Toto's Table

by Samantha Bodell (Australia)

I didn't expect to find Australia

I hear the drums echoing tonight, but she hears only the whispers of some quiet conversation. Sadly this isn't my overdue debut as a singer. I'll never admit that my singing sounds like a divorce waiting to happen between two cymbals and a radio that's running out of battery. But while travelling in South Africa, the one thing I never had to worry about was my energy. Being a child is your experience in life's candy store. You don't know it at the time. But it's your free trial unencumbered from responsibilities and an understanding of why adults spend so much time sitting down. But none of this matters anymore, because in post-apartheid Johannesburg all you know are Capri Suns and you all you feel is the pulsating heat of the sun. Yes, there are too many cows to fit on two hands, and unfortunately, I had to learn what a porcupine was the hard way. But above everything else, there is something much less noticeable and more unspoken about what happened near Table Top Mountain, South Africa. Although I was young and aged with naivety, I didn't expect to find something that would change my life. Emboldened, I barreled towards a cleaner inside the farmhouse. The air smelled like old coins and honeysuckle flowers. The decor makes no promises that it's contemporary by any means. But I couldn't compress my unbridled curiosity. The cleaner graciously smiled while I frenetically tugged her apron. Abruptly I demanded to know what she was holding. She carefully collapsed to meet me at eye-level. She consoled my restlessness after introducing me to an ostrich feather duster. My shamelessly high pitched British accent collided with the possibility that an actual ostrich came to our farm to help us dust! I mean you don't have access to that kind of charity anymore. An early introduction into politics but it was inevitable, I suppose. While my mind unravelled with the possibilities of how I was going to find this Ostrich, knowing that they could be in a meeting with the royal society of common birds, I was interrupted by my father. The audacity! Unforgivably obedient at the risk of mother moving the cookie jar up to one more shelf, I reluctantly returned. It was Easter after all, so I knew that amusing myself out of a state of boredom was rather critical. As such, I had to fight off my resentment of not being able to meet with the royal society of common birds. Even though I was surrounded by effervescent green grass which lit up with the sound of invisible crickets every night, I knew I was running out of time. Strangely I'm not a child psychic. I mean yes, my brothers' tantrum when I found most of the Easter eggs was always imminent, but the biggest surprise nested right in front of my eyes. But I could have never expected to take a step over the interlaced shrubbery that cascaded over the stumpy cobbled staircase. A corner of the stairs began to crumble as my plans to explore this new territory did as well. I hesitate to go in. It's scary, what if I get caught, who lives here? I had enough questions to host an unwelcomed PhD thesis. I think someone has to be home. I could see smoke coming from one of the huts. But I don't need to decide anymore since the smoke will choose for me. A figure more slight than that of a ballet dancer punctuates through the ashy atmosphere and my confusion. I have never laid eyes on a more embellished and impressive person. Unsure of myself, I found myself staring, mouth agape. Knowing full well not to talk to strangers, I ask him. Who are you? His face crumpled, as he pointed at me and bellowed: "Toto." Startled, I froze. Before I could speak, I was whisked away by my father. Who profusely apologised for my meandering and nosey questions. It wasn't until many years later I learnt that 'Toto' means baby in Zulu. Toto once said to take some time to do the things we never had, never again have I been at Toto's Table.