Part one
11 December 1958, I remember that day like it was yesterday. It was almost like any other day in December. I'm not sure if I was woken up by the summer sun cascading down my window, warming my face like a thousand fires or if I was woken up by my sister snoring loudly next to me. But since I was up I made my way to the kitchen where my mother was having a silent conversation with my father. I couldn't hear what they were saying but I could see the distress in my mother's face. I saw her facial muscles pulled together in a worried manner but after my father said something she smiled and nodded like they have come to an agreement.
It has always been like that between them. They never fought in front of us, even when they were alone they seem to have an inside communication that non of us understood. I don't know if it's the strong bond they have, the connection or years of marriage made them know each other very well. Whatever it was, I found it rare and beautiful. I remember wanting something like that. 'if I ever get married, I want it to be like that.' I didn't know much about love back then but I knew that mama and Papa's bond was unbreakable.
I walked in before mama would catch me listening on their conversation. "Eavesdropping is wrong," she'd reprimand. Father smiled at me when he saw me. I still remember how his smile used to brighten up the room. It was a simple gesture and yet it made me forget what kind of world we live in. "You're awake, Tamati." He said. Tamati is a nickname he game me. I remember how I used to pout and tell him to stop calling me that, but as years went by I gave up and relented. I was just happy that he was still at home. Usually, when I wake up he'd be gone for work.
Mom was busy fixing him a lunchbox with yesterday's leftovers and now that I think of it, she didn't look at me that morning, her focus was on what she was doing. Like she was hiding something. Tears? I'm not sure. "Good thing you woke up early because I need to talk to you." He said.
"Jola." Mama warned her back still facing us.
I don't know if Papa heard her or not but he kept talking. He said a lot of things I did not understand back then. I thought he was going to scold me to stop giving mother a hard time or to listen to my older brother or to not talk back to elders. I thought it was going to be the usual talk but it wasn't. He said a lot of things that didn't make sense to me back then. I remember how my brows were knitted together in a confused line. I remember glancing at my mother so that she can explain but she didn't. She was too busy tidying up, too determined to scrub a nonexistent stain off the kitchen counter.
I wish I had paid attention to what he said because I still don't remember. I mean I should remember what he said and I think I do. He said something about fighting for what I believe in, to never settle for less, to believe in myself, to never choose a path just because a lot of people chose it and that I must create my own if I had to because people may mislead me. He said a lot, but what I remember is when he said, "Some people will like me and some will not but that doesn't matter, if I like myself then that is enough." He also said, "not everyone is your friend, some people are just wolves in sheep's clothing."
Right then I felt my head going in circles, like father was speaking in a language I did not understand. I mean, I was twelve years old. I only went to school sometimes, when there weren't protesters on the streets and when mama felt it was safe to go. Because even then we still struggled with getting better education. It wasn't safe at school. Some parents were worried that their children might go to school in the morning and never come back or come back as corpses. It happened. And that's what happened to Papa. He went to work and he never came back, not alive at least. That morning felt like a goodbye but I did not know, of course. I just thought it was a normal day. Papa would go to work, mama would be busy cooking or she'd go to the tuck shops, my brother Mvelo would go to school and Nokuzola and I would play the whole day since we couldn't go to school.
And it went like that for half a day until a police van stopped by at my house. The neighbors were standing on their door steps watching us. Their yellow van abruptly stopped by the patched fence we called a gate, making particles of dust to pollute the already filthy air. Two man dressed in navy blue uniforms, big boots and hats walked out. I remember thinking that I've never seen anyone as pale as they were. They were white, they did not have black hair just like everybody in my neighborhood, theirs were blond or white. They had guns on their waistbands and the shorter one kept his hand laid lazily on his as if showing that he would use it anytime if need be.
They talked to my mother in a language I did not understand but I recognised some words from school. Like trouble, home, jail, guns, shooting. Then he mentioned my father and that's when my mother gasped. She started trembling uncontrollable and she cried. She didn't just cry like she did that morning, heaving silently while dabbing her cheeks like a lady. She wailed in sorrow and anguish, a sound that made our neighbours gasps and shake their heads in sympathy. When the policemen were done telling my mother whatever they told her they walked away without even a word or at least looking compassionate. It felt like they did not care. Whatever they said to mama did not concern them and so they did not feel the need to sympathize with her.
I kept asking my mom if what happened but no one answered. Even the ladies from the community did not tell us what happened. I knew something bad has happened to my mother. I knew that it must have been something really really bad because she couldn't control her screams of anguish and so my sister started crying too. Seeing our mother like that made her cry. It was until my brother came back from school that my mother started explaining. She said that our father was dead, that he has been shot and he died. I couldn't believe my ears. It felt like my hearing was betraying me or something but everything was too unreal. I would have thought mother was joking but she never jokes about things like that, she's always too careful with her words, actions and her thoughts. Everything is always layed out, planned, thought about thoroughly before it's done but this was beyond her power. Non of us anticipated it and it was too painful.
I could feel my heartbeat increasing, something clenching and twisting in my chest. It was like my heart was bleeding. I couldn't believe that my father, my papa was dead. Shot dead by someone. Then questions started to flood my brain. Why? Why him? What did he do? Who's fault is it? And how could they? I didn't understand how a man that was well, laughing, happy would die just like that. I saw him in the morning before he went to work, he talked to me, he hugged me. How can he be dead? For goodness sake he even promised to bring me and Nokuzola toffees. How can a world be so cruel? Who could be so cruel to kill the most kindest man I know?
Then I remembered how he talked to me that morning. It almost felt like a goodbye. Like he knew he wasn't coming back, but then there's no way he knew. Death doesn't happen like that. It doesn't give a warning. It doesn't introduce itself, it's ruthless, uncaring, merciless. It comes and snatch away those we love leaving nothing but pain behind. It comes and punish and take and take. I remember how my family cried, and close friends and relatives and neighbours and everyone. Father was a loved men, he was selfless and kind. Everyone in the community has experienced his kindness. But I didn't cry, I couldn't. I must have been too shocked to cry or maybe I still did not believe what happened to Papa. Or maybe I felt so much pain that even tears didn't come. I felt hollow inside that crying wouldn't fix. I was too shattered. It felt too raw and too sudden. And one thing was stuck in my mind.
Who did it and why? The police said he was at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Then it dawned on me that you didn't need to do anything wrong to be killed, you just had to be a black person. It has nothing to do with place, time or anything for that matter. And I knew someone had to pay.
P
