I first read this piece two years
ago when Lindi wrote it as her personal statement for university. She is a
talented writer who bravely reveals depths of herself in her writing. Also a growing
playwright, who has produced, directed, and acted in her own plays, and a poet, her writing
is an important and powerful part of her and I’m grateful she shares it with
the world. You can read more of her work on her own blog here: http://lindiwedhlakama.blogspot.com
That car had been in the
family ever since I could remember. Its shock absorbers were close to non-existent, and the engine made a loud noise, but the noise lent me a familiar
comfort as I sat quietly in the passenger seat as my father drove me home from
boarding school.
“So did you write any
tests this week?” my father asked for the third time in ten minutes.
I felt irritated as I
replied, “You’ve just asked me that question!”
“And what did you just
reply?” he earnestly inquired.
I glanced at him. He was
no longer the sturdy family man I vaguely remembered from my childhood. He
reminded me of an infant, and that angered me. He was supposed to take care of
me, not the other way round.
“I said no,” I said. It
was the easiest way to end the conversation. The image of a photograph of one
of our family holidays in the past came into my mind. It was one of, a younger,
radiant version of my father. He had a lovely smile. It was the smile of a man
who had worked so hard that he had left his home in the rural areas of Zimbabwe
having earned himself scholarships to study abroad. He had been humbled by many
experiences in his life. He had fought for his country Zimbabwe in its
liberation struggle; thereafter he had been imprisoned for fifteen years. The
light in his eyes in the photo said that it was alright to go through such
challenges in life, as they made an individual stronger.
Mr L.G Dhlakama
These thoughts of the
past soothed my sour emotions. I smiled and looked at my father in the driver’s
seat. He looked over at me and smiled, and then he said, “So my daughter, did
you write any tests this week?” I decided that I would ignore him this time.
Feeling slightly annoyed at my insolence, he began on one of his long lectures.
I zoomed out.
The world could
never give me the reason why a strong and hard working family man like my
father was suffering from Alzheimer’s disease. Ashamed of my rash behavior
towards my father I brushed away my tears. I imagined how hard it was for him
to wake up every day having forgotten a little more of his wonderful past. How
hard it must be for the head of the family to sit all day at the table and
reread old newspapers.
As the car came to a
stop by an intersection my eyes caught those of a little girl. The little girl
had no shoes on, yet the radiance in her eyes did not reflect the anguish her
little feet must have been experiencing walking on the scorching pavement. The
girl in the passenger seat waved at the girl with no shoes. The little
girl waved back.
As the car noisily
continued on its journey, I thought how, perhaps life was not so bad. I noticed
that my father’s lecture had ended unusually early.
“I got eighty percent
for my literature essay, Dad” I quietly said.
The world was not too
much of an evil place, but only for those who had the courage to dream past
their present circumstances.
Lindiwe Dhlakama
(Upper 6, 2012)
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