Yibanathi



2 weeks ago



I looked at the coffin, which sat open at the front. My mother looked beautiful and at peace, dressed in her favorite floral Sunday dress, her hands resting on her stomach.

Surprisingly, there were no tears. Ever since I learned that my mother was soon going to pass away, I had not shed a single tear. Maybe it was because I had watched her battle with illness, trying to nurse her back to health, only to see her condition worsen.

I cried more as I saw her frail form, a mere shadow of her former self. She had become so thin, her skin clinging to her bones. It was heartbreaking to see her suffer, and I cried out to God, begging for her to be spared. She was all I had in this world, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.

But God had other plans. On a Wednesday night, my mother passed away peacefully. And since then, not a single tear had fallen from my eyes.

Now, I stood alone in the 4-room house we had called home for as long as I could remember. The house feels cold without my mother’s laughter that used to fill the rooms. I clung to my stuffed animal, seeking some comfort in its familiarity.

***



My heart races as I see a white car park outside the gate. I knew this day would come; my mother had warned me about it.

My uncle walked in, and just the sight of him filled me with a sense of dread and vile emotions. He looked at me with an evil glint in his eyes, and it made my blood boil.

“You,” he sneered, pointing a finger at me. “You don’t belong here. This house belongs to the Ngubane’s, and you’re nothing but a bastard child. You must go to your father’s house.”

I bit the insides of my cheeks to hold back the tears and the anger welling up inside me. I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me broken. This is also my mother’s house, I wanted to shout, I am a Ngubane too, and this is my home.

But the words got stuck in my throat, and I couldn’t find the strength to defend myself. I wanted to tell him that I had no desire to be with a man who had never been a father to me, who had never bothered to be a part of my life.

“Never get comfortable here,” he continued, his voice filled with malice. “This is not your home, and I can kick you out anytime. This house is mine.”

I bit my tongue again, fighting the urge to retaliate. I watched him leave the kitchen, sinking down on the couch. My heart raced, and in that moment, I wished more than ever that my mother was still alive.