Nomsa crouched in the hot sand of the spruit and carefully arranged the chosen pebbles in small squares. She was making a house with many rooms. She had collected the sun-warmed pebbles, trying to find as many colours as she could. Small sticks made the boma around the house; the cows were the fruits of the Koo-boo berry bush. It was the first day of the school holidays and Nomsa was lonely. Her friend, Mandisa, had gone to visit her mother in the big city of Pietermaritzburg.

When I Was a Child by Missionary Mary Proctor

Nomsa was excited about going with her mother alone to Bergville the next day. Her small brothers would stay at home with their grandmother, u. Gogo, and she would enjoy her special status, the oldest child. They would catch the bus to go to the market and the shops and the post office to see if money had come from father in the city.

The town was full of colour and activity. Gold and silver tinsel decorated shop windows, gaudy and bright in the sunshine. The hawkers had spread out an enticing array of cheap, bright objects for sale on the pavements, so that one had to step over and around. Nomsa particularly liked the muti man with his mud smeared orange dreadlocks and the pungent scent of the neat herb parcels tied with grass. While her mother went to stand in the post office queue Nomsa was allowed to go and look in the C.N.A. next door. She would visit there to buy the clean white books, full of the promise of blank pages for next year's school, and new pencils and, if the money came from her father, new crayons – but that was next month – now the shop was a treasure trove of toys.

Nomsa walked down the aisles, careful not to touch. She knew what she wanted and desired above all else. Mandisa had been given one by her mother's employers last Christmas. The little girls had spent many hours, dressing and undressing, talking in high-pitched English voices, making houses, combing the long blonde tresses. The Barbie dolls were there, stiff and pointy, with their houses, clothes, cars and even a horse to ride. She knew exactly which one she wanted, the one with yellow hair and a small pink swimming costume. On her toes were fluffy slippers, and there was a flimsy robe to wear over the top.

"Nomsa come, we must buy the tea and mielie-meal for Granny".

"Look, Mama, look. Please, please, please can I have this one for Christmas?" she tugged at her mother's arm.

Her mother bent down and took her gently in her arms, "Dear Nomsa, I am sorry, but the money was not there from your father."

"But Mama, why can't we just ask Father Christmas? He brings presents for good boys and girls. I have been very good Mama."

"Yes my precious, you have been good, but I think Father Christmas is only for the rich people, not poor people like us."

That night Nomsa lay under her blanket and puzzled over Father Christmas. Why did he visit only rich people? The rich people already had many things, surely Father Christmas should be for the poor people? Her mother also lay awake and worried. The money had not come the previous month either. All they had now was her mother's pension, and the small amount she earned once a week cleaning Mrs Smalberger's house.

Nomsa and her two brothers were beloved, good children. How her heart longed to give them a special Christmas treat. How her mother's face would light up at the sight and smell of a chicken for lunch with vegetables and gravy. Agnes wondered what had happened to James. He was a good man but easily influenced by his friends. She worried when she did not hear from him, and now she had heard nothing for over seven weeks.

She thought back to their wedding, he had been so proud. Her aunts had worked hard to make her a wedding day cape. She remembered well how contentedly they had sat in the sun against the wall of the hut, on upturned paraffin cans. Their mouths had worked as hard as their quick fingers. Her wedding cape was made mainly of white beads as they represent purity, cleanliness, true love and hope. These qualities Agnes knew she had in abundance on her wedding day, but now the latter, hope, was less strong. Suddenly she remembered that her friend had told her about a man in the town who was buying old things like masks and wooden milking pails, was it possible that he would desire her wedding cape?

Next morning early Agnes took the cape from the rickety chest of drawers, she held it briefly to her cheek and the smoky smell brought the happier, more carefree times back in an overwhelming rush. Resolutely she wrapped it carefully in a yellow Checkers bag and caught the bus to town. The shop was in the posh part of the town, the windows were full of wooden masks and carved animals, and indeed there were beaded necklaces there. Hesitantly she pushed the door and was startled by the loud bell that clanged in the deep regions of the shop. The man there was kind as she nervously fumbled the cape from the bag. "Yes," he said, "it is very nice uNkosazana, I will give you a hundred rand for it."

On Christmas morning Nomsa built her pebble house and the boma. In the middle, arms and legs splayed stiffly sat the pink Barbie doll, in her wisps of chiffon and sparkly net. The house was rich with the scent of cooking chicken.

On the Internet, w.w.w.african gallery.co.za, a new item appeared for sale: "Ngwane wedding day cape.
Isikoti, Zulu, South Africa.
Glass beads fabric cotton.
Size: 120cm x 80cm
Price: $1,480,00."

THE END

First Published in hardcopy by Bataleur Books.

BIO: Lise Day has taught literature and creative writing for many years. Now she is semi-retired, so she's only a wife, mother, grandmother, gardener, painter, potter, quilter, writer and in her spare time she teaches communications at the George campus of PE Technikon on the lovely Garden route of South Africa's Cape East coast.