When a plan backfires

 

This former police officer, Lucky Mudau, went to the hospital where his partner, Lebo Monene, worked in February last year and pumped her body with several bullets before turning the gun on himself. Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on where you're standing, he didn't die. He suffered spinal cord injury and became paralysed from the neck down. He was sentenced to 25 years in jail this week, but the court said he would not be imprisoned as there's no correctional facility that can accommodate a quadriplegic. He's unable to do anything for himself whatsoever, and now needs assistance to do even the most basic things.

The woman's family is upset with the judgment. They feel Mudau, by avoiding prison, has dodged the bullet, excuse the pun. They wanted him to be made to stand in court so they could be satisfied that he's indeed unable to do so. And who blames them for being suspicious? People who've been pardoned on their death beds have been seen walking, playing golf, and even dancing in some instances. What if Lucky Mudau is seen standing on his own two feet and shopping at Woolworths in a few months? What happens then? 

I wanted to say I hope he lives well into his 90s so that he can have sufficient time to carry his cross and reflect on the heinous crime he committed.  But because I strive to be a good Christian, I'll just keep quiet and pray for the children he orphaned.

It's just heartbreaking that he took a mother from her two children, a daughter from her parents and a contributing member of society. Now he's unemployed and helpless, and has essentially taken himself from his child, parents and other loved ones too. He's now a permanent burden to everyone around him. If life had rewinds and second takes, he would go back to that fateful moment and just walk away. Move on with his life and leave her breathing to move on with hers. Sometimes it's costly to always want to have the last say, as he knows fully well now, I presume.

Father's Day: My 2 Cents

I just remembered something yesterday on Father's Day, and I didn't want to  'preach' about it then, because I don't want to be one of "those women" accused of trying to steal the shine from men on their special day. My colleague Tondani actually commented l that Mother's Day is always a very peaceful occasion, with people showing their love to the women in their lives.

Come Father's Day, the mood becomes very combative and there's blood on the streets, especially when the mom-dads hijack the day to vent about deadbeat dad's and pat themselves on the back for stepping up to the plate and wearing both mom and dad hats for their offspring. I'll reserve my comments on this, at least for now, because my real issue is about how most men aren't equipped or don't equip themselves to be parents in the absence of their children's mothers. They can only parent effectively in the presence of a woman. Boogles the mind how they're then touted as the heads of the house. This obviously doesn't apply to every man. I was raised by a very hands-on father who would sweep the house, cook, do the dishes, nurse me back to health during my asthma crises, and am aware there are many such dads. But the majority 👐🏾.

Tragedy befell a young family very close to mine and the outcome caused us all so much distress. The mother died in her prime and left two very young children. After her funeral, the children were split between two relatives that live very far from each other, because it would have been burdensome for both of them to go to one family. Of bigger concern was the consensus that the father couldn't look after his children by himself without his wife. So not only had the poor kids lost their mom, but they also ended up losing their dad and each other. They'll grow up without a bond and probably don't even remember each other's faces anymore. If it were up to me, I'd have preferred for another plan that didn't involve separating the children from each other and their father to be made. If the tables were turned, people would never take the children away from their mother to be raised by other relatives because the father had passed away. Regardless of the circumstances - whether the mom has a full-time job or is unemployed, the children would stay with her, unless of course there are exceptional circumstances. In most instances. The removal of a mother from a household strongly mirrors the death of the queen bee in a hive.

In her absence, the hive goes into total chaos. But we're not bees. We're human being s and both parents must be capable of independently steering the ship should need arise.

Some men do fight to keep their children following their wives' demise, but there's usually a lot of pressure or expectation for them to quickly bounce back and find another mother for their children, because of the general belief that they won't cope on their own. Some families even donate the wife's sister to the widowed man so that she can help raise the children. Excuses are created for men to find new companions as soon as possible - "for the children and for stability".  If a woman loses her husband, however, the general expectation is for her to not rush back to the dating scene. They'll say chimbomira zvechibhishu ucheme murume nekuchengeta vana. Hello, how about finding a dad for the kids🤷🏾‍♀️? Who said women don't also need to he stabilised? 

Men really have it much easier than women.
I remember Tsitsi Dangarembga referring to the burden of womanhood, in Nervous Conditions. At that time these were just empty words, but as I grow older I actually see it all around me and even feel it. At funerals, everyone is watching the wife intently to see if she's grieving properly, that means wailing like a good heartbroken African woman who's sad to lose her husband, refusing to eat even if your stomach is gnawing from hunger, and fainting if possible. It's actually quite easy to faint when you're hungry. Even if the deceased husband was abusive and the wife's tears got depleted from weeping due to his indiscretions while he was still alive, she still has to cry for optics, and as they say, apunyaira haashai misodzi. If you try hard enough the tears will come. And your aunts won't be sitting very far from you, encouraging you to cry visibly for the world to see. Men don't have to. Even if they don't have a single tear, people will still feel sorry for them and say, shame his heartbreak is written all over his face, but he's being brave. Zviri kutongooneka kuti ari kushinga semunhu wemurume. Where is the bravery when the children need to be raised? Friends even ensure there's enough booze flowing in the bereaved man's direction. Try drinking at the funeral of your husband and see what a stink that would raise!  But I know of one incident when a colleague of a friend lost his wife and was quite inconsolable and sobbing hard. That man's drunk friend came and started yelling at him not to cry so hard. He said uri kubva wachema kudai asi wanga usina girlfriend here?

Aha! Now we have the answer to why some men don't cry at their spouses' funerals. The support system would already be waiting in the wings. They don't even have to go back to scour the streets "for a mother for their children". Please🙄, we're not stupid. All that has nothing to do with the children.

Almost Eleverything I've said here is a sideshow. The one thing I wanted to say was that men need to grow a pair and be present in their children's lives. You can't wish your children away. Whether there's divorce, death, anything, as long as you're not incapacitated, look after your children. Be hands on. Even if you think the mother is strong enough, kana dai ari Chihera, she's not a dad. She's a mom and you need to be the dad. If you don't occupy your space as a dad, there will always be a void that will manifest in your children's lives, especially when they have their own families.

Who needs enemies? Nomia's conviction

Former police officer Rosemary Nomia Ndlovu has been convicted of the six murders of her sister, nephew, nieces, cousin and boyfriend.

She took out life  insurance policies on them, then organised hits and benefitted about R1.4 million in payouts. 

Ndlovu was arrested while attempting to order another hit on her sister and the sister's 5 kids. She's also been found guilty of the attempted murder of her mom.

The hitman sent to take out the mom and a 5-month-old baby actually arrived at the mom's house,  but developed cold feet or grew a conscience upon seeing how old she was. He asked for water to drink and left. Rosemary wanted her own mother dead! How twisted does it get? 

One's head spins trying to keep track of the people she killed or wanted dead.  She has no contrition whatsoever.

That's her posing for cameras in court, with her ridiculous eyebrows and hairstyles that she changed on every appearance like panties, flashing signs and pouting throughout her trial. What a nutcase! Her sentencing is on the 5th of November, then off to jail she goes. But good Lord, who needs enemies with a relative like Nomia! She's the face of evil on wheels.

Life's little lessons

File Photo 

Trust life to slap you in the face and make you think of the things that really matter. This past week I visited a friend in Lyndhurst, and on my way back my navigator indicated that there would be an about 45-minute delay on the N1 highway due to a crash. I was running late home and, needless to say, very frustrated with the congestion. I just wished people would be more careful on the roads to avoid impacting the lives of others.

As I sat there grinding my teeth, a part of me even regretted visiting the friend, seeing how inconvenienced I was now.

As a creature of habit I'm always home at a specific time, and on the day that I decided to go against my routine, this happens! 

Everyone who has ever sat in traffic most likely relates. It's the most tedious way to spend one's time. We have lives and things to do, and can't just be sitting on a highway in the sweltering heat, not progressing. 

People have drawn their guns and shot others in rage after sitting in traffic for too long. During my protracted sit on the N1 that day - while not condoning violence - I somehow understood the driving force of road rage. 

At a snail's pace I eventually got to the cause of the delay. There had been a horrific crash, and two bodies were still at the scene covered with the silver foil we all know too well. 

Suddenly my anger over the delay wholly dissipated. I was instead flooded by a mixture of emotions. I felt sad for the deceased. They were obviously also headed somewhere, as we all were, on that highway when their lives were suddenly cut short. Somebody somewhere, probably their children, parents, or spouses, was waiting for them at home but would get bad news instead. Their families would never see them walk through the door, nor hear their voices ever again. 

File Photo

Such morbid and depressing reflections, but also other people's reality. I felt bad for being cross that I was delayed, yet I was still alive and still had time to do the things I wanted to do. At the same time, I also felt there was there wasn't much time for nonsense, and no time like the present to do everything our hearts desire because you just never know… 

When I eventually got home, almost an hour later than I would have if the crash had not happened, it was with a sense of gratitude that I hugged my children. I was here and still able to do that. 

The people I saw lying on the road and their children would never be able to experience this. I just felt all these emotions but never really vocalised them for fear of looking like a depressed and depressing weirdo, with a penchant to over-dramatise things. But here I am. I just needed to say it. 

We really shouldn't sweat the small stuff, like traffic delays. There are worse things happening around us, even on the roads we are on, like traffic accidents. We could be late, but should definitely be grateful we are not 'the late'. 

Who needs enemies?

 South Africa was left dumbstruck this past week as details emerged about how a former police sergeant allegedly killed her relatives and a boyfriend over a period of about six years for insurance money. 

Nomia Rosemary Ndlovu allegedly insured some relatives and then ordered hits on them to collect insurance money. Ndlovu’s two nephews, a niece, a cousin, her boyfriend and cousin died following violent attacks in the alleged scam. The former police officer was arrested after an undercover detective recorded  her giving directions to her sister’s house to a hitman, and explaining how the sister and her five children were to be killed.  

As the sordid  details came to light, the matter stirred huge debate on social media and many were left wondering, who needs enemies? Who indeed? Ndlovu’s case stands out because she killed a number of her relatives, but  hers is certainly not an isolated incident in South Africa. A number of people have been killed under similar circumstances. A case in point is that of black-widow Mulalo Sivhidzo, currently serving a life term for the murder of her husband of six months, Avhatakali Netshisaulu for inheritance. She hired hitmen, who included her husband’s friend, and he was burned alive in the boot of his car in December 2006. 

A woman from the Eastern Cape Nomqondiso Thembu  also received a life sentence after successfully organising a hit on her husband, Arthur Thembu, for insurance claims. However, what makes alleged serial killer Ndlovu stand out, apart from the shockingly high body count, is her calculating nature that saw her carefully plan the insurance contracts - even giving fake details to get approval. To then orchestrate the murders, while hiding in plain sight  dressed in blue and carrying a badge, just takes the wind out of one. 

In the wake of this disturbing case, insurance companies have come under sharp criticism for not putting sufficient measures in place to avoid manipulation of the system. Surely, it can’t be ethical to have your life insured without your consent or knowledge. We could easily be moving targets as we go about our lives, with someone following our movements closely. We could be someone’s meal ticket. In the event that the insurer gets broke and desperate, what’s to stop them from ‘helping things along’ and cash in on their investment?

Insurance companies need more regulation, as they have become a huge scam, aiding people’s demise. People have come forward declaring how they are pestered by insurers that “You can add two more people for just R50 extra”. It’s all about dollars and cents for them, no thorough checks on applications and before funds are disbursed after a claim. They smile all the way to the bank, while we watch our spouses and siblings across the table wondering if we are their loot tickets.  

 

Killing off the tooth fairy

At what stage do you burst your children’s bubble by telling them Santa and tooth fairies don’t exist? 

I’m tired of running around in efforts to support these little beliefs. Yesterday I was almost late for work as I had to stop by the service station to get money from an ATM, all because one of  Rudairo’s teeth had fallen out and she was very excited about getting money from the tooth fairy. 

She had even paid back the R7 she owed me from months ago, in anticipation of the money she would find under her pillow the next day. One of her friends had told her she got a staggering R200 from her tooth fairy, and Rudairo was distressed to think that her own fairy was a miser who only gave R50. She came up with a plan to ensure this time around the tooth fairy wouldn’t tighten her fist so much – by putting some healthy snacks under the pillow next to the tooth. 

The tooth fairy’s snacks

When I went to perform my fairy duties at midnight, I found 3 grapes and a piece of lettuce, all discoloured from a full day under the pillow, my poor baby. That tugged at my heartstrings and I ended up coughing up a little more than I’d budgeted. Now she thinks the healthy treats did the trick, and is planning to add more when her next tooth falls out so she can get even more. Meanwhile, she has 2 wiggly teeth. I’m quaking in my boots. 

It was the same story last Christmas. She wrote on Santa’s list that she wanted an elf. I’d no idea where to find one. Eventually I saw a few at the Crazy Store and decided I’d do the shopping on Christmas Eve so that she wouldn’t see it when she went through my stuff as she always does. When I went back, the elves were all gone. I almost wept.

I ended up walking the length and breadth of nearby malls until I found an elf. I was so thankful and relieved I only fell short of kissing the shop attendant’s feet. 

Christmas morning ….  She was happy Santa had delivered, and I was happy too. 

The naughty elf that prances about the house

Then she told me that elves are naughty and are known to shift positions on the shelf when everyone goes to bed. To humour her, I’ve been busy moving the elf around so that she can be thrilled in the morning. We’re in a pandemic and there’s not much fun to be had anywhere else, remember. 

Now with more loose teeth in the pipeline (which she’s now wiggling with renewed vigour), plans to bribe the tooth fairy into being more generous, and changing the elf’s poses every night, I feel motherhood has become an extreme sport for me. 

Never mind the so-called ‘devastating loss of innocence’.  I want the truth to set me free. 

Published in the safreachronicle.co.za 

Quest to beat the odds

 My daughter turns 7 later this month and has been creating more hype and campaigning for her birthday more aggressively than Donald Trump has been doing for the US elections. Her wish list keeps growing by the day, and at every turn she reminds me of the many times I’ve had to work odd or long hours, leaving her in tears but assuring her that I work hard so that I can buy her everything she wants. Well, now there’s a growing list of everything she wants – and she wants everything. A tutu dress with wings and rainbow colours, accompanied by an Alice band with a horn that looks exactly like her toy unicorn, Rainbow (which I was arm-twisted into buying), a trip to Sun City, a spa day for the two of us, a party where a number of friends will be invited, a “ginormous” Barbie cake in strawberry flavour…and…and…and. This girl will leave me impoverished!

I love birthdays, and my daughter could be a little OTT, but the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Everyone close to me knows that my birthday cannot just pass like the wind because it is a big deal. I fall short of writing down a list of people who neglect to wish me a happy birthday on Facebook so that I can commit their names to memory and remember to also ignore their birthdays, or better still, not ever hit the like button on any of their posts. That’s a joke. I make a big deal of loved ones’ birthday too, and try to ensure they feel special on their own birthdays. For me, birthdays signify a new beginning. As a believer, it means God has kept me hanging around for one more year, and is giving me another chance to enjoy life, right my wrongs and find my purpose in life.

There's, however, one birthday that leaves me quaking in my boots, and it’s my son’s. Victor has autism and will be turning 15 in January. 

My sense of panic is escalating as the years go by. On the eve of his birthday I usually stay up late and say a prayer for him with a lump in my throat and a tear or two in my eyes, wondering what his purpose in life will ever be in a world where a high school pass and a tertiary qualification determine your success. 

Every new birthday is a reminder that I need to do something to secure his future and ensure he is a contributing member of society, but I don’t know where to start given the weaknesses in our education system. At 15, we are at a stage where there needs to be a plan in place for his transition into adulthood, more so because he is not in mainstream school where there are specific stages for everything. 

For neurotypical peers there are no worries because they still have to sit for matric, and decisions will be made thereafter. But with him and others in the same shoes, arrangements have to be made now. If he is to learn a trade, it should be done now, so that there’s enough time to seek out the skill and nurture it for a number of years, considering his cognitive abilities are underdeveloped. 

Government makes the right noises about the availability of schools for autism, but on the ground there really isn’t much happening. Many parents are at the end of their tethers not knowing what to do with their autistic children. Private school fees, where skills are reportedly taught, are up the roof and out of the reach of many, while public school standards are down at the bottom of the barrel.      

Victor will turn 15 soon and I'm yet to find what I consider a proper school for him. How ridiculously sad is that? In 2017 the Department of Basic Education reported that almost 10,000 children with special needs were still waiting to be placed in school. The figures can’t have changed much over the past three years; I’m not too hopeful on that front. 

My focus is now on ensuring that Victor learns a life skill, at least, in a world where a high school pass and a tertiary qualification determine your success.  I don’t know where to start, but I’m not static! One night when I had worked myself up into a near-panic attack, I reached out to my small network of autism parents about what we should do as a collective to secure our children’s future. I should have kept my worry to myself. Invariably the responses, across races, were of resignation, “Oh Charlotte, let’s just be glad for the small victories and not be too hard on ourselves, there’s really nothing to be done. The only thing we can actually do is pray that we outlive our children so that we can keep looking after them. Without us they’ll be on the streets picking food from rubbish dumps. Let’s just pray without ceasing, let’s be on our knees all the time.” Suddenly I wished we’d had a face-to-face meeting. Not for us to cuddle in our combined despair, but for me to give them noogies for giving up. I don’t want to be on my knees all the time, praying without ceasing. I want to be up on my feet hitting the ground towards a goal, or at least pacing up and down trying to come up with solutions. Even the good book says there is a time for everything, so there should be a time to pray, and a time to trust God to have your back as you act.

Our children risk falling through the cracks if there’s no intervention. The pain of seeing Victor’s age mates move from one stage to the next is one of its own kind. People in the autism community say we should never compare our children with ‘normal’ kids because we’ll only break our hearts. “Let’s focus on our kids’ strengths and small victories instead,” they say. But the comparison is inevitable. Without the right support, the strengths will not be of much use. I don’t want my son to just be known as that autistic boy or man who’s a whizz at reading, typing, spelling and trivia, but amounted to nothing because his mother gave up on him. For me, the comparison is a jab on the side that I need to do more for my son and other children. That jab sent me to nominate myself for election in the Autism South Africa’s National Executive Council in a bid to be close to the think tank, where challenges are presented but have to be accompanied by solutions, not pity parties. My two-year term begins this month, yay! Some in my circle are in awe of my perceived strength and energy to turn the tide. I can’t turn it, but I hope to be comfortable manoeuvring in it. I call it perceived strength because I’m not always strong. Sometimes I am that mom who tells herself she can trample snakes and scorpions, break down all barriers in her path to ensure her son emerges the victor, as he’s aptly named. Then there are those moments when I just want to buy a bucket of ice cream and box of tissues and ugly-cry in resignation, because the chances of my child and others like him attaining any degree of independence will remain a pie in the sky because of the odds that are stacked against us.

By joining Autism South Africa, I do strongly feel I’m on the right path. I hope to bring positive change to the organisation and raise awareness in the community and government structures. African governments need to know that not providing the right support for people with special needs is a liability on their part. Investing in vocational training, on the other hand, is not flushing money down the toilet, but a good investment in better futures for everyone concerned. People with autism and other cognitive disabilities will forever be tied to their mother’s apron strings and be a burden on families and state coffers for all their lives, having to be catered for through social grants. Sometimes they even impede their parents from working because of challenges they present. Isn’t it better to teach them to fish and feed them for life than give them a barely fulfilling fish once in a while? They might have challenges, but not all of them are insurmountable. They, like everyone else, need self-actualisation. One day Victor said to me, “Mom, will you visit me at my apartment and see my Audi?” In his innocence, he actually sees himself leaving the nest and having his own life away from me, but how do we get him there? Whether I’d actually allow him to leave my side is a story for another day, but I need to fight with every fibre in my body to ensure he has equal access to resources like any other human being. It’s all up to me. There’s no knight in shining armour coming our way.