Scarred Lions (3 page)

Outside the airport terminal Lwazi stopped for a moment and looked around, trying to find his way. I reckoned he didn’t come there often. But he wasn’t lost. Within seconds he had his wits about him and headed for a parking garage.

‘Aren’t we going to take the Underground?’ I asked.

‘The what?’ frowned André. Simoshile looked questioningly at Lwazi. She didn’t know what I was talking about either. Lwazi shrugged.

‘The train. The underground train.’

‘Oh that!’ said Lwazi. ‘There isn’t one.’

How could it be? I wondered. From the air Johannesburg seemed like such a big and bustling city, surely they would need an underground rail system.

Then Lwazi added, ‘Not at the moment. But they are busy building one right now. They call it the Gautrain. You are now in the province of Gauteng. So, the train would be named after the province.’

‘So people just drive to wherever they want to be?’ I asked.

‘No,’ answered Lwazi. ‘There are trains of course, but they run above ground. And if you have to travel very far, you could catch a plane. Lots of people get around in their cars or in taxis. You will soon see them.’

Lwazi paid at a parking station, and we headed for the car.

I saw Simoshile stealing quick glances in my direction every now and again. Was something wrong? I looked down to make sure my fly was done up. It was. I shook my head. It was probably nothing.

André talked a lot. He spoke English with a strange accent.

‘I’m Afrikaans,’ explained André. ‘It is my home language. But I speak English as well. And a little bit of isiZulu. Not much though, just enough to get me into trouble,’ he grinned.

Three languages! How is that possible?

‘That’s nothing,’ said Simoshile. ‘I speak isiZulu and English. And bits of Afrikaans, isiXhosa and siSwati.’ She too had a strange accent, but it differed from André’s.

‘How many languages do you have in South Africa?’ I asked.

‘Eleven official languages,’ said Simoshile before André could answer.

‘Show off,’ was all he managed to get out.

I only spoke English. How could these people get by with so many languages without getting totally confused? No wonder they all had these strange accents. Come to think of it, my English probably sounded strange to them as well.

We reached the car. It was a 4x4 off-road vehicle with twin cabs. Lwazi packed my suitcases in the back of the vehicle. André and I got in on the backseat. Simoshile jumped in at the front next to Lwazi.

As Lwazi started the vehicle, I felt a tiredness washing over me. There was still a distant fear lingering somewhere within me. Fear of the unknown. But there was also a faint spark of excitement. In the coming days I would learn that this excitement was to burn brightly at times. But there would be other times when it was to fade away completely.

We made our way out of the airport grounds and were immediately caught up in the bustle of Johannesburg’s hectic traffic. They too drove on the left side of the road, like we do in England. Some of the people around us drove like madmen. Huge trucks slowed down the traffic. Most of them kept to the left lanes, while other cars overtook on the right.

I read the road signs. We were on the Pretoria road. All around the highway there were businesses, factories and what Simoshile called ‘townhouse complexes’. This was where people lived in apartments of varying sizes, with the whole complex surrounded by security walls topped with electric fences.

I soon realized that these people were crazy about security. They had security cameras, fences, walls, security guards, burglar-proofing on all windows, security gates, security doors and alarms.

Shocking!

I thought back to the flat windows in London that would be boxed with metal frames and mesh iron when it was left unoccupied. That kept people from breaking in, but what I saw in Johannesburg was a hundred times worse.

It was as if they had built themselves these little prisons to live in.

Minibus taxis whizzed by us on the highway. They were almost always overcrowded with nine or more occupants. They didn’t seem to care much for the rules of the road.

We were driving north, I think. We kept on the road they called the N1, passing through a toll once. Then the scenery changed suddenly. The buildings fell away. There were more open spaces around us, dotted with trees and covered in grasslands. Again some buildings appeared, then a place that made my throat tighten.

‘It’s a squatter camp,’ said Simoshile, pointing to the dilapidated shacks. I had
seen something similar from the air as we were about to land. And now I was right next to one. The shacks were built with zinc metal sheets and pieces of wood. In places there was plastic covering small windows. Some shacks didn’t even have windows. Roofs were kept down with rocks. From where I was sitting it seemed terrible. How could people live in these conditions every day?

The children playing around the ramshackle houses seemed happy though. Their faces were dirty, their clothes worn, but they were happy as only kids can be. Was it because they didn’t know any better?

Why was it so filthy and overcrowded? Why did people allow this to happen?

Then a thought suddenly struck me: I still didn’t know where exactly we were heading. What if I was about to be dropped off here? What if my dad lived here in one of these shacks? It was a terrifying thought.

Silently I prayed that the car wouldn’t stop here or even slow down slightly.
Drive on! Just drive on!
a voice screamed inside me.

We drove past the squatter camp. I felt terribly ashamed. I realized I had stared into the bleak face of poverty. And I wanted nothing to do with it. Little did I realize that I was not the only one. The world was full of people just like me. People who didn’t give a damn about things like this just because they didn’t have to stare it in the face every day.

Before I realised it I had fallen asleep. It had been a tiring day and I just couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. With the soft drone of the 4x4’s engine in my ears, I dreamt of living in a place where I felt at home. All the tension of the last few hours faded away.

It was already late afternoon when I woke up. The sun was shining in my face. I heard voices. André and Simoshile were bickering over something.

‘Ah, look! The sleeping princess has woken!’ said André teasingly, turning his head my way. ‘And just in time too. I was
about to get something to drink. You want anything?’

I stared around. We were in a small town, at a shopping centre, built almost in a U-shape. Cars were parked all around in the middle. ‘I’ll go with you,’ I said, yawning. ‘I need to stretch my legs.’

‘Then I’m coming too,’ said Simoshile, jumping out of the vehicle.

‘Don’t take too long,’ said Lwazi, as he headed in another direction. ‘I just need to get some things for Mama Unahti’s kitchen. Be back in fifteen minutes!’

The town was called Bela-Bela.

‘It’s famous for the hot springs in the town centre,’ said André. ‘Just a place for a bunch of old ladies to hang about gossiping, if you ask me,’ he added. Until very recently Bela-Bela had apparently been called Warmbaths.

We entered the store. It was way smaller than the Tesco I was used to. The products on the shelves were also different. But one surely wasn’t …

‘Coke okay for you?’ asked André, already standing at the opened refrigerator door.

I nodded, enjoying the fleeting coolness wafting out of the fridge. The South African summers were a lot hotter than those in London.

André bought himself a magazine called NAG. It had topics ranging from games and computers to new technology. I watched him handing the money over to the cashier. That was another thing I would have to get used to: a new currency. Rand. The four cans of Coke and the magazine came to R67.96. That’s a little over £6, I worked out in my head.

We were soon back on the road. Another half hour drive took us to a dirt road branching off from the tarmac road.
Now I knew why they needed an off-road vehicle. We bumped around, heading on, but it didn’t seem to bother the others.

‘Do you see there?’ asked André, pointing to a mountain range in the distance. I nodded. ‘It’s the Waterberg Mountains.’ I stared at the solid-looking green and brown mountain, its jagged edges cutting across the sky.

A further fifteen minute drive brought us to a magnificent wooden gate, winged by a stone wall stretching out to the sides. A sign read: Isigubhu. And below it in smaller letters: Drum.

A uniformed security guard opened the gate. He obviously knew Lwazi, André and Simoshile. He waved us through, smiling.

‘Ngiyabonga!’ shouted Lwazi through his opened window. It probably meant ‘thank you’. But I wasn’t too sure. The guard nodded and lifted his hand.

We drove on a bit further. There was an incessant buzz in the air. I didn’t know
what it was but it seemed to come from the trees or the grass or somewhere. André and Simoshile didn’t seem to notice it at all.

We eventually reached a cluster of stone buildings with high thatched roofs set off against the backdrop of the Waterberg Mountains. The main building was simple but quite impressive. It had large windows and huge wooden doors covered with intricately carved animals. Flanking the spacious, tiled veranda were over-sized clay pots with water spilling over the edges. Two other buildings flanked the larger one. A sign at the door of one of them read Curio Shop. The other one was a spa and beauty salon. The buildings were all interlinked by a magnificent garden filled with flowers. The cool green of the trees looked inviting. I was suddenly reminded of the parks in London. But this garden was somehow different, more natural and earthly.

‘Welcome to your new home!’ said Lwazi as he parked in the shade near the main building.

‘What is this place?’ I asked.

‘Don’t you know?’ he smiled. ‘It’s a game reserve.’

‘Is this where I’m going to live?’

‘Well, not in here exactly. You might get in the way of all the tourists passing through. You’ll stay at your dad’s chalet in the employee part of the resort. It is a bit further down the road. More private.’

My mind started racing again. I’m going to live in a game reserve. Was that a good or a bad thing? I didn’t really know. I looked around to see if there were any animals around. Should I be afraid? I hadn’t had much contact with animals. A cat or a dog here and there. Perhaps a bird. But I’d never had one of my own.

Animals. Wild animals.

Yeah, that was something to be scared of, of course! And I’m going to live here …
Mum never said anything about animals. Did she want to keep it as a surprise?

André and Simoshile jumped out of the vehicle. They seemed quite at ease. Not afraid at all.

‘Do you like it?’ asked André.

‘Of course he does!’ said Simoshile.

I nodded, trying to look brave, but I was scared as hell. I’d seen the Discovery Channel. I knew what wild animals could do. I’d probably need a cricket bat or some kind of weapon to protect me, should some wild thing come charging from the bushes.

Bushes!

There were lots of bushes around. And trees. Animals could be hiding anywhere.

‘This place is the best!’ said André.

Simoshile must have sensed my apprehension. ‘Hey, it will be all right. You’ll see.’ Her voice was soft and calm. ‘You don’t have to be afraid.’

As soon as she said that, I felt calmness slowly washing over me. I guess she was right. Perhaps I was just being silly.

‘Oh! Is he here?’ I heard somebody cry. A large woman with a colourful
animal-print
dress and matching headscarf came storming out of the building and down the steps. Her arms were outstretched, fingers spread wide and palms open. ‘My boy! My boy!’ she cried. Her whole body seemed to shiver with excitement. Her eyes wide and lively, a smile as big as a sickle moon.

Before I knew it, she grabbed me, first by the shoulders saying, ‘Let me look at you!’ Then she pulled me closer to her more than generous bosom, enveloping me totally. She had a sweet smell, as if the scent of the flowers in the garden had rubbed off on her.

‘Unjani? Unjani?’ she hummed. ‘How are you?’

I was totally taken aback. I stood there in her embrace, not knowing what to do. Who was this woman? Am I supposed to know her? What should I do? Hug her back?

‘Welcome home, Buyisiwe,’ she said. ‘You have returned at last.’

‘Um, hallo,’ was all I could manage to say when she let go of me.

‘My name is Unahti, but everyone calls me Mama,’ she said proudly.

‘Mama Unahti runs the kitchen,’ said Simoshile, giving her a hug.

‘And everything else as well if you give her half a chance!’ teased André.

‘Hey suka!’ she cried, pretending to be cross but seemingly loving it. ‘Don’t pay any attention to this naughty boy, Buyi. He’ll just get you into trouble.’

‘But Mama would get me out of trouble again. She always does,’ said André.

She smiled as she rolled her eyes, then her gaze once again fixed on me. ‘Oh you’re so sweet, Buyi! I could just eat you!’ she cried again, pinching my cheek.

I was glad none of the bullies at my old school were here to witness all this. I could just imagine myself becoming the butt of every joke. There’s Buyi. He’s so sweet, you could just eat him!

That was sure to get your ass kicked a few times.

‘Let’s get you something to eat, Buyi. Are you hungry?’

‘Yeah, starving.’

‘I thought so. I made some lovely –’

But Mama Unahti didn’t get to finish her sentence. Just as we were about to head
up the steps to the main building, we heard a car approaching.

Or rather, it was another off-road vehicle. Green, with dusty tyres. At the open back there were a number of seats, all filled with exhausted looking people. Tourists, it seemed. Two blackmen were sitting at the front.

‘Oh, look,’ said Mama Unahti. ‘Your dad is here.’

It was the strangest feeling, meeting my dad for the second time. Okay, the first time it wasn’t really him, it was Lwazi. But now there was no mistaking it anymore. My stomach churned. I felt jittery. From the look on the driver’s face I knew it was him: Themba.

He looked smart in his khaki uniform. The long-sleeved shirt rolled up over his muscled forearms. Leather shoes and wide brimmed hat. His face was strong, square jaw, dark eyes. We looked very much alike.

He must have noticed me standing there. He nodded from afar in my direction
as he helped the tourists off the vehicle. His eyes continuously darted back to me.

Should I run up to him, and hug him like Mama had hugged me? Or should I wait for him to approach me?

When the tourists started chattering amongst themselves, looking at each other’s digital photos on their cameras, Themba excused himself. As he approached, my heart beat faster and faster. This was the first time I would ever see him up-close in real life. He was part of me, but I didn’t know him at all. He was as much of a stranger as all the people I had met that day: Lwazi, André, Simoshile, and Mama Unahti.

But this stranger’s life was connected to mine. He was my father.

With his hat in his hand he stood before me. Looking at me. He blinked once, twice. His face taut.

I felt my mouth go dry. I didn’t know what to expect from him. I made myself
ready for an embrace like the one Mama gave me. But it didn’t come. He just held out his hand and in a strong voice said, ‘Hallo, Buyisiwe.’ That was all. No hugs. No smile. Just a distant hallo. I shook his hand like Lwazi did with me earlier. Shake, thumb, shake.

‘Hi.’ Should I call him Dad? Or Themba? ‘Themba …’

He didn’t correct me, so I guess it was okay with him.

Mama Unahti must have sensed the uneasy tension between us. With a loud voice she called, ‘I was just about to get the boy something to eat. Why don’t you join him, Themba? You two must have loads to talk about.’

‘I can’t right now, Unahti. I have to see to the guests.’ His eyes darted back to mine, void of emotion.

Was he at all glad to see me?

‘You’ll be okay won’t you, Buyisiwe? I’ll see you later.’ He dug in his pocket and removed a key. ‘This will let you into the chalet. Lwazi will take you. It’s not far. You can actually walk there, but you probably have some baggage?’ I nodded. ‘Good … well then …’

With that he turned around and made his way back to the guests. Their excitement had still not died down. I could hear their laughter ringing, even as we stepped into the building.

Mama Unahti gently placed her hand around my shoulder. ‘I’ve got some
mouth-watering
dessert, too,’ she said.

I tried not to think about the hurt surging inside me.

Mama Unahti, I soon found out, believed that all sorrows can be drowned out by food. I was so stuffed when Lwazi finally dropped me off at my dad’s chalet.

I stood at the front door for a moment, looking around. It was a neat, brick building with a thatched roof. To the side there was a brick wall encircling what looked like an entertainment area with some tables, chairs and a fireplace. There was no garden. If it wasn’t for the narrow cement slab and a small clearing running around the building, the bush would have almost reached right up to the chalet. Only some trees were left standing in the clearing, their cool shade falling across the brown earth.

Lwazi helped me with the baggage. I unlocked the front door. As I stepped inside the mellow scent of the thatched roof stopped me in my tracks for a moment. I looked around. This was my new home. Two bedrooms, a kitchen, bathroom and a sitting area right in the centre of it all. The place was immaculately clean. Nothing like the place where Mum and I lived. Against one of the walls the head of a dead animal glared down at me. Its black eyes sent a shiver down my back. It was some sort of antelope. Towering horns curling up to the ceiling.

‘I think this might be your room,’ said Lwazi. He carried my suitcases inside.

I followed him. The room was spacious enough. I opened the closet. It was bare, with ample place for my clothes and stuff. A small desk and chair stood against the wall. I tested the single bed standing near the window. It felt comfortable, as did the two pillows.

‘You seem right at home!’ smiled Lwazi. ‘I have to get going. I’m joining André’s dad, Johan, on a night safari. He’s a game ranger just like your dad.’

‘And you?’ I asked.

‘I’m a tracker.’

I frowned. ‘Tracker?’

‘I track animals. I go along looking for tracks, and other signs. It helps the ranger find the animals far more easily. The tourists find it exciting too. It is easy to get caught up in the tension of tracking an animal.’

I smiled half-heartedly. I couldn’t imagine tracking animals being fun.

‘Keep the windows closed, Buyi,’ said Lwazi as he left. ‘Baboons sometimes get nosy. They might rearrange the whole house for you if you’re not careful. They’ll eat anything they can lay their hands on. Even go rummaging through your fridge!’

What!

‘And … and other animals? Will I be safe here on my own?’

‘There’s no need to worry. Animals are usually more afraid of you than you are of them. You might see some around. Perhaps an impala or two. Maybe even some warthogs. It is getting dark. That’s the time some animals like to go out hunting or grazing. Especially if there’s a full moon in the sky.’

With that he left, shouting, ‘Sala khale!’ over his shoulder. ‘Keep well!’

I was suddenly all alone. Darkness was starting to creep into the house. I switched on all the lights, thankful that there was at least electricity here. I needed some noise. Noise! Or else I would go mad.

Switch on the TV. That always helps. Having the drone of voices and music around. Flickering images to keep you company.

I walked through the house a couple of times. I looked everywhere, even opening up some closets.

There was no TV!

This is insane, I thought. How could it be? Surely they must have heard of television before? Yes of course, there was one in the lounge at the main building. I’d noticed it in passing earlier, as I followed Mama Unahti. But none in the chalet. I’m going to die here, I thought. If not in the jaws of some wild animal, then from boredom.

No TV!

A sudden shrill sound shattered the silence around me. A telephone! I was so glad to hear that irritating ring that I ran right over and answered it.

‘Hi there, Buyi!’

‘Mum!’ I was so relieved to hear a familiar voice.

‘How are you?’

‘I’m fine, I guess. And you?’

‘Missing you, of course. The place feels so empty without you. How was the flight?’

We talked and talked. I told Mum about the trip here, everything I’d seen, the people I’d met.

‘And how’s your father? Are you getting along?’

‘He’s great,’ I lied. I didn’t want Mum to worry about me.

‘Well then,’ she said eventually, ‘I probably have to say goodbye now. Love you, my boy.’

‘Love you too, Mum,’ I said, biting back the tears.