The Eight Hundred Rand Problem.
1452 Words
Episode 3: The Eight Hundred Rand Problem
Tuesday afternoon found Meshac standing at the entrance of the building where he worked, watching traffic move along the busy Cape Town street.
His mind wasn't on work.
It was on Lindiwe.
Since their coffee-shop meeting, he couldn't stop thinking about her smile, her voice, and the way she had looked at him when she admitted she liked him.
Then his phone vibrated.
Lindiwe: Meshac, are you busy?
He smiled.
Not really. What's wrong?
The typing dots appeared, disappeared, then appeared again.
Finally, she sent:
Can I call you?
Meshac's smile faded.
Yes.
His phone rang.
“Hello?”
There was silence.
“Lindi?”
“Hi.”
Her voice was unusually quiet.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You're crying.”
She said nothing.
Meshac stepped away from the entrance.
“Talk to me.”
Finally, she whispered, “My landlord came this morning.”
Meshac's stomach tightened.
“What did he say?”
“He says we have to pay eight hundred rand by Friday.”
“Eight hundred?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Friday.”
Meshac looked down.
Today was Tuesday.
“How much do you have?”
“Nothing.”
He closed his eyes.
He already knew what she was going to ask.
“Meshac... can you help me?”
He swallowed.
He wanted to say yes.
He wanted to tell her not to worry.
But the truth was simple.
He didn't have eight hundred rand.
“I don't have it, Lindi.”
Silence.
Then came the quietest response.
“Oh.”
That single word hurt.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I know.”
“I wish I could help.”
“I know.”
“I'll figure something out.”
“I have to go,” she said.
The call ended.
Meshac stared at his phone.
For several seconds, he couldn't move.
He had always believed that when a man loved someone, he should be able to protect and provide for her.
But what happened when he had the love and not the money?
The Advice
When Meshac arrived home, Mama Rose immediately noticed something was wrong.
“You're quiet.”
“I'm fine.”
“You're not.”
He sat at the kitchen table.
“Auntie?”
“Yes?”
“If someone you love needs money and you don't have it, what do you do?”
Mama Rose studied him.
“You tell them the truth.”
“What if the truth isn't enough?”
“You still tell the truth.”
Meshac looked down.
“What if they think less of you?”
She sighed.
“Meshac, your value isn't measured by the money in your pocket.”
He almost smiled.
His mother had once told him something similar.
Mama Rose continued.
“But remember something else. You cannot save everybody.”
Meshac remained silent.
“Help where you can,” she said. “But don't destroy yourself trying to prove you're a man.”
He nodded.
Her words made sense.
But they didn't remove the pain.
Because Lindiwe needed help.
And he couldn't give her enough.
Lindiwe's Problem
Across town, Lindiwe sat on her bed with her sister.
“What did Meshac say?” her sister asked.
“He doesn't have it.”
“I told you.”
Lindiwe looked up.
“Don't start.”
“I'm not starting anything. I'm just saying that liking someone doesn't pay rent.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Lindiwe looked away.
She knew her sister was right.
That was what made it hurt.
She liked Meshac because he was honest, kind, funny, and attentive.
But rent didn't care about those things.
Eight hundred rand was still eight hundred rand.
She looked at her phone.
Meshac's last message remained there:
I wish I could help.
“I don't want his money,” she whispered.
Her sister looked at her.
“Then what do you want?”
Lindiwe hesitated.
“I want him to be able to help me.”
Her sister said nothing.
Lindiwe wiped away a tear.
She didn't need a rich man.
She simply wished the man she loved had enough to stand beside her when life became difficult.
Wednesday
The next morning, Meshac counted the money in his wallet.
Forty-six rand.
He stared at it.
“How am I going to find eight hundred?”
At work, he approached his supervisor.
“Sir, is there any chance I can get another shift?”
“You already work six days.”
“I know.”
“You're studying too.”
“I can manage.”
The supervisor studied him.
“Why do you need it?”
“Personal problem.”
After a moment, the supervisor nodded.
“I can give you Saturday night.”
“Thank you.”
“It won't solve a big problem.”
“I know.”
“But it's something.”
Meshac nodded.
“Something is better than nothing.”
During lunch, he called Themba.
“Bro, I need to ask you something.”
Meshac explained everything.
When he finished, Themba sighed.
“I don't have eight hundred.”
“I know.”
“But I can give you two hundred.”
“No. Don't borrow money for me.”
“It's not for you.”
Meshac understood.
Still, he hesitated.
“I'll figure something out.”
That evening, his phone vibrated.
R200 received.
A message from Themba followed.
Don't argue. Use it.
Meshac stared at the screen.
Two hundred wasn't enough.
But it was something.
Friday Morning
Meshac arrived at Lindiwe's apartment holding the envelope.
She opened the door.
“No.”
“Take it.”
“Meshac, you need this.”
“I'll earn more.”
“You have school.”
“I'll manage.”
She shook her head.
“I don't want to become another problem in your life.”
“You're not a problem.”
“Then what am I?”
Meshac looked directly into her eyes.
“You're the woman I love.”
Lindiwe froze.
He hadn't planned to say it.
But the words were already out.
“You love me?”
“I think I have for a while.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I love you too.”
For a moment, the rent didn't matter.
Neither did the landlord.
Neither did the money.
Lindiwe took his hand.
“Thank you.”
“Don't thank me.”
“Why?”
“I haven't fixed anything.”
She smiled sadly.
“No.”
She looked at the envelope.
“But you remembered.”
Meshac didn't understand what she meant.
He kissed her forehead.
“I have to go to work.”
“Be careful.”
“I will.”
The Six Hundred Rand
That afternoon, the landlord returned.
Lindiwe handed him the two hundred rand.
He counted it.
Then shook his head.
“This isn't enough.”
“How much more?”
“Six hundred.”
“Please. Give us more time.”
“I've already given you time.”
Lindiwe's heart sank.
“Where are we supposed to go?”
“That isn't my problem.”
The door closed.
Lindiwe immediately called Meshac.
He answered.
“What happened?”
“He said two hundred isn't enough.”
“How much?”
“Six hundred.”
Meshac looked at his empty wallet.
“When?”
“Now.”
Then she whispered:
“They're telling us to leave.”
Meshac closed his eyes.
“I'll figure something out.”
He ended the call and stood motionless.
Six hundred rand.
He had nothing.
Then his phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
Are you Meshac Iyambe?
He frowned.
Another message appeared.
We need to talk about your mother.
Meshac froze.
His mother had been dead for years.
His hands began to shake.
Another message arrived.
There are things about her past you were never told.
Meshac stared at the screen.
Then typed:
Who are you?
The response came almost immediately.
Someone who knew your mother before she came to Cape Town.
Meshac's heart began pounding.
Another message appeared.
If you want to know the truth, meet me tonight. Come alone.
Meshac looked toward the road.
Lindiwe was facing eviction.
He needed six hundred rand.
And now, a stranger claiming to know his dead mother had appeared out of nowhere.
For years, Meshac believed he knew everything about his mother's past.
Maybe he was wrong.
He put his phone in his pocket.
Tonight, he would have to choose between chasing the money Lindiwe desperately needed...
And discovering the secret his mother had taken to her grave.
To be continued...
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