That car had been
in the family ever since I could remember. Its shock absorbers were close to
none existent, and the engine made a loud noise, but the noise lent me a
familiar comfort as I sat quietly in the passenger seat as my father drove me
home from boarding school.
“So did you write
any tests this week?” my father asked for the third time in ten minutes.
I felt irritated
as I replied, “You’ve just asked me that question!”
“And what did you
just reply?” he earnestly inquired.
I glanced at him.
He was no longer the sturdy family man I vaguely remembered from my childhood.
He reminded me of an infant, and that angered me. He was supposed to take care
of me, not the other way round.
“I said no,” I said.
It was the easiest way to end the conversation. The image of a photograph of
one of our family holidays in the past came into my mind. It was one of, a
younger, radiant version of my father. He had a lovely smile. It was the smile
of a man who had worked so hard that he had left his home in the rural areas of
Zimbabwe having earned himself scholarships to study abroad. He had been
humbled by many experiences in his life. He had fought for his country Zimbabwe
in its liberation struggle; thereafter he had been imprisoned for fifteen years.
The light in his eyes in the photo said that it was alright to go through such
challenges in life, as they made an individual stronger.
 |
| Mr L.G Dhlakama |
These thoughts of
the past soothed my sour emotions. I smiled and looked at my father in the
driver’s seat. He looked over at me and smiled, and then he said, “So my
daughter, did you write any tests this week?” I decided that I would ignore him
this time. Feeling slightly annoyed at my insolence, he began on one of his
long lectures. I zoomed out.
The world could never give me the reason why a
strong and hard working family man like my father was suffering from Alzheimer’s
disease. Ashamed of my rash behavior towards my father I brushed away my tears.
I imagined how hard it was for him to wake up every day having forgotten a
little more of his wonderful past. How hard it must be for the head of the
family to sit all day at the table and reread old newspapers.
As the car came
to a stop by an intersection my eyes caught those of a little girl. The little
girl had no shoes on, yet the radiance in her eyes did not reflect the anguish her
little feet must have been experiencing walking on the scorching pavement. The
girl in the passenger seat waved at the girl with no shoes. The little girl waved back.
As the car
noisily continued on its journey, I thought how, perhaps life was not so bad. I
noticed that my father’s lecture had ended unusually early.
“I got eighty
percent for my literature essay, Dad” I quietly said.
The world was not
too much of an evil place, but only for those who had the courage to dream past
their present circumstances.
