SOLD

MamZodwa: Will you stop crying already?

I sniffed but my tears didn’t care about my protests, they streamed freely down my cheeks. My heart felt like it had been ripped from my chest, trampled and set on fire

MamZodwa: Wipe those silly tears off your face before you ruin my hard work.

She snapped with her voice sharp as glass

Otha: Why are you doing this to me?

MamZodwa: We’ve taken care of you way longer than we should have. Now it’s time to let you go

Otha: No...please...Ma...please...please don’t do this

I begged with my chest heaving, as if the very act of speaking could make her change her mind

MamZodwa: Shut up and get going. The cars are already outside and we’re already late

Otha: But Ma how could you sell me to an old man?

MamZodwa: So?

She asked shrugging as if my fears were nothing but an inconvenience. My dress was white, not the soft, flowing, romantic white you dream about as a girl. No this was stiff and itchy, clinging to my thighs in the cruel way fabric can when it refuses to bend to your body. It reeked of someone else’s perfume, MamZodwa’s and I was sure an attempt to mask whatever little remained of me in that dress.

The church was eerily quiet, too quiet. My heels clicked against the polished floor with a sound so sharp, so unnatural that it echoed in my skull. Each step felt alien, like I was walking in someone else’s shoes...literally someone else’s life. At the end of the aisle stood a young man. Fine-looking, calm and rehearsed. His smile was the kind that predatory animals wear when they know the hunt is over, when the kill is theirs. I studied his face, desperate for a flicker of hesitation, a trace of humanity, anything to tell me this wasn’t real and there was nothing, nothing but a smooth and empty calm.

MamZodwa’s fingers dug into my arm, a painful reminder that I was no longer free to think, to act or to even be. She smiled down at me whispering

MamZodwa: Walk properly people are watching

I wanted to scream, to rip that smile from her face but all I could do was count the steps. Ten from the door...Nine...Eight and by five, my throat had completely dried, felt a desert with no water and no relief. I glanced back at the door, my last lifeline and the symbol of all my freedom. ”Run” I thought, “just run” But I didn’t. I was handed over like a bag of groceries, without words and without a hug. My life sliding from MamZodwa’s grip to his cold, heavy hand and just like that it was done.

Vukile: You look great”

His voice was smooth, almost rehearsed, as if he had memorized these words for a lifetime. I could only manage to whisper a “thank you” because words had abandoned me somewhere along the aisle.

Vukile: You’ll be fine, everything will be fine, you’ll see

Otha: You were supposed to be taking care of me...but...

I choked on my words and my chest tightened painfully

Vukile: But nothing

He interrupted, almost impatiently.

Vukile: Don’t you see? I’m taking care of you, just like I always have. His family is rich which means you’ll be rich too, you’ll live a wonderful life.

A hollow laugh escaped me, bitter and broken.Wonderful life? What kind of life is this? Being sold like an object, paraded in a dress that isn’t mine, forced to marry a stranger while my so-called guardians watch? I cried harder as he led me down the aisle. My hands shook as I clutched my bouquet like it could anchor me to reality. The man at the altar took my hand as my father or the man who should have been my father handed me over to him. He kissed the back of my hand and I froze. Confusion twisted inside me.

Wait...who is this? This isn’t the old man I was introduced to a month ago. Where is he? Why wasn’t I told? Am I at the wrong wedding? Am I about to be married to someone else entirely? My mind raced, chaos reigniting every nerve in my body and yet, everything went on perfectly. The ceremony, the smiles and the photographs. I was shocked, humiliated and trapped in a life I hadn’t chosen.

The wedding finally ended and my feet felt like they were on fire. Every step toward the exit was agony, as if the world itself wanted to push me away. They handed me bags, bags filled with all my belongings and shoved me into this new life, telling me it was now mine to navigate with “my husband” Fuck! How rude of me, I haven’t even properly introduced myself.

I’m Othandwayo Vilakazi...well, I guess now Othandwayo Nxumalo. I’m eighteen. Today ironically is my birthday. I used to live with my stepdad, Vukile Sambo and my stepmom, Zodwa Sambo. Crazy, right? Two step-parents while my real dad lives his best life somewhere out there, blissfully ignorant of the nightmare I’m stuck in. I don’t even know him and I’ve learned to live without him, so he can fuck off and now this...this life...this so-called “marriage.” This gilded cage is now my world and I have no idea how to survive it.