The police had wanted to take Ma and me away, like on some witness protection thing, but Ma had said she doesn’t hide from anyone or anything, and she and Papa want me to be with people I know.
Not that I really know them, Papa’s cousin that I call Aunt and the rest of the family.
Anyway, the school principal and secretary are brought into the plan to spirit me away.
Ma has packed a case she says will go to Moz with me. I’ve just got my backpack with my official travel documents and a few extra things in it. I go to school like it’s a normal day, in case I’m being watched, but after break I don’t go back to class. The secretary takes me out behind the tuck shop where the supplier’s van is waiting with its engine running. It’s not the real caterer driving; it’s someone Ma’s legal adviser has organised.
It feels weird that I won’t be seeing Ma and Papa for a couple of months. It was hard to say goodbye this morning.
I jump into the van and we hit the N4 out of Mbombela, heading east. Just through Crocodile Gorge, we stop and I have to get into another car. I see my packed case on the back seat. Next stop is Komatipoort, and a little shopping centre where a lot of women are selling Mozambiquan currency in the carpark.
“That’s them,” my driver says, checking a beat-up car’s registration against a photo that has been sent to her phone. “Your relatives. They’ve come across to take you back through. This is where you’ll need your passport, unabridged birth certificate and parental affidavit stamped by a Commissioner of Oaths.”
My precious passport I got for a school trip to Swaziland, the only time it’s been used. My parents’ sworn and signed permission is on the standard Home Affairs form, because they weren’t taking any chances with the forms you can get all over the place.
Two people get out of the old car as my driver and I walk over. Uncle Moreira and Noemia.
“Chansenga!” Noemia hugs and kisses me as Uncle Moreira and my driver greet. “I got the day off school to come with Papa and be company for you. Mama couldn’t change shifts … You have come direct from your school?”
I don’t remember her talking this much the last time I saw her. She’s looking at my short uniform skirt that shows off most of my thighs, and my white shirt with the pocket badge. She’s wearing cropped pants and a fleece top, not a cool combo. She has one of those sweet, mild faces that make you think there’s not much life or personality behind the vague prettiness.
“Yes,” I answer her as my uncle lifts my wheelie case into the car boot and slams it shut. It bounces open again, so he has to repeat the action, even harder.
“We’ve already bought your uniform for my school,” Noemia continues. “Mama phoned Auntie for your size.”
“I could just wear this,” I object. “It’s not like I’m coming to your school permanently. I’ll just be like a visiting exchange student.”
She gives my skirt a doubtful look, but she only says, “Our uniform, it is more like a skirt only. For your top and shoes … How do you say? Anything goes? It will be fun to go to school together, no? I am excited for you to meet my friends.”
“Fun? Right,” I say flatly, letting my doubt sound in my voice and probably showing it on my face too.
***
Tell us what you think: Why is Chansenga so negative about coming to Mozambique?