November 1999

Martin

I PROMISED MR. SAMUPINDI I would have the money quickly, but knew it took two weeks for mail to get to the US and another two weeks to return to Zimbabwe. I still had nothing by October. Mr. Samupindi was disappointed, but gave me another week’s reprieve. And then, like magic, a letter arrived.

This one, however, had been ripped and taped back up in a crude way. Someone had written in capital letters INSPECTED FOR CONTRABAND across Caitlin’s beautiful penmanship. It felt like a violation.

I immediately opened the letter and was so relieved to hear that her parents were willing to help. At the last line, she wrote, I hope this twenty dollars will keep you in school until we find the best way to pay for it securely.

I looked back in the envelope. Nothing. The money was gone.

All my hopeful feelings disappeared, water down a drain. As upset as I was, I also knew that the person who stole the money must have needed it as much as I did. Things in Zimbabwe were out of control: more companies closing, more people moving back to the rural areas, more food shortages, and more riots. It was also around this time when the government instigated its land reform act. People were starving—and since the government had no bread or mealie meal to give them, they offered land. A mandate was put forth that white farmers who had lived in Zimbabwe for many generations had to give their farmland back to native black Africans. There were stories of men showing up with machetes to claim what they felt was rightfully theirs. People were being killed in the process. It was chaos. Then there were other stories of Zimbabwe aiding a warlord in the Congo that led to more sanctions against our country. The international community was giving up on Zimbabwe—I hoped Caitlin would not give up on me.

When I received another letter in November, I knew she had not. By then, I was back working in the market, as Mr. Samupindi said to keep me in school would not be fair to the dozens of other kids he had expelled for nonpayment. I understood.

This letter was shorter than usual. She enclosed a photo of her and Romey, and wrote in her note, Behind every great dog is a way to stay in school! I was confused and had to read that line five or six times before its meaning dawned on me. I peeled the photo off the card, and saw two hearts overlapped.

The next day, I went directly to Mr. Samupindi’s office and laid my tuition on his desk.

“Your American friend came through,” Mr. Samupindi said, pleased.

“I knew she would, sir,” I said. “Now may I return to class?”

“What are you waiting for? Go!” he bellowed. I could hear him laughing as I ran down the hallway to my first-period class.