Written by: Wonga Tsalupondo
“It was the greatest pain I had ever seen.” ~ Wonga Tsalupondo, I TOLD YOU I WOULD LET YOU KNOW - SO HERE IT IS, GOODBYE: PART I
The first bullet ricocheted above the headboard and fell on my chest, jotting me awake. At first, I couldn’t comprehend what it was, as it seemed too far-fetched for it to be a bullet. Until I followed the searing hot sensation, rolling down to my abdomen. Even then it didn’t register, until the second shot flies through the room and passes right between my eyes. Only then did I think to duck on the floor, next to the bed. More showers of bullet noises and windows breaking rushed in. Many of the bullets land either on the headboard or above it. It is clear to me that it wasn’t an accident, or a crossfire type of thing, but they were intended for us. Someone was targeting us, again. The fact that it was happening again, felt like a dream, because deep down my consciousness I knew that there was no ‘us’. I was left alone from the last incident that occurred on the 12th of November 2020.
In that very moment that I thought I was alone, I hear a voice full of fear bellowing my name. And an indescribable sense of relief watches over me. Its the same feeling you get when you awake from a seemingly unescapable nightmare, to only realise it was just a dream and everything is okay. But that feeling doesn’t last very long.
“Uuka?! Uuka, yiza kwelicala lebhedi” “Come to this side of the bed” the voice says in a matter-of-fact tone and with urgency.
In the midst of the clatter of gunfire, I hurriedly crawl to the side of the bed where the voice emerged from. To my surprise, it was Lungani in my sight! I could not believe my very eyes. I thought they were deceiving me. He was alive, and it didn’t feel like a dream. It felt real, so much that I was naive enough to believe that it was reality. I wanted it to be real! I wanted to believe that it was him! I looked around, looking for any features within the room and around him that would tell me that its just a dream. But there were none. Everything seemed consistent; there were no ghostly forms and halos appearing and disappearing, nothing was out of the ordinary, besides him being face-to-face with me. In over a year and 2 months, I have never seen his face, in my dreams, this resolute!
Still on my hands and knees, in disbelief, I take a moment to look between my arms and I close my eyes; in reopening them, there’s a puddle and I see a reflection of myself. A reflection resembling the aghast face I saw in the mirror on the 12th of November 2020, after they had taken Lungani’s limp body with a body bag. I remember the day as if it was just a few hours ago. I remember watching life slowly fade out of him, how his head just succumbed in my hands when there was no life left in him. I remember cradling his upper body on my lap until it fell cold, contrasting the soul that once lived inside the very body. A soul that was gentle, warm, full of life, laughter, experiences and memories, wit, ambition, and love. But there was no longer that, he was just a vacant shell. With that thought, it clicked - the realisation dawned upon me, and upon that realisation, the old hopelessness found its way back to me. It was, indeed, a dream. Lungani was dead!
This time around, I wasn’t awaken in a dream, but to reality; and I wasn't awaken by a bullet, but I was awaken by rapid knock on the door. In my dismay, I hurriedly walk on the balls of my feet, in the ice-cold tiles, to the door, swinging it open with anger and an absent mind. At the door, it was a countenance that I have never seen before, but closely resembled that of Lungani. Yet, again, it was probably me being desperate in make-believe, or I was just about losing my bearings.
Without me asking him who he was, the man said, “I am Nyaniso, Lungani’s brother, and I am here to balance the scores!”
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