Grade 11, Providence Academy
As I walk back home with my shoulders slumped like I have the world on my shoulders, I sit on a nearby rock to breathe. The sun is scorching hot as I feel it burning my already dark skin. As if that isn’t enough, I am wearing a torn dress with the torn shoes I have worn for as long as I can remember.
My name is ThingolokuKhanya Gumede, and I am nineteen years old. Life has never been easy since my father passed away when I was just six years old and clueless. Mostly I have bits of memories of my father, but when people ask about the meaning of my name, then memories of my father flood my mind like it was just yesterday that I was spending time with him. This is my story.
My mother was not herself when my father passed away; she became a drunkard and hated me for no reason I know of. She started inviting her friends from the village tavern a few months after we buried our father. The house I called home turned into a hangout spot for drunkards, with a mother who was protector turned into someone I had to stay away from.
I started fending for myself from a young age, by offering to do the neighbour’s laundry for money, just so I could buy myself food. I would clean the house even though it was all in vain.
I continued going to school even though I was bullied not only by learners but by my teachers too. I was bullied because of my dark skin, my huge wild afro, and my worn out school-wear. In my case I don’t think they would just bully instead of helping me out; I think they bullied me because I had no one to protect me.
I excelled in my studies which made the bullying worse, but that did not stop me from going to school. I had one goal at the back of my mind and that was to pass with distinctions so I could get a student fund to attend a prestigious university out of this village.
I keep sitting on this rock in the hot sun, thinking about how my life keeps going downhill. I finished matric a year ago and passed with distinctions, but the school did not consider signing my name for suggestions for the student fund because of my background.
Tears make their way down my face as I think about how things would have been if my father was alive. It does not help feeling sorry for what could have been, so I stand up wiping my tears with the palm of my hand. I see my house from a distance, and I can tell by the open door that my mother’s friends are there again.
As I am approaching the door, I bump into a drunk man who looks lost, probably one of my mother’s friends. I find my mother passed out on the couch that I have tried cleaning it up several times. I chase everyone out of the house and then I try cleaning the house and cooking what I earned for the day.
“Thingo?” she calls my name like she does not remember me. I turn to give her food, but she just looks at the food. “Ma Dlamini gave it to me after I did her laundry and cleaned her house” I say to her as she looks sceptical. We eat in silence; I guess we are caught up in thoughts.
“So how is school going, you must be excited to be in the 10th grade.” I breathe and draw in a long breath to avoid getting angry. “I finished school a year ago, Ma.” She avoids looking at me and I am sure she is embarrassed. I just do not care but deep down I feel hurt.
I go to bed feeling sad and I hear the door shut; for sure it is my mother going to the tavern. I grab my father’s photo and put it under my pillow as I have been doing for as long as I can remember. “ThingolokuKhanya, shine as the rainbow.” I open my eyes as I get frustrated, because I have been having the same dream of my father saying those words to me since I was young.
Today, I feel different, maybe it is about time I start fighting for myself. I decide to stay at home today to weigh my options so I can bring change to my life. My mother returns home, and to my surprise she is sober and carrying plastic bags filled with groceries. I choose to ignore her and focus on fighting for me.
It’s been a month since I decided to stay at home and focus on turning my life around. My mother has been sober which is surprising me because she had not been sober in over thirteen years and she has been trying to reach out, but I am not ready to reciprocate.
She stands in front of me as she looks at forms from different universities and I see a look I have never seen from her; she looks worried. “Thingo, I spoke to your aunt in Durban, and she is willing to take you in and help you with applying to universities using her resources.” I just look at her, stunned. She spoke to me like her daughter and reached out to my aunt?
I am lost for words as I attack my mother with a hug. This feels good, and no one has ever thought of helping me out with my load. This is all I have ever wanted in my life. I have wanted a MOTHER.