TRIP
At last he was free from the hateful task of looking after his siblings. How he had hated that! It meant that he was never free.
Then suddenly his younger sister was old enough to take over the job and it seemed as if she actually loved it. How that could be possible, he could, for the life of him, not understand. His sister, Lerato, actually loved to look after the babies and the toddlers.
His mother, always grumbling, quick to smack him against the head, started to sing his sister’s praises. More and more often she would address Lerato lovingly as “ngwanaka”, my child, my special child, while at the same time, darting quick, disapproving glances at him. He didn’t mind at all, at least not until his father, not a bit more lenient than his mother, no, even harsher, never approving of anything that his first born does, ordered him to accompany him to his work so that they could hear if the farmer would hire him too.
That night he was so worried that he could not sleep so that when, long before sunrise, his father woke him to get ready to go to work, he could scarcely get up, so tired was he. On the way to the big house of the boss his father spoke but once telling him that if he was asked what his name was, he was to say “Jack, Baas.” That only augmented his fear of that unfamiliar world.
In the grey morning light he stood shivering in his threadbare clothes waiting for the white man to appear to give out the orders of the day. At last the farmer came out and all the workers greeted him in a very subservient manner. The farmer didn’t even bother to answer them, but started directly talking to them. One by one they turned round to do what they were ordered. He could not understand a word of was said, but he saw his father approaching the farmer, holding his worn hat in his hands.
By then he was so scared that he started trembling, but at the same time he felt hot anger rising in him against his father. His father that he knew as overbearing and harsh, one not to be disobeyed, now looking as scared as a beaten dog in front of the smallish white man, a man known amongst the black people as Sekutswane, the short one. His father’s fear shocked him and made him feel ill at ease.
His father talked in the white people’s language, in sekgoa, which he could not understand but while he was still talking the white man interrupted him brusquely and said something which did not sound friendly at all. He then turned his back on them and walked away.
For the first time in his life, his father addressed him in what was nearly a tender way, saying softly,
“Go home. Go play on your own, you are not needed here.”
He felt elated and relieved, but did not dare to show it to his father, knowing very well what little income his father was receiving.
He went back and did not feel bad about the rejection for very long, because, freed from the hateful chore of looking after his siblings, he started roaming around for hours on end. Soon he became bored and started daydreaming about seeing the world. He felt sure that somewhere there had to be places where it would be easier to be black. He felt a growing disgust towards the farm, his mother, his father, his brothers and sisters, even towards all other black people working or living on the farm.
From time to time he would walk along the road which he knew led to the nearest town, because about four years ago, on the day before Christmas, he went there with his mother and father, who took him to help look after the baby. They all climbed onto an open trailer hitched to a tractor and everyone was in very high spirits.
In town his father bought a bottle and his father and mother immediately started drinking from it, becoming louder and louder and more aggressive towards each other. It became so bad that at a stage they were physically attacking each other, but luckily others, less intoxicated, came between and stopped the fight. He felt intensely humiliated and shamed by his parents’ conduct, but didn’t say a word.
One a certain day he walks along the same road until he reaches the gate to the wide, gravelled road leading to the town. He stops in front of the gate, scared to go further. He waits with his hand on the gate and soon two cars and a lorry pass by.
While he is standing there, a big black car slows down and turns off the road to stop in front of the gate. His first impulse is to flee, but then he sees that the driver, a white man, is smiling at him. The next moment the man puts his head out of the window and says in Setswana : “Bula hêkê, tswê-tswê, mosimane!”
It is the first time in his life that he has heard a white person speaking Setswana. It doesn’t sound precisely as he is used to it, but it is absolutely clear that the white man, still smiling, is asking him to open the gate.
With trembling hands he opens the gate. The car moves forward but when the driver is next to him, he stops, puts his hand, with a green bill of money in it, out towards him.
He takes the money holding out both hands, palms turned upwards.
The man, smiles, waves at him and drives off.
His first impulse is to run home and tell his mother, but after a few steps he knows that his mother will just take the money away from him. So he stops and goes back to the gate. Should he wait for another car? Could the same thing happen again? No. Instinctively he knows that it would possibly not happen again.
He feels a strong urge to buy something. He wonders what one could buy for such an amount?
Would it be enough for him to buy a bicycle? Perhaps not a new one, but what about a second hand one? When they were in town that day before Christmas, he saw used bicycles standing in front of a shop in town. Most were old and worn, but one or two were not looking bad at all. His father became very interested in the bicycles. He said that some were not bad and he would have liked to buy one if only he had the money.
An idea comes in his head. Can’t he go to town and buy one of those bicycles? He feels apprehensive about the idea. How is he going to explain to his parents where the money came from?
But after a few minutes his desire to go to town and buy something grows stronger again. He becomes so excited that he passes through the gate to stands next to the road. First a lorry passes and then two cars, throwing up a lot of dust.
Then a much smaller lorry abruptly stops next to him, so suddenly that the wheels cut trenches into the loose gravel
The driver is a very neat-looking man and also very friendly. He asks Modise if he is going to town. Modise hesitates for a moment than says yes, he has to go to town. He stutters slightly but makes up a story about visiting his aunt in the township. The driver does not seem to be too worried about this story but asks him a lot of other questions, some very strange ones.
It seems as if the driver is very interested in whether Modise has a girl friend and whether he likes girls or perhaps boys better than girls. He doesn’t understand what the man is talking about and tells him that he has no pals among the boys at home. Most of the people working on the farm are older people, some of them actually very old, and their children are all grown-up and had left the farm a long time ago.
By now they are nearing the town and the man said, putting his hand on Modise’s leg: “It is a pity that I haven’t time to get to know you better. I would have liked that and I could have treated you a bit. I will just have to drop you off here, but from time to time I am on this road. You must be on the look-out for me, perhaps then I can take you with me to see a really big town? Will you do that?”
The man picks up a shiny coin that is lying in a hollow between the two seats and holds it out to him.
“Here’s five Rand for you. Go buy yourself some sweets. You have been such good company over these fifteen kilometres, I would like to see you again. If we can meet again, there will be more.” The man’s eyes shine like stars in his fat face.
The lorry pulls away with a hiss from the wheels. The town is not big and soon he finds the shop with the second hand bicycles chained to each other standing in front of it. He hesitates and decides to hang around a bit. From time to time people walk past him but don’t seem to notice him. Everyone seems to be in a hurry.
At last he musters all his courage and goes into the shop. There are no other people in the shop except for a fat guy whom he recognizes as one of the Indian shop owners in town. There is also a very lean black man. The black man approaches him and asks him, quite friendly, if he wants to buy something. Modise’s mouth has become so dry, he struggles to speak, but in the end he succeeds to get out that he is interested in buying a bicycle. The black man asks whether he wants a new or used one. He answers that a new one would be better. The man smiles and asks if he has the money to buy a new one.
“Yes, I have” he says.
“Let me see the money” the black man says, softly but still friendly and smiling. Modise feels warm and confident and also very proud when he produces the money.
He sees a shadow crossing the face of the friendly man as he asks: “Is this all you have?”
The black man says that he doesn’t think that there are any bicycles, even among the used ones, that cheap. He says that he will have to ask the shopkeeper about it. To his surprise Modise hear that they speak Afrikaans, he recognizes the harsh, guttural sounds of that language.
The Indian explodes much in the same manner as the farmer did. He turns to Modise and the boy realises that he is scolding him. The boy feels the elation draining out of him to be replaced by fear and apprehension.
For a moment he feels the urge to turn and run, but the black man, noticing it, took him by the arm and says to him in Setswana: “ Don’t worry about him , he makes a lot of noise. He says the cheapest of these bicycles costs eighty Rand.” He stops, then notices that the boy has no idea what the difference between ten Rand and eighty is. He explains it to him by counting it off on his fingers.
“ Don’t waste your money on this crap. The Indian is asking too much for it in the first place.”
Now Modise feels a strong disgust towards the shop owner, rising in him.
“He is such and ugly, fat pig!” he says.
The black man takes him by the arm and guides him to the door. Softly he says to: ‘No, he is just a pig. Even if he were thin and not so ugly, he would still be a pig. Go, buy yourself something to eat and drink. Buy yourself a half loaf of white bread and some sweets and a cool drink.”
The man leaves him at the door and returns to his boss. The Indian start talking again, in an even louder and shriller voice.
On the other side of the street, the boy sees a bigger and grander looking shop with cars parked all around it. He walks as fast as he can, crossing the street, passing the parked cars until he reaches the front of the shop. The whole front of the shop consists of glass doors, most of which are standing open.
He hesitates again, scared and uncertain about what to do. Then someone tugs at his sleeve. It is another black boy, younger than himself. The boy is extremely thin, and his face is like that of someone much, much older.
“Do you have money?” the boy asks.
“Yes” he says, “but they say it is not enough for a bicycle.”
The smaller boy whistles between his teeth: “You wanted to buy a bicycle?” Then, even friendlier, he asks: “How much do you have? May I see the money?”
Modise takes the note as well as the coin from his shirt pocket and holds it out to the other boy. The younger one’s eyes widen and they seem to start shining. He licks over his thin, dry lips: “Fifteen Rand? Do you have more?”
“No.”
“What did you want to buy?”
“Bread. And sweets.”
“O.K. I’ll tell you what. I’ll go and buy the bread and sweets for you, if you will give me some of it.”
Modise feels relieved. He was scared to go into the shop.
“O.K.” he says. “You know the shops better than I. Do that.”
The younger boy smiles and says: “Will you please stay here?”.
Modise feels alarmed. Is the other boy trying to rob him? Can he trust him? He doesn’t know him well at all.
The boy must have noticed that, for he moves closer to Modise, even touching his hand, as he pleads: “I am hungry too. I won’t steal your money. Look, you can see the inside of the shop. You can watch me all the time.”
“But why do you want me to stay here?” Modise asks warily.
“That I can’t tell you now. But I’ll tell you later. You see it ...it is like this. I don’t want to let others see us together, because then they will think that we belong to a gang...that we are tsotsis, you know. If they think that then they will certainly call the police and then we will end up in jail.”
The boy’s eyes are big and round and innocent as he looks at Modise. Modise has no desire to see the police and he nods his approval. He watches his new friend moving around in the shop. Then the boy starts talking to a grown up. It looks t as if this person can also be working in the shop, for he sees more than one black person wearing the same uniform. He sees the boy pleading with his hands before he hands the money to the older person. He turns cold, thinking that they are stealing his money, but he is too scared to go into the shop himself. He feels relief when the grown-up soon returns and hands something in a plastic bag to the boy.
Within a few seconds the boy is at his side again. This time he says: “By the way, my name is Lucas. Now come with me.”
Modise doesn’t know what to expect and reluctantly he follows. The boy goes to the back of the shop where there is a wide expanse of long, unkempt grass which stretches down to a thin stream of water which runs through the town.
The boy leads him in amongst the trees and bushes and then stops in front of a contraption made out of card board and plastic bags.
The boy crouches and creeps into the shabby place. He takes a plastic bottle with a wide opening at the top from a pile of rubbish lying in one corner.
Then he takes a tube from the plastic bag. Modise is shocked. Did he buy that tiny tube with all the money? He feels the anger rising in him and asks: “ Where is the rest of my money?”
“There is no money left. I had to pay that grown-up guy working in the shop to bring me the goods!”
“Why? Why couldn’t you have bought it yourself?”
“No, you don’t understand. They know me and would have refused to sell it to me.”
He feels the urge to hit the smaller boy, who senses it coming and starts pleading: “Wait, wait, just wait and you’ll not be sorry!”
Now he squeezes a gooey looking substance from the tube into the plastic bottle. He empties about a quarter of the little tube, then screws the cap back on. He clamps his hands round the top of the plastic bottle, holds it to his nose and inhales three or four times. When he starts coughing he holds it out to Modise, “Try it, it’ll make you feel good.”
Modise is still cross, but also intrigued and inquisitive. Reluctantly he takes the bottle, cups his hands around the top in the same manner and inhales quickly. The contents has an awful smell. He feels like vomiting and starts coughing.
Slowly a sort of benevolent drowsiness comes over him.
He realises that the younger boy is now lying flat on his back with his eyes staring up at the cardboard roof above them.
Modise picks the plastic bottle up and inhales again. He still wants to puke and he still coughs until it feels as if his lungs are going to burst, but it is getting easier.
Soon it is as if he can’t get enough, as if he wants to draw the intoxicating fumes deeper and deeper into his aching lungs.
He wants to laugh but the only thing that he can manage is a sheepish grin as he topples over onto his side. Right in front of his nose he sees a gigantic grasshopper looking at him.
He can see that the grasshopper is talking to him by the way that it is moving its mandibles. He laughs and laughs at the funny and friendly grass hopper and says: “I don’t understand what you are saying, but I agree with you!”
The only sound that comes out of his mouth, is a stream of idiotic and senseless gibberish.
He feels as if he is spinning round and round, floating and at the same time as if sucked downwards into a gigantic funnel.
He feels relaxed, he feels no anxiety or fear at all. For no reason at all suddenly life seems incredibly wonderful and good.
He feels no hunger or thirst or pain as he softly succumbs to a dreamless sleep.
(3356 Words)
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