Hoe is Wife Cup one

Eid Mubarak, Mogamat Daddy

…. Can we do it after Ramadaan, though?”.  Well, Sidney had already waited seven years for you to give him the moon and the stars, what was another two weeks?

I know you guys think I died. But Shana lied to you. I merely took a sabbatical, and waited beneath the surface of Shana’s mental illness, until someone pissed her off enough, for her to take me out of her arsenal.

And as her arse_and_all have grown due to being an Instagram chef, I decided to fight die ding se battical for her. Shana Fife, doesn’t like trouble.

But I, The Hoe, know no other life.

Bitches I’m back. I’m making a Came-hoe.

As a quick legal disclaimer, I need to say that the parties involved have asked me to not mention their names, as their ‘family ties’ are being destroyed. So, respectfully, from now on I will refer to Sidney-Jonah’s biological father as ‘Not-Huzaifa Laattoe’.  

Also, I have been told that it is somewhat unethical and distasteful to divulge information about the address/location of persons, especially on a large platform. So we will now refer to the suburb in which “not-Huzaifa” resides as “Not Ottery”, or “Nottery”.

And to be clear… He doesn’t live next to the Mosque. He lives far, far away from the mosque that is next to his mommy’s house.

I think that covers everything…. Mos, like I have been covering everything, without him…. For seven years. Nappies. Milk. Food. Time.

But Lord forbid I be so distasteful, as to neglect to take “Not-Huzaifa’s” privacy into consideration.

Neglect.

Lol.

You know all about that, don’t you?

You fucking son of a bitch.

*****

It is safe to assume that I am angry as I write this.

So, where did we end off last week?

 

“He isn’t Muslim”.

 

Silence.

 

“…. I can’t deal with this now. Can you guys go?”

He escorted us out, while it was still raining.

And there we stood. Bones in the light.

I turned around, while he gently pushed me on my back, to facilitate my departure.

 

“Can I contact you again?” I asked.

 

He gave me his work email address, and asked me not to call his phone anymore, as he had a new girlfriend.

 

His new girlfriend had a child.

 

I put Jonah in the car, and turned to ask if Not-Huzaifa would like to kiss him.

 

He had already gone back inside the house.

 

I never bothered Not-Huzaifa again, and he never bothered to see his son.

 

His family and friends also never attempted to communicate…

 

Until two weeks ago, when I received a Facebook request message:

 

“Hello Shana…. Is that Not-Huzaifa’s laaitie?”

 

Now let me mention that Not-Huzaifa’s religion is not the issue

 

Backlash from my last blog was people calling me prejudice.

Your need for propaganda is misplaced. Perhaps, before approaching your keyboard to talk through your cyber-hol, take a proper gander at my work. Literally from before Lyle (Pre Judas), I have never been one to spew hate for hatred’s sake.

I am hate-rid.

 If you have been following me online, or in real life for any amount of time, you will know I love everybody, every religion, and every sexuality. I don’t care if you identify as a starfish.  

My best friend is Muslim. My husband was born Muslim. And from what I believe, they are a pious people. I am Fatima Sydow’s number one fan-girl. Ain’t nobody know how to make a gheema curry like the Sydow’s.

But, the cretin I am talking about is a skynhuilagge pork-bredie, who might as well profess to worship the goddess of Macaroni and Cheese.

Gheema vir my daai maintenance, jou naai….

“Hello Shana…. Is that Not-Huzaifa’s laaitie?”

“Well, that is an interesting conversation starter. Yes. Not- Huzaifa is my son’s biological father”, I replied.

Annoyed that I had checked my message requests. I knew that life was about to get a whole lot messier than that one time I wiped away Not- Huzaifa’s cum, as it ran down my leg.

“Lol. Im his friend”, Rameez said. I won’t give his surname. He doesn’t deserve the Rameezfications of Not-Huzaifa’s actions.

“… and I just wanted to find out. Because I need to tell him he need to start seeing his son”.

 

I wanted to scream “No Thank you. I just got married. Miniete man. Don’t make kak my bru!”.

 

I chose to be polite.

 

“I tried. He said no. And his mom said no. My son asks me every day about him. They are identical”.

 

I just word vomited over the mediator.

 

We swapped Whatsapp numbers.

Yoh im really disappointed. Me and his brother wanted to see the child”.

 

The child.

The child.

The child’s name is Sidney-Jonah.

 

“When last were you in contact with Not-Huzaifa?”.

 

And so ensued the sad tale of that one time in the rain.

 

After several picture swaps and voice-notes about just how fascinating it is that my son strongly resembles his biological father… a meet up was requested.

… then denied… by him.

“I think you must ma get a maternity test” he said.

I stared in silence at my phone.

Not-Huzaifa’s mense are so convinced I am lying, that they assume I’m not even Sidney’s mother. Hey, maybe I stole Sidney eight years ago, shoved him in my uterus for the eye-blind and then didn’t ask Not-Huzaifa for support for seven years, in the high hopes of starting a viral blog.

Or, you know… they’re all illiterate.

Or maybe they want to check whether or not Not-Huzaifa is Sidney’s mother?

Either way, the conversation died down.

And then, my last blog hit the airwaves to a massive response…

I woke up the Monday morning after my blog, ready to take on my new radio show, full force.

Won’t this fool force his way into my life… as I leave my house.

I checked my Whatsapp.

“”Hi Shana, I’m sorry I took so long to msg you. No one really knows how to go about something like this….so I’m not going to fight or argue but I’m ready to do what ever to make this work and for me to be in Sydney’s life. We can’t change the past but I’m going to do my best to change how things have been and try and make this work. I can’t be on my phone during the day but if u have a minute later I could call you and we can try and speak about how we can go forward”.

 

I will give you a moment to process.

Kyk die naai. Die naai. Denial.

 

“I’m sorry I took so long to msg you”, almost like he was busy in the kitchen gou… for seven years.

You’d think from reading my blog, he’d know how to spell his own sperm’s name.

 

I didn’t respond… at first.

I drove to the radio station. I postponed my show. And I sat in absolute awe of the way my life just keeps hitting me in the bek.

 

Let me lay it out for you.

Besides fucking up my teen years with meth and penis…(Thank God the pass mark at school was 33.3%, or I would have still been in grade 9).

I enter and leave Crescent Clinic for the mentally challenged

I had a baby at 21

My impregnator disappeared

I disappeared, but that’s Sidney’s story to tell

I dated an abuser.

Fell pregnant from the abuser

Had an abortion

Fell pregnant two months later from the abuser

Told my story and went super-viral

The man I spoke kak about publicly is murdered in a gang related incident

Now both my kids are sans useless naaiers on their family tree

I have an emotional breakdown and get medicated

I marry a man I knew since 2010

I  FINALLY get it together….

…..

 

Aaaaaand…….Sidney’s biological dad sends me a Whatsapp.

 

I WAS DEFINITELY HITLER IN A PAST LIFE.

 My boyfriend used to Hitler me, but he’s passed life.

But, as Sidney gave me the third degree about my “third husband”, I maar said Not-Huzaifa can call me after six.

In true Laat-toet style, nigga phoned half past seven (years).

Sorry.. Not Laat-toet.

Not Laat-toet.

We spoke. It was strained. Then it was as if no time had passed since he threw me out of his home, holding his child.

The anger filled my chest as I stood in the back room of my home; so that my son didn’t catch on that I was speaking to his other half.

Ironically, his actual father, Riyaahd, was distracting him.

 

The call ended.

 

In the call, he had requested pictures to see what Sidney looked like. I decided to oblige. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t see on Facebook… or in the mirror.

Fuck.

Word Count exceeded….

Three be continued.

 

 

 

I Don’t have a blog anymore
But Shana said I can say the word Naai 

I am Shana’s alter ego

I am the fertile one, remember me?

I am Just a hoe, with babies

 

 

 

 

12 thoughts on “Eid Mubarak, Mogamat Daddy

  1. Desiree Petersen says:

    This is the first time im reading your blog and I feel the same fire inside me….i feel your flow and understand your words….I thought it was absolutely amazing how you have addressed everything in your blog

    Like

  2. kashiefa says:

    I can so relate to some of the things in ur blog. although i was married to baby daddy. after baby was born he had the nerve to ask if it was even his child. needless to say…we are divorced many years. bt wil ook nix met sy “sperm” te doen he nie…lol. probably bc he found somebody close to the end of our marriage or most likely while we were married. bt enough about me….this blog is about you..l love it

    Like

  3. Lizzy says:

    I’m reading this and relate to what you said, felt in so many ways it’s surreal! That’s my story with my son’s fuck face death beat dad( he doesn’t deserve the title). And I’m thinking why does society blame us, the one that was sticking it out, holding shit down when we couldn’t be held down! Fuck this! I’m not giving that fucker a chance to ruin my life or that of my son’s again. Voetsek!

    Like

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