CHOOSING LOVE
NKOSINGIPHILE MABASO
old when my mother left. The day started like any other: My mother woke up, made food, and cleaned. After bathing, she told me she was going to the store and that she would be back shortly. I remember being sad because I wanted to accompany her, but she insisted that she was going alone. My mother did not return from the store that day. She did not return for two years.
My heart was shattered. At the end of each night, I would sleep with the hope that my mom would return tomorrow. But tomorrow did not come for a long time. Although my mother’s disappearance was traumatic and heartbreaking, I did not blame or hate her for leaving. Even when I was too young to understand exactly what was happening, I knew that it took immense strength to come out smiling through tears when you have just been beaten up by someone you love. I wanted better for my mother, and I understood that at some point, leaving became the best thing for her.
My mother did not just leave me and my father behind in the small town we lived in outside of Johannesburg. She also left my fourteen-year-old brother, my seven-year-old little sister, my two-year-old little brother, and my youngest little brother, who was around six months old at the time. My dad, being a traditional Zulu man, decided that because I was the oldest daughter in the house, it was my duty to take over my mother’s responsibilities. So at ten years old I started raising my three younger siblings and taking care of the family.
A typical day in my ten-year-old life looked something like this: I woke up, soaked the cloths we used as nappies for my youngest brother, made food (if we had any) for my dad and siblings, helped my little sister bathe and get ready for school, took a bath myself, and then walked with my little sister to school. After school, I would start my chores, carrying my little brother on my back. I would clean the house, wash dishes and pots, and then try to figure out dinner. Sometimes I would do chores for my neighbor and she would pay me cash or give me food because she knew my family needed it.
In the two years my mother was gone, my father beat me up almost every day: “Why is the baby crying?” “Why have you not given the baby food?” “Why is the house dirty?” No matter what I did or didn’t do, my father would always find a reason to punish me. I experienced all kinds of abuse in that house. I felt unloved. I felt alone. When my father was not beating me up, my nephew, who is a few years older than me, was beating me up, telling me that no one would ever love me. I remember praying to a God I did not really know or understand because I did not know whom else to turn to.
refuge. I worked hard because I loved learning. My teachers believed in me and I excelled in my academics. School became the only place where I could be a child, the only place I felt valued and seen. Two years passed in this same way, where school was the only place I had just to myself, where I could be safe and free. One day in the middle of mathematics class, when I was twelve years old, a boy walked in and told my teacher she was needed at the office. Ten minutes later, the same boy came back to my math class. This time he called for me and told me they needed me at the principal’s office too. I had never been called to the principal’s office before, ever. I nervously hurried to the office.
When I got there, several of my teachers were waiting for me, including my math teacher. “Call your father and tell him to bring your birth certificate and your past report cards. We’re going to help you apply to the Oprah school,” one of my teachers said with excitement and urgency. She told me the applications were due that day and we had to hurry.
I watched Oprah Winfrey’s show every weekday after school, and I knew she helped thousands of people. I hadn’t known, however, that Oprah had a school, and I didn’t know if I would be able to afford it. My first thought was, “They probably do not accept poor people like me.” A couple of weeks earlier, I had been watching Oprah while cleaning my house. I’d cried, feeling hopeless, because I believed if anyone could help me, it would be Oprah Winfrey, but the show was in the United States; there was no way Oprah could help me.
My teachers explained that the Oprah Winfrey Leadership Academy for Girls (OWLAG) was a school created for girls just like me, girls who were intelligent, had leadership qualities, and were driven but didn’t have the financial means to obtain a quality education. I was in awe. Suddenly, being helped by Oprah was possible. I had no idea just how much this opportunity would change my life. I wasn’t thinking about my long-term future or any bigger goals, but I knew this was the help I had been crying and praying for.
I was twelve years old when I began my journey at OWLAG. The campus was the most beautiful place I had ever seen. I called it my paradise, my happy place. I had endured more than any twelve-year-old was supposed to; I was ready for some good in my life. And OWLAG was that good in my life. I went from living a life of lack and pain to living a life of abundance, a life filled with love. I had spent most of my childhood sleeping on the floor, but at OWLAG I had my own bed and slept on clean white linen. I ate three meals a day and had snacks in between. I knew I was at the right place and I knew that the experience was changing my life for the better. My first day at the Academy, I got to meet and hug Mom Oprah. It sank in that day: This opportunity was about to change the trajectory of my life. Forever.
When people ask me how being at OWLAG was, I always say it was the best six years of my life. It was also the most challenging six years of my life. I didn’t feel like I was worthy of the opportunity. I felt too poor. Too fat. Too ugly. For the first few years, I couldn’t speak up in front of a group of people without my whole body and voice trembling. Most days I thought it was a mistake that I had ended up there and I was terrified everyone else would realize it too. Away from the turmoil of home, I finally had time to think, to be with myself and process what I had been through. As I conversed with other girls about my childhood, I started getting sad. I was sad because my story made everyone else sad.
Before OWLAG, I had thought I had a normal childhood. I had naively assumed everyone was raising their siblings in some way, that everyone was being “disciplined” in the same way I was at home. It was in the little, constant differences from some of the other girls that I started to realize just how traumatic my childhood had been. When most of my sisters were crying, missing home, I was thinking of how I didn’t really want to go back home. When I would tell my story with a smile on my face, I saw that those who were listening would tear up, heartbroken and sad. The more I spoke with the girls who had amazing relationships with their parents, the more I realized how much I longed for a parent’s love and guidance.
Only at the Academy did I really start to feel the feelings of abandonment that I’d had no time to feel when my mother left. I realized how afraid I was. Of being rejected. Of being abandoned. I struggled to open up and build genuine connections. I was always afraid to make mistakes in my relationships, with peers and elders alike. I was scared that if I said or did the wrong thing, I would be punished or abandoned. I self-destructed. I left people before they left me. For a while it made me feel empowered. But I didn’t yet realize that running from love was running from myself, from all that is beautiful in life. When I tried to avoid the pain, I consequently was avoiding love too.
year at OWLAG, I was called into the therapist’s office along with some of my sisters. Because of the circumstances at home and what I had gone through, it was suggested that I go to therapy so I could process and begin healing. The first few months of group therapy, I was silent. When asked how I was doing, I would only say I was fine or okay. I always had a pillow on my lap; I used it to cover my face. I was in a safe space, but I was still crippled by fear. I had low self-esteem and no sense of self-worth or self-love. The group was patient and understanding. They let me say “fine” and “okay” as many times as I needed to. They validated and acknowledged my feelings, no matter how complicated or messy they were. To this day, I am grateful for group therapy because it helped me begin to heal.
While at OWLAG and in therapy, I learned to start forgiving my parents and accept the difficult childhood I had. Mom Oprah always says that forgiveness is giving up the hope that the past could have been any different. Once I released what I wished my life could have been like, I was able to fully embrace the miracle and beauty of the life I was living. I was living the life of my wildest dreams. I had residence mothers who loved and guided me like their own. I had teachers who wanted to see me do well, teachers who poured love and life into me. I had friends who did not want me to be anyone else other than myself, even when I thought being myself was a mistake. I could not change the past, and eventually I did not want to. I know now that everything that has happened to me happened for me. My childhood was painful. It was shattering. It was traumatizing. But it had beautiful moments. And it helped shape me into a beautiful person.
This journey of healing and accepting ignited a spark in me. Once I was able to talk about my feelings, no one could shut me up. I started learning about myself, and I was always excited to learn more. I wanted to face my pain, to face myself. I learned to be my own home, even when I had no physical building that I called home. And I saw the value of this healing journey. Without romanticizing the trauma, I now understand that it all led me here and I absolutely love it here. I love who I am and who I am constantly becoming. I have more peace. I am more secure in myself. I live more in the moment and try to not get stuck on the past. I don’t worry too much about the future anymore because I learned that it will all always be well. No matter what happens.
was accepted at Skidmore College in upstate New York. I would not have dared to even apply for such an opportunity had I not had those six years of healing and processing at the Academy. But having done the emotional work, I had parts of me that knew I deserved everything good I wished and longed for. I was able to rise to the occasion. I adjusted well at Skidmore and became an active, engaged member of the community. I had good relationships with students, staff, and faculty alike, and I was on the board of the African Heritage Awareness club. With a friend, I created a band. Again, I saw the value of choosing love. I loved most of my experiences. I loved my friends. I loved my classes. I loved myself. I did not just survive, I thrived.
I know now that my purpose is to choose love. Even when fear creeps in and tries to take over, I choose to love myself and those around me. I choose to love my life as it is. Loving myself has allowed me to make better choices for me instead of making destructive choices out of fear. Now I have hundreds of friends who have become sisters. We hold one another when we experience loss. We dance and celebrate when one of us succeeds. It is beautiful. It is wholesome. It has set the tone for all the beautiful relationships I’ll have in the future. And I am better for it.
I choose to share my story to remind myself of how miraculous my journey has been. I choose to share my story to remind people that our circumstances do not define us. When I am in pain, I sometimes get so overwhelmed by it that I start convincing myself the pain will never end. But everything ends. “This too shall pass,” I remind myself. The good moments will pass, and I will face another challenge. But while it is good, I enjoy and bask in the goodness. When challenges arise, I remind myself to be grateful for all that is still good in my life and to be grateful for the lessons, even if they are painful or uncomfortable.
The most beautiful part of this journey, for me, has been forgiving my parents. My mother returned home after I started at OWLAG, though we never lived in the same house again. My father unlearned depending on violence to solve all his problems. He learned to sit us down and talk through issues. I stopped seeing my parents as just parents and now see them also as human beings, beings who once had their own childhoods and their own dreams. I have seen and heard about how brutal life has been to my parents. They did not know any better. And although it was chaotic and violent, my parents gave me the best life they knew how.
They went through their trauma and never had the chance to heal, to process. It is true: hurt people hurt people. My parents never hated me, and nothing bad that happened to me was a result of my unworthiness. I had two broken people who loved me and tried their best to show me that they cared. But they couldn’t give me a love they did not have. I have been able to have difficult conversations about the past with my parents, and those conversations allowed me and my parents to heal together. Today I am a warrior of love and light. Through my vulnerability and willingness to choose love, I have inspired a positive change within my family. That makes it all worth it. For that, I will be eternally grateful.