Lusinda's Rewrite draft

Elizabeth

I lay in bed contemplating the day ahead of me. My mother had already come in at 6am sharp to wake me up for school, she had opened the curtains and windows and now the cool summer breeze begged me to get out from under my duvet. Today I had my history presentation and our art visual diaries need to be reviewed – Damn! I hear a bicycle whizz by the window, my bedroom looks out onto the driveway. I already know it’s Jabu our garden boy. I don’t know much about him, he’s worked for us for about a year or so. And I know he works Sundays because he needs the money, I also know that his daughter died recently but no one knows how. She stopped to rest under a tree on the way home from school and died. No one noticed and no one will ever know why - Africa doesn’t have time for everyone’s story – and I wonder what that must be like for him and his family. BRRRRRRRRRRR! The shrill sharp sound of my alarm steals my thoughts. 06:30. You’re going to be late Liz, I tell myself. Ugh! I throw the covers back and the sensation of the cool tiles on my bare soles wakes me up further.

When I’m dressed, school skirt, white shirt, white anklets, black shoes and hair pulled back, I make my way to the kitchen. I can smell breakfast, Maltabela – best when its made by Grace (which is everyday that I go to school).
‘Morning Gracie!’ I call as I pour some orange juice. I can hear her humming from out in the courtyard.
‘Oh, morning Osie! I put your break-fast by the table hey. With the buttah, the shu-gah and some milikie. But be careful, its bietjie warm!’
‘I already smelt it! Thank you!’ I love Gracie. She’s been with us for about seven years already and she’s smiles about 362 days of the year. We all tease her because when she first started she was so skinny I thought she would break but now she’s plump and round – thanks to mom teaching her how to cook and now she cooks even better than mom.
‘Gracie, have you seen my mom? I’m going to be late’ I call through.
‘Ja, the madam she’s by her bed-room’
‘Liz, where’s your brother? We’re going to be late!’ My mother walks through the door. Speak of the devil.
‘Not sure, haven’t seen him this morning.’
‘Right, well, you go find your brother and I’ll get the car out ok? I’ll see you outside.’
‘Fine’ I respond through gritted teeth. I hate looking for Todd. He’s always somewhere when he should be somewhere else. I suppose that what 14-year-old boys are like. Luckily he’s easily found this morning – watching TV.
‘Todd!’ I’m using my big sister voice, ‘Get in the car! We’re going to be late again because of you!’
‘Oooohhh! Scary!’ he replies sarcastically.
‘Ugh! Hurry up and grow up! You are such a retard!’ I stalk my way back through towards the garage, pick up my school bag and out the back door where mom waits in her quietly running Mercedes. I pass Gracie on the way out, ‘Have a good day Osie.’ she says.
‘Bye’ is all I muster as Todd has already upset my mood.


Gracie

Eish! That Todd! That pikinini! He’s always leaving his mess everywhere! I’m busy using the vacuum machine by the TV room when I see a bowl under the table. My maltabela that I made for the children this morning has gotten hard, hard around the edges which means not even the fancy dishwash machine that madame bought can clean it – I’ll have to do it by hand. This house is huge, these people should learn to look after themselves. But I love these people. I have been here for seven years, just after I had to leave university after my first year. I love these people, they will never be my people, but I love them just the same. I breathe heavily as I bend down to pick up the dish, my body aches – its never been the same since I had Sipiwe. Sipiwe is my second child, Katlego was my first but now she stays with my mother in Pietersburg so that she can go to school. Grade 1 already! I miss her, but this is so – this is where the work is so I can feed them. I also have Mbali but I didn’t carry her. She’s my sister’s child, she came to stay with me when her mother didn’t come home – she won’t be coming. I still remember my sister’s face the last time I saw her. So still, the only way I knew it was her was by the earrings she wore. I push the painful thought away. No, I do not want to think about that. Let her rest. I carry the dishes through to the kish-en, let them soak to make the porridge soft.
‘Hei, sus-ter!’ I look up and Jabu is calling me through the back door. He’s not allowed inside when the madam or the kids are home but I let him come through. Its lunch time for us workers. I make some tea. Jabu like his strong and black, mine, I like it sweet with shu-gah and milikie. I also make some bread with peanut butter, today its brown bread and I wrinkle my nose. My madam wants to be healthy but the white bread is so lekker! The sun shines outside and we go sit on the grass under that tree that holds purple flowers in spring.
‘Yebo, Jabu. How is your family, your wife?’
‘Haibo. I cannot say. She doesn’t say any-thing. Just the tears. She’s crying and crying and what can I do? Nothing. Just go to work to make money for those of us left.’
‘Eish. I’m sorry Jabu. So sorry. Maar dit is.’
‘And you? How are you after…?’
‘Jabu. Her face, was cut up. Like someone was cutting chicken. Her body. Was broken.’ My throat gets tight. ‘Let me not say. Let her be.’ I look at my watch. I have to do the windows before madam gets home. I stand to leave, Jabu hands me his plate.
‘Thank you sus-ter.’