The day of the thing

I was with her the day of the thing. She was her usual self, bubbly and all over the place. She was wearing one of those bright colored dresses she liked because she said they made her more African. She was one of those people who liked to shout it on the mountain top that she was black and she was born in Africa. No she wasn't.

Sandra was not born in Africa. We were actually born in the same hospital. Our mothers went to school together and as luck would have it, were pregnant round about the same time. We are a few days apart in age. She is older than me. She is light skinned. She is not the black that is black. If she ever reads this, she will slap my forehead. She likes to do that when she thinks you have lost your senses. The slap is supposed to be an impartation of the sense that you have lost.

We grew up in the same house. It was hard times back then so our mothers shacked up together. Do not ask me where our fathers are. We do not know. Our mothers had too many stories and they told them all the while laughing out loud as though it was the funniest thing. The stories changed so frequently that we realised it was a thing they did not want to talk about.

Sandra likes to make sure people identify her as black because she wants to experience what i experience. She is the stronger and bolder of the two of us. When people shove me aside, she shoves them back. Sometimes, she screams out loud, "I am black too, so go ahead and shove me too". She stands up for me as though i am the girl and she is the boy.

On a bad day, Sandra will write a poem and then recite it to me. She will pin it in my room and then make a song out of it. Every time she catches my eye, she will break out in song. She is funny and wonderful like that.

We are both 15years old now. My mother passed on two years ago and so i live with Sandra and her mother. They are the reason i have not taken to the streets and become a junkie. I remember, in the first few days after the funeral, Sandra would follow me everywhere. I had never seen her so disturbed. It was as though she was haunted. If i stepped out of the house to go anywhere, she found a reason to come with me. It is as though i had finally found my shadow.

In one of her rare moments, the ones where she shows a bit of emotion, she told me she feared that i would turn rogue. I never could, i told her. My mother had been sickly for a while. It was just a matter of time before she passed. I saw it coming and made my peace with it long before it happened. We had talked about it, my mother and i, her talking, me listening, and so i was ready.

Sandra vetted my friends and made it a point to make them her friends. If she didn't like them, she made sure i saw little of them. She never really had many friends of her own. Few people could take in her energy. She was a busy body who sometimes, i think, was born to fight my battles. She was a fiery little selfless thing. She lived for me. I do not know why Sandra loved me so. She gave the best of herself to me. All i gave her was my time. It was all i had to give.

On the day of the thing, we were up early. She had heard that there was going to be a thing and she wanted to be part of it. We had never been that side of town. As much as we were not rich, our part of town was decent. Sandra had her mind made up. I couldn't stop her. This was a thing she had been preparing for for a very long time. I felt it was me showing her that i shared her dreams. I will never forgive myself.

It looked like a war zone when we got there. I didn't know it would be like this. I had no idea. When i looked at Sandra's face, i could tell that this is what she had hoped it would be. I motioned to her that we should leave. She signed back to me even as her mouth spelt the words. She was not going anywhere. I had never seen her like this. I knew something was going to go wrong.

I do not know where it came from but there was a moment when i could see her and then i couldn't. People were running, there was something in the air that made my eyes water and me choke. I know she was swept away in the crowd. She was so small. I couldn't shout for her, because i am mute. No recognisable sound comes out of my mouth when i open it. I was crying and looking around frantically trying to breathe. The air around me was white and i couldn't see. I remember feeling huge arms around me and then my feet were off the ground and my arms were flailing.

I didn't fight the man who now had me over his shoulder. He was black like me. I couldn't tell him that i couldn't hear him much too. Eventually he put me down in a place he thought was safe and told me to stay put. I sat on the wet ground and cried. The man never came back and eventually i risked it and run. I got home eventually and found my aunt staring at the TV. She shook me as she asked where Sandra was. I couldn't speak, she had forgotten that.

Sandra was arrested. They said she was throwing stones at the police. They said she was one of the people that had planned the whole thing online. We didn't have a computer. Sandra did not like to use computers. She couldn't have. She would never throw stones too. She just wanted to be seen to be black. She was just 15years old. She couldn't have.

She was taken to the youth court and when she came out, she was braver than before. She cut her hair very short and braided it. She started to get invitations to speak at all these seminars about being black and proud. She put up posters in her room with words like "I am Not off black, i am black" "The devil is not Black" "I was born to be somebody"

Her mother missed my mother most in those days. She did not really understand.
When i got over the fear, i understood. Sandra had found her cause. She wanted to fight for something and if even a drop of her blood was tied to a group she felt was being mistreated, she would fight as though the blood of that group was hers alone to defend.