Running away from Home with a yellow toy duck

Catherine Nicolette;
I WAS A VERY NEW AUNT and still learning the drill. And, on holiday from Charity work, I spent the break with my sister and her family. My sister and I repainted the house, fixed the front door, and laid tiling in the bathroom. All of this took a lot of time and effort, and as it was a hot Kroonstad day in summer we sweltered in our painting gear. My sister, looking glamorous in a headscarf, was catching drips from the top of the wall with her paintbrush; while I, in a distinctly unglamorous crouch on the bathroom floor, was cutting the tiles to fit the bathroom corners. 

Fed up
My niece, just able to walk and talk, had been trying to get our attention, and - I still feel guilty about it - we hadn't been paying too much attention to what she was trying to say. She got mightily fed up, and the next thing she arrived with her yellow fluffy toy duck tucked under her right arm. She was in floods of tears, and sobbed to her mother, "You never listen to me. I'm running away from home." My sister looked mildly down at her, got down and sat in front of her. "I'm listening now," she said. 
"It's too late," sobbed my tiny niece proudly. As we watched, she waddled away and we heard sounds of crashing in the bedroom. My sister and I looked questioningly at each other. After a while my niece came back dragging a teddy bear print baby bag. Snuffling loudly, she heaved the bag in front of the newly repaired front door. 

Four nappies and a toy
She counted the contents - she had placed four nappies and her toy - inside the bag. More sobs, and she disappeared into the kitchen. My sister and I, completely mesmerised by this time, followed her in. My niece pushed a kitchen chair across the floor to the front of the fridge, then climbed on so she could reach the handle. Opening the fridge, she made five trips with five bottles of her refrigerated millk formula, packing them carefully into the bag. After a struggle, she managed to close the zip.

Cross-legged
Following this, she disappeared into my sister's bedroom. Her tears were still flowing freely. By this time, my sister was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the baby bag, waiting for her daughter. The little mite reappeared, holding out her mother's cellphone in front of her.
"Mom, please dial Ouma's number," she asked. My sister obligingly took the phone and dialed.
My niece took the handset, so small that she had to use both hands to hold it. When our mom answered, she burst into gales of tears and said, "Ouma, I'm running away from home. Please come in your car and fetch me. I'll be waiting at the front door."

Hour later
Mom arrived an hour later - the time it took to travel over - after soothing her heartbroken granddaughter over the phone. Many years have passed, but I still remember how my little niece flung herself into her grandmother's arms.

My listening skills have since improved . . .