A Tick Tale

By Dorcas B. Molefe

The Fish Eagle radio newscaster Kantejang Kantejang announced on the 19:00 news that the Form 5 examination results were out. His voice was warm and pleasant. I had longed for their release but the announcement gave my heart a louder, faster beat and my head felt heavier than before. The newscaster’s voice carried a personalized stinging sadness only for me.

I was alone in the living room and did not dare tell anybody what I had heard. I tiptoed towards the radio and turned the volume down, deliberating as I held the knob whether shutting off the radio completely would draw attention to my motive. I hurried into my bedroom, turning the door handle slowly and soundlessly. I intended to sleep even though it was way too early.

My mother’s soft knock on my bedroom door startled me. It was as if I had been in a world of my own and hadn’t expected any invaders whatsoever.

“Tlhago,” she called as she knocked.

I was confused by the contradiction in her gentle knock and loud, almost shouting of my name.

“Mama?” I answered.

“Dinner is ready.” She moved away from the door.

“I’m not hungry,” I mumbled in response.

Fifteen minutes later my six-year-old brother Tumi knocked and opened the door without waiting for an answer.

I jumped off the bed and shouted, “What do you want here? Get out!”

He rubbed both his eyes with the back of his fists and blinked enquiringly, while standing rooted to the floor.

I came to my senses, put my hands on Tumi’s shoulders and lied myself out of the situation I had just created. “Oh, hi Tumi. I must have been sleeping and you scared me, boy!” I said, evoking a smile on his anxiety-ridden face.

I took Tumi’s hand and went to the dining room where my mother was awaiting our arrival.

“Mama…” My voice croaked and crackled.

She turned to me, scrutinising my face. “I have the courtesy to call you to dinner and…?”

“Sorry Mama.” My voice, altered by puberty, croaked deeper than that of a bullfrog and I slunk into the chair where my food was. I shoveled the food in as if it was a chore and duty to eat, as much as the dishwashing that I did soon afterwards.

I don’t know how much I slept; I just remember the tossing and turning. Promptly as my mother left for work that Thursday morning I bathed and hurried to see the results displayed at my secondary school, Notwane, as was the tradition. Never had I felt the desire to be so solitary. I trusted shortcuts, footpaths and passages I had seldom used to lead me there swiftly. My landmark was the white and red Kori Telefar communications network tower at the left corner of the school fence.

Upon arrival, the examination results were not yet displayed and I had to hang around while the Principal was arranging for them to be made public. He told the anxious, stricken-faced group of students, “There are some procedures to be followed before we can display them. Do bear with us.”

The group that had risen early, including me, was disheartened but we knew we had no control. We moved into the shade of a shepherd tree away from the glare of the morning sun. We shared our varied anxiety levels, humour making the wait palatable. Shortly, four Subject Heads of Department arrived, escorting the Principal and the messenger who was carrying the materials for display. The somber appearances of the authorities made each of us freeze and await further instructions. We all knew the Principal’s expression “Adjust your manners, boys” which was commonly said to bullies.

The display team worked efficiently and were soon done and out of the way. Like a pack of hyenas seeing prey, we moved towards the notice board.

My name was on the third row of the second sheet; Tlhago Manfred Tlhago. I ran my finger along the glass display covering it, my eyes fixed as intensely as they had been in the examination, a hardness of breath building up. My finger ran from a mix of As, Bs and more As to stop under a bolded ‘A’ overall grade. Fear rose inside me, not wanting to be happy too soon. So I ran my fingernails under my name more slowly until my finger ran over the A’ again. A feeling of release overcame me, paving way for joy. Another search revealed that my Science results were in good standing and I would qualify to pursue my passion, Veterinary Medicine, at university.

I travelled back home on my springy-heeled teenage walk, the one I had rehearsed for my celebration days and planned to use on the university campus, lest people regard me as though I did not matter.

My mothers’ arrival from work was hurried. She had heard the news about the release of the results from her domestic employer – Mrs. Farank.

She knocked once and flung open the living room door. As if it was what mattered most she asked, “When did you know?”

I stood up and shaped an ‘A’ with my fingers. She smiled and shook her head sideways as if it was too much to comprehend, and said, “Congratulations, my son! Yes, you have made me very proud!” Her ‘very’ could have drilled a hole in a plank. She exhaled rather noisily, placed her hands over her eyes and spoke as if dictating slowly for someone to write: “The son of Neo Mindred Tlhago has passed Form 5 with an overall grade A”.

Tumi’s noisy pre-school 16-seater bus brought him home. I stepped out to open the door and see him in. My mother followed but stood in the doorway. She held Tumi’s hand, greeted him and pulled him to her sofa, then sat him next to her.

Clasping his hands in hers she announced, “Tumi, we have very good news today. Your brother here, the son of Neo Mindred Tlhago, has passed Form 5 with grade A!” 

 Later in the bedroom I told Tumi that I would be going away to Gaborone to study at a big university. “You must take after me, Tumi.” I placed my hand over Tumi’s shoulder. “You must take after me and make our mother very proud.”

Tumi, without understanding the depth of the matter, nonetheless agreed. He did not understand the state of beautiful madness that had possessed his older brother. But he knew that when the older brother says you must do something, you just have to obey. That is law.

My mind was ablaze with imaginings of the size of the city, the population of the city, the life in the city and the lightness and shininess of the city as I had glimpsed in some magazines. Even though I had only seen a picture of one hotel in Gaborone, with light pouring from its windows, I had imagined Gaborone as an artificially illuminated city as if it didn’t have daytime and sunshine’s natural light.

A week later my mother announced, “I have told your uncle Modise the good news of your outstanding achievement. He is also very happy.”

“He is?” I was surprised to hear this. My uncle was more a cattle lover than a people lover.

“Yes, he is. I know that you think he is hard to please but he is exceptionally happy with your results.”

I gave a short, loud laugh and said, still skeptical, “Malome?”

My mother continued, “I have also asked him to have a word with you. He is more enlightened than I am about university education.”

Immediately my spirits were dampened. “That’s not necessary; the teachers told us all about it.”

My mother continued as if I had not spoken. “He will be here at month-end.”

“Yes, Mama,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck.

“You are my firstborn child and the first to qualify for university education. I want the best for you. Your uncle can confirm what the teachers told you, then you will be happier. He must know your plans and advise you as an educated family member.”

“Yes Mama, you are right,” I said quickly, wanting to avoid that dreaded line my mother often threw in when talking about my uncle.

“He is the next of kin,” she began, and I sighed inwardly. “If something happens to me he will be the only one to take care of you and your little brother.”

I had heard it countless times in my life, though I was only seventeen. Each time I heard it the hole of pain grew deeper. But I never let my mother know that like a surgeon’s knife it opened wounds in me.

I totally hated the thought of “something happening” to my mother. I was already angry at not having a father because something distasteful had happened to him. I disliked the fact that my mother made it sound as if something was lurking around my life, waiting for a chance to make me unhappy, and that when misfortune struck my father (which it had already done), then my mother (which might be about to happen) then my uncle would suddenly benefit in inheriting my brother and I. Why should he benefit from my loss and utmost unhappiness?

A fury brewed in my mind. A wall of protection was being built in my heart. I felt the need to shield my mother and us, her children, from her brother. I had heard that my uncle had a child with one woman, but he had no relationship with the child. I imagined he was not keen to keep his child because he knew “something would happen” to my mother and would have us instead.

***

My uncle Modise arrived as planned on Friday of February month-end. His maroon Toyota Hilux, shiny as new, stopped at the gate and I walked over with my excited little brother to open the gate and welcome him.

The kitchen door was ajar and my mother was doing some chores. My uncle sat on the right side of the open door while I sat on the left.

He explained that he would be going to the cattle post in the morning and so we would speak that evening. “Your mother told me you got an A,” he said.

“Yes malome that is so,” I was happy that I could talk about having obtained good results, giving no one a chance to degrade me.

“You have done us proud, son.”

“Thank you, malome Modise,” I said disregarding the affectionate use of the word ‘son’ on me.

“You will now be going to a prestigious university to get a good education that will open doors and windows of opportunities for you.” He paused. “You should select your course well. What are you planning to study?”

“The career guidance we received at school shows that with the Science grades I obtained I can pursue a Bachelor of Science. I wish to specialise in Zoology.”

“I could not agree more with your intelligent choice.”

“Thank you, malome,” I said, concealing my bountiful joy.

He went on, “We come from a family that rewards excellence. When you have done well like you have, great results that earn you a path to university education, it is time for the family to honour you. As a man and an achiever, you will receive a cow from among the cattle in our late father’s kraal.”

“A cow?” I asked, surprised.

“A cow to start building your own heritage,” he added. “A university education will give you an intangible inheritance and the cow will give you a start towards tangible wealth.”

“Yes malome,” I muttered, a little unnerved.

He paused.  “Tomorrow, you will have your first cow and become a man.”

My mind flung from the happiness of results that had made the family proud to the sadness when my mother had contracted tick-bite fever from cattle and was sick for about a month. My uncle had not been around to see to her wellbeing. She had yearned for him to come and be with her but it remained only a forlorn hope. He was unable to leave the cattle as the herd boy had taken leave. My mouth soured with the bitterness I had felt then. The pain stuck, like a bloodsucking tick one picked up after walking through a veld.

That night I dreamt I had been asked to take my brown cow with me to the university and that as I looked out of the classroom windows it was grazing on the lush green lawns outside, a red-billed brown egret picking ticks from its left raised ear. It occasionally looked up, as if to see with its yellow ringed eyes that I was still there.

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Dr. Dorcas B Molefe is a poet, short story writer, author, editor, educator, academic and researcher.