Asakhe bathed her child affectionately. She then dressed him nicely before laying him to bed. So adorable and innocent the baby looked that she took many pictures of him. Perhaps she should post it on social media like most of her peers do. But then Asakhe was no fool. Even before she fell pregnant with her own child, she knew it’s only the finished product her peers posted on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. They never posted about the inconveniences and struggles that she now is also familiar with like the night the baby wept so much in the middle of the night that she was close to tears herself, when she had to change its nappies for the first time (although she got used to it with time), and when she saw her besties, Nosipho and Palesa, walking past her home, flamboyantly dressed, and undoubtedly going to an event. However, she wasn’t angry for their having left her behind. Even if they had included her in their plans she wouldn’t go because she had a baby to look after.

“Asakhe!” her mother’s voice boomed. Argh… she won’t hide forever. It was time to face the music. She cringed at the possibility of being the latest gossip in the entire township of Lawley. And it will take her plenty of time before she accumulates enough courage to appear in public. For the first time she thought of Tsepo. Will she have enough courage to face him after this baby-daddy saga? Will their relationship still progress now that he soon will discover she has a baby, that she is a mother?

She knew the relationship was doomed. What has a lie as its foundation peters out when the truth comes out. Anyway, she quickly had to forget about Tsepo. She had other things to worry about than umjolo dating, like her family that she now has to answer to, and how will the real father of her child react when he tells him the baby is his. She moved out of her room going towards the dining room where his mother and Uncle Velile sat waiting for her. Before she entered the dining room she stopped and eavesdropped their conversation.

“All children are like this,” said Uncle Velile.

“But, brother, what can we possibly do to save these children from ruining their future?”

“We can only try to show them the right way and which decisions and choices are rewarding in life. Besides that, there isn’t much we can do as parents. One may lead a horse to the river but cannot make it drink.”

“Abantabethu our children…they don’t understand we cannot always be around them. We cannot always monitor their behaviour because we have to go work for them.”

Her mother’s words stung her a bit. She barged into the dining room. They ceased their conversation and gazed at her with alarm and disappointment.

“Asakhe, mntwanam, awuzazi okokuba ukhuleliswe ngubani? Asakhe, my child, don’t you know who impregnated you?”

“Ndiyazi mama I know mother,” she mumbled.

“Asakhe what’s wrong with you?” asked Uncle Velile.

She didn’t respond. This was one of those tricky situations when responding or quietening up is interpreted as stubbornness. This is a situation that many black children are familiar with. And it usual came with physical punishment using a stick, a belt, a wet towel, or any nearest object that can be used to ‘instil discipline’ to a stubborn child. Her relief came when her mother asked her another question.

“If you know who impregnated you then why did you get yourself into this mess? Why did you point the wrong boy?”

She didn’t respond again.

“Or did you think we can’t take care of the baby? Huh…what is it?” said Uncle Velile, annoyed.

She was silent. Instead, tears just flowed on her pretty face. She didn’t understand why they were scrutinising her so much as if she has control over her past.

“Do you realise now you are a single mother? Nothing is glamorous about being a single mother, especially at your age,” said her mother.

“But you’re also a single mother. I don’t know who is my father.”

She immediately rued having said that. It was a perilous slip of a tongue caused by anger. Uncle Velile stared at her as if he were seeing a ghost. She waited for her mother to give her a hiding, but she did not. Over the years her mother seems to be getting softer and softer. Or was Asakhe too old for the hiding now? There was a time when her mother would’ve thrashed her for responding to her, an elder, in such an irreverent manner.

“Young girl, that’s no way to speak to your mother!” said Uncle Velile. He was tempted to give her a thorough hiding but cooled down, opposing the burning desire. Beside the cane or corporal punishment being illegal so much was at stake. He didn’t know how her sister might react. Of course, he had a technical right to instil discipline to Asakhe because she was his niece, his blood. But nowadays a biological parent will always side with its child, especially a mother. It no longer takes a village to raise a child.

“Asakhe, I didn’t wish for you to be a single mother because I know how hard it is. Do you think I glamourise single parenting? No, I don’t…children need both parents. For instance, my brother here gives you and Lwando love but it’s very different from the one you’d get from your own father. So, tell me then, is this the kind of life you want for your own children? Why won’t you learn from my mistakes? And do you by any chance know of a man whose wife is the girl he impregnated on her teens? That’s rare. Conceiving a child for a man before marriage is the quickest way of chasing him away.”

All the while her mother spoke Asakhe had her eyes cast on the floor.

“Asakhe, mntwanam, do you ever think of what might become of you should brother and I pass away right now? Are you aware that you’d have to hold back any plans you have of your life and seek employment to raise your baby?”

She was rescued by the sudden emergence of Lwando from the ceaseless taunting and reprimanding. Their mother and Uncle Velile both smiled at Lwando and diverted their attention to him, the young man who has not ‘embarrassed’ the family.