It is summer in the global North and winter in the global South. Reason enough to bring summer and winter together in August's Literatur.Review and publish previously untranslated or unpublished stories from the North and South of our world.

(1) Ndebele: "As a matter of fact", "actually" or "really" 

"Zwana, my guy, kahle kahle (1) this life no balance—you really only get one try." Themba’s voice carried the weight of experience, tinged with regret as he spoke to his younger cousin Sipho. They sat outside their grandmother’s modest house in Nkayi, the familiar scent of wood smoke hanging in the air as the sun dipped below the horizon.
Sipho, still nursing his cup of sweet tea, chuckled lightly. “Hayi, Themba, what’s this now? You’re sounding like one of those uncles at the family gatherings, full of big advice and sad stories.”
Themba shot him a quick grin. “Big advice and sad stories, huh? Maybe that’s because I’ve seen some things, boy. Life is tricky. You think you’ve got it figured out, and then—bam—it flips on you like a bad market day.”
“You sound serious,” Sipho replied, setting his cup down. “Okay, out with it. What happened?”
Themba took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the small garden patch their grandmother lovingly tended. “Remember that job I was talking about? The one at the fancy hotel in Harare? Well, I turned it down.”
Sipho froze, his brows shooting up in disbelief. “You turned it down? Themba, do you know how hard it is to even get called for an interview these days?”

Makhosini Mpofu is a Zimbabwean creative entrepreneur, writer, and cultural innovator. He has worked across Southern Africa in music, media, fashion, and technology, co-founding platforms such as Zimbo Music to promote local talent. His work explores African identity, modern storytelling, and the intersection of art, culture, and innovation.

Themba nodded slowly. “I know. It was a big opportunity. They offered me a good salary, benefits, the works. But there was one condition—cut my dreadlocks.” He reached up and tugged gently at his locks, a habit Sipho recognized as a sign of nervousness.
“They said it didn’t look ‘professional,’” Themba continued. “And I thought, is my hair more important than my identity? More important than everything I’ve worked for? So, I said no. And here I am, back home, jobless.”
Sipho leaned back against the bench, his mind racing. “But you stood your ground, right? Isn’t that what everyone says we should do? Stand for something or fall for everything?”
Themba shrugged. “That’s what they say, but they don’t tell you how lonely it feels afterward. You fight to stay true to yourself, and sometimes it feels like you’re the only one who cares. Kahle kahle, no one teaches us how to balance pride and survival.”
The silence between them deepened as they watched children playing in the street, their laughter filling the air. Sipho broke the stillness. “You’re making it sound like staying true to yourself is a bad thing.”
“It’s not,” Themba replied quickly. “But life has a way of making you question everything. Was I too proud? Was it even worth it?” He shook his head. “When you’re young, you think you can change the world. Then life starts handing you little compromises, one by one. Before you know it, you’re not sure who you are anymore.”

Later that night, as the stars lit up the clear Nkayi sky, Themba sat alone, replaying the conversation in his mind. He could still hear the hotel manager’s voice, firm yet apologetic.
“We’re really impressed with your qualifications, Mr. Dube. But the corporate image is very important here. We’d need you to make some adjustments to align with our standards.”
He had asked for clarification, even though he already knew the answer. “Adjustments?”
The manager’s eyes had flicked to his hair before returning to his face. “Yes, small ones. A more professional look would help.”
“Professional,” Themba muttered to himself in the present, shaking his head. The word echoed like an accusation.
He remembered the stories his grandmother used to tell—of how their ancestors wore their hair as a symbol of pride, resilience, and connection to their heritage. Cutting it felt like erasing a piece of himself.
But now, sitting under the vast African sky, he wondered if his principles were worth the price.

Meanwhile, Sipho was in his small room, scrolling through his phone. His cousin’s words lingered in his mind. At 23, Sipho was just starting to navigate adulthood, and the thought of making a choice like Themba’s felt overwhelming.
He thought about the small shop he worked at in town, where his boss barked orders like he owned his soul. The pay was barely enough to survive, let alone dream, but Sipho stayed because he didn’t see another option.
“What would I do if I had to choose between my identity and my survival?” Sipho whispered to himself. He wasn’t sure if he admired Themba or pitied him.
His phone buzzed with a message from his friend Thando. “Meeting tomorrow? Thinking of starting that clothing line we talked about.”
Sipho stared at the message for a moment. He had always dreamed of being an entrepreneur, but fear of failure held him back. Themba’s story, though painful, lit a small fire in him.

The next morning, Sipho found Themba in the garden, helping their grandmother weed the cabbage bed. He grabbed a hoe and joined them, the rhythmic scraping of metal against soil filling the air.
“Themba,” Sipho began cautiously, “have you thought about starting something of your own? Like a business?”
Themba looked up, sweat glistening on his brow. “A business? With what money, Sipho?”
“I don’t know, but you’ve got something most people don’t—knowledge and passion. Why not teach what you know? Start small. There’s no shame in building from the ground up.”
Themba leaned on the hoe, considering the idea. “You think people would pay to learn from me?”
Sipho nodded. “You’ve got experience, my guy. Not just in hospitality but in life. That’s worth something.”
Their grandmother, who had been silently working nearby, spoke up. “Your cousin is right, Themba. You don’t need anyone’s permission to be great. Start with what you have.”
Her words carried the wisdom of generations, and for the first time in weeks, Themba felt a spark of hope.

Over the next few weeks, Themba began piecing together a plan. He reached out to former colleagues, shared his idea for hosting workshops on customer service and hospitality, and used social media to promote his services.
Sipho, inspired by Themba’s renewed energy, finally agreed to join Thando in starting their clothing line.
One evening, as the cousins sat on the same bench where their conversation had begun, Sipho turned to Themba with a smile. “You were right, my guy. This life no balance. But maybe that’s the beauty of it. We get to create our own balance.”
Themba laughed, the sound full of relief and possibility. “Kahle kahle, Sipho, you’re wiser than I gave you credit for. Let’s make the most of this one try we’ve got.”
As the sun set once again, the two cousins felt something they hadn’t in a long time—hope.