Mthunzi woke before dawn. The sky was a deep, bruised indigo, the kind of color that pressed against your chest and made the world feel heavier than it was. The house was quiet, the soft creak of the floorboards the only sound, accompanied by the distant crow of a rooster.
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of yesterday, of the past, and of an unspoken obligation pressing down on him. His chest tightened with memories he could not escape: the alley in Johannesburg, the gunshot, Qhawe falling while he ran, and the grief that had swallowed their mother whole shortly after. He had survived both losses, but with survival came guilt ,a weight he carried silently, like a stone lodged in his chest.
Rising silently, he let the cool morning air brush against his skin, the chill biting enough to rattle him into motion. He moved with deliberate care, careful not to wake anyone, careful not to let the world intrude on the quiet ritual he needed for himself.
The path to the family graveyard was familiar, yet every step felt foreign, as though he were walking on a thread stretched thin between past and present. The graves of Qhawe and their mother lay side by side, earth soft and freshly tilled, adorned with flowers swaying gently in the morning breeze.
He knelt at Qhawe's grave first, fingers tracing the cold stone, a tremble in his hands. Then he rested a hand on his mother's grave. His throat tightened, and the familiar ache , sorrow mixed with guilt ,rose in his chest.
"I've home mom," he whispered, voice raw, almost swallowed by the wind. "I'm sorry I cant come more often… I'm just trying to make you proud. Both of you"
Memories flooded him: Qhawe's laughter, his courage, the promise of always being there, the night of the mugging when Qhawe died protecting him. His mother's grief. Her heart had broken so completely that she left him to navigate a world without her guidance. He had survived, yet felt smaller, less than, as if every success in Johannesburg could never repay what he had taken from them.
Tears threatened, but he did not let them fall. Not here, not infront of them. He lingered long enough to let the memories press against him like waves, and then rose, dusting off his pants, his hands trembling.
By mid-morning, the homestead was bathed in golden light, shadows stretching long across the yard. Mthunzi approached the avocado tree, heart hammering in his chest. His father and two uncles sat in a half-circle beneath it, cups of steaming tea in front of them. The faint scent of imphepho from yesterday's ritual clung to the air, earthy and sharp, mingling with the warmth of the sun.
One of the uncles, older and grayer than the others, lifted his cup, eyes fixed on him. "Where did you go so early, mfana wami?"
Mthunzi swallowed hard. "I… I went to visit my brother," he said quietly, reverent, almost as if saying the words aloud might summon Qhawe's spirit.
His father's eyes softened just a fraction, a flicker of pride and pain passing across his stern features. "It's good that you still remember him," he said. "He is the reason I asked you to come home. Take a seat"
Dread coiled in Mthunzi's stomach.
"He has been visiting me in my dreams," his father continued, voice low, unwavering. "He is not at rest. He wants a home of his own."
Mthunzi's chest constricted. The words sounded simple, but the weight behind them pressed down like a mountain. "A home of his own?" he whispered, disbelief and confusion lacing his voice. "I… I don't think I understand."
"You will have to marry a wife for your brother," his father said, voice absolute, calm yet unyielding. "Bear his children. Build him a home."
The other uncles leaned in, voices layering over each other, trying to explain centuries of tradition. "It is how it has always been done, mfana wami."
"Generations before you have followed this path."
"Your brother's line must continue, and you are chosen to carry it forward."
But Mthunzi's mind had already drifted — to Phenyo, to Johannesburg, to the life he had built, and the impossible thought of explaining this to her. How… how could I tell her? How could I even begin? Panic surged, hot and suffocating, twisting in his chest.
Mazwide stood silently behind him, hidden partly by the doorway, eyes glistening. Her heart ached for the boy she had raised, for the weight now being pressed onto his shoulders, for the life she knew he had barely begun to live. Yet she said nothing. Her presence alone was a lifeline, a quiet reminder that even here, he was not entirely alone.
The silence stretched long, heavy with the oppressive weight of words unsaid. Only the gentle rustle of avocado leaves above and the distant clink of tea cups filled the space. Mthunzi swallowed, trying to steady himself, but the enormity of the demand pressed him down into the earth, making even the simplest act of breathing a struggle.
He realized, with a mixture of awe and terror, the full gravity of what was being asked of him. This was no ordinary conversation. This was a summons to carry the weight of family, tradition, and sacrifice all at once ,and the life he had built, the love he shared with Phenyo, now felt fragile, unreal, and impossibly out of reach.
Mthunzi lowered his gaze, chest tight, hands clenching into fists. Mazwide's presence behind him was the only tether to calm, yet even that was bittersweet. He understood that his path had shifted irrevocably. The morning sun streamed through the leaves, shadows stretching long across the yard, mirroring the uncertainty and darkness creeping into his heart.