Breaking the hierarchy of who gets the best piece of chicken is a crime eKasi. It was Sunday afternoon, and wifey’s famous roast chicken filled the house with an aroma so rich it could make a vegetarian reconsider life choices. The pap was steaming, the chakalaka was fiery, and the gemmer was colder than a Soweto winter morning. It was the perfect Sunday lunch.
Except for one small problem.
Katlego had invited his in-laws.
Now, normally, Katlego was the undisputed Minister of Chicken Distribution in his house. The Shaka Zulu of poultry politics. The John Wick of drumstick allocations. The drumstick belonged to him—by law, by tradition, by divine appointment.
But today, there was an unexpected plot twist.
Bra Mike, his father-in-law, sat at the head of the table, his arms folded, his expression serious. This man was the Advocate Barry Roux of chicken negotiations—strategic, experienced, and stylish in his brown leather jacket.
Wifey, caught in the middle like an underpaid Uzalo extra, nervously held the tongs.
The moment arrived. The chicken platter was placed in the center, golden and glistening like the trophy in Idols SA.
Katlego reached out, slow and deliberate, and grabbed the drumstick.
Silence.
A few houses away, someone was blasting Brenda Fassie’s Weekend Special, but in this house, it was high levels of tension. The tension was higher than a nyaope boy after a fix.
Bra Mike’s eyes narrowed. Katlego met his gaze.
A stare-off.
Tshepo, Katlego’s younger brother, held his breath. Junior, his son, put down his juice box. Even Mama Mavis, who had been stirring her tea, stopped mid-stir.
Seconds felt like hours.
“You know,” Bra Mike finally said, his voice smooth as a Metro FM Love Movement DJ, “back in my day, respect meant giving the best piece to the elders.”
Katlego took a slow, exaggerated bite of the drumstick.
“Mmm,” he said dramatically. “And yet, here we are.”
Bra Mike chuckled, shaking his head. “Yho, these new-age men. No respect.”
“Ah, Bra Mike,” Katlego said, wiping his mouth theatrically. “These days, people don’t even want chicken with bones anymore. Boneless chicken! What kind of nonsense is that? A chicken must be a chicken!”
“Amen!” Mama Mavis clapped.
Wifey, desperate to change the subject, sighed and said, “Daddy, please pass the chakalaka.”
Both Katlego and Bra Mike reached for the bowl at the same time.
They froze. Looked at each other. Then at Wifey.
Bra Mike frowned. “Who are you talking to?”
Wifey smirked. “Not you, Dzaddy,” she said, winking at Katlego.
Tshepo choked on his coleslaw. Junior made a face like he had just witnessed a crime. Mama Mavis sighed so hard, the curtains moved.
Bra Mike put down the chakalaka bowl. “Yoh. I did not come here for this disrespect.”
Katlego cleared his throat and sat up straighter, adjusting his imaginary crown. “That’s right. Some of us are the main characters here. Sterring!”
Mama Mavis finally spoke. “Mxm, men and their nonsense. Give the drumstick to the boy, finish and klaar.”
Wifey, relieved, plopped the drumstick onto Junior’s plate. The boy grinned, took a big bite, and declared, “This is the best Sunday ever!”
Bra Mike and Katlego sulked in silence.
“Next time,” Bra Mike muttered, “I’ll bring my own chicken.”
“Next time,” Katlego muttered, “I’ll cook before you arrive.”
And so, peace was restored—until the next Sunday lunch, when a new battle would begin.
[End]
Welcome to South Africa – Jou Ma Se Boek
Welcome to South Africa – Jou Ma se Boek includes an A4 book, with an enamel cup, packaged in a premium box. It’s a coffee table book that details the extraordinary life of an ordinary South African. Personal deliveries (JHB, PTA, Midrand) will include the shopping bag.
326 in stock (can be backordered)
