Kubu felt a pang of loss as he and Joy climbed the stairs to the veranda of his parents’ home. It was the first time since Amantle had moved back to Mochudi that his family had driven up for their weekly Sunday visit. Normally his father would be sitting there, quietly awaiting their arrival, but today his chair was empty.
Ilia, too, knew something was different. She yapped excitedly as she bounded ahead of Kubu to where Wilmon usually sat, but then stopped and looked around for the man who loved to rub her ears. When she didn’t see him, she sat down and whined.
“Hello, Mother. We’re here,” Kubu shouted as he was overtaken by Tumi and Nono, who ran straight into the house.
A few moments later, Amantle appeared, each girl clinging to a hand, pulling her outside.
“Dumela, Mother. How are you?” He wanted to hug her, to help close the void he’d felt since his father’s death. Instead he extended his right hand, touching his right forearm with his left hand in the traditional way.
“Dumela, my son,” Amantle said, letting go of the girls and taking his hand. “You are welcome in our home, and…” She stopped abruptly, then continued, “You are welcome in my home, and…”
It was too much for her. She hung her head in confusion and burst into tears. Before Kubu could react, Joy took her in her arms.
“Don’t worry, my mother,” Joy said. “It doesn’t matter. For us, it will always be your and Wilmon’s home. He’s here in spirit anyway.” She patted Amantle on the back. “Come, let’s go and prepare lunch. I’ve brought some cold meats and a potato salad.”
Amantle nodded, unable to speak, and the two women went inside to prepare the food.
As usual, Kubu stayed outside, except, this time, his father wasn’t there to talk to. Kubu stood at the railing, lost in memories of his father.
“Daddy, Daddy, can we go and play in the garden?”
Kubu didn’t hear Tumi’s request.
“Daddy, Daddy, can we go and play in the garden?” This time Tumi grabbed Kubu’s arm and shook it.
“Yes, my darling, but don’t pull any plants out,” Kubu said, coming out of his reverie. “See how many names you can remember and teach them to Nono.”
With squeals of delight, the two kids ran to the back of the house, where Wilmon had tended a herb and vegetable garden ever since Kubu could remember. It had been Wilmon’s passion.
What’s going to become of it now? Kubu wondered, realizing that his mother knew nothing of gardening. It would be a shame to see it overtaken by weeds. He shook his head. So much is going to change, he thought.
* * *
“DARLING, PLEASE GET the girls. Lunch is ready,” Joy called from inside the house.
“Yes, dear. We’ll be right there.”
Kubu went down the stairs and walked around to the back of the house. As he neared the little fenced garden, he was pleased to hear the girls giggling. It was a blessing that they got on so well.
“Come on, Tumi. Come on, Nono. Lunch is ready.”
“Coming,” the girls called in unison.
They came out of the garden and carefully closed the gate as Wilmon had shown them so many times. They ran over to Kubu with their hands behind their backs, laughing uncontrollably.
“What’s going on?” Kubu asked, sensing trouble.
“Nothing,” Tumi said.
“We have a present for you,” said Nono with a huge smile. “A lunch present!”
Kubu frowned. What were they going to make him eat? he wondered.
“A present? I can’t wait,” he said. “Let’s go.”
The two girls ran ahead of him, careful to keep what was in their hands hidden.
When Kubu arrived at the table, everyone was already seated.
“David, please say a prayer.”
“Yes, Mother. Hold hands, everyone.”
When everyone was ready, Kubu spoke quietly. “Lord, we thank you for the food on this table and for the family we enjoy. We ask you to give us good health and to look kindly on the soul of Amantle’s husband and my father—Wilmon Bengu. Amen.”
Nobody said a word for a few moments as they reflected on changed times. Then Tumi couldn’t restrain herself anymore.
“Daddy, Daddy, we’ve got a present for you.”
She handed Kubu something wrapped in a piece of newspaper.
“I’ve got one too,” Nono said, jumping up and handing Kubu her newspaper.
Kubu warily unwrapped one of the packets while the girls watched as they jumped up and down. In the center of the paper was what looked like a dry piece of wood.
“Eat it, eat it,” Nono shouted.
“It’s from Grandfather,” Tumi yelled.
“What do you mean, it’s from Grandfather?” Kubu asked.
“Grandfather told us that a friend of yours gave it to him to give to you.”
Kubu had no idea what was going on. He looked at Joy and Amantle, but they just shook their heads.
“Did Grandfather tell you who gave it to him?”
Tumi shook her head. “I can’t remember the name. It was difficult.”
“He said he was a friend of yours when you were little,” Nono interjected.
Kubu frowned. “Did Grandfather tell you what this is?” Kubu asked, pointing at the contents of the newspaper.
“He said it was called hoody,” Nono said.
“Grandfather said it will make you small like your friend.”
Joy burst out laughing. “It’s hoodia, Kubu. That’s what the Bushmen use to suppress their appetites when hunting. It must have been Khumanego who gave it to him.”
Kubu didn’t know whether to laugh or be angry. Neither his father nor Khumanego had ever mentioned being concerned about his size, but apparently they’d been plotting behind his back.
He picked up the crumpled newspaper and pressed it flat on the table. The date was May 1989.
“Father kept this for twenty-five years!” Kubu said. “I wonder if he was ever going to give it to me.”
“He never said anything to me about it,” Amantle said. “He was always one to keep a secret if he wanted to.”
“I thought the two of you shared everything,” Joy said. “You always seemed to know what the other was thinking.”
Amantle shook her head. “I did not know everything. I did not know about this. I did not know about what he was doing when he was killed. Maybe there are other things too.”
“Tumi, where did you find these presents?” Kubu asked.
“In the box in the shed.”
“What box?”
“There’s a box behind the shelves. Grandfather showed it to us and said we had to keep it a big secret.”
“Will he be angry because we’ve told you?” Nono said, wide-eyed.
“I don’t think so,” Joy said.
“Is the box big?” Kubu asked.
“No, Daddy. I can lift it easily,” Tumi replied.
“Well then, please go and bring it here.”
The two girls ran off, skipping as they did.
* * *
BY THE TIME the girls returned, Joy had cleared part of the table and covered it with a more recent newspaper, in case the box was dirty. The girls put the box down. It was about the size of two shoe boxes and was made from corrugated cardboard. Wilmon had covered it with plastic, presumably to protect it from damp.
Kubu gingerly lifted the top. In the box were two more bundles of paper similar to those the girls had brought in. He took them from the box and placed them on the table. Then he took out a small book, also covered in plastic.
“It’s a savings book from Barclay’s Bank,” Kubu said. “Mother, did you know if he had a savings account?”
She nodded. “We have had one for many years. I have the book in my bedroom cupboard. Do you want me to fetch it?”
Kubu shook his head, then opened the one in his hand. “This is a different account. There’s over twenty-five thousand pula in it.” He flipped through the pages. “He’s been putting money into this account since you were married. Five pula a week for the first twenty years, and then ten.”
Amantle burst out crying, and Joy put her arm around her.
“He was such a wonderful husband,” Amantle sniffed, dabbing at her eyes. “He was always thinking of me.”
Kubu placed the book on the newspaper next to the packages. Then he lifted out a stained envelope. “That’s the last thing,” he said.
He opened the envelope carefully and pulled out two sheets of paper.
“Aha!” he exclaimed. “Here’s his will. He didn’t keep it in the house with the other papers. For some reason he hid it in his shed.”
He read the page quickly. “Mother, with one exception, he’s left everything to you, as you would expect. You don’t owe anything on the house. It’s fully paid for.” He paused. “He left me one thing. Let me read it: ‘To my son, David Bengu, I leave the attached legacy. It must always remain in the family.’”
He unfolded what looked more like a parchment than a piece of modern paper and read it silently. When he reached the end, he laid it on the table and put his head in his hands.
“What is it, Kubu,” Joy asked.
He didn’t reply.
“What does it say?”
When he didn’t reply, she stood up and put her arm around him. “Please tell us.”
Kubu lifted his head and picked up the paper. Joy could see that it was handwritten in an elaborate cursive script. Kubu took a deep breath and started reading.
I, Khama the Third, in recognition for the healing he provided to my people during the Great Drought, do hereby grant to Rra Mephato Bengu, his family, and heirs, the right to graze his cattle on all the land west of the Bonwapitse River and east of Tobela village, and north of Tobela village to the hills, from this day for one hundred and twenty-five years.
Signed: Khama III
14 April 1887
“That’s where the mine wants to expand,” Kubu said quietly.
“But the rights expired two years ago,” Joy said. “Why are they relevant now?”
“It was his Alzheimer’s. He remembered he had the rights but couldn’t remember they’d expired, which happened only a few years ago. That’s why he insisted on giving it to Chief Koma. He thought the grant was still in place.”
“You mean this deed was worthless? He could have given it to Julius and still be alive?”
Kubu nodded.
For a few moments there was silence around the table as the adults pondered the unfairness of life.
“Daddy, Daddy, eat the hoody! We want to see you small like Grandfather.”
Kubu took the two girls in his arms. “Grandfather wasn’t small, my darlings. He was a much bigger man than me.”