My eyes drifted to the table. The Missus had china so pretty it could mesmerise you. Fine porcelain plates, white with pink and yellow flowers at the rim, sparkling crystal water glasses, shiny polished silverware and, in the middle, to harmonise all that beauty, a vase with sunflowers that Bas Rogers had picked for her that morning. All things Amai could never have. I wondered if one day freedom would come for my people. If it was even legal to dream of having a house of my own where I could pick sunflowers from the back yard and lay out china for a Sunday meal. And as I cosied with my daydreams, the sound of a motorcycle floated in, sending the dust up in a panic. Matthew!
The motorcycle came to a rest and Matthew waved.
‘Where’s everyone?’
‘On their way, I’m sure. Your uncle and aunt went to attend the Sunday service in Umtali.’
‘My uncle went too? Well, I’ll be damned.’
He walked onto the veranda with his feet dusty and bare. He walked to the table as I laid out the bowls of hot steaming stew. The Missus had insisted that I have everything including the food out on the table at noon on the dot. ‘We wouldn’t want you pouring hot water over anyone like last time, now, would we? Best have everything ready before my guests arrive,’ she had said.
He leaned towards the bowl of chicken and lifted the lid. We both licked our lips. I hadn’t had chicken in weeks and he hadn’t had chicken in hours, I suppose. I understood that it was more important to feed the comrades, to feed the cause and hurry the race to freedom. So I didn’t complain, at least not always.
Matthew reached out to steal a piece and I immediately slapped his hand.
‘Oh, c’mon. It smells so good. It’s torture to wait for everyone else.’
He teased, reaching again for the bowl. We tussled over the lid, laughing. For a brief moment, the different worlds that Matthew and I lived in didn’t exist. It was only us. What could go wrong? I thought.
‘What’s happening here?’
We both froze and fell silent. My heart began to beat like festival drums and I slowly placed the lid on the table and stepped back. Bas Rogers stood there with Baba on one side, a sack balanced across his shoulders, and Phillip on the other. It was the shock of seeing Baba there that shook me the most. I had thought he was with his friends in the village. I feared him at that point, feared what he had seen, what he must have thought.
‘Good afternoon, bas.’
‘Uncle, good afternoon. Cousin Phillip! They’ve let you come and visit us at last!’
Matthew moved from my side and walked confidently to his cousin, who engulfed him in a hearty embrace. They enjoyed a short laugh as I shifted on my feet, unsure whether to retreat into the house or not.
‘I have missed you, Matthew! Uncle here said you had driven to the city when I visited the last time! And it’s a good thing I’m here, eh? You’re still up to your old tricks, I see,’ he said, shoving him playfully.
Matthew stole a glance at me and smiled at his cousin, a little colour filling his cheeks and ears. ‘You should have written to say you were coming! I would have come to meet you.’
‘Oh, not to worry, cousin! I’m already here, aren’t I?’ he said, ruffling Matthew’s hair playfully.
‘We have a lot to catch up on – at least you have a lot to tell me about! I’m here for a while, you see. They’ve sent me here because they say the terrorists are crawling up and down into Mozambique. Uncle here has been kind enough to allow me to stay here where I can get some home cooking, instead of eating slop on the base with the other soldiers!’
I kept my eyes fixed on the ground, afraid that if I raised them, all the truth of my involvement would seep out.
‘Yes, at least there’s one of you boys who doesn’t think he’s too good to serve this country,’ Bas Rogers said, walking onto the veranda, his brow raised and his lip curled in disgust. His eyes danced between me and Matthew.
‘Come show me where to put my bags, Matthew,’ Phillip said heading into the house.
‘You can use your old room, Phillip. I’d like a word with your cousin here.’
Phillip and Matthew exchanged looks before Phillip walked into the house with his bag. My eyes glided to Baba, who still stood there holding the sack.
‘Matthew, what was going on here? I leave the house for a bloody second and you lot are busy playing around here! Your aunt will not be pleased about this.’
I craned my neck to see if the Missus was close by, but could not see her. The bas walked towards me, his breathing heavy from what sounded like anger and disgust both meshed together. I stepped back, remembering how tightly his hand had been wrapped around my throat the other day.
‘Bas!’
We all turned to Baba.
‘Err, bas. What shall I do with this sack? Should I take it to the shed?’
I imagine Baba was trying to help. He wanted to distract the bas for my sake.
‘Get out of my sight, boy! Lazy bastard! Must you be told what to do every bloody time? Wasting good money on you.’
Baba stood there for a moment longer, watching the bas as he came closer to me on the other side of the table.
‘You’re lucky I’m feeling merciful today, girlie, it being the day Our Lord rose and all. You’d best get yourself out of here before I forget just how merciful I’m feeling,’ he said.
I watched Baba linger there a little before walking off, mumbling to himself.
‘But you …!’ The bas now turned to Matthew with his finger pointed at him. He stopped himself and shot a glance at me. I scampered away and stood in the corridor out of sight, my back pressed against the wall and my ears reaching out in their direction.
‘Where were you this morning? Got your aunt in a real bloody mood, you did! Made me attend service with her because she couldn’t find you!’
‘Uncle, I told you I was going to attend church at the mission today.’
Matthew’s voice was quieter than usual, almost as if he knew it was not what he was meant to say.
‘Bloody hell! This nonsense has to stop, Matthew!’
Bas Rogers’s voice boomed so loudly I jumped.
‘Since you’ve been back you spend less time here than with those damn missionaries, busy lying to each other and fraternising with the Africans! Now you listen to me carefully, boy. The only religious teaching you ought to be listening to is what Rhodes said about not associating with these animals. Not filling your head with that nonsense the missionaries preach. You hear?’
‘But, Uncle, I was …’
‘You were what? Will you now tell me that you’re going to join them in the trees too and become one of the terrorists, eh, Matthew? Is that it?’
Terrorists. That word again. I still wonder even now as I tell you, mzukuru, that when people were all killing each other, both black and white, then why were only the Africans terrorists?
Matthew said nothing.
‘You know what the chaps at the station call you and your missionary friends now, Matthew? Bloody kaffir-boeties – that’s what they’re calling you! Such an embarrassment to the family.’
Kaffir-boetie? The only time I’d heard anyone use that term was when Baba told us stories of how we lost our land. He had said it was an Afrikaans term from across the border that was given to any white man that cosied with the blacks. A way of shaming him.
‘Why do you insist on making a mockery of this family? Why can’t you be more like Phillip, eh?’
I didn’t need to see Matthew’s face to know that it had been a fatal blow right into his gut, not to mention mine.
25
Tumi
Morning is here again and I am walking with Ranga and a herd of excitable cattle deep into the foggy valley, through the lush banana plantations towards the green of pasture. We’re both quiet, but my mind is loud, mulling over Ambuya’s story and trying to find clues. There has to be something that will slip as she’s telling her story, thinking she can teach me some great truth. There has to be something tha
t will lead her to confess that she’s plotting with Bamkuru, that she was somehow involved with the thing that happened. There has to be something about those scars, something that even Mkoma is yet to discover.
‘We need to move a bit faster – soon it’ll start to get hot,’ Ranga says, following the cattle, who seem more accustomed to manoeuvring through this rugged terrain than I am. As amusing as they are, with their puffing and occasional dashes from Ranga’s whip, the only reason I came along is because Ambuya sent me. But I’d far rather be training.
We reach a part where the ground is still damp from the rain last night and the river hisses, close to us. It doesn’t look as dangerous as Ambuya says.
‘Do you think I could take a quick dip? Can the cattle not graze somewhere here?’
Ranga looks at me and swings his whip.
‘Ambuya says you’re very good at this swimming thing.’
Swimming thing?
My right eyebrow lifts. Ranga sees it and immediately tries to correct himself. There’s this thing about my face – it’s a terrible ally and sometimes it leaks information about emotions I’m not even aware I have.
‘I mean, I like swimming too, I guess. I’ve even watched recordings of Kirsty Coventry on multiple occasions scoop up awards for us at the Olympics. She’s a real fish, that one! But swimming is more of a white people’s sport, don’t you think? I’m more of a football guy myself.’
He dribbles a fake ball with his foot and heads it past an imaginary goal post. I smile as I remember Mkoma’s many reactions during the World Cup. The teams he supported always seemed to disappoint him regardless of his shouting and coaching from the sofa.
‘Did you watch the game against Liverpool last week?’ he asks me.
‘Part of it. I heard it was five-nil.’
‘Man, I try sticking with them but they keep doing this losing thing. I don’t even know why I was surprised about it, because they’ve taken us there before. It seems now they’ve just dumped us here.’
I laugh and shake my head.
‘That’s why you should try swimming.’
‘And die in the water? No, mfana. Besides, I’m too dense to float.’
He’s funny.
‘Tell me about it though, this swimming. Are you any good?’
Am I any good? Fam, I might as well have fins the way I move in the water!
‘What’s it like?’ he adds.
I can’t help but think he sounds like Mkoma when he tries to sound interested in the secret lives Noku claims that her dolls have.
What’s there to tell?
‘Well, I don’t know where to start.’
‘OK, tell me, why swimming? You could have chosen anything, but you chose that. Why?’
I look at him and smile. I can hear the war cries at St Catherine’s chanting in my ears. But he’s right – perhaps they would still chant at something else.
‘Well, there’s something about water that I don’t know how to explain. If you fight it or tense up, it swallows you. But if you let go, it carries you. It teaches you to loosen up and let go.’
I think I have complicated things and might have gone a bit too deep on him. He scratches his head and I can see a hint of uninterest seeping into his eyes. It happens, especially when people don’t understand something. But he still smiles and nods.
‘I see.’ He pushes a swaying banana leaf out of his way and begins to walk on. I don’t think he ‘sees’ anything.
‘But I see you all the time running up and down the yard, lifting things and doing strange exercises that they no doubt only teach you in the city. Is that also for swimming?’
‘Well, yes. The more my muscles are toned and flexible, the more I can improve my speed in the water.’
‘Well, it definitely sounds like this is more than just a sport to you.’
It is.
You see, I’ve learned that I have to compensate. I can’t afford to just be ordinary. Swimming is the only reason they accept me. And although I don’t want to believe it, it’s probably the real reason why Musa initially became my friend.
26
The thick leaves in front of us shake. I look around me and realise I can’t see the cattle any more. I look in front at Ranga, who is now swiping his way through the thick leaves, heading deep into the banana plantation. I wonder why he has chosen this particular path. Surely he doesn’t take the cattle through this plantation all the time. The leaves in front of me shake again and Ranga turns back.
‘What are you doing, Tumi? Please stop that. It’s not funny.’
He thinks I’m doing that? Wait! What if something is about to happen?
My palms moisten, my mouth dries up, my armpits itch. The leaves shake harder this time. There’s definitely something coming for us, coming for me!
Breathe, Tumi! Run, Tumi!
This is it, isn’t it? This is how I die. They will never find my body! Oh goodness, what if they never look? What if I’m sold to some man across the border who will cut me into pieces because he believes I’ll cure some weird disease?
The leaves shake again. Ranga steps back towards me, his fists in the air, ready to strike. I want to be ready too, but my legs won’t move. One face flashes through my mind.
Bamkuru!
I breathe. I have to be ready to fight this time. I try to lift my hands and form fists but they feel heavy, iron clad, and they tremble like sun-dried leaves. My stomach grumbles instead.
Really? Hunger? Now?
The rumbling grows louder.
What sort of dying is this?
Something leaps out from behind the leaves, roaring. It’s a boy! With a scowl on his face. My knees weaken. Ranga and the boy burst into laughter, and I step back, confused.
‘You almost scared me, Jabu!’
‘Almost? Ah, you should have seen your face.’ The boy mimics Ranga’s scared expression.
‘You know you’ll pay for that, right? I’m going to get you, mfana! Just you wait!’
‘Ha! Wouldn’t I like to see you finally get me this time.’
The boy turns to me and smiles.
‘This one still looks like he swallowed a ghost. City boy?’
I’m calm! I don’t know why my heart is beating recklessly like it’s about to burst, because I’m calm. The boy walks towards me, wearing a pair of dirty trousers that barely reach his ankles and a slightly undersized T-shirt that leaves out a tiny strip of his belly. He reaches out his hand, causing me to jerk backwards in escape. It would have been useful if I could have done this when I actually thought there was something to be afraid of.
‘You city boys need to relax. It was only a joke.’
‘Tumi – Jabu. Jabu – Tumi. Jabu herds cattle with me sometimes. He lives just a little further than us.’
‘Where did you pick this one up?’ this Jabu boy asks, inspecting me with his eyes.
‘He’s a distant cousin. He’s only here for a bit, holidays and all. You’d like him actually. Runs around the yard. Hey, Tumi, you should join Jabu here on his morning runs. He’s training for the Vumba marathon. Boy-boy came second last year!’
‘Yeah, I’m going for gold this year. I’m not even playing.’
I inspect him but still say nothing. His calves look toned enough.
‘Doesn’t talk, this city boy of yours?’ Jabu says, walking in front of Ranga. They say something I cannot hear, before Ranga turns to me and says, ‘Come on, let’s walk faster. I don’t want to lose the cattle.’
Ranga leads us out of the thick of the plantation and into the beautiful green lush of Vumba. The cattle have given up on us and are already grazing happily, tails swinging in the air. The mountains smile in the distance, with a little mist showing at the tip. This new boy, this Jabu person – who pounces on unsuspecting boys – walks next to me, whistling away in complete contentment.
I should be happy that there’s someone else who doesn’t look at me as though something is wrong. Someone who understands, an ally. A p
ossible new friend, who pulls funny pranks. After all, I like pranks, sometimes. But there’s something about this Jabu boy that I don’t like, and it’s not because he just scared me half to death. There’s something about him that makes me hate him a little. It’s the way he reminds me of myself. It’s the way his pale skin looks exactly like mine.
27
I’m only fourteen – well, soon to be fifteen – and I feel as though I’ve amassed a lifetime’s worth of experience. None of it good either. I’m not sure I’ll have much left to learn when I’m older.
My head is on the soft fluff of a pillow, facing skyward, and my eyes keep blinking. Last night I bumped into a few monsters and gave up on the idea of closing my eyes. The rooster is cackling, so I know morning has not stalled. Days are peeling away and I’m wondering when I will finally make it away from this place. I glance at my phone, and the little green bubble on the screen.
Yo Tumz, thought you should hear it from me first bruh. Coach chose Bongani for Captain, and it doesn’t look too rosy for you coming back into the team.
My eyes stay there for a while, tracing and retracing the words. It’s enough to splinter my life, like glass delicately cracking when heated. I roll over but my eyes can’t help sliding to the screen again. Bongani is now captain; the words have not changed. I feel the disappointment so deep in my gut it is almost something I can touch. There’s just over a week before the try-outs.
I should sneak off to the river before anyone wakes up. I cannot just lie here as my dreams leave me. If I do nothing, it will always come back to confront me. If I do nothing, I lose it all.
‘Tumi?’
I turn. Noku is half sitting on her bed, her upper body leaning against the headboard. It is dark in the room but I can make out her hand scratching her sleep-filled eyes. I go over and, to her surprise, engulf her in a big hug. I need some warmth and she is full of little bursts of it.
The Colours That Blind Page 10
