The big wait: Sindi Dlambewu on pregnancy, remote study in Soweto
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| Soweto, South Africa
It鈥檚 November now 鈥 only a month until our baby is born 鈥 and my boyfriend, Bongani, and I still haven鈥檛 decided what to call her.
I want a name that means something.
How about Lilonke? I asked him the other day. In my language, Xhosa, Lilonke means 鈥渁ll of our love.鈥 I want this baby to know she is wanted. And the 鈥渙ur鈥 part is important to me too. It says, this baby isn鈥檛 just mine. It says that she belongs to us, me and Bongani, together.
Why We Wrote This
Sindi Dlambewu is 鈥済oing鈥 to college remotely from home with iffy Wi-Fi, a cousin to babysit, and her own baby on the way. One of twelve 21-year-olds featured in the Monitor鈥檚 interactive 21 in 鈥21 global report about the pandemic鈥檚 effect on a generation about to be adults, her full story is here.
When I missed my period back in May, he was the only person I told. We were in a coronavirus lockdown then. You couldn鈥檛 go anywhere, except to buy food or get to the hospital in an emergency. But Bongani and his mom live down the road from me in Pimville, a neighborhood in Soweto. I share a small room with my aunt and my 5-year-old cousin Hlelo, and we used to see Bongani a lot. That day, I told him to come over. I just said it: 鈥淚 think I鈥檓 pregnant.鈥
He was quiet. I wasn鈥檛 sure if he was happy or worried. I knew he was waiting to see what my reaction was. Because he鈥檚 that kind of man 鈥 he wanted me to decide if we would keep it or not. 聽
Bongani is like that. He鈥檚 a rock. When we fight, even if I鈥檓 the one who was wrong, he comes to apologize. Every morning, he sends me the same text: 鈥淎re you hungry?鈥 And if I say yes, he brings me some eggs and bread. A couple of weeks ago, he bought us a secondhand pram and he washed it in his driveway like it was a BMW. If he still doesn鈥檛 have a job when the baby is born, he says he鈥檒l take care of her while I work and study. Not every man would do that, I know.聽聽
When it comes to names, Bongani prefers English ones. To me, that鈥檚 an apartheid thing. Our parents had to have English names because white people couldn鈥檛 pronounce theirs, or didn鈥檛 want to try. But we don鈥檛 have to do that anymore.
Bongani means 鈥渂e grateful.鈥 We first met when I used to come to Johannesburg from my village in the Eastern Cape to visit my aunt when I was a teenager. She lives in Soweto, which is where Black people had to live in Joburg during apartheid. It鈥檚 a hectic place when you come from somewhere quiet, but Bongani made it feel friendly. When I moved here in 2019 to study, we got more serious. But we were taking it slow. I鈥檓 only 21. And I had a plan.
No one in my family has ever gone past high school. I鈥檓 doing a one-year course in archives and records management. In 2021 I鈥檒l start my teaching degree, and I鈥檒l work at the same time as a clerk or an assistant in a library.
That鈥檚 still the plan, but the pandemic made it harder. I have to study at home, and when Hlelo鈥檚 mom is at work, I have to watch her. She wants to play, play, play all the time. I try to keep her busy long enough so I can read my assignments on my phone. But it鈥檚 hard to focus, especially since I鈥檝e been pregnant.
Lots of people don鈥檛 think I can do that with a baby too. After that day in May, we waited three months to tell our families. We were worried about how they would react. That they would be mad.
And they were, at first. My mom said, 鈥淲hy would you do this to me?鈥 That stuck in my head for a long time. Bongani鈥檚 mom just asked us, 鈥淗ow will you pay for this?鈥
We didn鈥檛 exactly have a good answer. But it made us even more determined to prove them wrong. Bongani has been applying for jobs with the city 鈥 street cleaning, construction, things like that. He鈥檚 been looking this whole year. It鈥檚 hard even in normal times to find work in South Africa. In a pandemic, it鈥檚 basically impossible.
And I鈥檓 finishing my exams now, and then I鈥檒l enroll in the teaching course.
My own name, Nolusindiso, means salvation. I want to be the one who saves myself. I don鈥檛 want me or my daughter to rely on anyone 鈥 not even Bongani.
My mom got married in 1989, when she was 15 and my dad was 23. Back then, the custom was that the man鈥檚 family came and took the girl away in the night, like a kidnapping. My mother only met my father once, and then he was gone 鈥 back to the mines in Johannesburg where he worked. When she saw him three months later, she didn鈥檛 recognize him. When she realized who he was, she was so scared she fainted.聽
It hurts my heart to think about that. She just wants my life to be different. When my siblings and I were kids, we fetched water in 20-liter jugs three times a day. If we complained, she鈥檇 say, 鈥淕et an education and you can pay someone else to do this for you.鈥 She doesn鈥檛 want me to lose that momentum because I have a baby. I understand. I don鈥檛 either.聽 聽
Lately I like the name Zazi. It means 鈥渒now yourself.鈥 Be wise.
I want my daughter to be smart, and also beautiful. Life is easier for beautiful people, and I want her path through the world to be smooth.
Recently, my mom鈥檚 been calling to see how I鈥檓 doing. She鈥檚 not angry anymore. When she asks if everything is OK, I tell her we鈥檙e both fine. At the ultrasound, the nurse told me that my daughter has two arms, two legs, a head, and a heartbeat.
I just keep thinking about that. Whatever else happens, she has two arms, two legs, a head, and a heartbeat.
She is loved. She is wise. She is ours.聽
Read more聽here聽about Sindi in a narrative of 21-year-olds around the globe in the last three months of 2020.聽And read other personal essays like Sindi鈥檚 here: 21 in 鈥21.