When Two Elephants Fight

Prologue

Looking back at evrything, l always ask myself if it was worth it? If the fight was for my protection or l was collateral damage in a war for "justice". I cannot seem to find the right answer to all my questions but what l can just say is that whenever two elephants fight, they are so immersed in the fight, fighting for survival, victory or to protect what's theirs but at the end of the day, its always the grass that suffers.

CHAPTER ONE

Growing up it was just me and my mother. I had no idea what happened to my father and l guess l just did not have the courage or enthusiasm to know about him back then. My mother never mentioned him and l also haven't dared ask about him. A part of me wanted to know though. I wanted to know why he wasn't living with us, where he is and when he will be coming back for us. I always envy those kids who had their fathers come to pick them up at school, come for parents' day at school or to cheer their kids up at every end of term academic awards celebrations. I was always a top student in my class but it was no secret that noone will be there to clap hands when l always go to the podium to collect my present. My mother was too busy to attend so l cannot blame her though. But the big question is, where was my father though in times like these? I always had fantasies that he would come back for us one day and will attend one of those celebrations at school. Though l know that the chances of him coming back were purely slim l just had to keep holding onto that shred of hope that such a miracle will happen. Unfortunately for me, l never got to experience such a miracle and luckily the teachers took it upon themselves to applaud me when l go to the podium so l felt a lot better. Though l didnt get to be lifted up in the air and had a parent carry me to the podium in their arms like the other kids, l had the teachers to clap for me and cheer me on. That should have made me happy l guess. After all half loaf is better than nothing. Having the teachers cheer me on and clap for me was something that should have cheered me up but l don't know why I didn't feel that way. I know this might sound ungrateful but the cheers failed to fill the void l was feeling. If anything, l didn't like the attention l was getting especially from the teachers. The concern was just too much. Not only on end of term gatherings but also if something happens to me, especially if my grades dropped. They always ask if evrything was ok at home. If there was anything that made me uncomfortable was talking about my father. Mentioning that l know nothing about him was something l hated to repeat to anyone.

One day some donors from NGOs came at our school. They were buying uniforms for orphaned children. I was in grade six by then. They came to our class wearing white polo shirts and black jeans. The white shirts must have been their uniform because it was written UNICEF on it and have that Unicef logo. Then our teacher, Mr Sithole, a pot bellied tall man with a bald head, and always prone to bouts of temper, stood up and introduced the people to us and the purpose of their visit. They were well wishers who were to help specifically orphans. Then Mr Sithole started 588calling out those who lost both parents. A bunch of students stood up and went to a table where the well wishers were sitting. Then another woman from Unicef also entered wearing the same T shirt and a black jean skirt. She started taking measurements for girls while the other man was taking the ones for boys and the third one was writng down details of the students. After they were done with the first group the teacher went on to call upon those who lost their mothers and now left with only their fathers. I guess the teacher was choosing the kids according to their level of neediness because those who have lost their fathers and left with only mothers are better than those who lost mothers first. Those who were called went at the front and did the same procedure that the first group did. After them was called upon those who lost their fathers and are left with mothers only. They also stood up and went upfront for the measurements. All along the teacher was looking at me like l had something on my face. I kept looking down and pretended to write something in my notebook. Then suddenly l heard him calling my name! I almost jumped out of my chair due to fright. Mr Sithole was well known for his temper and l thought l did something wrong. I stood up and answered ," Yes Sir". Then he asked the unexpected, "Where is your mother?" . I calmly replied, "....at home". Then after that along came a question which l had prayed for a thousand times that he would never ask. Not infront of the classroom! " And your father......?". Yes l had not misheard. He had surely asked about my father whom l never had the courage to talk about. Not only did l have to talk about him but l was to do it infront of the whole class and those people from Unicef. I wasn't prepared to receive those looks again! The looks l was so familiar with. The looks on the teachers' faces when they clap for me when l go to the podium. "Nooo, not here!" My mind was screaming these words. I finally gathered up the little courage l had left and said "l dont know where he is but he isn't dead". Even now l dont know where l got the strength to say that because the topic about my father was something that usually hit a nerve and leave me too numb to talk about it. Then Mr Sithole asked, "Then why didn't you go when l said those who lost their fathers must come forwad? Not knowing where he is is just as good as him being dead!". If there was anything that  Mr Sithole was also known of besides temper is his freedom of speech. He just blurts out whatever comes to his mind. I wasnt angry  at him though. He was telling the truth wasnt he? I just stood up and went to have my measurements taken and then have my details written down. I went back and sunk back into my chair.
The people from Unicef left but what happened refused to leave my mind no matter how much l tried not to dwell on it.
During break time l didnt go out. I stayed behind in the classroom and started pondering on the previous scene. Too many questions flooded my mind. Was Mr Sithole right when he said am as good as being an orphan? Was l really like an orphan? Come to think of it l think being orphaned is better than having an absent parent. At least the orphan knows that their parents are no longer with them due to circumstances both the parents and the children cannot control but what about me? Knowing that he is out there, very much alive but doesnt even think about you, worry about you , that l think is more painful. Knowing that you are someone else's mistake, something someone regrets ever having and something he has long forgotten, that is more painful than the pain of losing a parent to death