A Look into My Life — Chapter Four

Like many boys in my town, I received no formal sexual education at home or at school, but wild speculation circulated about the changes taking place in our bodies. Before then, I had never seriously wondered where babies came from, engrossed as I was in my own existence.

Out of boredom, I had begun reading the Bible because we had no television at home, and certain passages fascinated me. Mother probably considered the Bible the safest book available, so she let me borrow her thick Catholic version called Tob (written in "Current French"), in which everything was made simple and easy to understand.

I read Genesis avidly because it resembled a collection of interesting stories. Sometimes I was outraged by the injustices I believed God had permitted. Whenever a passage contained even a vague allusion to sex, I read it twice or thrice.

My love of reading developed during that period, along with another addiction that lasted for years, reading while eating. Even today, unless I am at somebody else's house, I always grab a book at supper.

In those days, however, food was scarce at home, so I often ate sugar, of which we seemed to have an endless supply, fortunately for me because I loved it. Mother had begged food and money from old friends who had retained their opulent lives. Eventually she grew ashamed of always asking, so I took over.

I know some of those friends mocked her behind her back, but the alternative was starvation. Had she been alone, I am sure she would have gone days without eating. The sight of me always drove her out and compelled her, in humiliation, to extend a begging hand once more.

One day she grew weary, and I found her sitting on a wooden seat on the veranda, tense and lost in thought. “Would you like me to ask Aunt N for food?” I asked. She agreed, almost despite herself.

I walked ten or twelve kilometres to Aunt N's house. It was a miracle that I found it because I had last visited when I was very young. Aunt N had once been one of Mother's closest friends, but they had stopped visiting each other. Rumours circulated about the reason for their estrangement, but I never heard either woman speak about it, so I have left the rumours out of this account.

Aunt N lived in a beautiful home in a beautiful part of the city. She was short, classy and very kind. She welcomed me warmly and served me food, as though she knew I was hungry, or perhaps I simply looked famished. After I explained why I had come, she asked me to wait in the kitchen. She later took me halfway home and gave me money for Mother.

I walked the remaining distance as though on a cloud. I was happy that Mother would not have to worry about feeding me for at least a week. We survived for a week on Aunt N's money. When it was gone and Mother had exhausted her options, I set out for Aunt E's house.

Aunt E lived in the opposite direction and even farther away, but that did not matter because I knew I would find help there. She was less sophisticated than Aunt N, but richer, and still part of Mother's life. She visited occasionally and was probably Mother's closest friend. I liked her less than Aunt N, however, because I often detected a hint of mockery in her manner.

When I knocked on her door, I received the warmest welcome of my life. She cried out with pleasure at seeing me, and her surprise was genuine. I had walked a great distance and had not visited since I was very small, so she was astonished that I had found the house. She had clearly underestimated the determination produced by hunger, and the fear of returning home empty-handed to see Mother suffer.

Aunt E had many children, nephews and nieces, who also crowded around me, apparently delighted to see me. Yet once again I sensed a subtle condescension in the way they spoke, the feeling that I was being treated as the poor relative.

I was tempted to conceal the purpose of my visit and pretend I had merely come to play. Then I remembered the distance I had covered, the risk of getting lost and Mother's disappointment if I returned empty-handed. I shoved my pride aside. You are the poor relative, I reminded myself.

Mother has actually sent me to talk to you, I whispered into Aunt E's ear. We were all sitting in the smaller living room around a little black-and-white television. She had two living rooms, a grand one with expensive couches for important visitors, and this smaller one for everyday life.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed all the children turning towards me, waiting to hear why I had come. I could see they already knew, and I felt mortally embarrassed. I hoped Aunt E would exercise some discretion and pull me aside, allowing me to speak freely. Instead, she asked me to continue right there in the little living room.

Why has your mother sent you? she asked, loudly enough for everyone to hear. She could not suppress a small smile as she stared at me, as though my poverty were more entertaining than the programme on the television. Even her multitude of children had turned away from the screen, and I felt more than ten ironic pairs of eyes fixed upon me.

I hesitated and looked around, then gave her an imploring look, begging her to let me speak privately. She returned a firm gaze and continued waiting. The room fell silent, as though the television itself had stopped to pay attention to the bizarre scene.

I felt obliged to speak in front of everyone. I was deeply humiliated, and even as I write this, I feel ashamed of what I endured that day. I asked for food or money. This also meant, naturally, that I would not object if she gave me food and money.

My experience of begging from family friends had taught me to ask for both, giving potential donors more than one way to help and therefore increasing my chances of receiving something.

Despite the cringe-worthy moment she had created, Aunt E helped generously. She gave me ten dollars and some food in a plastic bag, which was a great deal in those days. I thanked her and returned home by combi bus, grateful that I did not have to walk.

Begging time came again. When I saw that Mother had exhausted her resources once more, I prepared to go out. Thankfully, my uncle Yav, Mother's younger brother, visited one Friday night and noticed that we had no food.

That's not a problem, he told Mother. Send Christian to my house tomorrow to collect some groceries. He might not find me there, but I will ask my wife to prepare a parcel for him.

That night, the prospect of eating the following day helped soothe our hunger pangs. I woke early, eager to reach my uncle's house before he left. Although he had promised to tell his wife about our predicament, I preferred dealing with him. He was kind and had a non-judgemental air that made him easy to approach. Besides, he loved us, and had a generous heart.

But by the time I arrived at his home situated in the more modest parts of an area called Bel Air, he had already left. No matter, I thought. His wife knows why I am here.

When I told her I had come to collect a parcel left for us by my uncle, she stared at me inquisitively, as if I had asked her to solve the Yang-Mills Existence and Mass Gap Problem. I was then obliged to explain the situation we were facing at home and the promise made by my uncle, and she replied that she knew nothing about it. She added that she had nothing to give me anyway, not even transport money. You can always wait for your uncle, she concluded. He might be able to help you.

I was unsure whether she was being sarcastic, but I hated returning home empty-handed, so I sat down and waited.

I waited all day, but my uncle did not return. I watched night approach with dread. Whenever I decided to leave, I thought: "let me wait five more minutes". It would be a pity if he arrived just after I left.

But he never came that night, and eventually I resolved to go home empty handed. I said goodbye to my uncle's family and walked out. It was only eight o'clock, but that was very late for the route ahead.

I could follow the main roads, which were well lit, safer and busier, but might not reach home until midnight, worrying Mother to death. Or I could take a shortcut through the bush and past the cemetery, with all the dangers that involved. I considered the choice carefully, then dashed towards the bush.

Had I not been alone, I might have been less frightened. But as I passed the cemetery, every nightmarish account of what had happened there flooded my mind, and I began sprinting. My own footsteps terrified me, but I had to escape the area.

The fact that the road was lit did not ease my dread. It only meant that I could be seen from far away. I had walked there in daylight before, but the distance had never seemed so long. The road appeared to stretch and lengthen, deliberately preventing me from reaching the end.

At last I passed the cemetery and turned sharply onto the railway line. That part of town was completely dark, and tall shrubs bordered the tracks. I resolved to remain on the rails and ran faster than ever. I expected something or someone to catch and murder me, but thank God, I met no one.

Eventually the bush thinned, and in the darkness I could make out the outlines of tiny houses near the tracks. This was a poor part of town. The houses had no fences and there was no electricity, but fires were burning, and I knew I was approaching civilisation.

I could finally hear women laughing, children playing and men talking, so I slowed down. A few minutes later, I reached my street, which crossed the railway. I began laughing at myself, although I knew I had taken a real risk. I had nothing, but I was alive and walking along a familiar street. Thankfully. when I reached home, Mother had also gone out and managed to find food. She was sitting on her wooden chair, anxiously looking at the gate, ready to go out search for me. She wasn't angry that I had gone the whole day, she simply seemed relieved to see me safe and sound.