MY SPIRITUAL JOURNEY

THE JOURNEY OF ZAMA DLALA

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I slowly open my eyes, the sun rays shinning straight bright directly in my eyes. Painful as they come. I manage to flip them open forcefully. My mind and body take time in registering the surroundings. The unfamiliar place has me breathing in chuff. My anxiety is on another level. I look around once more – I am familiar with the surrounds. I frown and sit up fully. I look at myself – I am still fully dressed. I touch my private part. No off activity. I sigh out of relief. Now my question is – how did I end up here? I yank the blankets off me. My feet touch the cold tiles, and I feel a strain. The pain is unbearable. I noticed both feet have bandages. What happened? I try to recall the events, but nothing comes to light. I do not remember anything at all. Everything is just fogy.  
“What happened to me?” I ask myself. Clearly, I am not getting any answer out of myself. My bladder is full, and I need to use the bathroom. I put all my strength into standing. The sharp pains are making me cringe. I still remember my way around the house. The bathroom is not locked. I help myself and release the pressure that has been on my bladder. I feel okay now. But I am dead hungry. I return to the bedroom not knowing what to do next. I scan my eyes around hoping for a clue that landed me here – but nothing. I sigh in disappointment. The door cracks open startling me.
“Thank goodness you are awake and okay.” His mother says fussing over me. I just want to eat and take a long ass bath. I smell like impepho.  
“What am doing here?” I ask. She looks at me shocked.  
“You don't remember?” she asks with pity written all over her face. I wouldn't have asked if I did. My inner self screams.  
“You were sleepwalking and somehow you found your way here.” She explains but that doesn't make any sense. I don't sleepwalk.
“How is that even possible? I don't even sleepwalk.” I am jarred. This literally does not make any perception.  
“But...” I keep quite not knowing what to say any further. I am muddled. Infact I am beyond lost. No number of words can explain. I need to talk to my parents. I know they must be worried about my whereabouts.  
“Can I call my father?” I feel so emotional.  
“OfCourse Sisi.” She takes her phone out of her bra and gives it to me. “I will give you privacy.” She walks out. I am thankful for that. My father's phone is ringing unanswered. I am getting more disappointed. He might be at work after all. I tried again and luckily; he picked up. Indeed, he is to work the noise in the background is not making anything easier. He is talking but I can't hear a damn thing. I dropped the call and tried my mother.  
“Mama.”
I can hear her sniffing. I hate to do this to her. I didn't want to, but my father is not willing to talk.  
“Nana.” She deeply inspires. Tears, lamentation taking over. “Are you okay?” She asks which feels like a decade after keeping quiet with sniffs echoing.  
“I am fine mama. I want to come back home.” I say. My chest is adjourning. I would ask her what landed me here, but I don't want to put pressure on her. She is still fragile.  
“Your father will pick you up after work.” She says. That is not what I want to hear but I guess I must wait. I sough. She assures me that my father will be here before I know it. What is his van breaking down after work like it always does? That car is not reliable. I have no choice but to have faith in him. Mthoko’s mother comes back with a warm smile plastered on her face. I remember how she was so rude at my friend's funeral. And here I am today pregnant with her murderer's child. Things just seem to be getting complicated day in and day out.  
“You should take a bath also you can have a warm meal.” She says. I handed her – her phone back. “Okay.” That is my response. I just want to be home in my mother's chest. I feel tired and discouraged, confused but I must feel ardent.  
“Everything will be okay. Mthoko would have been proud of you.”  A small smile creeps on my face. Sense of hope and sense of belonging. But my level of hope slides to the hopeless place.  
“He is not here.” I say.  
“I know. But he would have been proud still. I know he always wanted to be a father with the right woman. A woman who has a mind of his.” She adds. I don't know what she means by ‘the mind of his’ and I will not bother to ask.