One day, it was during the mid-year examinations, just after our exam, I went to her as she was standing alone waiting for her friends to finish up writing. Hi! I said. "Hey" she responded.

"You're beautiful as usual." I said. She couldn't say anything about that.

"Tell me about yourself" she said smilingly. I didn't know where to start so I asked.

What do you want to know about me?

"Everything! Where were you born, and grew up, those kind of things" She said.

I don't know where to start.

"Come on! Historians always know where to start."

She had a point there, historians always have something to say. So I said. I was born in Pretoria, in Mamelodi. But after few weeks after I was born, my mother took me to Alice were both of my families originate from. I am the first born and only son out of four sisters. We're only two from my biological mother, and other sisters have their mothers. I grew up in Alice in a Royal family under Chief Mavuso. But later moved to my father's family. My family. My mother passed away in 2001 and I grew up under a step-mother.

"How was it growing up under a step-mother?" she interrupted.

"You don't want to know, trust me". I replied. But she insisted. I guess in one time I had no choice but to give her answers she wanted. "Be honest with me" she concluded.

At that time I wasn't comfortable talking about my experience, it was too much for me, concerning what I have gone through. It was… it was too heavy, I didn't know where to start.

'Please James, if I am not asking too much'.

After my mother's funeral, my sister and I were taken to my father's family where we belong. Because we were still little, my father entrusted us to his sister, our aunt. She became our mother. Veliswa Qeqe her name. She took care of us, and to be honest we didn't feel motherless but she covered that. My father was working eBhisho near King William's Town. He only came back on weekends and on public holidays. Few years later, he took another wife who became our stepmother.

'Ok…!'

Few days after their marriage, that was in 2004, my father then entrusted us to her, traditionally that's how it should be. When a man gets married if his children are young then the new wife becomes the mother to them. She was nice to me, all the time. More especially when she had visitors. She called me "Yam-Yam," "Boy!" And sometimes he would call me "Son" and all other pleasant names you may think of. I loved that, I guess every child needs that.After few months she began to change, or rather I became aware of what she really was. She was antagonistic towards me.

"Antagonistic!" She said.

You have no idea. I remember one day, my late cousin Mpiri visited us. May her soul and all the souls of the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace. Amen. She was with her small baby girl Unathi to come and play with Hlumelo the first born of my stepmother.

'You mean your step-sister?'

Yes!

There were also other cousins of mine and children who came to play with them. I was so happy to see the house so full with children, it was a while since I saw everybody. I was a prisoner at my own home. She kept me from seeing everyone. I only saw my friends at school, those who were not schooling with me, I hardly saw them. I could see from her eyes that she was not pleased at all to see her house so full with my cousins. But of course she didn't want to make that obvious to my cousin Mpiri. What really she was.

What happened then? Babalwa asked.

She had a Siemens phone, my little cousins took it and played games. I took it from them, and played games as well, as she was having a conversation with Mpiri in the bedroom. My little cousins wanted the phone back, and that I was kept busy, so I gave it to them. Apparently they blocked it. And it couldn't work anymore. Seeing that it was blocked, my cousins put it on the table, and left it there. They went outside to play some of the indigenous games. I wondered why they all went outside. They enjoyed that phone game. I was happy because I was to take the phone to myself and play until I get tired.

Immediately when I put my hands to it, she came out to the pantry and saw me having her phone. But she didn't say anything, she went back to the bedroom and closed the door. The phone was not working, it was blocked. I quickly went outside to them.

What did you do to that phone? I asked them. But I didn't get any answers instead everyone pointed at each other. I knew what would happened to me about that phone. I could feel it in my blood. Mpiri was still in there with her. After hours, it was then early evening, Mpiri and cousins left us. Now I could finally say, I was alone again. I didn't want them to go. Few minutes after they left, she asked for her phone, I pretended as if I didn't see it.

"But you had it during the day!" she said.

'Oh! Yes, I remember now.' I said. I went to the family room to look for it. It was there under the coffee table. I took it to her. I gave it to her and immediately I went out to my room.

She called me!

"Yamkela!"

Ma! I responded.

"Come here!"

I knew what would happen. I knew exactly what would happened! It was in my blood. I swore to God and to my mother's grave… with my eyes closed.

"What did you do to my phone?"

It wasn't me. I swear. I said.

That was a wrong answer, to her if you said you don't know something you were telling a lie, even if you didn't.

What happened then?

She beat the hell out of me, she beat me up like nobody's business. My nose bled and there was a pond of blood in the kitchen. She left me there, and had commanded that I wash the dishes instead of crying. I washed the dishes and I hadn't stop crying, with my nose still licking blood as an unclosed tap. It wasn't the first time though, but I kept it as a secret.

Yhooo! What!? Babalwa said with shock. Why didn't you go to the police station or at least to your family? She asked.

And do what? Report that I was abused? Physically abused?

Yes!

No one would've believed that. Everyone loved her, and she was so sweet to people in general. Besides I didn't think of that. I was still young. I tried to say this to my family, but they doubted what I was saying. Only Veli my aunt whom I talked about early would sense truth in what I was saying. But the rest. No!I didn't say anything to my father, he wouldn't believe me either. He loved his wife as much as he loved me. I also didn't want to be the cause in their separation although that would've been the best thing for me.

When my father came on weekends, she would be very nice to me, and call me "Son" "Ndoda"and all that, pretending as if everything was fine. I really wanted to tell my father, but I couldn't. As thousand years to God are like a day, to me a week was like a thousand years. I only got a little of freedom on weekends.

'This is very sad.'

As we were still talking one of her friends Mihle came by.

'Why are you both looking sad? She asked.

Sad? You're mistaken, you should get your eyes tested. I said.

'I know what I see. Anyway I would like to talk to Babalwa, if you don't mind.'

Not at all. I'll see you later. I left them there. It was almost History period for me, and I should think it was Economics for them.

'The Rise of Soviet Russia. Who was the Tsar during the Russian Revolution Litha? Mr Nenzani asked. Tsar Nicholas II Sir. Litha Zanekile answered.

Litha Zanekile was one of the cleverest leaners in the class. There were at least a number of people who were cleaver in our class. Counting few…people like Litha Zanekile, Zukiswa Pityi, Lindokuhle Mbabela, people like Khanya Dubula and so on and on. Khanya Dubula was a great Historian, there was no one who could beat him in that, and even his researches were the best. Even myself I could get to his level. But I always told myself 'one day is one day.'

'From which year did the Russian Revolution took place?' James! Mr Nenzani asked again.

From 1918 to 1939 Sir! I was so lucky to be asked that question. I guess it was an easy question. It may be easy but that's what make history to be so tricky to have all the dates of different periods and events in your head. But to be honest, that's one of the things that makes a person to be a good historian.

'Who was the name of the Priest who led the march of workers to the Tsar at St. Petersburg and what was the name given to that day and why Khanya?

'It was Father Gapon Sir, the day was called the "The Bloody Sunday" because of the blood in which the Tsar ordered his solders to kill the workers including Father Gapon.''

'Very good! That means you've studied. All of you, I am proud of you. Thank you Twelve B.' By the way, our class was known as Grade 12 B. Only two classes did History in Grade twelve, it was Grade twelve B and Grade twelve E. To Mr Nenzani's eyes we were always the best in History compared to Grade twelve E. in fact most of our teachers had approved that and jealousy had prompt out. There was this competition now, which was not a bad thing, not at all, because it was motivating us as leaners. After learning about what Father Gapon did for the Russian people, I realized that as the leader sacrifices should be part of your priorities. I mean Father Gapon led the people to the Palace of Tsar Nicholas II to march for difference, and he was in front of the workers, and became their voice. But that didn't end there. He was one of the first to be killed for change. To me he knew what would happen there, but still he had courage to lead the people forward.

So as I predicted beforehand what would happen in having her in the house, like Father Gapon, I had to be courageous and lead my siblings, especially Nandi whom I call 'Twin sister'.