Supper was ready.
By the time Tetu settled onto the floor, the entire family had gathered behind the faded curtain that divided the house into its two great territories: the sitting room and the bedroom.
Calling them territories was generous.
The entire house could be crossed in about six steps.
Eight if you were avoiding the bucket.
The curtain had once been white.
It had now developed a colour that could only be described as life experience.
On one side, the family slept.
On the other, they sat, ate, watched television and did everything else a family needed to do.
The bulb hung from a wire on the sitting-room side, its weak light struggling to reach the bedroom.
Behind the curtain, the darkness was softened only by the flicker of a small kerosene lamp.
Tetu’s younger brother sat beside it, bent over his exercise book, finishing his homework.
The lamp hissed quietly.
Every few seconds, he moved the book closer to the flame.
Not too close.
His mother had warned him enough times.
On the far side of the room stood ten yellow jerrycans.
All neatly stacked.
Five at the bottom.
Five above.
Tetu looked at them and smiled.
“Look at my plumbing system.”
His brother glanced up.
“You’re still calling that plumbing?”
“Of course.”
Their mother laughed.
It had started as a joke.
Then Tetu had actually built it.
He had poked small holes into the jerrycans and connected them with bits of plastic piping.
The arrangement wasn’t pretty.
It looked more like a science experiment that had escaped from a laboratory.
But it worked.
Together, the ten jerrycans held nearly two hundred litres of water.
“You only need to fill one,” Tetu explained proudly.
His father looked at the strange network.
“And how does that work?”
“Pressure.”
His father nodded slowly.
The sort of nod fathers give when they don’t completely understand something but don’t want their sons to know that.
Tetu continued.
“Fill the first one, the water moves through the pipes, and they all fill.”
His mother loved it.
For once, nobody had to keep carrying jerrycans around the house every time they needed water.
Even better, there was one small bottle connected to the system.
Open it, and the pressure pushed the water out.
It wasn’t elegant.
It wasn’t modern.
It definitely wasn’t something you would find in an architecture magazine.
But it worked.
And in that house, anything that worked was worth celebrating.
They ate.
The meal was simple.
Potatoes.
A little stew.
Enough for everyone.
Conversation moved around the room as naturally as the steam rising from the plates.
Tetu barely spoke.
His phone sat beside him.
He checked it.
Nothing.
He checked again.
Nothing.
His mother noticed.
She said nothing.
Yet mothers possess a strange surveillance system that requires neither cameras nor Wi-Fi.
She knew.
When supper ended, Tetu helped clear the plates.
Then he lifted the small wooden table from the centre of the room.
The table had spent years carrying meals, homework books, cups of tea and the occasional argument.
Now it was pushed against the wall.
His mattress came next.
He dragged it into the middle of the room.
One side had completely flattened with age.
It wasn’t really a mattress anymore.
It was a mattress with one side that had retired.
Tetu didn’t care.
He dropped onto it.
Phone in hand.
He waited.
The house slowly became quiet.
His younger brother finished his homework.
His father settled down.
His mother moved around the little kitchen area, putting things away.
Tetu stared at his phone.
Nothing.
He smiled at the memory of Lala.
Then checked again.
Nothing.
He put the phone on his chest.
Closed his eyes.
Opened them.
Checked again.
Nothing.
Eventually sleep began pulling him under.
And then…
BZZZT.
His phone vibrated.
Tetu shot upright.
He completely forgot where he was.
He leapt from the mattress like he had just received news of a national emergency.
His leg struck a cooking pot beside him.
CLANG!
The entire house shook.
His mother turned.
“Tetu!”
He froze.
His younger brother looked over.
His father lifted his head.
Tetu grabbed the phone.
The message was from Lala.
He opened it.
Thanks for an amazing day. Can you please come to my place tomorrow for a proper thank you?
He read it once.
Twice.
Then a third time.
His smile grew.
He had forgotten the pain of the journey.
Forgotten the bus.
Forgotten the walk.
Forgotten the twenty shillings.
He had even forgotten the pot currently sitting beside his leg.
There was only one problem.
Morning was many hours away.
And suddenly, time became his enemy.
He lay back down.
Checked the message.
Closed the phone.
Opened it again.
Read it.
Smiled.
Turned over.
Read it again.
His mother finally lost patience.
“Sleep!”
“I am sleeping.”
“You have been staring at that phone for twenty minutes.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Think tomorrow.”
He smiled into the darkness.
Tomorrow.
That word had never sounded so beautiful.
The night dragged.
Every minute seemed personally committed to frustrating him.
At some point, Tetu looked through the tiny holes in the iron sheets.
The stars were visible.
He imagined Lala looking at the same sky.
Then smiled at the ridiculousness of the thought.
Eventually, sleep came.
But dawn arrived before he was ready for it.
Or perhaps he had never really slept.
The first light entered through the holes in the mabati walls, drawing thin golden lines across the floor.
Tetu’s eyes opened.
He was already awake.
His father wasn’t.
That alone was historic.
His father, who could wake before the rooster and somehow make the rooster feel late, was still sleeping.
Tetu quietly grabbed a bucket.
Outside, the morning air was cool.
The bathroom stood at the far end of the compound.
Calling it a bathroom was another generous decision.
It was a small makeshift structure patched together with old iron sheets and plastic.
The family latrine was inside.
So was the shower.
A worn plastic sheet hung across one side for privacy.
An old metal tin had been placed over the toilet hole when someone needed to shower.
It wasn’t luxury.
It wasn’t even particularly comfortable.
But it was theirs.
Tetu hung his towel over his shoulder.
In one hand was a brown bar of soap.
It had been used so many times that it had become thin, sharp-edged and almost impossible to hold without dropping.
He washed quickly.
Today was not a day for lingering.
He had somewhere to be.
By the time he returned, the sun had climbed above the rooftops.
The neighbourhood was waking.
Roosters were already arguing with one another.
Children shouted.
Doors opened.
Someone nearby was sweeping dust from one patch of earth to another, which Tetu had always suspected was mostly an exercise in moving the dust around.
His mother was boiling water for tea.
She looked at him.
“Tetu.”
“Yes?”
“Go to Tatu’s and get some sugar.”
He grabbed the money.
Same path.
Same stones.
Same little stream.
Only today, he jumped across everything.
He returned moments later.
His mother looked at his face.
Then smiled.
“Hmm.”
Tetu stopped.
“What?”
“That face.”
“What face?”
“The exact face your father had about two decades ago.”
His father, now awake, appeared at the doorway.
Tetu pretended not to hear.
He poured himself tea.
Then looked at his mother.
“Ma, I need twenty shillings.”
His father stepped outside.
“You should work.”
His mother laughed.
“Give the young man a break. Surely you can see he has somewhere important to go.”
His father looked at Tetu.
Then at the unusually early hour.
“He woke before me.”
That was enough evidence.
His father walked back into the room.
His trousers lay folded on the bed.
He reached into the pocket.
Pulled out his wallet.
Opened it.
Inside was one thousand shillings.
He removed a note and held it out.
“Here.”
Tetu stared.
“Dad…”
“Take it.”
For a moment, Tetu didn’t move.
Then he jumped forward and hugged him.
His father stiffened.
Tetu squeezed harder.
The man eventually patted his back.
Once.
Twice.
“Enough.”
Tetu laughed.
His father pushed him away.
“Go before you become late.”
That was his father’s version of affection.
They had grown up with tough love.
Love wasn’t always spoken.
Sometimes it arrived as a thousand-shilling note pressed quietly into your hand.
Sometimes it was an extra spoonful of stew.
Sometimes it was a father pretending not to worry.
They were poor.
There was no disguising that.
The house was small.
Money was always carefully counted.
Water had its own engineering system.
The mattress had given up on one side.
But there was something inside those four walls that poverty had never managed to take.
Love.
And pride.
Tetu’s father was proud of his sons.
Both boys were bright.
Both worked hard.
Both had passed.
And Tetu, especially, had always stood out.
That scholarship to university hadn’t come by accident.
It had been earned.
His father had once told him,
“Study hard. One day you will take us out of here.”
Tetu believed him.
Maybe because his father believed it first.
By the time breakfast was finished, Tetu was ready.
He had found an old bottle of perfume buried somewhere in the house.
There wasn’t much left.
He tilted it.
Shook it.
Tilted it again.
One small drop.
Enough.
He rubbed it between his palms and carefully patted it onto his shirt.
The bottle itself had started developing rust.
But Tetu didn’t care.
Today, he was going somewhere.
Somewhere important.
He checked himself one last time in the cracked mirror.
Straightened his shirt.
Adjusted his collar.
Then stepped outside.
Back at the bus stop, he asked for directions to Palm Estate.
He tried to sound casual.
As though he had been there before.
As though he regularly visited neighbourhoods where houses had gates bigger than his entire home.
The journey took him deeper into a different world.
The change happened gradually.
The roads became smoother.
The dust disappeared.
The walls became taller.
Then taller still.
Massive homes appeared behind enormous gates.
Lawns were trimmed so perfectly they looked artificial.
Trees stood where rubbish heaps usually stood.
Cars sat in driveways.
Not one.
Sometimes three.
Tetu stared through the window.
“My God,” he whispered.
One house had a fountain.
A fountain.
People were paying money for water to come out of a hole while his family had ten yellow jerrycans connected by pipes.
He shook his head.
The bus continued.
Then finally came the sign.
99 Street, Palm Estate.
A small golden plaque hung at the junction.
Tetu stepped down.
He looked around.
Quiet.
Clean.
Expensive.
He started walking.
Lala had mentioned the location casually the previous day.
She had also mentioned something else.
The pomegranate tree.
You’ll see it at the gate.
So Tetu walked.
And walked.
And kept walking.
He counted houses.
Eighty-two.
Eighty-four.
Eighty-six.
He began to realise something.
This was not a neighbourhood designed for walking.
It was designed for cars.
His little trip from the junction had become several minutes.
“Wow,” he muttered.
“It’s quite far.”
Finally, he saw it.
88 Block.
And beside the gate stood the tree.
Pomegranate.
Large.
Beautiful.
Its branches stretched over the wall, heavy with green leaves.
Tetu stopped.
He knew immediately.
Two enormous gates stood ahead.
The grass outside was perfectly trimmed.
The driveway was paved on both sides.
There wasn’t a single plastic bottle.
Not one.
Tetu looked down at his shoes.
Then back at the gate.
A small golden bell sat beside it.
He pressed it.
Nothing happened.
He pressed it again.
Then again.
Then again.
At this point, Tetu had stopped ringing the bell and had started composing a song.
“Maybe this thing needs”
A voice suddenly came through the intercom.
“Tetu?”
He froze.
His eyes widened.
He looked up.
Down.
Left.
Right.
Nobody.
He looked at the intercom.
“How does it know my name?”
Before he could answer himself, the massive gate began sliding slowly to one side.
And Tetu forgot how to breathe.
Behind it stood a house.
No.
A mansion.
It was enormous.
White walls.
Tall windows.
Perfect gardens.
Two massive pillars framing the main entrance.
The place looked less like a home and more like a hotel where Tetu would be afraid to touch anything.
And there, standing beneath the pillars…
Was Lala.
She was smiling.
Tetu’s face opened into the widest grin of his life.
His cheeks actually hurt.
She waved.
He walked forward.
Slowly.
Trying desperately to remember that his shoes were not supposed to be trembling.
When he reached her, he looked past her at the mansion.
Then back at her.
“Well, hello there, beautiful.”
Lala blushed.
Tetu pointed behind her.
“Is this a hotel?”
She laughed.
“Come inside.”
He lowered his voice.
“Or are you trying to kidnap me?”
She shook her head, still smiling.
“No.”
She stepped aside.
“Let’s go in.”
Tetu looked once more at the enormous house.
Then at Lala.
He took a breath.
And walked through the gate.