Little Miranda is crying bitterly. Tears roll down her round baby-cheeks. She punches her tiny fists against Wame’s chest. But Wame holds her tight.

“Please stop crying, my angel,” Wame begs. “You’re breaking my heart. Why don’t you want to go to crèche today? You usually love it.”

Wame is carrying her little daughter up the path of the Happy Dayz crèche. Miranda’s nappy-bag is heavy over her shoulder. Little Miranda is heavy too: a chubby, healthy little girl.

“No-no-no!” Miranda wails in Wame’s arms. She shakes her head so that her braid beads rattle. They are lovely beads, tiny and the colour of rainbows. Her teardrops flick off onto Wame’s cheeks. “No-no-no-no-no!”

“No” is Miranda’s favourite word. She can also say ‘hot’ and ‘gone’ and ‘naughty’ and ‘Mama’. Not ‘Dada’ though. There is no point saying ‘Dada’ since there is no Dada around. No! Kagiso left the moment Wame told him the news, the moment Wame changed from being a hot, fit chick into a pregnant mother-to-be.

Wame knocks on the front door. She has to leave Miranda at the crèche. Otherwise she can’t get to her job at the Research Institute. And she has to work, otherwise she can’t afford to keep Miranda fed and clothed and with a roof over her head.

“I’m sorry, angel. What else can I do?” Wame says

It’s a good job, too. Good money, excellent conditions. She gets to sit behind a desk in an air-conditioned office. Best of all, Wame gets to see Professor von Lood daily. Professor von Lood! Hans, that’s his Christian name. With the bluest eyes and the sexiest voice. It’s worth getting up every morning, just for a chance to see him!

The front door of Happy Dayz opens and there stands Mrs Jackson, the owner. She is round and cheerful and motherly with her silvery hair and her kind smile.

“Miranda! Lovely to see you, little honeybun!” says Mrs Jackson. “Come on, sweetheart. Let Mommy get off to work.” Mrs Jackson gathers Miranda in her arms, but today Miranda won’t stop crying.

“Don’t worry, Wame dear,” says Mrs Jackson over the noise. “Give her half an hour and she’ll forget all about it. She’ll be playing happily with all her little friends. And later today we’ll play in the sandpit. Miranda just loves being in the sandpit. Don’t you, honeybun?”

Lindiwe the crèche assistant appears now, taking Miranda’s nappy-bag. She pats Wame on the shoulder. “It’s true, Wame. Miranda won’t cry for long. So don’t be upset. We’ll look after her. We’ll keep her safe and happy for you.”

Wame is grateful to these two women. They understand what she is going through. She smiles at them, even though Miranda is still wailing. She says, “I’ll phone later. Just to check. Just to put my mind at rest.”

“Yes, you phone, dear,” says Mrs Jackson. “Our mommies are always welcome to phone. We know how hard it is, leaving your little one.”

So Wame turns and walks back down the path. The front door closes behind her. But she can still hear Miranda wailing, “No-no-no.” Wame feels like crying herself. But what else can she do? Childcare is such a problem, such a constant stress. Especially when Wame has no close family near by.

For a while, Wame tried leaving Miranda at home with a babysitter. It was the young daughter of her landlady. Wame thought that would be fine. The young girl seemed sensible and sweet-natured.

But one day Wame came home early from the Research Institute. And there was the babysitter inside with her boyfriend and with the music up loud. And meanwhile little Miranda was sitting outside in the sand, all alone, with her dirty nappy unchanged, eating chicken droppings.

Wame’s mother says she should bring Miranda to live in their rural hometown of Kleinfontein. Wame’s mother and sister have a smallholding there, with goats and vegetables and maize and poultry.

“Why keep the child in the city with all that crime and drugs and pollution and mob violence?” her mother often demands. “Leave Miranda here with us, with her family. That’s where a child belongs, Wame. Then you can go be a single girl in the big city with your fancy clothes and your fancy job. And without a burden. We’ll keep Miranda safe and healthy.”

But not happy, Wame always thinks. No, my little girl will not be happy at Kleinfontein!

Wame knows how it was to grow up on that smallholding. That’s where Wame herself grew up. Forced to do chores even when she was tiny. Feeding the chickens, weeding, digging, fetching water. While her mother and her oldest sister sat on the front porch, yelling at her and telling her she was lazy. They sent her to bed without supper if she forgot to sweep the yard. Sometimes they even beat her.

No! Wame cannot leave her precious daughter there in Kleinfontein. No-no-no! That would break her heart.

Wame heads towards the Research Institute now, walking quickly so that she will be on time.

She has so much to do: emails to send out for the Professor, the log to fill in for yesterday’s experiments, chemicals that need to be ordered. And all before Professor von Lood arrives at ten-thirty.

But Miranda’s wails are still echoing in her head, stressing her out.

Damn Kagiso! Why didn’t he stay around and help care for his little daughter? He could be the one babysitting her, since he’s unemployed. Well, except for his job as a part-time club bouncer on Friday nights. That would be so much nicer. Yes, little Miranda could stay at home happily with her Daddy.

Or, even better: what if Kagiso got a full-time job and earned good money so Wame didn’t have to work at all? Then she could stay home with Miranda. How wonderful that would be: a full-time housewife and mother. Spending her days playing with her little girl, never having to leave her with anyone else!

But sadly, it is all a dream. All pie in the sky.

“Love you until forever, babe,” Kagiso always said. “Love you until the stars fall outa the sky.” But that was a lie.

He should have said, ‘Love you until you fall pregnant, babe. Love you until you stop being fun and start causing me headaches and financial strain.’ Yes. That was the real truth about Kagiso’s love. Strictly for the good, easy times. Why had she ever trusted him? How could she be so blind?

Wame can hear the noisy racket even before she turns the final corner to the Research Centre. It seems extra loud today: all that yelling and shouting and banging. And yes, there they are: the protesters. All lined up outside, along the razor wire fence. Banging on their stupid pots and pans. Yelling out their stupid slogans. Just like they do every day of the week.

“That’s all I need,” thinks Wame. “Bunch of stupid idiots!”

***

Tell us what you think: Has Wame chosen the best childcare for little Miranda? If you were a single, working mother, what childcare would you prefer?