“Are you okay? Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. Are you a maid? I’m sorry, of course you’re not! I mean mom would’ve told me. Are you maybe a relative coming over for the holidays? Not that I’m not happy to see you, I could use a friend who is older than Enhle and Thando. Someone my size,” he said rumbling, and I just stood there looking at him like I didn’t even get a word of what he was saying.

It was true though, mainly because, since I never went to school, I couldn’t speak or understand English. I put my hand on my chest to refer to myself and I said, “Kedibone.”

He then said “Ohhhh! You don’t understand English? Don’t worry, I will teach you some words. But how come you don’t know English in the 21st century?” he put his hand on his chest and introduced himself as Sibusiso.

I smiled, and he smiled back. I heard voices from little girls, and I knew they were talking about my hair. They came closer to touch it, and Sibusiso said Mbalenhle, Nothando while pointing to them. The housekeeper took my plastic bag and whispered into Sibusiso’s ear, who nodded his head to agree with her.

He then pointed at the housekeeper and said, “Mam’Gladys”

The awesome thing was that Mam’Gladys could speak Sepedi. She escorted me to a room and told me it was mine, and gave me a new red dress. Before then, I didn’t have anything red except for my beaded necklace, which was given to me as a present by Mapheto when I was leaving because I was turning 16 soon.

She knew she wouldn’t be around to give it to me, and I didn’t know if it would look good on me. But it did, and, even though yellow was my favourite colour, I loved red too.

“E tloga ego swanela ele ruri. Ella o ikgantsha ka wena mo a leng,” Mam’Gladys said.

“Le tseba bomma? Le ba tseba jwang? Gona ke gore le tseba le Mapheto akere?” I asked.

“Ke a batseba, ka moka ga bona ke shomile le bona ga Vass Berg. Ebe keile gae beke e fetileng ge Mapheto a mpotxa gore otlo nyalana le Sibusiso, a nkgopela gore ke go hlokomele. Jwale tseba gore o matsogong a borutho,” she responded.

“Sibusiso?” I frowned.

“Re swanetxe ke go sepela jwale. Gone se sengwe seo o nyakago go se txea?”

Instead of words, I responded with actions. I took my red beaded necklace out and put it on slowly, and it was the finest and most magical piece I’ve ever seen, and out we went.

We went to the garden, which was so beautiful that I thought its flowers were looking at me and giving me compliments. Mam’Gladys held my hand as we walked towards the elders, and when we got to them, I kneeled to greet them, bowing my head down.

That’s how Mapheto taught me to do, and they praised me for doing it. They spoke in Zulu, and Mam’Gladys translated for me. They said Mr Leshobane had died when Sibusiso was fourteen years old, and that he couldn’t take over his inheritance because he was still young. Now that he had completed his matric and was old enough, he was ready to take over his father’s empire as the heir, but, in order to do so, he had to first marry.

He was now in university, and he was marrying so he could have kids who would take over his inheritance when he gets old or dies. That was tradition. We had no choice, and Mapheto’s husband had already taken the money for me. There was no turning back, and, as for Sibusiso, his mom could no longer afford his fees, so this was the only way for him to pay.

Tell us: Should arranged marriages be the thing of the past? Motivate your answer.