Who The Son Sets Free

"It's the Jele residence' annual social gala and we're all glitz and glam tonight", the news anchor spoke into the camera emphatically.

Mlamuli walked past her and sensed irritability rising.

He took a glass of wine off a silver tray that had grown legs, moving around the room in a black and white uniform. He recognized the glass as one from the set he'd helped his mother pick while his father mingled too closely with the cashier over a year ago. He placed the full glass on an empty table and looked on.

Mlamuli scanned the room with eyes hidden behind his classy raybans. He wanted to find his parents, and spotted them having a discussion with a woman he didn't expect them to allow entry tonight. His mother.

He walked on the lit stage and grabbed the microphone they'd placed on the idle drum set.

"Greetings everyone! Could you turn down the music DJ? Just eight minutes of your precious time, sir", Mlamuli spoke politely.

The room was extremely bright; with LED lights swooshing over everyone in narrow intervals. No two inches were left un-decorated and Mlamuli felt for the staff that was due to clean it all up in about eight hours. What a way to waste more money, he thought to himself and rolled his eyes.

"You all look so stunning! I hope all your children are fed and no one's robbed a bank to fit in here", he chuckled alone at that.

The room went silent when he said his greeting but silence had a peculiar sound of its own, and it grew louder by the second.

"My father, hi dad! He was supposed to tell everyone this years ago and honestly, I'm not too sure why he hasn't. It's okay though, I'll do it."

Mlamuli's mothers dropped their heads simultaneously as the young man continued.

"First of all, my parents are too good at all this", he waved his hand across the room.

"They don't really know how to be this good at real stuff. You know, honesty. Accountability. Integrity. I mean mom pretends not to notice how misogynistic her husband is and dad, he really thinks his money defines him. Anyway, I came up here to speak about something that actually matters", Mlamuli's tone was cold, as was his facial expression.

"There are children in Sudan, who could use the fur you're all wearing, for warmth and that buffet over that could go a looong way filling up their pelrecious bellies", he emphasized.

"I know I don't have a say in how you use your money, dad, but this is beyond vanity. I remember just last month, I asked you why we don't have any philanthropy activities and you got busy on your cell and walked away. Charming."

The theme for the evening was 'Gatsby's Back!', so attendees were literally dressed to kill in overly expensive fur coats and shimmering gowns. Men were mostly in black and white suits with apparent exceptions in purple or red ensembles.

Mlamuli was the eldest son in the family and had grown bored with the eccentric pleasantries that came with these gatherings. His father clearly had more money than he cared to know and his mother...let's just say she wasn't afraid to write the cheques.

Mlamuli's sisters were at the far end of the hall and he made sure they were within his radar as he spoke. He'd spent too much time reading about guests at events like this who then took advantage of the busyness and scouted vulnerable young women they could abuse in whichever way, then run-off.

His sisters were fifteen and seventeen and he loved them dearly, as if they were his own children. He watched them as he spoke and noticed they didn't look disappointed, but their expressions revealed confusion and worry - or something in between.

Two hours had lapsed since the party began and the crowd seemed to have settled into their preferred gossip cliques within the home when Mlamuli interrupted the setting. The crowd refused to move as he held the microphone firmly to his mouth.

"And oh! I think another problem with this whole thing is that I only learned last year that I have two mothers. Yeah! One bore me and the other pretended she did for twenty-five years. I know. Not shocking. People have done crazier things. I'm not upset about finding that out last year, I'm more vexed by my father's audacity to have hired my mother as a housemaid for decades and never told me. Now I understand why she paid attention to me so much whenever I had a cold or had to go to the hospital. Couldn't shake her motherly instincts", Mlamuli took a breath, wiped the sweat off his forehead and the tears on his cheeks.

He was tired and had done enough damage. His sisters were both staring at their father as his 'fake mom' ran out of the hall. He took a bow and dropped the microphone on the carpeted stage.

His sisters ran to embrace him as he headed to the main door. All three of them held on tightly, as if they were saying goodbye.

"I love you girls so much. I'm sorry, I just can't take all of this anymore. It's pathetic and dad thinks this world is his alone. He sickens me", he confessed softly to them.

The room was still silent but people were resuming conversation cautiously. His father had also left the hall and took most of the tension with him.

"I may have just thrown away my entire inheritance but maybe this will be good for you two. He'll move better since I'm sure he'll be trying to win his credibility back from tomorrow", his sisters were not longer looking at him when he turned his head to them.

His father stared him down.

"You've upset your mother", Mr. Jele raised his eyebrow.

"Which one?" Mlamuli responded, folding his arms.

The two men stood like opponents but Mlamuli cracked a smile and thought to himself; it hurts now but sets us free indefinitely.