I was standing at the gate like I always did now — one hand on the pillar, the other hanging loose at my side.
Waiting. Watching. Thinking.
Uncle Sibusiso came walking down the road, acting normal, hands in his pockets like a man with a clear conscience.
“I want to talk,” I said.
He stopped, raised his eyebrows as if I was the one confusing him.
“What’s going on at home?”
He pulled out a cigarette from his pocket — slow, too slow — like he needed the smoke to cover his guilt.
“What do you mean?” he said, lighting it.
I swallowed hard, trying to control the shake in my hand.
“Come on, Uncle… You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
He took a long drag of the cigarette, exhaled, eyes on the ground.
“You know I stay in the back room,” he said casually.
“About everything else? Ask
