“As soon as possible.” How many times has he said that to me? “As soon as possible.” I’ve left message after message on his phone and “as soon as possible” has never come. It will never come.
❖
Ma called Dr. Phakama and told her she caught me trying to call “my dead brother’s phone.” She’s upset that I don’t want to see Dr. Phakama anymore, and said that if I continue being difficult she’ll have me forcibly admitted to Sweet Rivers. When I said nothing, she started crying. She said she won’t lose another child to insanity. That the problem with me is I think I know everything and refuse to listen to anyone.
What do you say to that, really? If you try to defend yourself you only prove the very point she is trying to make.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I do think I know everything.
It’s the explaining that gets to me. Dr. Phakama always wants an explanation; everything I say needs to be explained. Why this? Why that? Why must I always have to explain? Why can’t people appreciate that some things can’t be explained? Like why bells have been ringing all week, not even at the same time, not even for the same length of time, just ringing, from churches far out somewhere, or maybe from within my mind. Why does vinegar have such a strong smell but only a subtle taste, so that even when I pour on more and more so my fish and chips float on my plate I have to drink it with a teaspoon to taste it?
I’m not mad. I’m just tired.
❖
According to Dr. Phakama, my genes have been running from mental illness my whole life. Maybe it’s finally caught up with me.
❖
Poor Ma: first Tshiamo, now me. Tshiamo was an idiot. He didn’t have a good enough reason. What was he so tormented about, anyway? Why couldn’t he just suck it up and make it work like the rest of us? Maybe if he’d been here none of this would have happened.
❖
I’m glad Tshiamo is dead. This rape thing would have killed him. His heart was always too small. It only had space for his own problems, nobody else’s. And besides, I wouldn’t want Tshiamo feeling sorry for me. I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me.
❖
Lord, there’s so much pain in my heart. If only You would hold it for me, even for just a little while, so my weary soul might rest and my tired body recover.
❖
Is it because I worked on Sundays and didn’t keep the Sabbath holy? Broke one of Your ten commandments? I had no choice. The call roster was drawn, the calls had to be done. Who was I not to work on a Sunday when everyone else does? Jesus’s disciples picked wheat on the Sabbath, and He defended them. Why didn’t He defend me? Is it because I’m not good enough? You say You love us all the same, but You don’t, You love others differently. You love others more. Why didn’t You defend me, Jesus?
❖
I looked in the mirror this morning. I stood before it with my towel at my feet to see what has been done to me. My body looks the same. I still have that weird malformed nail on my left baby toe, like a crumbly stone you can’t put nail polish on. My eyes look the same. I think there might be bags under them, but those might have been there before. I have no scabs, no bruises. The stains I used to see seem to have disappeared. A bit of cramping, but maybe it’s premenstrual pain. Otherwise I look exactly the same. If I didn’t tell, no one would know.
❖
At least if I had become some sort of hero, some sort of martyr, at least if I was on the news and interviewed, at least if I wrote a book and people cried when they read it, at least if the United Nations had made me an ambassador or the Nobel Committee gave me a prize . . . But there’s been nothing like that. The world did not notice. It just kept on spinning. People kept on getting into their cars in the morning and going to work. People kept on shopping, eating, laughing, loving, playing, and drinking wine. While my flesh was being split into two, then four, then eight, people were getting married, getting promoted, winning awards.
❖
Ma came back from church with fresh ideas. She said we mustn’t underestimate evil. The devil doesn’t sleep. He’s just as active today as he was during apartheid. She says he’s just learned to disguise himself better. He puts on masks so we can’t identify him as easily as we used to. Even people who come across as friends may be using the devil’s charms to take away what God has gifted us. So we mustn’t underestimate how our success can make others jealous. Even people who we think love us, even friends, even our very closest friends. They can trick us, put curses on our lives and steal our joy.
“Ma,” I say, because I know where this is going. “Nyasha has nothing to do with what happened.”
“I’m just saying, Masechaba, be careful in the future with these foreigners. I know you have a big heart and you feel sorry for them, but they’re not people like us. You think you know them, but how can you ever really know them unless you live in their countries and see how they do their things? We fought for the things we have. Three hundred years, Masechaba, we fought those colonizers. And as if that wasn’t enough, we had to spend another fifty years fighting Afrikaners. And now these people want to come and steal the fruits of our struggle? Do you think that girl liked seeing how easy things were for you? She has to write extra exams and spend more years working in
