A sad tale for a festive time, but unfortunately one which is all too common in Africa
today.
SAM'S CHRISTMAS GIFT
Once again Sam counted the food. Could he afford to buy more? Already his money was short.He had spent his Christmas bonus, and next year's holiday pay. The mielie meal, sugar, flour,
cooking oil and condensed milk would have to be enough. The small bag of sweeties for his
beloved son Bongani and the new baby Thonki was all he could afford.
Tonight he would catch the taxi to Bulawayo, and tomorrow he would see Thoko and the children.
Missus was kind, she didn't mind him taking off the extra few days at Christmas to visit his family
and take food to them, as long as the garden looked nice over the holidays. The rural people
were on the brink of starvation after years of Zanu-PF rule, and every time he visited her, Thoko
asked him to bring food.
The baby's christening was the day after Christmas, and all the members from the tiny rural
church would attend. Afterwards they would eat to celebrate.
Anxiously, he checked the inner pocket of his jacket. Yes, the small packet of communion wafers
was there. Missus had bought them for him with the few rands Thoko had given him. They were
for the priest for the baby's baptism.
The day went well, everyone enjoyed the food, and although the baby was thin and listless, Sam
felt the christening had been a success. Thoko seemed tired; she was not eating properly. He
must try to send more food. If only he had more money, he could send to Zimbabwe more often.
He would ask Missus, she was kind and seemed to understand; maybe she could help.
Back in Johannesburg, Sam's life continued. A few weeks later he received a phone call. Thoko
was sick. She would not eat, was burning up with fever, and the baby also.
A few weeks later, Sam went back to Bulawayo with a great heaviness in his heart. Unlike his
happiness when he had been returning to christen his Christmas baby, the child would not be
there to welcome him with smiles and gurgles. Now Sam had to bury his wife and his baby
daughter and must decide what to do for his son. The funerals would eat his money, and the feast
afterwards would use every penny he had borrowed.
His Christmas gifts had been eaten, his family was dead, and his lonely life stretched ahead of
him. Maybe Thoko had also given him a gift before she died? Rumours had reached him that
another man was the father of the baby. A stranger, a passing truck driver, flashing his cash
around and boasting about the women he had slept with; gone after a few hours, perhaps he was
the father.
Could it be that this man was infected, that the dreaded "thins" disease had reached their small
village?
Perhaps the long-for child was not even his; and Thoko had contracted the disease from that
stranger? Was she carrying the virus during her pregnancy, unknowingly passing it on to him
every time he returned home with such happiness in his heart as she welcomed him to her bed?
Anger swelled in him, but there was nothing he could do. The stranger was gone, Thoko and the
child were dead, and time would show whether he too, had caught the AIDS virus.