Rolihlahla

Molweni.

My parents divorced in 2012. It felt very final, and sudden almost. Prior to the divorce there had been a long legal and emotional battle between dating back to 2006. I remember it was a gorgeous sunny day, and I watched a weird, passive aggressive encounter between my parents. It was non-violent, fleeting. But as I watched on an unfamiliar feeling of obtuse confusion and fear brewed somewhere in my stomach. I remember thinking maybe it might be the beginning of heart burn or something, it wasn’t.

There was a time I believed that we were unbreakable, we were the perfect middle class family. Wants and desires aside, everything we needed we had. Seeing some of my friends parents marriages crumble made me feel grateful for mine, I thought ‘wow Im actually lucky’. But then it happened… the long drawn out saga that lead to my parents divorce. All the private details of my family’s coming apart became public property, people had no shame approaching either my mother or I for “updates”. It was disguised as concern but… I mean, I’m smarter than that.

Anyway, this text is mainly about my brother. My parents divorce deserves it own text… it’s just that it’s the basis of a lot of things that happened to us all following that warm sunny day, it’s baggage we all still carry with us. 

My brother’s name is Rolihlahla. He’s always been an introvert. He’s never been a fan of crowds, he’s not easily excited, and he’s not very vocal either. He is always respectful, polite and gentle. My brother is gentle.

I’ve known Roli his whole life, so I know him well. I don’t want to take liberties, but I think I know him well enough. Or KNEW. I don’t know. During the worst part of my parents divorce I’d started university. I lived in Cape Town, away from them. My brother lived at home, he had no way of escaping the tide. An adolescent caught between two people he loved, that hated each other. From far I dealt with, or stored away my pain, one of the two, and both. Anyway, I didn’t finish my course. Maybe I can attain it to the state of my family affairs, or maybe I was just a shit person who swung between mental illness and being young, wild and “free”… The point is, spiritual I was unwell.

I don’t remember thinking a lot of my brother at the time, or calling to find out how he’s doing. I was going through my own issues. But now looking back I know I should’ve, someone should have. No one did. And Roli being Roli, never complained.

He lived through the passive violence and psychological and emotional trauma that all three of them were experiencing. He was the child in the situation, but no one rescued him. I carry a sense of reserved guilt about this. Roli has never vocalized any of his pain with anyone, so we can say that everything I’m writing about him is all based on assumption. But not even soldiers walk away from war unscarred… 2012 marked my parents official divorce after 6 years of battle, that’s when Roli went to varsity, in Cape Town- I wanted to be close to him, protect him from the world. When  he packed his bags and moved to start afresh he moved for good, my brother left and never came back, figuratively speaking, of course.

Since 2012 I have only seen my brother no more than five times. This excludes the year 2013 where I might have seen him two or three times, we lived in the same city. I feel like he purposefully removed himself from us as his family. As it’s become a part of black South Africa culture, he used to go home once of twice a year, depending on how much convincing my mother could do. Then eventually he just stopped visiting home. Now he doesn’t take our calls. Not mine, not our mother’s and not our fathers. I try to rationalize it, but it’s all too strange. We never fell out between my mom, brother and I, so it all seems sudden. It’s painful. And I see it wrecking my mom in her old age.

The last few times I saw my brother, even though he’s the reserved, unexcitable person he is, I noticed that his smile had changed. There was a weird air between him and I , and I’m sure my mom felt it between her and her son as well. But I think we just put it away and hoped for the best. I miss my brother. And it’s quite sore. He’s a stranger now. Him and my mother are all I have to live for, it scares me to think of the passing of my mom, who else will I have to love and love me back?

I could write a thesis on how Roli’s distance and silence impacts on our mother, but I think if anyone knows, even vaguely, the depth of a mother’s love, then they will understand.

I’m sitting here in China, in my big beautiful apartment, living my best life, the happiest I’ve been in forever. Yet there is the issue of bringing joy and laughter to the two people I love the most, but I have no control over it. Mama lives alone, with only her thoughts and the love she has for her kids… I feel for her. She’s truly the perfect mother, I can only fault her on never putting herself 1st. She’s done well, I try counsel her on this often, but only she understands her reasoning…

If I had a wish, it would be to see my brother smile and laugh again, it would be to hug him and not feel like I’m hugging a stranger. Wherever he is I hope he is well and healthy, I  hope he is surrounded by people he loves and who love him. I just wish him happiness, as much as I wish happiness on our mother. The things we cannot control really suck, especially because there’s is no option to bargain with the Universe to fix things. But maybe what’s best for one’s mental, emotional and physical health and to just accept.