Ma, we could have gone through it together. You know that it was always just the two of us against the world.’
‘I see now that talking about it heals somehow. My heart feels lighter now that I have talked about it. I hope you can forgive me, child.’
Aphiwe’s mom nods while holding her mother’s hand.
‘I just couldn’t let you live with the stigma of being mixed race in the township during those volatile times. I know it was your right to know. But what was I to do? There was no manual for how to deal with what happened to us.’
‘I understand, Ma.’
‘I wanted to raise you to be strong.’ Gogo holds on tighter to her daughter’s hand. ‘If I told you while you were young, I didn’t know what it was going to do to you.’
‘You stayed strong for me, Ma. I’m thankful for the sacrifices you made for me. But I want to look for him. I must find him. He is my father.’
‘That’s exactly what I feared you’d do if I’d told you when you were younger. That you’d turn your focus away from your studies and look for him.’
‘Ma, I just have to find him. Maybe he is still alive.’
‘Aphiwe has also asked me to do that …’ Gogo hesitates.
‘So, let us do it.’
Gogo nods. ‘He was a good man. He’d be happy to see you. You have my blessing.’
‘Did he say where his family would go, if the forced removals happened?’ Aphiwe asks.
‘It honestly never crossed our minds,’ says Gogo ‘We were just kids and honestly believed that the forced removals wouldn’t happen. Both our fathers fought against it.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll find him.’
Aphiwe leaves her mother and grandmother to talk. When she peeks into the room later on, Gogo has fallen asleep holding her daughter’s hand.
‘I will start with an extensive internet search,’ says Aphiwe the next morning. ‘Did Reggie say what he wanted to study, Gogo? Having a possible profession might help when I do the search.’
‘He was undecided between being a doctor and being a lawyer. Had applied for both, in fact.’
‘And how old might he be now?’
‘Reggie was two years older than me,’ says Gogo.
‘So, he is 82 years old now, born in 1938,’ says Aphiwe. ‘That’s good; this will help to narrow down the search.’
Aphiwe scribbles all this information on her notepad. Gogo eats her breakfast. Aphiwe sits on the couch opposite her. She starts the internet search for Reggie Perumal on her tablet. The search reveals numerous pages of ‘Reggie Perumal’. Aphiwe searches for him in ‘images’.
‘Do you think you can still recognise him, Gogo?’ Aphiwe inquires as the images of Reggie Perumal load on the tablet.
‘Why? Have you found him already?’ asks her grandmother after swallowing a spoonful of porridge.
‘Unfortunately not. There are lots of pages here with photos of people named Reggie Perumal.’
Gogo gets her spectacles from her bedroom. ‘I think I could still recognise him, if he hasn’t changed much,’ she says, as she sits next to Aphiwe on the couch.
Hours pass while Gogo and Aphiwe scroll through photos on the tablet.
‘How can there be so many Perumals?’
‘It is a common surname in the Indian community,’ says Gogo.
Most of the photos they see are definitely not the Reggie Perumal they are searching for. The search reveals mostly young men. An older gentleman deeper into the search brings hope to Aphiwe and Gogo. Aphiwe enlarges the photo.
Gogo squints to see. ‘It’s not him,’ she says. ‘I’m tired. I’m going to nap.’
Aphiwe searches the whole day but they don’t find Reggie Perumal. She has to face the fact that Reggie Perumal might have passed away a long time ago. And finding this out might devastate Gogo again and disappoint her mother.
‘I think we should employ a professional,’ Aphiwe tells her mother the next day. They visit an agency that specialises in finding long-lost loved ones.
‘There are a few resources that we can use,’ the lady at the agency explains. ‘The voter roll at the Municipal Electoral Office for instance, and other databases. We have access to more databases than the average person.’
‘That’s impressive,’ Ma says.
‘And we operate on a no-success no-fee basis. So, you will only pay if we manage to locate your person.’
This sounds like a fair deal to Aphiwe. She and Ma give the agency the same information that Gogo shared with them.
That Saturday Aphiwe is returning from her client in Cato Manor when she gets a call from the agency. She pulls over to answer.
‘The closest we can find is a Reginald Subash Perumal born in 1938. He lives in Phoenix,’ the woman says.
Aphiwe scribbles down the address and contact number. She bristles with excitement as she types a message to her mother.
I think we may have found him.
Same age, lives in Phoenix,
retired teacher. Don’t tell Gogo
yet. Don’t want to get her hopes up.
Later that night, after Gogo has gone to sleep, Aphiwe and her parents make the call to Reginald Subash Perumal. They switch the cellphone to speakerphone mode. It rings for a long time. No-one picks up.
‘Maybe he is asleep. It is late,’ says Aphiwe’s dad.
Aphiwe’s mom calls again. She is about to end the call when someone picks up.
‘Hello,’ answers a youngish male voice.
‘Hello,’ says Aphiwe’s mom, stunned. ‘May I speak to Reginald Subash Perumal, please?’
‘Speaking,’ says the young man.
‘I’m sorry, maybe this is a mistake. The one I’m looking for is older; he was born in 1938.’
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