Now I know why my life has always been filled with pain. I know why bad things always happen to me. That’s the price I pay for all the wrongs that have happened. My identity is embedded in pain and sorrow. I am being punished for my dad’s cruelty. My dad’s bitterness and insecurities are following me.

How can I then see myself in a better light when I was produced by a drunkard? A womaniser and an abuser? How can I be proud of my family name when I know I come from a useless man? How can I then feel a sense of pride about my family when I know that I inherited my dad’s stupidity?

These questions overwhelm my mind as I lie on my bed in tears. I wish I had a different dad instead of that drunkard, that nobody who used to beat my mom to hospital, even when she was pregnant with me.

I am Khanya Mazibuko. I’m 16 years of age and I live with my successful mom and stepfather. Unlike many children who were raised by stepdads, I had a great dad who was my hero, a shoulder to cry on and a dad who always wanted to see me happy. He made sure that I go to one of the best schools in town. So many people see this rich girl who has a problem but I see a broken child.

I’ve always thought I would be the happiest child ever if I could meet my biological dad and have a relationship with him like the one I have with my stepdad. Like always, I shared this with my dad earlier this year and he didn’t judge me nor did he feel offended that I wanted to meet the man who walked away from my mom who was very pregnant at that time.

I was so happy when he gave me his blessing and promised to talk to my mom about my request. He did as he promised and talked to my mom and persuaded her to let me do it and so the quest to find my dad begun.

In no time he had traced his whereabouts and my mom was open about everything for the first time in my entire life. My mom and I took a flight to Durban to meet with him. My stepdad had organised accommodation and everything.

Durban is a beautiful city. We went sightseeing. We were going to be there for the whole week and so we wanted to have something to talk about when we get back. It was during the June holiday.

Wednesday came. The day that was scheduled for us to meet with him. He did not pitch. So my Wednesday in Durban was not well. We then scheduled with him the following day. He came two hours late and was totally drunk. There goes my dysfunctional dad:

“I… always knew you…were going to look for me… sengizwile ngawe. Ukuthi sowusebenza kahle manje. Ngiyazi usazifela ngami. Who… can rist this?” he said, smelling like a bar with his broken English.

[I’ve heard about you. That you have a good job now. I know you are still madly in love with me. Who… can resist this?]

I was shocked to see such a boastful and irresponsible man in my life.

“I… I’m not here for you… I’m here for my daughter. The one you asked me to abort and when I refused you beat the hell out of me. Even today, I don’t regret my decision. I love her so much. She is the reason for my cosy life.” My mom said as tears welled up in her eyes.

“Oh… usangibangela isicefe kunamhla. Bheka la, uma ufuna imali yami, awuzothola lutho. Angisebenzeli ukondla iintandane. Angazi ungifunani vele, ushaye phansi,” he said, coming close to my face and the smell of alcohol overwhelmed me.

[Oh… you still irritate me. Look here, if you have come for my money, you won’t get anyting. I’m not working so I can feed orphans. I don’t know what you want from me, just leave.]

“Awunamahloni. Ucabanga uba ungubani wena? You leave your child fatherless and when she comes looking for you, you show no love. You are a disgrace to manhood. Bheka la, asidingi mali yakho. Ingane ibifuna ukubona kuphela. Awukashinshi ngempela. Useyisidwedwe somuntu wesilisa!” My mom said as she stood up.

She had driven away any fears that she might have heard for that man. She was right beside him and was so angry I’ve never seen her like that.

[You have no shame. Who do you think you are? Look here, we do not need your money. The child just wanted to see you. You haven’t changed at all. You are still a useless man!]

“Uyadelela manje. Isizwe saphela habe yile demokhasi kaMandela. Sesidelelwa ngonobuy’emendweni manje. Imali yakukhuph’isimilo. Ngizokushaya manje uma usowungilibele,” he said as he sat on the chair clumsily.

[You are disrespectful now. The nation has been destroyed by Mandela’s democracy. We are now being disrespected by women who have given up on their marriages. Money has turned you into someone with no respect. I will beat you now if you have forgotten me.]

“Mom, let’s go! Let’s go now,” I said as tears welled up in my eyes.

“Ungu Mazibuko. uMazibuko wangempela. Yekela ukukhala okwengane encane. Umele uhambe nami ukuze ngikutholele umuntu ozokushada,” he now said laughing out loud.

[You are a Mazibuko. A true Mazibuko. Stop crying like a little baby. You just need to come with me so I can arrange you to get married.]

“Mom, this man is crazy. Let’s go. Now! I never want to see him ever again!” I said rushing out of the take away shop we were in.

“Iingane zanamuhla azinanhlonipho. Isile le ngane,” he shouted as my mom ran after me as I was approaching the exit.

[Children of today have no respect. This child is disrespectful.]

That was my first and last encounter with my biological father a few weeks ago. Things became worse after that. I wish I had never asked my stepfather to help me look for that man. I thought it would be fulfilling to meet with him but it has changed everything. It has crushed me.

***

Let’s chat: How do you think this will affect Khanya?