The Beginning of the End...

The first page in my journal reads,

“I, Onalerona Keneiwe Mogale, vow to keep this journal updated daily. I vow to jot down my truest of feeling, ideas and emotions, and promise not to lie to myself first before others. This journal will serve as a mirror into my mind and heart, and hopefully give me a sense of direction moving forward on this path of healing…”

The idea behind writing in this journal is to get myself back together again after the miscarriage. My husband, Morena, and I were excited about having our first child. We bought all that the baby would need and prepared the extra room in our home for the nursery. We were going to have a baby boy. He was healthy, and had a strong heart beat. Nothing in the world could top the excitement I had about being a mother. Both our families celebrated this conception, and had even suggested a few names for our little king. I decided on “Kgosietsile”, meaning The King has arrived. I loved that name because we have been praying for our first child for the past three years that we’ve been married. I remember being on my knees in tears asking God for a child, and promised to dedicate that child to Him once I’ve been blessed. The moment I sat in the bathroom staring at the positive pregnancy test, I kneeled down, profusely thanked the Heavens for this blessing and immediately called Morena. That night, we celebrated our little one with a little nookie. That was one of the last best days I’ve had in months.

My pregnancy with Kgosi was tumultuous. Time and again, I would get intense cramps and rush to the doctor only to be told that my womb is not adjusting to this change very well but that the baby is fine and he will be safe. I remember having to take leave from work for about a week because the doctor had advised me to relax. Morena’s mother came to stay at home with me and help us around the house. She has been more than a mother to me than my own, and I love her dearly. There is never a bad moment when she’s here, so having her around in such trying times was a blessing. She made sure I was eating the right foods, and getting enough exercise to help speed up the delivery process had the time come. Bless her heart, she was really excited about being a grandmother.

Around the sixth month of the pregnancy, the cramps came back and I had to be hospitalised. About a week thereafter, we lost our little king. It was hard on us all, especially Morena. He would look at me like I was an injured animal that he couldn’t help. He stopped looking me in the eyes with admiration and love. His embraces felt cold and similar to those church hugs you’d get from people who don’t like you. Coming home after that was difficult, because Kgosi nursery was right across the hall from our room, and because Morena left the door open the last time he was in there, seeing all of Kgosi’s things just brought me back down to my knees in tears. Morena, after a few minutes, knelt down to embrace me and reassure me that everything would be okay. I trusted his word because he was the man I loved, the man I married, the man who gave me my little king. We got up, closed the door for the nursery and went about the rest of our days together trying to heal from the loss.

The days leading up to the loss of Kgosi were hard on me. I had come back from the grocery store with MaMogale (Morena’s mother) to find Morena and his PA, Mbali, fucking in our shower. Being a woman of peace, I gave them a few minutes to continue. I saw the way he held her waist as he thrust himself against her body from behind. He never moaned with me, so hearing him moan with her gave me chest pains I had never felt before. The things he said to her as he kept on broke me with every word, and I remembered the times we were together like this. I remember only hearing the words, “I love you Ona” every few minutes. As I watched them enjoy each other, I literally felt my heart break. Tears streamed down my cheek just hearing her moan and say, “Yes baby, this is all yours. Take it!” I figured that the best way to handle this situation is with as much grace as possible, so I wiped my tears, gathered my emotions and walked towards th shower. I opened the shower door slowly, allowing the water to splash onto my dress and heels.

“Morena, Mbali, please turn off the water and get dressed. I’d like to speak to you in the lounge in the next ten minutes please. I’ll make some tea.”

I walked out, and went to the kitchen to explain everything to MaMogale. She looked at me in disbelief and wanted to storm up there to deal with them, but I asked her to allow me to sort this out my way. She would be allowed to speak to speak to her son in her own time, but for now I needed to nip this in the bud before it hurt me any more. Morena came downstairs first, wearing the suit and tie he wore that morning. Disgusting. The man couldn’t even change his clothes before defending himself. He sat on the couch next to me, tried to hold my hand but I swung it away before he could get a word out. That’s when Mbali came down in a black, Lacey dress that once belonged to me. The intention with that dress was to give it away to charity, but Morena took it saying he wanted to give it to his niece, Talia, for her matric dance. I obliged, and didn’t bother to follow up on the donation.

“Fantastic. Now that we’re all here I’d like to know how long you’ve been fucking my husband, Mbali.”

To be continued