Tandy

he sun had not yet risen over our township when I heard my mother in the kitchen. The sky was a bluish purple haze, the spendor before dawn. The African landscape was silent save a far off crow of an overzelous rooster. My mother whispered, careful not to wake the baby, through the curtains that separated our room from the kitchen, "Tandi, it is morning. Wake up." I was only half awake, but was enjoying the familiar early morning sounds; the birds outside, the chickens squarking, the clattering of a donkey cart on its way to the market and the incessant chatting of the women on their way to the city, where, like my own mother, they worked as maids in the wealthy suburban homes. Beside me slept Sam, my younger brother. He lay peacefully, his thumb in his mouth and his small dark body huddled up to me. I felt each muscle burn and tingle as I stretched, my toes curling in reluctant anticipation of the cold cement floor. "Hurry my child," my mother hissed. There were only three rooms in our home, and sound traveled easily as the rooms had no doors, only heavy curtains across the doorways. My mother would not dare take the chance of waking the baby and so instead she resorted to loud whispers.

After re-covering Sam with the faded worn blanket, I stumbled through the curtain into the kitchen, and to a bowl of warm corn meal. My mother saw me and gave the traditional Zulu greeting with a warm smile, "I see you Tandi." She stood in her blue-plaid maid's uniform stirring the bowl over the small gas stove. The sight of her there was familiar and comforting. Light was starting to stream through the windows, illuminating the dust that rose wherever one walked. I squinted, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes as I sat slumped on the old, creaky stool which stood in the centre of the room beside the table. My breakfast never seemed to be enough, but I was used to it. It warmed my stomach after the cold night in our iron shanty. I ate slowly, savoring each mouthful as it was the only meal I'd have till later in the evening. My mother turned and smiled, " I will leave soon. The madam, she does not like it when I am late." She motioned to the rest of the warm corn meal, "There is breakfast for the other two. Remind Sam to do the water before he goes to school and you, be careful with the young one. You know how he is, don't let him cry Tandi."

" Yes mother," I answered, " I know."

She wiped her face with an old facecloth, looking in the cracked mirror above what served as a basin and a sink, and said softy, " Aii! But I am getting old..." I looked up in surprise. She had never appeared to change, always the same round face and ample body. Her eyes were dark, unlike my own, and her dark hair curled tightly upon her head. But now there were lines, and I noticed as if looking for the first time, the strength in her limbs, that were not young anymore. "But Mother, " I said with humility, looking at one who had borne so much and was so strong, "you are still beautiful."

"Thank you, my Thandeka," she said, using my birthname, " you too are beautiful. But I must go, I will be home before nightfall. Stay well."

"Go well Mother," I answered as she left, her long swinging walk hurrying through the door and down the gravel street, as if to escape the cries of the young one waking in the room next door.

As usual, the end of my breakfast was the end of peace for the day. I had not needed to wake Sam. Instead, the baby, with his incessant shrieks for attention and food woke Sam before I could. I grabbed the child, and tucked him, still shrieking, under my arm while hurrying Sam to get ready for school.. After his breakfast meal and much prodding, Sam left reluctantly, slouching as he shuffled to the water pump in the communal field next door. The water was cold and metallic tasting but it was what we were accustomed to. After separating it for drinking, washing, cleaning and a bowl outside for the friendly mongrel dogs or any other creatures, that roamed the township, I helped Sam dress for his long walk to the schoolhouse on a nearby farm. Finally, in his worn beige uniform, secondhand, oversize shoes and with his old bag he stood proudly for my inspection. His chubby face was freshly shrubbed...who knew how long it would stay that way....and his freshly shined shoes were already collecting dust. "Move it Sammy or you will be late!" I reminded him every morning, even though I had proudly noticed that he was never late for his classes. He jogged out the door, white teeth flashing his excitement, and grinning even more when I threw him an apple for the journey. " Go well brother!"I called smiling at the infectious excitement he showed at each new day.

I plopped the big sniffling baby onto the counter, "Its only us now, handsome one." He gazed at me sullenly, refusing to smile. I spooned the rest of the cold, stiff corn meal into his mouth and he began to smile and drool. I laughed as he smacked me with his chubby tiny fist, for the day was a beautiful one and it had just begun. His dimples showed when he giggled, and they showed now as he threw back his dark head with a chuckle. Light streamed through the kitchen, reflecting off the cracked window above the sink. He pointed, his eyes fixated. Outside it was noisy, and occasionly there was the call of a neighbor passing by, "I see you Tandi!"as they wheeled iron sheets down the gravel road in delepidated barrows, fixing up makeshift homes or building new ones. I could hear the howl of a ambulance or police car and the screech of tires, but they too were familiar sounds and blended into the background. Through the windows there was non-stop activity to be seen. But as I sat on the old, wooden stool, pausing briefly to watch the unabashed joy of the young one, I saw the light as he did, a mirage of colours reflecting and dancing - hiding the cracked window and dirty kitchen. I gazed with the happy baby who giggled, rejoicing. Picking him up and holding him close I felt like a princess in my palace, surrounded by colour, light, happiness and beauty. And I laughed with him.