Nkosi's life

NKOSI'S LIFE
Short story by
Ephraim Leo Chaparadza


The train stopped and he looked through the train window and finally recognized that he had arrived in Cape Town with no hindrance since he was an illegal traveller. For the last time he viewed the photo on his lap, his mom and dad smiling, baby him cradled on their arms as if they were still alive and happy for him. A tear dropped from his left eye, a lady he had shared the trailer with, saw his pale sad face and approached him compassionately. She didn't say anything but just dropped a five rand coin over the photo and left to attend her kids. He wanted to follow her and say thanks, but something urged him to be seated a while. People were pulling their luggage by the passage making noise and outside some had managed to be out already. After a while he stood, fetched his dirt satchel, trying a pleasant smile on his face but it was to no avail, the boy was afraid, he felt the atmosphere unpleasant. By the moment he wished he didn't run away, but something told him what he had done was the right thing. The life he had had was terrible and better was the street and this far.
By the passage floor he bends, picked up a twenty-cent coin, and got outside the train, by the station paving, the boy looked both directions to see if there wasn't anyone suspicious of his dirt condition and then followed others to the exit where securities were checking the passenger's tickets.
Looking at them made his heart beat and he froze a while, there wasn't any easy way out, he had to take his chances and so he carried on. Slowly he walked to the far side of the wall shielding him within people with intention to gain his way unnoticed. When he was to make it out, suddenly a security out of the blue nudged him by the shoulder and suddenly he knew without turning back that he was caught.
"Where is the ticket young lad?" The security asked gripping his hand.
"I-I lost it in the train sir!" He said, with trembling lips and the security stared at him fixedly, with unbelieving contentious face; the boy lowered his head and felt his beating heart.
"Follow me, boy you’ve got some explanation to do and don't you dare run away!" He heard the security saying, letting go his arm. Just after two steps forward a man approached the security by his front and they both stopped.
"I can pay for him!" the man said producing out his fat wallet from his pocket.
"But sir" The man snapped him at once, "No buts, I said I can pay for him, do you have a heart and any idea of what he's going through? Look at him!"
Indeed the security looked and lowered his head as if shy.
"No--but-but"
"But it's your job right? But look at the young boy"
"Okay" he resigned to harden his heart and complied in.



When he was out from the railway station premises, the boy felt relieved at last and thought of the Good Samaritan that had paid for him.
Really people are not the same and for one to find out he/she has to be out here stranded and straying like him, he thought, and headed along a main narrow road, he had no idea where it was to led him, alongside a song was playing in his mind, he had quite a lot and music was what he wanted to do in his life, it was his call and he hoped that though he was to live in the street, somehow the dream would come true.
Humming his song gently, the road took him to the sea view; amazed with the far view of birds and water sloshing outside the barrier, he kept on walking until he got into the sandy shore where he went to seat by a rock, staring at the tides and squawking birds and amazed with daring suffers getting toppled here and there with waves and the song didn't go away, it was a sad one, coiling his mind and making him feel comfortable and that he wasn’t alone.

Had you a father, you could’ve have told a lot
Had you a mother, you could’ve cried a lot
Had you a sister, you could’ve teased a lot
Had you a girlfriend, you could’ve shared a lot
But you're not alo---ne, you're not alone in this way
You're not alo-ne; you're not alone in this world
You're not alone-you're, not alone and never been

As Long the birds flock on the sky
And the true spirit with us they share
Whether that passion of salvation and tribulation
But though whatever we conceive the universe to be
You and me the air we breathe is one
Never mind perennial as grass we might seem
The high power in control is manifested in us
What's yours and what's mine let both be love
And surely the cornerstone of truth can
Never be broken

Latter on, an old man approached him from behind with a loaf of bread and sat closer by his left, he had been listening all this while, though it was faint he actually had gripped what the song was about, sad little boy, he thought.
"Nice voice, you really can sing boy, you almost took me away, aren't you hungry?" the man asked, tearing the plastic paper to take the bread out. This startled the boy a bit, he couldn't get it, that someone from nowhere can just come and offer to share bread with a strange looking boy, yes of course he was hungry but he felt uncomfortable with this newcomer. He looked like he had never had a roof over his head for quite a long time. The man handed him half of the bread he had ripped apart with his bare hands; the boy accepted it with a dull smile, which the man noticed and saved his question for latter, probably after eating.
"What is your name? You look such a nice chap" At last the man asked after taking a bottle of water from his pocket to let the bread settle down.
"Nkosi Khumalo!" the boy pronounced, easy and slow,
Where are you from?"
"Jorburg"
"And why are you here, do you have someone with you or?" The man expression was so carrying concerned about the boy, and soon the boy felt secure a bit with this stranger.
"My mom, dad, all dead, my half sister, I used to leave with is so mean and because of that I decided to run away, she-she-she was so abusive to me and--and!" The boy whined and covered the tears on his face with his palm, there was more he wanted to let out but it was extremely unbearable and hard to let out, and after all it wasn’t wise to just tell a stranger the whole truth about your life, they had to get acquainted first.
"Don't cry, it's alright, just like me, from Soshanguve, 18 years ago is when I came in Cape Town to stay in the streets, due the situation at my home. I was 14 years old by then. The family I had was so crowded, I had cousins, nephews, nieces, brothers and sisters and my grandmother was the only one responsible for all of us. Some of the children had their parents who were prostitutes and thieves-whatever! The girls kept on loading more children in the hands of my grandmother. She tried to do her best but with her work, that paid nuts, it was impossible, she had always cried, I only wished I could help and still I do, I don't know if she's still alive."
The man paused a while staring over the sloshing water in the ocean and a couple of birds making shadow patches on the sea as they flap on air, the boy stayed quite knowing that the man was taking a break.
"Boy, I wanted to be of help over her burden but I had nothing, uneducated, no course, no-nothing at all and so seeing myself as another burden, I've decided to get rid of myself and that's how I've ended here. All over from there, boarding trains for free, sometimes getting caught, and when off the hands of law I kept on doing the same thing until I got here In Cape Town.
It was a dead end with the ocean we're seeing, I wanted to go far, but that I've tried as well to hide in the ships and sail in it, wherever it may reach. Three times I was caught and got deported back here" The men sighed, taking a relief; Nkosi could see that truly he was still troubled with his background and was telling the truth.

Seeing that the boy had finished his bread, the old man still with a large piece, he handed it over to the boy who shook his head, refusing, however, he asked for water.
"I'm alright now, thank you very much I was so hungry, only water is all I need now" the old man, handed him the bottle and went on narrating his story, making it clear for the little boy to understand.
"But you should bear this Nkosi, you might find the streets more painful than where you had came from, trust nobody! Don't get influenced for a lot is happening in street life that might take you life away, or harm you or ending up in jail. You're still young, so you've got all the time you need.”
The old man paused when he saw flocks of white birds flying, when they disappear by the corner of the sea barrier, he continued.
“Hope well and life will settle the better, however, don't worry you're not alone and you had never been alone? I understand, a young lad of your age might take time to understand this, but you'll always know when the right time comes. However, be grateful in whatever you conceive your life to be, there is high power amongst all of us and I bide you to know this power, when you know it say it and don’t cease to depend on it, keep saying it, at the end of the storm, you’ll be more like a god”
Suddenly, they both saw a big hump caused by the waves, rising in the ocean and it came sprinkling some drops of water on their feet and faces, some permeating through the cracks and joints within the rocks, Nkosi, felt something supernatural and deep inside it was hard to distinguish what it was and the rhythm of his recent song began playing faint in his soul as if the feeling he had just had had something to do with it.
The sun was passing its rays in the sea-ridged floor, forming twinkling glows of light that was so fascinating and a marvel to the sight.
"How old are you and how many years you've spent in the street?" The boy asked after a silent moment that they had shared amazed with the sea formation.
"Oh! I'm 32 years old now and it's now eighteen years staying in streets. At the first time I was so shy to peer through the bins for something to eat when I was hungry, even to beg for money. But well! I've got over that, just like the birds of the air is like the street child and him who made the birds surely he know that I'm worthy than merely birds. But I don't have a grudge with him, I mean not yet, maybe. As they say the world shall end, by that time I believe I shall have my own chance and ask why I lived in this world as if I was forgotten or as if I'm not part of it. I have so much to ask him, of course I believe in him being the God, the creator, the high power. Look! As He toss his waters in the sea and how he had established high the mountains, no doubt whoever He is, He's worthy than this universe for it is Him who made it. Boy I'm hopeless for I'm old, there's nothing left for me to do, but just live and wait for death to do the work it was meant for, I've done sins of course, but I had reasons, I had to survive son, I had to try in whichever was the way"
The boy felt his heart heavy and solid with what the old man had just told him, it was something deep and emotionally touching, he sighs, wanting to weep and gently said.
"I believe in him too!"
"Good, then, you're not far away from him and don't fuck up, listen to me for I had already and now I know, the outcomes of the road I took and so from my love for you, do not take this path, take the long way instead-bearing patience in whatever you want to achieve. Do not be startled when things are not working up for your satisfaction, life is a long journey it needs patience. You're talented young man; your song really had touched me the sea had witnesses you"
The old man fumbled in his pocket and produced a fat plastic paper, which he placed on his lap and from his sleeve pocket he produced a phone book paper, tearing it straight apart. Then began rolling something the colour of green crushed leaves, which the boy knew from guys in his location. It was the drug marijuana, he couldn't believe it, after all what the old man had told him. Smoking marijuana is considered as a sin and that's what startled the boy.
"You see what I'm doing boy. It's not like I like to do it, It's the only way that takes off my mind from all that is happening in this world, actually in my life, I know this is resisting the high power, but I ask mercy for my addiction-oh! Lord only leaves to smoke to-to-my mind!" the rest, he became speechless and waved his hand resigning.


From that day onwards, the boy and the old man's relationship became like that of a father and a son. They slept in the plant shrubs opposite a certain park after the sea and got most of their food through begging and rummaging in street bins, and they showered by cold showers down the sea barrier, sometimes swam when the weather was suitable. The old man had street friends whom the boy began to know, some days when the old man could go to attend to his business, which he didn't want the boy to get exposed to. He could leave after telling him to take a walk and warning him not to talk with anyone. He didn't want the boy to get hurt, sometimes he wondered that probably God had delivered this boy in his hands to take care of, probably this was the fulfilment of his dream of having a son, never mind not biological.
They had a place where they appointed to meet after they part, more often he taught the boy how to thrive in the streets without getting harmed and the boy was good at catching on things without difficulties, this made the old man to have more love and patience on keeping him safe.


One day it happened in the morning when the boy was alone, hungry and begging for some money and food. The old men had promised to be back when dawn, he had nothing except a 2 rand coin, which he left the boy with to raise the rest on his own. After hard hours of begging, a lady he met on the way to a place he had came to know, called Waterfront. She had two kids on both her hands, holding shopping plastic bags and a handbag across her shoulder, it reminds him of the one who had helped him on the train, only that this was a white lady. The boy approached her with his pale sunburned face, dry lips and stinking due the heart of hard walking, of course he made sure to wash everyday but at times couldn't keep up with the cold water, most times without soap, the walking he did every time and then, made perspiration function rapidly.

"Please mom, can you help me with anything to eat" He said intending to say something further but failed, he was still scared with this life of begging, though he had had much experience.
"Of course son!" the lady said, stopping with a welcoming impression,
"How much do you need?"
"Just enough to get even a half of bread, mom"
One of the kids she had, whispered to another, "He stinks like the dumb can you smell it?" Nkosi heard it and felt a pang then looked aside.
"Maria, don't you ever use that language towards someone's life, you go to church and God doesn't want a child like that" the lady scolded her daughter loud, producing 2oo rand and handed it to the boy, who clapped his hands slightly before he received it.
"Take care of yourself son; I'm sorry about what my daughter had said".
"It's alright mom, thank you very much, this really means a lot, and no one had ever given me such an amount of money." The girl, who had said mean words against him, she was now sobbing, Nkosi felt sorry for her.
"I'm so sorry" the girl said, weeping tears from her eyes,
"Take this!" she said giving him a KFC box that her mom had bought for her.
"It's all right sister, don't be hurt I forgive you" Nkosi said refusing.
"Please, receive it, that will make her feel better" The mother said and he received it and they bide one another farewell.


Latter on, when he was heading to a supermarket to get something to eat; he passed through an alley, which they used most times when he's with the old men.
By the middle of it, four street guys he had never seen came from a street that run across this alley, and they ran towards him, hearing their footsteps behind him, he thought to ran but it was to late they had already gained him.
"Give us the money, she gave you," the eldest said, grabbing him by the collar, the others behind him, in case he might try to ran away.
"I don't have any money," Nkosi said pretending innocently, breathing heavy and frightened,
"We saw her giving you some--boy don't lie to me" The one behind said, searching his pockets and felt the money protruding, he dipped his rough hands inside and took it, then kicked both his kneels, Nkosi, fall down and bumped his lips on the hard tar, he began bleeding and didn't cry. They even took the box he had and left in a hurry.
With a black eye, the upper lip red swollen and a bruised knee, Nkosi, headed to the spot where they met usually mostly evenings with the old man. Tears were still promising in his eyes, he promised himself not to tell the old men about this incident and couldn't just find explanations for his condition, and that was it, he was to tell. The old men would understand. After all he had never mistreated him, he acted like a real father, he thought, remembering the day he dropped a soap in the sea, it happened when they were washing, the old men just looked without being startled and smiled 'Careful, don't dive after it' he had said.

It surprised him to find out that the old men was already at the spot, he had never been so early like this, probably he had fallen unto something terrible like he had, thought the boy, staring at the man who was seated against a wall absently minded, smoke coming out of his nostrils as if from two mouthed caves. Against his left thigh there was a large bag and it looked new and protected.
He didn't see the boy approaching or heard his footsteps, though few people were passing by heading to their God knows whereabouts. Nkosi thought to pass over him and came back later and so he did, when he was a little distance away, the man called behind him.
"Nkosi, can't you see?" The boy turned back and walked towards him,
"I didn't" he said coming close, his head bended aside so that the men couldn't see his black eye, but it was to no avail, the men must had seen even the way he was walking it had some difficulty and he asked.
"What have you gotten into boy, don't be afraid not to me"
"Let's go and seat!" Nkosi insisted and they went to seat on a quite place, between two flats, the other totally in mess and deserted, rats rattling around and cats preying within.
"So?" The men said after they had seated for a while, referring to his condition,
"A lady gave me 2oo rand, I didn't know that I was being watched with a bunch of guys, when I was going to get me something to eat that's when they appeared and beat me up, then frisked all the money out"
Both of them knew that 200 rand was a lot of money, especially for a street person. Since, they had never managed to raise such an amount, even begging hand in hand, the old man didn't look surprised at all, all he just managed to do is sighed and told the boy that it was okay and glad that he was alive and unconscious, it's life that matters, rather some money or materials.
"No it's not okay!" Nkosi, protested almost raging out, this made the man to raise his head looking at him, since they began to leave together Nkosi, had never spoken in such a manner like this and he understood that the boy was in pain.
"If I had a knife, a gun, I could have killed one of them; I just don't understand why some people should want to do this to others as if it would suit them if one does the same to them. Took my money and on top of that beat the shit out of me" He paused, panting heavy as if he had just survived a gunshot.
"Wish I had a gun, wish, just a gun, we must find guns for us that's the only way we can be able to survive these streets. I'll get one, so help me God, my---my!" he broke down and began weeping.
The old men came closer to him and embraced him across the shoulder,
"Talking about guns, boy, do you know anything about guns? Now let it go, you weren't to make a fortune out of 200 bucks-let it go, even them it's not like there are to be some rich filthy ass, by now, guess all of it had been spend, drugs and shit!" he paused,
"I've got you something, close your eyes, you're gonna like this a lot"
Nkosi, closed his eyes and when the old man told him to open, there, a stereo tape recorder radio,
"Whoa, that's so thoughtful of you, thank you" he said surprised and took the radio on his hand turning it both side, it was brandy new, just a thing he had always desired for, now he would sing recording, adjusting each and every word until the rhythm flow irrelevant.
He had a spot he always went to when the old man isn't with him, it was quite and peacefully and there he was to compose his songs and also he wanted a notebook, since he had the less better writing skills and the old man was to help him, since he had seen him with a newspaper quite a time.

When they were all seated and suited with the calm atmosphere around them, he said,
"Look Nkosi? I want you to be honest with me, that you would never tell anyone of what I'm about to tell you!" he paused with intention to talk again but immediately the boy spoke,
"You can trust me with anything, you've done quite a lot for me that I won't manage to pay back"
The old men coughed and spate aside, Nkosi knew it was the hazard of smoking, a street men walked past them, long grey dreadlocks tied with a rubber band behind his head, and a cardboard box pinned between his armpit, a large plastic bag on the other hand. Shame! The old man thought, street people do have some kind of life.
When the old men began the rest of what he had intended, Nkosi, paid attention at him.
"Nkosi! Together we've been in these streets for long!" The man stopped, looking high up the sky as if asking God if he should carry on or not, this made Nkosi's heart ache, the men was serious, pale and his mind afar, was he now leaving him, he thought and swallowed hard.
"Will you come with me where I'm going Nkosi, I've got something that is going to change our lives and I need you, just like I had needed you at the start, you're like a son to me"
It was total a relief for Nkosi, hearing that and excitedly he answered,
"Yes-yes, I'll go anyway with you!"
The old men picked up the bag and placed it on his lap, and then swiftly, he zipped it open and looked around, making sure that there wasn't anyone noticing what he was doing, he said.
"On what I was doing" He produced a large plastic paper stacked with a white powder in it, when he saw that the boy had seen it he placed it back.
"These are drugs, worthy a fortune, I was given them with one of the guys I work with, he meant me to look for a rich client who can buy them. But, I've changed my mind on the way here. The idea is, I should take them somewhere else far from here and find another client. With the lot, we can start a legal business of our own"
"You're betraying your friend?" Nkosi, asked frightened,
"Yes, that I am, there are reasons for this and I don't think you need to know, so are you in or--?" he looked at the boy and felt hurt, the boy was always innocent with a dear tender heart and it made him felt guilt to involve him in this. Though on the other hand, he knew this had to do with both of them, a good life at last, he only wished for his plan to work quickly that the boy won't live insecure and they would go to Port Elizabeth or Durban, far from the enemies he was to create in this.


The next morning, when he had left Nkosi, alone, he went to see a couple of people before they fled. Nkosi met a lady he had known a month ago and did not tell the old man about her. Janet was the lady; she had bought her ice creams a couple of times and talked with him, drawing most of the things he was going through especially including the old man.
It surprised Nkosi, how much she asked about how good was he to him, does he feel loved, secured and trustworthy with him, it sort had almost lead him to think that this lady had something going on with his old man, perhaps love or something not yet known. More he had tried to figure out and got stuck and the thing was Janet had claimed that he doesn't know him and the interesting thing, why did she kept on asking about his old man.

The day, he told her that him and the old man were moving away and didn't include the old man’s reasons. At almost dawn they met at the usually spot, he had bought him nice food, a pair of shoes and clothes, the stuff to wear when they were to go, things didn't worked out well and the old man extended their days with two more, he desperately had to see someone before he go, whom and why this he couldn't tell the boy.
The next day, the old man went absent for few hours and he came back happy than he was the last day, he must had seen the one he wanted to Nkosi, thought.
The rest of the day they spend it together by the beach, the old man sleeping probably dreaming of his plans.
The following morning they waked up late, an hour and a couple of minutes from what they had planed, they took their stuff and headed to the showers by the shoe, it was almost ten and the heat was tense. The shower did them good and felt agile enough to lead on. On the way to fetch a bag that the old man had hidden through shrubs opposite the old building they more often seat when tired of the beach. He told Nkosi, the train tickets he had bought for them, Nkosi, smiled in appreciation and thanked God that the first day he had arrived is when he had found such a nice person.
They made their way through an alley opposite the one he had been mugged and came close to the building view, as it was a weekday, people were few.
He stopped Nkosi nearby as he rushed to take the bag and to his amazement it wasn't there, someone had taken it, he stood looking at the boy completely hurt, Nkosi stared back and saw the shocking impression on his face and knew why, then walked towards him.
"It's gone-Jesus, how come you-you've," he stopped surprised at the disaster behind Nkosi, the crew had find him and it wasn't in the nick of time, they must have been spying him all this time long, he knew what was to come.
Three guys, two looking identical in their age and the one older than them both and the bitch as well, the one who was holding his bag containing the stuff, he knew them at once and felt weak to the belly.
"Well-well-well son of an old bitch, is this what I get by entrusting you with something"
Nkosi turned back and saw this familiar lady,
"Janet-Janet" he almost screamed, Janet didn't respond she looked aside as if disgusted.
"Maxwell, I said is this how you've treated me?" he came close to the old man, his left hand jammed in the coat pocket he wore and touched him by the shoulder.
"I can explain, Derek, it's not what you think"
"What do I think, are you trying to play God?" he asked looking fixed on his eyes; nevertheless the old man didn't resist his staring remark.
"We have to do it quick Derek" another guy behind them said,
"Janet, bring me, bag" Janet came besides them and handed over the bag.
"Now, how do you explain this" he produced two tickets from the bag,
"Running away from me, Maxiii-fuck you"
Derek quickly removed his hand from the pocket and plunged it through the old mans belly, he groans and fall down, blood spraying out.
Quickly Janet, rushed over to the dead body and spreads a plastic sheet over it.
The moment, Nkosi saw it, he run over the old man screaming, but this other fellow had already noticed it, he grabbed him by the collarbone and pulled him back his other hand gagging his mouth not to scream, he convulsed trying to free himself but the hands gripping him had more strength.
Derek came towards him,
"Boy, I want you to listen, as soon as that guy frees his hands, no screaming, I want you to run away and never come here-right?"
Nkosi, kept his mouth shut, he gripped him by his chin adjusting his face to his, and "Boy what did I say?"
Nkosi, shock his head.
When they free him, he run as told and meets a speeding car on his way coming to fetch the crew.

The next day, Nkosi, waked up at almost mid-afternoon, actually he heard one of his tape recorded song being played and knew that someone had taken it from his pocket whilst still asleep; he had slept at the park’s lawn and felt nothing, cold or the dew that was still wetting parts of his clothes.
He wanted to report the event of yesterday, but had felt weak and sleepiness had got him somehow unexpected.
When he turned the other side where his song was playing, he saw a familiar face, the guy he usually had seen running around the beach with his dog exercising and the earphones pinned in his ears. Once, this fellow had smiled at him when he had crossed by and seen him with his earphones and hamming. Nkosi had smiled back and hesitated to stop him to ask for a little money for something to eat.
A bit shivering he rose from the lawn, eyes bleary and looking very weak and realised that the white dude had someone with him, a woman not quite old, blue eyes that touched Nkosi that she was compassionate kind or it was his sad song that made her express a pitiful remark.
“I know you,” the white guy said taking off his jacket and covering the boy.
“What’s you name, little musician?” The woman asked,
“Nkosi Khumalo”
“Do you have home, you seem not to have a roof over your head and care from anyone, come, and we’ll get you sorted”
Nkosi looked everywhere wondering if really his life was about to change, or this was just imagination or hope for something from these people.
He felt, the sensation running through his cold veins, the sensation he had felt the day he met the old man and his touching words came,
‘Hope well and life will settle the better, however, don't worry you're not alone and you had never been alone? I understand, a young lad of your age might take time to understand this, but you'll always know when the right time comes and when you know, do not doubt, it might slip away. However, be grateful in whatever you conceive your life to be, there is high power amongst all of us and I bide you to know this power, when you know it say it and don’t stop to depend on it, at the end of the storm, you'll be more like a god.’

And he couldn’t believe it, was the right time mentioned with the old man now, he thought and believed right at once, not only because the old man had told him not to doubt, but also the sensation of the day with him was another witness.

THE END