Sibanye Simabalabala we are one though different

SIBANYE SIMABALABALA The Price of Love Has No Measure A Novel by Charity Ningi's Story PROLOGUE - WOODLANDS My name is Charity Ningi. I was born in Woodlands village in Peddie, Qushwa, in the Eastern Cape. Ixabiso lothando alinawo umlinganiselo - the price of love has no measure. I grew up on stories. Some were so unbelievable I would say that can never happen. Until I lived a story that no one would believe. My mother used to say that a girl who knows how to cook will never sleep hungry. I did not know that a girl who knows how to cook would one day have to cook for men who were known for killing people like her. CHAPTER 1 - EKAPA LODUMO After my higher studies, my mother found me working in the kitchens of Cape Town. Ekapa lodumo - Cape Town the famous. I worked for Mrs Gray. I cleaned and cooked. When Mr Gray died, the family moved to Johannesburg, eRhawutini, and they took me with them. That is where my life started to be seen in newspapers all over the world, though I did not know it then. In Johannesburg, I found a small house in Alexandra. It was my first house that was mine. A two-room house with a tin roof that made music when it rained. I was proud. I was building another house in Woodlands, slowly, with cement bought from my extra work. Merry, my new madam in Johannesburg, saw that I could cook. She sent me to a cooking school for one year. I stopped cleaning the house. I became the cook for big functions. Merry loved to entertain twice a week. She would invite her friends, white ladies with soft hands and quiet voices. I would cook for them. I mixed French and Italian, or I would take them to the villages with umnqusho that was soft and warm, and then surprise them with ice cream that was loved by Queen Elizabeth. They clapped for me. That is how Ronnela heard about me. Ronnela was Merry's friend. Her father was Captain Kramer Portgieter, a big captain of the police during the time of oppression of black people in South Africa. He was well known in John Vorster Square for being hard on black people. Ronnela asked Merry, "Can your cook come and cook for my father's birthday?" It will be a big party, in a house in the forest outside Johannesburg. Merry agreed. She told me, "Charity, this is a big job." These are important people. Do not make a mistake. Cook well, and you will be paid a lot. I was happy. The money would finish my house in Woodlands. I did not know that the birthday would bring a boy who would look at me different from all the other white people. On the morning of the birthday, Ronnela came with three men to fetch me from Merry's house. They covered my eyes with a black cloth, leaving only my nose to breathe. I screamed for Merry. Merry laughed and said, "Relax, they will not do anything." You will see at Mr Kramer's party. They don't want you to know where Ronnela lives. I sat in the car, blindfolded, smelling my own fear. After a long time, the tar road ended, and the car went on gravel, then on stones, into a forest. When they removed the cloth, I was in front of a big house in the trees. White men in police uniform and their wives were sitting around, drinking. I cooked the whole day. I made roast beef with French herbs and Italian pasta with cream, and for the end, my special malva pudding with British ice cream. When I finished, they called me to the dining room. My hat was not straight. My hands were shaking because I knew who these men were. Men who were known for killing black people, now calling a black woman to praise her food. They clapped when I entered. Merry smiled big. All of them smiled. But one boy did not smile. He looked at me deep, not like a boss looks at a worker, but like a person looks at another person. I did not look at him long. I did not know him. Later, Merry told me that is Peter, cousin of Ronnela, son of Captain Kramer's twin brother. He grew up in Qumbu. That was the first time I saw Peter.