We are all here in Maja Perre where Morafe’s mother’s house used to be. It’s literally in ashes. Literally. We all arrived two days ago when Morafe told us what happened. We are all living at the lodge that we stayed at when we came for her wedding. Our kids are at home with nannies because it’s school. I just brought Sihle with me because she can afford to miss creche. She’s forever on my back. I don’t even let her run to the gate. I don’t trust people in this community who just turn people into biltong because they are prostitutes. They’ll steal my child to prove a point. I take her off my back to feed her, bath her or if we are at the lodge and in our room. There she is as free as she wants to be. She also seems fine with our arrangement. She lets no one take her off my back. 

Love her!

The guys will go fetch the kids on Friday, together with Morafe’s mother. She’s still in hospital, but she’s getting better. 
We put up a huge glass tent here. Inside, we’ve put a carpet in and some tables and chairs. This is where we are cooking, arranging and just letting the community come and do their thing. Mmaletuka’s kids, Palesa and Thato, are here as well. They are not going to school. Morafe was telling us that they’ll have to change schools because who will they live here with? She hasn’t yet uttered the words “they will live with me”, but she’s moving like it’s happening. She doesn’t want to live with them. You can see it. But eish. 

Today is raining and it’s kak cold. The guys are in overalls, drinking beer and eating anything and everything that wreaks of cholesterol nje, while working outside in the rain. Our tent is super full. And it’s such a big tent. 
Sihle has a raincoat on with a hoodie and everything. She’s watching a show from my cellphone. 
Us ladies all have raincoats on as well because there are gas stoves in here… and with people in this community turning people into biltong just nje, we keep the doors of the tent wide open. 

WIDE OPEN! 

The meat is being cooked outside. 
Wandi and I are cooking the dumplings, rice, pap and ting in the tent. Morafe and Bassie are outside within the meat. There are some mamas here who are also peeling and cooking stuff nje around. These are Morafe’s mother’s sister. 

“Thato. Palesa. Le jile?” Morafe asks the kids.
“Eya, mamane. Re jile. It’s cold.” “Where are your jackets?” 
“In the car.” 
“Please fetch them tu. Ke a kopa.” Morafe.
They actually don’t give her a hard time. They just go.
“I don’t even know what all of these people are doing here because they are the cause of all of this. Or keng? They came to verify?!” Morafe is so loud that time. Some people in the tent caught that and now the chatting has died down. Focus is on Morafe. Is she really going to do this?
“Morafe, aowa nnana. These people are here ho tlo tsidisa hle.” One of the aunts.
“Ho tsidisa eng? Ho tsidisa mang? Ke bona akere that burned the house down, killed my sisters and her kids! Two children are orphans now because of them. Next thing ba tlo re tina mo! They wake up, come here and sit all day. We must feed them breakfast, lunch and supper… even serve them alcohol! After what they’ve done? Bana le sibiti sa ho nyofa all day! I don’t know why we don’t just poison this food so they all die like flies! Just like they did to my sister and my nieces! Kapa re kwale monyako oe and set this tent alight so they all die the painful death that they made my family experience!”
“MORAFE!” The aunt.
“Hai mam’holo.” 
Now she faces the people staring at her. 
“LE BATLANG LONA MO?! KENG?! ARE YOU LOST?! OR YOU ARE SO HUNGRY LE TLO NYOFA MO LE BOLAYILENG TENG?! SIES!” She shouts at them.
I just see Thabang next to her and I pray he’s going to stop this. Our men are also in the tent now, hectically wet.
“Bona mo, wena! Ngwana wasefebe!” Some person in the crowd. 
“Oh… so you do know that mme waka le ausi ke de febe! De febe that you killed. Mara le mo! To do what?! For ngwana wasefebe to feed you?!” Yoh Morafe. 
These people try to cause a riot, possibly throw shit at Morafe. 
Guns come out of the men we’ve arrived with chile! I’ve never seen black people duck so quickly in my life! The whoooooo that came with it! 
I take Sihle off my back and hold her in my front. She’s trying to focus on the real life drama, but I keep redirecting her face to the phone. She even looks at me as if she wants to ask me what’s wrong with me. Wandi is now next to me with Thato and Palesa. We are also trying to keep them away from this, but shame… they also want justice for what happened.

“LISTEN HERE! ALL OF YOU PATHETIC DOGS! JUST BECAUSE SOME OF YOU HAVE BEEN ARRESTED, IT DOESN’T MAKE THE REST OF YOU INNOCENT. YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE! NOR ARE YOU WELCOME TO THE FUNERAL! IF I EVEN SPOT MI-KENKE EWU YA LONA AROUND ME IN THE NEXT FEW DAYS, I WILL LOOK FOR YOU… I WILL FIND YOU… AND I WILL PERSONALLY SET YOU ALIGHT ONE BY ONE… JUST LIKE YOU DID WITH MY MOTHER, MY SISTER AND MY NIECES. HA LE TLO NYOFA MO KA DI PELO TSE TSALONA TSEDIMPI, SERVED BY NNA WHO YOU’VE TAKEN FROM! WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?! KE TLO LE BOLAYA HHE NNA, AFTER I’VE MADE YOU BURY YOUR MOTHERS, CHILDREN AND FAMILIES LIKE YOU HAVE MADE ME DO. THE HURT THAT MY NIECES AND I ARE FEELING, YOU WILL FEEL IT TOO. IT WILL NOT END WITH US! NOW VOETSEK OUT OF THIS PLACE!” 
These people sprint so fast, there’s even a whole stampede and we hear people yelling in pain. As they try to nurse their pain, Morafe grabs Ntuthuko’s gun and shoots it in the air. Ntuthuko grabs that gun right back and holds Morafe. These people carry their injuries with them and nurse them somewhere else. 
Then I just see Morafe fall apart. Yaz, even Palesa – the coldest child towards her – hugs her, saying sorry. Our friend is in pain. 

It’s about 7pm now. We have all this food that we have cooked. We decided that we’d call a home not too far from here that is supported by the Mothipa royal house and they can come have supper here. So we’ve dished up for them, they are eating and we are chilling outside in the rain so we give them space to eat. They came in their bus. The neighbours, who also currently don’t have electricity because these are those places where you wake up when the sun rises and sleep when the sun sets – zero investment in electricity – these neighbours are looking over into our yard and eating with their hearts. Ngathi bangaletha net i-plate just for a scoop of something. They haven’t cooked shame. But we just sitting out here under various garden umbrellas. I have a blanket over Sihle who has on a tracksuit, a beanie and her raincoat. She’s still watching her show while my phone charges on a PowerBar. We have giant loadshedding lights so our yard is also quite bright. Ntuthuko tried to take Sihle from me, but she said no. 

“Heh guys, did I tell you that Noria is apparently kidnapped from prison?” I actually thank Bassie from her drama. Morafe is the first one to laugh and I’m thankful. She has Thato covered with a blanket on her. She gave Palesa a blanket to keep herself warm. Palesa is sitting next to her, listening to our conversations nje. Thato is watching something on an iPad that Morafe gave to her. 
“Stru!” Bassie continues with her story. 
The guys are not sitting too far away from us. But they are also talking about their own nonsense. 
“Here comes her mzala mos – who by the way worked for Keith!” Bassie.
“How are you not writing a book? Drama ekana? You’d sell those books like hot cakes.” Wandi. 
We all laugh. 
“Watsiba, I should write that book. Because yoh, ke mehlolo after mehlolo.” 
I feel like we are traumatising Palesa. She’s only twelve. And Bassie’s stories are scary. Morafe even steals looks at Palesa, then our eyes connect, then we laugh. 
“So moghel comes to Keith’s office telling my man to help the family find Noria because they’ve always been good to him before I wrecked their home. I just felt nje that I’m being tested. Only to find that this mzala wa teng is makhwapheni wa one of Keith’s brothers and she’s a crazy and stalking makhwapeni.” 
“WHAAAAAAAAAAATTTTT?!” We all say. 
The guys even look at us. 
We all burst into laughter! Even Palesa. 
Guys! I just see Thulisa when I look at this girl. Thulisa is not ready to hear such.
“Do you want to go sit there le bo papa?” Morafe asks her.
“No mamane. Ke shup mo“, Palesa says, zooming into Bassie and her story. 
Wandi just laughs at Morafe. I’m also chuckling. Kodwa wow.
“I wish that family could just leave us alone. Nna ke kgathetsi ke bona. Honestly.” Bassie. 
“Mara chommie, at least you’ve never left your house. Tamia la… packed her bags and got the fuck out of there because of baby-mamas”, Wandi. 
“Girl, vele what happened? You never told us”, Morafe. 
“These baby-mamas were demanding houses from my man and he was actually prepared to buy the houses for them.” 
All their jaws drop. Literally. Even Palesa’s. Then they all look at Ntuthuko as if rehearsed.
“Yini manje?” Ntuthuko says. 
Now they guys get up as if coming to sit with us. 
“Hai Hai Hai! Stay there!” We all say at the same time. 
They don’t know what to do.
We all look at each other. Then we all laugh. We are so crazy, man.

After we’ve all settled down, I tell them, “I needed to make the boundaries clear. Fortunately, Ntuthuko finally heard me. So we were able to fix things. Then the mothers decided that they cannot look after these kids without our help. So they gave us the kids but wanted R10 000 in return.”
“For what?!” They all say. 
“Like chommie, they sold their kids to you for R10 000?” Morafe.
I take a deep breath then say, “I offered them R50 000 each to sign over all their parental rights to me. For R50 000 each, plus their transport costs to bring the kids to us, they’d no longer be recognised as their mothers before the law and therefore have no rights at all or decision making powers when it comes to these kids. They are mine. Simple.”
“Chommie!” Bassie says with a stuttering voice.
“What did they say?” Morafe says, almost whispering. 
“They signed the papers and took the money”, I say. 
They all hold their heads. 
“Serious?” Palesa. Imagine!
We all look at her. She’s so shocked. 
We just laugh. Ja neh. 

…

Saturday, 6am. The funeral.

Last night, we had a night vigil for the three bodies that arrived here to leave from here headed to their final resting place. We actually thought it would be a small funeral because Morafe banned the entire community from coming here. But Morafe and Thabang organised for the mom’s entire family to come here all the way from Lesotho. Two busses arrived on Thursday. They actually set up and slept in the tent. They just closed the door and slept. Lol! Even when Morafe’s mom arrived on Friday, a mattress was set up for her right here in the tent and she’s been on it since. 

I arranged for curtains and two more tents. This yard is huge. The curtains give the tent that home and privacy feel. The community really just walk past the gate because they are not allowed in here. Ntuthuko took Sihle back home. The nanny is there. The only kids that are here are Morafe’s kids and it’s understandable as to why they have to be here. Then there are all these other cousins that have come from Lesotho. It’s actually quite packed. From 1am, we sent people to the lodge to go shower and get dressed. Some just got dishes and bathed right in these tents. You know what!!!
At 4am, the decor company was here to set up. Couches have been put up across the tent, accommodating 300 people. Apparently some people are friends. Even yena, Mmaletuka, had a lot of friends that have come. The kids… their school mates, school choirs and school teachers have come. The colour of the day is absolute black! And you know what, it’s beautiful. I take my hat off to Morafe. Every couch is black… pure black. Every carpet is black. The pulpit and stage where the priests will be are all black. Each couch has two blankets because it’s really cold. The blankets are black! Stunning! 
Even the family… Morafe dressed them up so well. The mother, the chief mourner, is dressed in a black dress. It’s a very stylishly designed black maxi dress with beading. Her shawl that she’s wearing over her shoulders is black fur. Yerrr! Her shoe! I didn’t even know her mother could rock a stiletto heel like that… a black Steve Madden Vala Court stiletto heel. Beautiful! She has on a black doek, which I like. Not those take me to the grave hats. The doek is made with a black and grey sanna marena blanket. Lalela! Muhle lo mama!The look is sealed with a stylish pair of Versace sunglasses. She has a Versace black handbag right there with her. Morafe and Meme are also wearing designer dresses. Meme’s dress flares out at her hips and it looks really pretty. She’s wearing black stockings because that dress is above her knee in length. She is also wearing black stiletto heels. She’s also wearing a black doek… plain black. Then she has a black sanna marena blanket over her shoulders. Morafe’s dress is a body hugging dress. And I don’t blame her. My friend has ass for days. She has black stockings on, black Christian Louboutin stiletto heels, a black doek and a jacket made out of a black and grey sanna marena blanket. The jacket is slightly longer than her dress. Thabang is not letting her out of his sight. I wouldn’t neither. 
All the kids are dressed very well- in all black – and with black and grey sanna marenablankets. Little Tshenolo has a suit on and his suit jacket is in a sanna marena blanket. He’s matching with his dad. It’s just cute. Morafe, Palesa, Thato, Meme and Mosetsana are all wearing black Louis Vuitton sunglasses. No guys, the family is giving! It’s giving. 

The service starts at 7am. We are all comfortably seated, no matter where you are in the tent. The community that has been banned from the funeral is outside the gate with their umbrellas watching the funeral from there. The caskets are so beautiful. I’m proud of Morafe. Begrudgingly or not, she did a good job with this send off. It is so dignified. Her sister’s coffin is black. The children’s coffins are white. Their pictures are sized A3 in front of their coffins respectively.
I put my head on Ntuthuko’s shoulder. He puts his arm out then puts his arm around me, kissing my forehead. 
He smells so good. Our vacant hands hold onto each other. Senzi and Wandi are sitting with us on this couch. They are sitting in the middle. We sit on their left. Bassie and Keith sit on their right. Each couch accommodates six to eight people. 

By 9am, we are leaving for the cemetery.
The family leaves first. The coffins are put into three different V300 vehicles. Black. The family cars are all Mercedes Benz vehicles. It is ten V300 vehicles. The first vehicle has Morafe, her mother, her sister, the four kids and Thabang. The family fights with themselves to find themselves in the other family cars. We even laugh a bit because it’s actually funny to watch. Family will embarrass you shame. Those who didn’t get a car go back into the busses they came in.
Wandi, Bassie and I stay behind with catering to make sure that everything is sorted for the return of all these people. But our guys left in one car to go represent us there emathuneni. Some family members stayed with us shame. 

As soon as everyone has left, decor is back, setting up for people to be able to eat. This rain is really not letting us be great. It’s terrible. We wear rain boots and take off our heels. We position tables and seats. 
We hear the community people ask if they could at least come for lunch. Kanti la bantu banjani laba? Yazi, ukulamba kubuhlungu!
Six dishing stations are set up inside the yard but outside of the tent. The bars are set up in the yard but outside the tent.
By the time these people are done, this place looks like a restaurant. 
I really take my hat off to Morafe and Thabang. What they’ve done here cannot be undone.

…

Ey madoda, ngiphakathi kwama-garafu wabomagosha this very moment… ngenxa yomshado. Hai khona. Sizoli bona nje iZulu sesingcwaba oMary Magdeline nezingane zabo? Kumele nje umuntu athandaze la asho ukuthi “Bawo, you commanded us to be loving husbands. That’s all I’m doing right now.” 
School choirs are singing as we are within putting soil in these three wholes next to each other. This is so painful. So painful. Imagine if this is your child. As a parent, I don’t ever want to bury my kids. Ever! As a husband, I don’t ever want to bury my wife. I feel for Morafe’s mother. She was so emotional, she actually fell into this grave – Mmaletuka’s one. Senzi, Keith and I had to pull her out. Now she’s been sitting and crying there between Meme and Morafe. Tshenolo is sitting on top of Morafe. Palesa, Thato and Mosetsana are all sitting on the carpet in front of Morafe’s, Meme’s and the granny’s legs. They were crying, but they are all now just chatting between the three of them. Thabang is right here working with us. Then there are men who are either brothers or cousins to Morafe’s mom… and some are Morafe’s cousins. We are working hard here. Yerrr! And we have to do this in suit jackets. These are so restricting. Also the rain Nkulunkulu Bawo! Sisebenza kabuhlungu la. 

We finally finish closing the wholes. My arms! Angifuni nix! 
We move from here because there’s also going to be an unveiling of the tombstone heads. 
As we move, there are hostesses offering us water, beer or coffee. Coffee? After hard labour like that?! Hai! These are jokes. 
We all actually take beer. 
Thabang decides that he’s not sitting next to Morafe anymore, so he stands next to us. All these men do. We are in this together.

Morafe, her mother, Meme, Palesa, Thato, Mosetsana and Tshenolo all then walk to the tombstones. The funeral service people help the kids unveil the tombstone. 
Wow! 
These are beautiful! They are black with gold writing. Yoh, these are nice! 
There is a huge shelter across each grave. The shelter is gold and it has “LETUKA” written across it in black.
Beautiful!
The plate on the left, covering one grave, is written – as Mosetsana reads it – “in loving memory of our sister, granddaughter and niece, Reabetsoe Patience.” 
The plate on the right, covering the other grave, is written – as Thato reads it – “in loving memory of our sister, granddaughter and niece, Patience Mmamoleko.” And the middle plate reads, as Palesa reads it, “in loving memory of our mother, sister and daughter, Mmaletuka.” 
There is then a bottom slate connecting all three pillars. It matches the top shelter thing and its also gold with black writing. Meme reads it and says, “You’ve only left this world, but you have not left us. Robalang ka khotso, lona Mosia. We will take it from here and make sure that your struggles were not for nothing.” 
This is so sad. 

…

The chaos in this street. Are people aware that it’s raining? 
My wife finds me in this sphithiphithi, pulls me to our car. As soon as we are inside, she gives me food. She even has a six pack of Castle Light for me. I actually kiss her. 
When she sees how soaking wet I am, she takes my food and makes me take off these wet clothes. She switches on the heater in the car. She heads to the boot and gives me the extra black clothes we brought… it’s as if she knew that I’d need to change. 

Now we both eat. She has wine that she’s eating her food with. 
“Umzababa womngcwabo phela lo. Ngathi umshado“, I say. 
“Ja. I’m proud of Morafe. This was quite a difficult time for her. And I can just imagine how much more difficult it was for her knowing ukuthi she wasn’t on good terms nodadewabo at the time of her passing. Kwa even the kids… she’s struggling to accept that they are hers now.”
Hai bo!
“Ube bangani nodadewabo?” I enquire. 
“Eish babe… entitlement, I suppose.”
Women and this ‘entitlement’ word. I hate that word so much! 
“Entitlement?” I need her to explain.
“Yeah. UMmaletuka felt entitled to Morafe’s success and had unrealistic expectations from her. When Morafe said no, Mmaletuka decided that Morafe is selfish and their relationship went south.”
“What kind of expectations?” I ask. 
She looks at me. She takes a bite of her meat then says, “uMorafe wahamba yena la kubo. And when she was in South Africa, ubehlupheka, but she pulled through. Ubengahluphi muntu. Ube qhubeka ngempilo yakhe in a backroom elokshini with her two kids and her very abusive baby-daddy. Umah wakhe nodadewabo knew ukuthi uMorafe ubephila njani. But they didn’t help her. They were in a position to help her, but they didn’t. Even when she came back home… she didn’t move back into her mother’s house. She simply came back and made her own plans ukuthi abe-shup. Her luck simply turned lana in Tholoana Kingdom. The minute it turned, her sister wanted her to take her kids and raise them. Morafe said no. And she had every right to. Her own kids were still adjusting after trauma from their life in South Africa. On top of that, she took on her sister to help her be in a better position than all of them. What was she going to do with Mmaletuka’s four children on top of everything else she had taken responsibility for? While still finding her feet? Kodwa uMmaletuka just felt ukuthi Morafe is selfish. So inxabano yabo kwaba yileyo eyingapheli waze washona.”
Ja neh… to be a black person in life nje.
I reply to her saying, “Yaz, sthandwa sami… if you pay some attention to how families are set up neh… there will always be your wealthy ones and your poor ones. The richest person in the country and the poorest person in the country can come from one family. And I don’t believe that it has anything to do with who works the hardest or who is the smartest. Because you do find that the poorer you are, the harder you work. A domestic worker leaves her house and kids at 4am every morning to clean for kids and look after them all day, then only go back home at 10pm with R500 to feed herself and her children who are fast asleep by the time she gets home. So mina, as uNtuthuko Maphumulo, I don’t believe that being rich has everything to do with hard work. I think God or the universe or a higher purpose puts people in positions to be able to help or uplift others then sees what they do with those blessings. It’s probably a test of who you are and what you do with riches planted in your hands. Yes, poor people come across as entitled and whatever other words people use to describe their cries for help. But I don’t blame them. No one wants to be poor. I’ve also never met a pleasant poor person. I’m angry if I can’t find something I want. I can’t imagine what it’s like to wake up and not know if you’ll go to sleep well-fed. There’s no way that you’ll be pleasant.”
“So Morafe was wrong?” 
“No, don’t put words in my mouth. And don’t judge what I’m saying against your friend’s situation. Mina I’m speaking generally. I do believe that Morafe should not punish Thato and Palesa for whatever happened between herself and her sister. She’s the best person to take over as their mother. And I think she should, without reservation. Kusazokwanda okuhle for yena. And she needs to get her mother out of this prostitution business. Usekhulile phela manje. Hai bo.“
We look at each other. We burst into laughter. 
The food is done. 
I open a bottle of beer. She pours herself wine. This rain is still fighting. It’s actually dark now. Driving at this point would be very dangerous. Further to this, there’s thunder and lightning. Tamia has a weird fear for lightning. So let me distract her. 
“So baby…” me. 
“Yebo?” 
“Your dad and I have been talking… a lot…” 
“Okay. About?” 
“Khaya.”
“Ubani uKhaya?” 
Hai bo! 
“Your brother.” 
The look she gives me!
“Tamia –
“Ubaba ukhuluma lowo doti nawe?” 
“Doti? Tamia, umfowenu lona.“
“Hai Hai Hai! I have three brothers mina. Angibasweli nix obhuti mina.” 
Ja, the dad did say that this is not going to be easy. 
“Baby –
“Ntuthuko, do you know ukuthi you’ll send my mother to her grave from a heart attack if you ever even bring this up?” 
“Yes, I know. And so does ubaba. That’s why he reached out to me about this. I’m the one that is neutral about it.”
“Neutral?”
“Yebo. All of you have turned on him. Your brothers even beat him up? Baby! Can you imagine Senzi, Akwande and I trying to beat Shaka Maphumulo up? Hai guys.” 
“Yaz ubaba is very devious for doing this. He slept with my mother’s sister and made a baby with her. How is he a victim? Kwa yena uncane nje… she just wanted my mom’s life. She thought my mom would leave my dad then she would have everything that my mom has. Uyalayeka! She deserves everything that she’s going through! This didn’t end in her favour.”
“Okay shup, baby. I hear you. Ingane yona? Cabanga ukuthi wena ukhule njani. Yena ufunde in no-fee schools, living off feeding schemes from school and donations. He’s option for health is public hospitals. Baby, yena wenzeni?” 
“He’s being punished for his parents’ actions.” She says.
“Tamia, igazi lakho leli. You have to feel something.”
“Uncane naye, igazi likamah. What did she feel when she opened her legs to her sister’s husband?”
Yoh! 
I’m learning that when it comes to cheating, women are their most evil and non-empathetic. 
“Why is ubaba having this conversation with you exactly? Kumele wenzeni wena? Bring the siblings together?” She sarcastically says. I would’ve never agreed to that. My wife is not stable.
“Khaya is sick. Very sick. Government hospitals do not have the facilities or equipment to help him. He can only be treated at a private hospital. But his mother cannot afford the rates.” 
“How does ubaba know that? It was made clear to him that he may no longer talk to uncane.” That’s what she’s really worried about?!
“Omalume spoke to him and told him. There was no conversation with ncane.” I say.
She gives me a look that I cannot read. 
I continue, “ubaba says he cannot take out the money for him because if he does, your mother will divorce him. And he doesn’t want to lose her. So he asked me to look after Khaya.” 
“Heh!” She yells and claps once. 
I don’t know what this means.
“So, he doesn’t want to lose his wife. But you must risk losing yours?” 
“Why would I lose you? Khaya is not my son!” I’m genuinely confused.
“This is my mother that we are talking about. My mother! That might have meant nothing to my father makafeba noncane, but it will always mean everything to me. Why the hell would I agree to betraying my own mother like that?! Yini? Uncane uphelelwe amadoda anemali ukuthi abavulele amathanga for imali? Uphelelwe manje? She can’t even make a plan as a mother ukusiza the consequences of amanyala wakhe?!” 
You know, I’m so glad that I didn’t have children behind her back while married to her. Because truly, those kids would suffer. Tamia feels nothing for her sick brother. Actually, less than nothing. But the hatred that she feels for Khaya’s mother has consumed every bit of energy that she invests in this situation. Yoh yoh yoh! I’m actually blown away.
“Ngizothini mina kumama? Because I’m not doing this behind her back. She doesn’t deserve this. And ubaba is a piece of shit for putting you in this position.” 
“Tamia, ubaba wakho lo. Please, do not disrespect him in my presence. Please. I want to help Khaya. I’m asking you to give me permission to do so. I did tell ubaba that I was never going to do this behind your back.” 
“Ncane is going to win… again!” 
Her focus is really on the wrong person here. I’m just saying. 
“Fine. Kodwa he will be treated here in the kingdom. Uncane ngimazi kahle. I’m not leaving her to have moments with her baby-daddy behind my mom’s back, bonding over their brat’s suffering. Khaya will come here. Alone. If uncane wants to come to the kingdom, uzozifikelaand she will sort out her own accommodation. You will help her in no way!”
“Kodwa baby –
“Kodwa baby nix! I’m trying to be accommodative here. Meet me half way!”
Eh! 
“I’m going to have to tell umama. She’s going to be hurt. She really is.” 
I understand her loyalty to her mother hey.
“When Khaya is healed, he goes back home and you stop helping my dad put a bandaid of money over amanyala wakhe!” 
“Ubhuti wakho, baby. Stop calling him amanyala. Hai bo.” 
“If you do to me what my dad did to my mom njengoba kuzoba noKhaya nje… Ntuthuko!”
Trust me, I know.
“Baby, my dick only rises for you. I don’t even dream about stepping out on our marriage.”
“Good! Because I’m not my mom. I’d never be as kind as my mom has been about this entire situation.”
Kind?! She calls this kind?!
“Kodwa uncane yena… hmmm… usazong’thola kahle lo nonkroyi lo.” She says under breath. But I heard her. 
I almost feel so bad for this ncane hey.