BE MINE, MS LAWYER
– CHAPTER 2
I really don’t like waking up. If I could, I would spend my whole life under these warm blankets, especially when the rain is hitting the roof like this. I love my sleep so much, but I am also a woman who respects her work. When something is important, my heart wakes up before my alarm even makes a sound….
Right now, I am in Bergville. This is my brother Manqoba’s house. I have been here for a month and two weeks, hiding from the world and enjoying the peace of the mountains. But the holidays are over. The real life I built in Durban is calling me back….. A knock comes from the door.
“Come in,” I say, my voice thick with sleep.
Manqoba walks in….. He is carrying a steaming cup of coffee. He looks at me and shakes his head with a small smile. “So I guessed right… you are still under the blankets.”
“It’s cold, bhuti [brother],” I say, pulling the duvet up to my chin. “What are you doing waking me up so early?”
He hands me the coffee. “To make this for you. Drink it while it’s hot…..”
I take the cup “Thank you,” I say, taking a sip. The warmth feels good in my chest….
He sits on the edge of the bed and looks at me seriously. “Are you sure you want to leave without checking on Mom and Dad?”
I look at him, feeling bored with this topic. “Why would I check on them?”
“I was just suggesting,” Manqoba says softly. “You haven’t seen them in years.”
“And you know exactly why,” I snap. The mood in the room changes….. I throw the blankets off and stand up. I don’t want to talk about them. I love them, but I remember the girl they tried to break…. “Where is Sukoluhle?” Sukoluhle is his wife…
“She is in the kitchen cooking breakfast,” Manqoba says.
I smile at him. “Hayi, bhoza [boss], you really won there. She is a good woman.”
Manqoba laughs. “For real, I won.”
“That is the result of not taking Mom and Dad’s opinion,” I say, teasing him but speaking the truth……
“Come on, Nombuso…”
“I’m just saying!” I laugh. I grab my toiletry bag and take out my toothbrush. “I’m going to wash my teeth first. Thank you for the coffee.”
“Yeah,” Manqoba says, standing up. “Please come to the dining room when you are done.”
I nod and walk to the guest bathroom. As I splash cold water on my face and brush my teeth, I look at myself in the mirror. I like the woman I see…..
.
I grew up in a deep village called KwaNtabazime . It’s a place surrounded by beautiful, tall mountains and green fields. Cows and goats and more….. To some people, especially old people from the city, it looks like a peaceful place to retire. A paradise. But to me, and to many women born there, that village felt like a curse.
In KwaNtabazime, the rules for women are old, very old. From the time you are a small girl, they start grooming you. They teach you how to become a good wife. They teach you that your duties are in the kitchen. You must know how to cook, clean, and listen. The men, they are taught that a woman belongs in the kitchen and the man’s job is to make sure the cattle are healthy and the fridge and cupboards are full. A man must always make a plan. A woman must just follow.
I am the fourth child out of six in my parents’ house. I was raised with those rules. My mother, MaKhwela, lived her whole life in the kitchen, serving my father. I watched her. And in my heart, I knew I wanted more. I never dreamed of just being someone’s wife. I dreamed big……
When I was young, I saw something on a small TV….. It was a woman, standing in a big room, wearing a black robe. She was talking to a judge, arguing for someone. They called her a lawyer. That was it. That’s what I wanted. I wanted to fight for people who are treated badly. People who can’t fight for themselves. I wanted to stand up for what is right. In KwaNtabazime, that was not a dream for a girl.
I worked so hard at school. When I finished matric, I got accepted to the University of Johannesburg. I was so happy, I cried. I felt like my dream was finally starting. But life, it has a sharp turn sometimes……
My parents sat me down. They told me I was going to get married. To Mnotho Qwabe. His family is big and important in the village. I begged them, I cried, I pleaded. Please don’t do this. But my parents, they are old school. My older siblings all had arranged marriages. Why would I be different? They said it was tradition. It was our way.
For a whole year, I cried. The wedding preparations started. Our parents met. They told us to spend time together, to get to know each other. Mnotho, he seemed okay with it all. He would talk about our future, about the house we would build, about the children. But when he talked, he also told me what it meant to be his wife. He made it clear. I would not be going to any university. I would not be a lawyer. My place would be with him, in our home, in the kitchen. Just like my mother.
The whole village was talking about the wedding. Nombuso Khumalo is getting married to Mnotho Qwabe! It felt like my life wasn’t my own. My family, everyone I loved, was against my dream. I felt so alone.
One night, I went to Manqoba. He is the fifth born, the one right after me. He was always closest to my father, but he was also closest to me. I told him, my voice shaking, “Bhuti, I cannot marry Mnotho. I will die if I do.”
He looked sad, but he said, “It is tradition, mntaka baba.”
I begged him. I grabbed his arm. “Please, talk to Dad…. You are the only one he listens to. Please.”
He just shook his head. “There is no changing his mind, Nombuso. You know that.”
I looked him straight in the eye. I was desperate. I had nothing left. “If you don’t help me,” I said, my voice very low and serious, “I will take my own life. I swear it.”
Manqoba’s face went pale. He knew me. He knew when I said something, I meant it. He loved me, I know he did. He couldn’t let that happen. He held my hand and said, “Okay. Okay. I will help you.”
And he did. Manqoba helped me escape. He had a friend whose mother lived in Durban. He gave me money, all he had. He drove me to the taxi rank in the middle of the night while everyone was sleeping. I left KwaNtabazime with one small bag and a broken heart, but a free spirit….. I was 19 years old.
In Durban, I rented a small room in that lady’s backyard. I had to find work. Any work. I cleaned houses, I worked at a shop, anything to survive. Manqoba would send me money when he could. He never told me what he said to our parents, and I never asked. All I knew was that I was free.
For years, I worked and I saved. I applied to universities again and again. I was rejected so many times. But I never gave up. Finally, when I was 23, I got accepted to UKZN. That’s where my dream started to feel real.
It’s been over 11 years now since I saw my mother and father. Do I miss them? Yes. Of course, I do. They are my parents. But I am scared. What if I show up at their door and they just close it in my face? What if they hate me for what I did? Manqoba never talks much about them, so I don’t even know how they are. It’s easier to just… not.
.
I pull away from the mirror. My face is still wet, I put down my toothbrush and walk out of the bathroom. I can smell the food from here fried eggs and boerewors. My stomach growls….
When I walk into the dining room, I see Manqoba, Sukoluhle, and their little daughter, Nqobile…. Sukoluhle looks up from the table. “Yhoo, I thought you were showering already!”
I pull out a chair and sit down. “No, sis. I want to eat first….. My stomach is complaining too much. Good morning, everyone!”
“Good morning, Aunty,” little Nqobile says, “Mom says you are leaving today. Are you going back to the city?”
I chuckle and pinch her cheek. “Yes, baby. Aunty has to go and work…. Will you miss me?”
Nqobile nods her head fast. “Yes… I will. Who is going to play dolls with me now?”
Manqoba laughs, reaching for a slice of toast. “Okay, okay, let’s eat before the food gets cold….” We all start eating…
“So, your new bestie… the one you told us about. How is he holding up? Malime, right?” Sukoluhle asks…
I told them about Malime and the tragedy that hit the Shabalala family. I didn’t tell them everything…. I didn’t tell them that his brothers are powerful taxi bosses that people fear. I just said he is a good friend who lost a younger brother, Nkululeko….
“He is doing fine, sis,” I say, chewing my food. “He is strong….. I have to go and visit him tomorrow. He’s been asking when I’m coming back.”
Manqoba shakes his head and laughs. “Abangan’bakho bayizigwili,” [Your friends are rich people]. “First that girl with long hair and nails, now a friend with a hotel….. you’re moving in cycles….”
I laugh and shake my head. “Stop it, bhuti… It’s just work and life. I’m still the same Nombuso…” After we finish the big breakfast, I push my plate away and sigh. “Okay, guys. Let me go shower, pack my last things, and leave. The road is calling me.”
Sukoluhle pouts her lips. “Don’t put it like that! It sounds like we are chasing you away.”
I stand up and hug her. “I’m sorry! I don’t mean it like that. You guys have been so good to me. But I miss my home in Durban. I miss my own bed and my quiet morning coffee.”
“Go, then,” Manqoba says, waving his hand. “don’t forget us when you are rich too…”
“Never!” I shout back as I run to the bedroom. I jump into the shower. The hot water feels amazing on my skin…..
I get out, get dressed and start packing everything….I take my suitcases and drag them to the lounge Manqoba takes them. We walk to the garage and pack everything…
“Are you sure this small thing will make it to Durban in this rain?” he asks, leaning against his big bakkie. My car is a Kia Picanto….
“Don’t insult my car, Manqoba! She is a warrior,” I say, patting the hood.
“I am just saying… if you get stuck, don’t call me crying,” he says laughing….
I hug them all one last time. I kiss Nqobile’s forehead. “Stay good, okay? Listen to your mom.”
“Bye, Nombuso…drive safe” Sukoluhle says…
I get inside, start the engine, and wave until I can’t see them anymore…. The rain is really pouring now. Bergville is beautiful, but the road is muddy. My little Kia fights through the thick mud, sliding left and right.
“Come on, girl… we can do this,” I whisper to the car.
Finally, I reach the tar road. I breathe a sigh of relief. I turn on the radio and find a nice song. I am happy. I am going back to my life….. My phone rings. It’s Malime. I answer on the car’s Bluetooth.
“Bestie!!” I shout…
“Chommie! Where are you? Are you on the road yet?” He asks…
“I am driving right now! The rain is no joke, but I am moving,” I tell him.
“Thank God! I can’t wait for you to get here. It feels like you have been gone for ten years, not a month!”
I laugh. “Stop exaggerating, Malime! I will be there soon.”
“Good! Because tomorrow, I am taking you to the hotel. I want to show you everything mnagani.. I can’t believe this man did this for me…”
I laugh as I drive, ”You better believe it, chommie!” I tell him. “You are a boss bi**h right now. You are running a whole hotel! Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
He laughs on the other end. “Obviously, chommie! But sometimes I wake up and look around and think, is this real? I don’t think I deserve all of this. Like, all of this love and care, girl. It’s a lot.”
I shake my head, even though he can’t see me… “Mmmm… stop that right now. Tell yourself you deserve it. You’ve been through a lot with that man and that family. You stayed when things were hard. You fought for your place…. You deserve every single brick of that hotel.”
”Ohh… mngani [friend],” Malime says, his voice sounding a bit soft. “You always know what to say. I really missed you…” Suddenly, I hear a beep on his end. ”Wait! Qaphela is calling me on the other line,” he says quickly. “I have to take this, you know how he gets if I don’t answer.”
I roll my eyes but I’m smiling. “Okay, go talk to your man…. I will come see you tomorrow at the hotel. I’ll be in Durban soon.”
”Okay, bye bestie! Love you!”
”Love you too,” I say, but before I can finish, the line goes dead. ”B***h,” I whisper with a laugh… He didn’t even wait for me to say goodbye properly. Typical Malime. When Qaphela calls, the rest of the world has to wait. That’s that deep Shabalala love he has found. The kind of love I used to see in my dreams but never thought was real for people like us. I turn up the volume on my radio…..
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