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married-world-blog · 6 years ago

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The Beginning...

I am three weeks behind with this assignment. I have honestly been struggling with it, to tell you the truth. The assignment is that we find a story worth telling about our lives and find a way to brand it. There is absolutely nothing interesting about my life and this is why I had no idea where to start.

If you come across this blog, please refer it to your friends. It is an assignment and I need the marks. I need to graduate and be something a whole lot more than just a wife who is expected to have a baby sometime soon.

I thought about blogging about my new found love for the pain of exercising, but that wouldn’t really be the beginning. I thought about blogging about my dreams, but everyone in my class is doing that. I have been following each of their blogs and they all kind of look the same: it is becoming boring actually.

So perhaps, an introduction will do and then we will see where that leads us.

Disclaimer:

The names used in this blog are not real. In the spirit of protecting mine and my family’s identity, I would like to just blog and not have any added vested interest in my life that is beyond what I am willing to share. Your respect and understanding is highly appreciated J

My name is Thandeka Buthelezi. I was Thandeka Zulu before I met my husband, Nkosinathi Buthelezi. My husband is from a royal family in KZN, eShowe. I am from a royal family in KZN, eMnambithi. When one is born from a family that prides itself in being difficult and not leaving you with much choice when it comes to your life, you get used to not having dreams of your own because somewhere along the line, you will suffer the chest pains of having to alter your dreams to accommodate expectation.

I matriculated at the age of 16. I was in boarding school in Maritzburg from grade one. At 17, I went to university, UKZN to study public relations. I do not know why. I have always been a good writer and a good image consultant; that is how I made some extra money in boarding school. My teachers always said that I would make a good journalist or a great PR. I heard “great PR” and chose that over being a “good” journalist. I was good at PR. But still, I was very careful not to date anyone. To date someone would mean to start investing into something that would have to be altered to accommodate expectations. I did not even have many friends. I was friendly with many people but I did not have any friends. I was the only child to Lindiwe and Tom Zulu. What they had in store for me was not up for negotiation. And honestly, I never had it in me to disappoint them.

I did good by making this decision because at 18, I came home for the school holidays and my dad returned from a business trip to tell me that it was time that I met my husband. Even though I knew that this day was coming, it still shook me. I was scared. I had a matric. I had one year left to get a degree and my dad would not even let me finish that. He told me on a Tuesday, that on the Saturday, my lobola negotiations would begin. I spent two weeks preparing for my umembeso and umabo. My dad sent his workers to go and fetch my stuff in res at UKZN because I was not going back. My very being got lost in the ululating and singing of my wedding. Everything else that happened is still a blur. But I have pictures to jog down a memory or two. I don’t like looking at my wedding pictures though… I look so young, naïve and unknowing of what will be.

After the umabo, my husband had to come back to Joburg and he brought me back with him. I knew that he did not want me so I was not even going to throw myself at him in the slightest bit. He is a medical physician: Dr N.N. Buthelezi. Good for him. He moved me in with him in a 3 bedroom townhouse in Paulshoff. He let me have the master bedroom and he sleeps in one of the other rooms. I know that he has a girlfriend and I am preparing myself for the day he tells me that he will make her his second wife. All I asked of him was to go to school. I told him that I will still cook and clean for him. I will be the wife that I am expected to be. I just need to go to school. I even told him that I would apply for bursaries. He told me that it is okay, he will pay for me to go school. He listened to what I would be interested in studying and I told him my interests. He said I should go to VEGA. He said they have the best programmes for my kind of interests. So here I am, credited and in my third year of Brand Management. Last week, he bought me car to drive to school with. He told me that an uber was not safe. He bought me a white Mercedes Benz A250. I think he did it because my dad asked him how he was treating me and he lied and said we were good. We are not good, we are the same as we were two years ago when we first got married. He is my housemate. I am still a virgin. And every time we go home, I am always asked when I am having a baby. Holy Spirit please intervene.

…

I have started taking care of myself. I enjoy running now. I am a reality-show junkie. And these women whose lives I follow out of interest of how one makes millions out of just living one’s life on camera, I have developed a crush on exercise. I asked Nathi to turn the extra room into a gym and he let me. I gym in there when I cannot hit the road and run, but sometimes, running is the only way I get to just get out of the house.

So I went for my run today. My body has become more in shape then when I started so I have confidence in running in tight gym clothes. At home, I gym in a sports bra and workout tight or workout leggings. I get home and take a shower. I get breakfast started while still wrapped in a towel. I bought some make-up and I am about to watch a Seenqo or Mihlali youtube make-up video to help me apply it. But first, ubaba wasekhaya must eat. My thin twist braids are tied up into a bun. A yellow towel is wrapped around my body, and I have my slipper flip flops on.

“Hey”, he says as he walks into the kitchen. Nathi and I are generally nice to one another. The chemistry is just not there.

“Good morning”, I reply. Please note that on our wedding night when the elders locked us up in his rondel, he let me sleep on the bed while he slept on the floor. And this is what we do every time we go visit our parents.

He stares at me while I dish up for him. It is a stare that he has never really given me since we got married.

“Ukahle?” I ask him.

“Hai cha, ngiyaphila ntokazi. Ukuthi nje, ngifuna ukuk’tshela ukuthi umuhle”, he says. He tells me that I am pretty every day. And just like I respond to all the compliments he gives me about my food, my looks, and my manners, I say “Ngiyabonga”.

I walk out of the kitchen. He gently holds my wrist and says, “Please join me for breakfast today”. I am shocked. We have never had meals together unless we are in KZN. He sees my shock.

“Please”, he insists.

I dish up for myself and sit across him. I start eating.

“Everything okay?” I ask him. I have lived with him long enough to know that he is not okay.

He shrugs his shoulders.

“Is it Patience?” I ask him. His eyes almost pop out of his eye-socket.

“Come on Nathi. It’s not like we are in love. We can at least be friends right? This life of ours is almost un-relatable to a lot of people and it is difficult to talk about. So at the very least, we can talk to each other about it right?” I try again.

“It just feels weird talking about my girlfriend with my wife”, he says.

“Then you should tell her to stop writing you letters and putting them in your lunchbox. She knows I make your lunchbox so she clearly wants me to know her and about her”, I say.

He looks at me – speechless.

“Nathi, chill. I am good.” I say.

He chuckles.

“You really are something else Mrs Buthelezi”, he says.

I smile.

“So? What’s up?” I ask.

“Patience wants her and I to get married. Last night, we went out with friends and colleagues, she went down on one knee and asked me to marry her”, he tells me.

I keep eating my food like what he is telling me means nothing to me. But in all honesty, this Patience girl is disrespecting me. She is showing me that she will never respect me like I respect her – enough to not shake things up for her and Nathi. I just stay away. But her type doesn’t scare me. I hope Nathi said yes so that her ass can be taken to eShowe and my in-laws can deal with her and show her the position of the second wife.

“So what did you say?” I ask him, drinking my juice.

“I walked out”, he says.

“Do you want to marry her?” I ask him.

“I used to think that I do, but honestly, there are little things about her that make me realise that she will never be a good wife. Some women make good girlfriends, but they would never make good wives”, he says.

“Not everyone is trained like us for marriage Nathi. You need to be fair. Not every parent births a child for marriage like our parents did”, I tell him.

“It’s not about the training. It is the basic respect for the next person. With respect, everything else grows and can be fixed or groomed. Patience is not a respectful woman. She is into status and she treats people according to their status or positions in life. It is a genuine turn-off”, he says.

I did say I know her type. There are squads of them on social media.

“How are they different to our parents? Our parents thought we were suited for each other because of our positions right? Would they have let you marry a woman who was not from a royal home? Would my parents have let me marry a regular Joe? No. It is human to recognise position before heart. We are no better than her”, I say.

“Do you actually want me to marry Patience?” He asks me.

“I don’t care what you do with Patience. I just want you to be honest enough to say that you are just simply not into her. Making up excuses for your feelings will drive you crazy. If the butterflies are not there, don’t force them and don’t try to make it seem like it’s on her. Patience has probably always been like this since the day you met her. What is making it an issue now? How are you different from the women who believe they can change a man after marriage? Just own your truth”, I say.

He is quiet.

The intercom goes off. Nathi stands up and gets it while I continue eating.

“Nathi, open the gate we need to talk”, a woman demands.

“Patience, my wife is home. What are you doing here?” Nathi calmly says. I am glad to know that when he talks about me, I am referred to as “my wife”.

“Nathi, I said open this damn gate. Don’t tell me about that village bitch”, she says.

I stop eating. I look at Nathi. He looks at me. He turns off the intercom.

“Nathi, I don’t ask you for much. But I will ask that isthunzi sami sihlonishwe. Don’t bring your girlfriends here”, I say.

I walk into my bedroom to get dressed.

Good morning bloggers.

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