Naledi noticed that Mma took the tin plates and mugs for them from a separate little cupboard. While they ate, Mma quickly got on with her work.
When she had finished, she took the children to her room at the back of the yard. The children looked around the little room with interest. On the big iron bed was a white cover which Mma had neatly embroidered. It must be strange sleeping all on your own, thought Tiro. At home they all shared a room.
When the children noticed the electric light, Mma said they could try it. But after Tiro had flicked it on and off about ten times, Mma told him to stop.
Bringing the children close to her now, Mma sat down at last and asked them to tell her fully what had happened.
The Madam had made it clear to Mma that the police wouldn’t like it if the children spent the night in Parktown. So when Naledi spoke about Grace and her offer to take them to Soweto, Mma seemed in two minds. She knew Grace’s mother well, but Soweto was also dangerous.
After getting the Madam’s permission to go out for a little, Mma took her children by the hand and they walked to number seventeen in the next road. They went round to the back of the house and found Grace still there.
“These two will be just fine with me,” Grace assured Mma.
It was arranged that Grace and the children would meet Mma at Johannesburg station at seven the next morning. Mma gave Grace some money for the fares and, close to tears again, she hugged the children goodbye.
“Cheer up, you two,” said Grace. “You can come and meet my brothers.”
Chapter Eight
POLICE
It was rush hour when they got on the train to Soweto and the children clung on tightly to Grace. There was no sitting space and it felt as if all their breath was being squeezed out of them. Grown-up bodies pressed in from above and all around them. Some people laughed, some people swore and others kept silent, as the train shook and lurched on its way.
At each station the crowd heaved towards the carriage door, people urgently pushing their way through. Naledi and Tiro tried to press backwards to stay close to Grace.
But in a sudden surge at one of the stations, they found themselves being carried forwards, hurling out on to the platform. Desperately they tried to reach back to the open door, but passengers were still coming out, although the train was already beginning to move on.
Naledi was just able to see Grace wedged inside. She was trying to get out, but the train was on its way! Naledi and Tiro looked at each other in dismay. What now?
Everyone was walking towards the stairs which led to a bridge over the railway line. Soon the platform would be empty and the guard would see them. No tickets, no money, no idea of how they could find Grace. They would have to wait until she came back to get them, yet there was nowhere to hide on the platform.
“Let’s go and look from the bridge,” Naledi suggested.
Suddenly, without any warning, there was a commotion up ahead. Three figures in uniform stood at the top of the stairs.
Police!
People began turning around and coming rapidly back down. Some began running along the platform towards a high barbed-wire fence at the other end. The runners leapt at the fence and scrambled over it.
Others jumped down to the track, sprinted over the railway lines and clambered up to the opposite platform. But just as they got there, more policemen appeared on that side.
“Where can we go?” Tiro urgently tugged at his sister’s hand.
“We’ll have to slip past them,” she whispered, pulling him towards the stairs.
Some people were feeling into pockets, others frantically searching through bags.
Pass raid!
A man was protesting loudly that he had left his pass at home. It would only take two minutes to get it. The police could come and see, or someone could call his child to bring it. He cried out his address, once, twice … Slap!
“Hou jou bek,”1 barked the white officer in charge. His blue eyes stared coldly as a black policeman pushed the man against the wall.
One at a time people were pulled forwards to be checked. When a boy said that he wasn’t yet sixteen, the policeman just yelled that he was a “liar” and a “loafer”. Tiro felt his heart freeze, but the boy didn’t cry. Instead his eyes seemed to have fire in them as he was handcuffed.
A voice in the crowd shouted, “Shame! Locking up children!”
As the muttering grew louder, a woman spotted Naledi and Tiro and screamed, “You’ll say these kids are sixteen next!”
The white officer took a threatening step forwards. He looked murderous. Then, glancing at the children, he made a sign with his hand for them to go through.
“We can’t stay on the bridge while the police are here,” panted Naledi when they had got past. From the bridge they could see the road outside the railway station. Next to a large van were more police. An old woman was being pushed inside the van. Tiro looked back at the people in handcuffs on the bridge.
“Why don’t we run and call the child to bring his father’s pass? We heard the address so we can find it.”
“Let’s hurry then!” agreed Naledi.
Once past the police van, they asked a lady selling apples at the roadside to point out the way. The children weaved in and out of people as they ran along the stony road, between rows of grey block houses all looking exactly alike. No great leafy trees here, only grey smoke settling everywhere.
When they reached the right house, they found a boy struggling with a heavy tub. As soon as he understood their message, he dashed into the house, and a minute later came rushing out with a book in his hand.
All three raced back down the road, but just as they came in sight of the station, there was the big police van pulling off.
The boy shouted at it as it sped past them, carrying away his father. He flung the pass down, picked up a stone and let it fly at the van. The van swung round the corner, the stone just grazing the mudguard.
“I’ll burn this one day!” stormed the boy, picking up his father’s pass. “How can our parents put up with it?” There was fury in his voice. Then it became gentler. “Thanks anyway for trying … I must go and tell my mother now.”
The children stood silently watching as he walked back home.
“Naledi! Tiro!”
Startled they looked around to find from where the voice was coming. It sounded quite far off.
Looking up towards the railway bridge, they saw Grace waving. Quickly they ran back to the station.
Grace came down with their tickets to get them through. it was a relief to be with her again.
“This time I’m really going to hold on to you,” she told them, taking each firmly by the hand.
“Do you know what happened to us, Mma?” Tiro was anxious to tell Grace all.
Chapter Nine
THE PHOTOGRAPH
When at last they arrived at Grace’s house, two boys, a little younger than Tiro, came racing out, then stopped short to look at Naledi and Tiro.
“Paul, Jonas. I’ve brought some friends for you,” Grace announced.
Her brothers smiled shyly.
Inside the house was dark until Grace lit a lamp. The small room was almost filled by a table, a cupboard and stove.
“Hungry?” asked Grace. Four heads nodded.
It wasn’t long before a good smell of beans was coming from the pot. Jonas and Paul brought out some wire cars and the younger children were soon busy discussing different things they had made, while Grace chatted with Naledi.
Before the meal, hands had to be washed at the tap outside the back door.
“Our people wash and clean up for others all day, but look how we must wash ourselves!” Grace spoke sharply.
Naledi wanted to ask Grace what she meant, but Tiro had begun splashing water.
“Stop it, Tiro! You’re wasting water.” Naledi made him come away from the tap. She explained how they had to buy water from the village tap at home.
“We used to get
our water from the river, but it’s all dried up now.”
“Was your river very big?”
“Were there crocodiles?” Paul and Jonas, who had never been beyond Johannesburg, were curious!
It was while they were eating that Naledi noticed a small photograph on the wall of Grace’s mother with four children. It had been taken some years ago, when Paul and Jonas were no more than babies.
“Who’s this?” Naledi enquired, pointing to a boy who looked a few years older than Grace.
“That’s our eldest brother, Dumi, but he isn’t here any more,” replied Grace rather quietly.
“Where is he?” asked Tiro.
“If I tell you, you mustn’t go shouting about it.”
Naledi and Tiro shook their heads.
“But remember what Mma said, Grace. We mustn’t talk about it, or Dumi will be in trouble.” Paul looked very worried.
“It’s all right,” assured his older sister. “These two aren’t big mouths like some kids round here.”
By now Tiro and Naledi were looking quite puzzled.
“You see,” Grace began, “our brother Dumi got picked up by the police, in ’76. That was the time when the students here and all over were marching, and the place was on fire …”
Grace paused.
“You must know about it. Or were you too young then?”
“The older students at school sometimes talk about such things, but we don’t know much,” Naledi admitted.
So, with the dim light from the lamp flickering their shadows on the walls of the small room, Grace began to tell the children her story.
Chapter Ten
GRACE’S STORY
It was a “time of fire” as Grace called it, when she and Dumi had marched in the streets with thousands of other schoolchildren. They were protesting that their schools taught them only what the white government wanted them to know.
On the banner that Dumi and his friends carried, they had written ‘BLACKS ARE NOT DUSTBINS.’
Everything went all right until the police saw the schoolchildren marching, and then the trouble started. The police aimed their guns and began to shoot with real bullets, killing whoever was in the way.
It was terrible. The police shot tear gas too, making everyone’s eyes burn.
People were screaming, bleeding, falling. More police came in great steel tanks, and more in helicopters, firing from above. A little girl standing near Grace, about eight years old, raised her fist, and next thing she was lying dead.
People became fighting mad, throwing stones at the police, burning down schools and government offices. Smoke and flames were everywhere.
But the police kept shooting, until hundreds were dead. Hundreds were hurt and hundreds were arrested.
Dumi was one of those arrested.
When he came out of prison, he said that the police had beaten him up badly, but he would go on fighting even if they killed him.
Then one night he disappeared. When their mother went to each police station, asking if he was there, the police said “No”. But maybe they were lying. Maybe they had killed him too.
For a year they had no news.
Until one day a letter came. It was from Dumi. There was no address, but it had been posted in Johannesburg. Dumi wrote that he was well and studying in another country. He was giving the letter to a friend to post. He also wrote that he would be coming back one day. Coming back to help fight for FREEDOM and make life better for everyone. He had written FREEDOM in big letters.
The family had been so excited that he was alive, so worried about the dangers he faced, yet so proud of his courage. Dumi had been a boy when he left, but now he would be a man. Although it was a long time since they had heard from him, they hadn’t given up hope. They were still waiting.
When Grace finished talking, the children remained quite silent.
“Well, it’s time to sleep,” Grace said, pushing back her chair and stretching herself up. Her young brothers cleared up the dishes, stacking them up ready to wash them outside in the morning.
Grace shared her bed with Naledi and the boys shared theirs with Tiro. He was soon fast asleep but Naledi lay awake for a while, thinking.
So much had happened. She wondered what her mother was doing. Was Mma alone in the little room in the yard, or was she still watching over the child in the big house?
Naledi was sure Mma must be thinking of Dineo. Why couldn’t Mma have left straight away, and what if something happened to Dineo before they arrived? Naledi didn’t want to think about that. At least the delay had led to them being with Grace, and she really liked Grace.
Her mind wandered over the terrible events in Soweto, to Dumi and to the word in big letters – FREEDOM. What did the word really mean? Did it mean they could live with their mother? Did it mean they could go to secondary school? But Grace said the children marched because they had to learn a lot of “rubbish” in school. So what would you learn in a school with FREEDOM?
There were so many questions, Naledi thought, as she drifted into sleep.
Chapter Eleven
JOURNEY HOME
“Wake up! It’s five o’clock.”
When Grace’s voice reached Naledi and Tiro, they pulled themselves up. Silently they drank the tea Grace had made before slipping quietly out of the house, leaving Jonas and Paul still asleep.
It was half dark, but already many people were hurrying towards the station, and the train was crowded all over again. Most of the faces still looked tired. Bones squeezed against bones as they jolted, jerked and swayed with each movement of the train. At each station yet more bodies crammed in against them, until at last they were thrown out with the crowd rushing off to another day’s work in Johannesburg.
When they arrived at the main ticket office, Mma was already waiting with her case. She thanked Grace warmly.
“Any time you need help, let me know,” Mma added.
“Tsamaya sentle,” Grace called as they parted at the barrier.
“Sala sentle!” They waved goodbye as they went.
The train going home wasn’t crowded so the children sat by the window, hoping to see places they had passed on the way, especially the orange farm where they had spent the night. They told Mma about the boy who had helped them. She said quietly, “That was brave of him. He could have got into a lot of trouble.”
“Mma, do you know Grace has a br—”
Tiro was beginning to talk about Dumi, but Naledi quickly nudged him with her foot and gave him a stern look. The scatterbrain! Already he was forgetting the promise they had made to Grace. Tiro bit his lip, but fortunately Mma hadn’t noticed anything.
“Those children should be in school,” Mma continued, still thinking about the boy on the farm.
Naledi lay with her head against her mother’s shoulder. It was so confusing. Here was Mma saying that children should be in school, and there was Grace saying that schools taught black children rubbish.
Didn’t Dumi and his friends carry a poster saying ‘BLACKS ARE NOT DUSTBINS!’
What did Mma think about that and all the shooting? Had she heard about the little girl who was killed close to Grace? Mma had never spoken to them about such things. Did she think they were too young to be told?
Naledi stared out of the window, without seeing anything. Her mind was too full of questions. Surely she could talk to Mma about what was troubling her? As she leant against Mma’s body and felt its warmth, it seemed silly to hold back problems. Especially when their time together was so short.
“Mma …” Naledi began, turning to look up at her mother’s face. “Grace told us how the schoolchildren marched in the streets …”
Naledi stopped, seeing shock and pain flash through Mma’s eyes. She became even more alarmed when Mma remained quite silent for what seemed like an age, gazing down at her lap.
At last, Mma spoke very softly. “Do you know how many children died on those streets? Do you know how many mothers were crying ‘Where’
s my child’?”
Mma was shaking her head slowly. There was another long pause, as if she was thinking whether to say any more. Then she leant forwards and covered her face with one hand, wiping her forehead.
“You know, every day I must struggle … struggle … to make everything just how the Madam wants it. The cooking, the cleaning, the washing, the ironing. From seven every morning, sometimes till ten, even eleven at night, when they have their parties. The only time I sit is when I eat! But I keep quiet and do everything, because if I lose my job I won’t get another one. This Madam will say I am no good. Then there will be no food for you, no clothes for you, no school for you.”
Mma pulled her back up straight and put an arm around her children. Tiro shifted to come closer.
“It’s very bad, Mma,” Naledi said, in a low voice.
“Yes, it’s bad. But those children who marched in the streets don’t want to be like us … learning in school just how to be servants. They want to change what is wrong … even if they must die!”
“Oh, Mma, oh, Mma,” Naledi whispered.
Tiro clutched Mma’s hand and she pulled him towards her lap.
“What did their parents say?” he asked.
“Some tried to stop their children so they wouldn’t get hurt, but there were also parents who helped them.”
Mma explained how the children had asked their parents not to work on certain days, and how many people had stayed at home. It had been a time of terrible worry for Mma’s friends who had families in Soweto. The eldest Mbatha boy had been arrested and Mma told them about his mother’s dreadful search at all the police stations.
So … Mma knew something about Dumi, Naledi thought. But neither she nor Tiro broke their own promise.
When Mma finished speaking, they sat in silence. They watched the train stop at stations on the way, passengers climbing in and out with cases, bags and bundles.
Journey to Jo'Burg Page 3