Skies Of Blue

Through the eyes of a child

Unathi Nkosana smiled as the bell rang for the next period at Soweto-East Secondary School. Time for Art, her favourite lesson!

Unathi turned to her best friend, Precious. “I wonder what we’ll do today.”

Precious pulled a face. She didn’t enjoy Art. No matter what she made, it ended up a fat mess.

Mrs Dlamini arrived, carrying a pile of white cardboard and a box of shiny coloured paper and glitter.

“We’re going to make Mother’s Day cards for Sunday. I want you to think about what makes your mother special.”

At her desk, Unathi felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. Unathi had struggled with dizzy spells ever since that terrible day last August. She put her head down, waiting for it to pass.

Mrs Dlamini went on, “Remember, Mother’s Day isn’t only for mothers. It’s for whoever who takes care of you. If that’s your grandmother or a sibling, well then, make this card for them.”

Unathi felt better now and lifted her head. She knew exactly what made her mother special: it was the way she saw beauty even in the ugliest places.

“Look, Unathi dear, see that pretty flower,” her mother had said once.

They were walking across a wasteland of rubbish. All Unathi saw were rusted tins and muddy plastic bags. “Look carefully, dear.” Unathi looked carefully and yes, there under an old tyre was the loveliest, brightest pink flower.

Unathi went to Mrs Dlamini’s box and chose some shiny pink paper. She would make a rose, she decided. Rose was her mother’s middle name. Carefully, she cut a pile of rose petals.

Beside her, Precious was struggling, glue and glitter and bits of paper stuck to her fingers. Her white cardboard was smudged down one side. “I give up!” she wailed. “But your card is going to be lovely. Is it for your grandmother?”

Unathi shook her head. “No, this will be for my mother.”

Precious’s face grew serious. She stopped pulling glitter off her fingers. “Are you sure, Unathi?”

Unathi didn’t answer. Instead she hummed while she lined her rose petals with glitter. I see skies of blue, clouds of white, The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night,

And I think to myself, what a wonderful world… It was her mother’s favourite song. What should she do for the background, Unathi wondered. Then she remembered about the sunset. It was another special moment.

“Look at the beautiful sunset, Unathi dear,” her mother had said. They were walking down the dusty Soweto street.

Unathi had looked up. All she saw were ugly grey corrugated iron shacks and ugly grey, giant pylons.

“No, dear, look past the shacks and the pylons.”

Unathi did so, and saw at last what her mother saw. The sky was alight with colour – red and soft purple and gold.

So now Unathi coloured her card with sunset colours. She rubbed at them with tissue so they blurred and blended into one another. Then carefully, she glued her rose petals into place. Perfect!

Beside her, Precious’s card was a disaster of smudges and shedding glitter.

As the art lesson ended, Mrs Dlamini said, “Tonight you need to write something inside your card. A special message. Or perhaps a poem?”

Yes, thought Unathi, a poem would be perfect. Gently she slipped her card into her school bag. Then laughed as Precious slipped hers into the wastepaper basket!

“You’ll have to find another way to make your mom feel special, Precious.”

Then another wave of dizziness swept over Unathi. Her hands felt suddenly damp and clammy.

Precious was concerned. “Unathi, maybe forget about the card? Maybe it’s just too soon?”

Even with her head down on the desk, Unathi was determined. “No! I

want this card to be for my mother!”

Precious shook her head and rubbed Unathi’s back gently.

When Unathi got home, her grandmother went off the deep end. Unathi’s grandmother often went off the deep end.

“What is wrong with your teacher? I will complain to the headmaster!”

Unathi tried to calm her. “Let me explain, Grandma…”

But her grandmother was up in arms! “Who does Mrs Dlamini think she is, forcing children to make Mother’s Day cards when there are people dying of this HIV epidemic? So many orphans! This is against human rights!”

While Unathi ate supper, she thought about her poem. Finding words that rhymed was a battle. But by night-time, Unathi knew exactly what to write.

She sat at the kitchen table, took her best pen from her school bag, and took a deep breath. Just then the lights went out. Unathi’s grandmother went off the deep end again. “What is wrong with these electricity people? I am going to their offices to complain first thing tomorrow!”

Unathi smiled and lit a candle. Her mother had always loved candlelight. Sometimes, even when the power was on, her mother would switch off the lights and light a candle.

“See how everything glows in candlelight, Unathi dear?”

The candlelight glowed over Unathi’s card as she wrote out her poem… You showed me what was beautiful You showed me what was good I know you’ d still be here with me If you could. I feel your love surround me Every night and day You’ re the best Mother I could ever want, although you had togo away.

Grandma came into the room. She had calmed down about the school and about the electricity. She leaned over Unathi’s shoulder and read the poem. “Oh Unathi! That is lovely!” That night Unathi lay under her cosy blanket, thinking about her mother. She always thought about her mother just before she went to sleep.

“Promise me,” Mama had said that terrible August day last year. Mama was in bed, looking sick and tired. “Promise me, Unathi, that you will always try to see what is beautiful. Because even in the midst of ugliness, there will always be something beautiful.”

Unathi had held Mama’s hand tightly, trying to be brave.

“There is nothing more I can do,” the doctor at the clinic had said. “This accursed virus, even with medications…”

Her mother’s voice was a whisper now. “And Unathi, remember: Forever and forever I will love you. Nothing can stop my love for you, my beloved daughter.”

That August evening, as sunset streaked the sky orange and rose-red, Unathi’s mother passed away. Unathi sat beside the bed, fighting the terrible wave of sadness that washed over her.

Early on Sunday morning, Unathi woke. She dressed quietly so she wouldn’t disturb her grandmother.

The streets were still empty. Unathi looked up above the rows of ugly iron shacks. The sky was a silvery gold. The rising sun was crimson red. “So beautiful,” she whispered. She walked on, past a field scattered with old tin cans, with dead branches, with someone’s broken bicycle. But along the edge, tall grasses grew. They swayed in the soft breeze and sparkled silver in the sunlight. “So beautiful!” she whispered again. She held her Mother’s Day card against her chest.

Slowly people appeared along the streets. Unathi saw her friend, Precious, with her mother. Both of them were wearing track suits. Both of them were jogging!

Unathi smiled. She knew Precious disliked running as much as Art!

“See, Unathi!” Precious called out as they drew closer. “This is my present to my mom for Mother’s Day.”

Mrs Sekate stopped next to Unathi and embraced her. “We will be thinking of you, dear, today of all days.”

Unathi watched as mother and daughter jogged on down the street. For a moment, the dizziness took hold and she leaned against a wall. She took a few deep breaths, then walked on.

Past the cemetery gates, she followed the winding path to her mother’s grave. There she knelt and placed the card against her mother’s headstone. It was a small stone with her mother’s name: Kamogelo Rose Nkosana. Beneath were the words of her mother’s favourite song, WhataWonderfulWorld.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” Unathi whispered. “Forever and forever I will love you too, Mama.”

Then Unathi headed home. There was something important she had to do! There was a special breakfast to make for Grandmother – hot toast with honey and sweet tea with extra sugar.

After all, Grandmother was the one who took care of her and loved her and made sure she was safe.

Alwa s tr to EE what is EAUTIFUL e en in the idst o UGLI E