“I’ll be your husband, Zami.” Sandile sounds like he’s explaining something to a child.
“And I’ll be your wife. Shouldn’t we decide things together?” I hesitate. “I’m only 19, Sandile. Maybe I’m too young? Anyway, I don’t want to have babies too soon, possibly only in my mid-twenties. When I know which way I’m going in the boxing world, and have a proper long-term plan.”
“What about what I want? I’m not nineteen.”
“That’s what I mean. Maybe I’m too young for you.”
“Are you trying to wriggle out of our engagement?”
Like it’s something I might need to escape from? That’s not how I feel … is it?
“I’m just saying … we shouldn’t be in too much of a hurry.”
“You know how much our marriage means to your family.” He’s doing that thing with his lips and putting on his melting chocolate voice.
I do know. It’s one of the reasons I said yes to being engaged, when what I really felt was that we should wait a while, just getting to know each other.
Somehow, I find the strength to resist that persuasive voice. I say, “Getting married should be something we’re doing for ourselves, for us, not our families.”
“Of course it’s about you and me, but if it makes your family happy, isn’t that a bonus?”
“I suppose.” I can feel myself weakening, because naturally I want to make them happy.
“So no more of this nonsense, and no more talk about contracts.” His voice is no longer soft and sweet. “Understand?”
“Fine.”
“Don’t sulk!” Sandile says, so sharply that I jump.
Is that what I’m doing? I don’t know. I just feel all wrong.
I know a relationship is about two people – about meeting each other halfway, don’t they call it? So why do I feel like I’ve lost a piece of myself? As if I’ve given it away?
I can’t shake off the feeling, even when we get to my house and I see how happy my family are that we’re still together. Sandile has brought gifts, more than usual. There are even expensive kicks for Funo and Bandla, and I remember how he asked their shoe sizes a few weeks ago when they were talking about which brands they wished they owned.
Mama takes me aside and whispers, “This is good, Zami. Don’t make any more trouble with Sandile, please?”
I don’t say anything, but it burns me, the way I’m the one she’s blaming. Doesn’t it take two to make a quarrel?
My friends are the same when I see them on Saturday and tell them what happened after Sandile came to the gym.
“I hope you’ve learned your lesson, girl,” Goniwe says.
“He sounds so masterful, telling you no more nonsense.” Deirdre shakes her head in admiration.
“No-one is my master,” I protest.
Deirdre only shrugs, but Andisa says, “If you don’t want Sandile anymore, I’ll happily take him off your hands, my friend.”
I nearly tell her she’s welcome to him.
What is wrong with me? I love Sandile.
***
Tell us: Clearly Zami is starting to have doubts about Sandile. Should she just try to ignore them, or is there some action she can take?