Ashes beneath the city

The Thieves of Time

Rain came down in fine needles, tapping against the tin roof like impatient fingers. Inside the shack, the air smelled of damp clothes and paraffin smoke. Luthando sat by the small table, writing something in a worn notebook — lines of thoughts, maybe prayers, maybe just fragments of what he couldn’t say aloud.

He had begun this habit after meeting Nandi. Somehow, words had become a quiet way to breathe. He wrote about his mother’s smile despite the pain, about Ayanda’s stubborn hope, about the city’s split soul — half gold, half hunger. Sometimes, it felt like the only thing that kept him sane.

He looked up when Ayanda entered, shaking water from her umbrella. “They posted my exam results at school,” she said breathlessly.

“And?”

“I passed! Even maths!”

He stood and hugged her, the first wide grin in weeks breaking across his face. “That’s my sister! You’ll be teaching those Sandton kids soon.”

She laughed, wiping rain from her cheeks. “Maybe one day. If I can afford to finish school.”

“You will,” he said, though his mind was already calculating costs he couldn’t yet meet — textbooks, uniforms, transport.

Then, as if summoned by worry itself, a voice called from outside: “Luuuu! My brother!”

Luthando froze, then smiled with surprise. “No way… Sizwe?”

He stepped outside to find a figure standing in the rain — tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a leather jacket too new for this side of town.

Sizwe grinned wide, teeth flashing. “Eh, you act like you’re seeing a ghost!”

“Feels like it! You disappeared, mfethu. No calls, no messages.”

“Ah, life, bro! I was in Springs, hustling. Now I’m back — and things are moving!”

They clasped hands, laughing and thumping each other’s backs. It felt good, familiar — like being young again before life had hardened their edges.

Sizwe’s eyes darted to the shack. “Still here, huh?”

“Yeah. Still here,” Luthando said simply.

“Come walk with me, man. Got things to show you.”

They walked through the narrow passages slick with rain, dodging puddles and children splashing barefoot. Sizwe talked nonstop — about new connections, quick cash, “business deals.”

“You remember Kabelo? He’s in this thing now — supplying copper cables to buyers in Germiston. We just pull from those old lines nobody uses. It’s easy money, bro. One night’s work, you eat for a month.”

Luthando frowned. “You mean stealing cables.”

Sizwe shrugged. “You say stealing, I say surviving. Eskom steals from us every day with load shedding. The politicians steal billions. Why must the poor die honest?”

Luthando stopped walking. “You know it’s dangerous. People get electrocuted, arrested. That’s not survival — that’s gambling.”

Sizwe sighed, lighting a cigarette. “You always were the moral one. But tell me this — how much do you have right now?”

“Enough.”

“Enough for rent next month? Enough for Ayanda’s school fees? For your mom’s medicine?”

Luthando’s silence was answer enough.

Sizwe placed a hand on his shoulder. “Look, it’s just one job. We hit a site tomorrow night. Quick in, quick out. You keep watch. I’ll make sure you get your cut — R2,000 easy. No one gets hurt.”

Luthando looked away, rain running down his face. “I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t think too long,” Sizwe said, exhaling smoke. “This city doesn’t reward good hearts.”

That night, Luthando couldn’t sleep. The rain had stopped, but his thoughts hadn’t. His mother’s soft coughing came from the other room. Ayanda murmured in her sleep, dreaming of something lighter.

He stared at the ceiling. R2,000. That was more than two weeks of hard labour. Enough to buy medicine, pay rent, maybe fix the leaking roof.

But what would it cost?

He imagined his mother’s face if she found out. Her faith in him was quiet but unbreakable. To betray it would mean losing more than freedom — it would mean losing himself.

Still, desperation whispered louder than reason.

The next day, he tried to distract himself by visiting the clinic. Nandi was there, organizing boxes of medical supplies. When she saw him, her smile came easily.

“Hey, Luthando. How’s your mom doing?”

“She’s a bit stronger,” he said. “Your medicine helped.”

“That’s good,” she said, relief soft in her eyes. “And you? You look… tired.”

He laughed weakly. “Tired is my permanent state.”

She tilted her head. “You’re worried about something. I can see it.”

He hesitated. “It’s just… sometimes, it feels like this city is a trap. Like no matter how straight you walk, the ground keeps shifting.”

Nandi leaned against the counter. “You’re not wrong. But walking straight isn’t about reaching the end — it’s about not letting the dirt turn you into it.”

He looked at her, her quiet conviction. For a moment, her words felt like an anchor.

That night, as darkness blanketed the township, Sizwe returned. “So, you in or out, bro?”

Luthando looked at the flickering candle beside him. His mother was asleep. Ayanda was doing homework. The world seemed so fragile, one decision away from breaking.

He took a deep breath. “I can’t, Sizwe. I’m sorry.”

Sizwe sighed deeply. “You’re wasting your loyalty on people who’d forget you tomorrow. But okay, my brother — stay broke if it makes you holy.”

He turned to leave, shaking his head. “Don’t say I didn’t offer you a way out.”

Two nights later, news spread fast through Alexandra: a group of men had been caught stealing cables near Marlboro. One was electrocuted; two others arrested.

Luthando didn’t need names — he knew.

At dawn, he walked to the police station. Through the bars, he saw Sizwe sitting on a bench, face bruised, eyes hollow.

“Luu,” he croaked. “You came.”

“I heard.”

“They got Kabelo. He’s gone, bro. Gone.”

Silence hung heavy between them.

“I told you to stay out of this,” Luthando said quietly.

Sizwe laughed bitterly. “And what difference did it make? We all end up in the same place — broke or buried.”

“No,” Luthando said firmly. “Some of us keep fighting, even when the fight looks stupid.”

Sizwe looked up at him, eyes red. “You’re a good man, Luu. Don’t let this city eat that out of you.”

When Luthando returned home, Ayanda was waiting. “Did you hear about Sizwe?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. I went to see him.”

She looked worried. “Will he be okay?”

“I don’t know,” he said softly. “But I hope so.”

That evening, he walked alone to the small bridge overlooking the Jukskei River — the murky water reflecting dim lights of the highway above. He leaned on the railing, wind cold against his face.

He thought about Sizwe, about the invisible lines people crossed when survival blurred into crime. He thought about Nandi’s words — don’t let the dirt turn you into it.

In the distance, the city skyline shimmered like an unreachable promise.

He whispered to the night,

“One day, I’ll make it out. But I’ll do it clean.”

And though no one heard him, the vow felt real — a quiet fire burning beneath the noise of the city.