The grass is like a pillow, cushioning the weight of my body as I stare into depths of blue, wondering when the sky will swallow. Before it has a chance to choke me down, the great beyond is overpowered by giant concrete slabs rising from the ground in a semi-circular enclave, like some sort of futuristic alien spacecraft. Rejected by the earth and yet welded to it. A megalomaniacal fortress burst forth from an apartheid landscape, wrapping itself around me like a blanket. Shut out. Close in. How could something so brutal, so ugly, bring so much comfort? I breathe deeply. Alone. Inside the belly of the beast. Where it is soft and green. Where there is space to wonder. To think, imagine, hope. My fingers twitch as I imagine sentences inscribed onto neat lines only moments ago. The girl in the red cloak and silly hood whipped a pistol from her knickers and Bang! Bang! Bang! she shot him dead. And put him on. A lovely furry wolf skin coat. Could I be that girl? Am I? The sky beckons.
Author & Storyteller: Andrea Zanin
Andrea is a writer, wife, mother and dreamer; also the author of this website. She moved to London in 2006 to earn £s, travel, see bands and buy 24-up Dr Martens—which she did, and then ended up staying. Andrea lives in North London with her husband (also a Saffa) and five children. She loves this grand old city but misses her home and wishes her children could say “lekker” (like a South African) and knew what a “khoki” is.
