Black & White

-09-

C H A P T E R  N I N E

"Sawubona Mama." (Hello Mama) I greeted mama as I entered the house. Mama was back on her feet again.

"Sawubona mntanami, unjani kodwa?" (Hello my child, how are you?)

I placed my bag on the small two seater couch in our small living room and changed into more comfortable clothes.

"Ngikhathele, benginosuku olude impela." (I'm tired, I had a really long day)

"Umsebenzi wakho wesikole wona?" (And your school work?)

"Don't worry Mama, it's already done. Even Norman helped me with my Afrikaans."

I sat next to mama and helped her fold some of the laundry she had done.

"Norman is a good boy, he is nothing like his father." Mama spoke.

"I find that hard to believe." I mumbled.

"Ngoba?" (Why?)

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that all white people are the same and we shouldn't trust them." I responded.

Mama stopped folding the shirt that was in her hands and took my hand instead. "Are you sure that you are okay with working for the Bosman family? I'm better now and I can return to work and you can have enough time to focus on your school work."

"Mama, I don't want you to go back there. I want to take care of you and Zenande. You have been working for that family for years now, don't you think it's time to take care of your own family. I mean, Zenande definitely misses spending time with her mother." I glanced over to where Zenande was peacefully sleeping.

"If I don't work, then how will we survive mntanami?" Mama asked.

"I'll work Mama. I'll take care of us. I promise."

*****

"Did you finish your homework?" Khumo asked over my shoulder. His desk was right behind me as we sat in class and waited for our Afrikaans teacher.

"Yebo, wena?" (Yes, you?)

"No, can I copy yours before umtyholi walks in."

We called our Afrikaans teacher umtyholi which is a xhosa word for devil. I took my Afrikaans book and gave it Khumo. "Quickly before she walks in." I said.

Khumo scanned my book before looking at me with a raised eyebrow, "I'm starting to think Afrikaans is your native tongue."

"I just find it easy to understand that's all, and Norman helped me anyway." I said shrugging my shoulders.

"Norman?" He asked confused.

"Oh, he is a Bosman. He is Mr and Mrs Bosman's son."

"The same family you work for?" He asked.

"Yes."

"And he helped you with your homework?"

"Yes." I nodded.

"A white person helped you with your homework?"

Choosing to ignore Khumo, I turned to the front at the same Mrs Breytenbach walked in.

"Settle down everyone." She spoke.

We all turned to the front. Khumo secretly handed me my book back without Mrs Breytenbach seeing.

"I'm coming around to check your homework. It better be done otherwise we all know what's going to happen." She said walking around to check our work.

When she got to my desk, she scanned my homework before narrowing her eyes at me, "Who wrote this?"

I looked up at her confused, "I did ma'am."

She looked back at my book, "There is no way you wrote that."

"Which poor white kid did you bully to write your homework for you huh? You black people are well known for your barbaric behaviour." She continued.

"I don't bully kids ma'am." I said.

"Well how about you read that out loud for the class and translate it in English." She said.

I took my book and did as she said, making sure not to leave a single word out as I read. Once I was finished she spoke, "Sit down. And next time do your own work."

"That was good actually, you even sounded just like them." One of my classmates who I shared a desk with whispered. I smiled at her.

Our classroom was very small, so to accommodate all the 60 learners, myself included, we shared desks. Four people had to share a desk. Our classroom had six windows and only one was not broken.

Our school building was dilapidated. Only 10% of learners had books and other stationery. There was not enough food to feed all the learners. There was also a shortage of qualified teachers. Black schools only received a small fraction of the amount of tax paid by communities, which was why Black schools didn't have any money to provide learners with stationery and other facilities.

Teaching took place in our native tongue, although we had classes for English and Afrikaans. The syllabus also included Social Studies and Christian religion. We also had classes for needlework and planting which was mainly for girls, handcraft and soil conservation for boys The education that we received was aimed at training us for manual labour, which the government deemed suitable for our race.

Even though the education we were receiving was training us for manual labour, one way or another I was going to become a lawyer, just like uTata Nelson Mandela.

~*~