One Face in a Million: Mu Shangaaniana

By William Bond

One Face in a Million is an entirely fictional story evolved over many years. I began thinking about writing a story after I visited southern Africa in 1967, where my wife had been born and raised and was often called Mu Shangaaniana when she was young.

I began to formulate a story about a young gal who had been raised on a mission station in Mozambique. She was anxious to leave Africa for America to have a more interesting life. A plot began in my mind, and I envisioned a striking gal to have a life that was quite amazing. She would travel and fall in love, meet notable people, and experience a lot of success. Would that prove to be satisfying? During the years that followed, I was privileged to travel to many places throughout the world, so my story evolved in a way that readers could share in some of my traveling experiences.

My protagonist had to decide what was really important in her life. Her story takes place across the span of a few decades; therefore, the story eventually developed into a series of five books which should be considered as one. Because the title is One Face in a Million, I knew her appearance would be of real interest. I looked at images of several notable actresses of the past, but the one that I preferred was of Merle Oberon. Perhaps it would be just as well for any reader to formulate your own ideas of what my characters would look like. Although this is a fictitious story, I hope that it entertains those who choose to read it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9781646543397

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One Face in a Million Book 1: Mu Shangaaniana

William K. Bond

Copyright © 2020 William K. Bond

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books, Inc.

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2020

ISBN 978-1-64654-338-0 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64654-339-7 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Mu Shangaaniana

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7: The Mission Belle

Chapter 8: The African Guest

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12: Kenitra Agadir

Chapter 13: Ms. Cartwright

Chapter 14: Bijou

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21: La Señora

Chapter 22

Chapter 23: Christine

Chapter 24

Chapter 25: The Carillon Belle

Chapter 26

Chapter 27: My Dear

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Dedicated to my wife, Jane

Note to the Reader

One Face in a Million is an entirely fictional story that evolved over many years. I began thinking about writing a story after I visited southern Africa in 1967, where my wife had been born and raised. She was often called Mu Shangaaniana when she was young.

I began to formulate a story about a young gal who had been raised on a mission station in Mozambique, Africa. She was anxious to leave Africa for America to have a more interesting life. A plot began in my mind where I envisioned a striking gal to have quite an amazing life. She would travel, fall in love, meet notable people, and experience a lot of success. Would that prove to be satisfying? During the years that followed, I was privileged to travel to many places throughout the world, so my story evolved in a way that readers could share in some of my traveling experiences.

My protagonist had to decide what was really important in her life. Her story takes place across the span of a few decades, therefore the story eventually developed into a series of five books which should be considered as one. Because the title is One Face in a Million, I knew her appearance would be of real interest. I looked at images of notable actresses of the past. The ones that I preferred were of Merle Oberon. Perhaps it would be just as well for my readers to formulate your own ideas of what my characters would look like. Although this is a fictitious story, I hope that it entertains those who choose to read it.

Chapter 1

Mu Shangaaniana

In December, the sun’s rays are very intense along the Tropic of Capricorn, so the days around Christmas can be extremely hot in southern Africa. Christine Cartwright, a student at St. Mark’s Boarding School in Swaziland, had just returned to her home in Tavani, which was a mission station in Mozambique that was not far from the Indian Ocean. She had been anticipating the long summer break and having some time with her mother. She had also been looking forward to Christmas, which was now just two days away.

Although she was at home, she hated the heat that was typical for Mozambique in the summer season. She much preferred the more comfortable climate that is found in the highlands of Swaziland where she was attending St. Mark’s, but she was not at all anxious to return to school. She missed seeing Jim, of course, but she was ready for a vacation, and it was good to be at home.

It was just too hot to do anything outside at this time of day, but because it was also uncomfortably warm in the house, she had come out onto the shaded veranda and settled herself onto the two-seated swing which was suspended from the ceiling. Here on the veranda, there was at least the chance of an occasional breeze from the Indian Ocean that could help make a hot day more bearable. With the help of a small fan, she was making herself as comfortable as possible.

From the swing, she could see the Rankins’ house, Jessica Ferguson’s home, and the place where the Bostwicks lived. All of the missionaries’ homes were sturdy cement block structures with tin roofs. They were all about the same size, and all of them were painted white. Each house had a veranda, a few shade trees nearby, and a small outbuilding or two behind each home. There were flowering shrubs near the buildings, but the ground was sandy and there was little grass to be seen. Down the hill and not far away, she could see the mission’s little church and the health-care facility where her mother was presently at work. Somewhat further in the distance, she could see several huts where a number of native Shangaan families lived.

The Shangaans’ kraals included circular mud huts with unpainted walls and conical-shaped thatched roofs as well as ramshackle stick fences which served to enclose livestock that included goats and poultry. Near the huts, she could see some young boys excitedly knocking a tin can around with long sticks. The boys did not appear to mind the heat, but the dogs, which often barked at such activity, seemed content to lie around quietly in whatever shade they could find. The Shangaans, it seems, had a tolerance for the heat, but Christine was sure that she would never get accustomed to it. Seeing the boys at play caused her to recall those times when she used to play with some of the Shangaan children.

She remembered that Rosianna and Carlotta were the two girls whom she had liked the best. In earlier years, they had played together and pretended that their dolls were their children. Those two had become mothers, and they now had responsibilities that were quite real. The Shangaan children had called her Tati Christie, meaning Ms. Christie. The older Shangaans, however, had always called her Mu Shangaaniana. This meant small little Shangaan girl, and they had called her that for as long as she could remember. White people had seldom been seen in this vicinity, and the Shangaans had only seen black babies, so when they had first seen her, they had been surprised to discover that she had been born white!

Soon, however, they came to realize that white people have white babies! Despite the difference in skin color, Christine loved the Shangaan people whom she knew, and it was with affection that they always called her Mu Shangaaniana.

Having been born in Africa and raised in Tavani, Christine had grown up hearing the Shangaan language, and she had learned to speak it at an early age. At home, or in the company of other missionaries, English was spoken, but Portuguese was also spoken, at times, because it is the official language of Mozambique. Christine could speak these languages, but in her early years, she had sometimes used a curious mix of words to express whatever she wanted to say. Although the mix of languages made perfect sense to her, some of the older missionaries found her manner of speaking to be quite amusing.

The missionaries’ speech, she had learned, was often quite amusing to the Shangaans. Noting the rain barrel by the downspout at the corner of the house brought to mind the story about Mrs. Bostwick, who, as a newly arrived missionary, still had a limited command of both Portuguese and Shangaan. On one occasion, she reportedly asked a young Shangaan lad who was working for her to ask her neighbor, who was Christine’s mother, for some water from her barrel. She had confused some of her words and had apparently asked the youth to get some water from her neighbor’s bladder! If the youth went home and reported what the missionary had asked him to do, it would likely have produced a roll of the eyes, or a good chuckle.

On another occasion, Mrs. Bostwick had asked a young Shangaan boy to sweep the area near her house. To keep dust from getting into the rain barrel, she had given the lad a petticoat, and she thought that she had directed him to place it over the barrel. She had then gone about her work and had later been surprised to notice that the boy was trying his best to slip the garment over the rear end of their horse! Her request had confounded the youth who had thought it strange that the missionary had asked him to cover her burrow with a cloth. Not having a burrow, he had assumed that the confused woman intended for him to cover her horse, though he could not imagine why.

Mrs. Bostwick had continued confusing words until such confusion became almost legendary. Of course, at one time or other, all the missionaries had made mistakes in their speaking. Some mistakes had been realized, but the actual number of translation errors would never be known. Such mistakes were probably both confusing and amusing to the local Shangaan people.

Christine liked to think that she spoke Shangaan quite well. She could understand what the local people were saying, and when she spoke, they seemed to understand her. She could get along in Portuguese, but English was her native language. Her mother and the other missionaries had come from the United States, so they all spoke English with an American accent. There were no English-speaking schools in Mozambique, so her mother had enrolled her at St. Mark’s in Swaziland, because that area had been under British rule and thus English was spoken in schools and in many other places in that land.

Her classes were all in English, and her teachers and most students at her school spoke English with a British accent. Christine had come to believe that a British accent seemed more refined and sophisticated than an American accent, so she had worked to cultivate a British accent which she used at school, but when she returned home, she easily resumed an American accent. At school, she was required to study Afrikaans, a major language used in South Africa, but she disliked that language and only studied it because it was a requirement. The same was true of mathematics, science, and physical education. She took such classes because they were required, and her grades in them had only been fair. She much preferred English, geography, art, and history, and she was doing much better in those classes.

There were certain things about school that she did not like. She hated the fact that it took so much time to travel between her school and her home. The distance was more than three hundred miles, and because of the time and the expenses involved, she only came home a couple of times a year. She missed seeing her mother, but they kept in touch with each other by writing at least one or more letters each week. She disliked having to study so much, and she hated the way certain girls had teased and taunted her.

The teasing and name-calling had been hard to endure, and all of that had really been Sara Rankin’s fault. She had circulated hurtful rumors, and she was upset to think that another girl from Tavani could have caused so much trouble for her. Was it because of jealousy that Sara had started rumors at school? She didn’t know. The one good thing at school was Jim Pearson. She had had a crush on him for some time, but she wasn’t sure what he thought of her. Did he like her? Perhaps. But they had barely gotten acquainted. Maybe a closer relationship with him would develop after school resumed in the next term.

She looked toward the Rankins’ house but could see no signs of Sara. She knew that she was around somewhere because they had recently made the long two-day trip together from St. Mark’s to Tavani. Sara was one year younger than Christine, and she was the only other young white person on the mission station. Before they had gone to St. Mark’s, they had been the best of friends, and in other years, they would have probably been together at a time like this, but things had changed and their friendship was not what it had been. In other years, they had been nearly inseparable, for they had spent many hours in each other’s homes playing with dolls, making cookies, playing hide-and-seek, dominoes, and things of that sort. They had often commiserated with each other about how lonely and boring life was on a mission station, and how long and uninteresting prayer meetings could be. They were two people who had a lot in common, and things had been just fine until Sara had arrived at St. Mark’s and begun stirring up problems during the past school year.

Christine knew that Sara could be as sweet as could be—and she often was—when adults were around, but she had also discovered that Sara could be two-faced! Although Sara had been pleasant enough on the long trip home from school, she had caused real problems for Christine during the school year. At school, some trivial disagreement between the two of them had seemingly hurt Sara’s feelings, and she had retaliated by making some remarks about Christine that had been very hurtful. Although Christine was white and did not look much different from other girls, Sara had apparently overheard someone at home mention that Christine’s father had been part Indian. That meant, therefore, that Christine was racially mixed, and in parts of race-conscious southern Africa, being of mixed races could be quite a liability!

In the dorm, Sara had stated, Christine is a half-caste who is trying to pass for white.

From time to time, she had made various rude remarks about her appearance, and some of the other girls in the dorm had picked up on the name-calling. Although not many were involved, Sara and some of her friends had been keeping the rumors going. This had made Christine upset, and she hardly knew how to handle the situation.

Christine’s mother, of course, had learned about this problem at school, and she had tried to counsel her and give comforting advice. She had suspected that her daughter would, at some point, encounter some prejudice or teasing, but she had never let her daughter believe that she was different from others in any way. Christine had never actually known her father, but she had seen pictures of him. She had noticed that he had a rather dark complexion, but his racial background had been of no concern to her until fairly recently. No one in the dorm had known anything about her Indian ancestry until Sara had brought the matter to the attention of the girls in the dorm. It was hard to deny the rumors about her ancestry, of course, because they were basically true. Christine had always thought of herself as white, so the comments about her being a half-caste were hurtful. The various comments about her appearance also bothered her, but she had tried to not let it show. Rumors have a way of spreading, and she just wondered how many people had heard them.

Christine didn’t want to feel ashamed of her father or his Indian ancestry, yet in this year at school, she had almost felt like a pariah—and she hated feeling different! Mother had suggested that she ignore the teasing and not let others think that it bothered her. She had said that the rumors and name-calling would eventually die down and that, in time, things at school would get better. Because she had fair skin, she looked white, and no one elsewhere was likely to suspect that she had any Indian ancestry. Mother had advised her not to get mad or lose her temper at school, and to just always act in the right way. If she did that, no one could fault her and she would have a clear conscience. This is what she had tried to do.

Although Sara’s remarks had apparently caused some in the dorm to think less of Christine, there were others who treated her quite well, and after all, Mother had said that it was probably not possible to be friends with everyone. She could only hope that things would go better at school in the next term.

Hopefully, Jim had not heard the rumor that she was a half-caste who was trying to pass for white. If there was anything that she liked at school, it was that she could see him, from time to time. Jim Pearson was easily the best-looking young man that she had ever seen, and in recent months, she had really become infatuated with him. Other girls also admired him for his good looks, his athletic build, and the fact that he was a good student and quite mannerly. As far as anyone knew, Jim wasn’t dating anyone, and many had remarked that he was quite a catch!

Christine recalled how the girls in the dorm would gather in someone’s room and talk. Frequently, the topic of boys would come up, and Jim Pearson was one who was often talked about. Christine hadn’t contributed much to those conversations, but like others, she had wondered what it would be like to be held in his arms and kissed. They had acknowledged what a great build he had, and some of them speculated about certain parts of his anatomy that they had not seen. Most of the girls acknowledged that they had fantasized about what it would be like to sleep with him. Christine had never revealed how she felt about him, but on many occasions, she had fantasized about having a loving and very intimate relationship with Jim Pearson.

Christine thought about him a lot, and she wished that she had a photograph of him. She knew that she was strongly attracted to him, and she hoped that they could become much better acquainted after the summer break. She hadn’t decided if she would mention anything about Jim to her mother. It was probably too soon for that. After all, she and Jim did not have a relationship at the present—and perhaps they would never have one. She and Mother had never discussed the subject of a serious relationship with boys, but surely her mother realized that her daughter, who was nearly eighteen, was at an age where young men were of growing interest. Mother might be rather excited for her, or she might caution her that it was too soon to be thinking about a serious relationship. Probably she would think that a serious relationship might best wait until college, or later, but it was hard to know what Mother might say.

Even without a photograph, Christine could picture Jim’s handsome face in her mind. She could never forget his engaging smile and how his dark eyes sparkled. She remembered his dark hair and eyebrows—and his incredible eyelashes! She recalled his clear complexion and his masculine athletic build which she and her dorm mates had found so appealing. She recalled how they fantasized about his body and acknowledged what an amazing male he was. She was beginning to entertain some romantic thoughts of him when her attention was drawn to an elderly Shangaan man who was walking along the road near their house.

Xe weni, Mu Shangaaniana, he said, giving her a big smile as he was passing by. Christine smiled pleasantly. Xe weni, she replied, as the elderly man continued on his way. Christine watched him going down the hill until he reached the distant hut that was his home. Heat waves shimmered from the rise upon which the mission station was located. In the distance, one could see the broad valley that was green because of the river that meandered lazily through the area as it made its way to the Indian Ocean. That river was neither as large nor as dangerous as the Limpopo River, which was further to the south. One had to use an old ferry when crossing the Limpopo, and that could be a hazardous experience when the river was flooding. Christine had crossed the river a couple of times when it was flooding, and the crossing had been a terrifying experience! Because of the age and condition of the old ferry, she had come to dread every crossing of the river. Nevertheless, she had crossed the river many times when she was making a trip to or from Swaziland and also on those occasions when she and Mother had made a trip to or from Lourenço Marques, the capital of Mozambique, which many folks simply called LM.

Christine had accompanied her mother on many trips, and she had come to believe that LM must be one of the most beautiful and interesting cities in the world. Fondly, she recalled memories of the city’s harbor and a variety of ships which they had seen there. Many had come from distant ports or exotic places that she had never heard of. Once, when they had visited the city, they had boarded a ship called the Cape Town Castle. She recalled that the ship had seemed huge, and the crew members had seemed very friendly. When she was about four, she had accompanied her mother on a freighter when she had gone on a furlough to the United States. She had enjoyed the trip and remembered that the crew had given her a lot of attention. She had only vague memories of visiting various places in the United States, and she remembered certain relatives there only because her mother had taken a few photographs of them during her furlough. She recalled that her mother had later said that she was concerned about their return trip to Africa because a great war was occurring in Europe, at the time, but the voyage back to Africa went without incident, and they soon returned to the familiar routines that they had known in Mozambique.

It seemed likely that when she had completed her education at St. Mark’s, she would go somewhere to college. Several of her classmates were expecting to continue their education in England, but it seemed likely that Christine would pursue further education somewhere in the United States. She really didn’t know much about that distant country, but she knew that her mother had a number of relatives in Michigan and in other parts of the USA. She knew, however, that her visits to LM and her early voyage to America had whetted her appetite to travel. There were countless places in the world that she hoped to see, but she had no idea as to how she would ever accomplish this goal.

As she recalled LM, she could visualize the busy harbor and the waterfront, and she remembered the steep streets that went uphill from the harbor area. LM was a very cosmopolitan city with many kinds of ethnic shops and restaurants. She and her mother had dined in Portuguese, Indian, and Chinese restaurants, and they had browsed in shops that sold fascinating kinds of merchandise. They had done a lot of window-shopping, as Mother called it, along the Avenida Lisboa, and they had also shopped a bit in some of the city’s largest bazaars. Christine had come to realize that she liked stylish clothing, elegant jewelry, exotic Oriental carpets, and lovely household furnishings. In fact, she loved many kinds of beautiful things, and she had come to realize that such things are often very expensive. In their browsing, Christine had discovered that nearly everything was unaffordable. Her mother had stated that such things would not bring one happiness, but Christine was not so sure about that. Quite truthfully, Christine had felt that she would like to have nice things in her life, someday, and the more, the better! She dared not reveal this desire to her mother, however, for Mother’s ideas and opinions could sometimes be quite different from her own.

When they had gone to LM, they had often stayed for two or three days. A visit there made a nice change from their routine activities in Tavani. They never stayed in expensive hotels, but Mother would usually splurge and have at least one nice meal at one of the city’s finest hotels. Their favorite place to eat was in a lovely dining room at the elegant Hotel Vasco Da Gama. Mother always requested a table by a window so that they could enjoy the view that was beautiful by day, and breathtaking at night!

Christine imagined that the city lights at night must resemble what countless diamonds would look like if they were displayed on an expanse of black velvet. The food at the hotel was always good, and the tables were always covered with white linen tablecloths and set with fine china, lovely stemware, and beautiful silverware. She recalled that the waiters at that hotel were invariably attentive, friendly, and good-looking!

Another thing which she had liked about the Hotel Vasco Da Gama was its elegant lobby with its exquisite furnishings, its mirror-covered walls, and its elaborate crystal chandeliers. There was also the impressive grand marble staircase near the lobby. She recalled many times when her mother had waited patiently as she practiced descending that carpeted stairway as if she were a regal lady of some importance.

Clearly, she had never seen anything in Tavani or any place else that was as elegant as the Hotel Vasco Da Gama, and visiting it had always been a pleasant experience. It had given her an idea of how the wealthy might live, and she imagined that such people had a lifestyle that she would enjoy. The hotel’s elegance and grandeur had given Christine a vision of splendor, and although it was an unrealistic dream, she liked to imagine that, someday, she would live in a place that was as wonderful as the lobby of that hotel.

Although Christine loved the harbor area, the various shops and bazaars, and the elegant Hotel Vasco da Gama, one of the things she liked best about going to LM was when they spent some time at the beach. She had never actually been allowed to swim in the ocean, but she and her mother had walked barefoot in shallow water or along the sandy beach. When she was young, she had built sand castles near the water’s edge, or they had walked along the beach looking for interesting seashells. Although the Portuguese in LM could tan beautifully, her mother had insisted that she wear a loose shirt and a hat so that she would avoid getting sunburned. She recalled a time when she had begged her mother to let her take off her hat and shirt so that she could feel the breeze in her hair and get a tan like others on the beach. She had begged and pleaded, and finally, her mother had said that if she got a sunburn, she would just have to live with the consequences.

For a while, she enjoyed being more exposed to the breeze and the sun, but after they had left the beach and were heading for their hotel, Christine discovered that she had gotten too much sun. The pain of it did not go away quickly, and later, she had some blisters and small patches where she shed a bit of skin. Mother had warned that getting too much sun could be very unpleasant, and she had been right. After that experience, she was more careful to protect her skin, and when she was in Tavani, like others, she usually wore a pith helmet to protect her face from the burning rays of the tropical sun.

With the exception of the Shangaan children that were playing in the distance, things were quiet around the mission station. Christine saw no activity at the Rankins’ house. She had wondered what Sara was doing on this hot afternoon, but she didn’t care enough to go over to their place and find out. She hated being alone, but she really didn’t want to spend any time with Two-Faced Sara.

Ms. Ferguson was presently working at the health-care facility with her mother, and of course, there was no one at the Bostwicks’ because they were on furlough in America.

Christine had long known that life on a mission station could be lonely and boring, and it seemed especially so today.

Just a few days earlier, she had been at St. Mark’s. Even though she didn’t always like school, it was a place where there were always activities of some sort. There were classes to attend and times for studying, or there were sporting activities and church services to attend. There were meals together and activities in the dorm, and there were those occasions when she could see Jim. Despite these advantages, Christine had looked forward to coming home for her summer break. Now, Christmas was just two days away, but even that didn’t seem very exciting, at the moment.

With the Bostwicks away, others had to pitch in and do the jobs that they usually did.

Their absence had put an additional burden on Mother who now had increased responsibilities for the church services and teaching Sunday school classes. In addition, she was helping Ms. Ferguson at the health-care facility. Typically, there always seemed to be some Shangaan children and adults in the area who needed some kind of medical attention. If Ms. Ferguson and Mother weren’t dealing with certain accidents or illnesses, they might be assisting in the delivery of a baby or giving care to a newborn infant. Today, one of the Shangaan women was expecting to deliver a baby. Because she was giving more assistance to Ms. Ferguson, Mother had less time to work on her administrative duties that she dared not neglect. Nevertheless, although her mother was very busy, Christine instinctively knew that she would make time for her daughter, and she would certainly do something special for Christmas.

One couldn’t be sure when Mother would return from her work, but Christine didn’t expect her home for at least another hour or two. In the meantime, what was there to do? It looked like she could sit on the swing and be bored, or she could go in the house and be bored! Unfortunately, there wasn’t much of a breeze, and her fan did precious little to make her feel more comfortable on such a hot day.

Boredom, of course, was nothing new for Christine. It was something she had been dealing with for years. Seemingly all of her acquaintances had two parents and one or more siblings, but her father had died before she was born, and she had never had a brother or a sister. She knew that Mother had done the best she could to provide a good home and be both a parent and a friend, but Mother had often been busy with her various responsibilities, and over the years, Christine had had to spend a lot of time by herself. Consequently, she had entertained herself with dolls, books, drawing, and sewing—and she could bake a little. She was very glad that they had a piano, and she was happy that her mother had taught her to play the piano quite well.

As a child, she had enjoyed spending time with her Shangaan friends, Rosianna and Carlotta, and with Beth Nelson who had lived at Tavani until her family moved to another mission station in Nyasaland. When she learned that the Nelsons were leaving Tavani, she had become depressed, and on the day of their leaving, Christine recalled that she had been inconsolable. Later, the Rankins arrived with their children, and she and Sara Rankin had become close friends, almost like sisters. They’d seldom had disagreements, but now their once-great relationship seemed to have gone to pieces. Since the Nelsons’ move, Christine had written numerous letters to Beth, and she really looked forward to her letters. She had recently written to Beth, but she had not heard from her in several weeks. Although it might arrive late, she expected that a Christmas greeting would come to her mother from the Nelsons, and she would receive a separate letter from Beth. She wished that she could be reading a letter from her at this very moment, but no letters had yet come.

For a few years, Christine had been homeschooled, but there were many demands on her mother’s time, and she had decided that it was in Christine’s best interest to be with other children and get a formal education. Because there were no English-speaking schools in Mozambique, and because the English-speaking schools in South Africa were too distant and too expensive, the decision had been made for Christine to attend more affordable boarding schools in Swaziland. She had been going to school now for seven years, and she had been in Mbabane at St. Mark’s school for three years. In just one more year, she would be completing this phase of her education, and then, she would probably go to college in the United States. She hated the thought of being so far away from her mother, but she would eventually have to go somewhere as there was no future for her in Tavani. The mission station had been her home all of her life, but she knew that this was not where she wanted to spend her life. This part of Africa was too hot, and too boring! She wondered whom she would eventually marry, where she would eventually live, and what her destiny would be, but of course, there was no way to know the answers to such questions.

At first, Mother had taken her to school and come for her on those occasions when she could go home. A couple of vehicles were available for the missionaries at Tavani, and these could be used for traveling to and from LM, but in coming or going to Swaziland, one also used a train and a bus or two. A stopover in LM was always necessary, so the three-hundred-mile trip always took the better part of two days. Later, the train and bus portion to and from Swaziland was something that Christine and Sara could do on their own, but usually, someone always took them to LM and made hotel accommodations there as they were heading to school or made similar arrangements for them when they arrived in LM and were heading for home.

If a car from the mission station was not available, one had to travel by train between LM and Xinivani. Then, one took a bus to a location where one could take a ferry across the Limpopo River to Xai Xai. There, one had to take another train to Manjacaze, and from there, one traveled to Tavani by car. A trip to LM, of course, was just the reverse. Even if one made all the connections, the trip could take all day. The trip by car also took a long time, but it was the preferred way to travel—if a car was available.

It seemed that Christine could not think about school without thinking of the rumors that Sara had started, and she wondered how she could cope with the gossip and the name-calling that she so disliked. Of course, any thoughts of school also brought Jim to mind. It was so easy to think about him, and to entertain certain fantasies. Could he ever care about her as much as she cared about him?

Jim was so incredibly handsome! She loved his eyes, his face, and his masculine physique. What would it be like to be held in his arms and kissed? She wondered. She knew that she would love to run her fingers through his hair and let her hands feel the strength of his arms and shoulders. For a few moments, she closed her eyes and indulged in a pleasant daydream. If he had been at her side with his arm around her, she just might have turned to him and impulsively given him a kiss. Would she have dared to do that? And how might he have reacted? Would he have liked her attention? Would he have returned her kiss with a passionate one? Might he take her hand and lead her into the house where other things could happen? The thoughts of some intimacy with him filled her with desire. She felt flushed, but her fanning seemed to do little good. Sadly, Jim was not with her. In reality, she was home for the holidays, and she was quite alone.

She had expected to be looking forward to Christmas, but her anticipation had not yet arrived. She imagined that Christmas must be more exciting in homes where there were two parents and more children or other relatives. It seemed reasonable to think that a larger family would make for a merrier Christmas. She had no father or siblings, and sometimes, her loneliness and self-pity had caused her to feel depressed, but of course, there was no one to blame. Mother would focus on their blessings and would usually find a way to dissipate the things that caused Christine to feel blue. Despite her mother’s own loneliness, her unwavering faith and her positive attitude would come into play, and they were sure to have a good Christmas.

Although Mother had colleagues and a good relationship with the local people, and Christine had had some childhood friends and an association with many students at school, the two of them really only had each other. After Christine had gone off to school in Swaziland, weekly letters and occasional holidays together had been the things which had kept them in a close relationship. Although Christine was seldom lonely at school, she often thought about home. She could well imagine that her mother was incredibly lonely, at times. It was certainly not easy to be a widow with lots of responsibilities, but Mother was not one to complain, and it appeared that she was carrying on quite well.

Over the years, writing and receiving letters had been a great help to both of them. They usually sent each other one letter a week, but Christine could recall many times when she had received two letters in one week from her mother. Despite the distance between them and their prolonged periods of separation, Mother had proven herself to be a faithful correspondent, a loving, supportive parent, and a real friend. She had given a lot of love, understanding, and unconditional acceptance. Underlying everything was constant evidence of her values and beliefs which had grown out of her strong Christian faith. She had practiced what she believed, and she had continually tried to help Christine grow in her faith. Mother knew the Bible very well, and she frequently imparted bits of scripture when she thought it would be appropriate and helpful. She had endeavored to teach her much about the Lord and how important it is to try to seek his will and follow it. She was aware of some of the things that troubled her daughter, and she had acknowledged that we live in a world where many things are not within our control. She knew, for example, how much Christine would like to have had a father and siblings, and she was aware of the problems that Christine and Sara had had at school. She always tried to give helpful advice, but she was quick to acknowledge that, sometimes, one just has to live with the circumstances that have been given.

As Christine slowly rocked in the swing, she looked forward to evening. It would be getting cooler by then, and she was beginning to get hungry. She was also anxious for Mother to get home because they would visit and reminisce, and that was usually a lot of fun. She had begun thinking about Jim again and was wondering if she should tell her mother about him, when suddenly, she became aware of agitated chickens that were cackling behind the house. At first, she thought that Joao, Mother’s Shangaan cook and handyman, had gone into the poultry enclosure to get a chicken for dinner, but then, she recalled that he had already killed one earlier in the day. When the commotion did not abate, she rose from the swing and walked around the house to see why the chickens had become so disturbed.

When she got to the back of the house, she saw Joao near the chicken pen with an ax in his hand. Obviously, the commotion had also drawn his attention, and he had come out of the kitchen to see what was the matter.

What’s wrong? Christine asked, as she approached Joao. Not sure, he replied. Maybe snake is looking for eggs.

Suddenly, Joao spotted a lengthy serpent as it slithered away from the pen toward Christine.

Run! he exclaimed, realizing that the situation was suddenly becoming dangerous. Christine had always hated snakes, and she wasted no time getting to the kitchen door.

The snake, sensing danger, turned and began to quickly slither away in another direction. Joao went after it with his ax held high, and moments later, he let out a shout as he wielded the ax with force to the ground. His aim had been skillful, and the slithering menace had been divided in two.

That’s as far as he goes! Joao announced triumphantly.

Christine was amazed that he had bravely gone after the snake, and she was surprised that he had been able to kill the serpent with one swift swing of the ax. Joao returned the ax to the chopping block and used another tool to dispose of the snake. When he returned to the kitchen, Christine praised his good deed.

Ha nphumu, he replied in Shangaan, indicating that it had been nothing.

They entered the kitchen where dinner preparations were underway. The aroma of a baking chicken gave an indication that dinner ought to be good. Joao had been cutting up some vegetables, and it appeared that he was also planning to cook some rice, as well. More than likely, they would have bananas, too. They were plentiful, inexpensive, and Mother said that they were nutritious, but that hadn’t caused Christine to like them. More than likely, their evening meal would include fried bananas! They were the worst, but she would probably eat some and say nothing. She knew that one should not upset the cook—whether it was Mother, Joao, or someone else. At school, the students often complained about the food they were served, but Christine seldom joined in the complaining. She liked everything that her mother made, but at school, she usually ate what was served although she omitted some things and kept certain portions quite small.

Although they grew certain vegetables in their garden and raised chickens for both their eggs and their meat, most of their food was locally produced and could be purchased at the market in nearby Manjacaze which was only about five miles from Tavani. In Manjacaze, one could also get various tin goods and certain imported items. Christine liked canned fruits and juices, and she had always loved certain kinds of candy which Mother allowed her to have as an occasional treat. Christine didn’t have candy very often, but Mother knew of her sweet tooth, and she usually had some pies or cookies on hand during the times when she was at home. Baked goods were Mother’s specialty, and Joao didn’t do things of that sort. He did much of the cooking, however, and he did all the outside chores so that Mother would have more time to devote to her numerous responsibilities.

Christine told Joao that the chicken smelled delicious and that she was getting hungry.

To assuage her hunger, she took a couple of cookies from a tin box and then poured some pineapple juice from a container into a glass. She offered some cookies and juice to Joao, but he declined her offer with a smile and indicated that he needed to keep busy fixing the evening meal.

This snack won’t ruin my appetite, she said, and after she had eaten her cookies and finished her juice, she rinsed out the glass and then proceeded into the front room.

The room was modest, yet comfortable and cozy. The door from the kitchen led into the dining area of the room where four chairs were drawn up to a rectangular table. A cabinet housing a treadle-driven sewing machine stood before a window on the left, and at the opposite end of the room was a fireplace flanked by matching arm chairs. In the center of the room, facing the fireplace, was a sofa whose upholstery matched that of the fireside armchairs. A long, narrow table stood behind the sofa, and on it were some interesting wood carvings and other souvenirs that had come from various trips which they had taken in certain parts of southern Africa. On the low shelf of that table were some books and some photograph albums.

Centered on one wall was the front door which opened onto the veranda, and on both sides of it were a pair of matching windows. In front of the window in the dining area was a tea cart where Mother kept some of her African violets, and near the door to the kitchen was a hutch which was sometimes used as a buffet. Centered in front of the window in the living room area was a sapling that served as a Christmas tree. Because of this, the Victrola which usually stood in that place had been moved to a corner behind an armchair. On the wall opposite the tree stood an upright piano, the top of which held a lantern and some additional African artifacts. Opposite the front door was a small hallway which led to two bedrooms and a small room which served as Mother’s office. Thus, their house was not large, but it was home.

Sadly, the Christmas tree looked more forlorn than beautiful. They had decorated the sapling on the previous evening, but the baubles and trinkets were ones that they had used for as long as she could remember. Also decorating the tree were some paper chains that she had made years ago. They now seemed rather crude and childish, and they were not nearly as lovely as she had once thought them to be. Other paper chains had been festooned across the mantle and on top of the windows which faced the veranda. All the decorations were meant to look festive, but truthfully, they were now old and no longer attractive. Mother probably thought they looked a bit childlike, too, but they had been put up because no one had made a decision to throw them away—or replace them with something else. Christine would have liked some new decorations for their tree, but she knew that such things cost money, and Mother had to be careful how her modest income was spent.

Christine knew that some families have two incomes, but such was not the case in her family. She didn’t know what her mother’s income amounted to, but she knew that her mother was very thrifty. They always seemed to have the bare necessities, but there was seldom any money for extras—or luxuries! No money had been spent on any new Christmas ornaments; that was for sure. She didn’t know how much her education at a boarding school was costing, but over the years, it must have amounted to quite a lot, and it no doubt contributed to the reason why Mother needed to be so frugal.

Once again, Christine glanced around the room and gazed at the tree which they had decorated. She had expected to feel excitement as Christmas approached, but she had no such feelings! Perhaps if she had seen some presents near the tree, she might have had some feelings of anticipation and excitement, but no presents had yet been placed under the tree.

For now, she simply felt lonely and bored, but she expected that she would feel better when Mother came home from her work.

To pass some time, she picked up two photo albums that she had paged through more times than she could count. She seated herself on the sofa and began looking at the familiar pictures. She recalled that the old black-and-white photographs in the first album had been taken several years before she was born.

The first pictures were of Mother and her first husband shortly after they had arrived in Africa. She had been born Clara Benson and had grown up in a large family in the state of Michigan. She had decided at an early age to become a missionary, and she had attended a college where she had taken classes that would be helpful in her chosen career. In school she had met, and later married, Daniel Foster, who also had plans to become a missionary.

Together, they worked to learn all that they needed to know in order to enter the mission field. They had traveled to Portugal and spent a year or so there studying Portuguese before coming to their assignment at the mission station called Tavani near Manjacaze, Mozambique. They had only been in Africa a few months when he was stricken with black water fever and died. Although she had become a widow, Mother had remained at Tavani. Other missionaries had retired or been transferred, and she soon became the senior member of the mission station—and with that status came a lot of responsibilities! She had carried on believing, as she had often said, that the Lord would not give her more to do than she could handle.

There were several pictures of Mother with various missionaries and visitors. Most of the visitors were people that Christine had not known because they were before her time.

Others were people that had been around Tavani for years. Although they had moved away, she could remember the Greenfields and the Nelsons. She recognized pictures of the Bostwicks and Ms. Ferguson, of course, because they were still assigned to the mission at Tavani.

There were pictures of various buildings under construction. Mother had served as the supervisor and had directed some of the Shangaan men who had built some of the newer houses on the station. Over the years, she had been involved, not only in construction, but also with nursing, teaching, preaching, evangelism, and of course, administration. She was knowledgeable about most aspects of the work on the mission, and she was considered so indispensable that a recent furlough had been postponed. Because she was dedicated, hardworking, conscientious, and faithful, she was respected by both the missionaries and the local people. The Shangaans loved her and affectionately called her Mamana, meaning Mother. Many Shangaans had been won to Christianity during the time she had been at Tavani, and there had never been any problems with the authorities in Mozambique who oversaw the missionaries’ work.

There were many pictures of various Shangaans in church-related activities as well as some informal pictures of them that had been taken near their homes. The Shangaans were a friendly and gentle people who had been remarkably receptive to the missionaries and to the religious teachings which they had introduced.

Mother had been a widow for about three years. Then, she became acquainted with Paul Cartwright, a widower from South Africa who had been the superintendent of the church’s work in the southern part of the continent. He had courted her, and they had been married in February 1911. They were only planning to remain at Tavani until someone arrived who would be Mother’s replacement. They had then intended to move to Johannesburg so that he would be better located for his work. The move never took place, however, because, just a few days before Christmas, he had died unexpectedly. He had gone in a small boat to deliver some gifts and some words of encouragement to the inhabitants of a leper colony on an island near the mouth of the Limpopo River. On his way back from the island, his boat capsized and he alone had drowned. His tragic and untimely death had left Mother a widow for the second time. That had occurred just four months before Christine had been born on April 15, 1912.

There were some pictures that had been taken of her parents on their wedding day, and there were a few other pictures of her father—but not many. These few photographs were virtually the only connections which she had with the man who was her father. She could see that he had been a tall, good-looking man with dark hair and a swarthy complexion. His dark eyes suggested that he was intelligent, and she had been told that he was kind, capable, and very compassionate. He had been well-liked by those who knew him, and he had become a very prominent Christian in South Africa. Mother had admired him and had grown to love him, and Christine had been told on countless occasions that her father had been a wonderful man in whom she should feel great pride. Although she had never known him, she had concluded that he must be a very remarkable man. Her Indian ancestry had never concerned her at all until the past school year when Sara had said that she was a half-caste who was trying to pass for white. This had caused Christine to reflect on the fact that she was racially mixed, and it troubled her more than anyone—including her mother—realized.

Mother, of course, was an American whose ancestors had mainly come from England. Christine had been told that her father had been born in Cape Town and had been raised and educated in Johannesburg, South Africa. His father had emigrated from England to South Africa and had had a successful career as a mining engineer. He had married a woman whose family had emigrated to South Africa from India. Initially, that family had settled in the province of Natal where they had found employment on a large plantation.

Many in race-conscious South Africa would not have approved of an English engineer marrying a woman of Indian descent, but Indira Cartwright had been accepted in some circles because she was a devout Christian. She had lived a rather sequestered life in Johannesburg and had devoted her life to raising their son, Paul, who was their only child. She had nurtured him in the Christian faith and had encouraged him to consider the ministry for his vocation.

Paul had followed that suggestion and become a minister. He also had managerial skills, and in time, he took on administrative duties and became involved with the growth of the church and its missionary efforts in various parts of southern Africa.

During his career, he had married a woman from Johannesburg, but they had had no children. After three years of marriage, she developed cancer and had lost her battle with that disease. Later, church business had occasionally brought him to Mozambique, and he had become acquainted with Mother who headed the mission station at Tavani. They had corresponded with each other for a year or so, and when Paul Cartwright proposed marriage, Mother had accepted, and the two were married at Tavani in February of 1911.

Mother had often acknowledged how much she loved her husband. The happiness that they had envisioned had been exceedingly brief, and Mother had often wondered what their lives would have been like if he had lived. She had said that, if he had lived, it was likely that they would have had more children. She had seen that Paul Cartwright was a kind Christian man with many good qualities, and the fact that he was an Anglo-Indian had been of no concern to her. Later, however, she had come to realize that her decision to marry a man with Indian ancestry had proven to be something of an embarrassment to her daughter.

Because of her fair skin, Christine did not think that she looked much different from the other girls who were attending boarding school in Swaziland. The comment that she was a half-caste who was trying to pass for white had greatly distressed her, and other remarks about her appearance had also been hurtful. She could not change her ancestry, nor could she change certain aspects of her appearance. There had been many times when she had wondered if she would ever be truly accepted at St. Mark’s. She had thought that she would probably continue her education in the United States, but sometimes she feared that she would encounter rejection there as well. It bothered her to think that she might never be able to completely escape from the reputation that had been dogging her. Although she had discussed these problems with Mother, from time to time, she realized that the issue was largely one she would have to handle on her own.

Perhaps, in time, she would escape from the stigma that plagued her at St. Mark’s, but she couldn’t be certain. Perhaps she could pass for white in Africa, but there was no guarantee of this. It seemed that her best chances for escaping her stigma would be to go abroad. Hopefully, in the United States or England, she would be able to get away from the labels that others had placed on her.

As she looked again at her parents’ pictures, she could see that she had her mother’s fair skin and her father’s dark hair and dark eyes. If anything betrayed her Indian ancestry, it was her eyes. Regardless of her ancestry or her appearance, she had to believe that she would find acceptance when she went abroad. She could only pray that she would, in fact, pass for white and that her secret would never be discovered. There was the possibility, however, that she might never escape from the stigmas that plagued her. She feared for the worst, yet she continued to hope for the best. She had tried to follow some of Mother’s advice, for she had advised her to always act like a lady and never behave in ways that could give others any grounds for insults. Another bit of motherly advice which Christine had tried to follow was to simply ignore hurtful remarks. That, however, was something which Christine had found was easier said than done.

Although the photos that she had been looking at were in black-and-white, Christine knew that the people pictured therein were a variety of colors. Mother and the other missionaries at Tavani were white as were many others in southern Africa. The Shangaans were black, and many others in southern Africa ranged from shades of tan to shades of brown. The pictures in the album represented quite a racial mix!

The assortment of people that she had been looking at reminded her that the southern part of Africa was a melting pot that contained many kinds of people. European settlers had come from places like England, the Netherlands, Portugal, and Germany. Asians had come from India, China, Southeast Asia, and from various islands that are located off the southeast coast of Asia. Many immigrants to southern Africa had come to farm the land or labor in the coastal plantations. Some had come to work in the region’s diamond or gold mines. Many had come for business opportunities or other reasons. The black people or Bantus, as they were often called, were made up of many tribes—some of which had migrated to the southern part of Africa because of the opportunities that seemed to be available in that part of the continent. The Bantus, of course, made up the majority of the population. The challenge of developing southern Africa had essentially been accomplished through the investment of Europeans and