Since I was a child I never felt the need to talk about my father amongst my friends but when I did, I would mostly boast about how great and awesome he was. I would even tell them about my and daddy’s promise, the one when he said he would come and take me to the moon like he promised every day over the phone.
Little did they know, everything was a lie. I last spoke to my father when I was four years of age when he asked to meet up with my mother and me. The man didn’t even bring a sweet for me and I knew from that instant he did not want nor like me. I last heard he lived in Cape Town with his three children and a wife whom clearly does not like me either. I say that because when I got my first phone in Grade 10, I became a PI and searched high and low for his number and I got it.
I called and this lady answered, “Ufuna uZukisa? Akekho futhi ungaphinde ufoune mntanandini?”
She hung up and since then I found myself carrying this huge ball of hatred and despair in my heart.
To not have a father has not been a hurdle in my path: I do exceptionally well at school, I live an OK life with my mother and her children. I do not choose to make my fatherless state my daily bread though yes, at times it may hurt, like on fathers’ day, for example.
I realised I did have a father, my stepfather. He took me in and made the promise to love and take care of me from an early age of eight years old, and as much as it pains me to say this now, I hated the guy at first because I thought he wanted to replace my non-existent father and I did not like that at all but I’m glad he did, good riddance! He became Daddy, the Unwanted Daddy. The Daddy that will walk me down the aisle one day. For that, thank you.
Thank you, Shumba, you are a man amongst men.
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