Prologue
Prologue
Soweto uprising, massacre 1976
The howl of the failed revolution could easily be heard through the walls of my mud house that windy morning. It was a concoction of the vibrating noise emitted from the firing of guns accompanied by the screams of the brave local school children as they succumbed to death. The screams were distant, yet sharp, piercing into the thickness of my sleep and jolting me to live. I could recollect the events of that morning with unusual clarity, how my heart beat faster than the Zulu drums. I recall the expression on papa’s old face that very day, a harvest of pride, victory, and fulfillment. Papa was an upright man, tall and handsome with a bronze skin that made him the toast of young ladies and the old alike, in spite of his age. He was also a respected teacher and village activist who would always be found wearing a thick reading glasses and a short sleeve shirt complete with a bow tie over a worn-out trouser. Earlier that morning, papa had suddenly fallen sick with a bout of malaria and mama had persuaded him to stay back home instead of going to school to join the demonstration while she mopped his hot body with a piece of clothing soaked in cold water.
At about 12 pm that nascent afternoon, while we were having our brunch of yam and palm oil ferried with fresh coconut water, we had an unexpected visitor. Initially, I frowned at the interrupted brunch because you see we always ate twice daily that is a brunch and a dinner with no in-betweens. That was how we survived on Papa’s meager salary. My frown was cut short because it was a daunting, white man with long unkempt beards that stormed into our house in company with two white police officers with an air of assured authority. I took a quick look at father’s face. As usual, he looked composed, but I remember seeing a flicker of fear in his eyes after those men of the law interrupted our family mealtime. It was so strange to me because I had never seen a white man come into our quarters.
‘This is the Sheldrake home, isn’t it?’ The white man asked aloud.
‘If it is Sheldrake, the head teacher, then it is.’ Papa replied as he labored to his feet in respect, mama supporting him along.
‘Don’t transfer any disease to us boy’ the leader warned as he moved menacingly towards father‘... we heard you are the audacious teacher who is leading those fools out there to make this village ungovernable.
‘I would ask that you do not disrespect my home if you come into it uninvited!’ papa challenged him.
‘Really?’ he asked with a smirk. “so it is true? In that case, perhaps I should show you what it means to disrespect. Arrest him.’
As if given a hitherto evasive opportunity to teach him a lesson, the police officers descended on him first with loud slaps then viciously handcuff him. Papa cut the picture of the meet Jesus I often heard about in our Sunday school morning classes at Saviours Baptist Church. Like a lamb led to the Golgotha, I remember he didn’t fight back as they dragged him out of the house, hands chained, pride drained. But Mama had wailed and wailed. Poor woman! She struggled with the officers to handle him with some dignity; after all, he isn’t a typical criminal. Papa had spoken to her softly to reassure her that he would return home soon. They were shortly attempting to take papa to their car, but mama had refused to listen to father’s words and tried to grab the Whiteman by his neck collar while she abruptly had her claws on his face. We heard him let out a cry of pain as mamas fingers nails dough unto the flesh on his face.
‘My eyes!’ he screamed, and at the same moment, he tried to grab onto mama’s neck with his eyes shot. I saw Papa struggle to break free from the police officers grips and chains, but it was no avail. They held onto him tightly and then shoved him into the back seat of the patrol car.
‘You bastard! God will punish you’ she screamed at him in our local Zulu lingo as he tried to push her away from him. But it seemed mama was determined. There was venom in her eyes, the kind of look I had never seen before. What entered into her that morning I couldn’t say? Was it the demon in her which she had carefully tamed that was let loose? Was it a woman’s love? Or unbridled hatred for her husband’s traducers? It was a new mama we saw that morning. My baby sister Martyr at that point began to cry aloud while I sobbed and carried her in the midst of the chaos.
‘Enough! Let that woman go’ a deep baritone voice with obvious superiority suddenly halted the chaos. It was a white man with a fiercer look and a more commanding tone. I thought at that moment that he must be important because as soon as he came, the other white man let mama go.
‘This little bitch tried to kill me brother’ the cruel bearded white man screamed in anger as he let my mother go. I then realized that the white man with the authoritative tone was indeed related to the other Angry Whiteman because they had similar facial features.
‘The English and bloody American press have flooded the whole area. We can’t risk more negative publicity. I am running for office soon. So release the man.’ Immediately he uttered these words, the policemen and the angry breaded white man looked defeated, mama rushed to the police car door and quickly opened the door for papa. When Papa got out of the car, with my mother holding onto his arm in tears, he looked up at the white man and murmured a ‘thank you.’ But the white man didn’t reply. He took few steps towards mama and papa, with his gaze on her face.
‘We are so very grateful...’ mama stammered in apprehension.
‘You are the head teacher?’ he suddenly asked, without shifting his gaze from mama. “Ermm…. no sir…I….”
“I wasn’t asking you madam.” Still looking at her. Papa got the clue and in a subdued voice, spoke.
Papa nodded. “I am the science teacher.”
‘The school is burnt down. You and your people would need work to feed your family soon...’
‘I do not understand?’ papa replied in confusion
‘I am opening a factory soon. I need all the hands I can get. Though you are a teacher, your knowledge and the respect you have garnered among the people will come right. So you can come and work for me.’
“Are you trying to bribe me?” papa growled.
“He will come,” Mama said, as she took the white envelope from the man’s outstretched hand.
‘What the hell!’ the other Whiteman tried to protest, but his brother seemed to shut him down with a wave of his hand ‘let’s go.’ He commanded. And just like that, they exited from our home but not our lives.
Papa died a year after he took up the job in the coalmine.
