Granny eats, takes her medication and sleeps. Aphiwe watches TV. She is stunned, and curious, about Granny’s revelation. She runs her hand through her straight hair as her mind wonders about what exactly Granny meant. Aphiwe’s hair grows thick and strong. It is definitely African, but it also grows straight and silky – just like her mother’s. Yet their facial features are African – both her mom and Aphiwe are dark skinned, like Granny.

The headlights of her dad’s car flash at the gate. Aphiwe plans her inquiry as she opens the gate for her father. She dishes food for him and waits until he is in the middle of the meal before she pounces.

“Dad, do you know what Gran told me today?”

Her dad swallows a mouthful and changes the channel on the TV. “What did she say?” he says, while concentrating on the news.

Aphiwe lowers her voice, “She said Mom is mixed race.”

“Maybe it’s the illness and old age talking. How is your mom mixed race?”

Her father is more amused than perplexed.

“Gran didn’t say exactly. But I believe she was telling the truth.”

“What makes you say that?” he asks, as he lowers the TV’s volume.

“I could see it in her eyes,” says Aphiwe.

Her father ponders for a few seconds. “These things happened in past generations,” he says. “In my own family, a long time ago, there’s a great great grandmother who was coloured.”

“No Dad,” Aphiwe says, shaking her head. “This could be as recent as Mom’s father. Do you know her father?”

“No, and neither does your mother. Like I said, I think her medication and old age are both working on Granny’s mind. But ask your Mom when she gets back. Just be gentle when you ask, Aphi. It is a touchy subject.”

“I will do so, Dad,” says Aphiwe.

Aphiwe checks the history of Cato Manor on the internet. She opens article after article on her tablet. They are mostly about the forced removals after the Group Areas Act became law. Photographs are of the actual forced removals – cruel, heart-wrenching scenes. Aphiwe’s tears fall on her tablet screen.

Now Aphiwe wants the deeper story of everyday life in Cato Manor. She wants to see how days unfolded in this multiracial community, before the Group Areas Act. She wants the story of the grandfather her grandmother has never spoken about. Aphiwe is absorbed in the internet search when her mother returns from her shift as a nurse at Kingsway Hospital.

“My feet are killing me,” her mother says, as Aphiwe dishes food for her.

“I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Aphiwe waits until her mother is in the middle of her meal before she unloads what is on her mind.

“Mom.”

“Yes, Aphi.”

“Gran said you are mixed race. Are you mixed race?” Even Aphiwe is amazed at her own tactless approach. Her mother gets up and heads to Granny’s room.

“Ma! Ma! Ma!” she shouts.

The noise wakes up Aphiwe’s father. “Leave her alone, love,” he says. “You can see her medication has knocked her out. Please ask her in the morning.”

Aphiwe and her mother look at their reflections in the mirror in the lounge. They run their hands through their silky hair. Their fingers run over their bushy eyebrows.

“I can’t be a mix of black and white because I would be lighter,” says Aphiwe’s mother. “Maybe coloured and black, or Indian and black. At least I will know at last.”

She is in Granny’s room in the morning, bubbling with excitement. “Ma, you told Aphiwe that I’m mixed race.”

Granny shakes head. She says, “I don’t remember saying that to Aphi. Anyway, the past should be left to the past.”

“But Ma, this is unfair! I should know who my father is,” says Aphiwe’s mom.

Granny wears a particular look now: her head held high, facial features stern, looking away from her daughter. Aphiwe’s mom has known this look since childhood. It means what her mother has said is final; nothing her daughter can say will change her mind.

Aphiwe’s mom is an impatient soul in her own right and now she is running late for work. “Ma this is unfair!” she says and bangs the door closed. She knocks on Aphiwe’s bedroom door. “Aphi, come close the garage door for me.”

Aphiwe hears the tone of her voice and sees the look on her mom’s face and knows she had a fight with Granny.

“You know how your granny is with me; I can’t get through to her,” says Aphiwe’s mom. “Today is her pension pay-out day. Take her for her errands. I think she wants to tell the story, but only to you.”

Aphiwe prepares breakfast for Granny and brings her medication when the meal is finished.

“I’ll take the pills when we get back. They make me drowsy. I can’t be asleep for my errands,” says Granny.

“At least take your medication when we are on the way back, Gran. Please,” Aphiwe pleads.

Granny nods to this compromise. She’s in a smart, classy dress. Aphiwe is in jeans and a T-shirt. Granny looks at her granddaughter with dissatisfaction.

“Don’t you have a nice dress, Aphi?”

“I do, gran. But I wear my dresses on special occasions.”

“Today’s women,” Granny complains, shaking her head. “In our times being a lady was a special occasion every day.”

Aphiwe ignores Granny and puts on lipstick in front of the mirror. “How is this then, Gran?”

“Much better,” Granny smiles. “Now you look like a lady.”

“Can I put some on you?”

Granny lets Aphiwe put lipstick on her. They look at their reflections in the mirror. They look so much alike.

Granny smiles and says, “Now we are pretty. Now we can go.”

Aphiwe helps her into the car. “Where do you want us to start?” says Aphiwe, reversing the car. “What do you want to do first at the shopping mall?”

“We are not going to the mall. Take me to the hall near my house.”

“All the way in the township? Gran, the whole point of getting a card was to avoid those long queues in community halls.”

Granny wears her stern look. She holds her head high and says, “I need to see my friends. I can’t be holed up in the suburbs like this. It is not healthy.”

“OK, Gran. But we can’t stay long. I also have things to do.”

“Things like what?”

“I need to cook and clean.”

“What do you mean when you say clean? Are you talking about that tiny house?” Granny shakes her head. “When we were kids, we had a mansion, and no workers, just us and Mama to clean the house.”

Aphiwe puts the car in first gear. She decides to record this piece of lost family history on her tablet.

“Do you have pictures of them, Gran? We can pass by your house and get those pictures. I want to see them and how you looked in your younger days.”

“Do you think when those bulldozers came to tear down our houses we had time to save photo albums? I don’t have a single photo; everything I remember is all here in this old mind.”

Aphiwe glances at Granny. She imagines herself being forced from her home. Her heart breaks thinking of what her granny endured.

***

Tell us what you think: What emotions would a person forced from their home, then watching it destroyed, feel?