After an hour of barely acceptable monologue and a few tempering words from Pearl, Zwanga walked around the truck, frowning, bending down here and there, finally wiping his hands on his overalls, “It should make it to the school, but I better come along to make sure.”
Pearl Nobuntu nodded. She didn’t ask what had caused the vehicle to break down or what kind of repairs had been done. She was convinced that nothing ever fell apart the same way twice, so why burden your brain with such information. It was more important to attend to tasks at hand.
“Let’s go Bears! We have two hours of road ahead of us. Two hours until you meet the other Bears. Until you learn…” Her voice trailed off as she watched Zwanga swing a long leg over his motorcycle.
“Learn what?”
“You will learn some proper words. You will learn to say ‘hello’ in eleven of South Africa’s languages. And ‘thank you,’ and ‘please.’”
Miss Nobuntu pushed the last Bear back into the overland truck and took her seat at the steering wheel. “Better ride ahead of us,” she shouted to Zwanga,” my sandstorm is bigger than yours.”
Zwanga grinned and gunned the motorcycle into the road, leaving behind a formidable trail of flying debris. Mis Nobuntu shook her head; the Bears giggled. And off they went.
Soon the Bears went back to sleep. Pearl hummed an old tune that mocked the relationship between men and women. Then she imagined herself sitting in Zwanga’s workshop, the one he had built right next to his one room house. She saw herself pouring tea into a chipped cup while he talked about cell phones, about progress. She smiled.
When she left the main road the Bears were awakened by the truck’s lurches across the bumpy terrain. Pearl brought it to a stop a few meters away from a very large Baobab. Its two trunks bowed outward, like two friends off into different directions, but they changed their minds and grew together about twenty feet from the ground, providing an arch that served as the entrance to the school property.
“One after the other,” Pearl guided the Bears. She wanted them to notice and remember the gateway to their new lives as they walked through the giant Baobab.
Zwanga had already parked his motorcycle at the far corner of the lot. He was watching Bears in front of the one-room school hut as they paraded around in pairs and addressed each other like actors during rehearsal of a play.
“We are practicing,” one of them said when Pearl Nobuntu asked what all the shouting was about.
“Hoe gaan dit met you?” the Bear read from a small booklet as he bowed in front of her. “That’s Africaans,” he whispered. “It means ‘how are you?’”
“Ke gona,” she smiled, and she too, whispered, “this means ‘I’m fine’ in Sepedi.”
“Ngicela sikhatsi?” she asked in a louder voice, addressing the rest of the Bears, but nobody understood her.
“We haven’t learned that yet.”
“I am asking you what time it is in Siswati. I am your teacher. I’m late because my truck broke down. Let’s go inside and see what you’ve learned so far. ”
A very young assistant teacher stood in the doorway of the room. She welcomed Pearl Nobuntu’s arrival with a sigh of relief. “They don’t listen to me,” she complained. They don’t understand anything I say.”
“Oh my Dear,” the older woman said, “they do understand. Bears are very sensitive. They are the best listeners once they have found a child in need. We are just giving them a few extra tools. So be patient with them. Enjoy them while they are here.”
She walked to the back of the room where two Bears were pointing at various African words. She nodded approvingly. “Good. Good.” She listened to the young, enthusiastic voices as she circulated among several groups. When she opened her arms, motioning a gesture of welcome, laughing her deep, happy laugh, the room became quiet.
“Hello little friends.” she said, “Welcome to Bear School.”
Zwanga, arms folded over his chest, stood next to the young assistant in the doorway.
“Isn’t she the best,” he said without a question mark at the end of the sentence. And he spoke to nobody in particular when he continued to voice his admiration of Pearl Nobuntu.
“Isn’t she just fabulous!”
