Kujana Farm, Hluhluwe, South Africa
1998
Wayne walked into his farmhouse after yet another hard day working on Kujana.
He was ready for a shower, some dinner, then his bed and sleep. He headed straight into his bedroom, and through to his ensuite where he took his time under the hot water in the shower.
Slightly refreshed and feeling decidedly cleaner now that the grit and smell of the wildebeest they had been transporting was washed off, he ventured out and ambled into the kitchen.
When he opened the fridge he found his dinner, pre-cooked and waiting under a clear cover on a dinner plate. His new maid Nomusa had learnt fast from Ella, and he smiled as he remembered how Ella had made sure Nomusa could cook when she had trained her to take her place in the house. Ella had been promoted into his office assistant.
He took out his plate and put it into the microwave. While it spun around warming he looked at the piles of mail from that day.
Ella had already sorted it into baskets marked Personal and Wild Translocation, the name of their translocation game service that they ran together to supplement the income from the tourist trade while the farm came into its own. It was never supposed to become a full-time job, however they had soon found that Jamison and he were good at it because they worked so well as a team. The business had flourished and it gave Wayne a steady income to continue to develop the safari side of the farm.
Kujana was a bottomless pit for the money he earned. Fences, building lodges, bringing in Eskom to install the power cables for the underground electricity lines so that they didn’t mar the landscape. It all cost money. Money they had to continue to generate if Wayne’s dream of a private safari lodge to rival the best in the Kruger area was ever going to happen. It was a work in progress, and he loved it. He sorted through his personal mail pile.
Most of it looked like bills, but there was one in a crisp white envelope that was addressed by hand. He looked at the postage stamp. Cape Town. The date was the week before.
The microwave dinged and he took his plate out. He walked through to his lounge area, putting his plate down on the small coffee table.
Looking up at the mantlepiece, he smiled when he saw that Nomusa had rearranged his photographs again. She had a habit of doing that, she didn’t quite put them back in their right places.
But he didn’t mind, instead he stared at the picture closest to him, the one of Tara with Josha in the park. His family. He smiled as he remembered a day when Jamison had decided that he trusted him enough to tell him his ulterior motivation behind driving his truck down from Zimbabwe to accept Wayne’s offer. He recalled the night almost word for word in his mind.
Jamison had walked over to the huge fireplace where he had his three large pictures of Tara and Josha on the mantlepiece. Jamison lifted his hand to the one where Tara had just given birth and was holding Josha.
‘Do you remember in Zimbabwe when you asked me if I knew Tara Wright, and I told you no?’
Jamison took the large frame off the mantle, carried it to an armchair and sat down. ‘I lied. I knew Inkosazana Tara, with the blue eyes, and the white hair of an angel. We called her Imbodla.’
Wayne sat very still. Worried that if he spoke, the big Zimbabwean would clam up again. It had taken him years to begin opening up, to accept him as a friend more than a boss. To cross over the imaginary line that existed between the black and white men in South Africa. To be as comfortable with him as he had once been with Widow Crosby.
‘I lived on the farm next door to Whispering Winds, her father’s farm.’
Wayne nodded.
‘From your pictures, she grew into a beautiful woman,’ Jamison said as he passed the picture to Wayne.
Wayne touched the picture. ‘That she did.’
‘You two have a beautiful son. Josha, a nice name, much like Joshua, her father’s name. She is a woman with traditional values.’
‘I like to think so,’ Wayne said.
‘But still you have not found her, because she is not here at Kujana where she belongs.’
Wayne snorted. ‘I don’t think she knows this is where she belongs. Our last meeting was painful. We didn’t part on the best terms.’
‘When you find her, I’ll be very happy to see her again,’ Jamison said.
Wayne laughed. ‘You and me both, Jamison. You and me both.’
Shaking his head, Wayne returned to the present. ‘Well, Jamison, you and me are still waiting, aren’t we.’ He spoke out loud, even though he knew Jamison was in his own house, with his beautiful wife Ebony, their oldest daughter Sibusiso, who everyone called by her English name of Blessing, and their newborn child, Thabisa, which Jamison had already shortened to Joy.
He began to eat his bobotie with just a fork, the rich taste of curried minced meat and fat sultanas swirling around his mouth. He reached for the envelope, and opened it.
Camps Bay
Cape Town
8040
23rd February 1998
Dear Wayne
After all these years, I hate to admit it – I need your help.
We have a son. I named him Josha.
I’m saddened to admit that only when I’m facing such a monumental issue, have I realised that I’ve made huge mistakes along the way in my life, and perhaps I might have only a short period of time to correct them. To put wrongs right.
I have been diagnosed with a brain tumour. At the moment everything is up in the air as to if it is benign or not. I have a month before I undergo surgery. There are risks involved, and although the neurosurgeon is being positive, he has also said that there is still a possibility there could be complications, and I have these four weeks to put my house in order, just in case.
Wayne, I know that after all these years, the last thing you expected was to hear from me, but I really want you to meet your son before it is too late. I always believed that I had more time. Time to explain about you to him. Time to get in touch with you again one day. I know I might be expecting miracles, but can I dare hope to get the two most important men in my life to meet and perhaps that you and Josha can at least be friends? If I don’t make it through, there will already be a foundation for a friendship, and you will no longer be a stranger to him.
We both made decisions years ago that have affected our lives. Perhaps not as we thought they would at the time, but now we can make one right choice together. Please come and meet your son.
I’m sorry if this causes you upheaval and hurt, especially if you now have a family and are settled with someone else.
Enclosed is an open ticket on South African Airways to Cape Town. I have included my telephone numbers and our address too.
I will always love you,
Tara
The letter slipped from Wayne’s hand and fell to the floor.
His chest hurt, he couldn’t breathe, he saw black spots rush in front of his eyes. Forcing air into his lungs, he rapidly blinked his eyes to clear them, his breathing slowly returned to normal.
Tara.
After all these years, in which he had found no trace of her, Tara had reached out to him to make contact.
She had a brain tumour. She could be dying.
He glanced at the clock that hung above the arch in the lounge. 21:30. If he got his helicopter pilot Ryan Maskell up and ready at first light, he could catch the commercial plane out from Durban to Cape Town in the morning.
Now, there was someone else who needed to know. Someone else who had waited years for news of Tara.
He stood up, still holding the letter, and rushed out the door.
Just shy of twelve long hours later Wayne removed his leather wide-brimmed hat, and ran his hand through his short hair. He struggled to hide his frustration at the people in front who were taking their own sweet time getting off the plane. Choosing business class was supposed to speed up your departure off the plane, but there were some tourists just ahead of him who were in no hurry at all. He chomped at the bit, waiting to get off.
‘I’m driving,’ Jamison said right behind him. ‘You can navigate.’ Wayne almost smiled. Ryan had flown them in their Squirrel helicopter to Virginia Airport. A car had taken them to Louis Botha Airport on the south side, where they had boarded the flight to Cape Town. Travelling light, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, Jamison was right behind him.
He was almost on her doorstep.
Fourteen years he had waited for this moment.
Fourteen years he had dreamt that one day Tara and he would finally be together again. And Josha. His family. He’d never imagined their reunion to be like this.
Within moments they were at the check-in desk of the car rental company.
Wayne asked, ‘Can I please have a map of the city?’ and was given one. As the clerk behind the counter continued with the paperwork, he took his credit card from his wallet and laid it on the desk, and within minutes they were handed the keys to the car.
Wayne glanced at his watch. The plan was to go to Tara and Gabe’s house before booking into the hotel. He had rung from the airport payphone before he caught the plane, to let Tara know they were on their way. At the time, Tara had been out walking on the beach with Josha, but Wayne had spoken on the phone to Gabriel. Gabe, the same cousin Tara had spoken of so fondly so many years ago.
He stared out the window at the buildings as they drove through the city. Lost in his own thoughts of when they had first been together. Always and forever they had pledged. To him it had meant the end of time.
Until he received her letter. Now he knew differently.
His heart squeezed in his chest just thinking about her, and a lump formed in his throat. There was a possibility that he was going to lose her, and there was nothing he could do about it, for the second time in his life.
The only silver lining to the gloom was that he was going to meet his son, Josha. He didn’t even know if Josha knew about him or not. What if he detested him? His future was filled with doubt and uncertainty. Fourteen long years had passed since the last time Tara had thrown his world into turmoil, when his mother had been responsible for ripping the two of them apart, and he had allowed it.
He had pushed Tara away just as his father had told him, to stop his mother forcing Tara into having an abortion. Yet at sixteen years old, he had never imagined it would take him almost another lifetime before he saw her again.
Now he wasn’t an impressionable youngster anymore.
This time he could make his own decisions.
He was a man and a father.
Realising that Jamison was asking for the next direction, he forced his mind back to the present, and found the road name to get them to Camps Bay.