“Mmane, no offence but I’m not sleeping in this…”

“This what? Heee, beggars can’t be choosers Papa,” Aunt Matlakala said. Ge eba okase kgone go robala ka mo gona nna agosana ka mokgwa o nka go thushang ka gona, ke ge oka sepela le mmago la ya Natala.

“Sbu ngwanaka, ke tla kolomaka ka m0, se ishe pelo mafisha.” My mother said with tears in her eyes.

“Mama le kolobe ka mo e kase robale, ekwa go nkga jwang! No Mama I’m sorry ka mo nkase robale.” I protested.

“Haaaa!” Aunt Matlakala shouted in disbelief. “Mathapelo nna ke lekile, ge eba madulo aka a amogelwa gona ke hlapa diatla. Chaba mothoi aye go nwa teye tse nna nkase di kgone.

She went into the house, leaving me and Mama alone. Seeing Mama like that broke my heart into pieces.

“Mama please don’t cry, go tlo loka.

“Ake tshephe gore ngwanaka wa koloi ya mabaibai wa ntlo ya mabonwa mamohla o fiwa mokhukhu o obeng o robala ke Mishaka ke gore Modimo oreng are sotla ka tsela ye!

“Mama please founela Mantoa, o mmotse atle mo ka potlako.

She dialled Mantoa’s number. It rang for a long while but in the end she finally answered. Mama gave me the phone.

“Omo kae Mantoa?”

“Sbu! You sound stronger than yesterday.”

“I’ve been discharged. Can you please come by my aunt’s place? We need to talk.”

“Sbu I’m not around, I’m in Joburg now.”

“How! I mean you saw that I woke up. How can you just up and leave? Le gona Mantoa ke eng ye ke e kwang ya gore o rekishitse ntlo?

“Yes I sold it, akere it was in my name O nagana gore what was going to pay off your hospital bill?”

“Couldn’t you sell the furniture, your jewellery or your car?”

“I’m sorry, my car? Yooo aowa my car is not going anywhere. You have to understand that you spent four months in a hospital, a private hospital for that matter. Look I can’t discuss this now, I’ll call you later.”

“In the mean time where the hell do I sleep, Mantoa? What do I eat? What happened to our furniture? You want to tell me you sold our house and furniture and payed the hospital bill with all of it?”

“Look I’ll send you three-thousand. Mama has your wallet, that’s all I can afford.”

“Mantoa you better get your ass here, three-thousands? What am I supposed to do it with three-thousand? I worked bloody hard for that house and furniture…”

“Well, I compensated myself, after all I cooked, cleaned, took care of your kids, did your dirty laundry and never in your life have you shown appreciation.”

“Babe please, I’m sorry for everything. Please don’t punish me like this, I’m still your husband.” I couldn’t help the tears from falling. “Please Babe, where am I going to sleep?”

“I’m sure one of your girlfriends will be happy to give you accommodation, or what? They don’t have space for a cripple? Bona ke tla romela three-thousand in your account, use it wisely because I’m not sending any more money.”

I sat on that wheelchair, the sun burning my back and head, not actually believing everything that was happening to me. I couldn’t believe that the woman I spoke to over the phone was the woman I married, the mother to my children. My mother cleaned up the shack, tried washing the bedding and blankets but it was still not a place I, Sbusiso Mahlangu, could sleep in. Later that day Mantoa sent the money and called my mother to tell her she sent it. I asked my mother to buy a few things that would be needed in the house, and leave a thousand rand in the account because I would need a cell phone. After settling in, I asked my mom to leave me for a while so I could rest. I still couldn’t believe that I was going to spend the night in that shack. After a few hours my mother came in with a tray of food. It was porridge and cabbage; the cabbage looked like it was cooked by a five year old.

“Mama what is this?”

“Sbu ngwanaka amogela se ose fiwang hle.

“I told you to go buy food Mama. And this?”

“Matlakala o tsere chelete ya gage ya rente ngwanaka, o tsere five hundrend are ke ya mpete le mapai a o robalang mo go wona.

This was what it had come to, my own aunt treating me like a stranger. From sushi and prawns to porridge and cabbage.

“It’s fine Mama, put it there, I’ll eat.”

“Eja ngwanaka, o kgone go nwa dipilisi, tse dinchi di tseba ke Modimo, ase mafelelo a lefase ngwanaka.”

She left and went in the house. I took the bloody plate and threw it across the room. I sat there crying, asking myself why life could be so cruel? What got into Mantoa? Why did everything in my life choose to fall apart all at once? Damn you Sara October!

***

Tell us what you think: Would you find it difficult to adjust from sushi and prawns to porridge and cabbage?