I orgasm for the seventh time this morning. Ntuthuko Maphumulo definitely knows how to look after a woman… I can see how he made all of these kids that he has all over the place. 

We are leaving the lodge today and we have to be checked out by 10am. It’s 6am now and we barely slept. We just started having sex the night of Morafe’s wedding and we only come out for food and to use the toilet. Everyone left us with the party bus. We stayed an extra night. I have no regrets whatsoever. 

I’m lying next to him now and catching my breath. I have a cramp in my thigh. 

“Kumele silungisele ukuhamba manje, baby.” He tells me.

“I know. I’m sulking ngoba angazi ukuthi ngizophinde ngikubone nini futhi”, I say.

“Sizobonana, baby. Don’t worry.” He says.

“Kodwa we live boarders apart, Ntuthuko. How sustainable will this relationship be if we –

“Relationship?” Him.

Oh shit. We didn’t have that conversation yet. I’m just jumping the gun like I always do, not even giving the guy time and space to court me.

I’m so embarrassed.

I turn my body and look away from him.

“Bheka baby, don’t be like that.” He says, cuddling me from behind. He even inserts his penis inside of me as he does this. How wild is this guy’s libido?! 

“I always do this!” Me.

“Baby, lalela… Mina neh, akaze ngacabanga ukuthi ngingazishaya ngomntwana omuhle njengawe. I didn’t even think I’d ever be wanted by a woman like you.” He says.

“Mara Ntuthuko… would I have opened my legs for you if I didn’t want you?” 

“Okay baby, I’m sorry. Mina ngiyazishaya ngawe. Blind futhi!” He says.

“So why ungang’sheli?” Me.

He kisses me, putting rhythm to him inserting his penis inside of me then pulling it out.

“T, ngicela ungiqome nkosazana emhlophe. Ngicela ungivume ungenze umuntu wakho nami uvele ube ngowami? Ngizishaye ngawe in a way that I’ve never been with another woman.” 

I giggle. He’s so ghetto, but he’s sooooo…

“Ngiyakuvuma Ntuthuko.” I say.

He kisses me and we seal it with another steamy session of sex.

–

We are finally all showered up. Someone, I’m not sure who, brought his car here. So, he’s packing our bags into his boot. He drives a black BMW X6 M-Performance. I double check that we are not leaving anything behind. 

“You ready to go?” He asks me. He’s at the door. He’s wearing tracksuit pants, a golf t-shirt, sneakers and a spoti. Weird though, I like him just like that. I’m wearing skinny jeans, Dior push-in sandals and a white off-the-shoulder hemp. I’ve let my blonde 32inch wig hang from my head, sealing the look with silver hoop earrings. 

“I’m ready”, I say as I follow him out. He slaps my ass and kisses my lips. Then we head to his car. He opens the door for me to sit in the front seat, then he makes his way around the car and into his seat. We finally leave. 

Two hours into our drive – where we were just chatting away and being very touchy – his phone rings and the caller ID (displayed on the car’s screen) is Khethiwe. 

“Eish!” He says.

“Ubani uKhethiwe?” I ask him.

“Baby mama number three”, he says then answers his phone via the Bluetooth hands free option.

“Khethiwe”, him.

“Kunini ngizama ukuk’shayela wena! Why has your phone been off?” Yoh she’s not a nice person.

“I was busy.”

“You are a father of four! Your cellphone should never be off! Anything could happen to your children!”

“Angisho those children are with their other parents – their mothers. Surely, I can trust that you keep my kids alive while I’m busy with stuff.” 

“Stuff like making more babies?”

“What’s it to you if I have more children? Ungenaphi wena lapho?”

“Ngiyangena ngoba its going to affect imali yengane yami!”

“Into enhle ngaloko is that you can do something about it. Go find a job nawe wenze umzamo ngengane yakho nje ngomah wakhe!”

She’s quiet now. 

He looks pissed off. 

I’m just shocked at this entire interaction. 

“What do you want? Why did you phone me?” He says. By the way, they haven’t even got to that point of their conversation. 

“UBonga udinga new clothes and shoes. His things are small and he’s going on a school camp next week, which you need to pay for as well.” She says.

It’s the entitlement for me.

You know when he told me all about the way that he supports his kids, I underestimated how the mothers benefit off this and I’m beginning to get a bit crafty and am beginning to apply the law in my head. Because this is not going to be a frequent thing in our relationship. No ways! 

“Fine, I’ll send it to you.” Just like that? That’s why they treat him like this.

“Ja. And send it manje! I’m at the mall.” She says.

“I’ll send it when I send it. I’m driving right now.”

“Ntuthuko!”

“Ey wena! Ufike ngani lapho ukhona?! Use that money to do whatever it is that you went there to do in the first place!” Yes baby, tell her! 

“Thatha Bonga, Khuluma nobaba wakho and tell him you need money”, we hear her say to someone.

I just see Ntuthuko’s heart breaking.

“Hello baba”, a child.

“Kunjani boy?” Ntuthuko.

“Please send mom money. Groceries are finished kagogo and gogo needs new shoes for her stokvel. Umama athi I don’t live with her and gogo for free”, the child.

I’m so confused.

“Ey wena, Bonga! Why ukhuluma izindaba zami kubaba wakho?! Voetsek mahn.” The mother. 

Then the phone line goes dead.

What just happened?!

I hold his hand because he’s quite angry now. 

“They do this all the time. All of them!” He says. 

“Why don’t you just take your kids, Ntuthuko? Uhlale nabo. Hire a nanny if you have to. Ngoba this circus yona, it’s not life.” I say.

“I don’t have a house, Tamia. Where will I house them after taking them?”

“Get one. With what you pay these baby mamas, you can more than afford a decent house where you’ll have a live-in nanny and support your kids – I’m sure for much less than what you are paying their mothers right now.” Me.

“Tamia –

“Or start asking for receipts when you give them money. When they say that you need to give them money for whatever, tell them you want receipts for every proof of purchase!”

“Tamia –

“Or tell them to send you a list of what they need every month and I’ll go shop for them.”

He looks at me. 

“Ja. You pay their school fees to their schools directly, not via their mothers. Then you pay their transport directly, not via the mothers. Then when they need things, they send a list, I’ll go buy the stuff. When I get it, you take it to your kids… that way, you can even see your kids more and spend some time with them. Then their mothers bazibone ukuthi benza njani ngemali. We will even buy them lunch boxes, so kwehle imali that you send every month. Uzobona, these women don’t need an entire salary to look after their kids. They are mothers, not nannies.” I say.

“You’d really help me like that?” Him.

“Yes baby, I really would. I’m not against you supporting your kids. I just don’t want this abuse against you. That’s what pisses me off.”

He holds my hand. 

“I’ll definitely tell them TODAY!” He says. 

After another four hours on the road, we arrive at the airport. My flight is in an hour. He parks the car then walks me into the airport. He holds my luggage on one hand then holds my hand with his other hand. I have my hand luggage with me. 

Now it’s a bit sad. I’d stay longer, but I have work tomorrow.

Ntuthuko helps me check-in. We go to the boarding gate and wait at the gate where he cannot go past.

“When am I going to see you again?” He asks me.

My arms are wrapped around his waist. I’m looking up to him and I start getting emotional. 

“No, don’t do that. You know I don’t want you to leave neither.” He says.

“I’m just going to miss you so much”, she says.

“Let’s make a plan for the weekend”, he says.

“Okay.” I say, hopeful.

He laughs at me. 

“You’ll come to my place?” I ask him.

“Okay. I’ll come.” He says.

I smile at him.

We kiss.

I finally go through the gate to go and board my flight. 

–

My name is Nonkanyiso Tamia Khumalo. I am a siSwati woman from Nelspruit. I have three brothers (Sizwe, Ntokozo and Bafana) and no sisters. I’m the only girl as well as the last-born daughter to my parents, Slindile Gumede and Mave Khumalo. 

My mother has been a gorgeous housewife since she was eighteen years old. She comes from quite a challenging background that she does not like to talk about. But she told me how she got out – including how she met my father. And I’m still disturbed. 

So, mom entered a beauty contest when she was sixteen. The prize money was about R50 000 – in her time, this was a lot of money. My dad’s company was sponsoring the beauty contest at the time, and my mother new him because he was her then best friend’s fiancé. I know! Mama was SHADY! Mom made it into the top ten by just being gorgeous. She’s a stunning woman, no one can take that from her. Apparently, I take after her. And I hate it. I’ve always been the beautiful girl everywhere that I go. I was never interested in being the beautiful one or the most attractive one in the room. I’ve always wanted to be the smart one. Maybe it’s because I saw what being “the beautiful one” did for my mother… absolutely nothing. She just became a beautiful flowerpot next to my dad and there’s nothing more to her as a human being. I don’t want that. I want a second paragraph in my obituary. I don’t want to just be Slindile’s and Mave’s beautiful daughter… or just so-and-so’s beautiful wife. I want more. But anyway, I digress… back to the beauty contest…

So, the night before the top ten had to take the stage and a winner be announced, my mom found my dad’s hotel room – as all top ten contestants were being hosted in a hotel that my father owned at the time. The hotel was a gift to him from his parents as well as his very first business. My mom found his room, then asked him to make sure that she wins. She needed the money, and according to her, she needed it far much more than all the other contestants. Before my father could even respond to her, she was giving him a blowjob. He couldn’t say no, and he didn’t stop her. Then, she lay him down on the bed and gave him the best sex he had ever had. In return, my father made sure that my mother was Nelspruit’s beauty queen. She made money from the beauty contest, from the promotions and tours that came with it… pretty much the original influencer job title. My dad wanted the sex more often, mom gave it to him, and at some point, her friendship with her then best friend came to an end. The best friend then went to media outlets and blasted my mom’s and dad’s sexual relationship, then further insinuating that my mother won because she was my dad’s concubine. To manage the damage that this almost did to both my mom’s and dad’s images and brands, they got married the minute that my mother was legal. Ja, quite the story.

Mama had her first son, Sizwe, the at age of nineteen. I guess by this time, she had decided that my dad was all the jackpot that she needed. So being a mom and wife would now be her full-time job. Her highest qualification is matric. 

My dad is a businessman and a pathological cheater. His cheating got so bad at some point that my family had to leave Nelspruit because my dad had been with pretty much every woman on every corner of Nelspruit and all these women were basically sharing their stories with my mother. I even had incidents at school where other kids would tell me about how my dad spent the weekend with their mothers at their homes. It was bad. 

So, my mom had packed her bags and was headed back to Ermelo, where her parents were from before moving to Nelspruit… then went back to Ermelo after my mom married my dad. But dad apologised and promised that he’d do better. So, to forget about all that trauma that my mom went through, he moved us to Middleburg. It was better… a fresh start for all of us. But my dad didn’t stop cheating. He just cheated outside of Middleburg and kept the crazy side sluts away from us. 

The first chance that I got to leave my house, I took it. I studied in Johannesburg, Wits to be exact. Then I got a scholarship to do my postgraduate degree overseas. I took it. The reason I came back to work in South Africa is because my dad’s cheating had finally put my mother on depression medication. My brothers were getting married and leaving the house, so she was alone. And she was miserable. She was driving flashy cars and living a rather top shayela lifestyle, but she was miserable. So, I went back home to just be with her. In that year, I worked in a small company in Middleburg. I stayed there for two years then moved back to Johannesburg for better work opportunities – which I did get. 

My dad and I then started a business together. It’s a sustainable and alternative energy business where we sell solar infrastructures, generators and inverters. We sell loadshedding lights and just get into business with bigger businesses to assist them with the country’s electricity crisis. The company is doing very well. And I’m proud of us. I’m a very active partner in our partnership. 

After I bought myself a nice four-bedroom duplex in a golf estate called Serengethi, in the Eastrand, I bought myself a Mercedes Benz GLC coupe – red in colour… then my father bought me a black Porsche Panamera. So, I’m very comfortable in life. 

I make my mom visit me a lot. And you know what, it makes a difference. She doesn’t have any friends. Her family judges her so much because of my dad’s infidelity. Phela there’s a whole rumour in the family that one of my cousins is actually my dad’s child. My mom’s sister had a whole affair with my dad and had a child with him. We all don’t talk to them. My grandparents are the ones who are in an awkward position. My mom is their child with money and for her to support them, they had to cut off my aunt. Now the whole family judges us and we know that wherever my aunt and cousin-brother is, they are struggling. I heard she got married to some man who beats her up, but I’m not allowed to care. 

I’ve never been able to open myself up completely to friends. I guess my mom tried to teach me to be strong, but she ended up teaching me to always have my guard up. So I try to put myself out there, but I never open up completely. I wish I could open up a lot more to Wandi, Bassie and Morafe. They support each other and are always there for each other. I love that. But I just fail to jump and open myself up. I’ve had failed relationships and the only person who knows the details of these is my mother. She has become my friend and sometimes I do believe it’s in an unhealthy way. But I have to be there for her. I really do. 

I have a good relationship with my brothers. Their wives are their wives. When they are around, we are cool… but they are not my friends. My brothers are doing well for themselves. They have businesses too and my dad is their mentor – as he is mine. But they are the ones that hold him more accountable for how he treats my mother. I’ve even seen my brothers beat my father up at some point. But ja, my dad has an illness. I always tell my mother that I’d forgive her if she poisoned my father. Then she could inherit his money and move on with a more deserving man. At first, she’d shout at me for saying that. Then she started laughing at the comment. Now, she looks like she actually considers it. But hey…

Our plane finally lands. Home smells nice after quite the weekend. 

…

My baby mamas are actually up in arms and it’s the funniest thing to me. What are they scared of in me taking over and just buying shit myself for my kids? I told my parents about Tamia’s suggestion… they laughed. They also know what we are dealing with here. But they take their hats off to Tamia 100%. 

Tamia neh…

Yoh, she’s beautiful. Muhle nom’avuka. And that’s real beauty. Girls are easily stunning during the day because of all that make-up that they put on their faces… some even put it on so thick that the make-up looks like mud on their face. Then they leave traces of that shit on men’s shirts every time a man tries to hug them. Ai! Then when it’s time to see these girls at night, without all of that make-up and whatever else they do to look ideal, BAYATHUSA!Angisakhulumi about what they look like first thing in the morning when they open their eyes. Yerrr!

My first baby-mama, Mbali, was someone that I actually thought about marrying when she told me she was pregnant. It was my first child and I wanted to do right by both her and my daughter. She told me that she was pregnant when I was in prison. Thankfully, my father and my mother – Mam’Fifi – helped me out with the support. My grandmothers were not having it. They labelled Mbali as the village bicycle and they believed that our daughter, Thulisa, was not my child. When Thuli was born, we had to do a DNA test. She was indeed my child. But she was not Mbali’s only child. She was actually Mbali’s third child. When I spoke to my dad about possibly marrying Mbali, we found out that she was a sex worker. Yoh! Worse, she just had to have my daughter. I’m in the most rush to get Thuli away from her. I wouldn’t say that Mbali is beautiful. Maybe she used to be. But she started shaving off her eyebrows only to draw them back on – so uyathusa ekuseni makavuka that one. Her face is just… hairless nje. Her make-up is just strange. You can tell that she does not care much for it… she uses it because uzothini? But her skin is paying the price for it and ja, she’s not nice to look at when the sun goes down and she has to wash her face off. 

Bavumile is my second baby-mama. I actually met her in prison. She was a prison warder. That woman was married and lonely. I gave her attention… and if I’m being honest, I’m a good-looking man. Prisoners are still men and prison warders have their “type” in men. We are not exempt from that “type” just because we are behind bars. If anything, unlike the men on the outside, we can’t cheat. You become our only focus, therefore, we become what a woman needs. That woman used to cook for me at her house and bring me meals. I’d be lying if I said that I know what prison food tastes like. She brought me a cellphone so that we could chat even when she knocks off or when it’s her off days. Yoh, she made sure that I lived soft. We fucked and she got pregnant. The relationship was as long as the duration that I served my sentence: three years. After three years, my case disappeared, and I came back home. Bavumile lost her job because someone snitched that she was fucking a prisoner. Her husband divorced her when she got pregnant. She was so strung on me that she even told her husband that he would not raise Ntuthuko Maphumulo’s son. So with Bavumile, I had my first son – Nkosana. But I had no plans of marrying her. She was never my type. I just needed to release in prison, and I was not going to do it with a man. I didn’t care that her ass was just too big or that she just sweats like a pig when having sex. My eyes were always closed when I was inside of her, and I also hit it from the back. I never wanted to see her face, so I know the back of her head very well. She’s not pretty – at all. I was just locked up and she had a vagina. 

When I came out of prison, I met Khethiwe. My friends organised her for me to smash as a coming home party. She was one of the strippers. She was the prettiest stripper there. So, I took her to a hotel, and I smashed. When I woke up in the morning, I learned that her ass is as flat as a wooden washing board – she wore underwear that had pads at the back of it just to enhance the ass. Imagine! For a moment there, I felt like I had been in prison for too long. Since when did underwear come with extra ass? Yerrr! Even her bra was padded and made her boobs look bigger than what they were. Without makeup… yoh yoh yoh! I fell asleep next to a hot pak-i-stan of a stripper then woke up next to a horror movie with the body of a twelve-year-old. I ran as fast as I could before she even woke up. But she got pregnant, and she found me… and she’s been making me pay ever since. By then, a girl telling me that she’s pregnant didn’t shock me anymore. I would just say okay and pay for whatever I needed to pay for. 

I don’t know how baby number four happened with Nomfundo. I genuinely do not remember having sex with her. But DNA tests said Nomfundo’s daughter, Sihle, is my child. So, I look after her. I never told anyone that I don’t remember Nomfundo – not even my dad. The reason for this is because there’s a 99% chance that I was drugged when I slept with Nomfundo… and I refuse to have anyone tell me that I was raped. I’d never be able to live with that. I fear Nomfundo the most out of all my baby-mamas. I don’t know how she and I created Sihle. So, I don’t know what she is capable of doing. I speak with her the least. When she wants something, she texts me. I send what she needs and we keep it pushing. 

I was never there for the birth of any of my kids – I didn’t even name any of them. They know who I am, but I wouldn’t say that we have a relationship. Tamia thinks that I should try with them, possibly even hire a full-time stay-in nanny then live with them. I’d like to, but I honestly don’t know how to be their father. All of them. Me not putting a limit on how much money I’ll take out to support them is my only way to be their father. Tamia thinks that should change. I feel like Tamia is the one who will give me the child that I’ll actually raise and be a father to. But she told me that she isn’t giving me any kids until I’ve built with the four that I do have. Tamia even suggested that I should consider counselling with all four of them – not just for my relationship with them, but for their relationship with each other. They’ve all never met each other and it’s sad because they are siblings. Interestingly enough though, their mothers all know each other. They have a whole club formed against me. When one of them doesn’t get their way, they all gang up on me. They have energy for all of that shit, but they can’t bring siblings together. My kids all have their mothers’ surnames. I never paid damages for any of them. Tamia wants me to fix that. She’s beautiful. She has good intentions for my kids. When I tell my parents all these things, my dad thinks she’s my one… she’s Mrs Ntuthuko Maphumulo. My mom wants to meet her. My mom even tells me that Tamia is in my life to build, not to destroy. I know that Tamia is going to be my wife. I just worry that the baby-mamas might chase her away with their shit. She seems fragile sometimes, and I worry that my chaotic life will drive her crazy. But you know what, she’s as stubborn as a siSwati woman can get… and she has a dangerous tongue. Maybe I’m underestimating her and maybe she can take what I come with – but I guess time will tell.    

My mom asked me if Tamia and are serious. I told her that it’s only been a week, but I like her. When we get to the love stage, I’ll introduce her to them. My dad seems to really like her already. He’s already making jokes about how the Swati woman will show me absolute flames. But he says that he likes her for me because she will tame me. You know what, I actually believe him. I actually like her enough to allow her to tame me. 

We hit five heists this week alone. So, all of us are quite hot right now. My dad told all of us to chill for the month ahead. He told us to take holidays or just be on the lowdown. We shouldn’t buy anything luxurious. We must just lead our normal lives. So, I decided that I’ll go to South Africa and chill with my girlfriend. I told her I’m coming to visit for about a month, and she was more than excited. 

Wandi and Senzi have also gone back to South Africa, so Senzi and I decided that we will also hang out a lot while I’m that side.

My dad is driving me to the airport right now.

“Ukahle ndodana?” This is clearly going to be deep. He is going all formal in addressing me? I wonder.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Me.

“I’m proud of you. You really turned your life around when you came out of prison. Apart from making kids everywhere, you became a man I’m proud to call my son.” He says.

This is very weird. Very weird.

“Baba, is everything okay? You are not dying or anything, are you?” I’m really worried.

“Cha. It’s just… ngiyabonga for how you’ve handled this whole Senzi situation”, he says.

“Baba, it’s not a big deal. Umfowethu loya and he’s a really good guy.” I say.

“Yeah. It’s just that… I was worried that you guys wouldn’t be too accepting of him.” He says.

“I’m a father, baba. All my kids have different mothers. The day that I have to bring them all into one place, I’d like for them to respect each other and love each other. It would hurt me if abathandani.” I say.

“Then you must pray for a partner who will foster that kind of environment and encourage those relationships. If I didn’t have Fifi, I don’t know how I would have managed all of this on my own.” 

“Yeah, she’s very special. I was hesitant about her at first because she’s quite young compared to you. But she really became a mother to us. I just feel so bad for her when Luhle is around. I’ve spoken to Luhle. I’ve tried to intervene, kodwa baba…”

I pause.

“Kodwa ini?” He asks me.

“You and Mam’Nosi ruined her.” I say. 

He doesn’t even look at me. His jaws tighten.

“I understand that’s she’s always been the most sensitive or the most fragile, but you shielded her too much. You didn’t prepare her to live with things that she doesn’t like or doesn’t approve of. You didn’t teach her ukuphila nabantu. Luhle just recklessly hurts people and doesn’t give a shit about the consequences she leaves behind her… as long as yena a-grand. You know, seeing you turn her into that made Mpumi and I resent you. She got away with hurting us njalo and for whatever reason, we had to understand. Now she’s hurting your wife so badly, baba. Luhle’s behaviour eats at Mam’Fifi every day and you don’t even see it. But I do because it used to eat at me too and I had to deal with it… for you.” 

He takes a deep breath. 

“I messed up”, he says. “I messed up the most with her and I don’t know how to fix it”. 

“She needs to grow up, baba. She was so horrible to Senzi, kodwa he’s the one who organised a flight ticket for her to leave. Cabanga. She didn’t even apologise after that”. I say.

He’s silent.

I think he’s heard me, let me change the topic.

“I wonder what Tamia will be like with my kids.” 

“Are you worried?” He asks me.

“I don’t know. Tamia is a very thorough and calculated person. Nothing just happens with her. Now she’s dealing with my baby mamas in a way that’s honestly needed at this point so that I can also see my money and start building legacies for the kids I have. What’s the point of blowing all this money on their mothers then leaving them with nothing when I’m gone? Or if I go to jail again? I have to plan and she helps me do that. She made me open education trusts for them. She’s also made me open bank accounts for them where I deposit some cash in there every month. I’ll give them each their cards when they go to university or turn twenty-one. Uneqondo nje uTamia, you know. She thinks like a mother. She’s encouraging me to be more than just an ATM to my kids. From a distance, she seems like she’d be a good mother to them. I’m just wondering what she’d be like when she has to spend time with them and get to know them.” 

“She sounds like she is already placing herself in their lives. Uyabacabangela and let me tell you, Ntuthuko, you have to be with someone okwazi ukucabangela izingane zakho. Phela we are men. And we don’t always see things the way that women do. So, if your woman doesn’t think about or for your kids, ngeke kuhambe kahle. But I get what you mean about seeing them together. What’s your plan? Ufuna ukuhlala nabo bonke when you get married?”

“I would like to have the option of doing so. I always thought that once I get my own house, I’d take all my kids and live with them, then I don’t have to deal with their mothers treating me like I’m a deadbeat.” I say. 

“Manje what if Tamia wants her own children with you?” He asks me.

“I’d want to have children with Tamia. Ngibe at least nengan’ eyodwa nje that was conceived emshadweni and with someone that I love, you know. I want to know what that feels like.” I say.

“Ey ndoda. The good news is that your relationship is still very fresh and it’s very early. You still have time to have these conversations, hear what she has to say about how you feel, then make a call regarding whether or not she’s the one for you.” He says.

“She thinks I should get a full-time stay-in nanny now, then fetch my kids and live with them.” I say. 

“So what’s stopping you from doing that?” He asks me. 

“The conversations that I’ll have to have with the mothers of these kids to make that happen”, I say. 

She shakes his head then says, “You are their father. You have as many rights to those kids as their mothers do. Mbali is living in Durban and is selling her body to feed four children. You taking one child off her hands will not see her protesting. Trust me. Bavumile is unemployed with two kids from her marriage and one from you. She’s probably hanging on to your child because the money you send for Nkosana feeds the other two and herself. We can fight that in court. We don’t even need a gun for that. Khethiwe is looking after her mother, her siblings and a child. She does piece jobs to make ends meet. The salary you pay her goes a long way. If you can prove that you can provide a better living environment for Bonga, you win… no gun needed. Nomfundo is a shop assistant in Johannesburg. Sihle lives with her grandparents. You are a parent that can be hands-on and not see her once every three months the way that Nomfundo does. You are the better parent. So you see, you have a strong case to take each child – they can’t stop you. Put lawyers on them if they fight. Without the money that you give them, they can’t afford lawyers to fight back.”

I nod my head. 

It’s another few minutes before we arrive at the airport. We say goodbye to each other then I head in to get to my flight. I actually cannot wait to see my girl.