Each morning now felt like a new beginning.
I could walk longer distances — no more short steps or trembling legs. The same road that once felt endless was now part of my healing path. I'd walk to the main road, past the spaza shop, sometimes even to the taxi rank — just to feel the ground under my feet, to remind myself that I was still standing.
Physiotherapy became part of my life. At first, it was painful — my left side stiff, my hand barely responding — but I kept showing up. The therapist would say, "Your progress depends on your patience," and I carried those words with me everywhere I went.
Every small victory felt like a miracle.
Lifting my arm higher. Walking a few extra steps. Holding a cup steady.
Things others took for granted, I now celebrated quietly.
I began to pay attention to all those who had been there for me — truly there.
Rebecca, who never gave up.
Her mother, Lungelwa, who treated me like a son.
Her siblings, Tessa and Nhlanhla, who filled the house with laughter.
Even Connie, the neighbor who prayed for me every Sunday, reminding me that grace isn't earned — it's received.
Each night before I slept, I prayed a short prayer:
"Lord, help me accept the things I cannot change,
and give me strength to keep walking with faith."
And somehow, I began to see that everything I'd lost was leading me to what I truly needed — peace, humility, and a second chance at life.
The mirror no longer showed a broken man.
It showed someone rebuilding — slowly, quietly, faithfully.
---
It happened on a warm afternoon, the kind where the air feels thick but gentle — the kind that makes memories rise to the surface.
I was walking back from the clinic, taking my time, when I heard a familiar voice behind me.
"Ey, my guy! You look familiar!"
I turned around — and there he was. Thibo.
The same Thibo who used to cut my hair every Saturday, back when life was simple and laughter came easy.
He squinted, studying my face. "Wait… is that really you?"
I smiled faintly. "It's me, grootman."
For a moment, he just stood there — shocked. His eyes softened as realization hit. "Eish… I heard what happened, bro. They said it was bad, but seeing you like this — standing, walking — damn, you're a miracle."
I laughed quietly. "It wasn't easy, Thibo. But God carried me."
He nodded, still trying to take it all in. "I'm sorry I didn't come see you, man. When I heard, I didn't know what to say. Didn't even know if you'd still remember me."
I looked at him and smiled. "I remember everyone who was part of my good days. You cut my hair for years — that's not something you forget."
He chuckled, rubbing his head. "Then you must come by the shop again. I'll give you a fresh cut, free of charge. You look good, my brother — strong."
His words touched something deep in me.
For so long, I'd avoided places that reminded me of who I was before the incident. But now, standing there, I realized I wasn't that same man — I was someone new, someone rebuilt.
We talked a bit more — about the old days, about how the neighborhood changed, about people who'd moved away. Then, as we said goodbye, he clapped my shoulder and said, "God really loves you, bro. You've got a story to tell."
As I walked away, I couldn't help but smile.
Maybe he was right — maybe my story wasn't meant to end in pain, but to show others that healing is real.
That evening, I told Rebecca about it. She listened, smiling proudly.
"See?" she said. "The world is starting to notice your light again."
And for the first time in a long time, I truly believed it.
---
A week later, I decided to take Thibo up on his offer.
It was a sunny Saturday morning — the kind that reminded me of the old days when I'd walk down the street, clean-shaven and full of life. Rebecca smiled as she watched me put on my jacket.
"Going to get that fresh cut?" she teased.
I nodded, grinning. "It's been a while. Time to look like myself again."
She walked me to the gate, Manessah balanced on her hip, waving her little hand. "Go on, daddy," Rebecca said softly. "You've come so far."
The walk to the barbershop felt shorter than I remembered. The sound of clippers buzzing and young voices laughing filled the air before I even reached the door.
When I stepped inside, everything came flooding back — the smell of aftershave, the posters on the wall, the radio humming in the background. Thibo looked up and smiled wide.
"There he is! The comeback of the year!" he shouted, and everyone turned to look.
For a second, I froze — all those eyes on me — but then I felt calm. This was part of my healing too.
He ushered me to the chair like an old friend. "Sit, grootman. Let's bring back that sharp look."
As he ran the clippers through my hair, we talked — really talked. About faith. About forgiveness. About second chances. He told the young men in the shop a bit of my story, how I fought my way back from the edge.
"This one," he said, pointing at me with the clipper, "is proof that God's not done with you till He says so."
Everyone nodded quietly. Some smiled, others looked deep in thought.
When he was done, he spun the chair around.
I looked at myself in the mirror — cleaner, sharper, stronger. The man staring back was no longer broken. He was whole again.
I thanked Thibo and paid him anyway, but he refused. "No, my brother. This one's from the heart. Just promise me you'll keep walking tall."
On my way home, I stopped by a street vendor and bought Rebecca her favorite snack — roasted peanuts. When I reached the gate, she met me with that warm smile that had carried me through it all.
"Look at you," she said, laughing softly. "My man looks brand new."
I handed her the peanuts. "New haircut, same heart."
We both laughed — and for the first time in years, I felt completely alive.