My Story-(15-02-07)

d be waiting when we arrived and we could all sit on the verandah and admire the beautiful view that was our farm.
But as the journey continued, the dream faded. There was nothing to see but vacant land, with nothing happening. No crops, no workers and hardly any tractors to get stuck behind on the narrow tar road that bought back so many wonderful memories of learning to drive in the old farm trucks with their many quirks.
It felt like I had never been away – but the sight of our farm store in ruins and the roadside dangerously overgrown confirmed our absence. Then I looked up to see our house where my dad, my brothers and I had grown up. The charred walls that my grandfather had built so long ago still stood, but the rest was gone.
The sight of it took my breath away. My dad had planted jacarandas along the driveway when I was born in November, wanting them to form a beautiful avenue in time for my wedding day. There they were, still standing, the most wonderful avenue of jacarandas.
We drove up to the gate only for my hurt to be replaced by fear as some youngsters stood defiantly in front of it. Instead of being able to wander through the house that once was and put flowers on my grandmother’s grave, we reversed and set off to see if we could find our beloved maid who had worked for us since 1983 when my older brother was born.
We pulled up outside her house and it looked just the same as if it were yesterday – when I had been sitting in her kitchen eating sadza or sleeping in her room for the night because my brother had been nasty and I wanted to stay with my protector and friend.
She was not there, but her grandchild with whom I had played when home from school told us she was working in her field – down where I used to ride my bike to our little dam to go and think when life was troubling me.
I saw her running through the long grass, shouting ‘Amai D—‘, thinking I was my mother. I ran into her arms like I used to do when I was tiny and with her wailing we hugged for ages – unable to let go. She was talking at the same time saying ‘Thanks God, my T—-, thanks God I thought you had forgotten about me I thought you didn’t love me, I am not well, I am starving.’
I felt like fainting. My knees were weak at the pain my Winnie had been in, and that she would think she had meant nothing to us. The weak side of me wanted to run away and hide, thinking I could not deal with this because we had in effect left her. She had been part of our family. My whole life she had done everything with us, been there for every occasion, every holiday, every celebration, smiling her beautiful smile.
I thought I had done the wrong thing coming back here. But I knew I had to be reunited with Winnie, if only just to let her know how much we all thought of her and loved her. One of my greatest fears was for her to die without knowing that, that she was part of our family. I knew her better than I knew my grandparents.
We all went back to her house to unload the things we had for her and sat in her house where she had pictures of my family on her walls together with pictures of her family.
Within 10 minutes of being there a crowd had gathered round. I hugged each of them, wanting to show how I cared about them, rather than just saying it. I was lost for words when they asked ‘when are you coming home, please tell your father we want to work with him again.’ They asked about many of our friends from neighbouring farms that they had known and come to care for as well.
But seeing the vacant look in their eyes when I said the names of distant countries I was overwhelmed with guilt that of all of us had moved away while they had to stay without any alternative, barely surviving. Their faith in God was what astounded me and renewed my own faltering faith. They were still smiling and laughing with me like always – a true example of how little you need in life to get by when you appreciate and thank God for what you do have.
I drove away knowing I had done what I had come to do – to tell Winnie how much my family and I loved her and how we wished things were different so we could still be together.
As we drove down beneath the beautiful archway of jacaradas I had a weird peace in my heart, no hatred – just sadness. I was staring out the window at some men on a tractor who stared back at me, with the tears streaming down my face, knowing who I was (the former ‘boss’s daughter). Seeing the sadness in their eyes I knew they felt just like me, a great sense of loss for us all, black and white.