Sydney Moya

©2015

Synopsis

A girl goes to uni and happens upon a girl who looks a lot like her. They become friends. After a while Liesl tells her friend that her mother had a son who was snatched at the hospital. This intrigues Carrie who has never really felt like she belonged.

One

My first few weeks at the University of Cape Town were hectic. It was an interesting time to be at UCT. The ‘Rhodes Must Fall’ campaign was just starting and the statue of the man himself had been targeted for removal by the campaigners as they claimed it was a relic of colonialism and apartheid.

I found the debate fascinating but could not help but note the racial overtones it was taking with the campaigners for its removal being mainly black and coloured while its defenders were mostly white people saying it was a symbol of their culture. I wasn’t taking sides but I could see no point in removing a statue of a long dead man. Would it not be better to channel his money into something to uplift the descendants of those he hurt?

Obviously the ‘Rhodes must fall’ guys just thought he was full of shit which was probably true and became a fact when they pelted the statue with faeces some time later much to the amusement and disgust of various sections of society.

I remember the day well because that’s when I met Carrie. I was heading to the library after my jurisprudence tutorial where we’d been assigned reading material. I hoped to get my work done quickly so I could keep my course load manageable. I certainly didn’t want to get swamped by my work a couple of weeks into my course.

Carrie was sitting with a bunch of girls, one of whom looked at me and then nudged her friends who followed suit. Embarrassed I immediately looked down at my clothes, wondering if I’d had a wardrobe malfunction of some sort. I couldn’t see anything amiss so I looked back only to see all the girls staring at me.

One of the girls spoke up

“Carrie I didn’t know you had a sister here?”

I nearly froze when I saw the girl they were addressing. It was like looking at a family album. The resemblance was incredible. She had long black hair, with one strand of it dyed blonde, a caramel complexion and large brown doe eyes. It was like looking at an older version of my little sister Ayanda.

“I don’t have a sister,” the girl answered in what sounded like a British accent, “But wow, it’s like looking in a mirror,” she remarked.

She stood up and walked over, “Hi I’m Carrie,” she said holding out her hand a smile that looked so familiar on her face.

“Hi. I’m Liesl,” I said.

“It’s nice to meet you, apparently we look alike,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, it’s weird,”

“I know right. Everyone has a twin I guess,” I replied, “though you look more like my little sister,” I explained.

“Wow. I have to meet this sister now; I’m an only child so I don’t have anyone who looks like me,” she explained, “so where are you from?”

“I’m from Paarl but I was born here. I’m a first year law student,” I explained, “and you?”

“Oh, I’ve been around. I was born in Cape Town, moved to the Netherlands when I was four then London when I was 15, I came back here for varsity but my parents are in England. Its home but being here feels more like being home. Plus there’s the bonus of everyone looking like me,” she remarked.

I smiled back at her joke.

We hit if off that day and became instant friends. This was despite her being two years my senior and an engineering student with a busy schedule. We hung out a lot in the student union or in our dorms when we could. She had an eclectic bunch of friends, boys and girls, white, black, Indian and coloured which was unusual as people still tended to hang out in racial groups. Carrie seemed colour blind in a country defined by race.

She was basically a very likeable person who seemed to get along with people. I liked her as she was so easy to talk to. Once I got past the resemblance that had started our friendship in the first place I found that she was a thoughtful, caring girl who was loads of fun.

We became quite close over the following months. When I broke up with my boyfriend after I discovered he was seeing someone else on the side, she gave me a shoulder to cry on, Milo and Cadbury.

“He’s a wanker. You don’t need a tosser like that,” she told me in her cute East End accent, which tended to draw people to her.

I giggled despite the pain I felt though I realised it wasn’t as bad as it had been earlier. She made me wash my face then did my makeup before declaring we were going to the V&A Waterfront where we proceeded to drink ourselves silly. I had a terrible hangover the next morning and learned the hard way what the British drinking culture was about. I wouldn’t have changed it for anything though.

When we closed for the semester break, I asked Carrie when she was going to the UK.

“I’m not going there until Christmas,” she said

“Really, why not?”

She shrugged, “I can’t be bothered,” she told me

I sensed there was something she wasn’t saying but didn’t ask her. I mean why couldn’t she be bothered to go home. There was obviously a story behind that. A sudden brainwave hit me.

“Why don’t you come home with me? Stay for the hols. You can meet Ayanda,” I offered

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a burden or anything,” said Carrie uncertainly.

“You won’t. The queen is pretty cool, so’s the bali. They won’t stress. Ayanda will probably worship you and Ethan’s a pest but he’s alright,” I added.

“If you’re sure,” Carrie remarked.

I called my parents and told them I was heading home. They were very protective and it had been hard for them to let go. They had been like this for as long as I recalled probably because of Leo, the brother I'd never met. I'd have preferred to go to Rhodes in Grahamstown or Wits in Johannnesburg but they had flat out refused saying it was too far from home. I know that if it was up to Ma I wouldn't have had a dorm room but would have commuted to school from Paarl daily. However Dad had talked her out of it and common sense prevailed. My parents bought me a car as part of my reward for doing well at matric. It also allowed me to travel easier.

They didn't say much when I informed them I was bringing a friend over for a while.

"Do you know where she's from? It is a girl I hope?" Dad remarked.

"Yes it’s a girl Dad. She's from the UK," I told them

“Oh, that’s interesting. What’s her name?” Mum asked.

“Carrie Booysen, she’s a third year engineering student.,”

“Oh I remember you mentioning her. I’ll fix the guest room,” said Mum and that was that.

“It’s sorted,” I told my friend.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” said Carrie.

Paarl is just under an hour from Cape Town. We passed the time by listening to music. I was introduced to ska which Carrie loved. It wasn’t something I was used to but I could get see why she liked it.

“Nice,” I told her.

“Yeah,” she said, “I like music. It talks to the soul you know,” she offered.

I nodded, “What does it say to you?”

“So much, when my dad died it helped me get to grips with it, I nearly became a full time musician but my mum wouldn’t hear of it until I got a degree,” she added.

“Really,” I said, never having heard this.

Carrie nodded.

We drove into Paarl, which is a small town nestled in the picturesque valley of the same name.

“Wow, it’s beautiful,” Carrie remarked, “it must be nice to live here,” she added.

“It’s okay but it’s boring and I’d take London over this any day,” I replied.

“London’s okay for partying and the fast life but this place is too beautiful. People are happier in places like this,” she murmured.

“I’ll have to take your word for it but in Zulu there’s a saying for that goes, ‘Amajodo awela abangelambiza,’’ I said.

Carrie looked at me, “What does that mean?”

“It means pumpkins go to those without pots,”

Carrie immediately understood.

“Too true,” she said, chuckling, “I didn’t know you spoke Zulu,” she finished.

“I did it as a second language in high school. I figured since I wanted to be a lawyer it wouldn’t hurt to know a language spoken by the majority of the people in this country,”

“Lucky you, I had to learn French,” Carrie, “I had the worst teacher ever, it still gives me goosebumps when I hear French,” she added.

She then regaled with tales from her French class back in England. I laughed till we pulled up at my home.

We parked the car at the gate and I opened it electronically before I drove in.

“Nice place, you guys have such big yards here,” she remarked.

“I know you won’t believe it but this isn’t that big a yard for this area. My Mum’s a keen gardner, she’s responsible for all this. We help when we can and someone comes in once a week to pitch in.”

“Whoa, alright. I might just come and live here forever if this a small place,” Carrie remarked, “only the super rich can think of a yard this big in London,”

My mother was already waiting by the door when I pulled up by the door. We got out of the car and Mum gave me a huge hug as she always did when she saw me or my siblings. It was embarrassing but pleasant. It let me know she cared about me.

“Hi Mum,” I said.

“Hello my darling. Look at you,” she said when we separated looking at me from head to toe, “all grown up,” she said smiling at me.

“I haven’t changed and you know it,” I said with a smile.

Mum noticed my friend. Her face took on a surprised look, “Hello sweetie, you must be Carrie,” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” Carrie offered her hand but Mum pulled her into a hug.

“Welcome to our home,” Mum said cheerfully.

I looked at them and I realised there was a huge resemblance.

It was weird. Carrie didn’t just look like me, she looked like Mum too. It was too impossible for words. Had she been a boy I would definitely think she was my missing brother.

Mum said nothing to Carrie about her resemblance to us but I know she noticed it because after I helped Carrie settle in to the guest room, she called me to her room.

“How well do you know that girl?”

I shrugged, “She’s a good person. She’s from London, her Dad’s late and her mother is a nurse in England,” I said.

“She doesn’t look English,” was Mum’s response.

“Neither does Idriss Elba. I’ve seen her passport Mum. She was born here but her family left in 1999,” I explained.

She nodded her head,

“Oh that explains the resemblance. We might be related,” declared Mum, “my granddad’s father had 14 kids who all lived to adulthood and had kids. I don’t even know some of them,” she finished.

That was the end of that or so I thought.

To be continued