It is a Wednesday morning and it is damn dusty outside. Circumstances force me to leave my house and go work from the coffee shop. You would think I would choose to rest seeing I am on leave, but instead I choose to spend my holidays curating for an international film festival. Lord knows I need some inspiration and creativity in my life.
I decide to drive with my partner as he leaves for work. A part of me longs for the warmth of my bed, but another is happy because I know being away from bed will get me to be my most productive.
My partner opens the door for me and there it is, carefully placed on my seat. It is the book he has been searching for, the Holy Quran. I get lost in my thoughts and I don’t realize that he has moved the book. We drive off and suddenly I am reminded of it.
“Can I see the book please” I ask. At first he didn’t understand but eventually caught up.
“You must pray before you open it” he says.
“To whom? I mean I usually pray to Jesus and Jehovah”
“Who said they are not the same as the God in the Holy Quran?”
I laugh. I laugh because I realize what I just did. Once again, I referred to myself as a Christian. Nothing wrong with that, it is just the feeling I get every time I do that. I automatically think I am lying. I cannot understand how and why I keep identifying as someone I do not understand. One has to believe in Christ in order to say they are Christian, but God knows how many doubts I have.
Anyway, as I mentioned in the previous chapter(s)…..I kind of stopped believing when He took people away from me, when misery followed me. It is amazing how many triumphs He brought into my life, but also the pain that He put me through.
So, I get to the coffee shop and I start watching and rating the films. Suddenly there is a short-film about a young girl making a 1000 crates for her dying father. I then go back to the 17-year-old me that lost both her parents to HIV, the 25-year-old me that lost her sister and her husband to a horrific femicide/suicide accident, a 33-year-old me that lost her brother to chronic diseases accompanied by alcohol and gambling addiction. In case you haven’t noticed, the entire trauma happened 8 years apart of each other. I subconsciously hope nothing bad happens in the next 8 years, that my prayers were enough to break the curse.
I find myself crying and trying so hard to hold back the tears, but the snot keeps coming out and making it obvious. I immediately take deep breaths, hoping it would help.
“I don’t want to seem like a typical woman who cries over movies. This is neither the time nor the place” I think to myself.
“I am broken and haven’t dealt with the death of my brother” I text a friend.
I think about death each day, so much so that I forget to live.
I pray to God every day, the same God whose presence I sometimes doubt. I am soooo broken.
Jane Mpholo is an award-winning multidisciplinary artist, entrepreneur, and changemaker from Botshabelo, South Africa. As CEO of Jane Mpholo Pty Ltd, she is pioneering work in theatre, film, and site-specific performance art. The first recipient of the CCIA’s “Outstanding Actor in Theatre” award, she has performed, written, and produced for national and international stages. Honored with two honorary awards from Onalerona Productions NPC and the Southern Region Women in Media Awards, she is a mentor, producer, and advocate for inclusivity. Through bold storytelling, she sparks important conversations, shaping the performing arts landscape and inspiring change worldwide.
