Nobantu

We have been invited to Gcina’s therapy session today. 

She is on a programme that is aimed at healing and helping her not try to kill herself again. I hear there was a session where Romeo was invited. Something about that pissed me off. Qaphela and I are paying for this programme cash. Now, we are paying for them to have a couple’s therapy? But isn’t it that I have to bite my tongue? Qaphela is treating me like I don’t love my child. He generally judges me as a mother, so I don’t care. He is too soft on this child and this is why she thinks she is so entitled to everything. 

Qaphela and I are sitting next to each other. Gcina is sitting on a couch next to us. The therapist is sitting across us and is facing us. I’m supposed to be in Hawaii. I took leave to go to Hawaii. I just thought I’d remind you all and perhaps just put it out there. But I’m here in a therapy session and oh – shame, we buried stilettos girl. I can’t really say that I’m sad, but I was sad seeing Thomas in that state. I should phone him one of these days and just check up on how he is holding up. It’s just him and his daughter now. These people grow up. Girls are the worst. They become horror movies when they grow up. Look at mine. 

“The three of you make such a beautiful family.” The therapist says. Her name is Nozizwe.

Am I supposed to say thank you? Qaphela is the one who smiles. Gcina and I know that as far as the beauty of this family goes, we are putting on a pretty face for gas. 

Nozizwe makes a note in her book – I guess of our reactions to her statement. This just makes me roll my eyes to seven years ago. 

“Mr Hadebe, perhaps I can start with you. If you don’t mind, can I just call you Qaphela?” 

Qaphela nods his head. 

“Thank you. Talk to me about what makes you smile about your family.” 

Qaphela: “These are my girls. When I went to prison, Nobantu was still pregnant. I loved Nobantu so much back then – still do – and the minute those policemen cuffed me, I was stressed out that Nobantu would be on her own with this child that we had created together. Nobantu was only fifteen and she didn’t come from the best background. I knew who I was to her and why me leaving would destroy her. I hadn’t even started thinking about the baby.” 

Qaphela pauses and starts tapping his foot. He has never told me this before. 

He continues: “When the judge sentenced me to twenty-five years, I knew that I had lost the love of my life. I’ve always known that Nobantu is tough. She can kick the asses of the best of them. Nobantu knows how to make a plan and stick to it so that she never has to suffer. But that comes at a cost – always. I knew the baby would be okay because Nobantu would make a plan for the baby. But I knew it would come at the cost of her having to let go of what made her happy and what kept her safe from her family’s issues – me. And I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to forgive myself for that.” 

Qaphela is getting emotional now. I hold his hand. He kisses my hand. 

He continues: “I remember the day that she came to visit me with our daughter. She came every time there was visitation, but this particular day, she came and our daughter was wrapped in her yellow blanket, lying peacefully in her mother’s arms. She handed our daughter to me like she always did when she would come for a visit then we would hold hands and talk. That day, we held hands and she told me that it was the last time she was coming to see me because she was going to Johannesburg to make money for our daughter. She told me that her mother was kicking her out and the only way she could make sure that our daughter had a roof over her head would be if she leaves her mother’s house and goes to make money to support her daughter and her mother. Something fell apart in me that day. I looked forward to visitation because I knew I’d see my girls. Now, that was the last time I’d see them and worst of all, they were being separated. Had I not been arrested, we would have stayed together – the three of us – like we are today, and figured it out. Maybe then we wouldn’t be here where we are today.” 

A tear escapes my eye. How did I not see that he too needs healing, not just the sex that we’ve been having. How has he kept it together? Gcina is angry and all she ever does is act out. I have my anger too and I’m not shy to display it as and when I see fit. How does he…

“Nobantu, why are we hurting? Why are we crying? What’s going on there?” Nozizwe asks me. I want to tell her that we are not friends – it’s Mrs Hadebe to her. But ke, we are here to help Gcina heal, so I participate. 

“I’ve always felt like Qaphela judges me as a mother and I know that Gcina hates me so I’ve lived with it. I’m her mother, no matter how she feels about me, so it is my job to do my best for her even if she doesn’t like it.” 

Qaphela and Gcina give me one hell of a look. And it goes unnoticed because Nozizwe is scribbling notes in her book. 

Then she says, “That was quite a loaded sentence. Let’s perhaps unpack it a bit, shall we? Tell me about Qaphela judging you as a mother.” 

Even Qaphela looks at me as if he is shocked to hear this. He has been judging me. 

“Qaphela is right. I was young when I got pregnant with Gcina. And it was the most difficult thing that I probably had to go through – alone. I was three months pregnant when Qaphela went away. And my pregnancy was hell. I was always sick. I was in and out of hospital. My health was so bad that I had to give birth to my daughter at six months of my pregnancy. She was born ill and spent some time in ICU. I was scared. I thought she would die and he was not there. I was running around, forgetting about my health, trying to make sure that she would at least live and be fine.” 

Just thinking about this makes me so sad. I thought she was the most precious thing that ever came out of me and I tell them this. Suddenly, Gcina‘s face changes. She seems like she wants to be nice to me all of a sudden. 

“I took my child home when she was considered to be strong enough to leave the hospital. My mother and I had a bad relationship. Staying with her was not part of the plan. I had thought that by the time Gcina arrives, Qaphela and I would have our own place and we would be doing this together. Now, I’m suddenly sixteen with a small baby and for the first time in my life, I need my mother to help me because I had no idea what I was doing. It was hell. But Istomached it, for her. Every morning I woke up and had to face my mother, I had to look at my child and be reminded why. But at least my mother loved Gcina. I suppose my mother thought that she was punishing me by telling me that she will not feed my mouth and the new baby so I need to make a plan and take my child with me. She told me to go live with Qaphela’s family and that was just out of the question for me. So I made a deal with her. I told her that if she just took care of my baby – raise her the way she failed to raise me, I’d go to Johannesburg and take care of them financially. She agreed and that’s how I became her cash cow.” 

“Talk to me about yours and your mother’s relationship. Why was it bad?” 

Even Qaphela intervenes here because this woman is overstepping her boundaries. He knows the story and he knows why I am not going to talk about that here. So he says, “I thought we were here for Gcina. Why are we talking about my wife’s relationship with her mother?” 

“Qaphela, I just find it interesting that the cycle seems to be repeating itself here. She didn’t get along with her mother. Now Gcina is not getting along with her mother. Surely, it’s time to stop the cycle so Gcina doesn’t find herself not getting along with her daughter one day.” Nozizwe says. 

“Can we rather focus on what she means by me judging her as a mother? We are here for our daughter, not to be an interesting study for you.” 

Nozizwe makes notes. Honestly, this profession needs a new way of keeping up with conversations in their sessions because this notes thing is very agitating. I hate it. 

“We are coming to that, sir. First, tell us why you think Gcina hates you?” Nozizwe says. 

I take a deep breath. 

“Well for starters, she calls me Nobantu and not mom – or Pearl.” 

Both Gcina and Qaphela laugh at this. Only they know why, but I’m glad to be of comic relief in this session. And Nozizwe makes a note. Fuck man! I’m going to grab that notebook and throw it out the window any minute now. 

“I didn’t mind that she calls me Nobantu until I understood what that meant to her. After I had been back for a few months and things were getting better between the three of us, she started referring to me as her mother. And I noticed that every time she was upset or wanted to act out, calling me Nobantu would be her first port of call. That’s when I realised that when she looks at me and calls me Nobantu, she is disregarding who I am in her life – whether she likes it or not – and she’s showing me that she doesn’t care for my opinions, my love for her, or my wanting better for her. Then she rebels and she wants to be this demon that I don’t understand. I always wonder what my mom said to her about me when I was away because Gcina keeps throwing this ‘you married your Venda man and forgot about me’ line at me. It’s a narrative that comes from somewhere and I suspect from my mother. But I’ve never addressed it because I have to respect the fact that my mom did her best with Gcina and I don’t want to ruin Gcina’s perception of her grandmother because she loves her a lot and whether I like it or not, that was the mother figure in her life that she recognises. Bottom line, I did my best. Gcina was in private schools – she got herself kicked out of each one until she ended up in township schools. She never lacked anything and perhaps that’s why she takes everything for granted. That’s what I was doing in Joburg. I wasn’t living a good life with my Venda husband and forgetting about her. I was setting up trust funds for her, making sure that she has a damn chance and she doesn’t need to go out there and endure what I had to so that her kids could be okay. Yet here we are. I’m that bad person. I’m the mother who doesn’t care about her and left her and and and… that’s why I don’t give a shit anymore and I don’t waste my time begging this girl the way that Qaphela does. I did what I needed to do and at the time, it was the best that I could do. For her. At some point, it ended the marriage that I had with the very man she says I chose over her. So, I’ve made peace with Gcina’s hatred for me. I have made peace with whatever perception she has of me that is fuelled by whatever fuelled it. I’ve made peace with the fact that she would never see me deserving of an opportunity to actually speak for myself and perhaps defend what was said about me in my absence. It is what it is. But what she won’t be on my watch and on that I have invested in her – is a flop of a human being.” 

Now I’m emotional. I hate this. Qaphela tries to comfort me and I shrug him off of me. I’m just so angry. Nozizwe is writing her fucken notes!

But I look at Qaphela instead because…

“And wena Qaphela, you do judge me as a mother!” 

I hate that I am crying because it’s as if I’m losing control. 

“Every time you tell me that I’m too tough on this child. Every time you ask me what it is that I want from her. Do mothers ever want anything from their children except the best for them?” 

I breathe…

“The way you look at me sometimes when we talk about her and have to make a decision on her poor decisions – and you know that Gcina makes poor decisions, Qaphela – you make me feel as if I don’t want her. I was sixteen when I had her. You were locked up. I was fifteen when I found out that I was pregnant. If I didn’t want her, I had the perfect opportunity to abort her. You were in jail. You had no power to stop me. But I had her. And I loved her. I only met her sixmonths after carrying her, but while I was carrying her, I loved her because she was a product of what you and I shared. Regardless of all the other women you cheated on me with, we both know what we had was beyond special. That’s why we are here today. I am the love of your life as you are mine. Gcina is symbolic of that. I loved her from the minute I found out that she was on her way to the world – as young as I was.”

He cannot even look at me. I breathe and look away from him. 

“I love my child, Qaphela. I want her to do better. I want her to be better! I want her to experience and have things that you and I never had. Gcina’s world is her oyster, she chooses to fuck herself every chance she gets and you want me to support that. You want me to give her gold stars for doing what she is supposed to do then comfort her when she doesn’t. Qaphela, we both know how cruel and cold this world is. One day, Gcina is going to be in this world without us and without our support from a distance and as her mother, I want to be comforted by the fact that she will be okay. Otherwise every single sacrifice we’ve ever made – me leaving her and you doing time – all of it will have been for nothing. We are taking the beatings from life so that she doesn’t have to. She is supposed to be living a soft life and making sure that she uses what we have built to create a legacy for herself, continue a generational wealth for her kids, her grandkids and everyone else who will come to this world through her lineage. Let’s be honest, Qaphela. Gcina will not make it without us in this world. For me, that’s failure as parents. Look at where we are right now, talking about our feelings because she wants to kill herself when she is expected to take responsibility for getting pregnant and having nothing to offer to the child that she was about to bring into this world.”

Now, there is silence. And Nozizwe is within writing in that notebook of hers. I am going to shove that damn notebook and its pen up her ass. Stru!

…

Qaphela

“I bring it back to you again, Qaphela, what makes you smile about your family of three?” 

Nozizwe asks me. 

At this point, I don’t even know. Nobantu has exploded. We have both just been through – 

“I would like to say though –

We all look at Nobantu because we thought she was done and Nozizwe had directed her question at me. Nobantu is unfazed. She just paused to show us that she’s still talking. She looks at me again. I hope she doesn’t shit on me again. 

“I didn’t know that you were also dealing with your own demons regarding our childhood and having a child so early. Well, you were twenty-three at the time, but still… I didn’t know and I wish you had told me.” 

“Nobantu, do you remember the day you came back into my life? You were bringing groceries into my house with Gcina because I was ill and couldn’t do a lot of things for myself. You took one look at me and phoned your educated friends to help me get medical attention. Then you paid for my medication and took me back home to rest, after instructing our daughter to make food for me so I could take my meds. You dropped her off and left. That’s when I knew that Nobantu was still in you – not Pearl.”

I grab both her hands and kiss her fingers. I love this woman and I wish she saw herself through our eyes. 

“That evening, Gcina and I couldn’t stop laughing about how tough you think you are, but your intentions are what keep your shoulders warm.” 

I catch Gcina chuckling. Nobantu is in disbelief. 

“You are a good person, Nobantu. You always want to fix things and make sure that things and people are better than how you find them. That’s special. That’s what makes us love you. You gave up everything all those years ago to be both a mother and a father to our baby – and you were a teenager and I was not in a position to do anything. I personally respect you for that. You focused on my health and my fridge the first time you saw me after years of us not seeing each other, even though you were recovering from your divorce. You don’t have it in you to be selfish, so I have always known that you are not selfish. None of this is because you are selfish. I know that you love our daughter. I’m the one you talk to about her. I listen when you talk. I know what you want for her. But love, you need to accept that not everything is in your control. Sometimes, we just need to do our part and hope that we did okay and she will learn what she can and should learn, then be better. We can only do so much. The rest is up to her. I don’t judge you as a mother, Nobantu. I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you think that I do. I just sometimes wish you could just let us live and all three of us enjoy each other. We’ve been apart for years, Nobantu. We are so blessed to have our family back. So many people don’t get the chance that we have been given. I want you to just let us appreciate this blessing sometimes. When the day comes that Gcina has to bury us and live without us, yes she can have all of these things that you wish for to have. But I also want her to have good memories of us. I want her to think about us and smile. We are her parents. Her peace is with us before it is with anyone else in this world. That’s all, my baby. We both want the same thing for our daughter. I support everything you want us to do for her. You know that. But baby, we need to laugh a lot more in our home. We need to laugh a lot more together.”

I hug my wife. I actually need her to know that I love her. It is important to me that she leaves this place understanding that I don’t judge her. If anything, I admire her. I don’t think there is a woman on this planet that is anything like my wife. 

“Can you please put that damn book and pen down! Please!” Nobantu bursts out and says to Nozizwe. 

None of us saw this coming. Poor Nozizwe doesn’t know what to do. 

“Can you not record the session or something? That writing is grating my nerves.” Hai Nobantu! 

Only Gcina and I can deal with this version of Nobantu. Not strangers. Poor Nozizwe. She writes something in her notebook then she puts it away. 

I break the silence and say, “To answer your question, Nozizwe, that moment that the three of us had when Nobantu came back into my life – that’s what kept me alive in prison. When I walked out of those doors, the first thing I wanted to do was be with my girls. I found out that Nobantu was in Gauteng and she married some Venda idiot. So I left her alone and found my daughter instead. I started over with her and fortunately for me, Gcina did not make that difficult for me. She is my Ntombikayise – her father’s daughter. For a long time, I thought that was the closest I’d ever get to having my family together. When Nobantu came back and we just came together to fix things between the three of us, everything I looked forward to when I was behind bars had finally come alive. I’ve always wanted this. I want to cherish this. We are still a work in progress, but it’s worth it.” 

Nozizwe reaches for her notebook, then leaves it as she sees the look that Nobantu is giving her. She looks at her watch instead. 

“Our time is up for today. And I want to say thank you to you Mr and Mrs Hadebe. This will do a lot for Gcina and her progress in this process. Today, her job was just to listen. In our session tomorrow, Gcina and I will unpack today’s session. Thank you for your investment in her healing. Today’s session will be extremely helpful as far as next steps are concerned. Thank you and you are excused.”

Nobantu doesn’t stand up immediately. She stares at Nozizwe for a while. Nozizwe gets nervous. Nobantu must not be herself right now. This is not the time. Gcina looks at me as if expecting me to carry Nobantu out of here. Nobantu turns her face to Gcina then says, “How are you?” The sincerity in her voice humbles me. Even Gcina is moved. Gcina holds her mother’s hand and says, “I’m going to be okay. I don’t hate you. I love you. I want to be the one thing that you got right in this life, not your biggest failure.” 

My girls. 

Nobantu kisses Gcina on the cheek. She squeezes Gcina’s hands then she wipes her tears and walks out of the room. I hug my daughter.

“Good luck. We love you.” I say to her. 

“I love you too, baba. Both of you.” She says. 

I leave too.