Beverley Naidoo - Journey to Jo’Burg

Finally Naledi could stand it no longer. When they had returned with the water, she called Tiro to the back of the house and spoke bluntly.

“We must get Mma, or Dineo is going to die!”

“But how?” Tiro was bewildered. Their mother worked and lived in Johannesburg, more than 300 kilometres away.

“We can get to the big road and walk,” Naledi replied calmly.

It was the school holidays now, but in term-time it took the children more than an hour to walk to school each day, so they were used to walking. Naledi wasn’t going to let herself think how much longer it would take to get to Johannesburg.

However, Tiro was not so sure.

“But Nono doesn’t want us to worry Mma and I know she won’t let us go!”

“That’s just it,” Naledi retorted quickly. “Nono and Mmangwane keep saying Dineo will be better soon. You heard them talking last night. They say they don’t want to send Mma a telegram and frighten her. But what if they wait and it’s too late?”

Tiro thought for a moment.

“Can’t we send Mma a telegram?”

“How can we if we haven’t the money? And if we borrow some, Nono will hear about it and be very cross with us.”

It was clear that Naledi had made up her mind – and Tiro knew his sister. She was four years older than him, already thirteen, and once she had decided something, that was that.

So Tiro gave up reasoning.

The children went to find Naledi’s friend Poleng, and explained. Poleng was very surprised but agreed to help. She would tell Nono once the children had gone and she also promised to help their granny, bringing the water and doing the other jobs.

“How will you eat on the way?” Poleng asked.

Tiro looked worried, but Naledi was confident.

“Oh, we’ll find something.”

Poleng told them to wait and ran into her house, returning soon with a couple of sweet potatoes and a bottle of water. The children thanked her. She was indeed a good friend.

Before they could go, Naledi had to get the last letter Mma had sent, so they would know where to look for her in the big city. Slipping into the house, Naledi took the letter quietly from the tin without Nono or Mmangwane noticing. Both were busy with Dineo as Naledi slipped out again.

The children walked quickly away from the village. The road was really just a track made by car tyres. Two lines of dusty red earth leading out across the flat dry grassland.

Once at the big tar road, they turned in the direction of the early morning sun, for that was the way to Johannesburg. The steel railway line glinted alongside the road.

“If only we had some money to buy tickets for the train. We don’t have even one cent.” Tiro sighed.

“Never mind. We’ll get there somehow!” Naledi was still confident as they set off eastwards.

The tar road burnt their feet.

“Let’s walk at the side,” Tiro suggested.

The grass was dry and scratchy, but they were used to it. Now and again, a car or a truck roared by, and then the road was quiet again and they were alone. Naledi began to sing the words of her favourite tune and Tiro was soon joining in.

On they walked.

“Can’t we stop and eat?” Tiro was beginning to feel sharp stabs of hunger. But Naledi wanted to go on until they reached the top of the long, low hill ahead.

Their legs slowed down as they began the walk uphill, their bodies feeling heavy. At last they came to the top and flopped down to rest.

Hungrily they ate their sweet potatoes and drank the water. The air was hot and still. Some birds skimmed lightly across the sky as they gazed down at the long road ahead. It stretched into the distance, between fenced-off fields and dry grass, up to another far-off hill.

“Come on! We must get on,” Naledi insisted, pulling herself up quickly.

She could tell that Tiro was already tired, but they couldn’t afford to stop for long. The sun had already passed its midday position and they didn’t seem to have travelled very far.

On they walked, steadily, singing to break the silence.

But in the middle of the afternoon, when the road led into a small town, they stopped singing and began to walk a little faster. They were afraid a policeman might stop them because they were strangers.

Policemen were dangerous. Even in their village they knew that …

The older children at school had made up a song:

“Beware that policeman,

He’ll want to see your ‘pass’ 1,

He’ll say it’s not in order,

That day may be your last!”

Grown-ups were always talking about this “pass”. If you wanted to visit some place, the “pass” must allow it. If you wanted to change your job, the “pass” must allow it. It seemed everyone in school knew somebody who had been in trouble over the “pass”.

Naledi and Tiro remembered all too clearly the terrible stories their uncle had told them about a prison farm. One day he had left his “pass” at home and a policeman had stopped him. That was how he got sent to the prison farm.

So, without even speaking, Naledi and Tiro knew the fear in the other’s heart as they walked through the strange town. They longed to look in some of the shop windows, but they did not dare stop. Nervously, they hurried along the main street, until they had left the last house of the town behind them.

On they walked. The sun was low down now and there was a strong smell of oranges coming from rows and rows of orange trees behind barbed wire fences. As far as they could see there were orange trees with dark green leaves and bright round fruit. Oranges were sweet and wonderful to taste and they didn’t have them often.