Chapter 2

 

Anele had told his teacher that his mother wasn’t feeling well and there was no one else to look after her. She had bought the excuse and had given him the day off. Some boys had looked on enviously as he had walked out of the classroom, but Anele didn’t notice them.

His heart was beating so hard and his palms were sweating so much that he thought for a moment he was having a heart attack. Calm down, he told himself and crouched deeper behind the barrel. The white man had a particular routine after coming to the park.

He walked around doing his stretching exercises. He followed that up by running ten laps in the park and then cooled down with his karate moves. A couple of hours of writing in his notebook followed. Lunch. A light nap. Pacing in the park. And then disappearing between the shacks when evening fell. Anele hadn’t figured out where he went in the evenings. Bafana and he had tried to follow the man a couple of times but had always lost him in the narrow congested lanes.

Anele didn’t plan to stay till evening. The man always placed his duffel on the bench as soon as he arrived. Anele planned to grab it and run when the man was in the middle of his karate moves. There were a few times when his back was to the bench and one of those times would be Anele’s moment.

The duffel looked heavy and Anele had spotted a fat wallet on a few occasions. There would be money in it. Perhaps more than he needed. He would work out what he would do if there was more. For now, he had to grab the bag. He brought up Azelle’s face and the black man’s words in his mind, whenever he felt guilty. This is Nyanga, he scolded himself. Robbery takes place every day. Bafana has even killed another man. I am just stealing.

The man entered the park from the far end, at ten am. That was always when he came. Never late. Never early. He walked languidly and ignored a few hellos tossed at him by a couple of older men. He never spoke. Maybe he was dumb. The bag was there. It went to the head of the bench as the man limbered up and started on his slow jog.

Anele left the cover of his barrel and walked casually in the direction of the bench. He had his school bag with him and had a notebook out, riffling pages as he walked. A studious boy. He hoped he gave the impression of studying hard. He paused when he was ten feet away from the bench and scratched his head. The man was still running. He had three more laps to go.

Anele went closer to the bench, trying not to look in the white man’s direction. He needn’t have bothered, he felt, since the man didn’t even look in his direction. He bent down to tie his shoelaces when the man slowed down and went to the center of the park to start cooling down.

Anele tensed and got ready.

The man started his first moves, about twenty-five feet away from Anele.

Anele inched closer to the bench.

The man turned away from Anele.

Anele sprang forward, nearly stumbling in his haste. His left hand reached out and touched the duffel. Straps. Where were its straps? Anele’s head swiveled between the man and the bag. There! His fingers slipped through the straps.

It was heavy. That was his first impression. Something in it clinked dully against the bench. Anele felt cold terror sweep through him. He knew what that clink was. He had heard the same sound when Bafana’s gun scraped against a wall. Gun. He’s got a gun. Who is he. What have I got into?

Anele was hyperventilating. Escape was the only thought in his mind. He ran as fast as he could, gasping loudly, straining his ears. He didn’t hear any yell. He didn’t hear any pounding footsteps. The exit to the park was just ten feet away now. Once he got out, there were several alleys he could slip into and disappear. He was confident the man hadn’t seen his face. He would remove the money, leave the duffel somewhere and go to the black–.

 

 

Anele went flying in the air. He fell on the grass and rolled to his back not quite grasping what had happened. A shadow fell across him. The white man! He had tripped Anele. How had he moved so fast? Anele tried to get up, sneaking a glance behind him. The exit was close. So close.

‘Stay down.’

He lay still, not moving. The man spoke in Afrikaans in a local accent. He’s local? For some reason, Anele had thought he was foreign. The man spoke again, this time in English. ‘Do you understand me?’

Anele nodded his head dumbly, wondering how much trouble he was in. Would the man report him to the police? He didn’t seem angry. His voice seemed normal. He reached out and took the duffel back and slung it across his shoulder.

Anele felt despair set in. The bag was gone. He didn’t have any money. The dealer would be back. He looked away from the man’s piercing eyes not wanting to show any emotion.

‘You don’t look like a thief,’ the man told him. ‘I have seen you go to school every day. Why did you grab my bag?’

Anele swallowed and sat up. He rose slowly, half expecting the man to stop him. The man didn’t. He stood and looked expectantly at Anele, waiting for his reply.

It was the lack of anger that did it. Eleven-year-old Anele had spent the last couple of nights tossing and turning. He was scared that his sister would be kidnapped and would end up like their mother. At least their mother did whatever she did of her own free choice. Azelle would have no choice. She was so young.

He burst into loud, gulping sobs, his body shuddering uncontrollably. The man didn’t hold him, didn’t speak. He stood there waiting for Anele to calm down. Anele took a full five minutes to calm down and blindly accepted the towel the man presented to him. He wiped his face and asked the man fearfully, ‘Will you be telling the police?’

‘Why did you steal the bag?’ Still no anger in his voice. His dark eyes had a strange expression, compelling Anele to open up. He sat down suddenly, feeling weak, and words spilled out of him, no longer dammed.

‘My sister will be kidnapped if I don’t pay the black man, three thousand rand.’ He knew he wasn’t making much sense, so he started again, slower this time. The man didn’t move when he had finished. Anele glanced up at him. The man had a faraway look in his eyes. Anele fidgeted on the grass and caught his attention.

‘When do you have to give him the money?’

Anele shrugged. They hadn’t agreed on a time. ‘I was thinking of going as soon as I–’ he dropped his eyes in shame.

‘Did he really touch your sister?’

Anele looked up in anger. What kind of question was that? Why would Azelle lie? ‘Yes. Bafana told me he has a reputation. That man’s gang kidnaps and sells young girls.’

‘Can you show me this man?’

Anele was astounded. ‘Why? What are you going to do?’

It was the man’s turn to shrug. ‘I just want to see him.’

‘The police?’

‘What about them?’

‘You won’t tell them?’

‘No.’

Anele felt relieved but not by much. His problems still existed. ‘I need three thousand rand.’

‘I can’t help you there. Show me the man.’

Anele nodded, trying to stem the darkness rising in him. What harm would it do to point out the black man.

 

 

He took the white man back to school and stopped several car lengths away. ‘He usually parks near that ground,’ he pointed to a small playground the school had. He looked down at his shadow. ‘There’s still time. He usually comes during the lunch break.’

They waited. The man withdrew a bottle of water and offered it to Anele after some time. Anele drank from it greedily, noticing too late that he had emptied it. The man didn’t comment. He handed an orange to Anele and brought out one for himself. The two leaned against a truck, peeled their fruits and ate silently. The white man didn’t speak even though Anele looked at him several times. He didn’t even seem to move, but for eating the orange. He had this peculiar stillness about him that Anele found fascinating, but didn’t dare ask.

A bell sounded from within the school and students rushed out as if experiencing freedom for the first time. Boys indulged in horseplay, like boys did all the over the world. Girls played their games, talked, brushed their hair and some of them made eyes at the boys.

Anele jerked his head at one of the girls, ‘ Azelle, my sister,’ and searched the surroundings for the black man. He wasn’t to be seen. The street was narrow and had a few cars parked in it. ‘Teachers. They park here,’ he explained unnecessarily, hoping his companion would break his silence.

They both saw the Toyota at the same time. It nosed into the street from the far end and crawled at a slow pace as if looking for a vacant space. The black man was clearly visible through the windshield, his eyes flicking to his left and right. He eased into a space, opposite the entrance to the playground and leaned against his vehicle and waited. His window was rolled down and from its inside music came blasting out.

Anele and the white man were behind a black truck and now that he thought about it, were perfectly concealed from the black man. The dealer’s field of vision was to the front and to the sides. The two of them were behind his side angle.

The first boy approached the dealer and said something to him. The black man laughed and dipped his hand inside his vehicle and came out with a plastic bag. The boy thrust something at him and ran away, clutching the bag tight.

‘That boy’s from another gang,’ Anele said tightly. ‘They sell tik in the school.’

‘Teachers don’t stop them? Why can’t they call the police?’

‘He’ll go before the police come. He’s smarter than the teachers and the cops. Teachers are scared of him. Bafana said he raped one teacher.’ Anele hopped from one foot to the other, waiting for the white man to say or do something. The white man placed his hand on Anele’s shoulder, making him stop fidgeting.

More boys came, some of them much older, and later as the afternoon dragged on, a few older girls came to the dealer. The dealer started taking photographs after awhile, on a cheap camera. ‘Of girls,’ Anele hissed. He saw Azelle dart a glance in the dealer’s direction who waved a hand at her, insolently.

‘That’s why I need the money,’ he told the stranger who was watching the dealer. Like a hawk, Anele realized.

‘Let’s go,’ the stranger said after school had resumed. ‘I have seen enough.’

‘What do you plan to do? What about my money?’ Anele kicked a pebble and watched it roll under a car.

‘I told you. I can’t help you. Don’t do anything stupid. Go to the cops. Tell your mother. Tell your teachers.’

‘None of them will help me,’ Anele yelled at his departing back. ‘Azelle will disappear one day. I know it.’

He got no reply.