The sticks were swirled in the gooey mud that formed the lake’s boundaries, until a ball of wet sand, held together by pieces of grass, slime and insect remains, formed on the end. The objective was to hit as many of the opposition with mud balls as possible until all their men were down before ours were. I remember swinging my stick, aiming for a Bush Baby I had spotted hiding behind a heap of broken branches, and hitting the wall behind them instead. The mud ball hit the wall and stuck right there. While I stood there waiting for it to slide down, thinking that it looked a lot like my nose fixed stubbornly against the camp wall, I was hit by a Bush Baby in the back. So that is what I named my nose: Mud War.
“I bumped into Belinda Johnson outside the pharmacy,” I say, stealing the spotlight from Symphony No. 8’s piano piece, provoking one of them to respond.
“That’s lovely, dear, we have not seen Belinda in a long while. Did you invite her over for lunch?”
“No, Daddy.” That is a nonsensical question. Daddy knows very well that there will be no Sunday lunch today because Mama will be elsewhere. And I cannot cook, Tshepo will not cook and Old Virginia is not allowed to cook. Besides, is today not golf day, like every other day of the week?
“I have told you before, Daddy, Belinda and I are no longer friends.” It is important that I focus on my objective and not allow Daddy’s play-play world to annoy me.
“Those are good news, Ofilwe,” Mama speaks at last.
“Good news? That is a terrible thing, Ofilwe.”
“It is about time, my darling girl. Did not I say those people she were no good for you, Ofilwe?” Mama makes as if she cannot hear Daddy.
“It is careless to throw away a useful relationship such as yours and Belinda’s, Ofilwe, without even giving it any thought. Those Johnsons are fine people.”
“Fine people? If I is not forbidden you from accepting food from those so-called fine people, Ofilwe, you would be dead now, wouldn’t you, Ofilwe? I am sure, my girl, you are old now and now you can see yourself and be glad me, your Mama, she protected you from that rubbish that goes on at that farm, nê Ofilwe?”
“Those people are mighty intelligent, Ofilwe. You see white people, my child, they know how to utilise their money. Mr Johnson knows that it is wise to invest in property. Why do you think they live on such a large piece of land?”
“Sies! And that dirty house of theirs is a disgust. Remember, Ofilwe? Do you remember how dirty you is when you came back home, Ofilwe? No wonder you is always sick. Those people, they is made you sick, my child.”
“Were you ever sick, Ofilwe? Nonsense! Those Johnsons are open-minded people, Ofilwe. Those are the kind of white people we need in our country. They treated you well, did they not, Ofilwe? How often was Belinda here to help you with your school work, Ofilwe?”
“That Belinda is fat and ugly, my child, and he is only your friend because nobody wants her. Her own people don’t want him and now she wants to come to you? Hayi!”
“As soon as we get home you must call Belinda, Ofilwe, and sort out your differences. She is a reasonable young lady, I am certain she will be willing to put all of this behind her.”
“Ofilwe, you just leave this thing alone. If she wants you come back, she must be the one who is making amends, and it will be no loss to you if he does not. You hear me, my girl? No loss. You must now be starting to be can surrounding yourself with the right kind of people, Ofilwe. Like that Melissa du Toit, Ofilwe, where is he now? What a charming girl.”
I do not enjoy the bickering, but it is the only way to get Mama and Daddy to speak. The drive home seems longer than normal today and the wail of Daddy’s music is anguish, this is my only deliverance. It may not sound like they are speaking to each other, but they are. I am like a telephone
“I bumped into Belinda Johnson outside the pharmacy,” I say, stealing the spotlight from Symphony No. 8’s piano piece, provoking one of them to respond.
“That’s lovely, dear, we have not seen Belinda in a long while. Did you invite her over for lunch?”
“No, Daddy.” That is a nonsensical question. Daddy knows very well that there will be no Sunday lunch today because Mama will be elsewhere. And I cannot cook, Tshepo will not cook and Old Virginia is not allowed to cook. Besides, is today not golf day, like every other day of the week?
“I have told you before, Daddy, Belinda and I are no longer friends.” It is important that I focus on my objective and not allow Daddy’s play-play world to annoy me.
“Those are good news, Ofilwe,” Mama speaks at last.
“Good news? That is a terrible thing, Ofilwe.”
“It is about time, my darling girl. Did not I say those people she were no good for you, Ofilwe?” Mama makes as if she cannot hear Daddy.
“It is careless to throw away a useful relationship such as yours and Belinda’s, Ofilwe, without even giving it any thought. Those Johnsons are fine people.”
“Fine people? If I is not forbidden you from accepting food from those so-called fine people, Ofilwe, you would be dead now, wouldn’t you, Ofilwe? I am sure, my girl, you are old now and now you can see yourself and be glad me, your Mama, she protected you from that rubbish that goes on at that farm, nê Ofilwe?”
“Those people are mighty intelligent, Ofilwe. You see white people, my child, they know how to utilise their money. Mr Johnson knows that it is wise to invest in property. Why do you think they live on such a large piece of land?”
“Sies! And that dirty house of theirs is a disgust. Remember, Ofilwe? Do you remember how dirty you is when you came back home, Ofilwe? No wonder you is always sick. Those people, they is made you sick, my child.”
“Were you ever sick, Ofilwe? Nonsense! Those Johnsons are open-minded people, Ofilwe. Those are the kind of white people we need in our country. They treated you well, did they not, Ofilwe? How often was Belinda here to help you with your school work, Ofilwe?”
“That Belinda is fat and ugly, my child, and he is only your friend because nobody wants her. Her own people don’t want him and now she wants to come to you? Hayi!”
“As soon as we get home you must call Belinda, Ofilwe, and sort out your differences. She is a reasonable young lady, I am certain she will be willing to put all of this behind her.”
“Ofilwe, you just leave this thing alone. If she wants you come back, she must be the one who is making amends, and it will be no loss to you if he does not. You hear me, my girl? No loss. You must now be starting to be can surrounding yourself with the right kind of people, Ofilwe. Like that Melissa du Toit, Ofilwe, where is he now? What a charming girl.”
I do not enjoy the bickering, but it is the only way to get Mama and Daddy to speak. The drive home seems longer than normal today and the wail of Daddy’s music is anguish, this is my only deliverance. It may not sound like they are speaking to each other, but they are. I am like a telephone
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