Visiting Hours

“But that’s not fair!! Why does Steph get to have a farewell party and I don’t?”1

“Paul you don’t understand, you had a birthday party yesterday!”2

“But Steph has a birthday party in April, he still gets two parties, two sets of presents!”3

“Ok! Why don’t we have a joint farewell party? Steph and you can invite all your friends and we will have a big celebration.”4

I had to settle for that, I hated arguing but not as much as I hated being unfairly treated, particularly if my younger brother got the better deal. All sorted now, I get to have my friends over again! I know I had my 12th birthday party yesterday but I don’t want it to be the last time I see my South African friends, who knows what its like in Australia, I may never make any friends again! The fears of a child which my parents seem so ignorant of. Weren’t they children once?5

“Mom, I don’t want Paul’s friends at my party!!”6

Oh no here it goes again, I wish my brother would just stay out of it.7

“Steph let your brother have a few friends over for the last time, I’m sure they wont bother you!”8

I guess I was afraid of leaving, I needed another occasion to distract my thoughts. My parents always said it was for the best that we left, but I didn’t understand. To the best of what? What was bad? They always say I’m too young to understand. In 12 years old, I’m not stupid!9

The day before the festivities and everything is ready! I’m starting to get excited, but unfortunately I couldn’t get out of bed today. I think I have a virus and I’m feeling really weak. Mum is sure it will be fine tomorrow, so I can’t wait.10

My grandmother came into my room early to wake me up and check that I was fine. I felt much better than the day before.11

“How are you today young man?”12

“Excellent Grandmother, can you just help me out of bed…"13

When I got out of bed I was covered in a rash and my head started to spin. I don’t remember a lot of what happened next. I felt seasick as we rushed from doctor to hospital to surgeon to x-ray room. 14

Eventually I came to my senses in a quiet whitewashed room. I was connected to an elaborate organization of wires, pipes and bandages. Mum was sitting next to me and I asked her what day it was. She said it was Tuesday 11 a.m. All of a sudden I was excited again;15

“The party is in an hour isn’t it mum? Can I go? Is it all ready? Call the doctor to unhook me, lets go!”16

“Darling, the party was last Tuesday. Nonetheless your sick you can’t go anywhere.”17

A depressed state fell over me as I realised how long I had been out of reality for! My invincible mentality cried out:18

“I feel fine, I’m not sick! What happened at the party?” I turned on my side eager to get out of the bed but I was entangled by the many channels funneling fluid into me. 19

“I’m not sure I didn’t go. Steph says it was fine though, everyone had fun and sends their well wishes and goodbyes… don’t do that Paul, stay still, don’t waste your energy!”20

“Mum aren’t we leaving tomorrow?”21

“No sweetheart, there has been a slight change of plan, we delayed the trip a couple of weeks.”22

“Why?”23

“Umm…because of you dear, you’re not in the best health at the moment for a long plane trip to Australia.”24

I felt like crying, was there anyone in this world more unlucky than me? Tomorrow my family was scheduled to depart from the environment we grew up in, leave to an isolated continent knowing nobody, and here I am in bed “sick” delaying our departure. To add to it all I’ve missed the party I groveled for. Life just isn’t fair! 25

That first day in reality droned on slowly as I wallowed in self-pity encouraged by many relatives sending their regards and seeming as down in spirits as I felt. Only Steph was bubbling and bouncing around. I don’t know if he understood the gravity of the whole situation, my illness and the impending immigration. It was nice, however, to have some light in the dreary ward. He went over to my inmate, who I had scarcely noticed in my self-focus, and asked his name and why he didn’t have any family visiting him. The patients voice was innocently quiet. I don’t think he responded how Steph wanted so he just left and got distracted by the next hospital delicacy he could find. I emphasised the importance however that he stayed away from the “drips and drops,” as he called them, hanging over me and out of me and through me, as I endeavored to my best ability to avoid a disaster. Eventually all my relatives left, and I was allowed the luxury of my own space and peace. During this time I was able to explore my new room with my eager eyes. I was still, in the doctors view, to weak to walk around. Mum was correct when she said I was too sick to go home now, even if the party was on. I felt extremely frail and light headed. I think it may have something to do with the tubes coming out of my arm. I’m not sure, all I do know is watching that transparent liquid drip constantly makes me feel secure. After the turbulent week, which felt like a few hours, I need a regular pattern to regain composure.26

As I stared at that drip drifting into self-pitying thoughts again I remembered the presence of my roommate. He had remained so quiet and secluded this whole time I had forgotten his company. I was too tired, scared and upset to talk to him, though he sparked off a new train of thought. Steph’s enquiry had been valid, why didn’t he have any visitors today? I had countless while he remained all alone, something seemed strange. On that thought I drifted into an uneasy and often interrupted sleep.27

I awoke with new found optimism and strength which I endeavored to spread to my roommate.28

“Hey, what’s your name?29

“Manyana”30

Once again he spoke in a soft innocent tone, avoiding as much as possible a conversation.31

“I’m Paul, pleased to meet you Manyana”32

“Yes”33

His English was spoken with little confidence. I assume he was brought up speaking his tribal language. It was obvious he preferred to be alone with his thoughts so I decided rather than torture him with idol conversation I would leave him to it. The day seemed to drift by much the same as the last with the usual commotion about my bed. I felt uneasy and more uncomfortable as the day wore on and I was really getting annoyed at being in the same place so long seeing the same faces who kept saying the same things. In my many moments of boredom I found my thoughts trailing off to my roommate. By dinner time visiting hours were over. As my roommate ate I couldn’t help but stare into his eyes which were for once visible. I peered long and hard, but I saw nothing. His eyes were deep hollow caverns, a well void of tears, a hole dug by pain. The pain not only his own, but one with a history, the history of his race. I forced my gaze away from his lonely stare and realised he was no different to me. He seemed about my age, maybe a few years younger. He was no different in size or shape to me. At that instant I wanted to comfort him, I felt there was some connection, I motioned to reach out to him. But I couldn’t I was locked into my hospital bed, helpless. All I could do was ask the question I had been wondering all day:34

“Manyana – where is your mother?”35

“She dead”36

Startled at his emotionless response I stuttered:37

“And your father?”38

“He work hard”39

“No relatives have come to see you, why?”40

“They not allowed”41

I pushed my untouched tray of food away from me. I wasn’t hungry. This wasn’t a time to worry about me. For two days I’ve lay in this bed wallowing in self-pity. I felt guilty. A guilt so strong I was incapable of talking any longer to my new friend. I don’t know if he thinks I’m his friend, though I hope he does. But to be honest it gives me comfort to call him a friend, because I love him. 42

I woke up the next morning to laughter in the bed adjacent to me. In a semi-conscious state I remembered the events of last night and suddenly thought I had got it all wrong. I heard a motherly voice and quickly glanced over with amazement. But it was to be no fairy tale – Manyana never lied when he said his mother was dead, no I take his word for that to this day. The nurses later told me Manyana had been upgraded to a more highly monitored ward, apparently his condition had got worse over night. However, I was skeptical of this. There was more than a sense of fear in that little boy’s voice when he spoke. There was something which the nurses tone and Manyana had in common, a sense that he was unwelcome in this hospital. A sense that he was out of place. I never found out what happened to my friend. I know what I hope happened to him. I hope he was upgraded to a more highly monitored ward which assured him to live a healthy life beyond his illness. I also know what I fear happened to him. As I lay in that hospital bed with my new inmate and his reassuring mother, that same sense of guilt overwhelmed me. Oh I once begged and pleaded for a farewell party so that life would be fair, Steph and I would be even. I am guilty, just like everyone of us. What is fair? Is it having the same number of friends over as your brother, or is it having the same visiting hours for blacks and whites? It is painful to think about. All I know is as I lay in that bed surrounded by false and shallow laughter from my new roommate I made a wish. I wished I could give Manyana the world, my world – any world but his. And I pray the world I wish I could give him is someday bestowed upon him by those who took it away from him – my race.43