The King from Lesotho

Catherine Nicolette;
Dad was cheerful and his eyes were twinkling. He was thrilled with life, as he had engaged a new gentleman to work part time in the garden. Dad had heard how wonderful he was in the garden and at planting roses and beautiful grass. Soon after Mtawa began working his magic in the garden, the glorious mimosa tree glowed and shrubs towered above my small head along the fences. Fig trees, peach trees (which bore only green peaches), pomegranates, and grapevines in the front and back proudly presented fruit annually to the happy Whittle children and the neighbourhood friends. Pumpkin flowers and pumpkins thrived in the back yard. The mulberry tree in the back of the yard housed our homemade tree house (out of which we fell more often than not) and its massive leaves fed generations of silkworms we children bred annually and hid in shoe boxes in the cupboards from Mom.

Every now and then we would know if Mom had one of her Dutch spring cleaning inspirations, as we would hear a muffled shriek from the direction of our cupboards where she would have opened the boxes to clean the shoes and found Harold, Matsimela, Grace and Djamila happily munching the mulberry leaves and peering up at her with their little beady silkworm eyes. Oh, how I loved our silkworms. Whenever this happened, Mom would banish the worms from the house. We would trundle the boxes to the back fence, and give them in rotation turns to the other two groups of kid who lived behind us. They would babysit our worms until their moms found them, and then banish them back to us. So for a number of years, we contentedly rotated the Pieterses, Therons and Whittles' silkworms en masse between the three households, as the moms of the three families thought the worm problem had been solved. Anyhow; I digress.

So. Dad had a new gentleman in the garden, and treated him with great courtesy and respect. Dad had worked as a gardener in Britain for a while, Oxford I think he said. He knew what backbreaking work it can be, and he always ensured that Mtawa had daily cooked meals, and plenty of water, tea and juice to drink. We children were firmly cautioned to have the utmost respect for Mtawa at all times. That was no problem for me; I hero worshipped Mtawa, who was a wonderful person and an amazing gardener. We had the largest blooms on the rose bushes, and the grapes grew to a huge size. They were sweet, and we all ate grapes and the produce of the trees.

Mtawa would allow me to uncoil the long garden hose for him when he prepared to water the garden. He showed endless patience with me, as I used to trail around following him with my little dog Tubby, chattering to him about all that was happening, the girls at school and the news there, and all the news of the neighbourhood. I used to ask him about himself, and he had very little to say, except to tell me kindly that he was from Lesotho and that he had family there. Lesotho, I decided, must be a Very Great Place.

Every day that Mtawa was working, I would finish my homework then escape outside and follow him around for a while, helping him (though I rather think now that I was getting in the way). Then I would be off next door to visit Safia. One day after years of Mtawa devotedly working in the garden, I arrived home; no Mtawa. I asked Dad where he was. Dad told me that Mtawa would no longer be working in the garden; he had resigned, and was returning to his home in Lesotho. But surely Mtawa would come to say goodbye, I asked. Dad looked at me with his kind eyes. I don't remember what he said, but I told him I would watch out for Mtawa, which I did.

Over the next few days, whenever a mine worker passed our gates I would run to the gate to see if it was Mtawa. When I realised that he would not be coming back to say goodbye, I was inconsolable. I kept on going out into the lane, asking the mine workers,
'Have you seen Mtawa? Do you know him?" The tears were running down my face and those of the children with me, as I explained,
 "He is our gardener. And we love him. We must see him to say good bye to him. Do you know him at all?"
The workers, many of them touched by our tears, simply murmured,
"No kleinmies. We do not know him. But he must be a very good man, for you to have so many tears for him."
And one young man said to me,
 "Kleinmies, if we see someone with the name of Mtawa, we will tell him your message. But we cannot promise that we will see him. To be honest, I must tell the kleinmies the truth. But we will try."

Every day for months afterwards, I would run out to the gate, and hang around, looking up and down the street. But Mtawa never arrived. After a while I would heave a great sigh, and go back indoors. It is not easy being a child.

Nearly a year later I was walking down the road back from school when I saw a forgotten lone copper bracelet winking in the sunlight, somewhat dulled by the year's weeds and dust that had drifted up around it. For some reason, I was convinced that it might have belonged to Mtawa. I carefully took it up, carried it home, and cleaned it up. I put it safely in the shoe box I kept in my cupboard to give back to him if he came to greet us.

 I am not sure what happened to the copper bracelet, but have a vague recollection that we children ceremoniously returned it to the resting place under the hedge when we moved to a new house.
I never saw or heard of Mtawa again. I have long since forgotten his surname.
However, I have never forgotten his gentle face, his courteous manners or wonderful kindness to children who had hero-worship for his horticultural gifts. Whenever I think of royalty, I know I met a king among men; Mtawa, to my childhood eyes, was a King from Lesotho.

Luky;
Mtawa was indeed a king among men, with gentleness and beauty. He was actually from Malawi, and worked on the mines during the day and worked part-time in the evening in the garden to supplement his wages to help his family in Malawi. To our sorrow he was repatriated unexpectedly to Malawi.

Catherine Nicolette;
As a child I thought Mtawa came from Lesotho. So both Lesotho and Malawi were Very Great Places to me...

*Names have been changed
*Photograph taken by Catherine Nicolette in sunny South Africa. Please feel free to use copyright free for any worthy purpose