Gousblom number nine journey

For some time, I have had this deep feeling of having to put my thoughts and experiences together in once place. To avoid confusion and to accept some of my chapters on my journey. I think its more also a point of acknowledging the hurt and disappointments that I have blocked out.

Please do open your mind and try and stay on track as this would be a normal written style. Whatever you do, please don’t judge me too soon.

I remember having to wake early morning, taking a cold bath to start the day. Not because we didn’t have hot water, but because I was not allowed to use hot water. I also remember never getting sugar in my mielie meal pap, because I was rude. Think about that.

I grew up in a household where I was constructed to fail, or should I say to think that I am a failure. This started from when I was in Standard 1. That was 6 months after my parents got divorced. I’m not saying that everything was great before the divorce. I mean if it was, they would never have gotten divorced. But, nothing special about what I have just shared hey, everyone has experienced some type of “divorce” before. We all have lost something or someone before and most of the time its such an unexpected shock and sometimes its something that you can foresee happening. One thing for sure though, one can never really prepare one for it. Once it happens, that’s when all the “predictions” seems useless.   

I really had a good relationship with my mom. Aside from the fact that she was never really at home, always drinking with the friends. She just came home to make lunch and supper for us but never really involvedwith us. This is the time I remember it was only me and my older brother in the house. My older sister decided years ago, to leave and go search for her “real dad”. Anyway, that’s a story for another chapter. Like I said, please try and stay on track.

So, my parents fought a lot and yes it was verbally and physically. I remember the day when my mom threw my dad with water and in return, he pushed her, causing the ironing board, with the iron to fall and that landed on my forehead. Next time you see me, look at the triangle mark on my forehead. For the longest time I have told the story: My brother and i use to argue and fight a lot and he hit me with the iron, one morning before school. That was the story I had to tell our neighbor, the social worker. As an 8year old at that time, that was what my dad told me to say. I guess its true when you keep telling yourself something, you start to believe it. Which I did. I guess also the social worker had other plans with me, since the environment I grew up in was not conducive. 

As child I believed to some extend that this was how grown-up life is supposed to be. I am saying that because I never feared for my life, I never went to bed hungry, I never went to school without lunch money. We had everything that an 8year old and a 9year old (my brother), could have. Thinking back, I always remembered my mom coming into rooms at night, when she gets home drunk, and she would pray. She always forced us to pray in the morning, before eating and before bed. Although shewas never there most of the time when we went to bed, she installed the fear in us that tomorrow is not promised.

For the longest time I have always felt differently towards girls. I have been seen as the “soft” one, the “girly” one. I have always been the one cleaning the house, doing dishes etc. My brother was always the troublemaker, the hardcore one and always in fights. Like I said we always fought, like siblings do. One thing I can testify to, is the fact that he always had my back. He has made sure that everyone knows that he is my big brother. He loved to be the centre of attention. Always in trouble at home and in school. He use to do the “manly” things with my dad and they argued a lot. One thing about my brother is that he really had a good heart and at that time he always protected me.

I remember it was a Wednesday afternoon. I was busy with cleaning the house. He came and told me to give my bicycle to his friend, Manfred. They going to town to go fix his flat tyre. I had no choice but to give my bicycle. So they left. Not long after that I remember Manfred coming home with my bicycle and he was as white as sheet, screaming that I must get hold of my dad. Unfortunately, it was the time of where kids had cell phones. He told me my brother is not okay. I asked him where he is. He just started running and I followed him. I remember as we got closer to where my brother was, I could hear the ambulances and police vans. I also remember Manfred turning around and stopping from running, I fell, didn’t fellthe pain. As I got closer, I saw my brother laying in the street. There was this taxi standing meters away. I couldn’t move but do remember calling out his name and he didn’t move. Then my dad grabbed me and put me in his bakkie, and we drove home. He left me with my neighbor, since no one was at home. As a 9-year-old I could only act on what I am being told by my dad. I had a lot of questions and to some extend I feel my dad failed to answer them.

I was told that my brother came down a steep road, with his bicycle and his brakes failed. This caused him to collide with a taxi, causing him to plummet through the window of the taxi. He died on the scene. I was told to man up and accept the fact that he is no more. A week later, we had his funeral and that was that. I had so much questions and had even more fears. I couldn’t fathom the fact that everyone is going on with their lives so easily. I remember crying a lot and not having appetite and remember peeing in the bed a lot. Now the latter made my stepmother angry.

“Stepping in”

Let’s rewind a bit. Just so about four months before my brother has passed on, my stepmother and her daughter has moved into our home. I told you my parents had a divorce. So, keeping in mind that this has caused a lot of changes within the household. Allow me to give you some background. My stepmother is the same lady my dad had a relationship with long before my mother was in the picture. Also, my stepsister was conceived during this past relation my dad had, hence sheis years older than me. Our “nice life” as kids went south, when they moved in. I hated them from the word go. My love for my dad decreased by the day. He literally told us on the day they moved in, that this is a permanent arrangement. This is 3 months after my mom moved out. Like I said we hated them. My brother and I were really the worse kind of “brats”, as she called us.  We always started trouble. We never cleaned, never bothered greeting and we just did our own thing. I was rude and I was angry. I had no fear for this woman, because I knew my brother had my back. I knew they feared him. My brother literally glued my stepmother’s hand to her hair when she was sleeping. Changed the sugar to salt in the kitchen. We always had a “these people” Them” “they” fights. My dad again became spineless and soft person within matter of months. During these times we experienced for the first time what it meant to get hiding from our dad. My brother and I really became the naughtiest and disobedient kids in our street. We would go to shops and do shoplifting. The police were at our door at least once a week. My dad use to beat us a lot. Well for him, he thought that was the only way. To be honest, we just wanted attention and to have that same sense of belonging, before “they” move in.

With the passing of my brother, things really became worse. I was alone in the house with “them”. I had no back-up and they could easily see that I’m a softy. My stepmother was the nicest person when my dad is at home, but the evil bitch, whenhe was away. The same goes for my stepsister. My dad worked long hours and sometimes double shifts. This opened a whole different can of baked beans. I was the one cleaning the house, doing the laundry, working in the garden, going the shops few times a day, never watched tv. I could only eat once they have eaten. Like I said; no sugar, no hot water. This has led me to start believing that I’m useless. When you experience this treatment on a daily and you being told that you useless, you a moffie and that you should be dead as well. One starts to believe these things. It starts to feel normal and your kind of don’t feel the rejection or pain as such.

I remember having a conversation with my dad about this. He responded by saying that I need to see the bigger picture and accept that these people are not going anywhere. I think what made me more emotional was the fact that he said that I should refrain from telling lies about people. At that time, I was standard 5. I knew at the time that I was alone in this. My mom lived out of town she hardly came to visit and the suggestion to go live with her, was strongly denied. So decided to accept the situation and look at other avenues to relief the pain. I had this one special friend during my primary school days. She and I were close. We shared a lot of things and I spend a lot of time at their home, trying to avoid my house. She new everything and she was the only person I could be with and forget about my issues.

The situation in the house became toxic. I read a lot of books,had a library card. That was also one of my coping mechanisms. Well the library access came to an end when my stepmother decided to burn the books. My dad had to pay the damages to the library, and I could never take out books. We know that I was never believed when I told my dad it was her that did it. She of course told me when we alone. I think to date I still prefer people hitting me because I have learned from a young age, the weight words carry and how deep they can puncture the heart. I had nothing but hatred for them. My stepmother had asthma and was dependent on her pump. I remember this one hot Saturday where she had trouble breathing. She got hold of her pump and found it to be empty. My dad had to rush her to hospital. The disappointment seeing her in my dad’s bakkie when they came back, was real.  She blamed me and fortunately, my dad believed me. She suggested that I go to boarding school.

Boarding school was a real dream for me. Unfortunately, my dad again, denied that suggestion and blamed it on costs.  This was all talks before I go to high school. The relationship with my sister became a bit less toxic but she still had to act rude to me, in front of her mom. I didn’t care about that. I had a plan and it was to finish school and to leave this black hole. My teachers always motivated me to do better at school. My best friend always challenged me as well. She was smart, like really. I knew that the boarding school was never going to happen and also, I didn’t want to lose my friendship with her.

I camehome this one afternoon with my standard 5 report and I could not wait to show it to my dad. I was super excited. He wasn’t the best of dads but, he always encourages me as to the importance of having an education. In fact, I always lied about “school things” to get money out of him. Well to my shock, I came from school, finding my stepmother and some lady fighting on our front porch. I hope you ready for this, brace yourself.

As I got closer to the action, I noticed the lady’s voice. I saw some older dude just standing there watching this fight. This lady stopped when she saw me and ran towards me, hugging and kissing me. I then found out that she’s the sister that left us long ago. I was shocked, because I had forgot about her. I remember a conversation that occurred years back, where it was concluded that she must have past on already. She was fighting my stepmother because they didn’t know about each other and that my stepmother told her that my brother has died. I didn’t know what to do, so I ran to my friend’s house. I figured my dad will have to come and sort out this mess.

I found my sister and dad later that afternoon on the front porch. Oh, and this older dude was her boyfriend, at that time. My dad has told her everything and the tears was gone, just anger. I passed her and went in the house. I literally had no connection with her and felt that I have enough problems to deal with. My father asked her to leave the nest morning. You guessed it right, my evil stepmother gave my dad an ultimatum. They left and I lost all hopefor my dad….

I always reminded my stepmother of that day for the days that followed. Yes, I provoked her, and I had no care for her feelings. I had no respect for my dad and none for anyone in that house. I became selfish and only thought of creating my own happiness. I stopped eating their food, I made my own food. I hid some of the groceries. Bought a small stove from my saved-up pocket money and I felt content. I had a lock and key for my room. This went on for about two months. I came home one afternoon, and my door was busted open, everything was gone, in the dust bin. I retaliated. Waited for them to go to work, bunked worked and burnt my stepmother and stepsister’s clothes. Yes, I got the hiding of my life. I quickly took on the stubbornness of my brother.

The Chase:

I came one afternoon from school, found this woman at home. I wanted to make me lunch. She took the bread and the peanut butter away and told me there is no food for rude kids. It wasn’t her day. I still had the bread knife in my hand, I walked to my room, sat on my bed. She was still shouting at me, calling me names. I came out of my room; I looked her dead in her face. I asked her to take of her shoes, she told me to fuck off. I told her to start running. She laughed and then I charged towards her with the knife, she immediately saw that I’m about to catch on some serious damage. She ran out of that house, me behind her, she’s screaming for the neighbors, I didn’t care. I had one intend and it was to fucken endthis toxic cycle. I chased her down the road. Now, if you know where I stayed, it’s just downhill. I have never seen an old lady ran so fast. She jumped over someone’s fence and ran into their house. Everyone was outside. I had a lot to say and she heard everything, and everyone was outside. One of my dad’s best friends came to calm me down.

My dad arrived hours later and yes, I got another hiding and believe you me, I didn’t cry once. That’s where my dad realized that I had enough. That woman didn’t sleep at our house 3days. I was happy, for a moment. Yes, I know now that I was wrong, but that time I felt that I failed. My father stepped in and tried to make things better. He changed his shifts and monitored the situation at home. I had to go see someone. We all had to go see someone. My father felt responsible and I could slowly but surely see his regret in his eyes. I never apologized. To date I don’t feel sorry. We proceeded living our lives apart in that house for the rest of the year. She told me every time before any exam, that I would fail and I’m useless. I used that as motivation. My best friend, Charlene, told me to focus on my goal: to finish school and leave Piketberg. 

The turning points:

I know grew tired of the fighting and embraced that this was my journey and that my dad will always take side. I then decided to fully invest my time in church. I was in church every event. I took part in everything. I then focused on the positives, not that there where many. Church was everything for me at that time. I was inthe Youth, Brigade, Spiritual dancing Group, Praise and Worship and the Bible study group. To some extend I felt “at home”. I always kept my feelings and experiences deep buried away. I remember there was this one Sunday when we did some spiritual dancing thing, only to see my stepmother walking out of church that very moment. I’m honest when I say, it did affect me at that moment. I was unapologetic at that stage. My father became very supportive of this “new life” I took on. The situation wasn’t any better. I had a little hope for my future again.

One Sunday afternoon, I came back from evening service and I found my stepsister in my room. I immediately flipped out. I chased her out, started praying out loud, dramatically so. She then later knocked on my door and asked her to stay outside. We proceeded to speak through the door. She poured her out.

She kept apologizing and telling me how she just wants a brother, since we share the same father and all. I thought this was a whole plot to get let my guard down. I never paid attention to her words until I found her one afternoon in my room again. She has moved her bed into my room, I was just thinking these people want me out. Her mom came back from work. She was livid, my stepsister got a beating of her life. Remember my siter is over 18 and I’m in in standard 7 at that point. I was so confused, and I could not understand what this girl is trying.

Stepsister to sister:

Days went by and I could see how my stepsister is more and more trying to be nice to me. She would make my coffee; she would leave me sandwiches in myroom. Sometimes I thought she was trying to poison me.

Then one day, her mother had to leave for Cape Town, to hospital. That time there was free transport to Tygerberg Hospital, on certain days. It normally leaves early morning and they return late.

I woke up, getting dressed to go to school. Then I hear my stepsister at my bedroom door. She proceeded to asking me to bunk school. I was like, no ways. Eventually I decided to stay, since my dad has also left for work.

She made us breakfast and for the first time in years, I had condensed milk in my coffee. I sat at our table again, while the tv was playing. It felt good. To be honest it did feel somewhat as a trap.

My stepsister then proceeded by opening-up about how she grew up. She shared what it was like growing up without a father and the hardships she and her mother went through. She told me how her mom with hit her whenever she asked her mom about her dad. My dad was absent in her childhood and that made them very hard-hearted and to some extend angry towards us.

She told me about a Saturday she and her mom saw us in town and how her mom became this weird person. That was the day her mom told her, or should I say, showed her, who her father is.

My sister said she immediately felt rage and hate towards us. She could see and understand why her mom was so hardheaded and so angry all the time. All she ever wanted is to get to know her dad. To be honest, I felt nothing for my sister. I was just enjoying the freedom of being able to have the house to myself.

As the day progressed, I soonbecame aware that this lady is being honest and genuine about her feelings. She got to apologized for her behavior and asked if we could like siblings. I shared my views with her, and we came to an agreement as to how we will handle the household going forward.

The atmosphere in the house became more livable and our relationship became more honest as the weeks went by.

Lets just say the rest is history, when it came to my sister.