Just weeks after my high school graduation day came and went. I sat in that unlit house; in the far corner was my mother and next to her my long faced melancholic siblings - she was ill of health, in the reserved chair a void which explained the hole in the hearts of everyone within those walls. It signified the erasure of the man who helped conceive and raise us up until that point when he lay there; dormant; unable to cover his nakedness, teeth or the like. Unable to tell us what had become of him. He was gone and we had suddenly went from being blessed with the presence of two loving parents to being left with a sickly mother and no breadwinner. In times like those the spirit of sympathy and wanting to portray a victim of life out of oneself is overwhelming but I decided to investigate the homes nearby. I counted about 10 homes on side to my place and there was either a single parent or none. The same general state held true in the opposite row of homes and the row nearest to us but in the following street had the same general problem; the absence of fathers and husbands, but one particular household caught my attention - Mbalis house. Here was a girl who perished in the most painful way. She had torched her house and burnt it down, leaving her husbandless mother homeless and with the mammoth task of burying her burnt remains and rebuilding the house. This is all because she could not accept her HIV status even though she had been dating older men, taxi drivers, since she was in grade 10....
Posted on: Mon, 26 Jan 2015 04:07:35 +0000
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