INSERT 7
SABELO
Have you ever felt like you are lost in your own home? Have you ever stood in the middle of your own living room and felt like you are standing in a desert—the middle of nowhere? That’s how I’m feeling right now and the silence in the house is too loud. I can feel myself slipping back into the depression that my sister saved me from. I look up and a picture of Anele smiling has me smiling back at her. Seeing her carefree face almost convinces me that she’s not gone, but I know the truth. She’s gone and she’s not coming back. I shake my head and force my body to move towards the bedroom.
I open the door and I’m met by the stale and dry smell of dust. I put the small bag on the bed and open the windows. I should have called in some cleaners before coming back. I will definitely catch flu because of this dust. Everything is dusty, I probably should get cleaners to come in and take care of it. I can clean but I don’t have the energy for it. I have other pressing matters to deal with. I fish my phone out of my pocket and dial my sister, Ndalo.
“Bafo, ubuyile? (Bro, you are back?)”
“I just arrived, and this house smells like a rural dusty playground. It’s so dusty in here, I’m sneezing already,” I’m exaggerating, I know. I just want her to treat this matter with urgency.
“You want me to come and do the cleaning?”
“No. Call that company that Anele trusted. You still have my spare key, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure. Please come and oversee everything. I’m going to check myself into a hotel. Tell me when they are done. Don’t let them touch my wife’s clothes.”
“You know you have to let them go—”
“Not now, please, Sisi. I’m supposed to take this thing one step at a time, remember?”
“I understand,” she sighs. “Are you going to tell our parents that you are back?”
“No, not yet. I just need to figure out my life without anyone breathing down my neck,” I sigh. “I’m going to see Zipho tomorrow morning. She owes me the truth about this whole thing.”
“Okay, all the best.”
“Thanks,” I end the call.
I pick up the same bag I brought with me, get the car keys from the bedside drawer, and make my way out of the house. I was looking forward to spending a night in familiar surroundings, but I guess that cannot happen tonight.
*****
I just checked myself into The Houghton Hotel when I received a call from my friend, Nhlamulo, telling me that he has arrived. I didn’t want to be alone, so I called him. Being alone tends to make me think a lot and that leads to unpleasant thoughts. I just want to forget, even if it’s for a while.
“Sho, dude,” I meet Nhlamulo by the reception area, and we fist bump.
“Sho, mfana. You are glowing, do you have a skincare routine now?” he teases.
“That place had me eating healthy, man. I haven’t touched alcohol in three months straight.”
“Sex yona?” he asks and I stop and look at him. It’s only registering to me now that I haven’t had a hard on ever since my wife passed on. I haven’t had time to think about it and honestly, I’m not worried about it.
“I’m not thinking about that, hey. I just want to get myself back in track before I can think of that. How are you and family?” I change the subject. I had enough heavy talks at that place, the last thing I want is to fall back into the trap of depression that I’m trying to run away from.
“We are good, hey,” he says just as we get to our room. I open the door and lead the way inside.
“The fridge is full and room service is just a button away,” I let him know.
“You know I can’t drink without abantwana (ladies), right?” I’m reminded why I haven’t been friends with this guy ever since my relationship with Anele took a serious turn. She never liked him and I truly understood her reasoning. Nhlamulo is a definition of a womaniser. I thought he had outgrown it since he’s now married and have kids but I guess I was wrong.
“Did you check your surroundings? You think there are ladies who can’t buy their own drinks here?” I try not to sound irritated already.
“I know a spot in Mamelodi, we can just drive there—”
“No. I came here because I want peace, not to be surrounded by people. You can go if you want to.”
“You are not funny anymore,” he says and laughs.
“I grew up, you should too.”
I already regret inviting him here, I shouldn’t have but I hope he will behave.
“So, word has it that you are a millionaire now. Why are you not in Dubai already?” he opens the fridge and takes out a bottle of Corona.
“Says who?”
“Come on, I’m a friend, you can tell me.”
“Dude, I don’t have millions. I have nothing, I lost the woman who meant everything to me.”
“I understand, man. But, boy, you have to let go.”
I wish people understood that you can let go of something that’s in your hand, but not in your heart. Something deep down in your heart is not something you can wake up and decide to let go. If that was the case, there would no sadness and depression would be a myth.
“One day at a time.”
****
I woke up feeling suffocated and sweaty. I try to move but I feel like there’s something heavy is on top of me. I pry my eyes open and my heart skips a beat when I see a woman lying on my chest, her hair spilling all over my body. I recover from the shock and push her off me.
“What the F!” she yelps as she lands on the floor. I didn’t mean to push her that hard. “Are you crazy? Why are you pushing me?”
“Who are you?” I ask. I don’t know her and I don’t remember inviting any woman onto my bed.
“Are you for real? After groaning and growling on top and under me you wake up to treat me like this? You enjoyed my kitty yesterday—”
I feel bile rising and forcing me to dash to the toilet. I push the door open and bend over the toilet seat. My stomach growls as I empty it.
“Dude, are you okay?” that’s Nhlamulo.
“What is that woman doing in my room?”
“You had a meltdown and I suggested that we call some girls over to make you forget for a bit and you agreed.”
“I was drunk! You shouldn’t have—”
“Your friend hurt my friend!” it’s a red haired girl with a face smudged with mascara budging into the toilet. Didn’t anyone teach these people about privacy? “You hurt my friend, motherf—”
“Nhlamulo, get out and take these floozies with you—”
“Come on, Sabza, morning glory-nyana—”
“I said get out!”
Realising my heated temper, Nhlamulo raises his hands in surrender and walk out of the toilet together with the red haired girl.
“What did I do?” I feel my heart breaking into pieces. The heaviness of what I did has me sinking to the floor and tears fall down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Anele, I’m sorry S’thandwa sami.”
*****
ZIPHOZONKE
My heart is pounding against my ribcage as I make my way to Mugg & Bean. I can feel the sound of my own heart behind my ears. As I inch closer, I look around for a familiar face and I’m a bit relieved when I don’t see him. I take a seat and immediately order coffee, I desperately need it to calm myself down. I take my phone out to check if I have messages, I have none except a reminder that my assignment is due in two days. My life is that lonely.
I’m on my second cup of coffee when Sabelo—still dashing as ever—arrives and sits opposite me.
“Saw’bona, Zipho,” the calmness in his greeting reminds me of why I had fallen for him in the first place. It was his calmness that remained in place through it all.
“Hi Sabelo,” I respond, my stomach is in knots and not the good kind.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t strangle you to death right here and right now—”
“W… what?” I stutter.
“You cheated on me, disappeared and you have the guts to show up at my wife’s funeral with a kid that looks like me. Do you know what picture you painted for everyone out there? People think I killed my wife to be with you and your brat, you must be happy—”
“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble, I’m sorry.”
“What was your game plan? Why at my wife’s funeral? You wanted to outshine her?”
“No… no—”
“You will never outshine her. She’s still a thousand times better than you even in her grave. You can’t compete with her even in her death.”
“I wasn’t competing, I wanted you to see your child.”
“And you thought the best place to do so was at the graveyard? Uphile kahle la ekhanda (Are you crazy)?”
“I was wrong, I’m sorry.”
“You can keep your sorry because I know you are not. I’m going to do a DNA test with that boy and if it’s mine, I’m going to give up my parental rights—”
“What?” I can’t believe him right now. “You can’t do that, you can’t deny your blood, Sabelo.”
“I will be the first man to do that.”
“Please. Our son doesn’t have to suffer because of my sins.”
“In his next life, he will negotiate with the Creator not he born by a whore of a mother. I will send you details about the DNA test.”
Just like that, he stands up and leaves my jaw on the floor. Did he just call me a whore? Did he just walk away from me without even looking at me and remembering the old times?
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