Thandiwe



There is nothing more that I despise than using a wheelchair and having to rely on others for assistance in getting up or bathing. The lack of control over my own body is something I detest.

The most humiliating part is having to depend on people for basic tasks. This feeling of reliance is what I hate the most.

Even more, I despise myself for what I did to Sbonga, hurting him in the way I did, despite him being there for me from the very beginning. He stood by me when Mr. Sibanda left me pregnant and when I dropped out of school. He never judged me and never complained about raising a child that is not his for the past six years. And yet, when I saw Sello, a wealthy man, I didn’t hesitate to leave Sbonga for the materialistic things I couldn’t obtain from him.

I wheel the wheelchair out of the gate, and every eye on the streets looks at me. Some laugh as I pass by, not bothering to hide their gossip. This is the first time I have fully ventured out since my accident.

I can almost hear them, mocking the girl who achieved four distinctions as she falls straight to the ground. I swallow back the tears and continue wheeling my wheelchair, whispering to myself, “I can do this.”

My lips feel dry as I wait to cross the road, and in that moment, a passing car splashes water on me and stops short. The driver rolls down the window, and to my surprise, it’s Sello, accompanied by another woman on the passenger side.

Sello puts on his thick black sunglasses and looks at me with a sly smile on his face. “Thandiwe, is that you?”

It sickens me to know that I once fell for this man. Sello makes a pouty face and says, “It’s sad to be you, huh?” The woman in the passenger seat laughs and adds, “Don’t trip and fall on that thing.” They drive away, leaving me feeling humiliated.

I wipe away the tear that fell, but instead of turning back, I gather my strength and continue on my way to the taxi rank.

“Sisi, uyaphi? (Where are you headed?)” asks the taxi driver.

“Olifant,” I manage to say. The driver looks around and then turns his eyes back to me, questioning, “Is there anyone going with you?”

I shake my head.

“Ai, sisi, who will help you get in the taxi?”

At that moment, embarrassment washes over me as everyone’s eyes turn towards me. “Ngeke (No) , you will have to go back unless you find someone who will assist you,” he says, leaving me there and going to speak with other people who want to board the taxi.

I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth and wheel myself around, ready to head back when I hear a voice.

“I’ll help her.” I turn back around and see a man walking towards me. The taxi driver nods and says, “Ngenani.(Get in.)” He rounds the taxi and gets into the driver’s seat.

“Thank you,” I say to the stranger as he assists me in boarding the taxi, carefully folding the wheelchair and placing it between his legs. Soon, the taxi fills up, and we set off to Olifantsfontein.

“My name is Bongani,” he says as conversations fill the taxi. “My name is Thandiwe.”

“You have a beautiful name,” he comments, and we remain silent until we reach my destination. Bongani helps me out of the taxi and surprises me by following me. “You don’t have to come.”

“I don’t mind,” he says, following safely behind as I enter the supermarket and head towards the manager’s office. “I’ll wait outside,” Bongani says, giving me the privacy to talk to the manager.