Personal encounters

Friday the 17th 1992 I got a massage from my maternal grand mother that my brother called earlier apparently he was drunk (there were no cell phones then). He was working as a policeman in Umtata. I was from my uncle's house in Naledi extension because that evening I was going back to boarding school after June holidays and I had stayed a week more. But first I had to go to my home in Matatiele for a weekend and leave on Monday. In Matatiele I met my friend Khotso whom we entertained ourselves with booze and weed. It was in the afternoon around 14h00 when I was on my way home from buying another beer when I saw a white car by the gate and there was some one who looked like a priest. You know in townships and in our villages we are used to people who will just rock up and offer a short prayer session … I am thinking of the Witness of God …do you know them? Of course if you are a South African you should know them. I thought it was them offering a prayer I was drunk from alcohol and dagga. Do you know how drunk people like a prayer? So I let them in, but what surprised was that Kgotso asked me not to open the beer even though I insisted that I need just one sip and I won’t be disruptive. Under normal circumstances he would be the one to encourage me. My second surprise was when I saw my sister in law and her husband coming in they are not really churchgoers let a lone some small prayer session. We left everything and joined the priest and people who were accompanying him. My sister inlaw could not even start a chorus for a prayer that is how pathetic she was, but the priest took over. After a very short chorus I guess liquor in me still wanted more singing a priest had a short prayer and afterwards he said “ I am not here with the good news, the son of this house was stabbed last night and he passed away, so let’s have a short prayer for his soul”. I was thinking what is he talking about? Is he on drugs or something? He went on “ Mzoyi family I am from the police department in Umtata. Your son was working with us and last night we received these bad news” Then I knew that I will never see my brother alive. He was not just a brother to me but a close friend. At 26 years of age I thought he was too young to die. I had never cried before for someone who passed away… I guess our family is so small tragedies like these hardly hit us. My dad thought me that tigers don’t cry, but onthat day there was little I could about those tears that were rolling down my face. I tried as much as I could to stop them but that was just too much. I was the only one from the family my dead was in Jozi my mom in Durban to fix her hearing AID but the good news was that she would not go to Johannesburg as Durban is much closer to Matatiele. I was afraid how was I going to handle her.. eventually she came and she was not very impressed with me being at home after a week of schooling. I looked her in the eyes and couldn’t help myself but cried.. The last thing I needed on that day was to hear my mom cry. I thought she was going to die. Sometimes when I look at her now I can still hear her asking God why “ Hobaneng Modimo waka hobaneng, hobane Ramasedi…” When a tragedy like this hit home you try as a family to deal with it and move on, but two months later something very strange happened… next time