ZWELIBANZI - THE TAXI DRIVER

CHAPTER 05

ZWELIBANZI

After those hectic hours ,am now parking at the spot where Nomtha usually comes ,I don't fetch the school kids ,I only get them to school in the morning that too if Thulani is not available , I can't smile everyday infront of the kids and tolerate all their needs and wants like am a producer ,Angeke kulunge ,As am sitting she comes from the back ,I turn around to look at her from the mirror , She's beautiful ,am just complimenting her ,I would never even think of doing something with her ,I have never been with a woman before ,A whole grown ass man of 25 years but still nex ,Not that I can't get a girl ,Am just too lazy for it already am invested in my 2 Angels at home ,I wouldn't wanna put a 1 and 3 all in my daily life ,Ngiyindoda engasthandi iscefe nomsindo wangenhloso ,ngoba angsenandaba nobumnandi bakhona ,ngphilela sona istarring usuku nosuku ....

"Zweli "she says calmly as am deep in thoughts , earning my full attention

"Nomtha " I say in a husky ,low voice

She smiles at me ,Oh Lord am ready on putting one and a 3

"Am tired "she says pouting ,I look away I didn't want her to see the grin on my face ,before I could even turn away I feel her head right on my chest, I don't know why did she get comfortable like that ,I just let her be and wrap my big muscle arms around her ,I hold her tight ,as her head is titled near my chin ,We stayed like that for a few minutes , listening to the sounds of our heartbeats ,deep down something told me I had to make her mine sooner ,but I couldn't bring myself to it ,

"Zweli " ,

That voice again ,I wouldn't mind waking up everyday knowing am now working for her too ,It feels more like a responsibility and duty I look beyond that , doing it with love ,then I'll never have to work a day in my life

"Zweli"

She says now pulling away from me ,I didn't realise I had so much occupied in my mind that I forgot am still here with her

"Ngyaxolisa Nomtha ,bengcabanga "

I say ,my voice still husky

She looks me at me with a suspicious look

"Were you thinking about another woman ?" She ask completely drawing me apart

"Yes I was "

I say dismissing her ,I didn't see it coming because she just got off the taxi and went out without saying anything ,Yes that's my type , thankfully she didn't shout at me ,I really hate being shouted , No one shouts at me not even my Aunty and even my parents never dared to shout at me ,So on whose life would I ever give them that privilege ,Yes I was thinking about another woman ,A woman whom I have generated in my mind a woman who i see my life with her ,I was thinking about her ,As I was thinking a call disturb me No warning ,just the buzz in my pocket. Noma had only just slid out of the taxi, back turned, that small smile still warming the air, when the phone lit up. I fished it out with the same hand that still smelled of her perfume and saw an unknown number. My thumb hesitated for a beat ,I had strictly prohibited everyone into calling me when it's not an emergency , except for my little sister and Aunty but

then I answered.

“Hello?”

Silence. Then a voice, thin and shaking ,

“Driver Zwelibanzi? Please… it’s about Nomthawelanga Mbulazi. They’ve taken her.”

For a second the city sounds folded in on themselves ,horns stopped, engines faded, everything narrowed to that one sentence. My chest went cold in a way that had nothing to do with my usual armor.

“Who is this?”

I asked, my voice flat, trying to keep it steady. Tsotsi taal leaked out before I could stop it.

“Ndoda khuluma angnalanga lonke”

“Please ,please, they called me. They said if anyone follows, they’ll… they’ll kill her. They took her in a white Corolla, registration ends with 32. They left her bag on the pavement outside the coffee stall on Mthatha Street. There’s blood ,she tried to get away.”

The voice broke.

“They said: ‘Tell Zwelibanzi we have the Mbulazi. No police.’”

My hand dug into the wheel as if it were a lifeline. Images spun ,Nomtha smiling in the passenger seat, the tilt of her head, her heartbeat on my chest , The cold mask was gone, stripped by something raw and sharp.

“Stay put,”

I said, more to myself than to the caller.

“Where are you now?”

They gave me a corner, a stall name, trembling directions. I slammed the taxi into gear. The streets blurred ,my city, always noisy, suddenly a maze with one exit: find her.

On the drive I muttered , low and fast

"Awuthathi okungokwami and gets to tell the tale”

I darted through gaps between taxis, feeling the old, practiced calm take over: eyes on the mirrors, mind cataloguing exits, hand on the door latch. But underneath the tactics, something else roiled ,anger, fear, a promise I hadn’t known I’d made: not on my watch.

At the coffee stall they pointed me to the pavement. Her bag lay there ,strap torn, contents spilled. A smear of blood on the hem of a textbook. My heart beat like a warning drum. Someone nearby ,an old woman ,clutched her shawl and said, “They were two men. Fast car. He had a tattoo on his wrist, like a thorn.”

I crouched and found a scrap of paper under the strap ,half a receipt, part of a name scrawled: MBU ,then a number. My fingers trembled as I folded it into my palm. That “MBU” hit me oddly, not just because it matched her name. It made my chest tighten with a memory I’d shoved down years ago: whispers, a name at my parents’ funeral, a man who had mattered and gone dark. My mind scrambled ,coincidence, or something pulled from my past like a thread?

Before I could think it through, the white Corolla slid into view, parked two streets down. My gut told me to call the cops. My mouth said nothing ,Noma’s phone line had made it clear: no police. The city’s rules were different when the law had no teeth and the street had its own.

I watched the car, every muscle coiled. A figure moved near the trunk ,one of the men. He had a tattoo on his wrist that looked like a thorn. Old woman’s words. My hands went cold and hot at once.

“Ja, bru,”

I said to no one, switching to Tsotsi taal under my breath,

“today we don’t play by regular rules. Nomtha’s not just a fare.”

I started the taxi and eased forward, keeping the engine low. If they’d taken her, we could set a trap ,watch the car, trace where they’d drive, wait for a mistake. Or we could charge in blind and risk making it worse.

As I sat there, heart thumping like a drum in a church, a thought pushed up from the back of my skull ,one I had hoped to leave buried: the Mbulazi name, the thorn tattoo, men in white Corollas ,faces from a past I’d run from after my parents died. Men who did favors, collected debts, erased people. If they were involved with Noma, this wasn’t random. This would pull me into things I’d promised myself I’d never touch again.

I thumbed the scrap of paper, memorized the half-number, and made a choice without debating it. No police call. No waiting. I’d move quiet, use what I knew of the streets and the language they spoke ,tsotsi, spitori, the look of men who hide terror under bravado. I would find her myself.

I pulled away from the curb and melted into the traffic, steering toward the white Corolla. As I drove, I felt something that surprised me: a hot, dangerous kind of hope. It wasn’t soft. It didn’t make me laugh. It made me sharp. It made me a man willing to break rules, burn bridges, and uncover secrets if that’s what it took to get her back.

The city closed around me like a trap and, for the first time since the funeral that had hardened me, I understood that this night would change everything.

I followed the white Corolla into the heart of the city, weaving through side streets until it disappeared into a warehouse yard near the old railway line. My chest burned with rage, but my head stayed cool. This was not the kind of place you just storm into without knowing who ran it.

I parked the taxi two streets away and walked the rest on foot. The warehouse loomed like a dead beast, windows broken, graffiti crawling across the walls. I recognized the tags immediately ,symbols from a crew I’d heard of when I was a kid. The Thorn Boys.

My heart sank.

They weren’t just any crew. They were the same men my father had clashed with back in the day, before his death. My father ,Mshengu Dlamini ,had run with dangerous people, made deals, pulled triggers, and left enemies behind like shadows. When he and Ma died, Auntie never spoke of it, but whispers said the Thorn Boys had never forgotten their debts.

A deep voice cracked the silence ,

“Sho, mfana… thought I recognized that face.”

I turned slowly. Out of the shadows stepped three men ,hard faces, cold eyes, tattoos of thorns winding up their arms. The leader, a broad man with a scar running down his cheek, smirked. His name came back to me like a slap , Madoda “Thorn” Khumalo.

“Zwelibanzi,” he said, tasting the name like old wine.

“Son of Mshengu. Haibo… look at you, hey. Driving taxis while your father’s ghosts still roam the city.”

I just stand tall with my hands in my pockets remaining calm as much as possible .

“What do you want?”

I said calmly but stern

He laughed, spitting to the side. “It’s not about what I want, mfana. It’s about the sins of your old man. He crossed us ,stole from us, left blood on our hands. And now…”

He leaned closer, breath heavy with cigarettes and old beer.

“…we take what’s yours. That girl, Nomthawelanga .Sweet thing. Shame if she’s just the beginning.”

Something cold and sharp slid into me.

“Ungayithinti futhi,” I growled in , my voice shaking with rage

“Uma wenza kanjalo… uzongibona ngiyindodana kaMshengu ngempela.”

(“Don’t touch her again. If you do… you’ll see I truly am my father’s son.”)

“Yebo… that’s the fire I was waiting for. Your old man thought he could run, but blood doesn’t run, mfana. It follows.”

Madoda's eyes light in amusement

The men behind him chuckled darkly, their tattoos twisting in the dim light. One of them muttered

“Ja bru, ekse apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

I stepped forward, eyes locked on Madoda.

“Mamela ke ,ityme lami has long kissed his last breath here on Earth . Whatever war you had with him, it’s buried. But if you touch Noma, if you pull me into your game… I’ll end it myself.”

The laughter died down, replaced by silence thick enough to choke on. Madoda’s smirk faded into something harder.

“We’ll see, mfana. Streets always collect their debts.”

Then, like smoke, they melted back into the warehouse, leaving me standing there, heart hammering, the past clawing its way into my present.

For the first time since I was a child, I realized my father’s ghosts weren’t just stories. They were alive, breathing, armed, and dragging me into a war I never asked for. And Noma ,sweet, innocent Noma ,was now tangled in it too.

I turned back toward the taxi, muttering in under my breath ,

“ Ekse, it’s not just about driving anymore. It’s survival. Family. Blood.”