We hope you enjoy the final chapter of our freedom of creative expression writing series. This is ‘The untitled story of my life’ by Mpho Leteka.

Lately the memory of my mother keeps popping up at unexpected moments. The littlest things spark a memory; they have me wondering how she felt when it struck her that I had really left. Had she been upset and cried for her daughter to return home? Or was she relieved that I had taken the cowardly way out and ran away to spare her people awkward looks as I walked down the streets with a belly the size of a mountain? To get answers I would have to ask her because only she can answer me. My mother is a complicated woman. Sometimes I wondered whether she ever really truly loved me, or whether I was just the product of a past relationship with the absent figure who never fathered me. All I know is that she wants me to be a success.

I left home for the city, where I found myself a pregnant, ‘street-kid’ teenager. I was doing my daily routine of begging for spare change one hot day, when a woman took pity on me. She was a tall dark-skinned afrocentric woman who had dread locks. She had enchanting beauty with a sunny smile and a beautiful voice to compliment it. She asked me if I was hungry and I nodded, afterwards she offered to take me to her house to give me fresh clothes, a bath and a hot meal. I was so dirty I could smell my own sweat, so without hesitation I obliged. She took me by surprise because no one in the city felt bothered to take pity on a pregnant street kid who had gotten herself pregnant by engaging in sex at such an early age. The woman told me I could stay with her for as long as I wished and I thanked the stars thinking I had been given a new lease on life. I felt inspired to better my future.

I wish I had known what the woman was putting on a charade, one that would not last, because one night she woke me up and told me that a man would come into my room and I was to let him do as he pleased with me. I felt my world crash. “Have you not noticed I am pregnant?” I asked ferociously.

“Take this as a lesson to never trust a complete stranger. While you are at it, consider this as your payment for my hospitality… Oh and apparently men are turned on by the thought of having sex with a pregnant woman, a teen for that matter”, she said with a smirk I wish I could have wiped off her face with acid. She walked out of the room unaffected.
Before the man made his way into my room time seemed to speed by, but as soon as he got in it moved in slow motion. I count every second and micro second. “Babes are you ready to make my fantasies come to fruition?” the man said in a cold lustful voice. My body went numb, I felt wounded, confused and drained of energy all in one. I contemplated using the window as my escape, but the iron bars that were installed proved my bright idea pathetic because my stomach would not fit through. I thought to take my own life, but doing so meant taking the life of the unborn child I was carrying.

The man saw how terrified I was and asked me what was wrong and I told him my whole story. To my relief he revealed that he was actually a cop investigating the woman. He told me that she was a notorious ‘Madame’ and was there to put an end to her business. I thought to myself, “The gods must still favour me because they just helped me escape the clutches of rape”. I wonder how my mother will take this news.

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