Chapter 17: The First Time We Hid
The knock came at midnight.
Not soft. Not gentle.
Three hard fists. Then silence.
Naledi and I froze in place. Lutho was already outside, preparing firewood.
Another knock.
Then a man's voice, sharp and dry:
"We're looking for someone. No names. Just questions."
My blood turned cold.
I didn't answer.
I simply reached for the wooden whistle hanging on the back nail.
One short burst.
Naledi heard it.
She was already moving.
In less than sixty seconds, we were inside the safe room.
The door sealed above us. Soil packed. Darkness complete.
We sat in silence, breath measured, hearts pounding like drums from an ancient war.
We stayed there seven hours.
Lutho told us later:
Two men. One woman. All dressed plain, but with city boots and earpieces. Said they were looking for "the supplier" connected to a Durban raid.
Someone in the city had cracked.
A charcoal bundle with the Embers & Ash mark had been found during a police sweep at a café suspected of illegal imports.
Thembeka had been arrested.
And our name?
Said aloud.
Written down.
We were no longer safe.
In the safe room, Naledi gripped my hand.
"Is this the end?"
"No," I said. "It's the beginning of a different game."
She whispered, "I'm not ready to lose what we built."
"You won't," I promised. "We burn, we build, and if they chase us — we become smoke."
When the sun rose, Lutho gave us the signal.
We emerged quietly. Faces pale. Muscles tight.
The cabin was untouched.
But something inside me had shifted.
No more small steps.
We needed a reset — and a decoy.
Over the next two days, we moved fast.
Removed all branding from visible bundles.
Packed R10,000 into a hidden compartment under the cart.
Buried R4,000 near the edge of the forest.
Told Lutho to send Njabulo away. For good.
I confronted him alone.
"You brought someone without asking."
"He's family."
"Family gets people killed."
He didn't argue.
Just nodded once. "I'll fix it."
Naledi began writing in a new notebook:
Version 2 — Clean Hands, Clean Fire
"We'll sell again," she said. "But only through neutral vendors. Let them carry the name. Let us stay shadows."
We changed everything.
New sack materials.
No more stamped logo.
Only a single burn mark on the bottom — a code only we understood.
It was enough.
Within a week, sales resumed.
Quietly. Carefully.
We made R1,200 in the first week of silence.
No questions.
Just business.
But it hurt.
Losing Thembeka.
Watching our brand become something we had to erase.
At the fire one night, Naledi whispered, "We need a dream bigger than fear."
I stared into the flames. "Then let's name it."
She said softly, "I want a house near water. I want our child to grow up with soil under her nails, and books in her lap."
"And what do you want for me?"
She turned to me. "Peace."