Chapter 9: Leaving KwaMashu

 

Narrated by Qondanisa Qwabe

I had lived my whole life in KwaMashu, so when my cousin Mzo called me, I already knew things were about to change. He phoned me early in the morning while I was already at work in my home workshop behind the house.

“Unjani bafo?” he greeted loudly. “How are you, my brother?”

“I’m fine,” I replied, wiping oil from my hands. “What’s going on?”

He laughed before answering. “Awuze phela lana kwaNdonga ziyaduma! Come to Johannesburg, my cousin. I need you here.”

I paused slightly. “Johannesburg? For what?”

He didn’t waste time. “ I want you to come and fix my taxes. These cars are giving me stress, yazi akekho umuntu owazi injini njengawe. You understand engines better than anyone.”

I stayed quiet for a moment and looked around my small workshop behind the house. The familiar tools were hanging neatly on the wall. The smell of oil and metal was something I had known my whole life.

“Let me think about it,” I said, even though I already felt myself leaning toward yes.

That evening, I went into the house early.

My mother was sitting in the living room watching television.

“Ma,” I said as I entered.

She looked at me immediately. “Yebo, Qondanisa?”

“I might have to travel,” I said carefully.

She paused the TV. “Travel where?”

“Johannesburg.”

Her expression changed, but she did not panic. She simply studied me for a moment.

“Why Johannesburg?” she asked.

“My cousin needs me. He has taxis that need fixing.”

She sighed deeply. “So you are leaving me again?”

“It will not be forever, Ma,” I said.

She shook her head slowly. “You men always say that. First work, then you forget home.”

I sat down beside her. “Ma, I will come back.”

She looked at me for a long moment, then softened slightly.

“Ungagwinywa iGoli, mntanami,” she said quietly. “

I nodded. “I hear you, Ma.”

“And do not forget where you come from,” she added. “Come back and visit us.”

“I will,” I promised.

She stood up and adjusted my shirt collar like I was still a boy.

“Go,” she said. “But be careful.”

The next morning, I packed a small bag. I left most of my tools behind because I knew Johannesburg would have more than enough work waiting for me.

Before leaving, I stood in my workshop behind the house one last time. I looked at the engine I had been working on and the tools I had used for years.

The taxi ride to Johannesburg was long. I did not sleep much. I watched the scenery change from familiar streets to highways stretching far into the distance. Slowly, KwaMashu disappeared behind me. When we finally arrived at Park Station, I stepped out and stood still for a moment. The city was loud. Faster than anything I was used to. People were moving as if time was chasing them. Johannesburg did not feel like home.

It felt like motion. I adjusted my bag and looked around.

“Eish…” I whispered. “This place is busy.”

I started walking carefully through the crowd, trying to orient myself. Then I heard a voice behind me.

“Bafo!”

I turned around.

My cousin Mzo was standing there, smiling widely and waving at me. He walked over quickly and grabbed my hand in a firm handshake.

“Qondanisa! You finally made it, my brother!” he said excitedly. “Johannesburg is waiting for you, man!”

I shook his hand firmly. “It’s bigger than I expected.”

He laughed. “This is nothing, bafo. Wait until you see Sandton. You will think you are in another country.”

I nodded slowly. “I can believe that.”

He clapped my shoulder. “Come, let’s go. The taxis are waiting for you to fix them.  I told the drivers that I am bringing the best man.”

I followed him through the station, still taking in everything around me.

Mzo kept talking as we walked.

“You will like it here, trust me. Money moves in Johannesburg. Not like back home. And you, my brother, you are going to do well here.”

I nodded, but my mind was still adjusting to the size and speed of everything. I was no longer in KwaMashu.