Oyama: Her Story

CHAPTER 70

It starts raining as I’m parked outside in the middle of her street. The rain drops tap on the windscreen breaking the silence, I am suffering from I look at her number. Hai man Kea, tlogela go ba ligwala. I tap on her number and bring it to my ear.
“Hello” she answers.
“I’m outside” I hang up.
I sit my phone pressed on my forehead. I lean back into my chair. How do I even start this? I mean maybe the Dunked Wings I brought will ease the tension a bit, but who knows. I don’t know why but a part of me is praying she doesn’t come out and I can just move on and do what I do best, which is make money and moves.
The side gate to her place opens, I sit up and she walks closer, she’s wearing a pink gown, with the hoodie on.
I reach across and unlock the door and push it open, she gets in and sits down.
I look at her, I don’t even know what to say. What do I even say?
“Park inside” she says.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Kea this is a middle class white neighborhood, they see a car parked in one area for too long they call the cops” she says.
I chuckle and switch on the car.
I pull into the gate and wait for it to open, it opens and I drive through, “What number do I park at?” I ask.
“Number 7” she says and I do so, I park in reverse.
“I got you dunked wings” I say.
She chuckles and smiles, “Thank you” she says and steps out.
I step out too, I don’t know if I should bring the bag with my clothes or not. Maybe she doesn’t want to spend the week anymore, which I’d be fine with, but I can’t take all this silence.
“Did you bring your bag?” she asks.
I nod, “Can I still spend the week?” I ask.
She nods.
I nod and finally take proper breath.

I open the back and pull out my side bag and close the door and lock the door. I follow her walking behind her as she holds the KFC bag.
We stop at the 7th house, there’s 10 units it seems. She opens the door and we walk in, I wipe my feet on the mat before stepping in. The warmth of the house contrasts sharply with the cold rain outside. I pause just inside the doorway, unsure of what to do next. The space feels lived-in but tidy—soft beige walls, a few framed pictures on the shelves, and the faint scent of vanilla hanging in the air.
She walks to the kitchen, placing the KFC bag on the counter. Her movements are quiet and deliberate, and I can’t help but feel like I’m intruding.
She walks out the kitchen and holds her hands out, “Let me take that upstairs” she says, I hand her the bag and takes it upstairs. I stand there and walk closer into the living room, with brown suede couches, the TV is on, she’s watching, ‘The Walking Dead’.
I look up when I hear her steps coming down the stairs. She falls onto the couch and sits on her leg.
I guess that’s my cue to sit down as well. I reluctantly sit down and take another deep breath, I sit my phone and car keys down on the glass coffee table.
“I’m sorry” I start moving my tongue around the front of my mouth, “I wasn’t thinking, I knew you were writing, and I should’ve thought about that before I let him get underneath my skin” I turn to look at, she has her braids undone loosely hanging.
“I should be apologizing” she says, I look at her, “It was my fault, after you told me what happened with Tirelo…”
“Who’s that?” I ask.
“My Ex”
OH.
“I told Reneilwe, so she could talk to him, because its creepy and weird, he has a girlfriend, I didn’t know” she says.

“Why did you even tell Reneilwe?” I ask calmly.
“Because, I wanted to handle it, I didn’t want you getting involved in my messes” she says.
I look at her, “Woman, I’m your man, its my duty as your man, to handle situations for you” I say, “I told you so I could identify the nigga, I didn’t tell you, so you could tell Reneilwe and have her ‘talk’ to her brother”
She nods slowly, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, "You’re right. I should’ve told you. I’m sorry." Her apology is soft but genuine, and it chips away at the tension between us.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, "Look," I say, keeping my voice steady, "I’m not mad about you talking to Reneilwe. I get it—you were trying to handle it your way. I’m just mad that this guy, Tirelo, thought he could try and jump me, where is the honor in waiting for a man around a corner”
She tilts her head slightly, watching me, "So you’re not mad at me?" I shake my head.
"I was frustrated, but no, I’m not mad at you.” I grab her face, she grabs my hand, “There’s nothing you can do, that can make me mad at you” she smiles, “Unless you take food off my plate then we gonna have a problem” I smile.
Her laughter is soft, like the rain still pattering against the windows.