Siphokazi’s business has been keeping the family afloat for four months now. Gogo no longer has to use her grant money for anything but looking after herself. Profits from Siphokazi’s business have made a visible improvement in the house — new floor tiles, new fridge, and new stove.

Today she has received an order for all her catering equipment. She is bubbling with excitement as she knocks on Gogo’s bedroom door. She opens the door and is speaking as soon as she enters.

“Today I have a busy day, Gogo. I have received an order for all my catering equipment,” says Siphokazi. She opens the curtains in one window. “It is for the Zondo wedding. They want everything I have!”

The realisation that Gogo hasn’t answered stops her from opening the curtain in the smaller window. She rushes to the bed. Gogo is still.

“Gogo? Gogo, wake up. It’s time for your bath,” says Siphokazi. She can hear the fear in her own breaking voice. “Gogo, please! Please don’t do this to me!”

Her shaking hand reaches for the side of Gogo’s neck. There is no pulse, Gogo is cold. She cries for a long time holding on to Gogo’s cold body. When she feels she has processed the death, she covers Gogo’s body with her favourite blanket. She walks out to tell the neighbours but breaks and crumples to the ground as soon as she steps out of the house.

“Help! Help! Help me!” Siphokazi screams.

The neighbours congregate around Siphokazi. They are out in numbers and their presence helps to comfort her at this moment of loss. Siphokazi is inconsolable as she looks through Gogo’s documents, looking for the number of the funeral parlour with whom Gogo is insured. In the envelope with the funeral policy there is a smaller envelope addressed to Siphokazi in what is undoubtedly Gogo’s shaky handwriting.

“For you, my grandchild. Use it well”

Inside the envelope Siphokazi finds money to the tune of R3400. It is what Gogo had saved from her social grant lately.

This final gesture from Gogo makes Siphokazi cry tears of both pain and comfort.

“Thank you, Gogo. Even when your brain was forgetting everything else, you still remembered me,” Siphokazi whispers.

The ward councillor arrives. It is the first time Siphokazi has seen him. He asks to speak to Siphokazi.

“Gogo used to play an important part in our community. She helped a lot of people before she fell sick. And I am one of them. From my side, I will provide tents, and large potjies. Let me know if you need anything,” says the councillor.

“Thank you. I will be in touch. My mind is still in shock.”

“I can only imagine the pain you feel. Just know the community is here for you.”

Gogo’s funeral is a grand affair. Speakers reveal another side of Gogo that Siphokazi didn’t know, a side when she was a young community activist. She is comforted by these recollections of her gogo from people who knew her at another time.

In the first weeks after the funeral, grief is overwhelming at times, but time heals. Her heart aches when she thinks of Gogo sometimes. Yes, she knows that Gogo is finally at peace and will become a powerful ancestor. She knows that the Alzheimer’s disease will no longer trouble her now. But there is a nagging feeling in Siphokazi — she wishes Gogo had seen her become as successful as she wanted to be before passing away.

***

It is now one year later. Siphokazi still lives in Gogo’s house. Her business has grown in leaps and bounds. She has gone to culinary school and incorporated cooking into her catering-equipment business.

She has built a building in the yard from which she runs her business. There is a large working area where she cooks with her large group of employees.

Even her cousin, Nonkanyiso, works for Siphokazi, because she hasn’t found a job after finishing her degree. Together they make quite a team. The business has grown to include event photography and decorating too.

Siphokazi and Nonkanyiso are having lunch at a restaurant in the Nongoma city centre. They are recapping the busy weekend that has just passed.

“I’m so proud of you, cousin,” says Nonkanyiso.

“Why?” Siphokazi smiles.

“For everything you have done for yourself. Look at you! A proper businesswoman. You even hired me!”

“I never forget people who were there for me in tough times. I couldn’t leave you and Sduduzo out. You are valued in this business. It wouldn’t be where it is without your input,” says Siphokazi.

“You are the strongest person I know. I just want you to know that,” says Nonkanyiso.

“I shine even in the dark. That’s one thing Gogo taught me. Everything that has happened in my life toughened me to stand on my own two feet and fight for a bright future.”

“That’s true. You shine, Siphokazi. You are an inspiration, cousin.”

“Thanks, Nonkanyiso. That means a lot coming from you,” says Siphokazi.

They hug, pay for their meals, and head back to work.

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