And all the way home I see these tiny babygrows hanging up to dry. Tiny T-shirts so cute I want to whip them off the lines and hold them against my chest. How is it possible for a human being to be so small? I want this baby. I’ve got to talk to my mother about this.
I make her some African bread, watch it rise in the sun like the baby baking inside me. I smear it with syrup. Sweeten my mother up before I unleash the earthquake. The owl is back on the satellite dish. It has a cat shaped face and protruding eyebrows like a wise old man. It stares straight at me, unflinching.
Yes, I tell the owl. I am going to tell her.
I watch the clock. She should wake soon for her weekend shift. I slump on the doorstep, try to keep my eyes open. I haven’t had much sleep this weekend. I pull myself up and pour myself some tea, sigh deeply as I squeeze out the bag. Happy anniversary.
“You OK Bukelwa?”
It is Lulama. I shake my head slowly.
“Did you speak to Phaka?”
I nod, keep squeezing my tea bag. He has the tact to say nothing. He waits.
“Listen. I’m so sorry. It was not a good time to show my feelings for you. I feel like … I don’t know, sleazy. But I want you to know, you’re not alone in the boat.”
I nod, break the tea bag by accident. He takes over, finds a strainer. He even knows where our tea strainer is, for goodness sake – that’s how familiar he is with us. He rescues my tea, adds just enough milk.
I point out the window. “That owl’s here again.”
He smiles. “Beautiful, hey? I wonder why it’s hanging around?”
“Something about it reminds me of my father.”
He doesn’t laugh at me. He nods, says mysteriously, “Aha.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “What do you mean, ‘Aha’?”
“Not sure. I just wanted to sound like I might know something that I don’t.”
That gets us both laughing. I taste my tea. Perfect.
He backs out delicately. Polite. Respectful.
***
Tell us: Has an encounter with a wild animal ever reminded you of someone or something important, or stimulated a good response to a problem?