“They need it by tomorrow,” I explained. “School starts the following day.”
“What else do you need?” he asked. The headmaster gave me a list of supplies required to attend Marist Brothers, which included the uniform and a specific trunk, all of which I needed by Tuesday.
After I rattled off everything on my list, I heard Alois speak to Sekai.
“You are in luck,” his voice boomed through the receiver. “Sekai can come to Mutare tomorrow morning to help gather all these things.”
“Fantastic!” I shouted.
Sekai and Alois understood how important this was.
The next morning, Sekai stepped off the bus looking as beautiful and vibrant as I remembered her.
“We have a lot to do, cousin,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Sekai was paying for everything—so I had already crossed off unnecessary items, like the tracksuit, the extra shirt, and the lace-up shoes. I had to get the black metallic trunk, to store my personal belongings. Everyone had one, including Rabbit. Back home, I filled it with a few clothes from Caitlin, notebooks, and a blanket my mother had secured for me.
“I traded this for work,” she said. My mom had picked up a part-time job working as a maid for a wealthy family. I didn’t know how many hours it would take her to pay off such a lovely thing, but it became my most prized possession, my connection to her. I packed my Walkman, a few cassette tapes, and a dozen or more of Caitlin’s photos.
After dinner, I walked Sekai to the station to say good-bye.
“Alois is very proud of you, Martin,” she said right before she boarded the bus. “He’ll do his best to get the deposit in time.”
I clasped both my hands around hers and bowed my head into our interwoven fingers.
“I don’t know how I can repay such kindness,” I said. “But I promise you, I will.”
Sekai smiled and said, “Focus on your studies, Martin—that’s all we want in return.”
I barely slept that night. After the first rooster crow, I jumped up. My new uniform was draped over my trunk. Slipping into the long pants and proper shirt and jacket that morning made me realize that my life was truly about to change. I felt ready.
My trunk was too heavy to carry to the bus station, so my family accompanied me to the main road, where I hailed a small tut tut taxi. I hugged my younger brothers and sister good-bye. Before I got in the vehicle, my mother placed both hands on my shoulders and stood on her toes to look in my eyes.
“Work hard,” she said. “Don’t do crazy stuff there.”
My father put his arm around me and said, “You’ll do just fine. You have made us so proud.”
“I will miss you, brother.” Nation was the last to say good-bye.
“And I you,” I replied. “All of you.”
As the taxi took off, I realized I wouldn’t see any of them again for months. I felt sad as I watched my family, still waving, disappear. Then I realized, I’m doing this for myself, and for them. I was starting a new chapter.
In Nyanga, a van collected me and a few other students. I quickly found Rabbit, who had saved a bed for me, next to his.
“I knew you’d be back,” he said.
This meant we shared a cabinet, too. His side had several photos pinned to it. One of his family visiting on parents’ day, another of his girlfriend back home. I started unpacking and took out the photo of Caitlin wearing her sun hat.
“Wow,” Rabbit said. “Who’s that?”
I pulled out all the other photos and started telling Rabbit about Caitlin.
“So she’s your girlfriend?” Rabbit asked.
“She’s my best friend,” I countered.
By then, a small crowd had gathered around to look at the pictures of Caitlin, her family, dogs, house, and her new car.
“She looks like a movie star!” Bonaventure said. His bed was on the other side of mine.
“Is that how you got those Nikes?” asked Gregory, another dorm mate.
The questions kept coming rapid fire. Finally, I put up my hands and said, “Okay guys, enough! I have to unpack!”
When I was done, I adhered all of Caitlin’s photos to my locker with tape borrowed from Rabbit. From then on, I was no longer known as the bean eater, or the kid from Sakubva, but as the new guy with the gorgeous American girlfriend. I didn’t argue. They would never understand our bond. Besides, it raised my cache on campus.
March 2001
Caitlin
I WAS HANGING OUT AT the food court in the mall when I spotted Austin. I knew him through Heather—they were dating even though he went to Pennridge, a rival high school. That meant the other three boys he was with probably went there as well. One of them was really cute. My friend Amy saw me staring and said, “I dare you to go talk to him.”
Propelled by the thought of kissing the tall, lanky boy with the sandy-brown hair one day soon, I stood up and heard Amy say “No way” as I walked across the court. The boys must have heard, too, because they turned toward me as I approached.
“Hey, Austin,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Not much,” he said. I was waiting for an introduction, but couldn’t stand the suspense. I turned to my new crush and said, “Hi, I’m Caitlin. And you’re really cute.”
His other friends all busted out laughing, including Austin, who said, “Your move, Damon.”
Damon’s cheeks turned red as he looked away for a moment before turning to me to say, “Okay, well, you’re cute, too.”
I found a slip of paper and a pen in my bag and wrote down my number.
“Call me,” I said, and then walked back to my friends, who each high-fived me when I sat down.
“I cannot believe you just did that!” Amy said.
I couldn’t, either, but loved the warm tingly feeling flooding my body.
My friends and I popped into Aeropostale to try on the skinny cargo pants that were all the rage. There, I fell in love with a backless halter top and a leather miniskirt that I dreamed of wearing on my first date with Damon. I hoped he’d call.
As we rode the escalator up to the next level, Amy spotted Damon and Austin below.
“Caitlin, there he is,” she said.
“Hey, Damon,” I shouted as all my friends laughed. He looked up at me and I blew him a kiss and winked. I’d always been outgoing, but even I was amazed at my forwardness.
That night, I was in my room when my cell phone lit up with a number I didn’t recognize.
“Caitlin?” I recognized the gravelly voice and felt that same tingly feeling again. He called.
We talked on the phone for over an hour that night. I told him I was about to turn sixteen, and that my dad had already bought me a car.
“I’ve actually seen it,” he said. “I dropped Austin off at Heather’s last week, and I noticed it in the driveway.”
“You drove past my house?” I said.
“Your driveway looks like a parking lot,” he responded. “And your car stuck out.”
I got goose bumps. “Well, now you know where to come pick me up!” I said.
Damon showed up the next day. My mom and dad already knew he was coming over. They were very cool about my having boyfriends, as long as they got to know them.
“Nice to meet you, young man,” my dad said, greeting Damon at the front door.
Damon and I went to the mall to meet up with Heather and Austin, both of whom were excited that we could now double-date. I was, too. Damon was different from the guys I dated in middle school. He was more mature, and sensitive. I understood why when I met his dad. He had MS and was in a wheelchair as a result. That meant he needed full-time care to do anything from eat to go to the bathroom. Damon’s mom took care of his dad, and basically let her kids fend for themselves. His parents turned the downstairs den into their bedroom, and let Damon and his older brother take over the second floor, which meant they could drink beer and smoke pot in their rooms, as their mom never really checked on them.
The first
time Damon offered me pot in his house, I was mortified. My mom had recently found Richie’s bong in a brown paper bag in his underwear drawer. She took the bag out to the garage, smashed it with a hammer, and then put the bag of broken shards back in the drawer. I kept waiting for Richie to get yelled at—and so did he. The look of fearful anticipation on his face remained for days. She never said a word, which was somehow worse than being grounded.
I knew better than to bring pot or any paraphernalia into my house, but I thought it was cool that Damon could. I also liked that I could tell him anything. We were in his room hanging out when I first told him about Martin. At first I worried that he, like everyone else, would think Martin was my boyfriend. After I told Damon the whole story starting from the first letter to the phone call with Mr. Samupindi, he smiled and said, “That’s so cool.”
April 2001
Martin
I SETTLED IN TO MY school that Tuesday and waited for confirmation that Alois had sent the funds. Everything was happening so fast, I did not have time to write Caitlin with my news. I wanted to wait for everything to be settled first. The fees were due by five PM. When Wednesday morning arrived, I woke up nervous. At breakfast, the deputy headmaster called several students’ names, including mine. We were all instructed to report to the bursar’s office. This felt too familiar.
I was the first in line at the bursar’s office, desperate to know the status.
“The deposit did not arrive,” he explained.
“There must be a mistake,” I said.
“Regardless, it was due yesterday,” he responded.
“I know my cousin will pull through,” I said. “May I call to see what the holdup is?”
The bursar gave me a week to sort things out, so I reported to my first class that morning confident I could. The teacher entered the room and all of the students took out their notebooks and got quiet immediately.
“Mangwanani, class,” the teacher said. That was the only Shona spoken for the next forty-five minutes. Classes were taught in English, and all of my teachers were brilliant. I felt like a dried-out sponge being doused with water. I soaked every word up, and wrote each one down verbatim. By the end of the day, my hand was aching. So were my arms, as each class came with its own textbook. When that first teacher handed them out at the start of class, I was in awe as students wrote their names inside the covers.
I held back from raising my hand to ask the question straining at my lips: “We get to keep these?”
That evening, I lugged seven textbooks back to my room and carefully placed them in my locker.
“There are thousands more books at the library,” Rabbit said. “And you can use them at any time.”
No more sharing, or borrowing, or sneaking around, I thought. This was my heaven.
At the end of my first week, I saw how challenging my new school was. My classmates were smarter and more diligent than any I had encountered before. I decided to go study at the library, like I did in Sakubva. I thought I could get ahead that way, and so I was shocked to find I was not the only one with this idea. Kids didn’t brag about sneakers, or music, or money. Instead, they’d say, “I stayed up until four AM studying.” The harder you worked, the cooler you were.
I knew I could work hard and keep up with the rest academically, but not if the money didn’t arrive. Alois sent me a message on Friday—he needed a few more days. I spent that weekend feeling enormous dread, knowing at any moment I could be kicked out.
Monday morning arrived and all of the A-level students were called to an assembly after breakfast. The headmaster spent fifteen minutes giving everyone a pep talk. “This is your chance to show the world how smart and dedicated you are,” his big voice bellowed across the wood-paneled room where we all had gathered.
I was standing in one of the back two rows, with my class. The upperclassmen were in the front two rows. Everyone was dressed for inspection, which came next. The headmaster walked from one student to the next, eyeing each up and down, and whispering notes to the deputy, who followed him with a book. If your shirt was wrinkled, or your hair was a mess, you would get written up.
“Stand up straight,” Rabbit had coached me earlier that morning as we all walked toward the assembly. “And don’t look him in the eyes. Just look ahead.” I did as I was told, and thought I made it when no notes were taken in front of me. But then the headmaster resumed his position at the front of the room and bellowed, “Jonathan Chinweze.” Jonathan raised his hand. “Lovemore Mugonda,” the headmaster shouted. Another hand shot up. And then he said, “Martin Ganda.”
Electricity coursed through my veins as I lifted my arm in the air.
“Come see me in my office,” he said, before dismissing the rest of the students.
As I walked down toward the office with Jonathan and Lovemore, my head was spinning. How could I raise this money? I had to stay. I couldn’t imagine going back to Sakubva now.
I was the first to go in.
“You said your cousin in Harare was going to pay Friday, but nothing happened,” Mr. Muzawazi said. “I have protected you as long as I possibly can. It would not be fair to the other students if I kept allowing this to happen.”
“I understand, sir,” I said. “Please allow me to make one last call. I will tell my cousin if we don’t receive the funds today, then it’s over.”
“Fair enough,” he said.
I went directly to the secretary, who placed the call. When Alois heard my voice, he said, “Perfect timing! I just sent the money this very minute!”
“This is such great news!” I said as all the tension drained from my body. “I was sure I would be taking a bus back to Chisamba Singles this evening.”
Alois explained that it was more difficult than ever to sell stocks these days, as the market was on the verge of collapse. “I could help with the deposit, but I won’t be able to do anything more,” he said. “You’ll have to find another way.”
I said I would, and then reported the good news to the receptionist. “Please let the headmaster and bursar know to expect the deposit today,” I said. I did not mention the rest of the tuition. I first had to figure out how I could get it. That would take some time. And I did not feel I could ask Caitlin for this much money. It was twenty times more than my school in Sakubva, and she was already supporting my family. It was too much. I decided to just throw myself into my work. Perhaps, if I did well, the headmaster would make an exception. All I knew how to do was study. So I focused on that.
By the end of the semester my grades were good and I had never once gotten called out for a messy room or rumpled jacket. I even got the highest grade on an early math test, but I knew that wasn’t enough to keep me in school. The semester was coming to an end and I still hadn’t figured out a way to raise the rest of my tuition. I kept focused on my work and prayed for a miracle.
The last Monday in March, the headmaster announced that anyone who still owed tuition was going to be sent home the following week. I knew he was talking about me. That familiar feeling of dread consumed me.
That morning, the headmaster called my name with three others. I was sure it was over. I was heading back to Chisamba Singles.
This time, I wasn’t first in line. I did not want to learn my fate but savor every last second I had as a Marist Brothers student.
I watched as the three guys before me left his office with their mouths tightly drawn, or trembling. When the headmaster called my name, I felt like I was walking to the guillotine.
I entered his office with my head down.
“Martin, I have good news,” he said.
I thought it was cruel of him to make light of something this serious. I glared at him. He was sitting at his desk, his hands behind his head, like he was stretching. I wanted to punch the smile off his face. This was my livelihood, my future. All those months of stress turned into rage, now boiling in my belly. I remained quiet. I had nothing left to say.
“I’m on the board of this comp
any, and they offer scholarships,” he explained, handing me a piece of official stationery that said DELTA CORPORATION.
I was trembling as I read the note:
Dear Sir:
This is to inform you that Martin Ganda is a recipient of the Delta 2001 Scholarship Award for two years up to A-level exams.
Kindly send the school invoice for the whole year for the above named student. Payment will be made directly to the school.
Thank you for your assistance.
Yours faithfully,
G. T. Mutendadzamera
Corporate Affairs Manager
I looked up at the headmaster, who said with a huge grin, “You may now return to class.”
I slowly turned toward the door, still reeling from this news.
“And congratulations on your math score, young man!” he said. “Keep up the good work.”
All I could say was, “Thank you, sir. I will.”
When I left his office, I started to sprint. There were so many emotions swirling inside of me, I started running down the driveway toward the main road with the scholarship letter rolled up in my right hand. I felt like the runner who starts every Olympic game. This was my torch! And my ticket. When I was far enough away, I started to ululate. My cries floated up in the air, and caught on the tree branches above, where they startled birds into flight. I kept singing, and running, tears now streaming down my face, until my vocal cords started to ache and my lungs felt empty. I slowed to a walk and drank in the country air as if it were a cold glass of water on the hottest summer day. And then I turned around to walk back up to class.
April 2001
Caitlin
WHEN MARTIN SENT ME HIS O-level scores, I wanted to make copies and hand one to everyone who doubted him, and me.
“Remember the grifter scam artist kid from Zimbabwe you warned me about?” I’d say in my revenge fantasies. “Well, guess what? He just got nine As on a national exam. All As.” Then I’d whip out his report card and say, “See?!”
I Will Always Write Back: How One Letter Changed Two Lives Page 17