Chapter 12

He squinted and raised his head. He could make out hazy figures milling about. They were a few feet away. A wrecked hover-van lay on its side. Steam rose from its hissing, shattered turbines. He rubbed his eyes, and everything fell into sharp focus. He was in a clump of bushes beside the highway. Muffled cries and moans came to his ears. And yelling. Someone was screaming.
He shielded his face as a fresh shaft of light approached, slowed down, and stopped. Another beam of headlights came past, slowed down, then speeded up again. As the vehicle went by, Luyanda felt its shadow: cool, dim, and inviting. He stretched out his hand and grabbed the column of blackness as it flitted past him. His fingers tightened around the cold, mushy goo. The air squeezed out of his lungs, and he became flat and weightless. A gust of wind swept him off his feet, and the next thing he knew, he was flying along the road, engulfed in darkness, the black tarmac zooming below him.
He was riding the shadow of a hover-bus. Its propellers whirled with a heavy rumble. The shadows of the occupants inside called out to him. Some were quiet. Others moody. One was excited. But most were just tired. He glanced at his surroundings. There were lights, billboards, tall skyscrapers and deserted streets.
The bus drove straight through the middle of the city, out along the freeway, and into a nearby suburb. Luyanda gasped in surprise. He was back in his neighbourhood. Clarendon. He recognized the houses, the lawns, the parks and the shopping mall. The bus was slowing down and hovered closer to the ground. They were approaching a bus stop outside the shopping mall. The bus pulled to a halt. Its propellers stopped, and it lowered its stairwell onto the sidewalk.
Luyanda stretched a leg out of the cool, clammy goo and strode onto the hard tarmac. He was standing on the road, right behind the bus. The sound of crashing glass spun him around. A hobo sat a few feet away, wide-eyed and staring. A broken bottle lay between his feet, its contents spilt across the road. The tramp gaped at Luyanda as if he’d seen a ghost materialise before his eyes. Luyanda gave him one look, spun around, stepped onto the sidewalk, and hurried home.
“What happened to your t-shirt?” Maddie asked as Luyanda trudged in through the door.
He looked down at his t-shirt and noticed for the first time that it was shredded and torn. The pieces of glass from the windscreen of the hover that had hit him had ripped through it. He felt foolish for not having noticed it before.
“I err... had a slight accident at work,” he mumbled, planning an answer to the next question that he knew was coming.
“What sort of accident would do that to your clothes?”
“It was a game we were playing. We each had to dress up as a character, and the others had to guess who it was. Like Pictionary. But live.”
“And you were?”
The image of the man he’d seen beside the bus flashed before his eyes. “A hobo.”
“So, was it an accident or a game?” She fixed a beady eye on him.
“It started out as a game, but it got chaotic.”
“So you destroyed your clothes for a game?”
“It was all about commitment. Listen, I’m bushed. It’s been a long day at work, and the team-building stuff didn’t help. I’m going straight to bed.”
“Is that why a certain Sister Lucy called just now asking if you were home?”
Luyanda’s eyes widened in horror. He forced a grin. “Gosh! Those guys at work can take a joke too far sometimes, you know.”
Maddie folded her arms and frowned.
“You better come clean, young man. You’re lying.”
Luyanda laughed and shook his head. “All that matters is that I am alive and well and I love you, right?” He gave Maddie a peck on the cheek. “Good night, mum.”
He yawned, stretched, and trudged out the living room and up the stairs to his bedroom.

He slammed his bedroom door shut and pulled off his shredded t-shirt. He tossed it onto the floor, walked across his room and stood in front of his mirror. Several scratch marks ran along his chest. They were slight, marking the spots where the shards of glass tore past him. The dressing over the wound on his side was still there, reminding him of the weird trip he’d just been on.
He plonked on his bed and lay there staring at the ceiling. He thought about everything that had happened to him that day. So much had changed in the course of a few hours. And the worst part of it all was that there was no one he could speak to about it. He wondered whether Jabu would believe him. If Jabu wouldn’t, nobody else would. With troubled thoughts running through his mind, he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The next morning, he woke up feeling better.
Devon offered him a lift to university, which Luyanda accepted with a smile. He didn’t feel at all like taking public transport.
They didn’t talk much on the trip. Luyanda wondered whether he should tell Jabu all that had happened. It would lead to a whole series of questions he’d wouldn’t be able to answer. He decided he needed more time to process everything before he spoke to anyone.
As soon he got to campus and trudged into the classroom, Nomsa came rushing up to him.
“Jabu told me what happened. How are you feeling?”
Luyanda coughed and cleared his throat. “I’m fine, thanks.”
The lecture hall filled up as students strolled in for their morning lecture.
Jabu ambled up to them. “Dude! What time did you get home? Why didn’t you answer my calls?”
“I was tired. I left straight after you.”
Luyanda’s PAD vibrated.
“Incoming call from Sister Lucy.”
“Yeah,” Luyanda replied, wondering who Sister Lucy was. The nurse’s familiar face popped up in front of him.
“Where on earth are you? Where were you last night? We looked everywhere for you and you weren’t taking any calls.”
“Sorry, my PAD was off.”
“Where are you now? Are you okay? Are you still on campus? Did you go home?”
Luyanda took a deep breath. It felt as if he were speaking to his mother. He saw Nomsa and Jabu turn to him with inquisitive looks on their faces.
“Err...” He started thinking of a response. He realized that his best defence would be a confession.
“I.... I sort of freaked out,” he said. “I don’t know. It’s just something about hospitals. I just bolted. I couldn’t handle it anymore.”
The nurse shook her head. “You should have told us,” she said. “We could have made an arrangement.”
“I’m really sorry.”
The nurse mellowed. “All that matters is that you got home okay and that you are fine. We can call off the search.”
“I’m sorry I put you through that.”
“Are you feeling better, though? How’s that wound doing?”
“It’s a hundred percent healed.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I’m not kidding. You can see for yourself.”
“Okay. Pop by this afternoon so I can take a look. Okay?”
“I’ll do that.”
“I’ll see you later.”
The display flicked off. Nomsa stepped into Luyanda’s face and folded her arms.
“You’ve got some explaining to do.”
“I freaked out, okay?”
“That’s a first,” Jabu replied. “I never knew you were so scared of hospitals.”
“Neither did I. But I got home safe and sound and that’s all that matters. Could we move on from this, please?”
As if in answer to his question, Dr Kanu walked in at that moment, and the entire classroom settled down. Nomsa kept shooting inquisitive glances at Luyanda throughout the lecture. When it ended, they made their way to the museum for another shift.
As soon as they entered, Amina rushed up to them.
“Are you feeling okay?”
Luyanda rolled his eyes. “Not you as well.”
“He’s just tired of speaking about it,” Jabu said. “Everyone’s been giving him a hard time about it.”
“We still need to find out what happened, though,” Amina said, sticking a finger in his face.
“Let it go, Amina,” Jabu said. “Give the guy a break.”
“Yes,” Luyanda nodded. “I’m still traumatized. I just need some space, please.”
Amina levelled him with a stare.
“And,” Luyanda added, “I would appreciate it if we didn’t mention any of this to Dr Uru.”
“No problem on that count,” Amina replied. “He’d pin the blame on me, because I’m responsible for you clowns when he’s not around.”
She shoved a new PAHM branded t-shirt into Luyanda’s arms. “Let’s pretend that this never…”
She trailed off as Dr Uru stalked in through the front doors of the museum. He paused and started at them. They each avoided his gaze - Jabu looked at his shoes, Nomsa stared at the ceiling and Amina took a sudden interest in her fingernails. Only Luyanda gave Dr Uru a beaming smile.
“Good morning, Doctor.”
“Morning.”
Nomsa cleared her throat. “We should start getting ready for our tours, guys. We need to practice what we’ll say. And test each other and see if we know everything about the displays.”
“That’s a fantastic idea!” Jabu beamed. “Let’s go to the auditorium where it will be nice and quiet, and we can rehearse undisturbed for a few hours.”
He led the way, and the others trailed after him, avoiding Uru’s piercing gaze.

They spent the next couple of hours practising what they would say on the tours. First, they put together all the research that they had compiled on each of the characters in the exhibition. Once they had studied everything, they quizzed each other to see how much they could remember.
“Okay.” Nomsa turned to Luyanda. “We’ll start with you. Who was Mwindo?”
“What? Why me?”
“Because someone has to go first. Or don’t you know the answer?”
“I do… I do…” Luyanda shrugged and squeezed his eyes shut. “I read it just now.”
“We don’t have all day.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m accessing the files in here,” Luyanda said, tapping his forehead. “Got it. Mwindo. Mythical hero of the Nyanga people, of the former DRC. He is the main character of an epic poem of the same name and was born with the ability dissolve through solid rock, wind or water. He embarked on a mission to avenge his father’s death but was himself destroyed by his vengeance. For centuries, this mask,” he made a sweeping gesture with his hand, pointing at where the artefact would have hung had he been conducting a tour, “was used during performances of the Mwindo Epic. It was last held two hundred years ago, and the play text is now lost. This mask is all that remains of the props the actors used. P.K. Mbuya, a renowned African anthropologist, found it in a remote village several miles north of Lubumbashi. Questions?” He looked around the room, beaming in satisfaction.
“I’d give you eighty percent,” Nomsa quipped.
“What? But I nailed all the points.”
“It’s about performance, Lu. You’re meant to be a performer, not a parrot.”
“I’d like to see if you could do any better.”
“That wouldn’t be hard,” Jabu sniggered, pulled a sandwich out of his backpack, and chomped into it.
“Don’t make yourself too comfortable,” Luyanda shot him a dirty look, “because you will go right after Miss Smarty-Pants here.”
“Okay,” Nomsa cleared her throat. “Let’s do this.” She took a deep breath and began.
“At the turn of the previous century, there lived a proud nation near the Southern tip of the African continent. The Lovedu people. Though a small tribe, those around them greatly feared them, because their Queen could control the rain. Her name was Modjadji. Her power over the elements could create and destroy lives and determine the destinies of empires. From far and wide, people travelled to pay her homage, and even the colonialists didn’t interfere with her affairs. Here, you can see an artist’s impression of the last Queen of the line. No one ever took any photos of her, as it was taboo. It is one of the few monarchies in history where the throne passed only to the women. In many ways, they were ahead of their time. This ring is reputed to have been hers, but we can’t really be sure. It is a rare and valuable artefact. Please, don’t touch anything on display.” She smiled and curtsied. “So? What do you think?”
“That was brilliant,” Jabu exclaimed, his eyes widening. “How did you do that?”
“I just added some drama and a bit of style to it.”
“And some controversial opinions,” Luyanda scoffed.
“Like what?”
“Like that stuff about matriarchy being ahead of its time.”
“What’s wrong with that? Are you misogynist?”
“Oh, gosh!” Luyanda turned to Jabu. “Your turn. Massassi. Who was she and what’s her story?”
“Err—” Jabu checked off his fingers as he spoke. “Shona people, Zimbabwe, control over plant life. Goatskin pouch that apparently, allegedly, reportedly and supposedly belonged to her. Thank you! Goodnight!” He took a bow.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Nomsa exclaimed.
“What?”
“You can’t present like that? Are you out of your mind?”
This time it was Luyanda’s turn to snigger.
“Why not? It’s straight and to the point. It’s about quantity, not quality. That’s why I’ve memorised more than you guys.” Jabu shut his eyes and rambled off more facts. “Mokele. Ntomba tribe of the former DRC. Healer guy with a powder that could wake the dead. Ancestor of a long line of heroes, inventors and warriors in the Ntomba myths. Thank you! Goodnight!” He bowed low again.
“You’ll put the visitors to sleep,” Nomsa remonstrated.
“That’s why I said ‘goodnight.’”
Luyanda chuckled.
Nomsa rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe I have to work with you guys.”
“Relax, Nomsa.” Jabu patted her shoulder. “I’ve got everything under control.” He grinned and took another huge bite out of his sandwich.

For the first time in as long as they could remember, they didn’t have to work that coming weekend. They took a much-needed rest, feeling proud of the beautiful display that they had completed. When the three of them strolled into the museum for their Monday meeting, they discussed what Uru would have to say. Luyanda was positive that the man would give them a raise, but Nomsa cautioned him not to get his hopes up.
Amina and Yisa were already seated in the auditorium, waiting for the others to arrive. They were upbeat and expectant as they chatted away. Luyanda wondered why. He huddled next to Jabu and Nomsa in the second row of seats, behind the two older students.
“What are you guys so excited about?” Luyanda asked, turning to Yisa and Amina.
Before either could answer, Uru strutted in.
“Morning. Are you all here? Before we begin, there’s something that I’d like to share.”
He walked over to the doors and pulled them shut. Luyanda sat up. Uru never closed the doors during their meetings because there would be no one at the front desk.
Uru cleared his throat and clapped his hands together. “In many ways,” he began, “this is a day that I have been waiting for and dreaming about for several years. And my dream has become a reality.” He went over to the lectern. “Projector on.”
A holographic display shot out of the rostrum.
“Pair,” he said.
“Pairing complete.”
“Open the presentation.”
A map of Africa appeared on the screen. Uru turned and faced them.
“Over the next couple of Mondays, we will use our status meetings to speak about our values and what we stand for. Today will be our first session. Look at this map.” Everyone glanced at the map on the display. “There has never been another continent that’s seen as much war, bloodshed and misery as ours. For centuries, all it’s known is exploitation, slavery and the plunder of her peoples. Next slide.”
An image of a scorched farmland flickered on the display. Corpses in various states of decay sprawled across the screen.
“During the Sino-African War, farmlands were destroyed, nations fell, and populations were decimated. The city states founded at the end of the war are, quite frankly, not working.” He swiped through several slides as he spoke. “Azania. Lubumbashi. Lagos. Harare and all the rest of them. They’re pathetic. Like the city states of Athens, Thebes and Sparta, they too are descending into mob rule. But it wasn’t always that way.”
He moved to a new slide. It was an image of men working on a farm, most of them stripped down to their waists. Forests and lush greenery dominated the background.
“There was a time,” he continued, “when people lived in peace. No famines, no slavery and no wars. The land belonged to all, and there was more than enough to go around. No one hoarded anything. The question is, how did we go from this,” he asked, pointing at the photo of the happy farmers, “to this?”
He flipped to the slide with the scorched farmlands and corpses. He waited for an answer. The students were all silent.
“I’ll tell you how,” he continued. “Outsiders. That’s our problem. We are too kind. Too hospitable. We welcome strangers and visitors. It’s our culture. Heck, it’s in our genes. And it’s this ’nice guy’ attitude that’s been our downfall. If we want to go from this,” he swiped back to the photo of the farmland, “to this,” he jumped to the derelict wasteland, “we will have to construct new ideals.” He paused as his eyes swept across the classroom. “Openness to outsiders cannot be one of them.”
Luyanda squirmed in his seat. He glanced at Nomsa and Jabu. Jabu furrowed his brow in thought. Nomsa was frowning. Her hand shot up.
“Yes?”
“How do you know that things were perfect back in the past? What written records do we have of what life was like then?”
“Are books the only way of preserving history?”
Nomsa crossed her arms. Uru had a point, but she wasn’t about to back down. “I thought this would be a class about our values and ethos in the museum.”
“And it is,” Uru replied. “The museum’s purpose goes beyond displaying artefacts. It transcends this university and this City. We are about more than the protection, promotion and preservation of our culture. No, my dear. We’re far more profound than that. You and I are pieces on the chessboard of destiny. It’s not our will that we find ourselves here, but here we are. Today we have the chance to impact generations to come. Think of your children and your children’s children. What type of world do you want them to live in?”
“You mentioned chess,” Luyanda said, putting his hand up. “Who is the enemy? Who are we moving against?”
There was an awkward silence. Uru paused and collected his thoughts. He spoke in a slow, measured tone, weighing every word.
“That is a question that I should ask you, Luyanda Michaels. I have been speaking of the enemy for the past ten minutes. Who has taken our land? Who’s taken our resources? Who’s enslaved us? Open your eyes.”
“Just come out and say it,” Nomsa said, standing up. “You don’t need to speak in riddles anymore. We all know what you’re trying to say.” Uru was quiet. Nomsa picked up her bag and shoved past Jabu. “You guys can stay if you want, but I’m not going to sit here and listen to this rubbish.”
“I am speaking about lasting peace, after decades of--”
“You’re talking peace, but you mean war.”
Nomsa stormed out and slammed the door shut behind her. A heavy silence descended on the room.
“Anyone else feels the same?”
No one said a thing. Luyanda drew a deep breath, picked up his backpack, and marched out of the auditorium. The last thing he saw before he closed the door behind him were Uru’s eyes, fixed on him
and burning with rage.

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