Life's little lessons

File Photo 

Trust life to slap you in the face and make you think of the things that really matter. This past week I visited a friend in Lyndhurst, and on my way back my navigator indicated that there would be an about 45-minute delay on the N1 highway due to a crash. I was running late home and, needless to say, very frustrated with the congestion. I just wished people would be more careful on the roads to avoid impacting the lives of others.

As I sat there grinding my teeth, a part of me even regretted visiting the friend, seeing how inconvenienced I was now.

As a creature of habit I'm always home at a specific time, and on the day that I decided to go against my routine, this happens! 

Everyone who has ever sat in traffic most likely relates. It's the most tedious way to spend one's time. We have lives and things to do, and can't just be sitting on a highway in the sweltering heat, not progressing. 

People have drawn their guns and shot others in rage after sitting in traffic for too long. During my protracted sit on the N1 that day - while not condoning violence - I somehow understood the driving force of road rage. 

At a snail's pace I eventually got to the cause of the delay. There had been a horrific crash, and two bodies were still at the scene covered with the silver foil we all know too well. 

Suddenly my anger over the delay wholly dissipated. I was instead flooded by a mixture of emotions. I felt sad for the deceased. They were obviously also headed somewhere, as we all were, on that highway when their lives were suddenly cut short. Somebody somewhere, probably their children, parents, or spouses, was waiting for them at home but would get bad news instead. Their families would never see them walk through the door, nor hear their voices ever again. 

File Photo

Such morbid and depressing reflections, but also other people's reality. I felt bad for being cross that I was delayed, yet I was still alive and still had time to do the things I wanted to do. At the same time, I also felt there was there wasn't much time for nonsense, and no time like the present to do everything our hearts desire because you just never know… 

When I eventually got home, almost an hour later than I would have if the crash had not happened, it was with a sense of gratitude that I hugged my children. I was here and still able to do that. 

The people I saw lying on the road and their children would never be able to experience this. I just felt all these emotions but never really vocalised them for fear of looking like a depressed and depressing weirdo, with a penchant to over-dramatise things. But here I am. I just needed to say it. 

We really shouldn't sweat the small stuff, like traffic delays. There are worse things happening around us, even on the roads we are on, like traffic accidents. We could be late, but should definitely be grateful we are not 'the late'. 

Mpumalanga Accident

Traffic Jam on the Joburg-Mpumalanga highway after the accident

Yesterday I passed by the scene of a really bad pileup in Mpumalanga where 4 people lost their lives. A driver caused the accident after making a U-turn on the highway. One reckless driver and 4 people lost their lives. I was so disturbed I struggled to sleep. Hundreds, if not thousands, more were affected because traffic flow was delayed by quite a few hours. Road regulations were not made to piss us off; they’re for our own safety. Children get orphaned, spouses are widowed, parents lose their children because of what look like minor violations of these regulations. I continue to thank God every time I get home safely from any outing. There's so much that can go wrong.  Be safe on the roads. 

The whirlwind that formed around the accident scene

Remembering Tawa and Tino

On March 30 2014, my friend Fortune Bango-Macheri lost her two precious babies in a road accident. This being the first anniversary of the tragic event, it can't be easy on her. I didn't have the right words to say to her, so I asked her to talk to me and I would listen. She did...in the story below, which she asked me to share. May Tawa and Tino rest in eternal peace. May the Lord continue to console Fortune and her husband.  The pictures are a bit haphazard because she wanted all of them to accompany the article...

 I had not visited my friend, Violet since the day she had moved from Kokstad to stay in Matatiele. All I had given to her were just empty promises. She had visited us a countless times and once slept over with her whole family. Many weekends she had sent her two children over, Audrey and Taku to spend time with my beautiful children, Tawa and Tino. So on this particular weekend, I had decided it was high time I returned the favour. That's it!  We were all going to Violet’s house for the whole weekend. 

On the other hand, I was getting tired of hitting a brick wall with the Kokstad traffic department to get my driver's license.  Having gone there the previous Friday, the Matatiele traffic department had proven to be more helpful and   understanding. I took the Friday off work and packed everything for the weekend on Thursday night, there was overwhelming excitement and both my kids couldn't wait to leave the house. Tawa had had a chance once to visit Violet's house and he had loved almost everything there.  He had said their television was bigger than ours, their fridge too was bigger and most importantly, Violet had always dished a sausage in Tawa's plate that was bigger than I would do. My bubbly son, Tawa, loved food. Sausage was the third item on his food list after Steers Double Cheese Burger and Debonairs Triple Decker Pizza. Early Friday morning we hit the road and no one slept a wink till we got to Matatiele.  After successfully sorting out my licence issues, we had a great weekend.  We went shopping, talked and laughed most of the time. Tino, my daughter was a loving fan of Audrey (still finding it unbelievable to use the word was - never thought I would ever in my lifetime). Audrey had a habit of spoiling Tino rotten. Despite Tino going to turn six in the next three months, Audrey would put her on the back, lift her like a little baby and kiss her all the time. They played with dolls, rode together on Audrey’s bike and did all sorts of girls stuff. It was the best weekend away.

The day we should have all dreaded arrived, Sunday, goodbyes were due. The weekend felt so short and we didn't want to leave but we had to.  We were due to leave in the morning. I had promised my brother, Silence and his wife Selina that we would pass through their place and spend some time with their new baby, Ethan. Tino loved Ethan to bits. She loved to touch his little and fragile fingers, toes and almost every part of his tiny wonderful body. Ethan was the first little baby Tino had experienced in her life. Somehow we got delayed and the more we did, the more my kids loved it.  Tawa decided to get busy with games on my tablet.  Realizing that Taku and Tino would never leave him to enjoy the games, he took our car keys and locked himself in the car. Fortunately for him, I was the only one who noticed his strategy. I was amused not by his selfishness, but by his ability to identify challenges, come up with solutions by himself and successfully implement them without assistance. That was a survival skill, I thought.  As all bags were being packed in the car Tino was almost in tears. She didn't want to go back.  Her school, Power of Love Pre- school had closed for school holidays.  Audrey's school too had closed. Both Audrey and herself were on holidays, so why would she go back home?  Half of me wanted her stay but a thought struck me. My friend was going to have a new maid the next day and her son, Taku always took time to get used to strangers.  So I thought leaving Tino behind wouldn't do any good but just overwhelm Audrey.  After forcing everyone in the car, we drove away. Before we got any further, I mistakenly thought I had left my work books and we had to drive back.  Before I could step out of the car, I realised that l had all my books and needed not delay going home. Out of the blue, Violet appeared with two hotdogs for my kids, as if she knew it was the last time she had to spoil them. The children indulged themselves in the delicious treats, still sulking though, and we sped off. There was total silence in the car and tension was high. Within minutes, both kids had retired from a hectic day. I too, was getting sleepy and in no time, it got the better of me leaving my poor husband the only person awake.

In what felt like a short period of time I was forced to come back to life. The car was moving in a weird way. When I was wide awake I was horrified, we were out of the road and headed towards what seemed like a scary, long and wide wall of rocks. I had a complete black out only waking up when the car was upside down had come to a halt. Everything happened so quickly, in the blink of an eye, I had lost the most precious gift any parent could ever have. Without much difficulty I found my way out of the car wreck but I was alarmed by the silence. My kids who were scared of a housefly or the smallest ant on earth were not calling out my name. Why on earth were they not screaming out loud for attention?  I began to panic just like any mother on earth would do. I just knew that something was wrong, it's called mother’s instinct, you just know. I could not open the back doors so had to run round the other way. At this juncture I was behaving like a headless chicken. My head was a pot of confusion. Before I got far I met my son's body lying outside the car and all the evidence was there that it was too late to save his life. I was terrified. Ooh God what was happening to me? Then I tried to find my daughter, with my heart held in my hands. What had become of my daughter? Other motorists had stopped by and no one allowed me to keep searching. They all said it was too late. I could not believe it, too late for what?

That horrible night I didn't sleep. I was numb, my whole body was stiff and my heart was torn into a million pieces. My whole world had just crushed on me. I felt pain not just from my heart. It was beyond that. Every part of my body was aching, not with physical pain but something that no one can describe. You could just feel it but it was beyond description.  Poor Abigail, my sister-in-law who spent the night with me and had to console me! How do you comfort someone who does not want to be comforted, let alone stop her from crying when it looks impossible? I do not recall much of what transpired that fateful night. My sanity was running up and down, Abigail was really strong, for she had to nurse me too even after the burial of my children.  I was such a total mess, a wound so jagged that could only be soothed by God's love.

The next days were terrible nightmares that I kept hoping   I would wake up from, but alas that was the reality of my life. I felt weak, useless, angry, lost appetite and nothing made sense. I cried inconsolably. Even a word from my pastor could not make me feel better. Something in me kept reminding me that it had not happened to them, they have all their children and so they don't know what they are talking about. I was lost in my own world and my days were dark and empty. Every morning I woke up with such overwhelming, all-consuming pain that I had to stuff my knuckles in my mouth to stop myself from screaming. I wanted to run away from myself if only it was possible. Something inside me whispered continuously: I shouldn't have survived the horrible accident because my life was meaningless without Tawa and Tino. Why had l walked out without a scratch? Every parent lives for their children, work for their little ones and their dreams. Their hopes and future plans have their children written all over. Children give us a purpose to live and thrive in life. Without them life is meaningless, dull, sad and without purpose.  

The only person I understood to realize my pain was my mother for she had lost my two brothers, albeit in different years. I looked at her wondering how she had survived the agony of losing a child. All memories flashed back. I remembered how long back, my mother had cried quietly every single night after losing my 13-year-old brother. How she had grown thin and how I thought she was going to go mad, if not die. Now I understood the sadness in her eyes that shows every now when she smiles or laughs. Her eyes have long lost that sparkle. Only if you know her story can you realize a strange sadness in her laugh, smile, and voice and in her eyes.

I have learned that it will never go away but will live within me for the rest of my life.  I miss them every day. I miss their touch and I miss their voices mostly. I go through all their pictures and just talk to myself and say: Tawa and Tino I still can't believe it. You came into my life for such a short while and brought so much joy and fulfillment, and now it's all memories. If only I had known, I would have played with you more, kissed you every minute, held your special hands and never let go. I would have loved you more, never yelled at you and laughed more. I would have sat with you all the time for your favourite TV shows. I would have watched nothing but Mickey Mouse, Tinkerbell, Barbie in the pink shoes, Spiderman and the rest of them. We would have lived like we knew we won't go beyond 2014 together. Only if I had known. It has been a whole year now but it hurts like it happened yesterday. The wound is still fresh and bleeding. I guess it will never stop. Initially, I was angry with God. What kind of God would entrust me with two beautiful children and then think of me as an unfit mother that he would just grab them back without warning. Was I a bad mother? The answer was NO all the time. I had put my children's happiness and safety first every time. I had sacrificed my journalism career for a teaching career that would allow me more time with my kids at home. I had left my country and my family to build a better future for them here in South Africa. Was that being a bad mother? My heart grieves with any parent who loses a child. No parent should lose or bury their own child but who are we to judge God? My pastor told me that my children are in Heaven and I believe him, the bible says so when Jesus said: Let the little children come to me for the kingdom of Heaven is theirs.

Through this journey and my seeking for answers, I have met some women, women that I never knew existed, women that have walked the same path as me. That have lost a child or two in the same way I lost mine. These women are very strong. I don't know how they have sailed through the storm. They keep saying it won't rain forever but in the rainy days you need a better umbrella. These women are prayer warriors and they depend on God to go by each day. I met Florence. Her two boys, both beyond 10 years old, where food-poisoned at the same time and died on their arrival in hospital in Zimbabwe. Florence never had a chance to say goodbye. It was too late to see them when she got to the hospital. It has been eight years now since her boys passed on, the only children she had. Flo has since moved to Germany and she says it is only by the grace of God that she is not somewhere in a mental hospital or eating from the street bins. Her story gives me strength every day. She is my pillar of strength.

My high school friend and sister, who is now in Canada and had long lost contact just resurfaced from the blue. Sometimes God just throws or brings back some people in our lives in his time and for a certain purpose. Nothing ever happens coincidentally or without his knowledge. Tendai helped me stand on my feet again, encouraged me each day to trust God.  She would phone and check on me more than necessary. Ooh my poor friend Mayda. She didn't know what to do, almost flew in from England. We have been friends since high school and her two daughters are almost same age with my late Tawa and Tino. She made sure that I didn't collapse or turn into a Zombie. Checking on me all the time. My church in Kokstad has been extremely supportive. I don't know if I would still have my sanity without the First Baptist Church in Kokstad. They were there for me from the horrible day and even now. People check on me all the time and I feel so loved. Is that what not families do for each other? Is that not the true meaning of Christianity and what God desires from us? My pastor has a beautiful heart, so understanding and   supportive. He knew exactly what to say and I could understand everything he said to me. It made sense to me. My pastor comforted me with answers from the Bible. He encouraged me with the truth of God's Word. Those who are grieving deserve a compassionate answer rooted in the truth of Scripture. The loss of my kids drew me closer to a couple in our church that had lost their son in an accident. He had not turned 10 years of age. That was Erica and Peter Kaizer. They made it their task to look after me spiritually. They taught me a lot about losing a loved one and still be able to trust God and rejoice in him. They said it was possible to still feel His presence and love even in the darkest hour.   From the Scriptures they gave me every day, I have learnt that scriptural answers without comfort will fall on deaf ears and comfort without scripture will never completely heal and uplift a grieving heart. We need the words from Heaven on the death of a child. Rather we must look at what God's Word has to say on the matter. We are called to be faithful to the word and place our faith in Christ.

My whole family gave me tremendous support. I could see that my sisters were crushed. They were torn apart and I could see their bleeding hearts. My mother was the worst. She had the pain of losing two grandchildren and she carried the pain of her daughter too. Having walked this road before, she knew what was in store for me and feared I would collapse. I had to be strong for her, pretend that I was hurting but surviving yet I was dying inside. Right through my mourning I knew there was a couple that I was going to need to rely on completely.  I knew they were going to take care of me and I needed them badly just to talk to them or cry on their shoulders. The Brittinghams. I had worked with Allen and Gloria Brittingham for years and we went to the same church. They are more like family to me and they loved my children very much.  Allen, who is a prayerful man, taught me that my children have never been beyond the loving care and concern or watchful eye of the Lord even at the time of death. Their destiny is according to His carefully wrought plan and purpose.  Mr B (as my kids loved to call him instead of the long name Brittingham) continuously said: no one can ever fall into any situation or circumstance that is shielded from God's view. God is completely in control of our lives. We are firmly and fully within his grasp every moment of our existence. The decision whether a child lives or dies is God's decision. He allows birth, He also allows death. No death or life occurs apart from the purposes of God. These are the wise and unforgettable words Allen taught me. Recently I have been reading a book his wife, Gloria gave me: Martha's Journey written by Maureen Lee.   This book contains a story of a very ordinary woman, six months pregnant, working full time in a factory sewing sacks to raise her five children, Martha Rossi, suffered the agony of the death of her fourteen year old son   in France in the heat of a battle. It chronicles the hurt and anguish mothers experience and the need for answers mothers go through after losing a child. Now I am on my second book: Safe In The Arms Of God written by John MacArthur. Erica Kaizer gave me this book and I’m beginning to understand why she wanted me to have it and probably read it. This book talks about what happens to children when they die.  It tries to answer the question: Is my child in Heaven, with scriptural truth revealing the Heavenly Father's care for every life.  

This is a painful journey. To all mothers who are walking with me or have walked this road or will happen to walk this road, let your comfort begin with the truth in God's word. God created your child. God's purpose and destiny for your child are fulfilled perfectly, even if the child died. That is the reality.  I’m not saying this with ease. For me too, it is not a walk in the park and it never will be. I’m still trying to get that into my thick head. My struggle didn't end by just meeting these people and them sharing their stories or God's word with me. I still struggle to get through birthdays and special holidays without my children. In the weakness of my own logic, I still struggle to understand what happened. I still struggle to be submissive to God's plan and serving Him joyfully until the day he calls me home to Himself. The struggle never end I guess.

Many thanks to friend Charlotte Nyatanga for encouraging me write out my thoughts. I thought it was going to be a big challenge to do so, only to realise that I needed to let it out. It also gave me a platform to look back, view myself in the mirror and measure to see how far I have moved since 30 March 2014 to 30 March 2015. I realised that it can only be the Lord who has covered me with his Grace and taken me this far. Otherwise if I didn't believe in him and didn't have such a strong support network, I would be in a mental hospital or naked, eating from street bins of South Africa. All Glory be to God forever and ever.

Related:
A Tribute to Kenneth Kudoma

A Tribute to Kenneth Kudoma 28/02/1978 - 02/05/2014

Death is a certainty, but as we go through the walk of life, we never anticipate having to deal with the passing of a loved one. I was just checking my facebook timeline on May 5 when I saw an update from a common friend that Kenny had died. What a shocking way to discover the death of a friend of 15 years. Another person commented on the post and mentioned having read the story in a certain publication, that was when I checked online and found this horrific story of Kenneth's exit from this world. The undignified way in which he died worsened my pain, it was not befitting of someone with such a beautiful soul.

I don't actually remember how I met him, but it was during my first year at the University of Zimbabwe in 1999. From then on, we got along like a house on fire. I will remember Kenny as someone who laughed a lot, even when it wasn't necessary to do so. There was a time when I had a terrible toothache and my other friend, Christina decided to make me feel better by giving me a piece of cake. He came to see me and I complained about Christina's weird choice of comfort food under the circumstances.

He started laughing and told me about how he also once developed a toothache while watching a soccer match in Bulawayo. His friend had bought him a Cascade (a Zimbabwean sweet dairy fruit drink), which he drank and worsened the toothache. "This cake will make you cry, let me help you deal with it," he said as he ate the piece of cake. 
One day I caught him on a bad day when his studies weren't going too well. He said, "Charlotte, I've heard people say they got such and such a degree from whatever university. Madegree haangotorwi, anoshandirwa (you don't just get degrees, you work for them), and he burst out laughing.

The late Kenneth Kudoma

Kenny was always full of positive energy.  I have lots of beautiful memories of the moments I spent with him, just chatting about nothing very important. I always knew about the new good and crazy songs receiving the most airplay through Kenny. I remember him interpreting Charles Charamba's Nyika, singing R and K sounds' Tina and performing a duet for me with my friend Senelisiwe singing Arthur's Mnike. 

Whenever I needed to buy groceries at Groombridge and Bond shops, he would always agree to walk with me, even if he was busy. I was proud to be seen with him as he was always neat. He connected me with several other people, most of whom are still my friends to date.
After university, we would speak on the phone, but thank God for facebook, we found a cheaper and more convenient way to chat. Our correspondence was usually months apart. He was one of those friends who I didn't speak to everyday but knew he would come through for me if I needed someone to talk to. He would always tell me to be grateful for my family and tell the ones I loved that I loved them. 

As we grew older our conversations also evolved from talking about music and light stuff to discussing serious things. In 2010 I was gravely concerned about him as he seemed to have hit a very low point. He later told me that he had been having issues with alcohol but was now doing OK. Sometime last year he sent me his last msg, which I never responded to as I kept procrastinating. I don't feel bad about it as our friendship was characterised by long breaks of no communication. 

Just like others that loved him, I have questions about how he met his demise. What did he do to provoke the "the group of gays" to have made him feel his life was so severely threatened that he sped so much and met his death? What was he thinking a few minutes before he crashed?

The late Kenneth Kudoma

My heart goes out to his lovely wife and young son, his sisters and other friends he had. It's not good to have a loved one die so young and senselessly. Whatever squabble he had with those people could have been resolved in another way, surely? I wish he hadn't spoken to those people, if he indeed fought with anyone. So far I haven't seen any solid proof of the existence of the people he fought with. I wish he had been at home with his wife. I wish Kenneth hadn't died. But he did. And it's hard to accept that he is not alive anymore, that we have to refer to him in the past tense. And he will be sorely missed. He was the type of person whose absence will be felt because of the energy he exuded. I hope he had remembered to follow his own advice and told those he loved that he loved them, just so that they have something good to hold on to. May Kenneth "'KK' Kudoma's soul rest in eternal peace. I feel extremely sad right now, but I hope someday I will think of him with a smile on my faces, not with tears welling in my eyes at the thought of his gruesome death.  
Since he loved music so much, I will dedicate this song to his memory.