Read Online When Hoopoes Go to Heaven by Gaile Parkin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gaile Parkin
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they
could be, and about how working together with other people made people human.
When he discovered that it was a skink, not a lizard, he wondered if skinks had their own kind of ubuntu. Was it important to a skink that it should be the best possible skink that it could be?
Did skinks support and help one another? Did they feel connected to all other skinks? Or maybe they felt connected to all of God’s creatures. He was wondering if there was a word for an
ubuntu that was about connecting people to all other animals instead of just to other people, when somebody knocked on the open front door and a lady’s voice called,
‘ Sawubona? ’
‘ Karibu! ’ called Mama in Swahili, before correcting herself in siSwati. ‘ Eh , sorry! Ngena! ’
The funeral people stepped into the lounge, the man still holding the box.
‘Hello, Benedict,’ said the lady. ‘Hello children!’ She waved to the boys on the couch in front of the TV, and then went towards the other end of the dining table where
Mama was standing up and wiping her hands on a cloth.
The man nodded a greeting at Benedict, whose eyes were big with surprise.
‘And you must be Benedict’s mother.’ The lady extended her hand and Mama shook it, looking confused. ‘I’m Zodwa Shabangu, and this is my colleague Jabulani
Ndwandwe.’
Mama shook his hand, too. ‘I’m happy to meet you. Are you... Are you Benedict’s teachers?’
‘No, no, we’re the people from Ubuntu Funerals,’ said Zodwa, handing Mama a business card. ‘I’m the director. Mrs Patel told us where to find you.’
Mama looked at the card. Benedict could tell that she was very confused, but it was all happening too quickly for him to explain.
‘ Eh! ’ Mama looked up from the card, fear spreading suddenly across her face. The beautiful brown of her skin began to turn grey, and when her voice came, it was a whisper.
‘Is my husband late?’
Her body seemed to sink, and Jabulani rushed forward to hold her up, putting the box on the table. Zodwa pulled out a chair, and they helped her to sit.
‘Mama, no!’ cried Benedict.
‘Nobody is late, my dear.’ Zodwa’s voice was kind but firm. ‘Everybody is fine.’
‘ Sisi , we’ve just come to see Benedict,’ Jabulani said softly, kneeling beside Mama’s chair and stroking her arm.
Mama breathed out loudly. She looked up at Benedict.
‘I’m sorry, Mama,’ he said, feeling tears beginning to prick in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What is it that you’ve done?’ she asked him.
Zodwa put an arm around Benedict. ‘No, no, he’s done nothing wrong. Didn’t he tell you about meeting us last week?’
‘He told me nothing.’ Mama’s eyes were accusing; his own flooded with tears.
Mama told Moses and Daniel to turn off the TV and sent them to play outside, then she sent Benedict to wake Titi up from her afternoon nap and have her make tea for everybody. When he had done
that, he went into the bedroom and curled up on his bed, covering his head with his pillow so that if his brothers came in they wouldn’t see that he was crying. His tears were about upsetting
Mama, but the fact that they had come meant that he had let himself down, too.
Mama had told him that if somebody had tears inside, those tears needed to be cried out, and it didn’t matter if the somebody who cried them out was a boy, a girl, a man or a lady; anybody
was allowed to be sad. But Baba had told him that he was supposed to be strong on account of being the eldest boy.
It didn’t matter that he was still young, or that he sometimes felt that he was still small. It didn’t matter that Grace and Faith were older than him. They were girls. He was the
eldest boy, and the eldest boy had responsibilities. He was supposed to take care of his sisters, he was supposed to be a good example to his younger brothers, and he was supposed to look after the
whole entire family if Baba ever became late.
Under the pillow, he sniffed loudly.
Eh! Say
could be, and about how working together with other people made people human.
When he discovered that it was a skink, not a lizard, he wondered if skinks had their own kind of ubuntu. Was it important to a skink that it should be the best possible skink that it could be?
Did skinks support and help one another? Did they feel connected to all other skinks? Or maybe they felt connected to all of God’s creatures. He was wondering if there was a word for an
ubuntu that was about connecting people to all other animals instead of just to other people, when somebody knocked on the open front door and a lady’s voice called,
‘ Sawubona? ’
‘ Karibu! ’ called Mama in Swahili, before correcting herself in siSwati. ‘ Eh , sorry! Ngena! ’
The funeral people stepped into the lounge, the man still holding the box.
‘Hello, Benedict,’ said the lady. ‘Hello children!’ She waved to the boys on the couch in front of the TV, and then went towards the other end of the dining table where
Mama was standing up and wiping her hands on a cloth.
The man nodded a greeting at Benedict, whose eyes were big with surprise.
‘And you must be Benedict’s mother.’ The lady extended her hand and Mama shook it, looking confused. ‘I’m Zodwa Shabangu, and this is my colleague Jabulani
Ndwandwe.’
Mama shook his hand, too. ‘I’m happy to meet you. Are you... Are you Benedict’s teachers?’
‘No, no, we’re the people from Ubuntu Funerals,’ said Zodwa, handing Mama a business card. ‘I’m the director. Mrs Patel told us where to find you.’
Mama looked at the card. Benedict could tell that she was very confused, but it was all happening too quickly for him to explain.
‘ Eh! ’ Mama looked up from the card, fear spreading suddenly across her face. The beautiful brown of her skin began to turn grey, and when her voice came, it was a whisper.
‘Is my husband late?’
Her body seemed to sink, and Jabulani rushed forward to hold her up, putting the box on the table. Zodwa pulled out a chair, and they helped her to sit.
‘Mama, no!’ cried Benedict.
‘Nobody is late, my dear.’ Zodwa’s voice was kind but firm. ‘Everybody is fine.’
‘ Sisi , we’ve just come to see Benedict,’ Jabulani said softly, kneeling beside Mama’s chair and stroking her arm.
Mama breathed out loudly. She looked up at Benedict.
‘I’m sorry, Mama,’ he said, feeling tears beginning to prick in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What is it that you’ve done?’ she asked him.
Zodwa put an arm around Benedict. ‘No, no, he’s done nothing wrong. Didn’t he tell you about meeting us last week?’
‘He told me nothing.’ Mama’s eyes were accusing; his own flooded with tears.
Mama told Moses and Daniel to turn off the TV and sent them to play outside, then she sent Benedict to wake Titi up from her afternoon nap and have her make tea for everybody. When he had done
that, he went into the bedroom and curled up on his bed, covering his head with his pillow so that if his brothers came in they wouldn’t see that he was crying. His tears were about upsetting
Mama, but the fact that they had come meant that he had let himself down, too.
Mama had told him that if somebody had tears inside, those tears needed to be cried out, and it didn’t matter if the somebody who cried them out was a boy, a girl, a man or a lady; anybody
was allowed to be sad. But Baba had told him that he was supposed to be strong on account of being the eldest boy.
It didn’t matter that he was still young, or that he sometimes felt that he was still small. It didn’t matter that Grace and Faith were older than him. They were girls. He was the
eldest boy, and the eldest boy had responsibilities. He was supposed to take care of his sisters, he was supposed to be a good example to his younger brothers, and he was supposed to look after the
whole entire family if Baba ever became late.
Under the pillow, he sniffed loudly.
Eh! Say
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