simangaliso

...those three kids, running through the bright gold grass, three little dots that grew larger and larger at the first distant rumbling of imoto, our car. It has made its way onto my list of top ten best memories of this lifetime.

Ntombeleni's family is doing wonderfully, I am happy to report, and though there are hints of fresh sadness from the passing of the elderly uncle (the first man seen in the film) just three weeks ago, a new baby girl, Ntombeleni's granddaughter, is a happy new addition. Tshengisile, her mother, and Ntombeleni's eldest daughter, grabbed us both in a rough embrace, and we were led to the main rondavel, the one we had helped to paint, now a bright acqua on the inside. The children are in school, and cared for by the government foster care grant, R800 ($104 USD) each per month, for the time that they are still young.

Both families have let us know that they do not wish to see the film; too intense, too personal, too soon. We understand this; I don't think I could bear to experience my mother's death a second time around. There is also the custom of not really mentioning the departed around the house; it brings up too much sadness. Tomorrow, we see Danisile's family...it is so exciting to reunite, but it will doubtless be heavier...

It was also a great relief to hear that my postcards had been reaching them, and that I can continue my one-way communication through drawings and photos (since my Zulu will never be fit) this way. I'm leaving a pack of stamped, addressed postcards here, to see if we can continue this way. Though Ntombeleni's sister-in-law now has a DVD player thanks to the recent introduction of electricity to KwaMaye...email should only be steps away, especially with this newfangled doohickey that picks up connection via satellite, that I only learned of months ago...

As we left, Phumlani and I drew pictures to one another in the sand. Then he wrote 'simangaliso', over and over. When Phumzile came around, I asked her what it meant. 'Miracle', she said.