The late afternoon sun filtered through the branches of the avocado tree, casting long, dappled shadows across the yard. Mthunzi followed his father toward the emsamo, the sacred space in the yard where ancestors were honored. The familiar smell of imphepho smoke curled in the warm breeze, a pungent, earthy scent that clung to his clothes and hair.
His father knelt, carefully lighting the imphepho. The smoke twisted upward, carrying prayers and whispers to the unseen. Mthunzi watched silently, the ritual precise, timeless. His father's voice was low, deliberate, speaking to the ancestors in a rhythm that had always felt sacred, distant, and slightly intimidating.
When the ritual was done, they moved to the avocado tree, settling on the worn wooden bench beneath its shade. The sky was streaked with orange and pink, and a gentle breeze stirred the leaves above, sending small shadows dancing across the yard.
"Hot day," his father said, breaking the silence, his voice casual but measured.
"Yes, it's getting warmer these past few weeks," Mthunzi replied, keeping his tone neutral.
They talked about the weather, the crops, small happenings in the village , trivialities that felt like conversation between strangers rather than father and son. Mthunzi's gaze drifted over the yard: the small kitchen smoke curling, the chickens pecking lazily, the faint hum of life in the distance.
And yet, with every word, a gnawing thought refused to leave him. Why did he really call me home? Surely it isn't to chit-chat about the weather.
The silence stretched, comfortable on the surface but charged underneath. He tried to read his father, but the man's face was impassive, betraying nothing. Every casual remark, every deliberate pause seemed layered with unspoken meaning.
Mthunzi's mind wandered. He remembered the phone call from Johannesburg, the abrupt command, the weight of duty pressing down on him. He replayed it over and over, trying to understand what could be so important that his father needed him here, in this small homestead, so far from the city he had conquered.
As the sun dipped lower, shadows lengthening, they finally stood and returned to the house. Dinner was quiet, simple, and routine, yet Mthunzi's thoughts churned. Every word he spoke felt calculated, every gesture careful. He smiled politely, answered questions, but his mind remained elsewhere , on the unsaid reason he was here.
Later that night, Mthunzi lay on his bed in the room he had grown up in, staring at the ceiling, mind racing. The weight of the day pressed down on him,sleep eluding him, a small part of him longed for Phenyo's voice, a tether back to the life he knew.
He reached for his phone and dialed. It rang twice before she picked up.
"Hello?" Phenyo's voice was groggy but warm.
"Hey babe, are you really sleeping without saying goodnight to your husband," he teased, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. His lips curved into the faintest smirk.
"I would never, she teased back...You sound tired… are you okay," she said, a smile in her tone even over the phone.
"Tired? Maybe. But I'm alive. Barely," he replied lightly, letting the tension of the day slip just enough. "How's my favorite wife?"
"Your only wife is Good. Missing you," she said softly.
Mthunzi felt a small smile tug at his lips. "Miss you too… more than I can say." He let out a quiet sigh. "Just… wish things were simpler."
"I know," she said, understanding, without needing details. "Get some rest babe, and dont let your dad bully you"
He chuckled softly. Yea, I'll be a big brave boy.....you should also get some rest , I love you."
"Im serious babe. Remember, you're stronger than he gives you credit for."
Mthunzi lay back, eyes tracing the ceiling again. Talking to her was effortless, light, a stark contrast to the tight, controlled version he wore around his father. For a few moments, the weight lifted, replaced by a small warmth, a reminder of a home that was truly his ,that no ancestral ritual or command could take away.
"Goodnight, Phenyo," he said softly.
"Goodnight, Mt. Sleep well."
And as he set the phone aside, the shadows in the room seemed a little less heavy.