I’d come to hate the weekends. By the time Friday came around I’d grow more and more depressed. I dreaded to think what mad scheme Mom had planned for the weekend. She was always doing something to try and raise funds for various charities. The fact of the matter was that I only felt normal at school.

Saturday mornings had become something of a role-reversal. It was Mom who often played netball or golf in what I had termed the ‘old people’s Olympics’.

One morning she and a bunch of the gogos walked 35 kilometres to try and raise funds for a young girl in our town who needed a kidney transplant. Mom, dressed in a bright pink tracksuit, stood at the starting point. She went around encouraging people and advised them to rest when they got too tired.

Much later that afternoon they finished the walk, and in doing so they had raised quite a substantial sum of money for the young girl. Mom got so excited that she jumped about in glee. It was caught on camera by the local Herald newspaper’s photographer, and made the front page.

I cringed in embarrassment when I went to school on Monday, even though my friends said, “Your Mom’s so cool.”

My step-dad said she was an inspiration to us all.

“It’s a pity that there are not more people like her in the world,” my friend Thozama’s father said. Thozi’s father was our local doctor. I thought it was nice of him to say those things about my Mom.

When I arrived home that afternoon I couldn’t find Mom anywhere. It was very unusual for her not to be at home when I returned from school. Despite my sombre mood I suddenly realised Mom was always there for me. She’d have lunch ready and then she’d ask me how my day went. More often than not I’d answer her in monosyllables. She’d never get angry with me either. She’d smile and then I’d disappear into my room, saying I had homework to do.

I rummaged in the fridge and found things for making a sandwich. I went to the sink to rinse out my dishes. As the water ran I looked out the window. It was then that I saw Mom, lying on the ground at the end of the garden, under the guava tree.

“What on earth are you doing now?” was my first cross reaction.

I stared out the window for a few long seconds. It then dawned on me that Mom hadn’t moved at all. Had she perhaps lain down and fallen asleep?

I opened the back door and rushed out. “Mom, Mom!”

Her eyes were closed. I felt for a pulse and breathed a huge sigh of relief when I felt her heartbeat. But she looked ashen.

I rushed back into the house, picked up the phone and dialled 10111. Then I speed-dialled Sizwe’s number on the cellphone.

“Masego, slow down,” he urged. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying.” I did as he told me, finishing with, “I’ve phoned the ambulance.”

“I’m on my way,” he said.

Sizwe and the ambulance arrived at the same time. I drove with Sizwe to our local hospital where the ambulance had taken Mom.

It seemed like hours, but in reality it wasn’t very long until the doctor came into the waiting room to see us. I was terrified of what he would say. Perhaps she had had a stroke?

“She’s going to be alright,” he told us. “She was up the tree picking fruit and fell and bumped her head and fractured her arm. She’s suffering from concussion but she’s going to be fine. We’ll keep her in for the night though, for observation.”

“Oh, Ma,” I said as I sat and held her hand and the tears streamed down my face.

“It’s okay, Masego,” she grasped my hand. “Sizwe told me how great you were.”

“I love you so much, Ma,” I cried. “I never want anything to happen to you.”

“She’s as strong as a lioness,” Sizwe said comfortingly, as he came and sat down beside us. He held my hand and Mom’s too.

“There’s something I need you to do for me, Masego,” Mom said.

“Yes, of course. I’ll do anything, Ma.”

“Maybe you’d better wait and hear what it is first,” Mom smiled.

“It can’t be that bad,” I said.

“Well this Saturday I was due to dress up as a clown and entertain the kids on the cancer ward here.”

“It’s okay, Mom. I’ll do it.”

“You know, you’re more like your Mom than you think,” Sizwe said, squeezing my hand and grinning.

“I think that’s the nicest compliment you’ve ever paid me,” I smiled at him.

***

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