Thandiwe
When my workday finally came to an end, I got out of the supermarket and there, true to his word, stood Bongani near the entrance. His presence caught me off guard, and I couldn’t help but feel a mix of curiosity and uncertainty.
“I wanted to tell you that you are wrong,” he said, falling into step beside me.
I glanced at him, a questioning look on my face. “About what?”
His eyes met mine, earnest and filled with sincerity. “You deserve love. We all deserve to be loved,” he stated, his voice gentle yet firm. “Allow me to love you.”
His words hung in the air, stopping me in my tracks. I turned to face him fully, searching his face for any sign of doubt or insincerity. “You don’t know me,” I replied, my voice tinged with a mix of caution and vulnerability.
He nodded, his gaze unwavering. “You’re correct and I may be nothing more than a security guard, lacking a fancy car or material possessions to entice you. But what I can offer you is love, and nothing else,” he confessed, his hands sliding into his pockets.
My mind whirled with conflicting emotions as I listened to his words. Bongani’s honesty and simplicity struck a chord within me. He continued, his voice tinged with vulnerability, “I have a small backroom with a single bed, a twin plate, and a little fridge. It may not be much, but I try my best.”
A mixture of apprehension and curiosity filled me, unsure of how to respond to his heartfelt confession. He licked his lips nervously, a shy smile forming on his face. “My heart belongs in KZN, where my umbilical cord lies. Allow me to love you,” he pleaded, his words hanging in the air.
“Bongani,” I started, my voice soft, my heart torn between the past and the possibility of a new beginning. But I found myself unable to say more, the weight of my past mistakes and guilt silencing any further words.
***
When I finally arrived home, exhaustion and contemplation consumed me. I lay on my bed, the weight of Bongani’s words and my own self-doubt heavy on my mind.
As I lay there, lost in my thoughts, Mam Mavis, interrupted my solitude. Her gentle touch on my back brought comfort, and I turned my head to acknowledge her presence.
“So, that young man,” she began, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.
I sighed, knowing exactly who she was referring to. “What about him?”
“He seems nice,” she commented, her voice filled with warmth and hope.
“He is,” I admitted, a flicker of a smile gracing my face.
Her fingers continued to massage my back as she asked, “Do you like him?”
The weight of my past mistakes pressed upon me, and I sighed heavily. “He likes me,” I replied, turning my gaze toward Mam Mavis. “But I don’t think love is meant for me,” I confessed, the weight of guilt still burdening my heart.
Mam Mavis’s touch paused for a moment, contemplating her words. “Thandiwe, you need to forgive yourself. It has been two years now,” she gently urged, her voice filled with compassion.
Shaking my head, I whispered, “I know, but the guilt hasn’t lessened. It still consumes me.”
A moment of silence hung between us, and then Mam Mavis cleared her throat, her voice carrying a newfound weight. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” she confessed, helping me sit up straight.
My interest piqued, I looked at her, anticipation filling the room. “What is it?”
Taking a deep breath, she met my gaze, her eyes filled with love. “I’m your mother,” she revealed, the weight of her words echoing through my very being.