STRING OF PEARLS: TWO
FIVE YEARS AGO...
I sprinted into the kitchen like the bogeyman was chasing me. A massive SUV with the license plate "Mthethwa 6" had just pulled up at the gate. As chunky men stepped out, I dashed into the house.
"Ma, there—" I started, but didn't finish.
"Go inside your room and stay there until I say otherwise," she ordered, ushering me toward my bedroom.
Minutes later, Lihle, my cousin, burst in without knocking – a habit of hers.
"Do you know why the Mthethwas are here?" she asked.
I shook my head. "I was sitting outside when their car arrived. I ran in to inform Mama, and soon after, they started shouting our clan names."
Lihle's eyes widened. "Are you dating one of the Mthethwa brothers? I know I'm not, and there are only two of us girls here. Oh my goodness! What if they came to ask for my hand in marriage?"
"Marriage? Don't they need to court someone first before showing up randomly to ask for their hand?" I asked, bewildered. Was this the 1900s?
"Yeah, but these are the Mthethwas – ruthless, yet yummy brothers," Lihle said with a squeal.
I seemed to be the only one finding this odd.
The door swung open, and my aunt entered, looking like she'd inhaled something foul. Her nose upturned, she scrutinized me from head to toe as if I were rotten meat. Her behavior didn't faze me; I was accustomed to her hatred.
After my mother passed away, my aunt took me in, giving the word "wicked" new meaning. Since I was ten, I'd been the household maid.
"I need to wear a long dress and headwrap?" She said and i frowned in confusion.
"Don't just stand there, Onezwa. Get your fat ass decent and come to the living room," she snapped before turning on her heels.
I obeyed, retrieving my Sunday best. At 25, I was stuck in the village with no job prospects – no one would hire me without a matric certificate. My aunt ensured I dropped out in grade 11 to help with her spaza shop due to her arthritis.
The irony? Lihle continued schooling while I took over the shop duties. To this day, we didn't know where her matric certificate was, supposedly stolen in a mugging. My aunt had funded Lihle's trips to the city's Department of Education, but Lihle mastered lying.
As I entered the living room, I almost passed out seeing the pair of eyes staring at me.
"Ah, my daughter, you're here," my aunt said in an suddenly sweet voice.
If I weren't petrified, I'd laugh at her pretentiousness.
"MaZondi, she's indeed beautiful – a true African woman," one of the men said. My aunt giggled, sounding fake.
The other man's words made me lift my head in lightning speed. "She'll make a great wife to our son and bear us many children." Tears burned my eyes as reality hit – I was being considered for marriage.
Yes, I could be slow, but I never thought anyone would want me, especially not the notorious Mthethwa brothers.
A week had passed, and I was now married to Qhawe, the youngest Mthethwa brother. My aunt had tried to discourage the Mthethwas from marrying me, but they didn't listen.
As I walked through the living room, my mother-in-law called out, "Onezwa, come here."
I took a seat, and she asked, "How are you?"
"I'm okay, ma," I replied.
She nodded slowly. "Is my son treating you well?"
I nodded again, feeling a bit shy.
"Good. If he mistreats you, don't hesitate to let me know," she said, smiling warmly.
Just then, Qhawe walked in and sat beside me. He's seriously handsome – that smile, fade haircut, and trimmed beard? Wow!
I still can't figure out why he chose me, but here I am.
We haven't consummated our marriage yet, and I'm both grateful and curious. We've shared a bed for a week, but he's kept his distance.
"I've come to steal my wife away," Qhawe said with a smile, his deep baritone sending shivers down my spine.
His mom smiled, and he stood up, offering his hand. He led me to the bedroom and sat on the bed.
"Come here," he said, beckoning me.
I felt awkward sitting on his lap, being a bigger girl and all, but he made me feel somewhat at ease.
"You must be wondering why I married you," he said and I nodded.
"Well, I saw you a couple of months ago, walking back from church," he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "And I was intrigued."
I looked up, my eyes locking with his. "Intrigued?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
He nodded, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
"I don't think that's reason enough to marry someone you hardly know," I said, my voice laced with skepticism.
He chuckled, his deep laughter sending shivers down my spine. "I'm impulsive like that. I see something I like, I go after it," he explained, his gaze holding mine. "With that being said, I promise to be a good husband. I give you my word."
His lips brushed against mine in a gentle peck, and my heart skipped a beat.
I trembled as Qhawe's fingers traced my curves, sending shivers down my spine. His touch was gentle, yet electrifying.
"Relax, my mkami," he whispered, his deep voice soothing my nerves.
Easy for him to say. I was nervous, and my mind raced with thoughts of what if im not good at this?
His lips brushed against mine, soft and teasing. "You're beautiful, Onezwa," he murmured.
My cheeks flushed. No one had ever made me feel so desired.
His hands explored my body, leaving trails of fire. I arched into his touch, craving more.
"Qhawe..." I whispered, my voice barely audible.
He smiled, his eyes crinkling. "I've got you, Mkami."
With one swift motion, he lifted me onto his lap. Our bodies aligned, and I felt his warmth.
"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice husky.
I nodded, my heart racing.
His lips claimed mine, and our worlds merged. The room faded, leaving only us. I've had mediocre sex before but what this man is doing to me is just out of this world.
A month had passed since Qhawe swept me off my feet, and we were still basking in the glow of our honeymoon phase. Every day, he showered me with flowers and gifts, and I couldn't help but fall deeply in love with him.
But life had other plans. On a fateful Friday afternoon, I heard a car pull up in the driveway. As I cooked dinner in the kitchen, a loud knock at the door startled me. Who could it be? Qhawe always let himself in.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I found a large box on the doorstep. Assuming it was another romantic gesture from Qhawe, I smiled. But my heart sank when I opened it. Inside, I found my husband's head and limbs, brutally severed.
The world around me crumbled. A week later, I was back in the village, mourning the loss of my beloved Qhawe. His brothers, Nkanyezi and Mcedisi, sought justice, but their efforts brought no solace.
The elders' next decision left me reeling. I was instructed to marry Mcedisi, Qhawe's older brother – a man already married to the lovely Masibiya. The thought sent shivers down my spine.
After a brief mourning period, preparations began for my traditional wedding to Mcedisi. On the eve of the ceremony, Masibiya approached me.
"May I come in?" she asked, standing at the door as I put on my dress. She zipped it up, her eyes locked on mine.
"We'll be sister wives tomorrow," she said, her voice laced with resignation.
"I just want to mourn Qhawe," I whispered.
Masibiya's expression turned cold. "Why didn't you speak up when the elders suggested you marry my husband?"
"Like you did?" I countered.
She sighed. "Mcedisi is complicated. He doesn't know how to love. The Mthethwas want to control Qhawe's fortune through you."
Desperate, I pleaded, "Help me run away."
Masibiya's eyes filled with warning. "You don't know the family you're dealing with. They're feared gangsters. Don't let their traditions fool you."
Just then, my mother-in-law appeared, beaming. "I'm glad to see my daughters-in-law getting along."
---
PRESENT DAY
Tears streamed down my face as memories flooded back. I recalled escaping on the eve of my wedding.
"He's not my husband; he's my brother-in-law, a reminder of a past I'm trying hard to forget," I whispered, wiping my tears.