Ayanda Ncube

28/08/2025

28/08/2025

THE STRUGGLES AND SORROWS OF AN AFRICAN GIRL CHILD

CHAPTER 6

As we sat in silence, Father's anger seemed to simmer just below the surface.

Suddenly, he erupted, out of no way, his voice booming through the hut.

"You think you can disobey me?" he thundered, his eyes fixed on Mother.

"You think you can encourage her to defy me?"

Before we could react, Father dragged Mother out of the hut, his grip merciless.

I tried to intervene, but he pushed me back, his hand connecting with my cheek.

Nomalanga screamed as Father's fists rained down on Mother, her body crumpling under the blows.

I launched myself at Father, trying to stop him, but he was too strong. He beat me too, his blows sending me crashing to the ground. Nomalanga cowered in the corner, her eyes wide with fear. The sound of Mother's cries and Father's angry bellows filled the air.

Finally, Father's rage spent itself, and he stood over us, his chest heaving with exertion. Mother lay motionless on the ground, her body battered and bruised. I stumbled to my feet, my own body aching from the blows I'd received. I knelt beside Mother, trying to comfort her, but she pushed me away, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and determination.

"I'm sorry, Gugu," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you." I held her close, tears streaming down my face.

"It's not your fault, Mother," I whispered back.

"We'll get through this together." But as I looked up at Father's angry face, I knew that our struggle was far from over.
**********

The weight of my fate settled in as I resigned myself to the inevitable. Soon, I would be forced to marry Mr. Dlamini, a man old enough to be my father. The thought filled me with a sense of dread and despair.

An hour passed, and the sound of Father's booming voice pierced the air.

"MaMpala, bring the axe and a knife!"

he yelled, his tone sending a shiver down my spine. When Mother heard Father's call, she scurried around frantically, her eyes wide with fear. I had no idea what Father had in store for her, but her behavior was a stark reminder of the terror that lived within these walls.

As the hours ticked by, the aroma of freshly slaughtered meat wafted through the air, and our kitchen hut was filled with the promise of a rare feast. Everyone was busy preparing the meal, except Father, who stood outside, tending to the cattle with a sense of pride and ownership that made my heart ache. Mr. Dlamini and Vusa had already left, their departure a stark reminder of the fate that awaited me.

We cooked the meat in a large pot, the savory smell filling our senses and momentarily distracting us from the weight of our reality. It wasn't quite dark when everything was ready, and we gathered around to eat like it was our last meal. I forced a smile, trying to find some joy in the simple pleasure of food, but it was hard to shake off the feeling of sadness that had settled in my heart. Nomalanga and Mother seemed to enjoy their food, their faces lit up with a fleeting sense of happiness. The only sound was the clattering of their teeth as they ate, a stark contrast to the silence that usually filled our home.

After we satisfied our hunger, Father cleared his throat and spoke, his voice dripping with a sense of finality.

"It's good to see everyone enjoyed the food today. I give thanks to you, Gugu."

I looked down, my eyes welling up with tears.

"But... I didn't do anything,"

I mumbled, feeling a sense of injustice wash over me.

"Of course, you know what I'm talking about,"

Father said, his voice devoid of empathy.

"You're not a child anymore. By the way, I forgot to tell you something important."

He cleared his throat again, his words cutting deep into my soul.

"Since Dlamini has paid the full dowry of 30 cows, I don't see any reason to keep you here, my daughter. I charged Dlamini 20 cows, but he added 10 cows on top. You can see how determined he is."

The words felt like a knife to my heart. I knew I was nothing more than a commodity to Father, a means to an end.

"You really can't wait to get rid of me, can you?" I scoffed, the bitterness and anger spilling out of me. Nomalanga and Mother gave me warning looks, cautioning me to be careful, but I didn't care. To our surprise, Father didn't react, his face a mask of indifference. Instead, he glared at me and then forced a smile, a gesture that felt like a cruel joke. For a moment, my self-esteem wasn't crushed, but I knew it was only a matter of time before the weight of my reality came crashing down on me.THE STRUGGLES AND SORROWS OF AN AFRICAN GIRL CHILD

CHAPTER 6

As we sat in silence, Father's anger seemed to simmer just below the surface.

Suddenly, he erupted, out of no way, his voice booming through the hut.

"You think you can disobey me?" he thundered, his eyes fixed on Mother.

"You think you can encourage her to defy me?"

Before we could react, Father dragged Mother out of the hut, his grip merciless.

I tried to intervene, but he pushed me back, his hand connecting with my cheek.

Nomalanga screamed as Father's fists rained down on Mother, her body crumpling under the blows.

I launched myself at Father, trying to stop him, but he was too strong. He beat me too, his blows sending me crashing to the ground. Nomalanga cowered in the corner, her eyes wide with fear. The sound of Mother's cries and Father's angry bellows filled the air.

Finally, Father's rage spent itself, and he stood over us, his chest heaving with exertion. Mother lay motionless on the ground, her body battered and bruised. I stumbled to my feet, my own body aching from the blows I'd received. I knelt beside Mother, trying to comfort her, but she pushed me away, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and determination.

"I'm sorry, Gugu," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you." I held her close, tears streaming down my face.

"It's not your fault, Mother," I whispered back.

"We'll get through this together." But as I looked up at Father's angry face, I knew that our struggle was far from over.
**********

The weight of my fate settled in as I resigned myself to the inevitable. Soon, I would be forced to marry Mr. Dlamini, a man old enough to be my father. The thought filled me with a sense of dread and despair.

An hour passed, and the sound of Father's booming voice pierced the air.

"MaMpala, bring the axe and a knife!"

he yelled, his tone sending a shiver down my spine. When Mother heard Father's call, she scurried around frantically, her eyes wide with fear. I had no idea what Father had in store for her, but her behavior was a stark reminder of the terror that lived within these walls.

As the hours ticked by, the aroma of freshly slaughtered meat wafted through the air, and our kitchen hut was filled with the promise of a rare feast. Everyone was busy preparing the meal, except Father, who stood outside, tending to the cattle with a sense of pride and ownership that made my heart ache. Mr. Dlamini and Vusa had already left, their departure a stark reminder of the fate that awaited me.

We cooked the meat in a large pot, the savory smell filling our senses and momentarily distracting us from the weight of our reality. It wasn't quite dark when everything was ready, and we gathered around to eat like it was our last meal. I forced a smile, trying to find some joy in the simple pleasure of food, but it was hard to shake off the feeling of sadness that had settled in my heart. Nomalanga and Mother seemed to enjoy their food, their faces lit up with a fleeting sense of happiness. The only sound was the clattering of their teeth as they ate, a stark contrast to the silence that usually filled our home.

After we satisfied our hunger, Father cleared his throat and spoke, his voice dripping with a sense of finality.

"It's good to see everyone enjoyed the food today. I give thanks to you, Gugu."

I looked down, my eyes welling up with tears.

"But... I didn't do anything,"

I mumbled, feeling a sense of injustice wash over me.

"Of course, you know what I'm talking about,"

Father said, his voice devoid of empathy.

"You're not a child anymore. By the way, I forgot to tell you something important."

He cleared his throat again, his words cutting deep into my soul.

"Since Dlamini has paid the full dowry of 30 cows, I don't see any reason to keep you here, my daughter. I charged Dlamini 20 cows, but he added 10 cows on top. You can see how determined he is."

The words felt like a knife to my heart. I knew I was nothing more than a commodity to Father, a means to an end.

"You really can't wait to get rid of me, can you?" I scoffed, the bitterness and anger spilling out of me. Nomalanga and Mother gave me warning looks, cautioning me to be careful, but I didn't care. To our surprise, Father didn't react, his face a mask of indifference. Instead, he glared at me and then forced a smile, a gesture that felt like a cruel joke. For a moment, my self-esteem wasn't crushed, but I knew it was only a matter of time before the weight of my reality came crashing down on me.

23/08/2025

THE STRUGGLES AND SORROWS OF AN AFRICAN GIRL CHILD

CHAPTER 5

We stood frozen, our hearts pounding in unison. Father's voice was like a thunderclap, shaking the very foundations of our small hut. I knew we had to think fast, or risk being caught in our own home.

"Quickly, let's go!" I whispered, grabbing Nomalanga's hand and pulling her towards the door. Mother followed closely behind, her eyes fixed on Father's angry face.

We ran as fast as we could, our feet pounding the dusty earth. The cattle's lowing and the cowbells' clinking grew fainter as we put distance between ourselves and the homestead.

But I knew we couldn't outrun Father's wrath for long. We needed a plan, and we needed it fast.

"Aunt Thembi's village is a few hours' walk from here," I said, panting with exertion. "If we can make it there, she'll help us."

Nomalanga nodded, her eyes shining with determination. "We'll make it, Gugu. We have to."

Mother's face was set in a determined expression. "We'll walk through the night, if we have to. We'll get to Aunt Thembi's village, and we'll be safe."

As we walked, the darkness seemed to swallow us whole. But we pressed on, driven by our determination to escape.

Suddenly, Nomalanga stopped, her head cocked to one side. "Do you hear that?" she whispered.

I listened, and soon I heard it too - the sound of footsteps, heavy and deliberate, coming from behind us.

"Father," I whispered, my heart sinking.

The footsteps grew louder, and I knew we were running out of time. Father's anger and determination were palpable, and I could feel his presence closing in around us like a suffocating shroud. "Gugu, stop!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the night air like a crack of thunder. "You can't escape me!"

I glanced over my shoulder, and my heart sank like a stone in water. Father was gaining on us, his face twisted in a snarl, his eyes blazing with fury. Mother and Nomalanga were tiring, their breathing labored, their footsteps slowing. "Keep running!" I urged them, but it was no use. Father was too fast, too strong.

As we ran, the trees seemed to blur together, their branches like skeletal fingers reaching out to sn**ch us. The moon cast eerie shadows on the ground, making it seem like we were being chased by demons. I could feel Father's hot breath on my neck, his grip closing in around me like a vice.

Suddenly, Father caught up to us, his hand wrapping around my arm like a snake coiling around its prey. "You thought you could escape me?" he spat, his eyes blazing with fury. "You thought you could defy me?"

Mother and Nomalanga cowered behind me, fear in their eyes, their faces pale and drawn. I stood tall, trying to face Father's wrath, but I knew I was no match for him. My heart was racing, my mind numb with fear.

"Come back to the homestead," Father growled, dragging me back towards the village. "You'll do as you're told, and you'll marry Mr. Dlamini."

I struggled against his grip, but it was no use. We were forced to walk back to the homestead, our hearts heavy with defeat. As we approached the village, I saw Mr. Dlamini's smug face waiting for us, his eyes gleaming with triumph.

"Welcome back, my dear," Mr. Dlamini said, his voice dripping with malice. "I'm glad you're back. We'll finalize the arrangements tomorrow."

I felt a wave of despair wash over me, like a tidal wave crashing against the shore. Had we escaped only to be caught again? Would we ever be free?

As we walked, the silence was oppressive, the only sound the crunch of gravel beneath our feet. I could feel Mother's eyes on me, pleading for me to do something, anything. But what could I do? Father's grip was like a vice, and Mr. Dlamini's presence was like a dark shadow looming over us.

When we reached the homestead, Father pushed me towards the hut, his eyes blazing with anger. "Get inside," he growled. "You'll stay there until tomorrow."

I stumbled into the hut, my heart heavy with despair. Mother and Nomalanga followed, their faces etched with worry. We sat in silence, the darkness closing in around us like a shroud.

23/08/2025

THE STRUGGLES AND SORROWS 😭 OF AN AFRICAN GIRL CHILD

CHAPTER 1

It was around midnight when my younger sister Nomalanga and I heard our father singing outside. The sound of his drunken voice was unmistakable as he stumbled home from the beer garden. As he approached our hut, the disgusting sound of vomiting filled the air. Unfortunately, this was not an isolated incident; his late-night drunken escapades had become a regular occurrence.

Suddenly, he began kicking our door in anger, shouting for us to open it. "Gugulethu and Nomalanga, open this door! I want my food; I'm hungry. Hurry up before I break this door. Trust me, if you don't open this door, I'll kill you both with my bare hands!" he yelled. My mother had warned us never to open the door for him at night, no matter what. I held Nomalanga's hand tightly, and we were both terrified by our father's threats. I prayed silently as he continued to kick the door, but for a moment, he stopped, and I felt a brief sigh of relief. I heard him panting, exhausted.

"Okay, fine. Don't open the door for me. This is what your mother has been teaching you - to disrespect me," he said, his voice laced with anger. "And you, Gugulethu, get ready for your marriage. I'm arranging one for you. I'm tired of feeding a grown woman. Anyway, I don't see the point in educating a girl child. It's time for you to stop going to school. Look at me; I'm very poor, but I have two girls who call themselves my children. It's high time I get you married so I can have cows. In this village, I've become a laughingstock because I don't have cows. This will stop very soon." My father's harsh words cut deep before he finally left.

I couldn't believe what I had just heard; it felt like a nightmare. How could my father say such things when he knew I was only 15 years old? I loved school dearly, and my dream was to become a doctor one day. Tears streamed down my face as I cried silently. Nomalanga remained quiet, but I knew she had heard every word our father spoke.

After a few minutes, I heard my mother's anguished screams. She was crying because my father used to beat her mercilessly. Growing up in such an environment was incredibly stressful. I witnessed many things I shouldn't have seen at my age. We were indeed very poor and didn't have any livestock, but that didn't give my father the right to sacrifice my future for wealth.

Life was hard, but my mother worked tirelessly to ensure we had food on the table. We survived on crops from our fields. I hardly slept that night, my mind racing with thoughts of what my father had said. Thankfully, it was a Saturday.

In the morning, before I was fully awake, I was aware that my father's words might not be empty threats. As I wrestled with my thoughts, someone knocked at the door, and I realized the sun was up. It was probably my mother. After the knock, she shouted, "Gugu and Noma! These lazy children, wake up! It's time to go to the well; there's no water, but you're both still sleeping. When I was your age, I would have finished the household chores by now." Her scolding tone was familiar.

Nomalanga and I quickly jumped up, folded our blankets, and opened the door. The first thing I noticed was my mother's swollen face. I wanted to cry, but instead, I apologized for waking up late. "Stop apologizing and go to the well. Your father wants to bathe and eat," my mother said. Her words filled me with agony. I couldn't understand why she still loved him despite the way he treated her.

As we walked to the well, the scorching August sun beat down on us. The path wound down between the forest and the fields. I remained silent for a while before Nomalanga broke the silence. "Tell me, Gugu, do you think Father meant what he said last night?" she asked. "I don't know what to think, Noma, but I think he said it because he was drunk," I replied, hesitant to comment further.

"I fail to understand Father sometimes," Nomalanga said, smirking. "He knows we're very poor, but all he thinks about is alcohol. Not that I condone drinking, but why doesn't he think of buying useful things like chickens or goats instead of getting drunk? Mother suffers alone in the fields, and all Father knows is to take what Mother labored for and sell it just to satisfy his thirst for drinking."

30/03/2025

Happy Sunday

16/02/2025

Good morning

05/01/2025

🎉 Facebook recognized me for starting engaging conversations and producing inspiring content among my peers!

02/01/2025

Happy new year 🎉

23/12/2024

🎉 Facebook recognized me as a top rising creator this week!