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Writer's pictureCAFTA Co. Writer

It's Always the Black Man

Updated: Jun 21, 2020

by Freddy Nyezi


 

I walked into the shop an innocent –

My hands, my mind and

My intentions

Were clean.

I was the only person of colour and

There definitely had been a shift

In the atmosphere of the

Convenience store,

I was already

A suspect.

The CCTV cameras had served no purpose

Because their gawking eyes and their

Scrunched-up noses surveiled and

Judged my every move. I took

Out the hundreds that nested

In my pocket and counted

Them carefully – I was

Justifying myself,

Explaining, that

I too was a

Customer.

I walked around some more but

Found nothing I wanted. I

Deposited my cash into

My pockets and my

Fists followed. I

Walked

Towards the exit. My hands were empty

But my heart was heavy. Just before

I walked past those scanner-beeper

Thingies at the door, I said a silent

Prayer and hoped that they

Wouldn’t go off and that

Nothing had fallen into

My pocket to give

Those people

Their satisfaction.

I exited the store.

The scanner-beeper thingies were silent.

I was a bit relieved but I couldn’t help but

Feel guilty.

I had already stolen something by

Simply walking into the store.

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