Chapter 15: Kabelo Begins

 

Nombuso sat silently in the front pew, her hands folded neatly in her lap, the Bible on her knees unopened. Pastor Mandla Khumalo preached from the pulpit with passion, his voice rising and falling with carefully measured cadence. His words ignited murmurs of agreement, nods from the congregation, and quiet amens. But none of that reached Nombuso. To them, he was the image of strength and godliness respected, admired, even revered. But to her, he had become someone else. A man whose presence at home had faded into a ghost of what it once was. A man whose smile no longer reached his eyes. A man who slept with his back turned, his phone face-down, and his excuses always lined with just enough scripture to silence any doubt almost. She watched him closely now, studying the way he gripped the pulpit, how his jaw tensed whenever he glanced her way. There was fire in his voice, yes but coldness behind his eyes. Something about him had hardened. Something was being hidden. She had tried to confront him. Gently. Carefully.

Flashback - Nombuso and Mandla at home:

Nombuso: (placing hand on Mandla's) "Mandla, where do you go at night?"

Mandla: (sipping tea, tight smile) "Ministry visits. You wouldn't understand."

It was the last part that stung the most. You wouldn't understand. As if she were a stranger to this life. As if she hadn't spent years beside him, supporting his sermons, counselling women in the church, holding the pieces when his workload became too heavy.

There was a woman. Mbali. Her name lingered like a shadow, always hovering on the edges of conversation. Nombuso had watched the girl once or twice, just from a distance. There was nothing overt nothing she could point to but a wife's instincts are ancient and sharp. So Nombuso did something she never imagined she would: she picked up her phone and called her cousin. Kabelo.

Nombuso: (voice tight) "I need your help."

Kabelo: (after pause) "I'll come by tomorrow.”

The gate creaked softly as Kabelo stepped into the manicured yard of the Khumalo residence. He walked like a man who'd seen too much of life, military boots silent on the paving stones, a battered leather satchel in one hand.

Nombuso: (opening door) "Come in."

Kabelo: (stepping inside, smirking) "You sure the good pastor isn't around?"

Nombuso: (closing curtains) "He's in a prayer meeting. He won't be back for hours."

She reached into her handbag and pulled out a folded piece of paper a slightly blurry photo of Mbali handing out food parcels at church.

Nombuso: (placing photo on table) "I want to know who this girl is. Where she's from. What she's hiding. Everything."

Kabelo: (studying photo) "Mbali. Pretty. But this kind of pretty often comes with a shadow behind it."

Nombuso: (stiffening) "She came out of nowhere. One day Mandla is serving the Lord with discipline, and the next... he's locking doors when I pass by. Whispering. Lying."

Kabelo: (leaning back) "I'll need three days. Maybe less." (pausing, locking eyes) "You sure you want to know the truth, mam'Khumalo?"

The air between them thickened. Nombuso's hands tightened on her lap, her knuckles white beneath the surface.

Nombuso: (cold, hard voice) "I'm tired of lies."

Kabelo gave a single nod. No sermon. No judgment. He knew when a woman had been pushed to her limit. As he left the house and disappeared down the street, Nombuso remained seated in silence. The photo still lay on the table Mbali's smile frozen in ink.

Nombuso: (whispering bitterly) "Let's see how pure she really is."