It's All In The Mind (Part 1)

I was making our bed; a hundred year old double mattress on top of a creaking wire base

I’ve never really understood the imagination. I’ve tried to look at various interpretations about it, over and over and I…I #FF0000 ">find nothing. My mother always says that some things, like death or why we’re here, are just too complex to understand. So every time I have a conflict in my head as to how the mind works, and how it plans things spontaneously; I settle with my mother’s basic analysis.

You might be wondering why I’m telling you all of this; but to be honest, I don’t know either. Oftentimes I like to think of myself as too wise for my age because I have a lot of questions with answers. I’ll be fourteen next week. That’s when the new school term starts. I can just picture myself in my new uniform, entering through the junior secondary school gates and waving goodbye to my mother. She promised to be there on my first day of junior secondary school. The uniform dress is maroon; a horrible colour choice if you ask me. It would never complement my figure. They all say I look pretty in it.

This story is not about next week though, it’s not. I just…I don’t understand the imagination. My little sister, Puleng and I were sent here a month ago for the Christmas holidays, to visit my grandmother. The old woman has just landed on eighty-nine and she has never looked better. Of course with the look she gave Puleng and I; the warm and reassuring look, I got a clear explanation of why she’s a grandmother.

Now, you need to take me seriously for what I’m about to tell you is too complex to understand. Like I mentioned earlier, my sister and I have been here almost a month now. The beautiful village of Kalamare is just over three hundred kilometres from Gaborone, where we live. We hardly ever come here during the year, except for Christmas. I don’t know why because this place is stunning. I always feel proud to call it my home. A hill towers over the place at one point and has the name of the village painted on rocks for all to see. My mother had to stay in the city, but she promised to see me to school next week. I don’t know what to make of that but Puleng and I are just fine on our own.
#FF0000 ">This paragraph is really descriptive but I also feel like you should tell us more about what's happening.

It was a long ride from the city. I really don’t like long journeys because I tend to get agitated watching the thick endless bush of grass, shrubs and bigger shrubs. My uncle was driving. He is even much more annoying than the three hour visual of trees. He asked me the silliest questions, because I suspect he thinks I’m still the eight year old he took to Mafikeng to go clothes shopping. I was silly too then so it didn’t matter. #FF0000 ">This last sentence seemed confusing, try to rewrite so the readers can understand it more.

“So, how high can you count?” he asked.

I looked at him, eyes on the road with a broad grin on his face. The grin sort of accentuated his fresh looking face and the tiny wrinkles in the corner of his eyes. I kept quiet because I suspected he might be asking my sister who was sitting in the backseat of his rundown Ford Fiesta. Then it hit me after a few moments that he was talking to me because my little sister was fast asleep. I closed my eyes for a moment after seeing her precious little body, prevented from falling to the seat by her seatbelt.

“Um, I don’t know,” I replied.

I should have not replied because he then told a rather ridiculous joke. I pretended to care by giving a light giggle because I’m not at all rude. I know he’s trying to reconnect with us again and I understand why. However, I hold him responsible to catch up with the times. It was not I who told him to disappear for five years. All that I remember of him is that he took us to Mafikeng.

When we pulled up to his mother’s (my grandmother’s) house, I was so relieved. Her house, with the white paint peeling off on the edges, stood proud in the middle of her large, clean compound. I've always admired the place because it always seems to be infested with the loveliest flowers. I don’t know how she still finds the time to keep up her garden at her age.

Anyway, again, this story is really not about my feelings about my uncle or my grandmother’s attractive flower beds. I just don’t know how to tell it correctly because my mind tends to wander off on its own, it’s not my fault. It was a wonderful reunion that my uncle had with my grandmother. She too hadn’t seen him in ages. His more than generous height overshadowed my grandmother’s petite and frail figure as they embraced. It’s kind of weird watching grown ups being emotional. It’s a side of them they rarely show because they constantly claim to be the rock of everything. It’s a weird feeling when you discover that they are actually human sometimes. I don’t know why, but I can’t stand it.

My six year old sister then tugged my skirt, while I was watching the adults. I looked down at her, her thumb deep in her mouth. She has been really quiet of late, I think I know why; but I choose not to dwell on that...it’s not part of the story.

“Yes Puleng, what is it?” I said. She signalled me to bend over so that she could whisper in my ear. That’s what my life has come to.

“Is that man our papa?” she asked. She shoved her thumb back into her mouth immediately after saying that.

She really didn’t know our uncle because he left when she was in her toddler years. I shook my head almost afraid to answer her question. I knew that she would ask a follow up question afterwards. My mother had explained who this man was to her the last time; I don’t know why she was asking me the question.

“No Puleng, that’s our uncle, Richard. Mom’s little brother, remember?”

She briskly shook her head in agreement.

Now I’m not going to bore you with my life’s story, I’m really not. It’s long and boring and rather depressing. I’ve never been a fan of history because it’s dreary and dull. My mother and father divorced when Puleng was just three. My old man split and never looked back. I don’t even think he cared about us to begin with. It’s hard on my mother raising two girls all by herself. I’ve watched the minutes disappearing with her smile and her weight. She used to have really beautiful skin. Now she doesn’t care for it, with all the stress she’s been prone to. It’s been three years and I’ve tried so hard to understand why my dad doesn’t love us. Then again we don’t really need him; I mean it’s not like we’re poor or anything like that. I don’t go to bed hungry or wake up to an empty refrigerator. The only hard part about all of this was hearing my mother crying herself to sleep every night for a whole year after he left. Like I said, it’s weird when grown ups become human.
I really enjoyed htis paragraph it had tons of imagery and helped the reader see the story and the situation the characters are in

Oh, am I babbling again? I apologise for my feelings because they seem keen to escape. The past is one thing I don’t like dwelling on because it serves no use to me.

You’ll find this very interesting, but after my uncle left for the city, my grandmother- who has grown rather small since I last saw her- had us clean the room we sleep in. The dust was thicker than whipped cream, but we managed. My sister didn’t help much because she’s only six, but we managed. I won’t complain because I like the feeling of order when I’m at my grandmother’s. She is not strict, but she’s stern with her orders.

I was making our bed; a hundred year old double mattress on top of a creaking wire base. The room smelled fresh and restored though. I mopped the floor and went over the dresser and windows with a wet cloth. The air was not cluttered anymore with a strong breeze was blowing in through the wide open windows. My sister was sitting on a chair braiding her doll. At least that’s what I think she was doing.

“I see it!” screamed my sister.

I dropped the blanket I was holding, almost startled by her voice. The crisp tone to it gave the impression that it had been kept away for too long. I was glad to hear her voice again. She jumped from her chair and ran to the window.

“What?” I asked, brushing away any thought present in my head at that moment.

“Come see; it’s right there!” she said.

I rushed to the window to have a look.

“That’s the compound in my dream,” Puleng continued, pointing frantically at it.

All I saw was what looked like a deserted or poorly maintained compound. It had a huge hedge around it. It looked as if the last time the hedge had a trim, I was not even born yet. I had never really noticed the place before. I was so astonished by the compound that it did not occur to me to ask Puleng why she’d seen such a place in her dreams. It was hard to see the inside of it because the hedge was so high it towered over the whole place, but I felt uneasy. I had to go inside it.