Ibori Benny
@bennyibori9775
26 days ago
My name is Thandi, and I was the fixer.
For as long as I can remember, I was the one who held everyone together. My mother, Sarah, called me her "little rock" after my father walked out when I was seven. I remember sitting on the cracked linoleum floor of our flat in Polokwane, picking up pieces of a broken vase she had thrown. I was seven years old, and I was already cleaning up someone else's mess.
By the time I was twenty-two, I had a whole system. I had a best friend, Zanele, who called me at 2am every Thursday because her boyfriend, Bongani, had cheated again. I had a cousin, Sipho, who needed money for "school fees" but really needed it for gambling debts. I had a colleague at the wildlife restoration centre, Johan, who used me as a therapist for his failing marriage while I did double the fieldwork.
I was a hero. I was also a ghost.
The day everything changed was March 12, 2023. I remember it because it was my birthday. I was twenty-eight.
I had planned nothing for myself. No cake, no dinner, no friends. I was too busy. Zanele was in crisis again. Sipho needed another "loan." Johan had left a voicemail that I could already tell was going to be about his wife leaving him.
I sat in my car outside the N1 in Cape Town, on my way to fetch Zanele from her mother's house in Khayelitsha. I had driven all the way from Polokwane for her. She didn't even know it was my birthday.
My phone buzzed. It was my mother.
"Happy birthday, my baby," she said. "I love you."
I burst into tears. Not happy tears. Ugly, heaving sobs that made the steering wheel shake.
She asked me what was wrong. I couldn't tell her the truth. I couldn't say: "I have no idea who I am when I'm not saving everyone else."
That was the moment.
I pulled over at a petrol station in Beaufort West. I sat in the parking lot for an hour. I watched people fill their cars, buy snacks, and drive away. They all seemed to know exactly where they were going. I had no clue.
I called Zanele back. "I can't come," I said.
Silence.
"What do you mean you can't come?"
"I can't. I'm sorry. I need to figure out myself first."
She was quiet for a long time. Then she said, "You're being selfish."
I didn't argue. I just hung up.
I drove back to Polokwane that night. I didn't text Sipho back. I ignored Johan's calls. I went home, closed my curtains, and sat on my bed. For the first time in my life, I was alone with myself. I didn't fix a single thing for anyone.
It was terrifying. It was also the most honest I had ever been.
I started small. I went to a community poetry night at a little café called The Forge. I didn't perform. I didn't offer to help set up chairs. I just sat and listened. A woman named Mpho read a poem about a bird that forgot how to fly because it was too busy carrying other birds on its back. I cried again.
I started writing my own poems. Stupid ones at first. Then honest ones. I wrote about the broken vase. I wrote about the weight of being the rock. I wrote about how I didn't even know what my favorite food was because I always ordered what everyone else wanted.
I quit my job at the wildlife restoration centre. Not because I hated it I loved the animals. But I was using it to avoid myself. I took a month off. I drove through Limpopo, through hidden gems I had never seen despite living there for years. I watched elephants at a watering hole without thinking about anyone else's problems.
I learned that my own problems were just as important as everyone else's. Maybe more.
Now it's December 2024. I'm thirty now.
Zanele and I don't talk much anymore. She found another fixer. That stung for a long time, but I think it's okay now. Sipho is in rehab. I hope he makes it. Johan still sends me long voicemails, but I delete them without listening.
I live alone in a small flat in Polokwane. I work part-time at the wildlife centre, but only with the animals. No more counseling sessions for colleagues.
I write poetry almost every day. I've even performed a few times. The first time I stood on that stage at The Forge, my hands were shaking. But I read a poem about a woman who stopped being a rock and started being a river.
I still don't know what my favorite food is. But I'm trying new things every week.
I'm not fixed. I'm not perfect. But I'm finally the one I'm fixing.
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12 days ago