Foreigner in My Own Home (4)

“Eh! This is not a zoo, Hosanna, stop running!” Zan’s mother cried as she flattened the ironing board.

Zan emerged from her room, hurriedly trying to tie her hair and using her hand to sweep any stray coils into her hair-tie. She let out a sigh and placed her hands on her hips, allowing herself to catch her breath. “Sorry, Maman.” She said finally, breathing heavily. Maman nodded and swayed to the low hums coming from the radio, which was playing songs by her favourite Congolese artist, Koffi. Songs from home always seemed to cheer her up. “Hey, you guys,-” Zan said, greeting her older twin brothers who were eating cereal on the couch, fully dressed in their school uniforms with their schoolbags alongside them. She accepted their low grunts as greetings and turned to face the mirror on the kitchen fridge to examine herself. She removed the gound from the corners of her eyes and carefully brushed off the lint from the collar of her checkered, navy blue and white school dress. She opened the fridge to make breakfast but was interrupted by the loud jingle ringing from the radio, indicating that the news was about to be announced.

“Hosanna, can you turn that down, s'il vous plait?” Maman asked, preoccupied with her ironing. Zan closed the fridge and walked towards the radio.

“Breaking News! This just in! A group of schoolchildren have been rushed to hospital after being assaulted in an alleged Xenophobic hate crime in Bellville, Cape Town.” The masculine voice announced, monotonously. Zan froze. Bellville, Cape Town. That’s where we live, she thought.

“I told you to switch that thing off!” Maman yelled, eyes widened and bottom lip quivering.

Zan leaned over, switched the radio off and looked up at her brothers, Ray and Raoul, whose jaws had both dropped. The knots in her stomach became more and more distinct. She looked at the reflection of herself in the window and was quickly reminded of the physical attributes which alienated her. Her mahogany skin seemed darker than ever and her large, ruby lips were striking. She knew that existing in South Africa with her features was like walking around with a target on her back.

“Why are you kids sitting around? You’re going to miss your bus. Boys, matric isn’t going to wait for you. Hosanna, don’t you have to pick subjects today? Go, go! On-time is late.” Maman said, trying to mask the shakiness in her voice.

Zan grabbed an apple from the fridge and picked her bag up off of the floor, realising that her hands were shaking now. For the first time since Zan’s father had been murdered on a train for being a kwere-kwere, a foreigner, Zan saw fear in Maman’s eyes.

“We’ll be careful, Maman,-” Zan whispered, following her brothers out the door. Maman closed the door, brushing off the tear that fell from her cheek. She clutched the cross that hung around her neck and said a prayer.

Zan and her brothers walked with their heads bowed. Talking was a risk when taking public transport. Any hint of an accent that wasn’t coated in Xhosa vernacular could offset chaos. Being three, tall, dark-skinned, thick-haired individuals was already enough to provoke a xenophobic stranger.

Zan felt two quick taps on her shoulder as she approached the bus stop.

“Uxolo mntanam,-“ a short, elderly Xhosa woman was looking up at her with beads of sweat on her forehead. “Ixesha unalo?” Sorry, my child, do you have the time?

Zan vaguely understood isiXhosa, better than she understood French anyway, but she was nervous to respond incorrectly. Her mouth dried up. She knew that if she mispronounced a word or misunderstood, she might catch the attention of someone with ill intentions. She shakily pulled her phone from her dress pocket and showed the woman the time.

“Enkosi, sana lwam.” Thank you, my baby. The elderly woman nodded and continued walking.

Zan forced a smile and let out a deep sigh. She never thought that such a simple task would cause her so much anxiety. She looked over at her brothers and saw a tall, light-skinned black man towering over them. He spat at their feet and mouthed something before he walked away. Makwere-kwere. Foreigners. Immediately, Zan was overcome by the realisation that the only home she knew didn’t want her.