her story

"Mama"
"Makhulu"

That's all I have ever known. 

Not because he died or he chose not to be there but because that was the only way she could protect us.

I do not know what it is like to have him wash the car, teach us how to change a tyre or show us how to braai. 

For us it was not that simple. 

I always thought it was normal because I never knew any different. 

I thought him coming and going was how it was supposed to be. 

I thought us cringing everytime he came over because we did not know which one of us he would choose to hurt this time was what happend to others as well. 

I thought a broken rib and stiches at 7 was normal. 

Until I was exposed to secondary forms of socialisation and I saw that everyone else had it all wrong...

Family trips, getting fetched from school and the endless

"my dad said"

"my dad can"

"you know me and my dad"

Exhausting. 

Why were theirs so sweet, caring, protective, interested and invested. 

This was when I learnt that I was the one who had it all twisted. 

That this was how it was supposed to be and I was just a product of a splintered home with the occasional sprinkle of love. 

Love that I clung onto

and still hold onto 

till this day

because despite the developmental trauma,

depression,

anxiety,

paranoia 

and mania 

I continue to love and that 

gives me hope.