Anthem, Silent

Schalk

I knew everything about her; my little Ivy. My poison Ivy. 

Her parents Dorothy Modise and Zweli Sibiya were lovers for a couple of years; four years to be exact, and in those four years they had one child. At the time, they were only 18, and after having Zama Ivy, their relationship ended. Zweli, her father, ended up going to study Engineering at the Tshwane University of Technology (TUT), but dropped out after failing because he partied too hard and cared more for entertaining girls than his own studies. How fucking pathetic. After dropping out of college, he had a series of piece jobs, trying to maintain the lifestyle of partying, booze and loose women in cheap taverns, until he ended up being a taxi driver. He had no relationship with his daughter– as a matter of fact, for her graduation he had gifted her R50 and a hearty hug outside the gates of her grandmother’s house while he reeked of Heineken. 

Dorothy Modise was no better. Dorothy studied to become a nurse, and unlike her ‘baby daddy’ actually succeeded in completing her studies. However, Dorothy didn’t have a single motherly bone in her body and opted to give her child to her mother to take care of and raise. Dorothy lived a comfortable life, as if she were a childless woman, and entertained men. However, she was currently in an 8 year long relationship with some useless bum who drove her car like it was his, and kept her cards on him since she was so blinded by love she didn’t care that he was taking care of his other ‘baby mama’ and their two children. Dorothy did send a little money at the end of every month to her mother to help with the expenses of raising her child; on the 27th of every month, she hand delivered R1, 500 and a McDonald’s happy meal. The only quality time she spent with my darling Ivy was during Christmas, New Year’s and Ivy’s birthday which she had forgotten several times over the years. 

Then came the only person who really cared for the object of my obsession; her grandmother, Teboho Modise who had raised Ivy, and two of her other cousins who were the children of Teboho’s youngest daughter who had taken after her sister Dorothy. Teboho took care of her grandchildren using her pension money, and lived in a beige two room RDP and had a boyfriend she had met at church. 

Teboho spoiled her grandchildren and took care of them as well as she could, which was why my darling Ivy couldn’t cook since her grandmother insisted on always cooking. It also explained the several neat Tupperware’s in her fridge with meals for the week ranging from Monday to Thursday. Friday’s and Saturday’s were takeout days for my soet Ivy, and Sunday she would have to make her way to Pretoria for lunch and her weekly meals that her grandmother would prepare for her. 

Ivy was mostly taken care of by her uncle, Lincoln Modise, who had finished school, went to university and obtained a degree in teaching and went on to teach for 13 years before becoming a principal at an all-boys school in Pretoria North– working his way to a healthy middle class lifestyle with his wife and two children. If it wasn’t for Lincoln, Ivy would’ve never had the opportunity to pursue her tertiary education since it was through him that she had gotten an all-expenses paid bursary. 

I know everything about her. 

I know that brown is her favourite colour, and I know that she loves oranges but hates peeling them so she always cut them in fours. I know that she believes that if she eats a watermelon seed then a watermelon will grow inside her stomach, and I know that she likes using the phrase ‘were you raised in a barn?’ whenever someone leaves the door open. I know that she has a love hate relationship with her hair dresser because the lady didn’t exactly have a gentle hand when it came to her delicate head– which is something Emily will pay dearly for– and I know that she hates being alone so she always leaves the TV on as background noise.

I know that she had her first kiss by the graffiti wall across the spaza shop just five houses down from her grandmother’s home, and I know that she hates walking that very same corner on the weekends since boys would linger there and catcall. I know she calls the Somalian shop owner ‘my friend’ and I know that she loves buying Eclairs sweets. I know that she failed Economics 110 and studied so hard her hair fell out so she could get a distinction during her second semester for Economics 120, since she hated the way that Lincoln had sadly sighed at the looks of her report after her first semester.