Domino Effect

Part 1: Bertha

 Bertha Chigumula woke up in the little house in Nancholi and she was tired. This was pretty normal at this point – it seemed no matter how much she slept she woke up even more tired than the night before. Her boyfriend Lawson Mbayani was away visiting his mother who was admitted at Queen Elizabeth Hospital.

Bertha got up with a groan, feeling every joint as she levered herself into a sitting position with her feet onto the concrete floor. The springs of the bed creaked loudly as she shifted her weight. There was a time when those springs barely made a sound. Before the weight of the world had settled on her hips, arms and tummy.

Lawson was coming back today.

Bertha let out a sigh and dropped her head back onto the bed. The thought exhausted her. After about five more minutes of not wanting to move, she pushed herself slowly to her feet and began cleaning up. The obvious stuff first, making the bed, washing the piled up dishes, cleaning the bathroom, sweeping and mopping all the floors. Under some dirty laundry she found the big bail of clothing she had bought and was planning to sell on Facebook and Whatsapp. It was a business that was far from the journalism degree she had studied at Poly, but there were few opportunities for graduates and she was competing against people who had actually wanted to study journalism. So she got into trading - it was straightforward, push the products, and boom, cash in hand.

She pulled out her busted hand-me-down Samsung which was at least 3 generations behind the current models. But it did what she needed it to do – make her cash. She dragged herself to the couch, absent-mindedly pulling the mop along with her as she logged into Facebook.

Her profile photo might as well have been a different person. That girl in the picture grinned as if she was about to watch a hilarious practical joke, staring at the camera with eyes that twinkled. Although that girl was curvy, she had the carefree attitude of someone who had no idea how fat she would one day become. That girl barely cared about what anyone thought of her figure, that was your opinion, she was too busy trying new experiences. Her skin was bright, a rich milk chocolate. Bertha’s skin looked nothing like that, darkened eye sockets, patchy pigmentation and acne. Her relaxed hair was thin around the edges, pulled back in a careless ponytail, while the girl in the Facebook profile had long braids with pink highlights – trendy, cute, adventurous. That girl was the one who made the sales – even if she no longer existed.

Before Bertha even logged into the app, Facebook told her she had one more notification from when she had last checked the night before. Thinking nothing of it, she clicked in with her thumb which had a cracked nail, went straight to the notification bell, and sorted through them. The top notification said “Your friend Mphatso Chilendo has tagged you in a post from 5 years ago”. Bertha froze and made a sound of dismay “hmmmm”. Barely breathing, she clicked on the notification, and cursed her slow internet connection as it took its sweet time to load.

The picture finally appeared, and it was like a ghost stole all her air. The picture looked benign enough – six college students around a braai stand in the evening on a kondi. Their expressions ranged from jovial to tipsy, with someone exaggerating for the sake of the photo, one with their hand trying to cover their friend’s face. 3 were sitting, the rest were standing, all were holding drinks. In the centre was a face she knew well and another she could hardly recognise. It was her boyfriend Lawson with his arm around the girl in Bertha’s profile picture, still happy, still unaware of all the drama, hurt and heartache headed her way from that man.

The caption of the photo read “Eeeh, ma guye, talk about blast from the past! The OG crew, ain’t none betta. Uv been tagged, let’s get in touch” Mphatso, the one who posted the photo, was the girl on the far right, short and slim, but with a personality bigger than her petite size. Mphatso was one of those college friends that Bertha had hung out with all the time, but after uni, there was suddenly no reasons left to meet up. Now Mphatso wanted to force a reunion.

Bertha quickly found the option to un-tag herself from the picture. The day she met Lawson was not a day to be cherished.

***

Part 2: Lawson

Lawson Mbayani stared at the floor of Ward 5B as if the tiles were asking him the toughest exam question of his least favourite subject. His mother lay in the hospital bed in front of him. She had a gaunt physique, as her illness had wasted much of her muscle away. Though her voice was raspy, it was still as strong as it had ever been.

“…and another thing, why it is you never come to visit? Eh? These doctors have told me it’s cancer. But I know the truth,” she raised a knobbly finger. “You are the one making me sick. You know people can die from lack of love, did you know that?” She scowled, pulling at the thin blanket covering her and cursed. “Did you bring my Sobo?”

Lawson sighed like a much older man. “I brought you Ceres juice, Ma.”

The glare could have turned the sweltering hot ward to ice. “You’re just a lazy boy!”

“Ma, they don’t make Sobo anymore.”

“That is nonsense! Why are you lying to me Lawson?”

Lawson didn’t respond, his breath rushed out of his nostrils and he clutched his hands together on his knees. He got up suddenly and turned to the door.

“Where are you going?” she snapped at him.

“The doctor said there was a balance of bills to be paid for your treatment,” he said without turning around. Then he added, “I also need to get back to the bank. I’ve taken too many days off.” He opened the door and began to step out.

“Wait, Lawson!” She pleaded. He half turned his head, but his feet were planted in place, and his hand was still on the door. “Don’t leave me alone in this place…”

Lawson forced a smile. “I’ll be back to see you tonight.” Then he marched out into the busy hospital hallway, resisting the temptation to break into a run. He heard her saying something but couldn’t make out what it was, and kept walking as if he had heard nothing.

Part 3: Bertha and Lawson

By the time Lawson arrived at his Nancholi house, it was 15 minutes to midday. He walked in through the creaking kitchen door and saw Bertha at the stove, making nsima. Lawson looked around, noting the onion peels on the floor, a pile of dust in the corner from sweeping, and a streak across the floor from rushed mopping. Bertha didn’t turn around, though she certainly heard him. She wore a casual light green top which started rolling up, exposing her back, and jeans that fit poorly.

“Uh… hello?” He said to the room in general. “Did anyone here miss me?”

Bertha moved a pot of goat meat off the stove to the sink to prevent it from burning “I’m just finishing making lunch,” she said without making eye contact.

Lawson chewed on his lower lip and shut the kitchen door. He remained where he stood, staring at the fridge ahead with a stony patience. After 5 seconds, Bertha paused her cooking, her arm still holding the wooden ntiko in mid turn as she realised Lawson was still standing there. She lowered the spoon, exhaled and lowered her head slightly, then moved the nsima onto a cold stove. She turned herself around, looked up at Lawson and placed a shaky smile on her face. She walked to him and put her arms around him in a gesture that could only technically be called a hug. “Welcome home.”

“That’s more like it!” said Lawson with a little exaggeration. He didn’t hug her back until she started to pull away – then he pulled her back in and held her close. “It’s nice to have a little appreciation when I’m back home ok? I don’t do much, I just pay the bills and help your business, send you airtime. I don’t expect too much from you do I?”

“No. Sorry.”

Lawson smiled. “It’s ok darling, just take note that I’ve told you now.” He lowered his hands and pulled her top down, covering her back. “Have you started the exercises I suggested for you?” He pulled out of the hug to look her in the eyes. “You are really starting to need them now. And these jeans…” He just shook his head in disapproval. He didn’t wait for an answer, guided her aside by her shoulders and walked out of the kitchen heading to the bedroom.

He changed his clothes and went into the dining room and sat down on his chair at the head of the table. Bertha started putting the food on the table and Lawson sat with his chin on his knuckles. She was moving hurriedly, knowing that he didn’t like it when he had to wait for the food to be put on the table. He made no comment about it now, he would find some way for her to make up for it later.

When the food was on the table, Bertha sat down to his left and waited for him to eat before she started to eat her own food.

“How’s your mother?” Bertha asked flatly.

Lawson shrugged “I’ll hear from the doctors tonight.”

“Should I come with you?” she asked.

Lawson chewed on a piece of goat meat for a few seconds, then shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea in her condition babe.” He glanced at her plate. “Babe, something that might help your health is taking a little less nsima. Just a suggestion.”

Bertha stopped eating and pushed her plate away. Lawson looked at her, chewing the meat slower.

“Are you ashamed of me?” She asked. “Is that why you haven’t told your mother about me?”

“Bertha…” his tone was a warning.

“I think you are. I think you hate everything about me, Lawson.”

“Bertha! Why would I keep buying you things if I hated you? Why would I put up with all your mistakes? Because I love you, like no one else can! I want to make you a better person, that’s what relationships are all about.”

Bertha stood up slowly. “Then why do I hate myself more since I met you?”

“What kind of questions are these? Do you know what I’ve been through? I don’t deserve this!” Lawson said indignantly.

Bertha shook her head, exasperated. “It’s always about you. Even when I’m trying to talk about me it’s always about you. And I let myself disappear and made my whole life about you.”

Lawson’s eyes widened and he stood up. “Are you kidding! All I do is sacrifice for you! I stayed with you when so many guys would have left! I’m actually willing to work with you!”

Bertha flinched as Lawson stood over her. “Why? Why don’t you just leave me be?” Tears were clouding her eyes.

“Am I talking to a deaf person? I said I love you!” Lawson was almost shouting.

Bertha shook her head as the tears rolled down. “No, you don’t.”

Lawson crossed his arms breathing heavily. “Ok. Have I ever hit you?”

“Lawson hitting someone isn’t the only way to hurt them. I am dying inside.” Bertha said, not raising her voice.

Lawson threw his arms up and marched to the living room and slammed the door.

In the next 15 minutes. Bertha took a deep breath, went to the bedroom, put together the belongings she felt were the most important, packed them in a China bag and walked out the door. Lawson didn’t move from the living room, heard her leave and sat for hours, until the night descended around him. He did not move to switch on the lights.

He was sure she would be back. He was sure of it.

Epilogue

27 years earlier, a young woman packed the last of her belongings from the house she had lived in with her husband. It was just after midnight. Her left eye was swollen, she used mostly her right eye to search for her most important belongings, but left the jewellery and perfumes behind. She packed a second bag of cloth diapers, milk bottles and a toy or two. She had thought the birth of her baby would have stopped her husband accusing her of being barren, but he had only turned to other complaints, until finally he punched her in the face like he was in a common bar fight.

She put her sleeping baby on her back carefully, trying not to wake him so that his cries wouldn’t give her escape away. She walked out of the house, closing the door but not bothering to lock it, then climbed into the taxi parked outside. As she entered the back seat, she accidently bumped the baby’s on the door frame and he immediately woke up crying.

“Shhhh!” she said frantically, but he kept on crying. “Lawson iwe, quiet!” He wouldn’t be quiet, so she quickly pulled her bags into the taxi and closed the door, hoping to cut off the sound.

As the car drove off, she hoped and prayed with all her might that the baby wouldn’t look anything like his father. But she already knew it was in vain. Everyone said he had his father’s face, from the moment he was born.