C H R I S

One day I was coming back from groove at around 2:30 in the morning. I was proper drunk, my broer. Not the normal drunk where you're singing old Brenda Fassie songs. I was drunk-drunk. The kind of drunk where you greet a cow and expect it to greet you back.

I lived in rural KZN, and after leaving the tavern, there was a long walk home along dusty gravel roads surrounded by darkness and tall trees. At that time of night, there were no streetlights, no houses nearby, and no people. Just darkness, and strange noises.

As I stumbled along the road, I noticed a small bright light coming towards me from a distance. Because I was drunk, I thought it was maybe a scooter or a bicycle light.
But the closer it came, the bigger and brighter it became. At first I wasn't worried. Then it became brighter than a car's headlights. Then brighter than a floodlight. Then brighter than anything I had ever seen before.

When it was about three metres away from me, I realised this was definitely not a scooter and definitely not a bicycle. This thing was glowing like Eskom had finally paid all its debts and unlocked unlimited electricity.
Suddenly the light exploded into a blinding brightness.

Yoh!
I couldn't see anything . I fell to the ground, rubbing my eyes and coughing dust. My heart started beating faster, but I told myself it was just the alcohol playing games with my mind. When I finally looked up, I nearly swallowed my tongue.
Standing where the light had been was a man. His clothes were torn, His face was covered in blood. One side of his head looked crushed. His eyes looked strange, almost lifeless.

The man just stood there staring at me without blinking. That road was famous for robberies, so I immediately assumed he was a tsotsi trying some new criminal technology.
I jumped up and raised my fists.

"Listen here, mfowethu," I shouted. "You're not taking my money or my belongings tonight!"

The man looked at me and spoke in a weak voice.
"Help me, my broer..."
Before he could finish talking, I attacked.

I started fighting like I was defending a world title belt. The poor guy couldn't even explain himself. Every time he tried to speak, I landed another punch. The strange thing was that no matter how hard I hit him, he never fought back.
He just kept stumbling backwards.

Then, after taking a proper beating, he suddenly looked at me and said:
"Hau... Do you want to kill me for the second time?"

The moment he said those words, my blood turned cold. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up . Everything suddenly became quiet. Then I remembered the bright light.
I remembered how this man had appeared out of nowhere. I remembered his crushed head and bloody clothes. And then it hit me.
Yoh.
This wasn't a robber. This wasn't even a living person. I was busy boxing with a ghost. My drunkenness disappeared immediately. The alcohol left my body faster than a salary on payday.

I didn't wait for another explanation.
I turned around and ran. I don't know how I did it, but I covered 4 kilometres in less than 9 minutes. At one point I think I overtook a taxi.

I got home, locked every door, pushed furniture against the entrance, covered myself with a blanket and prayed until sunrise.

The producers of The Polygamist must just send Tyler Perry a Thank You card and a Woolies voucher at this point. 😭

Because hayi, every episode feels like they watched Diary of a Mad Black Woman, Temptation, For Coloured Girls and the whole Tyler Perry collection in one weekend and said:
"Sharp guys, we have a new show."

Cheating husband? ✔️
Crying wife? ✔️
Family drama? ✔️
Church scene? ✔️
Someone getting exposed after 15 episodes? ✔️
At this point we're not even watching The Polygamist. We're watching Tyler Perry: Mzansi Remix.

The only thing missing is Tyler Perry arriving in a taxi from Joburg, stepping out with a Bible and saying:
"Bathong"

Jonas at the mortuary 😭😭

This is you buffering in a hospital bed asking for mashed bananas and soft porridge after spending your whole youth chasing every baddie that crossed your path.

Your breakfast, lunch and dinner looks like baby food.

Life is not a joke my broer

Sometimes their hairstyles just don't make sense. You'd swear they got styled by the patients themselves. 😂

THE R3,000 MISTAKE

Nomsa from Soshanguve was not happy.

Every month, her baby daddy, Sizwe, deposited R3,000 into her account for their 7-year-old son. The money came on time. No excuses. No fighting. No drama.

But according to Nomsa and her friends at work, R3,000 was "small money."

"Girl, take him to Maintenance Court. They will force him to pay at least R5,000," her friend Lerato told her during lunch.

Yoh, Nomsa liked the sound of that.

A few weeks later, she opened a maintenance case at the Pretoria Magistrate's Court. She already pictured herself walking out victorious while Sizwe stood there defeated.

For three months, it was forms, affidavits, long queues, court dates, and endless taxi trips to town.

On Facebook, she was posting things like:

"Deadbeat fathers must pay for their children."

Meanwhile, Sizwe kept quiet and minded his business.

The day of judgment finally arrived. The magistrate looked through both their financial records. Then he looked at Nomsa. Then at Sizwe. Then back at the paperwork.

"According to these documents, the father earns less than what was claimed, has other financial responsibilities,other kids and has already been contributing voluntarily."

Nomsa smiled confidently. She thought the next words would be: "The maintenance is increased to R5,000 per month."

Instead, the magistrate adjusted his glasses and said:

"The court orders the father to pay R1,200 per month."

The R3,000 she complained about was gone. Just like that. Now she had a court order for R1,200.

New owners once Somalians are gone

Apparently, our brother carried this child from the very beginning. He paid for the pregnancy check-ups, bought the baby clothes, satisfied every craving, and stood by the mother when she needed support. When the baby arrived, he embraced the role of a father without hesitation, pouring his love, time, money, and energy into a child he believed was his own.

Now, after all those years of sacrifice, he has discovered a heartbreaking truth: the baby was never his. The woman he trusted allegedly lied to him from the start.

The money can never be refunded. The sleepless nights can never be returned. The emotional bond he built with that child can never simply be switched off. Some betrayals don't just break a man's heart ..they break a part of his soul.
Today we sympathise with our brother during this painful time. May he find strength, healing, and peace as he navigates a wound that no man should ever have to endure. 💔🙏🏾

As a taxi driver, you paid her fees, bought her data, and made sure she graduated.

Now she's got that qualification, my brother, prepare for flames. The woman you sponsored is about to explain why you're "not her type anymore."

She's not even smiling in the graduation photos. She's posing next to you like you're just another driver who dropped her off at the venue.

On your account You posted a family picture with her and the kid. While on her account She cropped you out and posted only herself and captioned it "MAMA I MADE IT" because she knows some of the sponsors will stop sending money once they see the full squad.

You funded the project, another man will enjoy the profits

Anyway congrats Abuti Mageza

Support my grandma’s winter business 😩