Molise is preparing to leave on a trip to Canada for medical research purposes. I’m not okay with it. I don’t know why. My stomach is just in knots with worry and insecurities. So, we’ve been fighting a lot lately. I’ll admit that I’m projecting my insecurities onto him. But I can’t help it. I don’t want him to go. And I can’t leave with him because I need to be here with our kids. They have school and all sorts of activities. 

I’m in the kitchen preparing breakfast right now. My domestic workers have started working as well. It’s a Saturday, so I go all out with my children’s favourite breakfast treats. 

Molise comes into the kitchen. We fought last night and when we went to bed, we were not talking to each other.

“Hey”, he greets me. 

“Hi”, I respond. 

“Can I help you with something?” He offers. This is a first. He must really feel bad about our fight. 

“No, it’s fine. I’ll make you coffee. Sit down”, I say. 

I stop what I’m doing and make him his coffee. I’m also avoiding conversations with him because yesterday, one of his receptionists came here to finalise his travel arrangements. I was in my feelings so much that I was so horrible to that woman. To my defence, I had no idea that she had biometric access to our estate. So, I popped off about that. I treated her like a mistress that I thought my husband had. And I feel bad. Very bad. She probably told Molise about our encounter. And now I’m ashamed to even look at him.

I serve him his coffee. 

“Thank you”, he says. 

I nod my head. I get back to the breakfast.

“Zah, what’s going on with you?” He asks me with genuine concern. 

I look at him. I’m tempted to respond, but I don’t. 

“Zanolwazi, please help me understand. I don’t understand you lately. What have I done wrong?” Yoh! He even called me by my full name. Hectic! 

“I don’t want you to go to Canada”, I say. I’m not looking at him.

“Why not?” He asks me. 

“Because you’ll cheat on me”, I say.

He’s taken aback. 

He’s hurt. 

“I’m sorry, Molise. It’s just… I’ve lost you before. I was your wife, but I didn’t really have you. Those years were difficult for me. For Phupho. I loved you. Then I had to learn to unlove you. Then you came back into our lives. I loved you, but learned to be careful. I didn’t want to give myself to you entirely because I wanted to leave enough room for disappointment. But you broke down all my walls. And now, I’m insanely in love with you and if you hurt me, I might never recover from it. So, I get jealous. I get worried. I’m mostly insecure.” I say.

I’m actually crying. 

He gets up from his chair. He comes to where I’m standing. His arms envelope me. 

I’m now emotional, using his chest as my pillar. 

“I love you, Zanolwazi. I don’t want anyone else. I know that I fucked up in the beginning of our marriage. And I know that I only came around when you were implementing your exit strategy out of this marriage. I know. But babe, we are here now. And things are good between us. We work so well together when it comes to parenting and life. I’m not trading that in for anything. I’m not. I’m not going to compromise us. I’m going to Canada for work. It’s not a holiday. I’m happy for you to come with me. The kids’ school had that mobile tutor program. We could apply for it so they still have school while we are away. I didn’t bring it up because you have school here and you are helping Mapho with the hotel stuff. But if you can take some time out – 

“I can. I want to come with you.” I say. The tears are still in my eyes. 

“Okay. Okay.” He says, kissing me. 

I hug him. 

“I need to apologise to your receptionist”, I say while still in our hug. 

“Yeah, she’s quite spooked. She was crying when she told me what happened”, he says. 

Now that’s wrong. I don’t want to be the reason that another person cries hle. 

“I’ll apologise, I promise.” I say. 

“Thank you, my baby.” He says. 

…

A week later

I’m supposed to be in Canada being a specialised doctor’s wife and living my best life. But, my son was playing with crazy kids in our estate and ended up having to be rushed into hospital. Apparently, they were playing seven-a-side rugby against each other. Lelapa then got caught in one hell of a tackle. He’s underwent surgery two days ago and he’s still in ICU. He’s injured his left shoulder very badly. Things in theatre did not go all the way great because they had no idea that my son is allergic to penicillin. He reacted very badly and was dead for three minutes. I don’t know what brought him back, but he came back to us. He’s in ICU now. I’ve been sleeping here at the hospital with him. My parents flew in to help us with Molemo and Phupholethu. They are staying at our place. Molise works at this hospital, so for the most part, everyone knows who he is. I think that goes a long way in how we are treated and how my son is given extra attention. 

I feel a hand land on my back. I had passed out next to my son’s bed, my head lying on the edge of the bed.

I look up. It’s Molise. He has brought me some food. My eyes are puffy and red. It’s all the crying. This is the price that my eyes have to pay for releasing all these tears. 

“Hey”, I say.

They don’t allow him to sleep here in the ward with us. Only one parent can sleep in the ward. So, I sleep here with Lelapa. He sleeps in his office rooms. I shower here. Get dressed here. The works. Wehweh, her gorgeous friend (who has now become my friend because wow, what a human being) – Palesa, and Mmaneo come to visit everyday. They encourage me to sleep while they stay awake to watch Lelapa, and sometimes encourage me to go home to give Phupho and Molemo a hug. They’ve even incredible. I’m so thankful. 

“How was the night?” Molise asks me. 

“He was stable. He even woke up, but didn’t stay up for too long”, I tell him.

“That’s good. That’s very good. I also spoke to his specialists. They say that he’s made a lot of progress. I’m very happy with the feedback.” He says.

I nod my head. But I get emotional.

He hugs me.

“He’s going to be okay. He’s going to be fine, my love. He’s a strong boy. His mother is Zanolwazi Maphosa. There’s no way that he’s not going to beat this.” He says as he hugs me. 

I laugh, but I don’t stop crying.

“I went home. The other two would love to come and see their sibling”, he tells me.

I nod my head and say, “I guess they can see him now. It’s not a bad idea. He’s in much better shape than he was a few days ago”, I say.

He nods in agreement. 

“How are you holding up?” I ask him.

“I’m hanging in there. I trust my boy”, he says.

I laugh. 

“We are not going to lose him, right?” I need him to reassure me. 

“We are not, my love. He’s coming back home with us”, he says, hugging me.

We eat the breakfast that Molise brought with him. While we eat, a nurse who cannot hide her crush on my husband walks in. Fortunately, Mmaneo walks in too. Right on time. She walks in with Molefe. The other three brothers are running the accommodation that Molise and I started in Merementse. We gifted Molefe and Mmaneo shares because they do need another stream of income. We also believe that they will be responsible in the way that we need them to be. The place is still being built. Molise and Molefe got their brothers to be hands-on and be there everyday to make sure that the right things are being done. They fight every week, but I’m confident that between Molefe and Molise, they’ll get the guys to make sure that everything is being done properly. 

The nurse is checking Lelapa’s vitals. She keeps stealing looks at Molise. She notices me staring at her. She knows that I know that she wants my man. I hope she knows that I’ll slap the shit out of her soon.

She makes notes in Lelapa’s file. 

Mmaneo asks her questions that only nurses understand. I don’t understand their language. Mmaneo is quite strict in her line of questioning, as if sending a message that if this ho spent less time getting wet over my husband, she could provide the necessary information and support for my son. I see Molefe and Molise get extremely uncomfortable. They see it too. I just know. 

The nurse finally leaves. 

“Thank you. She’s so rude to me. It’s as if she blames me for being married to Molise when she could’ve just had him”, I say to Mmaneo as soon as this nurse leaves the room. 

Molefe and Molise look at each other.

“Typical. I wish these whores were raised with a just teaspoon of dignity watsiba. But hey, these men love them without self-respect and no ounce of dignity”, Mmaneo says.

I just keep quiet. Inxeba lisavuthiwe phela la.

The men catch the strays. 

Weh! 

…

I walk into my house. I’m here to get changing clothes for myself and my wife. I bump into her parents having lunch. 

“Dumelang”, I greet them.

“Mkhwenyana. Kunjani?” Her mom says.

“I’m well, mme. Thank you.” 

I’m so grateful for them. They’ve been here and they’ve been helping out so much. They take Phupho and Molemo to school, fetch them from school, do homework activities, all of it. They’ve just been super supportive. 

I see Zah’s sister climb down the stairs and this one shocks me. I didn’t even know that she was here. Worse, she looks like she’s been spat out of some animal that had chewed her up but decided to throw her back up because she wasn’t tasty enough. Why does she look like this?!

“Hi”, I greet her.

“Hi”, she says. Embarrassed. Honestly, I don’t even want to know.

“I’m just here to get clothes for Zah and I.” I say before anyone tries to explain anything.

“Uya njani yena uLapa?” The mother asks.

The dad is just carefully examining my reactions to everything that is happening here. 

“He’s healing, mme. He will be leaving ICU and going into a ward this afternoon.” I say.

“Praise the Lord! Hallelujah!” The mom.

She then breaks into song. 

lol! I don’t know why I find this so funny.

I’m in and out of the house so quickly, no one had time to stop me to explain what Zah’s sister is doing in my house. I don’t even know if I should tell Zah. 

I’m back at the hospital in a heartbeat. I see some of my colleagues and we have brief chats. When I tell them that my son is a patient, they are all quite supportive and nice about it – even the white colleagues. It’s not easy being a black medical professional in a private hospital. It really isn’t. The system and the people who run it make it extremely difficult for a black person to do their job and be successful. There are many of us here who are well-researched professionals and who are passionate about our work, but to find professionals of a different race with skills that we don’t have is so difficult. For example, not enough black people are tapping into the neurology space. It’s populated by other races. When you try to get a neurology professional to assist with a patient – especially a black patient – it’s not a nice experience. At all. You wonder why anyone would want to do medicine and not be driven by passion. Who cares if a patient that belongs to a race that you don’t rate?! Your commitment is to save lives. Do that. But hey…

I know I’ve pissed a lot of them off because all of my son’s specialists are black. So, I know there will be a few that will be offended. If I’m being completely honest, I’d rather live with that – heck, I’d rather be fired for that, then to have my son be treated or attended to by a medical professional who deems him less human because of the colour of his skin… who looks at my son and only regards him human because he can pay what most people can’t for that professional’s services. Also, I want my son to see professionals who are black like him and understand that it is normal – not extraordinary – for black people to be successful on platforms that shut out the conditioning of the black person’s brain in and through bantu education.

I value Zah’s family in my children’s lives. They ooze black success. And my kids look at them and believe that this is normal… that poverty is not a reality for them. Zah and I have tried to maintain that for them. I’m proud of who I am. But I want my kids to look at where i come from with the eyes of a lesson, and not of ‘how it should be for a black man’. The elders in my family succumbed to the white man’s intention for the black man. I’m the first person in my family to believe otherwise. That’s why there’s so much entitlement to my success. I dared to do what they were conditioned to not do. And now they believe that my wife is selfish for keeping me all to herself. What were my elders doing when elders like Zah’s elders were building their wealth so their kids could inherit wealth and only build from that – not start from scratch?! Apparently, I’m not allowed to be mad at them. Apparently, I’m supposed to give them a break. Not everyone was afforded the same opportunities – they say. What else can I do except believe them?! It’s not like I was there struggling racism with them. But I do believe that there were other ways. How did the likes of Motsepe make it?! They may have twerked for the enemy to gain the wealth, but they gained it regardless and today, their kids don’t have to twerk for the enemy to make it. What were our parents doing?! Twerking for the comrades so they didn’t seem like sell outs?! And how’s that working for them today?! 

Anyway…

“What is Zandile doing at our house?” Zah asks me as I enter the ICU ward where my son is. It’s just her and Mmaneo in here. 

I guess she heard that her sister is around.

“I don’t know. I saw her, but I didn’t ask any questions”, I say.

“Did she look okay to you?” Zah asks me.

“She looked like she had been beaten up by street kids that were using equipment found in a dustbin”, I say.

She gives me a weird look.

“It’s that man she married”, Zah says.

“Her husband beats her up?” I ask.

“No. His son does”, she says.

I’m too defeated to even react. 

“Why does her husband’s son beat her up?” But I engage with the content. I also don’t know why. 

“Ey.. uZandile used to date her dude’s son”, I’m already done with this story. But I listen on, “then she met the dad and found out that the dad could do more for her then what the son can. Son has been bitter about it ever since. We also don’t know if Zandile’s son belongs to the husband or the hubby’s son”, she says.

This just sounds like those American soapies where the female lead is the whore that sleeps with the entire family and somehow, that shit romanticised.

“I wonder why she’s at our house. I hope it’s because she’s leaving that man of hers”, she says.

I just shake my head at her. I have nothing else to say to her. What she’s told me is a lot. I just don’t want a Jerry Springer spin-off to happen in my house where my kids and I find peace. 

Speaking of my kids…

Lelapa is headed to a surgical ward this evening.