Though I told Tebby I was working on questions for an interview with John Gababonwe, the thought of actually interviewing him made me feel sick. Ever since I’d fallen in love with him, I’d never spoken another word to him, at least an intelligible word. It was a long-distance love affair of a sort. Despite the fact that I had no intention of really interviewing John Gababonwe, I often wrote out lists of questions never to be asked.
It always started out okay – So, John, tell our readers what you love most about being head boy? But very quickly degenerates into – And did you always have those heavenly eyes or did you acquire them just to torment me? So interviewing John Gababonwe was likely never going to happen unless I planned to transform myself into a blithering fool. (I just wish I’d remembered this piece of my own wisdom later.)
Tebby sat down at the table across from me. She wrote the weekly fashion and celebrity column for The Voice of the People. It was very popular and she’d already gained quite a following, though she’d been at it for less than a month. I was jealous at first, but Nono nipped that in the bud with “You’ve got to be joking, right?” Maybe I was. I didn’t care about that fluff reporting. I really didn’t. Eventually these kids would grow up and see who was writing the real news here.
“So what are you writing about this week, Tebby?” I tried to show interest in her work to encourage her; I was the senior reporter in any case.
Her pretty, round face lit up. I had to give her points for enthusiasm. She really did love the stuff she wrote about, even if it was inanely stupid.
“Well, I have two big articles actually. The first is about Britney’s big comeback album. I’m doing a review of it! I can’t believe the resilience of that woman. After all she’s been through.”
I thought I saw a tear in her eye.
“And the other one?”
“The other big story, and this one I’m really over the moon about – I talked to a person who is the friend to the second cousin of DJ Fresh. He gave me the lowdown on DJ Fresh’s new exercise programme. I’ve got the whole thing! Step by glorious step. I think my readers are going to be so pleased. Fantastic, hey?”
I smiled. “Yeah, great.”
She put her head down and started writing in her big, loopy handwriting with smiley faces over the “i’s”. I slipped the Aunt Lulu letter in-between the pages of my hardcover and lifted it up so there’d be no chance of her seeing what I was reading.
Dear Aunt Lulu,
My father died two years ago and since then my mother has been seeing a series of uncles. The one before this one was okay, but for the most part I don,t like them. The current uncle is not very nice. He doesn,t work and I think he is after the money my mother received from the insurance after my father died. One day, when my mother was out, the uncle told me that when he marries my mother I,ll have to go and live with my grandmother at the cattle post.
Aunt Lulu, do you think I should tell my mother what this uncle said? She seems to be happy with him but I,m afraid he has some bad plans for us.
Signed,
On the Way Out
Eish! What happened to pimple problems and friends who gossip about you? I didn’t expect these kinds of problems. What could I say to On the Way Out? I didn’t know anything about uncles. I’d only ever known my mother and she’d never had any uncles around. When she died, I moved in with Gran and the thought of Gran with uncles is just plain crazy.
Lorato was in her office, which was actually the English storeroom, working on the layout for the week’s issue. I closed the hardcover and went in to see her.
“Hi Amo, how’s it going? Mr. Dikolobe said you haven’t been in to interview him this month.” Lorato looked up from the page she had laid out before her. Her face was smudged with ink and a drop of sweat dripped from her hairline. The one window in the storeroom didn’t give much fresh air.
Lorato is the only girl I know who doesn’t waste a single moment on the way she looks. She doesn’t even have a mirror in her locker. She is lucky she has smooth, coffee-coloured skin and a nose with a slight hook at the end, above full, sharp-edged lips that make her look like she’s just finished saying the most important thing ever spoken. Her clothes are always wrinkled and dishevelled but somehow she doesn’t look messy or dirty, just harried over Very Important Things us regular people can’t begin to understand.
“Oh please, Lorato! Can’t someone else interview Pigs this month? He is so boring, I feel like my head will fall off my neck and roll across the floor.”
Lorato rolled her eyes. “Unlikely. Listen, for some reason he likes you. He trusts that you will pass his words to the student body in the way he intends them to be passed. He says you should go see him Thursday at 4pm. Write it down. I don’t want you to forget.”
I wrote it in my tiny notebook I use for reporting. Then I handed Lorato the letter.
“Here’s the first Aunt Lulu letter and already I’m stumped. Any clue?”
Lorato read it over. “I don’t know, Amo. This is your job. Aunt Lulu’s voice must be your voice, your perspective – not mine. You need to find your own answers.”
“But, Lorato, this is a serious issue. This uncle is planning to steal from her mother and send her away. Maybe I should tell a teacher or Pigs.”
“No! If On the Way Out wanted advice from a teacher or the headmaster she would have gone to them and not Aunt Lulu. She wants advice from you. You alone must answer her.”
I left the storeroom feeling more lost than when I’d gone in. My face must have shown it because Tebby said, “Geez, what is it? Did she send you off to Pigs again? I know – he smells awful, eh? You might drop him a hint about using a bit of antiperspirant. He seems to like you; he might take the advice better coming from you. You have a way about you.”
She smiled up at me, deep dimples forming in her cheeks, and I wondered if what she said was true. Did I really have a way about me? Did I really look like someone who knew something about people’s problems? If I did, it was a mirage.
Chapter 4
As I moved around the school, I couldn’t help but wonder who On the Way Out was. Was it the girl with pointed ears and the red book bag who walked with her head hanging down? Was it the boy wearing a shirt with a torn collar, or the girl with goldish earrings from Wang Wang? How was it going with her mother? What was the uncle up to now? Had the situation worsened or had it got better? I couldn’t believe how vested I’d become in the problem of an anonymous stranger. I was crazy with worry, so I didn’t notice Gopolang standing in front of me and I knocked right into her.
“What’s that about, Amogelang? What, you can’t see? Maybe you need to get yourself some glasses? Stupid journalists like wearing glasses.” She pushed me away with one hand and then looked to her sidekick, Mosetsana.
“First day on your new feet, Amo?” Mosetsana asked.
“Just leave me alone, I’m in no mood.”
Gopolang had hated all of the staff of The Voice of the People ever since we ran a story about the scam she and Mosetsana had been running. They convinced the students that Puso ka Batho was haunted by a thokolosi and to keep the thokolosi from troubling you, you needed to buy a charm from them. According to them, Mosetsana’s uncle, who was a well-respected traditional doctor