PACK YOUR THINGS

I loved my uncles. All four of them. After matric, I had nowhere to be except with family. So I went to them. Uncle 1’s place. Uncle 2’s place and Uncle 3’s place.

I sat at their tables. Ate their food.Laughed at their jokes.I thought that’s what family did.Uncle 1 had a business.I didn’t ask for a salary.I asked for experience.I swept. I packed. I stayed late.I thought if I worked hard, they’d notice.

But they did notice. Just not the way I hoped. I heard it later. Whispers. “He’s expecting money. Why is he working so hard for free?” I didn’t argue.I didn’t fight. I just left. Quiet.

Because I didn’t want the family to fight. That was my mistake. Then Uncle 2 called my mom. “Phuthi, I have a job for him. R500 a week. Monday to Friday. He just sleeps there and looks after the place.”

R500.Monday to Friday. Far from home. I said yes. Because family helps family. Because I still trusted them. Uncle 3’s wife was on leave that first week.

The place was quiet. I met Tshego. He worked at a school from 7 to 3, then came back to help me.We cleaned. We laughed. We survived.For one week, I believed God placed me there.

For one week, everything was fine. I didn’t know her leave had an end date. I didn’t know trouble was packing her bags to come back. That’s when it began.