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Thulani Tomose. Liberation after 20 years of war in my head
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The Lost Sister. In December 1999, my brother and mother flew to South Africa during the winter holidays. Unfortunately I couldn’t join them as I had only two weeks off from school. I called my sister, my brother and my mother at Christmas and got the great news that I would become an aunt. My sister was six months pregnant. I was very happy for her and congratulated her cordially. I also tried to reach everyone for New Year’s Day, but the net was overloaded. I celebrated the New Year with friends in Lucerne. On January 1, 2000, I tried again to reach my mother but she didn’t answer the phone. And my sister had her phone turned off. I tried it afterwards at my aunt’s house. There I reached my cousin Aphiwe. I was relieved, because I was beginning to feel worried. I greeted her and wished her a happy new year. Subsequently I asked about my family and told her that I hadn’t reached anyone yet. She cried and said nothing. I tried to calm her down so she could tell me why she was crying, but she said nothing and cried on. I decided to end the phone call. Afterwards, I called my Aunt Nozintombi on her cell phone. She didn’t answer and that was very weird. I hung up, fearing that something was wrong and finally rang Thomas. He had already tried to reach me several times in the morning, but I was still asleep and hadn’t called back yet. He answered the phone and was relieved that I called him back. He said I should come home. I wanted to know why, because it was New Year’s Day and he had allowed me to go out with my friends and celebrate and come home first thing in the morning. I told him I’d come home later, that I was angry and I didn’t understand why I had to be back so early although we’d made another arrangement. Still, I set off, and he said he’d come back for me and pick me up at the station. A friend of mine was with me, and I told him he didn’t need to pick me up at the station. When we arrived home, Thomas insisted that my girlfriend should go home. He’d prefer to be alone to talk to me. I replied that I had no secrets from her so he could talk. But Thomas was not to be talked to. My girlfriend might come back later, but now he wanted to be alone and talk to me. My girlfriend left and Thomas told me to sit down and asked if I wanted a glass of water. He put a plane ticket on the table. I took it and looked at it. My name was on the ticket. I looked at the envelope and saw that the flight was already for the next afternoon from Zurich to East London via Johannesburg. I was so happy, I jumped up and hugged him. I told him that he really managed this surprise. “What have I done to deserve this?” I asked him, still in disbelief. He just looked at me and gave free rein to my joy, without interrupting me. I asked him what Mommy would say about that as I had just one more week of school holidays. My mother would agree, Thomas replied and I shouldn’t worry. He also said he’d talk to my teacher. I was so happy and could hardly wait to deliver this great news to my friend. Then Thomas said he had something to talk to me about. Suddenly I saw him crying. I got scared and asked what was going on. He replied that something had happened to my family in South Africa. I also started crying and wanted to know what was going on. Why was he crying? “Is something wrong with Mommy?” He told me about an accident and that my sister had been shot. She died in Sylvester’s night. I got sick. I ran into the bathroom with my legs trembling and vomited into the toilet. Thomas brought me a glass of water wanted either to sit or lay me down. He helped me up and took me back to the living room. I didn’t want to believe it. I screamed, I cried my eyes out in frustration but it didn’t help. Thomas held me and tried by all means to get me to calm down. At some point, I didn’t have any more tears. I asked where and why it had happened. I stayed seated and I wanted to know everything, but I couldn’t take it anymore. My nerves couldn’t deal with it. I collapsed into myself and I don’t know what happened next. I woke up the next morning and Thomas was sitting next to me. I was in the hospital. I asked Thomas what was happening and why I was here. I didn’t feel sick. He told me I’d had a nervous breakdown and had passed out. I wished so badly that it was all just a nightmare, but unfortunately it was the bitter reality. I felt a little calmer inside and noticed that I had been sedated. I wanted to go home and be alone as soon as possible. Thomas accepted my wish and spoke with the doctors, who agreed to my early release. They offered me other tranquilizers. I refused because I’m not a friend of pills. We drove back home and Thomas made me a soothing tea and prepared breakfast. I couldn’t eat. I just drank the tea and urged Thomas to tell me that none of this was true. He took me in his arms and said, “I’m so sorry.” I cried again and a thousand thoughts went through my head. The beautiful memories I had of my sister had ripped my heart in two. I wanted to turn off my thoughts but without success. I asked Thomas to leave me alone. I told him that I’d have to pack for tonight. Thomas wasn’t very enthusiastic about it. In my condition he’d rather not leave me alone. But I only replied, “I’ve done a lot in my life that you don’t know about, and I’m going to have to go through that. Trust me and let me go. This’ll help me.” He respected my wish and left me alone. My thoughts revolved only around my sister, our shared experiences and the countless questions about what exactly had happened. I learned that later when I was in South Africa, my sister had visited my father briefly to receive the letter of invitation for the opening of our new delivery home in South Africa. My mother wanted my sister, but she refused, because she was going to stop at my dad’s house a little longer and do some stuff. After all, she wanted to cook on New Year’s Day and it was supposed to be a surprise dinner. Later, she briefly called my mother and told her that Anathi spontaneously wanted to take her to Themba (the first son of my stepmother from another marriage), who was in the army stationed in Johannesburg and currently visiting Duncanvillage (a ghetto area). He’d be on vacation, too, and wanted to see my sister, because they hadn’t seen each other in a long time. She then called again around 8 p. m. and said that everything was okay and that she wasn’t coming until tomorrow. My mother and my brother asked me to pick them up because she was pregnant. My mother also said that she wasn’t quite comfortable with her decision, but she had to accept it. My sister wanted to talk to them and then spend the night with Anathi at Thembas’ friends’ My sister never drank alcohol. She lived a religious life and was content with it. That was the last time on that day that my mother, my brother and I heard from my sister. My mother got restless and wondered where her daughter was. She panicked. She would have felt there was something wrong with her daughter. The next morning at 9:00 a. m., Themba, my father, my stepmother, my uncle Joe and Anathi suddenly appeared in front of my mother’s house. My Uncle Joe asked my mother to sit down so that they could talk. My brother could then calm my mother down and she listened. My uncle asked Themba to tell what had happened. Themba began to report that he and his friend had gone outside the night before to take their guns, shoot into the sky and so greet the new year. Themba and his policeman friend Daluxolo came over a couple of times. minutes after midnight back to the house and Daluxolo was still holding his gun. Themba said that my sister asked her not to come in with the guns. That could be dangerous. He should go outside if he still didn’t have enough of shooting. He said that the colleague then aimed at my sister’s head and told her he was a policeman and there wouldn’t be a bullet in the gun. He’d know how to handle a gun. All those who were sitting on the bed with my sister had gotten up, including my half-sister, Anathi, but not my sister Zoleka. Then the colleague had pointed the gun at my sister’s head. She just shouted out and said, “Undigqhibile.” (You got me). Then she’d bled from her side. Everyone screamed and ran out of the house. The ambulance had been called immediately, but arrived at four o’clock. My sister was still alive and breathing, but died while still in the ambulance. My mother looked at my stepmother, who had turned her back during the whole report. My mother realized something was wrong here. Behind the whole thing there was more to it than what she was told. Something was being hidden from her. My mother said to Nozimbo with tears in her eyes: “Nozimbo, who really murdered my child?” My stepmother didn’t say anything. Then my mother turned to Themba. “Why did you come here first if you knew that Xoli and I had a car? We were only 15 minutes away from you. It was New Year’s Day and all over South Africa until early in the morning people there are in cars on the way, which you would have if you didn’t have one yourself. You should have called her father, who also owns a car and doesn’t live far, either. Why did you come first at 9:00 if the whole thing happened just after 12:00? Admit it. You killed her!” Themba denied everything and said that Daluxolo had accidentally pulled the trigger and not him. My mother didn’t believe him and wanted to go to the police. My Uncle Joe tried to calm them and explained to her that he and my father had already been to the police. Daluxolo, Themba’s friend, had pleaded guilty and been arrested. My mother sat down. My Aunt Nozintombi, who had also arrived, began to cover my mother with cloths and blankets as they do in the Xhosa tribe for the mother or wife of a deceased. My mother calmed down a little, and my father went back home with his family. Uncle Joe, however, stayed a little more with my mother to help her out. He told her that he also had the feeling that something wrong was going on and my stepmother would try to protect her son, Themba. So the next day my mother decided to hire a lawyer to get to the bottom of this. She found one and he made an appointment with her and my father so that he could understand the situation. My father agreed and took the appointment. He told the lawyer his version of the story, while my mother continued with her assertion that Themba was the culprit. Since my father and my mother didn’t agree, the lawyer said that they should await the court date with Daluxolo and he couldn’t do anything until then. Back to Switzerland to me. In the evening Thomas brought me to the airport. It was a long flight. When I landed in East London, my brother and Munda, the fiancé of my late sister, were already waiting at the airport. When I arrived, everything was different. I didn’t have that homeland feeling. Everything was kind of gray. I immediately had to think about how my sister used to take us from the airport when we had first arrived there. I let my tears run wild. My brother was driving the car. Munda was sitting next to him and talked about other things that weren’t related to my sister. “I’m sorry I had nothing to do with you.” They both pretended nothing had happened. He tried to brighten my mood so he and my brother talked about other things. They even tried to make me laugh. I also loosened up a bit over time. But my better mood didn’t last long. When we arrived in our village and I saw all those people standing around our house, I had a déjà vu from when my grandmother had died. Now I was twice as sad. I still didn’t want to believe what had happened. I didn’t think I’d believe it until I saw my mother. I went into the house and saw my mother and the women around her. My mother looked bad. I stood there and looked at the faces that stared at me and at my reaction because I was the last person to know, and to me it was like it had happened again. I got no air and ran back out of the house without saying a word. My brother welcomed me and took me in his arms. He said nothing and held me tight. I cried a lot because I realized now that it was true, but I still didn’t want to admit it. I went back to the house a few hours later where everybody was and greeted my mother again. I sat down on the bed next to her. Then I asked her what exactly happened. Tears were running down uncontrollably. She cried, too, and started telling me everything. She told me what my uncle Joe had said to her. They both had this feeling that it wasn’t Daluxolo who pointed the gun at my sister but Themba. That Daluxolo sacrificed himself for Themba and because of his profession as a policeman he would get away with a mild punishment. I was shocked and could not believe what I had just heard. The real killer of my sister was my stepbrother who was now at large. The day of the funeral was January 8, 2000. It was one of the worst days of my life. I made the biggest mistake of my life wanting to see my sister again – in the coffin. I wanted to, nobody forced me to. She looked in a bad state. I shouldn’t have done it because that picture haunted me for a long time and repressed all the beautiful memories of my sister. I remained absolutely motionless until my father carried me away. I couldn’t cry from that moment on. I was traumatized, the doctors said later. I wrote a suicide note to my sister which was read at the funeral. At the end of the letter I mentioned I knew it wasn’t an accident and knew exactly who was responsible for my sister’s death-my stepbrother Themba. The morning after the funeral, my father came with a gun in his belt and took his brother Joe, my brother, my stepmother, Anathi and Themba with him. My mother asked everyone who was in the house to go outside for a moment. Only the people who had come with my father, my brother, my mother, and I were supposed to be staying. My father began to speak and said that his wife very fermented would be very fermented because of the accusations of my mother’s and me against Themba. All he looked at was my mother, not me even though he was talking about me. My mother replied that they apologized for nothing because he had done that, and they knew it.”And where is your pain for your daughter we buried yesterday? You’re standing here with a gun and expect an apology from me? I want to be alone to mourn my daughter,” she hurled towards my father and then she was quiet. My stepmother responded angrily to the fact I’d buried a letter in my sister’s grave if she didn’t want to accept it. Zoleka confirmed that she would have been a good mother to all of us and her son would never have done something like that. My father nodded affirmatively. I kept quiet, continued to listen to them and was obedient like back when I had had no choice but to be a slave at home. But then the rage began to rise slowly while my dad came up with the demand that I should apologize to my stepmother and Themba for what I had written in the suicide note. I jumped up and forgot myself for a moment when I said to my stepmother, “You claim you were a good mother for all of us and you loved my sister? Why didn’t my sister become a dentist like she wanted? Why is she pleased before you? Why is it that my brother Xoli already twice had to flee his great home and slept in water canals? Why did Thembekile, Munda and Bangile leave when they were finally strong enough to fight back? And why did they prefer to live in the ghetto instead of living in their great home with their great parents? Why can’t you just be normal parents who take my needs seriously and will talk with me? No, you left me alone with my fear and my worries! And you call yourselves great parents? Why could none of us come to you with our worries if you were great parents? Right, you were great parents for Nozimbos’ kids. Why haven’t I ever seen you in the kitchen? My sister hasn’t even once in her life prepared tea for you to drink and you call yourself a good mother?” I did not stop and said to my father: “Since the moment you walked in here with your gun and your military gang, you are dead as a father to me.” I told them they were very brave to show up here a day after my sister’s funeral. I described how my stepmother had treated me as a child. How they had embarrassed me in front of her son and branded me a liar and how my blind father had supported her. I accused her of being just as much a murderer as her son was because she covered up for the murderer. I didn’t let anybody speak because I was boiling with rage. I told them how much I hated them for what they had done to us. They had destroyed so many souls and only my sister and her unborn baby, no, they’d destroyed some of the rest of us, too. I went on to my half-sister Anathi and asked her what her part in the story was. She told how she memorized the same thing as her brother. I told her only one thing: “I am not God, nor am I any judge. But I believe in God in my heart and I do promise you if you don’t tell the truth and free yourself, you will never find peace and quiet in your life.” I also told her how much my sister loved her and totally trusted her. I also told Anathi that she was no longer my sister because she’d covered up the murder although she knew the truth. I froze with rage and finally faced Themba. I started at him, too. He seemed very nervous and repeated the story in different versions. I told him, “Save the lie, because I know Duncanvillage has a little hospital. It was also New Year’s Day and everywhere cars were driving and people were celebrating. She tells me that she was still alive at midnight, that she died just after 4:00. You should’ve called my mother or my brother to take her to the hospital if it had been an accident. Why are the other two girls who sat next to my sister, nowhere to be found and no one knows them even though they were partying with you? The witnesses are you two, you and Anathi and Daluxolo.” I told him he was dead to me, too. My mother tried to de-escalate the situation but she couldn’t calm me down. She got up and gave the four money to bring food and drink. I ran out of the house and felt out of place. I understood the world no longer. I couldn’t understand how my mother and my brother could sit and peacefully talk with these people. I was furious! Later on they left and I didn’t look at them. These people were dead to me. A few weeks later was the first court date. My brother and I weren’t supposed to be there. I didn’t like that but there was nothing I could do about it back then. My mother and my father took part with their lawyer. My father was neutral while my mother continued to accuse Themba. The trial was difficult and therefore the matter was finally adjourned. However, my mother could not afford to stay in South Africa with us anymore. The funeral expenses had been high and my dad had not chipped in . My mother also had to pay the cost of the lawyer on her own. They came to an agreement with my father. The lawyer and my father would let my mother know when the court date was because she wanted to be there when the real culprit was convicted. She’d come all the way to South Africa once more. A month later we were in Switzerland again and in our everyday lives. No one talked about the trial until the time we got mail. The letter was addressed to my mother. It was from the lawyer in South Africa. We were all very excited when we opened the envelope. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a court date there but a copy of the decision. Daluxolo (and not Themba) was convicted of committing the murder of my sister and her unborn baby and sentenced to house arrest for three years. Daluxolo was allowed to leave the house only to go to work and to church on Sundays. He also had permission to go shopping once a month
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