Open Writing

Flora stuffed the last of the dirty laundry into the machine, walked back into the kitchen and turned on the kettle, and as Merrem called out, “Are you ready for the vacuuming yet, Flora?” switched off with a sigh and put her desire for a cup of tea and a sandwich on hold. Working happily together, the two women, one the white ‘Madam’ the other the dusky black servant, talked about families and events, They had known and depended on each other for over twenty years. Their children had grown up together and despite political constraints and the differences in their backgrounds were good friends and tolerant of each other’s foibles.

Despite her chatter, as she worked, Flora was thinking about her two-weeks Christmas leave. She’d been looking forward to it for months. As soon as she’d finished her duties she would catch a bus to the Transkei and two days’ arduous travel later, she’d arrive in the tiny village of Cofimvaba, not far from the isolated rural area where Mandela lived as a child. She’d be relieved when today was over, she was tired and wanted to get back to the grand-children to see how they were getting on. She wondered if the results from the school had arrived yet. It was important that all three pass their year-end exams; unless they got a decent education they had no chance of succeeding in an increasingly competitive world.

Housework completed, and Merrem’s gifts to her and the family gratefully accepted, as well as her Christmas “bokkis” of five hundred Rands and a good coat, she thankfully closed the kitchen door. Taking the lift to the top of the luxury block of flats near the golf-course in northern Johannesburg, she headed for her tiny room. “Only thing that’s good about this pokey room, is the lovely view,’’ she grumbled silently to herself, thinking of the broad sweeping grasslands of the neglected and undeveloped Transkei. Poverty-stricken as it was, she loved it and until she came to work in Johannesburg had known no other. Of course, her job with Merrem was wonderful and without her help and the money she had poured into her family over the years, she would never have been able to give her children the education they deserved, nor build the new house or set her son up in business. As long as she was strong enough and able to continue working, she intended to hold onto her excellent job; nothing must prevent her earning the income which held the family together.

*

“Yes, hullo. Who’s there?” Alicia answered when the phone trilled early on Saturday morning, shouldering the receiver as she impatiently flipped through her Thrupps shipping list. So much to do and only four days to Christmas. The family were arriving from London tomorrow and she was dreading the influx of adults and children. She regretted her generous impulse to let Flora take her annual leave at the usual time. “I really should have kept her here to help me,” she thought, “With so much to do, I was a fool to think I could manage on my own. Just hope that Justin’s wife Mary and Patsy will pull their weight, otherwise I simply don’t know how I’ll manage.”

Then, as the telephone’s hissing and crackling subsided she began to make out what the man was saying. “Flora dead !! OH NO! I can’t believe it!! But that’s absolutely TERRIBLE! What was it? A bus accident; was she killed in a taxi? They always drive so dangerously.”

“Mem, we got the news word from her sister Mpho, here. She says six of them were killed on their way to Umtata, the bus lost a wheel. Now, Mpho says they need money for the funeral and the burial expenses. Due to the heat wave, they have to be buried tomorrow. It will cost R10 000.”

“Ten Thousand Rands? But that’s impossible. Flora didn’t have so much in her account.”

“No Mem. Mpho needs you to borrow her the money. We need it today, I’ll meet you at the bank and you can give it to me straightaway.”

“Let me talk to Mpho.”

A woman came on the line and confirmed everything she’d just heard.

Hands shaking, still sobbing, Alicia went to speak to her husband, who was finishing his breakfast before leaving for the office.

“But that doesn’t sound right”, he objected. “How can this guy tell you that Flora’s been killed in a bus accident in the Transkei? Where’s the proof? I don’t know, I’m not happy with this. Now he wants you to give him R10,000 immediately, does he? I think you should try to get more evidence before you agree to his demands. Darling, must go -I’ve got an important meeting, I’m running late and you know what the traffic’s like. Give me a ring as soon as you know more. You can get me on my cell”, he finished, hurriedly wiping his lips and grabbing his briefcase before he ran down the steps to his car.

Completely flabbergasted by the news, but trusting Daniel’s sound judgement, Alicia still felt uneasy, so decided to call some of her friends before she left for the bank. Maybe one of her friends would advise her. Everybody knew and loved Flora, who’d been an integral member of their close-knit community, helping at school fetes, arbitrating childish quarrels and umpiring kid’s cricket games for years.

Alicia got plenty of sympathy, especially as they all knew she’d denied herself a new computer, feeling they could not really afford it with all the expenses of Christmas and hosting the family from overseas. And now this exorbitant demand. Everyone was heartbroken to learn that Flora was dead, but they all insisted that as it was Saturday and the banks closed early, Alicia must withdraw the money immediately and hand it over for the funeral expenses. “Afterall, it’s the least you can do!” they said, amongst the weeping and crying.

Then on the last call to her dear friend Sally upstairs, she heard Ethel, Sally’s maid, in the background. “Mem, Mem, let me talk to her. Give me the phone”, and with a change of voices, Ethel came on the line.

“Merrem, this is nonsense. FLORA’S NOT DEAD.”

“What do you mean? Not dead?”

“Mem, I saw her upstairs on the roof 20 minutes ago. She was hanging out her washing. She’s leaving for the Transkei on Monday”.

***

This clever scam is a favourite of the holiday season in South Africa when so many migrant workers are returning home to their families in the rural countryside. With the high prevalence of bus and taxi accidents it’s easy for plausible operators to con trusting employers into believing that a valued servant has been killed. It’s a very lucrative business with no comeback for the crooks and many honest and unsuspecting people are taken in.