His name was Lwandle - By Jane Brikos

Written By: Jane Brikos

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

Jane Brikos presents a deeply moving short story titled "His name was Lwandle" as part of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This poignant piece unravels the complex layers of a young boy's life, exploring themes of hardship, survival, and empathy. Within the realm of storytelling, Jane Brikos captures the essence of the human spirit and the unseen struggles that often go unnoticed.

About the Work

"His name was Lwandle" by Jane Brikos delves into the hidden depths of a troubled youth's existence. Through richly evocative narrative and emotionally charged imagery, the story unveils the pain and resilience of a young boy battling personal demons. Brikos masterfully navigates the fine line between external perceptions and internal realities, prompting readers to reflect on the silent battles faced by many.

His name was Lwandle

Original Submission by Jane Brikos

His Name Was Lwandle

By: Jane Brikos

His name was Lwandle.

He was loud. He rolled his eyes when spoken to. He kicked desks. Laughed when others cried. He called people names, and when punished, he acted like he didn’t care.

He was a bully.

But that wasn’t all he was.

It was Mrs. Shidlovu who told her, softly, as they walked back down the broken stairs of the hospital-each step heavier than the one before.

“He watched his father kill his mother,” she said, her voice hollow.

Janine stopped. “What?”

“In front of him. Four years ago. Kitchen knife. Neighbours found them. He was holding her.”

The world tilted slightly on its axis.

“His dad only got locked up this year. There was a delay with the case. Paperwork. No one pushed. No one cared.”

Janine sat down on the stairs, knees shaky.

“He’s got a little sister,” Shidlovu added.

Janine looked up. “I didn’t even know he had a sister.”

“Most of us didn’t. He never talked about her. Probably didn’t trust anyone to care. I heard all of this frim another mom only yesterday.”

And Janine saw it now.

The bags under his eyes.

The way he’d fall asleep on his desk before break.

The way he exploded at the smallest things.

The absence in him.

His dad hadn’t lost a job to a foreigner.

He’d lost everything else.

His home. His safety. His mother.

And when his father went to prison, he didn’t get rescued.

He got shifted.

To an uncle who ran a tavern on the edge of town.

A man who took him in because no one else did-not out of love, but out of obligation, or maybe profit.

Lwandle worked there most nights, carrying crates, wiping tables, walking home alone past midnight.

He survived by hardening.

He insulted others before they could point out that his shirt was dirty or that he smelled like last night’s smoke. He laughed at Tinashe because Tinashe still had a family. Still had hope.

That laugh? It wasn’t cruelty.

It was armour.

Janine felt it in her bones-the guilt, the regret. She’d seen pieces of it, but never asked deeper questions. Never pushed.

He was just trying to survive his own hell.

Unlike Tinashe, who had a father who tucked him in and called him “my boy,” Lwandle had no one to look up to. No one to help him unlearn the anger, the violence, the fear.

He was left to fend for himself.

And now, he was fending for his life.

🌳

Janine’s eyes stung as she opened her classroom cupboard the next morning and saw the pile of cards the learners had made for Lwandle.

Bright drawings. Glitter glue. Some had stickers.

They didn’t know.

She’d told them she read the cards to Lwandle.

She lied.

Because there were no visitors allowed.

Because she couldn’t bear to see their little faces crumple if she told them the truth.

Because it was the only kindness she could offer them-that they believed their words reached him.

Janine gave her number to a nurse-the only one who made eye contact. The only one who touched Lwandle’s arm like he was a person, not a problem.

“Please,” she had said. “If there’s any change. If he wakes up. If he asks for someone. Please call me.”

The nurse nodded. No promises.

Now, Janine looked down at the last card in the pile.

It was Lesedi’s.

A drawing of Lwandle with a superhero cape. The words: “You can fight this.”

Janine wiped her eyes quickly as the bell rang for first period.

And whispered, “You’ve been fighting your whole life, haven’t you, Lwandle?”

She stood, bracing herself for a day of pretending everything was okay.

Because the world didn’t pause for broken boys.

But she would remember him.

His name was Lwandle.

And he was more than what they saw.

🌳

Her phone buzzed. A single, short vibration-but it crashed through her like thunder. She startled again, heart leaping into her throat. These days, every sound felt like a warning. Like the beginning of bad news.

Her stomach twisted into a hard knot.

Outside, the wind screamed past the windows, flinging dry leaves and bits of litter in a frenzy. The Jacaranda near the admin block bowed under the gusts, its last few purple blossoms clinging on stubbornly.

The Grade 5s began filing into the classroom, dragging chairs, half-zipped bags bumping their legs, their voices loud and oblivious. She stood beside her desk, one hand hovering over her phone, knowing-knowing-before she even looked.

Still, she swiped.

“Sorry to inform you, ma’am. The boy you came to see yesterday didn’t make it through the night.”

The world dulled. The wind fell away. The chairs, the voices, the clicking pencil cases-everything blurred into a distant hum.

She hadn’t even gotten close. They wouldn’t let her in. Visitors weren’t allowed. She had stood at the door, pressed her hand against the glass, peering into the too-bright room, and seen him lying there-so still. Smaller than she remembered. His eyes had been closed. Tubes and machines had claimed every part of him.

She had whispered his name under her breath, too softly for him to hear.

And now it was too late.

She blinked hard, but the tears welled up anyway.

She turned toward the class, swallowing the rising wave inside her. The Jacaranda swayed again in the wind, blossoms flying off like pieces of memory, scattered and fragile. She thought of him, somewhere between yesterday’s doorway and today’s goodbye, and she could barely breathe.

He was gone.

And she had never even said goodbye.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar provides a platform for writers across the globe to showcase their creative talents. Celebrating diverse voices and unique stories, this esteemed competition encourages participants to explore and express the intricacies of the human experience through the power of the written word.

We extend our heartfelt gratitude to Jane Brikos for her touching contribution, "His name was Lwandle," to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her evocative storytelling and profound empathy offer a glimpse into unseen lives, reminding us of the enduring strength of the human spirit.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.