Fireplace Tales

Crimson Wall

I couldn’t help but smell his fragrance which had enveloped us since our meeting. It had musky notes to it which continued to heighten and bring to the fore his gentlemanly masculinity. There I sat gaping at him, my mind failing dismally no matter how hard I tried to concentrate on what he was saying. His eloquence was yet another pleasure to marvel at. He took his time, choosing his words carefully. Pausing now and again, his eyes roved over our upturned faces to intentionally let his words sink in. In all honesty, I was charmed off my socks by him; literally drawn. Had I been asked what I learned in his lesson that day, be sure I would have lied blatantly.

A faint smile kept playing at the corners of his mouth threatening to break into a wider grin. “No doubt he would look just as good smiling,” I muttered to my secret delight. It was at this me moment that my mind wandered and in the process conjured all kinds of intolerable dirt it could ever lay its clutches on.

The eyes, the nose, the full cheeks with their dainty craters of dimples, his clean shaven chin surely would complement that smile and accentuate these striking good looks.

Oh dear what is wrong with this mind today? Why is it trying to get me into trouble with its madness? On my first day? At my new school? For God’s sake I’m here to be learning not to gawk at my teacher like he were a model in a stripper club!

Hard as I tried to take him out of my thoughts, I just could not get enough of his face which imprinted itself over and over into my mind with my every stare.

Some time during the lesson, it somehow dawned on him that I were mesmerized by his very presence for he kept on averting his gaze my way. Maybe he found the angle I held my head discorceting with its sideways-like cock. I know many a times it gives people an impression that I’m being plain assertive. Maybe my unwavering squint made him uncomfortable. But in normal room light my sight is fairly well, so what could it be? He kept giving me brief side glances like I were a glaring light hurting his eyes.

Nonetheless I continued to goggle at him. I was sitting all by myself at the farther side of the classroom since nobody wanted to do anything with me lest a ‘curse’, ‘an abomination’ and ‘bad luck’ my condition carried started to rub off on them. I couldn’t blame them though since I was now accustomed to being shunned, avoided like an outcast with a festering, infectious case of leprosy. Everywhere I went people stopped and stared, rudely pointing fingers while others outwardly and verbally taunted me. I was the ‘other’ at functions and parties always riding solo. Mom ensured I knew that I’m like everybody else, that I have similar dreams and aspirations and that I could become whatever I wanted to be so long as I set my mind to it. And she loved me dearly. Oh God bless her soul and give it peace in its eternal abode.

Amidst my hullabaloo-like new kid frenzy which I later learned made its way into the school social media networks and trended for weeks on end, something so sudden happened and took my breath away---literally! Granny had spent the very last pennies of her old-age pension to buy us uniforms and other essentials so we too could be decent. I remember clearly accompanying her to town for shopping, her slacking walk on the packed pavements, as we zigzagged this and that way to accomplish our mission. Now and again she paused and produced her creased and apparently dirty handerkerchief from somewhere between her breasts to wipe her brow of dripping sweat. Her agitation was at fever pitch by the time we got into our taxi after having been ordered around and driven mad by many a cashier at stores who rushed her and found it difficult to bear with her slow-motion manner of shopping.

At our drop off zone, I suggested to Granny that I better hurry home since I still had one more visit to make; to the barber’s.

Granny stopped in her tracks dejected, her shoulders drooping momentarily. Then without warning her face darkened like some mysterious shadow had crossed it.

“Do you know how ridiculously expensive these barber shops of yours are?” she glared at me.

“These people swindle cents even of old hags like me without mercy just for cutting hair off a head barely a size of a middle-sized pumpkin! Achee.” Her ‘achee’, a Sesotho exclamation of total agitation was crisp, loud and more punctuated.

“I know Gogo but it’s in the school’s regulations that all boys come to school with clean shaven heads. I read them all to you this morning, remember?”

In her current mood, trying to make her see logic, my chances were zero to hundred. I knew her well. She just dismissed me with a wave of her hand. It was as if I hadn’t said anything to begin with.

“I know but no need to fret, besides that’s something my good pair of scissors and a razor blade could fix within a blink of an eye.”

A pair of scirrors? Did she really say a pair of scissors? A razor on my head? I couldn’t believe my ears. I had long given up their use way even before mommy enrolled me into preschool.

“But Gogo you know as well as I do that I never shave with a razor blade, my delicate scalp tears easily,” I implored looking back at her leaning on her walking stick, regarding me like I were a piece of dusty furniture.

Seconds passed with us looking at each like that, I with tears already threatening to gush down my burning cheeks any minute and her puffing for breath through her widened nostrils than her mouth. She lowered her gaze and started rummaging through her layers of clothing apparently for her handkerchief which she kept misplacing now and again. After finding it, she proceeded to wipe her brow for the millionth time all the while fanning her face with it.

She lifted her walking stick violently only to bring it back down onto the pavement with a loud clatter. “I knew it wasn’t a good idea to let your mother raise you all by herself. Now look what a spoilt brat she left behind for me to look after.”

The way she busied herself afterwards with putting her handkerchief away you would swear that it was the only thing in the whole wide world that could calm her down. Equally important, it was as if she was going to be paid for her meticulous attention to detail. The fact that she brought my mother into this saddened me so much that for a while it felt like a huge cloud had settled over us blanketing and blotting out the shine and heat of the sun. For peace’s sake I decided to bite my tongue or worse still she would have struck the day lights out of me with her walking stick considering the way she swung it as she prodded along. She muttered under her breath a number of times, and there I was bearing the weight of our shopping and of her words.

*****

I was packing my school bag when his hefty frame darkened the doorway. For a moment I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me but there he was, his eyes roving as always about the sea of my classmates eager to get out and head home. My hand which was in the process of packing suddenly paused mid air; my whole body freezing completely. My face went hot, cold and hot again. His eyes landed on me and I avoided them to look down at my shaking hands attempting to zip up the bag.

I looked up again. There he was still, this time leaning on the doorframe looking at me. I looked down again to heave my bag up and prepare to leave. My dilemma at this point was how I was going to exit the classroom with him in the doorway. For the umpteenth time I lifted my eyes ready to brave my fear. He lifted his hand and with his index finger made a menacing “come here boy” gesture. By now my heart was in my mouth trying so hard to jump out. I looked around at a couple other pupils who had lingered behind like myself thinking he might not be referring to me. None seemed to notice. So I knew he meant me.

With feet feeling all wobbly and jelly-like I approached. He let me outside.

“Young man, you and I should go out and take care of your head now.”

Boy look at that faint smile of his. And what is he saying? Oh my ‘zebra patterned’ head.

I remember stammering something about Gogo not liking it for me to stay out late, I’m sure I wasn’t audible enough even to my own ears. Before I could hatch any funny ideas, he let the way.

I had no option but to follow. The chatty guy he were, cracking jokes even. I couldn’t laugh at them. because that was so unlike him so I kept thinking.Wherever we passed pupils paused and stared, some dropping dead in their tracks, others stretching their necks like giraffes for a better sight wondering what business their teacher was having with me; the ‘pale skinned new weirdo.’

We got to the other side of the school compound which turned out to be Teachers’ Living Quarters lined evenly in patterned rows, their tin roofs shimmering in the late afternoon sun.

We got to his house at the start of the top most row, where he rapped gently on the door. Getting no answer we let ourselves in.

“Honey, I’m home!” Like a violent slap that knocks one’s breath out, his words wiped away the fondness I had earlier felt for him. It quickly got replaced by disappointment and anger.

Jeez, what was I thinking?

My heart dropped from my chest to my feet and decided to stay there. He went through the house shouting incessant ‘Honeys’ to no avail, banging room doors behind him.

“Look grab a seat while I prepare the hair kit. I do not like the way your hair is cut and your classmates picking at you. Ok?”

We rounded off our hair cutting session with a cold glass of orange squash, the ice cubes tinkling pleasantly against the sides. Did we talk! I mean real man to man talk, for the first time in my life feeling like I matter. He talked to me like I were his equal not a student in his class. We talked about school, our families and our dreams. The way he laughed when I told him I would run for presidency one day, making history as the first pale skinned president. It was during this time I learned he had two kids younger than myself still attending primary school.

I happened to glance at their wall clock and gasped loudly realizing that I was running late, getting all frantic afraid Gogo was going crazy as to where I were.

“Thank you so much for saving my day sir,” I said polite and all.

“It’s ok, it’s the least I could do for you. Go on or your Gogo will sent the whole village search party to go look for you,” he said with a light laughter.

I headed to the door, opened it to a huge gust of wind that nearly knocked me down. Peering outside at the rapidly darkening sky, I was unable to believe what I saw. Huge rain clouds flitted slowly across the sky, so tightly pressed they looked like they would drop upon us. Just then a forked array of lightning painted the sky followed by a booming clap of thunder. I quickly retreated and closed the door.

****

I sat up in bed for a greater part of the night; feeling lonely, sad and worried. Empty. My greatest worry was the weird look on the face of my teacher’s wife. As I thought about it, shivers stole down my back. I tried concentrating on the rhythm of the rain which by now had softened to a light drizzle on the roof hoping it would lull me to sleep but none came. For the first time in my life, I felt totally alone as I shared a bed with my youngest brother at home. Taking it no more I walked to the window, pushed the curtain aside and stared outside. I saw nothing but pitch black darkness with occasional streaks of lightning flashing farther away in the distance. I must have been at that window for only a few minutes when a bright flash of lightning that sent sparks flying off a nearby tree outside illuminated the whole room accompanied by a loud boom of thunder. I quickly jumped into bed and pulled the covers over my head. The storm got stronger and stronger with my every heartbeat; swelling and exploding.

I was sleeping in Junior’s room; my teacher’s eldest son after he vacated it to make way for me. The two of them were sound asleep in the next room. I wished he had shared a bed with me at least. The storm was so violent I did not even hear the door opening ushering in my teacher carrying a candle. I was only startled when a hand landed on my head through the blankets that I forgot about the lightning, uncovered my head just a fraction to his face looking down at me. He wasn’t smiling just scared or worried I don’t know. He looked at me for a while, unblinking, immobile and silent. The flame of the candle danced across his face clearly giving me an up close shot. His eyes bore into mine, sweetly and warmly, only the muscles of his jawline kept tightening like they were suppressing his speech. My heart started with its ‘jumpy jumpy’ business, this time crashing violently against my ribs like the very storm outside.

He put the candle holder on the bedside table slowly, the whole process so slow it reminded me of the slow motion trick on TV. He then yanked open my blankets and slid in, climbing into bed with me. I tried to blink to ensure I was not dreaming. I feigned confusion which he quickly caught on and pressed his index finger to his lips to shush me. I was secretly delighted especially at such a sudden stroke of luck. He reached out to me and I crawled into his arms, and the two of us cuddled. The only thing trying to mess up my night was my heart which kept on hammering in my chest threatening to jump out and roll away across the floor.

“Shhhh relax, ok?” he whispered close to my ears, his warm breath sending shivers of excitement all over my body. I sort of got lost in the moment, so much that I forgot pretty much what happened afterwards. Oh wait, did I really say I forgot?

As the thunderstorm roared and crashed violently in the darkened sheet of the sky outside, the two of us were so imersed with our ‘misdemeanor’ I’m sure none of us minded it. Huffing and puffing like stallions in a prize race, we let our bodies to merge into one, lip upon lip, chest upon chest, groin upon groin. All that mattered was dancing to the enchantingly inviting rhythm of the sweet, ecstatic music our bodies were making. Truth must be told never in my young life had I explored that part of the jungle but it was so enticing I couldn’t just resist it. All my secret pleasures, dark fantasies and wishes all started to materialize right in front of my eyes.

His warm breath on my naked skin mingled with faint traces of that designer cologne of his, sweat and other manly scents I couldn’t identify heightened my excitement. Now and again I let out an audible moan of pleasure, shrill more like a little whimper than an actual moan. And then within a blink of an eye it happened. My prized possession; my very own crimson wall which since childhood had been guarded jealously fell, crumbling all around me, sending a huge cloud of dust skyward. The sound of its deafening collapse all too severe to tolerate! It was as if for a moment my whole body had been seared by one of the jagged forks of lightening criss crossing the sky outside. A pleasant numbness descended upon me sending me headlong into a deep carven of ecstasy, unknown, incomprehensible to my young mind.

Thank goodness he was there every step of the way holding me tightly, saving me from the swooning, drowning-like sensation taking over my body. Full blown cries and moans to be precise escaped my mouth uncontrollably. Another round of applause to the storm outside or someone could have come rushing into the room thinking I were being strangled to death. As if on cue both the raging storms subsided letting me catch my breath for the first time after my brief flight to the seventh heaven.

Still in his arms, he rocked me back and forth gently, wiping beads of perspiration off my brow. He was smiling broadly all the while planting soft, sensual kisses on my still partly open lips. We laid like that for a long time listening to the storms receding further and further away into the distance. I was afraid of letting go, scared I would wake up to find myself in a dream. Another minute he was running his velvety smooth right hand through my back, the left on the low of my back nailing me in place.

Just then my thoughts came flooding back. Jesus what have we done here! I flinched violently that he looked at me puzzled.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t like it,” he cried cupping my face in his palm to face him. I responded by smiling back at him. No, I was actually faking the whole thing. How could I when my mind is broiling with rage, grilling me like a cannibal his victim on a spit?

“Look I had always wanted to experience it with an alb...uhm..someone like you, for they say you guys bring luck to one’s life” he said pleased with himself. Eish that stereotype though. Huh? You too? I thought you were different, after all you are educated unlike the illiterate masses out there, I tried somewhat bitterly to not get annoyed with his unfounded theories and cheap talk. Snuggling closer to him I closed my eyes to face the rage of my mind. It punched me countless times blaming me why I had let my guard so down especially after all this time I had been vowing to myself I would share my purity with someone special at a special occasion.

“Besides he is married, he is somebody else’s. You will never have him all to yourself no matter what! I’m sure you are proud of yourself now eh smarty pants.”

But in my heart I knew better. I knew he was my special somebody and so was the moment. There and then I ignored the angry mind and concentrated on enjoying my rare slice of happiness once in my life; and yes enjoy it fully while it lasted.

Every afternoon I would gather my school bag at bell ring announcing the end of the school day and rush off to my teacher’s house. Halfway through my duties he would barge through the door, wearing that boyish, naughty grin of his. Oh this treacherous heart of miné would just melt, my worries of being Judas to his wife shriveling to irrelevance. I need not mention things we would get up to after which he would give me a wad of crisp bank notes commanding me not to tell nor show to any living soul, not even my Granny.

Boy what has happened with your upright, ‘narrow-path walk’ like lifestyle? My mind kept hurling a string of questions at me, surprised at my sudden obssession with him. Jeez you are not different to the hookers auctioning off their bodies at night on the streets in big, faraway cities. And now this house? The two of you have actually turned it into your brothel of sorts.

But I’m not a hooker, you sure are aware of that. He loves me, I love him period. The defensive me getting all worked up.

Love? You? Haha, tell me something I don’t know, sneered my mind in utter sarcasm. He pays to have his way with you, what do you call that? Huh? Wake up!

Shut up, what do you know? Nothing! I slammed my right fist into the open palm of my left hand. Minutes passed and hard as I tried to forget the sombre conversation we just had it resurfaced, sometimes at awkward moments.

With it I was told to spoil myself and buy myself ‘nice’ things. The ‘city slicker’ I was, I saved every cent after all there wasn’t much to spend it on in the countryside.

*****

I must have dozed off for when I awoke it was dark. I didn’t know where I were or what was happening to me. Everything felt like it had decided to pack and slip out of my mind. I groaned, my voice sounding strange even to my own ears. One would swear I had swallowed a gigantic frog. Then everything went black. A little while later I came to and I knew I wasn’t experiencing violent, nightmarish sleep but something sinister messing with my head. The ground I slept on was in continuous motion. What is happening? I kept racking my brains for answers but none came.

Wait! This isn’t a ground I’m sleeping on.

Again everything went black. Totally black. When I came to for the second time, I was sure that I was zooming in and out of consciousness. I kept on ‘blacking out, coming to’ for a long time unable to digest what was happening to me. In one of my near clear ‘come to’s’, I became aware of my surroundings. There was duct tape over my mouth, my hands and feet too were bound with rope. I heard a steady rumble underneath me unaware that it was the sound of the wheels of a panel truck driving at full speed. I heard voices too, muffled and unfamiliar ones as though they were a far away off echo in a huge cave or empty auditorium.

Somewhere we stopped. I could tell we were deep in the bush by the acrid smell of the wild vegetation seeping through the crevices of the van; wafting into my nostrils. The shrill commotion of million crickets was also clear in the night air. In my befuddled state I couldn’t even think of opening my eyes, for they felt heavy. The front occupants got off the van. From their ’foggy’conversation I could tell they were going to relieve themselves and get few puffs off their cigarettes. I reclined there faking unconsciousness even when one of them checked up on me. Who are these people? Where are they taking me? Where am I and how did I end up in this van, in this state? My head kept spinning.

I woke up hours later, this time within unfamiliar walls of an eerily lit hut adorned with weird looking ornaments. Those walls which unbeknownst to me would become my ‘passage of no return’ to my new existence, yes walls of annihilation indeed! People were huffing and puffing, busy amidst their leader’s voice cracking like a whip telling them to hurry. I kicked a little and in the faint light managed to see what was happening. My heart skipped a beat as fright took me over. My eyes couldn’t believe what they beheld. I was fully aware; conscious even to know that I was seeing things as they were. And then the smell hit hard. The smell of fresh blood with its traces of a freshly scrubbed iron skillet!

Behind me an argument broke. The leader wasn’t at all pleased with the squirming sealed package: me. He shouted that yes he wanted a sealed package but not a live one. Just then my mind fully grasped what was awaiting me. I had only heard on television, over the radio and in newspapers of people living with albinism brutally murdered in ritualistic activities, their body parts sold at high prices to sangomas, hardcore criminals for their own cults ‘strengthening’ and power hungry individuals. Once again everything went black. This time my black out was induced by nothing other than sheer shocking fright.

“What have I done? Spilt innocent blood with my bare hands?” my teacher kept on saying sitting up in bed, looking away from his wife. He rubbed his hands vigorously against each other as if washing them.

“I don’t think I could live with this. It’s best I hand myself over to the police. What I have done is deplorable.”

At that, The Lady of the house stirred on her side of the bed, sat up and grabbed her husband on the shoulder forcing him to face her.

“What nonsense is this I hear?”

Her eyes were a flaming fiery red in the light of the bedside lamp.

“Can’t you see this boy is our ticket to better life? Unless you aren’t tired of being fed peanuts by your so-called National Teaching Service Department.”

Hold on. Did she say boy? Oh so by boy she meant me?

I was fuming by now ready to pounce on her and tear her to pieces. Surprisingly I couldn’t. I felt so light, floating around their bedroom like a wisp of curled smoke.

He turned away from her again, rubbed his hands even harder. His pained and bitterly twisted face looking directly into empty space. It was as if the walls of his being and their house crumbled upon him, baring all their secrets for the whole world to see.

Taking it no more, the Lady snapped her voice shrill and loud.

“Man up. What happened can’t be undone. All that matters is to stick to the story should anybody come nosing around here about him.”

I couldn’t believe my ears.

“Honey my conscience is not letting me off that easily. Every time I close my eyes I see his sweet, pale face, his humble personality, his scent, his...”

“Shh or you will wake the kids up!”

“I shouldn’t have agreed. I feel like...like...he is moving about in here right now.”

Of course I am baby. So you thought you could pull this through that easily?

“Are you mad? I could exhale and you perish like this”-snapping her fingers at him-“You seem to have forgotten what I’m capable of.”

The way she held her index finger in his direction and the menace in her tone proved she meant every word. But her threats fell on deaf ears. She had to up her game if she really wanted to win him over.

Taking a smoother, gentler tone she tried to rub his shoulders comfortingly but that one wouldn’t want any of it and abruptly pulled away, his back still to her.

“Honey, look by this time tomorrow our accounts will be brimming with millions from the sale of our mobile Gold mine.”

Silence, only punctuated by loud sobs and sniffles of her husband. Dejected she gave up, throwing her hands up in utter exasperation.

“Let me go to sleep and leave you sulking by yourself. My EFT transfer is en route as we speak.” With that she pulled the blankets over her head and went to sleep.

For a moment my heart went out to him. It was within these very walls that our love blossomed and took shape so I might as well forgive him here. I’m sure he felt that too for as soon as I went out, he heaved a sigh of relief and crawled into bed. I quickly retraced my steps to that dingy hut and found familiar and new faces gathered around my dismembered body auctioning off parts. My mind ferried me to the harrowing story of crucifixion; where jestering executioners cast lots to claim articles of torn, soiled and bloodied clothing.

Oblibvious of the acrid smell of fresh blood mingled with sweat, tobacco and dust arising from the beaten floor, I watched in silence, as my eyes brimmed with tears. My paradise of once a raging fire reduced to but a heap of dusty embers slowly dying out. My hope, my dreams, my aspirations having been washed away from right under my nose leaving no more room for the rebirth of new ones.

Maybe it’s time I pay my family a visit. No, not yet maybe later. It’s best I stay here among my newly found ‘friends’ who suffered the same fate and together grief our lives untimely cut. The thick shadows of the weeping willows and the entire bush surrounding the hut teemed with buried bones, femurs and hollowed out skulls; resulting from bad auctions. In a little corner we all hurdled, comforting each other, reliving memories and moments of joy. The last of my parts had been packaged into briefcases and stashed behind seats of posh sports cars transported to where only God knows. How much each was worth I cared less.

Once upon a time when my crimson wall; my special ‘wall’ was still intact, standing robust like Moshoeshoe my hero warrior; unlocked, untouched, an unexplored treasure and a perfect seal of my innocence...

Dancing Daffodils

The Saturday of my funeral was rather a strange one. The summer day was pleasantly warm with the uninhibited sun shining fully and brightly. Occassionally, a soft breeze blew, combing the fronds of the palm tree Grandpa had planted in the middle of our yard.The pine trees encompassing my homestead also nodded and swayed in its presence. Wafting in the air was the appetizing aroma of food being cooked in big, black three-legged iron pots in our outside fireplace. Now and again, faint traces of perspiration, perfumes, and tobacco smoke found their way into my nostrils as well.

In groups, I spotted familiar and new faces engrossed in deep conversation. Under the shade of the trees, in every room of our house, in the huge Kopanang Funeral Society tent, in and around the many cars parked, around the kraal and fireplace people milled about offering handshakes and condolences to whoever cared to spare a minute. All were talking to each other in hushed tones as if the very ground they trod on was sacred.

The whole business of that day was getting stranger with each passing minute. It had never occured to me that so many people knew me and as such had taken time off their apparently busy schedules and commitments to attend my funeral. On one hand, I later figured that such a service offers a wonderful chance for distant relatives, long lost friends, colleagues and olden days playmates to meet, re-connect and re-kindle lost sparks of their relationships. On the other however, it is a hub and ‘friendship corner’ where people strike up fortunes of new friendships, romantic attachments and ever –lasting business relations. As a silent observer moving from one group to the next, trust me I was inclined to behave and conduct my business as everybody else around me.

And don’t forget the latest fashion trends on display all around the homestead! Everybody, I mean, literally everybody was dressed in their very best: all donned black or darker shades of the big, famous clothing brands. Even my cold, stiff frame in its gleaming casket was clothed in a fine black tuxedo, white shirt, black bowtie and ceramic-smooth laceless shoes I had worn on my graduation ceremony a few years ago.

“What a waste of resources,” remarked one girl adjusting a rear-view mirror in one of the parked minibuses, getting ready to freshen her make-up.

She flicked a disapproving glance over her shoulder to her friends who were also fussing over top straps, dress belts, hair, cheeks and ‘door-handle shaped’ eyebrows.

“Oh yeah. Such a young..., handsome... life untimely cut,” observed another hesitatingly, dragging the ‘young’ and ‘handsome’ as if to intentionally emphasise her emotional turmoil. She was looking ahead in the distance; her gaze and the acute hesitation in her voice a mixture of deep contemplation and inexplicable longing.

“Girls, that guy was a full package you know: epitomizing beauty, smart intellect, intergrity, professional stature and a gentlemanly decency,” she added lifting a finger for every quality.

Phew!!

The hopelessness in her voice accompanied by a heavy sigh caused all her friends to pause over whatever they were doing and observe her hardened facial features. Brief silence. And suddenly a ripple of hearty laughter swept all over them.

“Well, truth must be told, I’m sure we weren’t the only girls going head over heels about him,” pointed out a heavy-set girl fumbling with her cerulean boob-tube dress in an attempt to perfect her already bursting cleavage.

“Good, good God have mercy! There goes another desperado,” smirked a slim ‘slay-queen’ in the back seat rolling her eyes skyward as if begging God for a sign. She dropped her brief gaze and started pouting her lips like a fish and making faces in her hand mirror to ensure her lip-gloss was on point. She did’nt even bat an eye when another derisive laughter broke on all of her friends. You would swear her colossal eyelashes intentionally refused to blink to give them a ‘ you are all crazy’ look.

“Argh, the guy was full of himself, handsome and smart, yes, but such a snob!” declared another ‘wanna-be’ diva arising with an expression and exclamation of disgust. Her friends exchanged surprised glances and enquired where she was taking off to in such a hurry. Oh, well. I didn’t know I were a snob. How refreshing! I smiled to myself for the first time since I died.

“Hello! Outside to get some fresh air and do some fishing plus there’s plenty of fish around.”

She closed the minibus door with a bang, balanced on her flamingo-neck-like stilletoes and walked away. Ah my cue! I moved away too aimless at first until another area caught my eye.

“I could already tell that this young man wouldn’t live half his days the way he was a talk of the neighbourhood,” cried one aunt wiping beads of perspiration off her brow with the back of her hand.

It was apparent that she was tired from stirring and tending the huge pots of the smorgasbord beef stew cooking ‘funeral tradition-style.’

“Of course yes my sister,” agreed another aunt with a yellow head wrap.

“Smart kids with their future all planned ahead of them are a magnet to jealousy and witchcraft.”

She looked around tentatively and in the process feigned re-tying her head wrap.

“You know what, I suspect that Mafukuthu woman. She is such a witch who will hack all our children from under our very own noses, I tell you,” she whispered.

“Goodness, sister! How could you say something like that?”, asked the bewildered, tired aunt. Her eyes dilating like bright car headlights in an inky dark highway.

“Look, there was some bad blood between our sister-in-law and her so I hear,” yellow head wrap aunt continued under her breath.

“Tell you what, the root cause of such a feud is our brother, who back in the day got them in a crazy love triangle but ended up with our sister-in-law instead,” she glanced over her shoulder once more.

“And they say, she made such sinister threats that our sister-in-law would never bear him children.”

“Iyooh,” tired aunt exclaimed clapping her hands in surprise.

“Such threats hold curses and spells in themselves so I’ve heard. I wish I had known this earlier, I would have encouraged our sister-in-law to consult with my sangoma. That one could break any curse or spell with his strong herbs and mixtures you know,” she sighed throwing both her hands into the air in utter exasperation.

“Eish, now it’s late.”

“Don’t despair my dear sister, it is going to be alright,” comforted yellow head wrap aunt.

“Time is a healer of all wounds.”

Another quick, over-the-shoulder glance.

“However, word has it that the night before our nephew died, that witch was seen pacing her yard in the dead of the night, mumbling inaudible things. Who knows, maybe she’d been bidding her time until then.”

Looking around, she saw a woman approaching them holding a shiny chafing dish in her hands.

“Shhhhhhh, the clouds are now starting to blot out the sun!” And both my aunts snickered mischievously.

“Hurry up you two, tend the pots and stop giggling like two stupid schoolgirls,” she said putting the chafing dish down and proceeding to uncover the pots and checking how they were cooking. She grabbed a nearby stirring-stick and busied herself with the pots’ contents.

“My God, this stew isn’t even half ready and here you are fooling around. Be quick we don’t have all day here,” she dismissed the two aunts with her free hand as they exchanged bitterly angry and twisted glances.

Oh this one was another piece of work. Who did she think she were? Ordering and bossing people around? She sure thought she were a hot shot. She replaced the lids and poked the fire with the end of the stirring-stick a couple of times, acting as if she owned the fireplace or had cooked the stew from the start. I did not like her; not one bit. In fact, I loathed her passionately there and then and so did my aunts who scrambled to their feet with angry headshakes to the firewood heap to bring in more wood. How I hate people like her who think they are in charge of everybody and everything! Let alone think they know everything!

I moved off my aunts, and their hot-headed ‘supervisor’ amused at how death and apparently anything unusual could spark so much speculation.

In the tent, the church choir was warming up, singing ‘Nearer my God to thee’ in such an out-of-tune manner I wondered if they took seriously to practising. A closer look revealed the worst scenario ever. Most choir members weren’t paying their conductor any attention rather busy with gossiping, giggling and social network chatting. Only the conductor was high spirited and I wondered how long he would remain that motivated without a back-up. Were they to sing like that during the service, I’m sure they would depress the assembled cortege of mourners and my family alike.

On the podium, in the front part of the tent, the priest was also going over his notes for the funeral sermon, flipping his Bible from the book of Job to the four gospels. He was trying to find a balance between despair, hopelessness, pain and hope. The depressing church choir made me stay in there but very briefly.

Round the corner, I came upon my guys’ group made up of former soccer team, school mates and colleagues from work.

“You guys are very lucky to have known Tsépo,” my supervisor was saying.

“He was passionate, hard-working, eager to learn new things all the time. You know those are qualities to which all of you should aspire in the world of work.” All nodded unanimously. Kolisang: my friend since first grade put his hand up. I was surprised I still regarded him a friend too.

“So guys, who’s going to present the friends’ eulogy?,” he enquired.

Most avoided his eyes and looked down at their feet evident that none were ready.

“Anyone?,” he asked, his gaze moving from one face to the other.

Wait a minute! So I had friends?

I remember this other day stumbling upon my funeral program. I just saw names of people I didn’t know let alone recognise. I came across an item “A WORD BY A FRIEND:MR KOLISANG”. But this was the first person I called before I was kicked out and he didn’t pick my calls. And he didn’t even bother to respond to my urgent messages too. I wasn’t anybody’s friend but just a village boy with dreams bigger than theirs. As if to spite me, in quick succession, the childhood and friendship memories I had with him flashed past my eyes and struck a chord in my heart. It was time to move away before I broke down myself.

At the kraal, father was sitting on a flat stone, his shoulders hunched from under his blanket. He looked so haggard and pale you would swear he had just seen a ghost. His eyes were hollow, devoit of any emotion, his cheeks sunken like he were sucking on a huge smoking-pipe. The once fine-chiselled nose looked like a protruding, gnarled limp of a hundred year-old tree. He was totally low in spirits despite his friends’ many words of comfort. You know how men are, they talked little, patted him in the back and exchanged firm handshakes. His jawline kept tightening with every gesture of comfort and his Adam’s apple in motion as he tried hard to swallow his pain. I couldn’t watch any longer for I had yet another stop to make; my parents’ bedroom.

My dear mother, lying on that mattress spread on the floor specifically for mourning my passing resembled a lifeless heap of million blankets. Her face was partly hidden by the black mourning head wrap she had on. She was an epitome of total devastation, sorrow and grief. The soft, beautiful features which warmed my heart always were twisted and wasted. That strong woman could single-handedly be such a super-hero you know, playing our family’s peace-keeper, security-guard, cook, teacher, nurse, financial advisor, farmer, mother and wife all combined, I silently contemplated. But now her frail frame made her look like a newly-born. The elderly women of our village, the burial society and relatives were sitting around her on grass mats saying their monotonous comforts over and over. I know my mother well; she wasn’t listening to such nonsensical babbling. Her, who in the prime of her youth was deemed highly opinionated, strong but above all so beautiful that boys fought for her with father claiming her as the prize.

Just then, she shook and a dozen women rushed over to help her into a sitting position. My God sent your Jesus to her! She looked so ghastly to have been my mother. Her facial skin was masked with dullness she was barely recognizable. The fire and energy that usually danced in her eyes were gone, all sapped by grief, in their place a glitter of emptiness. She stared into space directly at me. Our eyes locked for a few seconds. From my vantage point I deduced the endless question she had been asking herself since she heard news of my death. Why? I couldn’t take her stare any longer so I looked away wiping a stray tear from my eye.

I had been the reason she jumped out of bed every day so she had told me once. I could see all the thousand wars and triumphs the two of us fought and won, the pride she felt on my graduation day as she gathered her skirts and ululated like she wanted to pierce the very sky. Ah death be not proud! I heaved a sigh as I wandered around trying to find my next stop to eavesdrop on.

How exactly did I die? You sure still wonder as did everybody at my funeral.

Right after graduation, I took a job in town as a cultural advisor in the Ministry of Arts, Culture and Local Affairs. I loved my job so much that I excelled in all my assignemnts. The pay was very good and so were the relations between my boss, supervisors, colleagues and I. No wonder that I was in a cocoon of nothing but comfortable life. In essence, all those failed to cloud over my dream to further my studies. After being granted a study leave on half pay, I embarked on my new journey of studying towards my post graduate degree. However being my family’s sole bread winner, my studies and living expenses started weighing heavily on my half salary. Had it not been for the numerous terms and conditions surrounding our study leave’s arrangement, I would have asked to work voluntary, weekend and overtime shifts to supplement my quickly drying source of income. Or had I known, I would have studied part time.

I had to live on a stringent budget and thankfully I made it to my final semester. With the new fiscal year, however, came sudden twists and turns financially. The most outstanding being the VAT hike which gave way to the fees’ re-structuring and adjustment. Eish, life has a curious way of reshuffling one’s priorities. I struggled financially that at times I wouldn’t afford to pay mere rent. I remember coming home one afternoon and stumbling upon a final notice of eviction from my apartment’s landlord. The notice clearly stated that should I fail to pay the remaining amount within five working days, I surely would be kicked out.

Caught between the devil and deep sea, I thought of selling my furniture and clothes but decided against that. One fleeting moment, I thought of approaching private financial service providers for a short-term loan, but I had to let go of such a thought. I didnt want to mess with those terrible loan-sharks and their illegal business activities. It was unbelievable that five, solid months had flitted by without me paying rent. On many occassions, I had managed to convince the landlord with a tall tale why I couldn’t pay. Looking at that notice once again, I fully understood that the landlord’s patience with my myriad excuses had finally ran out. Oh, God bless that humane soul. With my frustration and desperation mounting with each passing day, I bunked lectures, presentations and study group sessions.

When most of my attempts to get the rent money failed one after the other, I had but one straw of hope to clutch onto; social media. The so many ‘friends’ I had there surely would lent a helping hand, I reasoned, the very thought sparking new rays of hope in my heart. So, there and then I posted about my predicament on Facebook seeking help. As if my fate spited me, all I got were two likes and zero comments. I decided to sent one hundred messages to the first hundred friends in my contact list requesting for a loan of M2500. Sadly, only ten replied. Six made it clear they just couldn’t help, three responded by saying that they would see what they could do and one “my best friend Kolisang” suggested I remind him within twenty-four hours. But the following day, he was number one among those who didn’t pick my calls. Left with only a day, I further sent him texts. They too were ignored. My last straw proved equally unhelpful and I was swept away by the swift current of desperation.

The next day I was kicked out. Had nowhere to go. Had nobody else to cry to. Had nothing to eat. Pride had prevented me from contacting my parents, I hated stressing them unnecessarily especially my mother, who in no doubt would not have only freaked out but gone to great lengths also to secure money for me. I also had thought I got this under control oblivious of the fact that even bread winners could do with some help.

As it got dark I went into campus to try to sleep in the lecture halls but got chased off by the cleaning staff who later alerted the university security. Pleading with the security personnel on duty that night too proved futile as they kept me in their control room but briefly. Fearing for their jobs, they had no choice but to sent me out of campus. Hungry, cold, afraid and helpless I milled aimlessly up and down in town. Too tired and feeble to seek any more help, I took refuge in an abondoned building. Hardly had I settled down than a notorious gang found me. They tortured me repeatedly and interrogated me nonstop lest I were an undercover cop to bust their syndicate. Tired of entertaining themselves with me, they murdered me in cold-blood.

A few days later, my body was found and nobody knew exactly what had befallen me. News of my death spread like a wildfire to all known corners of the earth. The very same day my body was discovered, my Facebook wall exploded with thousands RIPs. Over four thousand condolescence messages on my timeline plus tags. Four thousand messages on my timeline meant four thousand people on my Facebook contact list, but not a single one of them came to my rescue!

Now the funny and strangest part: some Facebook friends decided to contribute M50 each and my funeral contribution added up to M15 000. My colleagues teamed up and brought another M10 000. Some printed T-shirts bearing my image and each t-shirt was sold at M150 for those who would attend my funeral. Over M30 000 was made available and spent to bury me, yet I only asked for M2500 to which nobody showed up to assist! I would be alive even today.

During my funeral, I listened to each and every person giving a speech, telling how talented I were; how good I were. Nobody mentioned I was struggling; that I needed help. I was kicked out and got murdered as a result. Nobody is saying that! The truth is, in good life you would think everyone got your back, wait until you are pressed against the wall and there won’t be anyone to help.

“Ashes to ashes...” the priest recited in a monotonously long drone. At last, I was six feet under. I watched in disbelief as spades filled up the hole with soil. The fresh mound of soil towered above me and from then on became my eternal home. Soon when spring comes, million daffodils will sprout and blanket my grave, sway their cheery heads and dance in the soft, evening breezes; a reminder to foe and friend alike that I too had had a taste of a full, rewarding life. That like them, I had danced through the seasons and forgotten my innate ephemeral existence. I took one last look at it all and receded into the contours of my cold, stiff, tear-stained heart.

That was the end of me so I thought and did everybody, but here I am giving a testimony of a life well-lived. I was just too young, too handsome, too ambitious to die. My parents saw in me a saviour who would sent them in their final journeys of life with dignity. To many I had been a source of inspiration, courage, commitment and strength. Like a runaway bride I had left the groom (my life’s unfinished business) at the alter with tears in his eyes, the priest and the whole congregation gawking in disbelief and reeling with confusion.

The Boy and The Medicine

Ring! Ring!

One minute. Silence! The only sound that Likeleli could hear was that of the engagement tone which was connecting her to the other end of the line.

Ring! Ring! Pause. And then the all too familiar voice she was expecting broke the ringing.

“Hello?” The hello sounded more like a ‘who are you?’ kind of question.

“Hello Granny, Likeleli here. How are you?”

“Basali oee, ngoan’a ngoanaka!” Granny exclaimed. Just like that the ice in Granny’s voice quickly melted giving way to the warmth Likeleli was so accustomed to.

“Is that really you? How’s your mother and father? And everyone at home? Are you still being my good girl I know you to be?” Granny asked all at the same time, the excitement in her voice too evident to mask. Likeleli laughed to herself, part of her amused at how she would answer all Granny’s questions.

“ I’m fine Granny, actually we all are fine at home. Yes and I’m still your only good and best granddaughter. I’m...I mean we are all missing you terribly. Knowing that we could not be with you at this time of the school winter break hurts me so.”

“That’s my girl! I know I know, but there’s nothing we could do. This colloro together with its lockdowns is to blame, achee basali!” Just know that when a Mosotho woman uses this exclamation she’s totally had enough.

Likeleli quickly clamped her palm over the telephone’s mouthpiece and laughed out loud. By “colloro” Granny meant corona! After a good minute or so of a hearty laughter she resumed her conversation with Granny.

“---all in good time ngoan’a ngoanaka. Do pass my sincerest greetings to everybody there.Your aunt Maipato sends you hers too. She says she will talk to your father on FakeNoon very soon,” she cleared her throat.

“ Oh, and she said I could send you my grandchildren a wonderful gift there.”

Likeleli laughed out loud once more forgetting to cover the mouthpiece this time.

Granny laughed too.

“I know you want to ask me what your gift is but m-m my lips are sealed. Wait till you get it,” she said.

“ I can’t wait Granny, and I can tell it’s so wonderful. Talk to you soon.”

“Ku bye ngoanake.” She waited for some time listening to Granny breathing on the other end, creating images of that wrinkled but loving face in her mind, it’s wisdom and TLC. Five minutes later after replacing the receiver down, she waited by her father’s desk, working her mind over time trying to make out what Granny’s surprise for them all was.

Likeleli is a 10 year old girl living with her mother, father and two older brothers in Berea, Teyateyaneng; aged 12 and 14 respectively. As the youngest and last born in her family, she gets all the protection and love any 10 year old girl could wish for from her brothers. They taught her a lot of things, from tying her shoe laces to racing to school every morning. She loves her family. Her paternal Grandmother with her two aunts, uncles and cousins and nieces live in the beautiful highlands at Likalaneng Ha Mohale. Ever since she could remember, her brothers and her had spent almost every school holidays at Likalaneng. They have had a great time there in as far as great time is concerned.

It was in such visits that she traced her roots and appreciated the little things that made her who she was. Her cultural heritage,it’s awareness and appreciation got honed too. She was bubbly and very eager to learn from traditional songs and dances to household chores which definitely were different from those at her own home. And what a better mentor her grandmother was!

After dinner that night her father announced that they all assemble in the living room as he had a very important announcement to make. Likeleli wasn’t that much looking forward to her fathers ‘so called’ announcement. She remembered the last time her father had such. It was a long, boring work stuff thing about his raise with its perks, responsibilities and blah blah blah!

“Eish parents can be so not fun at times,” she muttered under her breath as she took her place on the couch she shared with her brothers. Her father had began almost immediately but Likeleli’s mind was miles away until the part he mentioned grandmother. At that she sat up almost immediately, cocked her ears in full attention mode.

“...sent this beautiful voice note on Whatsapp which she asked that we listen to together as a family,” he paused eying them all one at a time. Likeleli was so ecstatic to bother checking how everybody around her reacted to that announcement.

“So let me pair this phone to the home theatre system bluetooth so we all enjoy the message in the rich surround system.” A few clicks on his phone and all was set.

“Bana ba ngoanaka, this is especially for you because I know how much you love our fireplace tales so in this prevailing circumstances we so cannot be together but that doesn’t mean we can’t keep in touch and do the things that connect us as a family,” Granny’s voice boomed out of the speakers in its normal powerful nature though it really sounded weird to Likeleli. The mention of a fireplace tale took her back to their holiday fireplace tales sessions back at Granny’s. The fun of them all with them sitting around the fireplace roasting maize on the cob, mushrooms, salted pumpkin seeds and or ‘wild’ potatoes, flapjacks or steaming huge but very tasty dough balls. She would be sitting next to Granny’s on the grass mat spread out on the floor and watch her as she narrated pausing now and again to snort a pinch of snuff from her open palm or from the cap of her snuff bottle.

“And tonight’s story is entitled The Boy and The Medicine,” continued Granny.

“Once upon a time, in a kingdom not far from here lived a King and Queen,” Granny began her story.

“How a perfect couple they seemed! But the truth of the matter was they were deeply unhappy beacuse they were childless. Many a times the Queen would pause and sigh over her grinding stone.

How I wish I had a cute, little girl to teach to grind and bake sweet pancakes!

Even the King himself was deeply troubled. In his many, late afternoon royal compound’s strolls he would sigh too and or simply talk aloud to nobody in particular.

If I had a son; an heir to this throne when I pass on, I would give him the best military, academic and leadership training ever.

Nights and days, weeks, months, years and even decades came and passed by but misery still hung like fog over this royal couple’s hopes.

One day a man from a foreign kingdom visited on a sad King and Queen. It was however many days before they could tell him of their grief and crushed hope. His response was the rarest, the most warm and most welcome. He told the Sad King and Queen of a wise man from his kingdom who could help them. A few days later the foreign man returned to his home kingdom and with him was a Sad King and Queen’s court servant to bring back the good fortune of the wise man. On arrival home, the foreign man realised that he could not make it back to the Sad King and Queen’s kingdom, so he gave the court servant a sealed little sack with clear instructions to take them as speedily as his legs could carry him back home to the King. Among the many instructions, the court servant was instructed to never look inside the little sack, no matter what!

For days and nights without taking even a rest, the court servant flew over spreading plains, ragged mountains, cool, shady forests, crossed hundred mendearing streams and crocodile-invested rivers, amidst melodious birds’chirps and never dared look inside the little sack. However, with each passing day, the journey felt endless and an icy finger of curiousity got the better of him. He battled with it for a long time but the more he battled, the stronger it got.

He had just one last chain of mountains to climb before entering the Sad King’s kingdom. He decided to take a quick peek in the little sack. He chose a nice, covered spot by the brook that gurgled happily on and on. He sat on a log and undid the little sack’s fastener. His heart was in his mouth and his head was tinkling with anxiety. One quick look in the sack showed him such a spectacular sight ever. Dancing in his eyes were rays such as those given out by a crystal. He dipped his hand into the little sack and brought forth a small bottle of medicine. He turned it this and that way unable to comprehend its strange contents. The shiny substance in this bottle looked irresistibly good to taste too, but what left him spellbound the most was that the glow from the bottle had by now clothed him from head to toe.

‘One swig from this bottle won’t do any harm,’ he thought to himself undoing the bottle cap.

His nostrils were greeted by such a sweet-smellimg aroma that he likened it to an angel’s breath. In one deft movement, he gulped the mysterious liquid down, smacked his lips contently, replaced the cap on the empty bottle, put it back in its little sack and threw them all away into the ever-gurgling brook. He trudged on and on, his head heavy from trying to fashion out a make-believe story to cover his deceit. He seethed with rage when he discovered the depth of his wrong-doing. He could not believe that he had given in so easily to temptation. Until that fateful day, he had adhered faithfully to the wise man’s instructions. How sad the King and Queen would be when he fails to present them with a hero in shining armour!

The sun was right in the middle of the sky when he felt an usual fatigue overwhelming him. He broke a thick branch from a nearby willow-tree to make a walking staff but with every mile, breath, minute and step he took, he became more and more tired and leaned on the staff in a strange fashion, stranger even than to that of a centenarian. Bearing it no more, the staff gave way and the court servant collapsed down into an untidy heap and passed out.

“I think you are all wondering what had come over the court servant?” Old Gran asked her voice cool. They all exchanged looks of surprise like by some mysterious power Granny was among them. And in unison they nodded! What a hush had settled over them, it was as though one could hear a chick hatching out of its eggshell.

“He was heavy with child,” Old Gran chuckled her usual toothless smile but the grandchildren all gasped in horror! Even their parents!

“It was hours before the court servant could regain consciousness and as he finally did, guess what he saw! A beautiful baby boy playing with his teeny-weeny fingers and toes! What surprised the court servant even more was that he was lying on a straw mat in a cool cave. Who or what brought him there he never knew. He was thrilled by a bundle of joy he saw before him. He affectionately scooped up the little fellow, held him close and rocked him back and forth.

Minutes passed and reality finally dawned on him. His greatest problem was what to feed and do with the baby boy. He knew if he failed to show up home on that very day, the King would sent his search party to hunt him down. Knowing the punishment which would face him, he dared not waste any more time. So he gathered the little boy and prepared to go. But whose child would he say this was? The very question made him pause in his step. Cold sweat broke on his forehead and stole down his spine in forked rivulets.

After much deliberation, he build a nest-like structure in the cave, spread the grass-mat and hid the baby boy in it. He then made his way home. Hating to be the bearer of bad news, he walked into the royal kraal and told the King the lie that the foreign man’s medicine man who were to help the King was ailing badly and that the promise has been for the foreign man to bring him to the King the very first moment he would be better. The royal couple was badly disappointed but thought it wise to await the foreign medicine man’s recovery.

That very night the court servant stole out and made his way to the cave. His baby boy was just too young to feed on any food he brought him. He was greatly troubled and feared that his baby would die of hunger. Just then a crazy thought popped into his head.

He started chanting:

Dangle , Dangle breasts

Dangle, Dangle so I could feed my baby boy

Oh do dangle, oh do dangle!

Before he could even finish the chant, two large breasts, full of warm sweet milk sprouted on his chest! How relieved he was as he fed his baby to his heart’s content. At last the baby fell asleep and the court servant went back and sneaked into his sleeping quarters undetected. For nights to follow he would wait for everyone to go to bed and then sneak out to the cave. However, the other night, the royal night watchers discovered his sneaky movememts and reported them to the King, who immediately ordered that the court servant be followed. After the discovery of the court servant’s baby, the King ordered that a secret party go to the cave and bring the baby home.

As always, the court servant sneaked out only to find an empty cave. He could not believe his eyes and nearly had a heart attack. After many failed frantic searches, he decided to go back home, where he stayed in bed lying that he were sick. For days, he refused to even eat. His mind kept conjuring up terrible images of wild animals tearing his baby boy to pieces. How he would cry! Taking it no longer, the King personally questioned the court servant who confessed his bad deeds. For his deciet, the court servant was sentenced to death and immediately sent to the gallows. The baby boy grew up as the Prince, the title that was rightfully his, and all lived happily ever after.”

“So this is what happens when one doesn’t listen to instructions?” thought Likeleli later that night in bed.

“The boy’s rebellion ended in bitter consequences I tell you.”

It had been Granny’s habit to ask her grandchildren what lessons they learnt after every story narration. How Granny would take no for an answer but one by one expected them to share with the group. Her brothers, a handful cousins and nieces resented that part of the story telling. She however loved it as it made her feel a part of the session, a chance to voice her opinions, feelings and emotions.

She would look closely at Granny and adore her countenance.

“I wonder what will become of this generation. So forward but very naive!” She would say staring into space, her twinkling eyes burrowing like two dark pearls in her deeply furrowed face. Her silent, slow head shake and the stare usually left Likeleli wondering if the empty space Granny stared at would give her answers to the questions she asked herself.

“Many a times I have seen my brothers and I frustrate our parents. They would instruct us to do this and not that but the moment they turned to leave we normally did the absolute opposite,”Likeleli reflected snuggling closer to her teddy bear. She was so deep in thought that the darkness in the room failed to scare her uncovered head which was still sticking out of the blankets.

“From today onwards I’m becoming a better child who listens to authority and instructions like my very life depends on them,” she vowed.

“Actually abiding by the rules saves lives. I remember Granny asking me how it would be if drivers in the road drove as they wished and neglected road signs. Phew! Carnage! Chaos! Recently all that we hear is the WHO’s guidelines on how to curb the spread of the Covid 19 and paying attention to them and doing as instructed is for our own good, now I see this and clearly so for the first time. I wish everyone out there could have heard Granny’s story tonight.” She yawned, replaced the blankets over her head and concentrated on getting some sleep.