Two days later, the first attacks started. A Mozambican man was beaten in the street while everyday, ordinary people watched. They were the woman down the road with the baby with long eyelashes, and the man who rode the black Humber bicycle the girl who sold cellphone units and the tall boy who played cards on the corner. They were the couple that had invited Lungile’s family for a braai, and the old woman who had an orange and black cat.

They were not evil people. They were not criminals. They were just the people who lived with them, who had listened one too many times to the whispered words, and now believed that they were true and that action was needed. Perhaps the speakers were right, the foreigners were the problem. They were what kept them from the life the Rainbow Nation had promised them.

After school, Lungile caught Mudiwa by the sleeve before she went out of the gate. “I have made a place for you to stay, you and your mother, until all of this is over,” she whispered to her friend – her friend who seemed to be shrinking, getting smaller and smaller, until Lungile feared she might disappear altogether.

“A place to stay?”

Mudiwa was confused, so Lungile took her home. They sneaked through the side gate, taking care not to allow its usual squeak. Lungile took Mudiwa to a storeroom at the back of the house. No-one ever went in there. It was full of her uncle’s goods and furniture. He had gone to work on the mine and had left his things here with Lungile’s mother. Lungile had managed to break in and move his things around to create a space at the back of the room. She had set up her uncle’s bed and a small side table with a paraffin lamp on it. The bed was hidden by the remainder of his property.

“You can stay here,” Lungile said. “They won’t find you.”

“But how? How will we manage?” Mudiwa asked, confused.

“I’ll bring you food. It’s just for the night-time; that’s when they start everything.”

And that was when the secret began. As the foreigners were killed or ran to police stations looking for protection, Mudiwa and her mother were safe in Lungile’s yard. No-one would search for foreigners there, especially now with her brother Bongani becoming one of the ring-leaders.

Though Lungile feared for what Bongani was doing, she knew that without it, the gangs might search their house for hidden foreigners. As long as Bongani kept active, Mudiwa was safe.

It was not an easy thought for Lungile, but she also knew that with or without her secret, Bongani would do what he wanted. He had always been ready to blame others for his problems. It was just as easy to blame the foreigners as it was to blame their father who had gone off one day and left them. Maybe it was even easier to blame the foreigners.

***

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