Mandla had traveled on airplanes before to visit his grand-parents in Italy, but the passengers sitting near them would have been forgiven for thinking this was his first time. He played with the personal television screen, flipping it in and out of its place in the armrest; he pushed the buttons for the air-conditioning and lights and twice the flight attendant came to check why he had called for assistance. And this was before the airplane had even taken off.
“Sit still,” Monica told him after he’d tried the window shade for the fifteenth time.
“He’s excited about seeing his brother again,” said Zak.
“And the land where movies are made,” added Mandla. “Sipho wouldn’t even know if he was standing in the middle of the street where a movie was filmed.”
“I don’t think they make many movies in Houston,” Monica told him.
Mandla was not listening. He had stood up to peer over the headrest at the passenger sitting in front of him. “I’m going to America,” he announced loudly.
“Me, too,” replied the man.
“Sit down,” Monica told him again. “You’ll have plenty of time for socializing after takeoff. It’s a two-hour flight to Johannesburg and then eighteen hours to Washington.” She hoped that the people sitting near them were the talkative type.
Nine hours into their international flight, the airplane refueled in the Cape Verde islands, off the northwest coast of Africa. Monica wished that they could get out and stretch their legs as passengers used to be able to do in the past, but security concerns now meant that they had to wait on board the airplane.
Nine hours and five full-length movies later, Mandla couldn’t wait to get out of the airplane, and was irritated to learn that they had to board another flight to get to Houston.
He fell asleep with his head on Monica’s lap just before landing in Houston, and was not pleased to be awakened to put on his seat belt and bring his seat back to the upright position.
Sipho’s host parents had offered to meet them at the airport, but Zak said that they would make their own way to the hotel.
“Why’s Sipho not at the airport?” asked Mandla.
Monica and Zak looked at each other. Perhaps it had not been a good idea to turn down Sipho’s host mother’s polite offer, even if it had been to spare her a long drive.
Mandla fell asleep again in the taxi on the way to the hotel and did not wake up when Zak carried him to their room and put him to bed. It was only lunchtime in Texas, but in South Africa it was evening, and he had only slept for five hours the previous night on the flight. Sipho was due to arrive at their hotel at three, after he finished school for the day, but at this rate Mandla wouldn’t be awake to see his brother.
Zak and Monica stretched out on either side of him on the bed, and the next thing Monica knew, the telephone was ringing, and she was fumbling on the wrong side of the bed to answer it. After ten rings, Zak got to it. Sipho was in the lobby of the hotel.
Monica had meant to shower and change before meeting his host mother, but now there was no time. She ran her fingers through her hair and left Zak with Mandla, who had not even changed positions in his sleep, and went down to the lobby.
Sipho’s eyes lit up as she stepped out of the elevator, but he did not, as she’d hoped, hurry over to meet her. He was with another boy, almost two heads taller, with the broad shoulders of a natural athlete. This had to be Connor. The blond woman next to him was just as tall, and dressed in sweatpants and sneakers, as though she had just come from the gym.
“Sipho,” said Monica, with her arms outstretched. She refrained from calling him sweetie in front of his host family.
He hugged her back, but when she wanted to hold on a few seconds longer, he pulled away.
“Mom, this is Connor and my host mother, Nancy.” There was a new confidence in his voice, and for a moment Monica felt a twinge of jealousy at his easy use of a word she had waited so long to hear him use with her.
As they shook hands, Monica noticed that Nancy was wearing a diamond-studded gold bracelet, which was an unusual accessory to wear while jogging or working out at the gym. Perhaps this was just how she normally dressed.
“He’s been counting the days,” Nancy said.
Her Texan accent did not seem as pronounced now as it had on the telephone.
Connor slapped Sipho on the back and Sipho laughed. It was a new laugh, one Monica had never heard before, that seemed to come from deep in his chest.
“We’d like to invite you to our house for a barbecue tonight,” said Nancy, “but since we’ve never taken such a long flight ourselves, we don’t know if you’re up to it.”
Monica smiled at her in appreciation for her thoughtfulness. “I don’t think Mandla, my other son, is going to wake up until it’s morning time in South Africa.” She looked at her watch. “Which means midnight Houston time.”
“Oh, dear, you’d better all get your sleep then. What about you, Sipho?”
“I’ll stay awake,” Monica told him.
Sipho and Connor exchanged looks. Monica wondered why there was any doubt that Sipho would spend the rest of the afternoon and evening with them. She had even requested a roll-away bed so he could sleep over.
“Connor has a game tonight,” explained Nancy.
“It’s up to you, Sipho,” said Monica. “If you want to watch football, that’s fine. Maybe we can meet afterward.”
“Games usually end pretty late,” said Connor, who up until now had not said anything except a polite hello.
“I’m sorry, Mom, I—”
“He promised us, Mrs. Niemand,” said Connor. “It’s the opening game of the season.”
“I didn’t know that it would be on the night you arrived,” explained Sipho.
“Oh, okay,” said Monica, feeling disappointed, but not wishing to embarrass Sipho in front of his friend. “Then we’ll see you tomorrow after school.”
“The guys are all going bowling, since it’s the last day of school before the Christmas holidays,” said Connor.
Monica was beginning to be irritated by this boy’s assured manner. She and her family had just traveled thousands of miles to see Sipho, and Connor presumed Sipho would choose a get-together with school friends who he saw every day over a reunion with his family.
“Do you want to go bowling?” Monica asked Sipho.
He looked at Connor. “Is it okay if I miss it this time?” he asked.
Monica was shocked at the submissive tone of her son’s voice. Sipho had never enjoyed group activities with his classmates in Lady Helen, and Monica had even had to push him to invite boys to their house to help celebrate his birthdays.
“I suppose you have no choice,” said Connor.
Monica sensed the young man was perfectly aware his remark was callous, but did not care.
“Do you want to come up to the room to say a quick hello to your dad?” she asked Sipho. “He couldn’t leave Mandla asleep alone.”
Sipho looked at Nancy to check if it was all right.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Connor and I will grab a soda at the coffee shop over there.”
In the elevator, on the ride up to their floor, Sipho asked about their flight, and Monica told them how difficult it had been for Mandla to be confined for so long.
Just before the elevator doors opened, he said, “I’m glad you came, Mom.”
Monica had to bite her tongue not to reply, “Well, then why are you choosing football over us?” The instinct she had developed over the years as a mother told her that this would be more harmful than helpful.
“I’m glad to see you’ve settled in and made friends,” she said pointedly.
“They’re Connor’s friends, but they like me. They think I’m cool, being African and all.”
“I see.”
She unlocked the hotel room door, and Zak came to greet Sipho with a big bear hug.
“We missed you,” he said, not letting go. “Your mother hasn’t stopped worrying about you,
and your brother has been counting down the days from the minute you left.”
Sipho walked to the bed where Mandla lay sprawled across the sheets.
“He’s absolutely wiped out from the trip,” said Zak, coming to stand behind Sipho and resting his hand on his shoulder. “Sit down and relax. I’m feeling better after my snooze. How about you, Monica?”
“Sipho can’t stay. He’s going to a football game,” said Monica, trying to keep her voice as neutral as possible.
Zak’s eyes widened. “Is that so? Who’s playing?”
“It’s the opening match of the season. My school’s playing last year’s champs.”
“Interesting,” said Zak. He had tried to involve Sipho in soccer, cricket and rugby, just as Sipho’s mother, Ella, once had, but he, too, had been unsuccessful. Sipho had even refused to watch their national team play others on television. “Maybe while we’re here, I can come with you to a game. Not tonight, though. I don’t think I’m physically capable of setting foot out of this hotel.”
Monica wondered if Zak was genuinely not hurt by this development or if he had simply decided that it would be better to involve himself in Sipho’s new interest rather than alienate him by questioning it.
“I’d better go. They’re waiting for me in the lobby,” said Sipho.
“That’s quite an American accent you have there,” said Zak, smiling and squeezing his shoulder.
“I don’t have an accent,” he declared. “Do I, Mom?”
“A little bit,” said Monica. She thought Sipho looked pleased to be informed of this fact.
“I’ll come down with you again,” she said.
“It’s okay. You’re tired. I’ll find my way.”
Monica took him into her arms and gave him the long, enthusiastic hug she’d wanted to give him earlier in the lobby. Eventually he pulled away, but instead of being irritated as she thought he might be, he was smiling. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mom. Tell Mandla I was here.”
After they’d watched him walk down the hall and disappear into an elevator, Monica turned to Zak and burst into tears.
“It’s normal. He’s growing up,” said Zak softly. “A girl he’s interested in is probably going to the game.”
“A girl? He’s ditching his family for a girl? He’s never been interested in girls.” If Zak thought he was making Monica feel better, he was wrong.
“He’s not ditching us, Monica. Anyway, we need to sleep.”
Monica went into the bathroom and closed the door on him. Why did he insist on making this less than it was? In the shower she went over the conversation in the lobby, but that only upset her more. She gave up trying to find her nightgown in the suitcase she was too tired to unpack and settled on a T-shirt to sleep in. Mandla had not left much space for either her or Zak in the bed, but she slipped in beside him and drifted off to sleep while Zak flipped through the television channels.
Chapter Eighteen
As Monica had predicted, Mandla woke at midnight, ready to start a new day. After waking Zak to show Mandla how to operate the television, she went back to sleep.
She awoke at five to find Mandla sleeping with his head on her shoulder. He looked younger than his eight years, and for a moment Monica thought of the first time Ella had brought him to her house, as a chubby toddler. He’d charmed Francina, who at that time was still working as Monica’s full-time housekeeper. Hopefully, he’d be able to sleep until at least seven, and then stay awake all day. She had heard that jet lag was far worse after the return journey to South Africa.
Trying not to wake Mandla, she shifted his head onto a pillow and slipped out of bed. Through a chink in the curtains she saw that the sky was turning pink. The sun would soon be up. They were not staying downtown, but there were a number of high-rises surrounding the hotel. Sipho’s host family lived somewhere to the northwest. It still hurt that he’d chosen his new friends over his family.
By eight o’clock they had eaten breakfast and were ready to start the day. Mandla wanted to go to the shopping mall across the street.
“You can see malls at home,” said Monica.
“Not in Lady Helen,” replied Mandla.
“Thank goodness,” said Zak.
But Mandla didn’t think it was funny. “We never go to a mall when we’re in Cape Town.”
He relented when Monica told him about the full-size dinosaur skeletons at the Museum of Natural Science.
Since they would be leaving to visit a theme park in Los Angeles in two days, there was no point renting a car in Houston, and so Zak called a taxi to meet them downstairs.
As expected, Mandla was enthralled by the dinosaur collection at the museum, and the day passed without any more whining from him. But by three o’clock, he was exhausted and wanted to sleep. It was past his bedtime in South Africa.
Sipho had not said what time he’d be coming, so Monica decided that it would be best to return to the hotel, put Mandla to bed for a nap, and wait for Sipho to call.
At four, Monica woke with a start at a knock on the door. Zak had fallen asleep, too. She looked through the peephole and saw Sipho outside.
“Come in,” she said. “We all fell asleep. This jet lag is something else.”
He smelled of an unfamiliar fabric softener, and he was wearing new sneakers.
He noticed her looking. “My host mother bought them.”
Sipho never wore sneakers unless he was going on a long walk or a climb up the koppies.
Zak was awake now. He gave Sipho a hug. “It’s good to see you,” he said.
“How you doing, Dad?”
“Listen to that. You’re sounding like a real American.”
“I am not. Do you have any bottled water?” He had started to say water the American way, and then switched to his old accent and said it the way South Africans did: wartuh.
Mandla did not want to wake up, but if he was to adjust to the time difference he was going to have to try and stay awake till a normal bedtime. Finally, he heard Sipho’s voice among those trying to rouse him, and opened his eyes.
“What took you so long?” he asked his big brother. “I’ve been waiting for two days to see you.”
“I was here yesterday but you were fast asleep, dozy head.”
“You should have come to the museum with us. There was a skeleton of a Tyrannosaurus rex.”
“I’ve been to that museum before.”
“Did Connor take you?” asked Monica.
Sipho shook his head. “We went on a class trip. Connor doesn’t go to museums.”
Monica wondered how Sipho could have chosen to go to a football game with a boy with whom he had nothing in common over spending time with his family. He had never been influenced by peer pressure before, but something was different about Sipho in this new country.
Mandla announced that he was starving after his nap, and Sipho explained that since many Americans ate dinner early there would be many restaurants open at this time. They chose an Indian establishment two blocks from the hotel. Mandla was excited when the waiter gave him a hot towel so he could eat with his hands. Halfway through their meal, Sipho showed Mandla a tiny portable music player that his host mother had bought him. Mandla put on the earphones.
“What’s this?” he asked.
Sipho named a band Monica had never heard of.
“They’re from Seattle,” added Sipho. “Connor’s going to get us tickets when they come to Houston.”
Sipho listening to rock music? Monica looked at Zak to see if this was hard for him to register, as well. But he was mopping up the sauce of his murgh makhani with the last of the naan bread and seemed oblivious to the monumental change in his adopted son.
As they walked back to the hotel, Monica tried to eavesdrop on the conversation between the boys, who were walking in front.
She heard something about a party, and then Mandla asked if there would be girls there, to which Sipho replied that there would. Monica did not have to strain to catch Mandla
’s loud response of disgust.
How could this change in Sipho have happened so quickly? Zak would say it was long overdue, but Monica was not ready for it and found it shocking.
Sipho had brought with him an overnight bag, and settled into the roll-away bed, while Mandla climbed in again between Zak and Monica.
Although Monica was pleased to have Sipho back, she couldn’t help hoping that the old Sipho would reappear once he was away from Connor.
Monica’s hope became more fervent the next day at Sipho’s host family’s barbecue, where she watched Sipho interacting with Connor. Surprisingly, Sipho did most of the talking. Connor laughed often. Monica could only imagine the adolescent hilarity.
Connor’s family lived in a neighborhood with lots of trees, and houses and gardens far larger than any in Lady Helen. The public high school was within walking distance, a fact Monica had been pleased to learn, because she didn’t want Sipho in a car driven by a sixteen-or seventeen-year-old. In South Africa, young people had to be eighteen to drive.
Connor lived in a sprawling ranch house from the sixties that had been recently renovated. Monica and Zak’s whole house would fit in the open-plan living room and eat-in kitchen. It was expensively furnished and everything matched perfectly, including the artwork on the walls. The artists Monica knew in Lady Helen would have been appalled. To them, art should be the focus of a room, not an accent piece like a throw pillow.
Monica wished Sipho would stop being so uncharacteristically talkative so she could relax. Nancy was a charming hostess and went out of her way to make them feel at home. Mandla did everything Monica should have done; he complimented Nancy on her home and garden and told her the bruschetta was delicious.
“How did you know what these hors d’oeuvres were?” Nancy asked. “Connor would call them sandwiches.”
Mandla told her that he had been to Italy and that his grandfather was teaching him Italian.
“Is that so?” Nancy was impressed.
There was a large heated saltwater pool in the backyard. Nancy gave Mandla one of Connor’s old bathing suits and he was soon splashing around on his own. Monica was glad she’d brought a jacket so that she could sit outside to keep an eye on him. Sipho and Connor stood with Zak and Bill, Nancy’s husband, at the barbecue.
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