So I’ve been thinking about what I’d blog about if I were to start a blogging site🤔maybe write about my upbringing or will that be too boring?🙄its been done over and over again. I should probably write about my life in varsity and after 😏oh but wait I’ve seen quite a number of articles about varsity survival and the life after, then it hit me🤔 OMG 🙊what better way to express myself than the only way I’ve ever known life🤷.
GROWING UP AS A CHILD IN A POLYGAMY MARRIAGE.
So my Dad is this strict Zulu man who was born and bread in the famous Nkandla, guys if anybody tells you that Zulu men are sturbon believe them.
So this guy meets my mom at the tender age of 15 and they immediately hit it off and got married when she turned 16 and many years later with 8 children and two sister wives they all found comfort in a home at the rural areas of eMpangeni in KZN.
I am basically the 11th child from my father from all he’s 3 wives and the girlfriends that never made it to the altar. I was born in 1990 on the 16th of May. Despite the dysfunctionality that came with growing up in a huge family my life was bliss. I have three mother’s and many siblings and back in the day even though there was not enough food to feed all of us especially in those times where my father would disappear for over six months to Durban without even worrying about whether we ate or even had clothes to cover up( a story for another day) life was really fun and I wouldn’t change it for anything.
I Wana tell you that even though it may look like too much work from the outside the woman in my life has made growing up in polygamy marriage really fun (well it may have not been all fun all the time but credit given to the mothers💪). I want you to imagine three woman raising so many children in one space and loving one man. We never ran out of advice for each other, never got bored, sometimes the fights got pretty hectic (like the time my late brother got so angry at everybody and made each one of us run around the yard while he was chasing us with a bowl of rice and cabbage curry, apparently he had told my mother’s several times that he does not like rice and they should make hard porridge for him on the side if they decide to cook rice) well he found both my mother’s chilling in a hut and he poured the whole bowl of that food on top of them 🤭 my brother was life (I could write a book about him and he’s scandals but not today).
When I was six years old everybody at home used to call me “Nzewula Nezimoto” (a book character that everybody knew about, apparently it was about a guy who cooked a whole goat and ate it from the pot) so yeah now you get the idea of how I was when I was younger right? Yep you guessed it I was that child whole who was more darker than the rest and fat and also ate a lil bit more than everyone else in the family. My family made sure that I had no confidence at all while I was growing up without even realising how much that used to tear me up inside. My mother had no time to nurse my feelings she was already going through alot with the whole marriage setup and having so many children. Nobody felt bad when I cried after they insulted me because they somehow felt that I owned the insults they threw at me, I was fat, too dark and resembled a man they read about in a book. I used to be compared to those aunties that came through from Enkandla when we had rituals. Wow😱 yeah, the overweight ladies that would come and live their best lives in a hut and expect to be served like they were on holiday. I didn’t understand how could those people be my family 🤔 they would literally have a blast while body shaming me.
28 years later my life has changed drastically, I decided to love my body with its imperfections, I wasted so many of my years not loving myself because I felt like I was a shame to society. I want to encourage which ever woman that would come across this to love each and every bit of their bodies no matter the shape, be happy with who you are glow,slay, flaunt those curves hunny because you never know what tomorrow will bring.