Oppression

3

It was early the next morning when I woke in my bed. I was relieved to find my camera and the photos I took last night still there. I looked out my window watch watched all the neighborhood. Everything was quiet. Fewer people than usual were walking about. A silent scent of intensity plagued the streets. Everyone I saw walking up and down the streets had fear on their faces. 

I, on the other hand, was not afraid. I was excited yet anxious. I trembled with anticipation. I had captured pictures of the black struggle. Nobody could stop me from spreading our story.

My stomach churned when I walked outside of my house knowing what a risk I was taking. I had already decided to ditch class that whole day and search for a local news service. There I would bring my photos from last night. 

I wore the cleanest clothes possible and brought my passbook and set out walking through the streets of shops and businesses throughout just the black neighborhoods of Paarl. It was not until I passed through a street filled with nothing but warehouses and small industrial buildings that a particular stuck out as extraordinarily clean and untouched by the filthy streets surrounding it. Like a diamond in a trashcan, the windows were clear, the walls where free of dirt, and small letter nearby a small door on the building spelled out Guardian Newspaper. 

I knocked on the front door and was greeted by a young black man dressed in a freshly bought suit who's head seemed higher up than his actual height. He spoke in a sophisticated English accent. "young man, are you lost? You do realize this is a news service station, right?"

"I know sir" I murmured. " I have a story that you might be interested in." I held out the photos in my palms.

He took a look at the photo and his eyes widened. Leaning forward to take a closer look, he mumbled "Yes...yes...this is it."

The man leaned out the door, looked up the street, looked down the street, leaned towards me and murmured "Please step inside young man... we need to have a little talk."

As we waddled into the building, I saw many white adults in casual clothes working at small desks, most of them making phone calls. Each and every one of them spoke in an English accent.

The black man led me to a larger office where he sat down in a comfy swivel chair behind a large desk. "Have a seat please" he commanded pointing to the chair on the other side of his desk. I slithered my body into the chair self-consciously. "Young man, Where did you find these photos?" he asked. 

"I took the photos myself, sir. I have a camera I used. I took them around the neighborhood where I live. It all happened last night" I figured because this man was both black and likely not South African, I could trust him.

He leaned forward in his desk stared at the dead center of my face. "Why did you bring these photos to me?" I thought about my answer. A long moment of silent staring between us passed before I spoke.

"These photos tell a story, the story of my people...what it is like to be us. Black South Africans. This is our everyday lives. It needs to be known by the world." I felt Jittery with pride in how smart I thought I sounded. The man leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin.

He looked at me and said."We cannot waste this time young man. We are a detachment of The Guardian newspaper and we just moved here from London 3 weeks ago to publish papers about how you and your little people are treated by whites. We already have plenty of journalists trecking about for stories on apartheid yet in one night a hoodlum in cheap rags found better photos than all of them."

I grew confused and intimidated as he spoke

"I'll tell you this young man. Between you and the world, your just another impoverished native who anticipated for dinner every night...but between you and me... your the photographer for Guardian News in Paarl"

I was so excited to hear this I felt bats in my stomach.

"before you leave young man, you must keep this secret from everyone, even your parents and friends too. If anyone finds out it's you who's taking photos for us, you'll end up just like the blacks you take photos of."

I told him "Don't worry sir. I already know. I want my story to live. Nobody will know my name."

He stood up and shook my hand saying "I don't need to know your name and you do not need mine but welcome aboard. Now Get out and return with more photos Next week"

"Yes sir!" I grinned and shuffled toward the door before disappearing down the street.