The Heart of Bravery

The Heart of Bravery

By Nolan Phekani

CHAPTER 1

Jagged mountain ranges of the Maluti lay stretched, snow-draped and majestic. Every cliff, valley and hill was covered in a white blanket of snow. Only the tiny huts could be visible from a distance and they formed a darkish colour that distorted the beauty of this magnificent view. The thick layer of snow that had accumulated was due to three days of snow falling from the sky without stopping. No one would dare to travel in that kind of weather. Every snowflake that fell from the sky meant tragedy for the residents of Mosikong. The cold winter breeze that had been earlier in the week had come as a warning but no one dared to take heed. Now the vast plains and hills were carpeted with white and freezing with cold.

Crested in these high mountains were lofty villages that defied every force or entity, villages that had existed through the epochs of time and endured a myriad of tribulations. From these villages lived a people of resilient nature, tough-skinned and adamantine like the very basaltic rocks making the mountains.A people of profound wisdom, they inhabited the mountains like ants that hadcolonized an anthill. It was in the midst of one such tribulationwhen Moshe, a staunch middle-aged man of unyielding character decided to face the extremes and do what most men would do, face the savage weather for the sake of his family.

It had been a little more than eight months since his wife was pregnant and he was beyond doubt that time had arrived for their baby to come. The anticipation would soon be replaced by joy, joy that wouldn’t serve him or Paulina alone, but joy that would be shared like good news amongst theresidents of Mosikong. Believing they shared amalgamated ancestries, and were thus kin of another, each resident would feel unalloyed pleasure for being an auntie, an uncle, a grandma or a grandpa. The anticipation Moshe felt in himself mounted to the point where although snow-bound, he decided to face the drawbacks that had hindered him from traveling in the cold freezing temperatures to take his wife to Motebanghospital inLeribe.

It was inadvertently a custom for conception to take place at his in-laws, something otherwise obligatory if the baby was to receive proper blessings from ancestors. Moshe had to brave the weather either way because the midwife in the village had told him she had ran out of herbs and there was nothing she could do to relief Paulina’s pains. She had begun mourning relentlessly everytime there was a contraction and Moshe couldn’t bare the sight of her beloved enduring pain.

Although she couldn’t predict the exact day of the baby’s birth, the midwife cited that it was just about time and Paulina had to endure. Moshe decided then to use stubborn faith. As much as he hated the modern world, he felt then that he had to embrace it. Perhaps they’d allow Paulina to sleep on white sheets and lay her head on soft pillows. Perhaps they’d be more precise in predicting not only the day of birth, but also the gender of the baby. Perhaps they’d know how to ease her pains, just perhaps. People of the modern world loved to believe they knew everything.

But to reach this world, they had to survive the wrath of Mother Nature, more so because the village of Mosikong was cut-off from civilization by the mighty MalutiMountains.

It was withbewilderment that he decided to take this journey and was determined to confront any difficulty that may come their way. He couldn’t stand Paulina’s constant mourning every now and then.

On horseback, it would take the prospective traveler a week at most, or even less, to get to Leribe from the tiny village of Mosikong.

That was three to four days of travel, a night of sleep in the village along the way and perhaps a rest in the mysterious caves claimed to belong to the Bushmen en route to Leribe. That was if there was no snow, a gruesome journey on its own because in front lay a vast chain of mountains that crested above the clouds and stood as a barrier between man’s conquest of nature, a journey that reconciled him to his maker at the wonders of creation that left him engrossed in awe. Though the prospective traveler chose a route that avoided deep gorges and ridges, it brought despair and annoyance to anyone traveling through it; even when without snow. The wealthier families would have their horses sent to Leribe once in a period of four weeks for supplies.

The poorer folk had everything they needed right there; dried cow pats and firewood for fuel, maize and sorghum in the fields for mealie meal, some vegetables out there in the garden and animal tallow for the lamps. When mixed with ashes and water, animal fat also made good soaps. Apart from all this, necessity always lurked somewhere behind, necessity of small, inconceivable but particularly important items that were just necessary for survival; some particular items such as clothing, matchboxes and parcels of salt and sugar.

Cow skin for making clothing, blankets or even sandals wasn’t adequate in those kinds of winters; and heaven help it for a family that had run out of matches. They had to suppress their shame and wander around the village begging for even one matchstick. A matchstick was like a precious stone and worth a pay.

The least they could hope for was a merciful, red, hot wood splint that had to be carried by a person prepared to trot in order to retain the glow. They would insert this splint in their fire bins and ignite a flame by blowing. From this fire, one would be able to have something to light the lamp in the evening. Simple and humble as they were, these families still had to have their horses send to Leribe for these major necessities. They would have their horses sent once in a period of eight weeks, a time adequate enough for even the poorest of the families to have sold some of their produce in neighboring villages for money.

The villagers depended almost entirely on farming and the family that had a male in the mines of South Africa was like a royal family. When the father or son of that family had arrived from the mines, villagers would flog to that particular household from far and wide to borrow this or that, some to examine anything new; be it a wall-clock, a paraffin stove, new furniture, or some cattle. Money weren’t of much value to the villagers though; for the quantity of cattle and number of fields determined ones’ wealth. Even the miners knew they had to arrive home driving a flock of anything from sheep, cow or goat.Moshe had given a portion of his land in exchange for two of the three horses that were to journey them to Leribe. One was for carrying the bags, one for carrying Paulina and the other for carrying him.

It was during the cold winter month of July when Moshe set out with his wife to seek help in Leribe. A little knot of fear buried deep in his stomach made him shudder every now and then because he could feel he had just undertaken an impossible journey indeed, a journey that would most probably wore him to the very core and into his bone marrow. When he looked up in every direction, he saw a broad horizon encapsulated in snow-capped mountains and knew it would take them several hours to reach even a vague brownish point along the winding path visible to his eye. As they trekked on, Moshe knew he wouldn’t be able to handle Paulina’s mourning. The country lay vast in front of them.

The sluggish moving breeze brought thin snowflakes in the direction against their travel― hitting them in their faces. Moshe knew they had to travel at a faster rate in order to reach the nearby village before dusk. This was the first of the three stopovers on a long journey to Leribe, and was just suitable for a more gruesome journey that lay ahead. The two travelers journeyed rapidly and did reach the village before noon. They had some provisions for the journey.

It was lipabi, a powdery coarse ration of maize that is roasted, crushed with a grindstone and mixed with salt and sugar. This was followed by hot soupand a few gulps of milk thereafter.

The next day became a bit warmer because the vast horizon was glorified by sunshine− a rare scenarioat that time of the year in the mountains. To Moshe’s affirmation, the Gods were on his side and he thought to himself that everything would turn alright. On the third day, Paulina started the mourning but this didn’t bother him much because they were off to seek for help. Nonetheless, he felt that they had to divert and take a rest in the village along the way. Not only was the rest for her benefit but was also for the sake of the horses that needed fodder because grazing was impossible on the snow-covered mountains.

The dawn of the fourth day saw the travelers parting ways with all human communities and facing the bare, savage country ahead. The sun appeared for a short while before being covered again by clouds.

Paulina told Moshe about a strange dream of how they threw the baby off a high cliff. Just before the baby fell on the ground, she awoke. She had refused to sleep for long hours thereafter, but finally, nature triumphed and Paulina physically fell asleep. In the middle of the night, she dreamt once more, this time giving the baby away to strangers who had come to collect an old debt. With nothing to pay, the strangers had requested to adopt the baby who was to become a servant and a well raised herdsman.

“When you’re not mourning,” Moshe had remarked rather jadedly, “You’re tormenting yourself with dreams. I told you. Everything will be alright.”

Moshe believed she was panic-stricken. That was just another tactic to annoy him and wear him down. As much as he hated dreams, he believed they spelled a certain omen. But in his own right, he would fight to the last molecule of his strength to protect the baby.

Nothing could separate him from his baby− his own blood. Up until this day, Moshe and Paulina’s relentless determination had enabled them prevail over lethargy and the rough terrain.

But it wasn’t until the fifth day that Moshe realized their determination was probably not enough to carry them through the mountains. That day, they didn’t see the transition that separated night from day, but the expanse becoming less dark, they knew they had to make a move. The thick fog that lay in front was like a heavy blanket clogging their world with gloom and making it impossible to predict whetherdawn had arrived or they were still in the midst of night. Brimming with determination, they nonetheless, trekked blindly on. Indecision brought about by this dense fog wouldn’t prevent them from lunging right ahead.

They also knew that in those mountains, that kind of fog could occupy the expanse for hours on end and would only clear if the sun came out. Transcending into a region of even denser fog, they were like voyagers transcending into uncharted territory. In that kind of fog, anyone treasuring dear life had to wait until it was clear or had to turn back. The horse ridden by Paulina kept on wandering off and vanishing into the fog and Moshe was aware she couldn’t seize control of it due to the burden.

“Keep close woman,” he kept on saying. “Keep close or I’d end up losing you.” The only option was to keep moving since they were in the middle of nowhere in a raving weather. Turning back would be something of absurdity. Partly due to bad equitation skills, the horses they were mounting rant and raved all over the bridle paths in the mountains, a dangerous prospect not onlyto Moshe but more so to the pregnant Paulina. The horse carrying their bags had started neighing and remaining behind, stopping at times due to the thick fog and probably the kind of landscape they had entered. Paulina’s horse was frequently drooping and stopping in the middle of the road. It wasn’t until it made a sudden hurdle that Moshe realized she had been a quite fidgety on the horse and had not been sitting properly on the saddle.

She landed on soft snow at the even surface of the precipice. The wail she made caused the horses to gallop in terror; off in the thick white fog that surrounded them. She couldn’t stop mourning and Moshe got off his horse only to find that it was time for giving birth. In his vague memories, he could recall when he was a little boy and half a dozen woman would be holding her mother’s hand and uttering the steady words,

‘Push, push, again, harder,’ and one would say, ‘‘Hold on and be strong’’

Not only was he panting for breathe but was also overwhelmed with joywhen he was done with the duty of a midwife. In the peak of his elation, he presumed that only one in a thousand men, perhaps ten thousand, could do what he had just done― facilitate the birth of his own child from the very genesis to the moment he held the bouncing bambini in his own arms.

The baby cried. Gladness filled their pain-stricken and weary hearts. It was not until Paulina heaved in a sigh did Moshe realize that she was in acute pain. With her eyes being as mysterious as the origins of life itself, she stared at this new life that was but at its genesis without a blink.

Smiling a little, she rested her head against the baby and then started sagging backwards before peacefully closing her eyes. When Moshe touched part of Paulina’s neck, it was freezing with cold. Moshe stroked his forehead, his left and his right shoulder as a sign of the crucifix and took the baby away from Paulina. It was all on his shoulders now. The day was the 7th of July 1987. The tear that fell down his face warming and nourishing his dry, cold cheek made him to instinctively know that he had lost his beloved. He stood there startled. Not that he had turned soft or become gentle like women are, but because part of him had departed from this world of the living and entered the realms of boundless eternity in other worlds.

Becoming aware of the wet dew that had been on his eyebrows all along, he wrapped the baby in warm cloth and a blanket that had been worn by Paulina, struggled for hours to conceal her in snow and then constructed a crucifix made from snow in her honour. Being a staunch Catholic, Moshe believed a saint deserved proper burial as an honour, and this he conferred unto his beloved Paulina, the woman that had been part of his life until just now. It was with great grief that he decided to carry the baby and move on. When he looked up in every direction, the majestic mountains endowed the landscape in a way that kept him in awe. In those mountains, one inevitably saw God as he stared in the face the might of Mother Nature.

Grieved and weary, Moshe went along with a little strength and will for their baby to live. He knew that he shall grow to become a brave-heart. His woes seemed to be catapulting all the time as he traversed through the rough, snow-packed terrain. For a while, he kept away from hard frozen snow to avoid slipping off, but then, soft snow exhausted him because at every step, his feet dug deep into this which seemed like a black suction hole which, as it turned out, was apparently white. He had to use a lot of strength to pull himself out as a result, making exponential the drudgeries that had clouted his journey.

His feet were freezing, the hands carrying the baby were freezing and his face had become white and taut with cold. When the mountains had worn him down to the last molecule of his strength, he would find a dry spot and have a little rest. In its own way, grieve would start to tear him inside and he would rise instantly to evade it and move on in the quest to his survival and that of the baby. It was like forever to him when he realized he had reached the MotengPass and it had become clearer.This was as far north of Leribe than he could have imagined. And it was only then that he realized he had been going the wrong direction all along. But nevertheless, he had heard of people saying beyond theMotengPasswas the Oxbow Lodge, a paradise for white tourists. And where there was a lodge there were people, and where there were people, there also would help be found.