NURSE THEMBENI
CHAPTER 3
My name has vanished, my identity has been packed away. I am now her. There must be another woman hiding somewhere in this house, because the one Golide is pointing at cannot be me. He just changed my life status without consulting me.
I blink once, then again. Nothing changes. I am still standing here in an oversized shirt, no bra, bare legs, looking like I lost a fight with dignity. If this is what being introduced to parents looks like, I would like a refund.
The mother’s eyes move over me. She is not rude about it, but she is thorough, she nods slightly, as if ticking off boxes I was not informed about.
I clear my throat. “Hello, it’s nice to meet you.”
My voice sounds normal, which is a miracle considering my heart is trying to escape through my ribs.
The father has not said a word, he has the same face as Golide, just older, heavier with life. He looks at his son, then at me, then back at his son. He does not smile.
“Is this the woman you wanted us to meet?” He says.
“Yebo baba.” Golide says, placing a hand over my waist. My body is confused, this man has never held me like this, he does not do any type of display of affection.
“What is her name?” His father asks.
“Thembeni Majola.” The sugar daddy answers.
His confidence shocks me. I’m standing here smiling like a sensible woman, even though my brain is on fire.
“Mehlo has told us so much about you, sisi. It’s nice to finally meet you.” His mom says.
I laugh, because what else do I do? My mind refuses to accept any of this, I keep smiling because his parents are looking at me with interest, not suspicion. I think they already like me, which makes this situation worse, not better.
“And she is cooking?” his mom asks, glancing toward the stove.
“Yes, she is almost done.” Golide says.
I am not, I have not even started. I do not know where anything is. I do not know what rich people eat, I don’t even know what time it is anymore.
“What are you cooking, my child?”
My brain goes blank.
Pap and what? Pap and air? Pap and embarrassment?
“I’m still deciding,” I tell her.
She hums. “Hmm.”
That hum holds judgement. Golide touches my back lightly, guiding me toward the stove.
“Take your time,” he says.
I move because my legs still work, even though my mind is in pieces. I open a cupboard and stare inside it, hoping inspiration jumps out. Nothing does.
Behind me, I can feel them watching. I am being assessed, evaluated and measured against invisible standards. I pick up a bottle and turn it around, pretending I know what I am doing. If I look confused, I will embarrass him. Embarrassing him is a threat to my bank balance.
Okay, Thembeni, think. Food is food, people eat to survive, even rich people. I take steak from the fridge because a cow has never betrayed anyone. I grab onions, garlic, tomatoes. Honest ingredients, ingredients that understand struggle.
“She is very quiet.” The mother says behind me.
Why are they still standing there?
“She is focused,” Golide replies.
Focused on not collapsing, yes. I start chopping, this, at least, I know how to do.
Golide turns and gestures for his parents to follow him into the lounge. His mother gives me one last smile, warm and approving, and his father nods once like I have passed some invisible test. Then they are gone, and I am left standing alone in the kitchen, holding a spoon, staring at nothing.
I let out a short laugh. What just happened?
I was supposed to cook for Golide alone. I was supposed to be invisible. I was supposed to leave with money in my account and my dignity intact. Now I have been introduced to parents.
I look down at myself. I am still wearing a robe. A thick, heavy robe. It is hot in here.m, I cannot cook like this. I already feel like I am being steamed.
I decide I need clothes, real clothes.
The house is open-plan, so when I walk past the lounge, Golide sees me immediately. They are sitting on the couch, his eyes lift and follow me. His eyebrow rises slightly, questioning. He wants to know where I’m headed to.
The plan was not to stop, but now that his parents are staring. This arrangement was not rehearsed, if he told me in advance, I would know how to act around them. I kneel on the floor, because respect is a big deal to African parents and Golide might add extra zeros to my allowance.
“Mthunzi oMkhulu, I am going to change out of the robe. It’s hot, if I’m going to cook a storm, I need to be comfortable.” I say.
His mother smiles, she’s clearly pleased. Golide frowns just a little, I can tell the kneeling caught him off guard. The clan name too. He studies me for a second, then nods once.
“Hamba ubuye, Phakade lami.” He says.
I’m trying so hard not to cringe, I feel insulted. How could he do this to me? I stand and walk away before my legs change their mind. The moment I close the bedroom door behind me, I press my back against it and laugh quietly into my hand.
No, this man did not just introduce me to his parents as the woman in his life. And where on the Drakensberg mountains did “Phakade lami” come from?
My mind is racing. If the chief finds out I have been upgraded to daughter-in-law somewhere else? This village will turn into a war zone. I am engaged to be married, for heaven’s sake. My life is already complicated enough.
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CHIEF MENZI
He’s sitting in the back seat of the black double-cab bakkie, arms folded tight across his chest, eyes fixed on the dark road ahead. The tyres slap through shallow puddles left by the rain, and every bump jolts the vehicle. The drive from Manzana to Emmaus Hospital feels longer tonight, they have been on the road for almost two hours because the gravel turns to soup when it rains, but he doesn’t complain. Complaining is for men who have no power.
Thembeni’s brother was with him when he communicated with Thembeni, and offered to tag along when Menzi told him her phone was off. Mkhululi unlocks his phone, hoping to see a message from his sister and sighs when he’s met with a blank screen.
“Anything?” Menzi asks Mkhululi.
“Nothing chief, her battery must have died.” It better be the case.
Menzi exhales, he’s too young to stress like this.
Thembeni is supposed to be at the royal house at eight, his family is expecting her. She can disappoint him, it’s fine, not his family.
The bakkie pulls into the hospital parking lot, the driver gets the door, and the chief steps out and heads toward the entrance. Mkhululi is behind him.
As he walks in, his eyes wander around, searching for Thembeni. He notices people looking twice and then looking away politely when their eyes clash with his. They know who he is, and he’s used to the stares, they have nothing to do with the fact that he’s eye-candy, but a 36 year old chief. Being young and in power is a different kind of attraction. People are easily drawn to him, men respect him because he doesn’t need to raise his voice to be heard. Women fix their dresses and straighten their doeks when he walks past. He’s had families approach him with marriage proposals, but chief’s heart belongs to one person.
Mkhululi keeps rubbing his hands together like he’s trying to wipe away worry, he clears his throat and the young nurse behind the desk looks up. She jerks from her seat when she sees the chief.
“Good evening, I’m here for Thembeni. Where is she?”
“Good evening, Chief Hlongwane… Thembeni? I’m not sure, chief.” She seems genuinely confused.
“I want to speak to the person in charge so she can be released. Who’s on duty tonight?” Chief asks.
The nurse glances toward the corridor.
“Matron went home early, Sister Dlamini is the senior nurse tonight. I’ll call her.”
She picks up the phone and makes it snappy. A minute later Sister Dlamini comes out, sleeves rolled up, looking like she’s had a long day.
“Chief Hlongwane,” she says, nodding politely. “Good evening. What brings you here?”
“I’m looking for Thembeni. She said she’s on nightshift duty, I want her relieved from her duties.”
“We are quite busy, chief. But I will let her know you were here.”
Chief exhales. “I drove two hours in the rain to make sure she could leave early. Where is she now?”
Sister Dlamini shrugs a little. This is the favour Thembeni asked of her, but keeping her promise is proving to be impossible.
“I don’t know, Chief. I think there was a family emergency, she left about an hour ago.”
The nurse’s story has changed, chief doesn’t bother calling her out on her lies. The mission is to find Thembeni.
“Family emergency? She’s my sister, she didn’t tell me anything. If something happened, she would call me.” Mkhululi says.
Sister Dlamini looks between them, lying is not for everyone. Tables have turned so fast, how will she get out of this?
“I’m just telling you what she said.” She says.
The chief takes one step closer to her.
“Sister, I don’t like games. Thembeni is my fiancée. If she’s safe, tell me where she went. If she’s not, tell me who took her. Right now.”
Sister Dlamini meets his eyes for a second, then looks away.
“I really don’t know where she is.”
He nods slowly. “Then show me the security footage, entrance and pickup point.”
Her eyes widen. “Chief, that’s not something I can just…”
“I sit on the hospital board committee, I sign the cheques that pay salaries and buy medicine. If you make this hard, your next shift will be your last. Show me the footage.”
She exhales, shoulders dropping. Thembeni is on her own now.
“Okay, follow me.”
She leads them down a side corridor to a small security room. They walk in to an older guard dozing off. She wakes him with a tap on the shoulder. He sees the chief and jumps to his feet, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“Chief.” He bows.
Sister Dlamini instructs him to pull out footage as per chief’s orders. The guard fumbles with the keyboard, the screen flickers to life, grainy black and white. It shows Thembeni standing under the shelter with two ladies, fast forward, a dark SUV pulls up… Thembeni hugs the ladies before making her way to the car, she opens the passenger door, and gets in, and the car drives off.
“That’s not the hospital minibus. Who owns that car?” Chief asks.
Sister Dlamini shakes her head. “I don’t know.”
The chief turns to her. “You lied to me about her whereabouts? How do I know you are not lying again?”
“She asked me to, chief. She said it was important. I didn’t think it was my place to ask more.” She’s panicking.
Thembeni might not care much about her job, but to Sister Dlamini, this is her life. If the chief fires her, it’s over for her.
“You thought wrong, you already caused a problem.” The chief says.
He stares at the frozen image of the SUV, the shape of the car sticks in his mind.
“If some man picked her up…”
The chief raises one hand and that silences Mkhululi.
He looks at Sister Dlamini again. “Next time someone asks you to lie about where my fiancée is, remember who I am. Good night.”
He turns and walks out, Mkhululi glares at the screen a moment longer, then hurries after them.
It’s drizzling again, the chief hurries into the car, pulls out his phone and opens her last message. Why would Thembeni lie to him? She’s definitely hiding something.
He tries to call her again, it’s still off. Thembeni was meant to be at the royal house by eight. His family is waiting, questions are already forming. She can ignore him if she wants. She just cannot disappear like this.
He types one line. “Where are you, mkami?”
The message goes through, but one thing about text messages is that you can’t tell whether the phone if off or not. He dials her number once more and he’s sent to voice mail. Frustrated, he puts the phone away and looks at the dark road ahead. It takes a lot to get him riled up and Thembeni seems to know which buttons to press.
“Shenge, drive.”
“Where to, Chief?”
“Back to Manzana, for now.”
The chief leans back and closes his eyes. Thembeni chose to embarrass him tonight, he will make sure she knows what that choice means.
THEMBENI
I am still mid-panic when the door opens. Golide walks in. The soft version is gone, this is the Golide I know. The unreadable man with no emotions, he’s different around his parents.
“What is going on?”
He closes the door behind him.
“That was very dramatic, they will start thinking this arrangement is fake.” He says.
“It is fake.”
Is he okay? I’m starting to really worry about him. He looks at me with that look that shuts people up without raising his voice.
“Are you going to tell me what is happening?”
“I will, after you impress my parents.”
I laugh in disbelief. “Impress them? Mehlo, I am expected to cook for my sugar daddy’s parents. I need context.”
He frowns. “Your what?”
Ah, right. He doesn’t know that term.
“Who is your sugar daddy?”
Who else but him? What role does he think he plays in my life?
“You give me money in exchange of a good time, that’s what sugar daddies do.”
Why is he looking at me like that? I don’t understand why his eyebrows have suddenly taken a stand.
“Sugar Daddies? How many?”
Oh, my bad. He’s confused by the plural, the man is even breathing heavily.
“Themi, you have other men giving you money?”
What? “No, you’re the only sugar daddy I have.”
“Stop calling me that.”
Sugar daddy! Sugar Daddy!
“I apologize, that was disrespectful.” I say.
He does not look happy, but he lets it go.
“Please finish cooking, I want those people out of my house before ten.”
Are we still talking about his parents? I thought he liked them, that’s the energy I picked up.
“Ten is late. I need to go home, my brothers will panic.” I’m not going to sleepover and it’s his fault for complicating our complicated situation-ship.
“I will drop you,” he says.
“It is not about transport, I need to be home early.”
He tilts his head slightly. “I thought you told Sister Dlamini to cover for you.”
My heart jumps. “How do you know that?”
“You were sitting next to me, I saw the message.”
Of course he did. I make a mental note to lower the brightness of my phone for the rest of my life. He looks me over, thoughtfully.
“Find something to wear in the wardrobe.”
If he’s talking about another woman’s clothes, I am jumping out the window.
“I am not wearing one of your women’s clothes, Mehlo. That is disgusting.”
His brows pull together, he’s pretending to be confused.
“What women?”
The way he says it makes my stomach do something strange. Am I the only woman who has ever existed in this house? Which I know cannot be true, but he makes it sound like it. I do not know this man from a bar of soap. He turns and walks out, leaving me more confused than when he walked in.
What game are you playing, Golide? And why am I suddenly part of it?
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