Phakade Lami (My Forever)

Chapter 44 (I wish it was a lie)

Chapter 44.
-Blind Daughter Of The Dlamini KaDikana Family Has Been Found Dead.
-Angelina Dlamini KaDikana was ‘stoned’ to death.
-The Billionaire Dlamini KaDikana Family Is In Mourning.
IT’S NOT EASY, losing a child and a wife in one day... I say this because I can see my own husband, crying day in and out, since that faithful day.
I remember how I saw my 8 year old daughter and brother’s wife in that state, it broke me... it broke us and I know that we will never heal, most especially uHector and Nganono.
He has been stuck in his own room, refusing to sit on the mattress or wear the mourning clothes, like a true makoti, and I don’t blame him, I blame myself, if I wasn’t so distance from him... and maybe just maybe, my hle-hle was still going to alive.

“We will have to burn those clothes, my son... both Buhle’s and Angelina’s but that will happen on the third day after the funeral,” MmeMoichela says to me.
She is seated with me, in the dinning room, as the mattress has occupied the living room.

“I can’t believe that I am burning those clothes... those very same clothes belonged to my daughter... and my sister-in-law... I don’t think that I will ever heal from this, Mme,” I say.
In all honesty, I am not ready for this... I am not ready to say any Goodbye, neither will Hector allow to this.
But it has to be done... but how will I raises this to uNganono, he is hurt, to a point of no recognition.
He has only posted her pictures on WhatsApp and Facebook.
He is practically starring into the middle of nowhere.
And speaking of those social media platforms, I NEVER knew about those things, it was Prince and my in-laws particularly 'Morena and Kedibone’ that introduced me to that platform, I hardly ever associate myself with Lerato’s siblings.

“I want to ask something son-in-law... you never told us, why were we summoned to this place... was they any problem before the demise of my grandchild,” she says.
I knew she was going there but I don’t want to talk about it.
Nothing good ever comes from leaking bedroom or family matters to your mother-in-law, most especially one like MmeMoichela, this one can lose her mind completely, and unleash the Yvonne in her.
Speaking of that Yvonne persona, it’s been years since I last saw it, she has changed.
Money has changed her and us, she now looks different and by the way, The Masilo Family is now super wealthy but not like us.

Back to the question, I don’t want to respond to that question, so I will keep quiet and make myself my dumb, after all I don’t have an answer for this.
She might pounce on me, and unleash that hidden demon in her.
“Well, I can see that you don’t want to tell me... But hear this from me, I love all of my children equally and I will do anything for them... this is the last time, Hector will cry because of this family,” and immediately she stands up, and takes her leave.
She doesn’t mind me mourning, my only daughter, she just had to tell me off.

-----------------------

MaHlongwane is the wife of Nkosi Dlamini KaDikana and he is the second oldest son, after Mabutho, who has his wife in jail.
So she should be the one sitting on that mattress, surrounded by those candles and those women, and funny prayers and songs.
I will not sit down there, and relive that same pain that accompanied me, during my father’s and Thato’s death.

Angelina and my... daughter, are the first people to die in this generation of The Dlamini KaDikana family, I am never going to heal from this and God knows that I am never going to forgive the person that did this.
This family always tries to find a way, to make me, regret.... ever choosing to be with them.
I have made so such progress in this family... but I have also lost myself.

Now whose on the door, I don’t want visitors, I want to be left alone and I mean it.
But honestly speaking, I can never get my peace and these women are all strolling in.
I made them, I changed them and I saw them worthy, excluding Nathan’s wife but one is now missing.... the hospital/alcoholic woman.
Ziyanda, Lerato and Nathan’s wife, are all dressed up in those rural dresses that are long, going all the way to the feet, expect for Lerato, her own ends on her knees and a scarf around their heads.
Another scarf, tied around Lerato’s chest, she’s not a makoti yet but she is already wearing it.
As for Ziyanda and Nathan’s wife...  their own is tied vertically and not straight, and that’s because it goes from the right shoulder, all the way to the right hip.

“What do you want,” I say.
I don’t want to entertain them, not today and I am trying by all means, not to cry.
I have been crying non stop, cooped up in my room/rondavel, or whatever it is called.
“Ma...,” that useless name again.
I loved it, at first and the perks it came with but it replaced me... It took Hector Masilo and replaced it, with Hector Dlamini KaDikana, the keeper of secrets.
“I can’t be sitting on that mattress, alone... without you, what type of home are we building here... you are the foundation... you should be dressed in mourning clothes, like a true spouse of this family, not closed up in this place,” she says.
I know I am being difficult but... I am in pain and rightfully so, I should mourn for my daughter in the way, I see fit.
We all grieve in many ways and I should be given that liberty.
At the very least.

I remain quiet, with my entire lower body, sitting on the bed, covering myself in Buhle’s favourite blanket.
I bought it, last year... it was during the December holiday, when I took all of them out to a very fancy restaurant in Midrand.
It was such a beautiful time, I finally met my son’s long distance girlfriend – yes, I met Prince’s girlfriend and she was so sweet but I cancelled that useless relationship... I didn’t want a grandchild at a very young age, so I sat him down and told him to keep his heart, his money and penis away.
He listened to me, that’s what they all do... Listen 👂 but do they understand me.
Obviously Not.

“Look, I understand your grieve... I may have never lost a child and that’s because I have none, but it’s not the end of the world... you still have your family here with you,” -Nathan’s wife.

“I agree with her... the family needs you to represent them... to represent your daughter and sister-wife, after all their bodies are being fetched today... I know we don’t know the pain that you are going through but like... she said, it’s not the end of the world,” – Lerato.
It is the end of the world, for me and I am never going to heal from this, I am going to remain childless for the rest of my life.
But they’re right, the family needs me as much as I need them.
But, and I say but again, these men will be the end of me.

I enter into the bathroom and I can’t believe my face, I look like a monster and most definitely the opposite of me.
I look at those clothes, clothes of pain, sadness and grieve.
How will I recover from this, that’s the question.

------------------------

Back in the United Kingdom, I used to spend most of my time, drinking and sleeping with different men, to satisfy myself, as a rich wife.
That’s what we ‘bored’ rich women do, find men that can give us, what our men are refusing to give.
This wine 🍷 is bitter and very sweet, just like me, I was only trying to protect a secret, a certain secret that was going to cost me everything.
I never wanted to kill her but I never had a choice 😭 and now I am stuck in this restaurant, faraway from Nqamakwe but still in the Eastern Cape.
I have already erased every single thing that connected me to their deaths, I had the CCTV footage hacked and deleted.
I threw that stone faraway from the Nqamakwe mansion and I know it will never be found.

NOW HOW DID he find me, I am not ready to have a discussion with this man called my father.
He has changed from that typical Sangoma to an over-wealthy witchdoctor.
“MaKhanyile,” that name.
I am his only daughter and I just killed my only daughter, the only female child in this family, well... in this generation of the Dlamini KaDikana.
“What are you doing here, shouldn’t you be at home in Nqamakwe, I arrived there earlier today and I never found you,” he says.
“So khuluma, how did you find me...,” I say.
“This is the only place that we meet, when you don’t want me... around that gigantic house,” he says.
We usually meet in this place, every single time, because the Dlamini KaDikana people, hate him, after all he had a strong connection with their evil father and they know that he is medicine man of high order but I know that most of the current predicament are caused by him and yours truly, ME.
I always wonder, why they couldn’t read deep into Zithulele’s words... I mean he practically said that... He will not rest until that which is brought is given happiness.

“I am not going there... I want to be away from the tears, the lose and my killings,” I say, as I drink my wine.
“What do you mean... Killings, Buhle wasn’t even your biological daughter and as for Angelina, you hated her... so their deaths were not caused by you... they were brutal but they were not caused by you,” he says.
If only he knew.
“Look Baba, I can’t go there and God knows that I don’t want to be in that space...,” I stop.
Tears are already streaming down and I don’t cry, it’s not me.
But also I am already halfway drunk.
That’s what alcohol does to us, it reveals the inner person.
That broken person.
That hidden demon.
“I killed them,” I say.
You should see my father’s face, he is surprised.
“That, you did what,” he says to me, in a hushed tone and it’s not like, we are a lot in this restaurant.
We are only four table full, the rest have no occupant.
Maybe 😏 I should buy it.

“THEY KNEW my secrets... Angelina knew everything and with Zithulele’s dreams or visions, those were the ones that sparked or rather added fuel to that... so I was left with no choice but to do that... and as for Buhle, it was the anger in me,” I say.
I quickly drink down that wine, it’s still bitter and sweet.
He breathes in and out, I know this man, like the back of my palm.
After all I am his nana.
“Okay fine... I am not going to ask what you used to accomplish that... but now you need to do the careful... you need to be there and protect your assets, and that’s Zithulele... that he-goat doesn’t have a child anymore... focus on Zithulele and not Angelina and Buhle” he says.
I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE, the beverage has taken, it’s course.
“He is not my son... he never was.... Buhle was and will always be my daughter, she was the one that occupied my womb, I am her real mother, just like how I am your only daughter, she was my only daughter.... I switched her with one of the boys,” I say.
He is shocked, at least now he understands me and knows that, I am his carbon copy.
“What boys,” he asks.
I breathe in and out, with my eyes looking up to the ceiling and seeing those white people painting.
It’s those painting that show white people naked and up in the clouds.
Then they call this art.
Anyways I tell him everything that happened 8 years ago at the hospital that Angelina worked at and he is shocked and terribly disappointed in me, after all I have become like him.
A true scheming Khanyile, we never work for our own things, we scheme and steal.

“MaKhanyile... you have done something very grievance and terrible but let’s not focus on that... you only one child and that’s Zithulele,” he says.
I try to defend myself but he stops me, with his eyes and that stern face. He is purely scary when he is like that.
Muzi Khanyile.
“You must never spill anything about this to anyone, including that family of yours and also to your brothers, you have worked extremely hard to protect yourself and your position within that family,” he says.
I think he is right.
“So I should go back there and pretend... that’s the solution,” I ask, with tears.
I am not horrible and bad, to that stage.
I may be evil but I have limits.
“You have no choice, Harriet... you have to fight this with your entire strength and total focus... she’s dead but your womb isn’t,” he says.
“Baba, stop...,” he stops and I breathe in and out, with whilst wiping my tears.
“I can’t have children,” I say.
You should see his face, he has gone from a freaking electrical fence to an entire power station.
Eskom has nothing on him.
“What do you mean, you can’t have children, how did you have Buhle,” he says.
I look around and tell him, the full truth and that I can’t have children, because my womb got damaged, after my first abortion.
He rubs his bald head and quickly let’s out a low but heavy blow.
“MaKhanyile... I am evil, Benjamin... your husband’s father was evil but wa bona wena you take the cup, even Lucifer the Morningstar sucks your breasts for milk and takes lessons from you,” he says.
Though, I am afraid but I agree with him, they don’t create people, like us, anymore.
We are ancient demons.
I am a mixture of those hidden demons in everyone.

-------------------------

THEY SING that song with so much sadness and this is the first time, in this family that we bury a child and wife.
I remember correctly that Buhle was an epicentre of joy, in this marriage of mine and Hector.
She used to put a smile on his face and when he was happy, I was happy but right now, I am sad and that’s because he is sad, after all it’s our daughter’s body carefully placed in that coffin, that is being brought in first, with the body of Angelina, being brought in last.
It’s really the dark times of our lives.
As we all sit and finally my husband, has been placed near me, fully dressed in his mourning outfit and he looks at me, with so much sadness.
I see those eye bags and red eyes, my baggage has totally changed this young man, I have replaced the sweet and ever smiling Hector Masilo with Hector Dlamini KaDikana.
I place my left hand on his laps and he looks at it, and slowly his eyes raise to meet with me, I hate seeing him sad or in pain... because it feels like seeing my mother and husband in pain.
He raised us, like a mother and took care of me, like a proper wife/husband.
He let’s out a sigh, and slowly takes my hand and rests his head on my shoulder, and slowly Malume, our famous driver and one that has become our father, stands up, because honestly speaking none of us, have the energy to speak.
It’s like something died in all of us.
Aunt Nokubonga is also here but she doesn’t want to talk to any of us, she’s angry that we didn’t mention any of this, to her.
After all, according to her, she knew or rather knows the people that can deal with this.
But I am not there, it has happened and we need to do, the needful... and that is too move on... I don’t want bloodshed.

He begins to speak but I shut my ears, not because I am being rude but my heart is heavy with pain.
If I was around at all times, stopping myself from work and sleeping around, then my daughter was still going to be alive.
I was a father of two but now I am a father of one, the ‘ancestors’ telephone
He is sitting next to his brothers, and cousins, including Kedibone and Morena, and Lerato’s sisters.

He knows that I am looking at him, but I won’t jumpisa it, and as for Nganono, my brother looks like a ghost.
He is seated next to Mabutho, on his right and Angelina’s father, on his left.
I remember when we went to pay for her dowry in their hometown, this man called her father gave us, a hard time with his Venda nonsense.
I have nothing against Venda people, I watch Muvhango and I love Thandaza and the dramatic  Venda royal family but you see this man, he taught us a lesson and warned us, that if anything happens to his favourite child, then we will regret it.
I am still waiting for the regretting.

The tall dark skinny witch, sashays in with her old witchdoctor of a father, don’t ask us, how we knew but in the line of business, that we found ourselves in, with our father.
Muthi, was something that was a must or a necessity, and our father  used to get it, from him.
He told us, that they were old friends.
I have never loved him, or associated myself with his clan of miseries and now she’s seated next to me and she’s looking at Buhle’s  coffin.
I know it’s expensive and all but she never liked Buhle and she looks dry out with concern and pain.
I think that she was crying but crying for who, I don’t even know.

----------------------

Being a Dlamini KaDikana wife or husband, in my case, means that you have to sacrifice yourself, for the betterment of others and Angelina proved that.
It all feels surreal to me, I mean the sight of seeing my daughter and sister-wife in that pool of blood, with their bodies behind the main house.
They were gone, there and then.
Smashed to their heads with an unknown thing and paramedics didn’t even touch them, they just called the hearse.

I don’t even remember much about that day, I just remember Zimele dragging me back to the main house.
Because I had gone crazy, if not mad, and besides he was even crying.
I also remember seeing Nganono picking his wife’s body up, although the face was completely riddled, he sat on the ground on the pool of blood and cradled her.
I remember seeing Nkosi wailing with his hands on his forehead, still holding a gun with one, looking at Buhle’s body because after that scary prophecy that came with Zithulele, all the guns came out blazing, literally.

I was the one assigned to the art design of this family home, Nqamakwe and I really built, it from scratch, they came with the money but I turned it, into a home, like a true spouse, it was dark but I brought light to it.
Darkness has already dawned both physically up in the sky and emotionally with us, now I am in this living room seeing their bodies carefully placed in that small coffin and it’s only me, and them... in this entire living room, everyone else has made themselves unnecessarily busy.
I look at Angelina’s coffin and I see a selfless woman that I brought into this family, she was still young, like very young but not young like me.
I picked her from the many people that were supposed to do, physio therapy on Nganono and she did her job, she took care of him, very well.
I hate how she turned out, she became her worst version of herself, because of a child.
It’s very bad, that she lost herself, the very moment she became one of us, a Dlamini KaDikana spouse.

Then it’s my daughter, I always knew that I was meant to deliver boys, and I never even went for any gender reveal thing but it was just an instinct.
So don’t mind me, when I say that I was surprised to have a daughter... most especially one that took the feature of my husband’s paternal and maternal family.
I loved her, so much because she was the only thing that survived in my intersex womb.
But I guess... I am followed by some strong evil spirit that won’t let me breathe.

I always wanted to see the person that my daughter was going to end up with, I always wanted to be there, when my daughter graduates... I wanted to see my grandchildren.
Tears are streaming down my face and I want them out, I can’t bear seeing my only child being taken away from me.
I lost my father, I lost my baby brother ‘Thato’ and now I have lost my own daughter.
It’s written that what would make a man to gain the whole world and yet lose his soul, let me rephrase that... and say what would make a person gain respect and love from a dangerous family, and yet lose their soul... their happiness, their peace and honour in the process.
It’s as if, you love something that keeps on hurting you.

So just tell me, how will I move forward from this one and stand tall... I want Buhle to wake up and tell me that I am dreaming and that she’s still here, and was just sleeping.
But will that ever happen, life is not a fairy-tale... most especially for people like us... people that are CURSED, as our ‘over’ religious brothers and sisters like to call us.

©All Rights Reserved By George Osumba.
2023.