978-1-928337-29-4 | R225 | Available at all good bookstores nationwide
It is me, your broken son.
Although the earth’s sorrows dimmed your light from us, I trust heaven has bestowed upon you the glory and dignity you deserve. You and I last spoke in February 2005, five days before you passed away. When you succumbed to your illness – which remains a mystery to this day – I was a mere 13-year-old who not only had to adjust to a new school, but also get used to the reality that you would never live to tell intriguing tales of your childhood. A decade has since passed and as I write you this note I have only heard from you once. You appeared in a dream to reprimand us for the culture of begging which we had adopted shortly after we laid you to your final rest.
And so begins Holding My Breath, a memoir fashioned in a way that invites the reader to eavesdrop on a broken young man’s heartfelt conversation with his dead mother. Ace’s mother died when he was 13, leaving behind an extremely broken boy in equally broken circumstances. In her death, he writes to her to celebrate and thank her for her strength and resilience, and that of black mothers in general.
We live in a country where stories like Ace’s are not unique or unheard of. These are the stories of:
-Child-headed homes in South Africa. When Ace’s mother dies, he and his brother are left in the care of their father who soon abandons them and they are left alone to fend for themselves, often going to bed with empty stomachs. They are surrounded by relatives who cannot afford extra mouths to feed.
-The volatile issue of service delivery in most parts of South Africa. As a boy, Ace is troubled by asthma that is made worse by living in an unventilated shack, where the weather could go from extremely hot to icy cold in one season. His is a story of how his mother would carry him on his back and walk for hours to get to a hospital and sometimes clinic where they would still have to wait in long queues to get help.