Love And War Season 1

Prologue

GUGULEZWE NCENJANE

I'm not a religious person, but I used to believe there's something greater up there in the sky. That was until I lost the love of my life, all because he let it happen. He orchestrated everything, and now she's gone. Let me tell you a little story about how things went south...

A little fresh air never hurt anybody, I think to myself as I step out of the house, taking a stroll around our quiet neighbourhood. Hillcrest Extension is a chilled place; I can't imagine living anywhere else. Just as I'm halfway to the Spar complex, my phone rings. It's Philasande, my girlfriend. She's three months pregnant, and we haven't told our parents yet. I roll my eyes, answering her call.

"Yah?" I say, trying hard not to sound as annoyed as I feel. She's been whining and nagging lately, emotional too. It's too much. She wants us to get rid of it because next year, we're going to different universities, her parents will kill her, and she's not ready. We're in Matric, preparing for trials. She starts crying, and I start to panic. I can't handle her tears; I don't need the waterworks.

"Baby, thetha nam," I plead, but it's like I've opened a tap because she wails even harder.

"Sthandwa sam, please just tell me what's wrong?" I ask, now rushing to her home, which is just opposite the complex I was heading to. I get to her place and knock, ending the call. Her friend opens the door.

"Gugu," she says, stepping aside. I rush towards Phila's screams. I get to her room and see her phone on the floor with a trail of blood leading to the bathroom. I find her in the shower, sitting on the floor under the water, crying. I stop in my tracks.

"Phila," is all I manage to utter.

"She did a backdoor abortion and now she won't stop bleeding," explains Thuthula, her best friend who opened the door. I'm shocked, unable to say anything. I love Phila, but this? This is hard to take in.

I'm not a rich kid; my family can at least afford, and because I like to have my own things, I work at Spar after school. I know what you're thinking, I'm in Matric and it's a critical time, but I manage, and my boss is understanding.

"Uthi wenzeni?" I ask, turning to Thuthula. She looks down, playing with her hands.

"Call an ambulance!" I say, going into the shower and closing the tap. She's crying, and it breaks my heart, but not more than her aborting our child! She's shivering, but this person was sitting under hot water.

"Call a fucking ambulance!" I yell, but her friend shakes her head, and so does Phila. I almost drop her, the way I'm so shook!

"If we call an ambulance, then they're going to want to contact her parents, and it will be a big mess. Phila needs to drink some pain meds and sleep," says her friend. I chuckle and head to Phila's room, putting her on the bed. I'm pissed to the core, breathing fire. I grab her friend by the throat.

"If she dies," is all I say to her. She's pleading and begging for me to let go. I walk out to the lounge and call a friend of mine who lives in Ncambedlana. He goes to WSU and has a Polo, a 21st birthday present. I tell him what's going on, and he says he's on his way. Meanwhile, I dress Phila up. Just as I finish, there's a hooter outside. It's Khuselo. I pick her up and take her to the car, instructing her friend to call her parents and bring Phila's wallet and phone. We drive to St. Mary's Hospital and tell them what's going on. I give them Phila's medical aid and ID while they attend to her. They ask for her parents' numbers, and we give them. I go sit down, burying my face in my hands, and cry.

I feel someone brush my back. "Xolo, bruh," says Khusta.

"Ndamcenga bruh. Besithethile ngalewei," I reply, my voice breaking.

I feel like my problems started on this day. I'm not a perfect guy; I grew up avoiding trouble at all costs, but the thing with life is that the harder you try avoiding something, the easier that something gets to you. I loved Phila, but I could never get past what she did. Today, I blame her for turning me into this person. I'm Gugulezwe Ncenjane, and my story begins the day Phila fucked me up. I'm 18, and let's take a ride. About what I said about God and not believing? Life humbles you so much that you find yourself turning over a new leaf. And women? Good God, those creatures can mess a nigga up.

SEBENTILE DLAMINI

"Ungalahli ithemba, Sebentile mntfwanami, kutolunga my baby." Those were the words my grandmother used to say all the time until she passed on. She said them to me every chance she got. "It's always darkest before dawn." I never had replies, just a simple "Okay, Gogo," and she'd smile and say, "One day, you'll understand." Her response was always on point because there'd always be a question in my mind: why mustn't I lose hope? What's there not to lose hope about? The last time I heard her say those words was on her deathbed four years ago. She had diabetes, high blood pressure, and all those other diseases old people have. We weren't exactly rich, but we never went to bed hungry. Whether it was pap and sugar or pap and water, we never went to bed with an empty stomach. We had a roof over our heads and clothes on our backs. To say I didn't have a perfect childhood would be a lie. Yes, I was bullied at school and mocked, but my granny was always there until she died.

LaMazibuko was a praying, church-going woman, not your typical church women who act holier-than-thou but are hypocrites, backstabbers, you name it. She was what I called a prayer warrior, a rock, the community's backbone, and everyone loved her. Who wouldn't? I swear, if she's not in Heaven right now looking down on me, witchcraft exists straight. She was the type of woman who gave shelter to the homeless and food to the hungry. She lived by the scripture in Matthew 25:34-35: "For I was hungry, and you gave me food; I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you brought me together with yourselves and welcomed and entertained and lodged me. I was naked, and you clothed me; I was sick, and you visited me; I was in prison, and you came to see me." And well, I followed suit.

Mam Mavis, our nosy neighbour who pretended to be Gogo's friend, would always ask, "YeTwana, ukwentelani lokutsi ungenalutfo kodvwa uchubeke uphisana ngekudla?" And my grandmother's response would always be, "It's God's grace, Mavis. Kube bewukholwa ngempela ngabe uyakwati lokho." And then Mavis would mumble something, thinking we wouldn't hear her, but we would anyway. Oh, Gog' Twana, I miss you, old lady. If only God kept you here long enough to see how far I've come, that I didn't give up.

"Sebe... Sebe."

"Ye?" I say, looking at my best friend Nonjabulo.

"I've been talking to myself for 30 minutes." I laugh. She's exaggerating; she wouldn't reach 30 minutes talking to someone who isn't paying attention.

"Ncesi, bowutsini?" I ask. She squints her eyes, meaning she's worried.

"I'm okay, don't worry," I quickly say before she asks.

"Okay, bengitsi asambe singatoba late uyamati Masina unjani," she says, rolling her eyes. I laugh. She and our accounting teacher have some sort of chemistry, and none of them is willing to act on it, so they're always at each other's throats. I pack my bag, and we leave for our accounting extra class, the last class I'll ever attend as a high school student. Yes, I'm in Grade 12, and tomorrow we're writing our accounting paper, the last paper, and I'm so happy. I stay close to school, so Bulo and I walk, talking about everything, making plans for next year.

"If it isn't the orphan nerd," says our annoying school president, who thinks the world revolves around him and that every girl wants him. I won't lie, he's hot and all, but not my type, as if I have one. I look at him, then at Bulo, who is boiling with anger.

"Asambe Nonjabulo," I say, looking at her. I know how this ends, and trust me, it's not good. See, Bulo has had my back ever since I can remember. Through all the bullying, she was there and fought for me.

I started being exposed to the cruelty of this world after Gog'Twana's death, but I'm glad she prepared me for it.

My name is Sebentile Phetsile Dlamini. I just turned 17, and I'm not ready for the world, but do I have a choice?