For a long time I felt adrift, but the constant routine of my new home served to calm my insecurities. I had promised Mama that I would strive to become the person I wanted to be. I knew I had to learn to deal with fear, which is little more than the dark room where negatives are developed. And I succeeded.

After some time I started enjoying my life at Mamkhulu’s. I began again to feel warmth in my heart, and I learnt to enjoy helping out where necessary. Having two of my brothers with me at Mamkhulu’s was a blessing. It made me sad that Sipho couldn’t  be there with   us, but he was so much older than me, already living his own life. I guess he must also have been lonely, though, because when he turned eighteen a few months after Pila and I moved to Zazulwana, he joined Sobantu in the army.

Despite her sometimes military discipline and mutterings of dissent in the children’s ranks, Mamkhulu always tried to maintain the peace and create a happy, loving atmosphere in the home. Her strong religious beliefs and family values provided the solid foundation for us to grow up.

Mamkhulu was a good woman; I say this not because Mamkhulu was my mother’s sister, but because it is the truth. Yes, she was strict and a stickler for rules, but she had a good heart and her rules provided us with security. She loved the children that were entrusted in her care. She would always reward good behaviour with open praise or some extra meat or pudding. I know she was driven by a deep desire to help us grow into competent and responsible adults and citizens. We learnt to be strong and persevere. We learnt to be accountable for our actions.

Many years later, when I was a mother to six children of my own,   I would think about Mamkhulu and what she did for me and the other children in her care. A patient and understanding adult plays such an important role in a child’s growth and development on their way to independence. Mamkhulu taught me the value of running a functional, peaceful and happy home. Above all else, she taught me the importance of planning. In everything I have done, the one principle I have followed is not to do anything without proper planning.

The July after my father’s death I enrolled at Zazulwana Primary School. This school was far bigger than the school in Manzimdaka, which was really just a farming school. Zazulwana had actual classrooms with rows and rows of desks and chairs for all the years except Sub A and B, which only had benches. The Lower Primary had two female teachers, one of them being Latiwe. The Higher Primary had four male teachers, including Mr Plumer Sbozo Ndwandwa, the principal.

It is normal for newcomers to be treated badly at school, but by the time we joined the bullying was over and we got a warm welcome from Sandie’s friends. This is possibly because Sandie would otherwise have put them in their place, as we discovered when one boy said to Sandie, talking about Pila and me, “Hey, Sandie! Are these two your brothers? They look just like you.”

Sandie was offended because his sister had been called a boy and got into a fight with the boy after school. Fortunately, none of the teachers noticed. Latiwe heard about the incident, though, and made Sandie carry her briefcase for the whole week instead of rotating it between the children from Mamkhulu’s house.

Every month, without fail, Mama sent postal orders to Mamkhulu to pay our school fees. Whenever possible, she would send beautiful second-hand clothes for all of us. And at the end of that first year, towards Christmas, she came home.

We waited for her at the Butterworth train station – Sandie, Pila and me. She was very smartly dressed when she stepped off the train, only to be bowled over by her three children. We were so happy to see her, everyone crying and hugging. Then Pila asked, in happy innocence, “Where’s Daddy? Is he with you?”

Mama turned away, but not before I saw the tears roll down her cheeks. She stood that way for a few minutes, struggling for control of herself. Then she turned back and explained to Pila that he was dead and wasn’t going to come back. Sandie apologised on Pila’s behalf, but it wasn’t necessary. Mama was back to being happy to see us all.

The Christmas dinner Mama cooked was superb. We enjoyed her new cooking skills. The Christmas cake and pudding she made were out of this world. Mama had bought small gifts for everyone – facecloths, handkerchiefs, balls and so on – so all the children were happy. A sheep was slaughtered to celebrate the good school performance of all the children who had passed that year. Mama was very happy to see that we were learning and doing well at school. One of the reasons I did so well at school was because of Latiwe. In the evenings she would give generously of her time to help us children with our homework. Latiwe motivated me to work hard and do well.

Too soon, Mama had to go back to Johannesburg and we returned to school. After my first summer at Mamkhulu’s, and for every summer after that, Mama arranged for sorghum, wheat and potatoes to be railed from Cala to Butterworth after the harvest. Mamkhulu, herself born in Cala, valued these crops for their quality. Seeing the joy on the children’s faces as they watched bags and bags of food being delivered made me feel so proud of my Mama.

Nogusha was less pleased with the bounty. “They are also harvesting in Tsomo,” she said. “Why doesn’t my father send us something too?” I could read the disappointment on her face. “Never mind,” I said, trying to comfort her. “Mama loves all the children at Mamkhulu’s house. That is why she has sent all this food. It’s for all of us.”

Years passed. Finally the day came when I finished Standard Six with a first-class pass. My good marks were my ticket to the prestigious Healdtown High and Training College in Fort Beaufort. It was every Xhosa-speaking child’s aim to go to Healdtown. It was the school to be in, producing students who would later become leaders in the African community. Oliver Tambo was one such student. The list is endless. I felt so proud of myself that if you could measure happiness by the number of stars, I would have filled so many bags you would need a wagon to carry them.

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Tell us: Why do you think Connie did so well at school?