Chapter 2

Stubborn and strong willed, that's who I am, and those two words define Celeste Khoza in a nutshell. I've always been a bit of a...let's say, I've always had high standards when it came to anything in my life.

Ever since I was a toddler, I have always gotten what I wanted from my parents. Don't get me wrong I'm neither the only child my parents have had nor are they recipients of old money. Matter of fact, my parents are from humble beginnings. My father was born in a family of 11 that lived in a one bedroom flat in Hillbrow, Johannesburg and my mother lived with her grandparents and four cousins in a shack in rural Tembisa. My mother always told me that she was a young girl who had big dreams of taking over the world and her grandparents made her believe that anything was possible which was why she worked so hard at school and managed to get a bursary to study at any university of her choice. During her first year, she stumbled into my drunken father one night at a party and the pair ever since then had fallen in love and became inseparable. They were together for five years before they decided to get married, buy a beautiful starter home and start both a business and a family together. That's when they were hit with the idea to open up their own butcher and ten years later, it became a franchise. By the time I was in my teens they had over 17 butcher branches in the country, and as a result of that we had a well off lifestyle. The best private schools in the country, ridiculously expensive clothing, unnecessary weekend getaways every week and chauffeured luxury cars.

My parents gave us whatever we desired and made it crystal clear that the world was in our hands and either of us could do whatever we wanted, no matter the cost. That's why when my oldest sister wanted to branch into fashion and design, my parents quickly sent her off to France, and when my brother asked for the most classic Ferrari luxury car that my parents could find for him, he got that and a penthouse in the heart of Sandton.

The unnecessary spending only increased when it came to me, their youngest child. I was spoiled, pampered and coddled. As a result of that, even at my age of 32 years, I still stay with my parents in the enormous, extravagant and ornate mansion in the affluent suburb only meant for the extremely well off upper class society of Johannesburg- Houghton.

I couldn't be seen ever not looking my best because I have a reputation to uphold which was why I was always one thing: neat. Contrary to a lot of women, mostly in my family, I believed that short hair was the best and it was why I always kept my hair short for as long as I could remember. Don't get me wrong, I'm not referring to a bob, I'm referring to a shaved head. Mostly because my natural stubborn African hair was tedious to deal with so shaving my head was the most sensible thing for me to do.

There are a lot of things about me that were different from everybody else, my thought processes and actions being namely two. The same way that my sister always knew from young that she wanted to be a fashion designer and be in the fashion industry, I knew what I wanted- or better yet, I knew what I didn't want. You see, when I was in my teens and girls were talking about dates, make out sessions, sex, getting married and having a happily ever after with some foolish immature boys who probably didn't wash their dirty boxers. While my classmates were going on dates, and my aunts and cousins would come with "happy" news about being pregnant or getting engaged, I would visibly shudder in disgust and horror and take my leave. A man? Now that was one thing I didn't need.

Don't get me wrong, my father has always been wonderful to me but the same cannot be said for his relationship with my mother. My father has been known for his affairs and mistresses over the years during their marriage. I've lost count of the amount of times my mother would catch him red handed and I've lost count of the amount of times my mother would break down and cry, until eventually, she just became numb. I could see that he loved her. My father adored my mother, but the man was very easily tempted.

He's not the only disappointment of a man that I have come across in my life, because the very same men that my aunts and cousins would proudly announce to be married to and impregnated by, abused them both physically and emotionally, and I refuse to ever go through the same.

I know I'm not the only one who has seen the dark nature of men because how many times have you switched on the news and saw a mug shot of some man who'd murdered, or beaten his wife or girlfriend near death? How many times have you seen your own family female members covering up their bruises in front of you? How many times have you heard the stories? Or seen the women who had snapped due to the abuse and finally did something about it but were arrested because the law protects these monsters?

I didn't want to be that woman. I refused to be.

So from a young age, I was always aware about what was going on. I was aware of my father hitting my mother, I was aware of my father disappearing and then reappearing and hugging me like he'd never left and I was aware of my mother's tears and how my aunts told her that she should hold onto her marriage.

Everybody around me was aware of my feelings towards any man and even though at the beginning they had laughed and called me foolish, thinking that at some point I'd get a boyfriend, I kept true to my word and only focused on myself and trying to make it in this concrete jungle. In fact, my mother was my biggest supporter, always telling me that love didn't exist anymore, and my father would warn me to stay away from men because they would eventually break my heart.

So you can't imagine the disbelief and surprise after all these years, when I am 32 years old, running and owning one of my parents butcher branches- facing my parents as they told me that they, the most messed up couple ever, have found me a husband.