The Sunday News
Dedani Nkala
I WOULD like to share a story, but where do I begin?
“In the beginning”, you say. Thank you, but I wouldn’t want to start it from “there” . . . Anyway, let me try.
The story I am about to tell you is true, and yes, this time it involves me – and that makes the tale a bit tricky to tell.
Well, Rose was the most beautiful girl in the institution. Her body was extraordinarily created. She was blessed with angelic beauty.
Her charm was mesmerising. Her eyes were attractive and seemed to carry diamonds in them. Her voice was the sweetest melody I have ever heard. Her teeth were regular and snowy white.
She was irresistible. She was the rose of Sharon.
Honestly, she was no major friend of mine. In fact, she was this accessory that men spoke about, of course, to liven up their discussions or just to sweeten up their cappuccinos at break time.
Okay, it was in the dead of one winter season when I finally found solace in her arms. Whoever said school days were the best surely had us in mind.
Rose and I happened to be in the same school of nursing when we first met. It was in the middle of a winter season. Temperatures were dropping drastically to unbearable levels. I was with a friend, Shelton, discussing a cell concept when she cat-walked into the private study room with her books. Umm, she swung her massive hips like a bee. But something was wrong with her step; the sting of cold was vinegar-on-chips on her like a sick miasma. I offered her my jacket.
She bestowed a quick thank-you kiss on my lips, and left me longing for more. That evening I lay in bed unable to doze off. I was thinking of her – an angel had kissed me.
Sorry, it seems like I am going ahead of my story.
But, hey, that was the beginning of our love-filled odyssey…then something happened. She brought up a subject I always avoided – relocation.
“Everyone is heading for greener pastures, Bheki,” she said. “In a couple of months, we’ll be able to build our dream house, have a fleet of cars that you’ve always dreamt of; and we will be able to send Bongi to a decent school.
“This brain-drain is bringing the economy to its knees; breaking up marriages and families. No wonder so many child-headed families and street-kids. In fact, this exodus is worsening the situation in this country. We should, as a people, be innovative and fight for what is ours, dear.”
“Which is?”
“We need to safeguard our God-given resources. Who would look after them if we all leave? Who would look after our own sick people while we take care of strangers in foreign lands?” She did not answer me. I added, “Anyway, this situation is temporary and artificial; surely I tell you, our motherland will one day rise again and produce the milk and honey of yesteryears.”
“I can’t take this anymore, Bheki,” she cried. “At least allow me to go, please? I promise I won’t do anything stupid out there. Besides, Maidei has sourced everything for me – the air ticket, the registration, the job and accommodation. All that is left is for me to start working. I will work there a couple of months and you guys will then join me.”
I heaved a deep sigh, and spoke slowly, “You’ve made up your mind; can I stop you? What will Miriam think of me? Well, if that makes you happy, my love, I give you my blessings, go ahead and relocate.”
“Bhekinkosi?”
“Serious, Rose, I give you my blessings. You may go.”
How I wish I hadn’t!
All set, Rose flew out of the country and headed for her newly found so-called greener pastures. I was to remain a single parent awaiting her to fulfill her promises. And she did call us almost every day telling us how lonely she was without us.
Ten months later Rose could not raise the money to at least come back home. Her calls stunted, and by the end of two years she was failing to deposit the “thousands of dollars” she had promised.
Life went on, and she vanished.
Maidei had in it in good faith that Rose had left for another country without informing her. For over the next five years I frantically tried to locate Rose, but it was to no avail. Then about three years ago I received a call from an old colleague who had heard my plea from Maidei contacted me via the social networks and said she “thought she saw Rose” in some hospital in a certain country. Upon reception of the information from this colleague, I quickly made arrangements and flew out in search of Rose – desperately in need of nourishing answers.
I did find her, but the silence was so terrifying that it seemed like the hospital walls would give in like the ancient walls of Jericho. I had no slight idea of what I expected from her, but I was glad I had finally found her.
“Rosy,” I spoke; sounding like a torn African drum.
“Let me do the talking,” she said in a conspiratorial growl. “I was robbed of my future; and I don’t want anyone messing around with yours. All I ask is for your forgiveness.”
“Don’t do this to me,” I complained.
“I failed, Bhekinkosi,” she cried. “I failed everyone. I failed you. I failed Bonginkosi. I failed Maidei. I even failed myself. To be honest – which is perhaps something I failed to live by – it breaks my heart to even think that you are dwelling in the past. It’s never wise to live in the past because you cannot change the past, but certainly you can do something about the future.”
Her eyes, jaundiced, sunk in her skull and welled up with tears. Her once sun-bronzed skin was greyish now. Those chubby cheeks once over-stretched by sedentary living were but deflated balloons. That silky hair had since withered. The thought of her faded beauty tore me apart.
“I take it, you’re apologising. Why?”
“I’m not doing well, am I?” sparks of pain invaded her yellowing eyes. She drew in a deep breath into what remained of her chest. “You should have moved on with your life, Bheki.” “How could I, Rosy? I never saw it coming, but it came and destroyed my life. Now that you are here, tell me, what actually prompted your actions?”
“Don’t do this to me,” she whispered.
I took her bony hands into mine. She was light yet there was solid warmth about her that was vaguely comforting. “I waited for you, Rose.”
A tiny enigmatic smile spread over her exhausted face. “Why?”
“I waited for you because you’re my wife and life; my everything. I cherished all the good times we had together. There wasn’t a moment I ever recall forgetting about you. Besides, Bongi has all the looks of her mother; it wasn’t easy to forget you, darling.”
“You’ve to promise me that you’ll find a woman to marry, and forget about me.”
“How can I, Rosy?”
“Am I asking for too much?” she asked.
Her clasp tightened around my hand; and a film of perspiration clung on my face.
“Rose…”
“Listen to my side of story, please,” beads of tears rolled down her face as she cut in. “I thought money was everything. I thought it would bring all the happiness. I was wrong.” She seemed lost for a while, and then added, “Life wasn’t a stroll in the park here. I did what I had to get money. It was tough here. Please, forgive and forget about me. The situation out here turned me to a lady-of-the-night to make ends meet, Bheki. I had to make a living…”
I felt a stab in my heart; a pain that words couldn’t explain.
But now, how was I to promise to forget the woman I ever loved? How could I possibly forget my rose and mother to my little angel? It’s never easy to forget special people in our lives who probably sacrifice their lives for us. She had put other people’s lives ahead of hers; literally putting the cart ahead of the horse. That had been Rose — through thick and thin. She always stood by me. And now what was this, asking me to forget her? Perhaps I had to … after all this!
“I am dying of Aids, Bheki!” she remarked.
“Rose, when I said my vows on our wedding day I spoke from my heart. I remember saying…in sickness and in health; and the best you could have done was to come back home.
“I had to save myself the embarrassment,” she said in sobs, “but it was a lesson I learnt too late. We ought to live for ourselves not others.”
“Baby,” I told her as a matter-of-fact, “I am taking you back home. I am sure while I keep my role as your husband, the antiretroviral therapy will play their part too to see you live longer, and we will be together to see Bongi into university, and God-willingly, see our princess wed.”
The reality is that the foreign streets are not littered with gold as always claimed. Even though roses are beautiful, we must remember that they have thorns too.
Anyway, it has been three years since Rose came back home, and I am glad that she is taking her antiretroviral medications and doing well. Bongi is growing up to be a fine-young woman and possesses her mother’s beauty.
