Sekaye (REVISED EDITION)

CHAPTER ONE

"Famba!", walk, he spits viciously, his voice unsympathetic and impatient.

The sound of a baby crying interrupts the continuous sound of bodies laying against the caramel sand beneath them. A shade hidden by the darkness of midnight.

I feel the person in front of me lay on the ground. My nervous feet shuffle. The time to be unsure had come and pass, and I had missed the chance to back out.

Even with adjusted eyes, knowing my surroundings is impossible.

An irritated hand meets my damp dress and pushes me forward. I immediately bend down and lay against the caramel sand. It attaches itself to my damp body and clumps itself thereafter.

My left arm pushes my body forward, the load of my thatch bag hitting the side of my body as my right leg follows.

The crawl against the ground continues, I ignore the rocks that pierce my body and the dust thrown into my face by a man clad in gumboots, crawling in front of me.

With my lips held inwards I pray my face does not meet the sole of his gumboots, as I near closer and closer to the fence. The rough sound of my thatch bag dragging along, accompanying the sound of grunts, sighs and whimpers.

The dim light of a cell phone emerges, and fades. It drifts against the ocean of bodies crawling in front of me, their backs rising and falling with every heave forward.

My arms tire and I lose the feeling of my right hand, holding the arm of the thatch bag tightly.

I pause momentarily, the hard sound of my heartbeat fills my ears. I take a deep breathe in, and in turn welcome the sand that has accompanied the cold air that I inhaled.

"Fambisa man!", faster man,an unknown voice hisses behind me.

My lips quiver on the verge of releasing tears. I must move forward, I cannot give up. With a heavy sigh, my quivering arm continues. Pulling my fatigued body forward.

A crawl closer to Johannesburg.

I near the light of the cell phone, only an arms reach away, my heartbeat picks up its pace. Adjacent to the feeling of a horse's hooves, pounding the ground beneath it, my heart does the same. Beating at an incredible pace, a rhythmic pound against my chest.

The dim light of the cell phone illuminates the circular wires of the fence, thorned with spikes almost waiting to meet my body, jagged in all directions.

His thickly gloved hand pulling the fence up slightly. Unable to see his face I gaze forward at the space in front of me. My panicked eyes realize its impossible for my thatch bag to fit through.

"Siya bhegi rako", leave your bag, his husky voice says flatly.

Internal sirens ring and panic flares.

"Ntshadzi ndapho-", brother I beg.

"Ntshadzi chi? Ndiphe bhegi!", what brother? Give me your bag, he interrupts and rips the bag out of my swollen hand entirely.

Before my ears can settle on the sound of my bag hitting the dry bushes that surround us, his rough fingers jab my shoulder and force me forward.

I swallow the grief that hits, all that I have left and hold dear is in that bag.

All that's left of me, is that bag.

Resigned hands and legs push themselves forward and underneath the wired fence, knowing that even the slightest rise of my back would result in my dress getting caught in the wire and no amount of dollars could save me from such a demise.

I try ignore the tornado of grief causing destruction in my mind. Lifting all of my thoughts in a whirlwind, spinning all at once, chaotic and wild. Demanding to be felt, ready to release, and leave its chaotic aftermath in the form of tears on my dust clad face.

I near the end of the hole made in the boarder fence, another cell phone light meets me.

My final heave forward is interrupted, doubting the worst I try again and simultaneously say a prayer.

Right arm forward and fist clenched, my attempt fails and my prayer is unheard. My dress has latched onto one of the spikes of the fence.

The tornado collapses and the tears erupt.

I wail and clutch onto the sand beneath me, I pray for relief, for death to absolve me.

In that very moment, to be lifted out of my worn out body and fly away. Away from the grief, and anger, away from the rough malaicha's, away from the zombie like Zimbabweans around me, souls emptied by circumstantial misery.

Lord take me, take me now.

And indeed I am taken, hard hands clasp a hard grip onto my frail arms and heave me forward. Unheeding toward the rip of my Confirmation dress, the soar of the spike into my left leg, the immediate trickle of blood down my sand encrusted leg and the rocks prodding against my chest as I'm pulled out and forward into South Africa.

Onward and upward, right Sekaye?, my mind mocks.

The hard hands release their grip and chuck me into the sea of drowsy eyes that drown me with their sympathy. I mumble for darkness to be my solace, to cast blindness on the shame of being caught in a fence whilst boarder jumping and having nothing but a tainted note and a few coins.

"Sa chema mwanangu", don't cry my child, a crouching woman beside me says as she lays a hand on my back.

She pulls me toward her and guides my head toward her chest where it rests for a few minutes whilst another person tends to the cut on my leg. I close my eyes tightly toward the singe of her 'Zambia' being wrapped around my leg as a form of bandaging.

I wish I could remain in that position, finding comfort in a stranger's motherly instincts, never having known the kindness of my own mother, a stranger to me as well.

Instead I escape the harsh reality with a dream, and for a moment I find peace.