Oyama: Her Story

CHAPTER 46

“What the fuck do I pay you for!!” Qhawe’s father shouts, “….Don’t fucking say, I don’t pay you, I made you the Mayor of Mhlonto, motherfucker I can have you out of office in a heartbeat…” we are all sitting in the main living room everyone is sitting looking anywhere, but each other, “Kwedini kwedini ungalingi undi’qhela kakubi, uyandeva diti uyandevana?(Boy don’t you dare try me, do you hear me)...I don’t give a fuck if they were sucking your dick while making the proposal, you don’t approve anything without my knowledge…” everyone gives a soft chuckle, “The shit borders my land of course it will affect me…” his father yells.
CRASH!!!
His phone flies over our heads and crashes over us hitting the wooden roof structure.
His father walks to the wooden rail, “YOU and YOU come with me” he says pointing at Mogale and Lwandle and walks down the indoor balcony, he walks back to us, “Why are you still sitting?!!!” he points to Qhawe.
“You didn’t call me” Qhawe replies.
“Get your ass in here!!!” his father shouts and storms off again.
Qhawe rises from his seat slowly, his movements deliberate, like a lion stretching before a hunt. His face is calm, almost unnervingly so, but the tension in his shoulders betrays the storm brewing underneath.
"Stay here," he mutters to me before following his father’s war path.
The room falls into a tense silence, the weight of the confrontation pressing down on everyone like a suffocating fog. Mogale exchanges a look with Lwandle before they both follow their patriarch out of the room.
I sit still, my hands clasped tightly in my lap, trying to process the chaos around me.
His mother clears her throat softly, breaking the silence.
“You’ll get used to it,” she says, her tone wry but not unkind.
She’s sitting across from me, her posture regal despite the commotion, "The shouting. The flying objects. That’s just how Kea operates."

"I don’t think, I’ll ever get used to people hurling phones like that,” I admit, managing a weak smile, “Was he really talking to the Mayor?”
His mother’s lips twitch into a faint smirk, her perfectly arched brows lifting slightly.
“Oh, he was definitely talking to the Mayor alright,” she says, leaning back into the plush armchair, “Kea believes in solving problems with... let’s say emphasis. Whether that means his words, his fists, or the nearest object he can throw.”
Her casual demeanor only makes the moment feel more surreal. I glance at the shattered remains of the phone on the floor, the tiny splinters of glass glinting under the chandelier lights. “And the Mayor just... lets him talk to him like that?”
Qhawe’s mother shrugs, crossing one leg over the other with an air of practiced indifference. “Let him? The Mayor owes Kea everything. He wouldn’t be sitting in that office if it weren’t for him. That’s how it works here, my dear. Loyalty isn’t optional. It’s demanded.” Her words send a shiver down my spine, though I’m careful to hide it.
This world of power plays and unspoken rules is still so foreign to me. Growing up, my parents had always taught me that respect was earned, not commanded through fear. But here, in this house, in this family, it seems fear and respect are intertwined so tightly that it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.
“I suppose you think Qhawe is different,” his mom says, her voice cutting into my thoughts.
I blink at her, startled, “What do you mean?” Qhawe has always been gentle, he’s only raised his voice once at me and that was when I decided to leave his Penthouse and went to my brother’s to vent.
She tilts her head, studying me with those sharp, calculating eyes, “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t believe that. But let me tell you something, Oyama. My son loves fiercely, yes, but he is still his father’s son. Don’t let his quiet demeanor fool you. He has Kea’s fire in him—he’s just better at controlling it. For now.”

Everyone is quiet and their father’s shouting have stopped, “Why is he so angry aren’t subdivisions and malls a good thing?” I ask, “Especially for a farmer”
Mazwi sits properly, “Oyama, why do you think, houses in Sandton cost more than houses in lets say, Gemiston”
“Because Sandton has companies” I guess.
“Exactly, you have fortune 500 companies, and CEO’s all concentrated in one area, the market value of the land skyrockets up” I nod, “When it goes up, that means property tax goes up” I nod, “Now imagine, if you took Sandton and brought it here, we have an estate of an Area of Three Hundred and Ninety-Five Thousand Acres, already we pay about what R10million a year in Property Tax, you build a Mall and a Subdivision. What happens?” Mazwi leans back in his seat, his sharp eyes fixed on me as he waits for my response.
I hesitate, trying to piece it together.
“The value of the land goes up,” I say slowly.
“And so does the property tax,” Mazwi finishes, nodding in approval, “Suddenly, we’re not paying ten million a year. It could jump to fifty, even a hundred million. And what does that mean for the farm?”
My stomach sinks as realization dawns, “You’d have to sell parts of it... or all of it,” I whisper.
“Exactly,” Mazwi says, his tone clipped, “Developers don’t just bring malls and houses. They bring taxes, regulations, and an influx of people who don’t understand the land, and don’t care about it. What’s a mall compared to losing everything we are building for generations?”