PROMISED TO HIM
CHAPTER 01
MAYIBUYE DUMA
“Gogo, why are you sitting out here all alone?”
The late afternoon sun painted the sky in streaks of orange and red, casting long shadows across the yard. Gogo sat on the old wooden chair under the jacaranda tree, her hands clutching a worn-out photograph like it was her lifeline.
She quickly wiped her tears when she saw me, but she couldn’t hide the pain in her eyes.
I stepped closer, knelt before her, and gently slid the picture from her hands. My mother’s smile stared back at me from the photo—so bright, so alive. A woman whose presence I only knew through stories and fading images.
“Makhulu, mama wouldn’t like to see you crying like this,” I whispered. I used my sleeve to dry the tears she had missed.
“I lost my daughter, Mayi,” she murmured, her voice trembling as though the grief was fresh.
“It feels like I failed her.”
I wrapped my arms around her thin shoulders, letting her head rest against me. “You didn’t fail her, Gogo. You raised me. You carried her dream forward through me. That’s not failure—that’s love.”
But she shook her head, her jaw tightening with anger. Her eyes turned hard, dark with memories she refused to share.
“If only she had known,” Gogo said bitterly. “If only she had seen the truth. They made a deal with devils, and it cost her everything. If she had walked away, maybe she’d still be here.”
Her words sent a chill through me. My heart raced.
“Makhulu… what do you mean? Who made a deal? With who?”
Her lips pressed together, sealing the truth behind silence. Just like always.
Instead, she pulled away and forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Did you cook, Mayi? I’m hungry.”
I sighed, defeated. It was useless. Every time I asked about my parents, she dodged me, changed the subject, or shut me out completely.
Still, the questions gnawed at me like a wound that refused to heal.
My name is Mayibuye Duma—but my grandmother calls me Mayi. I live with my grandmother far on the outskirts of town, in a small house that feels hidden from the rest of the world.
No friends. No neighbors who visit. Just me and Gogo.
It’s always been like that.
I’ve grown used to the quiet, but sometimes it feels too quiet—like we’re living in exile. Like we’re hiding.
The strangest part is Gogo’s hatred for the Smith family. She normal says Smiths are powerful, wealthy, and feared in this town. Their name alone is enough to silence a room. And yet, somehow, we are tied to them. I don’t know how. I don’t know why.
Whenever I ask, Gogo dodges the question, her face hardening like stone.
All I know is this: my mother wanted to be a teacher, but she never got the chance. She had to drop out of university when she fell pregnant with me. Gogo says she sacrificed everything—and in a way, I feel like I’ve been living to fulfill the dream she left behind. Becoming a teacher isn’t just my goal. It’s my mother’s legacy….I never been to school
But deep down, I sense there’s more to her story. Something darker.
That evening, while stirring pap in the pot, I caught Gogo staring out of the kitchen window, her face tight with worry.
“Gogo,” I said carefully, “are you afraid of something?”
She didn’t look at me. “Eat before the food gets cold.”
“But I saw you today. You were crying again, holding mama’s picture. You keep talking about devils and deals. Why won’t you tell me what really happened?”
Her hands trembled as she set down her plate. For a moment, I thought she would finally open up.
Instead, she whispered, “One day, Mayi… one day you’ll know everything. But not now. Not yet….and i won’t let anything happens to you ”
I frowned. “Why not?”
Her gaze softened, full of both love and fear. “Because some truths, child, are heavy enough to destroy you. And I need to keep you safe—for as long as I can.”
Safe from what? Or from who?
I wanted to push further, but something in her tone warned me not to.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my life—the life I thought was so simple—wasn’t mine at all. That somewhere out there
15 shares