Thursday

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you!”

I’m woken up by three singing voices. It’s been such a hectic week I even forgot about my birthday. Usually I’m excited days before my birthday but this time I forgot about it.

I think this is one of the few times I’ve managed to put on a smile this whole week. I get hugs and kisses from Mom and Gran, and a fist pump from little bro. We don’t hug or kiss.

The TV is on and the SABC is also wishing Jacob Zuma a happy birthday. Hmm … so Gabisile was right, I do share a birthday with him. I don’t know if I should be proud or ashamed.

Hopefully today will be a good day. My birthdays have been the same for the past few years. Always during the week; I can’t remember the last time I had a birthday on a weekend. Stupid calendar. I don’t have to carry a lunchbox to school on my birthday, so it’s the only time Mom doesn’t have to worry about me losing her Tupperware.

I get loads of cash, enough for a cheese burger pie, a can of Stoney, Crazy Pops for me Dylan, cheese flavoured Simba chips, and change to spare for the next raffle.

I don’t know how today will go. I don’t know if the salt is going to ruin my birthday day too. Mom says I should pray and thank the Lord for this day before I get out of bed.

Bro seems to be a bit down. He got a hiding while I was asleep. He wet the bed and tried to cover it all up. He threw his wet pyjamas into the laundry and changed into his other pyjamas. He was caught trying to remove the sheets! I knew it!

All along I’ve been innocent. He used me as bait. When he wet the bed this past weekend, he realised that his pee got to me too, so he got out of bed early, while I was still asleep, threw his wet pyjamas into the laundry and changed into his other pyjamas. But this time it was obvious! He had no scapegoat! Mom apologised and she said I’ll be going back to bed today, and little bro on the floor. He he. Sneaky little bastard.

I am off to a very good morning indeed.

I’m done bathing and I’ve changed into my uniform. I put my signed diary in my school bag.

“Eww!” I hear little bro say. “Eww!”

“What now?” I ask him.

“Bird poo! Bird poo!” he says.

I look on my shoulder and there it is. Bird shit. Right where Harry was sitting yesterday. It’s dried up now. I attempt to remove it and Gran says no: “Don’t! It’s good luck!”

First things first when I get to school. I take out my diary and I show it to Mrs Viljoen.

“Was that so hard? Welcome back!” Mrs Viljoen says. “On your chair!”

I stand on the chair and the class sings for me. It’s embarrassing but at the same time I feel special. I get hugs and kisses from Mbali.

“Heeey watch it!” Mrs Viljoen warns. “You’ll go back outside.”

Once we’ve been allocated work to do, Mrs Viljoen calls me and the other Morena to her desk.

“Morena Nkhato, Morena Maoka, please come to my desk, and bring your homework diaries please.”

The class moans and makes sounds, wondering why we’re being called forward.

There’s a brown envelope on the desk. My blazer is also hanging on Mrs Viljoen’s chair. I’m nervous. Mrs Viljoen looks at Morena Nkhato, with a serious face, reaches for the envelope and puts it in his diary. It has his name and surname.

Still with a serious face, “You may go back to your seat.”

She opens my diary to April 12.

 

Dear Parent,

On April 8^th your son received a warning letter. Please note that there has been a mix-up. The letter was not meant for him, but for another learner who shares a name with your son: Morena Nkhato. We apologise for this unfortunate error. Your son has been cleared and the warning letter has been issued to the appropriate perpetrator. Furthermore, for the remainder of the year, to avoid such incidents in future, we will be using your son’s second name for admin purposes. Again, we are very sorry. Lincoln is a very good boy!

Kind regards,

Mrs Viljoen.

She reaches for the register and crosses off my first name and replaces it with my second.

“Very sorry,” she says. “Oh, and the principal has also asked me to monitor your behaviour for a few days before you can get your blazer back.”

We have assembly before the end of the school day. It’s usually to reflect on the week, to announce any achievements and to hand out any rewards if any. But today the winner of the raffle will also be announced.

First we sing the school’s anthem, then the national anthem.

It’s time.

Dylan seems irritated. He leans over to me and whispers into my ear, “Arg! We all know who’s going to win.”

“Who?” I ask.

“Morena Nkhato! He bought tickets worth 70 bucks! With the money he stole from me!”

The principal has her eyes closed, and her hand in the box with the raffle tickets … she picks a number, opens it and smiles, deliberately keeping us in suspense.

“Drum rolls please!”

And the learners stamp their feet as hard as they can.

“And the winner of this term’s raffle is … Number … Number 7, Morena–!” she finally reveals.

“That’s my number! That’s my number,” Morena Nkhato jumps in and yells at the top of his voice, all excited and jovial. “That’s me!”

“Number 7! Morena Maoka! Come on to the stage Morena Maoka!”

Mrs Viljoen is biting her nails. I think she was scared they must have mixed up our surnames again.

But no, a little later, we’re sitting on the pavement waiting to be picked up, chewing like cows!

Dylan’s lips and fingers are all brown and sticky. He’s happy. I’m happy. I’m definitely not feeling sorry for Morena Nkhato. I take a look at my shoulder and the bird shit is still there. I think it worked. Things are finally looking up … or is it all just a coincidence? A bird shits on me and my luck changes? I don’t know, but I do know that from now on I will listen to Gran!

A white Mercedes parks next to us. It’s my scholar transport driver! She tells me to hop in.

“The minibus is acting up on me; it won’t start,” she tells me.

I’ve never been in a Mercedes Benz before. I cannot stop smiling. This is the best birthday gift ever! It drives so smoothly, you’d think that it doesn’t have an engine …

She drops me off at home. I felt like a real Head Prefect riding in that Merc.

I get just the reactions I was expecting.

“Yoooooh! He’s going to get sick! All those sweets!” Gran exclaims.

“I won the raffle! I won the raffle!”

“That’s good! Happy birthday!”

And of course little bro too, sucking up to me so that he can get some of my candy.

“I’m sorry big bro! I’ll never set you up again. Can I have sweets?”

Mom is in her own world. She doesn’t seem to notice all my candy. She’s like that when she’s cooking. She zones in. Instead, “Good! You’re home. Here…” she gives me a list.

“Quickly run to the shop for me.”

At the shop I give the list to the lady. I didn’t even bother reading it. I’m in a hurry. I never miss Naruto and besides, my candy is waiting for me.

She reaches for Aromat, steak and chops spice, soup, tomato sauce, and salt.

“No, not the salt.”

“But it’s on the list …”

“Probably an error, we have enough.”

I run back home and I give the plastic to Mom.

She takes everything out, “… and the salt?”

“Oh. The lady at the shop said I should tell you that they’re out of salt.”

Gran looks at me; she raises her eyebrow. I know she knows I’m lying, but she doesn’t say anything. She understands.

***

Tell us: So now, at the end of the story, do you believe in superstitions and good luck, or is it all just coincidence?