INSERT THREE
SABELO
I wake up with a banging headache that has me finding it hard to peel my eyes open. My forehead feels heavy. I stretch my hand to Anele’s side of the bed and my eyes flutter open when my hand doesn’t feel her. Her side of the bed is still made up, like she didn’t sleep here. On her pillow, a framed picture of our wedding day lies. For the millionth time, it dawns on me that my wife is no longer with me, she’s gone and it’s for good this time. Not a holiday or weekend away—her absence is permanent now. I turn to my side of the bedside table and my eyes land on the half empty bottle of Glenfiddich. This explains the headache and the rubbery taste in my mouth. I pick up the bottle and continue where I left off. The burning sensation of the tears of the gods offer a temporary comfort to my parched throat. I take another swig, another one and another until I feel my headache being numbed, but the numbness isn’t touching the part I want torpefied the most.
I’m about to get up and go in search of another bottle of whiskey when there’s a knock on our bedroom door.
“Go away,” I respond to whoever is knocking. The person defies my instruction and pushes the door open anyway. I’m about curse but stop myself from doing so when I see that it’s Ndalo. She’s carrying a tray of food.
“Hey, little brother,” she greets with a smile that I don’t even try to return. I don’t even have the energy to return her greetings so I just stare at her. “You have to eat,” she sits on the bed next to me.
“I’m not hungry,” I say as a matter of fact.
“Sabelo, you have been downing alcohol for two days now, you need something solid in your stomach. You can’t continue like this, man, I’m sure Anele is also not happy seeing you losing yourself like this.”
“How do you know that? How do you know what she would have wanted for me?”
“No, I’m not doing this with you again. I love you, little brother and I’m not about to watch you waste away. I know you loved her, I know you loved her, you worshipped the ground she walked on, I know you are hurting, but life has to go on. You still have a whole future ahead of you. Grieve but don’t let yourself go.”
“I don’t have a future, I don’t want one without Anele.”
“Open your mouth,” she orders, completely ignoring what I just said.
“I’m not hungry,” I repeat.
“Then I’m not leaving here. We are going to both sit here until you feel like eating this food.” Now she’s being ridiculous. What’s so hard to understand that I don’t feel like eating? Nothing makes sense without my wife and I don’t want a life without her. “There is also a family meeting that you have to attend.”
“What is it about?”
“I don’t know, but everyone is worried about you. You came from the graveyard, locked yourself in this bedroom and you haven’t gone out ever since. Does it all have to do with Anele’s passing or you are even more stressed about Zipho’s return—”
“Wait? She was really there? I wasn’t hallucinating?”
“No, you were not. Why didn’t you tell anyone about your child?”
“That’s because I knew nothing about the damn child and I don’t want to know anything even now!”
“That’s not how things are done—”
“No! I don’t want anything to do with Ziphozonke and you all better respect that. I’m going to take a shower.”
I don’t even want to entertain thoughts about the little boy I saw. Ziphozonke and whoever that kid is can go back to wherever they have been all along.
I leave her sitting on the bed and make my way into the ensuite bathroom and open the tap. It’s a bit cold due to heavy rains—a good day for a hot bath but I will take a cold shower instead. I just need to feel something other than the stabbing pain in my heart. I strip naked and stand under the shower. My mind drifts to the first day I met Anele.
“Watch where you are going, Cheese boy,” she cusses and squats to pick up a pile of papers that she just dropped when I bumped into her. I squat to help and our eyes meet. She has the most beautiful, big eyes I have ever seen. They compliment her round face and for a moment, I’m lost in her eyes. There’s something pulling me into them. “Staring is rude,” she reprimands, sounding like a no nonsense kind of a girl.
“Sorry, just appreciating God’s gorgeous creation.”
“Are you trying to charm me? Bhuti wabantu, the only charming thing I’m looking for in a guy right now is someone who understands the Jean Watson’s Theory of Human Caring,” she says and I’m ashamed to say I don’t know what she’s talking about. We finish gathering the papers and I get a glimpse of her course study, it has to do with health. I stand up first and then she also jumps to her feet, showcasing the agility of her small frame.
“I don’t know what that is, but I can buy your favourite drink and food and watch you as you study.”
“I can’t say no to food, follow me,” she says and like a puppy, I follow closely behind her. My father would be ashamed of me if he sees me being ordered around by a girl. But this is a small price I’m willing to pay to get to know her, even if I get to know only her name.
She’s leading me to White Campus Square—a restaurant I know too well. As a University of Johannesburg student, I always dine here when my pockets are warm enough, usually on month ends. We get in and she chooses a table at the far end of the establishment. I want to pull a chair for her but she doesn’t afford me the opportunity, her small behind is already perched on the chair before I can exercise my gentleman ness.
“What is your budget?” she asks.
“Huh?” I’m confused.
“You offered to buy me lunch and from your accent, you sound like a Zulu man and I know you guys are taught that washing plates is a taboo. I’m trying to avoid a situation where we will both have to wash dishes to pay for this meal.”
Okay, she’s the real one. A girl who thinks about the guy’s pockets before thinking about her stomach, that’s a rare trait.
“I have enough money, you can order whatever you want,” I say confidently
“Okay. I’m Anele,” she says.
“Sabelo,” I also introduce myself.
The waiter attends to us and this girl doesn’t even look at the menu before ordering. She orders rice, chicken and some veggies on the side. I don’t get the name of her drink but the waiter seems to have gotten it. The waiter then turns to me. I just ate, I’m not hungry so I just order coke. I would go for alcohol but I still have work to do.
“What are you studying?” I ask.
“Nursing and it’s showing me flames. I would drop out of I could but I’m not a trust fund baby, so,” she shrugs. “It’s my second year,” she adds.
“I’m guessing you are with Ann Latsky Nursing College?”
“Correct. Are you from around?”
“I’m with UJ,” I state simply.
“What are you studying?”
“A Master’s degree in Computer science.”
“Wow, okay. I’m impressed. So, why did you offer me lunch?”
“I want to know you better.”
“You can say it, you know? That you just saw a girl you don’t know around and you would like to smash. It’s fine, everyone is doing it. You guys see us as toys so you might as well be honest while at it. We are emotional beings, so don’t sell us dreams you can’t fulfil.”
I have met so many girls ever since I came to Johannesburg but none of them have been so real with me like this girl has been in the last ten minutes or so. She is outspoken, confident, and it’s refreshing.
“No, I don’t want to smash, I really want to know you better and maybe change your surname while at it.”
She looks at me and smiles. Her smile is warm and her eyes hypnotic.
“I have exams coming up and a distraction is what I don’t need. I will be done in three weeks.”
I stretch my hand to get my phone so I can get her number and all of a sudden I’m in the bathroom and water is flowing down my body. My heart feels like the physical part of it is in tatters too.
“Sabelo, are you still good in there?” that’s my sister asking.
“I’m fine,” I lie and swallow a painful lump. I reach for the towel and dry myself.
*****
I walk into the living room full of the Sibisi and Mthombeni elders. I can feel all their eyes on me as I make my way to sit on the empty chair.
“Ndodana (Son),” that’s my father speaking. “How are you holding up?”
Can everyone stop with this question already?
“I’m okay,” I tell them what they want to hear. People just want you to say it even when you are not okay.
“Okay, I won’t waste anyone’s time. The two families have been talking,” my father pauses and looks at me. I can already feel it deep down that I am not going to like what he is about to say. “Every time when a man loses his wife to death, he grieves for her for a certain time and has to also wear according to tradition. In our family, you are to pin a black cloth on your jacket and always wear a jacket during this period.”
“Okay,” I say. I don’t mind wearing anything in honour of my wife.
“But,” he speaks and my heart skips a beat. “The Sibisi family thinks you are too young for that and since you and your wife were already planning a family, they are willing to give you another wife to fulfil those duties—”
“You are joking, right?” I can’t believe my ears right now. It hasn’t been a week and they are already thinking of replacing her? Who gave them that right?
“Son, it’s culture—”
“To hell with culture! I don’t want any replacement, no one will replace my wife and you all better understand that or ningiphumele ngesango (get out of my house).”
“Is it because of the other woman with a child?” that’s Anele’s aunt speaking. “You want to give what our child worked hard for to that woman and her illegitimate child?”
Ngisenhlane ngiyalingwa (I’m being tempted).
“We won’t allow that! No other woman will reap where my daughter sowed!” now that’s Anele’s mother speaking. “The family has decided, you will marry Owethu and she will continue where her sister left off.”
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