Ndalwenhle
She was pregnant and carefree. I was shocked. I thought she would never have kids—the way she treated me was beyond evil.
I turned around with a sad face, my heart beating fast as I walked toward the rank where I would find a taxi. In a township full of RDPs and shacks, with maybe 10% of people owning the homes they built, some familiar faces saw me.
An old lady called my name. I stopped and went to her on the other side of the road. She greeted me with a smile, and I returned it. She told me how much the neighbours had looked for me; they thought something bad had happened.
"Some men didn't sleep," she said. "When a child is lost, every parent feels that pain."
She continued, telling me it was a pity my mother didn't have any feelings. She told me the closest neighbour had noticed I hadn't arrived home. The neighbour had knocked on my drunken mother's door. When she opened—already shouting—the lady had asked, concerned, "Has Ndalwenhle arrived yet?"
But my mother's answer was, "I don't have any child." And she was telling the truth.
Have you ever heard the myth that drunk people never lie? She didn't search for me. She never did.
The police said they had to wait 24 hours to report a missing person. After all, it was protocol to them. But a lot can happen in 24 hours. They couldn't help.
The old lady told me that years later, my mother met a guy named Khaya Sibisi. She didn't know what he did for a living, but he drove a Mercedes-Benz C-Class. My mother seemed happy with him, so the neighbours distanced themselves.
As much as she was happy, they still couldn't shake her cold heart and her blank expressions whenever my name was mentioned.
We said our goodbyes, and I left that township. I never looked back. She was happy without me in her life, and I had planned to make sure we never met again.
The only thing I could do was disappear from her life so she could find peace. Right there, I felt like an angel in the dark, misunderstood for a devil. No one asked how I felt. This time, I had devil's features.
That was the beginning of my havoc life, and the hatred followed.
I focused all my attention on gym practice and schoolwork. Matric isn't child's play. Months passed quickly.
One day, while scrolling on social media, boom—Nobahle was marrying that Khaya guy. That time, I had no tears left to shed. I was happy for her. The way she and that guy looked at each other—they were in love.
At last, she had found her prince charming. Me stepping away from her brought light to her life. The baby bump was still there. That man was one in a million; he took care of her.
Right there, they were a family. And me? I was an orphan. I didn't have both parents.
The year was ending. We had finished writing our final exams. As some kids talked about going to the rural areas for the Christmas holidays, we didn't have that. The orphanage was our home.
So we decorated the place. We didn't have much, but it sure felt like home. That was my safe place.
I came there angry, but now I was thankful to be alive. With that scholarship in my bag, the light was starting to shine.