Mangled Shoes

Part title

What was the victory? The mass genocide of the Nama and Herero people had still not been compensated for. And even if it had, nothing in his world could make up for the hundreds of thousands of lives lost.

Both the consequences of the apartheid laws that were carried over to Namibia and South Africa could not be erased. The parents they have today are a direct result of these tragedies.

It left suffering and agony in its wake. Entrusting the following generation to manage parents who are complicated and demanding When the disadvantaged turn into oppressors, what ought to happen?

But if Deborah was willing to put up with the suffering and look for chances to find solutions, she might just win. Winning against oneself, rather than against others, is ultimately the greatest victory.

At the gas station, Ou Boet pulled over. His girls slept soundly. Thirst was burning Deborah's throat. The stench of the corpse made it difficult for her to sit up straight.

They had made it to the city. She hoped the man would be nice enough to offer her something to drink, even though she didn't have enough money to pay for her transportation, food, or even water. Understanding that she might have refused, as he wasn't really expected to.

Stepping out, he circumnavigated the car before raising the canopy.

"Hi, are you okay back here?"

"Yessir, hi, and thank you."

"How about you thank me once you get to your final destination, kiddo? I'm stepping into Rita's now to buy my daughter's Capri Suns. Anything for you?" He offered to buy her a drink.

"Yes, please, water; I die of thirst."

They chuckled over this. Wilhem shut down the canopy after that. He turned to leave, shaking his head. He was astounded by the sixteen-year-old.

"Who is this kid?"

He dashed inside the shop and picked up a bottle of distilled water, two Caprisuns, and a protein bar for himself. He appeared to be at ease with the elderly man working behind the counter. They were speaking the same language, after all. Is there anything that warrants fear?

Their own endangered language

"Is it bye-day?" Asked the old man

"More like drag hunting. I just arrived here from the farms. Passed through the taxidermy now dropping off this young lass here in the city." Wilhelm responded while placing the distilled water, Capri Suns, and protein bar on the counter.

"Ahh, that reminds me of the one-headed hunt I went on some years ago. Hunting is what we do. Even my forefathers and their fathers before me spearheaded the Namas and Herereos. This is what we do. The elderly German-African man spoke with a lot of compassion. He seemed to be talking directly to his kin.

He didn't show any racist behavior toward Wilhem, who never really appeared to have any difficulty assimilating into this society of white supremacists. The sky was cold, gloomy, and thick as the day was drawing to a close.

It appeared as though rain was going to fall. Then Wilhelm realized that it was actually the ancestors communicating with him. In 1919, no one he knew was able to communicate with them.