it. My heart throbbed, a dull ache. I steadied my breath, made sure everything looked undisturbed, then slipped back out into the night.
The street lamps cast weak pools of light. It was seven-thirty. The air hummed with the distant calls of vendors, their last sales echoing, the rumble of kombis fading into the night. I walked, each step taking me further from the boy I was, deeper into the man I was becoming. A man haunted by the choices he made.