INSERT FIVE
OWETHU
By the time we get to the private doctor, I’m in tears. My back hurts so much and my fear is losing my baby. I will not survive another loss, I am not one of God’s strongest soldiers and this is the trial I would fail miserable. I am silently praying and bedding God to keep my baby for me.
Sabelo parks at the emergency entrance and instead of waiting for the nurses to come and attend to me, he jumps out of the front seat and runs to the back seat. He yanks the door open and helps me out. My feet haven’t touched the ground when he scoops me up and runs into the hospital, leaving the engine running and the door open.
“Nurse!” he calls out. “Doctor!”
“What’s wrong?” a nurse pushing a wheelchair asks.
“Back pains, she’s pregnant,” Sabelo says as he carefully makes me sit on the wheelchair.
“My gynaecologist works here, Dr Singh,” I say through gritted teeth. The pain now has me clenching my jaw—an effort to stop myself from screaming.
“Okay, we will call her,” the nurse says and pushes the wheelchair towards the emergency area. This baby better now come out now, it’s not time yet.
I’m helped on to the bed and then I see Dr Singh walking in. She has a stethoscope around her neck and a file in his hand.
“How long have you been feeling the pain?” she gets straight to work mode.
“Since the day my sister passed away but they have been mild, they are worse today.”
“Okay. Let’s see how the baby is doing.”
I’m scared but I’m keeping faith. I’m not a bad person, I don’t hurt people knowingly, what would God be punishing me for? I want my baby to be fine.
“Relax, you are too tense and you are stressing the baby,” says Dr Singh.
I try to shift my mind to focusing on something positive instead of stressing. I start picturing myself and my boyfriend setting up our baby’s room. We already jointly bought a three-bedroom apartment so we can have a separate bedroom for our child. I was going to tell my parents about the pregnancy on the 2nd of January. I had asked Anele to be there when I do so and she had promised to drive home and offer me support. I was also supposed to give them a lobola letter that my boyfriend’s people sent. He’s white, but they don’t mind respecting our culture and traditions by paying lobola. Now everything has to wait and my parents already know about my pregnancy. It came out wrong, but a bigger part of me is happy that they know the truth now. I’m tired of wearing oversized shirts and dresses just to hide my growing belly. I have also been uncomfortable having to always be conscious of how I’m seated. Now I can be free.
“The baby’s heartbeat is fine,” Dr Singh brings me back to where I am.
“Then why am I experiencing pains?”
“You have been stressing. It’s a good thing that you came in early,” she continues explaining using her medical jargon. I don’t understand most of the things she’s saying but I’m just happy that the baby is fine. “I’m going to keep you in for a few hours and see how it goes. You will be moved to another room.”
****
“Hun,” my boyfriend finally arrives. I’m feeling much better but I can’t help the tears that threaten to fall. “I’m so sorry, I was working,” he says as he hugs me. He’s still in his blue scrubs and he smells like antiseptic. My boyfriend, Benjamin is a young practicing surgeon. He finished his studies two years ago and he’s already working. Benefits of having a connected family. “I’m sorry,” he comforts me. “How are we doing? What did the doctor say?” he asks.
“She said we are okay. I’m hungry,” I say, he laughs.
“You are crying because of hunger not pain?” I glare at him. “Okay, fine. What do you want to eat?”
“Toast, avocado and sticky wings.”
“Cool. Let me order then.”
“Did you see Sabelo when you came in?”
“Yes. He’s still waiting. I will go and let him know that you are feeling. He looks like he can do with some sleep.”
“Yeah. He’s going through a lot.” I cannot imagine the pain he’s dealing with and now having to deal with my parents forcing him to move on just a week after buying his wife. That’s just plain evil.
Just then a familiar face walks into the room. She’s wearing glasses and carrying a number of files with one hand while the other is tapping the phone. She looks up, our eyes meet and we both stare at each other.
“I know you,” I speak first. “You were at my sister’s funeral—”
“Uhm, Dr Singh sent me for this file. I will be on my way out,” she disregards what I said completely and walks out. “I know that lady, she was at my sister’s funeral with a child that looks like Sabelo.”
“She looks like she works here. Let’s leave the other matters to Sabelo, okay? We have our own child to worry about.”
“You are right,” I sigh.
******
SABELO
I feel like I have been sitting here forever and these walls keep reminding me of the day that I lost my wife. The events are so vivid in my head, they are making me dizzy. I have been trying to block the memories but they just keep on coming. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I take it out of my pocket. I unlock my phone and my heart skips a beat. I look again and the notification is still there, starring at me. I wish it could disappear. I wish it wouldn’t exist but no matter how I will it to disappear, it’s still there. I log in to my banking app and the money is there. Three millio seven hundred Rands. My heart is breaking by just looking at my bank balance.
I look up and I come face to face with Ziphozonke. What the phuck? She’s in a nurse uniform and is looking right back at me. The universe must really be conspiring against me today.
“Sabza,” she speaks and I feel all the alcohol I have been drinking forcing its way up to my throat. I force it back down and burp instead. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she’s now moving closer.
“Why?” I ask her.
“Why what?”
“Why reappear eight years and just after my wife’s death? What do you want from me? Why are you back? Couldn’t you stay wherever you were?”
“I can explain, but I am at work right now. Please can we have dinner later and talk?”
I laugh. She must be high on something.
“Your are crazier than I thought. Did you temporary forgot that I just lost my wife? What will people think of me seeing me eating dinner with my ex barely a week after burying my wife?”
“It doesn’t matter what people will say, you know you truth, I know mine. We have unfinished business and we have to talk.”
“No, we don’t. You can go back to wherever hole you crawled out of.”
I stand up and leave her standing like a lost spirit. What could be so important that she waited eight years to tell me?
*****
I get home hoping to get time to myself but every corner of my house has a breathing soul and they all want my attention. Can’t they see that I am so done with all of them?
“How is Owethu?” my mother asks.
“She’s okay,” I attempt to walk away but she grabs my arm.
“Singakhuluma Mthombeni? (Can we talk?)”
“I’m tired, Ma. Please let me try and rest.”
“We were only looking out for you,” she starts. “You are a man, you have needs. We were thinking about you when we spoke to the Sibisi family about you getting another one of their daughters to continue where their daughter left off. Please don’t be angry.”
“Are you done?”
“Sabelo—”
“Since you all really want to put me first in everything that you do, please consider seeing yourselves out of my house you will come back after ten days to cleanse me, that’s if you want to. As far as my manly needs are concerned, you don’t have to worry about that. When the time is right, I will do what a man has to do. I will see you after ten days.”
I make my way to my bedroom. I want to lock myself in and sleep but I have a surprise, in form of a human being waiting for me. I’m irritated, but for this soul, I manage to greet her with a smile.
“Sisi Ndalo,” I say with enthusiasm. She stands up and hugs me tight. Her hug is comforting and I feel myself close to tears already.
“You are a big boy now and you have cried enough. People are taking advantage of you because you are crying nonstop. We grieve with hope for a better tomorrow. You are stronger than this.”
“Thanks. It’s just… I miss her a lot.”
“I know and you are still going to miss her for more years to come. You have to learn to live by your own one more time. Let her memories carry you through and be comforted knowing that she loved you until her last breath.”
“I’m trying. Zipho came back and as much as I’m trying not to think about her, I’m curious. Why did she come back on the day of my wife’s burial? What if… what if she killed my wife?”
“Why would she do that? She left you, you didn’t leave her.”
“What if the grass wasn’t greener on the other side?”
“And she’s only noticing that after eight years of being away? Please don’t fall for whatever this girl is up to. You are vulnerable now and people are going to try and take advantage of you. Focus.”
“I think she went away with my child.”
“She knows the right channel to let you know about that not what she’s doing. This girl knows that you will be getting money from policies and all that. She will want to cash in big. Who have you told about the policies?”
“No one.”
“Good. Don’t tell anyone, keep this to yourself.”
“I think her parents are entitled to some of that money.”
“Maybe, but please, don’t tell them now. They will definitely find another desperate cousin to give you as a wife.”
My phone vibrates, I check it and it’s an email from a sender that I don’t recognise. I click on the email and there’s an attachment. I open it and once again, I’m staring back at the younger version of myself. The message reads: He is your son, Sabelo Junior.
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