Luthando

George’s arrest has taken a bad toll on me. I used to be well-known, amongst my peers, as the queen. George made sure that I never needed anything; he gave me a quality lifestyle; the best cars, the biggest house in the most expensive suburb. I have never worked a day in my life –I was literally rich for marrying right. I deserved an entire reality show. 

But as the saying goes, “the quickest and easiest way to make money is not always the wisest way to live life”.

George Maluleke has been arrested for a countless amount of crimes. His trial happened and he has been found guilty of drug trafficking, human trafficking, first degree murder, and fraud. With this, he has been sentenced to three life sentences in prison. 

I, Luthando Maluleke, who only has a matric and decided to not further my education after I married George at the age of 18, I now have to learn how to survive without him for the first time. Many people look at me and see a typical chronicle of naivety really: the money and the bling made sense. The good life was a dream. The husband who supplies it all marries the one woman who cannot think beyond today; the woman that cannot think to open a boutique nyana just to keep the income steady. Now the man of the house is down for a minute and all I have as a survival kit is “what used to be”. 

I have had to move back in with my mother in Daveyton. I moved back in with my three children that I have with George. Our children are Nobuhle (who is 16 years old), Slindokuhle (who is 14 years old), and Bantubonke (who is 10 years old). Luckily for me, when I married George, I moved my mother to a nice big house in Daveyton and maintained it for her. 

In my mother’s house, I live with my uncle who is best friends with the bottle – malume Zweli. Malume Zweli has an outside room and lives there with his children, Khaya (who is 9) and Lethu (who is 18). He also lives with his wife, Swazi. Furthermore, my mother lives with her sister, Nomthandazo, who is unemployed. She is well-known as Ndazo, the baby-making factory. She has four children. She has made each child live with his or her father. The children visit us occasionally. She always tells these men that when they found her, she had no children therefore they do not leave her with what they did not find her with. 

Daveyton is nice and close to the prison where George is serving his sentence. Therefore, every Saturday, I take the kids to see George. On Sundays, I go by herself myself to spend some time with him. 

It really has been a difficult time for us. For the first time in 16 years, I have a job. I am fortunate enough to have my husband call in favours and thus I am the PA to a CEO of a construction company, Mr Sydney Ramagoshi. I do not earn even half of what George used to give me as an allowance, but it will help me pay my children’s fees, help with groceries in the house, pay for taxi fare to get to work, pay for taxi fare for my children to get to school, and buy monthly supplies for George in prison. My children have also now moved from renowned private schools to government schools in the east rand, Benoni. The schools are decent, just not the ones that my kids are used to.  

My new boss, Sydney Ramagoshi, owns various businesses. He is also in a few business deals with the Ramaru brothers. My job may have been a favour to George, but it was also a “looking out” strategy from the giants in their line of business. 

…

It is a Saturday morning. No school so the kids are happy. Nobuhle keeps a journal now. She was the closest to her father before he got arrested. She had put him on a pedestal and watching him fall from the pedestal has been the most heart-breaking experience of her life. 

Her relationship with me is cordial at most. She tries to be close with me too, but according to Buhle, I will never be her father. 

Slindo is 14. She is smart. She has learned to deal with the drastic changes in our lives on her own, relying on friends and as of late, her new blesser that no one knows about as yet, but I am suspecting she has. But I will find out. I just have a lot on my plate right now. 

Bantu is 10. He just goes with it and takes it as it comes. It also helps a lot that he is a boy, so he is not as mindful as his two sisters about how things used to be. He enjoys being able to play on the streets with other kids. He also looks forward to every Saturday so that he can go and see his father and tell him about his new school and his new friends. His father will tell him about all the plans and things that they we will do together when he gets out of prison. Bantu is still grateful to have a father who loves him, even if he is behind bars. When other kids at school talk about not having fathers in their lives, he gets to talk about his father who still loves him. 

I knock on Buhle’s and Slindo’s room door (yes, they have to share a room now and they hate it). After a “come in” from one of the girls, I walk in. 

“Buhle noSlindo, have you bathed yet? We have to go and see your father in the next hour”, I tells my girls. 

“Do we have to go today, mah? I am writing a test on Monday. I have to study”, Buhle. 

“Buhle, I am not in the mood; not today. We go and see your father for one hour every Saturday. You have the rest of the afternoon to study when we get back”, Me. 

“Mah, I have to study. And I don’t feel like going to see dad”, Buhle. 

“Buhle, what is wrong with you? It is one hour of your entire week and he is our dad. Stop being so unnecessary”, Slindo intervenes. 

“Hhayi bo! I didn’t send him to jail. And he is not there because of me. And surely, at some point in our lives, going to see him should be a choice – not something that I am forced to do – 

Before Buhle can even finish her statement, I slap her across the face. We stare at each other in anger. “Nobuhle Maluleke, George Maluleke is your father. I don’t care how you feel about that fact, but you will respect him. That man gave up his freedom so that you can be the bloody brat that you are today! So, if you want to behave like an ungrateful little brat, this is not the time to do it. Right now, you will take a damn bath and get dressed and walk come with us to see your dad. I am not asking you!” I say in anger and almost at the verge of breaking down. 

I know how broken-hearted Buhle is about George’s arrest. But I do not want to give her a platform to get out of line because of it and use it as an excuse for making the wrong decisions. 

As Buhle cries and Slindo comforts her, I look at them. I then tell both of them to get ready, we leave in an hour. I leave their room and close the door. But I stand just outside the door to eavesdrop on their conversation. 

“Buhle, mom is also stressed about what is going on with dad. Don’t be so hard on her. She is really trying”, Slindo tells her sister. 

“Hhai suka Sli, mom is just a bully. Ubaba is her husband, not ours. She is the one who pledged her life to him until death do them part, not us”, Buhle says. 

“Hlehle, do you really hate dad that much?” Slindo asks Buhle out of concern. 

“Sli, I hate the position that he has put us in. I hate that he is putting mom through a life she never thought she would have to live for as long as she is with him. And now, mom is stressed. She is taking that out on us. Why doesn’t she just leave him?! You know why? Because she has NOTHING without him. She doesn’t even have an education to fall back on”, Buhle says. She is really angry. 

There is a brief silence. 

“Hlehle, would you really be okay with mom leaving dad? Breaking our family up like that?” Slindo. 

“Sli, our family is broken. Dad is never coming back. He is going to die in jail. We are as good as every other child who doesn’t have a father”, Buhle. 

My heart sinks. 

“Let’s just bath, Hlehle. It is getting late”, Slindo concludes the conversation. 

…

I am now preparing breakfast for everyone to eat before my children and I leave. 

“Thando, sawubona”, My mother greets me. 

“Sawubona, mah”, I respond. 

“Ukahle, ngane yami?” She asks me. 

“Yebo mah, I am okay.” 

“Hlala phansi ngane yami, we need to talk.” 

I leave what I am doing and sit at the table to speak with my mother. 

“Thando, I am very proud of you, sisi. I know that life without George is very difficult for you to adjust to, but know my daughter, that seeing you take back your power each day makes me incredibly proud of you.” My mom begins. 

“Zaza, I slapped Buhle today”, I tell my mother. I like to call her Zaza. My sister and I grew up calling her Zaza. Her name is Zanele.

My mother looks at me disappointed. 

“Why Luthando?” My mom asks me. 

“Zaza, Buhle is disrespectful. She is just very difficult about this whole situation and honestly, she is just pushing my buttons”, Me. 

“Luthando, Buhle and George were very close. You know that. Do you ever think about what she is possibly going through because of this arrest?” My mother. 

“Zaza, nami I am going through a lot. But I am not making anyone’s life a living hell. I am trying my best. The last thing that I need is Nobuhle being an added issue to my plate of issues”, I express. 

“Luthando – 

“Sanibonani ekhaya”, my sister, Loluhle, walks in and loudly disturbs the moment. 

“Sawubona Loluhle”, my mother greets her. 

“Hey sis. Are you okay”, Lolu asks me. As if she cares. 

I just side-eye Lolu and say, “Zaza, the kids and I will eat at Wimpy. We have to go. We are late”. 

“Weh! You will eat at Wimpy?! Thatha wena! When you should rather be buying a car so that you and your kids stop being pedestrians, you think about eating breakfast at Wimpy? Shame. What can one do when one’s small mind collides with money?” Lolu says, deliberately trying to spite me. 

I have five hundred rands to spend on breakfast. How will five hundred rands do anything for me saving towards a car? Yazi people who think they have PhDs in saving money irritate me. Now I cannot even buy skopas because that fifty cents must go towards a car instalment? Nx! Lolu lives in a backroom and is a pedestrian herself that time. 

My children come into the kitchen, as well as Ndazo. I look at my mother and say, “Zaza, discipline your brat before I whip her ass like you should have whipped her ass a long time ago!” 

“Lutha, so what do you think will happen after you whip my ass? Angisona isighubu esikhalayo mina. If you hit me, I will hit you back”, Lolu responds. 

Before anyone can even comment, I punch Lolu and Lolu falls to the floor. 

“LUTHANDO!!!” Ndazo yells. 

I look around me and see my mother crying and walking to her bedroom. My children are looking at me in shock. Ndazo has her hands on her hips, staring at me in anger. 

“Mah, what has got into you? You cannot go around just hitting people”, Slindotells me. 

“Let’s go”, I tell my children. 

I grab my bag. My kids and I all leave for the Prison.

…

George

This is not a nice place to be at. I am not exactly abused or anything like that. I have protection. In fact, I am one of the people who can demand to have someone sing for me while I shower. I share a cell with a gentleman named Msixty. He is in here for murder. We have become close because we accepted a long time ago that:

A. We are considered to be two of most dangerous offenders in this prison.

B. We have to live with each other until we decide to either die or escape. We are in here for more than one life sentence and no potential of parole. 

C. This is our life. We must either make the most of it or we will live quite miserably. 

My crew and I are in the same block, but not in the same cell. I told the men that I was working with that Msixty is a good man and we can use him as one of us. He did kill people because it was his job, but hey none of us are saints. 

Our part of the prison does not participate in the rehabilitation programmes. We are too unpredictable – that is how they have labelled us in here. So when people go and learn how to pick up their lives after prison, we are kept separated from them. That’s quite an interesting way to show us that we have nothing to look forward to. These walls, this noise and this way of living is forever for us. 

Be that as it may, we still have cellphones in here. Don’t ask us how we smuggled it in – just know that we did and we have had the assistance of some prison wardens to do it. Magwaza, one of my associates that I am locked up with, is dating one of these prison wardens. She is a looker, but he is with her for the benefits that we need to create for ourselves more than actually liking the way that she looks. His cell is next to my cell so we talk. All the time. 

I did not expect Luthando to come see me every weekend. She brings my kids on Saturdays then comes alone on Sundays. Today, I asked Magwaza’s girlfriend to lie to Lutha and tell her that I’m on punishment or something and will only be eligible to see visitors after six months. 

I need Lutha to move on without me. I have held her back enough. I need her to just let me go for now. I cannot do anything for her. I am thankful to Sydney for hiring her and helping her pick up the pieces for her sake and our children’s sake. I speak to Sindi every night on my cellphone. She came up with the idea that she will work with Sydney on getting the money to Lutha. Sydney told Lutha that his company will pay for school fees and give her a lifestyle allowance. The lifestyle allowance takes care of food, clothes and whatever else Lutha will need. That money is paid by Sindi to Sydney every month. She pulled through and I am thankful. She also buys me airtime whenever I ask her. She’s a good woman. I actually feel bad about how I ever treated her. 

“George, you have a visitor.” Magwaza’s girlfriend tells me. I told her to tell Lutha that I don’t want to see her.

“But – 

“It’s not your vrou”, she says. 

Weird. 

Who on earth could it be? 

I follow Magwaza’s girlfriend to the visitor’s areas. It’s loud as usual. Everyone is happy to see a reminder of what outside life is like. I don’t like doing this to myself, that’s why I told Lutha to stay away. I look around trying to find a familiar face. I see it. It is Sindi and she is with my son, Siya. I am actually excited. I go to sit where they are. There is a glass between us. Siya looks confused, but happy at the same time. 

“Is this him, mama?” Siya asks Sindi. 

“Yes my boy. This is George Maluleke. This is your dad.” Sindi tells him. 

Siya looks at me. 

“Hello boy”, I say. 

“Hi dad. How are you?” He asks me. 

My soul smiles. 

“I am okay, boy”. I say.

“Can’t we ask them to get you out of here so I can hug you?” He asks. How innocent his mind is. Him and Bantubonke – my two boys – they don’t care that I’m here. They just want my time and reassurance. Slindo and Buhle are a different story and I honestly don’t have the strength to parent behind bars. 

“No boy. Not yet. Maybe after a few months”, I say. 

He nods his head. 

Sindi and I look at each other. 

“I had to tell him about you. When I did, he wanted to see you. I couldn’t say no.” Sindi explains. 

“I understand. Thank you”. I say. 

“I’d ask him to give us space, but – 

“Don’t sweat it. I’m just happy to see you guys. It’s good to see you. Really.” 

“Thank you. How are you holding up in there?” 

“Better than expected. This is just not a nice place to be in”. I tell her. 

“I hear you. But you know we got you, right?” She says to me. 

I am somehow comforted by this. I smile at her. 

“How is school, my boy?” I ask Siya who is looking at me as if I am the highlight of his week. No one has given me this look in the longest time. 

He takes a deep sigh then says, “School is difficult. I don’t like my teacher. I don’t like my girlfriend anymore. And mommy won’t give me money to take her to the movies to dump her.” 

What the hell?

“You want to take your girlfriend to the movies to dump her?” I need to make sure I understand what I am being told here. 

“I can’t exactly just say it’s over. My girlfriend said that if I’m mean then I’m emotionally abusive. Don’t you go to jail for abuse?” 

This is very disturbing, but I cannot help but chuckle. Sindi is not impressed by this, so I can just imagine their conversation when they leave here. 

“Aren’t you a bit too young to have a girlfriend?” Because, he is not even a teenager yet. 

He just takes a deep sigh again and doesn’t answer me this time. 

“Didn’t we talk about this, Siya?” Sindi says to him. 

“But mom – 

“This girlfriend thing of yours is going to see me confiscating your cellphone. You are not even allowed to be on social media, so I wonder how you even talk to that girl. This is nonsense Siyabonga.” Sindi is quite… I don’t know, strict. At least she is not quick with slaps and spanks like Lutha is. But from what I observe, she is a good mother. 

Siya is trying to explain himself here, but Sindi is not interested. He is in shit. Big time. 

He looks close to tears now. Let me bail him out. 

“Sindiswa”.

She looks at me. 

“Do you mind getting me some snacks from the tuckshop? I’ll have a chat with Siya while you sort that out for me, please?” 

She smiles at me then gets up to go to the tuckshop. 

Now, it is just my son and I. 

“You going to give your mom grey hairs before her time. And you know how Sindi feels about aging”, I begin. 

Siya is already in stitches. 

“I wish I was in your life sooner and I knew you better.” I say.

“Mom says you have a family and it wouldn’t be cool for us to mess things up for you and your family.” 

“I do have a family, but it doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

“Then how come you let Mbali’s dad be my dad all my life and when he left, you didn’t come to live with us?” 

I am quiet because that’s not how I intended for it to happen. I take a deep breath then I say: “Do you believe me when I tell you that I love you?” I ask him. 

He shrugs his shoulders as if saying “I don’t know”. 

“Well I do love you. I wasn’t there for you then, but I want to be there for you now. I can’t do much from behind these bars, but I will do my best.” 

“Mommy says you have been making sure that I have everything that I need.” 

“And I won’t stop. I will always make sure”, I say. 

He nods his head. 

“Because I love you.” I emphasize. 

He nods his head again. 

“Dad”.

“Yes?” 

“Why are you in here?” 

I rub my head.

“Is it extremely bad?” 

I nod my head.

He nods his head.

“I still love you”. He says. 

I want to cry because I am touched by this, but this is not the place to do that. 

Sindi comes back from the tuckshop. She is walking and talking to Magwaza’s girlfriend. I already know that she is making the monthly payment for my protection and comfort in here. Magwaza’s girlfriend is laughing, I know the end of this month will still see me alive. 

After the last twenty minutes of just chatting and my snacks being handed to Magwaza’s girlfriend, Sindi and Siya leave. I am taken back to my cell. Life in prison is a joke. Now I must smoke this BB shit. I’ve never been much of a smoker, but in here, I’m trying everything and am sticking to anything that will keep me sane. I share my things with my cellmate, Msixty, because his family doesn’t visit him much. I think I am like his family. I try to take care of him. He is quite younger than me. He came in here about three years ago. He is 21 years old. I can see why his mother would look at him and regret birthing him. I just feel bad that at 21, the law has decided that society is done with him. I asked Sindi to bring me two of everything because I share with Msixty. Strategically, this has bought me loyalty from Msixty. But from a human perspective, this kid is my second chance at being an actual father to a son. 

Sindi brought us Ketso Madonsela’s Nosi & The Church to read. I know that she sells South African novels at that beauty place of hers. I think Ketso Madonsela is her favourite author though. She is always bringing me her books. I have also noticed that Lutha loved Ketso’s writing. She had the debut novel, My Worth Crowned You. Now that I am here and have nothing to do but count hours, I read. I started with My Worth Crowned You. I am done with that book, so now I am looking forward to reading this one. 

I actually enjoyed My Worth Crowned You. There is a lot of drama. For someone who will probably never watch TV again, that novel is a proper dose of drama. That’s my dose of Mzansi Magic drama in a book and it is well written. 

9pm. Everyone is fast asleep. I am still struggling to adjust to these hours of theirs. When the patrolling is done, I pull out my phone. 

I dial Sindi. 

“Hey”, she answers after two rings. 

“Hey.” 

“You alright?” 

“Yeah. I was just checking in and saying thanks for bringing Siya today… and for telling him about me.” I say. 

She sighs. 

“I would have brought him earlier. But for three weeks in a row when we’ve tried to come, Lutha was there with your three kids or alone. I couldn’t take the chance.” 

“I understand. And thank you for your maturity in the situation.” 

“Sure.” 

There is silence between us.

“Are you sure you are okay? Like really okay?” 

“I am not okay, Sindi. I’m arrested. How can anyone be okay with knowing that this is the rest of their lives? I’m just adjusting now. But I’ll get used to it. I don’t have a choice.” 

“What can I do to make it better?” She asks me. 

“You are doing more than you understand, trust me. Just keep me sane. Just help from myself. Keep answering my calls and being my light in a dark place as you have been.” 

“We haven’t been perfect, but we don’t hate each other. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” 

“Thank you, Sindi. And I’m really sorry for everything that I put you through.” 

She is silent. 

“Goodnight, George.”

“Goodnight, Sindiswa.”