by Suzanne Popp
I finally found a house where they were willing to take me in. They gave me boy trousers and a big shirt to wear. I worked for them for two years without pay, until I left. I had heard there was a shelter for war orphans in the nearby town. There I was sent to a school, as they had found a sponsor for me. By that time, I was bigger than all the girls in Form 2. The teacher would taunt me and say, “Why don’t you go and join your mother?”
“Of course, my mother was dead, so they were really telling me I should die. No one would be my friend and because the teacher referred to me as a rebel. I ran away because I couldn’t stand the shaming. Somebody said that shame undresses us, and it is true. Flo at the Big Banana Bar gave me a job. She was like a mother to me. She washed my hair, got me girl’s clothes, and she taught me how to make change and serve customers. Then Dodge came and arranged for me to come and take care of his mother. He received a bride price for me and gave it to Flo, so that is how I came to live with Festal and Myrna.”
“Then Festal married me, and we are a family now. The best compliment was when Myrna told me I could call her sister. Now that I have met Violet, I see what a compliment that is. And that is my story.” Gift reached for a glass of water.
Beatrice and Violet looked at each other with wide eyes and mouths wide open. Neither of them mentioned that Dodge’s mother had been dead for twelve years and Dodge had lied to everyone involved.
“Gift, you never told me this story,” Myrna said.
“No. I do not like to think about it because it makes me feel how much I have lost, and how I was nothing. When I try to remember things, I often can only remember the crying times, and so I would rather forget everything than have that fill my mind again.”
“You have a family now,” Myrna said.
“Yes. I cannot tell you how happy I was when I saw you in your beautiful house, surrounded by those babies. It was like my family had been given back to me. Festal reminded me of my father who worked with the U.N. Peacekeeping force in Zaire. He was a warrior who loved his family. He used to beg my mother to leave the country, but she loved her village and all the people and family she grew up with. She couldn’t imagine war would come to them as they had never voted, or even carried weapons. She was a Christian and we were all baptized. Of course, you can tell that from the tattoo of the cross on my forehead. I think she thought we were protected. My father was killed crossing the border. The rest of the family was killed at night in our home and our village was burned. As far as I know, no one from our family survived.” Violet and Myrna exchanged glances.
“Thank you for your story, Gift. We all need to get some sleep now. We can share my bed and Mother can sleep on the other sofa,” said Violet. The girls were already curled up on the one sofa, each of them cupped around each other with a blanket over the three. Festal was already asleep on his mat in the back parlor near the kitchen, with Royal curled up behind him. Joseph and the boys were in the dormitory upstairs. Beatrice went to check on her husband before turning in.
“Tomorrow, we will visit the mercantile warehouse Joseph is building.” Violet said.
After they washed and cleaned their teeth, Violet sang a song of blessing to the family and their visitors; it was a song she had learned on the radio. “God Bless this House.” Her contralto voice was even richer and more resonant than Myrna remembered. Myrna and Gift had tears in their eyes at the beauty of the music and the night. They slept well, the three sisters in the big bed, three little sisters on the sofa, and Beatrice on the mohair plush sofa.
In the morning, everyone ate sorghum porridge and sliced mangos, then followed Joseph to his new warehouse. The ground was a crisscross of white strings marking off the corners of the foundation. The children bounced across them as though they were jumping rope. Cement was being mixed in huge circles of gray on the ground as the trenches for the foundation were being excavated by workers. Violet stayed back from the dust and the melee of workers, holding her youngest son in her arms. He was named Bwalya, after Joseph’s father, the first son given a traditional name.
Beatrice checked on her husband and took him some breakfast and Myrna insisted on going along. Bishop lay curled on his mattress. The room was dark and at first he didn’t recognize Myrna. When he saw her, he said, “I must be dreaming. My angel is back. Don’t come too close. I am so joyful to see you looking so well. I have prayed for you every night, and here you are. I am happy. This is the best medicine I could have. Now don’t stay too long, the doctor was very strict about that. I guess I am catching.” Myrna squeezed his hand and left to join the others outside.
During a lull in the conversation, when lunch was over and the women gathered on the verandah, Gift offered another story. The women looked on with anticipation, as Gift’s stories were proving very interesting. Violet nursed the baby while the other women looked on.
“Did I ever tell you how Myrna saved my baby?” Gift began.
“No. Tell us,” the women said in unison.
“I was just married to Festal and I didn’t know exactly when the baby was due, as I had never had a period. One day, my waters broke and Myrna hitched up the donkeys, which she had never done before. She put her twins into the huge black pot with the three legs, and she hauled me to the doctor. Only my baby wouldn’t wait. So Myrna parked the wagon and delivered Royal right there on the wagon under the eucalyptus trees. The doctors said Myrna had the skills of a surgeon, the way she had washed me and wrapped me up tight in the cloth she had packed. I had a fistula, and without her help, I would have bled to death, they said. That is my only baby that has survived, so far.”
Beatrice was aghast at this story and praised her daughter for her courage. Violet said it just confirmed what a great doctor she might have been.” Did you know, Myrna, how I coveted that big old pot with the three legs? I knew what it meant to Mother, and when she gave it to you, I was bitter for a long time. Funny, because I never had a daughter to pass it down to.”
“I didn’t know that, Violet. I will see that you have it one day. I don’t think my girls will have any attachment to it, but it has been very useful to me.”
“Myrna, why didn’t you ever write and tell us that you did this? It is remarkable,” her mother added.
“She has been an angel and an example to my boy and me,” Gift said.
At the end of the week, Myrna was sorry to leave her sister and Joseph and the festive holiday they all enjoyed together. But she was glad to get back to her place, her women’s co-op, her calves, and the serenity of their life in Copperfine. They were laden down with gifts from Joseph and Violet, including a clock with red velvet roses and rhinestones on the hour hand, a new kerosene lantern, a knitting machine for the women’s cooperative, and half a dozen sewing shears.
Violet made a resolution to visit Myrna, once her latest baby was two and more resistant to disease. Gift, in her candid way, said, “In Copperfine, you could breathe flies if you weren’t careful.” That image disarmed Violet, so that she rarely found an opportunity to visit Copperfine.
One day when Joseph was in cattle country, he stopped by the Big Banana Bar to purchase baskets and sleeping mats from the women’s co-op for his mercantile. He overheard Gift talking to Flo.
“You know, Myrna didn’t know I was going to marry her husband. But when I did, she tried to help me stay in his good graces, even though I was jealous of her, because he told me I could never measure up to her. I can’t, but she never makes me feel that way. She is my angel.” The two women were sitting at the inside counter with Royal Festal pulling at their clothing. He didn’t hear what response Flo made, but he wanted to understand how Myrna became such a paragon of virtue. He knew his family was lacking something that hers had. He would bring his family to visit their cousins in the country.
CHAPTER 30
COUNTRY COUSINS
Two years later, Violet visited the cattle country with her brood.
I visited Myrna and Festal when my boys were old enough to avoid the
mud holes, the manure, and be strong enough to ward off diseases the flies carried. We arrived at midday when the heat was that dull, heavy white heat where the sun is so pervasive—it isn’t even visible. The dust was settled, the birds were silent, and the cattle were standing in small groupings with their tails running like fans, trying to protect their udders and flanks. The calves hung under their mothers, never lifting their heads as they waited their turn to nurse. The cows sucked up water and you could see their sides fill.
Joseph was oblivious to the filth and the heat. He grasped Festal around the neck and held his hand all the way to the house. Our boys looked at each other in disbelief, then joined their cousins in one game after another. We had to corral them at night, they were so caught up in the expanse of the place, and the myriad of places where they could run and hide, fire slingshots, and capture locusts. The chameleon with her skittish brood of offspring was a huge hit, as were the calves that bucked around the corral, butting at the boys and chasing them.
Festal’s hounds were ecstatic, slavering in their eagerness to give chase and play every game the boys dreamed up. Everyone had to have a turn at pumping water from the well. The girls were quick to engage their cousins in games of hide and seek, steal the flag, jump rope, and other chase games. The termite hills were their forts and castles. By nightfall, the entire group was exhausted, including the twins and Royal Festal. He fell asleep on the wall of the compound, his legs hanging down on either side, and had to be carried to the sleeping hut by his father.
Myrna and Gift and I caught up on the changes in our lives. While most of the women in her village of Copperfine still wore the traditional chitenge of patterned prints imported from Holland, our townspeople no longer sewed their own garments, nor were woven traditional fabrics readily available. The foot looms were now consigned to the cultural museum. We had graduated to wearing fashions from Europe. Some were current, but most came from the second hand clothing market. There was every conceivable fashion from the last twenty years, coming from all over the world, sold in the market place. Women wore pointed toe shoes, not a very good fit for feet used to open-toed sandals, or going barefoot on trails to get water or firewood. The town women were even starting to wear slacks, not in public, but at home. The hairstyles that imitated the afros of the civil rights movement – although none of us were too sure what that was about, other than hearing the names – had given way to wigs of every conceivable style and color. We had all heard of their King, Martin Luther, Jr..
When we looked at an Ebony Magazine, it was hard to see what they meant by a ghetto, since the buildings were better than what our wealthy magistrate owned. Women wore wigs to work, and long skirts and dresses of various styles. Many polyester leisure suits came our way, which were indestructible and of every hue, although burnt orange and baby blue seemed to be the most prevalent. Much later, Levis and sweatshirts, and printed tee shirts with a myriad of ads on them, flooded our market stalls. But in the early sixties, we were lucky to find sweaters and church wear in the dead-white-men’s-clothing of the marketplace. We called them dead-white-men’s-clothes because no one would abandon such good clothes unless he was dead, and only a white man could afford so many.
Most of the families had two sets of clothing, one for work, and one for church. Students often wore their school uniforms to church, and some churches even provided a gown or robe for church members, so the entire congregation could parade to church as one body. I could see that Myrna’s family had two basic changes of clothing, and they hung them on the posts of their beds. She did not have electricity, but I gave her a new kerosene lantern with an adjustable wick. It gave off a brilliant glow, bright enough for her to sew or read in the evening. Festal took offense at it, and would mutter every time she lighted it, which she told me later, was every evening for the next thirty years. The children did their homework by it, and it allowed her more hours in her always long day.
Festal took excellent care of his family. His children were all in school, and his three rondavels comfortably housed, with simple, but traditional furnishings. They did not have any appliances or furniture other than the bed for Myrna, mats for the children, and a slatted crib Festal had built for the infants. The inside of the house was remarkably cool and free of flies. It was dark and smelled of floor polish and the candles that Myrna made from beeswax, and other scents such as lavender and cinnamon. When they would whitewash the inside, the whole room would smell like animal glue.
Myrna kept the bedclothes in hampers and the foodstuffs in clay canisters or tins. She had a water jug with a spigot that slowly leached through its red clay sides, the evaporation keeping the water as cool as if it was refrigerated. Only the kitchen table and single bed interrupted the circular symmetry of the house. While I was there I noted the small hole in the curtains and the worn-thin area on the table cloth. But Myrna was still meticulous about keeping them clean and ironed. I recognized the fabric we gave Festal so many years ago throughout the house.
There were no musical instruments in the house, but each of the children sang and the twins and Royal played the drums for school and church. When evening came, and the dishes were washed, the two families sat in the main house on the ledge that circled the room. They completely filled the circular step, and it was pleasing to see how the family had grown. There were stories to tell and verses to recite. Iris, Pansy, and Daisy sang a song they had memorized for this occasion. They wore satin dresses with a touch of lace at the neck and sleeves, and a contrasting sash their mother had sewn for them. Their voices blended perfectly. When they came to the lower part of the register, Festal joined in with a baritone voice to help them get through this part of the song. They looked up at him with admiration and he nodded at them to let them know he was proud of them. Reuben and Samuel cooked up a short skit with their cousins; performing it to much applause, much of it their own. It had more action than plot, and many rough and tumble battles. It was late when they sang their evening prayer with their Aunt Violet, and headed to bed, eager for the next day’s play.
Violet and Joseph drove back to Blancville, encouraged by the order and peace of the Phiri family, and wondering if they should be doing something different with their own brood. They glossed over the differences. Violet reassured Joseph that he was an excellent provider and model for his sons, who were just very free-spirited young men; not to worry that they liked to wrestle and rough house rather than sing or recite. There was plenty of time for them to develop their minds and spirits
“Let them be kids,” Violet said.
CHAPTER 31
VIOLET AND JOSEPH PROSPER
In Blancville, the population was increasing, and Violet and Joseph were contributing mightily. Every couple of years, another boy arrived. Each was cuddled and adored by their parents and the grandparents next door. They were handsome and healthy with full, thick hair, shining square teeth, and unblemished skin. They were taller and more energetic than many of the children at their school, and all of them were involved in soccer or cricket. Violet had the best medical care and assistance that Joseph could provide. Joseph’s partner, Valoo, had remained in India, except for short visits every couple of years. He, too, had grandchildren arriving, and was doing his best to instill values in them, he told Joseph. Joseph had remarked how Myrna and Festal seemed to have a tight knit caring family, while his own were boisterous, more like a rambling vine than a tree giving shade.
Valoo encouraged Joseph in being a father, and reminded him that there was still time for him to introduce moral principles and discipline, but Joseph liked his rambunctious flock of sons. He indulged his wife with the latest fashions that he came across in the urban areas. When her boys were old enough to travel, they did the same. Benjamin was the oldest and the first to attend school in Joseph’s family. Joseph was proud of his son, and would ask him to read a book to him in the evenings, — The Greatest Salesman. But the boy said he was tired, or needed to practice for his cricket league, and the book w
as never finished. When his cousins came to visit, Benjamin encouraged them to play sports with him. Then he would beat them mercilessly, as he was strong and trained. Taller than all the brothers. When they reached teenage years, however, some began to pass him in height and strength. At that time, he lost interest in wrestling or competing with them.
Bishop and Beatrice sat in the pew of the Full Gospel Presbyterian Church at the right of the support column. They observed families filing in, their own pew filled with their older children. The youngsters would soon be escorted to the Ark Sunday school for younger children.
Beatrice smoothed her wrap and looked over her children with a satisfied complacency. She and Bishop had been married noticeably longer than most of the others in their congregation, longer even than this church had been in existence—and it had been a fruitful joining. Seven children living, three now married, and the remainder getting schooling as finances allowed. Joseph had assured the Chitundus he could use more distributors, so they knew their boys would have gainful employment.
Bishop and Beatrice could have wished that Myrna was closer to them, but Violet with her throng of boys filled their days with anecdotes and adventures. Their own youngest child Jethro was a playful boy with a disarming smile and the tendency to make people laugh. He watched their faces and those of their guests for cues as to what would entertain and delight them. Neither parent had any idea of how Jethro’s life would turn out. No child in their village had taken to performing, yet this seemed to be what fascinated Jethro. He was going to be in the Christmas pageant this year, the youngest child.
Beatrice pulled Jethro by his coat and motioned for him to sit down. The reflection time before the altar call was about to begin. She could hear small titters of laughter at her boy’s antics.
Bishop’s thoughts were on the dinner that would follow the service. He wondered if the kerosene in his refrigerator would hold out. They had guests coming over and he wanted the drinks to be cold.
