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To my sister Matome: this one is for you.
1
If she could get through this blazing heat then she could get through anything, Lesedi thought as she plodded down the dusty main road of Ga-Tloung, the February sun yawning down, sending its hot rays without mercy. She juggled the load of paperwork in her arms and tried to maintain a professional appearance. As the only social worker the village had, she simply had to be seen to be diligent and dedicated, oppressive heat or no. Many people relied on her, and Lesedi took her job seriously.
Today’s case – the family she had just visited – was something else, though. Lesedi couldn’t distance herself enough to think of them as just her job, to leave her heart out of it. She tried hard to dispel the impoverished home and half-starved children from her mind, but even as she did so she felt her eyes fill up with tears.
Her heart lurched as the words of her father, the only parent she’d ever known, came rushing back to her: “Stop taking everything to heart – it won’t help you, carrying everyone’s problems on your shoulders.”
Lesedi groaned, knowing very well that this was exactly what she was doing. But she couldn’t help it – things were so slow with the government, and the people needed help. Now her tears were replaced by anger and determination, the princess within her surging to life. Lesedi was a princess of the Tshukudu clan. Or rather, she used to be. For over three decades, the Tshukudu clan had no longer existed. The very land Lesedi walked on belonged to her people, and the people were here, living as best they could, but in their shame – shame which had affected her father very deeply – they merely survived, neither claiming nor begging anything from their conquerors, the Batloung. Even the tale of their conquest was whispered behind closed doors for fear of displeasing the Batloung, but despite this the Tshukudu clan held on to their pride, especially Lesedi, which was why she was walking in this heat. She had refused to beg Fina, the matron, for the car provided for the clinic’s employees. It was her turn to use it, but Fina had wanted her to grovel at her feet like a slave, as though to remind Lesedi of her conquered status.
Lesedi looked down the dusty road, squinting against the glare, and released a frustrated groan as she caught sight of a black car approaching at top speed, kicking up dust as it came. This was terrible, she thought. She still had a good deal of walking to do – the clinic was situated at the entrance of the village – and now she was going to look as if someone had unmercifully tackled her to the dusty ground and rubbed her into it. She should have swallowed her pride and begged Fina for the car. It would be a miracle if her sensible white shirt and below-the-knee flower-print skirt survived this.
Lesedi watched the car as it came closer, its cape of dust billowing behind it. “My hair!” she exclaimed. It would take days to remove the dust she saw flying about from her Afro. Lesedi quickly unfurled a handkerchief and with one motion tied it around her head, managing to cover most of her hair.
The car came nearer; she could hear the purr of its engine and see its licence plates. It was a BMW, and it was from Gauteng. The car and its lone occupant – Lesedi glimpsed the driver through the tinted window – were probably destined for the royal homestead, right at the foot of the mountain. Not that it was any business of hers, Lesedi thought as she stepped to the very edge of the road to let the BMW pass. She had no interest in anything outside the village. Everything that she needed was right here in Ga-Tloung . . . except for one thing.
Lesedi felt her stomach flip over at the thought of him. She’d spent a year working on an outreach programme, compiling answers to the problems faced by the youth in her village, but for now it seemed the only person who could further her work was Mogale Tloung, heir to the Batloung throne. Mogale was a prominent businessman who supported a lot of charities and Lesedi felt that he should support one in his own village. She’d also spent a large part of the previous year Googling him, and his estate in Wapadrand, fifteen kilometres from Pretoria, was just perfect for what she had in mind as the next step in her programme.
But to contact him, and ask him, would take courage and a rehashing of the past. And the latter was something Lesedi would rather avoid – there was so much hurt there. A shiver ran through her as she remembered how he had turned on her the last time she had seen him. It had taken her a long time to forget Mogale, to stop her heart from contracting with pain whenever she thought of him. Anyway, she consoled herself, maybe she would find someone else willing to support a simple programme that wished to instil hope in the impoverished rural youth, and then she wouldn’t need to deal with him.
Lesedi took a deep breath as she emerged from the cloud of dust thrown up by the car. She was surprised to hear the deep purring of an engine nearby – she had been so deep in thought that she hadn’t seen that the BMW had stopped, and was now reversing to bring the driver face to face with her. Lesedi watched as the tinted window, on the passenger side, slid down. Her heart almost stopped when the occupant came into view. Mogale! His name exploded into her mind, causing her to freeze on the side of the road, heart thudding and stomach churning. It was as though she had been waiting for him to make her senses truly come alive. Oh, she’d seen recent pictures of him on the web when she’d conducted her research, but it had felt nothing like this. Six years of not seeing him had done nothing for her, for her heart. She still wanted him. He was more handsome and masculine than ever; he had grown. He was a man now, Lesedi thought as the woman in her appreciated what she saw.
“Lesedi? I wasn’t sure it was you.”
Lesedi’s hand automatically went to her face. She knew she must look a sight, with her hair carelessly covered with a handkerchief and her sweat-soaked and dust-sprinkled clothes.
Mogale stared at her for a moment. “It was nice to see you again,” he said, his face showing no emotion.
Lesedi watched him drive off, the shock of seeing him again reverberating within her, her heart rocketing against her ribcage. He hadn’t even waited for her reply, but the fact that he had been rude was almost lost on her – Lesedi was thinking about how he’d made her feel. What she’d felt for him when she was nineteen didn’t come close to what he made her feel now. Lesedi couldn’t catch her breath. Her whole body had become aware of Mogale in a way she’d never experienced before, and she shamefully remembered how in that intense moment she’d been drawn to his big, long-fingered hands splayed on the steering wheel.
Lesedi closed her eyes to calm her overactive heart and the overwhelming surge of feelings. Then she gave his car one last look before making her way down the road, clutching her pile of papers.
Twenty minutes later Lesedi reached the clinic. From the gate she could see the long line of people waiting to take advantage of the doctor’s weekly visit. Her heart went out to them – most had walked long distances to be there. But Lesedi didn’t go to them – she was still shell-shocked from seeing Mogale again so unexpectedly. Instead, she avoided using the front door and made her way around to the side of the clinic building. She was hot and thirsty and her body didn’t feel like her own, so the cool breeze coming from the clinic’s kitchen was a welcome balm.
“You look a sight. Did someone tackle you to the ground?”
Lesedi turned to find Phetana at the sink, a smile on her face.
“No. Though it would have been better, because then I could say that the other person looks worse,” Lesedi laughed, slumping into the nearest chair and dumping her paperwork on the floor. “Now I’ve learned the hard way that pride never helped anyone. I should have begged for the car.”
“Funnily enough, I cannot picture
