MATHONGA

Chapter 4

MATHONGA-

My feet pause and freeze when my gaze drops on a familiar figure. Full hips swaying side to side, unchained braids messy, must be because of the wind. The white dress loosely hanging on her chubby body, flawlessly following behind her, she flashes a wide smile and waves enthusiastically at the car driving out of the premises.
Usually, Vukuzakhe would wave back, the sad expression on her face tells me he didn’t. By the time she nears me, she’s pouting, eyes drowning in sadness.

“What’s wrong with your brother?” She asks, as she pulls me into a brief hug. “He’s in one of his grumpy moods.”
“What are you doing here, Amandla?”
I don’t talk about my brothers behind their backs. Something flashes in her eyes, she makes no effort to blink it away.
“It’s your birthday. I made you a cake and thought we’d go to church together?” The smile is back, wide and unsophisticated. “You’re not ready for church?”
It’s barely 6am, there’s still time. But I don’t care because I’m not going, none of us are going except baba and Hlabela. I have a feeling his female friend will be tagging along.
“I’m not going to church.” I tell her, inviting silence in our midst.
She backtracks, and observes me intently, eyes probing with a mission. I don’t recall going Trevor Noah on her, hence the confusion lurking around me. She’s laughing louder than usual, throwing unexpected punches on my bicep. I step back and tell her to alert me when she’s done.

“I’m sorry.” She breathes, adjusting the plastic bag in her hand. “Your father will never let you miss church Thonga.”
“Today he will.” I lie. It’s not like my father has a choice, he’s faulted on his side. There’s a woman in his house, a woman he’s not married to and she’s walking around like she’s my father’s wife. 
She shrugs and holds out the plastic bag, smiling brightly. “I baked your favourite cake.”

“Thanks.” I guess. I take her hand instead and start leading her towards my rondavel.
“Wait, let me go put this in the kitchen.” She leaves my hand to begin her walk towards the kitchen. Amandla is known around here, we’ve been together since grade twelve. Started off as friends and now we’re here.

“Mathonga watch out.” Amandla screams, I see it coming thanks to her and jump to the side. My body collides with the wall, leaving a painful, throbbing bruise on my elbow.
I don’t want to think that she’s done it on purpose, that my own mother wanted to run me over without compunction. So I brush it off. 
“Are you okay?” Amandla is panicking, eyes bare and teary. I hold back her inquisitive hands trailing all over my body.
“I’m fine.” I say, accepting the cuddle of her stubborn warm hands on my cheek. I appreciate her but my eyes won’t leave my mother. In a fit of rage, she storms out of the car. I want to tell Amandla to leave when Dalisile's angry feet storm toward us.
“My mother is here, you can leave now.”
Her wilfulness has her shaking her head, I can’t let her see what it’s like to be Mathonga when Dalisile is around.
“Amandla go, I’ll come see you later.” I push her, but like moth to a flame, she bounces back pressing her frame against me. Dammit!

“Move.” That’s Dalisile shoving Amandla aside, she screams as her back hits the wall. I told her to leave.
“Boy!” She calls me, eyes juggling with anger. My stomach sinks to the soles of my feet. My frightened eyes avoiding her fierce gaze. I will never not be afraid of Dalisile Khanyile, and she’s aware of that. She loves it when I recoil at her presence, she derives power from seeing me shrink to a little boy when she stands before me.

A shattering slap lands on my cheek, my ear rings and my head throbs. I’ve received a million of these over the years and some I’ve kept from my father. Still, I will never get used to it.

“Dalisile?” I sound like a kid, shocked and pained. She has me caged on the wall, with no way out.  
“Are you trying to get me locked up? This is your plan? That I run you over and your father sends me to jail, right?” She shouts, going for round for two. Her hand does not make it far, someone grabs it from behind. It’s my father. He looks as angry as his wife.
“Don’t touch me, Vumile.” Dalisile dramatically screams as she fights off my father, he’s basically not doing anything. 
Baba’s eyes are unblinking, empty and intense.
“You haven’t been here for a second Dalisile and you’re already putting your hands on my son, my son. Who the hell do you think you are?” Vumile’s angry voice booms. She’s afraid of him, I can tell with the way her body shudders under his hold.
“I am his mother, I can discipline him any way I like.”
Really?
“Like hell you are. These kids are mine, mine. You have no right over them.”
Laughs of mockery wipe out his complaint, there’s no care in the way she laughs at him. I hate it, the insolence directed towards my father. He’s a good man, he doesn’t deserve this.