changed lives - a fictional short story set in real modern africa

7/28/2019 Changed Lives - A fictional short story set in real modern Africa

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Framingham State College

Framingham, Ma

Changed Lives

A fictional short story set in real modern Africa

Giovanni Nanni

([email protected])

History and Literature A World View

May 2003


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Im Mukeke Nbwe. My world turned upside down when I was twelve years old.

At that time I was living with my family of two brothers, Mundungo and Kwainy, my sister

Dwila, and my father and mother, Bnuye and Uyawa. We were living in a rural region of

Sharpeville, a township south of Johannesburg, South Africa. Our family had been living in that

land for many decades, and most of our relatives saw all the changes that the white colonialists

brought upon our customs and traditions. Many of my relatives now lived in poor conditions. But

our family was blessed for we had a hard, but somewhat comfortable life. We had a small farm

where we lived and worked trying to make ends meet.

My father was a simple but strong man. He worked hard on the corn and wheat fields so he

could provide us a reasonable life. Times were hard. My mother also helped our family survive by

sewing for our neighbors. She was known in the neighborhood as a very skilled and fair person.

Many times my mother talked to us about how proud we should be about our origins and race. She

never let us feel down about the problems. No matter how hard life was, my mother lived it fully.

Her perennial optimism infused us and nurtured our aspirations. My father and mother repeatedly

said that they wanted all their children to grow in intelligence and do well in their lives. They

believed in the power of education and always supported and encouraged our studies.

My older brother Mundungo, who at that time was eighteen years old, was finishing his high

school education. He looked like a king: tall, strong, with a calm but decided expression. He knew

what he wanted, and he wanted to be a lawyer. He heard Mr. Mandela speaking a few times on the

radio in favor of civil rights and against Apartheid. These speeches made him wonder how he could

help change the living conditions of many friends and relatives. He knew that many of his friends

were not as blessed as he was, for he had a place to live, a farm to work and a family that always

supported him. Mundungo believed that if he could become a lawyer, he would fight to change

unfair laws so our lives and the lives of his friends would improve greatly.

Giovanni Nanni / History and Literature A World View / Paper 3 / Option B-3

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My sixteen years old brother Kwainy, believed in the power of medicine. He dreamt about

how he could improve the lives of many sick people. He thought of sick people because he had two

friends in school with serious health problems. He complained many times to father about the fact

that his friends family could not afford a good doctor. Kwainy mentioned repeatedly to our mother

that he wanted to be a doctor so he could eradicate sickness. He had a heart the size of South Africa.

Everyone could fit in it. Kwainy looked like an angel. He was handsome, with an expression that

revealed his passion for the welfare of his friends and family. Kwainy was generous and benevolent.

He did not accept the fact that he could be happy and his friends could not. Those problems made

him suffer a little. He could not grow fast enough to start to help others.

Dwila and I were twins. My sister looked like a wild cat. She was slender but strong. She

was very agile and smart. Nobody could beat her in a race. I never won her for I was plumper and

shorter than she. We were in middle school by that time. Since we lived in a small town, many

relatives were in the same class with us. We saw and heard from them that their lives were very

hard. Sometimes poorer cousins talked about leaving school because they had to work to help at

home. When we heard that, we tried to convince them to stay in school. Unfortunately, some of

them did leave school to work. As young teenagers we liked to play and walk around in the village

with our friends and cousins. Many times we could not play much because we had to help my

mother and father in their work. However, at the end of the day, our parents let us go around to talk

and play with our friends.

Dwila was learning how to sew and cook. She was very meticulous with her sewing because

she wanted to sew like my mother. She said that when she was able to do more sewing, our mother

would not have to work so much anymore. I also liked to help. I liked to go to the farm with my

father and my brothers. I paid very close attention to my brothers and my father working on the

farm. I wanted to learn how to sow corn and wheat seeds. I also wanted to learn how to milk the


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cow and the goat. I liked life in the country. I thought of becoming a veterinarian or agronomic

engineer. If I could do that, my father would not have to work so hard.

Everything was going well for me and my family until that day. It was an ordinary Monday.

With a lazy start, everybody in the village was going about their business. The shops in the village

were open, and we could smell the fresh aroma of the fruits and vegetables in the market.

For my family however, that was the last day of the life we had known.

After many years of civil struggle and Apartheid policy growing stronger in South Africa,

my father and mother decided to enlist in the PAC, the Pan Africanist Congress that was fighting

civil injustices committed against the black population. The PAC, along with the ANC (African

National Congress), did not accept the laws that the National Party government, led by H. F.

Verwoerd, was imposing upon the black population. My father had discussed with us about the

unfairness of the treatment black people were receiving and the PACs plans to have a peaceful

demonstration in downtown Sharpeville.

At that time the PACs president was Mr. R. M. Sobukwe. He was organizing a protest

against the Pass Law, which required that all black people should have a identification with them at

all times. The pass included a photograph, details of place of origin, employment record, tax

payments, and encounters, if any, with the police. If a black individual did not have the pass, the

person, male of female, would be arrested. My father told us that Mr. Sobukwe had written a letter

to the police commissioner about the demonstration and that it would be peaceful, disciplined, and

organized. Unfortunately, it did not happen that way.

My father, Mundungo, Kwainy, and me worked hard on the weekend to prepare for the five

days of PAC protests. In the same fashion, my mother and Dwila hurried with the house chores and

the sewing so my mother could participate in the protests with my father and Mundungo. We talked


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about all the possible changes that the protests could bring and the improvements in everyones

lives. We were so excited about the future ahead and the many possibilities.

On the morning of the first day of protest (March 21, 1960), my father, my mother, and my

oldest brother, Mundungo, woke up early and started to get ready for the activities related to the

PAC. When they were half way done with their preparations, my mother woke Kwainy, Dwila and

me so we could get ready for the school day. We all had a joyful breakfast with fruits, corn bread,

wild fruit jam, and goat milk. My father and my brother discussed plans for the day, while my

mother spoke to us about how we should behave in school and come back home promptly at the end

of the classes. When everybody was ready to go, we walked together to the school where my sister

and I studied. My father and mother, Mundungo, and Kwainy said goodbye to us and went their

way. That was the last time I spoke to my father and Mundungo.

What happened after that, I did not see personally. However, my mother told us while she

was recovering from her wounds.

After they left us in the school, they went to Kwainys school and left him there. Then, My

father, my mother, and Mundungo marched to downtown Sharpeville to join the protesters that were

gathering in front of the police station. When they got there, Mr. Sobukwe was rallying the crowd to

contain their anger and refrain from violence while using peace as a tool of protest. Banners and

posters against the Pass Laws were distributed to the protesters. Everyone in the crowd was sure

about the reason they were gathering together. The injustices and social inequality against the black

South Africans were too much. My parents and Mundungo were fighting a good fight, and they

were hoping to win.

When the protesters started the demonstration, the police fired their weapons at the

protesters. My mother told us that because our father, Mundungo, and she were near to the front of

the crowd, they could not avoid what happened to them.


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By the time the shots were fired, an enormous commotion started among the people in the

protest. My mother remember hearing shots and people starting to cry and run. My father looked at

her and said to both my mother and brother that they should try to find a safe place until the

mayhem ended. When they started to run, my brother fell on the ground motionless. My mother

then screamed which caught my fathers attention. When he turned back, my father saw Mundungo

on the ground. A pool of blood was forming beneath his head. My brother was fatally injured by a

gunshot in the neck. My mother screamed in desperation. My father tried to carry Mundungo out of

the middle of the confusion. He urged my mother to follow him and that she should try to walk low

so she would not be hurt by any gunshot.

My mother said that after that, she did not recall all the events that occurred perfectly. She

recalls that my father raised my brother from the ground and started to walk towards a small shop

right across from were they were. Suddenly my father screamed, and he also fell in the ground on

top of my brother. My mother did not know what had happened to my father. She approached him

and noticed that he was struggling to breath. She then noticed that he was bleeding from the back.

When she lifted his shirt, she saw a small hole and blood coming out of it. Then in profound

desperation, she started to scream even louder than before. She was asking for help, but in the midst

of that confusion, no one was listening to her.

Gathering all the strength she had left, my mother tried to carry my father to the sidewalk.

She could not lift him, so she dragged him to a little shed. She then headed back to my brother.

When she got closer to him, a mounted police officer ran her over and knocked her unconscious.

When she recovered consciousness at the hospital the next day, my mother was told that my

father had died in the early morning hours. She knew that my older brother was dead as well. After

Mundungo fell, my father told her that he was not breathing. Hearing this news, mother lost

consciousness for another three days. Finally, Friday afternoon she awoke and asked for her


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children. She was badly injured. She had broken ribs, and her left thigh had been severely lacerated

by the horses hoof. She would never walk again without a cane. That was how we saw our mother

for the first time since the dreadful Monday known as the Sharpeville Massacre.

As usual, my brother Kwainy left school and went after my sister and me. When we arrived

home, my cousin, Kojomo, came with some confusing news about the shooting. He told us that the

police opened fire on the protesters and that many people had died or were wounded. Kwainy asked

my cousin to stay with us while he went after news about my family.

When Kwainy arrived at Sharpevilles downtown, what he saw shocked him. The streets

were stained with blood. Women were crying and screaming. Children were desperate by trying to

find their parents. Many lifeless bodies still lay in the streets. My brother later told us that what he

saw changed everything he believed in.

While walking amidst the corpses, Kwainy saw Mundungo still in the same spot where my

father had left him. No one had touched him nor tried to remove his body from there. Kwainy felt

anguish. He did not know what to do. He looked around to see if someone could help him. However

no one could lend a hand. Kwainy then collected his strength and controlled his desperation. He

raised Mundungos body and put him over his shoulder, carrying my dead brother to the hospital.

Arriving at the hospital, Kwainy saw chaos everywhere. Many times he tried to get

information about my parents, but no one knew anything about them. The hospital had many injured

and dead people. Without success Kwainy left Mundungo there and headed back to our house.

When he got home, we noticed that he looked as if he had seen a ghost. I asked him what had

happened, and he told us of the terrible tragedy that had befallen our house. He told us that

Mundungo was dead. He also told us that he did not know anything about our father or mother and


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that we should wait for news. At this news Dwila and I started to cry. The world had ended for us.

Kwainy tried to console us, but he was distraught as well.

The next day came. Kwainy left the house with the first rays of the sun. He went to the

hospital to inquiry about our parents. Finally he got information about mother. When Kwainy saw

our mother he had a small moment of a sad happiness, for he also knew about our fathers death.

After a while, Kwainy headed back to our home, and again he told us the sad news.

My mother came back home after ten days in the hospital. She took another two months to

recuperate from her wounds and come to grips with her new situation. However, she never gave up.

All the strength left in her was directed to us. She fought hard to earn a living for us.

Kwainy became the head of our house. He grew in maturity, responsibility and strength,

while loosing most of his tenderness and passion. He never talked again about his plans and how he

wanted to cure everyone. He stopped listening to the radio. Every time he heard about Apartheid

and the white government, it was possible to see his hatred. He blamed the activists for the loss of

his father and his best friend. He lost interest in school. My mother kept him in school until he

finished high school. After that, he concentrated his energy on the farm and our survival. In the end,

part of my brother Kwainy had died in that fateful day. The person who emerged from that atrocity

was bitter and resentful. He never married. Kwainys life was focused on keeping the promise he

made to himself: to take care of his mother, sister and brother.

My sister and I did change as well. Our childhood ended that Monday. Dwila hardly talked

about that day. With the passing years, she became more responsible for the house and helped my

mother sew to make money. After Dwila finished high school, she got married. She built a hut in

our land and lived there until the day my mother passed away.

I wanted to leave school and help at home. My mother and brother did not allow me to do

that. I never understood why until I was about to finish high school. Kwainy told me that I should


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be the flame carrier. He said that I had to fight for what my father and older brother died fighting

for. I had to be different. From that day on I decided to follow the path Mundungo desired for

himself. I went to college and became a lawyer. I resumed the fight where my brother and father

had left off. I witnessed the apex and fall of the Apartheid. I witnessed the changes my father and

Mundungo died longing for. I know that they did not die in vain. I kept alive the flame my father

and brother carried while they were with us.

Our lives changed in ways that we could never imagine before. However, the foundations

that my father and mother laid kept our small and broken family together.

We all changed, but we all changed together.

Historical References:

African National Congress.Nelson Rolihlahla MANDELA.

http://www.anc.org.za/people/mandela.html. in 9 May 2003.

Idem. The Tambo Page: Portrait of Oliver Tambo ANC President 19671991

http://www.anc.org.za/ancdocs/history/or/. in 9 May 2003.

Boddy-Evans, Alistair.African History: Sharpeville Massacre. 2003.

http://africanhistory.about.com/library/weekly/aa-SharpevilleMassacre-a.htm. in 11 May 2003.

Idem.African History: Apartheid Legislation in South Africa. 2003.

http://africanhistory.about.com/library/bl/blsalaws.htm. in 11 May 2003.

Brink, Andre. TIME 100: Leaders and Revolutionaries Nelson Mandela.

http://www.time.com/time/time100/leaders/profile/mandela.html. in 11 May 2003.

CIA.Gov. The World Factbook 2002 South Africa. 1 January 2002.

http://www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook/geos/sf.html. in 07 May 2003.Kenyatta, Jomo. The Kenya Africa Union is Not theMau Mau, 1952. July 1998.

http://www.fordham.edu/halsall/mod/1952kenyatta-kau1.html. in 04 May 2003.

McKay, John P., et al.A History of World Societies - Volume II Fifth Edition.

Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2000.

PBS.Org. The Long Walk of Nelson Mandela: An Intimate Portrait the one of 20th Centurys

Greatest Leaders.1999. http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/mandela/. in 11 May 2003.


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changed lives - a fictional short story set in real modern africa

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