Chapter 6 Aunt Sophia

We lived with our grandmother for the rest of the year and then moved in with Aunt Sophia, who lived in a better-built three-bedroom house. She was a teacher in the nearby school for almost eighteen years. Even though she had advanced lung cancer, coupled with a good heart, she had a chance of survival, or so I thought. She told me stories of how she and her sister, my mother, grew up working in a cotton field. She narrated the hardships with tears in her eyes. She told me that they were eight in her family, and some of the siblings died young. She grew up with my mother, herself, and my now-crazy uncle. She and mom worked in the cotton fields, with a daily stipend of ten shilling. They brought the money back home to contribute to the family coffers for the month-end food and water supply that was delivered by donkey carts. She even told us the reason why our uncle was spoilt and did nothing to contribute. Their parents handled him like a previous glass for the mere fact that he was the last-born. He played soccer with his friends after school every day. She told us that our hardship would end soon if we concentrated on our education.
I assisted her with gardening and other chores around the house. Bongi took turns with her two daughters, Henna and Helen, to do the dishes, the washing and cleaning the house. The eldest daughter, Hilda, was on a three-year scholarship at the London School of Economics. For the first time, I had my bedroom since I was the only boy in the house. The ladies shared the other bedroom while Aunt Sophia had the main bedroom rightfully to herself.
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"Max," Aunt Sophia said.
"I 'm here auntie."
"Please bring me a glass of water," she said.
"Okay Auntie, "I said," coming right away,"
I rushed to the kitchen.
"I've meant to tell you."
She paused for a minute as if to hold some breath.
"I 'm listening," I said.
"You know this Black surname," she said.
"What about it?" I asked.
I appeared as if I was unaware of the difference between our surnames.
"It has been killing me inside," she said, she paused then took a deep breath.
"For a while now," she continued.
She beat about the bush as if to say something offensive. She coughed so bad that I could hear some sounds in her lungs.
"You know your siblings use the Dhlamini surname right?" she said.
She coughed again, this time, harder than before.
"Yes auntie," I said.
I was anxious for what she was about to say, but I held it inside.
"There are no better ways of saying this," she said, "the thing is -."
Before she could finish, I heard voices coming from the kitchen towards the bedroom.
"Yes auntie," I said, "and?"
"Mom, are you okay," Henna said.
She came rushing by with a glass of juice.
"Mom?" Helen called.
They all came into the room and disturbed our conversation.
"I 'm okay my child," she said," give me a hug."
They hugged each other on her bed and watched television there for the night. They all dozed off. I retreated to my man cave. Later that evening she died. On her deathbed, Aunt Sophia came close to telling me something. She took the secret with her to the grave. On many occasions, she came close to revealing whatever was on her chest. I was not sure what scared her off; the sudden change of heart lingered on in my mind. She previously told me my surname Black was chosen by my mother because Mr. Dhlamini refused to let me use his last name. Mr. Dhlamini maintained that the surname was for royalty. He reckoned I did not deserve the family name. She could have told me the real reason had I squeezed harder. She did not leave a will, and consequently, the eldest daughter managed the house and her teacher's pension. She had to fly back on short notice. Hilda was well respected, and deservedly so, a vast contrast to Handsome Sam.
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"How long is it by the way," I asked Cousin Hilda, "you look good too."
"I guess it's the cold weather," Helen said.
"And lighter, "Bongi added.
"It's almost two years now," Hilda said, "it feels like a lifetime, though."
She flew in for the funeral. She intended to drop out and continue her schooling at home so that she could take care of her siblings.
"The honeymoon's over for some of us, "I said.
I insinuated my intentions to give them their space.
"You don't have to leave on my account," Hilda said, "the house is big enough for all of us."
I could hear her speak though there was a lack of enthusiasm with little assurance.
"Well, eventually I 'm going to have to give you ladies space, "I said, "I might as well do it sooner."
"If you say so," Helen said.
"Besides Grandma needs someone for the firewood, she can't cope this day," I said, "the helper can't do everything."
After almost two years, my Aunt's eldest daughter, Hilda, returned from overseas for good. Her younger sisters, Henna and Helen, were in 8th Grade and 10th Grade respectively. Hilda had a twin brother named Herman who was fatally shot by crowd control police several years back during school protest. After a week, I relocated, heavy-hearted to my grandmother's house. At least her shack had two bedrooms; I could use one while she shared the other with her helper. For an eighty-nine year elderly woman, she had awesome jokes on days when she was physically better, a trait I inherited from her. She looked a lot like my mother in many ways. We had our moments. She narrated war stories. We watched her classic TV shows most of which featured now aged actors I had never seen before.
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