CHAPTER 61: Back to Routine

 

Before arriving, we had called Babomncane to let him know we were coming. He had been looking after the house while we were away, holding the keys and making sure everything stayed in order. When we pulled up, he was already outside, waving as if he’d been expecting us for hours.

Babomncane: “Welcome back!” 

A smile spreading across his face. He turned to Nomalanga. 

Babomncane: “Thank you… for marrying Sizwe and coming back. Honestly, he wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you keeping him tied to home.”

He shook his head with a small laugh. 

Babomncane: “Those boys… Khaya and Bongani… they’ve been swallowed by the city. Forgotten what home feels like, chasing their own lives. It’s good to see you two back here.”

We laughed, and he helped with the bags, showing us that the house was just as we had left it. Stepping inside felt familiar, like the space had been waiting for us.

Empangeni welcomed us badly, Nomalanga’s phone was struggling to connect to the network At first, she thought it was just poor reception. She moved from room to room, stood near the window, even stepped outside into the yard. Nothing. Calls dropped instantly. Messages refused to send. By midday, frustration had settled in. That afternoon, she made the decision quickly. She switched to another network, standing in a small shop while the SIM card was activated, watching her old number disappear from the screen like a chapter quietly closing. Back home, she sat at the table and began the slow task of sending her new number to the people who mattered. Her mother first, close friends and Suppliers.

Nomalanga sat at the small kitchen table, laptop open, a mug of tea growing cold beside her. Her hair was tied into a loose knot, and she stared at the screen with the kind of focus that meant she was already fighting fires.

Sizwe: “Bad news?” 

She didn’t look up.

Nomalanga: “Not bad, just… many problems.”

I leaned against the counter and unlocked my phone. The Ballito restaurant group chat was already busy, a supplier apologising for a delayed delivery, and a voice note from  Khaya explaining that two waiters had called in sick on the same shift.

Nomalanga: “ The seafood delivery is pushed to the afternoon.”

She sighed, then straightened in her chair. 

Nomalanga: “And there’s a birthday dinner tonight. Twelve people. No menu confirmed.”

That got my full attention.

Sizwe: “Still?”

Nomalanga: “They assumed we’d ‘just handle it’.”

She said, already typing. 

Nomalanga: “I’m handling it.”

She opened a new message and sent a calm but firm voice note to the customer, explaining options, setting boundaries, offering two set menus to choose from within the hour.

By mid-morning, Empangeni felt smaller than ever. We moved from call to call. Ballito felt distant like a place we had imagined rather than lived in.

Nomalanga took charge of the staff issues, calling Khaya first.

Khaya’s face filled the screen, the Ballito sun bright behind him.

Khaya: “Morning, Madam, we’re holding it together.”

Nomalanga: “How bad is it really?” 

Khaya: “Busy but manageable, Bongani’s covering floor, I’m splitting kitchen duties. We just need confirmation on that birthday menu.”

Her phone buzzed with an incoming message. She checked the screen and nodded once.

She turned back to the screen. 

Nomalanga: “Khaya, prep for Menu B. Tell the kitchen to start early. I’ll send the final numbers now.”

Khaya: “Done, I’ll loop Bongani in.”

The call ended, replaced almost immediately by Bongani’s voice.

Bongani: “Sizwe, tell your wife she just saved my sanity.”

Nomalanga shook her head, but I could see the relief in her eyes.

Nomalanga: “I’ll take that as a compliment, make sure the birthday table gets extra attention.”

Bongani: “Already planned, cake’s sorted too.”

When the calls ended the room felt quieter and heavier.

I opened my laptop and took over the finances spreadsheets glowing back at me, numbers lined up like quiet accusations.

Sizwe: “If we survive this month we deserve another holiday.”

She glanced over.

Nomalanga: “ Yeah local holiday retreat, no paddle-boards.”

Sizwe: “Deal.”

The afternoon dragged. Load shedding cut the Wi-Fi twice, forcing us to hotspot from our phones. A supplier followed up about payment. Another staff member asked for a schedule change. 

Late afternoon, Nomalanga closed her laptop and stood, pacing.

Nomalanga: “I hate this part managing people from far away. You never know what’s really happening.”

As evening settled, Empangeni softened. The sky turned dusty gold, and the noise outside slowed. We sat side by side again, reviewing the restaurant’s closing report.

The birthday dinner went smoothly. Good feedback. No complaints. Sales were decent. No disasters, just the quiet grind of keeping something alive. Nomalanga leaned her head against my shoulder. I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer. She was quiet for a moment, then exhaled.

Nomalanga: “Promise me we won’t let this place swallow us.”

Sizwe: “ I promise, Empangeni may be heavy… but it doesn’t get to take everything.”

But for tonight, we sat in shared silence, learning how to carry light back into ordinary days.