How Far We Go

The days passed slowly after my mother’s departure. I did not quite understand why people in my neighbourhood had been leaving. One parent left and the other stayed back. One day Rufaro’s mother had left, then it was Tafara’s mother and shortly after, Reagan’s father. And now, so had my mother. Weekly, my mainini came over to cook for us, spring clean the house and so on. Basically, to fill in for my mother. My father cooked most of our meals during the week. The meals were not as delicious as my mother’s but well, they kept the stomach full. My brothers learnt how to do their laundry and if I talked to them nicely, they would do my laundry too. Talking to them nicely meant giving them my meat at suppertime. My father did his laundry and would occasionally do mine as well, but this was very rare. Laundry wise, I was at my brothers’ mercy. With time, I learnt how to bathe myself. I did not understand why my mother had left to give me a better life, yet I was practically at the mercy of everyone? She called infrequently through neighbours who had landlines in their homes ─mobile phones were not as common then. Receiving her call depended on what mood the neighbours were in. Regardless of what mood the neighbours were in, my need for information never went away. As children we could not accompany our father to take the call, thus I was also at his mercy to tell me what mum had said, how she was doing or what the UK looked like. I hated this! Being at everyone’s mercy.

Something strange happened about three years after my mother’s departure. A woman moved into Tafara’s home and whilst we were playing Tafara told us she was his new mum. So said his father. Why would he get a ‘replacement’ mum, yet their mother was alive and well in the diaspora and their father was supposed to join her in the future?

“Is it possible to even have a replacement mum?” I asked Tafara.

I asked my father why Tafara had a new mother that night at the dinner table.

“That is what happens when one decides to leave their family behind!” my father answered.

I was shocked by his matter of fact response. Did it mean that I was also going to get a replacement mother and my father would not join my mother in the diaspora?

The rate of spouses joining their spouses overseas was dwindling. They were either remarrying or just staying ‘single.’ I was conflicted about the possibility of him remarrying. Years had passed, and he had not yet gone overseas to be with my mother. Perhaps his remarrying would be good. I would have a mother figure to help me. I was still in primary school but was now responsible for cleaning the house, cooking, doing my laundry, studying and playing with friends ─my mainini was no longer visiting. There was also the awkwardness that had come with puberty. Asking my father to buy me sanitary wear and a bra was very awkward.

But what if the “new” mum did not like me? I had heard so many stories about new mums starving kids, beating them up. Also, my father remarrying meant that my mother was now out of the picture. Gone forever. We would never be a family again. I was holding on to the hope that one day, we would be a family again. Rufaro and his sister had moved overseas to join their mother when his father remarried. Reagan and his siblings moved to another town to live with their aunt when his mother joined his father in the diaspora. But still, with my mother gone, things were better materially ─I had fancy pencil cases, interesting pens and pencils that were different from other kids whose parents were not overseas. Of course, Rufaro, Tafara and I always made it a point to show these off to the other kids. Their counter was the same, “Tafara, you have a ‘replacement’ mum while we live with our real mums.”

The nice groceries, new toys, books and clothes dad brought home at the end of the month would dull the perpetual fear I lived in of arriving home to find a new mother. It reminded me of the old days when life was much better when we used to buy our clothing from Edgars and Topics and could afford to have takeout meals at Wimpy on First Street. There had been much talk of our dollar losing value and people losing their jobs. With time the shopping trips started to dwindle and when they did occur, we no longer got complete sets of clothing attire, having to choose either bottoms, tops or shoes per trip. The groceries also reduced with the increased rationing of basics. There were fewer luxuries. Relish with meat became a delicacy while sadza and vegetables ─not the fancy vegetables we eat nowadays like broccoli, celery and cauliflower, were the usual. Power cuts became the norm and our baths were shorter to prevent wasting of water or running up the bill. Things were just not the same anymore. I recall happiness slowly fading out of my home and my parents becoming increasingly stressed.

“Mwanangu, I am sorry you will not be able to go to boarding school. Things are getting tough; your brother has to finish university and the other two high school.”

“Does that mean I am not going for high school?” I asked shocked, perplexed and struggling to find words.

“No! Why would you think that? You will go to the local high school.”

I ran out of the room crying.

I had spent the days prior dreaming of walking through Monte Casino’s corridors, wearing that turquoise pleated skirt, white blouse and cream jersey. But, going to Monte Casino had meant I’d have to cut my hair which sucked. On the flip side, there was St Dominic’s. I could see myself in their beige bus going for sports. I was going to join their basketball team and wear my sneakers from the UK. The fees at both schools were quite steep but I knew that my mother would come through. My brothers had gone to equally prestigious boys’ high schools. I did not expect anything different for myself. Here was my father exalting his precious boys over me. Always willing to do anything for them in a heartbeat, even letting them finish school at my expense as if I was not worthy to him. For the first time, I truly understood my mother and why she had to leave. What if my mother had not left because the economy was collapsing but rather because she was tired of my father? That made so much sense. Recalling my father’s behaviour leading up to her departure and some of the things he had said about her. It all made sense.

Going to boarding school had meant that the burden of daily housework was finally going to be lifted off my shoulders. My father would fend for himself, he was a grown man after all. It also meant that I would finish high school with good grades positioning me for a scholarship to do my tertiary education in the UK. Reuniting me with my mother, finally!

My father yelled his lungs out when I failed all my subjects during the first year at the local High school. I didn’t care. It was such a bore! I did not join the basketball team and life at home was tougher. There were no more niceties at the end of the month. Dad always said my mother was not sending money anymore, “Things are now hard in the UK.” I could see right through his blatant lies. How could things be hard in the UK? He was most probably spending our money, rather my mother’s money on his girlfriend whom I knew was out there somewhere. He probably had kids with her. I had siblings I did not know of, I was sure. In his absence, I had perused documents in his bedroom hoping to find tangible proof of an affair out there or why he was not divorcing my mother. I never found anything, but I had a hunch and sincerely believed my suspicions. Why else wasn’t he talking about my mother frequently? I longed to hear the sound of her voice, but he wouldn’t call her nor talk about her. Cell phones were now accessible, almost every family had one, he and two of my older brothers had one each, but none called my mother. He no longer had her number, he said. What husband loses his wife’s number? We didn’t visit my maternal grandparents any more, nor did my maternal aunts and uncles visit us. Perhaps the only reason why he had not legally divorced my mother was that the house was registered in her name, divorcing her would leave him homeless. I was not sure of this, but it was my best bet.

It’s like my mother no longer mattered, they had moved on with their lives. But I had not.

***

“Farai is everything ok, you do not sound well?” my father asked. My two brothers joined in, echoing him, encouraging Farai to get whatever it was off his chest. We were all in the living room gathered around the phone. Farai was on speaker, calling as usual. His voice sounded like he was about to lose it as if he had been crying. Whatever was or had happened to him had to be deep because I had never seen any of my brothers crying, ever!  Not even when mum left. I was just rolling my eyes in my seat. I cared not for what was going on with him. He hadn’t cared enough to find mum, so why should I care what happened to him?

Since his arrival in the UK, I hadn’t tired of asking Farai if he had tried to locate mum. Months had gone by and still, his answer was the same, “it is still work in progress and you will be the first one I inform when I find her.” So, my mother was now like a missing person whose whereabouts were not known. The only difference was that there were no posters stuck around with the last date she had been seen or the clothes she was last seen wearing. Perhaps Farai had joined my father and his other two sons in not caring about my mother. That was plausible.

Farai had gotten a scholarship to study in the UK. I was ecstatic for him and a bit jealous too. How blessed he was, going to see mum! As he was a bit grown when mum had left for the diaspora, he had more memories of her than I did. I would have to look at the pictures of her that were stuck on my wall to remember her. I could not vividly remember what she looked like. He had been ecstatic about going abroad and could not wait to leave the country, the hardships, power cuts, lack of running water, lack of money, and lack of everything. How I had envied him. This made me work even harder so that I could have a similar opportunity. I had been keeping myself busy with sports and clubs like debate and Rotaract. A lot was on the line, good grades, and a medical degree, moving abroad and reuniting with my mother so I worked very hard. It was my only shot at living a good life, far away from the madness that was my father and my two brothers. I was going to seize the opportunity and maximise it.

Farai started crying again, weeping hysterically. I was shocked, had he just called to cry on the phone? Life must be so cheap overseas such that one could just call to cry.

“Farai, chii chanetsa!” my father demanded.

Farai started narrating how he had met Mai Tafara in London.

I leapt out of my seat with joy. So Farai was crying tears of joy. He was crying tears of joy, I thought to myself. I was very happy, but at the same time feeling terrible for not having sympathised with him earlier.

“How is mum Fari? How is she?” I interjected. When Farai heard my voice, he started crying again, louder. He was wailing. I also started crying, tears of joy.

“Do you mean to tell me that this phone call is just for everyone to cry?” my father asked annoyed.

My father always had a way of spoiling everything. If he did not want to cry, that was his business, but I was just happy that Farai had located our mother, my mother. My other two brothers were aloof which surprised me. Were they not happy that we finally knew where mum was? But then again, this was not shocking, they probably supported my father in his girlfriend business. They were his kindred spirits.

Farai’s crying slowed down as he started talking. He told of randomly bumping into Mai Tafara in the heart of London. She hadn’t recognised him initially but as he had described certain things that only a close relative or friend would have known, she had recognised him. When he had asked her about his mother, Mai Tafara had started fidgeting, looking at the ground, and sideways, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Ah mwanangu nguva yareba tisina kumboonana.”

“Did I just cry for nothing?” I asked myself. Before my thoughts could consume me, Farai continued.

He had suspected that Mai Tafara was lying to him, so he followed her at a distance, getting onto the same train as she had and trailing her to her house.

Mum had walked out of one of the houses throwing her hands in the air and laughing. Farai was filled with so much joy and had started to run towards her not caring whether Mai Tafara saw him or not. But his joy was short-lived. Before he could get to her, a young boy came out of the house after her, pushing a bicycle. Behind him a man holding another young boy’s hand. Both boys ─barely ten years old were a spitting image of mum and the man who had come out of the house.