“I see what you two are trying to do.”

Weeks later Mamarato warned her daughters about their match-making tactics, when they repeated the ‘exit’ stunt again.

But Lerato laughed the accusation off. “Ah, mama, what’s there to lose? Just give it a try.”

Why not? Their mother was fifty-nine, and well-matured kings did not come in their many. She decided to live a little.

Mr Bambo was pensioner with a splash of white hair on his head. His waist belt was always set over his balloon tummy, as if he owned a string of butcheries. He did own a single butchery but Mr Bambo had enough money saved from the many years working as a school inspector in the Department of Basic Education. Nono and Lerato had clearly done their homework; they did not want just any man for their mom.

And thinking they were helping the situation, Nono and Lerato recommended a movie for Mr Bambo and their mother to watch.

The movie was about an old man and woman who had feelings for each other but would not act on them because of the ‘what-would-people-say syndrome’. At the end of the movie the woman dies of a sudden illness and the man is left living in regrets, wishing he had confessed his love when he had the chance. Mamarato knew her daughters meant well but after watching it she thought the choice of movie was ill-timed. It was only after she had sat them down that Lerato and Nono understood what their mother meant by that. Mr Bambo was still mourning his late wife who died of cancer.

Although Mr Bambo was intelligent and witty, Mamarato was put off by how he talked negatively about poor people, calling them baby-makers and dependent on the state. Mamarato was not born with a silver spoon in her mouth. The last straw was him declining her food. A man does not turn down a woman’s cooked meal, no matter how full he is.

The old lady was deep in thought nestled in her favourite couch when ReHlapi appeared from the kitchen, carrying a tea tray in both his hands. His eyes monitored the overly filled porcelain cup as he approached with cautious steps. Some instrumental music played lowly in the background.

Surprised by his awkward action, she smiled. “Iyo, I can tell that that cup is very full.”

Her warm mood affected him. “I did not think it was, until I had to walk towards you,” he said.

Pushing a novel aside on the coffee table to make room for the tray she said, “I was beginning to wonder how long must I wait for my dose of tea.”

“I didn’t think I would be in trouble for being just two minutes late,” ReHlapi said gladly, leaning over to rest the tray.

“Don’t be so sure Hlapi,” she teased.

As always, ReHlapi’s overalls were clean and perfectly ironed — too immaculate for someone who worked with soil and plants. And at seventy he was trim and strong. For four days of the week he walked from his township house to work, about ten kilometres, where he’d stand or squat down for the most part of the day, digging and weeding the garden. Twice Mamarato tried to talk him into going on pension, which she put in plainly that it was going to be enough to set him good for life, but ReHlapi refused and jokingly told her that he was not ready to die; the garden kept him alive. She smiled inwardly.

Tell us: What do you think about the relationship brewing between Mamarato and ReHlapi?