LETHUTHANDO: The Traditional Wife Novel Chapter 7

LETHUTHANDO: The Traditional Wife
​CHAPTER 07
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​THOKOZILE ZONDO
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​The house felt smaller, louder, and infinitely more chaotic the moment I stepped through the door. I dropped my handbag on the kitchen table with a heavy thud, my eyes searching for the one person who usually made this mess disappear.
​“Ma, did she come back?” I asked, looking at my mother.
She was hunched over a bowl, peeling potatoes with a weary slowness I wasn’t used to seeing.
​“She’s not back. She really left,” Ma replied without looking up.
​I clicked my tongue, a surge of irritation rising in my chest.
“Who does she think she is to just get up and leave like that? We own that girl. She belongs to this family now. Mama, we need to call Khulubuse. This is ridiculous; she needs to come back and do what she was brought here for.”
​Ma placed the peeling knife down and finally looked at me, her face lined with exhaustion.
​“Apparently, she told him, and he agreed to this madness. I’ve had to wash that mountain of dishes, clean the floors, and chase after your children all day. They need a daycare, Thoko. I’m old and tired. I can’t be a slave to your kids while you’re out. Ngeke mina ngibe umhlahlisi wakho mina—I won’t be your nanny.”
​I bristled. Daycare? For four children? In this economy?
“I’m not paying for daycare, Ma. Lethuthando needs to come back and fulfill her wifely duties. I’m not wasting money on strangers while she’s sitting at her parents’ house doing nothing with her life. We need to call Uncle George and tell him about this. She’s disrespecting our home and our name.”
​“You have a point there,” Ma sighed, rubbing her lower back.
“I’ll call him before I go to bed. For now, you prepare supper and take over with the kids. I’m worn out, ntombazane. I wonder how MaDlomo does it, because I certainly can’t.”
​“She’s still young,” I scoffed, moving toward the stove. “She has the energy. She’s been saving it for a first child that her womb clearly won’t give her.”
​Ma groaned as she stood up.
“I’m going to bed. My waist is burning and I need painkillers. Take over.”
​“Mama! I just walked in from work! I’ve been on my feet all day behind that counter. Can’t you just finish the cooking?”
​“Eh! You think looking after four children is child’s play? I’m finished. Do it yourself.”
She hobbled out of the kitchen.
​I sighed and lifted the lid of the pot. The chicken feet were sitting in a pool of lukewarm water, still half-frozen with ice clinging to the skin. I kicked off my heels, the ache in my arches throbbing, and realized with a sinking heart that the “Traditional Wife” hadn’t just left this—she had left me with a life I didn’t know how to manage anymore.
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​KHULUBUSE ZONDO
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​The apartment was quiet until the front door clicked open. Misikhaya walked in, looking sharp even after a long day. I quickly switched off the TV, feeling a strange sense of guilt for just sitting around.
​“Don’t switch it off on my account,” he said, tossing a black plastic bag onto the coffee table.
I turned it back on, the flickering light filling the silence.
​“How was your day?” he asked, dropping onto the sofa next to me.
​“Fine. I took a nap, woke up, and just watched some TV.”
​He glanced toward the kitchen, then back at me, frowning.
“You didn’t eat?”
​“I didn’t know what to make. I didn’t see any maize meal and there’s no meat in the fridge, so I gave up.”
​Misikhaya chuckled, shaking his head.
“Bhuti, there’s muesli, cereal, instant porridge, and noodles. There are plenty of things you could have made.”
​“I don’t know those things,” I grumbled. He laughed openly at me then.
​“I can never take the Zulu out of you. You always want a pap, no matter what.”
​“That’s who we are,” I defended.
“That’s how we grew up.”
​“True. But it’s good to try new things. What would happen if your wife got sick and couldn’t cook? You’d starve?” He opened the plastic bag and handed me a container of takeaway.
“Here.”
​“Thank you.” The smell of fried chicken hit me instantly, making my stomach growl.
​“I hear you, bafo. So… how is your wife?” he asked, taking a bite of his own meat. He always did that—eating the meat first before touching the starch.
​“I didn’t call her during the day. We last talked this morning.”
​Misikhaya paused, his hand halfway to his mouth. He looked genuinely disappointed.
“Oh.”
​“Why are you asking?” I said, feeling defensive.
​“So, it doesn’t bother you? That the last time you spoke to the woman you love was twelve hours ago, and she’s currently going through a crisis with your family?”
​“I don’t want to disturb her,” I muttered.
“She’s bonding with her parents. She needs the space.”
​“Oh,” he said again, his voice flat and heavy with disapproval.
“I hear you. Well, I’m going to my room.”
​“So early?” I asked, surprised.
“I thought we’d chill and catch up. Like we used to.”
​He stood up, grabbing his keys.
“Not today, bro. See you tomorrow.”
​He closed his bedroom door with a firm click, leaving me alone with my chicken and the glowing television screen.
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​LETHUTHANDO DLOMO
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​I sat on the edge of my childhood bed, rubbing body lotion into my legs. The skin felt soft, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like my hands were cracked from harsh dish soap and laundry.
​My phone vibrated on the nightstand. My heart gave a little hop, but when I looked at the screen, it wasn’t Khulubuse. It was Misikhaya. Again.
​I felt a twinge of guilt, but also a strange sense of being cared for. Khula hadn’t called since the sun was high in the sky. I wondered if he was okay, or if he was enjoying his freedom a little too much. I wanted to check on him, but I was out of airtime, and the silence from his end felt like a message in itself.
​I picked up the phone.
​“Hello?”
I said pressing the phone on my ear, settling back against my headboard. The room was quiet, smelling of the lavender lotion I had just applied.
​
​”I was starting to think you’d fallen asleep already,” Misikhaya’s voice came through, warm and steady.
​”Not yet. I was just… thinking. I haven’t heard from Khula since this morning. I don’t have airtime to check on him, so I was wondering if he’s settled in okay.”
​”He’s fine, Thando. He’s eating takeaway and watching TV as we speak. I think he’s just… being Khula.” There was a brief pause.
“But let’s not talk about him for a minute. We realized today we’re practically strangers, well, kind of. If we’re going to be allies at this wedding, I should probably tell you who I am.”
​I smiled, curious.
“Okay then. Tell me about Misikhaya. I only know you as the brother who moved away.”
​”Well, I didn’t just move away to wander,” he said, and I could hear the pride in his voice.
“I actually just graduated. I’m a dentist. It took a lot of years and even more sleepless nights, but I finally finished my board exams. The taxis… those were my hustle during school. I worked myself to the bone to buy the first one, then the second, and now I have three. It’s how I made sure I’d never have to rely on anyone.”
​”A dentist?” I was genuinely impressed.
“And three taxis? You’ve been busy, Khaya.”
​”I don’t like sitting still. Life is too short to wait for things to happen.”
​I shifted on the bed, the silk of my nightdress rustling.
“And with all that success… is there a girlfriend in the picture? Someone waiting for the ‘Big Dentist’ to come home?”
​He let out a short, honest laugh.
“No. No girlfriend. My life has been books and steering wheels for the last few years. There hasn’t been room for much else.”
​”I find that hard to believe,” I teased.
“But okay, I’ll take your word for it. Now, since you told me about yourself, I suppose it’s my turn to—”
​”I already know you, Lethuthando,” he interrupted softly.
​I frowned, confused.
“What do you mean? We’ve barely spoken ten words to each other before today.”
​”I know you graduated as a chef a year ago,” he began, his voice calm, reciting the facts like they were written in front of him.
“I know your favorite ice cream is mint chocolate chip and you prefer black forest cake over everything else. I know you’re a huge netball fan—specifically the Proteas—and you think Karla Pretorius is the best player to ever walk onto a court. Your favorite color is emerald green, and back in high school, you lived for consumer studies and life science classes.”
​I sat bolt upright, my heart thumping.
“How… how do you know all that?”
​He didn’t stop.
“I know you hate onions and pickles with a passion. And I know that for all your bravery, you can’t swim to save your life.”
​I was speechless for a moment, my mind racing.
“Misikhaya, where did you get all that information? Did Khula tell you? No, half of those things he doesn’t even remember…”
​”How are your parents?” he asked suddenly, completely ignoring my question.
“Is your father still as protective over his garden as he used to be?”
​The abrupt change of topic caught me off guard, but the mention of my father made me relax instantly. Maybe Khulubuse told him, or Nozipho. They’re the only ones who know me that much.
​”He is!” I laughed, leaning back again.
“He almost watered me along with the flowers when I walked through the gate today. And my mother… she’s already back to her old self, trying to run the whole neighborhood from her kitchen.”
​I went on, telling him about Hawulesizwe getting into UMP and the quiet peace of the house. I didn’t even realize that I had stopped questioning how a man I barely knew held a map of my entire personality in his head. All I knew was that for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like a stranger to everyone around me.
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