As a young girl growing up in a country where ideological perceptions bound me to what I did and did not have, what I could and could not say and how I would and would not treat people, the inequalities and hierarchy’s within my people scared me. They scared me so much that even to this day I can clearly recall what went on, and although I do not agree with what happened to me and my family, I assume the actions of our predecessors led us to this.
In the weeks and months leading up to it, the riots got larger and the talk started to get more out of hand. Stories from places not to close, but not too far from us were told. My cousin, who lived in Hwange, just inside Zimbabwe, owned a farm. He came to us two weeks before they did. The Yahweh …show more content…
I could barely make out a large group of figures surrounding the vehicle. When I turned to look at my mother her face was pale. She rushed out to grab my farther and some exchanges were murmured and then an almighty sound erupted. I froze dead quiet, not looking to see what happened.
Large dark men walked in, about 40. Many I knew from around town, those that had worked at the post office, and the bakery, and my teachers from school. I looked around and found myself staring into the eyes of Bongami, a good friend of mine from school. He looked glazed over, and impassive as though he had not noticed how distressed I was.
I ran over to help my farther who had been knocked over in the midst of the rowel. He’s eyes watered and blood ran from his nose and onto the fresh marble pavement. The red of the blood was striking against his pale skin. He was dragged away from me and that was the last I saw him for some years. The truck drove off and the dark men followed, and my cries chased …show more content…
This was the start of a fight of identity that my country had been having for decades now. And after the orange sand settled, and the houses were all big, and the jobs were all full, I still wonder if there is a fight. These people, my people and their people, we all experienced the same thing. Does that make us equal, or does that just fuel more hate?
That night I was given a choice between two identities. As I was born of both colours and both nations, what was I? Was I one or the other, or neither? This was the start on a chapter in both my life, and the history of my country that will never be forgotten.
My short story was derived from the idea of a reverse apartheid. In Africa today, many extremist groups including the nation of Yahwe and the United Nuwaubian Nation of Moors, believe in the idea of a reverse apartheid. This is taken from the idea of black supremacy, which is the same premises that the apartheid was built on. This is looked at from the perspective of a young girl who is of mixed race. The story looks at the ideas of loss of innocence, national identity, personal identity and how the past effects the
In the weeks and months leading up to it, the riots got larger and the talk started to get more out of hand. Stories from places not to close, but not too far from us were told. My cousin, who lived in Hwange, just inside Zimbabwe, owned a farm. He came to us two weeks before they did. The Yahweh …show more content…
I could barely make out a large group of figures surrounding the vehicle. When I turned to look at my mother her face was pale. She rushed out to grab my farther and some exchanges were murmured and then an almighty sound erupted. I froze dead quiet, not looking to see what happened.
Large dark men walked in, about 40. Many I knew from around town, those that had worked at the post office, and the bakery, and my teachers from school. I looked around and found myself staring into the eyes of Bongami, a good friend of mine from school. He looked glazed over, and impassive as though he had not noticed how distressed I was.
I ran over to help my farther who had been knocked over in the midst of the rowel. He’s eyes watered and blood ran from his nose and onto the fresh marble pavement. The red of the blood was striking against his pale skin. He was dragged away from me and that was the last I saw him for some years. The truck drove off and the dark men followed, and my cries chased …show more content…
This was the start of a fight of identity that my country had been having for decades now. And after the orange sand settled, and the houses were all big, and the jobs were all full, I still wonder if there is a fight. These people, my people and their people, we all experienced the same thing. Does that make us equal, or does that just fuel more hate?
That night I was given a choice between two identities. As I was born of both colours and both nations, what was I? Was I one or the other, or neither? This was the start on a chapter in both my life, and the history of my country that will never be forgotten.
My short story was derived from the idea of a reverse apartheid. In Africa today, many extremist groups including the nation of Yahwe and the United Nuwaubian Nation of Moors, believe in the idea of a reverse apartheid. This is taken from the idea of black supremacy, which is the same premises that the apartheid was built on. This is looked at from the perspective of a young girl who is of mixed race. The story looks at the ideas of loss of innocence, national identity, personal identity and how the past effects the