The Last Lifeline

Chapter 1

It has never ceased to amaze me how people, places and things suddenly take on significance in your life almost to the point of running it. Three months ago, I had no idea whatsoever where the physiotherapy department of St Luke hospital was located. As of now, I know that there are four approaches to it; the eastern one is the shortest, whilst the western one is the most convenient.

I am a forty-something-have-it-all. I have a successful husband, I’m the mother of twins and I have a thriving career. Many women would bend themselves double to trade places with me. Then, I should add. That was three months ago. This morning, as I have always done for the last month, I am seated alone at the reception of the physiotherapy department. Some patient is yet to beat me to this. I am dressed in a beige leather pea coat over a brown cashmere polo neck, black winter’s trousers and dark brown leather shoes. It has nothing to do with style or elegance, but all with comfort.

On March 12, I was driving from Gaborone. In the last fifty kilometres of the journey of four hundred and fifty kilometres, I hit a donkey and the Toyota Camry I was driving overturned three times. By the time I was rescued from the wreckage, I was half-conscious and had a broken neck.

After two months of neck traction and one major operation on the neck, the surgical team declared me fit to be discharged from the Gaborone Private Hospital. I continued to make steady progress until winter set in, and then I slid backwards. I am very lucky to be alive, but cold weather has become my sworn enemy. The cold makes my right shoulder and hand muscles stiff and makes it feel as heavy as lead. I almost lose my balance when I’m on my feet. The regular massage and exercises relax the muscles, giving me incredible relief.

I hope I am not getting addicted to them.

I have been coming here long enough to learn the routine of this place.

Ester, the auxiliary, is somewhere at the back tidying up the place whilst the two physiotherapists are in the office drawing up the day’s schedule. They normally start working on the patients by 8:00 a.m. I always carry a book or magazine to read whilst waiting for them and in between the exercises. By the look of things, I would not have to wait long today. Most patients are still under their warm blankets. They will come after 11:00 a.m. when the sun is up.

I fumble in my light leather bag for the book to read. It’s entitled A Third Treasury by Kahlil Gibran, the Lebanese poet and philosopher. It has seen its days; it has yellow dog-eared pages. I received it by DHL two days ago from my son, the second twin, Lesedinyana. He is a second year civil engineering student at the University of Cape Town in South Africa. He bought the book from a garage sale at one of his lecturers’ places. I am using the accompanying note as the bookmarker. It was very touching. It reads: ‘Mama, this is your book. Enjoy it. Keep up the spirit. Your strength has helped me conquer my fears about you and the accident. Your loving son, Lesedinyana’. He goes on to say that his favourites are’ Mother’ on Page 145 and ‘Youth and Age’ on Page 183.’

On that fateful day, I had driven him to Gaborone around 4:30 a.m. to catch the 3 p.m. flight to Cape Town through Oliver Tambo International airport. He had worn braces for two years and they had done their work. That morning, the three of us, Lesedinyana, the orthodontist and me, were more than thrilled by the perfect toothpaste advertisement smile. When I close my eyes now, I can see his grin from ear to ear, as he waved to me and disappeared into the departure lounge of Seretse Khama International airport. I started on the return journey by 1 p.m. Somewhere along the last 50 kilometres of the journey, a grey donkey suddenly appeared across the road. I remember struggling to control the car. Fortunately, I was buckled up. I woke up two days later in the intensive care unit of St Luke hospital with a tube in my nostrils, bladder and one of the hands. Moments after gaining consciousness, things happened quickly. A medical rescue team flew me to Gaborone Private Hospital.

As I turn the pages, a blue air mail letter falls out and I carefully bend down to pick it up whilst protecting my wobbly neck. It’s a letter from my youngest sister, May, from Gothenburg, Sweden. I actually received it two days ago and I have been carrying it with me, unopened. I know what she wants me to do and it is not possible at this moment. I need to sort out a number of things in my life before I can take her up on her offer.

The main door swings open and a tall, medium-built man in his late forties rushes in. He is wearing a black leather biker jacket over brown corduroy trousers and brown leather boots. He has a fresh African hair cut with some grey hairs at the temples.

He is Lebogang Lebani, the volunteer. He has been away in Kenya for three weeks. Surprisingly, everyone here including the patients call him by his initials, LL.

He walks in as if he is the one who is in charge of the place. I have never liked those big, deep brown eyes that seem to be boring into one’s soul. I will remember to ask Ester what LL does for a living. Let me pretend to be engrossed in my reading. Too late! He is already walking towards me.

Good morning, Mma Palai. You are indeed a regular early bird.

Good morning, LL, I reply whilst I close the book for a while.

He bends to read the title of the book.

Oh, it’s a Kahlil Gibran. I have heard so much about him although I’ve never read any of his works. I know him better as a painter than a writer.

This is also a first for me.

Otherwise, how are you getting on with the exercises?

I must say, it’s a see-saw ride. One moment I’m all smiles and the next I’m almost in tears.

It happens to all of us. You have to remain positive if you intend to reach the top of the mountain.

Ester Obonye walks towards us carrying a pile of clean white gowns. She is about forty years old, short and plump. She always wears a smile on her face. She is neatly dressed in a thick purple jersey over a purple uniform and flat black shoes.

Good morning, Mma Palai. How are you feeling today?

I’d say fifty/fifty. My shoulders are very stiff this morning.

Here, take one of these and go to the first cubicle. The meeting is likely to take long. We can start with the hot packs.

I hurry towards cubicle one leaving Ester talking excitedly with LL.

The warmth in the cubicle welcomed me and so did the mixed smell of wax and disinfectant. The couch was covered with clean white bed sheets.

I went through the ritual of taking off my winter layers and changed into the hospital gown.

Before long, Ester came in with the hot packs wrapped in a thick white sheet.

I got onto the couch and lay on my back as Ester placed the hot pack underneath my neck. She covered my legs with a white blanket.

Enjoy the warmth. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.

Thank you, Ester. You’re a real diamond.

I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer. I was grateful for being alive, out of bed and having a person like Ester around me.

Suddenly I started feeling the shoulder and neck muscles soften. The pull over the back of my head gave way as the heat relaxed the trapezius muscle.

For the four months I have been through these exercises, I have taken the trouble to learn more about the upper trunk muscles and their nerve supply. It has helped me understand why I feel more pain in particular positions. The relaxation of the muscles transported me to another planet.

I did not hear Ester enter the cubicle.

Mma Palai, time’s up. I need to return the packs and you need to start on the massage.

I sat up and she removed the warm packs.

I’ll find out who will be doing the massage for you, but first I have to collect our supplies from the store. Before I go, there is something I want to know. Have you ever attended LL’s support group?

I’ve heard of it but never attended it.

He has come back for good and he is very willing to support patients through their healing.

Thank you, Ester. I’ll give it a try in summer when it’s warmer.

Did I hear someone call my name? Stephen asked as he drew the curtain.

A tall, lanky man in his thirties walked in. He wore a white coat over a cream shirt, black trousers and shoes. He had short, curly hair and a neatly trimmed moustache. My sons would have called it the Italian type.

How is our early bird?

Incredibly, she’s as stiff as a lead pipe.

Come on, Mma Palai. It’s not that bad. May I please see your hands?

I stretched out both hands in front of him.

I’m worried. I can sign the cheques, but I can’t peel a potato.

When is your next appointment with Dr. Okoche?

Next week Thursday.

You have to be open with him and tell him all your concerns. For now, get me the massage oil and let’s go through the day’s drill.

It’s by the window sill, courtesy of Ester.

Stephen poured some Arnica oil in the palm of his hands. Its fragrance filled the air. For the next twenty minutes, he rubbed my shoulder muscles. As his long fingers dug deep into the taut muscles, I could feel them relax.

He left me to dress up in my warm layers of clothing.

Feeling more relaxed, I walked over to the pulley corner where Stephen was adjusting the weights for my exercise. I sat on the chair and pulled the weights down whilst Stephen gradually increased them.

Across the room, I could see a young man in a wheelchair seated by the sink. He was wrapped up well in a soft blanket and had his left hand soaking in a warm wax bath.

When the 10 kilogram weight was added, I broke into a sweat.

All right, that’ll do for today. Remember to exercise the small muscles of the hand by using the plasticine. Carry it with you and use it as often as you can.

I’ll definitely do that. Don’t forget that I am a Science teacher and an African house wife.

Stephen laughed whilst he nodded his head.

Take care. I’ll see you on Monday, he said as he walked off towards the young man by the sink.

I picked up my handbag and braced myself for the cold outside.

Surprisingly, it was warm outside. Now there were more people in the corridors: patients, nurses and students. A number were carrying big, yellow envelopes from the X-ray department. My day at the hospital had just ended, yet, for many other patients, it was just beginning. I walked to the parking lot next to the X-ray department and looked out for the beige Lexus in the sea of cars. It was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, I wished I had a cell phone to call my husband’s office. I had been the last one in the family to own a cell phone. I felt it was encroaching on my independence, but the twins had conspired and given me a Nokia 2760 as a Christmas present. Not wanting to hurt their feelings, I had used it occasionally until it was stolen during the accident.

I was thinking of returning to the physiotherapy department, when I saw the Lexus pulling in. Mothusi parked near to where I was. He came out and opened the back door for me. He was a hefty man in his late thirties, had short black hair and was wearing a navy-blue uniform and black shoes. The car was both cosy and warm inside.

Cars say much about their owners. It was stylish, elegant and spacious, and offered the ultimate comfort. My husband loved it and called it his Japanese Mercedes Benz. He had trusted it to Mothusi, his driver of eight years. He was a very careful driver, knew his boundaries and looked after it very well. The smell of the soft leather seats was welcoming.

Mothusi made himself comfortable in his seat and asked where he was to take me. He knew my routine, but also knew who the master was. We left the hospital and turned left towards the Marang Hotel. The mid-morning traffic was light. The loud music coming from inside the shopping centre announced to us that it was payday. Mothusi passed over the day’s newspapers and some letters to me.

I browsed through the local Guardian, Mmegi, Gazette and one particular item caught my attention. In all three there was an update report of the Constitutional Review Commission. The eight members of the commission had been touring the whole country collecting people’s views for over a year.

Their report was expected in the president’s office by no later than September 30. Currently they had set up camp in Maun. The chairperson was a seasoned lawyer who happened to be my husband. From what I knew of him, he would do whatever it took to deliver on time. The seven members of the committee needed a lot of prayers.

In about twenty minutes, we arrived at the Tati River Villas near the Marang Hotel.

Mothusi got out of the car and spoke through the intercom and the gate slid open immediately. By the time we entered, Nono, one of my old-faithfuls, was standing by the main door. She was a tall, pretty woman from Tutume. She was in her late thirties. Her long, black hair was permed and hung in curls. She wore a white, warm top over a pair of blue jeans and white trainers. She had joined our household nine years earlier as a shy, insecure woman with little dress sense. She had just separated from her husband of ten years for failing to give him children in a society that worshipped fertility. Time had changed her into a confident, responsible woman, who ran the home like clockwork. Her main asset was her eagerness to learn and improve herself. She smiled as she opened the back door and picked up the newspapers and my small bag. She gave her grocery list to Mothusi and we walked up to the house. It was warm outside. The well-tendered plants in the garden sparkled in the sun.

The warm sunshine streaming in through the large windows made the house warm and welcoming.

I walked straight to my favourite room, the family lounge, and lowered myself into one of the comfortable leather chairs. A richly coloured and patterned rug covered the brown ceramic tiles in the centre of the room. The chairs were arranged around a fireplace and there was a Samsung television in the right corner. On the gallery wall were family photographs running through decades. A framed oval-shaped mirror hung above the fireplace whilst Lesedinyana’s painting of local pots hung amongst some landscapes on the wall. I loved the family lounge for its simplicity and relaxing atmosphere. The twins loved it for its direct link to the kitchen. They could hide here all day whilst sneaking into the kitchen to raid the refrigerator. The second door opened to the patio overlooking the garden and swimming pool.

I took off the jacket and covered myself with a light warm blanket. Nono, who sometimes knew me better than myself, walked in with my red house slippers and soon after wheeled in a tea trolley.

Mme Mma Palai, Aunt May from Sweden rang here at 9:00 a.m. She wanted to know how you were.

Thank you for letting me know.

I want to remind you of my 3:00 p.m. appointment at Keaitse’s school in Donga.

It’s all right. You can go. I’ll be home.

Thank you. I have arranged with the gardener to wait on you until I come back at around 5:00 p.m.

That’s thoughtful of you. Thank you.

She left me pouring myself a steaming cup of Rooibos tea from the flask.

I helped myself to three fresh scones. I kept thinking of the burden of AIDS on all of us. Here was Nono, with no children of her own, who had the duty of taking care of her young sister’s three children. The sister had always been rebellious and had died of AIDS four years ago. The children were aged twelve, ten and eight and were living with Nono’s seventy-year-old mother in Blue Town in Francistown.

I looked for the remote and switched on the news channels – CNN and Sky News.

It was all about the war in Iraq and was very depressing. I tried the sports channels, but all that was showing was the countdown to the Olympics in Greece. I reached for the soft neck collar on the small table and fixed it around my neck, pushed another soft pillow under my neck and began reading my book. I started with ‘regret’. How true it rang.

The sound of a moving trolley brought me back to the present. A quick glance at my watch told me that it was 1:00 p.m. on the dot. It was lunchtime. Nono, having joined us when the twins were being ferried to and from school and from one afternoon activity to another, had become our timekeeper. Old habits die hard. I was home alone, but Nono still religiously followed the set times. She wheeled the trolley within my reach and uncovered the dishes. The smell of grilled fish hit my nostrils.

We were lucky to get some fresh bream fish from Kasane yesterday. I think you’ll enjoy it, Nono said as she gave me a plate to dish up for myself.

I served some roasted potatoes, rice, two pieces of grilled fish and spinach onto the plate. The fish was soft and tasty and the lemon and parsley flavour was just right. The baked onions and potatoes were crunchy. I washed them down with homemade passion fruit and orange juice. For dessert, I had two slices of pawpaw and one slice of pineapple.

Over the years, Nono had mastered both the cooking and presentation of food.

She was helping the twins to learn how to cook some basic dishes. They were planning to move into a self-catering hall next year. She enjoyed cooking for the twins the most as they ate anything, unlike me, who was strictly following a healthy eating plan.

The ringing of the telephone interrupted the meal. Nono answered it in the sitting room. I heard her quick steps in the corridor.

Mma, it’s Rre Palai. He wants to talk to you.

Thank you.

I walked across the room and answered the phone by the window.

Hello! he called out in a booming voice.

How are you feeling today? he asked.

I’m a little better, thank you.

Your mother has been fair. I visited her yesterday. She's more worried about your health than hers. If your aunt, Mme T, had her way, she’d be with you in Francistown by now.

Tell them not to worry. Nono is taking good care of me.

They both feel you need one of us around you.

Yes, she’s right, but her arthritis doesn’t allow her to come down until summer and you’re tied down by official work in Maun.

I believe you’ve read about the Commission in the papers.

It’s everywhere on BTV and in all the papers.

I’m stuck here for a while.

I can understand.

Lesedi and Lesedinyana are doing well. They both passed their first semester examinations.

I’m glad to hear that. I hear from them regularly. It’s only Mama who I can’t talk to as often as I want to. Each time I talk to her, she asks many questions and keeps insisting that she gets on the next bus to Francistown.

Her arthritis flares up in winter and your neck is not yet strong. I wonder who would take care of the other if she came over.

Exactly! That’s why I don’t talk to her that often.

The work is taking a toll on me. I’ve grown more grey hairs during this one and half years than in the last five years. Surprisingly, the office is doing fine without me.

They aren’t the only ones, I thought to myself.

That cell phone thing, I still maintain that you need one, for everyone’s convenience, he concluded.

I’ll get one when I need it. Now I have to go and finish my lunch. Thanks for calling.

I went back and scooped up the pawpaw and pineapple.

For some moments, I thought about where I had found myself at that point in time.

I have been a Chemistry and Physics teacher at John Mackenzie Private School (JMPS) for six years. I was head of the Science department. I loved my work and it defined me in another way other than being the wife of the most successful lawyer in Francistown. It was as if I was planting seeds in my students, nurturing them and watching them grow. It was a difficult but rewarding job.

As for Mama, she was better off in Maun with her sister than with me. On my part, as long as I had Nono with me and continued with the physiotherapy, I would get better and somehow manage. What would my father have said? I can imagine it being something like ‘you are your greatest strength or weakness. The choice is yours. Three-quarters of the outcome rests on your decision.’ I’m determined to be my best strength, I found myself thinking, as if talking to my father.

At that moment, I heard Nono talking and laughing with someone. Before I knew it, Mumfy, another old faithful of the household, had pushed open the kitchen door. He was at my feet wagging his tail. He was as white as snow, his eyes were sparkling and he smelt fresh. He was all over me. Fortunately, I had finished the lunch and Nono ran into the room to remove the food trolley.

I stroked his short coat.

Hmm! That’s why I hadn’t seen you all day.

Mothusi had taken him to the Vet for immunisation and grooming. Mumfy was Lesedinyana’s pet, but, over the last two years, he had lost interest in him. I, as the mother, had taken on the abandoned dog. Since the accident in March, Nono and I have shared ownership of him, though Lesedi and Lesedinyana never forget to inquire about him whenever they call home. Quite obviously, he is one of the most cared for members of the family. After Mumfy’s excitement had cooled, I walked to my bedroom to take a nap. He followed closely on my heels.

The thick striped orange and yellow curtains were drawn and the room was bathed in the warm afternoon sun. The bed was neatly made and the room smelt fresh. Nono had left her trademark on the room whilst I was in the hospital. I released the tiebacks, removed the warm house slippers and slipped under the red duvet. Mumfy lay on the rug by the foot of the bed.

A few hours later, I woke up to find the room dark and cold. I switched on the bedside lamp. The alarm clock read 5:15 p.m. I increased the room temperature to 28 degrees and picked a navy-blue winter jacket from the wardrobe. I freshened up in the bathroom and left the room with Mumfy following close by.

I went into the family lounge for the 5:00 p.m. tea. The tea trolley was exactly where I expected it to be. I sat down and poured myself a hot mug of tea. There were some roasted peanuts and watermelon seeds in glass jars, and some freshly made scones in a plastic container. As I liked the scones best with marmalade, I went to the kitchen to fetch it. The kitchen was spotlessly clean and everything was in its place. I took the marmalade jar from one of the cherry red cupboards and got a can opener from one of the racks. I stood by the kitchen table and tried to open the marmalade can. To my surprise, I failed to open it. I struggled for another five minutes and eventually gave up, frustrated. Then I remembered Dr. Okoche’s words: you are very lucky to be alive and lucky to be walking and not sitting in a wheelchair. However, the functioning of your right hand may improve, stay the same or deteriorate with time due to a combination of the injury itself and the process of ageing.

As I walked back to the family lounge, I was in tears. I was a teacher, yet my right hand was losing its functioning. I sat down and cried for some time. I was crying out of fear of becoming a dependant again. All my life, I had done things for myself and others. I have always made my own decisions. Nothing had prepared me for this gradual reversal of roles. I cried for all the important decisions that I would be forced to make about my marriage and career. I said a silent prayer with the hope that modern medicine would have something to offer me in order to preserve the functioning of my hand.

I spread out both hands and noted the obvious differences. The right hand was smaller than the left, the angle between the thumb and index finger was smaller on the right, and the right thumb muscles were smaller than those of the left. I pinched the skin over my right little finger and was delighted to feel the pain. I only hoped I would not have to change to being left-handed. I needed to talk to someone close but I was all alone. Through my tears, I could hear my father’s voice: ‘Kgomotso, you can still do many things. Make the most of that. Accept things as they are instead of how you want them to be. You’ll be happier.’

I sobered up and wiped away the tears with a tissue. The child in me enjoyed the hot mug of tea, crunchy peanuts, watermelon seeds and the fresh scones that were light and delicious. I felt good and remembered that the following day was my best friend’s second wedding anniversary. I cleared the table and washed up making sure I left Nono’s office undisturbed.

Shortly thereafter, I checked mail in the computer room next to the guest wing. The twins’ message was short and clear. They had passed their exams. Deborah, a colleague at JMPS had sent me a Bible reading for the day and several other long Bible messages. I congratulated the boys and wished them more success in future. I took some time to write something for Sarah and her husband for their anniversary. As I wrote it out, I could not help but be thankful for such an old friendship.

Sarah and I have been best friends for as long as I can remember. We attended St Joseph College in Gaborone together and also did Part 1 BSc in Lesotho and joined Nairobi University together. She went for Medicine whilst I opted for Veterinary Medicine. I changed to Education within three months. She was my lady of honour and a godparent to the twins. She is a Mokgatla from Mochudi. She is an intelligent, strong-willed woman with a big heart. She waited for Mr. Right for what seemed forever and then, two and half years ago, she met Ndaba, a South African chemical engineer. They met at a school concert at Maru-a-pula Secondary School. She gave him a tick for each of the items on her checklist. Six months later, she had followed him to Bloemfontein and, shortly thereafter, they were declared husband and wife. We miss each other dearly, but then again, destiny could not be overruled. After all, when you love someone, you give her the freedom to be. At that moment, my anniversary message completely fell in place.

THE LITTLE I KNOW OF LOVE:

To give love, you must have been loved;

you cannot give away what you do not have.

The precious gift of loving and being loved

is about giving, receiving and sharing.

It makes you happy and contented.

A happy and contented person makes others happy too.

She will be the richer. Genuine love enriches the giver and the receiver.

This is called the snowballing of love;

love cannot be contained but

love is passed on like a relay baton.

It could even be passed on faster and in a better form.

Love covers everything and transcends all barriers.

It is the greatest gift to man.

Love makes everything possible;

it heals, softens the heart and is creative,

it pushes us to live beyond ourselves.

Genuine love grows every day.

It needs to be polished with small acts of kindness

otherwise, it withers and dies.

Sometimes love is damaged beyond repair just like Humpty Dumpty.

Then one has no choice but to let go.

It is always better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

May the two of you grow old together in love.

Satisfied with my creation, I smiled to myself knowing very well that Sarah and John Ndaba would be happy too. I sent it and from the corner of my eye, I could see Lesedi and Lesedinyana at six years of age smiling back at me. This was one of my favourite photographs of the twins.

There was a gentle knock at the door and Mumfy got up and walked towards it.

Nono opened the door and announced her return.

Mma Palai, I’m sorry I took so long. There were many parents. Dinner is served in the dining room.

Thank you. I won’t be long.

After a few seconds, I closed the computer and switched off the light.

Mumfy followed me through the corridor into the dining room where Nono had laid out a light meal for me. I helped myself to some boiled rice, mixed vegetables, tasty meatballs and gravy. I watched Brian Dioka read the 9:00 p.m. English news on Botswana Television. It was the same news items as at lunchtime apart from President Mogae’s departure for the Southern African Development Community Conference in Lesotho. I enjoyed two mugs of Eve’s green tea whilst I watched the news. Later Nono cleared the table.

How is Keaitse’s school work? I asked

Her work is average. The teacher feels she is down and needs some counselling. I’ve made an appointment to see the counsellor next Wednesday.

The poor girl has been through a lot. She lost a mother and then she had to move to Francistown. All this happened in less than a year.

It is too much for the three of them, but there is no other way for them.

You and your mother have to give them a lot of love to help them find themselves once again.

We’re doing our best.

I know. By the way, if you need any help with your application for a plot in Gerald Estate, you should go to Rre Palai’s office. You’re only left with one week.

I’ve already been there and was helped. Thank you.

Now you only have to deliver it by Tuesday next week.

Thank you, Mme Mma Palai.

As she cleared the flasks, she broke into a song.

I retired to the bedroom and changed into the blue winter pyjamas. A hot water bottle wrapped into a soft towel lay on the pillow. From the side table, I picked up a glass, poured some water into it, and swallowed two Stop pain tablets. It had been a long day. By 10:00 p.m., I had slipped under the warm blankets. The many cars passing by and the loud music being played in the distance reminded me that it was payday. Shortly thereafter, I was lost to the world.

I woke up screaming and drenched in sweat. I felt as if I was being choked. Frightened, I sat up in bed and switched on the side lamp. It was 3:30 a.m. It took me time to realise where I was and my heart was racing. I realised I was having another one of my sleep disturbance attacks. It had started long before the accident but of late, I was getting them more often. I had seen a physician who had ordered a battery of tests; blood tests, X-rays, electrocardiogram. They had all turned out to be normal. He had called it sleep apnoea. It was characterised by episodes of shallow breathing followed by an increased breathing effort, which then wakes me. He had explained to me that one of the possible causes was stress. I had another attack after the neck operation and was then hooked on a respirator in the intensive care unit. I now take it as my stress barometer. The more stressed I am, the more frequent the attacks. When the heart racing calmed down, I switched off the light and went back to sleep.

Chapter 2

A persistent rap on the door woke me up. The room was bright and I checked the time on my watch. It was 9:45 a.m. I felt a stab of panic; I was late for physiotherapy. On glancing at the watch again, I realised to my relief that it was Saturday. The rap on the door continued for a while. Mumfy did that at times when he had not seen me for the day. I sat up in bed, my neck felt a little better but my hand was heavy. I got up, covered myself with a blue winter gown and slipped into my warm, red house shoes. In the bathroom, I ran the hot water whilst I brushed my teeth. The water was ice cold. I poured some English lavender bath foam into the water, undressed and slipped under the hot, foaming water. The sweet scent was calming and relaxing. It reminded me of the scent and colours of spring. I closed my eyes and let it be. The heat relaxed my muscles and I could feel them soften. Soaking in the scented, hot water had become one of my favourite treats during the weekend. I had all day to myself. I could have stayed in there for hours had the water not become cold. I climbed out and dried myself with a long, soft peach towel. My skin was feeling soft and smooth. I was feeling hungry too. I combed through the clothing hanging neatly on the rails in the dressing area. I picked a white polo neck, red-checked winter trousers and a pair of woollen socks. I changed into them, but had difficulty in pulling the polo neck over my head. Then I combed my short-cropped hair and left the bedroom soon after.

Mumfy was curled up on the carpet by the door. He offered his morning greeting by jumping up and I gave him his expected pat. He followed me to the dining room. The warm sunshine filtering through the beige curtains warmed up the room. The wall clock read 11:00 a.m. and I was famished.

Nono must have had her ears to the ground, because she opened the kitchen door as I was about to pull out a chair to sit down. She was dressed in blue jeans, a warm, black top and cream trainers. She wheeled in a breakfast trolley.

Good morning, Mma, she said, smiling.

Good morning, Nono. It looks like a fine day today.

It’s warm outside, she replied as she laid out the breakfast on the table.

There was oats porridge, grilled chicken sausages, scrambled eggs, segments of grapefruit sprinkled with brown sugar, red grape juice, whole-wheat bread, milk and Rooibos tea. Having time on my side and being famished combined to make me do justice to the meal. Doing justice was what the twins usually did to all Nono’s meals, but I was also learning slowly. Nono was smiling as she cleared the table. I thanked her and picked up the day’s newspapers on my way to the family lounge.

The room was bathed in the warm sunshine and looked beautiful. It was a room full of memories. I propped myself up on the pillows on the couch, fixed the collar around the neck and reached for my book. I continued from where I had left off yesterday. I read through marriage, children, and friendship. The prophet was advising us, parents, not to over protect our children; not to live our lives in our children and make them extensions of ourselves. I laughed out loud. I wondered how much I scored on that. I was lost in thought. Lesedi and Lesedinyana had always been too independent to be pushed into what they did no want to do. Then again, I knew very well where that trait came from. In their first year, they had shared a room, but, in their second year, they had chosen to separate and for good reasons. They remained each other’s best friends. I said a silent prayer for them to thrive and prosper. The ringing of the telephone, followed by a gentle knock on the door, interrupted my train of thought.

Nono walked in.

It’s Mme Mma Ndaba.

I picked up the phone in excitement.

Hello, anniversary girl. You beat me to it. I was giving you time to complete your Saturday rounds.

I reserved the day for the two of us. However, I couldn’t wait to say thank you to my best friend. Thank you very much for the lovely bouquet of arums. They were delivered a few minutes ago. They’re very fresh and the soft scent is hypnotising. Thanks for your thoughtfulness.

I’m glad you like them. The traditional second anniversary gift of cotton or china will be hand delivered by me. I want to see that look on your face as you open it.

Thank you very much for the message. You wrote from the heart. Ndaba and I were very touched.

One simple reminder: pearls don’t come until the thirtieth anniversary.

Who needs them? I already have you.

And I have you too.

Please fill me in about your progress in physiotherapy.

I’m not doing badly, but I get frustrated at times. There are times when I move four steps forward only to find myself three steps backwards. To tell you the truth, it requires the patience of Job and I don’t have it most of the time.

I know.

My heavy emotional baggage doesn’t make it any easier. I wish I had a way of making it lighter. I know you can only help to a certain extent. Only I can take the final plunge.

You need a lot of courage and discipline to do it.

And support if I may add.

We are all here for you.

I’ve never doubted that and I never take it for granted either.

And how are the big two?

They can’t stop talking about the fun they had when you visited them in Cape Town in June.

They are both our children.

By the way, how’s Gaone getting on in the Caribbean?

She had a supplementary in her second year, but passed it. She has fared better in her third year. Ndaba has given her a ticket to come home for Christmas.

That’s very kind of him. That means three visitors for Christmas. The twins will be bowled over by the news. On the other hand, you and I need to sit down and talk. There’s a lot at stake. We need to plan and come up with a strategy.

The way things stand, you’ll have to make a fight for your life. Deep down in your heart, I want you to know that whichever way you choose to go, I’m with you every step of the way. Please remain hopeful.

Thanks, Sarah. You know you’re one constant in the equation of my life and I know I can rely on you always.

"When is your next appointment with Dr. Okoche?’

Next Thursday.

Please feel free to tell him all your fears, and concerns. It helps him to manage you better. I’ll be waiting for the report from you. If you don’t call by 7:00 p.m. on July 29, I’ll call you.

Thank you, Dr. (Mrs) Ndaba, I teased her.

We both laughed out loud; two old friends who sometimes communicated by not saying much.

On a serious note, Kgomotso, you owe us a visit. August will suit me fine. The schedule will be light and I can take off a week for a ‘girls’ holiday. I need to pamper you. I almost lost you in March.

The accident taught me not to take things for granted anymore. I’ve never been that vulnerable in my life. I’d definitely want to visit you in Bloemfontein as soon as I’m my old self again.

How long does Rapula have to finish the review report?

It was in all the papers yesterday; he has up to September 30. Knowing him, he’ll have it done by the twentieth. On the home front, he is taking good care of both ladies in Maun. Amazingly, he and my mother have always got on like a duck and water, I replied.

To her, she was the son she never had, Sarah remarked.

He even finds time to visit them at least once a week and provides for them. His two months in Maun have been an extension of the festive season to them.

Here in Bloemfontein, Ndaba is busy having the house renovated and extended. He has created a beautiful hang out for the children from the garage. I can’t wait to see the smile on their faces during the coming holidays.

I hope he’s not doing it by himself? I asked hesitantly.

Oh, no. I help him whenever my schedule allows it and he appreciates it.

You’re very lucky to have him.

I thank God every day.

Guess whom I bumped into yesterday at the Mimosa mall?

A classmate?

Dambe.

I don’t remember that one.

The one who used to tell each girlfriend that he was marrying her.

Oh, I think I remember him now.

"How many has he married in