It is about 4am. I’m up. For whatever reason, I cannot seem to go back to sleep. I look at my beautiful wife sleeping next to me. She’s peacefully sleeping. She’s tired. Inama and Mohau keep her so busy throughout the day. She’s really immersed herself into being their mother. Then she is still obedient to every instruction that she is given as the kgosikgadi. She’s even given up on school – which really angers me because this is the one thing that she asked of this family and of me – to let her finish school. Every time I bring it up, Mapho always tells me that we have been dealt with a different deck of cards now, therefore this is not what I need to be worried about anymore. She says that our responsibilities have changed and therefore our perspectives will change. I know that this has everything to do with these old women that are in her ear about giving up parts of herself to be my queen. And I hate it. I feel the worst because I’m not doing my bit to protect her or stand up for her. 

I hear Inama cooing. I guess she’s up. I haven’t spent time with her in a while. This is my chance. I get out of bed and walk to her crib. It’s right next to her mother. I know her mother is exhausted because she can usually hear Inama breathe. But now, she’s not hearing her on the brink of crying. 

“Hello, my baby girl. Hello, my precious one”, I say to her as I pick her up from her crib.

She coos.

“What’s up? You want something to eat? Your mommy left you bottles upon bottles, girl. Come, let’s get you fed”, I say. 

She just mumbles her baby language. 

Man, this is everything.

I feed my baby girl and we basically have a conversation. She has her cooing language and I have my actual Sesotho language. 

At about 4:30am, Mapho wakes up. My beautiful wife.

“What time is it?” She says mid-yawn.

“Good morning, Mrs Mohale. How are you? I’m fine, thanks for asking”, I say.

“Hello handsome. Ushup?” She says, walking out of bed and coming to sit next to Inama and me.

I kiss her. 

She kisses me back.

She’s so beautiful.

“Why didn’t you guys wake me up?” She asks me.

“You were tired. We wanted you to rest”, I say.

“I have so much reading to still do.” She says.

“Reading? For what?” I ask her.

“Cultural court”, I say.

“Oh?! How is that going?” I ask her.

She heads up our customary court. The last time an actual Mohale and family member headed that court was when my great-grandmother – Nthatisi – headed it. After that, the family hired external people to head it. Mapho taking over was one of Aunt Tebza’s ideas to bring trust back to the Mohale leadership. Mapho ke moSotho! She believes in our customs, and she loves learning about our customs. If there is anyone who can bring back setso sabaSotho in our way of life, it’s her. And she seems to really love it. 

“I heard a case. MmeRampaku brought her husband forward because he just ambushed her, saying that he wants a second wife. They’ve been married for forty-five years, yet Ntate Rampaku has had a mistress for the past seven years that he’s put her in a house in the suburbs while Mme Rampaku is in the village. Ntate Rampaku and his mistress have three children together, and now Ntate Rampaku wants this girl to be his second wife. MmeRampaku is obviously saying no, but Ntate Rampaku is insisting that it will happen with or without her permission”, she explains. 

“How old are these people? They’ve been married for forty-five years”, I ask her. 

“Old. But the mistress is a thirty-six-year-old young thang”, she says.

We look at each other and briefly laugh. 

“Watsiba, when I was looking through how these cases have been previously handled, for precedence purposes, I’m learning that this version of polygamy that encourages toxic masculinity where a wife is ambushed with a mistress because of lust is actually not why polygamy exists and it’s not how it was intended to be. Polygamy is not even about the man. It is the wife who decides that a second wife is required for whatever reason. But not this nonsense that’s happening here. I see though that as we hired lawyers from outside of our country and culture to facilitate our proceedings, they’ve diluted what polygamy is about. So, I don’t know what to do.” 

I hold her hand.

“You know, I know that men – and maybe some women too – will not receive me well when I hand down my ruling. But I really believe that the Mohales have anointed me with this position so that I can bring bathu ba rona back to Sesotho sa rona. I truly believe that ho ba moSotho ke maemo. I want us to be proud of how we do things and why we do them. Over the years, we’ve diluted our ways as our elders died with the knowledge that has brought up our ancestors. We need to find our way back.” She tells me.

“Is there anything that I can do to support, my love?” I ask because truly, I feel like she’s the regent and I’m the support structure. 

“I want you to tell me when I’m wrong. I want you to let me grow. I don’t want you to nurse an ego. This position is not about me. It’s about the people you lead. And I want you to tell me when my decisions no longer serve them”, she says. 

Wow!

“I’ve also asked mofomahadi to consider putting back the Basotho history in curriculums of every school in our kingdom. It’s great to learn about the history of the world. But knowledge about who we are is important. We can even have elders who are still alive coming to talk to our youth about being a mosotho, you know”, she says. 

Honestly, even I need these lessons. 

“You are an incredible kgosikgadi. I’m so blessed to have you by my side as my queen”, I tell her. 

She smiles at me.

We kiss. 

Inama is dozing back to sleep. 

In no time, we are all showered up. We are supposed to have breakfast, but it’s 7am and the day has to start. The love of my life drops Inama off at crèche – yes, my kid is in crèche. I didn’t protest it too much because the twins also started at three months. I did all my freaking out there. But when I saw how well the twins developed, I supported Inama going to crèche. But it’s a private crèche… a world class one. And she’s blossoming there very well. Mohau goes to the primary school there. So, the love of my life drops them both off. I’m so happy that Mohau lives with us. And he and the love of my life get along so well. He even calls her mother now and that really makes me happy. 

“Ey monna. I’m so glad I caught you”, my dad says. Now that I only have one dad left, I don’t have to differentiate between the two. 

“Yeah, what’s up?” I ask him.

“Ukai makoti?” He asks me, looking around to ensure that she is no where close by to hear what he has to say. 

“She’s taken the kids to school. She will be back for the court sessions, but will be at the court grounds. What’s up?” I ask him.

“We have a problem. A serious one”, he says. 

“Keng?!” I ask, worried now.

“Ke Palesa leZiwe”, he says.

“What’s wrong with them?” I ask.

“They’ve been kidnapped”, he says.

Shit! 

…

“Baholo baka, this case has given me a lot to think about… a lot to ask questions about… and a lot to consider. The decision that I have reached on this matter is in no way taken lightly. I have consulted. I have asked questions. I have prayed for light and advice too, because I need to make sure that I am making the right decision.”

There is absolute silence. 

Everyone is looking at me, giving me their undivided attention. Journalists are also here taking pictures and hanging on every word that I speak as they scribble on some notebooks. 

“Polygamy is not a bad thing. It was never created to be a bad thing. It was never created to create a bitter woman in the Basotho homestead. Polygamy, actually, had a lot to do with the woman. It would always be the woman who would decide that a second wife is needed, and she would state her reasons. I’ve consulted with elders and I’ve went into archives of how such cases were managed and what the core beginning of polygamy actually was. So, I don’t say these things lightly. I also appreciate that culture is created by people and is thus changed by people. I am not neglecting the fact that culture can also evolve. However, when we make decisions to evolve or change certain cultural practices, we need to ask ourselves if we are building a community or if we are destroying it. I don’t see how or why polygamy has changed or evolved into a practice of toxic masculinity where a man’s lust is rewarded with marriage at the expense of the creation of a bitter wife because she was bullied in her marriage and ambushed with a mistress. I’m not sure what we are creating here, but I can already tell you that we are destroying a family, a wife, mme wabaSotho and a household with children who grew up in a marriage of forty-five years.” 

Ey, everyone is on edge now. The men are looking angry, and the women are looking hopeful. The mistress and her supporters are looking anxious. 

“Ke kopa Aus Miranda to stand”, I address the mistress. 

She stands up indeed and faces me. 

“Aus Miranda, were you aware that Ntate Rampaku had a wife?” I ask her.

She nods her head, but embarrassed. This is really not my intention – to embarrass her. This is not entirely her fault. But I do want her to take accountability for her part in this mess.

“Did you respect his marriage and his wife? His family at that?” I ask her.

She shakes her head.

“We have heard people testify here that you were proud to be his mistress. That you went around brazenly so, talking about how Mme Ramapaku’s thighs are now cold and old and that’s why this man is now your man. Are you proud of that? Of disrespecting mme walehhaye labaSotho and flashing her marital business on the streets with no sensitivity or respect?” 

She starts crying. 

“What was your reason for giving a married man three children? Living in a house that is paid for by him while his family had to make other plans just to go to bed on a full stomach?” I ask. 

She just cries.

I also realise that I’m getting personal now, and if I’m not careful, I’ll create a stigma around her that will encourage people to bully her and possibly even kill her. Mob justice is real shame. 

“I want you to come forward and apologise to Mme Rampaku for the utter embarrassment and disrespect that you’ve shown to her, to her family and to her marriage”, I say. 

Now the cameras are flashing hectically. The men are getting upset now. 

Miranda comes forward. 

She stands on the podium. 

She apologises, with tears and everything. She keeps it short and to the point, clearly embarrassed. I doubt she means any of it. 

Then she heads to sit down. 

“Ntate Rampaku, please stand”, I say. 

He does as I say. He’s angry – not embarrassed – angry. 

“Watsiba Ntate, we rely on our elders – such as yourself – to pass down your wisdom into us. You married your wife forty-five years ago, and people like me who are young and are expected to take the baton over from you in keeping our cultures and marriage alive and beautiful – look to you for wisdom. It pains me that you couldn’t address whatever challenge you had in your marriage with your wife. It pains me that you would rather turn your back on her and give yourself to a mistress, regardless of what it did to your wife emotionally, and to your children. It pains me that an elder such as yourself was spoken about by young girls in a sexual manner. What I don’t understand the most though, is that you were prepared to ambush your wife with a second wife that does not respect her or your marriage. You intend to create a toxic polygamous situation that completely disregards your wife because your mistress said so. How was this going to keep your family together? Peacefully so? How were your children going to love each other? Acknowledge each other? Particularly when three of your children represent a painful wound in the mother of your elder four? Are you really creating with your ask for polygamy? Or is it your intent to destroy?” 

He looks at me. 

He looks at his wife. She is actually strong today. She cried throughout this trial, but today, she is strong. The mistress is the mess today. She was very arrogant and rude throughout the trial. Today, she’s in tears. 

When I realise that this man is not going to answer me, I ask him to sit down. 

“My ruling – that is final and binding – is as follows: Ntate Rampaku may not take on Miranda Tsimu as a second wife against Mme Rampaku’s will”, I begin.

The elderly women – the married squad – start ululating. 

The mistress and Ntate Rampaku look at each other. The mistress is crying. Her man is helpless. The journalist cameras are snapping everywhere. 

“Miranda Tsimu will be transported to go live in the Merementse village. She will not be allowed back in Taung village for the next five years, and is not allowed to be in 20km radius to Ntate Rampaku. If Miranda Tsimu wishes to marry Ntate Rampaku, she will engage Mme Rampaku and things will be done accordingly. Miranda’s children will go and live with the Tsimu family as she and Ntate Rampaku are not married, therefore those children have no claim to anything that has to do with the Rampaku name. If Miranda wishes to change this, she needs to engage Mme Rampaku with three cows and two goats, then follow the necessary procedures that we have in le hhaye la rona.” 

The ululating is so loud now. 

Miranda is in absolute disbelief. The men are livid! I’ll probably get death threats after this. 

“The house that Ntate Rampaku has built for Miranda in Taung city is now property of Mme Rampaku. Mme Rampaku may decide to sell it and keep the money, start a business… whatever she wishes. And I want you to understand, Miranda, that when you were spending the money of a married man, you were also spending his wife’s money. And you were clearly spending his wife’s money without her permission – which translates to theft. Her taking that house is you paying back the money you took from her and out of her house without her permission. We actually have grounds to arrest you for theft, but I’d rather you compensate her accordingly. That house is not yours”, I say.

Now she wants to faint. 

Her parents are angry! 

“Mme Rampaku, I just have one request, Mme.” I say.

Mme Rampaku stands up and focuses on me. 

“Should the day come when you have to open your heart to the children that Miranda and your husband created, please don’t punish the children for the mistakes that were made by those children’s parents. That is my only request, Mme. Yes, seSotho se re bana ba tla wotlwella bo gopo ba ba tswadi ba bona. But I’m asking you to give them grace and love- teachings that perhaps not even their mother can give them.” 

She replies and says, “kea utlwa, kgosikgadi. And I will do as you ask”.

I then address everyone in here saying, “always remember one thing! Re ba Sotho! Ho ba moSotho ke maemo, e seng sotleho”. 

People ululate in agreement, I even catch a few men taking pride in being who they are. 

“And when we approach our cultural practices, let us always remember that our practices are designed to keep us proud, not to abuse us or cause discrimination or cause any family or Basotho people or home to be destroyed. And on this note, it is where my judgements in this court will always stand.” 

Ululations fill the room. Look, I’ll be honest, not everyone is happy. And I know that I’m still going to be fed shit from this. But I feel the need to make my mission and vision statement clear so everyone who brings a matter before me in this court understands my values and approach. I finally conclude saying, “The court is adjourned. My drivers, please escort Miranda Tsimu out of Taung Village”. 

The court roars. The women are singing my praises. They even break out in song, singing about how they’ve never seen wisdom like mine since the time of Mme Nthatisi. And I’m honoured. I truly am honoured. 

My bodyguards escort me to my office. 

I’m so glad that I had also spoken to Mofomahadi Thabi about this. She’s the one who found a house and a job for Miranda in Merementse. Knowing that I have her support means everything to me. 

I am back in my office now and I’m going through research for another case that I’ve had to hear. I have other people working with me. But we always have to align on approach and consistency to the cases. I listen to some cases – not all of them. I also have to build a customary law legal council. These people will help me make customary-law related decisions, at times provide feedback and reviews on cases that have happened and the rulings there of. I have received some applications, but they are all from men. It’s interesting to me how the women of the kingdom don’t think that their voice matters. I want this council to be made up of:

Three elder men 

Three young men 

Three elder women 

Three young women 

So, I guess I have to go out into the community and find these people myself. And I don’t mind. I really will. 

“Knock knock”, I hear a voice say. 

It’s MmeRampaku. 

“Dumela Mme”, I say, greeting her with a smile. 

She tells me that she’s here to thank me. She says she’s very thankful for how I managed the case. 

“Mme, I hope you don’t think I’m being forward. I’d like to ask you to be my lady-in-waiting”, I say.

She looks at me like… super shocked.

“You can obviously take some time to think about it. I’ve been looking for months now, and I feel I can get what I’m looking for with you, and –

“Yes, the answer is yes. I’m just so honoured, Kgosikgadi waka”, she says.

“Ka nnete p, mme?” 

“Eya”, she says. 

We hug each other in excitement.

I go to my desk and pull an envelope out of my drawer. I’ve just always had this cash in here. It’s R25 000. 

“This is your sign-on bonus. You can take the rest of the week off and maybe spend some time le Ntate Rampaku. Then next week Monday, we kick off”, I say.

She’s so excited. 

“Kea leboha hle, kgosikgadi waka. God must bless you”, she says.

We hug. 

She even cries.

I tell her to keep the money safe in her bag. When I tell her how much it is, she cries even more. This is going to be her monthly income, so I hope she’s not going to be like this every month. But obviously after tax, it will be slightly less. 

She puts the cash in her boobs then leaves my office, happy and crying. 

I look forward to working with her. 

I feel like she’s going to help me with my mission together – putting my counsel together, putting the education syllabus about the history of Basotho together, starting the unemployed women’s society together… she will help me penetrate places that now reject me because of who I married, but when I was the motherless girl living with a drunk aunt, sleeping on the floor of a TV room, inside walls falling apart, I related to them very well. My aunt and cousins enjoy this new life we have… me, I want to go back to who we used to be so I can recreate an economy where that side of life can flourish too. 

I pull out my cellphone and dial Ruri. 

“Hey girl… or is it kgosikgadi now?”, she greets me. 

I laugh then say, “Mapho is fine. Thanks.”

She now laughs.

“Listen, I’d like to talk to Khanya about something he might be able to help me with. Is he around?” I say.

“You are in luck. We just had lunch together. He was about to go back to work, but here he is”, Ruri says.

After a few seconds I hear Khanya greet me over the phone.

“Hi Khanya. How are you?” Me.

“I’m well thank you.” Him.

“Good. So Khanya, I’m planning on starting a women’s stokvel here in the kingdom. I’m mostly targeting villages where a lot of women are unemployed or earn less than R5 000 a month. I want to encourage them to save money. So, I’m going to get them to give me R200 every month, then they get it tied together at the end of the year. Now this is where you come in. I want us to be able to invest that money as it comes in monthly. Every month, I’ll match whatever we collect. Then we invest in either equities or foreign exchange. When they get it at the end of the year, they get money that can somewhat see them to April the next year.” I explain.

“Ey ndlovukazi, you really love your people hey. Siyakufanela les’khundla”, he says.

“Thank you. Will you be able to help me?” I ask him.

“I will. I’ll need a proper meeting with you though. I’ll also invite my boss. Because with what you want to achieve, we have to be calculated in what we select so we don’t make investments that will chow the magogo money”, he says.

“Thank you. And I don’t mind coming to your office, by the way”, I say.

“No Mapho. Accommodate us in the royal house, please”, Ruri says. 

We laugh. 

“You’ll let me know what works best for you”, I tell Khanya. 

“Sure thing. Have a good day”, he says.

“You too”, me.

And we hang up.