When I open my eyes, I find myself in a pit jail. I must be in the city again. I hear people murmuring as they pass by and the scent of roasted meat from the market blows over. It is a welcome aroma compared to the foul smell in the pit. It must be days since I last had food. I look around and find stale bread infested with worms next to me. I am starving, but the sight of it only turns my stomach further.

The nightmares I have had over the past few nights are nothing compared to the place I find myself in. No-one’s by my side; I have only the walls of the pit to provide meagre shelter. The cawing of crows passing overhead brings a solemnness to my ears. As I stare up and see them circling the pit. I wish I could be them. I’ve often wished I was a bird, able to roam freely, aimlessly, without any limitations. To migrate when the storms of life are bad and to find solace elsewhere. But I cannot. I am firmly planted in the hell of my problems. I must find a way to deal with them.

“Baba,” I call out. “Baba!” My voice is hoarse from screaming and crying out. It’s become so inaudible that it no longer echoes round the pit. Three days I have counted. Three days without food or water, not even the rain to aid me.

I have not got the energy to stand, but as I glance up to the grid locking me in the pit, I see a young face peering into it. The boy’s face is hooded, but his features unmistakable. Mahua!

“Umkele,” he calls out, in a soft tone. “Brother, I have missed you, but I cannot be long. If Ubukili finds me lurking, I could be punished.”

“Mahua,” I say, my voice raspy and dry. I feel my head pound and my skin is duller than usual, but before I can begin speaking, Mahua drops a water skin and a satchel into the pit. I nearly choke as I drink and shove the fresh bread into my mouth.

“Thank you,” is all I can muster before he speaks again.

“They are going to execute father’s iziNduna tomorrow at noon. Treason or something of the sort. The news has been all over the kingdom,” he trails off, almost in a silent sob. “And …”

“Mahua, out with it.”

“They say you are to be executed thereafter, Kele. They say you killed father. Mother does not believe me when I tell her you went to check up on him the night he died. You didn’t do it, did you Kele?” he says, his voice now quivering as he tries to hold back the tears.

“I did not do it, Mahua. But we will find out who did.”

Mahua suddenly vanishes and a guard stands in his place. I hide the satchel and water skin beneath me, and feign sleep. “Stupid albino,” is all I hear before I feel warm liquid on my face. “That’ll warm you right up,” he says, as he shakes his manhood and pulls up his pants.

The guard saunters away as if he has just won a great battle, but I am unperturbed by it. The thought of losing Baba Athka troubles me more than the pain and cruelty and humiliation I have endured. I must do something to save him.

* * * * *

“Come on you filthy albino,” the first guard says. “Time to meet the Gods who cursed you with your milky skin.”

“Let’s get you all cleaned up. Can’t have you smelling like your own shit in front of the King. No sir, we cannot,” says the second guard, stouter than the first.

I am plunged into an ice-cold bath of water; my head is held beneath the water until I nearly pass out. I come up as if I have been holding my breath for eternity, fall to the ground and lie coughing. All this is done in the market, where every single commoner and low-born noble can see me like the day I was born: naked, imperfect and my fate sealed by those around me.

“King killer!” someone screams out.

“Hang him!” another voice says.

My thoughts trail off to the day father paraded through these streets with the entire family. Can they not see that I have been wronged? Can they not see that I was not the one who killed my father? Has the world become so cruel that no-one can see beyond the bridge of their nose? Has rationality died with father’s memory?

“Milk demon,” a voice echoes, and a piece of dung catches me square in the face. I lie there, feeling defeated by their words and actions. But I must get up, I must fight back to save father’s kingdom and restore myself and my name.

“That’s enough!” one of the guards roars. “You,” he gestures to another. “Clean him up, and bring him to the castle. The king will want to speak to him before the execution.”

The guard does as he is commanded and binds me. The walk to the castle is slow as I hobble, on bare feet calloused and bruised. But the pain is nothing compared to what lies before me.

***

Tell us: Have you ever fantasised about being like a bird, and flying away from problems to start again elsewhere?