****
“Excuse me, can I help you?” enquired a stern, elderly looking lady dressed in traditional Muslim garb. She came across as an arrogant lady.
“Good morning Mam, my name is Shami. Are you Mrs. Khan?” He timidly asked the Muslim lady. “My aunt Layla, asked me to meet with you.”
“Oh yes, so you’re the boy,” she remarked in a stern manner giving him a quick look over, while her husband Mr. Khan timidly opened up the shop. Mr. Khan was a tall good-looking man with a compassionate face, a total opposite of his outspoken and strict wife. “Was there not supposed to be two of you?” she asked glaringly and slanting her head to him.
“Yes Mam, but my friend ran away just now.” he responded, terrified that she might see it as a reason to send him away.
Mrs. Khan left her bag under the shop counter, and rattled off to him, “Your wage will be twenty five rands a week. That’s if you work full day for a whole week. Our shop is open from Monday to Saturday. We close any time after six when the last customer has left the shop. On Saturdays we close after three.” She looked at him over her glasses, daring him to say something. She continued in the same precise tone, “You will keep an eye that no one steals anything. You must give the impression of being like a hawk, you understand. Even if the staff is stealing; I want to know everything!!! That’s your job around here, to keep an eye on everything, ok?”
“Ok, Mam” stammered Shami, unable to accept that this was the total sum of what was expected of him.
She continued, looking stealthily at him over the top of her glasses. “But every morning when we open the shop, your first task is to take out all the rugs and dust them in the passageway at the back. You’ll then sweep the entire shop, straighten and sort the garments on the clothes-hanger according to style, color and size,” she paused for a few seconds before carrying on and pointing, “You’ll then take that step ladder plus a bucket of water and wipe all the windows with a clean rag. After that you’ll clean the toilet using detergents. You think you’ll be able to handle all of this… err, what’s your name again?”
“Shami, Mam,” he responded, now more demoralized than he’d ever felt in his life. “Yes, I am able to handle the job.” He thought of his two little sisters at home and his younger brother, all crying every time they saw the other children in the dwelling eating snacks and sweets, and the anguish on his mother’s face that she was incapable of affording such delights for her children.
“Are you Mahen’s son, Shami?” asked Mrs. Khan scrutinizing him once more.
“I am, Mam,” replied Shami.
“Well you look a lot like him; he was a good man,” she said in a distant voice. Then she snapped abruptly, looking over her glasses again. “Ok, well you can start with the cleaning up. When you’ve finished, take that step ladder and climb up onto the dressing-room and keep an eye. If I need you I’ll call. Keep a sharp eye Shami, a birds-eye view, ok?”
Shami completed his morning tasks painstakingly and with special care not to stir the wrath of Mrs. Khan. So far he seemed to have effected a good impression on her. He then clambered onto the dressing room and assumed his position. He looked down onto the shop floor and truly felt like a jester. Mostly black customers and staff looked up, in astonishment, at the shabbily dressed boy trying to look like someone with authority.
He heard laughter and saw a young man looking up at him. “Where does Mrs. Khan get these people from?” he queried of Mr. Khan, shaking his head in amusement.
“I honestly don’t know, Amar,” laughed Mr. Khan, “You must pose that question to her.” Amar was a full time employee of the Khans. He was the self-styled assistant manager of the shop. He took full delight in informing all and sundry that he was the manager. Shami took an instant dislike to Amar.
Shami spent most of his days on top of the dressing room, scrutinizing the bustle below him like a hawk. He observed Amar repeatedly cornering young black girls and, out of the blue, squeezing their breasts or their butt, much to their shock and revulsion. Quite habitually as well, Amar would espy a young black girl entering the dressing room to fit a garment, and after a few minutes he would abruptly pull open the door on the pretense of checking on them, catching them nude. The unfortunate girl would hurriedly dress up and dash off to do her shopping elsewhere.
Mrs. Khan usually took up her position in the arcade, just outside the shop door, attempting to entice customers into the shop. “Hello my friend, how are you today. Come in, my friend, we have a big sale today. The biggest sale ever! Everything’s half-price!”
“How really, my friend!?” the big black ladies typically exclaimed, “That can never be!”
“Yes my friend, it’s true… a big sale. Come.” She would direct them into the shop with a gentle nudge. “Mavis,” or some other name, she would yell at any of the black sales staff, “Come here quickly, this is my old friend, and she’s looking to buy something, look after her”. She usually gave the sales person a piercing look as if to say, “Don’t you dare lose them!” The customer then walked through the shop all self-conscious and brimming with self-importance on being singled out as a friend of the shop owner. Meanwhile, Mrs. Khan would spot another shopper cruising up or down the arcade and confronted them with a similar pitch over and over again.
As much as Mrs. Khan worked rigidly to fill up the shop with customers, Amar would terrify them away with his antics.
Mr. Khan normally sat behind the counter collecting payment from customers wanting to purchase. Every now and then he would rebuke them if they wanted a discounted price. These customers too, would disappear in agitation without purchasing anything. This sequence of events persisted throughout the Christmas holiday. Shami’s heart was sympathetic to the efforts of the diligent and persistent Mrs. Khan.
Shami impressed Mrs. Khan with his enthusiasm and trustworthiness. He pointed out a few thieving workers and patrons. She perceived Shami’s willingness to accomplish the less desirable tasks which she entrusted upon him, as a fair gauge of his strong character. Shami also alerted Mrs. Khan to Amar’s deeds with the young black patrons and the ensuing reaction from them. With these in mind, she requested Shami to carry on working through weekends and other school holidays.
The Khans and Ngobese regularly exchanged small packages or envelopes, using Shami as a go-between. He wrapped the package in a dirty looking rag. Shami’s sole assignment so far was that of a messenger. He was never included in any of the explicit tasks of the anti-apartheid movement. His role was an almost invisible one. After all who gave a second look at an obviously poverty stricken lad clasping a dirty looking bundle? But these additional errands never deterred Mrs. Khan from ensuring that Shami fulfilled his normal day to day tasks at the shop.
Shami reached home late each night, having been beaten and mugged a few times by ruffians and pickpockets. But the beaming smiles from his siblings, whenever he presented them with snacks and sweets on his pay day, were worth every part of his ordeal. Priya too was appreciative, though with a heavy heart, that Shami was able to lessen the financial strain.
V
Many years later.
“Shami, Uncle says that you want to leave. Is that true?” Mrs. Khan queried of Shami in surprise. Over the years the Khans had grown attached to Shami and treated him as if he was family. He in turn took to referring to them as ‘Uncle and Aunt’.
“Yes, Aunt”, answered Shami, “I need to explore my options. I have found a job that offers growth opportunities for me, which can also help pay for my tertiary studies.
Shami had worked for a number of years at Khan Fashions, during weekends and school holidays. In this time, Mrs. Khan made him responsible for serving customers and helping with the paperwork. He no longer had to do the less desirable menial tasks such as sweeping up the shop and washing of the toilets. He’d successfully completed high school at the end of the previous year and achieved a matric certificate, and was now stu
dying for a marketing degree through correspondence.
“So what do you intend doing now Shami?” enquired Mrs. Khan.
“I want to sell houses Aunt,” replied Shami.
“Oh, so you want to become an estate agent,” Mrs. Khan responded cautiously. “Shami, you can earn lots of money selling houses, but it’s not easy. Nevertheless, you have our blessings that you’ll make a success of your life. Just work hard and God willing, you’ll achieve your just rewards, because nothing ever comes easy in this life. We know you can make it work. You have our blessings that everything will work out for you.”
Shami had already been interviewed and selected by a leading real estate firm. They’d been impressed by the young man’s confidence and positive attitude. He was scheduled to enter their one year internship program as a candidate estate agent. He’d purchased an inexpensive used vehicle with the money he had saved up over the long years.
His mother needed much convincing that he was making a good decision. Priya’s fear being, that in selling houses, the remuneration was merely commission based. She felt that they could do with Shami earning a stable monthly salary. However, she considered his determination to succeed together with his minor feats over the years. These boosted her optimism that he would achieve his goals.
Shami had begun playing a bigger role in the pro-Mandela movement too. Over the years, he’d become involved in the more covert operations of the struggle. He was now positioned as Ngobese’s right hand man. Many of the local cells within his zone fell under his command, and he played a prominent role in the youth brigade. They’d recently intensified the “Free Mandela” campaign. Word began filtering through the ranks that the government was in talks with Nelson Mandela discussing his release. The liberation movement resolved that the armed struggle will continue until freedom had been achieved for the entire country. They were accustomed to half-truths and propaganda from the apartheid regime.
Standing before Mrs. Khan, Shami sensed the sadness as she spoke. They discussed his notice period, and he was surprised when she suggested that he could finish off a week earlier for which they would pay him. “You need to rejuvenate before you take up your new position Shami,” she offered. He was grateful for the offer which he accepted. She then made a remarkable statement which took him by surprise, “Shami, with people like you, our country will be in good hands. You grew up into a decent young man, right here in front of our eyes. You’re not afraid of hard work and furthermore you’ve have surpassed what your father had attempted to achieve.”
The Journey - A Short Story Page 7