A Day In Africa

A  Day In Africa

I wake up on Saturday morning and I am crying. There is a deep feeling of pain, angst and confusion that I can’t quite fathom. Today is the day we bury Nobelungu Samantha Nyamagazi.

Nunus has died of AIDS and will leave her mother Sesiwe, her sister Jemma and her son Dumela to cope with the sadness.  Kelly phones from France and wishes me luck and makes me feel better and stronger for just a moment. “It is alright to cry Gunts “she says but I don’t know how to stop and am very worried that I feel out of control and too emotional. I change my status on my BBM to ‘Today we celebrate Nobelungu’s life’ hoping it will give me some strength but it does not.

I am worried about what clothes to wear – do I wear a tie or not? Choose not to and opt for a jacket and chinos as I am not sure of the protocol. I am acutely aware of the role I play today – represent the Marx clan and say some words of condolence to the family and friends. As I get into my car I feel sick with apprehension and fear – there is nobody to talk to and I feel physically nauseous about the episode. This is Africa at its core of sadness and desperation. I clutch on to my tattered speech that Pete and Dom have helped me to carve out, and I know is completely inadequate, hoping to control my emotions but it doesn’t work.

Driving through the dusty and broken roads to Sesiwe’s house I wave to the occasional child smiling and calling out and I remember Nunus and my brain is filled with emotion. Jeepers I have to control myself! I get out the car at Ses’s house and observe the throngs of people, the tents, the cars and the sound of activity. Don’t cry don’t cry! I walk past some familiar faces and remember a few but desperately search for Sesiwe and Jemma. I feel the look from many –What is this Mulungu doing here? I walk into the house and immediately hear the sound of gentle singing. Women are sitting inside and I see Ses. I rush forward and clutch on her and don’t want it to stop – I feel like my soul is dancing an honest tune for the Marxs and it feels good and true. The letter from the Cooke’s falls to the ground and for some reason that distracts me and I turn to Jem and hug her. I feel alive!

I go back to the congregation outside and sit next to my gardener Madoda. Little do I know that he would become my adviser and my friend for the day. Everyone is dressed to the nines – I am comforted by the fact That Madoda and I are the only two without ties but I feel disrespectful at the same time. It is hot- very hot and dusty and we wait in anticipation for the proceedings to begin. Sesiwe has organised a set of speakers and musicians to entertain the crowd and they are ripping through some gospel music but I don’t hear them. I meet Sesiwe’s brothers and elders and communicate ineffectively. People around me are full of warmth and love but I can’t feel it- I feel outside my body.

The music stops – oh no! What’s happening? Sesiwe stands up and talks about what happened to Nunus and the fact that she died of Cancer and the white doctors had confirmed this – I make a mental note about the cancer. The MC then calls Mr Marx to talk on behalf of the family but I don’t hear it. Madoda taps me on the shoulder and gently nudges me forward. Please God I can’t do this! She was too young and I can’t bear to see the pain in Sesiwe’s eyes. My body stands and walks to the front and I see the poverty and desperation. I see Sesiwe sitting on our old dining room wicker chairs and I notice broken gutters. My hands are shaking and I can’t remember what I am meant to say. All I can say is “Sesiwe this is very difficult for me” Nunus is in the coffin next to me and the pain is unbearable and I don’t understand why I am feeling like this. I mumble through the speech, stopping constantly to compose myself but I don’t feel ashamed. It is an outpouring of emotion that is far more than losing Nunus – this is Africa at its worst and it feels good to confront it and embrace it in this hot dusty backyard. It finally comes to an end and I rush forward in tears to Ses and she gives me strength. I go back to my seat with the other men and elders and they gently caress me. Madoda is crying and pats me on the shoulder and I feel him.

The preacher starts and is speaking in Xhosa, Afrikaans and English. I am amazed that I seem to understand every word. His words are cutting, direct and true. He talks about decadence in society and the need to go back to basics and the soil. He talks for an hour but it feels like ten minutes and I want him to continue nurturing my soul. All around me are words like “Praise Jesus, Halleluiah and God is great!” I wonder how people so poor can be so happy and blessed and I think of my own life. The preacher and community stir something deep inside and I feel integrally African. I think of Alicedale, farms, dust and rolling bushes. I feel part of this lovely country and I can smell it. A cat walks passed my chair and I hear the preacher talking about tilling the soil.

Madoda taps me on the shoulder and says it is time to go. I am awoken from my reality and realise we need to bury Nunus. Some people climb into my car and together with a bus, the hoarse, and a number of dilapidated cars we process to the graveyard. I am both alive and numb and aware that the music in the background is completely inappropriate. The air conditioner even feels foreign as we bounce along the dusty road past filth and poverty. We arrive at the gravesite and I am taken aback by the simplicity of it. There is nothing special about this venue. There are freshly dug graves everywhere and it is clear that we are not the only funeral around. I immediately notice that our funeral is simpler and less ostentatious than the rest and I feel guilt clawing at me. We stand around and the preacher says some words but I can’t hear them now – my mind is filled again with sorrow and pain – I see Ses and am filled with emotion for a mother losing her child – this is the wrong way around! I think of Dumela and I think of adoption. The coffin is lowered and Ses screams and it is intense. Her older brother walks away into the veld and I cry – I cry for the lack of education, for the desperation and the hopelessness of this situation. I walk up to Ses and give her a picture of Nunus as a little kid hoping to help. People pass it around and I lose it –I wanted to put it into her grave. Jemma is brave, strong and stoic and asks me for water for her Mom – I remember a coke in my car and fetch it –it has been there for a week and wonder if there was a reason for not drinking it.

We leave and go back to Ses’s house – Madoda guides me to wash my hands in a bowl before entering the garden. I stand in a queue waiting for food but get pushed forward by the community who say “You are family”. I walk into the modest house and pick up a plastic container of food. Sesiwe calls out from the front – “Gunt you are family here is a proper plate with proper knife and fork”. The food is special and I feel privileged!

Time to go! I look for Ses and find her in Dumela’s bedroom. She is sitting on my old bed and gently rocking him because he has a fever. I stroke his hair and hug Ses and thank her. She says that Dumela has now taken the place of Nunus but that she is too old for this. I promise to help her. I leave and drop Madoda off at the shops. He asks me how I am feeling and what I thought of the day but he knows already. He feels my emotions and knows that I have felt Africa in its truest sense and he is glad. I don’t answer -“See you on Monday Sir – have a good weekend”

I drive back to watch William playing on a perfectly manicured cricket field in his perfectly white ducks emblazoned with the brand of St Andrew and I feel  disconnected and alone once again.