MATHONGA

Chapter 39

MATHONGA-
Thirty-nine

AMANDLA-

“How long are you going to lie on that bed, Amandla?”
“Gogo please, not today.” I simply don’t have the strength to argue with her. What I want or say does not matter, she pulls the blanket, exposing my skin to the cold.
“What is wrong with you? You’ve been laying on that bed for days, are you pregnant, Amandla?”
I wish I were pregnant, Mathonga wouldn’t have left me. Is it normal for a person to love someone so deeply? I don’t see myself continuing with life, I can’t do it without him.
“No, gogo. I’m not pregnant.” My nose flares as I grab the blanket from her and cover myself, people annoy me lately. I don’t want to be around anything that has a face and can talk.
I don’t get to enjoy my quiet time, the old woman pulls the blanket again, forcing me to sit up.
“What is it?” I might have sounded rude, now I have to apologise. Hopefully she will leave me in peace after stroking her ego.
“Ngiyaxolisa salukazi sami, that came out wrong.” There I said it, it seems she wants more because she sits on my bed, facing me and exhales deeply. Should grannies be sighing like this? At this age, they need to be counting their breaths, time is not on their side.
“What’s going on Amandla?”
I can’t tell her, she will sing the ‘I told you so’ song. She predicted this, from day one, she hated Mathonga and always said he was going to break my heart. Her words have come to life, I won’t mention anything.  
“I lost my job,” it is part lies. I did lose my job after missing work for days without giving a reason.
“How could you let that happen, Amandla? How are we going to survive without the money?” The audacity to ask me this when her daughter works for white people, I’m pretty sure her salary will be enough to sustain us. She was able to buy me a new phone anyway.
“I will look for a new job,” I tell her lies and nothing but lies. I have no interest in looking for a job. Maybe I will go back to school and see what I do with my life, I’m pretty sure my father is a wealthy bastard living a lavish life somewhere. I have to find him and demand 23 years of pap geld. (Child support)

We hear the sound of a car pulling up outside, curiosity pushes me to check. There’s a red Jeep parked outside the gate, my heart skips a beat. Could it be Mathonga?
“Who is it?” Grandmother asks, still seated on the bed.
“I don’t know, I’ll go see.” I have to at least look decent, there’s a terrible odour springing from my clothes. I smell and look like a hobo, I was too dejected to get up and bath, or change into something clean. Mathonga doesn’t know me like this, plus, I can’t let him think I have been miserable without him.
I quickly change into a dress and spray my Armani Gardenia perfume, I bought it from Nqobile, my former colleague. She sells them for R120. Who said you need to be rich to smell expensive?
As I approach, the driver’s door swings open. The first thing I see is a pair of black ankle boots— that can’t be Mathonga. I would see who the person is if the windows were not tinted.
Instinctively, I turn back to see grandmother standing against the doorframe. I knew she would follow me.
“Amandla.” My mother’s voice calls, I snap my head back. For the life of me, I cannot recognise the woman walking through our gate.
“My baby.”
Okay, she has my mother’s voice. But Sabusiswa bathes old white women for a living, she doesn’t wear designer clothes and drive expensive cars. She can’t even drive, for Christ’s sake. As for the long ass weave.
“Ma?” I whisper condescendingly. I’m flabbergasted, really. Her arms are stretched out as she nears me, a motherly smile spread across her face.
I can’t help but notice the long pink nails. Was she going for the Cardi B look? This woman is too old for this, what happened to her?
She suffocates me in her arms, I’m too shocked to reciprocate. Did mom win the lottery? If she did then I’m buying my ancestors Dash Vodka and Red Bull, they’ll be drunk and sober at the same time. I respect them that much.
*
*

VUKUZAKHE-

The road to recovery is long, he will need to have therapy before he goes back to being himself. He can barely stay awake for longer than ten minutes, he’s always tired. His brain struggles to process everything happening around him, his vocabulary is limited. It’s baby steps for now, nothing to worry about. He can say a few words, then he’s tired and needs a break.
Yep, the road to recovery is long.
Hlabela, Bongiwe and Dalisile have tried their best to help him go back to the person he was, but it’s left to the doctors now.
When he wakes up, the first person he asks for is Bongiwe. Lucky woman, Dalisile does not seem to think so. It’s frustrating to see her son obsessing over his wife.
Ntabezikude called this morning, the phone call didn’t last long. It’s understandable—the road to recovery is long.