My Dad My Life

By Sukoluhle Mdlongwa

Amanda Dlamini is a typical daddy's girl - beautiful, vibrant, intelligent, kindhearted and ever-smiling. She lacks nothing in life and in the eyes of the world, she is a spoilt brat who is the envy of her peers. But Amanda isn't in the least interested in the wealth her family enjoys. In fact, every opportunity she gets, she gives some of it away to those in need. All she cares about is her father, who adores her equally if not more. 

But then her life is thrown into turmoil when her father is assassinated during her birthday celebrations, and a few hours later, the police arrive and put her in handcuffs as the mastermind behind the murder. Soon, the only state witness – the man who pulled the trigger and implicated Amanda – dies in police custody. All eyes fall on her: Is she trying to destroy all evidence against her?

What ensues is a cat and mouse pursuit as Amanda fights not only to clear her name, but to find her father's killers before they kill again. Her need to know WHY tumbles family skeletons out of the cupboard one after the other, with her next-of-kin blocking her every attempt to get to the truth. With every secret she uncovers, the unsavoury truth about her family becomes hard to bear, leaving her heartbroken and questioning her own identity and if she really is a Dlamini. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: PUBLISH'D AFRIKA
• Release date: Dec 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201633639

Book preview

For my dear mom, Norah Silibaziso Mdlongwa and uncle Donald Nyathi.

Prologue

My whole arm is trembling as I take aim, the solid weight of the Beretta 92FS handgun seemingly weighing a ton more than it actually should. Jake has been an elusive prey for over a week now, and his knowledge of the bush has given him an advantage over us for days. Three times, we have come across traces of his own kills – a rabbit here, a kudu there – so we are not hunting a helpless prey here. He is well-fed, is alert and is at home in the bush more than we do. For a while we felt like prey, because we are in his backyard. But finally today, we tracked him down to the bank of the river. Our tracker, a tall, giant Shona man who flatly refused to give me his name, did say that at some point, Jake was bound to come out for water, so waylaying him by the river under the cover of the thicket was the best option. We are again the hunters, and Jake the prey. I have him in my sights, so close to him I can smell him. It’s a good thing that the wind is blowing gently towards us, because he would have easily picked up our scent and either fled, or attacked. I loop my index finger into the trigger, close my one eye and took a careful aim at the target. I am about to pull the trigger when Uncle Sdu’s whisper distracts me.

"Baby girl, that’s an Italian masterclass handgun you have in

your hand, one of the best modern pistols ever made. It beat many pistols to become the American military’s most popular handgun. You miss using that, I will never forgive you."

Uncle Sdu, why don’t you take the shot then? I whisper back, lowering the gun. He props my arm back up, lining the shot for me.

Focus, baby girl, he says, re-adjusting my aim. I never taught you to give up. Chances of missing your target with this gun, and with your training so far, are next to zero. Now focus, and pull the trigger.

Personally, I prefer the SIG Sauer P320 semi-automatic pistol, German-made using a striker action instead of a double action hammer only system. But in this bush, in this hunt and specifically for this kill, something with more firepower was needed.

Jake has his fill of the precious liquid, completely unaware of the danger lurking in the bush a mere 10 metres away. I pull the trigger, and I see him collapsing into the water before I could hear the thunder accompanying the shot.

***

My dad is standing in the farm yard, his phone in his hand, as the van drives in. He was clearly about to make a call, but lowers his hand as we drive in and park in front of the stables. He meets us as we dismount, concern unmistakable in his face.

I have been trying to call you, he says. Both your phones are off.

He sees Jake in the back of the van, and looks up stunned at Uncle Sdu, who is smiling from ear to ear. You finally got him!

Nope, baby girl here did, Uncle Sdu replies proudly.

The smile on my dad’s face is suddenly replaced by a frown, and then fury.

You went hunting for this beast with my daughter? Damn it, Sdu! How many times do I have to tell you that -

Tell me that she is a 15 years old girl, yeah I get it, Uncle Sdu cuts in.

No, that she is not one of your military pet projects. You are the soldier, Sdu, she is my daughter.

I am only trying to prepare baby girl here for the real world out there, Mandla. A little self-defence knowledge wouldn’t hurt.

Self-defence? She knows more about guns than she knows about make-up and weaves, Sdu. You are teaching her to kill.

Uhm... no, he says, smiling mischievously. She also knows Tai Chi, she can box, we are trying Judo and Taekwondo next wee...

Exactly, you are turning my daughter into some lethal weapon. You are teaching her to kill!

Mandla, you are taking this way too seriously now. Jake? How many of your sheep has he killed so far? Fifteen?

The point is, you should have gone after him yourself, Sdu. Who gives a lion the name Jake anyway? And how are you going to explain this to the game rangers when they get here? They wanted him captured, not killed.

It’s been a week since this lion escaped from their reserve,

says Uncle Sdu. Sooner or later he would have tasted human blood. Baby girl here did the world a favour, if you ask me.

Did you imagine for a second, that the human blood you are talking about could have been my daughter’s?

I clear my throat, and the brothers turn and glare at me.

Really dad, I was fine. I wasn’t in any danger at all.

I walk up to them, loop both my arms around their necks and give them pecks on the cheeks.

You both know you are two of my most favourite men in the world, right?

The both of us?

I laugh. Ok Dad, you are my most, most most favourite man in the whole wide world...  

––––––––

Chapter 1

Good morning dad.

The tall, strapping man in a grey suit sways only slightly towards my voice, gazes at me and his lips part in a big, doting smile that a father reserves only for his daughter. He is the only man I know who can smile at me with not just his lips, but also with his eyes, his whole face.

Good morning, Angel, he says, ambles closer and plants kisses on both my cheeks. He now has to bend only slightly to plant those pecks, and each time he shakes his head in wonder at how quickly his little girl has grown. At 16, I have filled out at the right places as any young woman should — the bust and hip area — areas that ring alarm bells for any loving, protective father, especially one who even shares a birthday with his daughter.

Good morning, mother, I look at her, trying to gauge her mood. She smiles faintly, a reaction that could have been just as good as a curt nod.

Good morning, Amy,” she replies. How did you sleep?"

Very well, thanks,” I say as I take a seat next to my dad. What's for breakfast?"

I need not have asked. The breakfast table is always laden with serving dishes piled to the brim with scrambled eggs, whole grain toast, cheese, cupcakes - enough food to can feed a small village yet there is only the three of us.

I am losing my appetite already. Who in the world eats all these kind of food at the same time? I glance at my mother, and she is looking at me askance and judging by her expression, I know better not skip breakfast today.

Mommy, may I please have my favorite cereal today?

I wait for her answer, praying she will agree to my request. Of course, the prayer is in vain.

No! You eat that every day for breakfast, lunch and supper. When will you eat a normal meal? Don't you see you are losing weight day by day?

Please Mom, I promise to eat a proper lunch today.

A moment of silence lapses as she studies me, but before she could unleash another bolt of lightning, dad comes to my rescue.

Thembi, let my daughter eat whatever she wants,” he says, absent-mindedly sipping his coffee, his eyes skimming the business section of the newspaper. “That's what her father works for every day.

A thin smile escape my lips, but my delight is short-lived.

But Amy, please don't break your promise to mom.

I await my mother's approval, my eyes as beseeching as a starved puppy’s.

Fine! she snaps, giving in, and I am on my way to the kitchen cupboard before she had even breathed the last syllable.

But I know I have angered her, so early in the day, nogal. She just wouldn’t understand that I am no longer a fan of these fancy dishes. With Rose, our maid, always cleaning and shifting things in the house, I am unable to find my cereal.

Rose! I call out to her, and looms from the laundry room almost immediately.

Yes Ma'am, good morning, she says, and I sigh in chagrin. I have lost count the number of times I have told her to call me by my name. It’s embarrassing for a woman as old as my own mother to be calling me ‘ma’am’.  And besides, she doesn’t even work for me but my parents.

Good morning Rose. I'm looking for my cereal, and will you please stop calling me ma'am. She opens the cupboard and gropes deeper, and within an instant retrieves the box of Rice Crispies.

Here it is,” she says, timidly handing it over to me. I moved it yesterday while I was cleaning."

Thanks Rose.

I move to the counter to prepare my breakfast, and as an afterthought, turn to retrieve a bowl and a spoon. Lo and behold, I bump into the dutiful Rose, standing right behind me with the utensils I need, smiling from ear to ear.

Thanks. You know I appreciate your help, but can you please let me do things myself sometimes? You don't always have to serve me, you know.

Okay Ma'am, I will bear that in mind.

She retreats from the kitchen and slips back into the laundry room. I pour granola, yoghurt and a teaspoon of sugar in the bowl. I mix and start eating on my way back to the dining table.

That's unladylike, Amy,” that is mom, her voice ringing like a drill sergeant’s. When will you learn some table manners?"

I'm sorry mother, I say as I take my seat.

My dad glances at my bowl, then up at me, and shakes his head.

I wonder how you manage to swallow that,” he says. “The mere sight of it makes me want to puke.

Come on Dad, it’s not that bad. Maybe you should try it.

I stretch my hand out to give him a spoonful, but he flinches, turning his head away. I giggle as Mom gives me that pointed, ‘table-manners’ eye. I nip my laughter in the bud and continue stuffing my mouth in silence.

Amy, better be quick if I'm the one dropping you off at school. Or your mom is taking you today?

No Mandla, I have a meeting in thirty minutes,” Mom retorts. “You take her or else I will be late.

"Ok young lady, make it snappy because I have a meeting in two hours.”

That “YES” feeling forces a smile on my face, but I suppress it lest I anger the lioness sitting across me in the table. I hate driving to school with Mom with a passion; she is either on the hands-free phone or listening to some boring morning news headlines. But with my dad, it’s different. We joke, laugh and he sometimes teaches me some valuable lessons on the way to school.

Fifteen minutes later we pull out of the drive-way, the Mercedes Benz nosing into the street lined with manicured lawns that seem to have been towed straight from a golf course, and double-storey homes reaching into the cloudless sky. In this part of Selbourne Park suburb, in Bulawayo, the only things disturbing the peace would be the odd jogger and the roaring German roadsters revealing the depth of the pockets of those residing in this area.

Soon we join the early morning traffic, where the other half of Bulawayo eke out a living. Today is no different; the streets are packed with cars and people rushing off to work, to schools and wherever they spend their day. But my dad isn’t his old self. He is uncannily quiet. I can sense something is wrong with the man I love with my whole being, the center of my universe.

Dad, are you alright?

Yes baby. Daddy is fine don't worry.

He glances at me with a smile, a forced, half-baked one of course.  I know he would not tell me his worries while I still have classes to attend to. He fears I will worry the whole day and fail to concentrate on my studies. So I let it go, opting to stare out the window, watching the blue summer sky and the world swishing past.

My name is Amanda Daniella Dlamini, the only daughter of Dr. Mandlenkosi Solomon Dlamini and Thembisile Ndlovu. I'm sixteen years old and doing my Form 4 at Ihlathi High School in the city of Bulawayo. The last three years of my schooling were at the Regina Mundi Girls High School in Gweru.

I remember how I cried, not in the least happy about staying away from my father, when I was taken to Regina Mundi. My dad, seemingly more pained by my absence, later had me transferred to Ihlathi High School in Bulawayo, much to my mom’s disappointment. Well, that’s a story for another day.

We live at the Selbourne Park suburbs. Sometimes it’s boring at my home because only three people live there - me, my dad and my mom. Of course, there are also there helpers Rose and Stella, who make my life even more dull by treating me like some sort of fragile royalty.  

It is boring because my mom is always busy with work. I wish I had siblings, cousins or anyone to keep me company after school. My dad owns a company, Dlamini Enterprises, which he runs as a CEO and my mother is a manager at Barclays Bank. My parents are so filthy rich that I sometimes wonder who will inherit all of their hard work as they failed to produce male heirs.

I'm not interested in running a business because I have seen how stressful it can be. I just want to study law so I can help people who are being oppressed by the elite. I love helping people, and that is why at age fifteen, I started a Non-Profit Organisation called Hope/Tsholofelo Foundation. It helps the less privileged, giving them hope that life will be better for all of them in the near future.

The car stops, ending my reverie, and I realise we are already at my school. I was so deep in thought, my mind even blocked out hooting from the frustrated drivers on the streets. Ever the gentleman, my dad alights and goes round to open the passenger door for me.

Have a good day Daddy, I kiss his cheek. I love you.

I love you too, Angel.

As he drives off, I squeeze into the throng of rowdy pupils making their way into the building. I arrive in class fifteen minutes early, and find Babongile busy with his books. God! This boy is always studying and one wonders if he even has a social life. He looks up, our eyes meet and I blush, embarrassed that he caught me staring.

Hi Amanda, he greets with a smile that brightens up his whole face.

Good morning, Babongile. How long have you been here, I ask, curiosity killing me.

Oh, about thirty minutes. Why?

Nothing, just curious.

He beams. I arch any eyebrow, wondering why he looks amused by my question?

Amused, eh?

Just that you always find me here but you never ask.

He buries his eyes back into his books. I'm still curious but I don't want to keep asking. I want to ask why he's always alone and studying. My curiosity betrays me.

Why are you always studying, if I may ask?

He looks up, as if the answer is written on my forehead, and then bites his lower lip, clearly sifting through the assortment of hard-nosed responses I deserve.

Not all of us are blessed beyond measure like you, he mutters.

I frown, taken aback. Am I blessed beyond measure?

Why do you say that?

Amy, you come from a filthy rich family, you are intelligent, you don't even need to study. Your God given intelligence gives you answers all the time you need them.

That’s not true.

It’s the truth,” he retorts, as if my denying the statement wounds him greatly. Have you ever in your life lacked anything?"

I'm thrown back by this question, but I compose myself before I could start feeling guilty over something that’s not even my own doing.

No, not that I remember, I say politely.

You see what I'm talking about? Some of us have to study hard, work to fill our stomachs and to pay our fees.

My heart clenches for this young man, who at his age works to earn a living. I thought every child had a right to live like a child.

Are you really going to continue listening to this nonsense?

I turn around to see Nomusa, my friend, standing at the door, studying us with interest. She is visibly livid.

"Hey wena Babongile, akusidoko eligayelwe thina lelo ukuthi ungumyanga (Hey Babongile, it’s not our fault you are poor)."

Come on Musa, don't talk to him like that, he has the right to say whatever he wants, I say as more pupils start filling the classroom.

I glance at my watch; we are about to start our English lesson.

Babongile can we talk after school?

Sure, he says, as Nomusa snuggles up in the desk next to me.

What was that about? she asks, a whisper that’s as loud as a whistle.

Drop it Musa, you won't understand.

Fine Mother Teresa, she rolls her eyes, annoyed.

Our English teacher greets us and starts with the business of the day. I'm not listening, I'm disturbed. I want to know more about Babongile. Why is he fending for himself? Where are his parents? Could they be dead? I remember what mom always say, "You are ignoring food and someone out there would kill for this."

My heart always clenches for all the hungry and the less privileged. Why is life so unfair? Will I ever get an answer to this question? I remember what my father told me when I was eight years: "Change starts with you." Yes, I will start the change, I cannot do everything the world needs, but I know the world will appreciate the little that I can do.

I am dragged out of my thoughts by the ringing bell. Oh, its break time already? Students shouts with joy and start milling outside. I don't feel like going outside today. The gnawing guilt I always feel about my father's money invades my body, heart and mind. I feel guilty for being rich while other kids are poor. I don't want to be one of the few rich kids, I want all of us to be on the same level. What should I do?

Hey, are you sure you ok? Jessica, my other friend, taps me on the shoulder.

I'm fine. It’s just that...

Just that wretched Babongile made her feel guilty for being rich, Musa interjects. How she always manages to sneak up on you from nowhere boggles the mind. I feel the urge to defend Babongile but I'm drained. I don't want to fight with Musa about this today.

Hey, it’s not your fault, Pamela, the only friend who understands my reasoning, hugs me tight. I fight back the tears threatening well up in my eyes. I mustn't cry but find a solution.

I can't stay here and listen to this,” Musa leaps to her feet and tugs on Jessica’s arm. Let's go Jessie."

They leave me with Pamela. My whole day is dull. I just want the school hours to be over so I can get out of here.

After what seemed forever, it’s finally time to go home. I tell Babongile to meet me by the parking lot. I'm standing alone waiting for him but instead I see my friends approaching. I don't know why, but their presence annoys me today.

Can we go to town and do some shopping before heading home,” says Nomusa. “My driver will pick us up.

Pamela and Jessica nod in agreement.

Nah, I will pass. I have business to attend to. Enjoy yourselves guys.

Ok, see you tomorrow, the say in unison.

Thank Heavens they didn't fight me about my decision not to join them. One of my dad's cars parks next to me, and just then I realise it’s not him driving. Themba, my father's driver, dismounts from the car and approaches me.

Good afternoon, Ma'am. Can I help you with the bag?

Yeah sure. Here, I give him my school bag. I'm waiting for a friend, get in the car I will be there in a few minutes. He gets back to the car as Babongile comes running.

Hey, I'm sorry I had to do something.

It’s ok. Can we go out for drinks? Snacks? I ask and he hesitates, deep in thought.

I... I don't think I can manage,” he shrugs apologetically. I have work to do. Sorry."

Please. I will drop you home.

He studies me momentarily, and then the car, chewing on his lower. Why does he always do that?

If you insist.

"Ok, let's get in the