Barbara Mhangami-Ruwende

 

The Kombi slowed down. We drove past a huge Coca-Cola sign that read: Welcome to Beitbridge.

“Sesifikile! We are now at Beitbridge.”

Vusa made this announcement as he stretched and looked out of his window.  The sun was low in the sky.

“It’s about 3 pm now”, he stated, looking at his cell phone.

I looked out of my window at rows upon rows of cars.

“All those buses, trucks and cars! Yoh, this place is huge.”

Suko looked around, amazed.

“So, bra Vusa across from here is South Africa?”

“Yebo. In fact, you can walk right across and in less than ten minutes you are on South African soil.”

I could tell that Suko’s head was full of questions. He was quiet for a moment, looking outside, and thinking.

For a moment Khohlwa looked excited, tapping her fingers on her thigh and taking in what was outside. She turned to look at me and immediately scowled turning away. I swore that if we were not in the company of Vusa and Mpofu I would give her an earful. Khethiwe whispered something to Khohlwa, who shook her head vehemently.

 “Khethiwe what is it?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

I wanted to scream in frustration. I wanted to remind both the girls that I was still their mother. I made up my mind that once we were in Jo’burg and settled, I would have a talk with them. If they could not show some respect, they would have to go. I would talk to Simon about this.

 

Maybe the change in environment would work a miracle on them. Maybe as soon as they got busy building their futures they would realize that life was complicated. They would be thankful for what they have. There was not much for young girls to do in Nkayi and this was probably what messed with their heads. I was sure that watching their peers leave and return with nice cars and money made them restless. I was happy that they now had this chance, even though they irritated me.

The Kombi swung round and pulled up at one of the petrol garages. A man in uniform came by and spoke with Mpofu briefly. He started to fiddle with the side of the car. Simon got out and came to my window. He pulled the sliding door open.

 

“Get out and stretch your legs. We will be here for a while before we can get across. Then once on the other side, we have to wait some more. After that, we drive another six hours to Jo’burg.”

“Baba, so we get there around midnight?” Suko pushed against me and I slid over, opened the door and got out.

“K’yatshisa! This place is hot. The sun is setting but it feels like we are baking.

Vusa laughed.

“Mama, we are in the Limpopo Valley. It is very hot here. Hotter than Kariba or Hwange.”

“Is this where the Limpopo River flows?” Suko could not contain his excitement. Neither could the two girls who both had more energy.

“Yes. In fact, we will drive across that bridge over there ahead of us. That is the Beit Bridge spanning the Limpopo. The River forms the border between Zimbabwe and South Africa.”

“There are so many buses here. All full.” Suko was awed.

“That is because there is nothing to stay for in Zim. Just look at how that election in July was stolen. People are leaving once again, even those who came back after they dollarized the economy.”

I could tell Vusa enjoyed sharing his knowledge with the children. What he did not seem to know is that their father was a politics man, so he spoke to them as if they knew nothing.

I looked around at the mass of humanity spilling out of buses. In the heat, they shimmered before me like a mirage, all wobbly like melting candle wax. There were all ages: mothers with babies strapped to their backs, some on the hip, children, adults; even old men and women leaning over walking sticks as they got off the buses and stretched and formed a line by the very buses they had come off. They waited patiently while the drivers ran back and forth into a block of offices, carrying papers.

“Do you have any money?” I looked up at Simon and nodded. I reached into the Kombi for my handbag. I rummaged through the papers and pulled out a wad of dirty paper money and handed it to him.

“How much is here?”

“I don’t know”.

I focused on the beads of sweat on the sides of his face. Small drops eating one other to form trickles that flowed down and fell on his collar. The front of his shirt was damp.

“Let me see”. He took the money and muttered to himself as he counted. He was tense as he unfolded the soft fabric-like notes that had lost their crispy newness.

“Is everything alright?”

Yes, was the curt response.  That was the end of that conversation. Stillborn on arrival. I knew not to press any further and all the questions I had about passports, where we would be staying in Jo’burg joined the millions of other questions crammed in my head, unasked and therefore unanswered. Over the years I often wondered whether all men were like Simon. I wondered whether all men did not like questions from their wives, because they were happy to answer questions from other people, even other women. Just not their wives. I never asked this of other women my age. I suppose I got used to not asking and when I wanted to I did not know-how. But I felt strange like this, as though all those questions had moulded together like moist clay and there was just one huge question.

 He walked away at a brisk pace to Mpofu and Vusa, who were talking to a uniformed man who had emerged from the offices.  They stood between the office and the car, out of earshot. They all shook hands and the man walked back inside.

 

“This place is dirty.”

Khethiwe and Khohlwa were coming from the toilets. Both spat on the ground, their faces scrunched up in disgust.

“The toilets are filthy you don’t even know where to step in there. I am sure that is what the bottom of a pit latrine looks like.”

“Khethiwe uyasinyanyisa, yuck! Now I have lost my appetite”.

Suko wrapped the piece of bread he was nibbling on back in the newspaper.”

“Ha, you are not hungry my friend. Hand me that bread and I will show you what a hungry person does to food.”

Khohlwa lunged at the newspaper and Suko put his hand above his head, out of her reach. She laughed as she jumped up and tried to snatch it from him. Her laughter lifted my spirits. She was a beauty when she was happy, like now.

“Look at the baboons parading their red buttocks and blue balls like they are beautiful jewellery.”

We all looked to where Khethiwe was pointing and laughed. A cheeky troop of baboons marching up and down on the roadside picking at the scattered rubbish in search of food. Occasionally one of them found a morsel and the rest would mob him barking and hissing that he shares. I watched the big male strutting as he led the troop toward the buses. There was a cry of rage from a child who stood staring after a baboon that had made off with whatever he had been eating. He wailed, pointing in the direction of the fast disappearing baboons. His mother rushed to his side but he was inconsolable.

“Shame poor boy,” Khethiwe felt sorry for him but Suko howled with laughter.

“Time to go”.

Simon’s call sounded a bit like the bark of the baboons. He wiped his brow with a handkerchief. Mpofu marched stridently to the driver’s door and got behind the wheel. Vusa got in the third row and this time Simon sat there with him. Mpofu drove to a line and slowly, in stops and starts we drove across the bridge.

I looked down at the greasy Limpopo River, a wide glimmering brown snake. Clumps of trees and bony twigs laced the banks. I thought of the stories we heard back in the village, of young men and women who perished in that river trying to get across to South Africa. Sometimes their bodies would wash up on the shores and there would be someone to bury. Other times it was just news that so and so had perished, probably eaten by crocodiles. That was the worst. A dead body is a proof that someone existed but is no more. But the absence of a body to bury can drive a person crazy, you wonder whether the person had ever really existed while hoping that they would show up. I closed my eyes and imagined the miserable ghosts that haunted those waters, the crocodiles and the bush around it. I prayed that those ghosts would haunt those who were responsible for making our country unlivable. I wished that every time those leaders closed their eyes to rest all they would see were half-eaten people and all the skeletons scattered in the bush, of people who had died with their backs to Zimbabwe, facing south. I hoped their ears would be full of screaming, wailing and groaning until they went stark raving mad.

 

The sun was setting as we pulled over to park the car, now on the South African side. There was tense silence because we were not done yet. This side was the critical one that would determine our fate. Mpofu got out of the car, an air of seriousness about him. He met an officer halfway between the Kombi and the offices.

“It’s so clean this side. The buildings all look freshly painted.” Suko spoke in a low voice.

“Ya the Zim side is nasty. All that litter looks like a field of flowers.”

  Khethiwe’s eyes were wide open, drinking everything in.

Mpofu came towards the car with the officer. Simon opened the sliding door and greeted him, making sure to be highly respectful and to use his deep Ndebele so that he would sound like he was a Zulu. He was so nervous I could smell the apprehension evaporating off his skin. The officer responded, unsmiling and peered into the car.

“Ninjani?” He greeted us but did not seem to care whether we responded or not. He counted us, looking intently into our faces, one after the other. He appeared to know Vusa and he did not count him. Abruptly he turned away from the car with Mpofu and Simon in tow. I could tell Simon was talking. He walked almost sideways like a crab, trying to get the full attention of the officer. Simon came back to the car but Mpofu and the officer walked on towards the offices. He stood by the front passenger door and I could see him tapping his foot, his fingers thrumming the top of the car. Something felt wrong. I felt uneasy but squashed the urge to go out and ask him what was going on. This forever not knowing and being led like a sheep from one event to the next was causing me isilungulela. I felt it burn its way up my throat and back down again.

Mpofu stepped out of the office and walked towards the car, head down, and hands deep in his pockets as though it was cold and raining. Simon walked over to meet him before he got to the car. Both men turned towards the office building and although I was not able to see their faces, I knew that they were discussing.

“I wonder what is going on…”

  My voice filled the silence in the space above and around us. I knew I was putting words to the question on everyone else’s mind.

“Just formalities mama”.

This time Vusa’s casual tone did not calm my insides.

“You know without passports it gets a bit tricky, but it’s nothing for you to worry about at all.”

I glanced at the three children and I could tell that, like me, they did not find Vusa’s words reassuring.

Simon walked back to the car. Something was not right. His gait which was normally brisk and almost soldier-like was slow and unsure, like an old man. In fact, Simon seemed to have aged all of a sudden. No amount of deep breathes could still my wildly beating heart. Simon kept his eyes downward as he slid the door on Khohlwa’s side open.

“Khohlwa my child, come with me. The officer requires to see you.” I had not heard Simon speak to Khohlwa in such an endearing, almost begging tone. He was begging. His whole body said so.

“I hope all is well.”

I was too afraid to ask a direct question but the anxiety to know overwhelmed me. Simon did not look up but seemed to concentrate on helping a very able-bodied and bewildered Khohlwa out of the car as though she was a fragile old woman. He herded her towards the office building and we all watched, like soccer fans at a captivating match. Vusa stepped out of the car and went to stand at the back smoking a cigarette and looking over the river. I could smell the smoke and it was making my stomach turn. The sun was setting, its colors staining the wisps of clouds that hung suspended in the sky. I liked sunsets, but that evening it felt as though the sun was sinking with a part of me. The acid shot up and down scalding my throat like boiling hot tea. I swallowed to keep it down.

Simon and Mpofu walked back to the car and settled themselves in front seats. I waited for something about why Kholhwa was left at the office. We waited. Khethiwe picked nervously at bits of fluff on her skirt like she did when she picked ticks off Poppy’s body. Suko had his eyes closed but I knew he was not asleep.

We waited. The sun went down in an explosion of light and the stars appeared. I dared not think about why my child was not here with us. I could not let my mind wonder what she was doing in the office. Instead, I told myself that very soon all would be well and our new life in South Africa was about to be born.

In the gathered gloom, I saw her coming out of the office, walking, her back straight head held high. I sighed with relief. If something bad had happened she would not walk like the usual proud Khohlwa. She was still her. As she neared the car I noticed she held something white in her hands. Quickly she got into the car. Khethiwe made room for her without the usual prompting. Vusa got in and took his spot in the middle row. It was dark and I could not see Khohlwa’s face. She did not utter a word but she handed Vusa the sheet of paper she brought with her from the office. Vusa did not speak and he passed the paper to Simon in the front. Simon peered back once or twice as Mpofu started the car and turned the headlights on. We rejoined the line which was now short. The buses were already on this side of the border, pulling up to stop the same way we had. Part of me desperately wanted to see Khohlwa in the light to talk to her and find out if she was alright. But another part of me cringed as though it could not handle what Khohlwa would have to say about what happened in that office. I told myself that I would ask her when we arrived and we could be alone. I calmed myself by looking at the night lights as we pulled out of the border post and onto the highway towards Jo’burg. We had crossed. No passports, no Limpopo River. I was thankful but could not shake off the sense of foreboding that settled snugly in my bones.

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