On Sunday I went to church as usual. Everyone kept staring at me, as if they knew what I was going to do. Their eyes made me self-conscious.

My father preached, for a long time. And then he looked down at me and smiled as he told the congregation how he had a daughter who obeyed the rules of the church. I wanted to float out of the church and disappear. He did not know my terrible secret.

I promised God that if he did not judge me for getting rid of this baby, I would marry Chumile. I tried to make a deal with God.

After the church service, my father called me into the confession room. “Go and confess. You need to be pure for your wedding day.”

I wondered if my father was going to listen to my confession. What would he say if I said I was not a virgin, after he had just been congratulating me in public?

“Don’t you think it will look strange that you are the one listening to my confession? Maybe you will hear things that you are not going to like – like the confession about the butter that gets finished quickly at home.” I used a trick, uncertain that it would help me.

He laughed. “Prepare then, I’ll call someone for you.” He brought a church elder and instructed him on the rules of confession.

“I wish that all sin be removed from me, by the power of the Holy Spirit.” I recited those words before starting my confession. “Forgive me Father for I have sinned,” I continued. “Forgive me for what I have done, forgive me for what I’m going to do.” I could not hold back my tears. I had thought I was controlling my crying, but now it burst out of me.

I did not continue with my confession because I was afraid my weeping would turn into a loud, bitter wailing. I left the room and ran home.

On Monday on the way to school, I told Pamela that with or without her I was going to Doctor Mamazian.

“Are you sure, Nonkonzo?” she asked. “OK,” she said eventually, when I nodded. “Meet me after school. We’ll go together.”

“Thank you, Pam. I will not forget your kindness.”

“Nkonzi!” she called out to me as I walked away from her. “I hope my name will be forgotten in all this.”

“If that is your wish, I will not mention you in connection with it, ever.”

Shortly after school ended Pamela and I left and soon were close to Doctor Mamazian’s house. It was well hidden, just right for the problem I was coming for. I felt relieved and confident that no-one would know me there.

Doctor Mamazian was not a female as I had thought. He was a big man indeed, with a fat belly. I would have felt at ease had it been a female, but my feelings were not important now. This this pregnancy had to go, there and then.

He welcomed us with a stern voice, speaking English.

Once we understood each other – that I had come for an abortion – he asked for money. I took out R250, and I put it in his money dish. He started with his job, mixing medicines that had an offensive smell. Shortly thereafter he asked Pamela to wait outside. I pleaded with her to wait for me, assuring her that nothing would happen. She left the room.

Mamazian asked me to take off my panties. I stared at him, wondering where the medicine was to go.

“This is your treatment, girl. I want you to take the medicine as you are supposed to,” he explained.

I removed my panties, trembling, not wanting to.

“You are beautiful, do you know that?” Mamazian said, touching me.

“Doctor, please hurry, the sun is setting,” I said, attempting to speed up the examination.

“Call me Mamazian. Are you in love with anyone?” he asked.

“No, I don’t have anyone.”

“Where is this boy who made you pregnant?”

“It was a one night stand; a mistake.”

“You know, I am kind. I don’t lie and I take good care,” he said, putting his hand up my shirt and his fingers stroking my breast. “I would like to show you my love.”

“What?!” I exclaimed, pretending not to understand.

“I can give you everything that you need. Money, gold earrings. Tell me whatever else you want. I am rich.”

Mamazian had moved closer and had pinned me against the wall. His hands were moving everywhere on my body, and pulling up my skirt.

“I will scream so all the people can hear,” I said, struggling away from him. “I will really scream doctor. I am warning you for the last time.”

“I know you love me but you are just playing hard to get. Come kiss me.”

He kissed me forcibly. I felt his tongue pushing past my teeth. I bit it. He pulled back in pain and I wriggled free, and ran out into the street, holding my skirt down. Pam ran after me.

Monday went by and I was still pregnant. I felt guilty and as if I was going insane. My wedding with Brother Chumile was around the corner, and my father was spreading the news. Everybody knew that I am getting married.

Not even Thobekile could help me. I didn’t want him to know I was pregnant. I didn’t want to be a stumbling block in his life. If I was going to be with him one day I didn’t want it to be for the wrong reasons. His future was bright, much brighter than mine. He was to be a student in England and that would set him on a path to success. How could I spoil something so beautiful?

“I am not sure whether to take this scholarship, Nono,” he told me the day he received his acceptance letter a few weeks later. “I can’t imagine my life without you. Years and years without seeing you. That seems so difficult for me.”

“It is also difficult for me, Bhibhi. It is fine because you are doing a good thing. I will always be here waiting for you even if a million years go by without seeing you. You will come back and find me.” As I said this my face was wet with tears.

“My life is here with you. I see no need of studying overseas.”

“Bhibhi trust me. I shall never stop loving you. You are the first for me and you are the last.”

We left each other, our hearts in pain. I waved him goodbye as he took the bus to Johannesburg, from where he would fly off to another world.

Back at home I stood naked in front of my big mirror in my room. I focused on that belly that seemed to be growing by the minute.

“What can I do to get rid of you?” I said to the baby inside. I rubbed it carefully as if I was waiting for a response. Then in the mirror I saw the reflection of my mother leaning against the door. I turned and looked at her. I saw her crying.

“You have brought shame onto us, Nonkonzo,” my mother said with bitter disappointment on her face.

I tried to explain, asking for forgiveness for what I had done, but she waved me away with her hand and left. I ran after her begging her, “Mother, don’t tell Father. He could kill me!”

“Shut up! Shut up Nonkonzo,” she said, pointing her finger at me. “Your father will know about this as soon as he walks through the door.”

Mother was not lying – she told my father when he arrived. I heard him coming to my room. I covered myself with blankets as I knew the first thing he would do was to hit me.

“Nonkonzo! Nonkonzo!” he said with rage. “Tell me my child, what is this shameful thing about you that I hear from your mother?” He was silent, waiting for my response. I didn’t know what to say. Instead I burst out crying.

“You know that those tears will never free you.”

He looked again as if waiting for me to rebel and ask what he was looking for.

“Besides making us a laughing stock in this place, you are putting us at risk of parting ways with our church,” my mother added.

“Gather all your belongings child. You are going to Durban tomorrow, to your aunt’s. No daughter of mine can stay in this small place, pregnant. I have a congregation to think of.”

So I was banished to stay in Durban with aunt Nongcobo.

Early the next year I gave birth to a baby boy who looked like Thobekile, with his loving eyes and smile.

Then, to my amazement, my aunt told me that my father had dismissed my marriage to Chumile, and yet still saved face in the community.

“How?” I asked her.

“They found out that Chumile was a womaniser. They caught him with another girl. Your father went to the Bishop and claimed he was refusing to allow his daughter to marry Chumile because of this reason.”

When Aunty told me that, there was relief in my soul. It meant one day I might be accepted back in my home with my child. My mom had visited my aunt to see her grandchild, but my father would not come with her. I was still banished.

I had lost my home, and my soul mate, Thobekile.

*****

Lost Rose Restaurant, Durban, February 2012

It’s been a month since my date with Monde. That date didn’t last long. No, you see my story scared him away. When I got to the part where I had a child, he couldn’t wait to get out of the restaurant door.

I swore after that date that I wouldn’t do this internet dating again. I really have no time for a man. My life is too busy, studying to become a nurse and looking after my little boy. But my friend Pamela persuaded me to try one last time.

So here I am tonight as ‘Buyiswa’ … and I am meeting Thatho. Pamela dropped me off; she’s nearby in case things go wrong.

That must be him now.

I stand up to greet the tall, handsome man that has walked in.

There must be some mistake.

“Nono? Is that you?”

“Thobekile?”

“I have struggled so long to find you! I wrote to you from England. But there were no replies. I thought you had found another. But I still had hope. When I came back to continue my studies here, I went to your house. Your father would not let me through their door. But I managed to contact Pamela, and she told me you would be here this evening.”

And then we are in each other’s arms. It feels like I have come home at last. Not to my parents’ home with its security gates and barricades but to my home where there is love and acceptance. A man and a woman and their beautiful baby boy.

I can’t wait to introduce little Siphiwe to his daddy. As we leave the restaurant I see a man who must be Thatho, walking in. It’s the first and last time I will stand someone up.

***

Tell us what you think: What would make it possible for Nono to reconcile with her father?

The End.