I quickly learn that means the conversation is as plentiful as the food.
Naledi speaks of her late father. DK had already told me about Mandla Dlamini—his fierce activism during the Struggle in Gauteng and the risks he took fighting for liberation. But listening to Naledi and Gogo retell those stories feels entirely different. Their voices carry a musical cadence as they speak of the man who helped shape the foundation DK stands on.
“Mandla was a lion,” Gogo declares with love and pride, tapping her knuckles against the table. “He did not tolerateinjustice. And he passed that down.” She points a finger at DK. “This one followed him everywhere as a boy. He didn’t become a crusader, but he believes in taking care of people and doing what’s right.”
“I’m not in my grandfather's league,” DK says humbly. “I just run campaigns. Rayne is the one doing the real work.”
Angelo glances between us with a knowing look in his eyes. It’s both protective and perceptive. He understands the dangerous tightrope we’re walking—that by day we publicly battle each other, while privately, secretly, we have this.
“Rayne, where did your interest in politics come from?” Naledi asks before her next bite.
“I was born and raised in Bayside,” I say, feeling their collective attention—the curiosity reserved for the first woman DK has ever brought home. “My mother passed away when I was little, but my dad... he made sure I never lacked love. He’s a children’s book author. He writes stories with social messaging in a way that kids can grasp. He taught me that people matter more than things and that community counts. That if you believe in something, you fight for it.”
“A good father leaves a permanent mark on a daughter’s heart,” Naledi says with a spark of relatability in her eyes. “It takes courage to protect what matters.”
“I know Bayside has to grow to thrive. But paving over the waterfront isn’t the answer.”
Under the table, I find DK’s hand and gently squeeze it. “I recognize DK is trying to pull his candidate toward a more balanced center. That still doesn’t put us on the same side, but we both know who we are, and I trust his heart completely.”
“Bayside is lucky to have her fighting for it.” He lifts my hand and kisses the knuckles.
Naledi and Gogo smile with open delight.
“Looks good on you, bro.” A lazy grin spreads across Neo’s face. “Takes the heat off me.”
Gogo narrows her eyes at her grandson. “A man cannot play, play his entire life.”
“I like playing, Gogo.” Neo laughs, completely unfazed. “I don’t want to be locked down.”
“Locked?” Gogo sucks her teeth, instantly dismissing the excuse. “Marriage is not prison, Neo.”
He raises an eyebrow, not at all convinced.
Across the table, Angelo, who has been quiet until now, shrugs. “Personally, I’m a happy inmate.”
Naledi tosses her crumpled napkin at him, and the table erupts into laughter.
It feels normal. It feels like belonging. It feels easy to picture this as my future.
After dinner, cleaning is a family affair. Gogo appreciates that I’m just as meticulous about tidiness as she is. She watches me wipe down the final counter, a smile softening the lines around her mouth.
“The way a person treats the kitchen shows how they treat people. You have a clean heart, ntanami. Your father raised you well.”
Warmth blooms in my chest at both the compliment and her approval. Neo cuts and serves the birthday cake he brought, watching closely for Gogo’s reaction after her first bite. “A man who can pick a good cake should know how to pick a good woman.”
He brushes it off with his usual grin and a kiss to his grandmother’s cheek.
Settled in the living room, we sip Amarula over ice and launch into a raucous game of Lucky Nine. They teach me how to play, shouting and betting with leftover matchsticks. Later,when Naledi pulls out the family photo albums, DK’s protests are promptly ignored.
I flip through the pages, seeing all the stories I’ve heard come to life—DK with chubby cheeks and an expression far too serious for such a little boy.
We steal a moment alone under the excuse of taking the empty glasses to the kitchen. I wrap my arms around his waist and press my cheek against his chest.
“Your family is amazing,” I murmur. “They’ve made me feel so welcome.”
He kisses the top of my head, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “I told you they’d love you. Gogo doesn’t just let anyone make thephuthu pap. It’s basically a rite of passage.”
“I think she wanted to make sure I wouldn’t starve you.” I laugh, feeling happy, and tighten my arms around him.
