I found myself struggling in the center,
burdened by the weight of both my shoulders.As my uncle approached the hallway,
he was determined to rescue my mother and cousin from the heavy situation we were in.
My uncle, a giant of a man, could lift me anywhere in the yard without even breaking a sweat.
Little did anyone know how much I longed to step outside my home and experience the refreshing breeze of nature.
It was truly disheartening that I couldn't even sit up by myself.
If only there were a robot designed to be exceptionally friendly and helpful,
I could live independently, engage in regular exercise, and return home once I was fit again.
I appreciate that they are all here for me, and I have no complaints.
However, it troubles me to think that my condition is holding someone else back.
They arrived last night from Mpumalanga province after hearing the distressing news.
My eldest daughter, Angela,
unexpectedly ran into my uncle and me near the couch.
Being held like a child deeply saddened me, and Angela,
in her fear, crawled back toward the hallway.
It was unfortunate she never got that far.
Little as she was,
it felt like watching a horror movie unfold before my eyes.
If only I'd known how to speak, I would've told my uncle to send me back to the couch.
The horror continued as we walked down the same hallway toward my room. Before we even opened the door,
there she was—my hopeless princess—frozen, about to faint.
She hadn't gotten far from the scene; the wall in front of her had stopped her. I didn't like what I saw,
but I understood where she was coming from.
My uncle struggled to open the door, one hand gripping the handle, the other carrying all my weight.
Finally, I made it to bed. The warmth of my blankets, my pillows,
and the room itself gave me a small break from all the struggles of life.
But poor Angela—my innocent girl—was terrified of her own father.
Not even my lifeless body,
L covered in wounds and scars, could compare to the pain of seeing my toddler shed a tear.
I heard her baby cries as they took her outside for some air, away from me.
"It's me," I wanted to say, "your father, for crying out loud."
Time passed, and the walls grew darker. Angela slept in her grandmother's room that night.
The look in her eyes—as if she'd seen a ghost—kept me awake. Closing my eyes frightened me.
I don't know where the adrenaline came from,
but sitting on that bed wasn't easy. My feet hung off the edge, and my heart begged the pain to stay away.
It's a new day, it told me. I wished someone would wake up and be my witness, but the sound of snoring told me everyone was lost in sleep.
Then something shifted.
My soul stood up before me,
showing me what to do, revealing every possible way forward. It gave my body courage—
told me I could do anything I set my mind to. Regaining movement filled my heart with joy. I watched my soul making the rounds,
and finally, my body followed, staggering behind it.
I walked, leaning on the walls beside my bed to guide me toward the door.
But when I turned to see how far I'd come, I fell..
Failed to get back up, so I crawled my way to bed. Exhaustion got the best of me. I believed that if I could walk,
surely I could get myself into bed. An angel flying without wings —
it's been ages since I wrapped myself in a peaceful blanket at night.
The sun forced its way into my eyes through the wide-open curtains.
Morning already. I realized I had only been out for three and a half hours.
A loud bang at the door! I stretched my neck to see who it was —
wasn't that my little princess crawling toward me?
Using the blanket for support, I sat up and saw her smooth, tiny hands.
Angela's mother, Joyce, came in with a tray
— soft porridge, pills, and a glass of warm water on the side.
She smiled as she saw our daughter struggling to climb up onto the bed,
trying to reach my hand. Joyce gently lifted her, saving her from all the trouble.
Now she was on the bed, jumping — a little bird full of life.
I noticed every small detail.
Then, one by one, everyone made their entrance, as if summoned by their superior in a boardroom.
Friday Morning Reflections
Deep in smiles, one could sense the joy stirring within me as I watched my baby mother wipe food from the corners of my mouth.
The weekend was approaching — time for everyone to go out and be party animals.
It was Friday morning, soft music playing low in the background.
From the dining room, I saw through my half-open door the quiet rush of movement —
everyone up and down, one by one vanishing into their own plans.
The last voice lingered in the air:
"I'm going to my place, but I'll be back a bit later on… okay?"
Then silence.
My reason for living — my daughter — hung from the side of the bed,
eager to go outside and play. Joyce and I finally had the house to ourselves.
After locking the gate and letting Angela run free in the yard,
Joyce rummaged through my bag, searching for a pen and a piece of paper.
Not sure if I could hear, she began to write.
The first line stopped my heart:
"God gave Angela a chance to grow old with a father — unlike us."
Her words struck deep, as if they were written in bold.
She handed me the pen, her fingers brushing mine, testing the waters to see if I would meet her halfway.
Putting on a good show, she seemed amazed by what I had just done. My mind went blank,
words slipping away before I could even begin to speak.
Then came a warm hug — from the apple of my eye. So close, I could hear her heartbeat, steady and soft.
She took a step back and smiled, telling me not to be too hard on myself — I had done well for the day.
Days went by, and as her mother's only child,
she couldn't stay long. Month-end arrived, and they both left for their home. Just as I began to settle back into my thoughts,
Naledi walked in, her face glowing with excitement. She brought news that took my breath away —
proof that Rebecca was carrying my child.
From the kitchen, my mother called out,
"Is there someone with you?" as Naledi quietly slipped the pregnancy test under my pillow.