It Takes Two

by Haden, Ross;

  Uncle asks, “Is it a boy or girl?”

  “Hopefully it’s a girl,” says Auntie.

  “It’s a girl. The doctor told me when they did a scan in the hospital. I wanted to know.”

  Uncle says, “I was thinking that we should name her Siphukhanyo.”

  I am not even sure that I want this child and they are already naming her. How will I tell Sihle that I am pregnant? How? I need him by my side. I need him to stay with me. Surely he will if he really loves me, like he says he does? Sandile calls, but I ignore it. Ten missed calls. He can wait. I switch off my phone.

  That evening I hear Auntie and Uncle talking in low voices. Then they come to the sitting room where I am watching TV.

  “Noni, that was your mother. The police … well, one of your friends, Nosipho, has remembered something of the night of the rape.” I stare at them. My heart is thudding. “Nosipho remembers what her attacker wore. She remembers what the boys who raped her wore. The girls in the village had been too afraid to come forward.”

  “It’s time you called home,” my uncle says softly.

  I phone Mama and we both cry.

  I phone Sihle. “I have something to tell you.”

  “I’m listening,” he says. And I know he really is. He really listens to me. Not like Sandile who was always wanting to talk … to be centre of attention: talk, talk, talk … “This is really hard, Sihle. Please don’t judge me.”

  “You can tell me.”

  I hesitate. There is only one way to say it. “I am five months pregnant.”

  There is silence. The longest minute. He knows what this means.

  And then he says, “It will be OK. When I said I love you I meant it. Under life or death situations, I’ll stick by you and I’ll support you.”

  “Thanks a lot, Sihle. I love you with all my heart.”

  “I’m coming soon,” he tells me.

  ~•~

  Never think you have everything under total control. The situation can change in a minute.

  “I’ll be coming to Cape Town soon. I have saved some money for us to buy the clothes for the child.” It is another call from Sihle. Several months have passed.

  “Mtshana, niece, I’ve been busy lately. I want us to go out on a dinner,” my uncle tells me when he comes home from work.

  “I would love that, malume, uncle. Plus I’ve got good news.” I haven’t been out in the evening since I came back from hospital.

  Auntie says, “The idea is superb. Tell us the good news.”

  “Come on, mtshana, tell us,” says uncle.

  “It’s nothing fancy. My boyfriend, Sihle, has finally graduated and he got a post at Spoornet so early next month he’ll be here. He will be staying in Nyanga with his sister. The most important thing about it all is that he just told me that he has been saving for the child’s clothes! He’s been so supportive.”

  “Wow! That’s great news,” Auntie says, and hugs me.

  “You are talking about Sihle Siwela?” Uncle wants to make sure.

  “Ewe, malume. Yes, Uncle. He’s the nephew of Tata Ludwe.”

  Nosie and Zia help me get through the days until Sihle arrives. They’ve also been so supportive. Sandy is nowhere to be found.

  One evening I am sitting on the couch chatting on 2go on my Nokia X2 when Auntie comes to sit beside me.

  “You know, mntwanam, my child, you can have a paternity test to find out who the father of your child is.”

  I’m uncertain about the paternity test. Part of me doesn’t want to know. But if I don’t do it there will always be a shadow of doubt as to whether the child is Sabelo’s. I need to know 100 percent that it isn’t his. And does the child not have a right to know who her father is? It will be difficult for her at imbeleko, when she is introduced to her ancestors, or at intonjane, the initiation of girls.

  “Auntie, I am not sure yet if I am really strong enough to face or know the person who raped me. It is possible that … that … even Sabelo could be the one. This is hard, so hard. I need some time to think it through. After the birth I will decide.”

  I go back to chatting with Cikizwa, my friend from the village.

  “Maciki, how are you?”

  “I’m fine, Noni. Yourself?”

  “It is getting better by the day.”

  “That’s good then. How’s school?”

  “It is good, and I’m doing well. Wena?”

  “Yes, I’m doing well. I’m at Unitra.”

  “Where are the other girlfriends?”

  “They went to Nosiviwe’s place. Her parents are out of town.”

  The moment she brings up Nosiviwe’s name I freeze. I am terrified.

  “Are you still there? Are you there Noni?”

  “Yes, I am, chommie. Wenza iBusiness Management eUnitra?”

  But she ignores this question. “Do you remember anything … of that night?” she asks. Then we are cut off. Airtime has run out.

  But she does not give up. Later that night Cikizwa phones again.

  “Noni … it’s important that we try to remember. I remember we were in the dark. They switched the music off. I remember that. I remember one of the boys shouting, ‘Shut up … shut up!’ then hands pulling me down onto the floor and then the heaviness as I was held down. But I can’t remember a face. Why? Noni? Do you remember anything?”

  I am silent. Shaking.

  “Noni, are you there? Do you remember that?”

  “Yes …” I reply softly.

  ~•~

  The streets are so clean and clear. It’s a rainy and windy Saturday morning. Alone, I’m standing in the bus depot near the Police Station, waiting for Sihle. I am wearing warm clothes. There are no people on the road. Only vehicles are visible.

  I smile as Sihle steps out of the bus with his sports bag, white plastic, and his phone. My tummy is big. Any day now I will give birth. It keeps a distance between us as we hug each other.

  “Hi, Sihle.”

  “Hello, beautiful,” he says softly.

  We walk home chatting, as it is not that far from the Delft main road.

  “This is it?” he asks, as we turn into my aunt and uncle’s yard.

  “Yes, it is sthandwa, my love.”

  “So where’s your uncle and auntie?” he asks as we go inside.

  “They went to do groceries at Spar.”

  “Sabelo asked me to give you this. Your mother begged me to go and see him in jail. She believes he is now seeing the truth about himself. He had this for you. How could I refuse?”

  For a while I stare at him silently, terrified of the letter. I’m not sure if I want to read it or not. I look at it. It’s a piece of a folded, faded dirty paper. I open it slowly.

  My beloved Sister

  I so wish to undo the past or make it disappear.

  Things happened so quickly. I lost control. I should never have listened to Lwando. It was wrong – the reason I’m in jail today. Every day I’m living pretending that nothing happened. Deep down I’m dying. Please forgive me, Mntasekhaya – my sister! God help me!

  With lots of love, your only brother,

  Sabelo

  I can’t forgive him. Not yet.

  That night when I lie in bed I remember everything. It is like a door opens and I can see through the darkness and make out the shapes of figures who raped us. I have come back to the party with another bottle. Sihle was working at his house. He was writing an exam the next Monday. He told me. “Don’t miss out on the fun … go to the party. Enjoy yourself. Tell me all about it tomorrow.”

  I open the door of Nosiviwe’s house and there is Sabelo. Something is wrong, I knew it then. But I didn’t know what. I had no idea of what was about to happen. He looks like he has seen a ghost. I smile at him.

  “No,” he says and tri
es to push me back outside. “Don’t come in. Where is Sihle?” He sounds angry.

  Then Nosiviwe comes running to the door.

  “Chommie, chommie yam, my friend…” she screams happily, then we hug.

  The next thing: boom! The door is closed. Phggg. The room goes dark. I and the girls run to Nosiviwe’s parents’ bedroom which has lights on. We are screaming. Giggling. We still think this is a joke the boys are pulling on us. Even when that room’s lights go off, we still think it’s a game. Then Lwando shines his cellphone light at us. “Shut up, shut up, shut up! You are making my head go mad,” he is shouting.

  It isn’t a game any more. I start to cry. “What are you doing?” Nosiviwe asks them. She is braver than I am. I look for Sabelo. Surely he can’t be part of this? But there he is – I think I can make out his shadow by the door.

  I am confused – not sure of anything. Then a voice says, “This is a knife. I will cut all of you if you keep screaming.” We are squashed against the wall. In the corner.

  They start to pull us so that we are lying on the floor.

  “Refuse to play with us and all of you will be history by tomorrow morning. Dead, and with your great-grandfathers. Hey, wanna see them quick!?’ They pin us down. They are all over us and we are crying silently. I remember my face wet with tears.

  “Aaaaah! Aaaaah! Aaaaah!” One after the other they attack us, moving down the line. How long it took, I don’t know.

  Three guys raped me on that evening.

  Then I remember. I look over to the doorway. I can make out the red hoodie, the white Nike sneakers of Sabelo. He is standing with his back to the door. Had he been there all along, watching? The others are zipping up their jeans. He is standing so still. Just staring.

  I must have fallen asleep because much later I wake up in a pool of water. My bed is wet. I call out and my auntie comes running. My waters have broken. They rush me to the hospital. At Red Cross Hospital, Siphukhanyo is born, with Sihle by my side.

  I owe it to my child to try to love her, as Sihle has it in his heart to love her. She needs a mother and a father to love her.

  I have not spoken to Sabelo, but I have spoken to Cikizwa and she remembers what happened that night. She remembers Sabelo raping her. She phoned me after the birth and told me what she now remembered. She remembers the hoodie falling forward, half covering his face as it brushed against her neck. She remembers something else. She remembers after he raped her, he stood up and walked to the door. He did not move on to me. I was next in the row. She remembers. And her memory has set me free.

  But I wanted to be very sure. A week later we did the paternity test. The results came back. There it was in writing. Sabelo was not the father.

  Do I want to know who is? It is too late. Mama told me that the other two boys who raped us that night were later killed by an angry mob. Dead and buried.

  Months have passed and Siphukhanyo is growing bigger by the day. Sabelo is out of jail, there was not enough evidence to convict him. I am not ready to see him yet. My daughter calls Sihle Tata. My family is the only family Siphukhanyo will have now. We will take one day at a time, and if she wants to do the rituals we will be there to support her.

  I want her to be free of fear and free of shame. I want us to be free together.

  Discussion questions

  •Noni moved to Cape Town to get away from the memory of her rape. However she continued with her suffering. How did this terrible event continue to affect her life?

  •What kind of person is Sihle? How do you know?

  About the author

  Asavela Peko is a 22-year-old student who lives in Delft, Cape Town. Asavela was born in Ngqamakhwe in the Eastern Cape but was raised in Cape Town by a disabled single mother, Nosipho. A social grant is his family’s only source of income. He believes in team work and sharing. He has written poetry for the FunDza fanz section of the FunDza mobi site.

  Asavela is involved in community upliftment and youth development and is the founder and president of a Non-Profit Organization called, Learners’ Movement of South Africa (LEMOSA). His wish is to encourage the youth to value life as it only comes once per individual.

  Being a mentee …

  It was an honour and privilege to have a mentor like Sonwabiso. I would love to work with him again. He is such a caring, friendly, creative, smart and flexible person. I will continue to use the skills and information he shared with me.

  All the mentors and mentees inspired me and made an impact on my life. I used their advice to write a successful story. They inspired me to change the focus in my life and decide to make writing short stories and poetry a career not just a hobby.

  9

  TORN APART

  Phoebe Sibomana

  The sheets were cold and wet and Sam was shaking uncontrollably.

  “Sam, subayeka bandithathe, please don’t let them take me!” Sinethemba cried out, clinging on to her brother when Social Services had came to take her away. Those were the last words Sam heard from his sister before they were separated. Those were the words he still heard every night in his dreams.

  “Ndizaz’okuthatha! I will come for you!” Sam shouted, waking from the nightmare. He sat up on his bunk bed, drenched in sweat. Had any of the other kids at The Haven Children’s Home heard his screams? But he was alone in the dormitory. All the others had gone to breakfast.

  Every day since he was parted from Sinethemba he worried about the promise he had made her: Ndizaz’okuthatha. But how could he rescue her? It seemed impossible. Since they had been parted he had been moved from one foster home to another. He wasn’t really sure if they would ever be together again. One thing for sure was that they could never be a family again, not a family how they used to be anyway, not one with a mom and a dad.

  After his mother died of colon cancer their father could not cope with taking care of two teenagers. He fell sick and lost his job. Sam watched helplessly as their father faded away before their eyes. When he died Sam had to be the adult. Their neighbours were kind to them but when they saw the children struggling they called Social Services. The social worker in charge of their case promised that when Sinethemba was settled in her new foster home, Sam could visit. They would look for a home for him too.

  Now it had been six months since Sam had seen Sinethemba. She was living at Mam’Gqwashu’s. This woman took in foster kids but people said it was just so that she could get child benefits from government. She was well known for her ill-treatment of all the kids she fostered. But Social Services were too busy to investigate properly, or else they didn’t care, thought Sam.

  Rumour had it that she was so cruel that she sat back and made the kids, even the very young ones, do all the house chores, plus heavy manual labour in her big vegetable garden. Yet she fed them as little tasteless food as she could get away with, and she sold the produce they grew. If they refused to work, she would lock them up in a tiny store room for days.

  She would buy them one set of nice clothes but they only got to wear them when Social Services came to check on them. Then, with a smile on her face that was as fake as her wigs, Mam’Gqwashu would tell the social worker, “We are all one big happy family here.”

  Sam worried that by now he should have made a plan to rescue his sister. But things had gone from bad to worse. And being moved around made it hard for him to visit her, make friends, go to school, or get a job.

  Then finally he had ended up at The Haven Children’s Home where he was able to live with young people his own age. Here he did not feel so alone. They were all orphans; it was something they shared and something that connected them.

  Still, every night he dreamed about his sister. He needed to get money so that they could be together. He would rent a back-yard room. At least then they could be a small family. He would look after Sinethemba better than Mam’Gqwashu. He would give her the love she need
ed and provide for her even if he was only seventeen. All Mam’Gqwashu’s kids were known to be skinny because she didn’t feed them well, and then they would end up getting sick. Sam couldn’t bear to think of what she was doing to his sister. The thought of a starving, skinny Sinethemba haunted him. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to make a plan to rescue her.

  But right now he had to get up and start on his own chores.

  “Samuel Khoza, please come to the office,” he heard his name called through the intercom. Something was up. Mr Sotshononda only called him by his full name when he had something important to tell him. Sam worried that he had been called because he had overslept and missed breakfast. He couldn’t be kicked out of The Haven, not yet. He wasn’t ready.

  Sam headed for the office at once, fear gripping his stomach. But when he walked into Mr Sotshononda’s office the head of the home was smiling; in fact he was beaming. “Sam, I have good news for you today.” Mr Sotshononda took pleasure in his work. He was one of the nicest people at the home, but he was also a no-nonsense kind of man which made every child at the home listen to him with respect. “We have found a school for you. Starting from tomorrow you will be attending Vulamasango High School. I know that it’s the second term, but the school is willing to give you a chance.”

  Sam was shocked by the news. I haven’t been to school for so long. Will I be able to handle it? he thought.

  “Sam, you are a very bright boy and I know that you can do well at this school,” Mr Sotshononda assured him, as though he could read Sam’s fears. He put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Look, if you need any help with anything at all, you just come to me. The teachers know your situation so I am sure they won’t mind helping you as well.”

  How can he have so much faith in me? Surely he must have mistaken me for someone else, Sam thought. When I was at school my grades weren’t great. Sam couldn’t stop wondering why Mr Sotshononda regarded him so highly.

  That night Sam couldn’t sleep at all for fear of going to a new school and failing. He kept imagining how horribly the first day would go and how Mr Sotshononda would be so disappointed in him.