Down to lobola

So, I’m a 25 year old black female, who does not really know what it is to be black.  I would say that my dad is very liberal, so I do not know much about the traditions of his forefathers – therefor not his, nor mine.

It is 2015, and I am at that point when I am considering getting married.  I have not found my husband yet, but I am worried that when the moment arrives, we won’t be prepared.

I mean, he might know exactly what to do – according to his traditions – but what about mine.  I know a little of my mom’s, but let’s face it, according to black  culture – I am not Xhosa, nor was I ever introduced to the Xhosa ancestors as their own.  So, what now?

So, we all have an idea of what lobola is, right?  But why should my future husband’s family have to thank mine for raising me well, and mine not have to reciprocate the same appreciation towards his family?

I am not against lobola, but at the same time, I am a young individual still starting to manage my own life and surely – so is my future husband.  Does this mean that we need to take out a loan just to please our elders – even those who up to now have been non-caring about their traditions?

How about we just go to a justice of the court, sign a form and have a braai afterwards to celebrate with everyone?  Then we can still afford to pay for a house of our own, pay for food, and possibly even a small honeymoon in Stellenbosch – so that I can go wine tasting?

I don’t want to write a long essay highlighting nor criticising the de/merits of lobola, but I hope that I have made my point.

So, what do I do when I meet the man I so long to marry, and he is broke?

I am a cheater

So, I have a confession to make.  I am cheating.  Well, I cheated on Soldier boy.  Emotionally.  I get that there is no excuse for cheating, I mean, I am an advocate for not cheating in anything – I’m talking about exams, learners’ tests, anything that has an aspect of honesty – I feel it does not need dishonesty (cheating).  But, that fact does not stop me from saying “I can explain,” because I really feel that I can.

Soldier boy has stopped communicating with me for reasons unknown to me.  I have been calling and texting, and he has been ignoring my texts and not taking my calls.  In moments when my heart feels a little at ease- the minute I hear the phone being picked up – it drops back down, because it is actually someone else picking up to tell me that he is unavailable.  Then he never calls or texts me back.  The worst is when he lies to me and says that he will come see me over the weekend, then I don’t go home for the weekend – I cook and I wait for him – then he never comes.  And no, reader, he offers no excuse, no responds to me asking him if he’s still coming, or why he didn’t come.  Nothing.

I questioned nicely, I begged and pleaded, and I have even threatened leaving him for his behaviour – but he persists in not responding to me.  And yes, dear reader, he is a soldier – I get that, but trust me, he is not dead.  I know this, because he is online everyday, changes his profile picture ever so often, and every now and then he will just say hi but nothing further then that.

So, in the end, I find myself wondering a lot about why I am being treated like this by someone that I care so much for.  I find myself needing for him, and longing.  I am not lonely, I am very alone.  I am not saying he should talk to me everyday, all day.  But, just talk to me, is that too much to ask?  We have been together for so long, and I still don’t know the direction of where he even stays, I don’t know his sister’s name – that’s if he even has one – nor do I know exactly what his job title is.

Now, as I said, I have been feeling very alone because of the way I am being treated here.  Am I a fool, for even thinking that he will come right one day, and treat me like the beautiful person that I am?  Maybe I am.

In the meantime, yesterday was the least loneliest I have ever been.  I spent a big chunk of the night watching some Venac comedy show; listening to some foreign music; and singing out loud to a The Soil concert with someone else.  And why, you may ask?  Because I do not deserve to be treated like an invalid.  I spoke about my daughter, about Moses in the Bible, and I laughed at the ridiculous jokes that this guy made.

So, it may not have been physical cheating, but I had a good time with someone that is not my boyfriend, and I would not dream of telling him about him.  So, I think we all agree that I am a cheater.  And to be honest, I feel bad for having enjoyed someone else’s company so much.  And here I was thinking that I would never cheat on anything or anyone – not even Soldier boy.

Not even Soldier boy…

Phone call to heaven

So, it’s been exactly 2 years since I last saw you.  The last thing I said to you were “Sharp.”  I guess it amounts to a goodbye, just not the one I was meant to say.  I wanted to give you a hug.  I had this weird feeling, but at the time had no inclination as to where or what it was coming from.  I think it was just God’s way of telling me that I should have actually given you a hug that afternoon.  Then, the last time I saw you, it was on that hospital bed, when you had already been pronounced dead.  It didn’t make sense in my head, it still doesn’t.  It is not something one can comprehend so easily.  I guess if the shoe was on your foot, you would also have worn it the same.  The one distinct thing about you lying there, was not that you were lying on a hospital bed, or that you were covered in blood, but rather that you liked you were asleep – but without breathing.

I don’t think God made a mistake in taking you, because I knew you, and you seemed to be falling into a trail that was far from who you were or were destined to be.  But I think the devil was cruel in using that satan’s hand in your death.  I don’t think of him.  I don’t even know what he looks like, nor do I want to, because I think that will just affirm what all the drs and what everyone else is saying about you – that you’re dead.

I don’t think you are dead, I think that now you are chilling under God’s lappa sipping on some heavenly juice.  You were an angel in my life, and in Zoë’s life, and I am glad that she got to meet her wonderful uncle.  I took her out for her birthday 3 days ago.  I went a little overboard with her present this year, but she was happy.  I think you would have made a super dad, cause you were a super uncle to her.

Ek mis jou my tweeling, drie en twintig jaar was oorgenoeg, en ook te min ‘n leeftyd om iemand soos jou te ken.

Just when I thought I had made peace with my rapists

So, here’s the thing, they tell you that time heals all wounds.  I think it should be phrased as “most certainly” instead of saying that it heals all wounds.  They say that some people never get over things because they hang onto those things.  But, tell me how exactly I find myself here?  How is it possible that after 5 years of not fixating on something, of not even thinking about something – but rather blocking it out of your psyche so much that you don’t ever think about it, how is it even remotely possible that what my mind had found a way of evading has found a way of crawling back into my life?  No, not just my mind, but my life.

I got raped twice in the year 2010, within the short space of two weeks.  I got raped by someone I had thought was my friend, and then I got raped by a police officer.  I don’t want to write about these experiences, because they were not experiences.  If anything, an experience is something to live through – in Afrikaans – iets om te beleef.  It’s something you can’t wait to have grandkids and tell them about, or something you cannot wait to write home about.

I digress, my point in writing this was to express my utter disbelief that this could follow me now.  I made peace with the fact that my body and my desire/wishes were disregarded, but in that I also made decisions.  I left town, then I changed course so I wouldn’t have to see the asshole again, then just as I was beginning to enjoy my new course I found out that I was pregnant – so, guess what – I had to drop out.

Now, I have never been a struggling student – academically, that is – but I find myself at odds now because I will probably not be re-admitted to study because I didn’t complete the course I was doing. Their letter said that my academic performance was for concern. Wow.

Now, I am stuck between letting this go, and revisiting these horrible events in my life – going to the police station where I had filed an assault report, and dig out that dr’s note which had been given to me in hospital the day that I missed my Linguistics exam when I was having what you call Braxton Hick’s or draai pyne in Afrikaans.

I don’t want to think about this anymore, but I need to complete my studies. I’m numb, and almost broke into a ball of tears in front of my boss and his boss, and the super smart geek you always have a little crush on at work.

Lost

Are you still alive?

So, it took me a while to decide that I was finally ready to give myself to someone else, but I have decided to.  And just when I thought my love-life was finally sorted, that God had decided that I had had enough heartbreak for my current life-time, the devil decides that I am not worthy of having a long-standing relationship.  But I really like this guy, so I am all in.  Here’s the story – the guy is from Kimberley – just like me, he’s 25 years old – just like I am, and well, he is super hot – just like me.  So, you will agree with me that this is a match made in heaven, preordained – maybe?

Anyway, with every perfect person, you know that there will always be that one flaw.  I am not going along with the saying that “nobody’s perfect,” because I am a perfect 10.  But like any product, it’s not always appealing to everybody.  So, he’s perfect and I am perfect, and we’re perfect for each other.  His flaw is that he is in the army.  Well, it’s not exactly a bad thing, because I mean he and his fellow army people protect the country, but for an army girlfriend it’s not entirely as glamorous as the movies make it seem – mostly because I worry that whenever I see him that it’ll be the last time that I do get to see him.

So now, I am in love with a soldier, but he’s off to some or other bush and all I can do is sit and wait to hear from or see him again, oh and pray every second of every waking day that he doesn’t die out there in the wild.

It’s not you, it’s me

So, I decided that I wanted out of my relationship. I had decided a while back, but I just could not bring myself to tell the person who I’d shared my life with for such a long time.

I was no longer interested in trying to save anything, although no salvaging was required, as the relationship was just okay. I just no longer wanted to be in it.

I decided to do the cowardly thing, and text him my break-up message. I told him that I wanted to break up, and I asked him not to contest my will, and of course like any man you tell not to do something, he did exactly what I asked him not to do.

He wanted to know why I wanted to leave him, told me that I was in his plans, asked me what he was supposed to do. Of course, I had not thought past the point of me saying that I wanted to break up, so I had no concrete answer to give him, nothing convincing enough to make him see that being with me was no longer an option. I was stumped.

So I just hung up, and sat there pondering, unable to formulate a response to his question.

I knew I had hurt him with the mere suggestion of even being apart, but what was I to do, I no longer wanted to be his or him to be mine.