Unspoken Words

By Kwena Lebohang Mokwele

She may look like everybody else,
but she has a secret dying to tell.

The story is self-explanatory through the heading which depicts as unspoken words. It conveys a moral that keeping something to yourself can be dangerous to people around you. Unspoken words tell us about Thuso’s grandmother who was loved by the family for keeping secrets. The family loves Thuso, first born of Job Matisana because he was born after the family longing for an heir. Lizzy didn’t know that her husband’s wealth, Job Matisana, was already planned for. Everything went well for Thuso, what about Khanya who was denied love and his father’s inheritance?

About the author

Kwena Lebohang Mokwele, the author of Unspoken words was born on the 4th July 2003 in the Gauteng province. She was then raised by her grandmother in the Limpopo province. Kwena went to Mogaladi Primary School in Marowe, a small township in Polokwane. While she was in her 7th Grade, Kwena started writing her story Unspoken words. Unspoken words is the first novella ever written by the author. After Kwena had finished her Grade 7, she went to Gauteng to start her Grade 8 at Edward Phatudi Comprehensive School. That’s where she saw the need to publish the novella, Unspoken words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kwena Lebohang Mokwele
• Release date: Feb 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005600662

Book preview

UNSPOKEN

WORDS

Kwena Lebohang

Mokwele

Copyright © 2021 Kwena Lebohang

Published by Kwena Lebohang Publishing at Smashwords

First edition 2021

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system without permission from the copyright holder.

The Author has made every effort to trace and acknowledge sources/resources/individuals. In the event that any images/information have been incorrectly attributed or credited, the Author will be pleased to rectify these omissions at the earliest opportunity.

Published by Kwena Lebohang using Reach Publishers’ services,

P O Box 1384, Wandsbeck, South Africa, 3631

Edited by Tracy Buenk for Reach Publishers

Cover designed by Reach Publishers

Website: www.reachpublishers.org

E-mail: [e-mail]

Kwena Lebohang

Email

Table of Contents

Prologue

Part 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Part 2 : Thuso

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

For my brother, Kelsey.

You kept me alive.

Prologue

I was born in the presence of both my parents. It’s lovely growing up surrounded by love, support, and care. Strong humans they were, I now know what it feels like to be a parent. It’s not easy, it comes with putting someone else first, before you. It was lovely. Being a child is lovely and wanted by many. Having morning and evening meals with people who care, as a family, was heart-warming. I knew it when it was time to swing on the gate, waiting for my parents.

This is what my whole life was about, waiting. Waiting for everything to be better, waiting to be like other kids. I knew when it was time to go to town, usually month end. We lived miles away from town, but we were the lucky ones, because my father owned taxis and had his own car. I never experienced waiting in queues for taxis in the morning. Job, my tall, black, Pedi-speaking father had drivers driving his taxis. My mother was awakened early every morning when they came to get the taxis. She had a key to my father’s heart, and knew everything about him and his businesses.

My mother was christened Mmakgabo, but she was called Lizzy. You were summoned by your English name if you worked hard around the house. If you knew how to mix cow dung with red soil, you were ready for marriage. I had good times with my parents and created many exciting memories with them. But everything changed when a car crashed and took not one, but both my parents.

I was still young and didn’t know exactly what it meant. I thought I was still going to see them again, their smiles, love and feel their warmth. I thought it was going to be the very same way it was on television, people crashing in cars and surviving. People coming out alive from burning buildings, and rolling trucks. I guess it was just a wish. I was still young, needing more than just calling someone a mother or father. I needed love, I wanted attention. But a mere car crash denied me all that. It forced me to be a parent to my younger sister at an early age. It forced me to grow up in a snap of a finger.

It was hard. Growing up I denied myself a lot. I can still hear other kids screaming with joy. I can still see them from a distance, packing tins, with one between the two ducking the ball. I learned to carry Q drums, dish pap in circles using a wooden spoon and pray like my life was on the edge of the cliff.

Maybe that’s because it was. I never got a chance to play with other kids, and that’s because I was a parent. I had to create a safe place for my younger sister. I had no one to run to, no one created a safe place for me. Not only did I have to grow up under the care of my stepmother, but I had to grow up with secrets and lies.

Being treated like an adult made me one, I was shaped – shaped into the person I never thought I would become. Having a younger sister changed my view of being a boy who will soon grow into a man. I had to learn – learn how to love Nompumelelo like our parents used to. I had to fill up holes, so it didn’t destroy her. I was called a sissy for taking care of my little sister, I was described as a bore whenever it was time for me to go home to prepare supper like my mother used to. I knew it was time when I was able to look at the sun with both my eyes wide opened. I had time to prioritise myself, but I chose to prioritise my family. What is family? Little did I know that the only family I had, died in a car accident. Do you think putting other people first when I was also an orphan did me good?

Well here I am.

Part 1

Chapter 1

It was early in the morning when Aunt Bertha was waiting merrily for her son, Thuso, to emerge from initiation school. He had been absent for weeks, and she now wanted to see him in one piece. I was happy he was finally coming back, to save us from pain. Nompumelelo is my younger sister. And Thuso is my cousin, but with him it’s another story. We were his enemy. He was told we were against his success. But how could that be, if I defended him at school and stood beside him whenever he was in trouble?

It was on the 23rd of June when I was born again, you would swear the villagers were crowning a chief, everyone was going up and down expeditiously, preparing the greatest ceremony for Thuso. When I say that I was born again, I was starting a life without both my mother and father. Ruralites go all out on initiation ceremonies. Teaching a boy about routes to take as a man is like growing their village. Slaughtering a cow is cleansing their sand. They so love get-togethers, especially when food is enough to serve them all. It was one of the ceremonies we never missed in a year. As young as 12 rains, parents sent off their sons to the mountain. It never happened to me. Last year it was Lila’s brother, Tokelo. Such events meant a lot to us, but scared the girls. They wanted to know how it’s done: wanting to know what they use to cut our foreskin. It was a topic whenever we sat with girls, wanting to know about us and us wanting to know about them. We knew it was not allowed, talking about such things with the other gender.

Talking about sex was forbidden. I remember going to the river with Tokelo and Thuso. We were armed: we had Vaseline in a matchbox and wore shorts that revealed our skinny thighs. I was at the back, scared of many things that can happen. Being bitten by a snake, not finding our way back home, a lot could’ve happened. I was going for the first time, the smile on my face was priceless but the beat of my heart was losing control. Tokelo and Thuso were a year older than I, but because of the system during that era, we were in the same grade. They were calm, not scared at all. Tokelo was given freedom as a child, Thuso was also given freedom. He sometimes went herding with us, even though his father didn’t have cattle. By the way, I went herding when I was seven years of age. My father taught me how to knock a cow with a stick from a distance, and I also knew how to squeeze out milk from an udder of a cow. Not that Tokelo was allowed to misbehave, but he was allowed to be a child.

During our walk, we passed a lot of trees, observed the other side of the forest and Thuso also encouraged us to explore places we were told not to go near. But because he was privileged, we took his word in many dilemmas we found ourselves in. He had power, to order us around. Ga-Tsitsi was the name of the river. Even our forefathers swam in this river, and our parents knew the dangers. It had two parts. The east side was the deepest, and only boys and girls who were 16 years and older swam in it. We enjoyed ourselves in the warming river with girls. That’s when I learned my swimming skills. I used my thumb and index finger to block my nose when I was under water. We ran for our clothes when one of the herdsmen caught us in a dangerous zone.

What are doing with my shirt? she asked. I caught eyes with the girl beside me. We were all in a hurry, didn’t want the herdsman to see our faces. And that’s because we knew if he did, we were going to get a hiding. I was going to get killed.

Sorry, I thought it’s mine, I replied in great shyness. Our shirts were of the same colour, they were orange. I knew I loved her, even though I was just not ready to do what others do. I loved her still. We laughed our last teeth out after we finally escaped the fear. I did not stop thinking about that girl. Look deep in her eyes, you will know. My father told me that when I asked how he knew he loves my mother. And then I knew that I loved the girl.

They were from the other village, Matsepe. Thuso and others who went to the mountain told us it’s a secret. Pity, not all of them grow into courteous and responsible men after going to the mountain. It was a must for us, young Pedi boys to go to the mountain. It shaped a lot of boys I grew up with. It was helpful until people turned it into a business. Kidnapping, misleading and killing boys. Men were slaughtering a cow at the back of the house teaching young ones how they do it, while I viewed them from a distance, and big pots on the fire, hissing and releasing smoke, with women around them preparing a meal for the villagers of Masakeng. Some were still talking about the burial of my parents and it came as a shock.

It put my life on hold. I put my life on hold.

Aunt Bertha was in a long, flowered dress with a red doek wrapped neatly on her head, pointing out mistakes for everyone to fix. She wanted Thuso‘s ceremony to become the talk of the village. Growing up, Thuso was never disappointed. He grew up being loved and wanted. And that’s not a bad thing, being loved is not a bad thing. It can’t be. We were skinny and he was chubby, well taken care of. Had his hair cut in different styles, and got new clothes almost every week. He was living, and I was surviving. We didn’t use the same body lotion, soap, bath, and sometimes ate different meals.

I was just grateful for shelter.

Aunt Bertha looked good in long dresses, a tall lady many men found attractive. As a child, she would find me gazing at her beauty and because she didn’t love me, or want me, she would insult me for being a nuisance. She scolded me in anger, and her words cut deep. I was called names and reminded that my parents were no more. Unlike other kids, I never visited my late parents. Didn’t clean their graves on Easter and Christmas holidays. It was hard. I was indeed a nuisance, partly because I just wanted to understand how a beautiful lady like her turned out to be so selfish and unsympathetic to children growing up without love from their parents. She did not understand, no one ever did. She had no scary scars to say she survived abuse. To the younger me it just didn’t make sense. Money changed her. She had lived in poverty since birth, but now she behaved like she was used to swimming in money. It was not about money; it was about love.

It is the truth that you cannot make someone love you when they don’t.

She failed to love us, and no one could’ve forced her. But some understanding could have done the trick. Love comes with a lot, but understanding doesn’t. If I was able to understand why she didn’t want