[LARONA]
After sleep-deprived nights and meddling pregnancy sickness, I am finally an admitted advocate of The High Court. I have earned my right to appear on behalf of any person in any court of the Republic of South Africa. It has happened and yet it still feels so surreal. Kurhula suffered with me throughout – offering his knowledge while I studied and massages when I couldn’t.
My happiness was short-lived though. He received the terribly humbling news just as we were walking out of court, on our way to the studio for a photo shoot. We all saw how being separated from her new-born destroyed her but we kept the hope that she’d bounce back. It ate away at both her weight and emotional balance, to a point where she one day had to be fetched from the mall by one of the drivers after a panic attack.
Fikani called a therapist to the house and hope was restored after a couple of sessions. I remember a conversation I once had with her in the kitchen where I playfully asked what the cause of her smile was. She responded and said her aunt had sent her pictures of Vukosi. That was before I could watch the joy slowly disappear from her face and gloom grow in her eyes. We did not know each other that well but I feel like I’ve failed her. Maybe I should’ve stayed longer that day; listened a bit deeper.
All of that that no longer matters because after a successful suxcide attempt, her body was laid to rest yesterday. I am trying to keep it together because there’s people at this table but man, I am failing. We are waiting for her husband to come address us but he’s not showing up. We’ve been waiting for a little over twenty minutes. He’s probably intoxicated and asleep. No one here can claim to think that he’s coping. He’s a complete mess and Kurhula is afraid he might follow in her footsteps at the rate that he’s going. This was all so sudden and jolting. All she left is a wrapped box written ‘To my baby boy, Vukosi’, nothing else; no note, no voicemail, no encrypted goodbye.
The elders are also here and there’s already talks of bringing Mokgadi home. I get it, customs and all but I also could never understand the lack of decorum in the way we royals do things sometimes.
‘If he had married her at the time we advised him to, this wouldn’t be so complicated’ Uncle Albert says and they all nod.
The look in Kurhula’s eyes could burn a hole into a concrete wall. I feel like if he’s ever given a choice in the next life, he wouldn’t choose the life of royalty. This might be the place but it’s definitely not the time for all this.
Mhan Singi is dead quiet. She has been this way since her return back home. Most probably trying her best not to step on Fikani’s corns and calluses.
Just when Kurhula’s pushes his chair back to go check on him, Fikani finally appears – looking everything besides himself. He grabs his seat and lets out a laboured sigh.
‘I am not here to say much…’ he eventually speaks after struggling to construct a sentence for a minute. His eyes are bloodshot and swollen.
‘What is in that box is for Vukosi’s eyes and his eyes only. I would like for us all to respect the spirit of—‘ he uncomfortably clears his throat. ‘The spirit of my late wife and all her wishes. She’s no longer one with us because a lot of us here contributed to her deteriorating mental health’
Mhani Masingita’s eyes find the floor. There’s mumbles around the table.
‘That box is locked away and safe. You can stop wondering and gossiping about her. I am saying this in the most respectful spirit I can manage right now. Thank you for lending me an ear’ he gets up and goes back to where he came from. This has everything to do with the kitchen incident this morning. He walked in on his aunts discussing the mysterious box and one of them said ‘We deserve to know what led her to this foolish decision’.
‘Yes. See why I expressed my doubts about that girl? She wasn’t raised to be a queen. That throne is hot. Sitting directly beside it will obviously never be pap n’ vleis. You don’t just dive in and expect to learn how to swim as you go. You’ll obviously drown!’, chipped in another. This was before they could turn around and notice his presence, then eyes began darting around guiltily.
The energy is dark and heavy. It’s also raining heavily outside. I can’t even see beyond the violent grey of the drops as I look at the window. Masedi is asleep in the guestroom. I’ve been checking on her the whole day, so much that I’m even afraid of getting on her nerves now. At some point, she told me that she’s all alone in the world and my heart shattered. I told her she’s not. We don’t stop being family just because her sister is gone. She’s way too young to be carrying the pain of this magnitude. Kuli is not here and I have no idea where she is. She apparently fainted when the coffin was being lowered and I just—
I couldn’t go; I am not allowed to.
I take out another ply from my packet of pocket tissues and dab my cheeks. I feel like I am carrying everyone’s pain in my chest and stomach. There’s also a pulsing ache on my back. It feels like it’s behind my kidney, somewhere there. It’s an oddly painful feeling that is difficult to describe. It’s been there since the morning when I woke up from a very peculiar dream. In it, I kept telling Kuli that I have a surprise for her after finding her doing everyone’s laundry here at home. I know that symbolizes a spiritual cleansing because I used to sit by my grandmother’s hip. That woman is a wizard when it comes to dream interpretations.
Kuli kept asking what it is while wiping the foam on her skirt – with pegs vertically arranged on the midline of her cotton t-shirt. We were both excited during this silly back and forth. I then handed her a baby carrier, which she snatched from me in absolute disbelief then ran off, screaming that she has to tell Kurhula. The next thing, we’re inside the house and Kurhula is holding a seed on his palm, a seed that has been split into two. He looked at the both of us and instructed that we should go fetch fertile soil from our respective gardens so he can plant his important kernel, then I woke up. At first, I thought maybe it means they’ll ask me to be their surrogate but after putting on my cape and praying hard for the meaning to be shown to me in an explicit manner, all that I got was that I was interpreting it wrong and that all shall be revealed in due time. When I called my grandmother, she said Kurhula would’ve probably specified that the seed is meant for his other wife and asked to plant the seed specifically in my garden if that was the case; she said I would’ve woken up with the knowledge that the fruit would not be mine to keep. I want to discuss it with our husband but the timing is way off.
People stand up one after the other until there’s only Kurhula and I left.
He’s sitting in a very awkward position on the chair – with his hands pocketed and his neck against the top of the back-rest, staring at the roof.
‘Baby?’ I call unto deaf ears. I touch his shoulder and only then does he turn to look at me.
‘Hm?’
‘Where’s Kuli?’
‘With the father-in-law’
‘I think you should go check on him’ I suggest. I know that he can equally feel the pain but his brother needs him right now. He gently nods before visibly gathering the strength to get up. He eventually gets on his feet, drops a kiss on my forehead and goes up the stairs. I need some air…
