I remember

I remember on the 10th of August 1996, the closing date of the 3rd term in my secondary boarding school. I was relieved to finally be going back home. I got a call from the headmistress’ office that I was to take the school bus going to Bulawayo and not Plumtree as I usually did. No explanation was given as to why.
I remember arriving at our Bulawayo house. It was crowded with people, most of them strangers I had never met before. I tried to look for a face I could recognise. I saw our housekeeper passing by and went to her immediately. I inquired of the meaning of the crowd and got a vague answer. I went into the house and saw my mother, a crowd away from me. I couldn’t reach her and I tried to wave at her. I finally did meet her and she could not tell me what was happening. She asked about school and gave me some money to go and give to Senziwe (our housekeeper) to buy some clothes for me. I was still in my school uniform and all of my clothes were in Plumtree.
I remember going to the adjacent bedroom and falling into bed. I knew something was wrong. My mother had hugged me more tightly than normal; she looked extremely tired and weary. I remember lying on that bed, trying to block out all the sound from outside till I fell asleep. I was woken by the screeching of tires outside the house. I can still hear that terrible terrible sound. A few moments later, I distinctly remember hearing people crying from the lounge.
I remember walking into the lounge and seeing my mother weeping like a baby. I couldn’t reach her. It seemed everyone was in their own world and that I was somehow invisible. I walked back to the bedroom and Senziwe, who had somehow seen me, came in as well. I started crying then, I’m not sure why but I could not stop. She just hugged me and whispered sweet nothings to me.
I remember the next day. The house was swarmed by people. One lady told Senziwe to take the children away. I was one of the children who was supposed to be taken away (I was 13 and by my definition no longer a child). We were taken to the lady’s house, some few minutes’ drive from our own house. I wanted to see my mother. Everyone was crowding around my mother. My sisters were not yet there. I wanted to see them!
I remember sitting at this lady’s house with my cousin brother. We didn’t talk much. Just set there with the tv on. We were there for days or weeks, I cannot remember. What I remember though is that they took my father, went and buried him, without me being there.
I remember thinking that it was perhaps because it was my fault. A few months back, my mother had reproached me that I should not wear one shoe without the other. Apparently, according to a local myth, if one does that, one of your parents will die. I remember chuckling at this and continuing wearing the shoe. As I sat with my cousin brother, I started thinking that perhaps my mother’s myth was right. I had killed my father! That is why nobody wanted me to attend the funeral.
The guilt subsided with time but for quite a while I could not face my mother.
I remember going back to school, like nothing ever happened. It was a ball games’ season. I was pretty good at netball and I concentrated on that. I went to practice more than enough times. Schools closed I went back home to Plumtree. I went into my mother’s bedroom and found her lying on the bed. She was crying. I remember the feeling then. I could not bear to see her cry. I wanted to stop her and I didn’t know how.
Recently, I wanted to ask her and my siblings why they all left me in Bulawayo when they took my father to Plumtree. I wanted to, I really did want to. Yet I didn’t. Perhaps I realised I was wallowing in self-pity. It was a painful memory not just for me, but for everyone else. Perhaps writing this down will help me forget about it. After all, they say it subsides with time. How much more time do I need?