Oyama: Her Story

CHAPTER 21

Its been a few days after I met his entire family and I must say, they are really something. On Saturday their father was seen on TV doing an interview for their company Kolobe Enterprise, speaking about their new venture into chicken farming.
I know they are a crime family, but damn they have a lot of legitimate companies, the ones I know, the hotels, the clubs, the art galleries, trucks, taxi’s and Platinum Mine. What kind of Crimes they do? I don’t know, but they are really a normal family. I mean when we came home to his Penthouse for the weekend, we just sat on the couch and watched Futurama and other Adult Cartoons.
He’s actually a nerd, more than what he lets on. Oh AND, AND, HE WEARS GLASSES TOO. AHHHHHHH.
He’s so handsome with his glasses.
His dads interview was so interesting though, “I mean Mr. Mahlatji, I must ask. How Greedy? Mh, now you are opening a Chicken Ranch, when you own roundabout, Three Hundred and Ninety Thousand Acres for farming and ranching, Livestock, now you want chickens”
“Firstly, my family owns the Ranch, not me” Mr. Mahlatji says.
“Well you, are the head of one of the most influential clans in South Africa” says the Reporter.
“And there are members in that clan, my brothers, my wife, my children, I’m not alone” he replied.
“Still doesn’t change the fact, that you are one of the largest Private land owners in South Africa, the deed is in your name” says the reporter.
“The deed is in my Trust” says his father.
“Which you are a beneficiary of” says the reporter.
“Shit” whispers Qhawe.
“What?” I ask.
“Dad doesn’t like talking about the Ranch” he says.
“Why?” I ask.
He keeps quiet and leans forward turning the volume up.
“You own land larger than, the Royal Bafokeng Nation” says the Interviewer, “And that’s about Three Hundred Thousand acres, and you own more than that. The Bafokeng Royal family have even been called, ‘The Richest Tribe in Africa.’”
“Shit. Shit, don’t lose it dad” he whispers, I look at the Television and his father is clenching his jaw.
“It should be illegal for one man to own all that land. The land a size of a Kingdom” says the interviewer, “And, you are no King, Mr. Mahlatji.” she points at him, purposely.

I glance at Qhawe, who is now gripping the edge of the couch, his knuckles white. The air around him feels charged, as if he’s waiting for the inevitable storm. On the screen, his father, Mr. Mahlatji, exhales through his nose, visibly steadying himself. His expression, though calm, is sharp enough to cut through the tension.
“Land is not a privilege,” he says evenly, his voice a blend of authority and restraint, “It’s a responsibility. I don’t own this land the way you’re implying. My family is its steward. We use it to feed people, create jobs, and build a future. If that’s greed, then I’d like to see more greedy people doing the same.”
The interviewer leans forward, clearly not backing down, “But surely, Mr. Mahlatji, there’s a point where this kind of wealth becomes unmanageable. Critics argue that your family wields disproportionate power in this country, with influence spanning sectors like mining, transport, and now even agriculture. How do you respond to accusations that this much control stifles competition?”
“Control?” Mr. Mahlatji repeats, raising an eyebrow, “I see my family working long hours to ensure that our enterprises contribute positively to this nation. We pay taxes. We employ thousands. We invest in schools, infrastructure, and healthcare in rural communities. Tell me, what have these critics done for South Africa lately?”
Qhawe lets out a low whistle, “That’s right old man. Keep answering like that, and you might make a damn good, Politician” he mutters, a flicker of pride breaking through his earlier tension. I look at him. Is his father going into Politics?
I’m about to ask him more about the interview when the reporter, undeterred, presses on. “And yet, rumors persist that the Kolobe clan’s influence extends even beyond legitimate businesses. Some have even suggested ties to... less-than-legal operations.”
There it is. The bombshell question.
On the screen, the camera zooms, Mr. Mahlatji’s jaw tightens ever so slightly, but his voice remains steady, “Rumors are a currency for those who can’t afford facts. My family has always been transparent in our dealings. If there’s proof of wrongdoing, I’d be very interested to see it.”
The interviewer smirks, clearly relishing the moment, “But where there’s smoke, Mr. Mahlatji, there’s usually fire.”
“And where there’s ambition,” Mr. Mahlatji retorts, “There’s often Envy, Lust. Are we done here?”
The sudden end of the interview catches the host off guard, and they scramble to transition to a commercial break.
Meanwhile, Qhawe reaches for the remote, switching off the TV.
“Well, that was... something,” I say, unsure how to break the silence that follows.
Qhawe leans back, running a hand through his hair, “Something, yeah. Dad’s usually better at keeping his cool, but the ranch—it’s a sore spot.”
“Why?” I press, curiosity gnawing at me.
He hesitates for a moment, his gaze distant, “It’s not just land to him. It’s legacy, pride... and a constant reminder of what they’ve had to do to keep it.”
The weight of his words settles between us. I don’t push further, sensing this is one of those moments where silence speaks louder than questions.
Instead, I shift closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder, “You know,” I say softly, “For a guy whose family owns, like, half of South Africa, you’re awfully normal.”
That earns me a laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing, “Yeah? Well, don’t let the glasses and American Dad marathons fool you. I’m still trouble.” he smirks.
“Clearly,” I tease, nudging him playfully, “But you’re my kind of trouble.”
I leaned into him, feeling his warmth and the strength in his arms. It was comforting, but at the same time, there was something unsettling about the way he kept those parts of his life hidden. Like a door that I wasn’t allowed to open.