CHAPTER ONE
Zanda
The bloody gate remote doesn't even flick its usual red light which is always an indication of proper function. I tap the damn thing hard on my left palm then attempt to open the electric gate for the fourth time but the black iron gate remains unresponsive.
Defeated, I throw the useless gadget at the back seat then honk twice knowing full well mom's about to step out and bite my head off for disturbing her soapie viewing time. The baked goodies I brought her from Cookie lovers should more than make up for the small inconvenience. Mom loves Cookie and she even came up with the business name for her cake shop. The now popular pastry chef had initially wanted to call her shop, All Things Fresh. Tendai protested the suggestion to a point of threatening to pull out his ten thousand rands investment and for once I concurred with him. The convenient store down the road is called All Snacks Fresh. To say Cookie lacks creativity is an understatement.
The yawning sound of the opening gate stutters me back to the present. I sit up, readying myself to drive in then catch a sight of a bubbly boy running out the door toward the gate. He looks excited to see me or my car. I drive in careful to not hit the happy child and park on the drive way.
My one party welcome committee is almost dancing from excitement when I open the driver door. I can't help but catch his energy and before I know it, I'm smiling at the child and greeting him back with the same vigour. He asks where I've been all week and I absentmindedly say "work of course". "You sleep at work?" he shoots back, surprising me with his intrusive question. Watching him lead the way, I find myself growing fond of the little fellow. There's something about him that's comfortable and familiar. And as if to confirm my new found feelings for him, he asks what I brought him. "Mom always brings me snacks when she goes away for longer than a day" he informs me as if I too am his parent. It is only then that I remember Cookie's cookies and send him back to my car for them.
Surprise - surprise, mom's not watching her usual soap operas. The overwhelming number of scattered pieces of the picture puzzle on the dining table exhaust my spirit just from looking at them. I wonder whose idea it was to even attempt this draining exercise but I don't ask. I fear I might attract an invitation to help solve the damn thing.
"Where's Asanda?" mom asks, acknowledging my arrival but not with a greeting. I didn't get the name of the boy but I'm certain that's who we're talking about right now. The little man in question walks in at that moment carrying the pink box of cookies and comfortably chewing one already. I blame myself for not making it clear I brought him nothing and that the treat was for my mother. I didn't even know I was going to find someone like him here. "I take it your brother told you about Asa? And before I can answer her, she turns to the boy and says," Asanda, this is your uncle, Zanda"
Instantly, my mind flashes back to a text message Tendai sent me earlier. The message read 'You've been promoted to uncle. Call me'. I was chairing a meeting and couldn't respond then completely forgot. I expected news about a pregnancy.
"Where's my uncle, Zanda" the boy asks looking around the room? I'm internally struggling to make sense of this information and the young man's struggle is obvious to me. I wonder why no one's bothered to tell him his father is an identical twin and why we're only meeting years after he was born.
*****
Tendai and I's physical appearance is so strikingly similar; mom literally gave birth to the same person twice. We both arrived weighing the same - 2.5kg, having the same birth mark - black beauty mark on the lower chin and looking exactly the same. I was kept inside a cot bed with a red ribbon on my mother's right side of the bed while Tendai's sleeping bed was on the opposite direction decorated with purple trimmings. To ensure that she never switched us from day one, our ribbon colours were wrapped around our wrists as well and even our clothes were bought in those colours for most of our childhood. To further instill individuality in us, mom ensured our names didn't rhyme. We never owned not even one matching outfit throughout our lives and we were even discouraged from eating the same meal at the same time.
I suspect our mother grew up watching a lot of twins causing trouble at school and concluded that with our strong resemblance, we'd most probably exude the same kind of behaviour. To save our teachers the trouble, she registered us at different learning institutions from kindergarten and purposely forgot to mention that we were twins to all our teachers.
So while getting to school for me simply required a ten-minute walking exercise; Tendai took a bus fifteen minutes earlier to travel to his school which was a twenty-five-minute drive away from home. Even homework was to be done separately to avoid influencing each other's thinking. I must be honest about the many times we secretly copied from each other when one of us was slacking, though.
Those were the best times.
We made the most of the times mom was away by being together. I recall one fond memory when Tendai and I sat in front of the mirror in my bedroom with matching white vests. The game was simple - can we tell each other apart when dressed the same? We laughed till our stomachs hurt because it made no sense why everyone insisted we looked alike. My nostrils were clearly wider than his, my eyes pitch black while his had a light golden line around the iris. When we spoke to each other through the mirror, even our mouths moved differently. The skin tone of our foreheads were a different shade too. Mine was darker, thanks to the amount time I spent walking in the sun coming back from school.
By the time we reached our teen years, we hung out in different clicks and we've never shared the same friend to date. Many never found out that either of us was a twin, so I can confidently say mom succeeded in making us find our purpose in life without the influence of the other.
*****
Asanda is now glaring like he's waiting for me to dispute his grandmother's introduction angle.
"Where has this child been for nine years? Why wasn't he ever brought to us up until now? Who is his mother?
All these questions are burning inside me but I have zero opportunity to ask with this child almost sitting on my lap now. He has not left my side since I arrived and being told I'm not Tendai has not diminished his interest in me. Meanwhile, mom is updating me about everything I'm not interested in. Clearly avoiding the Asanda topic so as to not hurt his feelings, I think. And so I suffer through church gossip.
A struggling member is basically being condemned for daring to spend a thousand rands on an LV bag while still renting an apartment. I don't see how saving the thousand would've changed her home ownership status but I pretend to agree.
All this unholy chatter makes me wonder what the same people she gossips with say about us when mom isn't around. The question of our paternity has always hung above our heads from a very early age. This, we discovered through mates who struggled to keep their parents' private conversations a secret. None of them ever admitted to having heard their parents talk about us but the questions they asked us away from the adults, were clearly influenced by adult whispers.
Right in the middle of mom's passionate critiquing of the renting lady, I change the topic and ask why Tendai had never told us about his son. Instead of an answer I get a stare that's more of a warning to either shut up or something else I don't know. I've never been as good as my brother with non-verbal communication stuff like reading between the lines. Just say what you mean with me and I'll align with you twice as fast.
"Your brother will be here in no time, Zanda. Try to be sensitive to the matter, please" mom says sternly.
It's taking every strength I have to not push the conversation forward despite mom's plea. Tendai and I are civil to each other although we lead different lives in separate areas. We hardly visit or call but we text regularly and keep each other updated about mom's life.
At 55, mom has become slow and needy. We therefore take turns looking in on her and her health. I may not know the number of friends my brother has because we don't share matters that personal but having a child is different. That's the kind of information your siblings know before anyone else so I'm a little taken aback that for nine years, I had a nephew who didn't know about me. I feel cheated. I was robbed of loving and spoiling my only nephew and my daughter, Notho, missed growing up with her cousin. They're only two years apart and my heart shutters when I think of how wonderful it would've been for both of them to have each other as playmates. Asanda would definitely be joining Notho and I tonight had we known him longer.
My daughter recently discovered the ice rink and has decided it's her favourite sport. It has become our every-second-Friday ritual to learn how to glide and slide on the cold floor, though the only thing we've mastered is falling safely.
"Oooh no" mom's defeated voice brings me back from my reveries. She then steals a quick glance at Asanda, who is now standing in front of the TV, before telling me that my brother is no longer coming. The text he sent says he'll explain when he sees mom tomorrow.
It's only after she shares how excited Asa has been about his father spending the night, that I understand her sad facial expression. And without any discussion whatsoever, mom passes on the sad task of informing the young fellow to me.
I decided a minute after meeting this chap that I like him and breaking his heart with this information will crush me even more. So instead, I ask him if he's ever tried ice skating.