I Will Always Write Back: How One Letter Changed Two Lives

by Caitlin Alifirenka

  “What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

  “You seem distracted,” she continued. “Honestly, you’re so not fun to hang out with. And I’m not the only person who is saying that.”

  I realized this was a test: I could either scream—“Funny you should mention it, because my true best friend may be homeless and starving in Africa for all I know, so I’m sorry if I seem a little distracted! Oh, yeah, and my growth plates snapped off in September, which felt like someone taking a knife and putting it in red-hot coals before plunging it into my back, and then my wisdom teeth were yanked from my jaw last month, but again, I am so, so sorry that I’m not all that fun!” Instead, I took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry you feel that way. I just have a lot going on.”

  Just then, the bell rang for class. I’d never been happier to hear that shrill clang.

  “I’d better run,” I said. “Thanks for being so honest with me, Lauren.”

  I left her standing there dumbfounded. She wanted to pick a fight, but I had more important things to focus on.

  That afternoon, I ran off the bus and found my mom still on the phone. I wondered if she had ever left that spot.

  She saw me and frowned. After she hung up, she put her hands in the air.

  “This is harder than I ever imagined!” she said. “People don’t have phones in Zimbabwe like we do in the States. I’ll keep trying, but let’s write Mr. Samupindi to be safe.”

  We drafted the letter together.

  January 24, 2000

  Dear Mr. Samupindi:

  We are writing on behalf of our daughter’s pen pal, Martin Ganda. It is our understanding that Martin’s father is no longer employed. This unfortunate situation is making it extremely difficult for Martin to continue his education. We would like to remedy that situation, and sponsor Martin’s educational process.

  The difficulty we are facing is how to quickly and safely transfer US funds to Martin. Currently we are exploring options. Martin corresponds that the Western Money Transfer (equivalent to our Western Union) will work. Also a personal check against our account will work. But US banking officials claim that Martin will not receive the full benefit of our written check amounts, as the bank removes some fees, thus reducing the amount our dear friend will receive.

  Please advise us as to the cost of keeping Martin in school. This will provide us with an accurate amount so we will not be “guessing” how much is needed. We should like to keep Martin out of the process and only inform him that his tuition is paid and up to date. This is in lieu of sending funds to him. It will also keep Martin safe from anyone who suddenly realizes that this young man is receiving US funds and an easy target for thieves.

  In this letter we are enclosing a $20 check paid with US funds, which should provide ample money for Martin to continue his education without interruption. But, from this $20, will you please purchase enough postage to reply to the above address?

  Also, since Martin is interested in transferring to the Advanced Level education, we understand he will be writing a public examination. He would like to write nine subjects. Please give us the cost of this as quickly as possible so we do not miss the deadline for test taking.

  Thank you in advance for your assistance in this important matter. Any suggestions, ideas, or insights on how best to handle this matter efficiently will be appreciated.

  Sincerely,

  Anne Neville Stoicsitz

  “Perfect!” I said.

  “I’ll send Martin a copy so he knows we are going to take care of this. Then he can concentrate on school,” she said.

  She then took out another piece of paper to write a note to Martin.

  January 24, 2000

  Dear Martin:

  Thank you for sending Caitlin the lovely letters. She is sharing them with us, as she knows we are able to help you more than she is. Her gift to you is friendship!

  Enclosed is a copy of a letter we have sent to your headmaster. Hopefully the mail will move quickly and he will be able to respond! Rest assured we did enclose a check for $20 to help continue your education. He will tell us what we need to do so funds are put directly into your tuition fund. We are anxious for a reply.

  Mom left space at the bottom of her letter to Martin so I could add my own note: Martin, I hope we have helped you with all your needs.

  I drew a smiley face. And then I remembered I wanted to share more good news! My family and I will be hosting a German exchange student from April to May. We’re all very excited. Good luck in school! And tell your family I said hello. Keep your heads up and keep smiling!

  Right before we sealed the envelope, my mom took out her checkbook and added one final note: Enclosed is a check for your family’s use. If you are close to the deadline for your examinations, perhaps you could use the check for that?

  January 2000

  Martin

  A WEEK INTO THE NEW YEAR, the postman told me that there was a large package waiting for me back at the main post office.

  “Bring a friend to collect it,” he said. “A strong one.”

  This must be the mysterious package Caitlin had written about. I went to find Nation, who was playing soccer with his friends.

  “Brother, I need your help,” I called from the sidelines as he dribbled the ball down the dusty pitch, weaving in and out of his friends like a gazelle.

  “Come back after I’ve won this game,” he shouted, and then pow!, he took a shot at the goal. The ball flew between the two twigs doubling as markers. Nation pumped his fist in the air as his teammates ran to give him high fives.

  “I need you now,” I said urgently.

  He looked annoyed.

  “It’s important!” I said.

  He called a time-out, and jogged over to me. I whispered my reason in his ear.

  “I’m off!” he shouted, and then we sprinted toward the post office, two kilometers away.

  There, I gave my name to the postmaster, who pointed at a box almost as tall as my sister, Lois, and too wide to wrap my arms around. I thought there must be a mistake, until I saw Caitlin’s handwriting on the side, spelling out my name and address in large capital letters.

  Nation and I each took a side of the box and sidestepped out of the building.

  As much as we both wanted to rip the tape off and look inside, we knew it was best to do this in the privacy of our own home.

  “New TV?” someone shouted as we passed by.

  Nation glared and the guy left us alone. My brother was tough. People knew better than to mess with him.

  Back home, my parents and siblings gathered inside to open the box together. My father used his knife to carefully slice through the sturdy brown tape and then unfolded the top. Simba cried, “Whoa!” Inside, scattered everywhere, were little sweets that looked like jewels.

  “What is it?” my sister, Lois, asked, peering into the box. She was six, and had never eaten a sweet before. I had tried bubble gum once or twice, when school friends shared theirs with me. But these real sweets were a new experience for everyone in my family.

  I picked up the letter and read Caitlin’s greetings aloud. She explained that these were called candies in America.

  I handed one called Starburst to Lois. “You try first,” I said.

  She unwrapped the pink paper and placed the small square into her mouth tentatively.

  “It tastes like sweet fruit,” she said, smiling.

  George Jr. wanted to try one, too. I chose an orange square for him, and then gave my mother a red one. My father took a small colorful ball called jawbreaker, which Caitlin described as impossible to bite into. This inspired Nation to have one, too. We all watched as they both tried to chomp down on these large candies, but no luck.

  “A sweet rock!” my father said. He then took it out of his mouth and tried smashing it with the handle of his knife. No luck. We were amazed. He popped it back in his mouth.

  I tried a Tootsie Roll. It was the most delicious thing I’d ever eaten in
my entire life.

  Beneath the layer of candies were neatly folded clothes. I started pulling items out, and was suddenly overcome with that same perfumed scent that my Reebok and Nike shirt both had. This was what “new” smelled like, I thought. So many new things! T-shirts, shorts, and then soaps and deodorants that smelled even more gorgeous, like a whole garden of flowers.

  When I saw the Walkman, I had to sit down. I had seen people wearing these small machines in Harare. Alois explained that it was a way to listen to music on your own. That was a funny concept—shouldn’t music be shared with everyone? I recounted this story as I placed the headphones on my ears. Nation had found the cassette Caitlin sent, buried in the box. It was Ricky Martin. I knew his music. “La Vida Loca” was blaring from every boom box and radio in Mutare practically. I popped the tape in and hit PLAY.

  The music swelled in my ears and startled me. My family, riveted, erupted in nervous laughs.

  Then I heard a deep voice start singing, “She’s into superstitions, black cats, and voodoo dolls.”

  I found the volume dial and turned it up. It was too loud for my ears. I took the headphones off and handed them to my father, who held them in the center of our room as we all huddled around.

  By the time it reached the chorus, “Upside, inside out!” my whole family was dancing.

  “Living la vida loca!” my father started to sing. His voice filled the house and reminded me of the better days, when he would wake up and go to sleep singing. We had not had music in our home since the radio was taken from us two Christmases earlier. The clothes and toiletries were great gifts, but this Walkman was the biggest hit by far. And we were only halfway through the box.

  Simba pulled out the markers, and I knew immediately these were the tools Caitlin used to make her exquisite designs! There was a box of crayons for Lois, a coloring book for George, and a book bag for me! We were nearing the bottom when I spotted the sneakers, stacked side by side. I pulled out the first pair and my mother gasped. My father was the only person in our home who had proper shoes, which he needed for the factory. The rest of us wore flip-flops called pata patas because that was the sound they made when you walked in them. They were the cheapest thing to buy at the market, and made of rubber. Mine had been repaired several times since my father bought them for me two years earlier. My mother, however, did not even have a pair of pata patas. So when I handed her a pair of white sneakers with silver stripes down their side, she bowed her head very quickly.

  “You try first, Mai,” I said.

  She put her head in her hands, covering her face, and her smile.

  “Put them on!” Simba urged as I pulled the other pair from the box. These had a blue stripe, and a note from Caitlin: I hope they fit you, Martin! If not, please send me your size.

  I waited. This was my mother’s very first time trying on shoes. She slipped her foot into one, then the other.

  “I will show you how to tie them,” Nation said as he bent over her feet.

  She stood up and jumped up and down, once, then twice. Then she walked around the room, bouncing a bit with each step.

  “How do they feel?” I asked.

  “Too good for words, my son,” she said.

  I tried mine on, so thrilled to finally have a pair of real shoes! But my foot was too big. I pulled and tugged and pushed, but there was no way I could get my heel to go in. This meant they would not fit my father or Nation, who had bigger feet than me. Or Simba, who wore my size shoe. They were too big for Lois and George, of course. I handed them to my mother, to see if they fit her. She placed them next to her new sneakers and saw they were a bit bigger, but certainly would work.

  “Mother, now you have two to choose from,” I said, smiling.

  She bowed at me and said, “Une moyo wakanaka.”

  In Shona, this means, “You have a good heart.” It’s one of several expressions for giving thanks.

  I said, “Mother, Caitlin is the one with the good heart!”

  And she said, “So do you, my son. It is why Caitlin is your dear friend.”

  That night, so many joyful feelings were swirling inside my chest. These gifts and what they meant to me and my family were too good for words, but I tried anyway.

  January 18, 2000

  Dear the loving Stoicsitz family

  Hello everybody.

  Hie Cait, your loving mom, and caring dad. I finally got that huge expensive parcel! Oh! I am very happy. My family members are over-excited and are feeling really great with the huge box with the high-standard clothes, perfumes, shampoos, shaving creams.… Books. Oh! I thank you please. My parents are not very literate in English but they told me to say a big thank you. We really appreciate your love.

  I tried to list everything she had sent, which took up two whole pages. I included the shirts, and the cassette player, and candies.

  Thank you for those durable shoes you gave us! Though they were not my size, they are the best I have ever seen. My mom is the only one whose shoe size they were so we gave her all the two pairs. Faithfully, these are her first durable, expensive nice pairs of shoes, I thank you for this. She no longer walks barefooted and she is now counted in society.

  I thanked Caitlin for the pens, crayons, and school supplies, as well as the scented perfumes and soaps. We never had such things before! At the end of two long paragraphs, I summed it up: Our life is changing now through you.

  At the end of Caitlin’s note, she asked me to call her on the telephone to let her know the package arrived. Once again, I was in a bind. Like cameras, telephones were only for rich people. I knew there was a telephone at the post office where I could arrange to receive a call. I wrote:

  We do not have a telephone because it is very expensive to buy and use and maintain. But you can contact me through the POST OFFICE in Sakubva. You call them and tell them you want to speak with me so that they can contact me and I will be there in time to receive the international call from you. I hope this is the only way we can speak together on the phone. What do you think?

  I also caught her up on my school schedule. I had learned that the O-level fees were due by March 15, and that I needed Z$540. Just writing that fee took my breath away. They had already given us so much money—more than that amount—but asking for this on top of everything felt like too much. Still, it was my only option. I wanted to make sure she knew how much their financial support was appreciated by us.

  The money you sent came at a time when we were drowned in poverty and hunger. This is why I always say you are a loving family. The money really helped us! Thanks be unto you the loving and caring friends.

  I was overcome with emotion as I wrote this sentence. What would we have done without their help? Then I heard my father out in our courtyard singing, “Living la vida loca!” And saw Lois coloring with George on our bed. And then I saw my mother bounce by me in her new shoes. All these tremendous feelings crashed over me, a warm wave:

  Thank you for your effort, love, and time. Thank you for the shoes you gave us. My mom, I repeat, is now counted as human in the society.

  I was now more than ever determined to repay this kindness. I said in closing:

  I promise you this: One day I will be one of the African students at one of your universities. I would like to be a doctor or a chartered accountant so I can help my poor family, visit our loving friends (the Stoicsitzes) in Hatfield, have fun, send great gifts of appreciation to you, and if possible find a job in Hatfield or any American state near you. Isn’t this a good wish! I pray this will happen.

  Cait, your dad and mom and Richie, I say

  Warmest regards from

  Martin Ganda and Ganda family

  PS, I have recently stopped cleaning cars and carrying luggage and have left this for my brother Nation so I can concentrate on school. I have two more years before I go to university. How many do you have, Caitlin? Thanks thanks.

  After I finished writing, I took out my new box of Stampers. I chose lips, hearts,
stars, and smiley faces to decorate each page, and then encircled Caitlin’s name at the top, like a halo.

  February 2000

  Caitlin

  AS HAPPY AS I WAS to get news that Martin had received the package, several sentences in his letter upset me. To this day, they still make me cry. He wrote: My mother wants to thank you for the shoes. And Now she will be counted in the society. That just floored me. I thought, How can someone be overlooked or ignored just because she doesn’t have shoes? It made me realize how much injustice was happening in the world—and probably in Hatfield, too.

  I started obsessing about how ridiculous it was that people were treated badly because of how much money they did or did not have. I was halfway through ninth grade and could see how all these cliques formed in school around money. The popular girls were all from families like mine that could afford to buy them the trendiest clothes, shoes, and makeup. They went on vacations to cool places—like Florida or the Bahamas—and to see concerts, or to Six Flags amusement park with their families. Then there were also kids who had money and used it to gain access to these cliques, like Marie. Her family was really wealthy, but she was very shy and a little nerdy—the opposite of her mother, who went to high school with my mom and was on the prom queen’s court. I think it bothered her that Marie was not more popular. So she bought six tickets to see ’N Sync and then told Marie to invite all the popular girls, including me. None of the other girls liked her—they’d say mean things about her behind her back. But they all accepted the tickets, which made me feel nauseated. I told Marie I couldn’t go because I had to babysit, which was true. I was relieved. I didn’t want any part of that.

  A few weeks after I received Martin’s letter, my mom took me to a luncheon at Gwynedd Mercy University. She had decided to go back to school to get her bachelor’s degree in education when I was still in elementary school, and she was still an active alumnus. They served brick oven pizza at the luncheon but had ordered way too much, so there were two entire pizzas left over at the end. The woman who had organized the event asked my mom if she wanted to take them home.