The Letter

I can't sleep mommy, I cant sleep.He yanks at my skirt with the persistance that locks hands with desperation. The night cradled my hunger underneath my eyes and my son continued. He pulled and moaned so much so that my eyes began to water. No tears fell I was too tired. They had arched my back,beaten my heart and stolen my voice. So I just sat- all night, only getting up once to carry poor Mandla to the bed. See the will of desperation can tire a young soul but it can never tire mine. If my soul was a solid, it would defy gravity,to fly way above all life and weep a wail so beautiful it could shatter the heavens.Listen.They did not break me, I broke myself before they could.My way of damage control but my son,my son Mandla...should not be bruised by my life.

The shock took hold of me that night,it did not humble me,scare me or defeat me but it commanded me. Commanded me to be,just be. If I could not stop time I would stop mine,even if it was just for a night. But that night was not just a night. We mother's fear night,and despise the day. Although our sons and our husband's are killed by day their souls are only taken by night as they dance like embers over their lifeless remains. Some women pray every night with their windows wide open, through sun and rain. In hopes that they can catch their lost ones soul once more and say goodbye. Others,well, they just go on,they are walking wells, so hollow inside,like someone dug out their heart,one can fall to their death inside their pain. I feel for them the most,because they hide behind smiles and sly comments.But If you listen closely you can hear a faint whine of a child whenever they laugh. Ah, they do not know we understand, so we all go along with the charade. It brings us some solace in knowing even the seemingly coping people are but posers trying to get through it all.

The year is 1976 and I am mother of 2 one living one dead. Hate sentenced my son on July 21st to death without trial. I know not what reason is anymore. Art does not bleed me as it once did,music does not move me as it once did and joy disgusts me.A anger as flew and built a nest on my beaten heart and saw it fit to call it home. I have allowed it.Some may say it has corrupted me but it is not sly like a snake it can not trick you. Anger does not slither it simmers and it burns within me,bright and silent. After last night,contemplating while rebelling against time I agreed to do what needs to be done.

I am going to write a letter to Mandla before I do it. He needs to understand why I did it and for that I must start from the beginning.

Beloved Mandla,

Though you are still too young to understand the words I am about to place down on this page, you shall when you are older.Before I begin you must know Mommy loves you with everything I have. I shall begin from where all great things ended for me to make it easier for you my love.

My days were once long and my nights short until your father trotted into my life. I was a maid since age 13,following the labor steps of my mother and hers before and so on. My mother took me first to the big house when I was 16. She always worked at Meneer Van Niekerks house for as long as I can remember. Now you must understand I grew up in a small little shack with one bedroom,no electricity on the outskirts of town with my mother. We were not as bad off as everyone else,we had a warm meal in us every night, a fire to keep us warm and a proper roof made out of slate with wood. We did not grow cold like our neighbour's whose three children died of pneumonia last winter. We were blessed, I thought then.

When we walked up to the house my stomach fell in while my mouth opened in astonishment. My mother snapped at me often when I reacted to the things they had.My amazement soon churned into jealousy as we walked up the long drive through,trees with feet of vibrant flowers all around. The scent of jasmine impeded my senses. When we went inside Mevrou Van Niekerk let us in. Her face was pale with a pasty texture and a consistent look of judgement on her face. I thought God has given them so much but has contorted and screwed their faces into ugly scowls for pay. This was debated when I met Mr Van Niekerk, a man with face that announces to gentle folk he is one of them. His calm deminure and soft spoken words were far different from other men I had seen.

We greeted and he came in to shake my hand. With a tight grip I smiled and stared directly into his eyes. This back then was a statement,a very dangerous statement. When you level with someone's eyes you imply you are their equal,and in his world we were seen as not even close. Instead of threatening me or putting me in my supposed place he held my hand. A look of what I thought for a second was pride was then glassed over by a chuckle and a pat of the hand.

My mother then led me out and instructed me to go sweep the upstairs balcony. Before I could ask where that was she slammed the door in my face.Although Just before it closed i caught Mr Van Niekerks concerned face which undoubtedly confused me a bit. While I pondered on the question I wandered upstairs, cleaned the balcony quick-quick then trudged down the long staircase. To be completely honest I got lost in that house more than once that day and so it was by no accident that I got lost again.Dazed and confused I wandered the seemingly never ending white tiled halls. I became frantic with the fear my mother would leave me in this white plastered mansion so I began to walk faster. Not stopping to take a break I went down every avenue until one bumped into a head.

A dark navy blue shorts, combed back brown hair and emerald eyes. His skin was tinged like honey under the sun ,it shone. At first he mumbled obscene insults my way but he stopped when he found the sincerity in my wild expression. He introduced himself as Wayne Abraham's. Not even a minute later a tall,well-built boy with the same shorts appeared from the room,his blond locks fell over his blue eyes and his smile seemed familiar.

The Hercules look-a-like brushed passed me and yelled down the hall at the emerald eyed boy. He did not move he just stood still and asked for my name. So I gave it to him ,little did I know I would give this man my life with the lick and slap of my tongue I formed Zuri.

He passed me while holding eye contact and then he followed the yellow headed boy. I stood their for a second before I trotted after them,like a lost puppy. They led me to an outside, tennis court with a green ground and white layered lines. I followed alongside the house till I reached the front where my mother was angrily waiting. I already knew I was in trouble but Mr Van Niekerk came out and said he understands many people get lost in the house first time around. A up and down jig of his shoulders with a laugh that eased me and surprisingly my mother, who laughed with him. She apologized and off we went.From long drive ways into dirt as narrow pathways,garbage at the feet of short trees and shacks all around made of glimmering scavenged material. A joke of a poor man's honor.

I returned to that mansion for over 2 years,wherein I encountered the blond headed and the emerald eyed boys frequently. I became close with them both as we all were young teens unaware of the true extremities hate can have on people.The blonded headed boy told me he was Jan Mr Van Niekerks son and Wayne Abraham's was his friend. We all played innocently shielded by the large world in ironically a mansion. Jan and I became very close but Wayne always kept his distance from me. Whenever I wasn't cleaning they came to bother me and sometimes they would deliberately make messes for me to clean. It was always Jan, he wanted me to clean his room while he just chatted with me. This annoyed me but Wayne helped me sometimes when he saw I was irritated.

When I turned 18 I told my mother I want to be something more. This was sparked in me because every Tuesday I finished work early. Mr Van Niekerk would call me into his office and we would chat about many things:Philosophy,Mathematics,Morality but we never spoke about Politics. After a couple months he started lending me books and embarrassed I hid the fact I could not read. He eventually found out and started teaching me every Tuesday,I got homework and assignments. It was a welcomed exercise for something other than my body which was often sweeping and scrubbing the floors all day.

Your mother was a fast learner, I could read pretty well after 6months. We got really close,we even had debates about philosophy especially between Aristotle and Sigmund Freuds. We debated for weeks over wheather humans are innately evil or born good i always believed good back then. He would make us some tea with biscuits even after i insist on doing it for him,he always responds with i've got two hands dont i.

I enjoyed Tuesdays most of all. When I was 18 I came one day to him and told him that I want to be something more. Just like the first day we met,a glimmer of pride sparkled in his eye that was then glassed over by a chuckle. Hurt by this demeaning chuckle, I questioned his response and for the first time ever I felt small in his company. He clamped me like a car,prevented me from thinking I could go forward. Delicately as he could he put it,he said his world does not allow women or people like me to aspire. I threw all the debate skills and knowledge I had acquired through extensive reading and talks at him. Stunned by my clear cut argument he just sat their and whispered:Leave now.

So I left,as I went out Wayne stopped me by chasing me down the road. He wanted to know what I was doing at that moment,which I replied with a resound Nothing. He told me to join him as he was going to a meeting. Annoyed, I wanted to take my mind off the bigger things in my life and nurture a small thing rather. He took me to a meeting a gathering of people of all cultures in one place. I had never seen this before. I sat with a new kind of awe as I looked at all these young faces from all walks of life wanting something more.Daring it to come to fruition.

After this everything changed a fight sturred within me. A fight I found out lied dormant within for a while until Wyane like a cancer woke it. I joined him at many meetings and we grew closer,while he grew more radical. We began a relationship not to long after one which I later found out infuriated Jan. Wayne became more and more radical,soon holding his own meetings.

His meetings became a movement against the state. Freedom today not tomorrow was our famous chant. I supported Wayne and fell in love with him for his passion. We were never close but I always was fond of Wayne Abraham's when we were young. When I was 19 years old I fell pregnant with your older brother Silumko(a wise man). His name was befitting for when he came out he was already a little wise man wuth a inquisitive frown. My mother helped me raise Silu while Wayne often traveled the country encouraging others to take up arms. We disagreed on armed resistance I always believed peaceful protest can make a change until Silu.

Silu grew up to be a fine young boy, when he was 10 Mr Van Niekerk visited my mother's house. We were still staying there as freedom fighters don't have salary,so I did work only here and their writing up pieces for newspapers as well as businesses. I at that point hadn't seen him for 10 years after our...fight. I was shocked to see him their,like a peacock among pigeons. Such a strange sight to see him sitting down on a broken bed in a small shack whilst wearing a tailored clean cut suit.

He spoke with me before Wayne came home,he warned me about the plans he heard about an attack. An attack that was planned by the state to kill Wayne and me as we were seen as threats against the regime. Wayne at the time concerned me he was becoming a bit violent with me and Silo over the past months.I did not know how to feel.

I was angry,because I have not seen Mr Van Niekerk for ten years and here he comes acting like a savior. So i asked him why he even cared?That's when he shared a concerned look with my mother,who nodded at him. That evening I found that Mr Van Niekerk was my father, that I was his only child. I asked how is this possible on the count of Jan's existence. To my surprise Jan was his wife's child from a previous relationship. He is the son of his best friend:Van Rooyen.

My mind that night could not take it all in, and this was exasperated to find out that my mother has been having a secret relationship with Mr Van Niekerk for 30 years now. They could not get married because of the immorality act that illegalised mixed marriages so they made a deal with his best friends wife. He will help raise Jan and protect her while he has his secret relationship with my mother. I did not know what to feel,what to think so I just sat.

Wayne barged in the door right then, with a gun and a look in the eye that scared our son. Silu came and sat by me While clinging onto me. Angry with a faint smell of Beer wafting from his breath ,Wayne approached my now father. All the hate and fear had eaten at his emerald eyes, it had become a dull Grey. He pointed the gun at my father and pulled the trigger once,twice then silence.

There was no bullets in his gun all it was filled with was a rage induced by oppressions grip.

That night I held Silu in my arms after I sent Wayne out. Now I don't know what happened to Wayne that night but later I heard he was ambushed and all our friends were shot dead by police but he ran away.My father allowed my mother,Silu and I in his house to stay but he did not allow Wayne to come visit or see us after the incident.Me and Wayne drifted apart for months.

There I reconnected with Jan who came home after spending mandatory time in the states army. He too was different but he was still the same in some regards. I shall not go into the details of how your father and me finally got into a relationship as its too personal my boy. But you were born not too long after we reconnected and fell in love. I needed him and he needed me and we both wanted you. Mandla,you gave us strength.

After you were born I heard Wayne was being hunted by the state for his 'terroristic acts' such as bombing communication lines. He came to us,disheveled and scared. We took him in but that same day the police came when I was out with you and Silo shopping. The police Shot dead your father, your grandfather and Silos father. When I came home I could not breath their bodies were riddled with bullets but Waynes was beaten to a pulp. Silo took you outside but I knew he saw.I knew he saw them and his father lying there.

A part of me still blames Wayne.

I do not like to speak of that night because it was the turning point in my heart. Silo became radical like his father only a couple of years later,protesting and fighting until one fight on July 21st he was met with a bullet. This he could not fight. That was 2 days ago.

I have lost a man who I bonded with to topple a regime. I lost the father to my child,the blond headed man who loved me beautifully. I lost a father I never knew I had all along and now... I lost my beautiful boy,my wise son.

You are gonna hear many things about me son but I want you to know I tried. They took too much so they must suffer a lingering pain. I will take this bomb and plant it in that area with their long drive ways but I will sit still just there and be.

I loved you more than you can know. Remember revenge is for the weak,and so I accept my defeat as the fickle do but you are strength.

I'm going to sleep now,and dream of you forever.

Love

Mom