I lie on my bed, a song playing in the background. The title is Jehova re tshephile wena (Jehovah we trust in you)  from the album Spirit of Praise 6, the lead singer is Pastor Neyi Zimu. He continues Dipotso di dingata empa karabo tsone di nnyennyane..(there are many questions but few answers). At this moment, i am lost in a world of my own. I nod and mutter alone, indeed I have so many questions but no answers. My mind races back to the events of the second half of October 2014.

15th October, 2014 My sister loses her first born child, Aobakwe. My sister’s but mine. He has been in hospital for a day. I am told he is admitted. I do not call to check on him, this is unlike me. The news of his passing devastate me. I am in denial. My whole body is numbed, I sit there with my family staring at the ceiling. After a while I sing Peace be still, the other family members join me, we pray, discuss funeral arrangements and disperse. I cannot sleep at night; I seem to have diarrhea; constant trips to the toilet until morning. Apparently my sisters are experiencing the same symptoms, whether real or imaginary, that is another story.

My brother, Laona is on a work trip in Serowe. I had asked him to bring me the shoes I had left there the previous week. I now text him to say leave the shoes since I am now coming to Serowe. See, our conversations have no salutations. We get straight to the point. He tells me he will be passing through the house and coming back to Gaborone to hand over at work. He is to arrive two days before the funeral. Arrive he does. The family sits for a brief meeting, after which, as usual I will be working with him on the programme. It is an unwritten rule; we are always in the same team. We spend the whole day working on the programme, we are having a difficult time. The designers are not up to standard; Laona is constantly on social media. I complain, he compensates with a drink and goes back to his phone. We are receiving calls from home; where are you; this needs to be done and all the hullabaloo. Isn’t this what families do? fussing over nothing, that is. We convince ourselves that those who are at home will do whatever needs to be done. Just as well, I tell myself, because I cannot bring myself to witness the arrival of my nephew’s lifeless body in a coffin.

The programme is done. We rush home. It is dusk. My heart is racing, the dreaded moment is here. There are too many people. I get into the house and steal a glimpse of the coffin. My heart pounds. I quickly rush to the room for some quiet time. I need this, to make sense of  this unfortunate reality.It is the day of the night vigil. My Pastor calls me to sing, I sing Joko ya hao e bobebe (your yoke is light). There are a few people, mostly family and as expected they are busy with chores. That only leaves Laona and I, we sing the loudest. As I sing, he signals approval. It is an unwritten rule; feedback must and should be given.He leads other songs, he has a funny way of singing, inspired by the classic gospel artists. Without discrimination, he carries this melody into the african hymns. Who cares?

19th October 2014 we bury our nephew. He is one of the speakers. Before he speaks he sings Lebitso la Morena a le bakwe (Let the name of the Lord be praised). The nephew’s name is Aobakwe, this is Laona, he has to be creative, things have to rhyme. He begins thus ‘go diragetse, a leina la Morena le bakwe’ (it has happened may the name of the Lord be praised). His speech is short and crisp. I tell him so, remember feedback is of essence. Messages are read, he looks away, tears welling up in his eyes. I am shaken, I have never seen him in this state before except during his surprise 40th birthday party. But that was a different setting, he was awed at the works of his wife. I maintain my composure.

It is done. We get home. My Pastor has been listening to the Cd I purchased a few weeks before. He likes it, he wants to take it. I want to resist, Laona tells me ‘sharing is caring.’ I am defeated. The Pastor gets the music.

You will replace it , I threaten Laona.

People disperse. We start chatting. Laona is disturbed that we seem to be downplaying the fact that our nephew was beaten by some unruly kids. He promises to make noise about it and immediately updates his facebook status; he calls it blogging. I am in agreement. I also promise myself that I will, in my own little way, fight bullying. After all change happens one person at a time.

Back in Gaborone, a few days later it is election time in Botswana. The mood is high. Laona has been making frequent updates on facebook, even going as far as endorsing and discrediting candidates. Huh, I wonder, whatever happened to my conservative brother! I send him a private message.

‘these days you have opinion,’ I say.

He responds ‘I’ve been quiet for too long..’. I laugh.

Election day, exciting day. There seems to be an unnamed competition on social media. People vote and take pictures of themselves in the queues. It is an election like no other or so it seems. My husband and I are not to be left out. We leave the house around 9am to the nearest polling station, the queue is too long. We decide to move to the next one. We get a call from Laona. He is with Joe, his elder brother, at our house. We go back, nobody says no to Laona. They laugh at us. Voting is done early in the morning, they say. We sit over a cup of tea. This is our ritual. Speculations! Who will win where. The mood is electric. There is music playing and Laona is dancing around the house. We leave them to finish their tea, this voting thing must be done.

The next time I see him, I have transport problems. He is driving me home amidst complaints. He tells me he is not my driver. I turn myself into his praise poet, he bursts into laughter. We are good.

He goes on a trip to Maun. He does not tell us. That is not allowed. I see his post on facebook greeting the people of Maun. I immediately send him a message.

Me: Hello facebook’s elder brother..

Him: you are getting used to me

Me: so when are you coming back?

Him: bogologolo (not in the foreseeable future)

The election frenzy is on. Laona’s excitement is on another level.Frequent updates on facebook. I cannot keep up. I am busy at work preparing for the next Parliament. This week, we speak on the phone a couple of times during the day. Every day. It is the last week of October. On Friday as I wait for my husband to pick me, I sit with a colleague. We end up talking about Laona. I get home, I think about him, I feel a warmth I have never felt before; a sense of deep love that my limited vocabulary fails to describe. A few minutes later, he calls me. We talk for some time. His calls are never brief unless he is interrupted by something and as matter of principle we have to say proper goodbyes before the call is ended. I have received that lecture many times before.

1st November 2014, it is a Saturday. My 3 year old son sings Mmatswale togela dipitsa tseo. He doesn’t stop so I join him. As I do, I imitate Laona. I do that for a good time. I feel a strong urge to call him. I do. Strange how our conversation goes. He seems to be busy on the other end. Too many pauses, I tell him to please return my call. I had wanted to tell him how I have been busy imitating him, the plan was to sing for him over the phone. That is not to be. I am on duty at church so that is where I’m headed, to clean and decorate.

Around 1 am, My phone beeps, message from Laona. Strange. He never talks to me this late. I laugh and tell my husband who sent the message. He thinks I am asleep so i am going to shock him and respond.

Him: I know i still haven’t returned your call. Yes, some of us are still working at this hour. call you later!

Me: Oh ok. I have also just come back from duty at church

Him: Uhu, are you in the witchcraft business? Anyway, we are busy in a disco enjoying local talent from America.

Me: Ok, enjoy.

2nd November 2014 My husband calls him after church. Strange conversation again. He’s been doing the boat cruise thing a lot lately. Got me worried. As my husband mentions water to him I shout, tell him he’s done enough water already. Conversation ends. When we get home, I am exhausted. I fall asleep immediately.  Strange dream; Parliament is sitting, I need to get inside the chamber but I am running further away as if dragged by some unseen force. This goes on until I am awoken by my husband to eat.I hold the food and fall asleep repeatedly until my husband receives that call. He looks at me. I ask what the call was about. He tells me there has been an accident. What? who? where? I ask for him to give me full information. He is in shock. I rush to the bathroom and stare at the ceiling. He will be alright, I say to myself. He is a fighter, a survivor. That is not to be. We endure a night of confusion, hope, despair, exasperation, faith and fear; just mixed emotions because he has disappeared into the water. Only on the 3rd, in the afternoon are we told he is no more. Hurt beyond description is what we feel. Our hearts are torn apart. I recall his speech ‘Go diragetse a go bakwe leina la gagwe’. Well, easier said than done.

A friend says you have loved and lost. Indeed we have loved and lost.

Given another chance, I would make him that breakfast, just the way he liked it. I would not complain about his long phone calls. I would not complain about living under his shadow anymore. I would laugh again and again when I hear him telling those who say we look alike that he cannot be as ugly as I am. I would laugh at his remarks that I was too old to be his younger sister. I would laugh at him pretending to know people he did not know. I would laugh at him creating his own lyrics for other people’s compositions.I would run away from his pinches. I would just love him.

The questions are many, the answers are few. Nonetheless, Jehovah our trust is in you.

I, we, have loved and lost.