The Evening Before
episode 3
The dining table was a battlefield of clashing cutlery and louder voices.
Uncle: "So, the big scholar starts tomorrow, huh?"
He didn't look at me. He carved into his meat, the knife scraping aggressively against the plate.
Me: "Yes. Just the orientation."
Uncle's wife laughed, a short, sharp sound. Uncle's Wife: "Orientation? For what? To learn how to be more important than us?"
I kept my eyes on my plate. A week ago, that comment would have sent me to my room in tears. Tonight, I felt a strange detachment. I watched the food on my fork, remembering Miss Rozanne's voice about growth.
Me: "It's for school, Auntie. To get a degree."
Uncle slammed his hand on the table—not hard enough to knock things over, but hard enough to make everyone flinch.
Uncle: "Don't get smart with me. You think because you're joining some American program you're better than this house? You think you're too good to wash these dishes now?"
The air grew heavy. My mother said nothing, staring into her tea, her silence a familiar ache in my chest.
I took a breath. The old Hlomla would have apologized. The old Hlomla would have shrunk.
I stood up slowly.
Me: "I don't think I'm better than anyone. I just think I'm worth fighting for."
The room went dead silent. My uncle looked up, actual surprise breaking through his anger.
I didn't wait for a response. I took my plate to the kitchen, washed it, and walked to my room. My hands were shaking, but my heart was racing with a new kind of adrenaline.
I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
"One more day," I whispered. "April 25 is tomorrow."
The Morning Of: April 25
I woke up before the sun.
The anxiety was there, sitting on the edge of my bed like a heavy shadow. What if I'm not smart enough? What if my English isn't good enough? What if I fail and they are right?
I reached for my phone. No texts. No good lucks.
I dressed carefully. I didn't have new clothes, but I pressed my shirt until it was crisp. I looked in the mirror. The face looking back was tired, but the eyes were the same ones that had stared at computer number 39. Determined.
I walked out of the house. The air was crisp, the Johannesburg sky painting itself in strokes of lavender and orange.
As I walked to the meeting center—a local chapel where the gatherings were held—I saw a familiar figure up ahead.
Sfiso.
He was pacing near the gate, looking as nervous as I felt. When he saw me, his relief was visible.
Sfiso: "Hlomla! Hey, man."
We did our handshake, a clasp of hands and a bump of shoulders.
Me: "You ready?"
Sfiso exhaled, blowing out a puff of stress. "I don't know, cuz. I didn't sleep. I keep thinking... what if I don't belong there? What if everyone else is smarter?"
I looked at him. I saw my own fears reflected in his eyes.
Me: "Then we learn. That's the point, right?"
Sfiso nodded, smiling a little. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right."
We weren't just cousins anymore. We were soldiers in the same army.
The Gathering
We walked inside. The room was set up with chairs in a circle, a format designed for conversation, not hiding.
Elder Houdson was there, setting up a projector. He saw us and his face lit up.
Elder Houdson: "Hlomla! Sfiso! You made it."
We sat down. Slowly, other students filtered in. They looked like us—young, old, mothers, fathers, tired but hopeful. Some wore suits; others wore jeans. We were a patchwork quilt of Johannesburg's stories.
The program started. We watched a welcome video. The speaker talked about "becoming."
Then, Elder Houdson turned off the projector.
Elder Houdson: "Alright. Before we get into the course material, I want you to turn to the person next to you and answer one question. It's a simple one, but I want you to be honest."
The room buzzed with nervous energy.
Elder Houdson: "Tell them: Why are you here? Not just why you signed up. Why are you really here?"
Sfiso looked at me. I looked at him.
The room fell quiet as people started talking. Whispers grew into conversations. Laughter bubbled up in some corners. In others, eyes grew misty.
Sfiso spoke first. His voice was low, rough.
Sfiso: "I'm here because my father didn't get to finish school. He worked hard his whole life for nothing. I want to break that cycle. I want to be the first."
It was the most honest thing he had ever said to me.
Then it was my turn.
I thought about the dishes. The shouting. The feeling of wanting to disappear. I thought about the phone call in the dark.
Me: "I'm here because..." I paused, clearing the lump in my throat. "Because for a long time, I thought my life was just something to survive. I want to learn how to live it. I want to prove that I matter."
Sfiso didn't laugh. He didn't look away. He just nodded, his grip tightening on my shoulder.
Sisfo: "You do, cuz. You do."
Afternoon Scene: The Colors of Hope
The gathering ended, but the feeling didn't. Sfiso and I walked out, the midday sun blazing down. We felt lighter, like we had taken off a heavy backpack we didn't know we were carrying.
I decided to stop by Lefika La Phodiso on my way home. I needed to show Miss Rozanne that I had actually shown up.
I found her outside, organizing some clay pots. She looked up and saw me before I even spoke.
Miss Rozanne: "Look at you," she said, beaming. "The university student."
I grinned, feeling the title settle over me like a warm coat. Me: "It was amazing, Miss Rozanne. It wasn't scary. It felt... safe."
She wiped her hands on her apron and came closer. "Good. Safety is where the real work begins."
I leaned against the wall, watching the street. "They asked us why we were there. I told them I wanted to learn how to live, not just survive."
Miss Rozanne nodded slowly. "And do you feel like you started today?"
I thought about it. I thought about the contrast between the shouting at my house this morning and the circle of chairs at the chapel.
Me: "Yeah. I think I did."
She handed me a small, blank sketchbook from a stack nearby.
Miss Rozanne: "Then take this. Your life is turning into a story, Hlomla. Write it down. Draw it. Don't let them tell you what the chapters look like."
I took the book. The cover was textured, rough against my fingers.
Evening Scene: The Quiet Return
I walked home as the sun began to set. The house was quiet when I entered. Everyone was in the living room, watching TV.
I walked past them.
Uncle didn't look up from his screen. My mother didn't turn around.
I expected to feel the old sting of rejection. The feeling of being invisible in my own home.
But I didn't.
I went to my room and sat at my small desk. I opened the sketchbook Miss Rozanne had given me. On the first page, I wrote the date:
April 25, 2025
Then, beneath it, I wrote a reminder, a promise to myself:
I am not alone.
I looked at my phone. One new email from my Pathway instructor. It was simple:
"Welcome to the journey. We are glad you are here."
I sat back, listening to the muffled sounds of the TV from the other room. They were loud, demanding, present.
But in here, with the sketchbook and the email and the memory of Sfiso's handshake, I had something else.
I had a future.
The series was changing.
To be continued...
EPISODE 4
April 2025
One year.
That's how long it had been since I walked into that room and sat at computer number 39. Three hundred and sixty-five days of waking up, surviving, and logging in. Three hundred and sixty-five days of balancing the weight of my home life with the weight of textbooks and online quizzes.
I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting my collar. The face looking back was older. The eyes were the same, but the fear behind them had quieted down. It was still there, hiding in the corners, but it no longer ran the show.
Today wasn't just another day. Today was the "Big Day"—the day our cohort at the GEC (Gathering/Educational Center) was meeting to tackle the mid-term assignments together. It was the day we went from just "passing" to actually studying, diving deep into the material that would bridge us to the university courses.
The Morning Walk
The air in Johannesburg was crisp, autumn settling in. As I walked out the gate, the house was already stirring with chaos.
Family Member: "Hlomla! Where are you going? The bin needs to go out!"
I didn't stop. I didn't even turn around. I raised a hand in a wave, not of apology, but of acknowledgement.
Me: "I have classes. I'll do it when I get back."
A year ago, I would have dropped my bag and taken the trash out, letting guilt make me late. Today, I kept walking. My priorities had shifted. The bin could wait. My future could not.
The walk to the chapel felt different now. It wasn't a journey into the unknown; it was a commute to my second home. The streets that used to feel hostile now just felt like a path I had mastered.
Arrival at the GEC
When I arrived, the atmosphere was electric. The GEC wasn't just a room with computers anymore; it was a hub of ambition.
I walked in and was greeted by the familiar hum of focused energy. There were students I recognized—faces that had been with me since the start—and new faces, wide-eyed and nervous, just like I was a year ago.
I spotted Sfiso at a table in the back, surrounded by a spread of papers and three open textbooks. He looked up, hair messy, eyes tired, but grinning.
Sfiso: "There he is. The man of the hour."
I sat down opposite him, dropping my bag.
Me: "Man of the hour? I barely slept. This Business Math assignment is killing me."
Sfiso laughed, tapping his notebook. "That's why we're here. To survive it together."
The Study Session
We opened our laptops. The screen didn't glow with the mystery of "Application Submitted" anymore. It glowed with spreadsheets, essay prompts, and discussion boards.
I looked around the room. This was the "place" I had heard so much about. It was real.
I logged into the BYU-Idaho portal. The sight of the dashboard gave me a strange sense of pride.
Current Course: Intro to Professional Skills.Assignment: Ethical Leadership Case Study.
I stared at the prompt. Describe a time you faced an ethical dilemma. How did you handle it?
My mind immediately went to my house. The shouting. The manipulation. The way they treated me versus the way I chose to respond. My life was the case study.
I started typing.
"Ethical dilemmas aren't always about business contracts or money. Sometimes they are about self-preservation versus integrity. In my life, I faced a dilemma: to fight anger with anger, or to choose a higher path. I chose to leave. I chose to study. I chose to silence the noise not by shouting back, but by building something new."
The words flowed easily. For the first time, the pain of my past wasn't just trauma; it was fuel. It was academic experience. It was proof that I understood the material because I had lived it.
The Break: Seeing the Place
After two hours of intense focus, Elder Houdson called for a break. He walked through the rows of tables, offering granola bars and words of encouragement.
He stopped at my table, looking at my screen.
Elder Houdson: "How's it going, Hlomla?"
Me: "It's hard, Elder. The concepts... they feel big."
Elder Houdson nodded, looking around the room. "It is big. But look around, Hlomla. Look at this place."
I followed his gaze. I saw a mother in the corner, typing with a baby on her lap. I saw an older man adjusting his glasses, confused but determined, asking a missionary for help. I saw Sfiso calculating math problems with a fierce intensity.
Elder Houdson: "This place isn't just a building. It's a launchpad. You're not just doing assignments, Hlomla. You're reprogramming your future. Every word you type is rewriting the narrative of your life."
I looked at the keyboard. My fingers—once hesitant to even type my name—now danced across the keys with confidence.
Me: "I think I'm starting to see that."
Afternoon Focus
The break ended, and we dove back in. The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the light.
I moved on to a group project with Sfiso and two others, Lerato and Thabo. We had to create a presentation on community building.
Lerato: "Okay, but how do we define 'community'?"
Thabo: "It's people who live together."
Me: "It's more than that," I chimed in. "It's people who suffer together and heal together. It's a place where you're not just a face in the crowd."
They looked at me.
Sfiso smiled. "He's right. Like us here."
We built the presentation. We argued, we laughed, and we collaborated. I wasn't the quiet, invisible boy in the corner anymore. I was a team member. My voice mattered.
The Walk Home
As the sun began to dip, casting long shadows across the city, we packed up. My brain was fried, but my spirit was full.
I walked out with Sfiso.
Sfiso: "You killed it today, cuz. That presentation idea was deep."
Me: "Thanks. It just felt right."
We parted ways at the main road. I walked the final stretch home alone.
I thought about the assignments waiting to be graded. I thought about the complex theories I had learned. I thought about the GEC—the sanctuary of click-clacking keyboards and shared dreams.
When I walked into the yard, the house was loud.
Uncle: "He's back. Mr. Important finally decided to come home."
Usually, this would trigger the spiral. But today, I had a password. I had access to a portal they couldn't touch. I had knowledge in my head that they couldn't take away.
I walked past them, straight to my room.
Me: "I have to study. Please close the door on your way out."
I didn't wait for a reaction. I sat at my desk, opened the sketchbook Miss Rozanne gave me a year ago, and added a new entry.
Date: April 2025.Status: I am not just surviving. I am studying. I am learning. I am becoming.
The big day was over. But the journey—the real one—was just getting started.
To be continued...