A returned soldier, that’s who I am and what I have become. 

I have been at home for a week now. It is just my mother, my daughter and I. 

I had my daughter before I met Thomas. She stayed with my mother because when I married Thomas, he did not want to take on my daughter as an added responsibility. Her name is Gcinumama, but we call her Gcina for short. Gcina’s father is as useless as Thomas. The difference between them is that Thomas has money to compensate for his uselessness. Gcina’s dad is broke, has a criminal record and is useless. He was rich and exciting back in the day when he and I were sure that we would one day own the world. Then he went to prison and is now a useless ex-convict on parole. Gcina has a relationship with her dad and I won’t stop her from loving her dad and spending time with him. He is just not for me anymore. 

Thomas put in a word for me in a company in Durban, so I will be starting my new job in the next week. Now, I am finalizing my move to Mhlanga. I am not taking Gcina with me because she’s old now and we drive each other crazy. She thinks she’s grown and knows everything and I think she’s irresponsible and still needs some guidance. She’s twenty-one years old and is still struggling to get a mere matric. Sometimes I feel as if had I taken her with me to Gauteng, she would be what I was at twenty-one. Yes, I was a mother to her, but I was also responsible. I had a job and I was already feeding her and my mother. She still wants to be fed and be babied. How do I become a mom who gives tough love so late in her life? 

So I shall leave her here with my mom and try to at least force her to go to school and finish her matric instead of running around with her uneducated father who has clearly failed to get her back in school and sees nothing wrong with a child who is just another uneducated village girl. 

“Nobantu”, she calls me. Yes, she calls me by name, but she doesn’t even say Pearl. She knows I hate it when she calls me Nobantu, but I think she does it on purpose. 

“Pearl. My name is Pearl”, I tell her. 

“You are Pearl there in Venda, not here. Here, you are Nobantu”, this little bitch. 

“What do you want, Gcina?” I ask her. 

I am sitting in my room, peacefully, reading a book. She just came up here to annoy the shit out of me.

“Mama is asking that you go to town and buy groceries. She gave me a list.” She says. She calls my mom mama. 

“But I bought groceries yesterday”, I protest.

“You bought diet food that keeps you skinny. We don’t eat that nonsense here. We eat proper food. We don’t even know how to prepare it”, she says. 

“Mama has high blood and cholesterol issues and she wants to keep eating food that could give her an instant heart attack?” Me. 

“Nobantu, please just buy us what we are used to. Please.” Gcina. 

I get up from my bed and change into jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers. I brush my weave then grab my car keys. I make my way to my car and I find her already waiting for me. She’s coming with me? Why? What for? But I don’t say anything. I just open the car and she gets into the front seat. I get into the driver’s seat and I drive off. 

“Why are you divorcing your Venda man?” Gcina asks me.

“Things didn’t work out”, I say. 

I really don’t want to have this conversation with her. 

“Why? What happened?” She insists. She clearly wants to have this conversation. 

I take a deep breath, focus my eyes on the road and tell her: 

“He wanted kids. We had one and she passed away. I almost lost my life twice trying to birth two more. So I made the decision that I wouldn’t have any more children. He agreed and seemed to be supportive of that, but then he started having affairs. It got bad and embarrassing. He then fell in love with a younger woman who gave him a daughter and he has never been able to touch me again or speak to me without being disgusted with my inability to have a child. He clearly was prepared to trade in my life for a child”. 

She is quiet, seemingly hurt by what I just said to her. 

After a brief pause she says, “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. But it’s his loss. You are beautiful and you are smart. You are a bad mother, but I’m sure you have good qualities about you”, she says. 

Gcina is mean! She is just a mean girl. This you need to know. 

“Why would you say that I’m a bad mother, Gcina?” I ask her. I almost lost my marriage very early in the marriage because I was being a mother to her. 

“You are. You think being a mother is just throwing money at me. You don’t know what makes me happy. You don’t know how to make my heart smile. You dumped me with mama when I was two years old. You didn’t give us a chance to have a mother and daughter relationship. When I’m sick, you send mama money to take me to a doctor. When I need you to come to my school and be there for me, you just throw money and expect mama to be my mother on your behalf. Nobantu, you never came home to me for Christmas or my birthday at least. You just send money.” She says. 

“You are very entitled, Gcina. This is life. We don’t always get what we want. You had love. You had support. Mama was always there. You never lacked anything. I made sure of it. Yet you still struggled to finish school. You have no idea how good you have it and that came at an expense, yes. I needed to make money so that you could have better. Many people grow up without their parents. You are not the first person to be raised by your grandmother. This life that you are living is yours. I’ve lived my life. I’ve made my millions. I’m comfortable. Do you think that acting out because I left you with your grandmother and decided to chase money so you would have a better life is going to damage my life? I will be hurt, yes. I want you, as my child, to have a better life. But that’s the most that I can feel. If you want to be a fuck up in your life, I’ll watch you. I’m not responsible for what happens next in your life. I did my part as your parent”, I tell her. 

It’s harsh, I know. But the last thing that I want is a child who puts her blame on the world and takes no responsibility or accountability for the role that she played in sabotaging herself. 

She looks out the window. I guess the conversation is done. I turn on the radio and we listen to some music. I decide that we will drive to Durban. I hate Tongaat. 

As we are halfway to Gateway, her phone rings. I reduce the volume of the radio.

“Baba?” She answers her phone. It’s her father. The last time I spoke to that guy, Gcina was two. 

“Yebo Ntombikayise. Uyaphila?” He says. Ntombikayise is Gcina’s second name. He gave her that name and he has always called her that. It means her father’s daughter. 

“Ngiyaphila baba. Wena? Uzizwa unjani namhlanje?” She asks. Wow, he is ill. 

“I’m okay. I just wanted to ask you to please come over. I will send you money to get a taxi. I don’t have any energy and I haven’t eaten anything”, he says. 

“I’m with Nobantu. We are going to get groceries for Mama. I’ll ask Nobantu to drop me off there when we are done. You don’t have to send me money”, Gcina says. 

Seriously? Gcina could check in with me first. That’s the noble thing to do. This is my petrol that she has not contributed a cent to. 

“No, don’t bother Nobantu. I’ll send you the money. Come when you can”, he says.

Gcina looks at me as if expecting me to say that I don’t mind, I’ll bring her. Nope, I’m not doing that. 

The call finally ends and we get to Gateway. We jump out of my G63 together and head into the mall. We go to Checkers and buy all the things that my mom put on her super long list of groceries. Gcina is sad. She is in a mood. She must be worried about her dad. 

“Go take another trolley and get some stuff for your dad”, I say.

Her face lights up and she wastes no time. She flippen fills up that trolley with food. 

I pay for both trolleys and we take the stuff to the car, packing it in the boot. 

I need to get a few clothes, get some clothes for my mom and get clothes for this one – my grown ass useless daughter. We head back into the mall and we get clothes. She starts taking clothes for her dad.

“Ungang’phapheli wena“, I say to her. 

“Uyasogola Nobantu“, she says.

“I’m not his wife”, I say.

“He’s my father”, she says.

“And this is my money. I bought him a trolley full of groceries. Please, ungang’hlanyisi“, I sternly say.

She puts his clothes back and the ones that she took for herself. She must think I’m going to beg her. She clearly doesn’t know me. 

I let her be. She is sour, I suppose hoping that I’ll beg her. Mxm!

I pay for mine and my mother’s clothes and head to the car. She follows me, sulking. 

We get into the car drive off. 

“Does your father still stay in his mother’s house?” I ask her. 

She seems offended. 

“His mother died. So it’s just him that lives there now”, she explains. 

“Where’s Thembi?” I ask. Thembi is the sister. 

“She got married. She lives in some back room eMlazi”, she says. 

We both giggle. 

I drive towards her dad’s house in KwaMashu. He used to be an ‘it’ guy back then. Boys from KwaMashu were just always such a hit. He was the different type of a hit. He was a gangster and I found it to be so sexy. He is also an attractive man. He really is. Then he got arrested and everything went south between him and I. I was in high school and pregnant. Having to explain that to my mother and that my baby-daddy has been arrested… let’s just say it wasn’t a fairytale. 

“Thembi lacks vision yaz. How do you leave your mother’s house to go live in a backroom?” Gcina says. 

“They think they are in love”, I say, still chuckling. 

“Hai ngeke! Love can miss me. I’m not going to die in poverty”, she says. 

I laugh aloud. She also laughs. 

We talk about this and that until we get to his house. 

I park outside and I help Gcina to take out the groceries from the boot. The house doesn’t look too bad. He has always been handy, so nothing would ever fall apart under his watch. 

Gcina opens the gate and lets herself into the yard then into the house. I’m right behind her. 

“Knock knock. Baba, where are you?” Gcina. 

“Bedroom”, he says. 

We put the plastic bags down in the kitchen. I go back outside and get the other plastic bags while she goes to the bedroom to check on him. I make three more trips until I’m done. Then I lock my car and go into the house. He is standing in the kitchen now. He looks as handsome as he did the last time I saw him. He is still as dark as night. His dimples are still perfect – on both cheeks and one just above his left cheekbone. His eyes are still tense, filled with stories to tell, but hope to see him through. He has some grey hairs now. He is still tall. He doesn’t look sick to me, but there is a hint of weakness in his energy.

“MaShange”, he says to me.

“Kunjani Qaphela?” I greet him.

“I’m good. You look beautiful.” He says. 

“And you look just as handsome as you did when you knocked me up at the age of fifteen”, I say. 

He laughs. I just smile at him. Gcina smiles at us. She better not think that we are getting back together. 

“What’s wrong with you?” I ask him. 

“I had Covid. It’s gone now, but my body and system are still recovering. I don’t even know what medication to take”, he says. 

“What are the doctors saying?” I ask him. 

“They turn me away. The clinics are too full.” He says. 

“Would you like me to make you an appointment at a private doctor? Just to check you out. You might take this lightly, but it could be serious.” Me.

“I’ll be good”, him. 

“Don’t be stubborn. You know very well that Gcina would never forgive me if anything happened to you. You are the apple of her eye”, I say.

He laughs. 

I grab my phone and start dialling a private practice. I make the appointment for this afternoon. I tell him to go bath while I fix him something to eat. 

I fix a quick meal while Gcina unpacks the groceries. This house is well taken care of. Something tells me that Gcina spent some of the money I gave her on doing things for this man. A part of me says that Qaphela would never let that happen. Then I remember that the world has changed and men are not what they used to be. But I decide to not get involved. This one is between father and daughter. 

Qaphela walks out looking rather hot. I think I might also be craving some sex. Thomas hasn’t touched me in over a year so yes, I was Mrs Ramaru, but I was not getting the sexual benefits. I could feast off Qaphela because if I want him, I’d have him in a heartbeat. And really, I just want to be wanted. 

He eats up as Gcina and I tidy up the kitchen. He struggles to eat though and I try to force him. He makes it through his plate then Gcina and I drive him to the doctor.

“Your car is nice. You’ve done well for yourself”, he says. 

“You didn’t leave me with much choice”, I say. 

“From what I hear, I was a better boyfriend to you than what Venda was a husband to you”, he says. 

Only Gcina would have told him about Thomas. 

“It doesn’t mean you were great. The bar is just clearly set relatively low. And wena Gcina, stop telling Qaphela my business”. Me. 

We drive to the doctor in silence. I wait in the car while Gcina goes in with her dad. They take about an hour, but walk out with him looking slightly better and with some meds. I had given Gcina my card to pay for the visit and medication. 

I take Qaphela back to his place, drop him and Gcina off. I tell Gcina that I will fetch her tomorrow then I go back to Ndwedwe.