A Father's UNFAILING Love

By Nqandeka Nyikana Pityi

When mama was pregnant with me her doctor insisted she needed emergency surgery to remove the tumour troubling her. Much to the doctor's rage dad refused and he named me Nqandeka 'the one who refused to die'. We had a unique bond. I salute him for playing the father role to the end. Dad made me love, know and relate to God as father.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nqandeka Nyikana Pityi
• Release date: May 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9780620933612

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A Father’s

UNFAILING Love

My Story

Nqandeka Nyikana Pityi

© Nqandeka Nyikana Pityi 2021

A Father’s Unfailing Love – My Story

Published by HK Nyikana

King William’s Town, South Africa

[e-mail]

ISBN 978-0-620-93360-5

eISBN 978-0-620-93361-2

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the written permission of the copyright owner.

Layout and cover design by Boutique Books

DEDICATION

I dedicate this book to my earthly father, Holford Khumbulele Nyikana, without whom I would never have known a Father’s Unfailing Love, and to my mother, Cordelia Nonkundla Nyikana, without whom there would never have been a Father’s Unfailing Love.

In memory of a mother’s pride and joy:

Lizo Pityi 1989-2010

Contents

DEDICATION

FOREWORD BY BISHOP/PROPHET TONY OSUOBENI

Prologue

1 RESCUED

2 HUNTED

3 TURN THE TABLES

4 DAUGHTER OR FOE?

5 Destiny Is Inheritance

6 DESTINY CONFIRMATIONS

7 The Land of Promise

8 COLLISION WITH DESTINY

Conclusion

FOREWORD BY

BISHOP/PROPHET

TONY OSUOBENI

Words have meaning and names have power. Nqandeka Pityi’s riveting story paints a powerful picture of victory from birth. Confused for a tumour by a rogue doctor who wanted to terminate her life in the womb, God ordained that she would be born and not only survive the pain and sufferings she would be confronted with in life, but that she would thrive and live to tell her story.

The famed American author and poet Maya Angelou once said; There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story. Nqandi has borne this agony for some time now, but not any more. The butterfly has broken through the wriggling lava-like cocoon of disheartening happenstances to voice and celebrate her glory.

Indeed, there’s no glory without a story. Nqandi has beaten death; she lives to tell her story. She knows that her story will be a gift that keeps giving in a world that is bereft of cream and colour. The Spirit of God spoke through her dad when he christened his miraculous baby gal Nqandeka because she refused to die in the womb. Even in her foetal existence, the unborn winner decided that the womb would not be her tomb. She chose life over death and, ever since she was born, she’s been choosing life over death. She cannot be stopped. She cannot be killed. She cannot be decimated and terminated before her time. She must fulfil her destiny. Many shall live because of her. This is a must-read for everyone who will thrive in a world that makes living so hard. Nqandeka!

Anthony Osuobeni,

BA; MA; LL. M. (Moritz Law)

Doctor of Laws (Rhodes Law)

JOY IN THE CITY Acts 8:5-8

Prologue

Till death do us part.

Standing at the graveside of her husband of 59 years, Cordie contemplated the past.

So many difficulties. So many trials, tribulations and joys. They surely strengthened their fifty-nine years together. That day had been devastating to all of them. The pain in her chest seemed to be riving it apart. Leaving him in that cold lonely grave had been horrible. Shaking her head, she thought of how they had told her that Nqandeka had wanted to throw herself into the grave. It was typical of her to be so inconsolable – although they all were.

She muttered to her dead husband: This has been my secret fear. Of all our five children you sheltered her the most. There was always a special spiritual connection between you two. It was right there when I was pregnant with her. I had sailed through the previous pregnancies, but being pregnant with her for sure had different challenges. Those pregnancy blues were a horse of a different colour.

Her memories took her back to 1963, when she was first aware that she was pregnant with the child who would come to be named Nqandeka.

She stirred in her sleep. It was time to wake up. She folded her hands behind her head and stared at the ceiling. She gently pressed her right hand to her belly, she let it stay there and smiled as she thought of the new life that was growing there.

She slowly sat up in bed, closed her eyes and prayed. Then she quietly sat up, careful not to wake up Gugu.

Her sister-in-law was knocking at her door. Sisi, sisi, wake up. We have a long journey to the doctor’s surgery today.

When she opened the door, her sister-in-law continued, her voice softening, I have never known you to sleep this late. This is the second time I’ve been knocking this morning. The second time! Come now, we must go. You know that it takes two hours to walk to the surgery. Remember how the nurse chased us away last time, just because we got there after eleven?

By 6 o’clock they were walking briskly to Debe Nek, where the doctor’s rooms were.

Debe Nek boasted a trading store, a hotel, which was owned by the Railways, the homes of a handful of railway employees, a post office and the doctor’s surgery. The surrounding villages consulted with Doctor Hermann. All the residential houses belonged to whites, who were the sole residents and business owners of Debe Nek.

Dr Hermann was in his mid-sixties, of medium height and square and dark. His gaze was hostile and malevolent. He hated Africans, and believed that all the problems of his country would be solved if they could be stopped from breeding like blerry rabbits.

The secret joy of having discovered she was carrying a new life was momentarily snatched from the expectant mother during this routine consultation with the medical doctor.

Without any sign of sympathy, the doctor told her, You have a tumour in your womb and it must be removed immediately so that it does not cause further damage. The cold hostile words crushed the mother.

Doctor, please check me for pregnancy first. Anyway, I need to tell my husband about any operation you want done and get his permission.

I can’t wait for your husband. Woman, this is your body and you may die if I don’t operate immediately. I don’t understand you people and your foolishness. Nor do I care for it. The doctor was in a rage.

Confused by this hostile reaction, the crushed mother left his rooms.

Over the next months, she would often reach for the bedside drawer and take out the letter to read her husband’s comforting words: Cordie, never mind what that doctor said. If you suspect you are pregnant then you are. It has been said that you womenfolk are the first ones to know these things, sometimes before a doctor would tell you.

Hopelessly she would think, "Oh, Tata ka Gugu [Gugu’s Dad] it is so easy for you to say this when you are not the one to have to face that doctor."

On subsequent medical visits this scenario always played out, with ever-increasing intensity. Mother wanted to know when the baby was due, while the doctor insisted the tumour was growing. He got angrier and more hostile at each visit. The young wife became increasingly terrified of her doctor, and as her husband was at home when it was time for her next consultation, he accompanied her to the doctor.

Listen here, said Dr Hermann said, you need to let me operate on this woman straight away. This tumour is growing, and it will kill her soon.

But Doctor, she says that she is pregnant. Women know these things. If you operate, what will happen to the baby.

You have enough children already. You can barely feed them as it is. You don’t need another mouth to feed. I will be saving your wife, but I won’t be able to save the baby.

My wife has found this pregnancy more difficult than the previous ones, but she assures me that it is normal. She is sure that there is no tumour. And no matter how many children we may have, we welcome this child as we have welcomed the other children. If you cannot tell the difference between a baby and a tumour, then I don’t think that we want you to be her doctor any longer. I shall move her to Alice, closer to me and where she can find a doctor who does know the difference.

Dr Hermann had been very angry. He had ranted and raged about ungratefulness and lack of respect and stupidity, but Tata ka Gugu and his wife had left the surgery, never to return.

In Alice, things had not been much better.

In the fullness of time, the proud parents, who had buried two sons before this birth, welcomed a healthy baby girl to the world. The father named her Nqandeka.

When the time came for the baby to speak her first words, the parents noticed some difficulty. It was back to more doctors and hospitals to find out what the matter was. One doctor, familiar with such cases of children with lazy tongues, said it would improve as the child grew, and it did to a certain extent.

Nqandeka never knew if