A leap of faith into unchartered waters II

By Onie Ndoro | 4h ago

The journey itself was doomed from the start.

“Do you think this is safe,” Fatso whispered in my ear. Kupera and his guys had collected the money and we were still waiting under the baobab tree. I soon observed that there was a lot of graffiti on the baobab tree. Someone had written on the bark, “1999, Tindo was here.” There were other names too. One had even tried to draw an image of himself or herself. The end result was an image that resembled a vampire.

The plan was to wait for cover of darkness. Fatso was trying to plant seeds of doubt in me.

“It’s too late to turn back now,” I said.

“I think I want out,” Fatso said.

“Ssshh, quiet, do you think these guys will refund your money?” I quizzed. This silenced him.

It was too dark now. I cast my eyes towards the border. There were lights everywhere and all those with passports were making safe passage. For us border jumpers who were afraid to bribe the immigration officers, the Limpopo River was the next best option. It looked bleak and foreboding.

It was at that moment, Kupera’s voice boomed out.

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“It’s time up, follow me in an orderly way,” he said.

People grabbed their backpacks and so began the tortuous journey. We soon left the baobab tree which loomed large behind us as it receded in the background.

I was on full alert. I had heard stories, too many of them that it was same people like Kupera, who worked with gangs on the south African side to rob border jumpers.

Let’s stick together,” I whispered to Fatso in the darkness. Kupera and company seemed to know what they were doing. We quickly crossed over the main road at a point just before the roundabout to the Beitbridge Border Post. They did this almost every other night under the gaze of the stars. We quickly struck a footpath in the bushes. It led us straight to the river bank and we found the waters rolling in great torrents. Water splashed on the banks of the river, spraying in the air. Some logs and other alien objects floated on water. There were several women and three of them had children strapped on their backs.

What disturbed me most was the silence of these other people. They were too quiet. I think it had almost dawned on everyone that this journey was akin to a death wish. There was a heavy price to pay if something went wrong on the crossing. People could lose their lives.

I think both the push and pull factors for this journey drove all caution to the wind. I heard a shout coming from the bushes, “Kupera don’t take these people to their graves!” I heard that voice clearly. It came from somewhere to the left in the bushes which seemed to conspire against us. That voice sent a chill down my spine.

“Did you hear that warning?” Fatso said. I shrugged off my shoulders. I had reached a point of no return. My back was against the wall.

I suddenly thought of the ominous baobab tree. It had driven a person called Tindo to inscribe his name and declare he was there in 1999. Where was Tindo now? Maybe I should also have inscribed my name on the bark of the baobab tree before taking the plunge into the Limpopo River. The tree carried secrets of generations over the centuries.

“We’re dividing you into two groups. It makes it easy to monitor everyone who enters the waters,” Kupera said.

“If anything happens to you during the crossing, I am not responsible. You made your own free choice for my services. I don’t want blood on my hands,”. Kupera said. He was making sure that spirits of the dead would not haunt him in future.

I looked at the large body of water in front of me. The waters had become too still like a giant trap waiting for its prey. A great bird most likely an owl suddenly flapped its wings as it flew away from the tree top. We had most likely invaded it’s territory.

“Fatso where’re you?” I asked. My voice was low. Fatso was nowhere near. This was a bad beginning. We had somehow been separated from each other.

We were not allowed to use torches to avoid detection by both patrol teams from both the Zimbabwean and South African side. The young woman with a strapped baby to her back was directly in front of me.

“Everyone, stretch your arms forward and hold firmly the shoulders of one ahead of you,” Kupera said. His voice was too cold. There was no humanism in his voice.

I stretched my arms and held the shoulders of the young woman in front of me. Her child suddenly started crying. It was a bad omen. There were many loud gasps. The water felt cold. I almost jumped out of the river when my feet stepped on something slippery in the water. It had scales. I was sure it was a crocodile, likely a baby crocodile .

“Keep quiet!” Kupera shouted hoarsely. We were in single file. That’s how we made the crossing. Disaster struck when we were almost halfway across the river. The current of the water was high and I almost lost my balance. I suddenly found myself submerged up to my neck like everyone else. The young woman in front of me let out a sudden cry. She tried to fumble in the water, striking frantically the water with both hands. She started sobbing. Somewhere in front of me I heard a sudden splash, cries of agony, then silence.

“Don’t panic, you’ll get us all drowned,” I said. That was the first time I spoke to her. After what seemed like an eternity we stumbled onto the far bank, soaked and trembling. No one spoke. The young woman threw herself on the ground in agony. Where was Fatso?

“Now you’re on your own, I am going back with my men,” Kupera said. There was no emotion in his voice. He had completed another transaction. He would be counting his profit.

No one spoke. We counted ourselves in the darkness, thirty had entered the water, but only twenty seven stood among the reeds. The young woman stared back at the black current, her arms empty.

Behind us, the river flowed on, closing over everything, as if nothing had ever happened.

nOnie Ndoro X@Onie90396982/email: [email protected]