14/08/2025
I thought perhaps my mother and little sister returned to look for me, but they never did. Mma Molefe informed me that she didn't search the house; instead, she found a letter but chose not to open it. Upon returning home, I opened the letter, and Thuli explained that on the day I went to town, she couldn't accept being pregnant with my father's child. She wondered how she would explain this to the child, and not wanting to hurt our mother, she prepared food and tea for our mother and juice for herself. Unbeknownst to our mother, Thuli had laced the juice with poison. However, before our mother could drink it, Thuli received a call and stepped outside. Tragically, our mother drank the poisoned juice and passed away within seconds. Panicked, Thuli buried our mother under the bed, packed her bags, and fled. I was left confused, with no one to confide in and no family to turn to. I grappled with how to share this news with my neighbor - that my sister had accidentally killed our mother. Who would believe such a story? I continued searching for answers, wondering where my little sister was and why I doubted their love for me. My mother had passed away, and I never felt it; she was buried under the bed without a proper funeral. I hold my grandparents from both sides responsible for letting this happen. Why did they allow my mother to marry her ra**st? How could such trauma be romanticized? I was a product of r**e, and the same man r**ed me too. He abused my mother, ensuring we grew up too quickly, and made sure my mother witnessed it all. My past haunts me; I don't wish to revisit it, but I yearn to scream for help, for a miracle, for my beautiful mother to return, and for my sister Thulisile to come home. However, life is unfair, and it never was. I prayed to God to protect and welcome my mother in heaven while I was arrested, my mother lay buried under the bed, and my little sister was on the run. I had to find impepho candles to appease the ancestors, seeking forgiveness for my little sister and acceptance of my mother in heaven. I packed and left for Mpumalanga to find my family. Upon arrival, we found my grandmother, but my grandfather was already asleep, along with their precious daughter, Thembi. My mother told me that Thembi was loved. I couldn't sleep; I had to talk to Thembi. I was angry when I saw their life - she had everything she needed, while my mother suffered for Thembi to have it all. Their house was beautiful. My grandmother asked who I was, and I replied that I was Nosipho, the child of Nosipho, the product of r**e, the real reason they had all their fancy possessions, and how it had ruined us. I confronted them, saying: 'I stand before you today, shocked and angry. How could you sell your own flesh and blood for money, so you could have all this? Even Thembi, who is she? It's because of us.' They looked shocked, trying to hug me, but it was too late. They sold us to a ra**st, never looking back. My great-grandmother had a rotten womb; she produced a devil. How could a mother sell her own child? How could they believe my father, the ra**st, could love us? He was abusive, chopping off my mother's fingers, beating her, emotionally abusing her, and ra**ng us. The child I was carrying was mine and my father's daughter, whom I killed. My father went to prison for three years; I gave birth in prison. My little sister, Thulisile, was also pregnant, but I don't know where she is. She poisoned her juice because she was ashamed to have a child with my father, but my mother accidentally drank the juice and passed away. My grandparents cried, and my grandfather woke up, hearing the story. He began to beg for forgiveness for failing to love and protect my mother, their daughter. They sold her because Thembi had to attend university with our tears.
