Blue (3 page)

Tabitha’s head sunk to her chest as she considered the newest harvest law rumors. She tilted her head up and looked toward the sunrise, squinting her eyes in thought.

“We’ve heard so many rumors over the years of the possibilities of changes to the harvest laws. I know that they want to be able to squeeze every little ounce of profit out of us that they can without causing an uproar among the citizens, but I honestly don’t think that they could subject us to much more without the population rising up to do something,” Tabitha said, shaking her head. “I’m just not going to waste time worrying about it quite yet.”

“Yeah, Beetha, and I know I’ve stirred you up about all this before, but this time they sound more serious. They told us that the government is in talks about passing them as we speak,” Marguerite said. “I mean, I feel like we always knew that harvest wasn’t just going to go away.”

“I know,” Tabitha sighed, pulling her shoulders down, pushing off the rock, and slinging her backpack over one shoulder. “I know that things are probably not going to get any better for the residents any time soon, but I see no point in spending my time wondering what other creative thing the government will deem humane.”

“You’re right. You shouldn’t worry about it. There’s really nothing we can do,” Marguerite said, standing up from the rock and throwing a pebble into the river. “Besides, the laws might be the least of our worries with the rate that the river has been rising this summer. It’s only October and it’s higher than I’ve ever seen it. Maybe the Vaal will wisp us away to freedom in a couple of months.”

Tabitha turned back and faced Marguerite, the sun catching her face, making her squint.

“Well, I guess they can’t harvest our dreams, now can they?” Tabitha asked sarcastically, turning and heading back toward the compound.

Tabitha slipped her way through the trees behind the kitchen, and picked up her trusty bag of trash. She pulled the key out of her front pocket, typed Marguerite’s code into the keypad, and pushed the door open. She lifted the same can of beans and stowed away the key. Marguerite would be there to retrieve it shortly. Tabitha pushed through the swinging doors into the dining hall, and made her way to her favorite bench outside of the main building. In a few minutes, Marguerite would ring the breakfast bell to summon the residents out of bed for the day.

Tabitha swung her feet, lifting her face as the first few raindrops began to hit the metal awning over the bench. Most of the residents of the compounds were afflicted with albinism, and many had vision problems that made direct sunlight sometimes problematic. Even a small amount of sun exposure could be painful at times. Every concrete walkway was surrounded by metal poles painted gray, showing wear from the elements, and all the poles were topped with wavy, rusting sheets of metal to create the awnings. At night, orange lights flickered in the middle of the awnings, shedding an eerie glow over the concrete below. The compounds were created to protect the residents—even if it meant drowning out the sun completely.

Tabitha turned around and looked at herself in the wall of windows in the side of the main hall, adjusting the scarf on her head. Albinism had no effect on Tabitha’s stunning features. She was uniqueness personified. Her crystal-bright eyes shined—some would say that they were colorless, but she always had seen a hint of blue in them. Her skin was porcelain white and smooth, her frame jagged and thin like a child. She was thinner than any of the other residents her age—which was estimated to be going on sixteen, though she always had thought that she was at least a month older than they estimated. But by the shape of her body and the jagged nature of her bone structure, the staff estimated that she was no older than fifteen, with no signs of reaching maturity yet. There was no proof of her bleeding.

Tabitha had heard horrific stories from other residents about the black market harvesters—those that caused the government to establish the compounds across South Africa. She always imagined the healers taking the cups full of hair that the compounds sold to them and pouring it into a big, black, bubbling kettle as they cackled like a witch and stirred it with a wooden spoon alongside frog legs and rabbit feet. Marguerite had told her a story of one healer that had grown to fame in the bush, claiming there was no ailment that he couldn’t heal with the right ingredients to concoct an antidote. The stronger the disease, the more power he would need to heal them; the more power that was needed, the more heinous the ingredients to the antidote became. Soon, the demand for hair and nails became a demand for eyes and arms. The more abnormal the human, the more their bodies were worth. Since so few people in the bush had enough money to purchase the body parts from the traders, many resorted to seeking out the ingredients themselves… the most desperate wielding a machete and a purpose—to heal their loved one no matter the cost. Guilt seemed an easier bedfellow than grief.

Tabitha had always found it mysterious that in an increasingly modernizing country, the demand on the black market for pieces of their bodies didn’t eventually wane as the healers were increasingly replaced by doctors. The truth remained, though. The healers still—somehow—seemed to be able to heal people. Though the government didn’t excuse the black market harvesters for their awful deeds, they had given up long ago trying to prove that there was no money to be made from their bodies. There simply would always be a demand in the bush for pieces of the bodies of the colorless people.

When the idea for the controversial “Albino Safety Compound” was in its beginning stages in the South African Parliament, the government planned to charge the families of the residents a fee, based on their income, to have their children stay within the compound walls. The officials quickly realized, though, that any citizen who would send their children to the compound for safety made so little money that they wouldn’t be able to afford even the smallest of fees. It was soon decided that the only way to make the compounds successful was to utilize the lucrative commodity that was the residents themselves. In exchange for the security, sustenance, and education of the resident, the family had to consent to subject their child to a regimen of “humane harvest,” as regulated by the South African Government. The regulation laws of Humane Harvest were written and put into effect, and soon after the compounds began to be built.

After a couple of years of the compounds steadily decreasing in annual enrollment, the government realized that they wouldn’t be able to sustain the compounds that were needed to protect the residents unless enrollment increased. The government then decided that the only way to save the compounds and increase enrollment was to offer the parents of afflicted children a valuable grant at the time of enrollment. This grant was equal to more than three years’ salary to most of the parents of the afflicted children. With the implementation of the grant process, enrollment quadrupled, and the compounds began thriving again.

Before Tabitha’s time, when the compounds were just getting established, many parents of albino children still felt uncomfortable sending their children to the compounds, and most would only actually consider it if their child was tangibly in harm’s way. Most of them sent their children only after it was too late; after they had lost a hand, or a foot, or an eye to a black market harvester. After a scare the parents would realize that their huts in the villages were unable to provide the level of security and safety that an albino child required. If harvest was inevitable, at least in the compounds they would harvest them humanely.

Tabitha considered herself lucky among the rest of the residents. Her birth parents had sold her to the compound before her memory began, and she had lived there in safety from the black market ever since. She was one of the only compound residents over the age of fourteen in the entire country that hadn’t been horribly mutilated in some way, victims of the atrocities of the black market harvesters.

“They don’t admit it or anything, but I’ve heard that they hired the same architect that designed the maximum security prison in Johannesburg to design Humanity,” Tabitha remembered Marguerite saying one Sunday morning as they discussed the history of Humanity, their compound. “But the walls are even thicker here.”

The breakfast bell rang. Tabitha stood up and walked into the dining hall as a small crowd of grade school residents ran together to the front of the line. Even living a life within these thick concrete walls, the children were happy enough. When they weren’t in school, they played soccer and skipped rope in the courtyard to pass the time, just like all the other children in the nearby villages would. But there was little else about the life of a child in the compounds that resembled the life of any other child. There was little about the children themselves that resembled any other children in the world.

Tabitha had lived at Humanity for her entire life, but had only been given access to the entire facility since Apartheid came to an end a few years earlier. Before Apartheid ended, the residents of “colored” descent, and the residents of “white” descent were kept in different facilities, although Tabitha thought it ironic since all the albino residents were technically the same color. Everywhere else in the world skin color meant so much for a person’s race, but in the compound, only in the fullness of your lips and the texture of your hair could your true origins be found. For a child that grew up in the compound, albinism was the only race they knew. The black children were the antonym of their race, the white children the extreme of theirs. They were minorities among minorities, a community of the colorless, but within these walls it didn’t seem that they were a minority at all.

C h a p t e r 
3

Anytha couldn’t help noticing that Camp congregation days seemed to be getting increasingly intense as of late. It seemed that Commissioner Inali’s sermons and decrees were becoming more passionate and powerful in the last few weeks. No matter what, Inali always seemed to have something fresh up his sleeve to amaze or shock the entire congregation. His unpredictable and charming nature drew thousands of people to the doors of their camp every week.

Commissioner Inali was a rising star in the Practice of Blue, being one of the most notably effective Starters in the country. He was the first colored man in the entire Practice to begin his Camp before Apartheid had even ended, and this fact alone drew members of all races— those looking to shake the heinous ties of racism—to the doors of his Camp. Inali was known for his booming voice that fit the liking of his large body perfectly. To Anytha, he stood what seemed like seven feet high, with dark skin and a shaved bald head. His arms bulged, looking bigger than most men’s thighs, and his broad shoulders and perfectly straight teeth made him a prize among the women of the camp. He was as handsome as they came: charismatic, poised, stylish and intelligent. His suits were tailored to perfection for his chiseled, muscular body, and he was never seen in public without one. Inali looked like both a preacher, and a male fitness model at the same time; his shear presence had the ability to suck the self-confidence out of the pit of anyone’s stomach.

However, as soon as he spoke to you, your confidence would return, stronger than before. Inali had a way of encouraging his camp members in a way that very few people could. His words were moving—full of wit and depth. His stories were entrancing, and his words were only made more beautiful by the person that spoke them. He was the type of human that one encounters rarely in a lifetime—so close to perfection in the eyes of so many, and yet seemingly humble, spending his valuable time speaking with as many camp members as possible throughout the week.

The auditorium where they heard Inali’s sermons was shaped like a white, concrete hemisphere, resembling a man-made hill rising out of the ground surrounded by white limestone.

The sun was hot in the sky today. For the first time in weeks, there were no rainclouds overhead. The bright parking lot circling the building’s perimeter shone back the heat of the day. Walking into the dim foyer of the auditorium took the stress of the sun off of Anytha’s eyes immediately.

Anytha and her parents walked through the front doors into the building, shaking hands with the decrees that were welcoming guests at the door and handing out brochures with announcements and recent events. The lights in the auditorium were dim, which usually meant that pyrotechnics or an intense drama must be on the agenda for the service. The music was loud in the auditorium, like something you would hear in a nightclub. There was a group of teenagers down in front of the stage, dancing uncaringly, as the beginning of the service approached and the rows in the auditorium filled up.

As was Anytha’s parents’ custom, they rushed to the front of the auditorium to make themselves known to the most important person in the room. Chester and Delah headed up to the stage to greet Commissioner Inali, and Anytha walked behind them. Inali opened out his arms at their approach, smiling widely at them.

“Ah, the beautiful Lindewe family has arrived! It is so good to see your smiling faces on this beautiful, cloudless day!” Inali boomed as he embraced Delah around her shoulders with one arm and grasped Chester’s hand firmly with the other. “Don’t you all look so lovely today?”

“Ah, always underdressed compared to you!” Chester replied humbly, looking at Anytha and gesturing for her to shake Inali’s hand.

“Pleasure to see you, Commissioner,” Anytha said, looking him straight in the eye. “I’m intrigued to see what might be in store for us today.”

“Well, I don’t think you will be disappointed. And, Anytha, I’m intrigued all the same, to see what you have in store for the entire Practice of Blue! Activation is right around the corner, right? Are you as excited to be an official member of the Practice as I am to have you on board?” Inali asked, tapping Anytha reassuringly on her upper arm.

“I am excited to finally be able to vote, yes, but I’m still nervous about all eyes being on me on Activation Day. I’m not used to holding all the attention like you!” Anytha said with a smile.

“Ah, that’s normal. The butterflies will leave you as soon as that clock strikes midnight. I’ll be there to cheer you on, too!” Inali said, turning his head and winking at Chester.

Anytha smiled wryly and looked at her father, who smiled back at her and raised his eyebrows. Commissioner Inali didn’t make a point to make it to every activation, only the ones of activees that he believed showed great promise of doing important works for the Practice. Anytha had always looked up to Inali as a father figure, seeing all that he did for the community—helping the poor, feeding the hungry, clothing the homeless. It seemed that all of Chester’s boasting of his precious daughter over the years had indeed made a huge impact on Inali’s impression of her. Anytha felt her nerves flood her mind, and the muscles in her throat tightened at this new thought of Inali himself being at her activation.

She was flattered, there was no doubt, but now instead of dozens of eyes being focused on her on Activation Day, she could expect hundreds. It was known that the activations that Inali attended were the rowdiest and most highly attended of them all. Inali was known to tell stories, or put on elaborate shows, and the attendees’ inebriated state did nothing to dull the effects of the mystifying quality of his performance. She was now happier than ever that the dress she chose was one of the most conservative ones in the store.

Chester and Delah laid their hands on Inali’s shoulders and said a quick blessing over him. Inali closed his eyes as if receiving the blessing into his soul. They tapped the places where their hands had laid, and slid them off, saying goodbye to the commissioner and heading off to their seats. The family settled into the movie theatre-style seats and prepared their minds for the service, taking in the stage and sounds, breathing deeply.