The Blessed Girl

by Angela Makholwa

  I shake my head.

  ‘Ma, this will destroy Loki. He’ll know that his whole life was a lie.’

  ‘But it’s time, Bontle. When is he supposed to find out the truth about his parents? Maybe this is God’s way of telling us …’

  I bang my hands on the table.

  ‘Mother, use your head! I’m not going to allow you to do this to Loki. You destroyed my childhood, now you want to destroy his? You sold me off to that man so that you could continue to enjoy the money he splashed at your stupid shebeen!’

  My mother acts like I’ve just slapped her in the face.

  ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘Mother, where did I sleep with Vusi … the very first time? Where did I sleep with him?’

  She shakes her head. There are tears in her eyes.

  ‘Bontle … what are you talking about? That was a long time ago. How am I supposed to know that?’

  At this moment, my heart fills with rage and hatred for this woman.

  ‘You allowed him to manipulate me into sleeping with him! I was only fourteen! Do you even understand what that means? It’s criminal what you did! Fourteen years old! I was a child! You pretended you didn’t see when he led me towards the empty back room in our house. But how could he have had access without you giving him the keys? You prostituted me to that man, Gladys, and now you expect me to welcome him into Loki’s life with open arms? Sies! You disgust me!’

  I grab my bag and prepare to leave before I make a spectacle of myself. I can feel the hot tears already threatening to blind me.

  Gladys pulls me forcefully back into my chair.

  ‘Bontle! Sit down!’

  I feel weak and dizzy.

  I’m that little girl again. Scared, uncertain, anxious to please.

  My mother was always going on about how difficult it was for her to provide me with a good education when all she had to rely on was the income she made from running the shebeen. She would tell me that a woman should not invest her love and trust in men as they were bound to break her heart sooner rather than later. The first lesson she taught me was that I should never allow a man to sleep with me if he was not going to spend money on me. Lots of money. She said it was the only way to ‘play the game’.

  When Vusi Ndaba started to cast his attentions my way, Gladys was only too pleased to encourage the relationship. After all, he was one of her big spenders.

  Now she wants him back in our lives to destroy Golokile the way she and Vusi destroyed me?

  Hmmph! Over my dead body!

  I point my finger at her.

  ‘You are not going to bring that poison into Loki’s life, Gladys! Remember we just dragged that boy out of a drug den? Remember what the drug counsellor said? About him not being equipped to deal with life. The first thing an addict reaches for in a crisis is drugs. Drugs! You want to destroy all the progress we’ve made?’

  My mother shakes her head.

  ‘Bontle, I know what I did was wrong. Believe me, if I could turn back time, I would do everything differently. I was a lost soul. I’d left my home at an early age and I had to adapt to Joburg life on my own. Sweetie, I raised myself in this wicked town. All I had was my head and my body; nothing else. Do you understand?’

  I look at her disgustedly.

  She doesn’t realise that those were choices she made on her own. Nobody forced her to leave her parental home in Hammanskraal. But what about me? As a fourteen-year-old, I felt so guilty that she was sacrificing so much to put me through school that I felt obliged to please her male customers. It’s not like I could see things as they really were then.

  ‘Gladys, nobody forced you to leave Hammanskraal to become a Joburg prostitute.’

  Her face instantly freezes into a sheet of anger.

  She reaches out to strike me but stops herself mid-way.

  The manager comes over. He is looking perturbed.

  ‘Is everything okay here, ladies?’ he asks, a red-faced white man.

  My mother sits back on her chair and pats her napkin down with nervous fingers.

  ‘I’m sorry. Mother-daughter issues,’ she says breathlessly.

  ‘Are you okay, miss?’ the man asks, looking at me with concern.

  I nod but I can feel myself shaking with rage.

  As I watch his retreating figure, I think about the bitter resentment towards my mother that I’ve carried like bile throughout my adulthood.

  It’s only been in the past few years, when I thought she was getting it right with Golokile, that I started softening towards her. But if she’s planning on bringing back Vusumuzi, then it’s a declaration of war. No ambiguities there.

  ‘I swear, Gladys, if you allow that man into our lives, I will never speak to you again.’

  ‘Please, Bontle, can we try and be calm about this? Who are we really protecting, hmm? Would hiding Vusi protect Loki – or us? Don’t you see? Loki desperately needs a father figure … remember that it’s one of the issues his counsellor mentioned? Maybe it’s time we let him know the truth. Look at me, and look at you. I’m getting older … and you – you have made a success of your life. Loki is starting high school next year. It’s time, Bontle. We owe the boy the truth, ngwanaka. Please.’

  I feel tears welling in my eyes.

  How is Golokile going to react?

  He’s going to hate me.

  How do I tell him?

  He will have so many questions.

  I feel like running away.

  And this flipping Vusi? Rocking up in his bloody taxi fifteen years later? Why now?

  ‘Why now, Gladys? Why has this guy decided to show up now?’

  My mom shrugs. ‘I don’t know what the truth is,’ she says, ‘but he claims that this has been haunting him for years. He says he has two daughters. All he ever wanted was a son. He even coaches a boys’ soccer club where he lives. Says he needs Loki to become part of his life.’

  Mxm. How convenient. Because his wife couldn’t give him a son, now we’re suddenly good enough for him? What absolute fuckery!

  What kind of a life does he want Loki to be part of? Can you imagine? My Loki the son of a taxi driver? Now Vusi wants to coach him and turn him into Jabu Pule? No ways!

  Gosh. I can’t deal with this. It’s too soon. I’m not ready. I need a few more years … to settle down, to find stability.

  Where am I now?

  I’m staying with a man I don’t love.

  And Ntokozo’s done with me for good.

  Golokile is about to find out that his mother is not his mother.

  And that his father is an even poorer excuse for a human being than his real mother is.

  I should have stayed married to Ntokozo. He would have agreed to adopt Golokile, allowed him to stay with us, built a secure home for him. But what did I do instead? I kept on running around with old men, chasing nothing – money, clothes, cars. Material things.

  I can’t.

  ‘Mom, I feel so helpless. I wish I could run away …’

  ‘Bontle … please, ngwanaka. I feel guilty about what I put you through all those years ago. I understand what you’re saying about me messing up your life. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for ruining your childhood. I’m sorry for not guiding you when you needed me the most,’ she says, reaching out her veined hands.

  I hate her, but also I feel bad for her, for me, for all of us. We hold hands, our hearts racing as we face this new dynamic in our already complicated lives.

  ‘But, Ma, what if this man waltzes into our lives only to desert us again? Just like he did before?’

  ‘He’s been calling for more than two years … surely he would have given up by now if it was something he was doing on a whim? I keep thinking, what will Loki say if he ever finds out his father was trying to reach him and we didn’t even tell him? Please, ngwanaka. Can you find it in your heart to forgive Vusi … and me? Please. If not for me, then for Loki? I know you’re still hurting, but he is the biggest victim in all this.’


  My mom’s speech leaves me helpless, trapped. I don’t know what to do. That man doesn’t deserve forgiveness.

  Golokile

  I don’t have to explain anything to you.

  If you recall, when I was telling you about my childhood, I said there was an incident involving someone I was seeing, do you remember that? When I was telling you how I got close to Ntokozo?

  Anyway, it’s not important whether you remember or not. I hinted at the rumours that were swirling around me at school and having to take a break from it for a while.

  You remember all that, right?

  So, what I’m trying to say, in a roundabout way, is that Golokile is my son. I conceived him with a man who used to frequent my mom’s shebeen. A taxi driver called Vusumuzi Ndaba. He used to buy me gifts and give me a monthly allowance.

  The day I told him I was pregnant, he disappeared.

  I subsequently discovered that he was married, but his fellow taxi drivers refused to tell me anything more about him. He just disappeared into thin air, as if he were never there in the first place.

  I told my mother I wanted an abortion but when we went for a scan, we discovered I was already four months pregnant. Some less reputable doctors were willing to abort that late but my mother refused to let me go to them. She said that, as a Christian, she could not live with such a decision. And so we agreed that if I continued with the pregnancy, she would take care of the child as her own. She even started wearing loose clothes so that she wouldn’t catch people by surprise when she presented them with a child out of the blue.

  She informed the school that I was unwell and needed constant medical attention. I only started showing when I was in my sixth month of pregnancy, and by then I was at home.

  If you think my life is crazy now, you should have popped in for lunch one day back then.

  Gladys literally walked around with padding around her belly so that she could look like she was heavy with child.

  She couldn’t drink around her customers during the day but would down three dumpies at night because of how ‘stressful’ the situation was for her. For my part, I was so ashamed of everything that had happened that I refused to see anyone, including Tsholo. When I finally gave birth, someone from Home Affairs came to register it. My mother had a dodgy contact there, and later this person was willing to forge another, fake birth certificate, one that said Gladys was the biological mother of the child. This is the certificate we have used throughout Golokile’s life.

  At first I wanted nothing to do with the baby. He was a reminder of my shame, my carelessness and my pain. But as he started developing into the most gorgeous, chubby and precious little human, I could not help myself. Resistance was futile; he was just too adorable to ignore.

  Grudgingly, I went back to school in the New Year, feeling torn about leaving my baby at home. The boys who’d once said they’d do anything for me had disappeared. There were many rumours about my absence. From drug abuse, to pregnancy, to a mental condition I had apparently developed. I ignored them all. I kept mostly to myself until Ntokozo came to my rescue a year later. I started spending most of my time with him but was almost virginal in my approach to my relationship with him. I did not want to repeat the same mistake twice. I guess that’s partly why he fell in love with me. He respected the fact that I waited till he was at university before we consummated our relationship. I was not ‘loose’ like the other girls he’d known.

  Once my relationship with Ntokozo became serious, I wanted to buy into the lie that my mother and I had invented. I started treating Golokile more like a little brother. I was desperate to see myself through Ntokozo’s eyes. It made a welcome change from the constant whispers behind my back.

  And so that’s how I ended up being my son’s sister.

  And now I have to tell him the truth.

  Facing the Truth

  Vusumuzi Ndaba is relentless.

  He has been calling my mom and threatening to go direct to Loki’s school and reach out to him there.

  Apparently, he has been meticulous in his pursuit of my son.

  He sends my mother a text with a picture taken at the gates of Loki’s school. The text reads: That boy is my blood. He deserves to know who I am. If you will not do this the right way, I will go to him without your help.

  It’s time I showed this man who he’s messing with.

  I grab my mom’s phone and dial his number.

  ‘Hello?’

  Gosh. Even his voice sounds like an underachievement.

  ‘Vusi. It’s Bontle.’

  A pause.

  ‘Hello, Bontle. U njani?’

  ‘Don’t fucking ask me how I am when you’ve been AWOL all these years. Why can’t you stay away from my family like you’ve done all along?’

  ‘Bontle, everyone makes mistakes. But a real man owns up to his. That’s what I am trying to do here. That boy is my son. I need to see him. I really need to talk to him. I need to get to know him.’

  ‘Why?’ I scream. ‘Why are you trying to mess up our lives? Go back to the hellhole you’ve been hiding in all this time!’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere, Bontle. The sooner you accept that, the better for all of us.’

  I drop the phone.

  Two Days Later

  ‘Bontle. He’s here.’

  ‘Ma, don’t tell me you’re talking about Vusi?’ I say, suddenly panic-stricken.

  ‘He says he won’t leave without seeing Loki.’

  Shit!

  ‘Is Golokile there?’

  ‘Still at school. Come right away, Bontle.’

  I rush out of the salon I am visiting in a fit of rage and panic. How dare this man disrupt our lives like this! What has possessed him?

  I drive at breakneck speed, using all the expletives I’ve amassed throughout my life to urge other drivers out of my way. I mentally prepare the things I’m going to say to this despicable creature. I wish I could shoot him!

  When I get to my mother’s house, I bolt out of the car and rush inside to confront this so-called person.

  Molefi, one of Gladys’s regular customers at the shebeen, sees me hurrying to the main house and asks me to loan him twenty-three rands so he can buy a beer.

  I feel like slapping him.

  At this point, he and his fellow drinkers are an affront to my family life because Vusumuzi probably thinks we’re still stuck in the same pathetic state he left us in, all those years ago.

  For a small moment I count my blessings that I’m still driving the Mr Emmanuel-sponsored BMW.

  I’ll make sure Vusi sees the branded keys.

  I walk past the kitchen to find him sitting in the lounge, drinking tea.

  Tea? In my mother’s house?

  I throw my car keys on the coffee table and stride towards him.

  ‘Vusi, what do you think you’re doing? What the hell do you think you’re trying to do here?’

  He looks up at me with a strange expression. Fear? Shame?

  ‘Bontle, please sit down. Let’s talk about this like adults.’

  I wag my index finger at him.

  ‘No-no-no! Only NOW you realise you’re an adult? Where was this adult when you were sleeping with an under-age girl? Hmmm? Where was this adult when you knocked me up and ran like a thief? You stole my fucking childhood, you fucking arsehole.’

  My mom emerges from the bedroom.

  ‘Bontle … what is this racket? Calm down, please, ngwanaka. Sit down.’

  ‘Why is everyone asking me to sit down? This thing does not deserve my time. Vusi, get out of this house. We’ve been doing just fine without you. You can’t waltz in here and expect us to embrace you with open arms. That’s not how this works.’

  Now Vusi stands up. He comes to me with a pleading expression on his face. He’s even folding his hands in supplication.

  ‘Please, Bontle. Ngiyakucela, sisi. Just give me a few minutes. Hear me out. I understand your anger. I need you to listen to what I have to say, though, pleas
e,’ he says.

  He touches me lightly on the shoulder. That gesture, feeling his filthy hand on me again, triggers a reaction.

  I slap him as forcefully as possible with the back of my hand.

  ‘Bontle, that’s enough! What the hell has gotten into you?’ shouts my mom as she stands up to intervene.

  Vusi rubs his hand over his face in shock.

  After recovering from the unexpected violence, he says to my mother: ‘It’s fine, Sis Gladys, I deserved that. I deserve worse than that.’

  He comes and stands directly in front of me and opens his arms in surrender.

  ‘Here I am. Do whatever you want with me, Bontle. I was a coward. I shouldn’t have disappeared on you and our child.’

  ‘Our child?’

  I slap him, punch him, and kick him, over and over again, until I’m dizzy with emotion. Eventually, I feel my body slump and move towards the couch and allow myself to collapse onto it. I start crying uncontrollably. ‘You stole my childhood.’ I hear myself repeating the words.

  He comes and sits next to me, but keeps a safe distance.

  My mother goes to her bedroom and returns with a box of tissues, which she hands over to me to wipe away my tears. She sits on the adjacent couch, watching us intently.

  ‘My child, it’s okay to cry. We have to be aware in this situation that nobody is perfect. I am just as angry and bitter towards Vusi as you are. I told you he started calling two years ago. I told him to keep away from us but he’s been persistent. Trying to make right what he did wrong in the past. Like you, I was full of hate. I questioned his motives. But as Christians we have to learn to forgive, forget and move on.’

  Gosh. My mom’s convenient Christianity. It’s like something she orders from the takeaway menu, McChristianity. Nx. That’s all I need right now. I’m irritated but I’m too emotionally exhausted to speak.

  ‘Bontle, believe me when I say that I will do anything within my power, and my means, to make things right with your family. Your mother is right. I didn’t just wake up and decide to come back and claim my son. This has been eating away at me for years. You were a child … I look at my daughters now and I think … I’m disgusted at myself. You were the age they are now. The same age.’ He shakes his head. ‘I was a monster. A poor excuse for a human being …’