Sunday, June 25, 2006

in praise of an ordinary guy with an extraordinary heart

Dear Mr. Cooper,
I discovered your existence last week Tuesday. A fellow writing-student gave me your book as a gift to enjoy during my summer back home. Not knowing anything about you, I wanted to verify the source of this enticing story, so I researched all I could find out about you. While calling in to my parents between connecting flights, I recognized you in action for the first time on a quick trailer of this interview from a public phone on Concourse B in Hartsfield, Atlanta.
This trip home was my third since I came to the States to study the art of story-telling two years ago. I exchanged my life as a licensed architect building clinics, school and border posts in rural Africa for the First World with the hope of exposing more people to Africa’s needs as well as her courage.
I manage to arrange for the recording of your interview (4:00CAT) before I hit a jet-lag-coma and watched it on the 20th—how appropriate—I felt like I saw my wildest dream come true listening to you and Ms. Jolie share your experiences. Last night, I read an unflattering review about it on the web that lead me to respond on this blog-entry.
It doesn’t take a genius to criticize somebody, but I wanted to tell you how much I respect your work and admire the guts it took to expose your heart in your book. I’m only on p151, past the pictures and I don’t want it to end. Next week Wednesday, I leave on an outreach mission to a community in central Mozambique—barely 15miles east from the Zimbabwean border. We won’t drive through Zim like we did last year because it has become too dangerous but I’m taking my still and video cameras along and plan to document stories of braver people than me when we get there.
Today I received a phone call from a friend in Namibia who also gave birth to a girl last week. She only had praise for Ms. Jolie and Mr. Pitt’s discreet visit and charity work to the medical facilities in her country.
Your work inspires me. You have blessed Africa and her people in so many ways already and personify a motto in my life: do justice, love kindness and walk humbly. Hang in there and keep moving!

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

D-day: a day for sunflowers

for the eleventh time in my eleven years of school, I missed school that day, it was a Tuesday too
I stayed at home because I had a silly cold
he lay coughing in our parents’ bedroom reminding mom about his afternoon medication
she asked me to bring it to her in the family room keeping my germs away from him
complaining that today I was the patient and that he should bring me something
I fetched the infamous box clutching his deathly drugs

by sunset I had wrapped my sore throat up in a white scarf
matching our school uniforms demanding skirts despite June’s freezing chills
afraid that he might throw up while I try to hug him or get sick because of me
I stood at the door, my heart aching, the metal frame stinging against my left cheek
‘sien jou more*,’ I whispered, he strained to look up from the pillow, smiling
nodding at me with his eyes only, we said goodbye in silence

lining up outside the spooky school buildings our entire class waited in the dark
I climbed on the bus for the compulsory attendance of Animal Farm at the State Theatre
the story was over too quickly and Mr. Owen left me feeling sad and depressed
stepping off the bus I saw mom waiting in the silver Mercedes
walking towards her, I knew Derek was not at home any more
dad would never let her wait out here so late unless there was trouble

we drove the four kilometers home in familiar sighs accepting the unknown again
the one point six litres of bone marrow I gave on Good Friday did not help him
dad would be sleeping on an extra gurney in the ever-recurring isolation ward tonight
instead of waiting three days until the weekend and I could make the visiting hours
I immediately wrote Derek a long letter for mom to take to the hospital tomorrow morning
telling him that I’m tired of this too I tried to encourage him for our nineteenth month under siege

I got to school by myself with mom leaving for Johannesburg before I woke up
I decided to skip assembly and my loyal friend, Marisa, hid out with me in the art class
confessing my selfishness to her, I told her that something’s wrong about this time
hugging my shoulders where we sat on the table, her comforting words painted hope around my heart helping me into the day
after three hours,in the second period of 'library-use' the dreaded announcement fell through the wall into my classroom
somebody was waiting for me at the office to take me to the hospital

family friends tried to smile and look brave as we all piled into the Volkswagen Kombi
driving the same sixty odd kilometers mom, dad and I had done for four months on end
I lead them through the giant buildings without thinking, oncology, turn left over there, smelling the pink sanitizing soap everywhere
walking past the nurses’ station to the isolation wards, I didn’t see my sobbing parents
he lay perfectly still, his arms folded on his motionless chest, like a pharaoh, immortal
I put my hands on his, laid my head down on the linen sheet, feeling sad but joyful

through the huge north-facing window the morning sun cut a strong single ray into the room
‘jy kan my sien jou bliksem!**' I thought, smiling back at his innocent face, I rejoiced
at his funeral, the church packed to its capacity filled up with praises to our Triune God
wearing his favourite colour, yellow, I stood singing, joining him with heaven’s chorus
his body died after thirteen years on earth but his soul went ahead to meet Christ face to face
this morning I asked God to hug my folks for me and a stranger brought them an armful of sunflowers

*see you tomorrow
**you can see me