Black & White

-21-

C H A P T E R  T W E N T Y - ONE 

A few days ago, Mrs Dlamini gave us a debate topic to prepare for class tomorrow. Should the government improve the working conditions of miners? I looked at the jewellery box that rested on a small table beside my mattress. My father made it for my mother. The box was filled with bracelets that my dad made from the little stones he found while he was at work. He made the bracelets for my mother, who then passed them down to me. After peeling my eyes away from the jewellery box, I knew my answer to the debate question. As the first speaker of the first team in my school, it is my responsibility to write an opening speech that will capture the audience's attention and make the rest of the debate for my team easier. If I can just pick the right words, I can bring my school prosperity. Which is why I am currently awake while the whole house sleeps. Competition pressure, or in my case, debate pressure can lead to anxiety and difficulty in sleeping. Is my anxiety and difficulty of sleeping caused by the debate or something else? Something I am yet to experience. Something my family and I are yet to experience.

It was 10pm when it happened. It was a loud knock on our door that woke my mother up and made me stop staining the pages in my book with ink. My mother emerged from her room with a worn-out robe wrapped around her petite figure. The corners of her dark brown eyes had debris that had accumulated while she slept. "Are you okay mntanami?"

The knock grew louder. "I'm okay mama, however there is someone at the door. Must I open it?" Mama put out her hand to stop me, "Cha cha, stay there. I will open it."

My mother walked towards the door, "Who is it?" She asked. "Open the door or else we will break it down!"

We knew from the authoritative voice who it was. They didn't need an introduction. As soon as mama opened the door, they barged in, pushing her out the way. Mama fell on her knees, causing me to stand up from where I was sitting. Before I could make another move, a gun was pointed towards my direction. Involuntary, I raised my hands above my head, pleading the man behind the gun not to shoot. The man behind the gun was no stranger.

"Mr Bosman?" My mom spoke. She was still on the floor, scared that any movement she makes might enrage our uninvited visitors. Mr Bosman was not alone. He was accompanied by his colleague and his son, who, if I remember correctly said that he was not like his parents. Norman.

"How can we help you sir?" My mother asked after she got no response from Mr Bosman, who was still staring at me with his hand on the trigger. He was ready to shoot. Ready to paint the rusted iron walls of our shack with blood. My eyes were still on the gun pointed towards me. From the corner of my eyes, I could see Norman staring at the floor, refusing to look at the situation before his eyes.

"We received a tip that kaffers stole from a shop in Parktown. The shop assistant said it was a group of young boys. Do you know who they are?" Mr Bosman finally decided to speak. "No sir, as you know I don't have any sons. I only have two daughters. I believe you have met Ayize, she worked for you and Mrs Bosman a few months ago." Mama responded. 

"Bullshit. You kaffers are all the same. I wouldn't be surprised if you were hiding them here. You are all a bunch of thieves." He spoke. He turned to look at his colleague, "Search this place. Turn everything upside down." His colleague, who had Officer Williams written on his badge nodded at Mr Bosman and proceeded to do as he was told. "Start by searching her. I knew something was off about her the minute she stepped inside my house." Mr Bosman commanded while looking at me. My raised hands started to tremble as Officer Williams took gigantic steps towards me.

"Please don't do this. We don't know anything." Mama begged, her eyes watery. Mr Bosman aimed his gun towards my mother and demanded for her to shut up. Norman stood frozen in his spot, his eyes glued on our not so interesting floor. Officer Williams roughly patted me down, starting from my shoulders and moved all the way down to my legs. "What are you doing?" Mr Bosman asked, irritation laced in his tone. "I am searching her sir, like you asked me to." Officer Williams responded. 

"Nonsense. Strip her. Who knows what she's hiding underneath those rags."

My blood instantly ran cold while my eyes bulged out from their socket. And for the first time since they arrived, words left my mouth. "No! Please! I am not hiding anything."

"If you are not hiding anything, then you would allow him to search you." Mr Bosman said. Officer Williams stared down at me. I glanced around the room refusing to make eye contact with him. My mother was still on the floor, except this time she was on her knees, begging Mr Bosman to stop this atrocity.

"Actually, let Norman strip her." Mr Bosman announced and turned to look at his son. "Soek haar. Dit is opleiding vir wanneer jy 'n polisiebeampte word." (Search her. This is training for when you become a police officer). Norman's head jolted to meet his father's stern eyes. The colour quickly drained from his face. "Ek kan nie." (I can't). 

Mr Bosman lowered his gun and turned his whole body to look at Norman. With clenched teeth, he spoke, "Don't make me repeat myself."

Norman slowly walked towards me. Before I knew it, he was standing right in front of me. My heart was hammering against my rib cage. My once raised hands were now clutching my clothes that were drenched in sweat as I stayed still as possible. When Norman lifted his gaze from the floor to look at me, my lips quivered as I whispered, "Please." His blue eyes stared into my own without blinking. The minute his hands touched my shirt, I could feel my pulse beating in my ears, blocking out all the other sounds in the small room. His eyes never left mine as he slowly unbuttoned my school shirt. As I stood paralyzed on the spot, I felt compelled to look into Norman's eyes and not anywhere else. For a moment it didn't feel like my privacy was being violated. His blue eyes reminded me of the ocean. The sound of the waves fighting for dominance filled my ears. The crunching sound of the sand beneath my bare feet. The smell of the salty air. Clear blue skies. I felt free. A single tear fell down my cheek. His eyes were still on mine when my shirt dropped to the floor. His eyes were still on mine as he bent down to remove my skirt. Even as I stood bare, his eyes never left mine. He didn't look anywhere else except my eyes.

After he was done, he took a few steps back and returned his gaze to the floor. "See, that wasn't so hard." Mr Bosman spoke with a smirk on his face. "Williams, search this whole place. If you find anything suspicious, bring it to me." Officer Williams turned our home upside down. He searched every single corner. Emptied every single container. He even searched my school bag. I could feel my heart pounding in my ears. I wanted to move but my feet would not allow me to. I was not frightened nor was I afraid. I felt violated. I felt robbed of my dignity.

As I stood there, it suddenly occurred to me that the whole story of kaffers stealing from a shop in Parktown was a lie. This is what they did. They found joy in dehumanizing us. They enjoyed making us feel and seem less human, and not worthy of humane treatment. They wanted us to feel inferior and incapable of running our own land. The land of our forefathers. What they don't know is that dehumanization can lead to feelings of intense hatred and violence.

"And what's this?" I heard Mr Bosman ask. I shifted my gaze to see what he was referring to. It was the wooden jewellery box that my father made for my mother. I tried to speak but no words left my mouth. "That's my jewellery box. My husband made it for me before he passed." My mother said. Mr Bosman opened the box and took out a handful of bracelets, "So your husband stole precious and valuable stones from work? I told you these kaffers are nothing but a bunch of thieves." The last statement was directed to Officer Williams. "Those stones are not valuable sir. You can ask any miner, they will tell you the same thing. My husband was not a thief."

Mr Bosman gently placed the bracelets back inside the jewellery box, and without warning he dropped the box on the ground and proceeded to step on it multiple times until the box and bracelets were completely destroyed.

My heart dropped to my stomach. And just like that, the last reminder I had of my father was gone.