I was told the following story by a grieving man — let’s call him Edward.
He began:
“I started dating my wife while we were still in secondary school. Our relationship was no secret; everyone in our community knew about us. After matric in 2005, I left for Johannesburg to work, while she remained behind to complete Grade 12.
Towards the end of that year, her parents called me to a meeting. It was the first time her father, Mr Tombo — a man of honour — spoke to me formally. Present were myself, my girlfriend Sara, her mother Vho Tshinakaho (whom we call Vho Tshina), and Mr Tombo, the head of the family.
He addressed me warmly: ‘My son, don’t be afraid. You’ve done nothing wrong. I called you here with a humble request. I’ve known about your relationship with my daughter for three years, and I now accept you as my son-in-law. You no longer need to hide behind bushes to see her — come openly, we welcome you.’
Then he grew serious: ‘My daughter tells me you plan to marry and that your pastor has blessed your relationship. But I ask you not to rush into marriage until she completes her studies. She has just written her Grade 12 exams, and I know she will pass. The problem is that her mother and I are unemployed. We cannot afford her university fees. If you truly intend to build a life with her, I ask you to help with her studies.’
His words pierced me. I saw sincerity in his eyes. I nearly wept.
‘That is not a problem, Baba,’ I replied. ‘I am honoured to be welcomed as your son-in-law.’
Vho Tshina remained silent, as is customary in Venda culture — wives often defer to their husbands in such matters.
Fast forward to today.
Sara is now a qualified teacher. Mr Tombo passed away three years ago. And I — after years of working — have been unemployed for almost a year. When I was retrenched, we agreed to use my pension payout to finish building our house. Sara, with her salary, bought a small car in her name for us to run as an Uber taxi. It seemed like a solid plan.
But two weeks ago, I discovered the unthinkable: Sara has been cheating on me for months. Worse still, she no longer wants intimacy with me. A friend of hers revealed everything, even warning me that Sara is deliberately provoking me — hoping I will raise my hand against her so she can file for divorce.
In anger, I called for a meeting with her mother. I laid everything bare, even naming the man she was seeing. I expected Vho Tshina to reprimand her daughter. Instead, she said quietly: ‘What can I say? I am just a woman.’
Sara, however, was defiant.
‘I’m tired of living with a man who acts like a woman,’ she spat.
When I asked what she meant, she replied: ‘A man who doesn’t work is like a woman.’
Then she demanded the car back — the same car we had agreed would support us.
I turned to her mother: ‘Didn’t I pay for your daughter’s university studies?’
But Sara cut in coldly: ‘I didn’t hold a gun to your head. You volunteered.’
The meeting ended without resolution.
The final blow came when Sara’s friend told me she now spends most nights with her new boyfriend — at her mother’s house.
That is my story,” Edward concluded, his voice heavy with grief.
VKRA advice:
Love should be built on respect and honesty, not blind sacrifice. Do not invest everything — money, time or dignity — without clear commitment and reciprocity.