THE INCARCERATED STRANGER

 

Chapter 6

 

MANGALISO

 

He paces up and down in his room cell, his mind racing. He couldn’t sleep a wink last night after Miss Qwane told him she was threatened, and he knows it’s the same people who’ve been sabotaging things for him. There's a knock at the door, and he lets the person in. It’s the prison warden.

“Sir, you asked to see me?” the warden says, standing at attention.

“Yes, warden. I need you to bring me my phone. I need to make a few calls,” he replies, urgency in his voice. The warden nods.

“Is everything okay, sir?” he asks before he turns to leave the cell room.

“No, warden, nothing is okay. Go get my phone, and you can keep asking questions when you come back,” he snaps. The warden nods again and heads out.He hasn’t used his phone ever since he got to jail, but today is different. He has to reach out to people he trusts to keep his lawyer safe. That woman is his hope for getting out of this prison where he has stayed for three years and two months. As he waits, anxiety twists in his stomach; time feels like it stretches endlessly.

After a few minutes, the warden returns with his phone and hands it over. “Step outside,” he says, his tone firm. “We’ll talk after I make a few calls.” The warden nods and steps outside the cell, closing the door behind him.

He switches on the phone, feeling a flicker of hope as the familiar screen lights up. He quickly unlocks it, his fingers moving deftly over the screen as he navigates to the contacts app. His heart races while he scrolls through the list of names, searching for the numbers he needs—people he can trust with vital information.

As he scans the screen, memories of conversations and alliances flash through his mind. Each name represents a connection, a lifeline to the outside world. He finally finds the first number he’s looking for and takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what comes next. This is his chance to take control of his situation, and he can't afford to waste it.

 He taps on the first contact, the screen ringing with anticipation. The phone connects, and he hears the familiar sound of the call going through, each beep echoing in the silence of his cell. His heart pounds as he waits for someone to pick up.

“Come on, come on,” he murmurs under his breath, glancing toward the door as if expecting the warden to burst back in at any moment. Finally, a voice answers.

“Haw My long lost friend ,Mazibuko ”,the caller says .

 “I need your help. They’re coming for my lawyer, and I need you to make sure she’s safe.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and he can almost hear the wheels turning in the other person’s mind. 

“What do you mean? Who’s coming after her?”

He glances at the door again, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The same people who’ve been sabotaging everything for me. I can’t explain it all now, but I need you to trust me.”

“Okay, okay. What do you want me to do?” 

He quickly rattles off instructions, making sure to keep his voice steady as he outlines a plan to ensure his lawyer’s safety. After a tense few minutes of back-and-forth, they finalize a plan.

“Just keep an eye out and let me know if anything changes,” he says before hanging up. He feels a rush of relief but knows it’s just the beginning.

He scrolls through his contacts again, searching for another number—the second person he needs to reach. He dials quickly and waits for the call to connect once more. This time, he has to make sure they understand just how serious things are getting.

As he waits for someone to pick up, anxiety coils tighter in his chest. Each second feels like an eternity as he prepares himself for whatever comes next.

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RILEY

She’s already awake and finished preparing for work. With her work bags in tow, she heads to the living room and places them on the kitchen counter. Just as she sets everything down, her phone rings. She digs it out of one of the bags, glancing at the screen. Her expression shifts instantly, a mix of annoyance and resignation washing over her. 

Taking a deep breath, she answers the call.

 “Hello,” she says flatly.

“Iyona ndlela yobulisa uNyoko leyo, Ayakha Qwane?” Lulama, her mother, asks sharply, clearly unimpressed with her greeting. 

She rolls her eyes, fighting to keep calm despite the tension creeping in. 

“Molo Mama,” she greets again, trying to sound cheerful.

Lulama scoffs on the other end.

 “Ucinga ukbah sidla ntoni mungathumeli imali, Ayakha Qwane?” her mother presses, questioning what they think they’re eating if she doesn’t send money.

A familiar wave of frustration rises in her chest. She knows this conversation all too well—her mother’s expectations always looming large. 

“But I transferred you guys enough money last week, Mama,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Enough money? When you sent peanuts! What do you think your siblings eat when they go to school?” Lulama fires back, her tone sharp and accusatory.

“Khawuthumele noba u-6k. The kids need new school shoes,” Lulama insists. School shoes in the middle of the year? The ones bought in January have already torn!That can't be!

“6k is too much, Mama, and I—” But she doesn’t get to finish as Lulama cuts her off.

“Don’t tell me that nonsense! You have money, right? Aren't you a lawyer? There’s no way you don’t have 6k in your bank account. Unless you’re busy blessing your boyfriends there in JHB,” Lulama spits, her words laced with disdain.

She knows better than to respond; any argument will only lead to more hurtful comments from her mother. 

“Send that money now! Ndindaze ndiphambane!” Lulama says before hanging up.

Feeling tears prick at her eyes, she takes a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly to regain her composure. She logs into her banking app, reluctantly transferring 6k to her mother’s account. 

A message pings almost immediately: “What was hard? To do this instead of arguing with your mother!” she reads from Lulama. No thank you, just more demands—that’s Lulama Qwane for you!

She puts her phone back in the bag, feeling a heavy weight settle in her stomach. The appetite she had earlier is now gone. Grabbing her car keys, she heads out of the house, locking the door behind her. 

Once outside, she unlocks her car and places her work bags in the passenger seat before climbing in herself. She takes a moment to collect her thoughts, then starts the engine and drives off, making her way to the law firm.

As she pulls onto the road, she connects her phone to the car’s audio system, selecting the audiobook she didn’t finish listening to last night. The familiar voice fills the car, providing a brief distraction from the tension still lingering from her conversation with Lulama. She focuses on the story, hoping it will ease her mind as she navigates through traffic toward work.

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