Rejoice was a beautiful 19 year old Form 4 student at my school. She and I had become good friends. She was the house girl for Mrs. Ngambule, the Home Ec teacher, who lived catty corner from my house in the teachers quarters. She cleaned Mrs Ngambule’s house, washed clothes, fetched water, and cooked dinner some nights, and fetched things from the store, and in return, Mrs Ngambule gave her a room in the house, fed her, and paid her tuition at the school. Most teachers had a house girl.
Rejoice was a good student who consistently got top grades. I loved that about her. It wasn’t that she was studious, but more that she was naturally intelligent, and paid attention, and had not lost her curiosity, like many of the high school students had. School was just not that hard for her. Her English was good. We had sat many evenings on the bench in front of my house, and told each other the stories of our lives.
She wanted to “practice her English” with me, she told me the first night she came over and sat by me while I was grading papers in the waning light of day. At first, she was kind of shy, but her curiosity about the new American teacher overrode her timidity. As she got accustomed to the honest style of level communication that I always use, she came out of her shell, and got into it. Before long we were good friends.
She always had something to say, and always a million questions for me. About everything. About the rotation of the constellations around the Southern Cross. How do you make paper? How do you get the ink in the little tube in a Bic pen? How many hours every day did people in America have electricity, and where did the electric come from for so many people? How deep was the ocean, and were the Atlantic and Pacific and Indian oceans the same depth? I never knew what was coming. Fortunately I am kind of an information junkie, and I could actually give a detailed answer to many of her questions, which is what she wanted. Some questions require background to understand the answers, and she would sit there patiently attentive for however long the answer took. I knew she was understanding everything, because she would have a question the next day or the next week that showed she had really thought about what she had learned. Young people like that are so rare, especially in bushveld Swaziland.
Rejoice had a great sense of humor, including an appreciation of irony, something that was completely foreign to my woodworking boys. I would say something ironic in class, even changing my voice to accentuate the point, and it would sail right over my boys heads. Our evening chats were animated and easy.
So, one day, about two weeks from the end of my tenure at Elulakeni High School, I was walking back to the teachers quarters after classes, and she caught up to me in the middle of the soccer pitch.
Rejoice: Maseko, I am going to miss you when you leave.
Me: I will miss you too, Rejoice, very much.
Rejoice: I have learned so much from our evening chats. When you are gone, who will I learn things from?
Me: Well, Rejoice, Mr Ankamah, the Ghanaian agriculture teacher has traveled widely before he came here. I have found him to be an erudite and interesting man to be friends with. Maybe he would like talking with you.
Rejoice: Yes, maybe. He is not open like you are. Are all Americans like you, Maseko? (I got asked that a lot)
Me: (with the answer I always gave to that question) Why, yes, Rejoice, all Americans are exactly like me. Every one of them. Just like all Swazis are just like you. (the other question I always got was “Do you know Michael Jackson?” Swazis figured there weren’t that many black people in America, so I must know all of them)
Rejoice: (laughing out loud) I take your point, Maseko. Of course they are not. But still, I am going to miss you when you go. You must give me something to remember you by.
Me: OK, what would you like?
Rejoice: (sighing) Oh, I don’t know. I like your t-shirt very much. It is my favorite of your shirts that you wear. It would remind me of you.
I almost never pay attention to what I am wearing. I just grab the top shirt of my clean shirts, and put it on and go. I only had about 5 shirts left, after 3 years of bush laundry. The rest had died of tatteredness. I looked down, and saw I was wearing one of my favorite shirts, an old one from college, The WC Fielders, the Ultimate Frisbee team I had played on at Wilmington College for two years. I had brought it with me when I came, to put on when I was feeling very far away. It was light green, and kind of worn, and really soft and comfortable, but you could still read the silk screened logo on the front. It had moved into active status because I only had 4 other shirts. I liked it a lot. My comfort shirt. Good memories. Was I ready to give it away?
Rejoice: Yes, you must give me your shirt to remember you by.
Me: OK, come on up to the house, and I will change shirts and give it to you, all smelly and needing to be washed.
Rejoice: No, give it to me here. I am going the other way, way over there, to buy some eggs.
She pointed to a homestead way off in the distance behind me.
Me: Rejoice, I can’t take off my shirt here, and walk through the teachers quarters shirtless. It would not be proper for a teacher to walk around without a shirt. The teachers would be offended seeing me without a shirt.
Rejoice: OK then, I will give you mine, to remember me by, and you can wear it.
And before I could say jack spratt, she had whipped her raggedy rayon blouse off, and was holding it out to me. She was standing there bare breasted, and we were out in the middle of the soccer pitch in front of God and everyone. And she was 19, with 19 year old breasts standing proudly out from her chest. My eyeballs popped out of their sockets, and bounced off of the inside of my glasses and back in. Her breasts were beautiful. And she was not being coquettish at all. In Swaziland, breasts were not considered to be something sexy, but were for feeding children, and women had no modesty attached to bare breasts, but I was rocked back on to my heels. I quickly shucked my shirt off, and gave it to her to put on. I was imagining the rumors that would be going around if anyone saw us. She put my t-shirt on quickly, and smiled a big smile. I crammed myself into her small blouse, but there was no hope of buttoning it. She laughed and said I looked pretty in her blouse, and people would mistake me for a student. She laughed again, and ran off towards the distant homestead.
“Thank you, Maseko” she shouted over her shoulder as she scampered away. I walked the rest of the way to the house through the teachers quarters with a red face, hoping nobody would stop me and comment on my new raggedy blouse.
Miss you and your smile, Rejoice 