THE OTHER WOMAN

CHAPTER 9

|CHOOSE MAY'KHETHELA |

LIHLE

"Lihle. Lihle," someone said shaking me awake. "Mhm?" I asked sleepily. "Ubab' wakho uyak'biza," Ncane whispered. "What time is it?" I asked sitting up. "Shh, uzovusa uHalala. It's quarter past 11," Ncane whispered. "Ngibizwelani?" I asked getting out of bed and putting my gown on drowsily. "Ngcono uy'zwele. Asambe Qwabelihle," she said pulling me by the arm. I must have done something big if Ncane calls me by my full name. She led me to the living room where both my parents were seated. "Hlala phansi," my dad said curtly. The last time ngibizelwa imeeting ekhaya ngang'qabule umfana so I know whatever this is about is big. "Qwabelihle, I'm going to ask you something - and for your sake you better tell me the truth," my dad said - uNkulunkulu abe nami kulemizuzu esele yempilo yami. "Uyezwa?" he asked. "Yebo baba, ngiyakuzwa," I replied. "K'khona indoda ebilapha ekuphe izizumbulu zemali nam'hlanje. Uyamazi?" he asked. Damn. "Y-yebo baba, ngiyamazi," I replied shakily. "Uyini kuwe Qwabelihle?" he asked. "He's... he's m-my uh-"
"Ungalokhu ungingiza, beka iqiniso obala njengomuntu ofayo," my dad said. Eyy ubaba and his analogies nkosi yami. "He's my boyfriend, baba," I replied and my moms gasped. "Usukwazi ukuletha amadoda akho kwami Qwabelihle?" my dad asked. Tjo.
"Cha baba."
"Angazi mawuthi cha uthi cha ini ngoba nakhu phela ubegcogcoma la emagcekeni oQwabe. Indoda engeke ngikhombe ngisho inkukhu ezacile yayo lay'khaya, ibi la Qwabelihle. Uk'bona k'lungile lokho?" my dad asked. Hawu, ihaba kodwa k'bazali. "Cha baba," I replied. "Angikho ke kodwa lapho. Nalendaba yokuk'landa kwakhe ak'buyise eb'suku nayo angiy'thandi kodwa angik'vuselanga lokho. Usumdala manje Qwabelihle, lokho sik'bonile yingakho sikwenzele umcimbi. Ekukhuleni kwakho ngiyaqiniseka ukuthi sak'khulisa kahle ngalendlela yokuthi wazi ukuthi yini elungile nengalunganga, angithi?"
"Yebo baba."
"Pho uhlanganiswa yini nendoda eshadile?" he asked and I gulped. Ahhawu. "Baba?" I asked. "Ungangenzi ngicasuke. Ung'zwe kahle. Phendula ke ntomb' endala." he said. "Uhh- baba bengi-" I attempted shaking before he cut me off. "Naba oma bakho la. K'khona owake wezwa k'thiwa wazwana nendoda eshadile?" he asked. "Cha baba akekho," I replied. "Pho uyithathaphi le nonsense oyenzayo?" he asked. "Ndawo baba," I replied. "Oh, uvele wavuka wathi nam'hlanje ngizothandana nendoda eshadile. Emangaka amdoda ezweni Qwabelihle?" my dad asked raising his voice. "Cha baba, akunjalo," I replied. "Kunjani?" he asked. I kept quiet because I wasn't sure how to answer the question. After a few minutes of silence, my mom broke the silence. "Uzoke ung'size ke ntombi, ungitshelele les'gelekeqe sakho ukuthi okun'hlanganisile sek'phelile. Angikaze ngibe utikilane ohlukanisa umndeni, futhi angeke kuqale ngengane yami," she said defiantly. "Ma-" I started on the brink of tears. "Yeyi shut up! Ungiphoxile mntanami, noma kungathiwa ngiyisihluleki kangakanani kodwa ukuthi ungaze uphenduke i-i lento osuyiyo? Ak'kwazi! Ngeke ke futhi kuqhubeke, over my dead body will my daughter be known as a homewrecker! Mina maThabede ang'soze ngawavuma amanyala anjalo. Sies Qwabelihle, awushaywa nangamahloni, nxx," my mom said. At this point sobs were wracking through my body. None of my parents had ever spoken to me like that and even Ncane was looking at me with disgust. "Sula lezo nyembezi ke ntombi, anginendaba ukuthi uyam'fonela noma um'thumelela incwadi kodwa ngifuna kuse elak'sasa senihlukene. Mekuk'hlula lokho ungaphinde nangel'lodwa ilanga ulibhade la kwami," my mom said before getting up and leaving. I looked at Ncane for help but she looked down. I turned to my father - a man who taught me unconditional love whose face had now contorted into pure disgust. "Ungacabangi ukuthi ngizok'siza k'lokhu. Ngima noma wakho k'lesis'nqumo. Suka phambi kwami ngingaze ngisho into eb'hlungu," he said. I went to my room and got my phone out as I contemplated calling him. But if I call him - I know I won't go through with it so I opened our WhatsApp chats and a sharp pain went through my heart as I read his last goodnight message. Through tears, I typed and deleted a myriad of messages, trying to convey my meaning clearly when a message from him came in.

Yisho lokhu ofuna ukukusho maPhakathwayo.

Another sob racked through me as I sent the final message. It's over, Nkosi. He immediately called me but I declined it, and the next and the next.

If this is a joke, Lihle, it's not funny. Answer your phone.

There were more messages asking me to reply or answer my phone, each one getting more desperate than the previous one.

Lihle, ngiyak'cela. MaPhakathwayo answer your phone. If you don't, I'm coming there, manje.

              No. Don't. There's     nothing to talk about Nkosingiphile. It's over, I don't want to be your sidechick anymore.

His next message was a voice note. "My side-? Lihle, where is this coming from? Ngicela ubambe ucingo, sikhulume ngalento. MaQwabe ngiyak'thanda, ngicela silungise noma yini le engiyenzile ek'phathe kabi. Ngiyak'cela Phakathwayo," he said. This just broke me and I sobbed even louder before clamping my hand over my mouth. "Lihle? What's going on? Ukhalelani?" Halala asked waking up. I shook as I cried even harder. She got down on the floor where I had settled and hugged me. "Lihle? Ukhalelani?" she asked again. Ncane came in at that moment and joined us on the floor, comforting me. "Wh-why?" I sobbed. "Why did I have to fall in love with him?" I asked breathlessly.