Mango

Chapter One.

Mango

"Don't you have a surname? All you've been saying is mango." The guy with the police uniform said. I looked at him and wondered if he had any children. I wondered if he'd treat them the way he'd treated me. I wondered, what if he hadn't had any children at all, would it even make him a better person? "Are you going to answer me anytime soon?" He snapped, his patience becoming thinner by the second.

I took a deep breath before looking him dead in the eye. "I heard what you said, sir. My name is Mango and I'm a street kid, well, sort of." I looked at his bald head. It was usual for a black man in South Africa to have no hair, especially when he's older than 25. So I stared blankly at his head as he wrote down something on a small notepad. "Do you have any children?"

He seemed surprised by my sudden question, but he decided to answer me anyway. He cleared his throat as he stood straight and with pride. "Oh, yes. I do." He grinned so wide as he looked at nothing in specific, as he thought of his family, I guess. "Those kids make me so happy. I have 3 of them. The oldest is a boy, Khaya. He was a handful when he was young."

It's not like I wanted him to go into detail, but he had. My question required a yes or no, not the story of his life. "Sorry to interrupt your flashback, but I wanted a yes or a no. Nothing complicated." His eyebrows furrowed a little before he completed writing down whatever he was writing. He shrugged and put his notepad in his back pocket.

"Then why did you ask me this question?" He squinted his eyes, trying to intimidate me. Little did he know I've seen much scarier faces than his. He was not even close to scaring a child.

"I knew you'd say you have children, but I never knew you'd treat another person's child differently from yours. Aren't we all human? Don't we deserve a little humanity towards each other, officer?" He looked taken aback by the question I brought forward. He seemed to be thinking about it before he gave a sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose then rubbed his temples.

He then put on a big smile. "I'm sorry about that. You can't treat everyone the same way when you're a policeman; you cannot afford to be fooled." He took out his phone and scrolled through it before putting it to his ear. "Ya, Khaya. I want you to come to fetch a girl here in Hillbrow. She needs somewhere to stay and I need this favor from you, s'bali."

I started shaking my head vigorously, trying to tell him not to do what he was about to do. "Baba, don't do this. I'll just be on my way." I quickly turned around to start walking before he held onto my upper arm firmly. I wasn't sure whether to scream because he was a guy neglecting me of my freedom, or if I should just obey because he's registered under the law?

So I decided to wait for him to finish with the phone call.

"So how long will it take you to get here?" He waited a few more seconds before nodding, forgetting he can't be seen. "Okay, I'll tell her." He hung up and put his phone in his front pocket. "Khaya is coming to get you. You will sit here and wait for him, for your own safety. He'll take care of you until further notice."

At first, I couldn't even register anything. Then one by one, the words he said started mentally digesting. He can't do this for me when he doesn't even know me. I won't let him. "Baba, please. Don't do this. Yonk'into izo lunga. (Everything will be fine.)" I didn't want him to take me in when there are countless orphanages that are supposed to do this.

This is why I walked up to him. I wanted to tell him to at least take me to an orphanage somewhere around town, rather than let myself freeze at night on the side of the street. I was tired of sleeping on bricks, but I didn't want a luxurious bed. I was tired of sleeping in the cold, but I didn't want heavy blankets; a fleece would have been fine, too. I just wanted a sponge, a small blanket, and four walls to protect me. That's it.

"You're right, Mango. Yonk'into will be fine." He got in his car and waved at me before slowly accelerating down the road. Now I had to sit on the side of the road and wait for this Khaya. I started wondering how old he was, where he lived, and all that.

So I waited, and waited, and waited. I had no phone so I couldn't be too sure how long I've waited. But it must have been hours because my butt started getting numb and my joints, too. I stared at my attire and almost vomited. I was dressed in an XL white -- now brown -- t-shirt, black sweatpants, old worn-out Nike sneakers, and a grey hoodie. I hadn't combed my hair in months. Just the thought of combing it made me wince.

I had a brown-blonde thicket of an afro. Being mixed race wasn't easy. My mom was a wonderful Zulu woman who made sure I was raised well; saw life the way it really was - cruel. I had her dark brown, big eyes and smile. She always told me I was beautiful and I believed her until she died 5 years ago. My dad was a mean and cruel Afrikaans man who had raped my mom. She showed me a picture of him and she said I had his nose, his perfect eyebrows.

I never got to meet him, though. He never wanted to see me, and I accepted it wholeheartedly. After my mom died I stopped going to school, because I couldn't afford it. I started begging on the streets and only got enough to buy me two packets of Nik-Naks, or just a mayo. I wasn't always thin. I had some shape once, but that went down the drain.

"Are you Mango?" A guy's voice snapped me out of my daze. My head flipped around and looked at the gorgeous guy standing in front of me. He was tall, a little dark, but I didn't mind. "Actually why am I asking, 'cause you look like a mango so you have to be Mango." He thought to himself.

I stood up and dusted off my pants. I walked over and stood square in front of him. "I am Mango." I calmly said.

"And I'm-"

"Khaya. I know." I cut him off, taking him by surprise. He gave me a look as if suggesting I should continue. "Your father cannot keep secrets." I shrugged. He gave a nod. I'm sure he knew his father too damn well. "Are we going to go? It's getting cold again."

"Oh, yeah. Sure." He said as he stepped back into the driver's seat of his Volkswagen 2016 white Jetta.