Today is my mother’s wedding. She and bab’Khotso are doing a wedding that is basically “Zulu meets Sotho.” I asked if they’d have a white wedding. Bab’Khotso said he’s not white. I said, “Hawu baba… just for the vibes.” 
He laughed and said, “I’m marrying the love of my life… there is nothing that is for the vibes about that. And I’m not going to practice things that I don’t understand while committing to her. I mean, I don’t even understand what a white wedding is. I see the money you spend, but nothing else.” 
After that conversation, I told Senzi that he needs to work on his romance. Bab’Khotso is unintentionally romantic… it’s so beautiful. 
Rena and I went to buy my mom’s wedding ring with him. I was so happy that he included me in this. We all settled on a ring that basically couldn’t leave the shop without insurance. That ring cost R350000. We had to be escorted by security and policemen – on top of Bab’Khotso’s bodyguards – to the car. My mom went to get his ring with Senzi and Moloko. Senzi told me that the ring also has a big ass price tag to it. 
Ja neh! When I grow up, I want to be exactly like them. 
Maybe I should’ve waited until I was old and rich to get married. Because really, how is a wedding already so beautiful before it even starts? Njani? 

It is 8am right now. My mom has left with some females from her family as well as Mam’Fifi, Tamia and Mam’Tlali – basically everyone who is married to a Zulu man here in Tholoana Kingdom except for me because I’m pregnant – to the royal house to perform umbondo. They left at 6am. According to today’s plan, they should be back here by 9am so that they can prepare for umembeso, umabo, some slaughtering, the reception, and something sacred only that will be done with the royal family so that my mother can officially be a Mohale royal wife. I’m happy for her. She’s really happy. And I’m here for it. 

The ladies only come back just before 10am. But I have my mom’s outfit for her. It’s isidwaba that is made with pure white cow skin. As to where they found this pure white cow that gave up its skin, only my mom knows. Buts it’s stunning. Her top is beaded with white beads only. There is no cloth or material on the top, just beads. It’s so so beautiful. Isiqholo sakhe is made with white cow skin and white beads. Then ubuhlalo bakhe for her hands and feet is white. She’s wearing this with white sneakers. She’s going to look amazing… plus this is my mother that we are talking about. She’s an effortless stunner. Her over-the-shoulder light shawl is white. 

Everyone showers and we all start getting ready. The hair and makeup artists are all here now. Each of us are being attended to. The rain starts threatening. 
“If it isn’t Tholoana Kingdom and it’s damn rain. Today’s events are all outdoors. Hai bo!” My mom says, sounding quite stressed. 
“Mah, rain here is standard procedure. It’s how the ancestors make sure that their presence is felt. Futhi wena ungena ebukhosini. It’s going to POUR!” I say. 
Mam’Celia is getting ready with us. We are at my mom’s house. 
“Will we at least have umbrellas? Thina abanye we didn’t prepare for this rain.” Mam’Celia says. 
“Let me tell the wedding coordinator to make sure that we have umbrellas ready wherever and whenever it starts pouring.” My mom says. 
She phones the wedding coordinator and gives the order. 

“The media was already at umbondo.” My mom says after hanging up her phone. 
“They were here at 5am already.” I say.
“They are supposed to only be at the royal house. They are not allowed to be here. Phelathey are now putting my address out there and it’s not safe for me.” My mom says dialling a number on her phone. 
“Baby”, Bab’Khotso answers his phone. 
“Khotso, the media is outside of my house. Wasn’t the agreement that they would only be at the royal house for safety reasons?” 
“Love, I didn’t realise that they were at the house as well. Let me sort it out okay. Don’t stress.” He says. 
The call ends. 
In no time, we see the media packing their things up and leaving. 

It is just before 12pm when we ululate to indicate that the bride is ready. As the maid-of-honour, I text Bab’Ona to tell him that we are leaving the house now. 
So there’s a whole lot of singing and dancing in the house first. My mom looks amazing! I cannot stop taking photos of her. She’s also so happy. So happy! 
Everyone here is fully dressed in IsiZulu attire. 
After a thirty minute singing and dancing session, we head to our cars. The family at large goes into a hired bus for them. It’s a luxury bus shame. 
My grandfather and his girlfriend are driven in a Rolls Royce… my mom and I then go into a Rolls Royce ourselves. The Rolls Royce vehicles are driven by hired drivers. 
She’s so nervous… but she’s so beautiful.
We take a lot of selfies together on my phone. 
“Never in a million years did I think this would be my life… especially when I was in prison. My daughter is my best friend. I’ve gained two more babies. And I’m getting married to a prince and a chief-leader who has now become the love of my life. Sometimes, I feel like I’m living in a dream. And not just any dream… the dream you have when you are in prison and all you want to do is escape your reality. I keep pinching myself trying to make sure that this really is my life… that prison was not how Maphuthi Ngwenya’s story ends. I’m just sooo…” 
This is so sad. 
I hold her hand. 
Then I say, “Mah… you are so beautiful. You are incredibly stunning. And when uBab’Khotso looks at you, he doesn’t see someone defined by her past mistakes. You know why, mama? Because those mistakes have cost you enough! You have more than paid your price, mama. It’s time to let it go. We know what prison cost you. We know what mistakes have cost you. But you are here now. You’ve been resolute in the most difficult and most unspeakable circumstances. I know for a fact that ukukhanya kuphela that awaits you. You’ve lived in the dark for far too long. God is blessing you, now. He’s raising you high before people who believed you’d never come out of the dark whole that you were thrown into for fifteen years. You deserve all of this, mama. You’ve earned it. It’s been difficult, but you are here now and you are loved. Mah, enjoy it! Celebrate it! Bask in it! Celebrate it!” 
We hug. 
“Ngiyam’thanda uKhotso. Kakhulu futhi.” She says as we come out of our hug.
“You mean, uyam’rata uKhotso.” I say. We laugh. 
“Ey, this difficult language, bakithi.” She says.
“Owakho lo muntu! Umkhethile!” I say, as we laugh. 

We finally arrive at the royal house. It’s just hooters ringing in these streets. The community has come out in its masses. We cannot even move! The army has to come out and they move the community members out of the way so that we can drive through. But nope, the Ngwenyas are not about that life. They’ve climbed out of their bus, have the gifts for umembeso with them, and are already singing and dancing in the streets… the proper Zulu way. 
My mom and I look at each other. We laugh. 
Because one, wow! And two, the royal house is down this street. We are not doing a step all the way from here to there. 
The army wins. And our cars drive down to the royal house. Our family, singing and dancing behind our car. 
The Rolls Royce cars are now parked at the gate. 
My grandfather and Celia climb out of their cars first. Then my grandfather opens my mom’s car. The Mohales are already at the gate, waiting for us.
My mom climbs out of the car. 
The street roars with wows. Like I said, my mother is an effortless stunner. 
The celebrations are incredible guys. KUMNANDI LA! 

We do the umembeso and umabo in the middle of the street because… the community. But it’s beautiful. The most stunning part for me is when my mom sits on icansi in the middle of the street then the community brings gifts to her. Oh man, that’s so beautiful to see. 

Now, my mom has left with the Mohale family inside the house for whatever private rituals that they must now do. So the rest of us and the community are now eating. Basotho dancers are performing as we eat. 
“You good?” Senzi asks me. 
“Yeah. I’m so happy. I’m happy for my mom.” 
“It’s a beautiful day. It’s an even more stunning celebration.” He says.
It starts raining. 
Weh! 

“I’m having these pains yaz… but they come and go.” I say.
He gives me a look.
“Did you tell the doctor?” He asks me.
“No. It comes and goes. But if they continue, I’ll tell her.” I say.
He hesitantly nods his head. 

After about an hour, the Mohale family come out to present my mother to all of us. Bab’Khotso is even holding her hand. The rain is vicious bakithi. But my mom looks amazing! Amazing! She is wearing a brown and nude seshweshwe dress. She even has a nude doek. There are beads here and there, but not a lot. She looks really stunning. Then she has a brown sanna marena blanket. She must be really warm in this bloody rain. 
Someone brings me a sanna marena blanket. I look up… it’s my baby sister, Rena.
Moloko gives Senzi one. 
My friends are here… I saw them somewhere. I was so happy when I saw Morafe and Thabang arrive. They’ve been really going through it lately.
“Are you still fine?” Rena asks me.
I tell her about my pains that come and go. 
She looks at me weirdly. 
“Isn’t that a sign that you are in labour?” Rena asks me.
“Is it?” I ask her.
“Contractions, Wandi. I’m going to tell the parents. You need to get to a hospital.” She says.
“Guys, maybe it’s nothing.” I say.
“I’d feel better if a doctor tells me that”, Rena. 
She leaves us. 
Senzi and I look at each other.

I see Rena talking to my mom and Bab’Khotso. 
Bab’Khotso shoots eyes in my direction. 
The cramps are coming back again. Now I’m too scared to tell anyone. What if I’m in labour? But why hasn’t my water broke yet if I’m in labour? I mean… 
Bab’Khotso is now at my table with Bab’Ona and a bunch of bodyguards.
“Let’s go”, Bab’Khotso says to me. 
My mom is here with a bag now. 
I get up.
Okay, now my water breaks. Now I believe Rena. 
Rena screams. Drama engaka?! 
But I’m not in excruciating pain. 
Bab’Khotso literally scoops me in his arms, then marches with me to a car. I don’t even know whose car this is. 
Senzi is with me at the back. So is my mom. 
Bab’Khotso is driving like he’s trying to kill us. Bab’Ona is in the front seat telling Bab’Khotso to drive faster… in other words… kill us faster.
“I’m not in pain”. I say. 
“Ja, and we don’t want to wait for you to get into pain or start screaming or even give birth in this car.” Bab’Ona.

We get to the hospital in one peace, by God’s grace. All my friends are already here with their men. Bab’Khotso is still carrying me in his arms sprinting with me. Then he gets to reception, shits on the receptionist and demands I be attended to right now. Bab’Ona is there afakazela that the hospital must come to a standstill so that I’m attended to. 
Now I’m in pain. 
I start screaming. 
The doctor asks me how far my contractions are. I can’t even answer him. I’m sweating and in pain. 
“Don’t ask us shit! Help her now!” Bab’Ona. 
“Doctor, I see the head. She’s in delivery!” A nurse.
“What?!” I scream. 
Now Bab’Ona pulls out a gun on these people. They are now too scared to help me. 
I pull one nurse by her wig… it even comes off her head. She looks at me in fear. 
“HELP ME NOW!” I demand.

…

Ten fingers. The toes. Two eyes. A little nose. Cute lips. A head full of hair. She weighs 2.8kgs. She is my little princess. She is Melokuhle Ntandokazi Maphumulo. She’s beautiful. She’s perfect. She’s mine. My beautiful wife blessed me with a stunning baby girl. 
“She’s beautiful”, I hear a voice. 
It’s my dad. He’s with Ntuthuko and Akwande. We are all looking at this little miracle before us. 
“She’s so small”, Akwande says. 
“Soon, she’ll be grown and bossing me around”, I say. 
We laugh. 
“Unjani umama wakhe?” Ntuthuko asks me.
“She’s resting. She was so exhausted”, I say.
“I don’t blame her. Usebenzile umakoti“, my dad.
“I’m so happy. She’s so beautiful. Ufana nomah wakhe.” I say. 
They both just hold my shoulders. 
“She has a bit of jaundice. Kodwa uzoba right”, I say.
They sit with me and we all just stare at her.

…

This morning, I help my wife shower. She’s also so happy that we have our daughter and that she’s perfect. 
“Muhle uMelo wethu yaz“, she says.
“Bheka phela umama wakhe muhle njani. Ngeke ahlale angabi muhle. I have my hands full with two beautiful women to protect hey.” I say.
She laughs. 
I help her get dry then lotion her and give her pyjamas to wear. 

As we step into the room that we are staying in, we are surprised by a baby shower. We hadn’t even had a baby shower. We thought the baby was coming three weeks from now. The baby shower was a surprise for Wandi, but I knew it would happen next week. 
But here are our family and friends. Even my mom is here. I’m shocked but excited to see her. I see Wandi hugging her, humbling me to even hug her too. She’s actually pleasant today.
“Congratulations, my boy. I hope you named her Laura.” She says.
Everyone here laughs.
“She is Melokuhle Ntandokazi Maphumulo”. I say.
“Maphumulo?” My mom.
She’s starting.
“It’s my surname, nje.” 
“But you grew up as a Twala. Aren’t you going to recognise the Twalas in anyway? My family ke?” My mom says. 
“Iyenziwaphi leyo nto, Laura? USenzangakhona unguMaphumulo. Wandi is Mrs Maphumulo. Why would Melo be anything else?” My dad. 
They mustn’t do this in front of people. 
“I was just saying. It just suddenly feels like I’m nothing to my son. And that doesn’t sit well with me.” She says. 
“Can we please do this some other time? We’ve come here to celebrate our first grandchild, bandla. Please”, Wandi’s mom says. 
“Yes, I agree.” Mam’Teboho says. 

We spend the next two hours opening gifts and thanking people for the gifts. After we are done, my dad is the one who respectfully asks everyone to leave. It’s not yet time for anyone who isn’t a Maphumulo or Mohale/Ngwenya to see the baby. She’s still too small. People actually understand. They wish us well then they leave. Now it’s just my dad, my mother, Mam’Fifi, Wandi’s mother, Bab’Khotso, Akwande, Ntuthuko and Tamia. Wandi’s dad, Khanya and Khosini also arrive. 
“Umalume usefikile“, Khanya says as he walks in. 
“Skhokho sami!” Wandi is so happy to see Khanya.
There’s both tension and excitement in this room. There’s Bab’Nathi versus Bab’Khotso. Then there’s my mom versus Mam’Fifi. 
Ey ey ey! 
“We could all go see her. Kodwa with the jaundice, kuzomele simyeke kancane ngale. We will all be able to carry her from tomorrow”, Wandi breaks the awkward silence. 
“Singabonga“, Bab’Nathi says. 
Wandi is the one who takes them there. 

Ntuthuko, Akwande and I are left to tidy these gifts then take them home. 
“All this drama, bafo?” Ntuthuko says, laughing. 
“Ey bafo.”
“Where will you guys be going after getting discharged?”
“At the Royal house. Mam’Phuthi and Bab’Khotso are still there for the next month. And Wandi needs to be with her mother.” I say.
“Litheni itimer lakho?” He asks me.
“He wasn’t happy about it. He pulled the whole ‘she’s a Maphumulo’ card. But Wandi needs to be comfortable. And her mother has agreed to help her. Mam’Fifi was a bit sad too. She wanted to help with the baby. But honestly, the bride wants her mother.”
“They’ll get over it. Maybe Luhle must get pregnant so they can experience the other side of this.” He says. 
We laugh. 
Then he’s suddenly serious. 
“Yini?” I ask him. 
“I want to have a baby with Tamia.” He says.
“Hai bo! Do you want a whole squad of kids na, bafo?” I ask him. 
“Ngiyamthanda uTamia. Kakhulu futhi. Yebo, I’ve got four children with four different women, kodwa I don’t love any of them. I was never there for any of their pregnancy journeys. I wasn’t there for the birth of any of my kids. I want this experience that you’ve just had with someone that I love. I want to walk the pregnancy journey with her, feel my baby kick and move inside of her… I want to hold her hand when she gives birth to my child. I want to cut the umbilical chord of my child. I want my child to puke all over me. I want late nights of soothing the baby because he or she won’t stop crying. I want to feed my child the bottle, the baby food, konke. I want that with Tamia.” 
“Bafo, what does she say when you tell her this?” 
“I haven’t said it. I feel like we don’t talk about it because she’s scared about how I’d think she feels about the kids that I actually have. I feel like she’s too scared to even want her own kids with me because of how it will look. But I want a baby with her too. Even if it’s just one. I hope it’s a girl. I’d call her Thandolwethu. That’s what she’d represent.” He says.
Ja, he’s really thought about this.
“Khuluma naye, bafo. Hear what she has to say. It’s a necessary conversation to have and I’m sure its not unexpected. She is a young woman who doesn’t have children. It’s not unreasonable for people to understand that she also wants ukuzalela umyeni wakhe.” I say. 
“Ja. And I trust Tamia. She loves my children. She refers to my children as her children. I know and trust that even if we have our own kids, she won’t stop loving my kids.” He says. 
“It’s not Tamia that I’m worried about. It’s you. I’m worried that you’ll love your kids with Tamia more than the kids that you have right now. And it worries me a bit. You’ll make your kids grow up to not love each other.” I say. 
“Why wouldn’t they love each other?”
“Showing kids who you love the most? Making it blatant? Cha, bafo. Your kids will hate each other. You’ll turn the four against the one that you’ll hold the closest to your heart. You don’t want that. You can’t show favouritism amongst your kids. These kids must live together, love one another and support one another when you are no longer alive. Build ubuhlobo wabo, bafo. Make them close. Make them able to live together even when you are no longer here.” I say.
He thinks about it.
“And don’t over-love them so much that you end up with a Luhle in your hands”, my dad. 
Oh he’s at the door. And he clearly heard all of this. We both look at him.
“I made that mistake. I loved Kenosi so much that I thought our child would be the one odlula bonke abakhona. Bheka manje.” My dad. 
We are quiet. 
“Kuhle ukuthi ufuna ingane nomakoti, Ntuthuko. Children are beautiful blessings. Just make sure that you remember that ayikho ingane ekhetha indlela eyifika ngayo la emhlabeni. Ungabathwalisi izono zomah wabo. Love all your kids. Support all your kids. Wish all your kids well. You’ll never know which one will need to uplift the other one day. Ungakhethi abantwana, Ntuthuko.” My dad. 
“Ngiyezwa Mashimane. I hear both of you very well. Ngiyabonga.”
I pat his shoulder. 
Then we carry all these things to the car, making five trips to the car to load them. It’s myself, my dad, Ntuthuko and Akwande doing all of this. 
I still cannot believe that I’m a father.