Theophilia: Theophilia, #1

By Esetu Jijana

A captivating story unfolds as Theophilia Ndlela, a young virgin maiden of eighteen, arrives in the city of Pretoria. Instantly, she finds herself swept away by an intense infatuation for Siyabulela Manzini. However, Siyabulela is not an ordinary man; he is a thug in a suit, twenty-one years older than Theophilia, and unfortunately, the one responsible for her family's devastating misfortune. As the plot thickens, Theophilia is involuntarily drawn into a world of prostitution and gold smuggling by Siyabulela's cruel influence. Despite Siyabulela being a cruel lover, Theophilia willingly submits herself to his unique way of expressing love. She holds onto him desperately, as he becomes the sole connection she has left after the tragic loss of her family and her own innocence.

 

The contrasting elements of love and danger intertwine as Theophilia navigates the treacherous path set before her. Will she find a way to escape the clutches of Siyabulela and the dark world he has thrust her into? Or will she succumb to the circumstances and lose herself completely? This gripping tale explores the depths of human vulnerability, resilience, and the lengths one may go to find solace and a sense of belonging. Theophilia's journey is a tumultuous one, filled with heartache, confusion, and a relentless search for purpose. Theophilia's fate hangs precariously in the balance as she grapples with the consequences of her choices, ultimately leading her towards an uncertain but fateful resolution.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Esetu Jijana
• Release date: Feb 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223864851

Esetu Jijana

Esetu Jijana has a diploma in journalist, after graduating she worked as an intern writer and researcher at BK Publishing in Hartfield. Then she moved on and worked as a news researcher at Pheli FM in Atteridgeville. She has recently left the job to focus on her clothing busines. She also offers lessons in languages(English and Xhosa) to local kids. In her spare time she enjoys writing fiction, this includes short stories, poetry and novels. None of her work has been published before. She mostly focusses on love stories as she also enjoys reading romantic novels.

Book preview

1

Each time I tell someone I am Theophilia from Willowvale in the Eastern Cape I always find myself beaming with pride maybe it’s because of the people and the memories associated with it. I grew up in a small house with a small family. I never met my father, my mother died less than an hour after I was born. My sister hated me for that and I didn’t like her much maybe because she was loved by many. Our grandma raised us well and loved us until her last breath, I still believe had she loved us less than she did she’d still be alive. But what can be done, humans have always been enslaved by their emotions. I dreamt a lot as a kid, sometimes of the things I wanted the most and sometimes of the things that scared me the most. I was a thirteen-year-old wide-eyed village maiden when I started dreaming with my eyes open. It was only a few hours after I met him- the new student in my class. An oval faced boy with a deep-dark complexion. He had the purest skin I had ever seen. He looked like solunum nigrum in its sweetest form.  He reminded me of its sweet and musky flavour, I used to pick such black nightshade berries in my grandma’s garden during a hot summer day. I’d disappear in the forest of corn plants only to come out with a black tongue and fingers and the feeling of nausea from the overdose- I could never get enough of them. After catching me grandma would remind me that too much of anything is bad for a human. Uncle would try and explain it to her, my princess is different he would say before forcing me to drink ginger and lemon water to cure my nausea. I’d wear a pout until he takes me in his arms to my tiny bed in my tiny room so I can rest. Rest well princess he always said before pressing his lips on my forehead. After an hour of rest I’d run barefoot to his room where I’d find him in his bed lying on his back staring at the ceiling. Next to him on a small table the old sounds of jazz would be echoing over his record player. Did I ever tell you about my uncle Skip? I’d jump on top of him and nestle on his torso. Why do I feel like I’ve heard his tale before? he always teased then pause the music. Tell me about him he’d say with a sweetest smile.

"He is not so young

He is not so old either

He never leaves his room

That is until his friend Joe drags him around the neighbourhood

You will find him playing checkers

That is until mama calls him for supper

He is supposed to be married by now

At least according to grandma

Wife and kids are trouble- his excuse

He is supposed to have a steady job by now

At least according to grandpa

I am yet to find my passion- his excuse

He has always been lazy- father shouts

You have always been the parents’ favourite- he protests

Give him a break, he is still finding himself

Mama puts out the flames

Did I ever tell you about my uncle Skip?

He is the gossip of the village

At least his laziness

I think he is the coolest- to irritate father".

So which one am I, the father or uncle Skip? he’d ask holding my chin in his fingers, still wearing his sweet smile. I think you have a bit of both of them, you scold me like a father only to coddle me like the coolest uncle a few minutes later. We’d burst into laughter because we’d seen this scene many time before. I told him about uncle Skip almost everyday, maybe that was my way of reminding him that he’s my world. We kept the tradition until it was abruptly forced into a halt. My uncle never married so he never had children of his own, but he raised me and my sister Clara as his own. He was only an eighteen-year-old boy who just finished high school when he ran away from home to pursue his music career, right after grandpa’s funeral. I heard that was the toughest year for my family. Unfortunately, the city wasn’t kind to him, so he spent the rest of his days drowning in whys and what ifs. I like to believe I made his life worth living as he did mine.

I remember when he came back with a failed career and a broken heart. I was still young but I grew to understand his pain because it was always in his eyes, no matter how much Clara and I made him smile. For years he spent his time compensating for all the moments he missed in our lives. I was supposed to take care of the family I think I remember him crying in grandma’s arms just less than a couple of minutes after his return. He couldn’t stop apologising for missing his only sister’s funeral. I was ashamed to come home, I had nothing to offer you, I failed as man and even more as a son and a brother he couldn’t stop crying. Your sister and I never cared about what you had, we just wanted you- we needed you to be here with us. She died crying for you- yearning for her big brother. I had just lost my husband when you left, you guys just lost a father, we had to stand together. Still, I understood why you left- I was proud of the man you had become, but it was never your job to take care of us. You were supposed to go to varsity, remember? Just as your father wanted, I... it was in that moment that grandma realised I was standing there in a yellow top and pink panties that Clara forced me to wear- not to embarrass her to the new guy, listening in on the conversation. The man with a weathered face that hid on his scruffy whiskers, dropped on his knees before me. His body looked fragile in greying pants, blue shirt and a ginger jacket- evidently misinformed about the scorching weather. She looks just like her mother he said with a breaking voice escorted by sniffles. Hey, I’m your uncle he threw his arms around me, it was a bit confusing for a six-year-old, but I felt safe in his arms. The grime that covered his neck and the dirt that hid under his long nails made it hard to believe that the man before me was the boy grandma always spoke of. The way his saggy clothes hung on him, he looked like someone who barely survived combat. He embraced my chubby self so tight that I could feel his angular trunk. He had worn a red cap to cover his head when he came in but took it off in grandma’s presence- exposing the sweat running down his temples. Where is your sister? grandma asked, still wearing tear-filled eyes that had become faintly pushed back by the fleshy bags beneath them. Her freckled face had turned reddish. She left I said, Clara had plaited my hair just halfway and ran off to her best-friend Milisa so she could tell her all about the long-lost uncle. My gaze was still fixed on the man who had a sorrowful and yet warm expression in his eyes when I heard the slow footsteps of the man I’ve come to know as more than just a neighbour. Clara decided to get Tata Kingdom to meet the uncle. I ran off to him and grabbed his hand, dragging him to the house where uncle had taken a sit on the brown faux leather couch grandma bought last Christmas, It was one of her proudest moments even though she had to sell two of the cattle in the livestock she inherited from grandpa. Since there was no man in the house Tata Kingdom was the one who always did all the macho chores in our home, it was the same with our livestock. Clara was always cold to strangers, it took her a while to finally warm up to uncle but I instantly adopted a father and he a daughter. He was a 28-year-old sorrowful man when he assumed the role of a father to us after he spent ten years in the city. I doesn’t matter where life takes me I can never forget him. Mziwoxolo Ndlela the man who taught me how to love with my entire being, my mother’s brother. I loved that man more than anything in the world and he loved me more, I was the only thing he could call his. Maybe that’s why he got scared when I came back from school, tossed my backpack on the floor, sat on his lap and told him my secret about the big-eyed boy. A boy with a hard jawline that was very noticeable for his age and medium thick eyebrows, Paul.

I’m gonna marry him uncle I said, he laughed and assured me I was too young to be choosing a husband. Maybe he was right but I had to find out for myself. For days I followed him like a puppy, he lived two houses from mine. It was just him and his father no one ever mentioned his mother and I never asked, I couldn’t afford to offend him. They moved to our humble village from Durban, he didn’t speak much Xhosa so I often spent afternoons at his house helping him with Xhosa lessons. Both him and his father who was an English teacher at our school gave me extra English lessons in return. They had a warm and lovely home, on the evening of the first Friday of every month they would hang out a screen and project a movie for the kids around the village. They charged R10 entrance fee, with the proceeds Paul’s father bought school uniforms for the underprivileged kids. Everyone was happy to support the good cause and I was just happy being around Paul. Every movie was always followed by a story from my grandma, she was a great story-teller. She could never stop talking, she always found inspiration even from the dullest things. We called her Nomathotholo(Radio) behind her back of course. At the end of the gathering Paul always walked me home, my crush turned best friend and we grew up in each other’s company. We did a lot together, climbed trees to pick peaches and eat them by the stream while we watch the Fulvous Whistling ducks swim. We ran in the corn fields chasing crows. He always promised to catch one but he never did instead we always ended up with our backs against the ground laughing like little kids. You’re dumb he always reminded me. If only he knew my secret that my dream was built around him. A dream that we shared. We had a tree, the tallest among the willow trees that enveloped the stream. We spent most of our Saturdays under its shade, his head on my lap and my hand on his. As I grew up I realised that most villagers were always eager to get out, they wanted to leave for the city but I never wanted that. I never wanted to stay in the city, I wanted the life most of my people were so eager to escape. I was supposed to study medicine, work at a local clinic with my husband until we have saved enough to open our little clinic where all the kids would get free treatment. At some point we would retire then our kids would take over. It was a nice dream. It was the one thing I wanted the most in life for as long as I was able to dream. Almost every day I went to bed and closed my eyes I could see it clearly. I could see the man I would marry. He was the most handsome and strong, he was sensitive and sensible. Funny I knew a boy like that, in my dream he was mine, my husband and the father to our three handsome boys and two beautiful girls. All our boys would look just like him with the perfect jawline and a smile to melt anyone’s heart. I don’t know if this makes sense but after I spent moments of my time lost in Paul’s deep dark eyes my simple dream felt more real, I could see it vividly. He was my happy place even in my head and each time he looked at me everything just had more...colour. The world made sense.

It’s been over three years now, and you’re still singing the same song- ‘we’re just friends’ are you sure you’re okay with that? uncle hated the idea of his princess being strung along. He also didn’t like the idea of his 16-year-old princess spending so much time with a hormonal teenage boy, but the was nothing he could do. He was the man who could never deny me my heart’s desires so he let it be. Two months before my senior year in high-school uncle died in his sleep, no one really knew the cause of death. I didn’t care much for it, I only knew that my world as I knew it was gone. As a family we lost something that kept us together, Clara left for varsity and only came home during Christmas only to leave earlier than she needed to. Grandma would spend her days working in the fields while I was just there. My heart and hopes were shattered. I withdrew from my surroundings, I spent my afternoons locked in his room, in his bed with my hands hugging my knees and the rest of me lost in the old sounds of jazz echoing over the record player next to the bed. My life came into a halt until:

The one day I was always looking forward to, uncle had prepared me for the dance with my prince, all the lessons he gave me just for a single night. Except now things had changed the day of the matric dance was just another day to me, I had no reason going. The boy I loved was no longer mine, during my mourning period he drifted away and made friends with another willing damsel. He was never short of options, every girl wanted him and he was well aware of it. I wasn’t going to the dance, I wasn’t going to watch him dance with someone else while I stand alone in the corner. Do it for your uncle grandma pleaded holding a pink dress she got at the second hand shop at the last minute. It was the most horrible thing I had ever seen, something that my sister chose just to humiliate me. Low neckline, a tight bodice, bare arms and a feathered skirt that stood up like a tutu. I don’t know if it was the feathers or the colour but something was off with it, like it wanted to be perfect but someone didn’t allow it- almost like me. Maybe we were a perfect match so I had no choice but to wear it. I put on my white unbranded sneakers, tide my braids in a tight bun that exposed my caramel, round face. I came out in the sound of Tata Kingdom’s voice. He came in his coughing pick-up truck. I still don’t understand the reason he insisted on dropping me off to the dance even after my sensible refusal- I had no issue walking to the school hall. Feeling like a cow that’s about to be taken to the abattoir, I waved grandma and Clara who came home for the long weekend goodbye. I left with Tata Kingdom, I simply had to bear the sharp shooting smell of tobacco that overwhelmed every surface in his presence. If I had any survival instinct I would’ve spent it before reaching the school hall but I had no will. He dropped me by the entrance and I waved him goodbye, the tender smile he passed me as he waved back made me feel a bit warm and fuzzy inside. All that embarrassment and the tobacco flavoured odour seemed to have shrunk. There’s nothing more embarrassing in a girl’s life than to show up in matric ball on her own, every passing moment feeling everyone’s scrutiny and pity. Why did I even go is another proof of tenacity uncle always accused me of. I took hushed steps, hoping I won’t attract anyone’s attention. Skyf! Oh No, not the caretaker, somebody please shoot me at this very moment. I mean the old bat didn’t even smoke, his despicable performance was purely meant to humiliate me. What did I tell you about the dangers of smoking? Mr Hlophe yelled at me with his erudite voice, No sir I... I couldn’t even finish defending myself before he attacked me again. For goodness’ sake Theophilia are you trying to destroy your lungs? now the caretaker’s remark wasn’t so bad. Man! Can’t a weird snowman look-alike teenage girl catch a break around here? Like being alone wasn’t bad enough, everyone just had to take a run on my already dead ego. But on my fortune, everyone was too busy caught up in their own excitement to mind an underpaid, wearied teacher’s observations. Damn the rotten smirk on Nandi’s face showing off to everybody who had eyes just how she secured the boy. Everything about them infuriated me, the perfect couple as everybody called them. At their sight my soul begged me to let it crawl out of my loser body. I was that weird girl in the corner who kept rearranging flowers just to ensure they give her a proper veil. Well, it was until unforeseen circumstances stroke, apparently Nandi had a tummy discomfort and couldn’t stand five minutes without running to the restroom. Maybe the excitement got to her or it was fate. May I have this dance?  A whisper in my ear that sent my whole being to an instant panic. And your date? I mean what am I? A substitute? I simply had to ask. Ever heard of the old adage- save the best for last? Right then I took a pause to exhale. Now where did I ever hear that one from? Well, you have to understand why I had to relish every drop of it, you can just imagine the sensation, every moment pending that moment flashing in and out of my brain. What to do? Don’t mess this up, keep your cool, who are you kidding there isn’t a single cool fibre in your being, well then just go with it. Let