Broken Chain

Chapter 17

Year four in Vosloorus started with a fridge.

Small. Second-hand. R1,800 from f*******:. I carried it home in a taxi with the driver cursing me all the way.

It barely fit in the kitchen corner. Hummed loud. But it was cold.

I put water bottles inside and watched them get cold. Then I took one out and drank it slow.

Cold water. In my room. From my fridge.

Luxury again.

R22,800 - R1,800. R21,000 in the safe. Code 1925.

Month fifty-one, the clinic made me permanent.

“Benefits,” supervisor said, sliding papers across the desk. “Medical aid. Pension. Leave days.”

I stared at the word “pension.” For old Nonhlanhla. Not 19-year-old Nonhlanhla waiting at gates.

I signed. “Nonhlanhla Mthembu.” Fast now. One second.

Salary went to R4,200.

Month fifty-two, Amahle got into a math competition. District level.

He came to my room with the letter. Hands shaking. “Aunty, they said I’m top 10 in Vosloorus.”

I hugged him. He smelled like school soap and pride.

“What do winners get?” I asked.

“A trophy,” he said. “And R500.”

I unlocked the safe. Took out R200. “For new shoes. Winners need shoes that fit.”

He tried to refuse. I made him take it. “Family invests in family.”

Month fifty-three, Thabo started Grade R. Same school as Amahle.

Uniform two sizes too big. Same as his brother five years ago.

I bought him a lunchbox. Blue, with cars. R120.

“Now you’re a scholar too,” I said, writing his name on it with marker.

He ran to school holding it like it was gold.

Month fifty-four, Gogo landlord from Katlehong visited.

She stood in my doorway with her handbag. Looked at the fridge. At the steel door. At the safe bolted down.

“You moved up,” she said. Not a question.

“I moved forward,” I said.

She nodded. Took out R100. Tucked it under the fridge. “For electricity. Steel doors use more light.”

I didn’t argue. Added R100 to the safe later. R21,100.

Month fifty-five, the safe got full.

Padlock from the first tin was still on my wrist. Loose bracelet now. I opened the safe and couldn’t close it without pushing.

R21,100 + R4,200 salary - R2,000 rent. R23,300.

Twenty three thousand.

I took the notes out. Spread them on the mattress. Like I did at 25.

But this time I didn’t lie down next to them. I sat cross-legged and counted slow.

Not to check if it was real. To remember how long it took.

Month fifty-six, the landlord knocked.

“I’m increasing rent,” he said. “R2,300 from next month. Sorry, sisi. Everything is expensive.”

R300 more.

I nodded. “Okay.”

Okay didn’t break me anymore. Okay was just math now.

R23,300 + R4,200 - R2,300. R25,200.

Still growing.

Month fifty-seven, Amahle won the competition.

Bronze medal. Small, cheap, shiny. He hung it on a nail above my steel door. Next to the white key he drew years ago.

“Now the door is a winner too,” he said.

Zanele cried when she saw it. “Both my boys are scholars because of you.”

“I just opened the door,” I said. “They walked through.”

Month fifty-eight, I turned 31.

No cake. No candle. I was tired of candles.

Instead I bought paint. White again. R200.

I painted the wall with Amahle’s medal. Painted around the medal. Around the white key. Around everything that mattered.

When it dried, the room looked new. Like me.

Month fifty-nine, I opened the safe and took out R6,000.

Deposit for a course. “Computer Skills Level 2.” Night classes. Twice a week.

Supervisor approved it. “You’ll be faster than me soon,” she joked.

R25,200 - R6,000. R19,200 left.

I sat in class the first night with girls 10 years younger. They typed with all fingers. I typed with two.

Teacher said, “Speed comes later. Accuracy first.”

I wrote that on my hand. Accuracy first.

Month sixty. Five years in Joburg.

I turned 32.

Amahle, Thabo and Zanele came with a cupcake again. One candle.

“Make a wish, aunty!” Thabo shouted.

I looked at the flame. Thought about wishes at 19. “Be loved.” “Be chosen.”

I blew it out.

“I wish for more accuracy,” I said.

They laughed. Zanele didn’t. She squeezed my hand.

After they left, I unlocked the safe.

R19,200 + R4,200 - R2,300 - class transport. R20,800.

Twenty thousand again. But different twenty thousand.

This twenty thousand had a fridge. Had a medal on the wall. Had a computer course receipt.

I locked the safe. 1925. Click.

Stood up. Turned the key in the steel door. Click.

The gate closed at 19. The door opened at 23. The door broke at 27. The door held at 29. The door got bigger at 30.

Now at 32, the door was just a door.

Not a symbol. Not a battle. Just wood and steel that kept wind out and let me in.

I was no longer the girl waiting at the gate.

I was the woman who owned the key.