Chapter 12

NQABA CELE

It's been three months since I've been sentenced. Prison is no child play but I am still here, still standing. I learned to mind my own business keep to myself, that keep me out trouble. I've made a few acquaintances, very interesting people. My parents from time to time and they would Lwandle with them. That is all I need to survive this place. I haven't seen my wife Milani since the last time I saw her in court.

I often think about Lwandle during the silent stretches of my day. How is he coping with everything? I hope he feels the warmth of his grandparents' love, the only semblance of stability in this whirlwind. With each visit, it's a bittersweet reunion; the moment I see him, I feel lifted, like a weight has been momentarily removed. Yet, as he walks away, a heaviness replaces it, a reminder of the distance this sentence creates.
The prison life is a strange echo of the outside world, with its rhythms and rules. Days blend into nights, marked by the clang of metal doors and the muffled conversations of my fellow inmates. I've become adept at navigating my surroundings, reading people like I'm deciphering a code; survival here depends on instinct and observation. The men I've met have their own stories—some tragic, others infuriating. Yet beneath the tough exteriors, we share an unspoken understanding: we are all striving for redemption, for a second chance that fate may or may not provide.
Just last week, I overheard a conversation that sparked a flicker of hope in me. Some of the inmates have access to a rehabilitation program that helps prepare them for life after prison. I can hardly ignore the thought; anything that could help me keep myself busy is worth pursuing. I could learn, grow, and perhaps regain some control over my life, possibly even become a voice for others like me.

As I sit on my bed, staring at the wall, I remember the judge's words. Maybe there's more to this experience than mere punishment. Perhaps this could be a moment of transformation, a pivotal point in my life—a chance to turn things around and fight for a future that includes Lwandle. Every day, I remind myself that this struggle isn't just mine; it's about ensuring that he doesn't carry the weight of our choices.

I am determined to embrace the future, whether it's through learning or reflecting on my past. The thought of Lwandle's smile propels me forward, a beacon in this tumultuous sea of despair. I must believe that something greater lies on the other side of these walls. "You have a visitor, come." The warden says. I get up, wondering who it could. It's not my parents, they were here just yesterday. He walks me to visitors room and I see my lawyer Mandla. I remember the last time I spoke to him, he was following a certain lead. I make my to where he and and I sit across him. "How have you been?" He asked his voice laced with deep concern.
"I've been managing," I reply, trying to deflect the weight of his concern. "What's the update?"
Mandla shifts slightly, his brow furrowing. "I've been digging into the case—the inconsistencies in the evidence, the testimonies that didn't quite match up. You have a shot, Nqaba. We might be able to appeal based on some new findings."

Hope flickers inside me, though I try to keep my expression neutral. "Really? What did you find?"
He glances around the room, lowering his voice. "There's a witness who might come forward. I can't go into too much detail just yet, but it could change things for us. Here is shocker that Detective Mbhele found last month; Mnqobi had a life insurance policy worth R3 million and Milani was a the beneficiary. I think also what you didn't know is Mnqobi body was cremated 2 days before the funeral." What does he mean that Milani was Mnqobi's beneficiary" Is he talking about the same Milani who is my wife. "Detective Mbhele is following the money, to see where it leads. He has a few leads but he doesn't want share until he is sure of what he has found."
My heart races. This small glimmer of hope feels foreign after months of despair. "When will I know more?"
"Soon. We're working on it. I just need you to stay strong and focused. Think about what you want for your family when you get out. Keep that vision day-to-day. It could make all the difference. We are not going to appeal just yet. We need to get all the evidence so that our case does get thrown out and you end up spending fifteen years in here. I want to make sure that you get out of here."

I nod, absorbing his words like they're lifelines thrown into turbulent water. He continues, "I've arranged for you to participate in that rehabilitation program. I think it could be beneficial, not just for the time served but for how the parole board will view you."
"Thank you," I say, my voice thick with emotion. Every small step counts. "I want to be a better man and make better choices for Lwandle."

Mandla smiles reassuringly. "As soon as I have more from Detective Mbhele, I'll fill you in. Also, there is an open investigation against Ndlela and one of the arresting officers." You might out of here sooner than you think. Also I don't know if you've heard, Milani found out about the trust for Lwandle. She has been trying to get a lawyer that will fight for her to be the one managing the trust." Now how the hell did Milani find out about that, which means she knows about the company as well. It doesn't matter, she is never going to get her hands on anything that's mine. "Honestly I don't care that she knows. Just make sure she doesn't get excess to it." I firmly tell him and her nods in understanding.

As I sit back, these words echo in my mind. Search for purpose, reclaim dignity— there is still a chance to rewrite my story. I think Lwandle, imagining his smile, his laughter—a world unfettered by walls and shadowed judgment. I can't allow the past to define my future. I can't allow what Milani did define my future.
The visit wraps up too soon, and as I return to my cell, I feel buoyed by the conversation. The landscape of prison life hasn't shifted, but I now see a path illuminated by possibility. I need to dig deep, holding onto the vision of my family and the life I yearn to lead once I step outside.

Embracing this transformation won't be easy, but I'm ready for the challenge. This is going to be my moment to rise above the circumstances that tried to anchor me down. "For myself," I whisper to myself, a vow echoing within the prison's concrete walls—a promise that I will fight for not just my freedom but my son's future as well.

The days pass, each one blending into the next, yet every morning feels slightly different, charged with new purpose. I dive into the rehabilitation program with a fire ignited within me. It's a program that challenges every ounce of my determination—cognitive exercises, emotional literacy workshops, and group therapy sessions that force me to confront my own weaknesses. But every time I feel like breaking under the pressure, I think of Lwandle, his small hands clapping joyfully, his laughter a balm for my weary soul.
During our sessions, I meet other men—each carrying their own scars yet sharing a collective dream of redemption. There's Sipho, a former mechanic entangled in a dangerous world; Thuli, who lost everything to addiction and was arrest for grand theft; and even Kgomotso, who was driven to desperation after losing his family in a fatal accident. He was pharmacist. Arrested for illegal possession of drugs. We bond over stories that dig deeper than the surface, finding solace in shared pain and aspirations for a better life.

"Why are we here?" Kgomotso asks one day, his voice filled with a mix of anger and hope. "We've all made choices we regret, but what do we do now? How do we move forward?"
That question lingers in the air, charged with significance. It's a reflection of my own struggles, echoing the very purpose I've embraced during my time here. "We learn," I finally say, my voice steady. "We can't change the past, but we can prepare ourselves for the future. We owe it to ourselves and our families to believe in something better."

The sessions become a sanctuary for me—a reminder that growth is possible, even in the most barren landscapes. Each week, more weight falls from my shoulders as I shed layers of shame and guilt, exposing a authentic version of myself. I participate wholeheartedly, sharing my stories, and gaining insights from others who once felt trapped like I did.

Meanwhile, thoughts of Milani pierce through my newfound clarity. I wonder how she is faring—whether the stress of it all has begun to ebb or if the burden weighs heavy on her. But this is Milani I am talking about. The woman doesn't care. She is probably leaving her best life. I mean she R3 Million from Mnqobi's death. How did that come about? What in the hell is she up to.

At the end of the program, we take a few minutes where we can share what we've learned. As I stand before the group, my hands tremble slightly, but I position my shoulders and align my voice with conviction. "This isn't just about getting released," I begin, looking into the faces filled with anticipation. "It's about learning to live with purpose. This journey is teaching me that my story isn't defined by my mistakes, it isn't defined by what others think of me but by the strength to rise again."

Cheers break out among the group, infused with the energy of hope. There's something liberating in voicing my truth, and I feel a shift within me.

As I step back into the routine of prison life, my heart swells both with anticipation and trepidation. I know the journey ahead is still fraught with challenges, but I am uncontainably ready to face those hurdles—created anew by the very lessons I've embraced. And with every passing day, I grow a little closer to the man I want to be, a father, a son, most importantly, a better version of myself.
The future feels just within my grasp, and I refuse to let it slip away. Each step I take is toward the light of a life redeemed, a life filled with love and laughter once more. For Lwandle, for each person I've met along this journey, I will keep fighting. The walls of this prison may be closing in, but my spirit stretches beyond them, extending towards a horizon brimming with possibility.

As I walk to my cell, I hear someone calling my name, it's Kgomotso. He catches up and walks besides me, we've grown close. After he lost his family, he used to drugs to cope with loss and that landed him here because he wanted something to make forget, to not feel the pain. "Listen, I've thinking about what you told me, about what happened to you." He pause a bit as if he is thinking about something. "You said your woke not remembering anything right, you don't even remember when you fell asleep." I found myself telling him everything that happened that landed me here. "Yes, that's correct. What, what are you thinking?" curiosity not hidden in my voice. "She used a drug called GHB(Gamma-Hydroxybutyrate). It's a date rape drug. It is one of the considered to be the most difficult to detect. It can only detected in blood for only up to eight hours and in urine for only up to twelve hours after taking it. From what you told me, the drug test was done way after twelve hours that's why they couldn't find anything in your stream and the drug cause Amnesia hence you not remember anything from the moment you took the drug." I knew I was drugged but couldn't understand why they couldn't find the drugs in system. "Maybe you ask your lawyer to look into it. She couldn't have gotten it legally. The drug is illegal in this country." I don't think he knows how helpful the information he just gave is. "Thank you Kgomotso. I really appreciate the information. You have no idea much that is going to be in my case. I need to call Mandla.

DETECTIVE MBHELE

I knew from the minute this case was brought into my office that it was bogus but the evidence was damning. His loss of memory made me doubt everything about it. I have been working on for the past three months and I have a few leads but nothing solid yet. Mandla gave me a name to investigate Mandla Nkabinde, a drug dealer who deals in every drug that is illegal. He also deals in date rape drugs. I need to find out which drug Milani used on her husband. I'm it something that doesn't lost long the system. If I can find that, then I can definitely find a way to link these two. Now what puzzles me the most is that I can't find the autopsy report on Mnqobi Khumalo. I need to confirm that he was actually raped and the doctor that performed the autopsy is nowhere to be found. There's a soft on my door and I allow the person.

"You look like death my friend. What's going on?" He asks looking worried. " You don't even greet. Detective Nxele, how are you?"

"I'm good. I was handling a case this side, thought I'd pop in." Detective Nxele. "I need your help." I pause a little, he nods encouraging me to go on. "I have this case that I am working on. The guy has been framed and it's dead end after dead end." I continue telling him about Nqaba Cele's case and he listens intently. "I hear you. I have people that help me with my difficult case. Send me the whole case file, I'll have a look at see what I can do. This is definitely a set up. Don't be surprised if you find your murder victim alive. Everything you just told me, suggests that he alive. Why would an autopsy report go missing if your man was actually dead." I had my suspicions. "the thought crossed my mind but had my doubts and asked myself how she could pull it of. You need money to stay dead and now that you mention it. They have money, from the life insurance policy." He smiles raising an eyebrow.
"You see. Follow the money and you'll probably find more that you bargained for." He says sounding excited. I know he is going to want in on this case. It is right up his alley. I could also use the help. "I'll send you the case file. Have a look at it and let me know what your thoughts are. I need to nail this woman to the wall." We continue talking, basically just catching up. He gets up shaking my hand. "It was good seeing you again man. I'm looking forward to working with you again. And we will nail the woman to the wall." He walks out leaving me feeling some sort of relief. There is some light, finally. My phone beeps and it's a text message. "Shit! What the hell is this?"