(It is dinner time at the Malope home)
Thembi: Pass me the pepper, Tshepo.
Mandla: Hand it over to me when you’re done. How was your day?
Thembi: Very busy. I didn’t even have lunch. I had back-to-back patients booked for appointments. Being a therapist is draining.
Mandla: No one forced you to be one. You could’ve been anything you wanted to be. Don’t discourage youngsters from being one.
Thembi: (laughing) How dare you say that? In case you didn’t know, it’s our birth right as women to complain.
Mandla: (laughing) I get you. Are you aware that you’ve just given me a concrete reason for denying to make you tea, bring you lunch to work, cook for and with you?
Thembi: We both know that you dearly love me to do that.
Mandla: I can condition myself to be like that. Psychologists are there for such matters!
Thembi: You wouldn’t!
Mandla: I would.
Thembi: (laughing) Then I will see a traditional practitioner, as soon as your behaviour changes!
Mandla: For what?
Thembi: For strong medicine to put you under my spell.
Mandla: (laughing hard) You talk fantasy!
Thembi: I am allowed to! I am a woman. My strength lies in fantasy!
Mandla: Tshepo! You’re miles and miles from here. Where are you?
Tshepo: What? Oh! I was just thinking.
Thembi: About what dear? It had better not be about drugs and alcohol.
Tshepo: It’s not.
Thembi: Good.
Mandla: What is it then? You are distracted and withdrawn.
Tshepo: It’s nothing I can’t deal with.
Thembi: I hope so.
Mandla: Is there something you’re not telling us?
Tshepo: Could you please stop asking me that? I am running out of punch lines!
Mandla: Don’t raise your voice when you’re talking to me. I am your father, you’re my seed.
Thembi: Mandla, please.
Mandla: Somebody has to force him to speak out.
Tshepo: Why?
Thembi: Tshepo, please finish up your food.
Tshepo: I have something to tell you.
Mandla: Finally!
Thembi: Please.
Tshepo: Mom, dad, I’m different.
Thembi: We know darling. You are a star, you’re famous at school and you talk less with us, but we still love you.
Tshepo: Maybe I should just put it bluntly. I am…
Thembi: I made a carrot cake as a dessert! Anybody interested?
Tshepo: No mom! No!
Thembi: What, darling?
Tshepo: I know what you’re doing. You know too. You know about this!
Mandla: What is it? I don’t get you.
Thembi: I just want to serve dessert. Is that so wrong?
Tshepo: Stop it, mom!
Thembi: After the dessert, you can tell us (standing up)
Tshepo: Sit down, mom! You know, mother! You know about this. I know you know.
Mandla: The next thing that comes out of your two mouths better make sense.
Thembi: Honey, do you want a piece of carrot cake?
Mandla: Only after Tshepo has told us what he wants to tell us.
Thembi: Okay, I am going to cut it then.
Tshepo: No, you’re not! Sit down, mother! Mother knows, dad! She knows.
Mandla: She knows what?
Thembi: I can’t stay to listen to this.
Tshepo: Yes, you can and you will!
Mandla: I am going crazy right now! You two are driving me up the wall. Neither of you is making any sense!
Thembi: I need to take some pills. I have a headache.
Mandla: That was sudden.
Tshepo: Mom, I am not allowing you to go!
Thembi: You don’t own me. I gave birth to you, not the other way arou…
Tshepo: Mom, please be quiet!
Thembi: This is my house, and you aren’t going to tell me what to do and what not to do.
Mandla: (groaning)
Thembi: I need some fresh air.
Tshepo: Dad, hold on to mother. I have to tell you this. It’s only fair that I tell both of you now before you hear it from someone else.
Mandla: I don’t have to, please stay put, Thembi. I’m sure that whatever he has to tell us will be very short. We’re all ears, Tshepo.
Tshepo: I prefer boys.
Thembi: I really need some fresh air.
Tshepo: Mom, you know! You know! Dad, I am gay! Mom knows! She read my diary, walked in on me on top of Thabo. She knows!
Mandla: What? You’re what? Good God!
Tshepo: I love a boy.
Mandla: Who is this boy?
Tshepo: Thabo Sibisi.
Mandla: So, all this studying together thing was for you to be with him? I can’t believe we’re raising a sinner. You know what? You’re leaving tomorrow morning. That ain’t up for discussion. You’re going to KwaZulu Natal. You’re leaving Jozi! Go and start packing!
Tshepo: It’s the end of the term, and I am in twelfth grade.
Mandla: You should’ve thought of that before you… The bottom line is, you’re leaving tomorrow. If I have to drag you to the car, I will. Off to packing! Give me your phone. We’re leaving at four o’clock.
***
Tell us: How would you take the news if you were Tshepo’s parents?