Georgedale
✍️ Lindor Hlongwa
I was staying at my grandmother's house, which was located at the heart of Georgedale. Georgedale wasn't the biggest, but it was at the middle of Hammarsdale.
It was a township that was wrong; right for its people and maybe wrong for the others. A place to visit for a few weeks and not a place to settle.
It was October and we sat under a tree enjoying the shade. Before Sandile left, we saw a gang. They must have parked their car after we started our conversation, for it was near grandmother's gate.
The sky was cloudless and the sun hot that you felt like splashing in the cold water. The car was silver, shinning as if made of mirrors. And out that mirror-shine we saw the gang emerge and pull out their knives, as a couple walked towards them holding hands, completely unaware of the danger.
It was difficult to watch, but they wanted us to see, or they wanted everyone to see.
"They are so young," I said.
"No, they're not."
They weren't, and I knew that. We're all somewhat sensitive to real-life violence, especially when we come upon it by chance and alone, when we're unprepared.
In truth, no one could have prepared me for what I was about to witness.
We could have warned the couple or yelled at the gang to stop, but we didn't.
We had the power to stop them or perhaps delay the inevitable.
This was a gang of children, undoubtedly, young boys and maybe one of them was older, more matured.
We could have done something, but we just sat there quiet.
What Sandile thought of this I didn't know. He said nothing about it until much later. But his face filled up with horror, as those boys should have reacted when the older one of them came in front of the couple and buried his knife in the girl's belly as if this was a boxing match and he was throwing body shots, but only with a knife.
The girl didn't even make a sound. She collapsed, her hands on her belly, blood flowing out and slowly covering the hot dry street...
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