EIGHTH JOURNEY
Every time now and then as a child I always had the picture of where my home was and in 1988. I planned the journey to look for my home and did not know whether I will find it or not but it was worth trying and I was determined to find it. Arriving in Ngqanda village, the place where I was born. I drove towards the hill slowly searching with my mind and eyes.
Approaching the hill which was my forever picture as I was growing up when I look straight on the bottom of the hill, there were no houses the family had moved to another village which is on top of the hill I was told. I drove ascending the hill and arrived and I was directed, first I did not identify myself, I said that I was a friend of myself, but this disguise of mine was soon uncovered and my uncle figured out who am I, because of my resemblance with the son of my father’s first wife and he asked whether my mother told me that I have a younger brother and it was a shock news to me. He said, my brother was left behind the time I was going to East London with my parents in 1962.
I was eager to see him but I was told that he was in mental Hospital in Queenstown and he was positive progressing and I was shown the house of my father but he was away visiting to one of the villages. I asked about all other family members and the big brother I was told that he is working in Johannesburg, he always come home in Christmas times. I was given my mother’s photo.
The second time I visited my home with my wife and children. I met with my father who was literally crying and we went to see my younger brother in hospital and he was happy to see me, he said he had been longing to see me. One thing my father could not answer was the reason of disappearance and left us in East London. Growing up with hash realities I have experienced, all long I was putting blaming squarely on my mother’s shoulders, the way she neglected her responsibility towards me. But the real culprit and the cause of all my hard ship was my father who completely flew away from his responsibility. I started to understand my mother’s situation although the choice of negligence and running away from her responsibility as parent cannot be justified. No one knows whether is still alive or not.
The third time I visited home it was when my father passed away and I had a chance of meeting with my big brother and in my surprised the things he used to say 28 years ago was still saying them and what he did not realize that I have an education as my heir and my own family as my present and my future, but my sister, the daughter of the second wife intervened because I was very angry, this brought memories but this time was deferent, he could do or say what ever he wanted because I was no longer that small boy. He was talking to a man who has family like him and was able to confront him. My younger brother was also released from hospital to attend the funeral.
Autobiography of Thobile Maso©Tobile Maso 2007