Sihle's Sacrifice

01. "I'd Choose You."

I took off my apron and put it in my bag before clocking out. My shift here at the kids' club was over and I had to leave. I was not looking forward. No, not today when I had to go and take care of my dad's mother. My least favorite thing to do in this world.

I looked out the window and realized that it's raining. My brother was supposed to be here already, but since he wasn't, I'd have to go home on my own. But it was okay because I know how busy he gets. And by the way, I didn't mind catching the bus. Especially when it rained. Bus rides gave me peace.

"Corner left, abuti." I told my bus driver as he approached the big tree that was close to my house. I could have easily said "Jerry's," but I didn't really like getting off at home. I don't know, something about getting off at my father's home that's also the township's hang out spot annoyed me.

I quietly got out of the bus and walked the short way home from the corner to my house.

" Sawubona weh Sihle. " I looked up to find Lethabo looking at me and immediately hardened my face. He was a childhood friend of mine but he changed as we grew older. And I now dreaded our conversations because they felt like a drag and he never missed an opportunity to throw insults at me. It was annoying. And a little hurtful, sometimes.

I walked past with my bag in my hand and got into my house. Now it was time for me to be a woman and do what's expected of me by my family.

" Ewe Nkosi, ewe Ndiyabulela. Enkosi Thixo, Enkosi Tata. Mesebetsi ea hao ea khahlisa, Morena, Rea leboha. Enkosi Krestu."

I walked in on my grandmother worshipping. She sat on her wheelchair with a cup of cold tea in one hand, while softly patting her thigh with her other hand. She was old and frail. And very sick. Anyone could tell. And if anyone walked in on a grown woman singing with a small voice, they could easily pity her. But not me. Not iSipho-esihle Lesego Kumalo. Never.

I knew better than to let this cold hearted woman convince me that she's thankful for whatever Christ did for her. None of the languages that she sang in would ever convince me that she would one day go to heaven. Nothing in this world would.

You see, my grandmother was seen as
uMama weSonto, a church lady. Many people admired her with all their hearts because they thought that she was a good leader and that she loved her family. But I knew this woman's true colours and what she was capable of. Better than anyone. Better than my father and better than my aunts.

I walked past her, to my room. I quickly shut the door behind me and threw my bag on the bed. Letting my dreadlocks hang was my favourite thing to do every time I got home. But today wasn't the day. I kept them tied and changed into a dress and a light jersey.

This dress that I wore reminded me of my daycare teacher. Miss Mahlangu. It had been years now since I last saw her, but I never forgot how she always wore floral dresses that reached her knees and light jerseys. And that's what I wore today because I remembered the woman who made me happy as a little girl.

I walked out of my room so I could start cleaning, and to make food for the frail witch my dad called "mother".

This was my life. Volunteering at the kids' social club everyday from 7 in the morning till 3pm, and coming back home to clean and cook for my family. And then having to work in my dad's bottle store in the front yard. It was a routine. Everyday worked out exactly the same and I was used to it. I've been doing this since I moved to Pietermaritzburg with my grandmother. And before that, I was in a boarding school in the Free State. My dad had shipped me there when he heard that the province had the best girl schools in South Africa. And now my aspiration was to go back and teach at St Monica's School for Girls. I loved the school with all my heart.