His Helper

16

In Port Alfred, winter proved to be a formidable adversary, especially along the seafront. The early breeze carried a biting sting, turning each morning into a true test of endurance. Yet, amidst the chill, there was an undeniable charm. I found solace in a daily ritual – sipping a steaming cup of coffee, standing sentinel by the window as the sun gracefully marked the start of a new day.

Our bakery, nestled in the heart of Port Alfred, served as a sensory haven. Upon entry, the air was infused with the irresistible aroma of freshly baked pastries, seamlessly intertwining with the rich scent of brewing coffee. The atmosphere inside wrapped around you like a familiar embrace, radiating warmth and invitation.

The display was a visual feast – golden-brown croissants boasting delicate layers, fruit-filled pies tempting taste buds, and muffins exuding a crumbly, irresistible charm. These pastries stood as a testament to our unwavering commitment to artisanal baking, inviting customers with their delectable allure.

The rhythmic hum of the coffee machine resonated through the air, promising a caffeine fix of unparalleled perfection. From velvety cappuccinos to robust espressos, our skilled baristas crafted each cup with precision, elevating coffee to an art form.

For those yearning for a refreshing twist, our smoothie corner offered a burst of fruity delights. Vibrant colors and fresh ingredients seamlessly blended, creating concoctions that were as visually pleasing as they were palate-pleasing.

The ambiance within our bakery was a harmonious blend – the animated chatter of satisfied customers, the soft hum of the coffee grinder, and occasional laughter that punctuated shared moments. Each visit transcended the realm of a mere transaction; it became a delightful experience, a celebration of flavors that lingered long after the last delectable bite or sip had been savored.

And each morning, post-delivery, I'd stand by the harbor, gazing out at the sea, shielded by the pier from the relentless waves. It was surreal; life had brought me to a place I once believed was beyond reach. I never imagined my own country held such a hidden gem. As I watched movies or read books about America, the visualization and familiarity with its landscapes unfolded right before my eyes. Though the area might not have been fully developed, its raw beauty spoke to me, and it felt like the exact place where I belonged. Not in a bustling city like Cape Town or Johannesburg, not even in East London where I grew up.

In my prayers, I had asked for a home where I'd feel welcomed, and here it was. Meeting our customers every day, engaging in brief chats, attending church, and being an integral part of the community, it all held immense significance for me. No one could take that away, not even those who questioned how a young black woman found herself intertwined with a predominantly white community. For me, it transcended colour. As time passed, that mindset faded away, and we all shared the same space, embracing one another like family.

I kept in touch with my siblings; Unathi was thriving at university, and my other sisters excelled in their workplaces. As per my request, no one mentioned the Makinanas. One Wednesday afternoon, I decided to reach out to them, trusting that my contact information was safe with my siblings.

I was scheduled to make a delivery to a school hosting sporting events, and Aunt Aubrey accompanied me in her truck. After delivering the goods and assisting the caretaker, Aunt Aubrey suggested, "How about we watch for a while?" Knowing her love for rugby, I agreed. "I'd like to check the soccer match as well, if that's fine with you," I added.

Standing there in our work uniforms, we drew attention from the students. Some sniffed the air, captivated by the aroma of fresh-baked goods. With a smile, I nodded, and Aunt Aubrey had her own amused smile. Later, I strolled over to observe the soccer match.