Chapter 12: 11.
A FACE IN THE CROWD
11.
I couldn't believe my eyes when I checked my Mascom Mobile account. My first art sale had earned me a whopping BWP 1,500 (approximately USD 135) after deducting delivery expenses and packaging costs.
"Wow!" I exclaimed, jumping up from my chair.
This was more than I ever imagined.
Tshepo's words echoed in my mind: "Your art deserves grandeur."
I decided to invest in higher-grade painting materials:
- Top-quality canvas
- Professional-grade paints
- Advanced brushes
- Elegant frames
Tshepo encouraged me to go all out.
"Paint with passion, Precious," he said. "Create masterpieces."
With renewed confidence, I set ambitious goals:
"I'll post paintings for sale regularly and aim for BWP 5,000 to 10,000 (approximately USD 450-900) weekly."
Why not? My art was in demand.
I envisioned my art studio, filled with natural light, vibrant colors, and inspiration.
No more scavenging for discarded materials.
No more doubts.
My art would thrive.
I began working on new pieces, pouring my heart and soul into each brushstroke.
Tshepo's guidance and encouragement fueled my creativity.
"Unleash your potential, Precious," he said.
And I did.
With every stroke, I felt empowered.
My art was no longer just a hobby.
It was my business.
My passion.
My future.
I snapped photos of my latest masterpieces and posted them online.
"New art pieces available!" I announced on social media.
The responses poured in:
"Stunning!"
"Beautiful work!"
"I'll take two!"
My phone buzzed with inquiries and orders.
I beamed with pride.
This was just the beginning.
My art journey had finally taken off.
And I was soaring.
.
.
.
Katlego's daily afternoon calls became a routine. He'd inquire about Prestige's availability for tutoring, and I'd update him.
Some days she's around, most days she's not.
Despite Prestige's erratic schedule, Katlego persisted.
"I'll come anyway," he'd say. "Maybe she'll show up."
Meanwhile, Princess, my sister, had abandoned her fashion design dreams.
She spent her days lounging at home, scrolling through her phone, and binge-watching TV shows.
At night, she'd vanish into the party scene with her friends.
I despised those friends.
They were beautiful, but empty.
No ambition.
No direction.
Just a never-ending cycle of parties, men, and dependencies.
Two were baby mamas, struggling to make ends meet.
One was divorced, still reeling from the aftermath.
Their conversations revolved around liquor, drugs, and men.
I'd overhear them at our house, discussing their escapades.
Dad remained oblivious.
He only wanted Princess to have a "good life."
A rich husband.
Parties.
No worries.
He believed Princess was his mother's reincarnation.
"A second chance," he'd say.
As if that justified Princess's aimless existence.
I felt frustrated.
Why couldn't Dad see the reality?
Princess needed guidance.
Not enablement.
But for now, she remained lost.
Trapped in a world of temporary highs and empty promises.
.
.
The first time Katlego showed up after knowing Prestige wasn't home, I was taken aback.
"Hey, I'll wait for a bit," he said, settling into the sitting room.
After a few minutes, he asked, "Can I see your studio?"
My initial refusal turned into a hesitant yes, thanks to his persuasive smile.
As he entered my sanctuary, his eyes widened.
"Wow, Precious, your art is incredible!"
He bought one of my paintings, and subsequent visits became routine.
If Prestige was home, he'd tutor her.
If not, he'd join me in my room, watching me paint.
Initially, it felt uncomfortable.
But Katlego's genuine interest and kindness put me at ease.
Prestige lost interest in tutoring, preferring outings with friends.
Yet Katlego continued showing up.
I suspected she was uneasy about him knowing her schedule.
Little did she know, I was the "whistle blower."
I enjoyed Katlego's company.
Our friendship rekindled, and I cherished it.
With finals approaching, I refocused on my studies.
Scholarships beckoned, and escaping Dad's house was my goal.
Katlego's WhatsApp messages surprised me.
Photos of me painting, back turned, and paintings on display.
"Caught in the act," he teased.
I shared them with Tshepo, who beamed with pride.
"He's good for you, Precious," Tshepo said.
I confided in Tshepo about my feelings for Katlego.
"My friend, I'm scared," I admitted. "What if he doesn't feel the same?"
Tshepo reassured me.
"Katlego respects you, Precious. Don't fear losing him."
Tshepo's words comforted me.
Perhaps I could navigate these emotions without jeopardizing our friendship.
As I painted, Katlego's presence lingered.
.
.
School days blurred together, with Katlego and I maintaining our secret friendship.
We'd exchange texts during classes, sharing jokes and encouragement.
But in the hallways, we'd pretend to be mere acquaintances.
It was a delicate balance, but Katlego understood my reservations.
"Hey, good luck on your exams!" he'd text during study breaks.
"Thanks! You too!" I'd reply, smiling.
Finals week arrived, and nerves took over.
Katlego's texts became more frequent.
"You got this, Precious!"
"Stay focused, you're almost done!"
His words boosted my confidence.
I poured my heart into every exam, determined to secure those scholarships.
And then, it was over.
Senior secondary school was behind me.
I felt liberated.
Katlego was among the first to congratulate me.
"We did it!" he texted, accompanied by a celebratory emoji.
I smiled, knowing our secret friendship had made the journey more bearable.
As I walked out of school for the last time, Katlego caught my eye.
For a fleeting moment, our gazes locked.
A silent understanding passed between us.
Maybe, just maybe, our secret friendship would evolve into something more.
The thought sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
But for now, I basked in the joy of freedom.
No more hiding.
No more secrets.
A new chapter awaited.
And Katlego might just be a part of it.
.
.
.
The wait for BGCSE results felt like an eternity.
October's exams had concluded in November, and now I was stuck at home, twiddling my thumbs.
Painting filled some of the void, but the silence was oppressive.
Christmas preparations filled the air, but my mind wandered.
Would I secure a scholarship?
What lay ahead?
Dad summoned us to a family meeting, breaking the monotony.
We gathered in the sitting room, exchanging curious glances.
Dad cleared his throat.
"A wedding will take place next year."
Princess raised an eyebrow.
"Whose wedding is that?" she asked, nonchalant.
Prestige chimed in, "As long as it's not my wedding, it's none of my business. Is this why we're here?"
Dad's expression turned serious.
"It's our family business, young lady. Your sister, Precious, will be getting married!"
The room froze.
Princess's laughter pierced the air, mocking and incredulous.
"Precious? Ha! Who'd marry her?"
Prestige's voice rose.
"That's ridiculous! Precious, you're seventeen!"
My face burned, shock and embarrassment warring within.
Me, married?
Next year?
Impossible!
I hadn't even received my BGCSE results yet!
What about my scholarship?
My dreams?
"Who...who is it?" I stammered.
Dad's smile seemed forced.
"All will be revealed in due time. Just know it's a good match."
A good match?
No words could express the turmoil brewing inside.
Was this my fate?
Forced into marriage?
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