After Johan had sunk further and further into depression
and taken a near-fatal overdose of prescription drugs, Petra surprised him one day and announced in her business-like way that she was going to begin a search for his child. ‘We have to find her,’ she said. ‘I can see that it is killing you and I don’t want to lose you.’

Johan fell in love with his wife that day, after all the years of their empty marriage, and the two of them became a team in the hunt for his daughter. They had tried to find Nonceba for some years now but it had proved fruitless. All he knew was that Zimkitha had a surname that meant bush or forest when translated into English. He also knew that she came from the coast, but he was not sure which coast, east or west.

On a hunch they moved to Durban, partly hoping to find a lead pointing to Nonceba, and partly to help with the scourge of HIV/AIDS that was ravaging KwaZulu-Natal. They moved into a modest house in Manor Gardens and worked with youth encouraging them to choose responsible lifestyles. Unlike their neighbours, their home was unfenced, and left to fate should the tsotsis pay them a visit.

Johan was a different man after coming out of his dark depression. The thing that he was most afraid of, being rejected by his family, had already happened and he had survived it. In fact, he had been liberated by it. He was no longer confined by his father’s inflexible teachings, no longer searching for his father’s approval. He felt free, with a new surge of purpose, and so he and Petra threw their energies into helping to build a new South Africa. Although they had by now stopped actively looking for the young woman whose name they didn’t know, they both still hoped that fate would bring them together.

Petra’s longing for a child of her own remained a throbbing wound that could never heal. For a while it had got her down and made her depressed, especially when nature decided
to shut down her monthly reassurances that it was still a possibility. The finality of it cut through her hopes and broke her heart. Their plans of adopting remained talk. It never came to fruition because they were so busy. Johan, on the other hand, still hoped that one day he would meet his own flesh and blood. He kept looking at young women in their thirties, hoping to see the fierce eyes of Zimkitha looking back at him.

Petra threw herself into helping young women with bigger problems than her own, and this took the focus away from her private pain. The Bible remained her source of comfort.

They spent most of their days in the neighbouring shacks doing home visits for those too sick to get to hospitals. They learnt about the dignity and resourcefulness of the shack dwellers. Unattractive as their shacks were on the outside, the interiors showed incredible innovation and survival skills. The walls were beautifully covered with decorative wallpaper made from magazines and gift wrap. Almost all had TV sets, some running on vehicle batteries. The shacks that were situated closer to the suburbs often had illegal electrical wires connecting them to the city’s electricity grid.

Petra was constantly amazed by how shack dwellers made a plan and lived their lives to the full. On weekends, radios were on full blast, with people dancing, swaying their hips this way and that to the music. If one of them surrendered to death, the community got together and offered assistance where they could to bury one of their own with dignity.
But there were some things that did not make sense to her.

The fights that broke out during the drinking sessions, the constant incidents of children losing their innocence through brutal rape, and the growing number of children left to fend for themselves.

The two of them would come back from their visits feeling exhausted, silent during their drive home, with each of them focused on their own thoughts about the day. Sometimes it would be a feeling of helplessness at the chaos of human lives engaged in surviving anew every day; at other times they were filled with hope at having witnessed a patient recovering from their deathbed. It was an emotional roller-coaster.
Petra focused on fundraising from international NGOs and churches. When Johan was not at the shacks, he was studying new research on HIV/AIDS. He trained young volunteers on caregiving, and treated ailments ranging from mouth sores to tuberculosis.

Petra wrote deeply personal and earnest letters to the donors. It was this approach that kept their work fully funded. She liked to use the story about saving millions of starfish, vomited up by the sea, one by one. She would say that she was aware that it was impossible to save all of them, but the ones they managed to throw back gave her the strength to wake up and do it again the next day. For her, it was enough that she made a difference to somebody’s life. On difficult days, Johan felt his source of strength came from this incredible woman.

It was on one of these long, hard days that they arrived home to be confronted by a screaming baby wrapped in a blanket on their doorstep. They looked at each other with shock
and disbelief. Petra picked up the screaming infant, placed it against her chest and hushed it. Johan stood rooted in front of the door, trying to think of the next step. The baby quietened, and Petra became quiet along with her.

‘You shall be with child,’ she said softly.
‘What?’ Johan asked.
‘And the Lord said, You shall be with child. Remember that

story of Abraham and Sarah, they were old and well advanced in years. The Lord appeared to them and said—

‘Oh no no no, Petra, we can’t. We are too old and too busy to raise a child. Please, tomorrow morning we’re going to the police. We don’t even know if this child is sick, or God knows what.’ Johan was panicking when he saw the look on her face. ‘Maybe the mother was drunk and she will come back sober tomorrow,’ he said. But he saw complete determination in Petra’s eyes. She was going to fight him on this.

They used the fortified milk formula that they kept for the positive new moms who couldn’t breastfeed. The baby suckled energetically like a thirsty new calf, and fell asleep contentedly. All of the dormant maternal instincts in Petra were unleashed. She was completely and utterly taken by this new miracle of life they had found. She didn’t hear any of Johan’s protests. In her excitement she didn’t even want to go to the police. If it had been in her power she would have kept the baby without dealing with any of the legal red tape.

Johan managed to convince and pacify her by arguing that they could keep the baby only after reporting the matter to the police and applying for legal guardianship, should no one come to claim her. He did not think that social welfare would let them keep the baby.

The following day the police came to the house to take a statement. They said, with authority, that legally the baby should be given to social welfare ‘until we get to the bottom of this’. Everyone knew it would take ages to get to the bottom of anything.

Petra’s voice was cracking as if she was about to cry. ‘All I’m saying is that we have a loving home right here and I can look after the child myself while you ‘get to the bottom’ of whatever it is you think you will find.’

The police left and said they would come back with social welfare to take the baby. They seemed defeated by the lady’s determination. She was fiercely protective of the baby. Johan couldn’t stand to see Petra distressed and still had a particular dislike for the police. He asked the policeman if he had children, and the man said yes. ‘Well, Officer, we have never had children, even though we wanted to for a long time. So can you see what this is doing to my wife?’

The policeman was baffled by this couple fighting for a black baby. ‘Bloody bleeding heart liberals,’ he mumbled as he got into the car.

A curious neighbour called out, ‘Is everything all right there, Petra?’

Petra gushed out the whole story of the miracle found on her doorstep. ‘Can you tell me, what is the word for being found in isiZulu?

‘Tholakele, the word is Tholakele,’ said the neighbour, who was still in her pyjamas, and was now standing in their yard cooing over the baby. ‘She is so adorable,’ she said.

Johan had lost the fight, and the idea of being a father was growing in him as well. They stood there cooing, filled with anxiety, anticipating the arrival of the social welfare people. Meanwhile the baby slept peacefully. ‘You have been found,’ Petra whispered to the baby, ‘and I shall name you Princess Tholakele. She looked back at Johan who was peering over her shoulder. He nodded, and it was sealed.

They drew strength from each other and geared themselves up for the fight of their lives with social welfare. The knock on their door sent cold shivers down their spines. They opened
it, only to be relieved that it was Mbali, the social worker who served the same area of the shacks where they did their home visits. She was a sweet lady, with an unhurried, calm determination in her work with the children at the shacks.

Petra and Johan were comforted that she was handling their case. She told them that adoption would be a lengthy process that would start once the police had conducted a thorough investigation to find whoever had abandoned the baby. Meanwhile, they needed to convince social welfare to allow them to keep the child in their care. Their community involvement and Johan’s medical background would stand them in good stead. Their age, both in their late fifties, and the fact that they were of a different race and cultural background to the child could be a problem, though. They hadn’t thought about these things.

‘Yes, the child is black,’ Petra argued, but how do you determine her cultural background? She’s probably not more than five days old. She could be Zulu, Xhosa, Congolese or anything. I would like them to tell me how they determine her cultural background!’

Mbali calmed her down, reminding her that she was on their side. ‘I’m fighting in your corner. You know that I will do my best for you, but right now I’m advising you that if you want to fight to win, you’d better get yourself a good lawyer.’

They realised that their lives had just changed in the blink of an eye. The harder things seemed to get, the more determined they were. After Mbali’s visit, they went baby shopping for everything possible to make the life of their new miracle comfortable. Petra subscribed to baby magazines and found a support group for parents with cross-racially adopted babies.

Mbali had given them the number of a hotshot lawyer friend of hers who had just got back to town. She said the woman was someone who fought like a bull terrier, never letting go, especially in children’s cases. ‘She only takes cases that are important to her,’ Mbali explained. ‘She’s a bit strange, but don’t be put off. She’ll fight for you until you get the legal right to be parents to this little princess.’ Petra held on to the piece of paper as though her life depended on it. ‘Her name is Nonceba Hlathi,’ Mbali said. And added as an afterthought, ‘It means bush.’

Johan felt his skin prickle for a moment. But it would
be just too much of a coincidence. He sat quietly and thoughtfully while Mbali and Petra talked through the red tape.

‘And what are you thinking about so seriously, Princess’s father?’ Petra asked teasingly after Mbali had left.

All his memories of Zimkitha had come flooding back, and he had to steady himself to make the phone call to the lawyer.

The phone rang and rang, and then suddenly a voice came on the line. ‘Hi, this is Nonceba—’

‘Hello, my—’

‘…leave a message and I’ll get back to you. A long beep followed her recorded voice.

Johan started again.