Kehlani I got you. That line is from G-Eazy featuring Kehlani — Good Times, from the Fast and Furious 7 soundtrack. Masimba and I used to play that song on repeat. I told myself if I ever had a daughter her name would be Kehlani.
My uncle VeeDot used to say to my brother General and me: To my nephews. And we would shout back: We all you got. I never fully understood what he meant. But I think it was his way of saying: I see you. I am here. Whatever comes — I got you. That is the most important thing I can say as a father. Not that I am rich. Not that I have figured everything out. Just that I am here.
February 2020
My wife and I had been together since February 2020. She was two months pregnant when we started staying together. I did not have a place of my own. It took us five days to find somewhere to rent.
Within two months the income situation at Data Age had deteriorated again. Then COVID-19 arrived and the whole world stopped. Every day after that I was on the streets looking for food. This was different from eating shit before. This time I was the one failing my family. The worst day was when we did not eat anything for a full twenty-four hours.
Getting Ready for Someone We Had Not Yet Met
We had nothing prepared for the baby. To get money I swapped my LG phone — a gift from Masimba — for an inferior tablet and twenty-five dollars cash. I am sorry Masimba. When we converted sixteen dollars into local currency she registered the pregnancy. To complete the baby's catalogue I sold both of my PlayStation 3 consoles and my FIFA discs. After the seller's commission I walked away with eighty dollars. I used every cent.
The Night She Was Not Supposed to Come Yet
We had not taken a scan because we could not afford one. I had not saved the emergency money for the day of delivery. On the morning of the eighth of August 2020 I left for work. A few hours later I googled what my wife was experiencing and every result said the same thing: she was in labour. I checked my bank account. Less than five dollars in RTGS. My uncle gave me a ten-dollar bill. That was my emergency fund.
Three Clinics. One Night.
We arrived at the polyclinic where she had registered. No nurses available for maternity. They sent us to Highfields. We went. The nurse at Highfields scolded my wife about not taking a scan. Private hospital or a bigger hospital. When I heard the words private hospital I went dizzy. I had ten dollars.
The nurse came outside still talking. She looked at us and said: these are both graduates who cannot take a scan or afford a private hospital. I wanted to go back the next day just to have a conversation with that nurse. I still think about her sometimes.
We walked back to the car. I was carrying the Future bag and the bucket. My wife was carrying herself through contractions. Everyone in that car went quiet. Then the driver looked at me and asked: what's next? I took a few seconds. Then I said: let me call TJ.
TJ Got Me
In ten minutes he was there. He told me he had already been making calls — a doctor from his church at Harare Hospital had said to come. Then he put a hundred US dollars in my hand. He got back in his car and drove away. Everyone in our car exhaled.
5am
At the gate the security guard called into his booth: are we taking Glenview? The reply came back: yes. That yes. I felt it in my chest. That yes was the door opening after three closed ones.
Just before 5am my wife texted: we have a baby girl.
The Name
When people asked what the baby's name was, I had already decided: Makatendeka. An hour later I called my mother in Mutare with the news. She said: all my first grandchildren I name. Her name is Makatendeka. My mother and I had arrived at the same name, independently, on the same night, for the same reason. We had both watched what God had done and arrived at the same word for it. You are faithful.
I gave her the second name — Kehlani. Makatendeka Kehlani Mwanyisa. You are faithful, I got you.