2
The table was now in chaos, the room charged with unspoken tension. Grandma Nandi had stormed out of the dining room, leaving the rest of the family frozen in disbelief.Thuli, ever the troublemaker, was the first to speak. “Ha, yini le? This is what happens when you poke the lion with a stick. Look at her. She’s shaking like a leaf in a storm.” She chuckled, eyes glinting with amusement.
Kabelo shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his face flushed. “Thuli, can you not? This is not the time.”
“You think this is not the time, Kabelo? Huh? When’s the time then?” Thuli shot back, leaning in closer, her voice growing louder. “*Ngiyisitha,* I’ve been watching Grandma for years, and I’m telling you, she’s hiding something big. And we’re not leaving until it comes out!”
Mandla, who had been unusually quiet, cleared his throat and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He raised an eyebrow at Thuli. “I must say, Thuli, I’m impressed. I’ve never seen you this worked up before. Maybe you’re onto something.”
Sibongile, who had been listening quietly, spoke up now, her tone softer. “Guys, we don’t know what’s really going on. Let’s just wait and see. Grandma will come back. Maybe she’ll explain.”
“No, Sibongile, you’re wrong,” Thuli interrupted, shaking her head. “She won’t. Grandma will never tell us anything unless we drag it out of her. And we’re not leaving this house until she does.”
Kabelo sighed, resting his hands on the table. “Can we please just eat and keep the peace? I don’t need to be in the middle of some... ubudlakudla (drama).”
Thuli laughed bitterly, the sound sharp. “You think this is ubudlakudla, Kabelo? This is just the beginning.”
The door to the kitchen swung open, and Grandma Nandi stepped back into the room, her face a mask of cold fury. Her eyes locked on each of them one by one, her expression never wavering.
“I warned you,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “You’ve been digging into things that were never meant for you to understand. The past is dead and buried, and it should stay that way.”
Mandla leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Grandma, with all due respect, you’re not the one who gets to decide what stays buried. We’re your family. We deserve answers.”
Thuli scoffed. “Yes, Mandla’s right. We’ve been sitting here like izinkukhu ezithule waiting for the nkonjane to make us feel better, but no more. We’re done pretending. What’s really going on?”
Grandma Nandi’s eyes flicked to the side, and for the briefest moment, her facade cracked. The smallest hint of something—fear, guilt, or maybe regret—showed, but it was gone before anyone could catch it.
“You’re all so eager for the truth, aren’t you?” Grandma said, her voice calm, though the anger was clear in her tone. “But the truth is not always what you expect. Ngithemba ukuthi nizokwazi (I hope you can handle it).”
Sibongile stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Grandma, please. We just want to know what’s been going on. We’re not children anymore. We can handle the truth.”
But Grandma Nandi only shook her head. “Some truths are too dangerous to tell. And some things, even after they’ve been revealed, can never be undone.”
The room fell silent, each person’s gaze locked on her. The tension was thick, the weight of her words hanging in the air. No one spoke, but everyone knew: whatever Grandma Nandi was hiding, it was a storm ready to break.
Finally, Mandla leaned forward, his voice cutting through the silence. “Enough games, Grandma. We’re not leaving until we know everything. The will. The company. The house. We’ve been kept in the dark for too long.”
Grandma Nandi’s eyes flickered to the wall, to the family portrait hanging on the opposite side of the room. The faces of the past, all smiling and together, looked back at her, silent witnesses to the secret she’d kept for decades.
She took a deep breath, her shoulders sagging slightly as if the weight of the years was finally catching up with her.
“Fine,” she said quietly. “You want the truth? Ngizokutshelani (I’ll tell you). But remember, you asked for it.”
The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Thuli leaned in, eyes wide, her hand hovering over her glass of wine.
Grandma Nandi stared at the floor for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “Your father… my husband… uBaba Radebe... he didn’t die in an accident. It was planned. And the company—the house—it was never meant to be yours. Not the way you think.”
Everyone froze. The air thickened, suffocating them all.
“What are you talking about?” Thuli finally whispered, her voice almost a gasp. “What do you mean, it was planned?”
Grandma Nandi didn’t answer immediately. She just stared at Thuli, her silence louder than any words she could say.
Kabelo, pale and shaken, shook his head. “No… no, this can’t be true.”
Sibongile took a step forward, her voice trembling. “Grandma, what are you saying? You’re telling us that our whole life, everything we’ve worked for, was built on a lie?”
Grandma Nandi finally stood up, her hands shaking as she reached for her wine glass. “Some things you can never take back, my children. Once you know, there’s no going back. And trust me when I say, uzoba nezingqondo ezinzima (you’ll wish you never asked).”
Please log in to submit a comment.