December 1999

Caitlin

THANKSGIVING IS USUALLY MY FAVORITE holiday, but the one that year was miserable. I appreciated all the work my mom was doing, but we still had not heard from Martin, or figured out how to send the funds securely. I felt like a hamster running in place on a spinning wheel. Solange finally got back to us with advice about sending the care package—the political situation in Zimbabwe was so dicey that the embassies were not willing to act as our go-between. She suggested sending it through the regular mail, and putting “used school supplies” on the customs forms so no one would bother opening it. That was disappointing. We had wasted so much time.

I didn’t share any more news or worries with my friends, not even Heather. No one seemed to understand. But that didn’t stop everyone coming to me with their problems. It was one after another that fall—Lauren was crushed that her boyfriend broke up with her, Lesley was upset that her parents were so strict, Jen was devastated that Tim liked Christa and not her, and Brittany was having stomach ulcers because she was failing algebra. When Laura, who had been complaining about how Lauren was ignoring her, got mad at me for not sitting with her at the cafeteria one day, I just lost it. She cornered me that afternoon right before I got on the bus, fighting back tears, wondering how I could be so cruel. “Especially since you know what I am dealing with!”

I said, “I didn’t even see you!” which was better than how I really felt. I wanted to scream, “Actually, I would have avoided you if I had noticed because I cannot deal with you or any of your totally made-up problems anymore!”

I was so boiling mad when I got home that afternoon that I threw my book bag on the floor and flopped onto the couch. I felt like a pressure cooker that was about to explode—waiting to hear how we could help Martin with his very real problems, while getting barraged daily by all my friends’ petty dramas, was more than I could handle.

“What’s wrong?” my mom said when she saw me splayed out in the den.

I told her about Lesley—and Brittany and Laura and Lauren. I was detailing all of their dumb dramas when the tears came in torrents. “Who cares about stupid boys? Or dumb algebra?”

“Caitlin,” she said, rubbing my back as I vented. “You’re a really good listener. And sometimes people just need to dump.”

“All these people are dumping on me and the only person I care about has basically disappeared,” I wailed. “I can’t take it!”

A new wave of tears came. What if something terrible happened to Martin? He could be badly hurt or in danger, and how would I ever know?

“We’re doing everything we can to make sure he’s fine,” she said. “These other folks and their issues—put it this way: Unless you think someone is going to harm herself or someone else, then they really are just dumping on you. And you need to dump them as friends.”

As soon as she said that, I saw how I was making everybody else’s problems my own. From that moment on, I changed my attitude. People could still tell me stuff, but I wouldn’t take it on. Instead, I’d say, “That’s too bad.” Or, “I’m sorry you feel that way.” The only person I was willing to expend any emotional energy on was Martin.

And then one day a friend of Solange’s who worked for the Canadian embassy in South Africa sent my mother helpful news, a first.

November 22, 1999

Anne,

Thanks for the interesting message. Yes, the schools charge, even though they are government run. Usually charges are around Z$1400 per year (three terms) but they will vary from school to school. As to sending money, that is not so easy. Sending cash in that quantity (a lot in Zimbabwe) is very risky. You would have to send US dollars and he would change it there. Alternatively, does the school have a bank account you could wire the money into? That way you would be absolutely sure that the money goes to the intended place. Ask Martin for his school’s address and contact them directly. They will be happy to assist you with paying the fees.

If you need further details, please do not hesitate in contacting me!

Regards, Chris

This should have been good news, but we still had no word from Martin. Christmas was coming and I had no idea if he had received any of the money I was sending or the large package I hoped would be there in time for the holiday. The waiting was taking a toll on me. All I could do was write him again. This time, I snuck five dollars in our family Christmas card and hoped it would make it to him.

I woke up Christmas morning to carols playing on the radio and the scent of bacon and eggs wafting through the house. On my way downstairs, I peeked into the living room, where our tree looked propped up by the piles of presents that had magically appeared overnight. It would take half a day to open them all. That year, I got a 24-karat-gold necklace that said Caitlin in script and a Tommy Hilfiger denim jacket I had been coveting. Richie got a computer, and he almost fell off the couch.

“You’ll need it for college,” Mom said.

We went to my grandparents’ house for dinner and feasted on ham, turkey, and more side dishes than could fit on their table.

“Eat up,” my dad teased.

I was scheduled to have my wisdom teeth removed on December 27, which meant I would be drinking a liquid diet for a few days afterward. I was dreading the surgery, but my orthodontist said if I did not do it now, then the last two years of braces would be a waste.

I was still recovering in bed when I wrote Martin yet again. Even if my letters were getting intercepted, my strategy was to keep trying. One had to get through.

12/30/99

Dear Martin:

A belated Merry Christmas and my wishes to you for a happy New Year! My holiday break has been both fun and not-so-much fun. Let me explain.

I told him about our Christmas, and how my parents took me the mall to go shopping the next day. I wrote, I picked out things I wanted. I know, I am very, very fortunate. I felt compelled to include that, as, thanks to him, I realized how true it was.

Then I told him about my wisdom teeth, summing up the procedure with, What a mess! The anesthesia made me nauseated, and my mouth throbbed for days. I knew better to complain to him, though.

I really wanted to know if he had received the care package. And I needed to let him know that my mom learned that sending tuition directly to his school was the most secure way to support him. I added:

My parents would like:

1. the name of your headmaster or principal

2. the complete mailing address of your school

So there you have it! My family and I would really like to help you continue your education and also help your family since your father is currently unemployed. So please respond as soon as possible so we can get the tuition money to your school.

My best wishes to you and your family for a healthy and happy New Year. And, if you did get that large box I sent, I hope you and your family enjoyed the stuff.

Please write soon!

Your friend, Caitlin

I showed my mom the letter before we sent it off, to make sure I got all the money instructions right. I did, but she wanted to add something: On the bottom right-hand corner, she wrote, Martin, here is another twenty dollars to pay your tuition until we hear from you. Anne, Cait’s mom.