‘Oh, I wish I had just one thick slice of bread,’ Nokwazi muttered.

  There had been no food in the house that morning.  The last of the bread had been shared out among them the previous evening and Makhulu’s meagre pension was only to be paid the following day.   His mother’s cleaning job at a small company in nearby Johannesburg brought in very little money.  Nokwazi knew that if it were not for Makulu’s pension they wouldn’t be able to survive.

  It was an overcast day in early June.  Twelve-year-old Nokwazi, hungry, cold and miserable, made his way along the dusty road to school half a kilometre from his home.  He was tall for his age and very thin.

  He lived with his mother, four-year-old sister, Phinda, and Makhulu, his aged grandmother, in a one-roomed iron shanty on the outskirts of Soweto.  No one knew the whereabouts of his father who had left them shortly before Phinda was born.  Some people said he was in jail, while others insisted he had left the country for one of the neighbouring states.

  Nokwazi shivered and pulled the sleeves of his thin jersey down over his hands to try and keep them warm against the bitter cold.  He lowered his head to protect his face from the wind that stung his cheeks.  Cooking smells coming from the houses along the way made his empty stomach complain noisily.

  Two days before Phinda had been sick and most of the little money that was left had to be used to buy medicine.  Nokwazi remembered with shame how, last month, when Makhulu had lain ill and weak on the bed, he had prayed she would not die – for they needed her pension to survive.

  Phinda was always sick.  In winter it was the dust from the streets and the freezing cold weather, and in the summer – if no rains came – the dust was still there.  It hung suspended in their room and covered everything with a fine red film.  He often lay under the blanket at night listening as Phinda gasped for breath between bouts of coughing that racked her thin frame.  Sometimes when it seemed as though the coughing would never cease, he would lie hoping she could stop long enough to breathe.  He found himself taking in long gulps of air as if to help her.

  Once Mama had taken her to the big hospital in Soweto.  They had sat and waited for several hours until their turn came to see the doctor, who merely glanced at her and said she needed food.    But he did not explain where the money could be found to buy the food.

  Phinda spent most of each day huddled on the floor under a blanket in a corner of the shanty.  Nokwazi often felt her large dark eyes on him.  She hardly ever smiled or spoke, but her eyes haunted him.  ‘Please help me,’ they seemed to say.  ‘Please take away this cough and give me food.’  A lump would come into his throat and he would turn his head away and hunch his shoulders in helplessness, for there was nothing, nothing, he could do for her.

  It seemed to Nokwazi that he too was always hungry.  How he longed for a large plate of hot food.  He often dreamt about food; large plates piled high with porridge topped with thick pieces of meat and vegetables.

  Dispiritedly, he continued on his way.

  Finally he reached the school and walked quickly into the grounds which were already crowded with chattering children.  He saw his best friend, Impuku, coming towards him.  Impuku was impish and mouse-like, looking more like an eight-year-old than his twelve years.

  Nokwazi suddely stopped and stared at Impuku, his mouth dropping open with amazement.  On Impuku’s feet was a new pair of tackies which contrasted greatly with his torn trousers and almost worn-out faded blue jersey.

  ‘Where did you get those shoes?’ gasped Nokwazi.

  ‘Shhhh!’ hissed Impuku.  ‘They were given to me.’

  ‘Given to you?’

  ‘Yes.  Yesterday afternoon I was standing outside the large shopping centre and I saw a man on the corner selling some small packages to people passing by.  He called me over to him and said if I whistled when I saw a policeman coming, he’d give me a present.’

  Nokwazi caught his breath.

  ‘I did what he asked and saw a policeman and whistled,’ added Impuku.  ‘When he had sold all his packages he went into the shop and bought me these shoes.’  He lifted up a foot and pointed to the heel.  ‘Look, the price is still on, R19,99!  He told me to tell no one about him and to come back again this afternoon and he’ll give me five rand.’

  ‘You mean that’s all you had to do?’ Nokwazi’s eyes had grown large with surprise and excitement.

  Impuku nodded and looked down admiringly at his new shoes.

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ insisted Nokwazi.

  His heart began to beat furiously.  Maybe he too would be given five rand to watch out for a policeman.

  ‘All right,’ agreed Impuku, ‘if you help me and he doesn’t pay you, I’ll give you two rand.’

  Nokwazi grabbed Impuku’s hand and shook it in the traditional way by first shaking his hand, then grabbing his thumb and shaking his hand again.

  Impuku laughed.  ‘You are my friend and friends share the good times as well as the bad.’

  After school the boys made their way to the shopping centre, not quite a kilometre away.  The sky had cleared and the wind had dropped.  The warm sun helped to make their spirits rise even more.  As usual the roads were busy.  Buses and taxis enveloped them in a cloud of red dust as they sped past.  Children laughed and chatted happily while they made their way home.

  The shopping centre, which consisted of a collection of shops selling anything from sewing needles to furniture, was crowded with people.  At the front of the centre was a large car park.  It was packed to capacity, and a steady stream of people were walking either to or from their cars.

  Though Nokwazi had been there many times before, he had never realised how impossible it would be to find someone amongst the mass of cars and people.

  ‘How will you be able to find this man?’ he asked Impuku.

  Impuku smiled knowingly.  ‘Come!’  He took Nokwazi’s arm and led the way to a corner of the building close to a bus terminus.  He stopped and looked anxiously around.  Then his face dropped.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Nokwazi wanted to know.  Fearing the worst he added, ‘He’s not here?’

  Before Impuku could answer an angry voice came from behind them.  ‘I told you to tell no one!’

  They turned and Nokwazi caught his breath and a great fear came over him when he saw a tall, well-dressed, very dark man with an angry expression on his face.  His eyes bored into Nokwazi’s.

  ‘He….he…he’s my friend,’stammered Impuku, ‘and he wants to help.’

   A cold feeling of dread spread through Nokwazi’s body and his legs began to tremble.  His first thought was to run away, but he was too stunned to move.  Instead he stared pleadingly up at the man.

Gateway is published by Paul Edmund Norman on the first day of each month. Hosting is by Flying Porcupine at www.flyingporcupine.com - and web design by Gateway. Submitting to Gateway: Basically, all you need do is e-mail it along and I'll consider it - it can be any length, if it's very long I'll serialise it, if it's medium-length I'll put it in as a novella, if it's a short story or a feature article it will go in as it comes. Payment is zero, I'm afraid, as I don't make any money from Gateway, I do it all for fun! For Advertising rates in Gateway please contact me at paulenorman@yahoo.co.uk Should you be kind enough to want to send me books to review, please contact me by e-mail and I will gladly forward you my home address. Meanwhile, here's how to contact me: paulenorman@yahoo.co.uk

Web hosting and domain names from Vision Internet