Chapter 64: Back to Balito

 

Three months passed faster than I expected. I had promised Nomalanga we would go back to Ballito, and when the time came, I kept my word. Still, packing up our things felt heavier than it should have. Somewhere along the way, the quiet had grown on me. Empangeni had changed me. Being home slowed my mornings in a way I hadn’t felt in years. I started noticing how little we spent and how much we saved not because we were trying, but because life there didn’t push us to spend. It was just home food, walks, and space to breathe and think. On the morning we left, I stood outside for a moment longer than necessary, breathing in the still air like I was trying to memorise it.

Sizwe: “I’m going to miss this place.”

Nomalanga zipped her bag and looked around once, thoughtful but ready.

Nomalanga: “It was good for us.”

Nomalanga: “I’ve never lived somewhere like this, not full time.”

Empangeni had been an experience for her. For me, it had started to feel like a rhythm I understood. Babomncane came out as we loaded the last bags into the car. He stood there quietly, hands in his pockets, like he didn’t quite know how to say goodbye without making it heavier than it needed to be. I took the key from my pocket and placed it in his hand. He closed his fingers around it, nodding once.

Babomncane: “You know this will always be home, you don’t need permission to come back.”

Nomalanga stepped forward and hugged him.

Nomalanga: “Thank you for looking after everything, we will come back.”

Babomncane smiled at that, pride and affection mixed together.

Babomncane: “Drive safe.”

As we pulled away, I looked back once more. He was still standing there, the key in his hand, watching until the car disappeared down the road.

The drive from Empangeni to Ballito felt like a slow return to noise. Fields stretched out endlessly at first, then towns crept in, traffic thickened, and the air changed. By the time we caught that familiar hint of salt, I could feel the shift in my chest, excitement mixed with the loss of something I hadn’t expected to leave behind. Nomalanga’s energy changed as the coastline came closer. She sat up straighter, phone already in her hand, responding to messages she’d ignored during the drive.

When we reached Ballito, Khaya had outdone himself. The restaurant was alive in a way we hadn’t seen through screens. Music played softly, lights warm, laughter spilling out before we even stepped inside.

Khaya: “Welcome home!” 

Khaya shouted, spreading his arms wide.

Bongani clapped me on the back. 

Bongani: “You two disappeared on us.”

The food was there, familiar faces all around, and a few raised glasses. It wasn’t a celebration, just a warm welcome. As I stood there, Nomalanga laughing, Khaya moving around making sure everything was perfect, I felt the strange truth settle in. Ballito was home again. But a part of me had learned how to breathe somewhere quieter. And I knew I’d carry that with me even here.