Oyama: Her Story

CHAPTER 40

The car ride is quiet and we are about a kilometer away from the house and the food in the back is starting to make my stomach grumble. Qhawe is holding my hand while rubbing his face looking out the window.
“Can I ask something?” my mouth betrays me.
“Sure” they all reply.
“Who was it that got accused?” I ask.
There’s a long silence, that’s filled with the sound of the engine and tires on the street.
“Kagiso” Qhawe replies, “He met a girl that worked at KFC, they dated for a while, took care of her. Bought her clothes, they lived in Braam at his loft, then as my brother does he cheated. Next thing we know our brother is accused of Gender Based Violence, he got arrest, she sued us for R30 Million in Physical and Emotional harm”
I nod, “Wow” I reply, “Where’s the girl?”
“She hanged herself, wrote a suicide note claiming she did it, because she hated that he slept with another woman, like that justifies the fucking allegation” he’s getting angry, really angry. Mzi looks back and his eyes are cold, “From that day on, we all made a promise to our parents, we weren’t gonna date bitches below our class” he says coldly, “What Mogale did although stupid was just for entertainment”.
The heaviness in the car becomes almost unbearable, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved pain. Qhawe’s grip on my hand tightens as if grounding himself. His breathing has quickened, and I can feel his anger simmering just beneath the surface. I glance at Mogale, who’s focused on the road, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel. Mzi, sitting in the passenger seat, stares straight ahead, his expression unreadable but his jaw clenched. These boys, my boys, carry so much weight—more than they should.
“Ngiyaxolisa,” I say softly, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, Mama,” Qhawe replies, his voice tight, “You deserve to know. You’re a part of this family now, whether you like it or not.”
I don’t respond, unsure of what to say. The depth of their distrust, their pain—it’s more than I expected. They’ve built walls around themselves, not out of arrogance, but out of survival.
“But not all women are like that,” I venture, my voice barely above a whisper.
Mogale lets out a dry laugh, “That’s what they all say, Mama. Until you cross them. Then it’s headlines, lawsuits, and lies.”
“Not every woman wants something from you, Mogale,” I insist gently.
He glances at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes tired.
“Maybe not. But it only takes one to ruin your life.” Mzi finally speaks, his tone low and measured, “It’s not about thinking every woman is bad. It’s about protecting what we’ve built, what our parents have worked for. Kagiso almost lost everything because he trusted the wrong person. We can’t let that happen again.”
I nod slowly, trying to understand their perspective, but my heart aches for them.
“I hear you,” I say, “But don’t let one person’s actions make you close off your hearts completely. You’ll miss out on good things, good people.”
The silence that follows feels contemplative, as if my words have landed somewhere deep, but no one is ready to unpack them yet. As we pull into the driveway, the mood shifts slightly. The smell of food wafts through the car, and Mogale finally cracks a small smile.
“Let’s go feed Lebohang before he starts crying.”
We step out of the car, and the boys start unloading the food. I watch them work together, the synchronicity of siblings who’ve been through everything together. Despite their pain, despite their walls, they’re still a family. Inside, Lebohang is sitting cross-legged on the couch, arm slinged, he’s pouting dramatically looking at the Play Station controller. Yeah sorry buddy at least a week without that.
“Food!” Mogale announces, holding up a bag like a trophy.
Lebohang’s face lights up, and he jumps off the couch, running to grab his meal. The tension from the car dissipates as the smell of burgers and fries takes over the room. As everyone digs in, I catch Qhawe watching me from across the room.
His expression is softer now, thoughtful.
“You’re too good for us, Mama,” he says quietly, just loud enough for me to hear. I smile, though it doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
“You’re my boys. I’ll always fight for you, even when you’re wrong.” He nods, a flicker of gratitude passing through his eyes before he turns back to his meal.
Tonight, we’ll eat and laugh and pretend like everything’s fine. But I know that this family’s wounds run deep, and healing them will take more than time. It will take trust, love, and a willingness to let the walls come down—brick by brick.