Oyama: Her Story

CHAPTER 11

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Oh my head hurts. I turn my head, Heartbeat 89 per minute. Blood Pressure 120/80. I turn my head; can someone please do something about these lights. Why are they so BRIGHT, for fuck sakes? They are making this headache worse. I use my arm to shield myself from the blinding light. I press my hand slightly on my forehead. OUCH! What the fuck, I slowly sit up and sit more comfortably. Fuck my head is killing me, I look at my arm. I yank the cuff off and disconnect the drip.
“Welcome back to the land of the living” I look to my left, it’s just Mabuza. I see she’s back to work, “How are you feeling?”
“Like I just got hit by a train” she nods, and walks to me, I already know the drill, she flashes a light in my eyes, “Well no Concussion”
Next is mobility, I already hop off, and wobble a bit then stand straight, “How long was I out”
“6 hours” she says.
“WHAT?”
“Yeah, oh Mabaso is here, let me go write you a prescription” she says.
“Write me that good shit, not that weak stuff we give to the elderly” I say.
“Got you my boy” she gives me a thumbs up. I lay back and move the bed upwards with the help of the button.
I look at him as he stands with his arms crossed, “Is she OK?”
He nods, “You hit your head on the curb after he knocked you down, security came just in time to restrain him” a weight is lifted from my shoulders, as I now know Buhle is safe.
“The Boyfriend?”
“Police Station with the evidence gathered, if the death penalty was still around, he would’ve gotten it” he says, I nod, “Oyama, never do anything that stupid again, you are a good person, with a good heart. I’m not saying lose it, but be careful, we nearly lost you today” I sit there and nod my head.

“How’s the head?” he asks.
“Hurts like shit, especially where the cut is”
“It wasn’t deep though, shouldn’t leave a scar either” I nod.
Mabuza walks in, “Alright I wrote you the good shit” she says handing me the paper.
“You need us to call anyone to talk you home?” asks Mabuza, I sit there, who are you gonna call because Mxolisi is in Johanessburg, Qhawe is in George, maybe Xolani, no he said he has dinner with his dad so I’m all alone.
“We called her husband, 4 hours ago surprised he isn’t here yet” says Mabaso.
Husband? HUSBAND? HUSBAND? I’m not married, I give him a crazy look, “Your married” asks Mabuza.
“Not that I’m aware off” I say.
“Well, in your phone the last person you talked too, it said Myeni wam with heart emoji’s, I… We all assumed you were married” says Mabaso. Myeni yam, OH MY DAYS Qhawe, I forgot he changed that, he actually found it funny when he saw I had saved him as, ‘Pedi Dumbass with no respect’
“What did he say” I ask.
“Who?”
“Myeni wam” I reply.
“Oh so you are married?” asks Mabuza.
“Girl do you see a ring on this finger?” I ask wiggling my left hand.
“He didn’t say anything he just hung up before we could finish, which was kind of rude but then again, I guess it was bad timing there was a lot of noise in the back” says Mabaso.
“Yeah he’s at a wedding” I say.
“On a Wednesday?” asks Mabuza.
“It has to be white people” I reply. They nod, “But did you tell me why I got hurt?”
“No, we just said your wife collapsed” I give him a side glance, “Again we didn’t know you weren’t married” Again that makes no sense because, I’m still Dr. Mtyhobile and not, Dr. Mahlatji.
“We need to go, but you can stay here until you have enough strength to drive home” says Mabaso. I nod.
“Here’s your phone too” says Mabuza.

Its been about 30 minutes of me laying and in the time I have been here, never have I hated lights like I do right now. There was a kid here who came and checked up on me for some reason. He was wondering why I was in the hospital if I was a Doctor, the way his eyes widened when I said I fell. He was so shocked to learn that Doctors fall as well. Lol.
CRASH! Something has just erupted. There’s shouting going on. A lot of shouting, maybe it’s that boyfriend he’s come back to finish the job. Yeah Oyama you are SUPER paranoid. I stand up, dammit my head hurts and my scrubs have blood on them and dirt. Dammit, what a horrible day to wear White scrubs. As I walk closer to the reception the noise gets louder. NO FUCKING WAY, As I turn around the corner, I see it—seven or nine tall, intimidating figures, all dressed in black, their eyes scanning the room with a menacing intensity. My heart skips a beat. One of them is on the reception tables. WHAT THE FUCK? One of them is busy shoving a security guard, daring him to do something. There’s one who has been shouting is standing on top of the reception desk, glaring down at the receptionist she looks like she’s about to cry.  Poor white girl, I swear not all Black people are like this.
“Ukhuphi uMakoti wethu?”(Where is our bride) shouts one them. One of them is smacking the desk.
“Don’t put your fucking hands on my brother” says one of them who shoves a security.
“Where is Oyama?” another shouts slamming his hand on the desk. ME?