African Narrative

A dark grey sky and trickling water were all that could be seen. I laid in my bed for hours, I have never been as bored as I was now I was tired of living in Cape Town, seriously there is almost like there is no escape perched between a mountain and an ocean I am basically trapped. Quietly, I pull the covers off of my warm body, hoping that today would be a super day. I forced myself out of the comfort of my bed and I drowsily ambled across my room but, I managed to stub my toe from time to time. Slowly, turning the faucet of the sink to wash my exhaustion away to look up and see my face I aimlessly checked myself to make sure nothing has changed during the time period of the time I went to bed to now. Let's see, long brown, and curly hair …show more content…
I saw the word Apartheid more than I wish to count. There always seemed to be two different words that separated my kind from them and that was Afrikaner. I was known as an Afrikaner, I was supposed to hate African Americans, yet, I feel so bad for them. Now becoming agitated I screamed at my mother, “ Why would you show me this, why are we segregated, why aren't we stopping it?!?” she told me to calm down and that was why she was here, she said that she needs my help with this. I had to agree this was unfair to those citizens who, were almost like us besides their skin, it was unjust and it must be fixed. From what my mother told me we should follow the ways of Nelson Mandela. But, before I followed his ways, I needed to know who he was. I found out that he was part of the African National Congress. I studied for years, focused on the Nelson’s wishes to save South Africa however, it seemed that every resort taken hurt him more. But, Finally the day came of our first protest. It was nine at night and me and my mother wanted to make it there as quick as possible so we got on the road to go to Soweto. by the time we got there it was four in the morning, but we were to tired to get out now. We ended up sleeping until twelve in the afternoon but, that was considered as late because, when I was waking up all that you could hear in the background was many gunshots. My mother and I ran out to see corpses laying all over the street and many were injured. I screamed, “ Why, why would you do this. They didn't deserve it!”, as I dropped to my knees my mother dragged me to the car. We failed to help everyone, June 16, 1976 the day we let everyone die. I knew I had to do something either I had to get Nelson Mandela out of Prison or take matters into my own hands and, thats exactly what I