I Am

Malaika
 DIMPHO
PHIRI
COPYRIGHT AND PUBLISHING

All rights reserved

This work is copy right. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied,
scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted in any form,
without the prior written permission of the author. Any resemblance to actual
events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the New
World Translations of the Holy Scriptures.

Copyright ©Dimpho Phiri, 2018

|I Am Malaika 2
—I Am —
Malaika

|I Am Malaika 3
She is a seed traced hastily to Genesis.
She is her favorite
gospel in Ecclesiastes.
She is a garden
unforbidden.
She is herself within
herself.
She is an expression.
She is crisp oxygen at
dawn.
She is a chilly gentle
breeze.
She is rose gold autumn
at ease.
She is a voice,
articulated or not.
A nest of honey pots.
A peacock season.
A better wife to Lot.
Malaika, I like her.
Malaika, a dandelion

A special dedication and the most heartfelt deepest gratitude of appreciation is

to Her Love.

To Jehovah and Jesus, I owe you more than every page written and every

breath taken.

.
|I Am Malaika 4
AFRIKA LIKE HER

|I Am Malaika 5
Hey! I‟d like to thank you and welcome you for
taking the time to visit me. It brings me great joy

to embark on my journey with you.

I am naked in this novel. It‟s a mirror of the love I

thought existed but felt too betrayed. In spite of

that, I had better reasons to locate the originator

of love; graced by His presence and all the

comforting words he said to me, a reunion. Was

my heart not burning? Utterly mesmerized at the

wisdom found in the consolation of his volumes?

He‟s exactly that, an author like myself, of not just

two or three books but sixty-six books. You could

say it runs in the family.

We met in Malachi, he told me to return to him

and he will return to me. To my surprise, I was

amazed to find out that he is Love. Thus, I can

confidently say to you today that I have found

everlasting love. I hope that reading this book will

make you feel welcome into my garden and

sanctuary. Where we bury seeds of serenity and

pluck flowers of tranquilty.

|I Am Malaika 6
The story of love began a multitude of years back,

yours and Malaika‟s is not so distinctive.

I hope my story is memorable for you and you

truly appreciate what love really is. Love is not just

a four letter word engulfing you with collective

emotions. Love has everything to do with what

you‟re willing to commit, your entirety. As

Malaika‟s journey unravels she will appreciate that.

Love is exalted. Yes, beyond faith and hope; the

greatest of these is love, an apostle aforesaid. The

“happily ever after” is not inevitably a „fantasy‟.

Love is for everyone, it comes in many other

colors. Sunflowers are a sentiment, grey is deep

and brown rules. Let‟s resume a reloveution with

unfailing love.

|I Am Malaika 7
A B L ACK GIRL IS SP EAKING v olume 992.
Is what I carry still a heart? Or just a pebble?
Because I‘m less of a woman and she‘s all of that entire woman?
You loved me like I‘d never leave, like a soul naught to cease
you loved me like I‘d never perish and I never envisaged at your hands
There‘s so much I can overlook and I shouldn‘t
You term this ‗love‘, but it wounds to be drawn and to drown in love, it tortures to
love and not be loved
so much that it hurts to hate you and doubt this love and everyone‘s love
I was the one who once another was chosen over me but I never protested why
Mind! Still! Feelings are yet debating
Some places lose your noise, some words misused your voice
My silence misjudged for weakness, though I never lost a voice
I‘ve always had a choice and I no longer talk – no, I roar
Silently
OH THESE words ARE bound to be livid
You futilely took heed of me when I desperately seeked to be heard
Contemplating if I‘m notable because I accepted —I‘m all of that,

and … I Am. I am Malaika.

They‘ll never be me, I do my me far better than me
See, the subconscious whispered, ―You would have chosen another over yourself
too‖
I search for truth and find that innermost thought disobedient
The entirety of me objects, ―Malaika, do you not know who you are?!‖
Bentley, make me comprehend why this far to corrupt the sight in my mirror
And it is I that you do these…how do you do this to me?
Why the constant butcher to my heart?

I recall centuries I couldn‘t stand losing you

Then I had something to prove to them
What‘s superior to gullibility?
Hearts shattered at only twenty?

|I Am Malaika 8
Moments that couldn‘t stand to last forever
Sheltering alarms of mental debility
We sprung into this fancy feeling, so infantile, not ever inquisitive why
I can‘t keep marathoning, we‘re in this the clutter for the reason that I let you
maneuver me this further
Worn out love like bricks with tacky cement, gluing lethal homes
I too was terrified of considering a solitude existence
O hark back to me
thy Ms virtue who fails to unclothe for a borrowed suit
Forgiving you with an apology I am yet to never receive
Praying for light in consumed darkness.
And I find the courage to break it to you
There is no hell because it lives right in you
The drubecilt that lies within obscurity haunts
Consoling wounds to heal
Rocking broken hearts to sleep
Malaika, let yourself not to be found!
That‘s a trap
You crook, you seized me under the rocks
Under the rich soil that sheltered me
You stood in volcanoes and watched me burn and expected ashes
But baby, I‘m Gold.
Terror
The tragedy accompanied in melody
The inability to identify treasures…so we hold this ceremony
Speeches upon speeches
Where is Malaika? I need to talk to her, tell her I loved her
Did you now?

I duck, I hide, I live, I love

I grew exhausted of the fairytales, strained from these back to back rehearsals,
drained by your adoption of vocabularies
they endeavored to take so much –drag me

|I Am Malaika 9
Can you ever try to give half of all I gave than nothing at all?
Reciprocate
Can you truly love for once? Stop playing these cards, murdering
the heart then stitching the parts? I hunted your love but never more than what I
gave
You say, ― Ma, you can do better‖, and I believe you
almost the same way I believe you when you say… whatever you say to me again
Maybe it‘s the flaw in me, taught you how to treat me, let you back in with a mere
sorry
You said I was too strong
I thanked God for who he made me and crucified me for you
How could I be with one who wanted authority so much as to dig, find wars in the
autumn plants of my soul
Agree! Refuse! Say ―yes, I did you wrong‖, just this one time—won‘t you?
Conflicts of never letting you cuff me any longer
I envisioned what could grow if I ran for my life, hurried for the nearest site
or perhaps I never appeared to be
blue enough
You blew this enough
I‘m surprised I‘m this tough
For every single bone that had to plead with the next to just hold on a second
stronger and another too longer
Cause I needed me now so much I couldn‘t afford not to be
even though I was more there for you more than I was for me
It‘s never regarding how I neglected me but I fear for how far I can go for you
and we forget about me
Dare I hear you tell them that I simply strolled away
when you threw me, pushed me and drove me to the verge of losing me?
When I poured so much into?
I owe me so much and I didn‘t mean to
You think it‘s easy to walk away? I delay the day my heart finally agrees that it is
It was you who tucked them into our cages— escape
A book filled with missing pages but I was happy with your fabricated lies

|I Am Malaika 10
I participated - cutting puzzles to still look at you and love you
Thinking you‘d pity a woman who stood by you
Nothing I could smell could serve defense to those scents
I look in your eyes and after the years we built, nothing stirs guilt
I dispute with my heart because I struggle to find sense in romanizing your
nonsense
Who is Constance?
What do you do with her?
O mama! Away! Away with this man!
Bid a whole heart to you …
I still remember mama‘s words to me
―Never give it all in all to him‖
Before he was… yours? My captured finger attested he‘s been mine
You head over heels and I‘ve lived on verges and triggers of losing my mind
Whispering to her everything that you whispered to me
When I shake my walk tall, they conspire with ugly Betty, I hold what‘s hers
Why her walk so cold? So bold? So fierce? Who she think she is?

Issa offspring of a King and that marks me a Princess, mistress!

We could have the ―woman to paramour‖ talk, but fairly frank, have him
Ask him about me afore those stolen kisses
and meantime I thought we were sisters

I never amble alone

Father, you array table mountain ahead of me in the attendance of my adversaries
Certainly vengeance is yours to all shattered families

What you and her did is out-and-out appalling

but if Betty adored you she‘d remind you of the book of Acts
Forgive them though they knew what they were doing

Ruminating, were they dumb or was the fool indubitably me?!

You had these debris looking at me like they‘re me

|I Am Malaika 11
If I have any regrets is that I let you have the best of me
A man like you will never deserve me in ages
Spare me a moment
I wanted to be the only one you‘d love about
The only one you‘d talk about
No, see, I really loved you…
Reminiscing ruins what clock wings try to swipe
wipe all my sweat and tears, least
Peace offer until advised otherwise

I cry out to my roots…

Meet me half way, reconcile with my body
-Oh she is every mosadi that dusted herself up

|I Am Malaika 12
 Prologue
“…and a critical world judged her cracks while missing the beauty of how
she made herself whole together again.”
(JmStorm)
~By Jehovah’s grace to Malaika.

I stand in the center of this hinterland, holding the vehicle keys while

the other hand mines in both the clutch and handbag. It sure does not register as
my taste though I dig for the a cappella ticket my spouse purchased for me, VVIP.
Never with thoughtful intentions. For the hole in the wall will be sealed, the ocean
will part and between walls of water I shall stroll…of what may perhaps be
measured a leisure, shadowing treasures on a dry seabed— he attains pleasure only
in my absence.
I grant I‘m absolute certain I positioned it between four and six Psalms, a
remedy to furbish and reinforce a torn soul, I ponder on it. If Psalms ever
takes, it takes the pain more than a 150 times. I should not bear the ability to
overcome this anymore. My cellular and modem are prone to wonder what withdrew
the time.
―Malaika!‖ he rants, holding a cup of tea.
Sooner than I could act in defense, I flinch as scorching liquid splashes and
throbs on my back, travelling to the brown arid soil. Sinkholes applaud him.
I prophesize to you that nothing will grow here anymore.
His sister runs out of the rondavel to me, pushing him out of the way while
he just stares at a disturbed me, numbly so. This isn‘t the worst of it, you could
believe the tales he tells behind my stiches.
―David?!!!‖ she pities me and turns to her brother in shock then back to me.
Before I can fathom my surroundings, I am semi-nude while she sort of
hurries me back in. She conceals me with my dress to act as a towel, since
witnessing a few guests have summoned nations to see the infamous bedlamite, my
name markets the tabloids in cities and unites gossip corners in game reserves.
Tears blur my husband and I think I almost see him shower anger to the
crowd so they vanished, not a single face revisited. My red garment damp, my

|I Am Malaika 13
coarse hair now, the one I co-washed and air fried all night. Yes, till my rondavel
misted the scent of black soap adopting the melted shea and cocoa on my roots and
my ends dripping of coconut and mango, a gospel.
It has shrunk—dripping coloured moisturized fluid and so my eyes
surrender. With that, I cancel the trip to the colosseum.
______________________

I turn on the lights and catch him sitting, staring into space. We‘re frozen,
the silence aches till he tosses the coffee table, a heart beats almost to explode,
books fly with inked wings, the tulip vase cracks, showering streams, things fall
apart and liquor runs.
He upsurges from the couch with his head lowered and at a snail's pace, he
strolls towards me.
―My heart not far off dropped, you…petrified me...‖, my speech trembles.
―Mosadi?‖ the remote is fixed in his hand and mother sings. Although, she
isn‘t physically here, she can‘t.
―I can explain? I can…‖ I meet in his eyes the flood of rage.
―We use to talk…‖ I lie and I can‘t even believe myself as I pace backwards.
I knock into the leave rooted wall room divider. He walks towards me with a
clenched fist, rolling his sleeves.
―You‘ll wake him up! You‘re plastered, please!‖ he puckers his brow, scowling.
―You really have some audacity!‖ he loosens his belt, I sprint for the nearest
exit but he is too sharp, he locks it. He‘s too close, heavily breathing on me and
holding my wrists. I‘m contesting to break free, I stagger then reduce to the ground.
He hales me with my hair back to the lounge.
―Let go!‖ I‘m sturdy to stand but I crash to the cold tiles with a throbbing
cheek. Anxiety tortures me if my jaw had lost location and my paranoia worsens
when I detect a blood stain. He stands over me; pressing my chest down and I wail.
He removes his foot, his shoeprint infiltrates a deep hole in my chest and I let out a
sound like it‘s my first, like it‘s been stuck in my throat for years.
―I‘m here, been here, with you! Who, please enlighten me, inculcated you to
speak in this manner to your husband? You get worse! Recalcitrant!‖ I send off a
mingled guffaw, he‘s baffled.
―This is what it always comes to, hmm? You batter me?!‖ I speak, as if
possessed.
I come to notice the roots of veins on his forehead, he locks his fingers into my afro.
―No…I refuse to do this…‖
―To do what exactly??!‖
―I want a divorce! I need a divorce…‖ he sets my hair free.
I shriek. A demon in front of me, strangling and twisting my spirit away.

|I Am Malaika 14
He thrusts me against the door, I struggle to find air, I‘m hurled all over the lounge.
―Stop! David, please!!! Sor-ry….I can‘t brea-!!! I …..can‘t…‖ I flinch, jumping
uncontrollably.
―I-will-slit-your-throat!‖ he bangs my head against the wall with every
squeezing of my neck, as of a sponge. A measure of me cries ―pray‖. Father, your
will….
I, without delay, apprehended that today I depart and in this way…but my
son…
Fixed on a two-way road, one too darkness conceived and the other too fast.
It surpasses human comprehension, all was gradually dimming. My thoughts were
least fibs, though they miscarried your unfiltered identity, that was for me, for us
and I could have never done that to those who look up to us…my baby… my baby…
I acquainted you into our home, father queried but MAME MANO
MAHUNGU AKAI MAHALÓUS MALAIKA, you saw so much in everyone, blind to
the obvious. Gave him a chance to give you the opportunity to investigate deeper.
My unborn baby...
Mother won‘t bear upon hearing about my passing, she forewarned me about
you. Never unearthed? Wrapped in a body bag by the love of my soul? Discarded
into the wilderness by the captain who pursued my heart? Reduced to ashes by the
devotee of my peace? A reputable gentleman you are. What you are capable of at
this hour, will tarnish you and that‘s all, but it‘s worse for me. My brothers will
locate me, I‘m assertive they will not once rest nor resign at tracking my corpse,
least for closur….no..no!! No! NO! What is he doing?!
―MALAIKA!‖ I feel my eyes roll a couple of times, it‘s cold.
I cough hysterically, feeling lightheaded and the air, frosty.
He lifts me up and moves with me. I‘m laid on the couch. He tries to tuck my
hair anyhow behind the ear, away from my face.
―Stay here. Where‘s your phone? Give me! Give me the phone!‖, he demands.
―On the floor…my–my… bag.‖ my voice has cancelled though I‘m more
shocked I still have one, that I‘m here, that I‘m thinking , that I …..my baby…
He observes me in my unconsciousness.
He arrives with something small and rosy in color then his toast eyes dig in
my eyes that close lids at every chance.
―Water…‖ even meditating is painful, I could be parched or my throat is in-
between too ballooned or too deflated.
―Damn you, Malaika!‖, he rants and quits at studying me.
He returns, settling beside me and assists me to drink.
―But Ma, do you see what you make me do to you?‖, he asks, lifting me up
with little difficulty.
―Fine! Undress yourself then!‖ I‘m stark naked and he just runs his eyes all

|I Am Malaika 15
over me like he remembers me but doesn‘t want to see me.
―Ouch...‖ I murmur.
―Sorry.‖, he says, dressing my wrists, our eyes lock in the course of action.
Malaika,‖ he continues, ―I‘m a good man…and father, you do know
that…right?‖ he looks desperate for even a nod. I cough. My body twinges.
―But baby…you!? The same woman who begged me to come home early to
you? I had to read Zanothando those mind-numbing, ennui books you got him used
to. I hate it! While my wife is out there gallivanting Joburg‘s atrocious streets! Not
to mention, the ones that I greatly abhor! I‘m riled. You are not going anywhere,
this us is never ending. Ever. Until I say so.‖
―Traffic… Kedibone…‖ I provide an alibi but he shows no care in the world.
―These three days you‘ve been… wasting, instead we could have been
working on us.‖
―Why did…you… marry me? Hmm David? You said you love me…‖ sniffs,
―Why do you beat me to a pulp then?‖, I build sympathy, hoping he‘ll fathom the
severity of this and repent.
He shifts closer to me, leaving wet kisses on my bruised discolored shoulder
and again I twinge, in reticent suffering.
―It‘s—it‘s just the things you do that I loathe. But you see, I know you! This
isn‘t who you are—it‘s the influence! I advise you, sever connections with that
jezebel claiming your friendship. You‘re a wife and someone‘s mother now.‖
Closure granted by one who brought about turbulence.
―What the?!‖ his eyes widen as blood gushes below my legs and he displays
resistance to touch me.
―O God!‖ an agnostic shouts to the heavens with his hands in the air,
―What have I done?! Why didn‘t you tell me?!??‖ I squall in anguish,
meantime he prolongs self-conflict.
He calls out ―mama‖ but I can‘t see him, my vision dims, a distort little figure
crying.
―Malaika!!! Stay with me! stay with………….‖
The chapter where you and I met, I close. But damn baby, we was killing it!
No, really— we were killing it.…it’s over.
Do I let you stay with me? Do I let you go with me? I am so burnt out.
Preach of a gullible nineteen year old girl, one beauteous, stole the stage but
this underwater iceberg yearned after the sun to melt and shine whatever light it
had left within it. When I pledged ―I do‖, did I grant you authority to love me then
ditch me? Did I vow ―yes‖ to pain in a white frock? Approved your impending
infidelity? Pleaded you to fragmentize my soul? To initiate congregations in my
name? I almost lost my life starring in yours, you well-nigh destroyed. But losing
you got me finding me. Blow this candle out for me. This is my story.

|I Am Malaika 16
BUTLENG v olume 993 .
BUTLENG!
Malakia.
Ngwana boreneng!
Morena wa betse, wa dumela! Haiye!
Morwetsana lesedi leyaho kgantša!
O naledi!
Wa ratéha!
PIKOKO!
Ekotle! Ekotle sefuba!
Bari baho bolaya, ha ba tseba nthate!
O teng nako tsohle!!!
Mme we! Mosadi hara basadi ke ona na!
Ha motle! Ha motle! Botle bohale!
Mulo! Ranewa dimpho!
Mosadi wa Afrika!
Boreneng ba Davida
Bua bahotlwe! Se ke wahi pata kgosatsana!
O kena monyako batule milomo!
Kopanong o di puo!
Otshamaya ka hloho hodimo!
Helang! Pula, ha ke e towele!
Matla ufilwe ke ntate hu hlula!
Ntate akeke amo dumela ka tseka hodima matla hi!
Hlula di thabeng tsa Edene metsing uhweletse!
Pamisa Lebitso la hae!
O rapela yamofileng moya!
Mameleng! Mosadi hara basadi o teng mona na!
Etsoe ruri o tla fufa PIKOKO!
Lebitso ke MALAIKA
Ke tswelopele ena na! E!
Dipiri tsa diproverbia.

|I Am Malaika 17
 One
“Daughter, I hope you never have to crawl on your good bones to beg bad love to stay.”

(Uphile Chasala)

I 180º in the wheeled chair, aligned to the door entrance where she

stands.
―Best! GAO. No pass!‖
It ought to be Kedibone, my ‗best‘ with the longest inches of hair sermorning
Girl Afternoon Out. She‘s been reminding me of her graduation next month. I‘m
proud of her.
I expect her to take a cab to me, in the duration of my lunch meeting. The
perks of being your own baas.
A lot occupies and weights my mind and she discerns it. Infact if she didn‘t knock on
the door, for the first time in her life, I would‘ve been fixed to one posture. For this
reason, she neatens the files on my desk, grabs the birkin then shepherds me out of
my office. I observe the i8 sport machine parked in the driveway and wonder if he‘ll
ever get it right, I never ask for much.
Kedi is more worried about the dust on the farm messing it up.
―Today we crash the gold city, Ma! We parade Melrose. Your husband sure
bribes akin to a bourgeoisie!‖ I remember how fond I was of my sunflower Audi.
Arriving to a lonesome home on the mountains of Bassonia to be welcomed by
an empty fridge and cabinets filled with spirits. By that I imply many things,
there‘s more of his vodka and whiskey over solid food.
I toss myself on my ultra-plush chaise sofa and install the pizza app, definite
they‘ll carry a speed point. Ever since supplementing biotin my appetite is
dramatic.
The demand to be familiar with the country‘s economic shape, I need to set
time aside. It has a detrimental effect on our farms, game reserves and lately the
forex industry— we‘re practically marching into a recession. I admit I hate it
though, the news, the media, whatever you want to call it. For many reasons,
weighing on how they seem eager to paint us every color but not even cream white.
They‘ve missed the mark too many times with our mother. Gladys, my other
|I Am Malaika 18
mother, is calling, she works overtime.
I haven‘t audited last month‘s orders, been experiencing custom nighthawks over it.
It is better than sleep paralysis.
I snatch champagne from the cellar to have with vegetarian pizza, extra
cheese and olives for my tunder thighs. My sister, Kefilwe, the purveyor for pink
wine nights, she begs to impress. If there ever is anything that leaves an
uncongenial taste, liquor. It‘s displeasing to my tongue, mouthfuls and I vowed to
stay home. Nonetheless, at present I reasonably ought to break my shoulders.
I push open the back sliding door and admire the wave of the 60 feet pine
palm trees surrounding the pool, the weather so red and orange in-between grey.
I love it‘s silence. Jazz clouds and silver nights and in them prevails the lady in my
shadow. The owl plays an instrument too close to a sax, making provision for ones
saturated in dismal quail, elicited by uninvited thoughts and disappointed by love.
I call it the ‗firework ecstasy‘ short-lived. Nonetheless, I drown it. See, I‘m a strong
black girl, I was shocked to find that there was something in me that could…I don‘t
know..throw me completely off. No, there‘s not much the owl can perform for me.
The sky hangs swinging stars, portraying a pretty pity picture. May the dove of the
ark fly me to Edenississippi, my happiness decelerates.
I laugh. It‘s funny how the body functions communistically, my heart is
striking and every part of me is affected and concerned. I allow this silence, it
always wins. I knew it was tragic when neither singing nor writing could deliver
me. Who would have thought I would miss my mother‘s pies in these dire status
quos.

I pull up my dress and dip my newly pedicured feet in the vast pool. As I face
the mountainous rock waterfall, I am tormented by either desideratum or nostalgia.
I lived a fulfilling life until some lunatic walked down one grievous aisle on my
behalf. I turned twenty-four last month, now I fantasize about being eighteen,
particularly for the detail of being unmarried. I find myself sitting on the bed
staring at my caramel reflection in the mirror, in awe as to how I got here.
I‘m robotically numb to existing. When I was on the farm today, in my
office…you‘d sure sense a mischaracterization if you‘re accustomed with Ms Davids
and that is I of course. On a certificate I signed my life away to. I‘m just never
present in the moment, unless of course physically, it still bakes my noodles.
―God.‖ my knees crash to the ground and the empty glass rolls onto the carpet
and stops.
―I thought you did not want to hear from me…‖ tears bank my eyes, misting
my view.
Thenceforth, I hear the giant door downstairs swing open. I draw my trip to
the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, my eyes have adopted the red color.

|I Am Malaika 19
I sometimes wonder if perfect is ‗white‘ in many scenarios.
―Careful!‖ he shouts after an active child.
―Ma!‖ he probably saw my laptop and files I tried investing focus towards.
Mother classifies my choice of focus anything but prestigious, it‘s the
―masculine dominated rivalries for you brothers‖ she jokes. She wanted us to sing
like she does, which I do, so does Kefilwe. She‘s Mame‘s backup singer.
See, Alicia is the Lisa Fischer, the Patti Labelle, the Tracie Spencer and a
Whitney Houston personality. She is a gold locked hair Rapunzel, we refrain from
calling them ―dreads‖— an awful phrase. She cuts them only when they touch her
calf, nothing Samson-ic. My dad installed granpa‘s locks on his so it touches his
back.
A little boy, drenched by the rain, wearing goggles flies into my arms, soon as
I appear, placing kisses all over his mother‘s face. I notice it‘s now pouring before
David shuts the door, looking exhausted with his bags.
―Pumpkin, change into your sleepwear and brush your teeth then you and
papa can have supper!‖
―As many slices as I want?‖ I nod.
―Papa, les go! Les go!‖ he reveals all his ten teeth.
―I‘ll be there, boy.‖ we chuckle as he tracks upstairs, he runs—that‘s all he
does, he‘s even faster since David got him ‗sprinting‘ shoes. His dad runs too—
immeasurably of late, finding himself running out of love for Ma. Dare to be fooled.
I take his suitcase and gymnasium bag to place it on the sofa.
―How was work, babe?‖, I ask, nearing his numb straight face, it‘s found
ridiculously intimidating otherwise. He is tieless with a white shirt unbuttoned at
the top.
―You ate all of that?‖, he points with his head as I release his blazer.
―I ordered half a dozen of pineapple beef.‖
―Fruit pizza?‖, he‘s confused
―Yes!‖, I say.
―Since when?‖ I sigh while he develops this curious face.
―You‘ll share one of the two. Besides Zano won‘t finish it.‖
―I don‘t eat fruit pizza, Malaika.‖
―But you ate it on our second date. The third and the fifth one!‖ we silently
stare.
―Because I was late! I ordered mushroom after that.‖, he says.
I move closer to him, he was rained but it‘s cologned. I almost forgot how
sheltered I feel in his arms, he surprisingly wraps me around and lays his chin on
my forehead. His beard is growing back but I don‘t mind the spikeyness today.
My nights have recently been coated with honey counting against every other.
Vulnerable, I feel, for allowing my husband to appreciate me, I quickly realise how

|I Am Malaika 20
contradictory that is. Truthfully, he‘ll never be worthy of me.
I run my hands down his muscular arms as soon as his eyes find mine again and
reach for his warm lips but he seems distressed, even untangles me from him.
I pull him to the sofa, making him sit beside me. He understands that I just
need his touch so he blankets his arms, carelessly, around me.
―Aren‘t you going to take that?‖ he withdraws one hand to pull out his phone.
I lay on his chest, finding some comfort in his heartbeats. His breathing showers
me, the rain outside is earsplitting, then we welcome load shedding but the
generator immediately acts. I see Zano running down the stairs, now seated in front
of a box on the kitchen table. He finally found a way to get on those high chairs.
―Are you pregnant?‖ he whispers, almost too loud in normal climates, ―I
thought we were on contraceptives and patches...‖
As I raise my head from his chest and gaze at him, I realise I‘m blind. I fail—
dismally, to recognise the man who married me.
―Wouldn‘t you love what is ours growing in me again?‖, I‘m too loud, Zano
smiles at me unexpectedly and goes back to his food.
―This is no jesting matter!‖ he frowns, widening his small eyes.
―Do you still love me?‖, I ask twice
―I saw you tagged her in those picture you took.‖
―She‘s Zanothando‘s mother.‖ he shrugs.
―No! I am his mother, David! I am your wife too. She abandoned her new born
baby and husband!‖ he gives me the look.
―What?!‖ he pulls my face up, ―When your sister experiences post-natal
issues, it‘s okay. But to hell with Amandla?!‖
―Don‘t stoep that low, don‘tmake this about Kefilwe. I don‘t mean it like
that…‖, my throat burns, ―I just don‘t want her getting any ideas. I can‘t have my
mom paying for any more media favors.‖
―I just can‘t deal with a broken marriage! It would be on you!‖ I swallow.
` ―Not this again…‖, he cups his face.
―I want us to see Bonolo‘s Dr. friend.‖
―I don‘t want to see your Dr. sister or her friend.‖
―She‘s a psychologist and I thi-‖he quickly suspends the idea, shifts me and
departs from my sight. I feel as though I‘ve shredded all the progress, but at whose
expense? How we got here, I miscalculate. It is all I contemplate on.

It‘s 4am. I lay awake in bed with my eyes shut when I hear the shower stop.
The bathroom tries to light up this room.
―Malaika.‖, he lightly shakes me. I balance my back on the bedhead and
watch a figure roam around a dark room scenting lavender wash.
―When will you return?‖ he babbles but I don‘t query. My pet peeve would be

|I Am Malaika 21
conversing in early hours but more to the point—I know all his lines.
I feel one of manicured nails are loose.
He finds space on the bed.
―I‘m going to Thailand for a while.‖ my eyes remain shut.
―Why?‖ I ask, with a lumped throat, now looking at him. ―Is there anything I
can do to make you stay?‖, he eventually shakes his head.
―Anything?‖, I ask again.
―I can go with you?‖
He grabs my robe and pulls me out of bed leading me to Zano‘s room. I stand
at the door watching him kiss his son, whose asleep. He later finds me in the living
room drinking coffee, it helps me to sleep contrary to him. He takes a sip from my
cup.
―When will you be back?‖ he tries to speak, operate his phone and open the
door. He places his baggage outside.
―I‘m a phone call away.‖ I follow him out.
―Are you kidding me?‖ his eyes lift from his phone to me. His face says he‘s
not. He kisses me, keenly and….I have questions…flasbacks…of how it used to be.
His chauffeur drives around the roundabout of the fountain. I wave back at
the gentleman as he loads the suitcases in the car boot, he must be a morning
person. I‘m still the girl whose really bad at goodbyes and he knows it. He smiles,
strokes my cheek and connects our foreheads. Under normal circumstances, I‘d
argue for privacy but not this time. I say a prayer aloud and he disconnects from me
but I continue.
―In Jesus name, amen.‖
―Amen.‖, says the driver.
―Amen.‖, says David, ―Amen‖ and he was gone.
______________

If it wasn‘t for Zano I wouldn‘t have to be up by 5am, I‘m only happy to leave
this cold bed looking like Tina turned too much. I think of homeschooling him but I
have a business and besides it‘s good for him, meeting people and all.
Everything is different, be it dining in restaurant parkings. I mean I can‘t
risk it, these criminals tow nowadays. I love this car more now than ever and I am
also actually interested in his homework and astronauting my mind to places I‘ve
never been before —he doesn‘t understand, I never expect him to. He fiddles with
everything, he is surprised that I let him be. I feel liberated but incomplete.
―Uhm Ma?‖
―Ma!‖
―Malaika!‖ enough to get my attention.
―Ma, can I yo‘ apple sundae eat?‖ I nod and rest my seat, turning my back on

|I Am Malaika 22
him to face my window. I hear him swallow and press the car radio and it‘s
conversations in a diner because even Letta Mbulu is tired of the music in the air.

I find harmony in Atleho, the farm securities were puzzled I pitched at these
hours. She bakes only at night, the house is sparkling. Home-made muffins
permeate the home, I appreciate MaGladys.
―Malaika, he‘s fast asleep. Would you be keen on the usual? Ginger tea and
carrot cake?‖, she stops when she finds me crying on the sofa, the poor woman looks
clueless.
―Come to think of it, dad made Mame miserable. She was ―Amy Winehouse‖
on weekends, prescriptions on tours then headlines on Monday meant nothing good.
The next three days we weren‘t at school, house call tutors for three weeks. It was
equally chaos at home. She cancelled tours, studio, almost everything and almost
her own life. I think Bonolo saw too much. She converted into a diamorphine addict
in his name! I judged her, I did, I couldn‘t understand…‖
―You know too much.‖, she says.
―They do too much, Gladys! All….my time….wasted on that? To just get a
text of ―I‘m sorry, I‘m done‖ !!! I‘m not done!!! I‘ll show him! I‘ll show him for doing
this to me!‖. I just needed to scream in someone‘s hands.

It‘s been a second, that is, waking up to birds carols. Nothing can make this
morning more special than a cup of chai with greasy brunch and enough of
overthinking many past events, including yesterday. The grass is overlaid in white
frost and the aura, a youthful breeze— my heart is snug.
I smile at him, immovable in the passage. He rubs his eyes, his goggles in his
hand, while taking infant sleepy steps towards me. I reach out and put his warm
body on my lap, resting his head on my chest. He eats with me then sleeps again.
―It was successful, thank you all.‖ I address the workers, ―Now we prepare for
harvest season!‖ they cheer and applaud.
―Ma, can I yelp?‖ I adjust his helmet, well my helmet, it‘s too big for him.
―He‘ll work with me.‖
―Can I? Vuum-vuum ?‖ they turn to laugh at him.
―If he raises any dilemma, let me know.‖ he runs after everyone, carrying a
toy spade and balancing his helmet. My baby runs, he runs all the time—eager.
Retailers we supply await their stock. Our major is potatoes, they need an
abundance of fertilizers and water compared to the other vegetables and fruits we
grow on the farm.
Who died? I have blown notifications and missed calls from everyone.
―Kedibone? What?? Keng??!‖, she‘s crying and apologizing.
―You‘re trending!‖

|I Am Malaika 23
___________________

I grab my shower cap. My tree is enormous for any ordinary one, this one was
specially a gift from Kefilwe, my clone, the stronger one. A long heated shower
brings a measure of healing. Kedibone is seating on the toilet seat, angry,
examining at the comments. I would die before my time if I had to.
―Hehehe! This Amandla lady!‖, she says sarcastically.
―Malaika, you need to do something about this! If you can‘t, I‘d gladly take
the honor of confrontations!‖
I close the shower.
She later destresses by baking and chatting with MaGladys and Zano. I lock
myself in my room on a lengthy call with Tumelo who decided to merge the call with
Tumisang. I had already braced myself in advance for an intense oration with my
brothers yet they surprisingly matured the support structure I‘m desperate for.
Media is exhibiting a jol with my name, my brothers encouraged a week off, it‘s
tumultuous out there. The eyes and whispers were things I could deal with but now
I‘m Squidward.
The primogenital, Bonolo, is fighting David, it‘s like they flare the dander I
have within me. I‘m just too bushed to even begin with. Dad also wants to returns
from Texas. I can‘t have him spending three hours making his special soup and
asking me ―Wah gwaan?‖ and I‘m like ―Mi deh yah, pupa.‖—he knows I‘m lying. He
says the very face I have is the one he has when his mother makes him agree to
whatever she tells us.
I‘m in the office when she knocks and alerts me.
―Send him through.‖ so long I use the next room to apply foundation, because
naturally I look dog-tired. These contact lenses should do the trick.
―Good day. I believe you are Ms Suge, nice to finally meet you.‖, we shake
hands. I almost snickered at how he pronounced my last name. After such a long
life of being indenial and well…naturally lacking sense of humour. I offer him
refreshments and sit across him on the table.
―I‘ve been looking for a supplier. It‘s very seldom to hear of a female farm
owner, I‘ll come clean.‖ he has dimples, ―Though you come highly recommended.‖
―Short notice, Mr Samson. Although if you want what remains then a deal we
have. The next season we‘ll act on your initial stock. I‘ll draft a contract in the time
being.‖
I look up from inscribing something in my diary and catch him staring at me.
―Are you okay?‖, he asks, taking me by surprise.
―Yes, I‘m fine.‖ water drops pick up the ink. I conclude our meeting. What a
way to humiliate myself before a potential long-term client.
I wake up with and I see the green eyes first. She‘s sitting with Zano on the

|I Am Malaika 24
edge of my bed, grinning.
―You still watch people sleep Dr. Suge?‖ they giggle. She has her gold
hair out.
―How did you get here?‖, I ask. Zano slips my shoes on my feet.
―Thank you to inventions, we can fly!‖ she laughs, ―It was meant to be vague
and funny!‖
I have a feeling Gladys had a hand in this, she‘s off for the weekend.
They pull me out the bed to the kitchen, which she has clearly taken over.
We dine in the lounge with Zano flat on his tummy.
―I‘ll be in Durban for a week, Mame would be happy to see you too..‖, she
says.
―You don‘t talk anymore?‖
―Bonolo…‖, I‘m annoyed.
―All I‘m saying is if you‘re really looking for closure, you won‘t get it here.‖
―Says who?‖
―Says Me! I‘m going to pretend you never asked!‖
―Oh and sister-girl I got some real food! Gladys told me you‘ve insisting on
take-outs. What have you been feeding this child?‖
She‘s at it again, being our mother at 30.
Days fall away and I return to work, back to back meetings with contractors,
the year is almost over and most of them are going on vacations to find themselves.
Though I find myself consuming chalk sticks, MaGladys uses it to clean the
iron. Bonolo said it‘s progressing mental illness, half of the time she can‘t sound
serious.
I need my real mother.
________________________

―Take me to the place where the river -the river runs wild…..to the place, a
place with fruit or lie? This place in my dreams…. this place is in my head all
day….. river-river runs wild….‖, I sing along and break into a loud sob.
Kedibone has been taking her eyes off the road.
I sing with the tune sobbing in-between, battling to take this ring off. She switches
off the car radio just then as I try to normalise my breathing pace.
My constant crying has spiked a migraine, dare I say I deserve it? For hours I
have wept, from Eikenhof and we‘re slowly approaching Hillcrest in Durban. I have
been rejecting calls, media calls to be precise. Persistent and hard-headed type, I
can tell you that much and it‘s almost midnight.
Kedibone pulls up on the side of the road, in the moment of me gathering my
patience from wherever I have deserted it. Lord, assent me assurance that I shall
seek and find —and find it with no delay… for this woman sitting right next to me
in my car is, without doubt, testing me.
|I Am Malaika 25
 ―Malaika! Look at me!‖ oh she so firmly.
I scribble my eyes, glance at her once and resort to adjusting my car seat, I
could do with a forty winks.
―I refuse to subject your mother to this!‖ w hat? ―this‖?
―Yes! You, looking like this! I mean undoubtedly you should be famished,
hence you‘re pallor. Have you not starved yourself enough? Look best, I forsooth
sympathise with you. I can‘t say I cognise what…‖ sigh, ‖Malaika, what hurts you
hurts me. You‘re neither the first nor the last woman to be let down by a man. Well,
in your case you should be grateful! You could have left that marriage looking like a
corpse!‖
―Your silence, Kedibone, just that. O-kay?!‖ I shoot up.
―Best, I ju-‖
―Kedibone!!! Just drive! Please!‖, I retort and look out the window.
Saying she‘s startled grades an understatement. I needed her tonight, I couldn‘t be
that lady at the airport changing my mind and going back to Atleho again. I left
Zano with MaGladys.
We‘re on the road again, she drove looking ahead, sealing her silence, her
eyes burning on me now and again.

I am worn out. This isn‘t exactly a vacation spot.

I have deserted my life 600km behind, divide it by 1.6 to lessen the reality,
375 miles. I‘m beginning to have sufficient doubts. This is the very last I‘d ever
choose Mame over the Caribbean. Me would be sipping Rasta cocktails, fancying
grilled jerk with the cousins— enticing. Jamaica is home.
I‘m merely denied peaceful sleep because when mother is up that means
everyone, not just in this house, should be up. Forget this is an estate! You
are diverted from your sleep, woken up by footsteps, pots… drawers and…spoons.
Then ultimately, music to the wee hours. Why am I here again?
Yes, the storming in, the ambush and talks of ―women with responsibilities
for their own happiness‖, in between her singing, like she presently fulfills.
Although, I‘m not in the best of moods. Spiritually, I‘m progressing.
Physically, I‘m drained and emotionally, I‘m dead. Running was not an option,
lately I‘ve been so unfazed by…everything. Let me read the daily text of the day.
―Malaika!‖ she laughs, ―Mame‘s beautiful and pretty girl!‖
A philosophy on Alicia, being this loud, every morning. I mean to beg that we
become oblivious of a rooster— mother wakes up a village. God-given voice, no
really, her music career took off at age 20.
Opa and gogo left Berlin in 1965, 4 years after the wall segregation. Opa was
an official who was assisted to flee the city because Oma was expecting
triplets. She was trafficked from Africa, then one morning she was picked out

|I Am Malaika 26
 in a room of girls and discreetly sold to a Jewish family as a housekeeper,
they later died in a gas chamber in Auschwitz. Consequently, she was
detained for 4 years on top of her neutral stance. Seipati Suge, she failed to
hail men but more readily avow allegiance to God. Opa illegally released her from
confinement, framing another in her place. He had matured strong affection
towards her solid character. It took him a year to accomplish this. They eventually
eloped to South Africa, an illicit derned marriage in 1989, the diminution of
Apartheid which began in 1948, ending in 94. The first legal yet underground inter-
racial marriage, not that Opa felt threatened by the world in anyway, he feared no
men. He pulled it off, moved to Lesotho to live his life and love his wife. Of course
paying ample bribes for threats to remain buried; not long before they resurrected
and they were separated. Opa was killed.
―My baby girl! Tell me what you dream?‖
Her emerald green eyes, sincere. She balances her body on the door, wearing
her running clothes, grinning at me. She wants to talk, I catched on at 16 and I also
stopped dreaming from then. I have nightmares even when I‘m awake. I take a
pillow and dash it on my face.
―Break the rules. Some delicacies and do brush your teeth afterwards.‖,she
warns throwing a box of Tim Tams on my bed.
―Come now! Follow me downstairs. I‘m confident I‘m not a terrible cook now,
am I?‖, she asks, rhetorically.‖
―Kedibone left your car here I called a cab to get her to the airport.‖
―I know, she left me a text.‖
―Will she be okay? Kefilwe can always make her another dress, you know.‖
―It‘s fine, her cousin wanted to do this for her.‖ she‘s looking at me but she‘s
not listening to me
―Mame…‖ she frowns, with an upside down smile.
―I love you, Malaika!‖ she throws herself on the bed, on me.
―Mame!!!‖ she tries moving the pillow out my face.
―The African sun in my heart leaps for what God has provisioned. Light.‖
The sunlight shines through, like a spotlight, like a brand new day too beautiful
with nothing but only that to offer me
―And fresh air too!‖
As for every window? It‘s 2 . If I was 12 she would have pulled the duvets off
me and left with them.
She stops at the door and turns to me.
―Malaika, I have to ask, my baby. Not as Alicia Suge, not as your mutter, but
as a woman. I can ask now but I‘ll test later. Okay?‖ I nod.
The media space hasn‘t really been that tender with my name.
―Mame.‖ she observes me, waiting for me to speak.

|I Am Malaika 27
 ―Though you must know I do not hold you liable for how it‘s staged.‖ she just
gazes at me, ―At least not in the way I assume you could take it, I don‘t want to be
misheard.‖ she walks towards my bed.
―Are you done?‖, she asks.
I shouldn‘t have done this, we need a good time to speak.
―You worry me, Malaika.‖, she says facing down, her hand barely in her
legging pockets.
―You need not.‖ she leaves me without a word more uttered.
Too early for counseling. It‘s almost 4am and it‘s not close to being
negotiated, I jump out of bed.
The next room is now the twins‘ nursery. I take a long shower then take the
dreadful walk downstairs to the kitchen. My eyes catch Kefilwe with a voluminous
brown afro like myself that is out there clearly making it impossible in this lifetime
for you to miss. I could never get use to it myself, so I understand why people fuss
about my hair as well, women mostly.
She wears a nightwear jumpsuit, making formula for the babies. While Bonolo is in
her robe and headscarf, serving breakfast. She and Kedibone have an eternal doek
collection, colours and designs for any outfit, I promise. Most of it was inspired by
Mame, in full, Mamello. My late grandmother originated to the southern
hemisphere, a landlocked country identified as Lesotho. They turn around, looking
as if to read me.
―Welcome home, Malaika!‖, she says, almost immediately when her green
eyes meet mine. She puts the plate on the table and reaches over to hug me.
Kefilwe, being her elan crazy self, she tip toes with a bit of a bent back,
looking absolutely hilarious that Bonolo and I burst into brief laughter. She holds a
baby bottle in her hand dancing her way to us to join the hug.
They release the warmth, pin their eyes on me, mission accomplished much
to my discomfort.
―You have been scarce, dupli…‖, she says, folding her arms with probably
raised eyebrows. Although, it‘s not visible as a result of the big hair in her eyes.
―Dupli‖, duplicate, it‘s muddling to distinguish whose who, for we‘re clones. Last
time she opened my phone with face recognition. The big bodies, the big hair, the
brown eyes and caramel skin. We are only a year and a half apart.
` Mother walks into the kitchen with the twins‘ baby towel over her shoulder,
seemingly happy. She smacks our hips as she walks away laughing taking a seat to
face us across the table as we stand.
―Mame!‖
―My baby dolphin, done freshening up I see.‖ I shy away.
―My girls. My beautiful big girls.‖
She leans backwards and flaps her gold locks.

|I Am Malaika 28
 I pull a chair, sitting opposite her on the table and the stare. Look, it‘s been a
while, her eyes dig that deep, mixed with a mother‘s instinct.
All thanks to people who lead a boring life only to mind yours, report yours
and live yours. I need to be distant from her because I‘m emotionally disoriented
and she might perceive the worst, like me being clinically depressed since she is a
psychologist by profession and I‘m not. I‘m someone who needs a serious overdose of
dopamine.

He was the one who fancied the cloudy grey, acknowledged it as the
meteorological conditions of love. Quite serious. He‘d go to the extent of cancelling
meetings, ordering food with so little nutritional value and box office movies validly
for cuddles. An exception would be if I‘m summoned to attend farm workshops; it
coincidentally seemed to rain.
―I‘ll be back, I‘m going to check on the twins.‖
―I checked on them not so long ago. Would you kindly care to have breakfast
with your sisters and I on the table?‖, Mame pleads.
―Mame, let me sneak in then I….‖
―But….‖
―…will be back.‖, she dismissively says.
Mother laughs then engages in a conversation with Bonolo while I arrange the food
on my plate, I have no appetite.
―Tumisang and Nicole are getting married.‖, mother fills the silence.
―Oh! She called yesterday but she never told me…‖
―Well, you‘re looking at the maid of honour!‖ Bonolo seems excited, ―Kefilwe
is done with the wedding gown.‖ What‘s the rush?
She almost chokes and I fear I could have said that out aloud.
―Which reminds me! You, Kefi and Kedi are the bridesmaids! Next week is
the fittings, cake tasting, venue— the works alright! I was thinking we could use
your former wedding planner…‖
―Unless if there‘s an issue‖
―It‘s fine Bonolo. I‘m on it, I‘ll be there and I‘ll call to congratulate them.‖
Mame has been sipping her boiled barley all this while. I excuse myself from the
table.
Floods of texts flush through, Zano sent me voice audios; heart and kiss
emojis —I just forward them back.
I open the door and she makes eye contact with me.
She is seated on a rocking chair cradling one of the twins and singing a
lullaby. We can all sing but Kefilwe and mother have angelic vocals. She signals
with her head that I should enter; I walk in and close the door.
The room is purple, warm and dark due to the closed curtains, I notice the

|I Am Malaika 29
other twin sleeping in the white wooden baby cot close to the empty one. Each cot is
engraved in soft pink with their names, ―Tsholofelo‖ and ―Tswelopele‖. Trust
dupli to do that, she‘s an artist, a seamstress and the whole.
―You my sister are an aunt. Here...‖ being a mother surely alters a woman.
She is much lenient, speaks softer and she never did— she‘s content.
I wonder if happiness ever pines for me, I can‘t help but think, I was so
welcoming to it but it gives the impression to have flushed memory of me, interests
of over usage.
My tears peek as I marathon deep into thought. So delicate and warm.
―She steals your heart, does she not?‖ she asks, paying attention.
―There‘s something that draws you to her—purity, her eyes...how do you tell
them apart?‖
―They‘re fraternal twins. Tswelo has a beauty spot positioned on the left
cheek.‖
I have Tsholo. She carried them for 11 months, abnormal. The doctora
themselves had reservations of her case though concluded its post-traumatic
stress. Paul died a month after they wedded, during her first trimester. He and
David worked very closely together, that‘s how he met my sister.
―Sisters with unsuccessful matrimonies. Malaika, you don‘t need him—he
doesn‘t deserve you. Mame actually wants you to return.‖
―No!‖
―What? Why? Do you think we enjoy seeing you hurt? I mean verbalizing is
important, Malaika! I knew there was trouble in paradise, I had assumed… you
don‘t have to be alone we‘re here, I‘m here, you know this well enough.‖
―I know Kefilwe, I know.‖
I can‘t help but notice her.
―Don‘t dupli, don‘t feel pity for me. I know better now, I should. Better now?‖
―I must commend you. That smile looks almost unfeigned, could have fooled
me. I pay no thought as to that he left you! Truth to tell, I‘m just thankful
you never fought meaning you‘re really done. The man is a skilled monster…I
refuse to bury my sister anytime now. It would be selfish for mother to bury you.‖,
she says.
I laugh, a laugh that cries ‗how could I be so stupid‘.
―I should‘ve known…I-I..‖
―Malaika! ‖, she reaches over to take the infant from me.
―I‘m fine. I just need to sit…‖
―Come, sit! Come! ‖ she leads me to the chair with one hand as the other
holds the baby, bouncing her on her knees.
―You sure you‘re...‖
―Minor pains.‖, I speak sharply, leaving her marginally shocked.

|I Am Malaika 30
 I walk in and they stop talking.
―I see the coast makes you seasick.‖ she says, sarcastically.
Her eyes foretell a thousand words, it‘s as if I‘m transparent; experiencing
guilt over the unspoken. You can only imagine my childhood, mischievous as I was
but never reaching the status of a menace unless I was brave enough to withstand
punishment, which entailed anything, corporally speaking— no time wasted on
reprimands.
Bonolo stands from the table, pours barley water from a jug in a glass, then
walks to submerge it in the sink. Midweek is strictly brewer‘s yeast milk and aloe
pulp. Weekends are exclusives even my son got the hang of it. It‘s either
vegetable or fruit juice, complimented by MSM, even baobab, maybe moringa,
turmeric is her favorite; an endless list. Mame hates caffeine, she drilled in
us the mentality we‘d have yellow teeth and eventually they‘d fall out if we ever
drank soda, I believed her— we all did. Father would just adjust his eyeglasses and
nod just to make her happy. Mist mother‘s incredible skin and dreadlocks that
almost touch the ground.
―I have a video conference.‖ she gulps it down, ―Duration of stay, little sister?
Dr Suge is off-duty for the weekend, you know. I closed the surgery till Monday, we
have some major catching up to do. We‘ll use his card!‖, she says, with a smirk.
Kumkani, her affluent husband. Their 7th anniversary is a few months away.
Who would get married in January? Only the Bonolos‘ and the Kumkanis‘ of this
world did.
―My flight is scheduled for Sunday.‖
―So, we have till Sunday to put my husband into some ridiculously deep-
rooted debt!‖ they chuckle.
―On a lighter note, Gabriel Santana and I are launching season three of our
reality show, back by popular demand.‖
―Wow, congratulations!‖ we say at once.
―And I‘m sure we all know what that means!‖, Kefilwe says, side-eyeing me.
―Long as they occasionally film me in Joburg, then that‘s fine with me.‖, I
say. The reality show gives us the power to be authors of our lives, least.
―Hold it schätzchen, we still need to talk!‖ I nod.
My mother is an international soul jazz/R&B musician, to many –an icon.
She was in Opa‘s church when a man walked in, made Alicia Suge known to the
world.
―I performed with the likes of Anya Knows, Hansie Jaguar, Herbie Nanco ,
Glewis Balpert, Gary Smulyan, Stan Dawns, C.G Moeketsi , Cecil Wisti and Hugh
Rooi, just to mention a few.‖, she names legends.
Opa, our grandfather Phil Kapadia Suge, who was German taught her how to
play the saxophone, which became my favorite musical instrument from age seven.

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 Sunday afternoon culture, admiring my parents opening the lounge floor to
the 1975 Earth, Wind & Fire‘s ‗Reasons‘, it should be the first few singles I grasped
word for word. They, at the end of the day, are the reason why I linger on the belief
that true love exists, if not everywhere then somewhere.

The doorbell.
―I‘ll get it!‖ I stop the blender.
It‘s drizzling. She steps in and closes her umbrella from outside.
The straightened gold, she is wearing sunglasses; she takes them off and out
shoot the emerald eyes and long eyelashes.
―Kefilwe, I… ― it took her under 5 seconds.
―Malaika! ‖ her eyes wide open.
―Aunt Zarah.‖, I say.
―What a pleasant surprise, dahling!!!‖, she says, hugging me.
What a surprise indeed. My aunt suffers from critical FOMO, she‘s a retired
fashion editor/analyst. But she keeps up with fashion trends more than I do.
She seeks something out of her bag and pulls it out the second she walks in.
A glass bottle filled with water and herbs.
―Drink it twice a day after meals. Have you eaten breakfast?‖
She inspects the kitchen.
―Run Kefilwe!‖ she turns to me, smiling. A baby cries. Great, just when I
thought she‘d save me,
―That man was no good for you. At least you signed a prenup.‖ I look down.
―But then say, how do you feel as we speak?‖, pulling out plain yoghurt from
the fridge.
―I try.‖
―You can do better than that.‖, she says.
―I‘m tired.‖, I say.
―More reason to keep going. Although I wouldn‘t be surprised if we‘ve reached
a weltschmerz. We‘ll be here.‖, she says and we walk to the lounge.
―Aunt Zarah, I‘m exhausted. I‘m drained in the spirit, I‘m a breathing
miracle, how I‘m still here today I can‘t say. Can one decease from a fractured heart
and equanimity? Most certainly. Insomnia is far too generous, my thoughts are an
overload, I need an escape. I need to get my son and go. I know what I look like
right now and I may not be sober but it has just become too much. A vast deposit of
rehabilitation would do, a lot of God. It‘s arduous, depleting to traverse breathing. If
it wasn‘t for…‖ she places the container on the table and lifts my face. Mascara
waterfalls dam into her palms, her eyes tear.
―Tante….I fought….back and forth.‖ I sway my index fingers, ‖A defeated

|I Am Malaika 32
battle, pain gets no healthier than this. I‘m in desperate need of …silence, I
appeal—hear me.‖ she stares at me in awe and holds my hands in hers.
―Find your happiness, love yourself, that‘s very important - it matters.‖
My outcry invites them. Having to unleash all the years I couldn‘t breathe
and in the most depth foreign weight of my heart I speak to him so silently
here but in the heavens blare volumes, what a place to be in. I‘m on the floor
next to the couch as mother holds me too tight like she‘ll never let go. She wants to
feel this for me but I can‘t give it to her. It‘s too much of a burden for a mother to
adopt. Yes, we were given tender hearts. Although, even behind that delicate
fragility— surpass that nesh, stands firm an aggressive rock.
A mild fire. A firework. A treasure—gem—a yam.
A drum that no one beats.
To conquer even the most tragic plight.
We were given alright!
Vuleka amazulu.

|I Am Malaika 33