The inheritance Series: From Cashier to Mining Mogul

Today is another day in the small township of Velenhle. The 25-year-old me wakes up in our small two-room shack. It’s winter and freezing. The atmosphere is rattling. Winters are the worst. The floor is cold. Blankets are wet, or at least that’s how they feel, because the zinc iron that makes up our shack is in condensation mode.

Yesterday, luckily, I was able to fetch the water and fill up all the buckets inside the house, so that we could easily heat the water without stepping outside. If I didn’t, the water wouldn’t have come out because the tap would contain completely frozen water; that’s how freezing it is today.

I place my feet on the brown vinyl-covered floor and tiptoe around as I pass through the torn cream-white curtain divider to head to the small kitchen. I grab the box of fire matches on top of the table, along with a candle, and grab some newspapers. I pick up a pack of light wood next to the coal stove to start the fire in the stove.

I muffle around as the fire gains momentum. I snort, and my sinuses follow in pursuit because of the smoke inhalation, making me more grumpy. I then place the boiler on the stove and put water in it. Once I’m comfortable that the fire is no longer a spark but a furnace, I sit in the small corner expecting to be warm in just a few minutes.

My older sister also wakes up, and as I turn around, I find her sitting on the bed.

“Is it time already?” with a tone slightly indicating that I might have been responsible for the time. The only difference is that she’s deaf, and she’s informing me in sign language.

“I am heating the water; you can go back to sleep; I’ll wake you up when it’s hot.” I also respond in sign language.

“No, no,” She starts making her bed and mine and goes on to prepare porridge, pap, and eggs.

The porridge is for breakfast, and the pap and eggs are for lunch.

“It will have to be pap and eggs today”, I nod in response because I know very well that it’s all we can afford.

But I’m grateful for my sister. Although she’s seven years older than me, she tries her best to work as a cleaner at one of the big companies, proudly wearing her uniform clearly marked on the back in big alphabetical letters that she’s deaf. It’s sad that the people working with her still call her rude when she doesn’t respond to their voices. But every single day, she comes back with so much enthusiasm that I, too, learn to feed from the energy, as my job is also not that pleasing.

My sister’s lively attitude towards life comes from our single dad, who raised us well. He was the definition of hope, just like his namesake: Themba. He made sure that we would see the light in every situation, no matter how dark or how cold. Not only that, he was a very practical person; he took my sister to the best special needs school while I had everything I ever needed in my school, and all the same, teaching me sign language. I wonder how he did it because he was working for a soap-making factory that only called him whenever there was work. I also never knew what type of work he did. He would also go take care of other people’s gardens, surviving on odd jobs now and then. But he was always outwardly smart.

After seeing our dad’s street smarts and my sister working hard, I decided to drop out of school in Grade 11 and ended up finding a job at a supermarket.

I never told them, and my teachers never cared to communicate with my parents since I was never the child of a teacher, police officer, or politician.

When my dad eventually found out, we had a huge fight, but Thenjiwe mediated, and my dad gave in and made me promise that I wouldn’t have a child before I got married. I honestly had not expected that out of all things, so I agreed.

But recently, with my dad’s charming personality, he passed away due to an unknown sickness. This was a month ago, and my world has honestly come apart— I am carrying so much resentment against the world, against the people who seem to have a choice of eating something other than pap and eggs.

Even eggs are a luxury at this point for us; we are eating them because a lady in our neighbourhood is selling them, and she sold them to us on credit. Other than that, I wouldn’t know what we would eat. To be honest, at this point, the only thing keeping me sane is my sister and her beaming attitude towards life.

“Okay, let’s hurry.” I escape my thoughts, and I pour the now-hot water into a tub for my sister and go grab a second tub for myself.

As I pour the water, my phone rings. It’s a telephone number, which means it could be one of those jobs that I applied for. I am always on the lookout for a job with an increased salary. I prepare my top-tier English to answer the call. “Thembi Zungu Speaking”.

“Hi Thembi, this is Nicholas Steenkamp from Steenkamp Attorneys,” a husky corporate voice on the other end of the phone responds, intimidating me and indicating that I wouldn’t belong in his world. However, our dad used to say, ”Confidence is a key that can open doors that are probably not even visible to people like us.”

“Yes?” I respond confidently, matching the man’s corporate voice. “I understand that your dad recently passed away.” His voice becomes more empathetic, filled with pity. I don’t like pity. At all.

“Excuse me?” My voice was aching because he mentioned our dad. “I don’t know whether he informed you that he was the co-founder of Thelo Minerals.” His answer suddenly reeks of fear. How did the tables turn?

Thelo minerals? The mining conglomerate? No way, it’s a scam, I mean, after all, scammers like luring people using the death of their loved ones. I keep quiet, after all, it’s his airtime. He, too, keeps quiet.

“Uh, sir, Steenkamp. Wrong number. Please try another person to scam.”

“Th-”

I drop the call and block the number immediately. I would have asked for job openings, but he is a scam, so I’d rather not.