While I weave through the busy streets of Cape Town, a calmness within me slowly drowns out the sounds from around. My mind wanders and a change of scene materialises in front of me. Like an exquisite garment over bareness, warm sunshine occupies the cold grey space, worried and hurried faces appear relaxed and content. Deep down, in each person’s heart, lay nestled an equal desire for a utopian lifestyle.
I look up above me, my day dream of sunshine disappears and is replaced with the chilly reality. Small droplets of cool water fall from the dark sky, landing softly against my cheeks. As I pick up pace, I startle an old friendly man who smiles back at me. A pigeon flies across my path, seeking cover from the droplets that are quickly becoming heavy.
I finally reach the home, wet from the icy rain and my hot tears. One of the many things that the rain does for me – it helps hide the tears when they fall in the open. I place the plastic bag, now drenched with water, on the carpeted floor and quietly walk to the reception desk. A stern lady dressed in white purses her lips and nods at me. Her eyes immediately avert to the wet bag.
Sister Laylah walks toward me from the adjacent corridor, smiling wholeheartedly. “Your father is awake, dear. He’s been asking for you.”