He caught me off guard when he showed up at the yard that Shuma. Almost stopped my heart in its tracks. I was bent over pulling some wild eucalyptus when I stood up to find him just standing there, staring at me. “You’re gona give me a coronary,” I said to him. He just blinked. I bent down to pick up the herbs I had dropped. “I’m glad you came. And just in time,” I said. “You can see all the dead flowers and over grown weeds from the moment you step through the gate.” I straightened up and began a slow walk. “Then you get into a fight with the blackjacks the rest of the way.” I tried to sound as concerned and excited at the same time as I could. I needed him to agree to the project. No-one else would be willing to take such a large project. Well, nobody would take on anything from our yard. That’s how it got the way it did. “By the way, did you come in through the gate?” I asked curiously. Seeing as I didn’t hear the lock mechanism sound off. He nodded his head once. First thing he ever said to me in years. Actions being louder than words and all that. In my excitement, I rambled on longer than I intended to.

I was telling him all about how being that I was the only one who came outside, my coming outside not being out of absolute necessity, I did not enjoy the restrictions of movement around the property placed upon by the invasion of unwanted greenery. “The end goal is for it to be returned to its former splendor,” I said. “Just like when my father tended to it. Every day tilling and picking and sifting. We could eat from it just as much as we could just sit back and enjoy the sights and sounds. Birds perched on different trees. Bees buzzing from flower to flower. That thick pollen musk mixed with the earthy aroma of moist soil.” I was telling him the stone truth.

Back then It was like living in the wild but without the poisonous stuff you struggled to avoid. Every berry was edible and every insect was useful. Well, everything except rogue snakes that popped up here and there. Especially tree snakes. One would hang around for a day or two. Catch a bird or something if it was lucky. They didn’t bother you if you didn’t bother them. Eventually getting chased away by the constant commotion from my father and his “garden machines” as he called them. Whatever they were. We were always sleeping when he was busy. By the time we woke up, land would have been tilled or trees planted or a plan laid out for a new or updated section. How or with who we didn’t know. I always felt I shouldn’t ask. I was just happy to see him at the breakfast table every morning after he was done washing himself. Then after breakfast. I would stare through the kitchen window in marvel. “You’re too young now but one day you’ll be strong enough,” he would tell me. Intellectually tapping at his temple.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

My father sold fresh produce straight from the yard to the street. The rest went to market. Ntate Malaisha would deliver it to and fro in his 14 00 bakkie. Getting his cut at the end of each week. We still had friendly neighbors back then. Not many had cars in those days but they helped in whichever way they could. There was never a shortage of smiling customers either. Appreciating the amazingly high quality of goods. Apparently my father’s fruits and veggies had a distinct taste that set them apart from any other. And he grew herbs too. For healing various sicknesses. He was known all over the Bokoni district for his healing work. Our home was a constant hive of activity.

When my father died, it all stopped. The business. The friendly faces. The comfortable lifestyle. I was demotivated to continue my fathers work as a result. I didn’t have his green finger. I was more into economics and engineering than gardening. My mother’s disability meant she couldn’t do much to help physically. Couple that with everybody who’d turned against us and it was a lost cause. I was forced to stop my studies as there was no income to subsidize my education. And no longer any food to eat.

My sisters had just entered high school. They needed new uniforms and shoes. The garden had died with my father. Weeds had taken his place. I had taken mine in the city. I worked my way up. My mother and I worked very hard to make it all happen. I’m not where I wanted to be initially, but it’s enough to keep my family from starving themselves into servitude of some kind. And my sisters are the best dressed high school students in the Bakoni district.