It seems like trouble follows me everywhere. How would you explain this: my father unexpectedly rocks up at our home just after dinner? OK, well, nothing seems odd there; it’s just a father missing his children and wife. It’s a normal thing, isn’t it?

It only becomes abnormal when you consider the drama and bad blood between me and him.

I was busy with the dishes when I heard the familiar husky voice that is my father’s. I was just about to run and embrace him, but then it hit my mind that I was still angry at him for betraying me. Never make that mistake of forgetting that you are angry; don’t allow emotions to overwhelm your anger. It’s like selling yourself out. It’s also more like betraying yourself.

“Zinziswa, molo,” he said grinning like a man who has just won a prize.

I looked him up and Mom was staring daggers at me as if asking ‘Zinzi Zwane where are your manners, greet your Dad, can’t you see he is back.’ So I was forced to mumble my greetings. It was only then that I noticed the boy who was with him. What struck me odd about him was that he was like a younger version of my Dad – just like the photos of him when he was young.

“I want to speak to them now!” he commanded my Mom. She looked at me, and I swear I saw tears in her eyes before she looked down. What was happening, I wondered!

“No! You can’t. Simphiwe is sleeping,” that was my Mom, voice as soft and humble as that of a servant.

But as stubborn and hard-headed as all Xhosa men are (in my opinion) Dad just brushed passed her, straight into Sim’s room. A few minutes later, he emerged carrying Sim on his shoulders, an almost devilish smile playing on his face all the time. What could bloody be so urgent that it couldn’t wait? Was it a sort-of a family Imbizo?

It wasn’t long after we had sat uncomfortably on the couches, that he dropped the news on us like an atomic bomb.

Dad has an illegitimate child, that’s just about the only way I can put it! No euphemism.

You can imagine how dumb-founded I was. To be more precise, I felt like I was in a dream and somebody would shake me up and remind me that I had school to go to. But it wasn’t a dream: there was my Dad talking on and on in his monotonous voice, the same voice that use to read bed-time stories for me; there was Sim listening dispassionately; the boy, Owethu, his son, looking shyly down on the carpet as if it was filled with ancient stains and he was mediating on how to get rid of them so that he could be accepted in this family.

And Mom? Oh, yes Mom! She sat there with a face as white as a sheet, an empty canvas robbed off all emotions. I kept searching for traces in her face -I wanted to know if she knew all about this. But all that greeted me was an empty face. Just an empty face; no disappointment, no anger, nothing but an empty face!

What was she thinking? What do women in such situations think? Was she even thinking? Damn you Tata! I hate you for putting her through this. What was he thinking?

Does he think we care – comes here and gloats about a son we know nothing about? I hate looking at him smiling like a devil whilst wrecking this family apart! I hate being under the same roof as him, breathing the same air as him…

I couldn’t sit there anymore… I can’t remember how I got out of that room. I remember struggling with the gate and how the wire pierced my finger before I could open the gate and took off into the night. I didn’t know where I was going, but ended up at Sebastian’s.

When I arrived there sweat and tears of anger mingled and rubbed on him as I fell into his strong arms. And I felt in his arms the best protection that the world could offer. I actually fell asleep in his arms, only to wake up now in his room – a breakfast prepared, but him nowhere to be seen.

Whoever sees him today please tell him that he is my sunshine amidst the storms of life!

The Diary of Zinzi Zwane is now on Facebook. Like it, please…

ZZ xxx