January 2000

Martin

A WEEK INTO THE NEW YEAR, the postman told me that there was a large package waiting for me back at the main post office.

“Bring a friend to collect it,” he said. “A strong one.”

This must be the mysterious package Caitlin had written about. I went to find Nation, who was playing soccer with his friends.

“Brother, I need your help,” I called from the sidelines as he dribbled the ball down the dusty pitch, weaving in and out of his friends like a gazelle.

“Come back after I’ve won this game,” he shouted, and then pow!, he took a shot at the goal. The ball flew between the two twigs doubling as markers. Nation pumped his fist in the air as his teammates ran to give him high fives.

“I need you now,” I said urgently.

He looked annoyed.

“It’s important!” I said.

He called a time-out, and jogged over to me. I whispered my reason in his ear.

“I’m off!” he shouted, and then we sprinted toward the post office, two kilometers away.

There, I gave my name to the postmaster, who pointed at a box almost as tall as my sister, Lois, and too wide to wrap my arms around. I thought there must be a mistake, until I saw Caitlin’s handwriting on the side, spelling out my name and address in large capital letters.

Nation and I each took a side of the box and sidestepped out of the building.

As much as we both wanted to rip the tape off and look inside, we knew it was best to do this in the privacy of our own home.

“New TV?” someone shouted as we passed by.

Nation glared and the guy left us alone. My brother was tough. People knew better than to mess with him.

Back home, my parents and siblings gathered inside to open the box together. My father used his knife to carefully slice through the sturdy brown tape and then unfolded the top. Simba cried, “Whoa!” Inside, scattered everywhere, were little sweets that looked like jewels.

“What is it?” my sister, Lois, asked, peering into the box. She was six, and had never eaten a sweet before. I had tried bubble gum once or twice, when school friends shared theirs with me. But these real sweets were a new experience for everyone in my family.

I picked up the letter and read Caitlin’s greetings aloud. She explained that these were called candies in America.

I handed one called Starburst to Lois. “You try first,” I said.

She unwrapped the pink paper and placed the small square into her mouth tentatively.

“It tastes like sweet fruit,” she said, smiling.

George Jr. wanted to try one, too. I chose an orange square for him, and then gave my mother a red one. My father took a small colorful ball called jawbreaker, which Caitlin described as impossible to bite into. This inspired Nation to have one, too. We all watched as they both tried to chomp down on these large candies, but no luck.

“A sweet rock!” my father said. He then took it out of his mouth and tried smashing it with the handle of his knife. No luck. We were amazed. He popped it back in his mouth.

I tried a Tootsie Roll. It was the most delicious thing I’d ever eaten in my entire life.

Beneath the layer of candies were neatly folded clothes. I started pulling items out, and was suddenly overcome with that same perfumed scent that my Reebok and Nike shirt both had. This was what “new” smelled like, I thought. So many new things! T-shirts, shorts, and then soaps and deodorants that smelled even more gorgeous, like a whole garden of flowers.

When I saw the Walkman, I had to sit down. I had seen people wearing these small machines in Harare. Alois explained that it was a way to listen to music on your own. That was a funny concept—shouldn’t music be shared with everyone? I recounted this story as I placed the headphones on my ears. Nation had found the cassette Caitlin sent, buried in the box. It was Ricky Martin. I knew his music. “La Vida Loca” was blaring from every boom box and radio in Mutare practically. I popped the tape in and hit PLAY.

The music swelled in my ears and startled me. My family, riveted, erupted in nervous laughs.

Then I heard a deep voice start singing, “She’s into superstitions, black cats, and voodoo dolls.”

I found the volume dial and turned it up. It was too loud for my ears. I took the headphones off and handed them to my father, who held them in the center of our room as we all huddled around.

By the time it reached the chorus, “Upside, inside out!” my whole family was dancing.

“Living la vida loca!” my father started to sing. His voice filled the house and reminded me of the better days, when he would wake up and go to sleep singing. We had not had music in our home since the radio was taken from us two Christmases earlier. The clothes and toiletries were great gifts, but this Walkman was the biggest hit by far. And we were only halfway through the box.

Simba pulled out the markers, and I knew immediately these were the tools Caitlin used to make her exquisite designs! There was a box of crayons for Lois, a coloring book for George, and a book bag for me! We were nearing the bottom when I spotted the sneakers, stacked side by side. I pulled out the first pair and my mother gasped. My father was the only person in our home who had proper shoes, which he needed for the factory. The rest of us wore flip-flops called pata patas because that was the sound they made when you walked in them. They were the cheapest thing to buy at the market, and made of rubber. Mine had been repaired several times since my father bought them for me two years earlier. My mother, however, did not even have a pair of pata patas. So when I handed her a pair of white sneakers with silver stripes down their side, she bowed her head very quickly.

“You try first, Mai,” I said.

She put her head in her hands, covering her face, and her smile.

“Put them on!” Simba urged as I pulled the other pair from the box. These had a blue stripe, and a note from Caitlin: I hope they fit you, Martin! If not, please send me your size.

I waited. This was my mother’s very first time trying on shoes. She slipped her foot into one, then the other.

“I will show you how to tie them,” Nation said as he bent over her feet.

She stood up and jumped up and down, once, then twice. Then she walked around the room, bouncing a bit with each step.

“How do they feel?” I asked.

“Too good for words, my son,” she said.

I tried mine on, so thrilled to finally have a pair of real shoes! But my foot was too big. I pulled and tugged and pushed, but there was no way I could get my heel to go in. This meant they would not fit my father or Nation, who had bigger feet than me. Or Simba, who wore my size shoe. They were too big for Lois and George, of course. I handed them to my mother, to see if they fit her. She placed them next to her new sneakers and saw they were a bit bigger, but certainly would work.

“Mother, now you have two to choose from,” I said, smiling.

She bowed at me and said, “Une moyo wakanaka.”

In Shona, this means, “You have a good heart.” It’s one of several expressions for giving thanks.

I said, “Mother, Caitlin is the one with the good heart!”

And she said, “So do you, my son. It is why Caitlin is your dear friend.”

That night, so many joyful feelings were swirling inside my chest. These gifts and what they meant to me and my family were too good for words, but I tried anyway.

January 18, 2000

Dear the loving Stoicsitz family

Hello everybody.

Hie Cait, your loving mom, and caring dad. I finally got that huge expensive parcel! Oh! I am very happy. My family members are over-excited and are feeling really great with the huge box with the high-standard clothes, perfumes, shampoos, shaving creams.… Books. Oh! I thank you please. My parents are not very literate in English but they told me to say a big thank you. We really appreciate your love.

I tried to list everything she had sent, which took up two whole pages. I included the shirts, and the cassette player, and candies.

Thank you for those durable shoes you gave us! Though they were not my size, they are the best I have ever seen. My mom is the only one whose shoe size they were so we gave her all the two pairs. Faithfully, these are her first durable, expensive nice pairs of shoes, I thank you for this. She no longer walks barefooted and she is now counted in society.

I thanked Caitlin for the pens, crayons, and school supplies, as well as the scented perfumes and soaps. We never had such things before! At the end of two long paragraphs, I summed it up: Our life is changing now through you.

At the end of Caitlin’s note, she asked me to call her on the telephone to let her know the package arrived. Once again, I was in a bind. Like cameras, telephones were only for rich people. I knew there was a telephone at the post office where I could arrange to receive a call. I wrote:

We do not have a telephone because it is very expensive to buy and use and maintain. But you can contact me through the POST OFFICE in Sakubva. You call them and tell them you want to speak with me so that they can contact me and I will be there in time to receive the international call from you. I hope this is the only way we can speak together on the phone. What do you think?

I also caught her up on my school schedule. I had learned that the O-level fees were due by March 15, and that I needed Z$540. Just writing that fee took my breath away. They had already given us so much money—more than that amount—but asking for this on top of everything felt like too much. Still, it was my only option. I wanted to make sure she knew how much their financial support was appreciated by us.

The money you sent came at a time when we were drowned in poverty and hunger. This is why I always say you are a loving family. The money really helped us! Thanks be unto you the loving and caring friends.

I was overcome with emotion as I wrote this sentence. What would we have done without their help? Then I heard my father out in our courtyard singing, “Living la vida loca!” And saw Lois coloring with George on our bed. And then I saw my mother bounce by me in her new shoes. All these tremendous feelings crashed over me, a warm wave:

Thank you for your effort, love, and time. Thank you for the shoes you gave us. My mom, I repeat, is now counted as human in the society.

I was now more than ever determined to repay this kindness. I said in closing:

I promise you this: One day I will be one of the African students at one of your universities. I would like to be a doctor or a chartered accountant so I can help my poor family, visit our loving friends (the Stoicsitzes) in Hatfield, have fun, send great gifts of appreciation to you, and if possible find a job in Hatfield or any American state near you. Isn’t this a good wish! I pray this will happen.

Cait, your dad and mom and Richie, I say

Warmest regards from

Martin Ganda and Ganda family

PS, I have recently stopped cleaning cars and carrying luggage and have left this for my brother Nation so I can concentrate on school. I have two more years before I go to university. How many do you have, Caitlin? Thanks thanks.

After I finished writing, I took out my new box of Stampers. I chose lips, hearts, stars, and smiley faces to decorate each page, and then encircled Caitlin’s name at the top, like a halo.