FORBIDDEN TIES

12.

Asente Khuzwayo

It’s been three long, draining days since Sedi fell ill, and my heart has not rested. There’s something deeply unsettling about watching your child suffer while feeling powerless to help. Despite the excellent care he’s received here at NMCH, his condition hasn’t improved as much as I’d hoped. He still looks pale, weak, and the fever that’s plagued him for days hasn’t broken. I’ve prayed and stayed by his side, holding his little hand, willing him to get better. But no matter how many times I silently plead with God, his recovery remains slow.

I sit by his bedside, my eyes heavy from the lack of sleep. Mlungisi and I have taken turns staying with him throughout the night, though I can tell the stress is wearing him down too. He tries to keep a brave face for me and the twins, but I can see the worry etched into his features. He’s been quieter than usual, perhaps out of fear for Sedi, or maybe there’s something else weighing on him. Either way, we’ve been so focused on our son that we haven’t had much time to talk about anything else.

It feels strange not to see Dr. Modise anymore. The first two days she was handling Sedi’s case, and she was nothing short of amazing. Calm, confident, and in control. I heard she’s one of the best pediatricians in the hospital, and from what I’ve seen, she certainly lives up to that reputation. But then she suddenly disappeared. One moment she was there, checking on Sedi, giving us updates, and the next, she was gone. Another doctor, Dr. Banzi, took over his case. He’s been thorough and professional, but I can’t help but wonder what happened to Dr. Modise. It’s been three days, and I haven’t seen her since.

I ask the nurses about her every now and then, but no one seems to know where she is or why she isn’t handling Sedi’s case anymore. There’s a strange, almost uncomfortable feeling about the whole situation. Mlungisi has been even more distant since she disappeared. I’ve caught him staring off into space more than once, as though his mind is elsewhere. It’s unsettling, but I push the thought aside, focusing on Sedi’s health.

Today, Mlungisi and his parents have made a decision. They’ve told me that we’ll be taking the twins to our family homestead in Durban for a traditional Zulu ceremony. It’s something that’s been planned for a while now, but with Sedi’s illness, I didn’t think we’d still go through with it. However, Mlungisi’s parents, especially his mother, are firm believers in the importance of Zulu traditions, and they’re convinced that this ceremony is exactly what Sedi needs to recover fully. As much as I trust modern medicine, there’s a part of me that hopes they’re right. We could all use a little hope right now.

Sedi is being discharged today. Dr. Banzi assured us that, while he’s still weak, his condition has stabilized enough for him to travel. I’m relieved, but there’s still a nagging sense of worry in my chest. What if something goes wrong on the way? What if he gets worse while we’re in Durban? I try to push those thoughts out of my mind as I help pack up our things and prepare for the journey. The twins are excited, even Sedi, though he’s too tired to show it much. His twin sister, Lwazi, keeps asking about the ceremony, her eyes wide with curiosity. She’s always been the more inquisitive of the two, eager to learn about everything, including our culture and traditions.

Mlungisi’s parents are handling most of the arrangements for the ceremony. I’m grateful for their support, but there’s still a part of me that feels like an outsider in all of this. I love being part of a Zulu family, and I’ve embraced their customs as much as I can, but sometimes it’s overwhelming. There’s so much history, so many rituals that I’m still learning about. But I’m doing my best for my children. They’re Zulu, and I want them to grow up proud of their heritage.

The flight to Durban is uneventful, though I keep glancing over at Sedi, checking to make sure he’s okay. He sleeps for most of the journey, his tiny body curled up in Mlungisi’s arms. Lwazi sits next to me, her face pressed against the window, watching the clouds pass by. She’s a ball of energy, constantly asking questions and talking about the ceremony. I smile at her excitement, grateful that at least one of the twins is in high spirits.

When we arrive in Durban, we’re greeted by Mlungisi’s family. His aunts, uncles, and cousins are all there, waiting for us with open arms. There’s a warmth in their welcome that makes me feel at home, even though I’m still a bit nervous about the ceremony. Mlungisi’s mother, Mama Khuzwayo, pulls me into a tight embrace, whispering words of comfort and assurance. She tells me that everything will be okay, that the ancestors will guide us and protect Sedi.

We head to the homestead, which is located in a rural part of Durban, surrounded by hills and open fields. It’s beautiful, peaceful even, and I can see why Mlungisi’s family is so connected to this place. There’s something grounding about being here, away from the noise and chaos of the city. The air is fresh, the sky a brilliant shade of blue, and for the first time in days, I feel a sense of calm wash over me.

The ceremony is set to take place the following day, but preparations have already begun. The homestead is buzzing with activity as family members gather around to help with the arrangements. There are traditional foods being prepared, animals being slaughtered for the feast, and the women are busy making sure everything is in order.

On Friday morning, the day of the ceremony, I wake up early to help with whatever I can. The twins are still sleeping, exhausted from the trip, but Mlungisi’s mother assures me that they’ll be fine. Today is all about them, and she insists that the ancestors will take care of Sedi. I nod, trying to trust in her words, though there’s still a small part of me that’s skeptical.

As the sun rises higher in the sky, the ceremony begins. The twins are dressed in traditional Zulu attire, their little faces shining with curiosity and excitement. I watch as Mlungisi’s father leads them through the rituals, speaking in a low, reverent voice as he calls upon the ancestors to bless our children. There’s singing, drumming, and dancing, the air thick with the scent of burning herbs and incense.

I stand by Mlungisi’s side, holding his hand as we watch the ceremony unfold. Despite my initial hesitation, I feel a deep sense of connection to this moment, to the history and culture that surrounds us. This is a part of my children’s identity, a part of their heritage, and I’m grateful that they get to experience it.

As the ceremony progresses, something amazing happens. Sedi, who has been quiet and lethargic for days, suddenly seems more energetic. His face lights up, and he starts dancing alongside Lwazi, laughing and smiling in a way I haven’t seen in days. It’s as if the weight of his illness has lifted, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he seems like his old self again.

I exchange a glance with Mlungisi, and he smiles at me, his eyes filled with relief. Maybe there’s something to these traditions after all. Maybe the ancestors really are watching over us.

After the ceremony, there’s a feast to celebrate. The mood is light, filled with laughter and joy, and I can’t help but feel grateful for this moment. Sedi is playing with his cousins, running around the homestead like any other healthy child. It’s a sight that fills my heart with so much happiness, I feel like I might burst.

As the sun sets and the day comes to an end, we prepare to head back to Johannesburg. Mlungisi has work to get back to, and though I’m reluctant to leave, I know that life must go on. But I leave Durban with a renewed sense of hope, knowing that my family is blessed and protected.

As we board the plane back home, I glance over at Sedi, who is fast asleep in my arms, his little chest rising and falling with each breath. I press a kiss to his forehead, silently thanking the ancestors for watching over him. We may have our challenges, but with my family by my side, I know we can face anything.