Nobantu

I am preparing breakfast so that my husband, that human I gave birth to, and myself can eat before my husband and I leave for work. I don’t know what this human that I birthed gets up to when we are at work. At this point, I don’t even think she can do any worse than not making it into university then giving us a certificate with eyes instead – a baby.

She comes into the kitchen as I dish up for Qaphela and me. She can dish up for her damn self. 

“Good morning, Nobantu.” She greets me. 

I don’t say anything to her nor do I look at her because I am still trying to gather the words that will express how disappointed, angry and hurt I am by her latest stunt. 

“So, you are just not going to talk to me now?” She insists on talking to me. I need her to just give me some space. It is not her right to have me talk to her. 

“I wish mama was still here.” She thinks she can still say such things to hurt me? Nothing is going to top what she has done – nothing! What’s left for her to do now is to go find a damn job so that she can prepare and support that thing that she is carrying because I have no plans of raising it for her. And by the time she gives birth to it, I want her out of my house. 

Our helper is in the laundry room doing the laundry.

The human that I birth sits in the TV room and starts channel hopping. Imagine! The audacity! If she was job-searching at least, I’d understand. 

Qaphela walks into the kitchen and notices the anger building up on my face. He turns his head to the direction that I am facing and sees what is upsetting me so much. He is starting to lose his patience with Gcina as well, but his soft spot for her would never allow him to tell her how useless she is and how she better start making a plan because she is not returning to my house with a new born baby.

“Ntombikayise, isn’t there something more constructive that you could be doing right now that will secure something solid for you and that child you are carrying?” He asks her. Good! And he is definitely being nice about it. If I had to ask that very same question, it would not come out the way that it just came out from his mouth. 

She switches off the TV and gives us attitude. I chuckle. Honestly, I feel like crying because I failed this girl. So I’m going to chuckle instead because if I do anything else besides chuckle, we are burying Gcinumama Ntombikayise Hadebe this weekend.

“Ntombikayise, what’s your plan?” Qaphela is so kind – too kind actually.

“Romeo and I are going to get married then live at his house with our child. I wouldn’t want to be like Nobantu and just leave my child with you guys while I go figure things out then replace my presence with money.” She says.

“Yes wena gal! I love the lack of ambition wena baby gal! All we do is blame Nobantu for being an utter flop. I love the ambition!” I sarcastically say then chuckle. Qaphela shakes his head at me. He should be shaking his head at his child, not me.

“Until then, ngizohlala la ekhaya because Nobantu kicked me out of my grandmother’s house.” She says.

“And Nobantu is very pleased to inform you that you are not welcome in this house neither. THIS IS MY HOUSE! You are very lucky to still be here after you disrespect me in my own house and you have your father to thank for that. You are not going to be out here making irresponsible decisions then hope ukuthi ifa will bail you out.” I say.

The tempers are flaring up again and Qaphela has to be standing between Gcina and I. This has become our daily bread I tell you.

“Ntombikayise, your mother and I love you very much. That’s why we are so hurt by what you have done. You should be in school right now, studying and preparing to own thatbusiness you said you wanted to own. You shouldn’t be here planning to live with some taxi driver and raise a child you are not even ready for. My girl, you cannot even make responsible decisions for yourself. What are you going to do with a new born baby? Do you even have medical aid to see this pregnancy through and give birth to your child? Or are you and your taxi driver going to do everything via state hospitals?”

I see a panic in her face. Did she really think she was going to enjoy a free ride off our medical aid? We have already kicked her off the medical aid. She is an adult mos. She must survive like one.

“Baby girl, I’m worried about you. I really am. Both your mother and I are worried about you. I get that we messed up in your upbringing and you’ve always been vocal about how much we’ve messed up, so trust me when I say we know how much we have messed up in your life. But, are you really saying that this is not fixable? I genuinely believed that we were getting somewhere. Truly I did. So vele we cannot fix this and try again? It’s too late? You just going to have babies with this taxi driver of yours and just be with him?” Qaphela sounds like he wants to cry. How dare this girl do this to my husband! How dare she!

But she is sobbing.

“I messed up, baba. I really did. I didn’t mean to fall pregnant. I never wanted any of this for myself. I wanted what you and Nobantu wanted. I wanted school. I wanted my business. I wanted it all too. I got myself into this mess and I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to fix this and I need you and Nobantu now more than ever. I don’t even want to end up with Romeo for the rest of my life. But if that’s my only option, then I’m taking it. I need help with this child.”

Hai no, bazalwane! No ways! Ngeke! Gcina’s audacity and entitlement is unmatched! 

I never! There are sobs between her and Qaphela. I’m just angry. I’m flippen angry. The last thing that I am going to do is fall for this shit! So, I continue preparing coffee for Q and I to have with our breakfast. 

After a moment of them sobbing so passionately, they both look at me as if expecting me to be in agreement that today we forgive Gcina and I’m going to raise her child. I’m not doing that. I stare right back them.

“Nobantu –

“The answer is no, Gcina. You will not live here with your child and I will not raise your child for you. I’m sorry. You knew exactly what you were doing when you made that child. In the age and time of contraceptives and condoms, you have no excuse. You are so committed to making me pay for leaving you and marrying Thomas. You are forever doing the exact opposite of what I tell you to do because you are on a mission of proving something to me. Now you suddenly need me? Now I’m your mother? Suddenly, I’m not the person who just left you and and and…?”

Qaphela looks at me as if I should just stop talking. I can see that he wants to tell me that this is not the time to tell her that I told her so. But I’m tired of this entitled brat. She will hear it all and receive no help from me.

“Hamba ke, my child. Keep going and doing what is best for you. As your mother, I have nothing else for you. You need to work hard and move fast because I want you out of my house and my patience is running thin. I’d hate to throw you out, so I’m giving you time to just leave.” I say. She breaks down in her sobs and Q is looking at me like I need to take my words back. Soze!

“Love, are you joining me for breakfast?” I ask Q. 

He just wants to –

“Here’s your coffee. You and I can sit, eat and enjoy. I want to show you this perfect place that I found in Hawaii where we can stay for our honeymoon.” I say as I give him his coffee. He accepts it. He is still looking at Gcina who is falling apart with every ticking second. Q finally joins me at the dining table and as we eat, I show him pictures from my phone of the hotel that I found. 

He is not completely focused because his entire heart is there with Gcina, crying with her. She is still standing frozen! She is hoping that her tears will get me to go easy on her. It’s not happening. Everything inside of me is falling apart as well. I want to burst into tears and just cry. But something inside of me just doesn’t allow me to do that in front of Gcina. 

“Let’s hope that Gcina’s baby-daddy and his people will annoy us with damages before we set off to leave so that we don’t have to postpone our honeymoon to accommodate them”, I say. 

Qaphela is now looking at me as if I am the wicked witch of the west. It’s his look that is hurting me more than Gcina’s crying. 

Gcina finally leaves the TV room. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Qaphela asks me. 

I blatantly ignore him because if I engage in this conversation, I am going to ball out in tears.

“What do you think of this hotel?” I ask him. 

“Nobantu –

“Qaphela, please!” I finally snap at him and my tears betray me, which now means that I am losing this war. They stream down my face, but I don’t allow myself to choke on them. 

“Baby –

“I’m not doing this. I can’t. I have nothing left in me to offer to that girl. NOTHING! You think this shit makes me happy? You think that I want my child to become thing that she has become? You keep looking at me and treating me like I asked for this to happen or that I am to blame for all of this. It’s not on me, Qaphela! It’s not!” 

He tries to hug me, but I just really don’t want to. So I push him off me and just leave for work. 

…

Qaphela

Today, I’m not focused at all at work. Nobantu is not budging and Gcina is panicking. My wife is hurting more than she is willing to let on. Those tears and that pain that I saw in her eyes this morning told me that Nobantu’s feelings run deeper than what she is letting on and I am worried. Plus, she’s been ignoring my calls all morning. 

Let me actually go to her offices and talk to her there face to face. I grab my car keys, wallet and cellphone, then head to start my drive to her. 

I knew I’d need to start stepping up for Gcina when Nobantu removed her off our medical aid. I was so hurt, but obviously in front of Gcina, Nobantu and I are a team. I wouldn’t want to ruin that now, but what choice do I have? I’ve never wanted Gcina to see that Nobantu and I are divided by this pregnancy of hers. But I cannot leave my child – my only child – to give birth in a public hospital when we can more than afford private health care.

I hunted down that Romeo of hers and found that he lives in a dodge township house that’s smaller than the one I grew up in. Is that where my daughter and my grandchild are going to live?

Heh! I laugh to myself because seriously? Am I about to become an entire grandfather?

Nobantu’s car is here, so she has no breakfast meetings or whatever. I walk in and go straight to her office, not acknowledging anyone I see along the way. There are a few people in the elevator who are wearing suits that are looking at me weird because I am wearing jeans and sneakers. Do these people know that I paid for this elevator that they are in? 

“Baby”, I say as I walk into her office. 

She is sitting with a few people in here, so I assume that she is in a meeting. These people will understand. I am not going anywhere and she can see it. I actually dare her to tell me that she’s busy and I’m the one who needs to leave. I dare her!

“Guys, please give me a minute. Go grab something to snack on and some coffee. We will resume this conversation in a few.” She tells these people that she was meeting with. Good! 

Indeed they leave. They don’t look at me. They just go. And I’m okay with that. Nobantucloses her laptop, comes around her desk and sits on the edge of her desk, facing me. 

I walk closer to the desk. I hold her in a hug. She tries to resist the hug, but I insist on it and she finally let’s go, releasing tears onto my chest. Her hands have formed mini fists and she is hitting them against my chest. I feel like I’m being hit by a three year old, but this is not the time to laugh at it. I rub her back and keep swaying her in my arms. She needs to get this out. I needed to come here for this. For her. It just needed to happen and I’m the only person who taps into Nobantu like this – therefore it is my job to poke the wound that refuses to heal inside of her, so that she can just let it all out and let healing do the rest. 

After what feels like an hour of my wife crying, she stops crying and gets tissue to wipe off her tears. Her eyes are actually swollen right now. I am about to offer to take her home when she pulls something from her bag and starts applying powder and black pencils and black eye-lash combs around her eyes. 

Women! 

But when she is done, she looks like not a single tear was shed from her eyes. How do women do it? No, scrap that question. Why do women do this? Why hide pain? Why hide that you are not okay? Why hide the tears? This is how they pass the trauma on from one generation to the next because they harbour the pain then birth to their daughters, teaching them to hide it with powder and pencils and eye-lash combs. This is actually not okay. 

“Thank you”, she says to me. 

I nod my head. I know exactly what she is thanking me for. 

“I’ll see you at home, okay? I love you.” I tell her. 

“I love you, Q. More than you know. And I am thankful for you –even when I don’t show it.” She says. 

I smile at her… It’s that smile. 

“I can think of a few ways that you can show me.” I seductively say. 

“Bye!” She says with her hand open in my direction. Gcina always uses that gesture when she tells me to “talk to her hand.” 

I laugh and make my way out of her office. I am leaving here a lot lighter knowing that she is a lot better. 

I am back at the office. I dial Gcina’s number – just to check in on her. 

“Boss, we have incoming. Cops.” One of my employees peeps through my door and says.

I nod at him and put my cellphone down.

We cleaned up yesterday, so I know that these cops won’t find anything. I’m used to this by now. I’m the guy they know for a fact is breaking the law, but they have no evidence to put me back behind bars. 

Nobantu has done a good job at cleaning up after my crimes. So when they have nothing to do or cannot meet their stats for whatever in that office of theirs, they come here and try to see what they can find so they can arrest someone just to say that they rattled Qaphela Hadebe’s cage. Then every time they drive past me on the streets, the cops slow down and take a fine look at me. I slow down too and smile at them because if they were actually good at what they did, I wouldn’t still be roaming these streets. If they couldn’t catch me before Nobantu came back into my life, they will never catch me now. That girl is talented at making me look like a cheese boy who just made the right decisions and got rich.

Indeed these cops barge in here and start searching my warehouse. I’m looking at them from my office. It’s entirely glass, so I can see everything just as they see everything up here. Usually, their leader looks up at my office as his dogs and men sniff and search my warehouse. And today, he is doing that again. I giggle at him. He is instantly defeated. He knows that he is not making any arrests today. My men are drinking their coffee and eating their kotas now. I’ve always told them that when these ones come in here to do this to us, they must make sure that they are as chilled as possible. Have coffee if need be.

After an hour of searching and sniffing, the cops make their way to their cars while their leader comes up to my office. I open the door so he just walks in when he gets here.

Indeed he does just that.

“Can I help you, sir?” I ask.

“One day –

“I know. I know. But that day is not today. Can my men and I get back to making money so that we have enough tax money to pay your damn salary?”

He stares at me and I smile at him. If he could, he would pull out that gun hanging on his waist and pump some bullets through me. I just know it. 

“I see you married the former Mrs Ramaru”, he says. 

If he’s trying to piss me off, he is succeeding. She was always Mrs Hadebe. That Rama dude was always on borrowed time. His surname rhymes with a brand of butter for goodness sake.

“Did I hit a nerve?” The cop. 

“You did. Then I realised that it must eat away at you that a thug like me actually found purpose after you swore to me upon my release that I’d be back inside your hell-hole within a month.” 

“It’s not like you have changed your ways.” 

“And it’s not like you can prove it. Now get the fuck out of my office before I start suing for harassment. We both know that your employers can no longer afford me.” 

I say as I make my way back to my desk and settle on my chair. 

I even forgot that I was calling Gcina before this idiot came in here and annoyed me. But I will see my baby girl at home later. It’s already 2pm and I have done nothing today. Let me at least do something before Mthimbane arrives. We are due to meet up and go hijack a car. My employees would normally do it, but this one is a bit hot. We are jacking a minister that has pissed off a bishop. Some men are very brave. Now he has a bullet with his name on it because he wanted to be seen as a minister. Don’t worry though, he won’t die. But he will never walk again – the target is his spine. We just want him to wake up every day and be reminded by his inability to walk because uyaphapha!

The cop finally leaves. Gosh, he was still here? I planned and thought through an entire plan to commit crime while he was starring at me like an idiot. I actually giggle. This police thing is such an embarrassing profession. 

I decide to call my beautiful wife because I cannot focus on whatever paperwork is in front of me. Fuck, I love that woman!

“Hey baby”. She answers her phone.

“Hello Mrs Hadebe.”

“Everything okay?”

“No love, we need to talk about Gcina.” The plan was to do this when I went to her office. But she needed a hug instead and I gave that to her. But this conversation still needs to happen.

“What about her?”

“Nobantu, you can’t say that. She is our daughter. And I’m worried that you will never come around with this situation.”

She is silent.

“Baby, we have to be there for her.” I say after a pause.

“Baby, yaz this whole thing is just messed up. Gcina has option! Regardless of our non-presence in her life, we made damn sure that she had options. It just feels like none of it was worth it. The way Gcina behaves, you’d swear ukuthi it’s all the same whether we did our best for her or not.” My wife is sad. I can just hear it from her tone. She is disappointed and sad.

“Raising kids is a gamble, baby. It’s just how it is. We are supposed to do our best because that’s just what parents do. She is about to become a parent herself and she will see it for herself that she didn’t do herself any favours by defying us the way that she has.”

She sighs.

“I know, my love. I know. But we need to do this for her. You know we do.”

“I don’t know, Qaphela.”

“Babe, yaz we are about to become grandparents.”

She laughs aloud. Maybe I should have started this conversation with this statement.

“I’m going to be an entire glam-ma”. She says.

“A what?” I ask, also laughing.

“A glamorous grandmother. Glam-ma, my darling”.

We both indulge in the laughter.

After we both calm down from the laughter, I begin.

“Nobantu, I don’t want Romeo the taxi driver to be her only option.”

She is silent.

“Let’s please help her, baby. Please.”

“And if she fucks up again? Because I also believe that we enable this behaviour of hers every time we come to her rescue. Q, at what point do we let her lie in the bed that she makes herself?”

“I hear you. Maybe we can give her some conditions.” I say. I know how much she loves Tsand Cs. She loves them more than advertisers do when they advertise a product on sale. 

“That’s a compromise that I can live with.” Ngitheni?

“What are your conditions?”

“She needs to go back to school and find a part time job.”

“Nobantu!”

“I’m serious. I’ll go to UKZN and I’ll throw some big figures at them to accept her into a BCOM degree. She must go to school. She must stay at res. And she must work! I don’t care where or how she finds the job, but she must work. I’m not going to maintain the child and her. She’s a parent, she sorts herself out. Only under those conditions can the baby stay with us.”

This mother tough. Tough I tell you!

“Okay”, I say.

At this point. Anything is better than throwing my daughter out impregnated by a taxi driver.

“Cool. I’ll sort out UKZN. She fucks up one more time and I will not be this kind. I will be done with her.”

Kind? Nobantu calls this kind?

“I love you, gorgeous.”

“I love you, handsome.”

…

Evening

“Ntombikayise, come here. Your mom and I want to talk to you.” I call my daughter to the living area where Nobantu and I are sitting. Nobantu is sitting on top of me.

A few minutes ago, my finger was up her vagina and her hand was wrapped around my penis. My wife – she who just makes shit happen – has my daughter admitted into a BCOM degree at UKZN. 

Gcina walks into the TV room where we are sitting. She rolls her eyes. She always does that when she sees Nobantu and I extremely comfortable, romantic or sexually craving each other with our eyes. She sits on a chair opposite us.

She’s pregnant, so she understands. She’ll be strong.

“Ntombikayise, your mother and I have decided that we will help you.” I begin.

She nods her head and says thank you.

“But we have some conditions”, I say.

She looks at Nobantu. I’m glad she knows that I had nothing to do with the conditions. She knows us too well.

“You will go to university. Your mother and I have managed to get you in at UKZN for a BCOM degree. This is not the end of the road for you.” Me.

“And you will make sure that you do damn well in that degree!” Nobantu.

We agreed that she would let me do all the talking. Why is she talking? Gcina’s chest is rising which means that she is going into defence mode. This works better when she can admit that she needs us, not when she wants to show us that she will be fine without us.

“What your mother is trying to say is that we all have a role that we need to play here to make this work. We are prepared to do our part as long as you promise that you will do yours.” I am winning her back.

“And baby girl, you have to find a part time job.” I say.

The look she gives Nobantu!

Like I said, I’m glad she knows who set out these Ts and Cs.

“Did you really think I’d agree to raising your child for you and still support you?” Nobantusays. She needs to stop talking. She’s adding unnecessary fuel to this fire. 

If Gcina didn’t need us right now, she would have given Nobantu lip. But for the first time ever, I’m interested in what she would have said because, yes, Nobantu left her with her grandmother, but she fended for herself in Gauteng then took care of Gcina and the rest of their family. So Gcina has no leg to stand on with this one. I’m quiet for some time because I want to hear what she will say.

She says nothing.

“You are a parent now and you need to start operating and thinking like one. You will find a part time job. I don’t care what it is or where it is. I’d make you pay us maintenance for staying with your child after you birth it, but your father still takes you for a child that needs protecting. But you and I both know that’s far from the truth. So, you take care of yourself. We will not send you money for groceries or clothes or cosmetics. You can live on what you’ll make from your job. Then we will take care of the kid.” Nobantu. I think this would have sounded better if it came from me. 

“Nobantu, where am I going to find a job in this pandemic? I’m pregnant. I can’t live in res. What if I get Covid? Jobs are already scarce.”

“Gcina, if you worked as hard as you complained and found excuses, you’d be a millionaire by now. You have resources all around you. Both your father and I have put you in university with those things you came back with and called marks. If you really wanted a job, you’d know how to use your resources and get one. I’m done negotiating with you. Those are our conditions. Take it or leave it.”

“And what happens when Romeo wants to see the child?”

“Romeo is not my man! You manage him.”

Gcina sighs. I think the sigh is her just wondering what Nobantu wants. I don’t even know what her answer means. “Manage him”. What the hell does that even mean?

Nobantu is bouncing around in a lacy one-piece as I am lying on the bed and watching the news. My focus is now on her and not on the news. 

“It’s rude to stare, Q.” She says as she laughs at me. 

I smile at her and shake my head. 

My phone rings. It’s the bishop. Our assignment is done, so I’m wondering what he wants. Nobantu is giving me a look!

“It’s Shaka Maphumulo”. I say. Like I said, I’m not brave enough to cheat on Nobantu. 

She puts her hands on her hips. 

“Bishop.” I answer. 

“Mfundisi. A job well done.” He says. 

“Any time.” Me. 

“We have a trip to Miami. The pope has called a meeting for all bishops and high-rank priests.” Since when does he phone me to tell me this? I normally hear this from my deacon who communicates with his deacon. 

“I’m wondering if your wife and child can go to a safe house with my wife and pope’s wife?We are not going to Miami for fun or an ordinary meeting. My wife and pope’s wife seem to have hit it off well with your wife.” He explains. 

“Let me talk to her. It shouldn’t be an issue.” I say. 

“That’s fine. The deacons will talk regarding further details.”  

Call ends. 

Nobantu is starring at the news reporting that the minister was hijacked and shot. They are happy to report that he is still alive, but are sad to report that he will never be able to walk again. My job is done here. Now that all is confirmed, I transfer R150k in Mthimbane’saccount. I know he’s going to spend it on bitches and booze, but he earned it. 

“Ta!” His text reads, telling me that he has received the money. 

I delete all visible trails of the money, notifying my deacon to talk to his internal people at the bank to remove all records. I do all of this on my burner phone. Once I receive confirmation that all records no longer exist, I break the phone. I will dispose of it in a bin fifteen kilometres away from my house tomorrow morning when I go for my morning jog. 

Now… I fuck my wife.