Now Is the Time for Running: Part 2

He called us the “how-whe” birds because we were always gaping at everything.

At first I played cautiously, staying on the fringes of the game, checking out the skills of the other players.

The men sat around in front of their huts; only the women were busy with domestic chores.

We gawk at the women who...talk as loudly as men, and wear modern clothes that no woman from Gutu would wear.

“They should put those Somalis in camps and send them back.”
“These refugees are causing too much trouble.”

The city is all around me, noisy, sparkling, and overwhelming.

And we go to sleep, with peace between us, until we are woken in the morning by the sound of the door being unlocked and a gruff, unfriendly voice telling us to get our things, leave, and never come back.

Innocent cowers in a corner under the bridge, both his fingers in his ears.

The business, political, and community leadership of Alexandra is currently engaged in finding a solution for the influx of your shops into our communities.

He continues to read. “‘All matters regarding your existence in our communities are being discussed. We’ve had engagement with all relevant stakeholders, and our cries are still heard only by the deaf, and therefore we have taken it upon ourselves to resolve this matter.’”

There, behind one of the sheets, I recognize the silhouette of my brother.

“Hello, this is your son speaking,” she answers flippantly.

Meanwhile, Ahmed is shutting down the shop and pulling down the wire barricade in front of the windows.

“Look!” I shout, bewildered and scared by what I see.

I clamber up and stand in the semidarkness inside the bridge.