Ruptured Walk

By Lunko

Conflict is an inherent part of life. The ruptured Walk, not only evokes the narrator-protagonist’s personal, family and spiritual life. It brilliantly and expertly gives us a gaze into the heart of a woman whose search for peace and justice brings her almost to a cataclysmic end. Her vistas takes the reader into her confidence as she confides, how the pulpit is used to subject the congregants into kowtowing to the pastor’s authority and those who dare see it as an object of oppression are tried and cast out as silly tedious deviates. She gently reflects that behind an indomitable character she is known to be, still stands a fallible person who battles with some of the choices she has made.
In her pursuit to self-correct, she becomes a lone voice trying to dissuade others from falling prey to the same unfortunate fate she suffered. This sends her into the tradition of renegades as viewed through the eyes of the pastor. The animosity between the pastor and our protagonist culminates in the decision of her viewing family relations rather than money. This view compels the reader to decide on his or her own virtues, what comes first between church, money and family. In the end the narrative talks to the name of the book, why the author chose not to name it Rapture, which means a feeling of intense pleasure rather a rupture that means break away! Once again, the woman’s decision is against the popular norm. The author expertly takes us through Mehlolo’s conflicting personal and popular view and she elects the antonym of union, deciding to break away, in a complex yet narratively sequential, the theme of the story lends itself with ease to the name.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Dec 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664116863

Lunko

Limakatso” Lunko” Rapudungoane is a Deputy Principlal at Motswela High School in South Africa in a small town called Kroonstad. She has a Degree in Counseling from Unisa and Education from Potch University; and Two Education Diplomas from Vista University and Mphohadi College. She is a mother of two Lumka and Nkosi, which birthed the name “Lunko”. She is a woman of many passions, including Reading, Blogging, Motivational talk, Counseling young and old, and Healthy living. Her passion for writing stems from the love of giving life lessons to women and the community at large, from lessons she learnt herself. She has written articles published on National Magazines and was an Author of Online Magazine (http://www.teachersmonthly.com). [The walk she kept] is her first novel, one of many to come.

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Copyright © 2021 by Lunko.

The events in this story are true, but locations and characters have been changed for fiction purpose. Any resemblance to actual incidents is coincidental.

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 by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®.

Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™

Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide.

Rev. date: 12/14/2021

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Contents

Acknowledgements

Preface

Blind Spot

Isle of The Feral Minded

A Deadly Waltz

Millions to Make

Well Off You Look!

Into an Instant Halt

Such an Odd Recap

Rupture

Acknowledgements

I give the glory and thanks to God Almighty for carrying me through the entire process of healing and writing this book. I appreciate the understanding and support I received from my late parents, Molefi and Nombuyiselo Rapudungoane, my son and daughter Nkosi & Lumka Hlatshwayo, my sister Tsedax Rapudungoane, my niblings Bohlale, Kgutso and Ofentse, my confidantes Nontsizi Mvimbi, Poppy Motlhaping, Dipuo Montshioa and Nontobeko Ncinitwa, my schoolmates group Rebuilds, my mentors for story telling Leonie Delange and Ernest Malete. I would not have gathered enough courage to write if it was not for the proof reader of my first walk, Dr Mokete Pherudi. Thank you Kgotso Nyaredi for this riveting synopsis, Gaositwe Litsoane and Nkosi for fine-tuning this project, your views and inputs grounded me.

Lastly but not least, I would like to thank the community of Maokeng, Kroonstad, my colleagues and students from my immediate work sphere Flavius Mareka TVET College, for it is from our everyday environment that one has an accurate reflection of self.

Preface

It remains my passion to draw a reader into a conference with self. It is after all one man’s show to make an effort to read, be it an article, a chapter or even a book for that matter. As one goes through whatever piece one is reading, there possibly might be a temptation to pause, ask oneself questions testing the relevance of what you are reading as a reader to what you already know or had been exposed to. That dear reader, any chance of it ever happening, is an actual conference I wish to draw you into. I am now of late of the notion that expressions like; ‘love is blind’, should be reconstructed if not expanded. With my experience and thank you Lord, the many times I have orbited the sun, I have discovered from the afore-mentioned expression, the word love, could easily be replaced with ‘trust’. Trust is indeed blind. While it is so easy to blame others for your mistakes but with self-trust, such a luxury cannot be afforded. When you experience betrayal out of trust, no one else can be held accountable for whatever has hurt or angered you, but yourself. If only it was possible to blame anyone, that would at least make the pain bearable. You would under normal circumstances be filled with rage, act it out and before you know it its intensity would weaken and voila! total release experienced. Hurt self-inflicted because of trust acts on your soul like a virus slowly eating your body away. It eats you in secret without anyone noticing. You wish for it to die away before anyone notices, yet each day you wake up to, comes with its own peeling of layers upon layers of the very betrayal you so wish to forget about.

Everywhere you go, people you meet and places you pass through, are constant reminders of the betrayal you experienced. Your present state, being the state of euphoria, state of growth or even state of discoveries, all remain temporary as long this trust is not restored. The unresolved dark cloud hanging over your head, weighs so heavily that it starts to torment you without you ever approving. Scary isn’t it, this violated trust you had in someone, puts all your being into an instant halt. But hey, you know me by now, the only way I know how to manage the hurt, is by putting it out there, so I also become a spectator like everyone else. Have the capacity to be asking questions such as; what happened to him/her? Did he/she manage? How in the world did she/he get her-/himself out of that mess? From the ‘The Walk She Kept, the malignant tumour hurt is to the body, I can only manage through inviting you to take my hand, enjoy a leisurely walk through the protagonist’s experiences, in an attempt to make it benign.

Maybe just maybe, the knowledge that my pain has opened someone’s eyes to address what she or he was not even aware it’s a problem, an accident waiting to happen. Who knows? Through this sharing we might not even add to the stats of those labelled with trust issues. Through the conference I am inviting you to and the empathic company I pray you going to provide, it is with a conviction that I know by the end of our journey, no cloud will be hanging over anybody’s head. The journey you are about to take is not only the chemotherapy meant to burn the tumour eating the soul ‘cells’ away, but it is also a probe for you to experience reflective thoughts that would aid you to look for the signs you possibly might be missing in either yourself, your close relatives and even your friends so as to be proactive. If at the end of your journey you might be able to help a colleague, a sibling, a parent and or the nation at large then my mission would have been accomplished. I would know my betrayal was in actual fact a seed which bore nutritious fruits which would feed many starving souls. Let the reflection of the content of these few chapters I am about to table, bring back life into a ruptured walk I experienced so that I can continue my journey, celebrating life to the fullest. A journey fuelled by passion to be and let others be. Through the park with Mehlolo as our protagonist, allow her staggering walk, a walk which was once solid and balanced, *so she thought* to facilitate the process of restoration within oneself. Enjoy …

Blind Spot

It is one of those rare days when Mehlolo gives herself some time to visit her old friend on her way from work to her place. It is a Friday afternoon, the only day that they get to knock off early from the college where she is working, almost two hours earlier than the normal time. It is this day of the week she committed to visiting her parents, spending two to three hours with them catching up on the happenings of the week, their health, and all they needed or would be needing. Come to think of it, it’s actually odd that things have turned out to be this way, with her doing to them what she was used to being done to her. They were the ones who from time to time had to check up on her, but lately, the tables have turned.

Among the things she would normally buy for them without having to check whether they needed them or not, were the supplements for the bones, acid-clear drops, pain ointments, and the likes. Her father in particular, loved moringa blessings. That it helped with whatever ache he was suffering from, Mehlolo doubted very much, for she felt it brought to them now more of a placebo effect than the actual healing. Every supplement or herb recommended on their radio, they would not miss for anything.

Other than supplements, her normal routine on Fridays like this was to drop in at Fresh Stop, just opposite Checkers shopping complex, to get some chocolate bars or wine gums for the little ones, depending on the money she had in her purse. Her nephew Reneilwe, the son of Mehlolo’s younger sister and Tlholo, the daughter of Mehlolo’s cousin sister who were now staying with her folks, looked forward to that particular day of the week. Initially it would just be Rene and Tlholo in the budget to receive some sugar, but surprisingly her parents, who had never much liked sugar, now formed part of these sweet spree sessions. Mehlolo chuckled to herself. It’s now a fixed routine to buy tooth-decaying stuff not for two but for four. How it all came about, she honestly had not seen it coming, but a serious squabble broke out between the kids and their grand father over wine gums. The squabble which brings us to this weekly routine.

On this particular Friday, 25 November 2016, which had seemed a usual one in Mehlolo’s week, her routine got messed up. Going into her folks’ home, she found only her father transfixed before a television set, watching his favourite National Geographic channel with Reneilwe. Tlholo was out as usual, playing with friends on the streets. Mehlolo greeted her father and Rene, and gave them their favourite goodies, but when she enquired about her mom, whom she did not see, she learnt that she was out paying homage at a friend’s house. Apparently it had not been that long since she had left her home. Mehlolo’s father was not much of a talker, as her mother was. Visiting with him and trying to pursue a conversation, especially with him watching his lions, crocodiles, and the likes, would be like trying to draw blood from a stone. She decided to leave so as not to disturb them. Upon realizing she still had some hours before going to her place, so she stopped at Nono’s place. Nono was one of her friends, though she is old enough to be Mehlolo’s mother. At times, depending on what they were conversing about, she would even call her "Mme wa ka," (my mother)

They were both happy to see each other after such a long time. If it had been possible, Mehlolo would also have committed to seeing her once every week, just as she did to her folks. Their time together more than often would be a time of self-discoveries, as they called it. Nono was to Mehlolo such a fascination. She had this insatiable appetite to learn that filled Mehlolo’s cup to the rim. Every time they parted, each would heavily be loaded with new things, discoveries, words, skills, books, articles worth sharing, and most of all Bible verses. This was indeed an odd relationship, considering their age gap, but that never bothered either of them, except Nono’s neighbours or Mehlolo’s friends who would always be asking her "O bo etsang moo koloi ya hao e dulang e emisitse teng, o etsang le mme oo wa hlooho e tshweu, ana le family?" (What exactly do you do with that old woman where you usually park your car, are you guys related?) That question left Mehlolo in stitches, because she never counted how many times she parked her car there that it would be termed usually. "People do observe, huh?" she thought.

What made matters worse was the fact that Nono lived along the busiest public road, used by taxis and almost all private cars. It was a road that connected Contantin to Genootwaarts and PTA, the three main townships of Ditshehlong. One would not drive from town to the afore-mentioned places without passing on this road. That was most likely why people questioned her car being parked at Nono’s place.

Lately these two friends had been starved of each other’s company. Mehlolo had been so scarce that it seemed she was living in another Province, outside Nono’s home-town. Come to think of it, almost everything about Mehlolo’s life had changed lately. She used to religiously attend a gym where she even instructed spinning classes. When Profit Gym opened a branch in Boiketlong, she decided to leave the health club she had been attending to go help the manager of the new club pull more clients his way, and that she managed to do well. Despite the new spinning bikes she enjoyed so much, her consistency in instructing her new classes was caught short just after she had established rapport with new members. From the first week of instructing, she identified a woman who, despite falling from the bike the first time of her attendance, developed a passion for spinning. Within no time, she became Mehlolo’s muse. Commitments were added to her plate, and soon she groomed her muse to take over the class in her absence. A seasoned instructor the muse became.

This positive development was to the detriment of Mehlolo’s passion. She gradually shied away from her regular exercise routine, making loads of excuses to the club manager, and because he was also a very diligent member of the Christian community, she experienced no struggle whatsoever in being excused. Without realizing it, Mehlolo was gradually abandoning things that used to set her heart on fire, starting with the very one everyone in Ditshehlong associated her with, exercise. This change she could not easily identify. She thought it was for the good of course. Church commitments replaced almost everything in her life, and she saw nothing wrong with that. She was after all serving the Lord, so she rationalized to her subconscious whenever reality confronted her.

The content of Nono and Mehlolo’s conversation that particular Friday will stay with Mehlolo for the rest of her life, for it marked the beginning of a journey to self-introspection which was long overdue.

Mehlolo: Mehlomadala Mradie. (long time no see, Nono)

Nono: Hi, Mradie, What a pleasant surprise, How are you?

Mehlolo: "Been good Mradie, You know I never make it a habit to complain, How about you, o monate" (You good?)

Nono: Can’t complain either, Mradie You really can sense when your name is discussed. It is only yesterday that I was discussing you with Thapelo Motlatsi, You know him, don’t you?"

Mehlolo: Which Thapelo? The one who was a teacher at Phomolong?

Nono: Yes Mradie, that one and only.

Mehlolo: Oh yes, I do know him Nono, he was my teacher at Phomolong Combined School, during my higher primary education. What on earth were you and Bra Thaps discussing about me? (she frowns)

Nono: "Oh no Mradie, it was actually not about you, We were discussing this trending issue of a woman sprayed with Doom (an insecticide) on her face by some pastor at the church claiming that it cures cancer and HIV. We have been exchanging social media photos with you yesterday remember?"

Mehlolo: Oh yes, I do. I sent you the one of an ATM machine, which reflected NO FUNDS. Sprayed with Doom, it miraculously coughed out money for the withdrawer. Amazing. was it not? (She laughs out loud.)

Nono: "(as if dying of laughter) Kikikikikiki! What about the purse without money? When sprayed with Doom, the poor purse expanded with banknotes. Hilarious, isn’t it, Mradie!"

Mehlolo: "Out of this world, Nono. (smiling) But what I do not understand is how did I feature in that discussion? Were you showing Bra Thaps the pictures I sent you?

Nono: Yes, but we ended up discussing not only that church, but many things we observe happening at these modern charismatic churches. Thapelo went on to single out our local churches around here, which he thinks there is more to them than meets the eye. That’s where you came in, Mradie man!"

Mehlolo: I am listening, Nono. Go on …

Nono: Your church, neh? He mentioned it but did not even know the name. It was from his description that I could hear it was your church he was referring to, and I just had to correct him by telling him that if there was something wrong happening at that ministry, I would be the first to know, for you are a member there. I even showed him the two magazines you bought me from your church. It was not even necessary for me to show him, for when I mentioned your name he immediately apologized and withdrew his claim. All he said was Not if Mehlolo is attending there.

The smiles, the warmth and laughter Mehlolo just shared with Nono, all vanished to thin air, especially from her face. Her chest just grew much heavier and to ease the weight she just had to give out, not just a big but gigantic and loud sigh. That really puzzled Nono. Maybe you dear reader, needs to get this background in order to feel the magnitude of the pain Mehlolo felt after hearing what Thapelo did, his immediate withdrawal of the claim he was having about the modern churches, especially the ones in Ditshehlong. Thapelo never taught Mehlolo any subject per se. Of the four grades she attended at Phomolong, he was there as a teacher but no direct teaching and learning happened between the two of them. Back then, to pupils, any staff member of the school you were attending, was your teacher irrespective of whether he or she offered you any subject. That authority, is the one Thapelo exuded to Mehlolo in particular. There is one significant incident that solidified the kind of knowledge and authority he had over Mehlolo. About two to three years that she got married, her ex-husband once related something which hurt her so deeply but at the same time taught her how deeply Thapelo knew her as a child even though he never taught her directly. Our ‘Masenya’ claimed that they were having some drinks