A Bright Future

As she made her solitary way home Katarina hummed a folk tune to herself. Her scuffed brown shoes kicking at the odd pebble here and there, she half-skipped half-walked as she memorised the first part of her homework assignment. The hubbub of the shanty town barely registered with her preoccupied mind. Her school books cradled underneath her left arm, she did not acknowledge the vendors calling out to passers-by to buy their dust covered wares. The occasional dog darted across her path, its mangy body covered in fleas, sores, and scars from battles untold. Whether owned or no, the fate of animals in this neighbourhood was just as dire as their owners. Katarina's large Afro bobbed up and down as she wove through the unmarked roads on her way home. Her firm stocky legs thudded along the dirt roads, dodging children playing on the path. Her grey khaki school dress - shapeless though it was - did little to conceal the curvaceous and already womanly figure developing underneath. A slim waist and firm stomach - the product of many years of hard manual work - sat atop rounded hips. Child-bearing hips as the locals would have called them. The path was familiar to her, but to the untrained eye this route that she took home was simply a mess of dilapidated structures built from nothing and unlikely to survive more than a breath of strong wind. But to Katarina this was Mbombela in the Ehlanzeni district of Mpumalanga in South Africa. And it had been home for as long as she could remember. From the transitory population, to the more 'established' families like hers, this mish-mash of illegal dwellings was its own thriving community. Places such as the public toilets - known as privy - and the rock formation where the faithful met every Sunday were the landmarks that people used to navigate around the settlement. There were many obscure monuments and landmarks, meaningless to those unfamiliar with the settlement, but distinct to the locals. Their settlement was a place where one could disappear from the law without a trace. But it was also a place where the concept of community ran strong. Despite all their differences, the inhabitants of this settlement had this in common: they had struggled through the worst era in known history. They had been pushed to the fringes of existence. And they had survived.

Katarina knew that she had to do as much mental revision as she could on the two mile walk home. Because when she got back home to the make-shift room - the same room that she shared with her mother, her father, her two brothers, two sisters, and her grandmother - she would be unable to get any work done before finishing the family meal. When her youngest sister had been put to bed, Katarina would do her homework by candle-light until her eyes hurt too much to carry on. Every day was the same. She would get up at five o'clock, and help her grandmother in her daily ablutions before preparing breakfast for her younger brothers and sisters. Then she would clean up the small room that they all shared. Her mother - Maria - would have already left for her three daily cleaning jobs in the more developed suburbs. And her father - Henry - would be waiting by the local pick-up point where the working men would wait for any jobs that were available. They were mostly mining jobs. Dangerous and illegal, but nevertheless always in regular supply. The men would leave their homes not knowing where they would find work that day. Or even if they would find any work. Sometimes they would wait for hours before giving up and returning home empty-handed. And even when they did find work, it was not uncommon to hear of disputes with employers over pay at the end of the day. This was the norm for anyone who chose to work, a harsh reality that touched everyone sooner or later. Whilst her father was on the streets hunting for work, and her mother was already immersed in her first job of the day, Katarina would perform the daily chores. If any bedding or clothing needed laundering, she would quickly wash a few items before walking the two miles to her school.

The situation their family was in might have seemed strange or unusual. But not so for Mbombela, where Katarina had spent her eighteen years living with her family. Mbombela's shanty town had emerged as a transit town for the Black population in the 1940s. Initially described as a temporary solution to accommodation under apartheid, it had quickly grown into a shanty town. Now it was a dormitory town for workers that supplied the mines in the area. The Talala's make-shift house had sprouted up amongst the many unstable structures made from any materials that were readily available. It was not unusual to see homes made of corrugated sheeting, packing plastics, wood, even newspapers. Whatever was available to the unregulated masses as they had converged on the open spaces and settled down. As a result, there was no infrastructure to speak of. The population was completely unregulated and basics such as running water, electricity, or even a sewer system were completely unheard of in Katarina's local neighbourhood. Every morning Katarina would fetch water from the burst water pipe just on the outskirts of the settlement. This would be the drinking water for her grandmother for the day. This water was the only clean source of water for the whole settlement as it supplied the legally constructed part of town. A part that Katarina had never visited, but would occasionally hear about it. Not least of all when municipal workers would come to fix the burst piping following a complaint by a paying resident that their water rates had risen. This was only ever a temporary solution though, as the shanty town locals would soon find another fault in the piping and crack it open.

Katarina was also responsible for her younger siblings. They were aged ten, nine, seven and five respectively. Despite the huge age gap between them, Katarina was fiercely protective of her siblings. In a lot of ways, she was the only parent they knew. Often when the younger children woke both their parents would have left the house. And by the time their parents returned from work all the younger children would have gone to bed. Katarina would tuck them in under the threadbare blankets that they shared; two to one blanket, and three to the other. The two youngest children shared a blanket with Katarina. Katarina would often tell them a story as they lay on the floor; their eyes open in amazement as she spun one magical tale after another of Brother Hare or Grandfather Turtle, or the sly Mr Hyena always stealing everyone's dinner. The children loved these tales. Tales that their mother had told Katarina when she was younger. It all seemed a long time ago to Katarina, but to her siblings lying on the floor with their minds filled with the magical visions of these tales, these stories were almost palpable. All the children slept behind the sheet that served as a room divider after dark. Katarina would string it up diagonally across the room, using the hooks that her father had driven into the flimsy walls. Her siblings were happily oblivious to the crippling poverty that enveloped their flimsy dwelling. They were surrounded by love and their needs were tended to. Katarina looked after them without complaint. After all she was more aware than they were of the struggles her parents had gone through to be able to put a roof over their heads. Let alone pay for their education; a luxury they themselves had never had. Katarina's mother had often confided in her eldest daughter when she was younger. And her heartbreaking tales of shattered hopes and dreams had forced the young Katarina to grow up far beyond her eighteen years.

Ironically, their parents had eloped when they were Katarina's age themselves. Katarina could not imagine feeling so strongly for anything other than her education at eighteen. But her parents had fallen helplessly in love, despite their own parents' disapproval. Katarina's father was of Ndebele and Swazi origin. Her mother was of Xhosa descent, from a proud lineage that believed in upholding their cultures and traditions. When the two families had learnt of the fledgling romance, both sides had disapproved intensely. They had worked hard to put an end to it, but this had only achieved the opposite effect. Ignoring all admonition from the elders, the pair had run away from the townships and towards the city looking for a better life. For a while they had lived on the giddy nourishment that is young love. Working where they could, and sleeping under the stars, they had been full of unrealistic dreams and ambition. When Maria had discovered she was pregnant, they had been living with another group of runaways on a farm. The owner had immediately sent them packing when Maria failed to show up for work for two days running. Her morning sickness was particularly bad, and the young girl could not muster the energy to report for the gruelling fourteen hour shift. There were no concessions for pregnancy, and their seasonal employer made it clear that 'kaffirs' were like mongrel dogs that would over-run his farm with their 'type' if he did not weed out the breeders. The young parents had spent many days wandering aimlessly in the veldt wondering what to do. Eventually they decided to face the shame of returning to their homeland. They were afraid that they would face punishment by their parents for their hasty decision. But they also realised that apartheid was an ever-present enemy to the Blacks. Even though they were young they were aware that if they came across any of the Colonial masters they would be shot on sight. Added to this was the forced resettlement of the Blacks into the transit camps. So the pair had made their slow way back to Ehlanzeni, their dreams of a new life in Johannesburg - the city of the future - well and truly shattered. Their journey towards Johannesburg had only taken them as far as Carolina, a carefree trek that had no urgency. But the journey home had been fraught with danger and fear of enemies unknown. Travelling mostly at night, the pair made their silent way through grassland and lands occupied by dangerous wildlife. They took it in turns to sleep; short shifts of four hours at a time before they had to set off again. With only Henry's makeshift weapon made from the hoe he had used to till the land at their last place of employment, they walked close to the main roads so they would not get lost. But they made sure to hide whenever they heard human voices or machinery. The stories they had heard in the many dormitories were all the same. It was clear that Blacks were the new enemy. They were a good source of labour, but a free Black was seen as a threat to the Utopia their Colonial masters were creating. If one was seen roaming around free, they were shot on sight.

It had taken them several months to travel the two hundred odd kilometres to Mbombela, which was by now a thriving settlement. By this time Maria was showing. Her morning sickness had long since subsided. The pair was gaunt and malnourished, months of hyper-vigilance and fear etched on their young features. It had been a day before they found where their parents' shacks were. The paths that they both remembered from their childhood were long gone, replaced instead by confused winding roads flanked by flimsy structures. More people had moved into the settlement, and they were not as friendly as the ones that the young couple remembered. It was an old friend of Maria's that had bumped into them on her way to the well for water. Shock and tears burst forth as she saw her friend stricken down by misfortune. The pair had embraced and cried for what seemed an eternity before Maria could muster the courage to speak. When her parents saw their daughter, their relief at having their child back had superceded any anger they might have felt. They had welcomed them back into their lives with open arms, grateful that their daughter was alive in such uncertain times. Henry's parents had been less forgiving. Still angry that he had abandoned them, they had taken longer to come round. When they did however, they had embraced his new family into their small home. They also found it funny that their son had adopted an English name because his employers had found his native name Kunene a mouthful. But they agreed that after a while Henry and Maria had a better ring together than Kunene and Ntombana. The young couple had already been through so much. Raising awareness to their mixed backgrounds would have been too much for them to handle in their community. It was not often that the tribes would intermarry. Moreover, if it came to the attention of the neighbours that the young couple had spent time living on a White man's farmer, questions might be asked that would prove difficult to answer. It was common knowledge that the masters often favoured the lighter skinned Xhosa women. It was hard to understand why, especially as they had such pronounced physiques usually. But Maria was slight of frame with hips that flared out slightly. It was common knowledge that her type was particularly attractive to the colonial settlers. So for the couple to have returned with Maria pregnant would suggest that she had fallen prey to the sexual advances of their employer. And the community might assume Maria had married out of shame. So Maria and Henry had slipped quietly back into their community and prepared for the birth of their child.

When Katarina was born though, it was as if the heavens had opened up and blessed them all. Maria had been worried that her child would be somehow damaged from months of living rough and eating badly. Although her mother had nursed her back to health, she was not as strong as she ought to have been for a woman carrying another life. The delivery had been short and without complication. The local midwife - Mama Hlatshwayo - had been delighted at the ease with which this young girl had gone through labour. The midwife had feared that Maria's frail body was not yet ready to cope with labour, but Maria had proved her wrong. And Katarina had entered the world, a healthy fair-skinned child - just like her mother. As mother and child lay together nursing for the first time, Henry had vowed to build a more promising future for his daughter than he and his wife had managed to attain.

That dream had never materialised. Years had passed. And jobs, especially for the Blacks, were in short supply. The only jobs available to him had been low-skilled and low-paid jobs. Henry had worked hard on any odd jobs that presented themselves. They had not been much, but they meant the difference between starvation and the next meal. But it was more due to his personal resourcefulness and 'township deals' that he had secured a small section of land just on the fringes of the settlement. It was close to the river, and so his wife would never have to go far to fetch water for the daily cooking and cleaning. He had traded services and his meagre earnings for the materials to build his shack. And just before Katarina's third birthday they had managed to complete their new 'home'. By this time Henry was working mostly in the mines. The couple had moved out of his father's small shack and into their own. A mining accident when Katarina was eleven had claimed the life of her paternal grandfather and some other illegal miners. It had been days before any news had returned to the shanty towns. His wife had not been worried to begin with, as her husband would often leave for days at a time if he was working farther away. But when a week had passed and he had still not returned she had gone to find news of his welfare. She had rapidly deteriorated after that, never fully recovering from the shock that her husband had died, trapped in the black hole that was his inevitable fate. And she had been oblivious to it for so long. Henry had taken her into his small home from that point and taken on her care.