23 June 1995
Big Hope Informal Settlement, Magaliesburg, South Africa
Zodwa.”
The voice carries from behind her in the shadows but it’s unmistakable.
Thembeka.
Zodwa’s heartbeat is as insistent as rain drumming against a tin roof, when she turns to face the woman she loves. “What?” When Thembeka doesn’t reply, just stands there biting her lip, Zodwa asks again, “What do you want?”
Thembeka still doesn’t speak and Zodwa turns to go. She walks three steps before Thembeka calls out: “I heard that you’ve been making inquiries . . . about the baby. Trying to find out what happened to it.”
Of course, nothing is ever a secret in the township. “So?”
“So.” Thembeka pauses before letting out a long, steadying breath. When she speaks again, it’s with surprising gravity. “I wanted to tell you that your baby didn’t die at birth like everyone said.”
The words are spears in Zodwa’s back. She turns around again but this time she’s the one who’s been rendered mute.
“I saw your mother carrying it away the night it was born.” Thembeka’s words tumble out in a torrent as though she’s scared Zodwa will stop listening to her. “I walked past your shack earlier in the day and heard you crying out. I knew the baby was coming and I wanted to see . . . I wanted to see it for myself. To see if it looked like Mongezi in any way. To make certain. If it didn’t . . . then I didn’t need to keep wondering . . . then I could be sure.”
“Of what? That I was a liar?” Zodwa steps toward Thembeka, who shrinks away.
“When you told me, I didn’t know what to believe.” Thembeka’s tone is pleading, like she’s desperate for Zodwa to understand. “Mongezi said he never slept with you. That you were jealous of our relationship and that you were telling lies to break us up. I didn’t know who to believe.”
You should have believed me, Zodwa wants to shout. Me! Because I loved you more than anyone. I would never have hurt you. But the words won’t come.
“So, I was waiting outside the shack thinking that maybe I could talk to you,” Thembeka continues, “or see the baby. It had been festering for months and I was going mad with it . . . with not knowing the truth.” She looks away and then back at Zodwa. “I was standing there when your mother came outside. She was carrying plastic bags and a big kit bag. I was going to wait for her to leave and then try and see you, but as she walked past where I was standing, I heard a cry from inside the bag. A baby’s cry.”
Zodwa’s hands go to her mouth. Mama, what did you do?
“I couldn’t understand why Leleti would be doing that, so I followed her. It was so loud and busy that day. Everyone was celebrating Mandela. With all the noise, no one else seemed to hear the baby but I did again, ten minutes later when we were on the main road. That’s when I saw Leleti set the bag down, take the baby out, and strap it to her back with a blanket. She walked off in the direction of town with the dog following behind her.”
“And then what happened?”
“I couldn’t follow her anymore. Mongezi was expecting me and so I turned around and came back.”
“But why have you waited so long to tell me?” Zodwa wants to grab Thembeka and shake her.
“I had no idea what your mother did with the baby or if you’d even believe me. And then after Leleti died a few days later . . . I didn’t know what to do. I thought . . . if Leleti knew the baby was Mongezi’s . . . if she thought you were raped like you said you were . . . then she may have wanted to get rid of it so you could go back to school. I thought it was better to just keep quiet about what I saw until . . .”
“Until what?”
“Until I found out where your baby might be.”
Zodwa’s whole body begins to tremble. Her legs feel so weak that she has to lean against the shebeen fence to steady herself. “Wait . . . what?”
“There’s a farm about a fifteen-minute walk from here,” Thembeka is saying. “Two old white women live there. They have a black baby with them who is the exact age your baby would be. Apparently, they found it on their doorstep one night and they’ve kept him.”
“How do you know this?”
“My mother got work at the farm next door as a migrant laborer picking avocados last week. She heard an old couple who’s retiring from there talking about it.”
Zodwa takes a minute to process the information. As much as she wants to believe Thembeka, it just doesn’t make any sense. Why would Leleti take Zodwa’s baby and give it to strangers?
As though reading her mind, Thembeka asks, “Did Leleti know those women?”
Zodwa’s about to protest that her mother would never give her baby to white people, never in a million years, when she suddenly remembers something.
Who was that you were with now?
Someone I used to work for very long ago when we were both just girls. The good Lord brought us together then and still He works His wonders today.
You were hugging her. I thought you said all white people were demons.
Not that one. That one is God’s child.
Zodwa blinks a few times. Why didn’t she think of that woman before? “Will you take me there? To the farm?”
To Zodwa’s relief, Thembeka nods.
“Tomorrow? We’ll go tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
Still, something is bothering Zodwa and it takes her a moment to realize what it is. “Why are you helping me at all?” Zodwa asks. “After everything that happened? You never believed me about Mongezi, so what has changed?”
Thembeka looks away and then her eyes flit back to meet Zodwa’s. “I found the letter. The one you wrote to me.”