The Inheritance

“Her eyes were like the sky at dawn,” Bontle read out, in a voice that was a lot shakier than she would’ve liked it to be.

All eyes were on her or, at least, all the ones that weren’t being shielded by curtains of tears, tissues and handkerchiefs. 

“Zintle would hate every second of this,” she thought as she looked back at the solemn crowd, “but then again, I guess what you hate doesn’t really matter when you’re dead.”

She took three big gulps from the bottle of water she had brought onto the stage with her, letting her eyes drop to look down at the casket as she drank. She forgot how to breathe for a moment and water must’ve travelled down the wrong pipe because she almost choked. She battled the image of her sister laying in that casket, lifeless as she coughed to clear her throat.

“Sorry for that,” she said with a voice that was now raspy from all the coughing and chuckled to clear the awkwardness she was feeling.

“I don’t think I ever imagined myself in this position,” she continued, “in fact, I don’t think anyone in my family ever has. Zintle was so full of life that I don’t think any of us ever imagined that she would lose it.”

The audience agreed in a chorus of murmurs.

“Light too!” She added, which was followed by more agreeing murmurs.

“My sister could walk into the most painful of situations and shed light on the joy that’s being stifled by the darkness that everyone else is focusing on — she was a beacon of hope for our family.”

She turned to look at the large framed photograph which stood beside her on the stage and smiled. No one one knew it or maybe they couldn’t really tell but, the photograph was of her and not Zintle. The person who chose it must’ve found it in one of Zintle’s albums and assumed that it was her but it wasn’t. Anyone else might’ve been hurt, or even offended but looking at the picture only made Bontle feel a strong warmth in her heart.

“When we were kids and other children asked us what it was like to be a twin, she’d say that it was like watching yourself be someone else and, I never really liked it when she said that because I heavily craved individuality as a child and didn’t want her seeing herself in me,” she paused “looking back, I can admit that I was being incredibly irrational. How could I expect that when we literally shared a face?”

The audience broke out in controlled laughter. Bontle smiled as she saw her mother’s face relaxing to join in on the laughter. She hadn’t seen anything but deep melancholy and grief on that face for the past two weeks and being the person who changed that, even for a second, made Bontle feel proud.

“Anyone who knows us will tell you that we constantly fought, about any and everything but, no matter what, there was one thing we always agreed on—“

“J IS JUMP! 7 IS REVERSE!” Her friends shouted from the audience.

This triggered a stream of fond memories for Bontle, who remembered everything about the first time she and Zintle had to enforce the ‘J is Jump’ rule. Everything from the weather, which was humid and warm to the colour of the matching Bratztracksuits she and Zintle were wearing, hers pink and Zintle’s purple. They were over at their aunt’s place for school holidays,  playing Crazy 8’s in the backyard with their cousins while the grownups spring cleaned and went about their business. Their cousin, Lebo, played a five of spades which Zintle responded to with a five of clubs then Mthoko, another one of their cousins played a three, which was followed by the ‘J’ of clubs, played by one of Lebo’s friends. Both Bontle and Mthoko drew cards to play, an action that caused a lot of commotion as ‘J’ is a special card that only gives one player the privilege to play.

“Take two for playing offside!” Mthoko had said to a very confused Bontle, “J is for Jikeleza, meaning it comes back to me!”

If he had said that to someone else, he might’ve won that argument but all Bontle had to do was look at her sister and, without planning it, they started chanting “J IS JUMP! 7 IS REVERSE!” 

 

“Her eyes were like the sky at dawn,”Bontle said, more firmly now, “and my heart will hold that light till the sun sets on my dying day.”

The rest of the funeral had gone by so quickly that Bontle felt like she just blinked and opened her eyes to find that it was night time. She was sitting on the veranda, drinking tea under the night sky with her mom from the set she saved for special occasions. It was Bontle’s first time seriously drinking with a cup and saucer. She found that she quite liked it

“We need to discuss the issue of the baby,” her mother lowly said.

Mention of those two words, “the baby” sent Bontle into a bit of a spiral. The stress of planning the funeral had consumed her so much that she had forgotten all about her nephew, whom everyone was still referring to as “the baby” because even though he’d been alive for two weeks, he still didn’t have a name.

She remembered the call and how she had frantically driven at 250km/h to heed it.

“My water broke!” Zintle had told her on the phone, “My water broke and the ambulance apparently doesn’t come after five!”

Her sister had been living in the rural part of Limpopo for about three days, as part of the research she was doing for her thesis which was an investigative study on class differences in South Africa and how they impact the quality of life of each citizen.

“You just HAD to move to the middle of nowhere in the middle of your pregnancy!” Bontle had said, reprimanding Zintle.

“It’s NOT ‘nowhere’! That’s the point of my research. Real people live here, people who deserve to have their rights catered to in the same way they would if they lived in Sandton or Woodstock or Umhlanga!” at this point, Zintle had taken a break from speaking to breathe through a heavy contraction.

“This sounds really bad, is anyone else there with you?” Bontle asked. She was still in Johannesburg at this point and the thought of driving all the way to Limpopo, the distance she had to cover in order to get to her sister in time was making her panic.

“My water only broke 30 minutes ago, it was already dark and none of my neighbours have a car,” Zintle responded.

“So you’re alone?” Bontle asked and there was no response.

She had just stopped at a red light and was tapping on the steering wheel to distract herself from the heaviness of her anxiety.

“Zintle?” She called out to her sister who only could respond with a wince.

Before the robots could change from red to green, Bontle slammed her foot on the accelerator and sped off, almost causing an accident at the intersection. She hadn’t even stopped or flashed her hazards to apologise, she just kept her eyes on the road and her mind focused on getting to her sister. 

“I’m too old to raise a newborn on my own and the rest of your siblings…-”

“The rest?!” Bontle said, cutting her mother off, “you’re not even going to separate them so I get a clearer view of their individual reasons?”

“Does that any of that really matter to you right now?” Her mother asked, lowering her tea cup.

It clinked as it hit the saucer.

“Not at all,” Bontle responded, looking up at the sky.

She never saw any stars when she looked up at the sky in Johannesburg but here, in the rural home of her ancestors, she could. It made her remember how they twinkled above her as she cradled her naked, newborn nephew while she watched her sister struggle to push out the placenta.

“This is not how people are meant to give birth!” Bontle had yelled.

“Exactly,”Zintle had responded, barely able to catch her breath, “it’s why so many women died during childbirth in the past! Why my research matters, people shouldn’t still be going through this.”

She then staggered over to Bontle and took the baby from her. She smiled lovingly as she looked into his eyes.

“Go get a knife!” She instructed.

“I should probably get a blanket too!” A panicked Bontle had responded as she ran to the house. It must’ve taken her two minutes to find the blanket and sterilise the knife, two minutes that she now wished she had just spent with her sister because when she came out of the house, she didn’t have a sister anymore.

“I’m going to name him Lefa,” Bontle announced.

“As in ‘Inheritance’?” Her mom asked and Bontle nodded.

For a moment, the thought of protesting the name crossed her mother’s mind but the look of certainty on Bontle’s face shoved those thoughts back down.

“There really isn’t a more appropriate name,” she affirmed before raising her cup for a sip. 

They drank the rest of their tea in silence. Each of them sorting through their own grief in the comfort of understanding company.