01/11/2021

Dear Diary 

Living in Daveyton is not so bad. I am most happy for my mother. As brutal as this experience has been for her, I am happy that this happened to her. It’s 2021. No woman should be at the mercy of a man the way that my mother was with my dad. Now, my father has played God again in my mother’s life by completely removing himself from us all together – being a coward and keeping us away from visiting him in prison because he cannot face us after we found out what he did and who he truly is. 

Mom is crushed. Sli is being very naïve about the situation. Bonke is sad because truly, my dad is his world. But me, I am happy for my mother. She needs the wake-up call. 

I discovered who my father was when I was fourteen years old. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my father with all my heart. In fact, I could step out and say that I loved him more than anyone has ever loved him because I saw the creature in him and I still loved him as he was. 

I was up one night, studying for a chemistry test. I heard movement in the garage and I went to see what was happening. My father was in a meeting with a group of men, Uncle Tshedza being one of those men, and they were discussing how they would be trading women and young girls for millions of rands. I started investigating my father and the work that he was doing. I knew I’d find the good stuff on google, and I knew the good stuff. I knew that he had businesses in various industries and he was notorious in investing in small businesses then helping them grow. I knew that he sat on boards of various companies and that he did a lot of CSI work. But when you overhear someone talk about selling women and children, you raise your eyes and indulge your curiosity. 

I stole his office key one morning on my way to school. On my way back from school, I stopped at a locksmith and made myself a copy of the key. I returned the key before anyone was told that it was missing. 

When my dad was out of town for whatever reason, I’d lock myself in his study and go through his things. I found videos of orgies, people being raped, people being trafficked and people being driven to kill themselves. I found documents and bank statements that explained what it was exactly that was going on in those videos. I learned, over three months, that my father is a monster. All the luxuries that I have in my life, I have them at the expense of people’s suffering. 

So, I did what I had to do. I made copies of everything that I found in his office and I dropped it off at the public prosecutor’s office. I made sure that I hand it to her in her hands. She was on a drive to eradicate crime and corruption, so I knew that I could trust her to do the right thing with all of that information and evidence. And she did. 

So you see, I knew that this day was coming. And I knew we’d have nothing when this day came because my mother is who she is. But she’s going to be okay. We are going to be okay. She is going to be smarter. She is going to be more aware of how she became the infamous Luthando Maluleke. I’ve thought about confessing and telling her what I did. But she’ll never forgive me. Ever! She’s a very weak woman and she can only deal with one problem at a time. 

So, I’ll let her deal with losing George Maluleke, get over it and move on. Then I’ll drop this bomb on her. But for now, let’s see how she’s coping without my dad at this stage. 

Yours truly, Nobuhle Maluleke.

…

Luthando

“So dad wants nothing to do with us anymore?” Buhle spits out at the breakfast table.

“Buhle, the guards said that he is on punishment. It’s not his doing.” Slindosays.

“Dad is not some small time criminal that has been arrested for stealing chocolate at a supermarket. Do you really think he would have handed himself in without a plan of how he will run things from inside the prison?” Buhle says.

I look at both my daughters who are having this conversation.

“If we are not seeing dad, it’s because he doesn’t want to see us. I don’t buy this story that he is on punishment. Please man.” Buhle.

“Mommy”, Bonke says in a small voice.

I look at him.

“Does daddy not love us anymore?” Bonke asks.

“He does, little brother. He’s just always been selfish. Even the people that he loves, he never seems to put before his selfish needs. But him not wanting to see us is extremely fine by me. I have more time to myself over the weekend.” Buhle says before I can say anything else.

I am just there. I have been a walking zombie since I was told to go home and will not be seeing my husband for the next six months. I honestly do not know what to make of it. I want to believe that what I am being told is the truth. But Ialso think about the kind of man that my husband is and Buhle is right, if George wanted to see us, he would make sure that he does.

The transport taking the kids to school arrives. As it hoots outside. Bantubonkekisses me on the cheek, grabs his bag and runs out to his transport. Slindokuhlehugs me then leaves. Nobuhle just leaves. I am not even bothered. I am exhausted. Buhle is a pill I am not keen to take this morning.

I take all the plates that are on the table and put them in the sink. I start washing the dishes as I think about what it is that I am going to do. It is becoming clearer to me that my life has to move on without George. But I need to know for sure. Does he really want us to stop seeing him or is he genuinely in trouble and he needs me now more than ever? Dear God. What does moving on even mean? I have been with this man since I was a mere teenager. I don’t even remember what my life used to be like without him.

I have always known that George was a criminal. I mean, even before we got married he was already a criminal. But with all the bullets that he has dodged in the past and all the arrests that he managed to bypass, I never saw this moment coming: this moment where he would be arrested and be doing time for all the things that he used to do just to make sure that his family had a comfortable lifestyle.

His mother and sisters are the worst. They think I am sitting here with piles of George’s money. Would I be living in Daveyton if I had any of that money? Everything we have was seized by these people. All of it. I have nothing. The little money that I do make is for my kids and me. I don’t have money to be sending to them to maintain their cars and mansions like George used to do. This is the time for them to grow the fuck up and make a plan like the rest of us. I am not about to maintain their lavish lifestyle while my kids and I are sharing rooms with each other in my mother’s house. Come on.

“Mchana, you are already done eating?” Malume Zweli walks into the kitchen from his outside room and asks me. 

“Yebo Malume. Kodwa there is more than enough food that is still left for you and your person. The kids have left for school.” I say. 

He nods his head and walks in, preparing a plate for himself. 

“Zaza is very happy that you are here.” He tells me. 

Random. 

“She never trusted George. She’s been waiting for this day to arrive.” He continues. 

Where is he going with this? 

“You deserve to be with good people, Luthando. They don’t have to be rich. Money isn’t everything.” 

Okay, that’s my que to leave. 

When I am done with these darn dishes, I wear my pumps, grab my handbag and laptop bag and make my way to work. The house was still asleep, so I didn’t have to say goodbye to anyone except for Malume Zweli.

“Mabebeza!” Oh this guy is annoying. Everyday, without fail, he makes sure that he annoys the crap out of me. This is what I did not miss about living in the township. Men who do not stand a chance with you gain a confidence I don’t understand to shoot their shot. Really dude? Look at yourself then look at me. How does it make sense to you that I am anything close to being what you need? Agh!

“Lutha baby! Let me take you to work! Come on!”

I walk faster towards where I will be stopping a taxi that will take me to Bree,then I’ll make my way to the office.

“Luthando!”

A taxi stops. Thank you, Jesus.

I climb on the taxi and sit just behind the taxi driver and next to the window. I am the only person in the taxi, so I use this time to breathe before this taxi fills up with more passengers. The taxi driver is listening to Talk Radio 702. Njani?

I take a deep breath.

“It’s about to be one of those days, huh?” The driver says to me.

Oh fucken hell! I’m not in the mood to talk today. Like I’m not. From my kids, to the loser on the street right up to this driver – what is it about me that reads or screams that I’m down for a conversation? Can he just listen to Bongani Bingwa on 702 and just leave me alone? Please!

I just nod my head.

“It will be over before you know it, don’t worry.” He says.

I nod my head and not say anything because I really want this guy to stop talking.

“My name is Mutodi by the way.”

“I’m Luthando.”

“Nice to meet you, Luthando. You are very beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

His English is what is drawing me in. He sounds very educated.

“I feel like I’ve seen you before. Have you ever been on TV?”

“Just in my past life – before my husband was arrested.”

Our family was quite famous.

“Husband?”

“Yes husband.”

“Who is your husband?”

“George Maluleke”.

“Oh yes! That’s where I know your face from. How are you and your kids holding up?”

Am I really sharing such with a taxi driver that I have just met? Really?

“We are going to be okay. We’ve been through a lot. We just trying to find our feet again so we land more comfortably this time.”

He nods his head.

He stops his taxi and lets three more passengers come into the taxi.

Our conversation has ended, so I take out my phone and listen to some music through my headphones. This has become my new love. Slindo bought these Volcano white and gold headphones for me. When she gave them to me she said, “Mommy, this is your escape. Create your own Lutha-land with music and when you are tired of our real world, escape to Lutha-land with these.”

I do just that and it is indeed life-changing.

…

My boss is not in yet. Nobody is in yet. I am usually the first person to arrive because when the boss arrives, everything should be in order.

I fill his earn with filtered water. As a former rich wife, I understand why this is essential. I have also prepared his coffee preps, so when he arrives, I will just make the coffee and serve it to him.

I then sort his desk with what needs his attention. He has four trays that I have located on his meeting round table desk, not the desk he sits at when he is working and does not want to be disturbed. That desk simply contains his laptops and screens. 

The first tray is his personal mail that needs his immediate attention. Yes, I read his mail and make sure he sees what he needs to see, then throw away the irrelevant mail – like advertisements or clothing store magazines. Who the hell still sends those as a form of marketing?

The second tray contains company documents that need his attention. I usually read them first and make notes. He prefers it that way.

In the third tray is where he places all the things he has signed and I collect from there. The fourth tray is for information from his children’s school. Yep, he is that involved in his children’s education.

I then familiarise myself with his calendar for the day then give him a phone call. He should be at the back of his Maybach now being driven to the office.

He answers my call,

“Hi Lutha”.

“Good morning, Mr Ramagoshi. How are you today?”

“I am well thanks, Lutha. And I keep asking you to please call me Sydney.”

“Apologies. I am calling to fill you in on your day.”

“Okay, I’m ready.”

I tell him what his day looks like then remind him that his wife will be coming to have lunch with him today, so I have left his calendar open for two hours between midday and 2pm.

“Thanks Lutha”.

“And uhm… Princess will be coming in to see you. I told her to arrive at 4pm in case Mrs Ramagoshi stays longer than 2pm.”

“Thanks Lutha.”

Yes, I also manage his extra-marital affairs, much to my annoyance. But it’s my job and it has to be done. Princess is Sydney’s mistress and she has been around, from what I understand, for years. He does love her, but he loves his wife more and if he ever had to choose – gun to his head – he would choose his wife and Princess knows that, so she stays in her lane.

The day flies by and before I know it, it is 7pm and the guy who thinks I’m into him is at my desk trying to get me to allow him to take me home. I’m not into him. He just makes me feel beautiful again. He is a man who knows how to remind me that I may be George’s wife, but as an individual and as a woman, I’m still gorgeous. I haven’t felt this way since before I had my children and my life became all about my babies and my husband. I find myself thinking about him when I buy shoes or clothes for work. Would I date him? Why not? He is a senior manager in the company and he is an attractive man. He makes me forget about the person I instantly become when I step into the house when I get home. He is the type of man that I can have wine with after a long day at work and he would be there massaging my feet just before he makes the sexual beast inside of me come alive. That beast went to rest years ago when George stopped touching me like I was the only woman he was sexually serving. Our sex went from explosive to “we do it because that’s what we do as a married couple”.

“You know it’s late and I have to take you home.” He says.

“No thank you, Sergio.”

Yes, he is a white man. A sexy white man from Argentina. You can imagine how excited his accent makes my thighs.

“Come on, Lutha. Please.”

Sydney walks out of his office to ask me for something and he stumbles upon Sergio trying to serenade me. He chuckles because the office knows how annoyed I sometimes get by Sergio and what he insists is game.

“Sergio, are you still harassing my life-saver?”

That’s what Sydney calls me – his life saver.

“All I need, mi jefe, is for her to let me take her home. That’s all.”

Sydney laughs. I’m not laughing, but I’m smiling from within.

“I can take her home. I do not mind. This woman is married.” Sydney says.

Sergio looks at me as if that means something to him. Everyone knows that I’m married. He better not start getting hurt now.

“How are you, Lutha? Who’s looking after you and walking with you through whatever you are going through?” Sergio asks me.

I look at Sydney and he is getting upset.

“Sergio, back off! You really want to dirty mack when her husband is not here to fight for his marriage?”

“Mi jefe, I’m not interested in how her husband is feeling. I’m interested in what mi amor is feeling and how she is doing.” This accent bakithi!

“Luthando is fine and she is not your mi amor. Back off, Sergio, or I will be contacting HR myself and telling them that you are harassing staff.” Ja no, Sydney’s loyalty to George is incredibly steep. He is actually going to proper cock-block me around here.

…

I am walking towards the house after climbing off the taxi. I see Slindokuhlestanding with some guy who is leaning against a BMW 2-series. He is definitely not a blesser. He looks young, but older than Slindo. Slindo is fifteen years old and this guy looks like he is floating somewhere in his late 20s. They don’t see me. I think about disturbing this conversation that they are having, but I decide to eavesdrop on it instead. I hide behind the wall of the gate of my mother’s house. They are standing in the driveway, just outside of the semi-open gate in front of the parked car. 

The guy: “Maybe you should think about coming to visit me for a weekend. It will take your mind off things.” 

Excuse me? She’s fifteen years old. 

Slindo: “I’d love to. But my mom needs me. She is not coping, Zakhele. She’s angry all the time. I doubt she’ll even believe a lie that I would tell her about going to visit you for a weekend.” 

Good girl. 

The guy, who I have now learned is Zakhele: “I think your family has just been through a lot, love. The important thing is that you are there for each other, that you are patient with each other and that you don’t judge each other.” 

Nice guy. 

Slindo: “It’s difficult. I share a room with Nobuhle who is now married to her journal. She has practically divorced herself from all of us and lives in her own world. One day, I’m going to deal that diary and –

Zakhele: “Hai, Sli. You can’t do that. This is how she is coping and dealing with all of this. Let her be. You have me and she has the diary. Let her be.” 

I’m going to find that diary and read it. I need insights. 

Zakhele: “Let me take you to Mochachoes. I know it’s your favourite spot. Then we can get your family a meal for the day.” 

No, can do. 

Slindo: “Futhi today was my day to cook. Let me rather organise, thanks to you.” 

They laugh. 

I come out of hiding and stand next to them, interrupting their moment. 

“Sanibonani”, I greet them. Slindo is shaking. Zakhele is hard to read. 

“Mah, this is Zakhele. Zakhele, my mom.” 

“Hi Mrs Maluleke.” 

“Hello. It’s good to meet you Zakhele. Slindokuhle, let’s go inside. We need to start preparing dinner.” I say. 

“Actually –

“Now, Slindokuhle.” With that, I walk into the house. 

George

Our movements are still limited because we are unpredictable and pretty much dangerous even to the offenders in here. So, I spent my day at the library. I was reading because, what else am I going to do while other offenders get by engaging in their rehabilitation programmes and others just being useless. After reading an entire book, unbothered may I add, I sit with one of the men I find in the library.

He is not in our cell. I think he is in a cell with the offenders who are considered to be less dangerous than us. His name is Lionel. He is one of those coloured people that speak isiZulu with a coloured accent. He is a cool guy. I like him. I wouldn’t call him my friend because when you are inside, you don’t have friends. But we talk. We get along.

“Let’s go look at the actors. They are doing something for some arts festival.” He says. I am generally not allowed in there, but when I am with Lionel, even the prison wardens back off and let me at least watch other people get rehabilitated.

We walk into the practice area and all eyes are on us. I am used to this by now. But some man walks towards us. I don’t see the knife in his hand until Lionel sternly yells, “Hlehla my bra! Hlehla!”

This man does not “hlehla”, by the time he is in front of us, a bunch of coloured men are on top of the man with the knife. It happens so fast. At the blink of an eye, the coloured men have disappeared and it’s just myself, Lionel and the dead body covered in blood that is now lying at my feet.

A prison warden has Lionel and I in cuffs as if taking us both to solitary confinement. I didn’t even do anything, but because I am who I am and I am already considered to be dangerous, I’m not even asked what happened. More years are added to my sentence. But I won’t let them do that to Lionel. For all I know, he was protecting me.

So, I take the blame. I tell the wardens that I am the one who killed that man and Lionel did nothing. They must let him go.

“Are you sure?” The warden asks me.

I insist that I acted alone.

So I am taken away alone.

…

I am in solitary confinement with my cellphone. I keep my cellphone in my sock when I leave my cell because you never know when your cell will be strip searched. My plan was to behave myself and hide my cellphone so that this very thing that is happening right now never happens, but here I am. I don’t even know how I feel. But I am beginning to realise that I am going to be in here for possibly the rest of my life so I better make this my home. An additional ten years was added to my sentence.

I hear footsteps approaching my cell. My door opens. Lionel walks in and he is accompanied by Magwaza’s girlfriend.

“You have ten minutes”, Magwaza’s girlfriend says.

She gives us space.

“Thank you, my bra. I will never forget this. I am making sure that Msixty and Magwaza are protected as we interact with other offenders. And you will also be protected when you come out of here. You have my word.” Lionel says.

I believe him. I nod my head. We let our fists touch.

“I can make a plan for you to have your vrou come in and service you – just to thank you for your lookout my bra. Wait for me to come to you with a date and time. That smame that brought me here will bring you the message of a date and time. Just let your vrou know that you will be together tonight.” He says.

I smile.

He nods his head, satisfied with himself.

“I will never forget this my bra. Thank you.”

Indeed she is here, Sindi. She is here and we are going to make love. She looks HOT! She dressed up very nicely for me. Tonight is going to be…