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Sarai’s
mother had concluded that it was not the three successive funerals,
but her own subsequent illness that finally did it.
Since her disclosure, things had gradually changed. In time, the
subtle had become obvious. The extended family seemed to have conveniently
forgotten about their existence. Prior to that, their visits had
been increasingly shrouded by an aura of something parallel to embarrassment
and detachment. Then they had become erratic, before ceasing altogether.
For Sarai, dropping out of school to become a carer for her mother
was inevitable. She felt as if the family had washed their hands
clean of all responsibility, before dumping it carelessly into her
fifteen-year old lap.
Her vivacious and capable aunt, Mainini Grace was the only one who
kept in touch. She sent money for groceries from Botswana and wrote
encouraging letters, filled with promises that she would visit.
She also promised that she would bring tablets for her ailing sister,
as well as arrange for Sarai to go back to school.
Occasionally Mainini’s list included the gloves that Sarai
had requested for her mother’s bed-baths, the bra that she
wanted so much because girls of her age had started wearing breast
support; and sanitary pads because there were no pads or cotton
wool in the shops.
While the letters had become a beacon, the fruition of Mainini Grace’s
promises became questionable, little by little. In the eleven months
since the last funeral, she had not returned from Botswana. Despite
this inconsistency, the letters continued. Sarai would read them
avidly, over and over again; wishing for her aunt’s return,
and wishing for her to be the one to share this experience with
her.
In her replies to Mainini Grace, Sarai always expressed these sentiments,
just stopping short of hinting that the money that she sent was
never enough. Because of the shortages, grocery prices on the thriving
black market were always exaggerated.
*
After the most recent letter, Sarai allowed herself
to be filled with optimism. Previously, it had always been, ‘Soon,
my dearest.’
But the imminence of Mainini’s arrival came to life with her
assurance of arrival on Wednesday the 17th of July.
In the morning, Sarai woke up very early and tidied up the shack.
She wrapped her hands with pieces of plastic and gave her mother
a bed-bath, just as the nurse had taught her. The raw bed-sores
did not seem as daunting as before, and her mother’s muted
groans of discomfort when she rolled her over were not as heart-rending.
She needed no encouragement to eat up her maize meal porridge that
was tasteless from lack of sugar and peanut butter. On that day,
spasms of pain did not contort her face as they normally did when
she coughed. It was a day with a difference, and they spent it in
happy anticipation of Mainini Grace’s arrival.
But by early evening, Sarai knew that the coach from Botswana had
long passed Kwekwe, and was probably in Harare already. Mainini
Grace had not come.
‘Do you think she will ever come?’ she asked her mother,
disheartened.
The older woman’s brow creased, only for a moment, before
she said slowly, ‘There must be a good reason. I know my sister.
I am sure she will come soon.’
Sarai looked at her mother, astonished by this lack of anxiety.
She did not appear to be disturbed by her young sister’s slipperiness,
although she was supposed to have brought life-saving medication
from Botswana. What good reason can there be for Mainini Grace
to make these false promises when mother is so ill? Sarai felt
equally deceived and confused.
She wondered why she had been foolish enough to expect anything
different. Misery was predictable, while the opposite was simply
out of reach. Her aunt was not coming. Though her own desire to
go back to school was not as urgent as her mother’s need for
medication, Sarai wondered, Will I ever sit in class again?
At that moment, she felt fleeting resentment against Nhamo, a former
classmate who she knew to have assumed her prior position at the
top of her class.
Despite her apparent complacency, Sarai’s mother was generally
more unwell than she had ever been. Nothing seemed to help relieve
her cough. Not the bitter juice from boiled gum-tree leaves that
had given her husband temporary relief. Not even the lemon tea and
the Vick’s chest rub. She needed proper medication to ease
the cough, but there was none. It was three months since the last
bottle of cough mixture had run out.
*
Although she was in the throes of fatigue, Sarai
knew that she could not sleep before her mother. To do so would
have been callous. Impossible, in fact. Her place was right there,
sitting next to her mother, who now lay huddled on a reed mat that
was spread out on the floor. It was a place that she had no desire
to surrender. Only Mainini Grace could have shared this place with
her. Her heart ached with love, and with profound loneliness.
Once again, she mopped the older woman’s brow with a slow,
gentle movement. A stubborn profusion of sweat globules seemed to
erupt, no sooner than they had been soaked up by the piece of cloth.
The older woman’s forehead continued to glisten in the dim
light.
Sarai sat back in the silence, suddenly overcome by a yearning for
happier times. But she failed to summon any such memories. She searched
her mind, and discovered only a vacuum. Reality swooped back swiftly
to fill the temporary emptiness.
Her eyes strayed to the soot marks staining the wall. She made a
mental note to scrub down the wall first thing in the morning, or
else risk suffering the landlady’s wrath. Mai Simba’s
legendary rages were guaranteed to instil fear into any living soul,
and for Sarai, eviction was a real and immediate threat.
She constantly received reminders about how compassionate Mai Simba
had been to take in the likes of her and her mother; and she had
been warned several times about the hazards of fire in the shack.
She now took care to make a great show of cooking outside the shack;
before sneaking the fire indoors for her mother at night.
Just yesterday, the home-based care nurse had looked at the soot
marks with obvious displeasure. ‘You had a fire in here?’
It had been an accusation. ‘How do you expect her cough to
get better in this?’ she had demanded, gesticulating wildly
in the cramped, airless shack.
Sarai had been immediately contrite, but she had wondered, What
else can I do? Her disobedience came out of necessity, rather
than wilful intent. July was cold, and starting to get windy. Her
mother’s body was hot, but she often complained that the cold
gnawed relentlessly into her bones, robbing her of what little comfort
she could still have. Sarai understood her discomfort. It was winter,
after all.
*
Why aren’t you here with us, Mainini
Grace? Sarai stared blindly at the dying fire which mirrored
the slow demise of hope. Her mind did not really register the red
embers that lay glowing among grey, powdery ashes. She had an illusion
of seeing through them into a vast, colourless place where she was
held suspended at the edge of a precipice. She shook off the surreal
vision with a shrug and stretched out her stiff, cold limbs.
The room was dimmer, now that the fire was almost out. Coldness
was starting to creep in. She shivered. Just as they had used up
the last of the firewood, they were also on the last precious candle
whose lone flame looked as feeble as its source.
Mai Simba’s main house had electricity. When she was in a
good mood, she often promised to connect an electric light-bulb
to the shack, but it never happened. If only Mainini Grace had
come, maybe she would have brought a few candles from Botswana,
Sarai’s thoughts wandered again to her elusive aunt.
Her mother’s eyes seemed to be summoning her, pleading for
something that was not hers to give. She dragged herself forwards
to wipe her forehead again. The woman’s withered hand rose,
trembled, and dropped abruptly.
Sarai strained her ears, at once reluctant and fearful of what she
would hear. Instinctively, she knew the words before they were spoken.
‘Be strong, mwanangu. It will happen soon. I know
it…..’ It was a wavering croak, barely a whisper.
‘Be strong. Be strong’.
The words seemed to hang suspended between them, and then they fell
like the fading notes of an echo. A repetition was whispered through
bouts of coughing. The voice was muffled by thick phlegm; but still,
there was a certain clarity that seeped into Sarai’s awareness.
The words seemed to reverberate like an endless, poignant song.
They would haunt her forever. She was certain of it.
‘Find Mainini Grace. She will put you back into school. Don’t
end up like me. Don’t end up like me’.
Please don’t say that Amai. Don’t say that.
She willed her mother to stop and reached out to hold her hands,
dismissing thoughts of Mainini Grace. She should have been there
with them as promised, but it was simply inane to wish for her now.
The feverish hands quivered in her grasp. They were now claw-like
and so wasted they could have been a child’s. Sarai remembered
holding her young brother’s hands in the same manner and thinking
then that they were like the feet of a tiny bird. Puny, and with
sharp, pointed nails. She wished she had remembered to trim her
mother’s nails earlier, if only to avoid these painful comparisons
in recall.
Her young sister’s small hands had had a similar feel in her
own hands. Little birds’ feet. The two little birds
had flown, one after the other. But her father’s journey had
been a slower, more agonising kind of torture. Almost like her mother’s.
Sarai steadied herself. Her voice was strong, but gentle when she
spoke. ‘Do not worry. Do not worry Amai.’
In preceding years, she had perfected these very words. Do not
worry Mary. Do not worry Tafara. Do not worry Baba. Over and
over again, she’d repeated the words with tenderness; the
pitch of her voice suitably attuned to encourage and to soothe.
Always. And now it was, Do not worry Amai. She was the
untouched; destined to be the survivor and the comforter.
However, despite her exterior calmness, a muddle of emotions tore
at her. Fear and resentment at looming abandonment. Desire for her
mother to live; to be well again so she would love and protect her
as it should be. Uneasy relief that finally it would be over. Her
mother would have a reprieve, and not before time…….
Her heart thudded, and her thoughts withdrew to the day before yesterday.
*
It was only two days since they had discharged
her mother from hospital. Only two days, but the bleak medical ward
and its horribly caustic smells were already a distant memory. As
if too embarrassed to show itself, a prescription lay concealed
among numerous hospital cards in a tattered paper bag behind the
door. There had been no medicines in the hospital pharmacy.
It was the same last time, Sarai thought bitterly, making an
effort to hold imminent tears of anger at bay.
‘You will have to look after her at home. Our out-reach nurses
will support you. For now, we have done everything possible,’
the doctor had said sombrely, his voice firm and authoritative.
His demeanour had been that of one who took pride in his work; one
who believed his words had the power to miraculously restore Sarai’s
confidence in a system that had failed her before. Several times.
They had been empty and meaningless words that were no doubt reserved
for the near-to-dying. Sarai had been so angry that for one manic
moment, she had seen herself grabbing the man’s neck and strangling
him.
Clearly, her mother was no better than when she had been admitted
into hospital a week before, if not a little worse. At the recollection,
anger peaked swiftly again and collapsed. She now knew it to be
a futile and exhausting emotion, and she needed her reserves.
Yesterday’s follow-up visit by the home-based care nurse had
been no compensation. The woman had come empty-handed. Although
she had counselled Sarai and told her what to expect near the end,
denial had been so much easier to embrace. The reality was unbearable.
Making no attempt to disguise tactlessness, or simply lacking the
skills to do so, the nurse had explained that there would be no
need to call an ambulance; if she should be so lucky to have one
coming out at all. The hospital no longer had anything to offer.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Neither had Mai Simba or the neighbours who had sometimes come to
their aid. In the dead of night, Sarai knew that they only had each
other. The wind howled eerily. The candle flame appeared to swirl
and dance; merry and oblivious.
The nurse forgot to tell me about the pain I would feel. She forgot
about me. She forgot about me…… In spite of her
determination to be strong, Sarai found herself weeping silent,
clandestine tears. She inclined her head, almost immediately resolute
once more, thinking. Her mother should not see the tears that shimmered
in her eyes and formed drops that rolled effortlessly down her cheeks.
With a quick duck of the head, she furtively wiped her face on the
blanket. Its roughness scratched her cheeks, causing slight burning
and stinging. Her mother appeared not to notice.
Though much quieter now, the insistent whisper continued, ‘Do
not end up like me. Find Mainini Grace.’ Sunken eyes glowed
unnaturally in the dim candle-light.
Sarai caressed her mother’s hands in hers, keen to reassure
but no longer confident of her ability to do so. Her bemused thoughts
raced, unwillingly returning to Mainini Grace. Why isn’t
she here?
Silently, she nodded and squeezed the wizened hands grasped between
hers, almost ready for acceptance. Hadn’t they been preparing
for this eventuality together? They had been through enough to make
them courageous. Words that her mother would never hear formed a
lump in Sarai’s throat.
The older woman had closed her eyes. She now lay quiet, her breathing
rapid and rather shallow. Her words kept ringing in Sarai’s
head, distressing but at the same time strangely comforting because
she knew that her mother wanted the best for her. She allowed herself
to hope once again that Mainini Grace would come. Mainini was a
strong, lively woman who had a way of taking charge and making things
happen. Sarai knew that if anyone was capable of putting her back
in school and giving her a bright future, that person was Mainini
Grace. She would do everything possible to make sure her life did
not reflect her mother’s. She owed it to her.
*
As Sarai sat, she heard from a distance, the hum
of a car engine. The sound became louder as it approached the dwelling.
Then there was a brief silence followed by the resonance of doors
banging. A dog barked and a few distant yelps of solidarity ensued.
She heard hushed voices, mingling with the thud of footsteps. Her
mother stirred and tugged weakly at the blanket.
Sarai wondered if the landlord, Mai Simba’s husband, was back
from one of his cross-border trips. He often arrived late at night.
She pictured his children rushing out of the main house; falling
over each other in their eagerness to welcome him back home. Jealousy
surfaced. They had a father who was alive, when hers was not.
A soft knock on the door interrupted her musing. Her mother’s
eyes flew open. ‘Who is it?’ she enquired in a breathless
whisper.
Sarai shook her head, puzzled. Who could be calling so late?
She hoped it wasn’t Mai Simba coming to spy for evidence that
might suggest that they had broken yet another household rule. Reluctantly
she stood up and dragged her feet towards the door. She pulled the
handle.
The bizarre vision that she encountered was that of her mother standing
at the doorstep. The right side of her body was concealed in shadow;
the left side was harshly illuminated by the glare of an electric
bulb shining from Mai Simba’s veranda.
Sarai stood frozen in shock as she took in the sunken eyes, the
gaunt cheeks, and the emaciated form that was dwarfed by an oversized
coat. At her mother’s feet were three suitcases. She shook
her head, light-headed and confused by this peculiarity. She remembered
weird stories of how dying people sometimes said goodbye to their
loved ones in the form of apparitions.
‘Amai? How did you……..?’ Her voice trembled
in query and died in her throat.
The woman held out her hands and stepped forward. ‘Please
don’t tell me she is gone…….’ The voice
was fearful. It was not her mother’s voice. It was familiar,
but unexpected. Certainly not like this. Not coming from this spectre.
Sarai found herself shaking uncontrollably. In that moment, she
understood everything, and her unanswered questions immediately
found answers. Reality and reason merged, eliminating the need for
an explanation.
And then came the realisation of what must surely have been fate’s
calculated conspiracy against her. All her expectations crashed
in that instant. She felt as if something had exploded in her head,
and a strident buzz was triggered somewhere deep inside.
‘No-o!’ Screaming, she launched herself forcefully on
the woman. She grabbed the scrawny neck and squeezed. They fell
backwards in a writhing heap on Mai Simba’s cabbage patch.
The woman struggled and gasped.
‘Sarai……please….no…’.
Sarai thought she heard her mother calling out to her, but she felt
something stronger compelling her to focus on squeezing harder.
The buzzing in her head grew louder, drowning out everything.
It was her anguished hysteria that severed the stillness of night;
summoning Mai Simba and the neighbours. She felt hands pulling her
from all directions, trying to break her hold on the woman who now
lay on top of crushed cabbages, lifeless and with glazed eyes.
‘Why you too? Why you too, Mainini Grace?’ Sarai sobbed
brokenly as they led her away to Mai Simba’s veranda. 
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