Limpopo is a beautiful place and even though I am working away, it can sometimes feel like a break away from the busy city life. Driving through small towns, we see goats loyally follow their owners, sheep crossing the road and stalls all along the deserted road selling fruit and vegetable. In the city it would be dogs following their owners or even being carried around like babies, the comparison brings a smile to my face. In the middle of nowhere shabby stalls selling homemade Marula beer in previously used bottles, the stall owner sitting patiently under dilapidated make-shift shade, like antique furniture waiting to be sold. In all this time I have never seen anyone travelling by vehicle or on foot stopping to buy this commodity, so I'm thinking that if they have this set up on the side of the road, surely there must be a market as who would sit there for the whole day and call it a job, but sell nothing. This is why South Africa is so unique each province with their own culture and this is all normal for them but peculiar for others visiting or just passing through. Each town must have businesses like Shoprite, Pep Stores and Capitec Bank. My colleague once told me about municipality workers far up north, digging up water pipes and when it came to lunch time, the driver went off to buy wors (SA term for sausage). The remaining workers would then go off into the bush to gather some branches and start a fire. By the time the wors arrives the fire is ready to start the braai (SA term for barbecue). The spade is then placed on top of the fire serving as a skottle to prepare a delicious, lip smacking lunch and it appears to be a norm for the crew.

My travel companion and I are listening to the radio and she is chatting with her friends on whatsapp, every now and then she bursts out laughing. Driving on this long stretch, my mind drifts to a call I got earlier, an appointment set for Friday for my first therapy session. After almost a year of being prompted by my manager at the time, Lindsay, I decided to make that call. A couple of months before, we were in a meeting when she asked me "how are you doing Zubi?" I replied, "I am fine thanks Lindsay". She asked the rest of my colleagues in a very businesslike tone to leave her office and to close the door behind them. Then she repeated, "Okay, I'm going to ask you again. How are you doing Zubi because I can see that there is something bothering you?" I responded "really because I feel fine". She then said you have not looked fine for the past two months, so think about what has changed since then. I immediately thought about what by then had become a topic every single evening since July in my household, my husband and his feud which has been following him around like a shadow for the better part of his adult life ... betrayal. The situation by then had changed which prompted us to voice our opinions and the way forward as the other methods we tried were all in vain, like a rash that keeps on coming back. Lindsay then asked me about our discussion which we had telephonically earlier in the year. I was crying bitterly when I shared with her my deepest pain and lifelong challenge sitting in my parked vehicle a street away from work on a Monday morning. I had tried to call her on the Sunday as I knew that speaking to her would cause me to break down. I have been crying since I made the decision the Friday evening when I came from work to inform my kids about what really happened to me and what I have become. So on Saturday morning when my husband and younger kids went to karate, I called a family meeting. It broke me into a million pieces when I shared my dreadful story and pulled my son and daughter into my sad world. My daughter Mishka broke down and held me tight and told me, "I want nothing to do with him, I gave him a chance and he blew it and now this ... I don't want to see him again". My son Omar just sat there numb with shock in his eyes, succeeding in not breaking down. This was not what I expected, but I had no plan when I called this meeting, all I knew was that I was tired of being the fire fighter. It was making me bitter and angry and I could not do this anymore. When I got up from the couch with my box of tissues, Omar hugged me and said, "Mommy I forgive you, it is okay". I could hear that our conversation was shocking to Lindsay as there was a pause in her voice and the line went quiet on the other side and then she asked, "Are you driving?" I said, "No, I pulled over because I knew this was going to happen". She said, "You must go for counselling please". "I did many times, but I didn't really benefit long term", I replied. She then told me to go home as I was in no condition to work and to reconsider therapy sessions at this point. I could not go home as I needed to keep busy. "Then go for some coffee first and then decide if you are going to the office, either way please just let me know", Lindsay said. Sitting in the parking lot sipping my coffee which I bought at McDonalds, I broke down even further. I smoked two cigarettes and tried to think of positive things in my life. The support of my husband when he took me for a walk on the beach that Saturday afternoon and I poured my heart out even further. He told me "we are going to get through this, I am here for you". If I get hold of that coward, God forbids". After an hour, I got the courage to start the engine and drive to work. Two months after the conversation in Lindsay's office, I made the call to Life Assist, which is made available by the corporate food company I've been working for more than a decade. So on Friday, I would be seeing Psychologist Sheldon Brandt which was randomly selected by Life Assist based on the area which I have selected, together with a brief background of what I needed assistance with.

When I arrived home on Thursday, I was greeted by my youngest son, Zakariya with a hug and a kiss as he was always happy to see me. Tired after this work trip, I rushed to get into bed, but sleep just couldn't come as I fell asleep on the flight back home. I was not too concerned as I had taken a day's leave anyway the next day. I was ready for my first of four sessions made available by the company. I did not need to prepare because I knew why I was going and what I needed to clear. The dark cloud that was blocking my sunshine from time to time, but for the past 3 months it was just sitting there casting a shadow and depriving me of vitamin D. The next morning after the smaller kids left for school, I did the washing and while I was hanging the washing, I was listening to the song by Luther Vandross, Dancing with my father, and I was overwhelmed with sadness. My father use to visit me on a Saturday morning and while I was hanging my washing, he would pull up and lean on the hooter to announce his arrival. I missed that hooter for many months after his death, I was deeply depressed, but I have moved on and that day listening to this song has brought back that memory. The tears just rolled down my cheeks and I thought to myself, if my dad was alive, he could have guided me, accompanied me, but instead I have to seek professional help.

I was sitting in the waiting room when the receptionist made the call, "Your client is here". I have been so many times for therapy and have had lots of therapist in the past, so this would not be any different. I only need the four sessions as I know what I am here for. One of many doors opened and a thin man wearing spectacles looks at me and said, "Zubi?" I nodded and he said, "I am Sheldon Brandt". I was thinking ... a man? Why did I think Sheldon is a woman? Contact was made via text message last Friday and the appointment was confirmed via telephone on Monday, how come I did not pick up that this is a man? The call came through while I was in the factory and it is a very noisy environment, so it could have been that or maybe I just did not pay much attention. Anyway, I was here and he is a man, so there is no turning back. What I need to be counselled on, the sex of the psychologist is not a determining factor. I completed some paperwork and was then called into his room. It is a typical psychologist's room, small with two soft single chairs, two book shelves, a huge clock on the wall for time keeping, a painting and some family pictures. He sat down and took his scatter cushion and placed it on the floor next to his chair. "So Zubi tell me more about yourself", he said, staring at me looking for clues as he started his first assessment. I then told him, "I am married with four children, two from my previous marriage and two from my current marriage". He recorded his notes and without looking up he said, "So what happened with your first marriage?" I paused as I immediately thought of Lindsay, "Zubi you need counselling". The psychologist looked up and repeated, "What happened?" I said, "He was a drug addict and I don't want to talk about that because I am not here for that purpose ... that is a session on its own" and he said, "I can tell that there is something there". "So, why are you here today and what are you hoping to get out of these sessions"?

I left the session feeling a bit better and was told to bring my husband, Isghak to the next session as this is more about him, and it is what he brought into the marriage. I said to Sheldon, my husband has an odd character which you will pick up in the next session. This meant time off and I of course had to run this by him as he works for a company owned by Englishmen, which still operates under the old regime mentality. In the book, "who moved my cheese?" written by Dr Spencer, the company would be the character called "Hem", cannot move with the surrounding changes, trapped in the past by fear of losing power. Sheldon called me the following week to confirm our appointment based on Isghak's availability. In this session, Isghak dominated the entire time. He was sharing information that he very rarely spoke about. I could see that he too was tired of this vicious circle we were trapped in for more than a decade. He was the black sheep and had to behave that way and that is what his family expected of him. That was his role ever since he could remember. When we got married, I took away their black sheep, I was an interference because I could express myself and that was a threat, yet I have known Isghak as a friend and frequently visited their home with my ex-husband at the time. When I got divorced, things changed when I visited there and I just visited less as I was still trying to find my feet anyway. A year after Isghak and I got married, his ex-wife had gone to the maintenance office for an increase. This was the opportunity Isghak had been waiting for; he could now request a DNA test. I remember when we met, he told me he has a son and a daughter, but the daughter was definitely not his. I was feeling awkward during this conversation because I was practically a stranger. I was thinking, "This is that type of man that speaks badly about the woman in their lives when they are not there to defend themselves and also why is he still in this marriage?" I eventually got the opportunity to meet his wife at the time and in time they came and visited our home like we visited theirs. They lived with Isghak's parents and I remember that whenever I use to go there, they were always talking cheerfully, but Isghak was always quiet. This must be his character as he was just not like his siblings or his parents. There was a mystery about him with his odd character, this same man that told me about his wife's deceit. He was a gentleman, always behaved himself and this to me was even more mysterious as someone that openly holds a baby girl in his hands and says this is not my daughter, must have a hidden agenda, but he did not. He became my friend and eventually he felt like a big brother to me. He is a well informed and intelligent person that had very little to say, but when given a chance one could learn from. He sometimes would look sad and a few minutes later, whistle a tune or sing an old song with the passion of an old soul trapped in a young man. Many times my husband's past and the way the situation was handled provoked unpleasant feelings. I was on the back seat watching, biting my lips and fuming, ready to spit bullets because being polite did not get me anywhere.

After Sheldon listened to Isghak's side and his take on this, he advised us that since we both have the same purpose in common which is closure, we should write a letter and send it or hand deliver as previous attempts were not successful. I thought that this is a brilliant idea for me, but Isghak needed to do it his way and that is visiting his parents and be given a chance to be heard. After two failed attempts as the topic was continuously being changed to ensure that it remains a suitable topic, he came home on both occasions defeated after having spent five hours at his parent's home. I on the other hand started my letter which I wrote over 8 days, informing them how they made me feel as a wife and a mother. So in the next session also accompanied by Isghak, we fed back to Sheldon as to where we are in the process, it was action time, it was time to deliver. I got a day off because our department had to assist with production because of the launch of our new product range. So after our session, I bought myself a movie ticket for the 2pm show to watch Twilight Breaking Dawn part two, and then went to visit my cousin Nishaat. While I was there, I decided to call my brother to request that he accompany me to Isghak's parents that same evening to read my letter as advised by Sheldon as I might miss something if I don't refer to the letter. I enjoyed the movie, as it was "me time" and not the type of movie Isghak enjoys. Since he was my movie partner and it is not his type of movie, I went by myself and even finished my popcorn and coke.

At 19h30, we fetched my brother and went to Isghak's parents. They were not surprised to see me as Isghak told them that I too was going to come speak to them, but what I read to them surprised them. My five page letter I read to them, it was as if I was telling them about some other people as this was not them. His father said, "Speak to me my girl, I am a psychologist, don't waste your time with them". "I treated my son's equally, I hit him and it made him a better father, his father said". I knew that it was a good idea to write the letter as even though I had the opportunity to read it to them, I would also leave them a copy of the letter and a copy of the DNA results, to refer to later. "He brought her here", he said referring to Isghak's ex-wife. This is all the things Isghak said they would say. He has told me many times how they are set in their ways, but I always thought that if I can show them a different way, they might change the way they treat him, he was never wrong, I always gave his family the benefit of the doubt. I was angry at him when he came home without results, but I soon realized that he was like a character of a book I had just read, "Fifty Shades of Grey", where Laila with her obsession with Christian Grey surrendered the gun that was meant to kill his new sub Anastasia, took on the dominant role under very stressful situation as she was ready to pull the trigger and she immediately became submissive. That was what happened to him every time he went back to what was once his home, the place where you are supposed to be yourself amongst your family. When your parents sit and listen instead of trying to persuade you or even tell you that you are wrong, where problems are solved when family meet to discuss matters of the heart. This is why I missed my father so much, I needed him to be my father and listen to me, guide me and motivate me when I feel like giving up. We were raised with the family meeting ... tribal council. Whenever me or one of my siblings stepped out of line, my father use to have family meetings where you get to tell your side of the story, an opportunity to come clean. If you speak more lies, then you will be punished, you are then so grounded, together with your partner in crime, if there was one. Your punishment is rolled out once the entire family got to speak, except for my submissive mother as my father spoke on her behalf, she very rarely could air her views. My father was old school, his mother being an Indian Surti and his father an Afrikaner from Indonesian decent, which in the old regime made him Cape Malay, his descendants like many others were brought to South Africa as slaves. Back then it was normal to have many kids and my father was the eldest son and second eldest of thirteen children. My grandmother was a housewife and maintained the children and the grandfather had to go out and provide for the family. That is also the way we were raised. Once the meeting is adjourned, we would salaah (pray) as a family together. Everyone was relieved when it was over, even the culprit that caused the tribal council. So from young we learnt that when your siblings think of doing wrong, you step in and persuade him or her not to go off the track, if not, the information will be filtered to the head of the household, my father.