"Dintshang 000?" Even through his drunken haze, Smanga can tell something is off with me. I brush it off, telling him it's nothing major — I'm just a little tipsy. But deep down, something warns me not to drink too much tonight. So, I keep a low profile.
Smanga keeps poking at me.
"KZN has made you soft," he says.
"let it flow."
A stranger approaches our table, asking me random questions. He seems genuine enough, but I don't feel it. Then, from deep in my belly, a voice rises — masculine, spirited, certain: "Qaphela."
I excuse myself and head to the bathroom. Reaching into my pocket, I silently thank God I brought my jelly-like herb — iVimbela, just like Gogo Nomusa uses. I dab a bit on my left eyebrow, then my right, whispering an affirmation under my breath:
"Ngivikelekile futhi nginethemba."
I am protected, and I have faith my ancestors will see me through.
Someone walks in. Their face seems familiar, but I can't place where I've seen them before. Their glance is suspicious. The muthi must be working, because suddenly, it's like I can look right into people's energies. Around me, I see suffering — people feeling empty, confused. Even through Smanga's laughter, I can now see he needs help. I choose not to say anything.
Then, chaos.
A fight breaks out between two drunk men.
"You spilled my beer! You better pay or I'll fuck you up!"
"Zama! I dare you."
They wrestle clumsily — it's almost comical. Instinct kicks in, and I try to break it up. That's when I hear it — the chilling click and metallic jam of a trigger. I turn.
Mlotshwa.
He's pointing a gun at me, confusion flickering in his eyes. The weapon has jammed.
"You couldn't stay away, huh? You came back for more?"
The two men who were fighting also draw their guns. Shots explode around me. Screams fill the air as the crowd scatters. Bullets ricochet off tables and walls.
I run for the door.
Mlotshwa watches me in disbelief, his eyes wide like he's seen this before — maybe in a dream. Last time we met, I woke up in the hospital, belly bleeding from one of his bullets. My first words then had been, "Ngikuphi la?" I never knew how I survived.
But tonight… tonight feels different.
As I run, I get the strangest sensation — I've been here before. I remember a dream: I'm in some government facility, maybe a hospital. A syringe pushes some serum into my veins, my body going numb, but somehow, I escape.
Up the street, I hear Mlotshwa shouting:
"Ukubona kanye!" — Seeing once.
A warning that next time, I won't be so lucky.
I glance back. Smanga is following slowly behind me. I thank God Mlotshwa didn't touch him.
Now that Mlotshwa knows I am around, I should really be careful. I have to lay low. Let me call Zinhle on the phone.
"You have reached the voicemail of…"
Her phone is off. She must be sleeping — obviously, it's 12 AM. I'll try her again first thing in the morning.
"That was crazy," Smanga finally catches up to me. He is drunk but strong — you can tell he's used to this lifestyle.
"That was dangerous. You can't stay, man. That bursted doesn't give up."
"You read my mind. I just have to get hold of Zinhle. I just tried calling her but her phone is off."
"Let's go home," he says, striding forward. Good thing Mlotshwa hadn't followed us; the darkness worked in our favour. He would have easily made us out in the distance.
Back at Smanga's, I'm to sleep in the other room.
Back at the tavern, "Lo mfana use nomuthi," Mlotshwa tells his group of goons. "Kumele ngimenzele icebo." He must cook up a plan to counter this. He can't be defeated by a small boy. He asks one of his men if he has the answers — the same one who had tried to ask me questions. Good thing I had given him wrong information. They hadn't seen me and Smanga walking in together, so that was a plus.
Smanga is already out, still wearing his shoes, snoring away.
A flashback hits me: I also saw Mlotshwa's energy. He is so broken, probably had a very difficult upbringing. He also needs my help — but how would I help him? I have too much responsibility. But nothing fulfils me more than guiding others, even if they want me dead. It's crazy! If I were someone else, I might have had a gun, and given his surprise, I probably would have killed him.
I make my way to the room next door. Soon I'm tucked in. I fall asleep with the scene of bullets and people screaming replaying in my mind. If I hadn't had a few drinks myself, I would have really struggled to sleep.