Diary of a Zulu Girl Part 2

About the author: mike nkuleleko maphoto

Mike Nkululeko Maphoto is a South African dramedy novelist and lawyer. He is the author of the hit blog-drama Diary of a Zulu Girl and Confessions of a Sugar Baby. He is the co-writer of SABC 1’s hit TV series Makoti.

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The Polokwane writer was born in Zimbabwe to an exiled South African politician. He also lived in Zambia, Botswana and England.

Mike Maphoto’s writing journey began when he pulled a prank on a friend in 2005. It was from this prank that he realised he had flair with words and storytelling.

He is the father of the diary chronicle genre.

His blog Diary of a Zulu Girl is largely seen as the reason behind the blogging family in South Africa as it broke barriers for many authors to find their voice.

Boasting over 130 000 followers and with over 30 million views on Facebook, the Diary of a Zulu Girl dramedy broke readership barriers among young and old – male and female – readers.

Such was its influence that in 2016 he not only won the IEB award for blogging, but also the English Matric National Exams had his blog as one of their questions.

Mike studied Law and Politics at the University of Cape Town.

About the book

Thandeka Mkhize is destined for greatness. Or at least that’s what she believes. She feels on top of the world when she is accepted to study law at the University of Witwatersrand.

Johannesburg is the City of Gold where for a young Zulu girl like her, dreams do come true.

All that glitters is not always gold. She arrives in Johannesburg and her cousin introduces her to the party lifestyle. She is naïve. It comes at a price.

Her peaceful life is replaced by police, parties, money, champagne and an occasional death or two.

But who is counting for as long as the money is rolling in. All is fair in love and war.

This is the story of a young girl’s journey that might be her last ultimately. The signs that it might end in tears are there. But You Only Live Once.

Bravado grows the more fun one has.

The need to survive and be relevant drives Thandeka’s story and the people around her.

Acknowledgements

I read somewhere that blogging is for failed writers who are crying out for attention. This is for my father Isaac Maphoto who fought for so long to free this country! For my family that stood by me, for Reinet and Ntheteng who saw to it that every morning there was a story to tell, for Sash my brother who made sure that forever young was not just a phrase and finally, Sfiso R. Themba whose vision got us here. I am immensely grateful to you all.

Chapter one

DEDICATED TO EVERY FIRST YEAR GIRL LEAVING HOME

Part two

There are personal things that a person does not like other people to touch. For me it was my diary, and seeing N’s handwriting in it pissed me off beyond words. I was so angry. Not only had she violated my personal space but she had also said the wrong thing. Anyone who read what she wrote must have assumed the worst. See why I say N was irrational, impulsive and childish. For me, this was crossing the line. In spite of everything that N had done in the past, I had protected her but this for me was a point of no return. I am a patient person at best; I absorb, listen, advise and then react. As far as my diary is concerned, however, I just saw red. N should have known better. Even in the flat I had guarded it so jealously. I had penned down my most personal thoughts on how I went down on that policeman, Gorilla and Python and… oh no, I also wrote that I had slept with Benny. What if she had read all that? I could feel my stomach churn at the thought. Of all the things I had done, it was ironic that sleeping with Benny was the one thing I was embarrassed about the most. I mean I had done so many things, yet this one thing was what haunted me so much. Everything had happened too fast, and for most of the time I had just reacted to changing conditions as opposed to taking control. I did not want the Benny thing to come out because my aunt would say I had betrayed her.

Was the renewal of vows off? Duh, Thandeka, obviously, after all that had happened, the so-called-couple had reached a point of no return. What about that message though, about Benny’s paternity? I was just confusing myself. I tried to move my hand and I felt a sharp pain; yup, I was not having a dream, this accident had really happened!

Trust an African to equate the word accident with death! I don’t know where people get that from but the moment you hear that someone close to you has been in a car accident you immediately assume that the person is dead. Why do you do that? Do you have no hope or at least faith? I might not be an avid churchgoer but at least I know that in most accidents, people can survive. We were not in my mom’s Opel Astra (definitely not the latest) okay but in an Audi Q7, the latest one at that. I swear these airbags can knock you out as much as they can save your life; I don’t really remember what happened very well. One moment we were driving and the next I remembered a loud sound, us in the air, and then I was knocked out. When I came to, I was not certain I knew where I was but I was in a hospital. It took me a moment to try and remember what had actually happened; the pain on my hand was immense. When your life flashes in front of you, trust me, you will remember that moment. It’s not a lie that when you are thrown into such a moment, no matter how unreligious you are, you ask Him for help. I closed my eyes, tears rolling down both cheeks, and prayed. I prayed for my health and my family’s health; I even asked God to forgive N for all her trespasses. I prayed about all the bad things I had been doing lately. I prayed. Nothing was left out. It’s funny that I have to say this but to be honest, I even thanked God for having medical aid. It might be expensive but without it I would have ended up in some place I don’t care to think of. Only when I got to pray for my aunt it hit me; where was Uncle Rodney and why was I alone? Panic set in and I passed out again!

A lot of people do not succeed in life because of one word, doubt! We are uncertain and dubious about everything that we do to such an extent that we never give ourselves a chance to achieve our full potential. For years Aunt Lynda herself had probably doubted the paternity of her own child and feared seeking DNA confirmation hence she carried this burden all these years. I had to personally tell her about the DNA test results, which means they never opened them as she said they would, fearing the worst. She had suspected the worst and because of that tried to keep it a secret for a while longer. This was big enough for her to lose her family. Again, the thought of my aunt took me back to my uncle. Where was he and why was I alone? I had a button next to my bed and I pressed it like they do on TV. My Bruntville clinic back home needed to come see this to catch up. A nurse walked in and introduced herself. I am sure she was new, she looked too young. She introduced herself as Sebasi Mokoteli and she was probably only a few years older than me. Back home when you think of a nurse, you picture somebody a bit older and fully figured. She didn’t inspire much confidence but what could I say. She had moved from Welkom to Bloemfontein because of her job; she was talkative. For the first time I knew where I was. I was still in Bloem. She told me I was at Mediclinic, the one next to Mimosa Mall where we had passed by the previous day. Who would have thought? What was going on? Did my parents know that I was here? Did my friends know?

I asked Sebasi where my uncle was and she said she didn’t know. They didn’t give her all the information. I asked where my parents were and she said that my parents had been here earlier but my aunt had taken them to their hotel to freshen up. Why would they need to freshen up if I had only been here for a day? However, according to Sebasi, I had actually been here for three days. She said from what she had heard from the doctor I had bumped my head so hard they thought I might have fractured my skull. Did the airbag pop out late? They apparently had to put me on an induced coma to make sure that if I had any brain swelling it would be manageable but from what she had heard from the doctor, it was just a precautionary measure. She also said that I was on blood-thinning medicine to prevent any clots that might occur and that apparently was the most dangerous part. I was lucky though; all I had broken was my right arm, otherwise I was good to go. As she walked out she stopped and looked at me as though there was something else she had left out. She smiled weakly and when I asked her she claimed it was nothing. I could see she was lying. She said the doctor would explain everything to me as she was not supposed to have said anything to begin with. That did not inspire too much confidence though, whatever she was not telling me seemed rather serious.

She quickly changed the subject and told me that she had actually come in to tell me a secret. A secret? I didn’t know this person and already she had secrets to share with me. She told me that two big Nigerian guys had come to see me and my parents had been very unhappy about their presence and had chased them away. It was a secret because my parents had forbidden the nurses to tell me this. Yho, Nkulunkulu wam! Maybe I should have died in that accident because now for sure I was going to be killed by my dad.

I asked her what had happened and she said it was actually two Nigerian men who had been there. The other one, she added, was really good-looking and the nurses all wanted his number, herself included. That definitely had to be Python but I told her that she might as well dream on because he was mine. Seems like I would have to mark my territory. She laughed and said she was just being friendly and that she would be moving to Milpark Hospital in Johannesburg soon, and she didn’t have many friends there. She said that the good-looking one had given her his numbers so that she could call him as soon as I regained consciousness. She was polite and even said when I was ready to talk to Python I should tell her and she would call him for me. Sebasi being polite did not put me at ease when it came to Python; this girl was going to be a potential problem in my life and she just had to be a yellow bone! It’s a highly competitive skin tone. Yeah, I said it! People can bitch all they want on how yellow bones are overrated but unless you are one, there is a reason why your toiletry bag is full of ointments that make your skin look better (meaning lighter)! She said she had rounds to do, so she left me alone yet again. This left me with a new question: who had told Gorilla and Python that I was in hospital? I know I had not!

I didn’t have to wait a long time alone though to dwell on that thought. I think we all associate black with death. When my parents walked in, my mom was wearing a black dress. I could see she had been crying and under the circumstances I knew right away what that meant. I couldn’t think straight. As much as I wanted to see them, I did not think I was ready for the news they had to share.

I was angry with myself. Had I not told my uncle that my aunt was coming to Bloem, we would not be in this situation.

My mom walked into my room and she just started crying.

What was I to think?

Chapter two

One of the many thoughts that rushed through my mind was that I had not moved my lower body, for a moment I thought I was paralyzed. Yes, Sebasi had not mentioned such damage but I panicked yet again. With my mom crying it could have been reason enough. Anything not to think about Uncle Rodney. I know I can be silly at times but immediately I tried moving my legs. At first I couldn’t tell whether they were moving or not. I mean, I was so heavily medicated that I thought I may have been losing it. In my second attempt, I actually jerked my leg and my foot almost touched the edge of the bed. I was extremely relieved and instantly my mom ran to embrace me. She said she was crying because she was so happy that I had opened my eyes and that I was okay. My mom got me crying too. I asked her about my uncle. For a moment she seemed to hesitate and then looked back to my dad. The look on his face was confusion, an emotion that I was not certain I could identify. Was my uncle hurt more than me or was he dead?

He is fine. He only suffered a cut on his right arm, otherwise that bastard who almost killed my daughter is perfectly fine! my dad said bitterly.

My mom (forever the voice of reason) cautioned my dad for being so angry. She asked him if he would have been happy if Uncle Rodney had died, and obviously my dad said No. He would have however preferred it if I had been the one who had sustained the cut. I told him no because at least with my injuries I would not have a scar. At that he laughed and said that one could trust a woman to think of saving her face first. I had not even said face.

Men think that women would do anything to keep their faces out of harm’s way. From what I read, most battered women don’t get hit in the face by their partners unless he really wanted to humiliate her. It’s always on the body. Phew! So, my uncle was safe. I could feel a sense of euphoria sweeping over me. We had dodged a bullet and I don’t think I will ever forget that. S had died in a car accident and I could have suffered the same fate as well. Imagine the irony. Had I escaped the destiny of Mooi River girls of going home in a coffin? Eish, now I had to guard against the second fate, I had to get myself contraceptives!

I started to explain to my parents why we were in Bloem but my dad, in his anger, said that he did not want to hear it. He said Uncle Rodney had told him that I had gone away for the weekend to my friend’s place at the University of the Free State whilst he and my aunt had gone there for some business. Apparently my aunt said she did not feel like driving, that is why she had flown instead. As angry as he was, he said my uncle had apologized and offered to pay for everything at the hospital. I asked him how that was possible as I had medical aid cover and then it was my mom’s turn to be angry. She snapped and said that my dad had removed me off his medical aid without telling her because he said it was a waste of money and now I had almost died because of his stinginess. I had never heard my mom so angry and speak to my dad in such a manner, and I had never seen my dad humbled by my mom; he literally looked down at his shoes in shame.

"Akayi dedeli imali uwu bophela,"

She said furiously.

"Ngiyaxolisa sthandwa sam! Kusasa ngizokwenza njalo…,"

He answered, which basically meant he was going to get me reinstated. So, my uncle had paid for everything. It is rewarding to have a rich uncle who is fuelled by guilt. Hold up! Had my dad just apologized? Clearly I was still unconscious or high on medication and this was just a dream. My dad would rather die of hunger, even with money in his pocket instead of buying food.

My mom asked me why the big Nigerian men were there to see me.

Are you in some kind of trouble, Thandeka?

She asked with a great deal of concern. It’s true though, a lot of people associate a visit from someone the size of Gorilla with trouble. I told my mom that in Joburg I had met so many people, so it was only natural that if I were in trouble they would come and check up on me. She said she did not like the fact I had such friends because there were many nice young Zulu men I can be friends with; not these ones. She was very deliberate in her choice of words and I understood what she was trying to say. Foreign guys where I come from are not considered nice young men, so I was mixing with the wrong crowd. I explained to her how I had to learn about many different cultures and even lied that I had taken up French, so I needed them (the Nigerians) to help me improve it. Nigerians don’t speak French by the way and as far as I am concerned, my parents only cared for two languages in the world: isiZulu because it was God-sent and English because that’s what you need to survive in today’s world. All the other languages and cultures for most Zulus in my community are really just a politeness from God to create diversity and are otherwise completely unnecessary. She asked why I would add to my workload and I said I intended to major in International Law (which was a lie but a plausible one) and in two years’ time I would be taking Spanish. She seemed really impressed by that explanation but said that if I was going to have foreign friends I should get female one. Like it makes a difference!

Let me not bore you with the details. The following morning I was discharged. Going back to Joburg was exactly what I needed. I had to get ready for exams, so my parents really did not have a choice. My mom wanted to stay behind with me for a few days to see if I would cope but I insisted that I would be fine. I did not even consider going back home. Sanity prevailed when my aunt suggested that Joburg had better medical facilities, so it was wiser that I was close to them as opposed to the clinic back home. I am the first to admit that walking back into the flat knowing that N was not coming back was a bit unsettling. I am not scared of staying alone but because I moved in with her, this had always been N’s place. I was going to miss her, true, but with her gone it meant less drama and I could focus more on my schoolwork. When I walked in, it felt as if all the bad spirits just seemed to lift. As I sat down in my now TV room, I had a phone call. I had to look twice because this caller had not called me before, ever. It was one of those people you meet at a party and because you get to be a little familiar with her you exchange numbers. You never really intend to call each other but taking down her number is the polite thing to do. Her name was Nosipho Zubane and she was a third-year student at UKZN Howard Campus. I think she was studying Finance or something like that. She and her sister (I think Namhla is her name but can’t be certain) had one distinct thing in common, they had been best friends with S back in Mooi River.

There is no denying that the call shocked me. I answered, not certain about what would come out on the other end because even in person I hardly spoke to this girl. I said, Hello. She seemed so relieved that I had answered the phone which made it even weirder but I went with it.

"Uyazi, I have been trying to call you or your father for a while now. Unjani, Thandeka?"

I was not sure why she would want to call my dad. Our parents knew each other, true, courtesy of a small town but to call them friends would be rather pushing it.

"Ngisaphila! Why were you looking for us? Is everything okay?" I asked curiously.

Everything is fine. Please tell your father since I can’t get hold of him that I have your proof of payment and student number ready. You are lucky because I knew someone at student housing, so guess what, you got residence on campus even!

She sounded excited about all this. I was baffled. What on earth was she talking about?

Sipho, I am confused. What are you talking about?

I asked her. She sounded a bit confused too now.

A few weeks ago, your father asked me to try and help you get a place this side. I have friends in administration and in the SRC, so pulling strings was not so hard. You are moving to Howard next semester. Your father paid for everything. Congratulations! I have to run. Please don’t forget to tell your father!

She said and hung up before I had even responded. As I told you before, my dad was stingy, so for him to have taken out his own money to pay for this meant only one thing… I was screwed!

There was no turning back!

Chapter three

I am a Zulu girl and I love everything about my culture and traditions. I know a lot of people who, because they have satellite TV, think that we are rural and backward for respecting our fathers the way we do but I would have it no other way. My dad is my king and I love him and his umqombothi drinking ways. I love the fact that phuthu and amasi to him are the greatest food ever created. I love the fact that every now and again, he insists on our killing something to appease the ancestors even though he swears he is a God-fearing man. I love the way women respect their men, kneeling when they offer their elders food. If my dad is coming home late, my mom, as much as it is annoying, will wait up to eat supper with him. That’s one side, the one with ujeqe and isitambe, amahewu and umqhombothi.

The other side of the coin is that he has given us love and loyalty and I have never ever seen him raise a hand at my mom or me for that matter. When he is angry, he shouts and makes a lot of noise but it would come from a good place. I know when people think of Thandeka Mkhize, they think bare-breasted and bare feet when I say such things but to me it means respect and pride to be a Zulu girl. Respecting and yes, putting my dad on the forefront, neither makes me submissive nor backwards but rather stronger, because I know come what may, my family will have my back. Parents do not want you to bring home a fatherless child, it is not because they don’t want a grandchild but because they know it gets tougher as the child gets older and you are alone to take care of him or her. Their insistence on you getting married does not come from the fact that they want to chow your lobola and get rid of you but for them it shows you have a man who respects you and where you come from. Through that they know he will take care of you and fight for you. Modernity makes us believe that all these things are shackles of the past; men wanting to control women and failing to realize that we have earned equal rights when most women don’t even know what those are. That was my dad, Nhlanhla Foster Mkhize, and at this moment I hated him with all that I had!

I hated him because he had not consulted me and I do not care that he had raised the money to pay for my fees there, he would have to knock me out unconscious first before I ever agreed to go back to Natal with them. I was not doing it. Now that N was gone, I could finally focus on my studies and I was not about to trade in my Witsie colours for the Sharks of Howard! I can’t even swim, so what do I need all that water for? He had better pray that those ancestors for whom he had brewed so much beer and killed all those animals over the years for were not too drunk and fat from his sacrifices as he was going to need them to go get his money back and worse, get me to agree to go there. Thokozani had woken me up to the reality that my dad was working hard at getting me out of Johannesburg yet again. A week ago I would gladly have left this place but now I had some semblance of control, so the answer was a deafening No. I needed to make a plan.

I had not sat down ten minutes when Python called and said he was outside my door. He has airtime to play with neh, considering he could just have knocked. I laughed at him and said I wouldn’t open until he knocked like a normal person. When he entered, he said he had called because he wanted to make sure I was not with my parents. The man is so sweet and that was thoughtful of him. He said he had brought me flowers to lift up my spirits. Flowers? What was I going to do with them? Eat them? I know on TV shows bringing someone flowers signifies romance and many other similar things but in my reality they were just another weed! Where I come from I am not sure I know where to go and buy flowers. Even as I smiled and accepted them, I hated the smell. It’s not that I am not modern enough but what exactly do you do with flowers? They are not practical and I find them pretentious; instead of telling someone how you feel you try to impress them with your choice of weeds.

He told me that he had heard from my roommate that I had been in an accident and that’s how he had come through with Gorilla. He said my dad had been very displeased with their presence and he hoped I had not stirred up too much trouble for me. He apologized, and explained that he had not known what else to do because N had been deliberately vague on the phone.