The plastic bags I was busy depressing myself about welcomed me at the entrance of my home. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or just die. I guess it still hadn’t sank in that it was really over between us. All the bedroom picnics, movie nights-out, taking baths together, shopping for our little unborn child; all that was gone. It all seemed like a cruel, distant dream. I felt my senses deserting me as a pool of emotions poured over me.

How could something so beautiful turn out to be something so ugly so cold so quickly? Wasn’t he at the least bothered that me and his four-month-old child hadn’t made it home yet? Could we have meant so little to him?

I cannot begin to explain the state of my home when I walked in. There was dust and cockroaches everywhere. Old spoilt food spilt all over on the kitchen rug, a faint smell in the fridge, not a drop of water or electricity. How we were supposed to survive in that house? I had now idea but all I knew was that being home was a hundred times better than the dreadful night we spent under that bridge.

For the coming days we survived through our neighbour’s water and sometimes their food. I was grateful to God for such supportive neighbours but the truth was I could see that I was starting to be treated as a dog. Most of them would offer rotten food which they might have left in the freezer for a long time while others would offer left overs. Secretly I was angry at our next door neighbour, Koko Mashilo, for telling the whole world about my struggles. Everyone acted as if they cared, but once I turned my back I would hear them whispering, gossiping behind my back:

“She even looks thinner!”

“What happened to all those fancy clothes she used to flash around?”

“They say her boyfriend dumped her because he found out the child is not his.”

I was the talk of our street. Even those who never spoke to me would take time out of their pathetic lives to come and see me, just so they could see if what everyone was saying proved to be true.

Basi’s nappies and formula also began to add on to my problems. Three weeks of being home and never for once had Tshidiso bothered himself with taking any of my calls or responding to my pleas of helping out with the baby’s things.

My father only came to see us a few times. Going through a difficult patch himself, there wasn’t much he could do to help me. The last time he came to visit I sat on the veranda asking myself what I was going to do. For the past days I had used little when I prepared Basi’s food just so I could save. The same couldn’t be done with nappies; we had only one nappy left. I felt so depressed I just wished the rain could have killed me and Basi so we wouldn’t be struggling the way we were.

I regretted never applying for child support grant for her. Life used to be so good I never thought my baby would need the likes of such, nor could I imagine myself standing on the long Sassa cues like a beggar. It was just funny how life could just knock you down without a warning.

While sitting on the veranda, hoping and praying that Basi doesn’t do a number two on her nappy, my father’s voice startled me.

“You know I always had high hopes for you,” he said with sadness and disappointment all over his face.

“I don’t understand Papa,” I said standing up.

“Is this how you plan to live your life? Passing time by heating up in the sun while your peers are busy getting educated?”

“I’m not passing any time, what must I do Papa? I don’t have anyone to take care of Basi and…”

“And who is to blame for that? Who? I remember how well you defended your so called boyfriend when I asked you why you could choose to fall pregnant, what did you say to me Bonolo? You told me how much he loves you; that he puts you first more than anything else, that I wouldn’t understand because I never had the love you and him had. Where is he now my girl? And where are you? Where is that love today?”

It would have been better if he had slapped me. But those words carried so much pain in them, so much that I couldn’t stop crying even after Papa had left.

***

Tell us what you think: Why do you think sometimes children rush into things and don’t listen to their parents?