Weeks passed by and Koko’s sickness became worse than before. Her swollen feet were failing to lead her to the toilet outside. She was using a bucket placed near to her bed to help herself. She was being fed and bathed like a small child. She refused to go to the hospital as she wanted to die in her house. She believed so much in traditional medicine and different witchdoctors would come to her house to give her all the healing herbs, but nothing helped.

Moreover, Nkamo dropped out of school to look after her grandmother. As young as she was, she was doing all the house work.

“Lethabo, Lethabo, my daughter, where are you? Since you got married to that rich husband of yours, you never came to see me and your child. I don’t judge or hate you for what you did in the past.” Koko would be talking to herself while she was still alive, night after night, as she was cried herself to sleep.

Days later, Koko died without speaking or seeing Lethabo. Poor woman died with no peace, without saying goodbye to her only daughter, her only child.

Nkamo was in great pain. She lost a best friend, a shoulder to cry on, a pillar of her strength, a grandmother. She had to be strong and do all the funeral arrangements with the help from neighbours.

Lethabo came on the day of a funeral. She was wearing an expensive dress with high heels and had a nice hairstyle which was out of this world. She had lots of make-up on her face, pearls around her neck and long, shiny nails. All eyes were on her because people were surprised that she only showed up on the day of the funeral.

What kind of a daughter was she? People were asking each other.

Lethabo was with her three friends from Johannesburg and a few hours after the funeral she bought lots of alcohol and had an ‘after-tears’ party. There was a loud music at Koko’s house as if there was no funeral earlier. Lethabo and her friends were dancing and making all sorts of noises as they were drunk.

She did not even introduce her daughter to her friends; it was like she was embarrassed by her child. She kept ordering her daughter around: “Matlakala do this, Matlakala do that”. Poor, daughter was cleaning and washing the pots, and even packed the chairs. Lethabo’s friends thought that Nkamo was a domestic worker.

Three days after the funeral, Lethabo took her daughter to live with them in Johannesburg. Nkamo’s pain of losing her grandmother turned into joy when she was told that she would be moving to the city of gold. Little did she know that she was going to a secret prison, a place of rejection and torture.

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