The Bride Price: An African Romance (Chitundu Chronicles) (24 page)

“Karin, I want to see my grandchild.” Whoa! Karin saw she was going to have to answer some questions.  It had been two days since she returned to her old home in Nijmegen.  Karin looked at her mother and put down the paper.

“I have given custody to Bwalya’s mother, Violet.  I have not heard from her yet.”

“Call her on the phone and see how she is doing.  Tell her she is welcome to come here with the child.  I will send tickets for the two of them and they can stay here.”

Karin took a gulp of tea. “Ma, I didn’t expect this.  It is so far for them to come.”

“I have waited six years for this visit.  I have lost my son-in-law.  I do not want to lose my granddaughter.”

Karin was taken aback by the passion of her mother for this child she had never met.  She felt her own bottled up love choke her and wondered what had she done to leave her child?  Then she recalled how she and Bwalya had talked about what would come of the child should he pass away.  He had endured life in France as an art student and had a clear picture of the abuse and ridicule his daughter would have if she lived in Europe.  He had never been to Holland, but his experience made him insist that the child remain in Africa where she would enjoy status and acceptance.  Now, with his dying of HIV, that future came into question.

In the few days she had been back, Karin had seen the diversity of people on television and on the streets.  This was a changing country.  Maybe her mother had a point.  If she was willing to pay for the tickets, how could such a journey hurt the child?

“Ma, you will love the child.  She is bright and loving.  She reminds me so much of you.”

“I don’t care if she is short, ugly, and blind.  This is my granddaughter.  What were you thinking to never bring her to see us?  Your father could not even mention her name because he knew how emotional I would become.  You contact her other grandmother and bring her here before it is too late.  I am not even going to mention it to your father until she is at the airport.  Do you know how that man has wanted to see her and Bwalya as well?  Enough.  Let me know how much the tickets are and when they can come.”

Violet read the letter written by the school headmaster.  She had been a widow for nearly two months when the letter came, and she decided immediately that she would travel to where Bwalya had lived and worked.  She needed to make some sense of what had come of her family.  Her grandchildren were as scattered as free-range chickens. There was the possibility that Bwalya’s child, her granddaughter would need a guardian.  She didn’t know what to expect, but she would travel to the region and straighten out her thinking. She tossed the remaining Valium into a drawer and pulled out a map.

Violet was not a traveler.  The world of commerce was for her husband and sons, all of whom took long journeys to various countries. Two had been long distance haulers, some had been merchants and wholesalers like her husband.  She had expected something far different for her later years.  It had included the two of them surrounded by a band of grandchildren, the wives and sons laughing and enjoying hospitality at the ample homestead they had built up over the years   Violet was alone in the seven room house near Blancville with the view of the city out her kitchen window. Alone, except for the guard and the housekeeper, who kept a grandchild in her one- room house behind the main house. These were the companions of her days, ignored by her, and she living in dread that they pitied her or talked about her losses. The church and her friends kept her from pitying herself. She had a sister and brother that she could visit. She had been able to raise her children to adulthood, all nine of them, and this is something most of her friends had not been able to do.  She was free to follow her dreams, but Violet had never been a dreamer. She had been content to obey Joseph and to keep track of the household, making sure the meals were on time and the place was always furnished nicely, and clean when Joseph brought friends over. Violet enjoyed good health and basked in her worship at the church where she was one of the best singers. She no longer traveled with the choir, or thought about reaching out to anyone beyond her circle of friends.  She had a narrow circle of influence which she saw as her strength and her lot in life, and maintained her daily routine of checking the supplies, folding the laundry, and making sure the garden was watered and pruned. Beyond this, she read little, worried little, and thought less about things each day. Until this letter.  Now, her world was about to be tested.  She could no longer ignore the fact that she had a grandchild and the grandchild needed her.

What would Joseph have said?  It had been irresponsible of him to be driving so fast so late at night, and in the rainy season. He had a driver, George. He could have waited a few days until the man had recovered from his fever. Violet cut off this uncharacteristic judgment of the man, and crossed herself once to purify her spirit of uncharity. She recalled the verse that Myrna used to see her through the most difficult time.
Light will overcome the darkness
, or something to that effect.  She would make a small list of questions, get a bus ticket, and go and see this place where Bwalya had lived his adult life. Her planning was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Who is it?”

“George, the driver. I am seeing if you need me to drive you somewhere. I am well now.”

“You are an angel sent to me.  I need to go to Burrisfuro tomorrow. Can you take me? I will pay you.”

“Just provide the petrol. This trip is one I was planning to make with the two of you. It will be my pleasure to take you. Shall I come at 9:00 o’clock in the morning?”

“Yes. I will be ready. And George, thank you for the card.  Joseph valued you so much.” Violet dreaded the thought of travel, of confusion, dust, and contact with so many people she did not know, and did not want to know.  She could think no further about it, nor did she want to share this sense of new openings with anyone.  They might disturb the peace she was feeling now that she had determined her action. They would leave tomorrow.  She would stay a week or until she understood what was going on and how to deal with it. Then she would return to her large house and her plants, and her life would continue in tranquility and acceptance of what was her lot. 
Wife, Mother,
Grandmother, Widow
.  Progression that was normal.  Yes, very normal.

She needed to get together with her sister Myrna and her husband Festal.  Together, they could make a plan for how to care for the granddaughter Lily Wonder that had suddenly been thrust into her life.  Their mother, Beatrice, was 82 and could only shake her head at the mystery of young lives being mowed down.  Beatrice still had her children and her brother Dodge, but her legacy of grandchildren from this ideal love marriage was gone. She, too, was a widow wanting to find peace and comfort in her old age, alongside thousands of other women who were losing their children and raising grandchildren without the extended family, or support they needed.

Violet sat in the backseat of the Toyota, watching the road ahead for unexpected ruts and potholes. George  played music by artists she no longer recognized, but that soothed her nerves. She was taking action. Regardless of how this interview with the child turned out, it was a chance to have her life back. She would be needed and could help make one life better by showing up. She had read those words in a self-help pamphlet at the doctor’s office when she went to get her Valium. Now, she had stopped taking it. They would soon be in Burrisfuro, and George would help her find the house. It was Number 9 on Black Rhino Drive. That was an easy address, Bwalya had been her ninth son. Nine lives. She still had one left. And that was Lily Wonder.

While pumping petrol, the attendant peeked in the window and saw Violet in the back seat. “Aren’t you the mother of Bwalya Leibitsang? I’ve seen your picture at their home and recognized you. Welcome.”

“He was a good man.”

Violet was surprised, and pleased to be greeted in such a way. He pointed out to George the way to their home.  “It’s the fifth house on the right, just after you make your way on Rhino Drive. No, I can’t take a payment for the petrol. Not from Bwalya’s mother. Have a nice day.”

Minutes later, Violet and George pulled up in front of what once was a tidy bungalow. In front was a rampant hedge of lilies. A small face peeked out the front window. The child bounded out to greet them, a mass of curls highlighted in the late afternoon sun.

“You are my Grandmother, Mother of Bwalya. You are not as old as I hoped.”

“You must be Lily. You are every bit as beautiful and bright as I imagined. How are you?”

“I am waiting to see if you want me. Until I know that, I am just waiting.”

“Let’s go inside. I have been waiting too. I did not know what to expect.”

“Well, I have been praying and expecting you. No one else is here as Claire had to go and teach today, and my neighbor Alicia is cooking dinner. Come in.”

George raised his eyebrows and looked at Violet. This child was going to give this widow a run for her money. She was radiant with her tendrils of golden brown hair floating in the breeze and the energy of a child of five receiving what she had been waiting for for days. She plopped herself down next to her grandmother on the sofa and pulled her shawl off her shoulders, then she got up to get her a cup of water from the kitchen. Alicia came over, having seen the Toyota pull into the driveway. She had two cups of tea and milk on a tray.  “Welcome. I see you have met Lily. She has probably filled you in on the history of the family. I am Alicia and I have known them just a year, since they moved here from the school compound. Karin and I worked on the preschool in town, where Lily and my daughter attended. Now, I am watching her until something permanent takes place. I want you to be very direct in telling me your feelings about the child, as Karin asked me to be her ears and eyes. She wants Lily to be where she is loved and not passed around. I am going to leave you two to get acquainted. I will bring dinner over in an hour, unless you have other plans.”

Violet nodded her agreement and drank the cup of water Lily had brought her. She had put a little flower in the cup.

“My mother couldn’t walk. She had to roll around in a chair which we called the Gollichair.”

“I didn’t know that. What was wrong with her?”

“She had MS. My Dad pushed her to the school and home again. She couldn’t make it through the gravel by herself and I am not strong enough to push her, so I think that is why she went to Holland. They have everything paved over there.”

“Well, we will find out why she went. I think she just went to get well. She never wanted to leave you, she just thought it would be best to get better first.” What am I telling this child? I have no idea why her mother would leave such a precious little girl alone. I had better find out from Alicia or Claire what had happened and what they have told the child.

“Tomorrow I want to take you to town and see some of your Daddy’s art. I have not seen it and they say he was such a good artist.”

“He is. His paintings are in the Museum. And I am an artist too. My daddy said you used to draw.”

“He did? That was so long ago. I used to make sketches of the boys and illustrate little stories for them. I can’t believe he remembered that.”

“He said it is in our blood. We are all artists, even Uncle Dodge. He is a con artist, Dad used to say, then laugh.”

“He had something there, all right. Well, I am going to learn so many things from you. You can ask me questions.”

“Do you believe in keeping promises?”

“Well, yes. We all want to keep our promises. But sometimes we are unable.”

“Grandma, you know what I mean. Are you going to keep me? I need to know.”

“That is why I am here. Look, here comes our dinner. Now, we need to go and wash, and I am going to freshen up my hair. It looks like yours could use a little picking as well.”

“My Mom used to make me braids and poufs. Claire doesn’t know how to plait my hair, so she just pulls it up into a knot.”

“Come here. I can make you poufs.”

Violet pulled the child between her knees and ran her hands through the luxuriant curls. It was a soft and silky as feathers. With a few cuts with the pick, she had organized the mass of tendrils into two poufs, then took the slippery hairs around the hairline and plaited them into a slim braid, which she pinned back with a clip she pulled from her bag. She handed the child a mirror and watched her eyes light up as she saw her new hairstyle.

“Grandma, you are an artist! I knew it.” Violet felt her throat close a little at the words. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt more capable and ready to take on the future. When Alicia brought in the nshima and relish, she waited to hear what else this child would have to say. She reminded Violet of Myrna, the way she jumped from one imaginative idea to the next, and you had to  pay attention to catch the progression. They had their dinner and talked, then it was time to sleep. Violet was tired, the night was cool, and when the child asked permission to sleep at her back, Violet nodded.

Now it was morning, and she had never had a better night’s rest. There  would be new stories to learn about, but where was Lily Wonder?

Lily was gone. Violet jumped to her feet and looked out the door and there was Lily, feeding the chickens. They circled her and she doled out the grain to them like a schoolmistress giving out papers. Her hair was a halo of light around her head as the morning sun highlighted the tendrils that had loosened in the night. They would go to town today and see the pictures Bwalya had painted. Violet looked forward to hearing how Lily would comment on them. She would call George and they would have breakfast in town then go to the bank where the paintings were being stored. It would be a chance to see the campus where Bwalya and his wife had worked, and she could then report to Karin any greetings or news. Yes, it would be a full day. She drank the remainder of her water with the flower still floating in it, and called to George.