Khutsafalo

By Pearl Mokgatlhane

I wondered whether anyone had told his mother she carried a bundle of joy,
Whether the transgressions of her life had passed to him through the umbilical cord
Or perhaps he suckled those from her bosom.
I wondered whether anyone had attended his naming ceremony,
He carried such a morbid name with glee.

We sat side by side in class.
He was older but possessed a younger spirit than most of us.
Other kids deemed him an ogre, they called him spiteful names like “Stupid” and “Mountain Man”.
He answered each insult with a smile.

One day I saw a bruise on his arm,
I asked him what happened,
He shrugged it off, saying “Sometimes I fall.”
That bruise stayed at the back of my mind.
Surely he was abused at home too, right?
Before the bruise faded he returned with a fresh one, more obvious than the former.
This time the social workers were called.
I listened in at the principal’s door, hoping justice would prevail.
A task force was dispatched to his homestead for investigations.

It’s true what he said,
When the moon is high and full, sometimes he falls.
I am learning a little more about epilepsy, hoping to catch this falling giant.
Meanwhile, he is waiting for his turn on the great big swing set.
My friend’s name is Khutsafalo, meaning misery.
I often wish he had another name, but he doesn’t feel the burden of it.
To him, days are filled with magic and wonder,
He gets to carry a backpack and play on the big swings.

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Pearl Mokgatlhane is an avid reader and an upcoming writer born in Botswana. She has no professional training but aspires to be a well-published writer. She published her short story “Fortitude” in the anthology The Different Shades of a Feminine Mind, and a poem titled “Armour” in Silent No More, a literary collection documenting Gender Based Violence, sexism and empowerment in Botswana. Her favourite misqouted qoute reads “never trust anyone with no books in their home, nor coffee.”

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