It’s been a long morning. Zodwa is so wet behind the ears she may as well have just arrived from the homelands, though she assures me she’s been out of the boondocks for a few years. If it wasn’t for the fact that she saved my son’s life, I would have sent her packing and tried to find a maid with proper experience. The thing is, despite how clueless she is, I have a good feeling about her.

When I get impatient with her, I remind myself that skills are something you can teach, whereas good chemistry is rare. It’s not just me who feels it, Mandla feels it too. He was throwing a gigantic hissy fit this morning because Jezebel ate a biscuit out of his hand, but as soon as Zodwa came through the door, he calmed down and gave her a huge smile. Maybe it’s because she’s the only other black person in the house. He may feel some kind of kinship with her.

So far, I’ve had to show Zodwa how to use the vacuum cleaner and the microwave. Well, actually, I gave her the instruction booklet for the vacuum because how the hell should I know how to use it? When I show her the mop, she looks at it as if it’s from outer space.

“What? You’ve never cleaned a floor before?”

“Not with water,” she says mysteriously, and scratches her head. What kind of floor can’t be cleaned with water? “You show me how to use it,” she says, and I laugh and laugh.

“Not bloody likely. We’ll wait for Dee to come home. She can show you how to use all of this. For now, just vacuum and dust and then clean the kitchen and bathrooms.” Once I have Zodwa sorted, I turn to Mandla. “Come, my angel boy. Let’s sit over here.”

Mandla looks up from his building blocks and I have to resist the temptation to pick him up. Now that he’s finally started crawling, the next step is to get him walking; that won’t happen if I coddle him, which is what Dee constantly accuses me of. Instead, I hold my arms out to him and he crawls over to where I’m sitting in the lounge.

With him being almost fourteen months old, I’m also focusing a lot of energy on trying to get him to talk. I know Dee says it will come with time but a child like Mandla, one who’s likely to experience more pain and discomfort than healthy children, needs to be able to communicate better than those kids. Being able to explain what hurts will help a doctor understand what to treat him for, and it will also go a long way to lessening my sense of helplessness.