I wrote a letter and my mother gave me R3 to have it typed and then I made sure to slip it into Amukelani’s mother’s files. All this time I avoided my friend because I couldn’t look at her and not cry myself.

A month later Amukelani came to my home.

“Munghani, you are very scarce at my house these days, did I offend you somehow?” She said with a very sad smile.

“Amukelani, you told me to leave your house and if you mother had not stopped you, you would have thrown me out,” I said, as an excuse I had already prepared for this confrontation I knew was coming.

“I am sorry OK, I was going through something but it is all taken care of now,” I could read between the lines.

Even though I wanted to ask the details I decided she would tell me when she was ready. She never did tell me but her mom did. After she found my letter she waited for the father to come home and she pretended to sleep but the she followed him as he made his way to his daughter’s room. The rest is history. She had him arrested where he worked, to avoid everything being known here. And apparently he was not her father, he got together with her mom when she was 3 years old.

I still wait and hope that my friend will tell me herself one day, maybe when I am a psychologist she will.

I don’t hate home now, in fact I am proud of my mom for making sure we have what we need every day. We might not eat the best food but we never go to bed hungry.

***

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