When my father left a part of me left with him, I often find myself starring at the door re enacting the scene in my head over and over again, always waiting in anticipation for him to return, every time when the door opens a spark of hope rises in my heart. He left and never looked back.
I have never learned to be a man, I’ve never called anyone dad and I refuse to talk or to think about him, I have his image buried in the remote trenches of my mind, but for some reason I never manage to keep them there for long since they often resurface. He left me with no identity, one who is fatherless, my heart yearns for my father’s surname. I carry my mother’s surname with shame as my aunts and uncles remind me that I do not belong. They call me ‘ivezandlebe’ his face I cannot remember anymore I look at every man that I come across and wonder if it could be him my soul searches for a lost paternity, the pain is hard to bear its roots lie deep within my soul, at school I am reminded as I see an image of a carrying dad drop off his child. My heart leaps with envy, my friends relate stories of their fathers and their irritating idiosyncrasies I listen attentively as I form an image of an imaginary father, the image that feeds my fantasies. To me fatherhood is defaced as I cannot relate. Anger wells up inside of me as I think of a surname my children will have to carry my mother’s surname is not a true reflection of my identity, one day I will have to display something I did not get to model, I will have to rely exclusively on nature.
When I look in the mirror I cannot relate with the image that is starring back at me, I ask questions that remain unanswered. Then one day out of the blue my mother hands me a piece of paper with my father’s name written on it as if to put me out of my misery. The search commences and it takes five years until I locate his address. Then as I am standing at the door my heart pounds, a woman answers the door, I introduce myself and hands her the note that my mother gave me, she looks at the note and then at me and asks me to sit down as she goes into on of the rooms, a tall figure emerges he looks at me and then holds out his hand ‘my name is Mtokozisi Mzolo and I am your father’ I give him a blank stare, I cannot get the words to come out of my mouth, I feel a huge lump in my throat, he speaks explaining himself, I hear nothing my heart solidifies I am filled with indignation, I felt empty, the emptiest I have ever felt. The man who is supposed to unlock my heart is standing right in front of me. We parted he made promises, we exchanged numbers he never called I stopped caring. Then one day one of my friends invites me to a church service, I am reluctant at first, then I relent, I dress up and go with him then as soon as I enter the church I feel a certain peace, I am draped in warmth, I listen attentively, each spoken word as if answering every question I have. Then I stand up for the alter call. I make the most important decision of my life and never look back, I assume an identity I am a child of God, the void is instantly filled my compulsion to search for an identity ceases I am finally home at last.
Lorraine Moremi
Soweto Sunrise News
