WHAT’S A LITTLE GIRL TO DO?

Our granddaughter Megan turns four years old in September, and she’s already dreading her fifth birthday. Unusual in one so young but when baby sister Kelly had injections, Megan learned that she was due for injections when she turned five. So she’s not looking forward to September 2012.

Her Mom, Ruth, planned the celebrations in two parts: a braai [African-style barbecue] with the grandparents on the Saturday before her Monday birthday, and a party with her peers on the Saturday following. The braai would be at our home so she could enjoy riding her bicycle on our cement driveway. At home their driveway is steep and she rides the bike in the garage with the door closed.

She is so excited when they arrive at our house, and she takes her Dad by the hand to show him where the braai is ready for the fire that will cook the meat. She rides her bicycle some but the sun is so hot that she soon turns to other activities. Such as serving cool drinks to the birthday guests which now include her paternal grandparents and friends from Bulawayo in a surprise visit. She gets an appreciative chuckle when she delivers a drink to Papa Jim with a curtsy and to Papa Dhiru with a bow. Ruth said this comes out of the Sunday school lesson the previous week.

Another couple also comes by unexpectedly; a young woman from church with her brother who wanted to meet Pastor Jim. As you can see this is turning into something quite a bit less intimate and Megan-centered than planned. Which wasn’t too difficult a problem until time to depart. It has become the custom for Megan to stay overnight on a Saturday with Granny Cathy. It was not to be this time because of the guests.

At first, Granny Cathy thought of slipping away quietly while Megan was in the bath. (Megan likes to bathe at our house because their house on the high hill is notoriously short of water just about 23 hours of the day.) But a few minutes of future promises mollified Megan, and she seemed okay.

Carol, the guest’s wife, knowing of the broken promise but not of the mended fence, reassures Megan that she would be leaving on Sunday and so the next Saturday would be back to normal. She didn’t mean any harm as she had been completely charmed by the little girl. Megan immediately went into tragic mode with head bowed and tears on her cheeks..

Inside she sobs on her mother’s lap. “She’s my Granny Cathy!” Carol and Mitchell were interlopers who should have no claim on her Granny! She folded her arms across her chest with an explosive humph and declared, “I am not happy!” Ruth tries to soothe the little girl, saying that next Saturday would be so good because Megan would have her Granny Cathy to herself. Now she would be bored because the adults would want to talk and not have much time for her. This went on several minutes and us maternal grandparents were helplessly caught between sympathy and suppressed laughter.

Soon Megan’s Dad joins the fray, returning from the gate where he had seen the folks out. Of course he knew the Saturday night ritual but hadn’t heard any of the attempts to redeem the situation, including Ruth’s reassurances. “Meggy,” he says in a quiet but firm voice. “Stop crying now. How about if we stop by Granny’s on the way home, and you can say goodnight?”

Well, it was too little too late. The drama continued with the bowed head, choking sobs and lament of my Granny Cathy and even temporary dis-ownership with not my Granny Cathy and then my only Granny Cathy, the folded arms unfolding to straight by her sides and the words, “I am not happy!”

So, what’s a little girl to do if the grownups in her life can’t get their lines straight? If each one contradicts the compromise and mending gone before? Megan definitely had the last words as, figuratively speaking, she stamps her foot and says again, “I am not happy!”

But tomorrow is a new day and another Saturday is coming soon, and everyone knows that nobody better mess with the overnight stay this time!

ROMANCE IS IN THE AIR

Not too long ago—maybe two weeks—Jim and I played the role not so much of Cupid as of Recording Angels. That’s probably another way of saying we make good listeners and a good memory of what it’s like in the early days or courtship. Within the same week we were hostages of love by two ardent and loquacious suitors*, but I will admit our hearts are very soft for older couples contemplating a second marriage.

First, an early call at 6 a.m. on a Tuesday with Kenneth saying he’d stop by around 10 if that was okay. Not every African is courteous enough to call ahead and even to arrive on the stroke of the hour. It’s not rudeness on the part of others so much as slippery priorities. Like they want to pin you down to wait for them just in case they can make it. Their intentions are good but they are easily distracted.

Kenneth shows up on the dot, and he and Jim exchange their usual ritual of Black Pope and White Pope dialogue. They’ve known each other so long that Jim can’t even remember the origin but thinks Kenneth may have started it. They both enjoy the implied respect for each other and normally spend an hour or two reminiscing about characters and events in their shared history. Jim remembers Kenneth’s first wife very well and says she was an excellent pastor’s wife. She had been killed in a bus accident.

Within a short time Kenneth is talking about a lady named Virginia. He met her while attending a family funeral in his home area of Zeimba in northeast Zimbabwe. They first met casually at a store while he shopped for the family. After a very satisfactory conversation with an exchange of personal information, Kenneth was intrigued enough to make inquiries in the area. Hearing nothing but good reports, he is pursuing the relationship by inviting her to come to Gweru, located in central Zimbabwe, for a visit to meet his congregation and get a glimpse of what his life is all about. He promises to bring her to us so we can meet her.

Steps to marriage are orchestrated by tribal tradition, and if Kenneth is to marry Virginia he will soon be making arrangements with her family for lobola {bride price]. They will also do something new that’s becoming necessary in modern Africa: a visit to New Start, a clinic where you are checked for HIV/AIDS. Romance quickly turns practical for our Black Africans.

Second, later in the week but also in the morning, we hear a hoot at the gate and here’s Harry come to visit. These impromptu unannounced visits can be great fun, and it’s good to have them happening again. It’s a sign that there’s time enough not to need every minute or half hour scheduled. Of course, you take a chance that people might not be at home or that they might have other visitors. We would see Harry in town from time to time but he hadn’t been by the house for awhile. His first wife died fairly young of a heart attack, and Harry had wanted Jim to take part in the funeral but we were in South Africa at the time.

Soon Harry is telling us all about Patty, and I’m trying to piece together the story as he talks. He is speaking English but Afriakaans is his first language, and I have trouble with the rhythm and slur of his words. I love to hear what he has to say because he is so wonderfully eccentric with a simple and generous code of faith. He is the epitome of the White African, dressed casually in a printed short-sleeve shirt, shorts and long socks. He probably has a helmet or hat somewhere, but I don’t recall him ever wearing one. He is a farmer and a miner of precious stones and covers the country in his work but misses no opportunity to pray for the sick and to speak of a God who blesses those who bless others.

Another reason why I struggle to keep up is that Harry and Jim are talking about people I haven’t come to know yet. Although I do remember when Ralph, Patty’s first husband, died not much more than a year ago. Ralph’s death left Penny alone on their farm, and Harry’s sympathy for the new widow soon grew into love as he helped her sort out the many post-death responsibilities. These included arranging a proper graveside memorial headstone, which Harry undertook with a magnanimous thoughtfulness.

Harry puts me in mind of the legendary knight on a white horse rushing to the rescue not of a young maiden but of a fifty-something widow. He’s helped her in hundreds of ways with no strings attached but now he’s found himself deeply in love. Does she love him, too? If not, he says it’s time for him to bow out. She says she loves him, but she has these three grown daughters who are skeptical of Harry’s motives. On Saturday they will all be together for the first time—Harry, Patty and the daughters. Will we pray for this momentous meeting? Yes, we will.  

Just the other day in town, I was jaywalking [an irritating and annoying challenge for drivers but a practice not yet to a level of the First World Pedestrian Crossings] when a horn hooted. I looked up just in time to see Harry drive by with such a contented look on his face. He wasn’t alone; I’m sure the lady beside him is his beloved Patty.

So, different routes but the same end; two weddings coming up before year’s end.

*Names are false but stories are real.