By Laone J. Mangwa
I used to think fate was my friend. I used to think I understood its fickle ways. Not anymore.
Last year was the first Christmas I spent without the loves of my life. When spring arrived, instead of blossoming with the rest of the flowers, I wilted and fell into this abyss.
I’ve been a second-floor resident of this ghost town for the past three months—something about clinical depression. All I can say is I’m numb and tired of everything.
The place itself is not too bad. I can hang out by the tennis court with my favorite nurse in silence, undisturbed by other patients. We’re kept under 24-hour surveillance, I get my pills on time, three meals a day for those into that kind of stuff, and my limbs aren’t restricted by some garment as though I’m a psycho. Not yet, anyway. So, it’s not all doom and gloom, I guess.
The therapy sessions, I should start being consistent with. They’re a bit dry, even for me. We’re supposed to attend them twice a week because they’re compulsory but they won’t exactly punish you if you don’t—and therein lies the loophole. “Is there anything you’d like to share, Thato?” “What is on your mind, Thato?” “How are you feeling today, Thato?” The same old B.S every time.
“The sooner you share, the sooner you’ll get better and out of here,” the counselor remarked in one of the sessions.
Granted, I’ve been here long enough to be able to open up a tad more about my life situation but I feel like I’m not supposed to be here in the first place. This is one thing I’ve actually shared with the counselor, but she chooses to remain a stiff-neck. The nurses and the rest of the staff are automatons, except for one nurse who has oddly taken a liking to me. She lived in the same neighborhood I grew up in and moved here, to Lobatse, for work. According to her, being cooped up in my room constantly is bad for my health. I wish I cared. Actually, I think I did once, before Thusong Psychiatric Hospital became my home. I had a place to call a real home, with a loving family.
How I got here is a blur to me but I’ll attempt to go down memory lane with you, if you’re that interested, before the anti-depressants get the better of me. The last thing I recall before coming here is indulging in a dumb game at a house-party hosted by a Facebook friend, Brandon.
*
“Truth or dare time,” Brandon said, placing his red double-cup on the counter and beckoning to everyone to encircle him. Once seated, he directed his gaze at me and asked, “So, What will it be, Thato?”
I surveyed the crowd in the room in shock. “Dare!” I exclaimed with my chest.
“Well, I dare you to sniff a line of this coco. It’ll lift your mood. I promise,” he said with a grin. His buddies chuckled.
I sat up straight in the plastic chair. “And If I refuse?”
“Oooooooooh,” bellowed the crowd.
“Then the party’s over for you, baby girl. Simple. No party-poopers allowed here.”
The rest of the crowd cheered half-heartedly. His buddies cheered at the tops of their voices. Brandon grabbed his red double-cup and toasted with his buddies. And so, I partook of the night’s shenanigans. What did I have to lose, right? I had already lost everything that meant the world to me so why did it matter that my gut knew better and advised me against sniffing the coke? The lengths we go to for our crushes! I could feel the pity oozing from everyone at the party after the publicized tragedy that had occurred to my family. I suspect that fuelled my desire to indulge in the game—to prove that I didn’t need their pity and could handle myself. Look at where that got me.
The rest of my family and friends believe the party stunt was another suicide attempt, but it wasn’t. Word on the street is that I demanded more of the coke as though I had ulterior motives, but I was a virgin to its fond caresses. I enjoyed the rush; that’s all there was to it. Brandon claiming that I had brought the coke to the party and he had nothing to do with it sickens me, because I can’t prove otherwise. I figured it’d be a waste of whatever energy I have left to attempt to plead my case to them, the authorities and the staff here.
Sure, there had been two suicide attempts before, including one where I overdosed on sleeping pills, but this wasn’t one of those times. This time, I was motivated by getting in with that cute, two-timing cool kid. Brandon had changed his Facebook relationship status to “single” a week prior to the party and I saw the event as an opportunity to cash in.
Richard, my late father’s best friend, former deputy and the current acting Station Commander at Batshwareng Police Station in my home village of Mochudi, is the person who checked me into Thusong. He’s also paying for my stay here.
“It’s what your father would’ve wanted,” Richard said one time when he called the hospital and asked to talk to me.
He reported directly to my late father, who was the Station Commander at the time of his demise. My father, Neo, as well as most of our tiny nuclear family, perished in the same year in which I graduated from varsity in Malaysia. A week after graduation, I was on a plane back to Botswana, eager to get home. I hadn’t seen my dad, my mom, Gauta, and sister, Pona that entire year and missed them dearly. A week prior to my return, the four of us had chatted via Skype and all seemed peachy.
“Congratulations on this milestone, ngwanaka,” uttered Dad with his usual calm demeanor.
“Thanks, Captain Cool,” I responded.
Pona and Mom laughed at the top of their lungs. Dad let out a soft giggle.
“Ija! O a bo o batla go gakatsa papaago akere, Thato? (You want to rile up your dad, Thato?)” Mom remarked, before revealing that perfect set of teeth of hers. She glanced at Dad from the corner of her eye to gauge his reaction. Upon noticing her glance, Dad chuckled.
“Sis, is that a tattoo on your shoulder?” asked Pona.
“Yup. Not just any tattoo. A Buddha tattoo,” I proclaimed.
“Buddha ke eng, Mama?” Pona asked as she directed her gaze at my parents.
“A spiritual leader in India, ngwanaka,” Mom said. She and Dad then drew closer to the computer to survey my tattoo.
“I’ll tell you all about Buddha and the rest of my Malaysian experiences when I land, sis.”
“Waitse lona bana ba gompieno le rata dilonyana! (You children of today love exotic things!)” Mom exclaimed. “Anyway, go siame ngwanaka. We’ll see you when you arrive. Remember, we’re extremely proud of you.”
Dad nodded continuously. That’s how our conversation ended—without a single red-flag.
*
I arrived in Botswana at around 6pm on a Friday and called Dad to come and pick me up from the airport but his phone was off—so was Mom’s and my cousin Naledi’s, as well. The idea to call Pona didn’t occur at all and I climbed aboard a cab that dashed me straight home.
Our yard was filled with police vans, an ambulance and spectators. Almost as a reflex, my hands numbed and my luggage hit the ground as I sprinted past the gate and the crowd, ignoring the yellow tape, and managed to enter the house before anyone could stop me. Upon entering the main door, I was greeted by three body bags lying on the tiled floor. Some of the tiles’ designs were masked by pools of blood. Lying next to one of the body bags was a gun that had blood splatters on it and what appeared to be bullet casings.
“What’s happening here?” I shouted.
All the officers were so immersed in the clean-up job that they failed to notice my presence till they heard me. Richard spotted me and signaled one of his subordinates to eject me from the house.
“I’ll explain later,” Richard said sternly.
“Explain what?” I asked with a high-pitched voice as an officer dragged me out of the house.
Richard never responded.
*
While I was waiting outside with the crowd, the local news crew arrived to cover the story. I heard murmurs from the crowd regarding what had possibly transpired.
“Boloi! (Witchcraft!),” proclaimed a spectator and the crowd let out an affirmation in unison, “Mm!”
My heart sank. What were they implying? I retired to a bench at the side of the house and tears just gushed out. Did the smaller body bag contain my little sister? Who could’ve done such a vile thing? Richard found me with my head buried on my lap. He wrapped a blanket around me and I hadn’t the strength to inquire where he got it from. My tears had halted but immediately Richard called my name, the tears returned. In that moment, reality hit me that the three body bags I’d seen in the living room belonged to my family.
“Come,” Richard said, “I’ll explain on the way to the station.”
My attempt to stand was met with slight vertigo. Richard helped me to his car.
We were bombarded by cameras and questions on our way and all that Richard uttered was “no comment.” He went back for my luggage and I heard him repeat the statement, this time with a raised voice. He drove. I slouched in the backseat. His eyes frequented the rear-view mirror.
“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” he said.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. Your dad called me an hour before the incident telling me he had had enough.”
“Enough of what?”
Richard inhaled deeply then handed me a box of tissues from the dashboard and some bottled water. “OK. Here’s the gist of it. Your parents were going through some shit. That’s the best way I can put it right now. So much so that they were planning to get divorced.”
“Bullshit,” I replied.
“I know it’s tough to hear, but it’s true. Matter of fact, your mom is the one who called for the divorce,” Richard said. “Akere you know they were married in community of property.”
“So?”
“Your dad was afraid he’d lose everything to her because when they met, he had practically nothing. Your mom, as the business consultant she was, played a huge role in where he was in life.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief.
“I shouldn’t even be telling you this. It’s an official police case under investigation but you’re like a daughter to me. One of your neighbours claims they heard seven gunshots. That coincides with the seven bullet casings we found next to the gun. Your dad had a gunshot wound to the head so we suspect he shot your mom and sister before shooting himself…”
I laughed and shook my head again in disbelief before interjecting. “You’re telling me that my dad, your best friend, killed my mom and sister because he feared losing his possessions? Psssh. Yeah, right. My dad adored my mom. He wouldn’t do that to her.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
Richard shrugged. I instructed him to drop me off at my cousin’s house as it was near my parents’ house. Naledi had returned home to freshen up before heading to the police station for an update. Luckily, she hadn’t left yet when we arrived. I opted to remain home while Naledi assured Richard she’d join them at the station once she was done.
*
A fortnight after the tragedy, we buried my mom and Pona. Due to the pending investigation, Dad was given a national send-off a week after Mom and Pona, coordinated by the Botswana Police Service Commissioner as my extended family had pressured the police into letting us continue with the burial. I was furious with Dad for his misdeed. I was furious with myself for not seeing it coming.
I stayed with my cousin Naledi throughout this period, albeit she practically lived alone. We’d see each other on occasion at dinner when she pleaded with me to emerge from my room and join her.
“You OK, cuz?” she asked one night, after being woken by my sobbing in the wee hours.
“Yeah, just meditating,” I responded, with a sniff to regulate the discharge from my nostrils.
*
As a coping mechanism, I tried all the techniques learnt from a spiritual group I had joined while in Malaysia. Meditation seemed to falter and the breathing exercises felt like a waste of time. Journaling helped a tad, only when the words actually wanted to come out as words and not tears.
My ex-roommate joined the group later on. She needed a bit of convincing. Her baby cousin had been kidnapped and found dismembered in a ditch in her home country. She couldn’t attend the funeral. I had hammered the statement “everything happens for a reason” into her daily, to the point where she began calling me “my Priestess.” I wonder what she’d have to say about her beloved Priestess turning into a doubting Thomas.
All the knowledge that had made sense to me in Malaysia about fate, destiny and everything happening for a reason now made zero sense in the situation I was in. What reason could’ve prompted my father to even think about committing such a heinous act? I asked myself. What would ignite my hero, Captain Cool, so much and cause him to erupt onto my one and only sister? She was only a child. She was only 13. Was it her destiny to perish in that manner? What kind of destiny is that?
*
Richard had been M.I.A, silent about my family’s case, so three months following the burial, I travelled to Batshwareng Station for an update. Naledi had been breathing down my neck with a million questions, urging me to let it go. With her at work, I grabbed the opportunity to leave. The media hype had died down and Naledi felt this was one of the major reasons the case was turning cold. But I couldn’t let it go.
“The investigation is still ongoing,” Richard told me.
His office was cooler than the rest of the station. He reached for a remote that fit in the palm of his hand and pressed a red button. The sound of the breeze paused and I could no longer feel it swaying the hairs on my skin. Richard placed the remote back on his desk and leapt out of his office chair, inviting me for lunch. I stared up at the gray walls surrounding us and set my eyes on a vintage wall-clock.
“This early?” I inquired.
“What is thirty minutes to an acting Station Commander?” Richard said with a grin.
His statement arrested my speech. We left his office and walked to a nearby restaurant. As soon as we exited the building, I suddenly craved the coolness of his office once more. Fortunately, the restaurant reduced the craving. I stared at the menu for ten minutes before ordering a burger and fries. A brief silence ensued following the waitron taking our order.
“Like I was saying earlier, we’re still investigating but it doesn’t look good, Thato,” Richard said, breaking the silence. He spoke at a moderate volume but one could nearly hear an echo coming from the other side of the establishment.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Well, from the evidence we’ve gathered, and I’m sorry to tell you this, it turns out your dad became possessive and jealous because he suspected your mom was cheating on him.”
I threw the fork onto the table, almost a reflex, and shook my head. “Mxm. You and I both know Dad’s not that kind of person. Neither is Mom.” I brought my palms to my face, enveloping it. “Eish. I meant was.” After a moment, I lowered my hands. “Surely, you and your team can do better than that. It sucks enough losing parents at 25 without you claiming it was over some B.S like another man. Not even Buddha can save me from this one,” I sighed, directing my gaze at my tattoo.
“What do you mean?” Richard asked.
“Never mind.”
Richard gobbled up the last of his meal, picked up the serviette and wiped his mouth before responding. “I’m sure Buddha went through periods of grief that needed acceptance as well. He was a human being at some point too, Akere? Don’t disregard his wisdom.”
I shook my head and stared at him. My throat wouldn’t yield to discharge whatever it was I intended to say.
Richard continued, “Your dad worked hard and travelled a lot as part of his job. A wife can get lonely at times. You’re still young so you can’t fathom these things yet. Gape that matte skin, those golden shoulder-length locs and gorgeous smile would have any man eating from the palm of her hands.” A grin followed his statement.
I raised my eyebrow and my voice. “Why are you telling me this? I should’ve told Dad about that little stunt you pulled on Mom that day.”
“Oh, you’re still on that? Are you even certain of what you think you saw? Anyway, look, all the evidence points to your father as the sole shooter. We have to close the case. Otherwise we’d be wasting state resources.”
The chair screeched against the floor as I leapt out of it. “You know what? It’s fine. You’re my elder but I won’t stay here and listen to you disrespect my mom. Keep your damned resources, I don’t have time for this shit. Mxm!”
I left. He called out and asked about my half-eaten meal. I ignored him, dashed to the combi stop and journeyed home.
*
That night, I decided to stay in my room lest I snap at Naledi because of what had transpired with Richard earlier. The following day, I visited my late family at their burial site, as they had been buried alongside each other. The tears arrived and the only statement I could conjure up was to ask Dad why he did what he did.
Later that afternoon while Naledi was still at work, I penned her a letter and downed a litre of bleach.
*
I awoke two days later at Motshudi Private Hospital.
“You’re lucky there wasn’t any damage to your internal organs,” the doctor said.
Yeah, well, it is what it is, I guess, I responded silently.
The hospital offered free weekly counseling, so I signed up to appease my cousin and attended the sessions consistently.
*
One day, while surveying my dad’s cloud backup, I stumbled across documents with “classified” and a case number on the cover page. They seemed to be for a case he was working on as they all had a similar case number. After several brute-force attempts at breaking his password, I got through. The password was my mom’s birthday backwards. Go figure.
The documents implicated an individual named “Richard” as part of a drug syndicate smuggling drugs into Botswana.
“I knew it!” I shouted.
It all made sense now. I had known deep down in my gut that there was foul play and my dad couldn’t have done any of the stuff Richard claimed he did. Richard’s tomfoolery had been exposed now! Feeling an influx of emotions rushing through me, I did the senseless thing. I called Richard and exposed my hand over the phone.
“I knew my dad didn’t kill my mom and sis,” I exclaimed.
Richard took a few seconds to respond. It sounded as though I was on the call alone. “What do you mean, baby girl?” he asked calmly.
“I found documents that’ll expose you and your druggie cronies,” I responded. Adrenaline surged through my body in response to my statement and I felt a smirk form.
“What documents?” he inquired.
“In my dad’s cloud. If anything happens to me, I’ll leak them.”
“I gotta hand it to you, you have balls. Just like your father,” Richard remarked, maintaining his calm, then continued, “I don’t know anything about that but I do know that you’re bordering on threatening an officer of the law. Are you aware of that? You’re old enough to do serious time, you know.” He paused. I gulped at his utterances. “Now, unless you have something important you wanna share, this call is over. Bye.”
I’m unsure what puzzled me more: the fact that he seemed so calm about the situation or that he hung up on me.
*
Attached to the documents were faceless photographs of various individuals with their names stated below them. One of the males had a build similar to that of the Richard I knew and although my gut assured me it was him, I couldn’t draw any conclusive links.
A week later, I received a strange text from an unknown number: “You have no idea who you’re dealing with, child. You’re messing with the wrong people. Watch your step!” The “investigator” in me felt the need to keep it a secret from Naledi, yet also felt a rush and the need to delve deeper and subconsciously step into Captain Cool’s large shoes. My distrust for Richard grew and so did my frustration and anxiety, leading to more depression and my second suicide attempt with over-the-counter sleeping pills. I was then assigned a social worker that visited thrice a week to check on my progress.
A month of counseling sessions bore no fruit but I had to maintain appearances. During this period, Richard frequented mine and Naledi’s home under the pretext of genuinely caring for my well-being. I paid no mind to it, let alone his ulterior motives.
On one of the days when I had some alone time, I dove back into the rabbit-hole that was my father’s cloud and realized that all his files had been deleted. My first suspect was Richard but once more, I lacked the proof. When I relayed my distrust and reduced faith in Richard to Naledi one night, she dismissed me and took the opportunity to reprimand my approach to the situation.
“I understand you’re in pain, Thato but you’ve got so much to live for,” she said while approaching me by the kitchen sink.
“Oh yeah? Like what?” I continued scrubbing the dirty plates and spoons in the sink.
“You’re a qualified Computer Programmer with an internationally-recognized degree. There are endless opportunities available for you. You just need to put yourself out there, cuz.”
I paused and turned my body to face her. “First, I need to prove that that bastard Richard played a role in what happened to Mom, Dad and Pona!”
“Not this again,” Naledi said as she rolled her eyes. “What role?”
“I wish I had shown you the documents before he wiped them from Dad’s cloud. Unfortunately, I’m just a coder, not a hacker. I can’t recover them. Ebile I can’t even access Dad’s cloud anymore. Someone changed the password.” I folded my arms and shook my head.
Naledi grabbed my hand and drew me towards the kitchen chairs. We mounted them.
“Maybe it’s for the best,” she said. “Anyway, I sent an acquaintance of mine your number. He might hit you up about a job.”
I sighed then responded in a flat tone, “Yay. Hooray for me. So you think Dad did it, huh?” I asked, suspecting that Naledi was trying to change the subject.
“Waitse gore Captain Cool wasn’t a talker. Gape all relationships go through ebbs and flows. And also, work stress. There’re many dynamics. What I think doesn’t really matter. And you should focus on letting go and healing, Thato.”
Naledi stood up to assist me with clearing up in the kitchen before we retired to bed.
*
A month later, on the day before Brandon’s house-party, I journeyed to Batshwareng Station for an update on my family’s case from Richard. At this point, I sought closure. As I neared his office door, I heard his voice through the slight opening and hesitated to enter. He stood next to his open office window staring into the void, mumbling and unaware of my presence.
“I’m certain she got the message. It’d be unfortunate if she didn’t. I love her like the daughter I’ve always wanted but never got, but won’t hesitate to…” There was a sudden, momentary pause then Richard continued. “You’re right. That’ll be too obvious and might blow our entire cover. I’ll keep an eye…”
The breeze that entered through his office door nudged it open slightly and it creaked. Richard swung his head and upon noticing a shadow on the door, hung up his call and treaded towards the door. I pushed it open and rushed in as though I had only just arrived.
“Ao, Thato. Ke wena? Come in and grab a seat,” Richard said with narrowed eyes.
A dark energy permeated his office this time around as he informed me that my family’s case was officially closed. I stormed out of the office and headed straight home.
*
Richard has been visiting me here at Thuto every week for the past three months. I think he does it just to keep tabs on me. I entertain his visits in the hope that he might utter something to expose himself for what he did to my family, especially for framing my late dad.
Naledi visits as often as she can. She visited earlier and we hung out by the cafeteria as I wasn’t in the mood for the tennis court this time around.
“Why do you dislike that tall, dark and handsome man so much, cuz?” Naledi asked.
“He’s a poser, Nale. He acts like he cares, like he’s this great law-abiding cop, but nah. You know he once hit on my mom when I was younger, before I left for Malaysia? Dad was on a work trip and I walked in on Richard leaning in for a peck, holding Mom’s hand. Pona was at school. The bastard didn’t even try to defend himself. He greeted me and strolled out of our house. Imagine. Who the fuck hits on their so-called best friend’s wife?”
“Sheeesh! That’s intense, Thato. And what did your mom say?”
“That she’d deal with it and I shouldn’t tell Dad.”
“Yoh! Drama e kana kana! (So much drama!)” Naledi remarked. “This is why I moved out of my parents’ house. Those two were always at each other’s throats. Thank goodness I’m their only child.”
I covered my mouth in disbelief and she noticed my reaction.
“What?” she asked.
“Trauma e kana kana! (So much trauma!)”
“Look who’s talking,” Naledi said. “You and I are two peas in a pod, cuz.”
We laughed hysterically. My favorite nurse emerged out of the elevator followed by a familiar male figure—Richard. His presence nearly ruined my mood.
“Don’t look now, but here comes your tall, dark and handsome man,” I said to Naledi.
She ignored my advice and turned her head enough to notice Richard while seated in her chair. Richard greeted us and made himself comfortable on one of the vacant chairs.
“Well, that’s my cue,” Naledi said.
“Don’t leave on my account,” Richard remarked, to Naledi’s satisfaction.
She giggled. I cringed.
“It’s OK,” she said, facing Richard. “I was prepping to get back to work anyway. My lunchtime’s almost over. See you next week, cuz.”
Naledi took the stairs as she always did. Elevators weren’t ideal for her claustrophobia. The nurse sat a distance away from us. As soon as Naledi disappeared out of our view, an uneasy feeling engulfed me, as I wondered what I’d have to say to Richard. The nurse noticed my uneasiness and concentrated fully on my interaction with Richard.
“Your resemblance to Gauta is uncanny! Anyway, how’s everything going?” he probed.
“Well, the food here’s way better than at MPH. You’d swear they’re trying to keep us here.” I chuckled at my own sense of humor. Richard joined in. “Three more months to go then I won’t be your burden anymore, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It’s not.” He sighed and fixed his slouching posture. “I do genuinely care about you, you know.”
“Psssh,” I said as I rolled my eyes. “Sure you do. That’s why you did what you did to Dad, your best friend, neh?”
“Eish. OK, look,” Richard said as he pushed his chair nearer to mine with his hands. “In a country where what happened to your family is the norm, why would you suspect foul play?”
Just as I was about to answer him, a beep came from his phone. After a brief fixed gaze on its screen, Richard leapt up, explained that he had an office emergency and dashed into the elevator, waving goodbye as it swallowed him. I paced back to my room. As I peeped out of my window, I saw Brandon in the passenger seat of the car Richard was entering. A subtle feeling of shock engulfed me at the sight but I immediately dismissed it. I had and still have bigger fish to fry.
I’m unsure whether it’ll be death or the truth of my family’s killer(s) that arrives at my doorstep first. Either way, I’m ready for and welcome either one. Let’s see what final cruel surprise fate has in store for me.
Laone J. Mangwa (also LJ Mangwa) is a Motswana writer, author, spoken word poet, and a conduit fascinated with how life mimics art and vice versa. Some of his works have been published in Kalahari Review and IBUA Journal. He has authored five books titled Chronicles of an Unbound Traveler 1 & 2, Tellings from The Ethers, The Great Mystery and Starlight Sensations, all of which are available everywhere for digital download.
Petlwana Journal of Creative Literature and the Arts 
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