DEAR UNCLE,

Forgive my brother. He was wrong. Oh! I agree with you, but please forgive him and let him go. When our parents died you were gracious enough to move into our house, take us into your care and starve us. But you’re right, my brother was wrong. He should never have gotten angry. When your wife said she needed our rooms for her children and the spare room for her sister, she wasn’t wrong. When she made us sleep in the old, small pantry, you saw and heard her, but, you said nothing. You’re right, my brother was wrong, what right had he to get angry? He is only the son of your benefactor.

You’re never wrong Uncle, Not when you agreed with your wife to take us out of school because “learning a trade is more suitable for people of our position”. Not when you took away his pride and belittled him before your children’s friends. Who were we to feel anger when you told them to ask us for whatever they wanted and use us however they wanted? Ingrates, that’s what we were.

You’ve always been right uncle. You were right when you watched your wife push me down the stairs in my father’s house for having the impetus to tell her I needed money for a bra. I’m sorry I didn’t know my place, I should never have asked for any part of my father’s money. My head nearly cracked open like palmnut under a stone, but, how dare I complain? How dare my brother get mad? What is my head worth?

You can do no wrong Uncle, you being a Deacon and all. Your wife is the vice president of the women fellowship so of course you’re both right. With your early morning devotions and your perfect attendance at church programs. We were wrong to think we should have been allowed to go to church with your lovely family in the car our father used to take us to school in. You were right; we would have been an embarrassment to you with our unkempt selves. We were not thinking properly.

How right you are, dear uncle. We should have realized we were orphans and been grateful for our stale bread and unsweetened tea. We should have accepted our fates. We should never have gone Oliver Twist on you and your benevolent wife. We have no parents and so we should have expected no care, love or even regard from you who had become very fortunate at our parents’ death. Our feelings of exploitation were uncalled for.

Please uncle, I’m sorry my brother piled up so much anger that he snapped and threw that cutlass at your wife. He should have smiled and nodded when she said “cut the grass properly, you retarded bastard, it does not belong to your father”. Who did he think he was?
Please forgive my brother, Uncle, let him out of jail, he is all I have. We have learnt our lessons, you are right, we were wrong.

---

Written by: Anita C. Jacob
Inspired by: Sindiwe Magona's Mother to Mother