Autumn and its sorrows

One of the beauties of not having a job is that you get to leave home during the late hours of the morning, when the streets are quiet and calm, with only a few old ladies walking their dogs. On June 8th I was enjoying such a quiet morning. It was a beautiful autumn day in Cape Town. A chilly breeze was brushing against my face, but the sun was shining brightly.

I just love this kind of autumn weather, so I had decided to take a slow, long walk up to the station. Engrossed in thoughts, I studied the beautiful golden brown leaves that saturated the streets of Plumstead. The bare naked trees with their arty-looking branches looked sad to be losing more and more of their - I assume - beloved leaves.

Even though the trees told a sad story, the scenery was beautiful. The colors of the lifeless leaves were simply magnificent.

I was on my way to visit a sewing school, to find out if I could do a short course with them. That mission did not go so well, as I was told the classes only take place on Saturday, when I go to church. So I moved on to my next plan for the day, to invigilate an exam at UCT and make a few bucks in the process. This went smoothly, but when I went home after the exam I could not have guessed what I was about to hear.

When I was nearing the house I bumped into my sister, who asked me why my phone had been off. They had all been trying to call me. When she told me the news, I just kept thinking how odd it was that such a peaceful, beautiful day could suddenly end so dramatically. I quickly walked into the house and saw we had unusual guests. What I had just heard was confirmed when my little nephew Collins came running to me, pulled my hand and said to me: “Justine, my daddy is dead.”

It just broke my heart to hear my 6-year-old nephew tell me that. I ran to the room to switch on my phone and call my sister, but I just couldn’t because my eyes were filled with tears and my voice was shaky. How could I call her in that state? While I was trying to pull myself together my mother walked into the room, lamenting how her poor daughter is widowed at such a young age and she would be all alone now. At that moment I knew God would give me strength to be useful.

Later on I gathered the courage to call my sister. All I could say was that I was so sorry, but that I would be coming her way tomorrow with Collins, her son. I didn’t really know how yet, but we spent the rest of the night planning and I prayed to God, asking Him for strength.

In the early hours of the morning I left for Mozambique. Sooner than I could ever have expected, I was back on my journey. A journey that was about to change me once again.