Mangled Shoes

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Deborah picked up the telephone in an attempt to call Mohammad.

"Brrpp Brrp Brr Brrp."

"Hello, Mohammad, speaking, how can I help you?

"Hall..."

Her uncle John entered the room before she could say anything more. He was holding a wooden stick at one end of a rod made of dried animal hide. He was holding a wooden stick at one end of a rod made of dried animal hide. His mother was praying for them in the other room, but he didn't notice. His main concern was the reason Deborah was on the phone at that particular hour. His main concern was the reason Deborah was on the phone at that particular hour.

"Hey, what are you doing on the phone so late? Whom are you talking to?"

He lifted the rod and struck Deborah with it.

"Ah, ouch, alala! You're hurting me." She cried out for mercy.

He struck her again.

"Today I am going to teach you a lesson. Today is the day you learn that, as a child, you have no business being on the phone so late."

"Hello?" Mohammad went.

This time, her uncle picked up the phone. Lifting the rod while doing this.

*Whoosh* The sound came from the Sjambok.

"Alala oom jy maak my seer." She cried out.

Her grandmother arose from bended knees. "Blood of Jesus. John, stop this right now! Stop it; you are hurting her. This is not how I have raised you! The pious and hardworking woman said

She was not done talking yet. Rather, she decided to remain silent. Saying careless things in front of kids would call for responsibility; just as the saying goes, "Whoever keeps his mouth shut stays out of trouble."

The final straw was that. From overcoming internal trauma to suffering injuries in the same location where she was meant to recover, this was all getting nauseating. How could somebody treat a child with such cruelty and harshness? Discipline is not without its restrictions, is it?

It felt like there was no turning back after such a thrashing. No amount of prayer or family intervention could make it right. This sixteen-year-old, fierce as she was, had already been trying to work out an escape route in her thoughts, and now she had managed to formulate what appeared to be a solid plan.

Her mother, her uncles Rueben and Samuel, and Aunt Ruth entered while she was in tears. The fire must be the source of all the foul-smelling smoke.

"And here? What's happening here?" Samuel said, trying not to slurp his drunken words.

Mrs. Mahultze heard her brother's concern and came rushing in!

"Aii, will we ever rest in this household? What happened?" Her motherly instinct kicked in.

Their mother took charge of the situation.

"All of you go to bed now; we will deal with this in the morning."

Deborah's mother glanced at her brother John, then at her daughter. Whose flesh was open? Then she glanced at John, who still had the rod in his hand.

Things were about to get ugly...

Before she could rush in and headbutt her brother, their mother repeatedly said,

"I said you should all go to bed or else leave my house and be sure to take your children with you."

The remaining four children were still playing block-block papiere outside. Usually, when the street lights turn on, it's not quite time to head home. They possessed a free spirit. These kids were like springs, running all over. With no concern for anything.