Chapter 7 — Mr Brooks

“Good morning,” I had a voice.

I raised my head. It was a white man standing next to a beautiful black long car that usually transported presidents.

“Morning, “I said.

I was busy washing my takkies one boring Saturday morning.

“You don’t know me,” he said, “I ‘m Sven Brooks; I was your mother’s employer from a while back.”

“Oh ok,” I said.

Please say more — Umlungu here by the township, it must mean something significant

“You know, your mother was loyal to me for over fifteen years, “he said.

He seemed like someone who was keen on some lengthy conversation, and I was not in the mood for such. I wanted him to say what he wanted and leave.

“Sir, how can I help you?” I said.

I pushed him to get to the point.

“I feel it’s my responsibility to reciprocate the loyalty she showed me,” he said, “by contributing to this community.”

“Exactly how do you plan to do that,” I asked, “how’s it my problem, the district chief is at House No 56.”

“I’ve been made aware of your dire straits,” he said, “and I would love to take guardianship.”

“Oh, you go nosing around people’s life, “I asked.

There was deafening silence for about half a minute. It was a tense encounter.

“I ‘m trying to be of help here,” he said.

“Well I don’t know about that,” I said.

I was excited, though I did not want to show it.

“I’ve to consult with my family.”

Who is this person?

“Obviously, you need time to think about it, “he said, “better still, here’s my number, get one of the elders to give me a call so we can arrange a meeting.”

He handed me a card with a couple of numbers. Even though my cousins took care of my groceries and clothing, the master, my mother’s former employer, was standing in front of me proposing a piece-offering, no one had offered before. I could not believe my eyes. I did not show the excitement to him lest he became cocky.

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

“Would you organize a meeting with the elders?” he asked.

He looked back as he left as if to say something, then someone opened the back of his long car.

“I said, I’ll think about it.” I was a bit firm.

He has a driver, Wow -He must be wealthy

I was daydreaming. I explained everything to the elders. Most of the family members were reluctant to let me stay with Mr. Brooks reasoning that I would forget my Zulu roots. It was not as if my family had a choice. The family was incapable of fulfilling my growing needs. No family member was willing to assume the guardianship role. Mr. Brooks was a welcome relief to their already escalating child support. Many of the kids who were taken in by their parents’ domestic employers turned out to do okay. I was ready and able to assume life on the other side.

The arrangement was supposed to be a welcome relief even though my family saw it as disrespect from the “white boy” as they referred to him. They took it as an insinuation that they could not take care of their own. It was the blatant truth, of course, it hurts; they had too much pride to accept it.

#

“Where are the biscuits?” cousin Hilda asked, “I bought them for Henna’s birthday!”

“It was Max; he took them, “said Helen, “I saw him.”

She had her right pointing finger swinging towards me, indicating that I was about to get a beating. I did not give a care in the world.

“Can’t someone keep things in here,” Hilda said, “for Christ sake, the champagne’s gone too.”

“Whatever,” I said.

I threw my hands in the air as I left the house to relax on a corner with my friends. I took a big pack of biscuit and gave them to the needy people in the streets just three days before Henna’s birthday party. I made sure that someone saw me so they could tell on me. I refused and became despondent when asked to do my chores. I would come home late almost every day and would not wash and sleep on their white sheets as dirty as a pig. I was a rebel with a course. Hilda invited family members and Auntie Rosy to a meeting that evening. They reckoned that Auntie Rosy was the one who could talk sense to anyone.

“Why aren’t you releasing him,” Aunt Rosy asked.

“Umzukulu is stubborn,” uncle Vuzi said.

“Let him go,” she said, “to Mr. Brooks I mean.”

“We can’t let that white boy disrespect the Dhlamini clan,” uncle Vuzi said.

“Where’s a black boy to support and mentor him,” she asked,” where’s Mr. Dhlamini?”

My aunt Rosy, from my father’s side, came and advised the family to let me stay with the Mr. Brooks. The family clung to her every word. She appeared intelligent and wealthy.

“Now you want to turn umzukulu into a white boy?” uncle Vuzi said.

“Would you rather he dies of hunger as opposed to him getting a much better education? “She asked.

She was always firm. She had her ways, even with her husband.

“Don’t you think this’s going to cause problems in the long run,” Hilda said,” isn’t Max –”

“Sossh,” Aunt said, “You keep your mouth shut.”

Aunt stopped Hilda right in her tracks before she coughed her opinion.

“Max is going to be spoiled,” Henna said.

“You aren’t supposed to be here or saying anything,” Aunt said,” go bring us tea and cookies.”

Henna rushed to the kitchen; she was like a wet cat from the rain. Aunt Rosy knew that I would at times refuse to eat for days on end to get their attention. I was glad that she was on my side. It seemed as if the odds were swinging my way. I had the upper hand. I played my cards right.

“Thank you, Auntie,” I said.

I hugged her as she stood to leave heading to a business meeting.

“You’re welcome little Max,” she said.

“Spoilt brat,” uncle Vuzi said.

I said nothing in response and left to chill with my cousins at the gate. I was passively aggressive most times to adults so I would not say things that I would later regret.

#

“Behave yourself, Max,” Auntie Rosy said,” please don’t embarrass us.”

It was during the last week of the third quarter of the year. I was ready to leave for the other side of the tracks, the elite suburbs to continue my education.

“You’re going to the land of milk and honey,” Hilda said, “don’t get used to it boy.”

“Kick some ass,” uncle Vuzi said, “or get your ass kicked.”

He was drunk, always sarcastic and had something negative to say. I learned to embrace his weakness.

“Shut up!” Aunt Rosy said to uncle, “you always know how to spoil a moment.”

“Don’t forget to call and post me nice things,” Bongi said, “pretty please?”

She had a tear in her left eye. Sometimes I wondered if she did the trick on purpose to get her way or it was her demeanor.

“Don’t worry, I’ll do just that dear sister,” I said.

Everyone bought me a little go away gift. Someone bought me socks, someone a diary as if I would use it, a piggy bank and some pillows. I was more scared than reluctant to leave. Nostalgia struck me like lightning just moments before I left. I had no idea what the other kids did after school, what culture they had. I had no clue whether they played scrabble, chess or marbles, three of my recent favorite after school games. I had never associated with their kind before, let alone in the affluent suburbs. Separation anxiety kicked me in my stomach like a racing horse.

“Hello,” I said to the driver of the limousine sent to collect me.

“Hello to you too, “he said, “I ‘m ready when you are.”

“I ‘m ready Sir, “I said.

“My name is Winston Ambrose, “he said, “From today onwards I ‘m assigned to chauffeur you to everywhere.”

As he drove, I looked back; everybody was in the middle of the street waving, and I waved back.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

The offer dumbfounded me.

Who gets driven in this world, I must be lucky, I thought.

“I’ll take you to wherever you want, “he said, “school, the mall, you name it.”

“Wow everywhere?” I asked, “Even to my girlfriends?”

“Don’t push it, young man,” he said.

“Just checking.”

“Have you ever been to the suburbs before?” he asked.

“Never,” I said, trying to sound intelligent.

He told me that we were going to an estate, as he described them I realized those houses belonged to the wealthy. “What are those trees?” I asked.

We drove through an avenue where the houses situated on the right end towards the start of a mountain.

“Those are Jacaranda trees,” he said, “it’s their time to blossom.”

“They smell good,’ I said.

The road was layered purple with those fallen flowers. Nobody cared to remove them, or they must have liked them that way. The area smelled so great compared to where we were an hour ago. It felt so good that I thought maybe I should bottle the air and take it with when I went to visit my cousins. It was such a therapeutic smell. It smelt of fresh flowers similar to Aunt Rosy.

“We’re here,” Winston said.

“Okay,” I said.

As we parked in front of two massive black doors that looked ancient with four garage doors, a man in a black tuxedo greeted me with some drink that smelt like a combination of chocolate, carrot, and mint.

“Sir your mint mochaccino to relax you,” he said.

How does he know that it will relax me?

“That’s the Butler, Samuel Mathews, “Winston said.

“You can call me Sam,” he said.

He reached out his white-hand-glove-covered right hand to greet me. I felt like royalty. I thought maybe that was how Mr. Brooks instructed them to treat me. At that point, I wanted to ask what a butler was, and then I held my words so hard that I almost choked. I did not want to look stupid. I thought to myself that I would find out later as the long journey goes. I was anxious as to whether I would ever fit in, whether I would catch up to that English accent. Though I passed with distinction, I was going to study at some suburban school with elite rich kids who studied English as their first language. Amidst my anxiety, my first day at school turned out just fine. I realized that I was worried for nothing. To my surprise, I found many black kids were already schooling there, and they intermingled without any hiccups. They seemed oblivious to the difference in the color of their skin. I was glad my “kind” were there. I avoided creating an “us” and “them” cult, and as a result, I decided to associate more with the white kids. I did not seek a comfort zone by associating with my “racial” kind. I was, in any case, a lot lighter than your average black guy. Someone who looked closer could only see the difference. I made a few black friends and many white friends. We formed an entourage as if we chose deliberately by some criteria.