Chapter Fourteen

Luckily, Sbu didn’t sustain many injuries. He just needed some painkillers and ointment for his bruises. When we got home, we pretended as though he was just tired to avoid a million questions from his parents and siblings. I gave him his pills and put him to bed before returning to the festivities. That was all on Christmas Day, three weeks ago. It’s a Monday morning in January in the year 2042 and I am getting dressed so I can go sit in on my father’s bail hearing. He wasn’t able to get one sooner because he committed a crime on Christmas day, so no court was open. Yes, my father has spent three weeks in a holding cell in KwaMashu and – much to my family’s dismay – I still don’t regret my decision to have him arrested. People need to understand that their actions have consequences and sometimes, those consequences involve prison.

“Ndlovukazi.” Thandeka knocks on the bedroom door and Sbu gets up to open the door for her. “Somahhashi.” She bows.

“Good morning, Thandeka. Can we help you?” Sbu asks.

“The Queen forgot her phone in the living room. The prosecutor called, said it’s urgent.” Thandeka says, handing Sbu my phone. I immediately rush towards them and take the phone.

“Ntandokazi Ngubane, hello?” I say.

“Mrs Ngubane, I’m so glad I caught you. There have been some rather disturbing developments in today’s case.” The prosecutor says.

“What developments?”

“I would suggest that you sit down before I tell you.”

“Honestly, I do not have the whole day.”

“Very well… I received a call earlier this morning… your father, Mr Mnguni, was involved in a fight with another inmate last night.”

“If you’re going to add onto his charges because of that, it should be dealt with separately from this case.” I say. I do want my father to get bail, I just wanted him to learn his lesson after what he did to Sbu.

“Unfortunately, Mrs Ngubane, your father sustained some fatal injuries.”

“What do you mean ‘fatal injuries’?”

“I mean, your father didn’t make it. Mr S’phiwe Mnguni passed away in the early hours of this morning. I’m sorry.” He says and my world immediately comes to a standstill. I feel my phone slipping out of my hand just as I sink into the bed. I have a blurry vision of Sbu rushing towards me.

“What happened baby?” he asks and that question rings in my head. What have I done? I killed my father. I killed my father. It’s all my fault…

“Sthandwa sam, you have to eat something.” Sbu says, placing a tray on the bedside table.

“I killed my father.” I say softly, fresh tears sliding down the same path as the tears before them.

“You did not kill your father.” He says, squeezing my shoulder. “Your father’s death is unfortunate but it is not your fault.”

“I got him arrested… if it wasn’t for me, if I hadn’t called the cops… he would still be alive…” I say in between sobs. This is true and I can’t forgive myself. Sbu pulls me into a tight hug while I sob on his chest. There is a knock on the door and when Sbu opens it, we see his mother standing on the other side.

“kaMalandela, please accept my deepest condolences.” She says as she walks into our bedroom and sits on the bed by my feet. “We had no idea your father was in prison, how did that even happen?”

“Ma, please, now is not the time.” Sbu says.

“Sibusiso, I’m trying to offer my support. Ntandokazi is my daughter-in-law, her father is family.” Ndlunkulu says.

“It’s… it’s really a long story – “ I say before I’m interrupted by another knock on the door.

“Come in.” Sbu says and Thandeka walks in slowly.

“Somahhashi, Ndlovukazi, Ndlunkulu.” She bows. “Ndlovukazi, your mother is downstairs.” She says and I immediately sit up. This is not good. I already know it’s not good.

“Let her come up.” Sbu’s mom says and I give her a killer look. Why would she do that? But then again, why wouldn’t she? She likes stirring the pot. She’s itching for information so she has something to gossip about, some leverage.

“Thandeka, offer her something to drink. I’ll be downstairs in a minute.” I say. Thandeka leaves immediately, because you know, she answers to me.

“kaMalandela, I just thought you’d want to rest.” Sbu’s mom says.

“Ma, please excuse us. I’d like to get dressed.” I say, heading towards the closet. She eventually leaves and Sbu closes the door behind her.

“You can do this. Remember, it’s not your fault.” He says as I get dressed. I take a moment to look at myself in my black dress and black head wrap. I am in mourning, after all.

My husband and I walk downstairs hand-in-hand and we find my mother pacing in the living room. She’s in full mourning gear – the black dress, head wrap, apron and blanket.

“Mama…” I say, trying to go in for a hug. She moves away from me, a look of disgust washing over her face.

“You have some nerve! Why are you dressed like that? Are you mourning? Wena? The same person who put your father in jail in the first place?” My mom snaps.

“Hau?” Sbu’s mom says as she sips her tea.

“I hope you’re happy. Both of you.” My mom says to Sbu and I. “Anyway, the funeral will be in Johannesburg at your father’s house this weekend. The rest of us are leaving for Joburg tonight. Come, don’t come, up to you. But you must know, I will never forgive you. Both of you.” My mom says. I take a deep breath. Honestly, I thought she was going to say we’re not allowed to go to the funeral.

“Mama, I’m sorry…” Sbu says.

“For what?” my mom asks. “And how is your apology going to help me?”

“I’m sorry for all the pain that I have caused. I know it won’t change anything and I don’t expect you to forgive me but I’m sorry.” Sbu says.

“I’ve said what I wanted to say.” My mom says before she turns and heads towards the door.

“Is somebody going tell me what’s going on here?” Sbu’s mom asks.

“No.” Sbu says.

“I deserve to know.” She demands.

“What you need to know is that we are leaving for Johannesburg first thing tomorrow morning.” I snap before I head back to my bedroom. It’s going to be a long week.

*****

Sbu’s mother refused to come to Johannesburg with us, insisting that the Kingdom needed an experienced leader to look after it while we were gone. She and her daughters stayed behind while Sbu’s dad and Muzi came with us, to show support and to represent the Ngubane family. We arrive at the apartment just after twelve midday on Tuesday.

“I think we can all just quickly freshen up and then head to Sandhurst.” Sbu’s dad says.

“Yebo Baba, there are two bathrooms upstairs. You and Muzi can go ahead.” I say, throwing myself on the couch. Sbu waits for his dad and his brother to disappear up the stairs before he props himself on the armrest next to me.

“How are you feeling?” he asks me and I let out a sigh. I honestly don’t know how to feel. I’m numb. I’m still blaming myself and, judging by my mother’s rant yesterday, I’m pretty sure the whole family blames me. I don’t know how I’m going to face them but I also can’t not go.

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.” I say after a while. Sbu squeezes my shoulder gently before lightly kissing my forehead. I love him so much, perhaps too much… after all, my love for him caused my father’s death.

“Ha! You decided to show your face after all?” Mamkhulu Violet says when we walk into my father’s house. She and a few other relatives are busy around the house. My mom and Mamkhulu are sitting on the couch discussing something. They look up when Mamkhulu Violet speaks. I never thought I’d live to see the day when Kgomotso and Nokulunga would be dressed in the same outfit.

“Violet, now is not the time.” Mamkhulu says and Mamkhulu Violet walks away from us. Mamkhulu gets up from the couch and comes towards us.

“We, as the entire Ngubane family and the entire kingdom of Emabomvini, would like to offer you our deepest and sincerest condolences.” Sbu’s dad says as he gives Mamkhulu a hug.

“Thank you, we appreciate the support.” Mamkhulu says before turning to me. “Ntando, come help your mother and I choose a casket and finalise the programme.”

I do as I’m told, leaving the Ngubane men to find other ways of making themselves useful. Mamkhulu sits in between my mother and I. My mother has no intention of speaking to me, so I’ve decided not to bother her. When she’s ready to vent, she’ll vent and she’ll bite my head off and she’ll get everything off her chest. For now, I just want peace. I want space to mourn and grieve. The three of us eventually agree on a casket and then we move on to the programme.

“So, Ntando, so far we have Violet who will speak on behalf of the Ndlovu family and Gontse will speak on behalf of the Molemo family. We also asked Siyabonga to represent the taxi drivers and we have one of your dad’s colleagues from the office.” Mamkhulu says, handing me a page with names written on it. “Now I was wondering, if Sibusiso’s dad would mind representing the Ngubane family?”

“What for?” My mom asks. “You’re making this programme too long.”

“The service is an hour and a half long, Nokulunga. Besides, the Ngubanes are family.” Mamkhulu says calmly.

“I can ask him, I don’t think he’ll have an issue with it. If not, then surely Sbu or Muzi can speak on his behalf.” I say.

“Rather Muzi.” My mom says bitterly. Okay, she hates Sbu, I can understand that.

“Alright, either Muzi or his father. Then, we need a representative from the Mnguni family. I thought, since you were S’phiwe’s only child, you would speak.” Mamkhulu says and I choke. Surely, this is how they punish me. By making me speak at my father’s funeral knowing very well that our last interaction was rather unpleasant. There’s so much that I wish I could’ve said to him before he died. So much that I wish I could’ve rectified. Maybe this could be my chance to make things right with him. Or at least, with his spirit.

“If it’s too much for you – “ Mamkhulu starts to say but I interrupt her.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll speak.” I say, no confidence whatsoever. I’m going to use this opportunity to clear my conscience – if that’s even possible.

I locate the Ngubane men in the backyard in the early evening. Sbu pulls me in for a hug. I’m so glad we decided to leave Kayise in Emabomvini, I would have had no energy for her at all.

“Baba, would you or Muzi be willing to speak on behalf of the Ngubane family at the funeral?” I ask.

“Oh, Ntandokazi…” Sbu’s dad hesitates.

“No problem, I can speak.” Muzi says. I don’t know if his confidence and eagerness are a good thing but at least that’s one less thing to worry about.

“Thank you, Muzi. I’ll go let them know. It doesn’t have to be too long.” I say.

“Listen, babe, we’re gonna head back to the apartment before it gets too late. We’ll be back in the morning. Is there anything that you need me to bring for you?” Sbu says.

“Nothing that I can think of. You guys drive safely and call me when you arrive. I think I’m gonna go lie down.” I say, giving him another hug and saying my goodbyes to Muzi and his dad. As soon as I’m back in the house, I do my best to avoid contact with everyone as I make my way to my bedroom. It has been a long day and the week is only going to be longer. I slowly get into bed and come to terms with the fact that I’m alone with my thoughts. I’m tired but I know I won’t be able to sleep tonight… I probably won’t be able to sleep ever again… and I deserve it.

*****

Friday has been as busy as can be expected. First it was the clutter of relatives who came flooding in from KZN. Then it was the guys who came to clear up the downstairs bedroom to make room for the casket. And later in the afternoon, it was hustle and bustle of the Mnguni-Zwane family doing our final fittings when Mamkhulu’s designer finally arrived with our outfits for tomorrow. Mamkhulu got into a heated debate with the elders of the Mnguni family, who had insisted that it would be more appropriate for my mom and Mamkhulu to attend the funeral dressed in their mourning attire. There’s no asking who won that battle. Who wins all the battles in this family?

Eventually, it all dies down. The mood in the Mnguni mansion goes from busy and chaotic to sombre and morbid. I think after the casket was brought in, it finally sunk in for everyone that my dad is no more. That he is laying lifeless in that coffin. That there’s no going back, there’s no way to fix this. And for me, that I will never forgive myself.

*****

Nkosi sihlangene

Kuyo indlu yakho

Iza nawe

Sesingene

Embusweni wakho

The choir sings as the taxi association representative returns to his seat. The pastor indicates for the singing to stop.

“Thank you. Next on the programme, representing the Ngubane family, I’d like to call His Royal Highness, Prince Muziwenkosi Ngubane of Emabomvini.” The pastor says and Muzi makes his way to the podium. Looking at Muzi in this moment, one wouldn’t say he’s a junkie. He looks so good, he looks like a Prince in this tux that he’s wearing.

“It is an honour for me to stand here today and share my lived experiences with this great man who we are laying to rest today.” There goes that Emabomvini private school twang. “I have not known Mr Mnguni for long, however, in the short time that I have known him, I came to respect him and to admire him. Mr Mnguni was – above everything – a family man. He loved and cared for his wives and his daughter, my sister-in-law, until the very end. I don’t think there was anything in the world that he wouldn’t have done for his family. Men like that are rare in this messed up society and it’s a pity that we’ve lost yet another one. To the Mnguni-Zwane family, on behalf of the Ngubane family and the entire Kingdom of Emabomvini, ngithi duduzekani. I promise you, you have gained one hardworking angel. Thank you.” He steps down from the podium and the choir starts humming again. It’s true when they say death brings out different sides of people. I’ve never seen Muzi so serious, so sincere. He gently squeezes my hand before he goes on to take his seat.

“Thank you, Prince Muzi. Lastly, before we head on to the cemetery, I’d like to call Mr Mnguni’s only child, Her Royal Highness Queen Ntandokazi Ngubane of Emabomvini.” The pastor says. It takes me a moment to gain enough strength to get up and walk to the podium. It doesn’t help that I’m wearing 6-inch heels and a bodycon dress.

“People often say parents are not supposed to bury their children… but the pain of burying a parent is probably just as excruciating. Many of you may know that at the time of my father’s death, he and I were not on good terms… and that’s something that I’ll live to regret. I wish I could’ve had one last moment with him. One last chance to make things right, to clear the air, to make peace. But now, the one man who has loved me and protected me unconditionally all my life is gone and there’s nothing I can do about it. Baba, I’m sorry. I can only hope that you can forgive me. Lala ngoxolo Qwabe, Gumede, Mnguni kaYeyeye, Phakathwayo, Wena kaMalandela, Mpangazitha! I love you, Dad.” I say, breaking down into an emotional mess. Sbu comes up to the podium to help me back to my seat as the pastor announces that we will now be moving to the cemetery.

Oa hala-

Oa halalela

Jeso wa makgotla

Oa halalela

Oa halalela

Jeso wa makgotla

If there’s one thing that I’ll give Mamkhulu it’s that she knows how to get her money’s worth. This private cemetery in Fourways looks more elegant than it usually does. And what adds on to the elegance is the uniformity of black Range Rovers, no other car, no bus in sight. Mamkhulu insisted that her husband’s funeral would be dignified and elegant right down to the very last detail. So, instead of the luxury cars being reserved for family, she insured that there were enough cars to cater for everyone. Yes, the north of Johannesburg saw a very long convoy of Range Rovers travelling from Sandhurst to Fourways. After saying a short prayer, the pastor calls Nonhle forward to read the obituary. Mamkhulu insisted that it would be better for the obituary to be read while the casket was being lowered into the ground.

“S’phiwe Mnguni was born on 13 August 1993 in KwaMashu, KwaZulu Natal. He passed away on 13 January 2042 in KwaMashu. He was an only child who grew up among his aunts, uncles and cousins. Growing up in KwaMashu, S’phiwe attended Idwala Primary School and matriculated from Thembalethu Secondary School in 2011. He then went on to study Marketing at the University of Pretoria, obtaining his degree in 2014. The same university being where he met his first wife, Mrs Kgomotso Mnguni-Zwane, whom he married in 2018. Towards the end of 2019, S’phiwe married his second wife, Mrs Nokulunga Mnguni, with whom he had his first and only child, Her Royal Highness Queen Ntandokazi Ngubane. S’phiwe made his mark and his absence will be felt in the world of marketing and advertising as well as in the public transportation industry. He will be sorely missed by his two wives, his daughter, his granddaughter and his stepchildren. Lala ngoxolo, Mnguni kaYeyeye.” Nonhle reads before returning to her seat. By the time she’s done, the casket has been lowered six feet into the ground and the pastor asks the family to come and pay their last respects. In my entire life, I have been through different types of pain. But this… standing over my father’s grave with a handful of sand… this is, by far, the worst.