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uNomalanga: The Bhengu wife
Prelude
NOMALANGA
‘I have some bad news to deliver...’ she says
and takes a deep breath
‘The purpose of this meeting is to tell you
that your career with this company has come
to an end’ she continues pushing a piece of
paper towards the end of the table where I
am seated on the other end.
Retrenchment letter.
Speechless and defeated, I lean back on the
chair and put both my hands over my
protruding belly.
‘I have a baby on the way Nkuli, what am I
suppose to do now?’ I ask blinking away the
tears that have managed to tickle the back
of my eyes, no surprise there, my hormones
have been working overtime since I got
pregnant.
‘I’m sorry, Noma. As you know, I started the
company less than two years ago and we
haven’t diversified our portfolio — we are
100% dependent on the Namane contract. I
can’t afford your services anymore, plus with
your coming maternity and...’ she pauses to
draw a long breath. I can’t pay you for four
months while you doing nothing is what she
wants to say. Is it my fault that I’m a
woman?
‘...If you wish to discuss the justice of this
decision, I will be glad to set up an
appointment with you next week’ The
audacity!
I landed her that Namane contract, this
company wouldn’t be where it is now if it
wasn’t for me and this the thanks I get for
my hard work, dedication, and loyalty?
Unbelievable!
‘Nkuli you can’t do this, not after everything
I have done for you. Who is going to hire a
seven months pregnant woman?’ My voice
breaks as I continue
‘Can’t we reach an agreement, maybe pay half
of my salary until I come back. I promise I’ll
get you more contracts’ I hate begging but I
don't know what else to do.
She lowers her eyes shaking her head ‘I’m
sorry, Noma’
Sighing, I stand up leaving the letter right
there on the table. I try but I can’t hold
back the tears and I don’t want anyone else
seeing me cry, by the time I reach an empty
toilet stall, my eyes are blurred by unending
tears. It takes me fifteen minutes to calm
down and thank goodness everyone is out for
lunch when I return to my desk on the
corner.
I can’t help staring out the window, I used to
hate it here, the rowdiness and the dirty
streets used to repulse me, they still do but
I'm used to it now. They say every young
professional should work in Joburg, I don’t
know why that is but when I moved to
Johannesburg I didn’t think I’d be 27,
pregnant and unemployed.
After becoming a cum laude graduate of the
University of Johannesburg I was fortunate
enough to score myself an internship at
KPMG where I worked as a tax practitioner
for seven years, then, how did I end up here,
you ask? That’s a story for another day,
right now I need to get out of this building
before I walk back into Nkuli’s office and
strangle Nkuli with the gold necklace she’s
wearing.
It’s Friday midday and as expected the roads
are busy, not that it gets less busy on other
days. This is Joburg CBD, if you’re not
dodging bumping into someone, you avoid
getting mugged, I don’t know how many
people have I witnessed getting
pickpocketed, or robbed, let me not mention
the trick where they throw a stack of cash in
front of you, it’s funny how most people still
fall for that old trick but I guess I should
consider myself lucky because I haven’t
witnessed anyone getting shot or stabbed,
yet. I say YET because anything is possible in
these streets.
Ever since my car broke down, something to
do with a gearbox, I wait for Phathu, my
husband to pick me up and we travel home
together but he’s at work right now so I’m
forced to use a taxi. From Market, now
known as Albertina Sisulu street I turn into
Sauer (not sure what it’s called nowadays)
and head down to Bree, or is it Lilian Ngoyi?
(I can’t keep up with the street name
changes anymore) By the time I step into
chicken licken that’s opposite Bree taxi rank
my feet hurts. It’s full but having a
ballooning stomach helps. I hear muffled
curses as I walk up to the front and order. A
box of wings it is, wings are the only thing I
can stomach and not all wings, just chicken
licken wings. Bloody cravings!
I’ve witnessed rude taxi drivers and marshals
so I politely greet and listen attentively as
one gives me directions to where I can find
taxis to Randburg. I find an almost full taxi
and get in, sitting in the row behind the
driver seat. I dare not eat, not if I want to
be chastised and insulted for eating in a taxi.
My cravings will just have to wait until I get
home.
It’s a little after one when I get off and walk
about 500 meters to my flat. The security
gives me a look I cannot explain nor
understand when I greet but I ignore him
and walk on. Oh. My husband is home. His
BMW is parked in its rightful place next to
my old, broken-down Toyota Yaris. I would’ve
called him had I known he’d be home. The
first thing I see when I enter is an empty
glass of wine on the table and a half-empty
Heineken beer bottle. Nxa! How many times
have I told Phathu to use coasters to avoid
water rings? Yeses! Is my husband the only
one that doesn’t listen or are all men like
this?
Oh no!.. a red wine stain on my white carpet.
Where the hell is he?
A giggle followed by a moan, then a groan..
his groan. I know how my husband groans
when he’s about to cum. The chicken licken
plastic slips away from my hands along with
my handbag and they make a little thud as
they land on the tiled floor. I hear more
moans and groans. My feet follow the sound
before I can stop myself. I feel my hands
sweating and my heart beating hard, to make
matters worse my baby is also kicking hard.
“Ahhh Phathu” I hear her moans as I turn
the door handle. In my bedroom, my bed?
She’s on her knees and her chest flat on the
bed, my bloody bed! He is behind her pulling
her with her braids as he slams hard inside
her as he did me last night.
I can’t help the tears that follow, such
betrayal. They both stop and turn to me
when they hear my cries.
“Shit” Phathu says pushing her away. Trying
to regain balance, she tries grabbing onto
the bedsheets which is futile because she
ends up rolling over the bed. “Ouch” She
cries in agony when her spine hits hard
against the side pedestals.
“It’s not what it looks like,” Phathu says
forcing me to return my eyes to him.
He’s not even wearing a condom.
I know we haven’t been intimate since I fell
pregnant but last night I forced myself and
made love to him, he told me he couldn’t wait
for the baby to arrive. What changed from
then to now? What am I doing wrong?
I’m doing it, ain’t I? I guess that’s what most
women do when faced with these kinds of
situations, self-blame, followed by the should
have and should have not.
I should’ve given him enough sex, I should
have loved him better, I should have washed
his clothes, polished his shoes, kneeled
before him when I gave him food never mind
that I work eight hours a day and when I get
home I have to cook and clean after him, I
should be able to do all that pregnant or not.
I should’ve done a lot of things differently. I
shouldn’t have asked him why he came home
late last weekend, I shouldn’t have asked
that we hire help, I’m his wife, I should be
able to do everything for him. I shouldn’t
have shouted at him for spending all the
savings we had to ‘pimp’ his car or maybe it’s
the stretch marks or the big nose I now
have.
“Noma, you’re bleeding!” I don’t know when
did they both dress up but he’s next to me
with his eyes ready to fall out of their
sockets panicked. I’m not in pain but I’m
shattered.
“We need to take you to the hospital” I snap
out of it and look at the blood flowing down
my legs, still, I don’t feel any pain. I’m just
numb as he picks me up and rushes me to the
car. Tears are flowing down my face as he
straps me in and rushes back on the house,
soon, he rushes out carrying a baby bag. I
can’t bring myself to ask if she’s still inside
my house.
He keeps asking if I’m feeling any pains but
my mind can’t seem to function. Twenty
minutes later, he parks outside Milpark
hospital and helps me out. If I hadn’t
witnessed what I did, I’d pat him on the
shoulder for being such a caring husband.
***
I DO NOT handle pain well at all. I have been
fortunate enough to avoid any kind of
surgery or stitches. I cry every time I get a
needle. My entire pregnancy I kept asking my
doctor how bad labor would be. He
responded, "I promise you it won't be that
bad." Then I would proceed to tell him that I
would not have an episiotomy, nor would I
have a c-section. I was determined that it
was going 100 percent my way. About two
hours after I was admitted I felt light
contractions. I was thinking, "Wow, this is
nothing, I can handle this," but didn't dare
say it out loud, those light contractions
lasted about another two hours before the
contractions started getting painful after
about 20 minutes I started to hold my
breath a little bit throughout the
contractions. And my cheating husband was
there, telling me to just breathe, by the time
I reached 10cm dilation I had sworn all of his
ancestors. My cheating husband was there
through it all, he rubbed my back, and when
it was time to push he was there, encouraging
me not to give up. After three pushes, my
baby boy pooped out but I immediately
passed out after hearing his little wail. It
pains me to say this but I haven’t seen my
baby and it’s been an hour since I regained
consciousness. Phathu walks in hanging his
head low. I don’t want to fight with him, I’m
tired, both physically and emotionally, right
now I just want us to be a happy family and
forget about what happened.
“Hey” his voice sounds low and pained
“Hi” he helps me sit up straight. Does my
body have to pain this much?
“Have you seen him?” I ask smiling. I know he
did me wrong but I love him.
He nods and drags a chair to sit next to me.
“The doctors are still busy with him but he is
fine,” he says looking at his fingers.
“Have you named him?” Phathu and I have
decided on some names- or, in retrospect, I
have discussed them and he just pretended
to listen- but we haven’t decided on anything
definite.
“Not yet, I was waiting for you to wake up...”
he sighs and raises his eyes to meet mine
“Look Noma, I’m sorry...”
“I don’t want to talk about that...” I quickly
interrupt. I know he’s sorry. “I want us to
forget about everything and move on. Phathu
I lost my job today but then I gave birth to
our baby, can we focus on that and try
rebuilding our family. Our son deserves to be
raised in a loving home and I’m willing to
forgive and forget about what happened” I
say blinking away the tears.
“Nomalanga....”
“Not now Phathutshedzo, please. Promise me
that you’ll forget about her, promise me that
you’ll stop talking to her I want us to find a
new place. I want us to work on our marriage
but we won’t be able to do that while we are
staying at the same complex as she does.
When the baby and I get discharged, we will
look for a new place and start over” I sound
pathetic I know but walk a mile in my shoes
and you’ll understand. What will I be without
Phathu? I lost my job and the provident fund
won’t even cover two months' rent. I have no
family in Joburg, Phathu is all I have.
“Nomalanga, please listen. You’ve been
nothing but a good wife. You were there for
me when life was difficult and for that, I’ll
forever be grateful which is why is so hard
to say this but...” he stops talking when the
door opens and a nurse walks in smiling.
“You’re awake,” she says shifting her eyes
from me to Phathu
“The doctor checked all that he needed to
and your baby is fine. I’ll bring him so that
you can try and feed him” she smiles again
before walking out.
“You were saying,” I say to Phathu
“Nothing, it can wait”
A few minutes later the nurse walks back in
holding the baby wrapped in a blue blanket. I
thought I wanted a girl but...
“Are you sure it’s my baby?” I ask the nurse
when she hands me the baby. Both her and
Phathu remain silent looking at my reaction.
This can’t be my baby, no, it can’t.
“This is not my baby, bring me, my child,
please,” I say handing the baby back to the
nurse.
“Noma...” I shut Phathu up with a single
glance. We don’t have albinism in my family
and neither does he.
As if he can hear the rejection the baby
starts crying painfully, his cries pierce my
heart. I can’t help crying too.
“Children can feel negative energy around
them sisi, trust me he is your baby. I know
you were not expecting him to be like this
but he’s no different from us. He needs his
mother's love, I’m begging you. Please try,
not for me but his sake.” She says handing
him back to me.
His cries subside as I hold him tight close to
me. With the nurse's help, I breastfeed. He
might have a different skin color to mine but
he’s perfect, please forgive my initial
reaction. It was a shock.
I stare at him as he continued to breastfeed
like a champion. He’s a big baby for a
premature and he seems to be breathing well
on his own.
I’m not sure when did the nurse walk out but
Phathu is looking at the both of us when I
raise my eyes.
“He’s perfect, right” he’s now sleeping
peacefully.
“Yes, yes he is... Noma... I want a divorce”
My world has come down crumbling. He
quickly rushes to my side and takes the baby
away from me before he drops to the ground.
Divorce?? A flipping divorce?
I should be the one wanting out.
“No Phathu, we are not getting divorced. We
just had a baby” I’m a crying mess.
“I’m sorry Noma but I haven’t been happy in
a long time and I...”
“Is it her? Are you leaving me for her?” he
takes his eyes away from me and looks at the
baby fixing his blanket.
“Answer me Phathu, or is it because I gave
birth to an albino?” My voice comes out as a
whisper
“I want a divorce because I have fallen out
of love. It has nothing to do with our baby or
her. I’m in love with her yes but my decision
has nothing to do with her”
“We are not divorcing Phathu. I will not
divorce you, do you hear me. You’re not
leaving me” I’m shouting now.
“You going to wake the baby” he sighs out
loud “I’ll give you some time to think. I’m
going to take the baby back to the nurse”
“You’re not leaving me Phathu, do you hear
me. You vowed that death will do us apart and
you’re not going to break that vow” it feels
like I’ve been hit by a truck but I try and
stand. Phathu can’t do this to me.
“I’m sorry, Noma” he says and walks out with
the baby. I want to follow but my body is not
cooperative.
***
Let’s forget about introductions, for now,
hopefully, we will have time to do that later,
right now I’m angry, sad, pissed, and
deranged. Not only did I find my husband
fucking another woman but he just told me
he wants a divorce. Over my dead body!
I’m sorry, I wasn’t planning on showing you a
weak side of me, I wasn’t always like this.
Once I was strong-willed and independent.
But that seems like a long, long time ago. I’ve
been with Phathu for three years, and we’ve
been married for five. And, my God, I love
that man. We both agreed that it was love at
first sight and we stayed that way
Or at least I did.
When I meet him he had nothing but he
worshipped me. It seemed almost too good to
be true. He liked me, he liked almost
everything about me. I was a first-year
student and he was unemployed. We meet at
a taxi rank where he let me take his space in
the queue so that I wouldn't be late for my
class but not before he could get my cell
number and unfortunately due to his chivalry,
he was late for his job interview.
After four dates I knew I wanted to be with
him, things were a little difficult on his side.
He worked odd jobs here and there and I got
a job at campus square where I worked as a
waitress to help him pay rent and buy food.
Friday’s were always busy, so I would only see
him when I finished work. But he would wait
up for me. And when I went to his place
exhausted after hours of servings drinks and
whatever the people of Auckland park
wanted to eat, he would- and I can’t believe
it to this day- he would bathe my aching feet
and massage them with peppermint foot
lotion. He would tell me funny little stories
about his day. I know it’s hard to believe that
any story about unemployment could be
funny, but he managed it. And it meant that
we could never go out on Saturday nights.
And he didn’t complain. Weird, huh?
I thought so too.
He would help me count my tips and we would
spend it on whatever he was shot for that
month.
Our financial situation became better when
graduated and started working at KPMG and
I was able to afford us both. I was so in love
that him that not having a well-paying job
meant so little. I was so quick to say yes
when he asked for my hand in marriage. I
took out a loan for him to pay Lobola. Fast
forward, after seven years at KPMG, I
resigned and took all the provident fund
money and gave it to him to start his driving
school business. I think that's where I lost
the ability to make selfish decisions but
that’s marriage for you. Bang goes your sense
of personal autonomy. And now, that his
business is doing well and we suppose to reap
the benefits together he wants out, not only
is he having an affair but he wants a divorce.
A divorce? I’d be damned.
I’m sorry I’m being unnecessarily flippant
about this, I’m all over the place. In a
moment I’ll be crying again. I’m still shocked,
I suppose. Her name is Phindile and I know
her quite well.
Not quite as well as Phathu does obviously.
The awful thing is she always seemed to be
nice. I suspect their affair started about six
months ago, that’s when Phathu started
coming home late, buying new cologne, and
misusing money. part of me wanted to believe
it was just a phase, I even went as far as
believing it was my fault because I was
always sick (who the hell said they are
morning sickness because I was sick all day
long) but looking back, I was just being naive
and ignorant. And get this- he’s not having an
affair with his secretary or someone
glamorous he meet at the restaurant, but
with a married woman, who lives in the
complex two floors above us. She’s twenty-
four (don’t ask me how I know this, I just do)
and at the risk of sounding very sour grapes
and losing your sympathy, she does look
twenty-four. She has no kids, unlike me, her
body is stretch mark and cellulite-free. Did I
mention she’s married? Her husband is a Zulu
man but I don’t think he’s likely to kill the
pair of them. He’s a manager at some
restaurant, not the nkabi, taxi owner/drive
stooge, so what’s he doing to do? Black
pepper them to death? Strangle them with a
string of spaghetti? Run them over with a
dessert trolly?
But again, I seem flippant.
I’m not.
I’m heartbroken and it’s all a disaster. What
will I be without Phathu? I have no money in
my name, I have only been working for Nkuli
for two years, not that I was getting paid a
decent salary so you see, Phathu is all I have.
He is who he is because of me, I made him.
He’s not divorcing me, never!
It feels like I’m walking on needles so I’m
relieved when a nurse walks in with pain
killers. Let me rest for now, when I wake up
I’ll name my baby boy and Phathu and I will
be a happy family again.
uNomalanga: The Bhengu wife
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Chapter 1
NOMALANGA
February the eighteen is a very special day
for me. It is the day I gave birth to my first
baby, a whopping 2,7 kg baby boy. After
Phathu left, I slept for a while hoping what
had happened was a fraction of my
imagination and that my husband wasn’t
leaving me. I woke up the following day to
find Phathu standing over me, staring down
at me, his eyes very brown in his dark face. I
smiled up at him sleepily and triumphantly.
“Hello, my love” I grinned.
“Hello Nomalanga,” he said apologetically and
politely
For that fool I was, I thought he had come
to his sense (behold my wife, she bared me
an heir, she’s a woman, she is a life-giver and
I want to fix my marriage-you know, that
kind of thing)
He sat down on the edge of the hospital
chair, looking as if he was expecting someone
to walk in, which indeed he was. A woman
walked in.
“Look, Nomalanga, I asked Mapule to join us,”
he said abruptly
“Why,” I asked snuggling back into my pillows
“We don’t need a lawyer. We are just going
through minor marital problems that we can
solve without her” Yes, I can’t believe I said
that either, who writes my lines?
“Noma, listen to me,” he said, getting a bit
agitated “I’m leaving you and I asked Mapule
to draw up divorce papers”
“What,” I said slowly and carefully. I must
admit I wasn’t expecting him to hand me
divorce papers a day after I pushed his son
out of my vagina.
“look Noma, I’m really sorry, but I’ve met
someone else and I’m going to be with her
and I’m sorry about the baby and everything
and to leave you like this but I must” he
blurted out.
“What do you mean you asked your lawyer to
draw up divorce papers,” I asked feeling as if
I’d been given a blow to the base of my skull
with a cricket bat
“I mean that... well... I need you to sign
papers” he said, looking at his shoes, at the
ceiling, at my bottle of still water, at
anything other than my eyes.
“Mr. Mulaudzi, I don’t think this is a good
time to do this. Your wife has just given
birth, let’s give her sometime to get better”
Mapule said sympathetically
I watched as he followed Mapule out and
that was three weeks ago. I haven’t heard or
seen him since.
When the nurse brought in my baby to feed
and I held him in my arms again, it felt like I
was holding him for the first time. At that
moment nothing else mattered, not Phathu,
not Phindile, and definitely not the divorce
Phathu desperately wanted. I watched him
suck my breast and at the moment he
became my reason to live. I named him Amile,
meaning my hopes have been restored. He is
the one keeping a structural holding making
sure things are balanced in my life.
I had hoped to be in this place for as long as
I could but yesterday I was told Phathu
stopped paying my medical aid so I’m forced
to leave. (In my three weeks hospitals stay,
I’ve learned that private hospitals will keep
you in their bed for as long as you can afford
to pay their ridiculous fees) An Uber ride is
waiting for me at the entrance and I hold
Amile close to me and get in. Memories of my
husband f**king Phindile flood my thoughts
when I enter a place I called home. He or
maybe she cleaned, the wine stain is gone, no
empty wine and beer bottles lying around,
and the house smell of a familiar lavender
scent. Phathu walks out of the bedroom just
as I lay Amile on the couch.
“Hey” he greets sounding different
“Hello,” I say
“You should’ve called me, I would’ve picked
you up” as if he would have answered my
calls.
“Well, I’m here now,” I say and look around.
He picks up Amile, kisses his forehead
before he takes him to the bedroom. I’m
seating on the couch thinking about the
happy times we had when he comes back with
papers. Divorce papers.
“You were serious about the divorce”
sometimes I don’t know what goes through
my head, I act so desperately, maybe I am.
“Yes,” he says giving them to me. He has
signed on the dotted line under his name.
“Don’t you love me anymore?” I find myself
asking
“I don’t know, I don’t think so. He replies “I
think I fell out of love with you years ago but
I stayed. I felt like I owed you for sticking
through with me all those years when I had
nothing. I felt as if I had to repay you
somehow but being with Phindile has made me
realize that I don’t owe you anything, if
anything, I’m holding the both of us back.
You deserve to be with a man who loves you
unconditionally and I’m afraid I’m not that
man” he continues.
“But what about the baby,” I ask, stunned.
He can’t possibly leave me but he especially
can’t leave me now that we have a baby
“I’m sorry but I can’t,” He says “I’ll make
sure that he’s taken care of financially and
I’m in the process of selling the flat, we can
share the sale 50/50 and you can keep the
furniture and all that”
I can’t believe we are having this
conversation. Why is he talking about money,
sales, and furniture? According to the script,
we should be cooing over our baby and gently
arguing about which side of the family he
gets his looks from. But Phathu, my Phathu, is
talking about leaving me. Who’s in charge
around here? I’d like to complain about my
life. I distinctly ordered a happy life with a
loving husband to go with a new-born baby
and what is this shoddy travesty I’ve been
served up instead?
“Jesus, Noma,” he says “I hate to leave you
like this. But if I stay with you and the baby
now I won’t ever be able to leave”
But isn’t that the whole idea? I’m bewildered.
“I know that there’s no good time to tell you
something like this. I couldn’t tell you when
you were pregnant, in case you lost the baby.
So I’m telling you now”
“Phathu,” I say, faintly. “This is too much”
“Yes, I know” he agrees hurriedly. “You’ve
been through a lot in these last three weeks”
“Why were you at the birth, if you planned to
serve me with divorce papers the minute it
was over,” I ask.
“Because I promised”
“Because You promised?” I say, trying to
make sense of it all “but you promised me
loads of things. Like to cherish me and to
love me till death do us part”
“Well, I’m sorry” he mumbles “but I can’t
keep those promises”
“So what happens now,” I ask numbly.
I don’t for a second accept a single word he’s
saying. But the band keeps playing even
though no one is dancing. I’m having what to
all intents and purpose might appear to the
impartial outside observer to be a
conversation with Phathu. But it’s not a
conversation at all. I don’t need an answer. I
know what is going to happen. He is going to
forget about Amile and me. Soon he will be
marrying Phindile (that’s if she’s planning on
leaving her husband too) and they will have
many ‘normal’ babies and live happily ever
after.
He stands up. He is wearing grey jeans, white
sneakers, and a matching white Ralph Lauren
white t-shirt (we joked about how overrated
Polo golf t-shits were in the past, and
because of that, he bought more of them)
and he looks more beautiful to me. He looks
like Phathu, he sounds like Phathu, smells like
Phathu but it’s not him.
Like some fifties science-fiction film, where
the hero’s girlfriend is taken by an alien- it
still looks like her on the outside but her
eyes have changed.
The casual observer might still think it is
Phathu but I know from looking at his eyes,
my Phathu has left. Some cold unloving
stranger is in his body. I don’t know where
my Phathu went to. Maybe he’s in an alien
spaceship.
Admitting that I have lost him for good. I
take a pen and sign on the dotted line under
my name, signing my maiden name, Vilakati.
It’s a good thing I registered Amile’s birth
certificate with my maiden surname too. I
think I long subconsciously accepted that
Phathu is leaving me though I was still
holding on to the idea that we would fix
things.
“Thank you” he breathes out relieved. I’m
sure he was expecting tears and a brawl from
me but truth is, I’m coming to terms that my
marriage is over.
“I’m renting out a new apartment so I’ve
moved most of my things there. You can stay
here until we find a buyer” he says “I’ve also
fixed your car, I don’t want you to struggle
when taking the baby to the clinic and staff.
I’ve deposited R30 000 in your account to
help you get by but my lawyer will be in
contact to talk about maintenance and all
that. I’ll be in touch. Take care of yourself”
He takes the papers on the table, turns on
his heels, and quickly walks out of the house.
Three weeks ago, I would have run after him,
bed-bound with stitches in my vagina, I
would’ve run after him. But not anymore, now
I have Amile. A whole new world to look
forward to.
My tears have dried out in the past weeks
I’ve spent crying over him, now, there are no
more tears to cry. But what am I going to do
with a baby all alone? I have no one, he
alienated me from all my friends because
they were not married. “What do you talk
about with single people” he had said. “They
will just influence you to act single” as if I
didn’t have a brain and I act on my own
accord but to satisfy him I unfriended them
all. I can’t call my mother because she
“always reminded him of his shortcomings as
a man” so I had to distance myself from her,
she was “toxic” he said. But I can’t stay in
this house either.
By the time I finish packing all of Amile’s
baby things, his clothes, my clothes,
important documents, and the Carrol Boyes
glassware (most expensive possessions I own)
I’m tired but there’s nothing left for me in
Joburg. I strap Amile in his car seat, lock
the house and drive out. I leave the keys
with security. Phathu can sell or burn the
furniture and everything else in that house, I
don’t care.
Amile is sleeping peacefully as I join N17. I
noticed he sleeps a lot but I guess that’s
what babies do, sleep, cry, eat, poop only to
eat again. How I wish I was him, oblivious to
everything that’s happening. I stop at a
petrol filling station at Emalahlani to feed
and change his diaper before continuing with
my journey.
My heart shatters all over again when I pass
Nootgedacht dam, that’s where Phathu
proposed. He had saved for a bae-cation. I
think his love for nature is one of the
reasons I fell in love with him. He had
organized a small picnic where he had a ring
inside a champagne class. I almost swallowed
it but in the end, I was engaged to be
married to Phathu Mulaudzi.
By the time I stop at an Engen filling station
eManzana, Badplass it feels like my left leg
has gown a calf bigger than that of a
wrestler, (we should all own automatic cars,
there’s no fun in stepping on a clutches for
three hours, trust me). I should’ve filled up
my gas tank when I stopped at Emalahlani
because the service is slow here and I’m that
type of person that fears getting stuck,
especially due to petrol. I still have 30 km
travel on the clock but I don’t take those
kinds of risks. I hate hooting, I feel like it’s
rude to hoot at people especially in setting
like these and I don’t want to look like an
impatient b-word diva kinda girl but I have no
choice. Hearing my blaring hooter, one of the
petrol attendants rushes to me.
“Hello Sisi, I’m very sorry for making you
wait. We are short-stuffed today because...”
he dashes me with a smile “I’m making
excuses for poor service. Please accept my
apology” I know I’m home when I hear his
thick Swati accent.
“It’s okay. I’m sorry for hooting. I just need
to fuel up and move my car so that I can
feed the baby” I say. “Full tank, 95”
“I’m sorry mam but we don’t accept clicks
loyalty cards here,” he says when I hand him
the card.
Haibo!
I only realize now that it’s not Engen garage
but Bhengu’s petrol station.
“I’m so sorry I thought... thank you” I hand
him my bank card. The blue color must’ve
confused me but it looks nothing like Engen.
It’s a lot times better and the price of
petrol is way lesser. I thank him and move to
the empty parking space. After feeding
Amile yet again, I step out of the car. I
immediately feel the hot and humid air
touching my skin. Unlike the busy streets of
Gauteng, Mpumalanga is very chilled and
quiet. Here Everyone knows everyone and
everyone is friendly. I cover Amile, leaving
room for air with his blanket, and step into
the Convenient store.
A packet of Doritos for the remainder of the
road and coke, sugar, and caffeine should
help keep my energy levels high until I reach
my destination.
“You must’ve died a painful death in your past
life,” a deep, almost hoarse voice says behind
me and I turn to look at him.
It’s the petrol attendant that helped. His
voice wasn’t this deep and calm when he
helped me but again, he was panicking.
“Why do you say that?” I ask confused.
“Your birthmark” I would reach and touched
behind my left ear if my hands weren’t
holding too many things.
“I believe you died from a gunshot wound,” he
says and chuckles softly “my grandfather
believed that birthmarks are clues to the
cause of injury or death from the previous
lifetime and shapes tells us what was used,
for instance, yours is circular marking, which
indicates a bullet wound. A sword or dagger
indicates a stabbing and a flame or torch
shape mean a prior death by fire” he
continues
“And what about those who don’t have
birthmarks,” I say
“It is believed they died of natural causes”
I’m not a superstitious person but it’s fun to
hear what ridiculous things people believe in
out there.
I shake my head laughing and put my things
on the counter.
He offers to pay for me but I politely
decline. I may only have R30 000 to my name
but I’m not about to rob him daylight. (Not
technically daylight because it’s after eight
at night but you get the gist)
“Please, take it as my way of apologizing for
the poor service,” he says.
“Your sincere apology was enough besides I
was the impatient one”
He insists on helping me carry the plastic to
the car, not wanting to be rude I let him.
What did I say about the people of
Mpumalanga? Always showing kindness. He
watches me strap Amile back in his seat
“He must look like his father,” he says
randomly. “I mean... he would be a beautiful
boy had he looked anything like you” I can’t
help the laughter that erupts from my core.
His honesty is riveting.
Phathu is not easy on the eye, I’ve been told
but I love him.
Speechless I let him open and close my door
once I’ve settled in.
So much chivalry!
“So how did you die in your previous life,” I
ask strapping the seat belt on.
“I must’ve pissed whoever that killed me
because he burnt me alive” I laugh, I admit it
feels so good to laugh again.
“So where is it, where is your birthmark”
“You’ll find out one day. Drive save
sis’Nomalanga”
what?
How does he know my name?
Forty minutes later, I pass a “welcome to
Elukwatini” board. Tell me, how do you feel
when you’re scared? Does your heart race?
Palms get sweaty? Breathing increase? Do
you feel that pit in your stomach? Does your
flight reflex start acting up, telling you to
get out of there? I don’t know about you but
I’m feeling all those things. I'm too close too
home and going back is not an option. I didn’t
think I’d remember the roads but everything
still looks the same. The gate is unlocked. My
heart is ready to jump out of my chest as I
park next to an unfamiliar car. (What am I
expecting, I've been gone for so long. I don't
know what’s going on in my mothers life
anymore? I take Amile out of the car and
gather much-needed strength and knock
once. The house is dark. I knock again when I
don’t hear movements.
“Nomalanga,” My Mother says, I don’t know if
she’s shocked or happy to see me.
“Make” (side note, make as in mom. I’m a
Swati girl. We will get to that later)
“What are you doing here,” she asks,
tightening the two robes of her gown.
“I was in the area and I thought I should
come see you? I blatantly lie.
She stares at me long enough to make me
uncomfortable.
“Are you not going to let me in”
“Yes... of course, come in,” she says and steps
aside switching on the light.
Haibo!
Candles and roses on the floor. I’m taking
chocolates and champagne bottles.
“You should’ve called,” she says blowing out
the candles. Obviously. I wasn’t ready to be
subjected to such.
Once she has cleared out everything, she
joins me on the couch.
“Nomalanga my child, what are you doing here
this time” did I say my tears have run out? I
was lying, not sure to you or myself. She lets
me cry until I calm myself.
“It looks like you've had a long day. Get some
sleep, we will talk in the morning,” she says
standing up, taking Amile from me. “Don’t
worry about the baby, I’ll take care of him.”
she swaddles Amile smiling.
“Have you forgotten where your bedroom is?”
she asks when I don't move.
This is what I needed, my mother.
uNomalanga: The Bhengu wife
www.ebookscat.com
Chapter 2
NOMALANGA
You must have heard expressions like “back
to the roots” or “There is no place like home”
a thousand times and to be honest there is a
lot of trough behind those sentences.
Home. well, seeing that I'm here, where it all
began. I feel like it's about damn time I
properly introduced myself.
Let me see. What should I tell you? Well, my
name is Nomalanga... that sounds so clichèd.
Do you really want to hear about where I was
born, and what my lousy childhood was like,
and my first day of school and all those
insipid overly used lines in every novel’s
introductions, but I don't feel like going into
it, truth is my life is a cliche.
How many novels have you read where a
woman gets cheated on by her husband and
she ends up going back home to start over?
Too many, right? Well, meet Nomalanga aka
Bob the builder, (I built Phathu) a day ago I
would have introduced myself as Nomalanga
Mulaudzi but using my ex-husband's name
seems inappropriate now, don't you think? So
let me start this cliché introduction over, my
name is Nomalanga Vilakati and I'm twenty-
seven years and, as you know I just had my
first baby three weeks ago. I was born and
bred in Elukwatini (for those who don't know
where that is, try using google maps) and I
had an older brother, “had” being the
operative word. He died from an illness
unknown to me and I was seven years when
my father went out for a box of cigarettes
and never came back, so growing up, it was
just my mother, Temaswati Vilakati, and me.
I'm a hybrid, a blend of two diverse cultures
and traditions. My father- Luzuko Mxenge, is
a Xhosa mam from Mthatha (I sometimes
wonder if he's still alive) and my mother is a
proud Swati originally from Mbabane,
Eswatini. I wish I could tell you my mother is
a God-fearing woman, she's not. I stopped
asking about going to church after she told
God doesn't exist or else he would have
saved her baby boy from dying. I faulted her
for not believing in God but now that I'm a
mother, I understand her pain and grief.
I had a happy childhood, I was an only child
after all. Temaswati works at a local home
affairs as an administrative clerk. That's the
briefest outline about myself, I'll save
details like, for example, my first day of
school until later if we have time.
Last night, going to sleep in the bed that I
spent my teenage years in felt very odd. I
thought those days were gone forever.
Déjà vu.
But I had nowhere else to go.
And it was kind of weird seeing my mother’s
companion sneak out and kiss her as he did, I
think I need therapy after witnessing that.
It was also weird to be kissed good night by
my mother when I have my own child. I'm a
mother but I don't need Sigmund Freud to
tell me I felt like a child myself last night.
My mother slept with Amile and at two am,
he woke me by crying at about a million
decibels. It's like he knew his father
abandoned us. I fed him, then went back to
bed. I went back to sleep but, a few hours
later, I jolted awake again, filled with horror.
I sat in the dark wondering if I will ever find
love again.
The door creeks, startling me when my
mother walks in.
“Morning” she has a cup of tea at hand, just
what I need after the sleepless night I had.
“How did you sleep?” she asks.
“Okay, considering,” I say and sip on the hot
rooibos tea.
“I would've given you something stronger but
you're breastfeeding, so, your loss”
“Isn't too early for something strong?” I ask
bewildered. It's seven am for crying out
loud.
“Oh well...” she gets in my blankets and hugs
me. “Amile is still sleeping... Are you ready to
tell me what's going on?” she says softly.
“I'm not ready to talk about it but what I
want to talk about is that man you were with”
“Uthandza tindzaba man Nomalanga,” she
says laughing.
“But make, candles and roses”
“I need to keep the fire alive”
“Yoh I’m glad I didn’t witness anything that
could’ve potentially left me blind” I say
cringing and shaking my head at the thought.
“Hey watch it, I’m still your mother” she says
laughing.
My relationship with my mother has always
been that of a mother and daughter when
needs be and were also best friends. (I think
it’s because she was a teen mom)
I was free talking to her about anything, she
advised me on safe sex when I started
dating and for that, I appreciate her.
Eventually, I will tell her about Phathu and I
know she will not say it but she told me so.
She had always said Phathu was like my
father and men like them don't know how to
love. I wish I had taken her advice all those
years back but I'm here now.
I spend the whole day bonding with my son,
after last night I conclude that Amile is an
angel by day and a devil by night.
After supper, I log onto WhatsApp going
through Nkuli’s chats. The retrenchment
process is finally completed and I’m officially
unemployed. I accidentally tap on the status
tap and a video of Phathu proposing to
Phindile fills my screen.
uNomalanga: The Bhengu wife
Chapter 3
NOMALANGA
“What the hell” I hiss when I feel the sharp
sun rays piercing my eyes.
“Make (Mom)...”
“Hai hai hai Nomalanga. I can’t take this
thing of you moping around anymore” she
cuts me short opening the curtains wider. I
don’t usually use profanity but right now I’m
swearing at all the Vilakati ancestors for
giving me a mother like her. Can she leave me
to drown in my sorrows peacefully?
“Nomalanga It’s been six months, six full
months” she raises six fingers in the air
while pacing around the small space in my
bedroom “It’s about time you get out of this
bed,” she says and pulls the blankets away.
Jesus Christ, what is she high on?
I’ll forgive her because of the three days of
labor pains she went through giving birth to
me.
“Yoh when last did you bath... wake up, wake
up. You stink!” I don’t know if she’s trying to
make a point or what, but she doesn’t have to
cover her nose.
“Make I’m depressed”
She lets out a stifled disbelief chuckle
“depression” not a clinical diagnosis but I’ve
got no doubt I’m depressed, or else how do I
explain what’s happening to me?
“I’m afraid you don’t have the luxury of time
to be depressed. You have a child that needs
a mother, when last did you spend time with
Amile or held him?” she exclaims. “Nomalanga
your son doesn’t know you” that evokes a
feeling of self-loathe somewhere within me.
How does a son not know his mother while
living under the same roof? What kind of
mother am I?
I didn’t plan on becoming a mother that
gives birth and dumps her child on her
mother but life happened. I slipped into
depression after I saw the video of Phathu
proposing. Nothing made sense, I kept asking
if I meant so little to him that he proposed a
few hours after I had signed the divorce
papers. There I was mourning the end of our
marriage while he was already entering
another just a few hours after signing the
divorce papers. I was angry and hurt, still am
and when I realized what was happening to
me, it was already too late. I couldn’t find
the strength to leave the bed or care for
Amile. I was consumed by hate that I forgot
about everything and everyone around me. I
read somewhere that “If a person can love
you unconditionally, then that person can
hate you unbelievably also because a broken
mirror can turn into a dangerous weapon
when broken” I’m broken and full of hate. I
wish make (mom) can understand that.
“Make, you don’t understand...”
“Understand what, Nomalanga?” she cuts me
off again. “That your husband left you. Well,
welcome to the club. And I’m sure you’re not
the last either. In case you forgot, your
father went out for a packet of cigarettes
and never came back. Unlike you, I didn’t
have a mother to look after my child while I
moped around, crying over him. I had to
forget about him and care for you. There’s no
time for all of this Nomalanga, it’s about time
you snapped out of this little pity party
you’re in and be a mother to Amile. Phathu
deserted you, get over it, men like him and
your father don’t deserve our tears.” She
says and she pauses at the door. “I’ve made
you a bath, go scrub off that six months dirt
on your body, and cry for the last time. You
hear me, for the last time Nomalanga. Then
join me in the kitchen when you’re done” she
says and walks out.
I always thought (despite my professed
liberalism) that deserted wives were women
who lived in a one-room shack, with husbands
that only touched them to blacken their eye
while drunk from a nip of Gordons' gin then
they’d make a story about walking into a
door. That’s not all, the husband would leave
them with unpaid loanshark bills and four
dysfunctional children, all under the age of
six. Joyriders to a man.
It’s a humbling and enlightening experience
to find out how I am. I’m a deserted wife.
Me, middle-class Nomalanga.
I prefer showers and not because I care
about saving water or the jab about saving
the environment, but because baths made me
nostalgic when I first moved to Joburg.
Something about bathtubs made me miss
home but today, a bath is what I need. For
ambiance, make (mom) placed candles around.
I don’t know if it’s just me but candles give a
feeling of calmness and tranquility. I
appreciate her for using bubble baths. A
familiar scent of roses and geraniums fills my
nostrils, must be the essential oils. I love
lavender more but this will do. I feel my sore
muscles relaxing the minute I settle in and
the bath salts soothe me. She neatly placed a
book on the side of the bathtub, Nomaswazi
by Busisekile Khumalo. I’m not a reader,
never have been (in exception of academic
books) I don’t understand why people spend
hours with their eyes glued to a book reading
about someone else’s fantasies but there was
something about this book, the cover
screamed buy me, and the fact that it’s
about a young Swati girl like myself sold me.
It’s been in my back seat since I bought it a
year ago and it’s about time I opened it.
Four chapters in, the water starts to get
cold and I get out of the bath. I catch my
reflection in the mirror as I slather lotion on
my skin. Whose this thin person staring back
at me and what happened to the thick
Nomalanga I know? I wouldn’t say I had a
weight issue growing up but I hit the puberty
stage before my peers, heck I didn’t know I
had a big butt until a classmate called me
Sarah Baartman. But looking at myself now, I
see none of that. Sure, I have a smaller waist
and my stomach seems to have gone back to
its flat size, my boobs didn’t grow past the
size of a tennis ball so there’s nothing to
complain about in that department but I lost
so much weight from the waistline down.
Once I’m done dressing up I go to the
kitchen and sit on the high chair while make
slaves on the stove.
“There’s the daughter I know. Fresh and
clean” she says smiling “I made your favorite.
Incwacwa” forget scrambled eggs and bacon.
Incwacwa (fermented porridge) is the real
breakfast ish. God, it smells so good. I ate so
much of it growing up that at one point make
thought it would make me sick. I thought I
would outgrow it but that didn’t happen
either.
I learned how to cook in this very same
kitchen, my mother would watch me chop,
boil while occasionally burning myself so
sitting here and watching her move around
brings so many fond memories of my
childhood. But then we definitely didn’t have
granite countertops. I noticed she cut down
the big peach tree we had in front of the
house. That tree bared sweet peaches. It
feels like unicorns are dancing to amapiano on
my tongue each time I put a spoon full in my
mouth. I take back what said about the
Vilakati ancestors giving me a mother like
her, I wouldn't trade her for anything.
“When are you getting a job,” she says
randomly finishing the last of her dish.
“Make...”
“Nomalanga I didn’t pay UJ all that money
for you to sit on your degree.” What’s with
her cutting me off today.
“I haven’t thought of getting a job. I thought
I’d sort out my life before going back to job
hunting” I say honestly
“Haike ntombi,” She says dramatically. That
was my father’s favorite line.
“I’ll start applying”
“You don’t have a choice, my baby, the R30
000 you got out from that lousy marriage is
finished. I noticed Amile is struggling with
his eyesight, you have to take him to see a
specialist, that’s money. The money you don’t
have. He has outgrown his clothes, he needs
skincare products. I had to hire a babysitter
to look after him when I go to work for
these past months and that’s not cheap. I’m
doing the best I can to help but you coming
back was so sudden. I didn’t prepare for all
of this. My salary is not enough to care for
all three of us. I need you to play your part
baby. I don’t mean to overwhelm but this is
your reality. We need money and not for you
to be depressed”
Why do I feel like I failed her and Amile?
I’m still yet to receive child maintenance
from Phathu.
She reaches for her bag and takes out my
bank card and slides it across the countertop
“I’m sure there’s about R5000 in there, it
should be enough to cover this months
expenses but not the next” she coos “let me
go get ready, we need to get nappies and
formula”
***
I’m sure I would have tied my Fallopian tubes
with a barbed wire had someone told me how
expensive baby things are. A box of nappies
cost R470, a whole R470 and from what make
told me, I need the box and not the jumbo
pack. Apparently, Amile eats a lot and
because he eats a lot, he does number 2 a lot.
My head spins when make puts two cans of
baby formula in the cart.
Lord, please turn my dried-out breast milk
into powder.
I can’t dzeal, If I don’t get a job soon, I’ll be
forced to sell my kidneys and toes just to
afford to feed Amile.
What’s the return policy on babies? Do I just
shove him back in there?
We are at Eyethu supermarket, it’s clean and
that’s not the only thing I love about it. It’s
cheaper than checkers and black-owned. (Not
that I’m racist) it's a win-win kind of vibes.
I’m pushing the cart while make holds Amile,
he refused and cried when I held him which
hurt. My child doesn’t know I’m his mother,
make said I should give him some time to get
used to me but that doesn’t mean it hurts
less. I’m putting on my best mother cape
from today. I suddenly hear a crash of carts
when we turn into the next aisle. Eish, I can
be so clumsy.
“I’m so sorry” I went straight into his cart “I
should look where I'm going”
Good lord!
A smile finds my face before I can stop
myself. My sweet and kind petrol pouring,
birthmark superstitious man. Did I say My,
as in he belongs to me? Please excuse me,
I'm probably high on his masculine scent.
“Nomalanga, we meet again” his voice sounds
exactly like it did those months back. Calm
and yet authoritive, deep and hoarse.
God!
Calm your tits Nomalanga.
“I’m so sorry,” I say again.
“Don't worry about it.” he smiles and my
heart starts doing backflips. Six months ago
I didn't feel like this. What the hell is
happening to me, my palms are sweating.
“You’re beautiful” is he trying to charm me
because it's working. Those two words have
never sounded so beautiful.
“The little man has grown now” we both turn
our eyes to Amile and we chuckle when we
see the little girl that was standing next to
him is now next to make, playing with Amile’s
hands.
“Please forgive her, she loves kids” The most
distinctive feature I noticed when I meet
him the first time was his heavy-lidded eyes
but then I was too heavy-hearted to admit,
even to myself.
“Kids,” I say not knowing what else to say.
“Nosihle” the little shift her attention from
Amile to him “Say goodbye to the baby, you
have a maths test to practise for” he smiles
at me for the last time before walking away.
“And who is that” make immediately ask
“A petrol attendant who helped me a while
ago,” I say trying to sound casual
“That man is not a petrol attendant,” she
says “mmm you should've asked for his
number”
Haibo.
“Make..” she can't be serious.
“What? You need to get laid.” can we
exchange mothers, anyone?
I'm not having this conversation.
By the time we get to the tills, I'm tired and
ready to get out of this huge store.
“Look” its a “cashier wanted” job sign
“A cashier, make” I didn't spend sleepless
nights studying to be a cashier. “I'm going to
apply for a job I'm qualified for,” I tell her.
“And in the meantime, you could be making
money to support Amile” I guess she's right.
The cashier shows me the manager's office.
He's a middle-aged man, with a potbelly. I sit
opposite him after greeting and introducing
myself.
“I saw you need a cashier so I was wondering
where I can send my cv,” I say.
“Have you ever worked the till before”
“No” I shake my head lightly “but I'm a
faster learner,”
“I'm not sure if you'll be fit for the job”
“I promise you won't be disappointed. I know
I don't have much experience but I have a
degree in accounting. I'm good at math and I
have people skills. You will not regret hiring
me, I promise. All I ask is for you to give me
a chance” he loosens his tie and leans back on
his chair
“I just had lunch so I'm in a good mood. I'm
too tired to do all the formalities and we are
short-stuffed. Be here tomorrow at 7 am
sharp for training”
I'm beaming with happiness when I leave his
office.
***
She is dressed up in a black cut-out one-
shoulder, mini silhouette, zip closure on the
side, curved hem black dress. Damn, who is
this woman, and what happened to mother.
She sprays a rose-scented perfume on her
pulse points, I always thought the right way
to apply perfume is to dap it on your wrist
and rub them together but she says rubbing
it into your skin causes the top notes to fade
and evaporate before they can settle.
School me Temaswati.
After putting on her heels, she applies a
nude velvet teddy lipstick.
“How do I look” she gives me a 360 twirl
“Are you sure you’re 47”
“You should thank the lucky star you didn’t
inherit genes from your father’s side of the
family.”
She’s going out on a date with the mystery
man I found her with. Will I ever meet this
guy?
“Make, who is this guy that you're so dressed
up for” after shopping, we came straight
home and she spent a whole hour looking for
the perfect dress.
“When will I meet him,” I say
“Soon” her voice lacks conviction
“Make, why are you keeping him a secret. Is
he a married guy? I’m not trying to meddle in
your business but I care about you and I
don't want to see you hurt”
“It's my job to worry about you, not the
other way around. And no, baby. He's not
married. Our relationship has been on and
off for years and I just don't want to
introduce you to someone I'm not sure
about” I smile.
“I love you”
“Love you too” she says fondly
“I’m not going to wait for you though”
“Look at me baby, I wouldn't wait on me too.
Bye-bye now” she says laughing and takes her
car keys along with her clutch bag from the
table.
I guess tonight it's just me and Amile. Well,
he is sleeping right now so it’s just me and
the book. I seem to be enjoying it for
someone who claims to hate reading. But
first, let me slip into something more
comfortable. And, red or white wine? A glass
won’t hurt, right? Take it as a celebratory
drink. I have a lot to celebrate for today, for
one, I snapped out of what I thought was
depression and most importantly, I got a job.
At 21:13, an hour into the book, a knock
interrupts me. I heave out an exasperated
sigh and stand up. I'm met by the most
intoxicating eyes.
“Uhmm...hi” I stutter, mentally scolding
myself for dressing into my most hideous
pajamas.
And what is he doing here?
“Hello, Nomalanga” I am still yet to find out
how he knows my name. He scatters his
bedroom eyes behind me before he returns
them to me. “I’m sorry for showing up at your
home unannounced, I didn’t have a choice,” he
says. How did he know where I stay anyway?
Does his voice have to be this melodic? I
resist the urge to clench my thighs when I
get a tingly feeling down there.
Jesus! Am I turned on by this man?
“Hello sisi” a high-pitched voice says behind
him and only then I notice he is with the
little girl I saw him with earlier. Their
resemblance is too uncanny to mistake them
for anything other than father and daughter.
I fold my arms over my chest to hide the
little white stain I got earlier when I was
making Amile’s bottle but I immediately drop
them to my side when I remember how rude
and unwelcoming that is.
“Come in”
He looks uncomfortable as he sits on the
couch.
“I won't be long,” he says hurriedly “I know
this will come as a shock if not crazy but
there’s no one else I trust...” he sighs
rubbing the sharp bridge of his nose “I have
to go to KZN right now and I don't have a
baby sitter,” he says nervously rubbing his
hands together.
My mind must be playing tricks on me
because I'm sure he's not about to ask me to
babysit for him.
“I'm here to ask if you can look after Nosihle
for the night,” he says
Oh no he didn't. “I promise I'll be back
tomorrow before sunset”
What do I look like, mother Teresa?
Only now I realize that I even don't know his
name
“Bhuti...”
“My name is Ntsikayethu” he cuts me off
short, rudely so.
“Ntsikayethu, I can’t do that, I can’t look
after her”
“And why not” he asks his voice laced with a
hint or irritation.
“I don’t know, because maybe I’m a total
stran...”
“You’re not a stranger” I swear if he cuts me
off once more I'm going to... Maybe not that.
And why does he sound so offended, if
anything I should be chasing him out with a
broomstick right now.
I turn my gaze to Nosihle and notice that
she's glued to the sleeping Amile on the
floor.
“Ntsika, can we please talk outside” I'm
angry and not because he asked me, a total
stranger to babysit but because the world is
such a cruel place.
“Ntsikayethu, did you think before coming
here” I'm trying to talk calmly but my nose is
flaring up in anger.
“I didn't have much time to think,” he says
impatiently
“You can’t just go around asking people to
baby sit” I say
“You’re right, I didn’t ask people. I’m asking
you” so much entitlement in one person. Who
does he think he is?
“I don't think you understand what you're
asking me here”
“I do. I'm asking you to look after my only
daughter until I come back. Look, Nomalanga,
I wouldn't be here if I had a choice, this is a
matter of life and death. My babysitter is
away at a funeral and I can't drag Nosihle
with me to KZN because she has an
important test tomorrow so here I am. I only
trust you with her” he says softly
What important test can a nine-year-old
possibly have?
“Trust me?” my voice rises “you don't know
me. I could be a serial killer for all you know”
“But you’re not a serial killer, are you
Nomalanga and I know enough about you to
trust you with my child or else I wouldn’t be
here”
“No Ntsika. I....”
“I don't think you understand. You don't
have a choice” oh no, he didn't.
“Who the hell do you think you are, coming
into my home and making demands. I can't
help you Ntsika, take your daug....”
His lips smash into my shutting me up. He's
not kissing me. There's no tongue, his lips are
not moving. They are just pressed against
mine. I'm too disempowered to push him
away. My knees get weak and he wraps his
strong arms around me, holding me tightly.
“I promise I'll explain everything when I
come back,” he says after breaking the... I
don't know what to call it but it’s definitely
not a kiss “I didn't have time to pack for her.
I'll send you my address and tomorrow you
will have to get her ready for school. She will
show you around the house” he swiftly slides
I don't know what in my pocket. “Trust me,
Nomalanga”
Trust him? A total stranger? But why is my
heart trusting him.
He rushes into his C63, Phathu’s dream car,
and drives away. A petrol attendant that
drives a car worth two million.
Oh sherbet! How is he going to call me, he
forgot to take my number.
He said I should trust him.
I reach for my pockets and pull out house
keys and paper notes, too many R200 notes
to count. I'm sill standing at the door,
dumbfounded.
What the hell just happened?
uNomalanga: The Bhengu wife
Chapter 4
THE BHENGU FAMILY
Growing up as the oldest with a younger
brother and a younger sister, he experienced
everything single instance of what being an
older brother is, positive or negative, good or
bad. Sure, it felt great having someone to
boss around and pull out a seniority card on
but there were times when he wished he
could trade places with one of them, and
times when he was grateful he was born. As
the oldest, he was supposed to “know better”
than his younger siblings. When they got into
a fight, had to be more mature. He had to
act as a mentor and guide to his younger
siblings, even when he didn’t know what he
was doing with his own life.
But a long time ago before he had burdened
of being an older brother, before he was
born, there was maDlamani. A young maiden
girl from Eswatini. It was love at first sight
when she met Mhlangana Bhengu, a young
handsome Zulu bachelor. Together, they
traveled through the narrow range of
Lebombo mountains until they reached
Hluhluwe, a small town in northern Kwa-Zulu
Natal, where they settled. They named their
first boy child Ntsikayethu (our pillar) then
came their second son, Fezile and years later
came Zibuyiseni, their daughter. At the age
of 35, Mlangana was a self-made millionaire,
everyone in Hluhluwe calls the Bhengu
homestead a “mini-Nkandla”, their hut
architectural homestead covers a massive
hectare of land with a security fence
encircling the entire residence, a football
pitch, helipads, swimming pool, chicken-run,
and cattle kraal. As he was groomed by his
father, Mlangana groomed his boys to be a
noble and good men, they were the ones to
take over his legacy when he died, they are
heirs to the Bhengu clan. As the first born,
Ntsika had soo much more pressure than
Fezile and he also had to live up to his name
and be the family’s pillar but when the
pressure of being Ntsikayethu Bhengu
became too much to handle he permanently
moved to Mpumalanga to get away from it all
and Fezile had to take his place. He tried to
be what Mhlangana wanted, and be Ntsika’s
shadow. He settled down, got married like
Ntsika and had two beautiful kids, Wandile 6
and Nobuhle 4, and expecting their third. He
started showing interest in the family
businesses but each time he messed up, he
was reminded that he is not Ntsika. In their
father’s eyes he will forever be that teenage
boy who stole his car, went and got drunk,
and got in an accident, the one that sneaked
multiple girl’s into his hut and wanted a lousy
career of being a soccer player. Ntsika was
the perfect son in his eyes. Nothing he did
was good enough for Mhlangana but now that
he’s older, he refuses to run away to some
remote province to live a stagnant life like
Ntsika has, a life which Mhlangana controlled
no matter the distance. He longs for a
fulfilling and “exciting” life instead of just
living a daily mundane life.
Ntsika drives in at Hluhluwe police station at
1:50 in the morning, when he left Hluhluwe he
thought he’d never come back but the role of
being an older brother keeps calling him
back. He walks past the reception heading to
the station commander’s office.
“Ngcolosi” even as a stranger crawling around
the streets of Hluhluwe only at night time
everyone still respects him as a Bhengu.
“Sfiso, thank you for calling” he say then
heaves a sigh. Anything to avoid the Bhengu
name from getting tarnished by tabloids.
“This has to come to an end Ngcolosi, it’s the
third time this week. I can’t keep risking my
job for him.” Sfiso says
He runs his hands on his face waking his
tired skin “I’ll talk to him” he says
“I’ll bring him out” Sfiso says walking out
It’s about time Fezile’s unrestrained and
improper actions come to an end, he is no
longer a teenager but a man with a wife and
kids.
“Ntsika” Fezile is the only one in Hluhluwe
who doesn’t call him by his clan-name.
He proceeds to the car deliberately ignoring
him, maybe if stopped coming through for
him he’ll take life serious. Before Zibuyiseni
was born, it was just the two of them. With
just three years apart, they were close and
did everything together but that changed
when they reached their teenage years.
Fezile seemed more interested in the “good”
side of life and he was stuck at playing the
perfect son but he didn’t stop being a
brother. He hid his dirty laundry and covered
for him, like he is doing now.
“Fezile this has to stop” he says driving
through the gates of the Bhengu homestead.
Fezile doesn’t want to have this conversation
but alcohol seems to always dredge up
feelings and sentiments from somewhere
deep in his brains.
“Ntsika you have no right to tell me how to
live my life. You don’t know what its like
being me, nothing you do is ever wrong and
I’m just the black sheep who never does
anything right. You left but I still have to
live under your shadow” is it alcohol or closed
up feelings that’s evoking his tears?
Too, like him, Ntsika doesn’t want to have
this conversation.
“Fezile, you have kids and another on the
way...” There is no way that he’ll get through
to him tonight, he is drunk and too angry.
“Goodnight Fezile” He says.
His body is starting to get tired from the
long road he travelled and if he got any
tickets, Fezile will pay. Being in home brought
so many good memories but there are also
bad, very bad memories that he would like to
forget and being here just bring everything
back.
“What happening here?” their father’s
baritone voice proceeded him as he walks
down to where they are standing in front
Fezile’s hut, with maDlamani following behind.
He shakes his father’s hand “Baba”
“Ntsika, what are you doing here” Mhlangana
asks
Ntsika waves of that question and gives his
mother a hug.
“Make (mom), how are you?” He asks instead.
Their father knows what’s been happening,
Ntsika coming when everyone is sleeping and
leaving before everyone wakes up. He knows
he’s the one that keeps bailing Fezile when
he gets arrested.
“Fezile, we just dropped Zimasa from the
hospital. I hope can live with yourself
knowing your wife was in labor when you were
getting drunk and Ntsika, this thing of yours
of coming and going at night like a thief has
to come to an end. At 8 I want everyone in
the main house.” He says sternly turning his
eyes to maDlamini “my love, you told me to
loosen the ropes around these boys and look
what’s happening. Ntsika lives in a foreign
province and he only comes home to bail out
his drunkard brother. This ends today”
His word is final. Everyone sheepishly walks
to their respective huts but not before
Ntsika scribbles Nomalanga’s number on a
piece of paper and gives it to Njabulo, his
father’s driver. After giving him clear
instructions on what to do, he walks to his
hut. Where is a bloody charger?
•
•
NOMALANGA
Tossing and turning sleepless at 2:30 in the
morning was not something I planned on doing
at the start of my day. After a day I had, I
looked forward to doing nothing but drinking
a glass of wine and sleep, but Ntsika
happened so here I am, worried about him. A
stranger I have only known for a few hours.
I've been staring at my phone hoping he'd
call or at least send a text but nothing. I
tried reading but couldn’t focus. A few
minutes later my phone pings when I receive
a text from an unsaved number “Home
address- 13 Doornkop Estate, Carolina.
School Address- 122 Van Riebeeck Street,
Carolina” the message simply reads, nothing
else.
I quickly copy the number and paste it on the
dial pad. I clear my groggy 2:45 am voice
when the phone starts ringing, after a few
more rings he answers.
“Hello” a foreign voice answers
“Ntsika, can I speak to Ntsikayethu,” I say
hurriedly. My manners out the roof.
“Miss Vilakazi, Mr. Bengu is unavailable to
speak at the moment. Can I take a message?”
he says professionally sounding like a
rehearsed line.
“Who am I speaking to”
“Njabulo” he answers
“Listen Njabulo, I need to speak to Ntsika.
It's quite important or else I’ll just keep
bothering you with phone calls until I talk to
him” it’s my nature, I worry a lot and I know
I’ll never stop worrying until I talk to him.
Couldn’t he text me with his number?
I swear Ntsika is trying to drive me into a
loony bin.
I hear a muffled eish before he say “Miss
Vilakazi, I’ll tell him you called”
“Is he okay?” I quickly ask before he hangs
up
“Yes, he is fine. I’ll tell him you called” and
he’s gone.
I did say he is trying to send me to
Sterkfontein. I think now I can sleep, I know
he is ok but before I sleep, a quick check to
see how long does it take from here to
Carolina. An hour, just great. I have to get
Nosihle ready and take her to school and be
able to drive an hour back here for my
training. Just great. Thank you so much
Ntsikayethu. I set an alarm for 4 am and pull
the blankets over my head.
***
I’m late, very late. It’s 5:37 am. I thought I
snoozed the alarm for just five minutes but I
stopped it completely. Make (mom) is not
back and the nanny is not here, I don’t have
her number nor do I know where she stays. I
strap Amile in and put a flees blanket over
Nosihle who is sleeping in the back seat and
drive. An hour later, I arrive at Ntsika’s
house. I don’t have time to look around but
the house is a beautiful single story with a
gourmet kitchen. Hopefully next time I’ll
have more time to go through every room.
Haibo, listen to me talk about there being a
next time, I'll probably never see Ntsika
after this.
After bathing Nosihle I make breakfast
while she dresses up, at least her uniform is
ironed. She joins me and Amile in the kitchen
where I’m going through the cupboards
looking for some cereal or something to make
her. I don’t know what she like, in fact, I
don’t know anything about her or her father.
“What do you want to have for breakfast,” I
ask. There’s a variety of boxes of cereal.
Coco pops, corn flakes, rice crispy, and
everything else you can think of.
“Baba always makes me toast with jam,” she
says fixing her school tie.
Well, Baba is not here, is he? Besides, I don’t
have time to make toasted bread. I quickly
grab two slices of bread and go through the
cupboards because the damn jam it’s not in
the fridge. My mouth flies open when I find
lots of strawberry jam jars. Who eats so
much jam?
I spread a spoonful on each slice, press them
together and cut it in quarters to make it
easiest to handle if the jam threatens to
ooze out. She will have to eat in the car
shem. It's 7:46 when I drop her off at
school.
I arrive at Eyethu supermarket at 9:01 and
rush to the manager's office with Amile on
my hip. God, I need order back in my life. I
knock once and enter. There a half-eaten full
chicken, a loaf of bread, and a 2liter coke in
front of him.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I say after greeting and
sit on the chair opposite.
He shakes his head.
“Your first day and you’re already late and
not only that but you brought a baby with
you. How are you going to do your job?” He
asks irritatated
My brain is too tired and too lazy to come up
with an excuse, not even a flimsy one.
“I know it’s too much of an ask but can I
please start on Monday, I promise I’ll be on
time”
He shakes his head again, “do you think the
job is still available, there too many serious
unemployed people dealing for work out
there. You don’t have to come in ever. Have a
good day sisi”
I feel like crying as I walk back to my car.
God, I hate Ntsika!
***
I spent half of the morning sending my cv to
all recruitment agencies and now I’m doing
online applications. Let’s see, uh a financial
manager needed at SABC, I don’t think I’m
ready to move back Joburg just yet, skip.
And what does a global finance
transformation 3E compliance manager job
entails? It sounds fancy, right and it needs
an MBA but here l am completing an
application. I’ll just tell whoever calls that
I’m a fast learner, that’s if I get the call, in
the meantime, I’ll hold my breath, cross
fingers and toes and clench my butt cheeks
and hope my application doesn’t end up in the
deleted folder. And send, now it’s the
dreadful game of waiting.
I find myself typing Ntsikayethu (Njabulo
said he is a Bhengu) on the search bar and
Mr google brings out all the Bhegu’s he can
find. Nothing on Ntsika though, not even a
Facebook or Twitter account. He drives a
two million car, I thought he would be named
on the Forbes list by any chance, on second
thought, he pours petrol for a living. The only
millionaire Bhengu google brings up is
Mhlangana Bhengu. You know you have made
it in life when you have a Wikipedia account
and it mentions he has three kids but no
mention of their names. Ntsika can’t possibly
be his son. I shut my laptop when I come
across an article that mentions his name in
the same sentence with billionaires Nicky
Oppenheimer and Patrice Motsepe.
It’s midday, and I have nothing to do. I had
to relieve the nanny off of her juries when I
found her waiting outside. She must hate me,
but seeing that I didn’t get the job I won’t
be able to pay her.
Un-break my heart by Toni Braxton. Jesus of
Nazareth, I have to change that ringtone. I
had it changed from its standard tone when I
was going through “depression” but listening
to it now makes me realize how ridiculous I
was.
Reject!
Who the hell video calls a person without
informing them first, I need to pull on my
weave, slap some lipstick on my lips and
eyeliner. The unsaved number flashes my
screen again, a normal phone call I can
answer. “Hello”
“Let’s switch to video call, I need to see your
face” that familiar masculine gruffly voice I
like.
And can he go get his manners wherever he
left them?
I don’t have time to pull on a weave or slap
some lipstick but I look decent enough to
succumb to his command.
“There you are. You’re so far, sondela (come
closer)” My eyes roll back. “I wish I I had
Fezile’s eyes, then they’d penetrate through
this phone and I’d see every inch of your
beautiful face” Thank goodness for my
melanin because I’d be red as a tomato from
blushing.
“How are you?” He asks.
“I’m good” I don’t need to ask to know that
he’s tired. His usual sexy heavy-lidded eyes
are droopy and red. I’m not going to mention
the paleness and fine lines on his skin.
“Is this your number”
I don’t know why I am asking, it’s not like I’m
going to use it.
He chuckles lightly “Yes and you are allowed
to use it at any time,” he says.
I’m going to ignore that.
“I hope this morning was not a struggle. I
realize Carolina is far from you, it was going
to be better had I packed a bag for Nosihle”
he says.
This conversation angers me all over again, I
missed an opportunity to make money
because of him.
“Ntsikayethu...” wait... this conversation I
need to have face-to-face when he’s at arms
reach for me to strangle.
“It’s fine. Ntsika how do you know so much
about me.” I ask
“I’m not stalking you if that’s what you think.
I saw your names on your driver's license
when we first meet and the rest was with
help on the internet. Why do you have your
number on Facebook anyway?” his brow
furrow in confusion.
I was still a teenager who didn’t know better
when I created my Facebook profile and I
haven’t changed my numbers ever since.
Speaking of the internet.
“I googled you,” I say and immediately regret
it.
Now I sound like the stalker.
The corner of his lips curve upwards turning
into a mischievous smile
“And what did you find” that’s the problem.
“Nothing,” I say “don’t you have any social
media accounts”
She shakes his head “I’m too old to be
posting pictures and boasting about how good
I look” someone please pick up my eyes from
the back of my head.
“Ntsika, how old are you?” I ask
“Would knowing my age change how you feel
about me”
I’m done with this conversation.
“What time will you be here?”
He lets out a knowing soft laugh
“Apart from wanting to see your face, I
called to tell you that I won’t be coming back
today as I had planned. There’s so much to
sort out here but I’ll be there as soon as I
can” I don’t have the strength to argue.
“Sleep at Carolina tonight that way it will be
easier for you in the morning.”
He doesn’t ask or say please. He’s telling me
what to do.
“I’ll see. Bye Ntsika I have to go”
“Why? I’m still enjoying hearing your voice”
well, I’m done.
“I have to get ready before driving back to
Carolina to get Nosihle from school”
“Mmm, I’ll call back again when you’re with
her. I miss you guys” I hang up before he can
say anymore.
The sleeping at Carolina idea is not bad plus I
won’t be forced to wake up in the wee hours
of the morning. It’s just one day anyway,
tomorrow it’s Friday and I’m sure he will be
back by the weekend. An overnight bag,
check, Amile’s things, check. I'll call make
later and let her know what's happening.
Now that I’m not in the rush and its daylight,
I get to patiently watch Ntsika’s gate slide
open and enjoy the quietness around. His
house is smaller compared to other houses
around nonetheless, it’s beautiful.
Nosihle is cooked up in a play area with
Amile, giving me time to throw some pieces
of chicken in the oven and boil potatoes for
mash. I’ll roast vegetables later, for now, let
me look around the house. A three-bedroom
single-story house, the guest bedroom is
turned into a play pan and that’s where
Nosihle and Amile are. Doesn’t he get guest?
There’s natural light coming in from outside
penetrating the masters' bedroom. I take it
he allergic to color, everything from his
furniture, to the bedding, and the rug on the
floor is different shades of grey. And this is
where I’ll be sleeping tonight. The living area
is superb and there is a bar and generous
decking with a fireplace. A home study. Nice.
There's an MBA certificate from the
University of London hanging on the wall.
Clearly, Ntsika is not a petrol attendant. And
on the corner of the neat desk is a family
photo of him, Nosihle, and who I assume is
Nosihle’s mother. Nosihle looks about a year
if not two and they look happy. The shining
titanium ring on Ntsika’s finger and a memory
of seeing it when we meet the first time
forces me to go back to my pots.
uNomalanga: The Bhengu wife
Chapter 5
NOMALANGA
I never viewed being an only child as a bad
thing, sure, I was frequently chided for
being a ‘spoiled only child.’ It bothered me
for years until I finally realized they were
jealous of the advantages my mother
provided for me. If anything, I think I was
privileged, however, I’ve always wondered
what having a sibling was like. A sister
maybe, then we would've fought over clothes
and make-up. Or maybe a brother who was
going to annoy me and fan away boys from
me. I longed for a real sibling other than
friends who turned into surrogate siblings.
So, I’m not surprised that Nosihle yearns for
the same thing. I can see from the way she is
when she’s around Amile, always holding his
hand and helping with the feedings and all.
But I’m not ready when she says “Aunty
Nomalanga, can you please please tell ubaba
to buy another child, anything, I don’t care if
it’s a boy or girl. I just want someone to play
with”
How will that conversation start?, hey
Ntsika, your daughter wants a sibling.
Hai ngeke!
I can already mentally picture the frown line
creasing his forehead.
We are at Spur for lunch. I didn’t want her
to be bored at home so here we are.
what do nine years do after school on a
Friday anyway?. If it were me back before
life handed me lemons, I’d be sitting with a
glass of wine somewhere in the streets of
Joburg.
I’m relieved that I don’t have to answer her
when I raise my eyes to see the waiter
standing in front of me.
“Nomalanga”
“Sizakele”
“I think my eyes are deceiving me, tell me
this is really you,” she says, taking a seat
opposite me.
Sizakele is one of my childhood friends that
turned into a surrogate sister. Our
relationship was very tight, that was until
she fell pregnant at 16 and her parents
disowned her and she had to move to her
grandmother in Emalahlani.
“Mncanyana...” the name started as a joke
because of her petite body structure but it
stuck. “How have you been, God the last time
I saw you we were in grade 10,” I say.
We kept communicating for a while after she
left, however with time that slowly
deteriorated and eventually stopped.
“Ukukhala ukusiti.” She says thoughtless “I
came back a few years ago and when I got
here I heard you got married and moved to
Joburg. I’m still mad at you for not inviting
me to your wedding, I was supposed to be
your maid of honor”
I wave my left hand showing her my ringless
finger “don’t be mad, the marriage didn’t
last. I got divorced a few months ago” I say.
It’s amazing how much I have healed. A few
months back I would’ve been a mess with
tears and mucus.
“I’m sorry,” she says, a hint of sympathy in
her voice.
“Don’t be. I’m better off”
“Ooh thank God. I’m not ready to play
sis’Dolly.” She says. I laugh.
It’s true when they say a leopard never
changes its spots. Sizakele has always been a
‘tell it like it is’ kind of person, sometimes
she can be harsh but it’s from a good place.
“What have you been up to,” I ask.
“You know, this and that,” she says “I’m just
trying to make a living without looking
backward, only forward.”
The past with her parents is too painful, It
was so sad when they threw her out as they
did. I’m glad she’s doing alright.
“Are these your kids” she enquirers, looking
and Nosihle and Amile as they feed each
other snacks.
“Just this one” I answer.
With a nod, she says “well mine is a grown
woman now, soon I’ll be warning boys away
and having sex talks” she says thoughtful and
heaves out a sigh.
I still have a long way to go before that
happens, thank Goodness.
“Sizakele” A voice shouts.
We both turn our heads.
“My manager. Well, I work in this shithole
and I constantly have to deal with that” she
whispers, casting her eyes at the angry man
watching her stand up “And It pays peanuts
but peanuts make peanut butter and peanut
butter butters the bread, so ya”
Laughing, I give her my orders and she
quickly rushes to the back after scribbling
my numbers.
It’s after 2 and happy that my babysitting
gig is coming to an end, hopefully, this
weekend. My life needs order, plus I need to
find a job soon. A group of teenagers walks in
and sits next to our booth. I can’t hear what
they are saying but it’s clear they are talking
about Amile. They keep pointing at him and
laughing hard, I won’t lie. It’s painful to
watch. My baby will have to endure this
because his skin is a few shades lighter than
the rest of us. I can’t help the tears that
follow.
Ntsika’s phone call comes through just as I
stand to rush to the bathroom, I answer and
hand the phone to Nosihle. I need a minute,
my emotions are all over the place and I can’t
talk to him.
Two minutes later when I walk back to my
table I find Nosihle eating her burger while
Amile sucks on his bottle. Those teenagers,
gone.
“Baba said he will call again later,” Nosihle
tells me as I sit down.
Does it make me a bad person that I spent
half of the night making up scenarios in my
head about what might have happened to his
wife? Of course, the first thing that came to
mind was if she’s late, then there is a
possibility of divorce or that she’s working
overseas.
Well, I hope she’s stuck on a deserted island
somewhere far away with no network
coverage.
A bank notification, then a text from Ntsika
“Nosihle mentioned you guys are at the mall
and I thought I’d send you money for
shopping. Let me know if it's enough” it
reads.
What the hell!
Does he have to send so much money and how
does he know my bank account number. I
ignore his call when his name flashes on my
screen.
“Dad doesn’t allow me to wear crop tops,”
Nosihle says.
I decided that I should spoil her with her
father’s money before going home. I’m still
angry at Ntsika for not talking to me about
sending money, he left so much money the
last time, and now he’s sending more. He
knows it’s too much but he sent it anyway. I
think he’s used to using his power to get his
way but that stops with me besides I don’t
want to owe him anything. When he comes
back, we cut all ties.
He hates crop tops uh?
Well, I hope this pisses him off.
I help Nosihle pick out a few more with
matching leggings before driving back home.
Ntsika’s money is left untouched and he will
get it back.
•
•
NTSIKA
The abrupt family meeting didn’t happen, not
that Mhlangana changed his mind. Fezile
woke up early and went to see his wife in the
hospital, and Ntsika had to attend a meeting
in Empangeni.
From the kitchen, he proceeds to the living
area where maDlamani is watching tv with
Wandile and Nobuhle. Both kids jump at him
the minute he sits next to his mother.
“Baba, what did you bring me,” Wandile asks,
giving his uncle a toothless smile.
He laughs lightly picking Nobuhle and says,
“Go check in my rondavel”
Nobuhle wiggles herself out of his hold and
runs after her brother until they disappear
around the corner.
“Make” he greets maDlamani.
“You look tired,” she says, picking up the
family album on the side table.
She finds joy in rearranging their childhood
photos from time to time.
He tugs the tie knot around his collar,
loosening it before unbuttoning the first two
buttons of his shirt.
“I’m not tired, I just have a lot in my mind,”
he says
“You know you can talk to me,” She says.
“I know ma, where is Baba.” He asks, avoiding
having to bear his feeling.
How does he tell her that a woman who has
captured his heart is crying in some mall in
Mpumalanga far away from his reach?
She wouldn’t understand.
“In his study. Makhovula called and he’s been
on there since” maDlamani says.
He blows out a sigh and stands up.
“Baba”
“Ah Ntsika, how was the meeting,” Mhlangana
asks, sitting on his chair watching Ntsika
walk towards the window
“Everything went well, the Zululand Chamber
is happy with the new changes we would like
to implement,” he says
“It’s a good thing you came when you did,
your brother would’ve messed it up”
And there it is.
The constant comparison.
Can’t he understand that they are different
people? He is good at making business deals
but that doesn’t mean Fezile should too.
Scowling, Ntsika grits his teeth and shifts
his gaze to the view out the office window.
Even at the start of autumn, Hluhluwe
gardens look very green. The backyard is
covered with green grass, adorned tree
leaves, and full flower beds, and the clouds
are latched to the unending sky announcing
the coming rain.
“Ma mentioned that Makhovula called,” he
says, Ignoring the urge to come to Fezile’s
defense. It’s no use, not when it comes to
Mhlangana, once his mind is made up about
either something or someone, nothing will
change his mind. Not even when it comes to
his son.
“Yes, we have something important to
discuss,” Mhlangana says, drumming his
fingertips on his desktop and glaring at
Ntsika.
“It’s about time you move back home”
“I thought we agreed that I’d stay in
Mpumalanga and take care of business that
side,” Ntsika says.
With a nod, “Yes and we also agreed that
when Yenziwe becomes of age, you will come
back and marry her. Well, her father agrees
that she’s old enough” Mhlangana says.
“Grown?, Baba she’s the same age as
Zibuyiseni and...”
“Which is perfect. It’s about time Mabuyi
stopped galavanting the streets of Joburg or
wherever the hell she is and comes home, she
needs to get married as well but right now,
we are talking about Yenziwe. She is coming
back soon then we can start with the
wedding preparations” he cuts him short.
“Ntsika, why does it sound like you want to
dishonor your word? After your wife died,
you agreed that you’d marry Yenziwe”
“That was then, things have changed now” he
bites his tongue.
No one raises their voice at Mhlangana.
“Our traditions haven’t changed. Ntsika, a
man amongst man is the one that stays true
to his word, I taught you this. You’re going to
marry Yenziwe.” His father says with finality.
“You’re a man, I don’t expect you to be
celibate. You have needs but what I don’t
want is you thinking with your di€k. I hope
you didn’t promise some girl heaven on earth,
or else you’re about to break her heart”
When he agreed to marry his late’s wife
sister, he was in pain, and the fact that
Yenziwe is the total replica of Ntokozo made
things easy for him to simply agree. He
thought Yenziwe would somehow replace his
wife and she’d help him preserve all the
moments he shared with Ntokozo but now
that years have gone by and he has healed,
he realizes that they are two different
people and marrying Yenziwe will not rise his
wife from the dead.
He scowls and bites back any further
argument because it would just be in vain.
Mhlangana’s word is the law. He is going to
marry Yenziwe and that’s final.
“You don’t look happy,” maDlamani says as he
sits on the floor next to her feet. Something
he used to do as a young boy.
Dispirit, he blows out a sigh and rests his
head on her knee.
“Do I have to do this ma”
maDlamini falls silent for a moment and
shows him a picture from when he was a little
boy. “You were so handsome here,” she says.
He laughs looking at his toothless seven-
year-old self.
Life was so much simpler then.
“Why a change of heart. Is there someone”
she croons.
Is there?
As unwilling as he is, a picture of Nomalanga
flashes across his brain. She is beautiful,
short at about five foot two and her body is
packed well. She has curves that make his
mouth water every time he sees her. Her
short Afro hair accentuates her oval face
and high cheekbones, and her eyes, God her
eyes. He can’t wait to stare into those pearly
brown eyes as he makes love to her.
Instantly, he forces his mind away from the
images of naked Nomalanga.
Okay, that’s enough of that, he tells himself
firmly.
“No, there’s no one,” he says thoughtfully.
“Tell me ma, had Baba died first. Would you
have married Bab’Mkhulu”
“When I married your father, I knew what I
was getting myself into,” she says.
A yes would’ve sufficed
“And be a second wife?” He asks with a
frown creasing his forehead.
maDlamani is not someone you can picture as
a second wife.
“Ntsika, we can’t change our traditions”
There goes the little hope he had.
If all fails with his father, maDlamini can
soften his stubbornness. In their 39 years of
marriage, she learned which buttons to press
but hearing her talk like this makes him lose
hope.
Nchoooooo “ someone says.
They both lift their heads and see Zibuyiseni
standing at the door with her head slightly
jerked to the side watching them fondly.
“This is so cute. Mother and son bonding, I
never thought I’d see the day” she says,
bending to hug Ntsika.
The black ink peaking out of her shirt on her
shoulder blade doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Mabuyi, when did you arrive,” Ntsika asks,
shoving the image somewhere deep in his
brain.
“In the morning, I came immediately when
bhuti Fezile told me you’re here. I’m tired
from my long trip from Durban but I’m going
to cook your favorite” she says.
Unlike the boys, this one never stayed at
home. It’s a small town for a girl with big
dreams like herself.
She asked to be taken to a boarding school
the moment she was old enough to run a
washcloth on her face and from there, she
went to study psychology at DUT but a year
later she moved to Joburg to study fashion
designing.
“Durban?. I thought you were in Joburg”
Ntsika says.
“Why stay in one place when you can afford
to travel around.” She says with a wave “I’m
going to start cooking now, Bhut’Fez
mentioned you’ll be doing to see them later
and I want to come with”
Their father doesn’t put so much pressure on
her to succeed in life. She’s a girl and she
will get married to a husband that can
provide for her.
“What are you hiding in there?” He asks,
opening the fridge.
He searches past the fruits and vegetables
inside and smiles when he finds a jar of
strawberry jam.
Zibuyiseni turns her head. startled at the
sound of Ntsika voice, she says “Bhuti are
you trying to give me a heart attack”
She shoves the plastic far back and takes a
knife out of the drawer.
With the life she lives no one would have
thought she’d be domesticated but cooking is
something she finds joy in.
She moves around swiftly, taking out the
meat and vegetables to make beef stew,
Ntsika’s favorite.
Shaking his head, he asks firmly “Mabuyi,
what are you hiding in there” he rolls the
ends of his white shirt sleeves to his elbow
before lifting himself to sit on the kitchen
countertop.
“It's nothing Bhuti.” she says. knowing her
brother she quickly asks
“who is taking care of my firstborn when
you're here”
“She’s in good hands. Is it alcohol in there”
he dips a finger into the jar, scooping out a
delicious about of jam, and brings it to his
lips. Zibuyiseni has witnessed Ntsika’s
obsession over jam far too many times to be
fazed but what gets on her tits is his
unrelentlessness over her wine.
Scoffing, she mumbles “yoh Bhuti, it's just
wine”
“What?”
“It's just wine Bhuti.” she whispers.
Her voice is audible enough for him to hear.
“Does baba know that you're bringing alcohol
in his house?” he asks.
Thixo wase George Kock!
Where is the fun guy that was in the living
room moments ago?
“I’m sure he will now” she maffles
She chops and slices through the meat.
“What does that mean?” he asks with a
frown.
“Bhuti you’re like dad’s hologram.”
She turns away from him and puts her pot on
the stove.
Licking the jam on his finger, he says “Haibo”
“I love you and you’re my brother but yoh hai
you’re too serious. It’s Friday afternoon and
it’s a perfect day for wine but ke.” Her
shoulder lifts in a defeated shrug.
“I’m not serious” Ntsika states with a sullen
face
“Then you won’t have a problem with me
drinking, right?”
“Mmm...n...noooo” he stutters.
“Perfect then”
She pours a full cup and gulps.
Trying to prove a point is so hard, he would’ve
dumped that cup the minute she filled it up.
“Why in a cup anyway, isn’t there wine
glasses for that”
“I might have taken my chances with you but
that doesn’t mean I’m ready for Baba to see
me drinking,” she says on a laugh.
Both strew and rice is on the stove.
She hops on the kitchen counter and sits
next to Ntsika.
“You and I might not be close but I know
when something is wrong. Want to talk about
it” softly, she says.
When Zibuyiseni was born, Ntsika had
already developed his adult teeth. He was
the one protecting her, making sure she
doesn’t fall and she saw him as nothing else
other than a protector. Mhlangana’s 2.0 but
now that she’s older, she wishes they talked
more, though Ntsika makes it hard with his
serious self.
“Mhlangana Bhengu,” Ntsika says with a sigh.
“Tell me bhuti, why do you let baba dictate
your life”
“He doesn’t dictate my life” defensively, he
says.
“Hear me. I know you think you and bhut’Fez
are different but the truth is you’re the
same. You both constantly looking for baba’s
approval, the difference is that he’s put you
on a pedestal so high that you always do what
he says because you’re afraid of falling while
bhuti Fezile, does everything he can to get
that high. You’re both unhappy and it’s
turning you two into miserable people. You
moved all the to Mpumalanga and bhuti Fezile
is finding comfort in a bottle of beer. You
both need to stop living for him and start
living your lives”
She sips on her wine and jumps off the
counter.
“You don’t understand Mabuyi, you’re a girl..”
he falls silent, aware of how crass he is.
“That I’m a girl and I will get married to a
husband whose going to take care of me.”
What is this, 1950?
“Money is not everything.” She says “besides
I don’t need a man, I can take care of myself.
Thank you very much but on a serious note
bhuti, please talk to bhut’Fez, he is going
through the most at the moment and before
you say it, I know he’s a man and all but he
needs to hear from dad’s favorite child how
miserable it is on that pedestal. The little
teenager in me is rebelling because he thinks
it’s nice up there”
Constantly trying not to let Mhlangana down
is a full-time job with little pay.
“But I’m not dad’s favorite child,” Ntsika
says
She chuckles lightly, nodding
“I know bhuti and I’m not saying Baba would
let bhut’Fez die and save you, he’d never do
that but parents love their kids differently.
Maybe bhut’Fez needs to hear that from
you” she says
“Look at you all grown up. Tell your boyfriend
he better come prepared, you’re not going to
be cheap at all.”
She throws her head laughing
“I’m very single. I still have a few more
hearts to break before I can settle...”
“You’re..”
“don’t say it bhuti, please. I’m still young” she
cuts him off laughing.
“Hai Ngeke phela. Not on my kitchen”
maDlamini complains walking in front of her
husband.
“Ntsikayethu, get off of my wife’s kitchen,”
Mhlangana says with a laugh and throws his
arm around maDlamini’s shoulder.
“You two will find us at the hospital,” she
says before walking out.
Even after so many years of marriage, their
love is still strong.
“You know where to find me when you’re
done,” Ntsika says and follows his parents
out.
***
It feels like millions of years ago since the
last time he was in a maternity ward. As
labor pains struck, Ntokozo swore to not
having any more kids again and when they
held Nosihle in their arms for the first time,
their world was complete, and being here
brings back so many fond memories. He shits
his eyes from Fezile to Zimasa. She is smiling
but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Oh, God. Look how cute he is” Mabuyi can’t
stop swaddling and kissing him.
They named him Owami.
“Bhuti’Ntsika when are you having another
one” Mabuyi again.
“It’s sooner than you think,” their father
says, smiling.
The room falls silent, everyone knew this day
would come but no one expected it to be so
soon.
Clearing his throat, Ntsika says “hopefully”
A picture of Nomalanga in this bed, holding
his baby flashes his mind and that’s enough
to give him hope.
They arrived two hours ago, visiting hours
are long over and it’s time to go.
“Fezile” Ntsika says as the censor door opens
“Is everything okay”
Fezile releases his breath, feeling the rainy
weather on his skin.
“The baby is good. Healthy” He says,
thoughtfully “And Zimasa”
“What about her” Ntsika urges
“well, she says she needs some space”
silently, Ntsika shoves his hands in his
pockets and cast his eyes at the rain.
“And, what do you want?” he finally asks,
dreadfully.
He is not surprised when Fezile says. “I don’t
know” blowing out a tired sigh, he continues
“Maybe it’s for the best. I’ve hurt her and
she has a good reason for wanting a break
from me. She deserves a break”
What does that even mean?
“Is it what you want?”
Of course not!
His wife just bared him another child, what
kind of man would he be if he were to leave
his family now. Mhlangana might’ve not been
an award-winning father but he taught him
better. Leaving Zamisa is the last thing he
wants but maybe it’s what she needs.
“It’s what she needs, bhuti” Fezile says,
feeling hopeless.
He spent all day trying to convince her that a
time apart is something they don’t need but
she’s adamant.
shoving away disheartenment and sympathy
Ntsika say “it’s time to stop feeling sorry for
yourself Fezile and do right by your family.
You can’t leave Zamisa”
“I’m not leaving her Ntsika, she’s leaving me”
Fezile shouts
“Same difference,” Ntsika says “This is your
mess, had you not been behaving like a young
boy, drinking like some first-year varsity
student then none of this would be
happening”
“Yeah blame me, I’m the one that’s always
wrong around here,” Fezile says, slamming
both his arms on his hands on his side.
“Take accountability for your action. If you
love Zamisa then prove to her that you’re
worthy of her. Give your marriage a chance
Fezile, Zamisa is hurt at the moment don’t
let her deal with all the emotions of an
alcoholic husband and a newborn baby alone.
She needs you more than ever and you can’t
give up on her” Ntsika says.
“I don’t know what to do” distress loud in his
voice
“Tell her how you feel, the truth” Ntsika
“I took her for granted because I thought
she’d always be there. I used to convince
myself that I don’t love her but now that
she’s ready to pack her bags I realized just
what a good wife she is. I love my wife,
Ntsika and I don’t want to lose her” Fezile
says
“Then show her”
Fezile shuts his eyes briefly, taking in his
Ntsika’s words before opening his eyes again.
Not only did they take after their father’s
tallness, dark complexion, and well-built
body, this one took his big eyes too and
stubbornness too. And Ntsika has what horny
woman with raging hormones call bedroom
eyes, the only physical attribute he got from
maDlamani.
“Yoh I thought you left me behind” Mabuyi
exclaims, breathless.
“I thought you were traveling with your
parents” Ntsika.
She inwardly rolls her eyes “they are your
parents too, you know” she says. “And I came
with you, why would I leave with them unless
if you have places to see and people to
see...like I don’t know, a lady friend plus the
weather agrees”
Laughing, Fezile says “enjoy the ride. I’ll see
you all at home when we get discharged
tomorrow”
Today was not a good day to talk to him
about the pedestals Zibuyiseni mentioned,
hopefully, tomorrow they will get a chance to
talk.
“Uyaphapha” Ntsika says to Mabuyi as they
walk under the shelter leading to the parking
lot.
“Are you ready to marry Yenziwe though?”
“Sisi we Ndabazabantu”
He pushed her out of the shelter into the
rain. Mabuyi squeals covering her hair “Bhuti”
she complains.
“Let's hope the rain will wash away that ink
on your skin,” he says laughing.
***
Her phone rings twice before she answers,
sniffling.
“What’s wrong”
He fluffs his pillow and sits up straight
“What’s wrong, why are you crying,” he asks,
feeling his chest tightens in worry.
She shakes her head trying to suppress her
tears.
“Nomalanga, please talk to me. What’s wrong”
“Nothing” she eventually says after a while
“I’m just being silly. I can’t believe I’m crying
over some silly teenagers”
That doesn’t ease his worry.
“Teenagers? What happened”
“It’s just earlier when I was at the mall some
teenagers came in and laughed at Amile and I
got emotional.” She chuckles “I’m just being
silly.
“maVilakazi...”
“It’s Vilakati, ti ti ti”
He smiles “ngiyaxolisa” it’s in the way he
says.
A smile finds her lips.
“I’m sorry about those teenagers, they don’t
know better but Noma you can’t cry every
time someone does something, you have to be
strong for Amile. We live in a cruel world
some people are going to be mean and he will
need you to be strong for him”
Racing a child is hard as it is, now imagine
racing a child with albinism in this fucked-up
society.
“I know. I guess everything became too much
plus with the money you send and losing a
job, thanks to you so everything became too
much”
“You lost a job,” he asks, shocked.
“Yes Ntsika and I’m still angry at you” she
clicks her tongue “talking about it makes me
so angry. Bye” she hangs up.
Okay. What did he do?
He lets out a loud laugh and dresses up.
How long does it take from Hluhluwe to
Carolina on slippery roads?
www.ebookscat.com
uNomalanga: The Bhengu wife
Chapter 6
NTSIKA
Now that Ntsika is back to his sense driving
to Mpumalanga in the middle of the night on
slippery roads doesn’t seem like a good idea
as it did moments ago when he was on the
phone with Nomalanga, so, instead of
behaving like a teenage boy controlled by
raging adolescent he undresses and gets back
in bed. Sleep doesn’t come as easy as he had
hoped but he manages to get a few hours of
sleep before waking up in the early hours of
the morning, his body is used to waking up
early that his alarm never accomplish its
purpose.
The cold rain has finally stopped.
Thirty minutes later he is driving out of the
Bhengu homestead, readying himself to
apologize to Nomalang for whatever wrong he
has done but first, he drives to the cemetery
where his wife is buried next to his paternal
grandmother. Unlike Fezile, he was not as
close with her but the old woman installed
valuable lessons in him before she passed on.
“Never forget to light a candle and burn
impepho (incense) when you speak to your
ancestors” she always told him whenever
they had to phahla.
He kneels next to the lit candle and the
burning incense and announces his presence,
chanting his clan names. “And remember to
show gratitude before anything else. Thank
them for their presence, their peace, love,
guidance, and their protection and always end
with gratitude before asking for anything
else” the old woman had said at one point.
When he’s done he moves to Ntokozo’s grave.
It’s been almost seven months since the last
time he was here and talking to her has
always been difficult but for some
unbeknownst reason to him, today it’s
different.
“My love...” he starts “I don’t know how to
say this, especially because I promised you
never to fall in love with anyone else after
you.” He heaves a sigh and sits comfortably
on the corner of the headstone
“I broke that promise. I’m in love” the corner
of his lips curve into a warm smile
“Her name is Nomalanga Vilakazi... I mean...
ti... Vilakati” Wait... Is professing your love
for another woman to your wife who's now
part of the underground gang allowed?
But what the hell!
“She makes me happy. We not dating yet but
soon we will be. You won’t believe this but
I’ve been following her for the past six
months, afraid to make my move.” He says
shaking his head unbelievably.
An educated psychologist calls it stalking but
he doesn’t think for a second that what he
did constitutes stalking. It all started when
he meet her at the petrol station. The
sadness in her eyes evoked emotions he
never knew he had, yes, she had an innovative
and charismatic way of carrying her self but
he saw right through her. He could not help
himself but follow her home just to make
sure she was safe but soon after, “her
safety” became his priority.
“Stalking her” became habitual.
Stalkers harass their target with calls and
all and If all fails, they escalate to more
intrusive behaviors like spying on, and
unexpectedly confrontations.
He didn’t call her, even though he had her
cell number he got from Facebook.
ridiculous!
Who the hell publicizes their number on
Facebook for the world to do as it pleases?
Anyway, he saw her full names on her
drivers' license, and knowing people in high
places came in handy, he managed to get her
banking details with ease and that’s how he’s
managed to send her money. He laughs
inwardly when recollections of how he used
to park a few houses away from hers flood
his memory. It may seem like he was stalking
her now but all he wanted was to see her
beautiful face again but a few weeks after
she disappeared he stopped coming, that was
until she bumped into him with her trolley.
He had planned to ask her on a date like a
sane person but Fezile happened and in an act
out of complete lunacy he had to leave
Nosihle with her.
“It’s been so long since I was in a
relationship, you know that much so I don’t
know how to act or behave around her.
Anyway my love, I just wanted to tell you
that I’m going to wife her.” he removes the
wedding band on his finger and twirls around
the tips of his index finger.
“I’m moving on” He says. “Continue to rest in
peace while watching over us”
.
.
He reaches Carolina a few minutes just after
ten am, and just like the previous day in
Hluhluwe, large pillow of clouds have
gathered in the sky blotting out the old-gold
color of the sun Mpumalanga is famously
known for. It seems like the rain has
followed him back to Carolina. He parks
behind Nomalanga’s Yaris.
Does it even have an airbag? He wonders as
he steps out of the car.
He is welcomed by a beautiful sight as he
enters the kitchen, Nomalanga slaving on the
stove making what looks like breakfast with
Amile strapped behind her back and Nosihle
sitting on the counter watching her, now, he
wants this sight to be permanent.
“Good morning” a good morning indeed.
“Hey” She replies “I wasn’t expecting you so
early” she continues, flipping the omelet.
Surprisingly, she looks happy to see him.
His phone rings before he can reply, he
excuses himself and goes to the bedrooms
“Fezile”
“Did you arrived safely” no pleasantries?
They don’t find it rude at all.
“I just arrived, yes” he removes his jeans and
slips into something more comfortable.
“Baba has been shouting all morning as if you
left with something that belongs to him”
Fezile says, irritation reeking in his voice.
“Don’t mind him, it’s just old age” they both
laugh
“He’s been looking for you since he woke up. I
told him you left but you know him.”
It didn’t come as a surprise to Fezile when
he woke and Ntsika was gone, it’s what he
does every time. Leave when everyone is
asleep but it pissed off their father,
especially after the conversation regarding
his pending marriage to his dead wife’s
sister.
“Let’s forget about baba for a second. Have
you spoken to your wife” Ntsika asks
“I’m actually on my way to the hospital right
now, should I get her flowers and
chocolates.”
What does Ntsika know about relationships
stuff? “I suppose,” he says.
Maybe he should get flowers and chocolates
for Nomalanga.
“Hai you’ve been out of the game for too
long, I’ll ask Mabuyi, she....”
A deep, resonant voice that belongs to
Mhlangana’s rumbles from the background
before he snatched the phone from Fezile.
“Ntsika, where are you” he shouts
“Carolina” Ntsika answers, calmly.
“Running away won’t make this go away, I
want you back here next weekend, we have a
meeting with Yenziwe’s family” he hangs up
before Ntsika can protest.
He’s not attending that meeting, Mhlangana
will just have to deal with it.
His plate is nicely placed on the table when
he walks back to the kitchen. After the
phone call he had, he needs a sugar rush to
calm him down. Nomalanga is amazed as he
scoops a mouthful of jam with his finger
straight from the jar. Once calm he sits
down and eats silently.
“Baba, sis’Noma bought me a crop top”
Nosihle says excitedly.
“A crop top?”
“And a short too. She said I can’t wear them
today cause it’s cold”
She can forget about ever wearing them, any
father would be crazy to allow their little
girl to wear crop tops and shorts.
From the corner of his eye, he sees the
devilish smile creeping up on Nomalanga’s lips.
Oh, she’s enjoying this.
“So a crop top” he asks her.
“We went shopping after the money you sent,
she looks good in it besides, she’s nine years
old”
He nods and bites back any argument.
“You sounded upset when I called last night,
want to talk about it”
That manages to wipe away her smile.
“No”
“What did you mean when you said you lost a
job because of me” he urges, ignoring her
cold stare.
Breathing in and out “I missed my training at
Eyethu so I lost the job, it doesn’t matter
now. I’ll find something else” she says.
“Eyethu....” he smiles “I know the manager, I
can talk to him for you”
“No, just forget about it.”
“Noma...” he slides his left hand across the
table in an attempt to hold her hand but she
pulls away when she sees the ring mark on his
finger.
“You’re back now so I have to go”
•
•
NOMALANGA
One thing I didn’t anticipate when I arrived
home was a stomach filled with
knots but I have Ntsika to thank for that.
This should have been a happy day,
he came back meaning my babysitting days
are over, something I’ve wanted the
second he dropped Nosihle at my doorstep
two days ago but here I am. My mind won’t
stop focusing on him and that bloody ring
mark. The worst thing that could happen soon
after a divorce is falling in love, at least I
didn’t expect I’d fall in love so soon, with a
married man. I had to remind myself that
he’s married all morning and somehow that
made me angry. Why did he remove his ring?
Arg, I remove all the plates and dishes from
the cupboard, I need to focus on something
else than bloody Ntsika. He didn’t even thank
me for taking care of his offspring.
Breathe...
My phone rings from the countertop, I don’t
have to look at it to know who's calling. I had
a different ringtone set for her. It stops and
rings again, �� ��I wipe my wet hands and
press the heel of my hand on my eyes. I’m
surprised it took her six months to call.
“Mme”
“Makoti, I’m here at your house in Joburg
but my son mentions that you’re in
Mpumalanga. I had hoped to see my
grandson”
my house? I thought he wouldn’t sold it by
now.
“How are you, mme” it’s amazing what love
does to one, it took me less than six months
into the relationship with Phathu to learn
tshivenda, now my tongue rolls effortlessly.
“I’m good. Phathu said you refused to send
him pictures. What’s happening my daughter”
The liver Phathu has! I’m the bad person now.
“I didn’t refuse. Amile has been keeping me
busy and I guess forgot to send the picture.
I’ll send them to you just now” I was
fortunate enough to have a mother-in-law
that loved me and never ill treated me, I
can’t say the same about Takalani, Phathu’s
sister. She mentioned how I’m “misusing” her
brother's money every chance she got.
“Amile? That boy is a Venda, he needs a
Venda name. When are you coming back”
I’ll let Phathu tell his mother about our
divorce himself.
“Soon mme, there’s another call coming, I’ll
call you back” it’s not a tactic to get rid of
her, my phone is genuinely vibrating.
“Okay, don’t forget to send me pictures” I
hang up and answer the incoming call.
“Nomalanga” the caller says impatiently and
brusquely.
“Speaking”
“This is Nkosinathi, you need to report to
work on Monday and leave your child at home
this time”
“I don’t understand” I tell him.
“Eyethu, Monday at 8. Don’t be late... it must
be nice knowing the boss” he mumbles the
last part before hanging up.
I know Ntsika has something to do with it.
Couldn’t he just leave it as I said, typical rich
man. I’m not some damsel in distress from a
Disney movie seeking a prince to rescue her.
Ntsika can go jump!
My ex-mother-in-law again, I’m too angry to
talk to her. I reject her call and unblock her
good-for-nothing son and send the picture
she wants.
.
.
After midnight I give up trying to sleep and
throw the cover off me. My mother-in-law
deserted my thoughts the minutes I
switched off my phone after sending her the
picture earlier but Ntsika has somehow seem
to be an annoying resident occupying my
thoughts and my stomach is yet again in
knots.
I dig through my closet and grab the first
dress I find but do my best to be
quiet so I don’t wake Amile, I will be back
before his next feed and nappy
change. I slip out quickly because I know if
make (mom) wakes up she’ll try and
stop me.
As I pull up to the gate, I notice that the
ache in my stomach has started to
ease now that I’m back here but my anger
has intensified. His phone rings
unanswered, I hop out of the car and walk up
to the gate and shout his name. Ten
minutes later with no movement or a flick of
light, my fingers wrap around
the bars and before I can think about what
I’m doing I’m climbing over the
gate.
When I hop down I make the long walk to the
front door and knock. I just want to know
why did he speak to Nkosinathi after I told
him not to and for the gratitude he failed to
show me after I took care of his child. That’s
all I’m here for anyway, a bloody thank you. I
repeat it over and over so I don’t forget why
I’m here when the door
opens. But after a few minutes go by I’m
disappointed when he doesn’t answer.
It’s probably for the best because I’m
knocking on his door at an ungodly hour
of 1:00 in the morning like a crazy person.
Still, I can’t pull myself away. In an act of
complete lunacy, I grab the door handle, and
to my surprise, the thing freaking turns. The
door slowly opens when I push on it, it’s dark
with just a little light coming from the study.
I stand there for a moment after switching
on the light and recollect my thoughts.
What am I here for again? Oh yes, a thank
you and possibly an apology.
Part of me is fighting for utter calmness but
now that I’m inside, I’m angrier. I open
the study door ready to give Ntsika a piece
of my mind but it’s empty. I wonder
what the hell I’m doing. The law calls it
trespassing and it’s a criminal offense, but I
stand unmoved. Papers are sprawled across
the table with the screen of his laptop lit up
and there is a hot cup of coffee on the table
which means he’s not asleep.
“Nomalanga” my name is whispered, and my
head snaps away from the desk and
turn to see Ntsika standing in the doorway
with a golf stick in his hand.
“The door was unlocked” as if that was some
invitation to enter his house this time, I’m
mortified
“what are you doing here?” Shocked can’t
begin to describe the look on his face
I don’t know how long I stare at him before
I’m fumbling my excuse. “I demand a thank
you and an apology” I tell him.
“an apology” he is confused
“Ntsika, I looked after your child for two
bloody days and you don’t have the decency
to thank me” I say.
‘Is that the reason you came here at 1 in the
morning, for a thank you?"
“YES!” I shout. What other reason is there?
“That’s a lie” he says, his voice deeper now.
“look at yourself Noma, you are wet. I’ll make
you something warm, why don’t you grab a
towel and dry yourself so we will talk” I don’t
want to talk, I just want to thank me and
apologize then I’ll be on my way.
His bare feet slap the floor as he turns away.
I’d forgotten all about the rain once I
reached the gate and thank God it’s just a
drizzle so I’m not too wet. I think I lost my
mind and my sense of self-preservation.
After a few minutes, he walks back in
carrying a cup of something hot in one
hand and a towel in another “I wasn’t sure if
you’d want coffee so I made you
hot chocolate”
I grab the towel and run it over my short
hair and shoulders before taking the cup
from him. Sometimes the final touch to
excellent hot chocolate is that expertly
froth milk but I’m too angry to audibly admit
how good it is. He doesn’t seem
too concerned that I came into his house
without his permission.
“Are you ready to tell me the real reason you
are here” he is standing
inches away.
“I just want a thank you” I offer lamely
It’s true, I just need him to thank me and I’ll
be on my way. I have to tell myself that a
few times to believe it.
With a laugh, he steps away shaking his head
“Nomalanga are you going to tell me the real
reason you are here because we both know
that’s not it?”
I throw the empty hand in the air in a
gesture of elaborate exasperation. My
knuckles turn white from grasping the mug
tight, I take a breath and forced
myself to release the hold just a little bit.
“Ntsika, you may control your
employees in doing whatever you want but I’m
not one of your employees. You’re
the reason I lost my job...”
“Didn’t Nkosinathi call you”
“That besides the point, you still have to
apologize for that. I thought I told you to
leave it alone”
“It’s my fault you lost the job and I got it
back for you, what’s the big deal”
He has a point, at this point I don’t even
know why I’m angry.
“Then you owe me some sort of gratitude”
“Is it money you want?” He asks confused.
“I don’t want your money, just a simple thank
you Nomalanga for looking after your child. I
don’t know…”
like a flash he’s in front of me, pulling
me into him as he leans down and kisses me.
His lips are softer than the last
time. I’m frozen as I try to catch up and
move my mouth against his. His hands
come up and he takes the cup away while the
other hand snakes around my neck. I
feel his tongue gaze mine and he tastes
chocolaty. He digs his hands into my back and
holds me steady as he bites at my bottom lip
and I gasp. A thrill runs through me as he
licks the stinging spot before
sliding into my mouth. I wrap my arms around
his neck, meeting his kiss, and he
groans. He sounds almost desperate as he
pulls away his mouth from mine.
“Thank you for looking after Nosihle and I’m
sorry about Nkosinathi. I thought I was
helping” he says, unlike the first time he
kissed me I was lost in his kiss and owned by
his hold. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt
and I’m dizzy with lust
“so... let’s try this again, what exactly is it
that you’re angry about” I feel his breath
lightly on my face, my eyes are closed but I
feel his
“This is not about Nosihle or the job. Talk to
me, Nomalanga.”
“You’re married” There it is. Plain and simple.
Just as he was on me, he’s standing across
the room with his back to me. One of his
hand is planted on the wall below his framed
MBA certificate.
I calm myself from my high and bring my
fingers to my mouth, still feeling him
there. I lick my lips. What happened? Why
did I blurt out the truth so loosely?
“Ntsika” he doesn’t answer me, but before I
even say the words, I already
want to take them back “maybe I should go”
“No” he snaps. The word is a
command.
“It’s really late… or early. I haven’t been to
sleep yet” I say.
“You’ll sleep here” he tells me finally as
he turns a little to face me.
“Ntsika, you belong to another woman and I’m
not going to be another Phindile and wreck
another woman’s home, I know how painful it
is to be cheated on”
A dark scowl mare his face briefly and his
brow lifts in realization “Is
that what you think… God, I love you” he
literally runs to me and kisses me, or is it me
kissing him? He groans when I open my mouth
letting his tongue in, he kisses me hungrily.
His mouth is a sin incarnate, his lips neither
full nor thin, but firm. Shamelessly sensual.
His lips move to my
neck and he licks and sucks my delicate skin.
He lets out another groan as I try and move
against him. I shamelessly
hump him until my back hits a soft surface
and I know we are on a couch and I wrap my
legs around his torso as he makes my body
come alive.
“Noma...” my name is a plea
“I have never done anything like this before”
I breathe. My mind is so fuzzy I can’t think
straight, but I’m not sure I want to
“Neither have I,” he says, I unwrap my legs
around his torso, achingly aware of every
hot, hard inch of him and I feel his hand on
my inner thigh, brushing and
caressing. He yanks my panty to the side and
his finger finds my nub. My body
convulses as he flickers and rubs.
Jehova! “Ntsika” breathless, I whimper his
name.
what am I begging for? For him to stop or
take me?
He grabs the hem of my dress pulling it
off me. I don’t have a bra on underneath, and
my brown-tipped breast are bare
before him. Growling, his hot mouth wraps
around my nipples.
“I’ve been wanting to do this” he says, trying
to summon all his control. His fingers part my
flesh and in it goes, then the second, and my
body bucks.
It’s been almost seven months of celibacy.
He doesn’t wait for me to say
anything. He pushed his track-pants down
under his buttocks with one hand and
fishes his manhood out. I feel the tip rub
against my wetness before he sinks
it deep in my woo-ha
“Ntsika” I lament again, wrapping both hands
around his neck and biting his ear lope.
Violently, he lets out a beastly groan pushing
past the barriers inside and I feel all of him
in me.
Jesus!
My teeth sink in his shoulder, enjoying each
of his trusts. He grabs my
butt tightly and groans again before he
reaches his paradise.
What?
Is he done?
This must be what they mean when they talk
of two-minutes men?
uNomalanga: The Bhengu wife
Chapter 7
FEZILE
“Wait, wait, bafo, uthi what happened” Fezile
can’t stop the tears rolling down his cheeks
as another burst of laughter rumbles from
the core of his stomach.
“Hai man Fezile, stop laughing. This is
serious, one minute I’m on top of her next
I’m done hai. How am I going to look at her
now” that makes him laugh, even more, he has
never heard Ntsika frantic, especially over a
girl.
“The two-plate was just too hot” Ntsika
continues. Yet again Fezile burst out in
laughter.
“Fezile”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help it. She jumped
over your gate just to receive two minutes of
pleasure.... wait... you know, she’ll be calling
you Mr two minutes man right.” Fezile slows
down until he halts completely at a red robot.
He prefers small sports cars but today since
he is picking up his wife and son from the
hospital he is driving the q8 Zimasa forced
him to buy.
“She can’t do that. I’m not a two minutes
guy” Ntsika says over the Bluetooth-
connected line, frustrated.
“But you are. I’m sure you’re now the topic”
“Do you think she’ll tell her friends?” Ntsika
says thinking of reputation.
“I know she will, woman talk. Have you spoken
to her” he asks as he parks next to a flower
shop just a few streets from the hospital.
“I haven’t, she left immediately after it
happened said something about the baby but
I know it was an excuse to getaway. We
didn’t say anything to each other I just
drove behind her, she didn’t even say
goodbye when she reached her home. She
was angry I think”
“You need to see...”
“I can’t, not after what happened” Fezile
finds all of this amusing, he hasn’t stopped
laughing since Ntsika called ten minutes ago.
“Just talk to her...” with how Ntsika
described Nomalanga, he laughs again
thinking of her jumping over the gate. “In
the meantime, I’ll get imbiza from bab’Mzila
or better, get Mpesu, I hear it works
wonder”
“Bye Fezile” Ntsika says irritated
“You failed to represent the team....” he says
on a laugh, shaking his head. “... wait until
Thandanani hears about this” Fezile hangs up
before Ntsika can say anything. Thandanani
is their cousin, more of a brother and the
three of them have always been close but
Thandanani never showed interest in the
family business, he moved to Cape Town a
few years ago and lives a simple life.
Fezile releases a chuckle erupting witching
his throat before stepping into the flower
shop. When he spoke to Mabuyi yesterday,
she mentioned Zimasa might like roses but he
had no idea there were different kinds.
Yesterday he got Zimasa red roses so, today
he buys a bouquet of pink roses and another
box of chocolates.
.
.
Today, it’s the day he will finally bring his
wife and son home.
He stops in the middle of the room surprised
to see his mother-in-law. Maybe he should’ve
knocked before entering. He politely and
respectfully exchanges a greeting with her
before turning to his wife, Zimasa. She is
wearing a black pair of leggings and a faded
green t-shirt. She looks good. Green suits
her amber and tanned skin tone. For the
first in a while, her face is bare, no makeup,
and her natural hair is plaited into neat
cornrows. Sure, he loves seeing her in make-
up and the expensive weaves she likes so
much. He makes lots of money and loves it
when she spends like a Stepford wife that
she is. But this natural look on her is also
pleasant to see. Her small, narrow feet are
bare but for the pink nail polish. She got
them done a few days before her due date
but she thought he wouldn’t notice. He did,
he always does. She looks good. Too damn
good.
To stop himself from reaching to kiss her in
front of his mother-in-law he places the
flowers and chocolates on the bed beside her
and stuff both his hands in his pockets
before turning to maGwabe.
“Mama, I didn’t know you’d be around or else
I would have gotten you your flowers” he
says awkwardly.
“It’s alright mkwenyana” what is she going to
do with flowers. Are they perhaps edible?
Awkward silence embraces the room.
maGwabe isn’t exactly Fezile’s favorite
person, he hates how she’s always crass and
insensitive towards Zimasa but she birthed
him a wife so he tolerates her.
“Has the doctor signed off the discharge
papers, everyone is excited to have a new
baby around” Fezile says turning his eyes
back to Zimasa.
She deliberately looks away, afraid of how he
will react to what she’s about to say “I’m
moving back home with my mother for a few
months”
“What?” both maGwabe and Fezile say
incredulously.
“I’m going to need help with Owami so I think
it’s for the best” she says.
As clueless as she was about kids, she didn’t
move back home after the birth of
Wandile’umuzi, their firstborn or after their
second born, Nobuhle. Why now? Besides,
she can hire as many nannies as she wants,
maDhlamini is there to help too.
He doesn’t get a chance to voice this out loud
because maGwabe does it for him.
“Hai Zimasa, that’s just crazy. You’re a
married woman, what kind of message would
I be sending to your in-laws if I let you come
back home, besides, maDhlamini is there, she
will help you just as she did with Wandile and
Nobuhle. Is this why you asked me to come
here?” When Zimasa mentioned she was
unhappy with her marriage she didn’t think
she meant this but leaving is not an option.
What will people say?
Her daughter?
Idikazi?
Ngeke! Over her dead body, Zimasa has to
fix her marriage.
In as much as maGwabe’s tone leaves
distastefulness in Fezile’s mouth, he agrees.
Zimasa cannot move back home, he needs to
prove himself that he can be the best
husband and father to their kids. They spoke
yesterday when he came to visit and even
though Zimasa made it clear that she was
tired of their loveless marriage she didn’t
mention anything about leaving.
“This is not the time or place to talk about
this” maGwabe says, calmer “mkwenyana yaz
these nurses are slow, I have been here for
over an hour but I haven’t seen my
grandchild.” she says.
With a little titter, he excuses himself
saying he’s going to speak to the nurse so
that she can be allowed to see Owami.
“What is wrong with you” maGwabe says the
minute Fezile is out of earshot “what did you
do”
Why does it have to be something she has
done?
“I didn’t do anything ma, I’m just unhappy
and clearly Fezile is not happy as well. I just
think we should be apart for a while”
“A divorce Zimasa?”
“I didn’t say divorce...” she heaves a sigh and
busies herself by packing her clothes neatly
into her bag just to avoid her mother’s
watchful eyes. “So much has happened these
few past years. Fezile is no longer the man I
married, he drinks and parties a lot. He is
never around... I just need a break from
everything and be alone for a while” she says.
“A break?”
Haibo. Zimasa is crazy, who takes a break
from being a wife?
“Yes, ma. He is cheating and....”
“All men cheat, I’ve told you this before
Zimasa. Clearly, you’re failing him, you’re not
performing your wifely duties as you should.”
“But that’s not the only reason I want to
leave. The secrets ma, it’s just too much. I
sometimes think he will wake up one day and
see that the kids....”
“Shhhhhhh” maGwabe says harshly looking at
the door, Fezile can’t walk in on such
conversations.
“Now, you’re going to stop this crazy talk
about leaving your marriage. Go home and
talk to your husband and never breathe this
again to anyone” she says, decisively.
“Umfazi ufa azi”
End of!
.
.
Fezile’s rondavel was just a plain room with a
bed and one pillow for him to sleep on, that’s
all he needed but as soon as Zimasa came into
that picture everything changed. She
transformed the whole room into something
similar to one of those that would be in a
famous actress's or singer's house. She got
rid of the bed. She wasn’t going to sleep on
the same bed his previous girlfriend’s slept
on, he let her.
Unlike the one pillow he had, their bed is now
covered with different-sized pillows that he
always has to remove before getting into
bed.
Women! He’ll never understand.
The room is brown and white. It is very
simplistic, but flowers set the mood for some
romance. A romantic atmosphere is what
Zimasa had in mind when she mixed the dark
wood hardwood flooring with white furniture-
absolutely beautiful. Surprisingly, she
designed everything herself and did not hire
an interior designer like Fezile had thought
she would. They extended the one room into
a three-bedroom rondavel when they had
kids.
Mabuyi and maDhlamini together with
maGwabe fill the small space around the
room gushing over Owami happily. That’s
what new babies do, shed happiness all
around. He sits on yet another overstuffed
pillowed couch and fixes his gaze on Zimasa.
They meet when she was only twenty years
old, she was a part-time student while she
also worked at his favorite restaurant and
the fact that she had a good body, beautiful
eyes, and kissable notwithstanding lips he
had to have her. He wanted to puff and pass
as he did most girls he meet and boy was he
wrong. It took him over two months to get
her cellphone number and by the time he got
to bed her a year later, he had
subconsciously fallen in love. She was a good
girl to bring home to the parents and he did
just that. Mhlangana was happy so he married
her. He had impressed his father something
he had always wanted to do but a few years
later he got tired and it was too late to leave
Zimasa so he stayed out, drank himself half
to death every weekend, and now that she
wants to leave he realizes how much he loves
her and he’s not about to let the only thing
that makes sense in his life go.
It gets noisy when Wandile and Nobuhle join
in, everyone wants a piece of Owami and it’s
riveting to watch. Thirty later Owami is tired
of being passed around and he finally sleeps
and that only then that everyone leaves.
He stands from the couch and stands close
to Zimasa who is watching Owami peacefully
sleeping in his cot bed. Unlike Wandile,
Owami looks nothing Fezile, sure, there is
some resembles between them, Owami has
the Bhengu blood running through his veins
after all but he is not Fezile’s son. His little
lips and nose belong to his father and the
long finger too. Maybe he will grow up to look
like Fezile. She doesn’t have to worry about
Nobuhle though, she is a total replica of
herself.
Fezile lazily wraps her arms around her
startling her.
“Thank you” he says.
“For what?” She asks unwrapping herself
from his hold and lays on the bed.
With a sigh, he lays beside her after
removing his shoes.
“For everything, the kids, tolerating my bad
behavior, for not leaving when you should’ve
all these years. I’m thankful for you”
That surprises her.
“It hasn’t been easy”
“I know and I’m sorry”
She attempts to stand but he pulls her back
to him, spooning her. Something he has never
done before.
“My love, I know I have been too much to
deal with these past years but I promise you
I’m working on it. I’ve been so angry with
Baba and I somehow punished you for it. He
loves you for me and I thought if I didn’t do
what a husband is supposed to then I’d get
his attention but I now realize how wrong
that was. I took advantage of your love
because I thought you’d always be here,
waiting for me, and for that I’m sorry”
She wipes the silent tears with the back of
her hand and sinks closer to him and he holds
her even tighter.
“I don’t want to promise you that I’m a
changed man. I want you to see it through my
actions all that I’m asking for it’s another
chance”
“Fezile so much has happened. Your
drinking...”
“I’ll stop drinking, I promise,” he says
adamant causing her to laugh.
“I don’t want you to stop drinking, I like tipsy
Fezile. He is fun and loving. I just want you
to know when to stop” she says.
“You want fun and love, I’ll give you just that
without having to drink first”
Hearing the desperation in his voice gives her
little hope that not all is lost but there are a
few things she needs to address.
“If I do this, I need to know that you going
to commit to me and the kids. No more
parties and sleeping out.”
“Done” he says fast.
“No more trying to please your father”
“The only person I want to impress is laying
next to me” he’s always been a charmer.
“Oh and I want a new house for pooping
three big heads out of my vagina”
The catches him by surprise “a new house”
“Yes, it’s nice being here but I want our own
house, our own space”
“I’ll ask Zama to call estate agents”
“No” Zama is the same woman he’s been
sleeping with “I’ll do it myself. I just need
your money” that makes him smile, he loves it
when she spends his money.
“Anything you want baby”
For a long time, she wished things hadn’t
changed between them and this is what she
wants, needs. A husband, her husband. It’s a
good thing maGwabe didn’t allow her to move
back home.
“Fezile” She says after a while
“Mmm-hmm”
“Why did you cheat?” The whisper is so low
that he almost didn’t hear her.
He groans, thinking about that day. A
moment of weakness that’s about to cost him
his wife.
“I didn’t....”
“Don’t lie. I know you have been sleeping with
Zama. I saw the message she sent you” she
prepares herself for the worst.
“I didn’t sleep with her” urgh just when she
thought they are getting somewhere.
She removes his arms and gets out of the
bed.
“Listen” he’s already on his feet pulling her
close to him before she can exit the bedroom
“I swear. We kissed yes but it didn’t go
further than that.”
“What happened?” she asks
“There was a meeting we had to attend in
Empangeni and after that, we went out for a
few drinks, one thing led to another and we
ended up in Ntsika’s apartment but I swear
nothing happened”
She scoff, does she look like a fool?
“I thought you were going to be honest,
clearly I was wrong. I’m not doing this with
you, you can forget about fixing our
marriage. I’ll....”
“Zimasa, I’m being honest. I didn’t sleep with
her. I was too drunk, we just kissed before I
blacked out”
“So you might have slept with her but you
don’t know cause you blacked out” she says.
“I know I didn’t sleep with her. We can call
her”
She’s not about to degrade herself image by
calling another woman when Fezile is the one
that cheated on her.
“She didn’t cheat on me Fezile, you did”
He’s confused.
How is it cheating when he didn’t sleep with
her?
“I’m sorry.”
“I want you to stop working with her” she
says
“Consider her fired” she doesn’t mean for
him to fire her but maybe she deserves it
after kissing a married man.
“This is the last chance Fezile, last chance”
“I promise I won’t mess it up” he pulls her
and kisses her lips. It’s been so long.
“I love you” He says.
She loves him too.
maGwabe is right, no good will come in spilling
the secrets, Fezile is the father of her kids
and her husband.
Umfazi ufa azi and she too will carry this
secret to her grave.
“I love you too” she finally tells him and
kisses him.
uNomalanga: The Bhengu wife
Chapter 8
NOMALANGA
The one thing you should know about me is
that I never complain. Temaswati taught me
to appreciate every good thing in life from a
young age, no matter how little or
insignificant.
But it’s been a week, a long week of exertion
and toil.
During varsity days, I worked shifts at
restaurants and after I graduated I told
myself never again. It’s quite humbling to
find myself working shifts again and by the
look of things, I’ll be here for a while. I
received three rejected emails this week
alone.
God, why wasn’t I born rich?
Sorry, sorry, I know I shouldn’t complain. I’m
lucky to have a job. It’s just that I wish
Phathu would play his role and support his
son.
If it were just me, I’d quit this job but each
time I look into Amile’s eyes I’m reminded
it’s no longer just me now, how much
responsibility I have. A child that’s
dependent on me. Old Nomalanga would’ve
been able to provide for Amile - oh yes I
would, believe me, I would. And I have an
expensive solicitor to prove it! But the days
when I could spend my entire months’ salary
on clothes, hair, and bottles of wines and
bubbles are gone. Long gone.
Now I have to split the 3,7 thousand rands
I’ll receive month-end between Amile’s
expensive skincare products, his food,
diapers, milk, and my essentials.
I made 8 times more dammit!
Get married they said, have kids they said.
It’s fun. So far, I haven’t found any part of
this fun. In fact, I’m on a verge of a mental
breakdown.
Please excuse my spouting, I’m just angry at
the world.
You would be too if the world as know it
takes a 180 turn and you end up continually
stocking and unstocking shelves for a living.
(Sorry about this, I won’t go about it for too
long)
On a brighter note, it’s a Saturday which
means I get to knock off at three pm.
Surprisingly, everyone is so well behaved so
close to knock-off time, usually, they slack
off and joke around.
“Is it me or everyone is working extra hard
today?” I ask Eyethu sun as I call her.
Elizabeth knows who, what, when, and where
before everyone else.
Apparently, Nkosinathi hired one of his
girlfriends and that’s the reason I find
myself working as a packer and not a cashier
but truth is, he is punishing me for what
Ntsika did.
I can’t imagine Nkosinathi having girlfriends,
that guy lives for food.
“Didn’t you hear? Mr Bhengu is here” she
says.
“Here!” I screech. “What do you mean here”
I look around frantically as if I expect him
to suddenly appear, with a smooth smile.
“I hate it when people call him Ntsika, call
him Mr Bhengu. It has that thing....”
She wouldn’t be saying this if she knew how
wack his sex game is.
“He only comes around here to shop so I
guess everyone is surprised that he is here
for work”
I haven’t seen or spoken to him since the 2
minutes episode. I fail to understand what
went wrong. He has an impressive length and
girth I guess he is one of those men that are
well packed but don’t know how to use it.
I stopped myself too many times to count
from calling or texting him.
Why should I be the one to call first?
“Why are you here anyway?” I ask, obviously
changing the subject.
I’d be nowhere near this place on my off
days, yet here she is.
She goes on to explain how boring it is at
home. I completely zone out in the middle of
some story about her neighbor... she never
has anything good to say about the people
she talks about. The best way to deal with
her is to just pretend like she’s not there
until she goes away.
“Nomalanga” I didn’t see him enter this aisle.
“Bossman wants to see you” Nkosinathi says.
Thanks to Elizabeth I know where Ntsika’s
office is so I turn on my heels without saying
anything to Nkosinathi, it’s knock-off time
anyway.
“Mmm, it’s nice knowing the boss ne “ that
line again.
I’m slightly getting used to his impudent
personality.
I’m nervous, too nervous that my manners fly
out the roof. I forget to knock and it
surprises me more than it does him.
“Nomalanga” He says as if he doesn’t believe
I’m here.
He called me, didn’t me?
“Ntsika”
“I’m sorry” he offers. I’m not sure if he’s
sorry for not calling or sorry he couldn’t
satisfy my sexual needs.
“I have been in Joburg all week attending
meetings”
“You should’ve called”
“I know.” he sighs audibly nervously cracking
his knuckles “I was too embarrassed”
“Embarrassed?” I try to keep the anger I
feel from my voice.
He is part of the reason for my earlier rant
about this job. I try to accept his reason for
not communicating, but still, a simple text
would’ve been better. Had he talked to me,
then he’d know there’s nothing to be
embarrassed about. So what, he has early
ejaculation issues, nothing a man’s clinic can’t
resolve for goodness sake.
He steps closer to me, reaches for the door
behind me, and locks it.
“There’s so much we need to talk about but
first” he captures my lips with his. I open for
him when his tongue gazes my teeth and just
like that, my anger vacates.
“I missed you” He says breathless.
It’s good to see I have the same effect he
has on me.
“I’m angry at you”
“I still have to redeem myself but first I
need to make that right”
Before I can say anything he wraps his big
hands around me and drags me towards the
office desk. It’s not sex I want but I let him
“redeem” himself. I imagine what happened
bruises his ego and right now it’s imperative
that I let him have me. The thought of yet
another two minutes of pleasure daunts me
that I almost pull away but his hands tighten
slightly on my waist and I lean my weight to
his body. He groans in my mouth. My body
comes alive as I feel his bulging penis against
my stomach.
Two minutes of pleasure. The thought haunts
me.
God, why me?
This is pure torture.
I thought I’d let him have me and talk about
seeing a doctor after but I can’t. I pull away
and heave a loud sigh.
“Something wrong?” his voice horse from
lust.
“You have a wife” it’s not an excuse when it’s
the truth.
He reaches for my hand and presses my body
on his.
Why does Ntsika have to have a good penis
and not know how to use it?
“She passed away seven years ago”
surprisingly, his voice is not sad. “So
technically I don’t have a wife, yet. But you
are going to Mrs Bhengu soon”
If I wasn’t looking into his eyes I’d think he’s
high.
Oh, wait he is high on lust.
“I’m sorry” I offer my consolation.
“Can I ask that you sleep over tonight,
please” he ignores me.
I too play by his rules “what happened” I ask.
“Accident” He says “What do you say, I
missed you”
Ah never!
I’ll be frustrated all night.
“I’m working tomorrow”
“Don’t lie Nomalanga. I know you’re off.”
“Ntsika” I say softly “We not even dating”
“But I thought we are already boyfriend and
girlfriend”
BF and GF?
What are we, 16?
“We are not boyfriend and girlfriend Ntsika
and it’s not that, I just don’t want to sleep
over”
“Why?” he asks, bewildered.
I fail to stop the words as they come out
“because you won’t satisfy me”
He let go of my hands and rubs his face
“Is that why you’re holding back on me”
Afraid of what else I might say I nod
“I really need to redeem myself uh “
“You know what they say, first impressions
last longer.”
Jesus!
Somebody hold my tongue.
The man’s ego is already squashed.
I jump when he pulls me closer to him and
kisses me, hard. His hand goes to my jean and
he undoes the button while his other hand
cup my breast over my t-shit. His long
fingers gaze my pubic digging under my panty
until the slick pad of his finger presses
against my clit.
I want to protest but my body fails me, I’m
already hot with need. I spread my leg giving
him access to flick which sends a bolt of joy
straight to my core.
I know I’m going to regret this but I’m too
turned on to deny him.
“I’m not a two minutes guy, I promise” he
says against my lips.
Mind reader!
I’m not convinced, but I don’t pull away.
He is taking his sweet time with foreplay but
I can’t let him. I won’t let him torcher me
with his touches any longer. I work his belt,
unbutton and pull down the zipper. I moan
when I wrap my hands around him. God!
I can’t believe this will be over in two
minutes.
“No foreplay” I tell him breathless.
He pulls my jeans along with my panty over
my hips and lifts my leg up the desk.
My mind can’t stop focusing on the fact that
this will be over before it even begin.
I moan, bolding my hands into fist when he
pushes past my barrier from the back and I
lay flat on my stomach pooping my ass out.
It’s amazing how I get moist just from his
touch. He start slow, moving back and forth.
The belt buckles makes that metallic sound
when he increases his pace making sure that
I receive all of him.
His hand circles around my waist hand find
my nub from the front.
Jesus!
It feels so good.
I feel myself nearing my release with every
thrust. His hands goes to my ass and he
squeezes firmly. It’s too much.
I’ve lost count of long it has been but it’s way
more than the two minute I thought it would
be.
I feel it, it’s happening... oh god. I sink my
nails on the wood table and release.
He is still at it and each time I try to pull
out, he grabs me tightly and brings me back
in. He holds himself deep in and grind against
my nub.
Every inch of my body is alight with what
feels like electrical current. His body against
mine is the only thing I can focus on. He
grunts and presses his whole upper body
against my back and begins emptying himself
inside me.
I feel him paulse, we remain unmoved for
what feel like eternity until his body start
shaking and a raw deep belly laughter
escapes his lips.
“Ngcolosi works just fine. I told you I’m not a
two minute man” he says with considerable
aplomb
Now both fully dressed he says “I take it
you’re sleeping over”
“Fine” I’m not easy, blame Ngcolosi please
“but I don’t have a baby sitter for Amile”
“You can come with him, I don’t mind” he
picks up the papers scattered on the floor
and shoves them in his bag together with his
laptop.
I stop and turn when he follows behind my
tracks as I walk out “where are you going?” I
ask appalled
“Home”
“We can’t been seen together. Everyone will
just assume I’m sleeping with the boss and
next thing I’ll be on everyone’s lips” I need to
set some rules for when we are at work.
“Why would people think that, we are not
boyfriend and girlfriend remember” he is
smiling daring me.
“Fine. We are boyfriend and girlfriend” I tell
him “so come out after 10 minutes or so” I
unlock and turn the handle.
“And you are sleeping with the boss” he says
laughing before I exit.
.
.
Sexy or warm?
God, the dilemma.
Amile’s overnight bag is packed and ready
and now I’m packing mine but I can’t seem to
choose between sexy and warm nightwear.
The weather is gloomy, it has been a week
full of rain accompanied by cold winds but I
obviously want to impress Ntsika so sexy it
is.
Make (mom) didn’t ask too many questions
when I told her I’m sleeping over at a
“friend's” house. She shits her eyes from
the tv when I emerge from my bedroom.
Amile is already strapped in the car seat
hanging over the crook of my arm.
Her gaze drops to the bags “Are you sure
you’re coming back tomorrow?” She asks
suppressing a laugh.
A girl needs opinions.
“And does this friend have a name?”
Of course, he does. Ntsikayethu Bhengu.
Ignoring her I place everything on the couch
and answer my ringing phone.
“I’m outside” Ntsika simply says.
I still can’t believe he bullied me into sleeping
over.
“Make (mom) my transport is here, I’ll see
you tomorrow” I say.
“Tell your friend to come in so I can have a
description for the police should something
happen to you”
Really? “Nothing will happen” I tell her.
After babysitting Nosihle for two days and
coming back at three am last week, she
knows exactly who I’m going to.
I take my bags shaking my head and walk out
leaving her in stitches.
Ntsika is parked three houses away clued to
his phone, he jumps when I knock on the
window and he quickly steps out of the car
and helps me with my bags.
I’m surprised to see him alone “Where is
Nosihle”
“At a sleepover” he shakes his head “I can’t
imagine what’s it’s like having 5, loud 9-year-
old girls under one roof, they’d drive me
crazy” he says.
He’s so dramatic.
His phone rings as he turns into a garage.
“My sister” he flashes me his screen “she’s
been calling all day”
“Maybe it’s an emergency” I offer.
He shakes his head “You don’t know Mabuyi,
she wants money.... in fact, let me put it on
silence. No phones allowed this weekend”
I agree.
Now that we are at a garage I remember.
“Umh w-we need to get condoms” I’m sure he
doesn’t have any at his house or else he
would’ve used it the first time.
“Why” confused, a frown creases his
forehead “you’ve already infected me with
whatever you have, not once but twice” I
want to slap the amusement off his face.
I pull a fierce look I can possibly muster, not
shifting my gaze from his eyes.
“Mmm-hmm I’m sure it has inhabited every
part of me now”
And just like that I’m disempowered.
He thinks he is funny.
“Is that the only thing you’re worried about?
You could be baking my bun in your oven as
we speak” his heavy-lidded eyes are
stretched to my stomach and a boyish grin on
his lips.
It looks like I’ll be dealing with comedian
Ntsika tonight, let me calm him from his
euphoria.
Lifting my arm, I point at the little mark on
my inner arm “see this, it’s an implant. It
protects me from pregnancy for the next
three years”
His lips curve upwards, I thought he’d be
somewhat disappointed by my revelation.
“No implants formed again my soldiers shall
prosper” he tells me before getting a packet
of condoms.
I like this playful side of him.
.
.
I jump him the minute we are alone in his
bedroom. My body can’t get enough of him, a
single touch and I instantly set afire and I
quiver. He worships every inch of me and I
let him.
I don’t rush him, I give him something that
we both need, slow lovemaking, combined
with Intimacy and Passion. A total
consummation of our boyfriend and girlfriend
status. His pace is measured as he moves on
top of me, filling me with every inch of
himself and I’m touching every part of him.
By the time he lets out his animalistic groans
indicating his sweet release, I’m huffing and
puffing and for a change, it’s not from lifting
those heavy boxes at work but I’m panting
with the exertion of being traveled to cloud
nine and back, only to be taken back.
Hearing a whine escapes my lips from feeling
the emptiness he leaves inside me when he
slides out, he lets out a throaty laugh.
“Is it uNgcolosi or do you just love ucansi?“
They get arrogant and cooky once you allow
them to get between your legs, don’t they?
“As if you don’t love it”
“I didn’t jump you the moment we entered
the house” he plants a slow kiss on my lips
restricting any further objections “You’re
right though, I love playing umama no baba
with you and you have the permission to jump
me anytime” he says laughing as he walks to
the bathroom and I see it.
Café-au-lait spot, chocolate brown, shaped
like a spark of fire, very distinctive and
prominent and it’s on his left butt cheek.
“Your birthmark is on your ass”
“I told you you’d see it”
“You were probably burned for having a
smart mouth” I hear his laughter over the
flowing tap.
It feels like such a long time ago when he
told me about his crazy birthmark
superstition.
sexually, I’m satisfied. I have painful thighs
and swollen lips as proof but my gurgling
stomach reminds me that I haven’t eaten all
day. He is dressed in jeans and a grey t-shirt
and I’m still naked in his bed.
“What’s for supper, I’m hungry” I ask.
“I’ll check what I have. I haven’t done any
grocery shopping so it won’t be anything
fancy” I just want food.
Out he goes, giving me a chance to freshen
up.
Don’t look at me like that, I'm not showing
again. I’ve already bathed twice today which
is more than enough. He will sleep next to my
sweaty body, it’s his fault anyway.
It’s a good thing I went for sexy plus with
the little weight I lost it fits well, exposing
just enough skin.
I find him in front of the stove, moaning with
a jam-filled spoon in his mouth. On one of
these good days, I will ask about his
fascination with it.
“You cook” it’s more of a statement than a
question. I’m surprised, because, well, the
stigma about Zulu man and their caveman
tendencies.
He studies me, a slow, perusal look from head
to toe, and when our eyes meet I see the
hunger. He blinks a few times summoning an
ounce of control left in him.
What do you have to say now smart mouth?
“Next time I want you to walk around this
house covered in nothing but jam” urg!
You look sexy or something along those lines
would’ve been more appreciated.
I sit on the chair opposite and watch him.
“Why do you love jam so much?”
He shrugs nonchalantly “It’s very nice and it’s
my grandmother recipe so it has that extra
sweet taste to it”
“Your grandmother”
“Mmm-hmm maternal” I hear the fondness in
his voice “I used to travel to Eswatini once a
month just for it but life is too busy now so
she supplied me with enough jam to last me
months” he really loves jam, doesn’t he?
I nod “When last did you see her?” I ask.
He is making spaghetti and yet to see what
we going to eat it with.
“It’s been a while” he pauses thinking “I’m
planning to visit next month, come with me”
“Hai Ntsika what is your grandmother going
to say? We haven’t been dating for long and
already you want to introduce me”
“Don’t worry, she’s going to love you because
I love you. She’s...” wait!
“You love me” again, it’s more of a statement
than a question.
“I thought I made that obvious” he casually
says and places a plate of creamy butter
chicken pasta in front of me “love you. More
than I love my grandmother’s jam and I
really love it”
Hearing that my heart melts.
“How old are you” I ask after swallowing.
He takes a drink from his water and turns to
look at me with a mischievous smile.
“30” I don’t believe that for a second.
“I’m 27” I tell him when he doesn’t ask
“I know” I raise an eyebrow “I got it from
Facebook, where I got your number. You need
to privatize that information”
He’s right.
I wash the dishes while Ntsika checks on
Amile and at around 9 pm, we sit comfortably
in front of a tv screen with a flees blanket
covering us. His head is on my things and he
keeps blowing hot air on my bare thigh.
“Hai baby what are we watching here” Maybe
I shouldn’t have chosen a romantic comedy
but even after my failed marriage, I’m still a
sucker for love.
His fingers feel like a feather on my skin, he
runs it back and forth and It feels like
there’s a burning inside of me that’s growing.
“Ntsika” I call out his name.
His touch forces me to slightly spread my leg
allowing him more excess.
It’s uNgcolosi as he calls his penis. I can’t
get enough.
“This is better than watching people promise
each the world. Where do they expect the
rest of us to go”
I'm smiling as he pulls me down to the floor
and removes his t-shirt. He leans forward
and places his lips softly against mine. Many
times I wondered how it would be to fall in
love again and too many times I tried to
convince myself that I would never love any
man like I loved Phathu, but here is Ntsika,
and I love him more than my imagination
could conjure.
He kisses his way down my neck, grabbing the
hem of my vest and pulling it off me. When
that is gone, I lay flat on the fluffy mat.
He runs his finger along the lace hem of my
short before he slips them over my hips and
he tosses them somewhere.
“Ntsika” I call out to him, and he can’t deny
me.
“I need to redeem myself”
Oh- he has, he redeemed himself, trust me.
I’m convinced that he was too excited the
first time he had me which is why he found
his release too quick.
He slides his palms down my breast, stomach,
and thighs. A trail of heat follows his every
touch. I spread my knees exposing all of me
and he growls.
I need him.
My head snaps back as his lips feast on my
nipples, down my stomach and inner thighs
until I feel the heat of his mouth hovering
over my lady part. I hold his head in place
and gyrate my hips to his face.
“Into ekwenza ungezanga ekhaya yibo
lobuhumusha obenzayo la!” A voice shouts as
Ntsika’s hot tongue flickers my clit and I
gasp.
“Baba... ma” appalled Ntsika shouts. He gets
on top of me covering my exposed bare skin.
mgodzi vuleka ngi ngene and someone please
exhume me when Ntsika’s parents get
amnesia.
His mother is the first one to leave, followed
by his father. I quickly grab the flees
blanket and cover myself before rushing to
his bedroom.
He follows a few minutes later, fully dressed
and exasperation and annoyance on his face.
“I’m sorry about that. My parents didn’t tell
me they were coming” he rubs his palms on
his face and sighs audibly “get dressed so
that we can hear what they want”
We?
Is Ntsika out of his mind? I’m not leaving
this bedroom until they leave.
“They are not going to leave until we face
them” he reads my mind.
I dress up, this is not how I planned to meet
my future in-laws for the first time. I
thought we’d drive down to KZN and there
would be lunch and all, like how it’s supposed
to be. And not with Ntsika’s mouth flat-out
eating my vagina.
I pull my hand away when he takes it and
follow behind him. They are both standing in
the middle of the living room, his father
towering over all of us.
I see where he gets his looks from but I see
his mother in him too. This is the man I
spend a few hours on google reading his
Wikipedia page.
Mhlangana Bhengu.
My eyes travel around the room gazing at
anything but them.
“Ntsikayethu what’s going on here?” his deep
voice echoes around the living room.
“Baba, this is Nomalanga, my future wife” is
Ntsika serious.
“Your future wife?” His father shakes his
head vigorously slapping his tongue against
his teeth “have you forgotten...”
“Baba I’m not a teenager, I’m 37 and I make
my own decisions, and you know very well why
didn’t I come home this weekend” Ntsika
cuts him off.
37 minus 27... I do a quick calculation in my
head.
“Ntsika this is a family matter, can your... can
she excuse us” His mother finally says, giving
me the same slow, perusal look from head to
toe Ntsika did. Only that Ntsika’s face was
not disgusted.
She’s not as angry as Mhlangana but her tone
is venomous.
“Nomalanga is my guest, I invited her. You
are the ones that showed up uninv...” I reach
out and touch him lightly before he finishes.
Words can't be taken back once said and
right now everyone is angry and no matter
what they are his parents “I’ll go”
“You don’t have to go” he says softly.
“Usanganiswa icunza lo” his father.
“It’s okay Ntsika, your mother is right. We
will talk tomorrow” I turn on my heels and go
to the bedroom.
It’s a good thing I didn’t unpack.
I get the same look I always get when people
see Amile when I emerge from Nosihle’s
bedroom with him now awake. it’s that look I
can’t explain. Ntsika gives me his car keys
and kisses me in front of them before I walk
out.
www.ebookscat.com

uNomalanga: The Bhengu wife

Chapter 9
NTSIKA
“You’re already giving her your car keys,
what’s next? Your house?” His father angrily
shouts.
She will soon own half of his assets, what’s a
house?
“What are you doing here?” Ntsika asks
matching his father’s anger. He is his
father’s son after all. “I didn’t leave my
house keys at home for you two to just burst
in here uninvited”
“Do you have any idea how embarrassing it
was in that meeting with Makhovula? You
made me look like a fool that can’t control his
children. I come here and find you...” he won’t
say it out loud, he can’t. It’s just
embarrassing.
“A simple phone call would have saved us all
from this moment but I blame myself, I
didn’t make it clear enough. I’m not marrying
Yenziwe.”
“Ntsika are you listening to yourself.” He
shakes his head unbelievably. His ears must
be deceiving him. Ntsika has never in his life
spoke to him in this manner. “Is that how you
talk to me? You think you’re a man and can
talk to me how ever”
Of course, he is a man!
“I’m sorry if I’m being disrespectful Baba,
but this need you have of always needing to
maintain power over nearly every aspect of
my life, including my personal and romantic
relationships has to end. You think I don’t
know but you and Makhovula pushed and made
sure Ntokozo and I end up together. I thank
you for that but I’m a 37-year-old man for
goodness sake. I’ve let you control me far too
long, it stops now.”
Mabuyi would be proud. He is finally standing
up against their father but then he didn’t
need to, there was nothing worth standing up
to but now that he has Nomalanga everything
has changed. She is worth fighting for, even
if it means falling off from the high
pedestal.
Ntsika holds his father’s intense stare,
unblinking, his eyes fix on him until it gets
uncomfortable to the both of them “I’m not
marrying Yenziwe. I love Nomalanga” he
continues.
Ntsika is the first one to drop his eyes when
maDhlamini claps once and rests both hands
on either side of her hips.
“What love portion has she fed you?” she
says.
Typical African mothers. It is never love, is
it?
“You can’t possibly be in love with a hoodrat
like that”
At first, she was against Ntsika marrying
Yenziwe. Irrespective of culture she wanted
Ntsika to marry for love but seeing how far
apart Nomalanga’s knees were spread and
Ntsika’s head buried between her thighs she
thinks not.
He will not be the first person to enter into
this kind of marriage. He will learn to love
Yenziwe.
Mothers know best and Nomalanga is not a
woman enough or else she would’ve respected
herself enough to have sex in the bedroom,
on a bed just as Yenziwe would.
Sex is secret.
“A What...?” He bolts his hands into a fist
and takes long breathes to try and control
the sudden urge to shout and scream at her
“NaDhlamini I think you should leave before
we both say things we don’t mean” he says in
siSwati.
“Ntsika...”
“NaDhlamini, please” he picks up Nomalaga’s
vest on the floor and the silk shorts hanging
over the armrest on the couch on the far
left of the room. “leave my keys at the door
when you leave” he says.
“Ntsika...” Mhlangana
“Baba, please. I’m asking you to leave. No
matter what you’re both my parents and I’d
hate to disrespect you. Come back tomorrow”
he says and walks away.
He hears maDhlamini clicking her tongue and
cursing under her breath as he disappears
around the passage.
Everything else he can tolerate, anything,
except for derogatory names that degrade
Nomalanga.
maDhlamini angrily throws the key along with
the gate remote on the couch and follows
behind her husband.
.
.
Today he is driving a Lexus, not as luxurious
as the C63 buts it’s comfortable.
As per usual he is parked three houses away,
the same spot he’d park when he was still
stalking her.
How dare his parents!
He clenches the starring wheel until his
bones start to feel as if they are about to
break. He thought he’d get some sleep after
his parents left but sleep had deserted him.
In an attempt to distract himself from his
thoughts he went through Eyethu and the
Bhengu garage’s finances and when that
failed he found himself driving around, and at
dawn, he was parked here. The rain finally
stopped and the sun is out. He sends her a
text and heaves a low sigh, trying to keep his
anger at bay.
Minutes later Nomalanga appears. She is
wearing a white A-line midi dress just below
her knees, he has never seen her wearing a
dress and she looks more beautiful than when
she does in jeans. He gets out of the car and
embraces her, burying her deep in his chest.
At least that manages to make him feel
better.
“Hi” she says, softly. “What are you doing
here so early?” he tastes the minty
toothpaste on her lips when he kisses her.
Not wanting to let go he deepens the kiss
until a passerby clears their throat.
Giggling, they break away from each other
feeling like teenagers.
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay” he says.
“I’m okay, I was worried about you. I hope
your parents weren’t too angry”
“Let’s not talk about that” He lets out a loud
sigh, hurtful things were said and he does
not want to relive it “let’s get in the car” he
suggests.
“Make (mom) wants to see you first”
He immediately drops her hands, blinking
rapidly past her as if her mother is watching.
“Why?” his voice rises in panic. “Did you tell
her what happened?” horrid, he asks.
It’s enough that his parents caught them in
the act, he doesn’t need Nomalanga’s mother
knowing about their escapades too.
Amused by his fearfulness, she laughs. “You
should see your face” she continues laughing.
“I didn’t tell her anything. I don’t talk about
my sex life with anyone and besides, where
was I'm going to start?” She says once she
recollects herself.
Turning, he checks his reflection on the car’s
window and rubs both his hands on his face
smoothing out the wrinkles around his tired
eyes.
Meeting Nomalanga’s mother at 9 in the
morning is not something he planned, it’s not
how it should be. It’s out of the normality
but again, she meet his parents in the most
unorthodox way.
“Relax. She’s cool and I’m sure she’s going to
love you” she says when she hears his rapid
breathing behind her as she opens the gate.
“Of course, we have been dating less than 24
hours and already you’re introducing me.
That’s how much of a lovable guy I am”
Temaswati walks out of the bedroom with
Amile over her hip as they enter. He
nervously rubs his hands together and smiles.
“Sawubona”
“Yebo” she replies trying to sound aloof.
For some reason Nomalanga knew her mother
would do something like this, she behaved
the same when she first meet Phathu but
unlike then, she’s failing at her attempt to be
the austere mother she’s trying to be.
Looking past her, Ntsika sees a picture of
Nomalanga on her graduation day.
She's must be smart he thinks to himself.
“Make (mom), this is Ntsika and bab... Ntsika
this is my mother, Temaswati”
Was she about to call him baby?
“Ngiyajabula kukwati” (pleased to meet you)
that surprises Nomalanga. Ntsika has never
spoken to her in her native tongue since the
first time they meet.
Amile arches his back, whimpering and
rubbing his eyes which draws attention from
all of them.
“He gets a little cranky after he wakes up”
Ntsika is full of surprises today. He noticed
that after spending just a few hours with
him. Nomalanga blushes while Temaswati lets
out a subtle smile. She orders Nomalanga to
make breakfast and offers him a seat.
She doesn’t waste any time with 3rd-degree
questions.
Who are you?
What does Nomalanga mean to you?
What are your intentions?
What do you do for a living?
The kind of questions a father asks their
daughter’s boyfriends. He relaxes as he
answers everything honestly.
“Ntsikayethu, Nomalanga has been through a
lot. Men in her life have disappointed her
greatly” Temaswati says with a genuine look
of concern “If you dare hurt her like her ex-
husband, I will find you and no one will
recognize you when I’m through with you”
His chest clenches and not from what
Temaswati is saying but rather imagining
Nomalanga hurt.
“I promise, I will never hurt her
intentionally”
“That’s good enough for me”
Nomalanga walks back in with a tray of
breakfast. Toast, eggs, and bacon.
“Sorry, we don’t have jam here” he smiles and
politely accepts the tray. He doesn’t have an
appetite but he eats anyway.
“How come you never speak to me in siSwati”
she asks as they walk back to his car.
“That’s because I want you to get used to
speaking isiZulu, that is what we will be
speaking in our household. Of course, our
children will know how to speak siSwati but
isiZulu will be our home language”
A house filled with their kids. She smiles at
the thought.
“Why didn’t you tell me you are divorced?” he
asks softly once they are seated in the car.
“It never came up.” They still have a lot to
learn about each other.
He nods and shits his body to face her.
Naturally, the next question is “what
happened?”
She heaves a low sigh “I caught him cheating
and the next thing I knew, I was signing
divorce papers, and just like that it was the
end of that chapter” suddenly, it makes
sense. Phindile must be the woman her ex
cheated with.
“Do you miss him?”
“Angavuya” she exclaims remembering how
much her father loved saying that “But he is
Amile’s father. Am I crazy that I sometimes
I wish he was present in his life?”
He shakes his head ignoring the little
jealousy he feels “You’re not crazy, it
happens. But I don’t want you to worry. Amile
is surrounded by people that love and care
for him. I’ll try my utmost best and be a
father to him and you’ll see, he’ll be fine”
Loving Amile came naturally to him, why
wouldn’t he love him? He is a happy, chubby
boy.
Okay, that’s enough talk about her ex.
“I’m sorry about last night.”
She brings her hands to her face and slaps
her palms on herself screeching as if it’s last
night again. “Don’t remind me about that. I’m
never meeting your parents again. God, I’ve
never been so mortified”
He laughs. She will get over it, he has, and
sooner or later they will meet again.
“It serves them right. They will learn to
knock next time. I hope they are blind” he
says chuckling. “Apart from wanting to see
your beautiful face, they are also the reason
I’m here. I’ll be driving to Hluhluwe with
them today, there’s something important I
need to sort out”
She nods, she already misses him and he’s
not even gone “Nosihle?”
“The nanny is around”
“I’m sure you’re going to need your car. I
can...”
“It’s alright... you can use it while I’m gone, I
don’t mind.”
“Are you serious?” She can’t believe it.
Phathu didn’t allow her to drive his 1series.
“Mmm-hmm” he loves seeing her happy.
“Ntsika, how rich are you?” She suddenly
asks warily, chewing on her bottom lip. He
can’t read her face, she’s not happy nor is
she angry but her brows are knitted as she
waits for an answer.
“It depends” he casually says and she arches
an eyebrow “how angry or happy will my
answer make you?”
“Ntsika, I googled your father and he’s on
Forbes magazine”
“Ahhhhh if that’s the case, Mhlangana
Bhengu is rich and I just happen to be his
son”
She scoffs at his vagueness.
“Before I forget” he leans towards the back
seat and grabs his bag. “Please give this to
Nkosinathi” She seriously needs to set
boundaries when it comes to work-related
stuff.
“What excuse will I give Nkosinathi for
bringing your bag. He will just know we
sleeping together...” she grabs the bag
“anyway, what this?”
“It’s the company’s financial records. He has
to submit it to the accountant” he says,
ignoring everything else she said.
“You use an external accountant?” He nods
“you don’t know this but I’m a qualified
accountant. I can do everything for you at
half a price, you don’t have to pay me if
you’re unhappy” she sings passionately.
“Okay” he simply says. “And Nomalanga never
sell yourself short in life. You have to believe
that your skills are exceptional. Take a few
days off and work on that, when you’re done
send me an invoice, not a discounted invoice”
He is right, she’s an excellent accountant.
She will not disappoint.
“I love every minute I spend with you but I
have to go now” he says.
.
.
He is not surprised when he finds his parents
parked outside his gate. It’s after 11 and
judging by the displeased look on his father’s
face, they’ve been here for long. As quickly
as his anger dissolved when he saw
Nomalanga, it comes back tenfold but
Nosihle will be back anytime and he doesn’t
want her witnessing any squabbling between
him and her grandparents.
He breathes in and out, calming himself. No
shouting today he reminds himself and steps
out of the car. maDhlamini is the first one to
come out of the car when his father parks
behind him.
She gives her a motherly warm smile.
“We come in peace” she says “and I want to
apologize for the things I said yesterday”
This is the mother he knows and loves and
not the name-calling person she was last
night.
“Ntsikayethu, do you know how long we have
been waiting outside?.” His father shouts
getting out of the car.
maDhlamini turns and reaches for him,
brushing her hand on his shoulder. They
spoke about this last night, Ntsika is just as
stubborn, shouting and raging will not make
him change his mind about marrying Yenziwe
but talking to him calmly will.
“Baba, please calm down. We are not here to
fight” she says.
“Hai maDhlamini I’m sure he was with her.
Did she give you more of that love portion”
“I made sure to eat its roots this time”
Ntsika mumbles, audible enough for his
mother to hear.
Something inside her turns but she keeps
her composure
“Baba” she calms her husband.
Mhlangana huffs throwing his hands in the
air and follows them inside the house.
maDhlamini remains standing, refusing to sit
down even after Ntsika tells her they didn’t
have sex on the couch
“I’ll stand” she says.
Ntsika shakes his head and turns to his
father “Baba I’ve had a lot to think and I
think I should go home with you and ma. I
need to explain to Makhovula why I can’t
marry Yenziwe”
Mhlangana looks at his wife trying to control
himself from bursting.
“Baba, Why don’t you get some air, let me
speak to Ntsika.”
As soon as he’s out she sits on the opposite
couch and sighs “Ntsika, my son” she starts
“Are you the father of that girl’s baby”
She’s too careful not to sound prude and
rude. He shakes his head.
“Her name is Nomalanga”
“That baby is too young to be sleeping out, it
just shows the type of person she is. Do you
even know what happened to the father?”
She asks.
“NaDhlamini you don’t know Nomalanga well
enough to make assumptions regarding her
character. To answer your questions, yes, the
father is not in the picture. She is divorced”
She fails to conceal the horrid look on her
face
“Divorced? Is that the type of woman you
want as a wife? What is she going to happen
when things get tough, pack her bags and
leave you? I know you think you love her but
she’s not what you need”
“Make (mom) why is it so difficult for you to
understand. Nomalanga is going to be your
daughter-in-law and for everyone's sake,
please accept it sooner rather than later and
get your husband on board. The only reason
I’m going home with you is to talk to
Makhovula. I’m not going to marry Yenziwe,
I’m sorry but I can’t” he says in siSwati
hoping that his mother will understand
better.
“Yenziwe is going to be a good wife, I
promise...”
“I’m sure she will be to someone else.
Nomalanga is going to be a good wife to me”
He cuts her short.
“She’s going to make you happy”
“Nomalanga has that already covered”
This is tiring.
“NaDhlamini there’s nothing you can say or do
that will change what I feel for her. I love
her just make peace with it”
Ignoring him “Yenziwe will bear you children”
she says.
Nomalanga is not barren.
“ I’m sure Nomalanga can do that too”
“Do what Ntsikayethu?” she switches to
isiZulu, hoping he understands every word
“bear me albino grandchildren?”
www.ebookscat.com

uNomalanga: The Bhengu wife

Chapter 10
NOMALANGA
Only after my earlier conversation with
Ntsika do I realize that I have no idea what
has been happening with my divorce
proceedings.
“Hey. How far are you with finalizing the
divorce?” I text Phathu.
I’m not sure of the process but it’s
uncontested so I’m expecting everything to
be fast and smooth sailing. I huff when he
blue tricks me and goes offline without
responding.
Why did I unblock his ass?
It’s after 2 pm and my mother hasn’t stopped
talking about Ntsika since he left this
morning.
“A man that loves and treats you well and
loves your child is worth keeping” She says.
I’m getting ready to visiting Sizakele, for the
first time since we reconnected our work
schedules are not clashing and I thought I’d
see her before I start working on Eyethu and
the garages books. Speaking of which, I need
to ask Nkosinathi for leave.
Jesus Nomalanga!
I haven’t even been working there for a full
month and already I’m taking time off.
Nkosinathi is going to flip but I don’t have a
choice, the money I’m going to make is worth
the risk. Amile needs to see an
ophthalmologist urgently and it won't be
cheap.
“Ah make, you only meet Ntsika for an hour.
How do you know he loves me?” I argue.
“Remember what I said about Phathu when I
first meet him and what did he do?” That’s
uncalled for, I stop combing my hair and look
at her through the mirror. I need a hair cut
“I’m just putting my point across.” she says
with raised hands “I just know these things
Noma and Ntsika does love you. I see a
bright future, trust me” okay clairvoyant
Temaswati.
Ntsika’s car is way better than my Yaris but
again, they are incomparable. I manage to
snap and post a few pictures before I leave
and immediately, I get a text.
“C63! Noma that’s my dream car.” I can hear
the excitement in Phathu as I read his text.
This time I’m the one that blue ticks him.
“Life is good uh” another text.
The nerve!
Twenty minutes later I find Sizakele waiting
at the gate with a smile on her face.
“nkosatana ya kwaVilakati you failed to
mention that you won the lottery” she’s
beaming. I get off the car laughing.
“When I do win the lotto, I swear you’ll be
the first to know” I follow her to the back
room where she’s renting. Growing up, we
envisioned and talked about how our lives
would be as adults, and not once did she think
she’d be sharing a one-room with her eleven-
year-old daughter but life happens, it’s not
like I envisioned myself divorced, working a
job that pays close to nothing and with a
child.
It’s a nice and neat room though, the fridge
is close to the door next to the two-door
cupboard. The bed is on the far end placed
against the wall on the corner, there’s a
chest of drawers next to it and the tv is on
top of it. Like I said, nice and neat. We
decide to sit outside.
“She is grown” I tell her looking at her
daughter, Khanyisile as she walks towards
the gate to get us a cold drink.
She reminds me of the younger version of
Sizakele.
“Sometimes it scares me, Noma. What if she
repeats the same mistakes I did. Look at me,
I’m 28 and yet I have nothing to show for it.
I don’t regret having her but sometimes I
imagine life would be so much better if I
didn’t have her at such a young age” she says
worried “I didn’t want to believe it but I
think there’s a generational curse in my
family. My grandmother had my mother at
fourteen, she had me at fourteen as well and
I had Khayi at sixteen, what if the same
thing happens to her and she ends up being a
teen mom. Did you see her hips?”
I completely understand and seeing how
Khanyisile is entering an early stage of
puberty, boys will be chasing after soon.
Sizakele and I had full hips by the time we
reached sixteen but because of her beauty
boys were always after her and I too fear
the same will happen to Khanyisile.
“There’s no such thing as generational
curses” I attempt to give my two cents worth
of advice “The only thing you can do is to
teach her the difference between right and
wrong and hope she will make the best
decision.” I say.
“That true but I have hope. She’s nothing
like me, she’s very smart and responsible. You
know my mother was so strict that she made
it difficult for me to talk to her, I don’t want
to be like that with Khanyisile. I’ve created
an environment where she’s free to talk and
I hope it stays that way. I want to give her
advice when she starts having sex.” I admire
her for this. Who said parenting is easy. The
bloody thing has no manual, as a parent you
do what you have to and hope for the best.
“Teenagers should not have sex period” I
fully agree but we can't also ignore the fact
that kids are sexually active
“Enough about me.... “ she says chirpily
“where did you score that jackpot?” She's
referring to the car.
Once I start talking about Ntsika I don’t
shut up but when I eventually do I ask about
the man in her life.
“There’s a guy, nothing serious though” she
blushes, contradicting the words coming out
of her mouth “he’s a security guard and
makes the same amount of money as I do and
because of that, I don't think it will work
out. I’m not saying I want a rich man like
Ntsika but life is hard and love doesn’t pay
the bills”
My phone rings before I can answer her, it’s
my mother.
“Nomalanga your mother-in-law is here” she
says.
“My what?”
“Phathu’s mother. Come back”
.
.
After ignoring her calls for a full week I
should have known Phathu’s mother would do
something like this, but, I’m in denial. Even
after I park behind her Isuzu double cap,
and enter the house I expect my mother to
shout April’s fool (never mind that it’s not
April) or Leon Schuster to appear from a
corner with hidden cameras and shout that
I’ve been Schuks, anything, just not her
sitting in my living room eating biscuits with
tea.
This is not a prank, she is here in a flesh.
Sighs.
Lord, please give me strength!
“Mme” I greet.
She smiles warmly “Langa, my daughter. How
are you?” Her chirpy voice tells me she
doesn’t know about the divorce.
“I was just telling your mother how sorry I
am for just showing up unannounced. I
thought something bad had happened to you
when you didn’t answer my calls” Now I feel
bad.
I don’t usually lie but this situation permits it
“I’m sorry about that, my phone fell and the
screen is blank and I could not answer your
calls” I’m blabbering ain’t I? “I got it fixed
this morning” I say when I remember that
she must’ve been here when my mother
called.
“I’m so relieved to see you and my grandson
well” She’s smiling looking at Amile. I don’t
have anything against her so I hand Amile
over when she opens her arms but his lips
start quivering and a loud wail follows. She
soothes him, trying to calm him but he’s
having none of it and when she fails she
hands him back to me with the same look I
had six months ago, the same pained look of
rejection.
“Just give him a few minutes, he will warm up
to you. He cries each time he sees new faces”
my mother tells her.
The language barrier between them has
gotten better over the years since my Lobola
negotiations.
She lets out a faint smile and nods.
Kids!
The wrinkles around her face are much more
defined than the last time I saw her making
her look older than she is.
I don’t know what else to do besides smile at
her before I excuse myself and step into my
bedroom.
After an hour Amile finally sleeps but I can’t
find the courage to go back to the living
room and face Phathu’s mother, my ex-
mother-in-law.
“Nomalanga” Phathu answers his phone after
a few rings. “You ignored my messages.” He
says annoyed.
His mannerisms, or rather lack of would
irritate me if his mother wasn’t sitting and
waiting.
“Why didn’t you tell me your mother is
coming?”
His anxiety shoots through the phone
speaker as he asks “What do you mean I
should’ve told you my mother is coming?”
“Just that.” I’m the irritated one now “Your
mother is here.” I say.
“Damn it” I hear him curse under his breathe
“She didn’t mention that she’d come there
when she left this morning. Noma...” his voice
suddenly gets soft “Please don’t mention the
divorce”
He has got to be kidding me!
“Phathutshedzo you haven’t told your mother
that we are divorced?” I don’t mean to shout
but Phathu brings out the worst in me.
“I haven’t had the chance” he exclaims
“It’s been over six months”
“I know dammit. Do me this one favor”
“I don’t owe you anything” I truly don’t but
during one of our pillow talks he mentioned
how his mother raised him and his brothers
and sister alone after their father passed on
and because of that he tries not to
disappoint her but I guess hearing that he
cheated on his wife will do just that.
“Please, Noma” he almost sounds as if he’s
begging.
“I won’t mention anything but if she asks I
won’t lie. I’ll tell her everything”
“What do you mean everything, what’s
everything?”
“Everything Phathu. Phindile, the divorce and
how much of an absent father you are” I
hang up before he can say anything.
I’m not malicious, I’ll let him be the one to
tell his mother that he left me but having an
upper hand feels good.
I give myself a little pep talk before walking
back to the living area, looking distinctly
sheepish. Phathu’s mother is still sitting
where I left her but her intense gaze makes
me feel like I’m 12 years again and she has
discovered my indiscretions or misdeed or
wrong-doing or whatever and I’m about to
get the talk.
I remind myself that I’m not the one who
misbehaved in my marriage but her son
before I sit down.
“Makoti, I’ve noticed you’re not wearing your
wedding ring” it’s more of a question than a
statement.
I look at my mother in hope that she will
jump in and rescue me but she gives me an
encouraging nod.
To hell with Phathu, I don’t owe him any
loyalty.
“Mme I’m not sure if Phathu told you but he
and I are divorced” she gasps, slapping both
hands over her wide open mouth muffling her
voice as she screeches “six months ago” I
continue.
“Hai Nomalanga. What are you telling me”?”
she says once she recovers from her shock
“I knew something was wrong when I arrived
in Joburg and you were not there but I had
no idea this was it. What happened”
I don’t leave out any detail as I relive that
day. And by the time I’m done she’s next to
me with her arms wrapped around my
shoulders giving me a warm hug and I’m in
tears. I’m not crying over my failed marriage
but because I lost a mother. Phathu’s mother
loves me like her own and it’s painful to know
that I’ve lost her too.
“Shhhhh don’t cry, everything will be alright”
she keeps saying brushing her hand back and
forth on my back “How can Phathutshedzo do
this to you. I don’t know where he got this
behavior from because Mulaudzi was the
best husband and father” She says.
I’m forced to recollect myself. I hate crying
over this.
“Mulaudzi must be turning in his grave.” She
says and turns her eyes to my mother
“Temaswati, why didn’t you mention
anything?” She asks accusingly.
“It wasn’t my place to tell. Phathu is your son
Ndivhuwo, he’s the one that was supposed to
tell you” my mother says sternly.
“Why didn’t you come to me Nomalanga?” Her
eyes have turned back to me “You became my
daughter when you married Phathu and I’m
your mother as much as I’m his.”
I have no excuse because unlike most
mothers, she wouldn’t have picked her son's
side, not when he’s the one that was in the
wrong. She’s one in a million. I still say I’ll
never find a mother-in-law like her.
“I don’t know mme. Everything happened so
fast, I just wanted to forget and take care
of Amile”
She clicks her tongue “Phathutshedzo had to
do this, after everything you did for him” she
exclaims “Don’t worry, I’m going sort him out.
I’m going to make sure that he will be here
next weekend with his uncles. He needs to
make things right by you and stop this
nonsense”
I’m not ready to face him, or his family
especially now that I’ve found my happiness
but I guess one way or the other this day
was bound to happen.
“And we need to give my grandson Tshivenda
name”
I’ll allow it for her sake.
I’m not interested in knowing the details of
what will happen next weekend so I excuse
myself and go back to my bedroom while she
and my mother continue talking.
“I have just arrived but I already want to
come back to you. Is it normal? Anyway, I’m
safe” It only takes a simple text from Ntsika
to turn my frown into a smile.
Immediately after reading his text, I get a
bank notification.
Five hundred and seventy rands has been
transferred into my account. And guess
what’s the reference.
You guessed it!
“Amile’s maintenance”
R570?
Please allow me to use profanity this time, I
mean, what msunery is this?
uNomalanga: The Bhengu wife
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Chapter 11
FEZILE
He hasn't stopped bringing flowers and
chocolates but last night Mabuyi commented
on how much more bile Zimasa must’ve gotten
this past week alone so today, he bought her
a pair of red bottom high heels. The sales
lady said she's going to love them. Their
relationship is not yet there but they’ve
made progress and their conversations are no
longer short and dry. She is on the bed with
a laptop on her lap when he walks in.
astonished, her upper lid rises while the
lower one draws down
“Why are you looking at me like that? Did I
do something wrong?” he asks apprehensively.
It’s like walking on eggshells whenever he’s
around her.
“No, I’m just surprised” she says stretching
her lips into a smile “No flowers or
chocolates today”
There's a trace of nervousness in his voice
as he says “Mabuyi mentioned that you must
be tired of chocolate so I got you these....”
She accepts the paper bag. “If you don't
love....”
“I love them” She cuts in cheerfully and
lively
“You do?” He is surprised. A shoe full of
spikes makes her happy? And how the hell
can she walk in such shoes? The freaking
heel is a size of a pencil.
“Hell yes!” she shrieks. Although it no longer
feels like her stitches are about to tear
apart when she walks, it's still too early for
her to start walking in heels. “I had no idea
you knew my shoe size” she says.
He doesn't. Mabuyi came to the rescue.
“Thank God Mabuyi spoke when she did, I
couldn't take any more of those roses”
Ain't women supposed to love flowers?
“You hated the flowers” he asks.
“Not hate, it's just that I’m allergic to
flowers and I hate chocolates” she says.
His head hangs in shame when he realizes
how little he knows about his wife.
“Why didn't you say anything? I didn't know,
I'm sorry” he says with a sullen face.
“I couldn't bring myself to tell you.” she says
with a light wave. “I loved the gesture but
baby, you’re not the romantic type and as
crazy as that sounds, I love that about you.
This week has been interesting but can
things go back to being normal. I’m not going
anywhere. We said till death do us apart,
remember?”
This doesn’t sound like someone who was
ready to pack and leave just a week ago.
He nudges the laptop closer when it lights up
with property24’s webpage “House hunting
already?”
He thought she'd wait until Owami is a few
months old but guess not.
“Why wait? I’ve called a few estate agents
and as soon as I can, we will go view”
He bites back whatever opinion he has about
moving, it won’t do him any good. Not when
she has her mind made up.
He loosens his tie and undoes the first two
buttons of his shirt. He had some things to
finalize at the office before he takes his
official leave, and strangely it feels good not
to worry about work.
“Technically we didn’t get to do the “death
do us apart” charade” This is what he wanted
to say before he got distracted and though
he refused to have the white wedding, their
traditional wedding was a week-long
celebration, over the top and royal just as
Zimasa had wanted.
“I think it’s about time” her eyes widen ready
to jump out of their sockets. He gives her a
knowing smile before stepping into their
closet and when he walks back in, she’s on her
feet with her hands on her hips and her eyes
still wide open.
“Fezile” she whispers “you hate white
weddings”
“But you do.”
She gets goosebumps as excitement rushes
through her body. A white wedding. Finally!
He loses his footing when she crashes her
body into his and they both fall on top of the
bed.
Ooooh! She’s happy!
“Thank you my love” she sings.
“I'm guessing you like the idea” he says. She
is underneath and he’s on top allowing him to
steal a kiss he has been longing for since he
stepped into their bedroom.
“I love the idea. I’m finally getting the white
wedding I’ve always wanted.”
He kisses her again and this time there’s
tongue and all. “How soon can we start, you
know, doing it” his voice is low and husky.
“The doctors said three months”
“Three months!” He complains
“That’s what the doctor said, but as soon as
I’m okay, we can”
“That’s good because I’m not going to break
my wrist or take cold showers when I have
such a sexy wife”
.
.
Now fully dressed in his casual clothes, he
gets on the mat where Owami is laying on the
floor. Infant babies are not as scary as he
thought. Unlike with their first two, he is
more hands-on, waking up in the middle of
the night and all.
“Is it just me or he looks a lot like
Thandanani” Nonchalant, Fezile says.
“What?!” He detects a sense of incredulity in
her voice
“I know right, look at his fingers”
“All babies look alike. Stop saying my child
looks like Thandanani”
He fails to subdue a chuckle that escapes his
throat “I don’t mind that they look alike, it’s
just that I won’t hear the end of it. You know
how Thandanani is”
“Stop saying that, I don't like Thandanani”
from the floor he snaps his head up and looks
at Zimasa.
“I know” He says on a laugh. “You’ve made
that clear for years. What isn't clear is why.
He is easy to get along with and he loves the
kids—he’s always bringing goodies in for them
and they love him too. So how about you tell
me what Thandanani ever did that you’re so
against”
Scowling, Zimasa grits her teeth and hands
him the baby diaper.
“I've got my reasons” she mutters, not
bothering to look at her husband again.
“Is it because he slept with that cousin of
yours, what’s her name again?”
“Phumzile”
“Yes her, that happened years ago. You need
to let it go”
“He could’ve slept with anyone but no, he had
to have my cousin. What’s worse is him
pretending she didn't exist the following day.
I don’t think I’ll ever like your cousin. He’s so
annoying”
What Fezile doesn’t know is that it’s deeper
than that.
“Fine” he blows out a breath “I won’t try and
convince you otherwise but please my love
when he gets here try and be civil”
“What do you mean when he gets here?” Her
heart rate is increasing with each passing
second
“He is on his way, Ntsika and I are picking
him up from the airport” She blows out air
loudly but it does nothing to ease the anger
bubbling and frothing inside her.
He shouldn’t be here, especially so soon after
she gave birth.
It’s enough that Fezile thinks Owami looks
like him.
She sighs keeping all her anger at bay and
lets out a faint smile as Fezile grabs the
baby’s bottle.
“How come I've never seen you breastfeed
any of our kids?” He asks
That manages to clear any thoughts she has
about Thandanani and she gasps dramatically
cupping both breasts over her t-shirt
“And have saggy boobs” her reaction doesn't
surprise him “it's enough that I've gained
weight”
He loves the little weight on her, there’s
something to hold on to now.
“I’ll start working out as soon as I’m
completely healed”
“Working out? I'm pumping another baby in
you as soon as I can” He says laughing.
“Yooooo” She screeches shaking her head.
“What? We need to balance the scale, we
have two boys now we need another girl,
Nobuhle needs a playmate”
“Forget. I'm done having kids”
He first puts Owami back in his cot before
he takes his car keys. Stepping closer to her,
he kisses her forehead.
“You don’t have to worry about that for now.
I’m giving you two months to plan our
wedding”
She gasps
“Two months. It's not enough I need to find
a venue, a dress, cakes” she stops to draw in
a breath “and I need to lose weight. Two
months it's not enough”
“Mmm-hmm and Nobuhle will have a playmate
maGwabe”
•
•
THANDANANI
The lights turn on, and Thandanani hears the
lovely voice of a woman saying, “Welcome to
Richards bay” He decided against driving
here from Cape Town at the last minute. He
is the only passenger who is over-packed,
once out of the plane he rushed his way
through the terminals to the parking area
where Fezile is waiting with Ntsika. They
happily exchange hugs, it feels like forever
since the last time he saw them when in fact
it has only been nine months.
“Yoh hai, what’s in these bags. They are
heavy” Fezile complains as they load the bags
in the boot.
“Don’t forget, he packs like a woman” Ntsika
teases.
Thandanani shakes his head chuckling and
gets in the back seat. He is always reminded
that he is the youngest whenever they are all
together.
An hour later they arrive.
“The first thing bab’mcane is going as is when
am I getting married”
“You know him well” Fezile says parking next
to his father car.
Ntsika is the first one to enter the house
and he is surprised when he finds Mabuyi in
the kitchen washing dishes.
“You’re still here?” He exclaims.
Wiping her wet hands with a dry dishcloth
she replies “I was waiting for the drama but
you disappointed when you didn’t show up for
the meeting with Yenziwe’s father”
Ntsika frowns shaking his head and proceeds
to the living room. Thandanani is the next one
to walk in and Mabuyi excitedly hugs him.
“Why didn’t you mention you were coming?”
she swaps him with the dishcloth playfully.
“Why didn’t you tell him you’re here?”
They were always close growing up and their
love for fashion brought them even closer
but that’s not the only thing they have in
common, Mhlangana seems to have a soft
spot for him too. After his father passed
away, he was crushed and it didn’t help that
all his sisters were married and already living
their lives away from him.
“How is Joburg and business?”
“Good. I still need to tell your uncle, you
know he has high hopes that I’m going to get
married and all”
He throws his head back laughing “I take it
you haven’t told him.”
“I haven’t told anyone. I tried during the
week but he’s was in a bad mood. Bhut’Ntsika
has been stressing him lately. it’s a miracle
he hasn’t had a heart attack” they both
laugh.
“I know all about it. Do me a favor and tell
everyone tonight I want to see his reaction”
He behind follows Ntsika laughing. He finds
maDlamini and his uncle watching tv with
Wandile and Nobuhle and just as they
jumped Ntsika when he walked in, they jump
him too. He throws Nobuhle in the air
erupting a belly laugh in her.
“Thandanani”
“Bab’mcane.... maDlamz how are you?” He asks
hugging her. She too like Mhlangana has a
soft spot for Thandanani.
“How long are you here for this time?” she
asks.
“Indefenately” he says casually and everyone
gasps
“You’re moving back here? ” Mabuyi asks with
her mouth agape. Thandanani always
mentioned how he will never moving back
here again.
“Yes. I'm sure my rondavel missed me”
“Mmm-hmm and it's about time you get
married”
His eyes finds Ntsika’s and they can't help
laughing. He is so predictable.
Soon Fezile walks in carrying Owami followed
by Zimasa.
It’s a happy day!
Thandanani’s visit has seemingly made
everyone forget about their issues. No one
mentions Nomalanga and her albinism baby.
Owami is on Thandanani’s chest with Wandile
and Nobuhle sitting on either side of him. His
eyes keep moving from Wandile to Nobuhle
only to land back to Owami adoringly and
everyone seems oblivious to the daggers
Zimasa keeps sending his way.
After a while, Mabuyi clears her throat
demanding everyone’s attention.
“It’s so good to see everyone gathered
around like this, it brings me joy seeing my
family so happy”
“Whatever it is, I don’t have it” Fezile shouts
raising both his hands
“Me too” Ntsika reacts the same
“I just got here so I’m off the hook”
Thandanani says.
She rolls her eyes shaking her head “you can
all relax. I don’t want anything. I’m launching
a lingerie store in Joburg and I’d love for all
of you to come.”
“A lingerie?” Ntsika asks bewildered.
“Yes.” She says proudly. “It’s going to be fun,
there’s going to be models and all”
Thandanani loves the idea of seeing women
walk around in lingerie all night but his uncle
not so much
“Zibuyiseni you expect me to watch naked
parade all night” aghast, her father asks.
Nodding “and before you say anything Baba I
did this all on my own. I didn’t use the
Bhengu name to get where I am. I know you
think my fashion designing dream is nothing
but a hobby but this is something I love
doing and I just want your support.” Her eyes
move around “all of you.”
“When will this be?” maDlamini asks.
“I’ll send you the invites.” She says proudly
of how well she handled that. Her father
thinks women belong in the kitchen but she’s
not that type. At this point, she’s not sure if
she even wants to get married.
“It’s been lovely but tomorrow I’m going back
to my life and...” he looks at Ntsika, Fezile
and Thandanani “my brothers whom I love so
much, tomorrow you’re all taking me to the
airport”
She says leaving no room for protest.
.
He knocks and waits.
He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be doing
this, especially with Fezile just a few meters
away in the main house but his feet remain
glued to the ground. The door slightly opens
and he sighs.
“What are you doing here?” Zimasa half-
shouts fastening her gown “Fezile might see
you”
“I know” he pushes the door and walks past.
His eyes land on Owami sleeping on top of the
bed. He can’t help himself as his feet carry
him close to the bed and he picks him up.
“I thought Fezile was joking when he said he
looks like me”
Zimasa snatches the baby away from him
“Thandanani leave. Fezile will be here any
minute and he can’t find you here”
He scratches his head. Pretending that
Wandile and Nobuhle were his all these years
was not easy. He moved to Cape Town
thinking that maybe the distance would make
him forget but as years went by, the harder
it got and it’s even worse now knowing that
he’s a father of three and yet he can’t tell
the world about it. The affection he shows is
limited to that of being an uncle and not
their father.
“Zimasa they are my kids too. I don’t know
how can you go on pretending but I can’t” He
heaves a sigh and takes the baby again.
“This hasn’t been easy but we did what we
had to, now leave”
“Can I at least be in their lives”
She takes the baby from him again and
pushes him out of the room.
“You’ll always be in their lives Thandanani, as
their uncles like it has always has been”
She shuts the door in his face. He can stand
there until kingdom comes but Fezile is the
father of her children.
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