Crouched on the side of his bed, Tambu sat sobbing. He had slammed the door to his bedroom and needed time out after yet another fight with his parents.
I really don’t belong here.
They’ll never understand me.
They’re so toxic and oppressive.
I don’t know how much longer I can last here.
Thoughts swam through the muddied waters of his mind, making sense for a moment, only to be washed away by waves of confusion.
“I’m going to my meeting now Tambu”, his dad bellowed from the other side of the door. “We’ll talk more later when you have calmed down. I don’t have the patience for a teenager shouting at me”.
Well then, I’ll ease your burden.
He sat up and watched from his window as his dad drove out of their estate onto Concourse Crescent in Lonehill. As soon as the car was out of sight, he picked up his school sports bag and squashed 1 trouser, 4 shirts and 3 underwear into it. He rushed into the bathroom and grabbed his toothbrush and bath sponge, shoved them into the bag, and walked out of the door.
From Concourse Crescent, he turned into the green area and walked towards the Jukskei River. His parents had always warned him against coming here, but now he was free from their oppressive ignorance. At the riverbank, he saw crowds of people participating in some ceremony. Looking up at Main Road, he could see scores of cars parked along the side of the road. He turned and saw a shack with steam coming out of its seams and started walking towards it. His anger had now started dancing in tandem with nervous fear.
As Tambu started getting nearer to the door of the shack, the door swung open, startling him to the floor. An old lady walked out. She was reassuringly beautiful, giving him an embracing smile. “Are you looking to go somewhere today?” she asked him as she reached out her hand to help him up.
“Umm… Yes, I am, but I don’t know where to.”
“Well there are many places you can go from here” she started explaining. “You can either go from here down the Liesbeek River as many from around here have done, or to the Tsitsikama which nobody ever does. You can take a further journey up the Nile, or the Niger, but those are normally return trips and rarely for first time wanderers from here. But judging from your accent, the way you walk and your umm… ‘socio-economic demographics’, you’re probably looking to take the boat going to the Thames.”
He had heard all these river names at some point in school but wasn’t sure exactly what or where she was talking about. All he had to go on was her reassuring smile and his hatred of home. “Are you sure I’d like the Thames?” he asked.
“Well, they speak the same language as you down that river, so it may be easier for you. Come inside to open your eyes and prepare your soul for travel.”
He walked into the shack and closed the door. A few minutes later, he opened the door with a burst of steam, and could suddenly see all the estuaries she talked about branching out from the Jukskei River. “Come into this boat” she guided him, and they started the journey towards the Thames.
Sailing on the boat, they approached a dense fog. All Tambu could see was the oar which the old lady rowed the boat with, the light at the end of the boat, and a silhouette image of the old lady eclipsing the light. Now the anxious fear dominated the dance with the hatred of home, leaving a part of him longing for the comfort of his bedroom. “Are we going to be safe?” he asked with his lips quivering. “We’re almost there my boy.”
The fog started clearing, and they found themselves on the Thames at the heart of London. An explosion of excitement and anticipation suddenly hit his senses. “Here is all the money I’ve saved. Can you give me pounds for it?” he asked the old lady. She looked down at his measly rand savings and gave him a blank stare. “This may get you some lunch my boy. Here are your pounds. All the best. I’ll be going back in 3 hours, so if you want to go back with me, you better meet me then.”
He left the boat, walked up the ramp and found himself at Waterloo station. People were zooming past him with expressionless faces, rushing to some place that he too wanted to rush to. “Hello sir” he signalled to a middle-aged man who ignored him and walked on. “Sorry ma’am” he tried saying to another lady whose face didn’t flinch at his Johannesburg North private school politeness. He touched one person on the shoulder to get his attention, and he turned and shoved him to the side, and continued walking on.
I thought she said we speak the same language.
He walked into the station, and it was the biggest thing he’d ever seen in his life. Walking slowly and staring at the ceiling, he marvelled at the detailed finishings. He was awestruck by the trains and their schedules. He found himself at a fast-food restaurant and ordered a burger. After paying, he found that he had no money left. 45 minutes after that unsatiating meal, lonely, broke and still hungry, Tambu started longing for home. He decided to get advice from the old lady.
Back at the boat on the shores of the Thames, he started firing questions at her “why does nobody want to talk to me here? Why can’t someone just look and smile at me? Is there something wrong with me?”
Having seen this familiar routine so many times before, she had an idea. “If you go across the bridge towards Trafalgar Square, look for the statue of John Chilembwe. Your eyes should still be able to see, so you’ll see a door at the base of the statue which others can’t see. It will take you to Hertford, somewhere you may like. Remember, I’m here for 1 more hour, so if you want to go back down the Jukskei, you better be back by then.”
He ran across Westminster bridge, found the statue and the door and rushed through it. Opening the door on the other side of the tunnel, he found himself in a cemetery. Now he was completely freaked out.
Am I going to die alone here?
What’s going to happen to my body?
Why did I even leave home in the first place?
He ran out of the cemetery and crossed the road. Across the road, he found small agricultural allotments, and an old lady working in one of them. With tears in his eyes, he pleaded with her “Please ma’am, can you please talk to me. I don’t know where I am, and I want to go home”.
She stood up from weeding the ground and looked at him strangely. “Who are you and where do you come from?”
The tears now started flowing as she was the first person who had talked to him since arriving. “My name is Tambu. Omutambuze from Johannesburg. I ran away from home and now I want to go back because nobody here wants to talk to me”, he said sobbing.
She placed her arm on his shoulder to comfort him. “Omutambuze? Do you even know the meaning of your name? Whoever named you must have been a prophet” she laughed.
Comforted by her laugh, he let down his guard. “My parents told me it means traveller. Sorry, what’s your name ma’am?”
“Just call me Jjajja. I can see from the steam residue on your forehead, you came through the river system. I also came from there a very long time ago, but from the Nile. Why did you come? Aren’t you too young for those things?” she asked curiously.
“I needed to get away from my home. It’s just toxic.”
“But are your tears here better than your tears at home?” she asked.
He stared at the ground for a moment, and then whispered, “it may get better here”.
“My dear. It will get a lot worse before it gets better. If I were you, I would go home.”
With the dance of anxious homesickness no longer coordinated to the memory of any anger he once had, he realised there were 30 minutes until the boat was leaving back home. Tambu tried to give Jjajja a big hug, but her sensibilities didn’t allow for that. He ran back to the cemetery and found himself back at Trafalgar square. He ran back across Westminster Bridge, down the ramp and found the old lady undocking the boat. Just in time, he jumped into the boat.
“I hope you can see more clearly now”, she said as she began the foggy journey back home.