by Suzanne Popp
I liked the singing games we played. We also would pull the rope out of the storage building and play jump rope, although it wasn’t easy because we were not allowed to cut the rope and it was too long for single skipping. It was made of thin cords of cowhide and plaited into a single strand. I would tie it to the cashew tree and then turn it for Precious to skip rope. My favorite game we played, other than mancala, was hopscotch. I used my smallest coin for my marker, and Precious used a broken comb. We could play this for hours and had to be reminded to do our chores. Sometimes Mpala would join in and he always won, he was so graceful.
When I learned to read, I would read to Precious. She did not have a mother who knew book, so I could tell her anything, turning the pages slowly and making up stories. One day my mother caught me doing this, and said she was going to get me a pen so I could write down my stories. I passed before she had a chance to buy a pen. There was one in the village, but she couldn’t risk it going missing. Ours had long since run out of ink.
We did not have many people in our village who were different than ourselves. We had heard of the colonials, but by the time I was five, the country was changing its name, its boundaries, and we were making new rules to live by. My mother told me one day I would go to school and I would vote. I didn’t know what vote meant, but I would tell Precious that she had my vote, because it made the adults laugh and poke each other when I said it. I didn’t know if it was possible for a girl to vote or to get a vote, but it made my mother smile.
I have told you how my house looked. It was round and made of mud bricks with a straw roof and a floor that was smooth as a pot. Surprisingly, the floor was made of cow dung. Once it was laid and pounded, Mpala polished it each day after sweeping and you could see a reflection when the door was open. The house also had an opening to let light in, but we kept it closed because of the flies. Flies do not like the dark, so inside, there were no flies, unless the door was left open. We did not have the brazier inside because my mother said this was a danger. Sometimes it was cold as we had no furniture except for a small table and our carved stools. These were heavy and dark, made by a carver in the village. Each person in our house had a stool. Mine was very small with a little cross on the leg made of cowry shells. I could see it in the night if the moon was out and I had left it in the courtyard.
We slept on mats on the floor, and I slept beside my sisters, each of us nestled against the younger one’s back. Mother would tuck me in and I was asleep before she climbed into her bed. She was usually up before I was. My father would bathe in the evening and sometimes I heard him asking my mother to scrub his back with the loofah, or sponge. We grew these in our garden under the platform and when they were big, we gave them to the neighbors. I liked how their vines crept over the mounds and made spirally circles on the ground.
Our garden also had groundnuts. You may call them peanuts. These were so good roasted on the flat iron tin over the fire, or boiled in a pot in the cold weather. We had to watch that the termites did not eat the roots of the plants in our garden, and this is one good thing about the chickens, they loved to eat the bugs. We would cluck to them when we saw any ants or termites near the house and the flock would rush over. When the rains came, the ants moved their nests and the chickens filled their craws with them.
My mother was heavy with the baby when I last remember her, but before that, she had lots of energy and would make some little pots of the clay from near the river. These would dry in the sun and I wanted to be able to do this one day. I liked the feel of the silken mud on my hands. She never let me go near the river, because of the danger of a crocodile. I never saw one, but she described them as enormous lizards that would gobble me up like the geckos did with the flies on our walls. I shivered at the idea of such a huge lizard, and imagined it would get me in the night if I didn’t keep my sleeping cloth wrapped tightly over my head. Maybe that is why I never suffered from malaria. I was too busy warding off the crocodiles!
My friend Precious had a mother and an aunt who could weave incredible baskets out of grass. Precious said her mother was going to make one big enough for us to get inside and keep us safe, but she never did. She would make the flat winnowing baskets with patterns of brown circling the center grid. Her aunt made round baskets that came up like a pot and on some there were lids attached with a thong of woven grass. Some pots were so tightly woven, they could carry water. We had two tiny ones they made for us to play with and to put termites in. Some of the older women would use these tight little baskets to store their roasted mopani worms, then snack on the dried caterpillars in the late afternoon when they made their pots of tea, before they prepared food for the evening meal together. These worms were good, but not available except in the rainy season in the mopani forests further south. We always had a good supply of them. The traders would bring us gifts when they came to visit during the dry months in July and August to trade for our cow skins and dried beef.
One day Mpala carved me a whistle. I was blowing on it when my father came home and he was not pleased. He told me to give it back to the boy; I was never to receive a gift from a boy without it being presented to him or to my mother. I was embarrassed and a little angry at this. I never knew why this was a rule, nor did he explain. Mpala never gave me anything else after this and we stopped playing in the storage building. Mpala joined the herdsman that spring and no longer worked with my mother.
My mother had a sister named Violet. She was a tall woman with eyes like the moon. She didn’t come to see us often, but when she did, she brought gifts. She brought cloth and a sewing machine for my mother and books for me. She brought us pens and a notebook, which was where I started my stories. My mother taught herself to sew and was soon making repairs to the clothing of everyone at the cattle station. She was also able to piece together curtains for the openings in our house and hung them on sticks so we could let the light in without the insects.
Mother made a cloth for the table, a shirt for my father, and many other things, just by seeing a picture and then copying the design. After I was gone, she taught other women this skill— men as well. This was the beginning of her earning some money for herself and how she was able to occasionally order a book, buy a pen, and even provide shoes for her children to come. The last gift Violet brought was a kerosene lamp, which my father grumbled about for the next 30 years. Violet said little to me, but she gave me lots of hugs and listened to me with all her heart. When she had her children, I was already departed, but I know she always wanted a girl like me. She said she would name her Lily Wonder.
Now, you may be asking where I am now. If I told you, you wouldn’t believe it. So I am sticking to the things you can understand of my earthly home. Let me tell you how life went on with my Aunt Violet.
Violet lived in the village close to what is now called the capital in a town called Blancville.
When Violet sent me a letter, I began to think about her more often. Everyone dreams of being remembered, and to receive a letter was a great honor. I put it on the wall in our sleeping room. I thought I had missed how much she cared for me, and how important her sister was to her, for she didn’t like to travel. Violet would also fuss with my mother’s hair, something no one in the cattle station had done. She would sit my mother down and wash her hair, lavishing on shampoo and conditioners made especially for delicate curly hair. Then she would massage her head, finally braiding it in loose coils and fashioning them into a crown that was cool and regal. Even my father had to smile at the transformation, for Myrna was a beauty. The hair piled up above her bronze-gold forehead accented her silhouette and the long lashed lids above her large tilted eyes. From Violet, as a child, I learned that family counts, and can be counted on.
You will hear from me again, for I am bound to my family until they no longer grieve or mourn my passing. Until then, I can see what is going on in their lives, but I can only watch. –
Beautiful was awake before it was light, eager to record the story of his
Lily. He could remember so many details and his pen flew across the paper jotting down the scenes and the interactions. He wanted to meet these people and comfort them with what he knew of their lives. Did everyone have such a vibrant force that surrounded them? This child gave him energy and hope. Each appearance brought back memories of long forgotten joys and some disappointments that he had suffered. By seeing what her life had meant to her, he was strengthened to make his last days count. He asked permission of Whenny to draw pictures of her grandchildren, of the bar, of herself. He recorded his struggles with HIV isolation. Each day as he logged in what was happening in his narrow world, he longed to understand more, and to let people know that he was somebody, that he mattered—that each of them mattered. Somehow, he conveyed this to Whenny and she took on new life. She was mistaken as the mother of the children, rather than their grandmother because her love and her caring gave her a new light. She took time to listen to him and to them, and they began to want to learn and to excel.
Beautiful began to give mini lessons in art to the children, and to welcome their visits to his room. He was meticulous about his hygiene, and his skin and hair improved as he watched what he was eating and drinking. Soon the children were learning to read and to write. The girls practiced their letters and each of them shared the single book their mother had purchased with her income from the still. As the children learned and began to observe, Whenny too, wanted this ability to read and write. She dictated her story to Beautiful, then he would have her read it back to him, and record it all; the daily events, the calamities, the miracles of maintaining life when the odds seem all against you.
Their lives were becoming intertwined. Reuben saw the change that love was making in the life of Beautiful and asked permission to speak in one of his sermons about this transformation of the young man with AIDS. The day he gave his sermon on Beautiful, Festal and Myrna attended the service. As he held up the pictures of the children, there was the picture of the dream girl. Both of Reuben’s parents gasped at the likeness. It was their Lily Wonder. She was working a miracle in the life of this dying man. They wanted to talk to Reuben after the service but he was called away for an emergency.
Whenny was so pleased with the education her grandchildren were receiving. The girls could now read print and tell her what a notice or letter said. She closed up the bar a little early on Saturday and went to attend the church service because Reuben was going to be talking about Beautiful. All the children were bathed and dressed in gingham shirts and jumpers, all were wearing sandals and had their hair washed and combed out. She was feeling pride as a grandmother, and wanted them to be seen and admired. As the service ended, she was proud that she had been able to help Beautiful, and the gift that he had given the family. They didn’t stay around after the service, but headed back to the Last Laugh Bar, singing one of the catchier new praise songs they had learned.
When they arrived at the house, Whenny had a sudden premonition, and went straight to Beautiful’s room. The door was ajar, and the place was a shambles. He was lying in a pool of blood. Whenny pulled the comforter over his body. Both of the barrels were missing, along with the wheelbarrow, the Dutch oven, and the brazier, as well as her new sewing machine and all the clothing and blankets. Missing too, were the months of journals, recorded sketches, and writings of his relationship with the visionary girl, Lily Wonder and the Last Laugh Bar. It looked as though Beautiful had died trying to protect her home. She locked the children into the parlor, and headed back to the church to notify Reuben and get his advice. It had been too good to be true, her life had never been so sweet and she had never known such love from a man as she had received from Beautiful, as he lay dying, then recovering in her little home at the end of Water No More Street.
Reuben listened to Whenny tell of the death of her houseguest, and the stolen items. She could hardly contain herself as she rushed through the story. No plan came to mind as to how to care for the children. She could not report the thefts or the death to the police, the room was contaminated by Beautiful’s blood, no one would clean it for her, and she did not want to risk her own safety as she was the only one the children had to care for them. She and Reuben knelt in prayer and looked for a solution. As they were praying, Festal and Myrna came into the room. They had wanted to help Reuben with his farming plans, and he had asked them to drop by after church.
When Festal looked at the woman kneeling on the floor, he was taken aback. She looked so much like his mother. Her posture, her hair, even the way she pulled her head back and arched her neck. As she stood up, he caught sight of the watch on Reuben’s wrist, and within minutes, a mystery over sixty years in the making was solved. That had been Festal’s father’s watch. Lamont, who had passed away, was his youngest brother and Whenny was Festal’s twin. The two of them wept in joy. They had each felt guilt their entire lives because they thought the other had been given away and lost forever.
Whenny was given away when she was six years old to a family in the Gulf to be a servant in their household. Festal had been sent to the fields to be a cow herder. Briefly, Whenny shared her current dilemma, and the answer was simple. Lamont’s brother would have inherited the house, and that brother was Festal. They would go back to the place, release the children into the care of Myrna and Gift, and if necessary, they would burn the building to purify the land. Festal was thrilled to find his twin alive and with family besides. He hugged her and hugged Reuben, and hugged Myrna, then started all over again. This was an unveiling of biblical proportions. He was a blessed man. Whenny felt the same, and the two of them joined arms as they walked down the street to release the children, Reuben and Myrna following behind.
Reuben pulled back the comforter and saw his friend Beautiful lying there. He called his name, and heard a slight moan. “Bring some water, he is not dead, he is just banged up and bleeding. Maybe he can tell us what has happened.”
Festal helped pull the man into the light and they rinsed his wounds with the water and wrapped his bleeding head in a towel. Myrna diverted the attention of the children to the tuck shop down the block, and gave them some coins to buy gum and a bottle of Fanta to share. The men cleaned up the man as best they could and gave him water to drink. Within minutes, he told how he had been robbed, and that the men were the same who had been drinking in the bar the night before. He asked about the couple who had come in, recognizing them from the sketches he had made.
“Beautiful, we have heard about your dreams and we want to know more. This is not the time, as you need to heal. The woman who has been caring for you is my sister. You are not to worry. We can repair the house, and we will get some medicines for you.”
“Whenny, come and stay with us until we get this house back in order. We will send the cart for Beautiful and he can live in my rondavel. It is good that we came in time. God is good.” Reuben and Stephen followed up on the information about the thieves and the goods that were located at the far end of the cattle country. They heard from Rose that someone had brought her the sketch books, thinking it was her in the pictures. She had read some of the stories and was amazed at how clear a description the Dream Girl had given of the lives and places. She knew Royal would want to read them as well, as he had a talent for writing and had a plan of writing the biography of his mother Gift.
CHAPTER 45
MYRNA AND THE ENDOWMENT
Several members of the local affiliate had met at the large mango grove to go over meeting the international team that was coming to Copperfine. The local coordinator had asked Myrna and Festal to be present for the meeting, as the national coordinator would be present. Festal was not able to attend, but Myrna was there to meet him. The national coordinator did not show up that evening, and when he did, almost a week later, he went over the procedures again for welcoming the guests, getting them to their housing, and preparing the host families for their arrival. Their names were difficult for the people to recall. He warned the homeowners that you could not keep track of the
m by their clothing because they dressed alike and they also changed clothes frequently. Sometimes you could recognize them most easily by their voices or their laughter. They tended to smile and laugh a lot.
It was late afternoon when Myrna returned to her cottage and hung up her cardigan, built the fire, and prepared for the night. Gift had gone to visit her aunt that she had discovered in the displaced persons’ camp. So, Myrna was alone in their home. She realized how much she counted on the company of Gift, and sharing the day’s experiences with her. She made herself a cup of tea and ate a few leftover yam chips, then cleaned her teeth, and pulled the curtain back from the window. Looking out, she reflected on her what her education had meant to her. She had been impressed by her tutor, Wellington Taylor, and his idea of being the Prince of Love, had given her a model on which to build her hopes. She and her family had become a beacon of hope and knowledge in the community.
Her sons had made it possible for her husband to unite with his twin and restore a relationship that poverty and powerlessness had broken. She had a daughter, college educated, who would be able to administer an academy for women so no other girl in the area would have to be denied an education. Each of her children was involved with each other and respectful of their differences and their common bonds as brothers and sisters. They had united tribal groups, ages, and gender. With the addition of Lily Wonder into the family, even racial lines had been united. She had to say that she would never have imagined how beautiful the lines laid down for her would be, and tomorrow, her sister and her husband would see the family honored. She did not regret that her own Lily had passed away. The child had been a blessing beyond measure.
