A Look into My Life — Chapter Eleven: South Africa

I was delighted to leave Kinshasa. Early that morning, my aunt and my uncle's driver took me to the airport. They were denied entry and stopped at the outer gate. While they argued with the porter, I felt someone slipping a hand into the pocket of my anorak.

I turned and saw a man beside me trying to steal my passport. I angrily screamed at him, and he fled. He did not look like an airport official. In fact, the place was teeming with crooks, and I wondered why travellers' relatives were denied entry while thieves were allowed inside.

While my aunt and the driver continued arguing with the porter, I went in and hurried towards the terminal. The plane was leaving at nine, and I still had to pass through several gates before boarding.

At immigration, they stripped me of nearly all my money. One official did not waste time on subtlety. He vigorously rubbed two fingers together, indicating that I needed to bribe him to pass. I did not know that I could refuse, so I handed him a ten-dollar note.

Another woman ordered me to surrender all my local currency, warning that otherwise I would be arrested in South Africa. I naively gave it to her.

Then another character decided to accompany me through the airport's tortuous corridors. I did not know why. When only one glass door separated me from the boarding area, he seized my passport and demanded payment.

Startled, I asked what I was supposed to be paying him for. He said he had helped me throughout the journey and would not return my passport until I paid. He added that he had seen me distribute money to everybody, and if I did not give him 20 USD he would not let me go. I told him I had no money left, and we began arguing.

At that moment, another man appeared and demanded to know why I had not boarded. “It's almost nine!” he shouted. If I did not hurry, I would miss my flight.

Whoever he was, I remember him as my guardian angel. He snatched my passport from the other man and pushed me towards the plane. My aunt Toto appeared then, just in time to kiss me before I left. 

We stopped in Lubumbashi, where Mother was waiting at the airport. We had not seen each other for so long that we naturally fell into each other's arms, although hugging had never been common practice when we lived together. She kissed me and told me I had lost weight.

She was happy and emotional to see me. She held my face in her hands and stared into my eyes for what felt like several minutes. We both understood that this was an important day, and that I was taking the greatest leap of faith of my life into the unknown. I was suddenly growing up.

In Kinshasa, I had still been partly at home. This time, I was travelling far away and would have to fend for myself. Mother would support me for a while, and the plan was for me to study at university until I found a job. But I knew she did not have enough money to support me, let alone pay the exorbitant fees demanded by universities everywhere.

Still, we had high hopes and faith.

One detail at the airport hurt me. Mother knew I had carried some local currency in Kinshasa, so she asked for it because I would not use it in South Africa. But I had surrendered it to the crooks at the airport.

Mother had never asked me for money before. If she was asking now, it meant she truly needed it. For years, I bitterly blamed myself for failing her when she needed me most.

“It's fine, my son. Don't worry,” she said. But that was not good enough for me.

Nevertheless, the joy of being together outweighed that small incident. When the fat plane resumed its journey south, carrying us in its belly, I was apprehensive, worried and already missed my mother.

And, as always when I am on a plane, a beautiful woman was sitting next to me.

Mark, the son of Mother's good friend Mrs Marie-Michelle, came to fetch me at the airport. I might have been impressed by the airport's magnificence had I not been so worried. I had heard stories of travellers stranded after the people meant to collect them failed to appear.

But Mark arrived shortly after I landed. He welcomed me warmly, hugged me and took me to his place. I had never met him, but recognised him immediately because he resembled his father so strongly.

He had a bubbly, outgoing personality, and I wondered whether life in South Africa made people that way. He also asked me to pay for petrol, which I later learnt was customary.

Mark had no room for me in his apartment. He was married and had just had a baby, so he took me to his brother Patrick.

He asked how much money I had. When I replied that I had 130 dollars, he exclaimed, scandalised, and demanded to know how I expected to pay for my studies. I defensively replied that Mother would send money.

I found his questioning highly insensitive, especially on my first night, but I said nothing. Even if Mother had been rich, she would not have filled my suitcase with enough money to enrol at university. I thought Mark was being unnecessarily rude. In my view, he suspected we had very little and had decided to address the issue as soon as I landed.

I had arrived in winter, and it was freezing. I had never felt such cold. I kept waiting for the sun to appear and warm me, but it followed a different path from the one I knew above my head. It did emerge, but soon disappeared again, leaving me disappointed and prostrate on a couch.

Soon afterwards, I was taken to a college in Braamfontein to learn English. I excelled and was speaking fluently within a short time. I found the language fairly easy because every other English word seemed to be French pronounced differently.

Mother surprised me by paying my fees for three consecutive months. When no money arrived for the fourth month, I stopped attending. I did not mind too much because studying English was exorbitantly expensive, and as I was not a refugee, I could not attend the free schools provided by the United Nations.

Still, I never regretted my time there. The quality of teaching was exceptional, but even more valuable was the experience of meeting people from all over the world. I also met a dear friend there.

The violence I witnessed in Johannesburg staggered me. I was horrified by how casually death was dealt. This was not the polite population I had known all my life, although perhaps this was simply how people lived in large cities.

We walked in constant fear of being attacked. Every grown man looked suspicious, and I avoided getting close to strangers.

At school, we were encouraged to read, watch television and listen to the radio so that we could speak good English. The only reading material readily available to me was the Bible and newspapers. The latter opened my eyes to a world of hatred, theft and killing. For the first time, I read of babies and grandmothers being abducted, raped and murdered.

The reality of guns hit me like a ton of bricks, and people spoke about killing one another far too easily. I walked quickly and avoided eye contact with everyone.

The habit of keeping Patrick's apartment permanently locked also depressed me. I understood that it was necessary for safety, but I craved space, air and freedom, the ability to walk down the street without fear.

I loved walking at night, but now I could not do so for fear of being killed. The old nostalgia crept back into my heart and mind, stronger than it had been in Kinshasa. I began having vivid dreams of walking through Lubumbashi, towards our house and Mother.

I thought of my trees, of open space, of a garden where one watched plants grow and flowers blossom. Life in Johannesburg felt oppressive and stressful.

Adult worries also arrived. Thoughts of rent and money kept me awake at night. I lived with Patrick but had to pay him 600 rand each month. Sometimes Mother could not send the money, and then I had to face his low-key wrath.

Everything went well while I paid the rent. Then the money stopped coming, and the hostility began. I am sure my attitude also contributed to the deterioration of my relationship with Patrick, but all I remember is that matters quickly grew ugly, angry words were exchanged, and I found myself on the street.

Strangely, I did not panic much. I lived through the experience in a haze. There was a back room beside Patrick's house, and I began squatting there. I spread a thin mattress on the floor, threw my suitcase into a corner of the dark room and covered myself with the sheets Mother had packed when I travelled to Kinshasa.

Thank God my misfortune occurred in summer. Had it been winter, I might have frozen to death. Or perhaps God would still have seen me through.

Patrick knew I was living there, but for the moment he did not throw me out. I had to fend for myself, but I had neither a job nor any useful training. I sat in the room wondering how I would eat.

Another Congolese student named Larry lived in Patrick's house. He felt sorry for me and smuggled food to me whenever Patrick was away. I will never forget him or the kindness that sustained me through those difficult days.

A week later, Larry left for university, and I was famished again. I wandered through Johannesburg looking for work, or begged for coins after too many rejections had killed my hope for the day.

One night, Joelle, the daughter of one of Mother's friends, phoned. She asked to visit, and I told her I lived behind Patrick's house.

When she arrived, she surveyed the room in shock. I literally slept on the floor and looked miserable. I suspect she was the person who sent news home that I was struggling, because Mother soon heard of my plight and phoned, desperate and pained.

One good thing came from it. Joelle had a large and generous heart, and she invited me to share her supper every night. She knew what kind of person I was because we had lived together in Mother's house, first for one year and then for another. She realised I was too shy, or too proud, to visit regularly. Whenever she did not see me, she phoned and urged me to come. I will always be grateful to her.

After some time, she moved in with her boyfriend in an area too far away for me to reach on foot. Once again I was alone, and my old friend Hunger showed its ugly face.

I starved so badly that I struggled to breathe at night. Eventually I resolved to phone Mother and ask for money. She promised to send whatever she could. I hated myself because I knew she had very little.

One day Joelle arrived with sad news. Mother was seriously ill again. My pain must have shown because Joelle immediately encouraged me to be strong and asked me not to cry. I was not crying, but perhaps I looked as though I might.

I was desperate and utterly miserable. In those days, whenever I was not throwing a pity party in my own honour, I worried about my sick mother in Congo.

I thought I should have stayed, if only to sit beside her while her body suffered. Perhaps some of her pain might have eased if she had seen me. Perhaps she simply missed me.

I was homesick too, but returning was not an option. Too much had been sacrificed to bring me to South Africa.

I was still waiting for the 25 dollars Mother had promised, while hunger twisted my entrails like a baleful creditor. I also had ample time to think about life, particularly mine, and about my past conduct.

I became convinced that my predicament was punishment for the way I had treated people. I had thrown people out of Mother's house, and now I stood on the brink of homelessness myself. Patrick had come to the back room and told me to leave as soon as possible.

To calm my hunger pangs, I walked from Kew to Yeoville to visit a man named David, with whom I had once attended church. I moved slowly because I was weak and the distance was long.

I asked him for food, and he gave me ten rand, which I held like treasure. I bought a loaf of white bread and ate it very slowly so that it would last. Very little made me happy in those days.

I enjoyed taking long walks in the evening because the air was fresh and I felt less tired and hungry. I also appreciated the anonymity of night, the fact that one could slither one's pathetic self past everyone without being examined and judged for one's poverty.

In French we say, At night, all cats are grey.

One night, during my usual walk, two men stopped their car and attacked me. They pointed a gun at me and threatened to kill me unless I handed over my money. I might have laughed had I not been so frightened.

That night, Death had a metallic taste that remained on my tongue for days. They manhandled me and searched my pockets, growing increasingly frustrated because I possessed nothing except my mobile phone.

They took it and ordered me to walk away without looking back.

My only means of communicating with my family had been taken from me. The night after the attack, I woke suddenly and realised that I could not even tell the time. It was a strange and disorienting feeling.

I also worried that Mother would be unable to reach me or send the money she had promised. Then I had an idea.

I stood at the corner of Corlett Drive and Louis Botha Avenue and begged for coins. Public telephones were still common then, and they were coin-operated. A compassionate woman gave me her one rand, which I used to phone Mother.

I managed only to say hello before the call was cut off. But Mother saw that the number began with South Africa's 27 prefix and deduced that it was me. She immediately called the public telephone back, allowing me to explain the robbery and why I no longer had a mobile phone.

She asked me to return to the same intersection at the same time the following day. She would phone and give me the code needed to collect the money.

Unfortunately, when she called, I was not there. The green public telephone rang in the street with no one to answer it. I cannot remember why I missed the call, but I had to beg for coins again and phone her back.

I heard her sigh loudly with relief when she answered. She gave me the code. She had been sent 25 dollars.

The agency was far away, but fortunately the road ran downhill. I set off slowly, conserving my energy. When I arrived, I presented the code and received the money. I had not seen so much cash in a long time.

I rushed to Shoprite and bought food, which I began eating before I had even paid. I tried to preserve some dignity, but my body betrayed me. My hands shook and carried food to my mouth faster than decorum permitted.

Afterwards, I returned to the back room with my provisions, feeling very rich. I met Patrick in the street, and he looked curiously at my shopping bag. He immediately followed me to the back and told me he wanted me out of his room.

Joelle came to visit the same night. Knowing I had no mobile phone, she stood outside and shouted my name. Her voice sounded like an angel's because she had rescued me so many times.

As much as I tried to enjoy her company, I could not shake the sense of impending doom. Patrick's ultimatum still rang in my ears, and I had no idea where I would go. Naturally, I did not expect to move in with Joelle because she lived with her boyfriend.

She asked why I seemed distracted and upset, and I told her that Patrick wanted me out. Again, I begged her not to tell my mother. When she left, she phoned Mother and explained the situation.

Mother felt there was no end to our misfortune. It was one crisis after another. She phoned David and pleaded with him to take her son in. He agreed.

This was the same David who had given me ten rand on a famished evening. He lived in an apartment that the first Patrick and I had previously occupied, and Mother still had its telephone number. She had never met David, but she had heard of him and knew he now lived there. I suppose it is difficult to resist a mother's plea.

As soon as he agreed, Mother phoned Joelle and asked her to tell me that I could move to his place. Joelle returned that same night with the good news.

That very night, I picked up my suitcase and prepared to leave. Before going, I knocked on Patrick's door to say a proper goodbye. I hated leaving with a grudge, but he mistook my olive branch for an attempt to move back into his house.

Before I could explain that I was leaving, he curtly announced that even though I was being nice, I still had to go as soon as possible. I found his attitude incredibly arrogant, so I said nothing and walked away.

I moved in with David and another man, also named Patrick, in a two-bedroom flat belonging to their employer. They worked together.

The first Patrick, the one who had thrown me out, also worked for the same company as a relatively independent supplier of bags.