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As the car drove down the cart tracks towards the house I had to strain my aging eyes as I tried to figure out whose it could be or who was driving it. I could not identify either. I called Carol to help me identify the car or the driver. She could not tell either. I just had to wait and see, or hear as my sight was getting really poor. Who on this earth could ever think of visiting such a poor old granny who could hardly see and stayed in a tilted hut that was almost falling over?
The engine was switched off as soon as the car was brought to a stand still. I could now clearly see this tall, ebony, young and handsome man. I could guess he was in his mid-twenties. But who could this be? Since my husband died in a car crash as he was coming from one of the workshops he usually attended as one of the elite in the community, no one except my children had really cared to visit me. As the AIDS pandemic got serious I lost both my sons to this curse. What I got from these two sons were three opharns since the mothers were also promoted to glory within three years. I was useless then to these children.
Once I had worked as a primary school teacher during the colonial era but once I got married and was expecting my first child I had to leave work and never went back again. Now I was unemployed twenty years down the line, widowed, helpless with three orphans with my sons and daughters-in-law departed. I was only saved by my son-in-law who was by then in Germany, training to be an engineer at one of the colleges. He took all my grandchildren to provide them with a more decent life and education.
All this flashed through my mind within a few seconds as I was trying to think of whoever could think of me and drive all the way from wherever to this far place in Emakundleni in the hot and dry region of Matebeleland South of Zimbabwe.
The expression on my face should have made this guest very nervous. With a shaky voice, trying to be culturally respectful, he greeted, "Salibonani gogo." (Greetings to you grandma). I responded warmly, "Hebo muzukulu, kathi kunjani mutanami?' (Hello my grandchild, how do you do my child?). This should have driven out the fear that had just haunted him. The greetings proceeded as we took seats under a tree that grew along the fence just behind the kitchen.
I almost skipped myself when this man introduced himself. Of course we had been communicating with the uncle but the boys had since left their uncle as they went to college. Because of the poor network connections and scarcity of telephones in these rural communities of the country I did not even know what had become of them or what they had been doing. I was actually worried about them. Blessing! This could not be! Blessing! Was he not one of the detectives after some kind of facts in an investigation? Was he not one of these con men we hear about? But what would ayone want from a poor, lonely old woman like me?
"Gogo, what is wrong?" he asked as he could not see any joy in my face but confusion. "I am Blessing, your loving Zibusiso you used to rock under this tree that aunt Thandiwe (Beloved) always used to tell me about. I am your Zibusiso. You used to carry me on your back as you worked in the field. I am your Zibusiso, son of Sukoluhle (Perfect day) and Mandlenkosi (Power of God). Gogo, I have come to see you, to care for you, to listen to you and love you back like you did when I was not even aware. I have waited all these years to see 'my mother' and now I have. Gogo how I longed to meet you."
Tears were now streaming down his cheeks as I saw the inner man in that gentleman who looked so powerful when I first set my eyes on him. I could not help it, and neither was I aware that tears were also streaming down my cheeks. Carol was also about to cry as she was comforting me and urging me not to cry.
Carol was the granddaughter of a man who once headed my cattle when my husband was still living. His son married a local girl and they were blessed with three children. Carol's father was unfortunately irresponsible, ever tracking illicit beer and local teachers who would once in a while buy him some opaque brew. I felt for the mother and daughter. As she was now in grade four and the father was failing to pay her school fees I had decided to stay with her and provide all her educational needs from the little I got from my daughter and son-in-law. This was also important to me as it would cut down on the loneliness I would endure when I stayed all by myself.
After calming down we had a special reunion with my Zibusiso. I had to introduce Carol to our guest and he was well pleased with that. The sun was now setting and we had to move into the house. On that day none of us felt sleepy and we talked late into the night. We finally had to retire to bed.
I woke up to the sound of a heavy vehicle very close to the house. I woke up to investigate. It was just after six in the morning. This truck with a lot of attachments on its rear was being parked where Zibusiso's car was parked. He talked to the driver who alighted off the truck.
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Writer Profile
Ben-pam Koto
I am a Zimbabwean and Shona. I once worked as a teacher in Manicaland District of Zimbabwe and in Matebeleland South District. In these areas I came across various cases of children having the kind of social problems that are briefly highlighted in the article. I also come across one particular lady who had a case similar to the old lady in the article. Her story touched me so much that even though I have no blood relation with her, I always think about her.
AIDS and poverty are the other issues seriously affecting some communties and as such this is also briefly highlighted.
The article is so brief because I have a very tight programme with my college work. I have a passion for writing and hope one day I will get the kind of time to do that.
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Comments
SAID | Jan 16th, 2007
you have such a way with words! this is beautiful
jun 6,2011 vishist | Jun 6th, 2011
it zoots.a very touching story
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