Welcome to the homeland

Cynthia was looking through the window as the bus passed through the rugged hills and the huge display of the green miellie fields that welcomed them to the Transkei homeland. The greenness of the mealie fields and the grass that covered the hills gave a great picturesque of the landscapes and added a fresh fresh smell to the hotness of the summer season. She watched those hills and landscapes with great enthusiasm. She felt somehow refreshed and forgot about her troubles for a moment. "WELCOME TO TRANSKEI" a big green board was written in big white letters in front of them. Soon the realisation that she left Johannesburg hit again. She kept wondering about kind of people she was going to meet for the first time. She had no friends there and she knew noone. Even the aunt she was visiting was almost a stranger to her because they never stayed together for a long time. She only saw her during her father's funeral and that was the first time they met.The Transkei homeland was one of the former TBVC states. These TBVC states ( Transkei, Bophuthatswana, Venda and Ciskei) were the independent homelands. They were not under the white supremacy. They had their own black prime ministers who were in charge of them as heads of states. They had their own constitution and their parliaments. The White government had created boundaries between these states and the land that they claimed as under their rule. These boundaries served as political barriers that separated the entire South Africa from these particular areas. The great Kei river was a boundary between the Transkei and the Ciskei regions, hence the names. Transkei meant to cross the Kei and the Ciskei meant before you cross it. Those who were crossing these borders were forced to produce the necessary documents that served as authorisation to pass through otherwise one would be jailed if they fail to meet these standards. The passport document was used as an authorised way to get through the other side of the boundary. Cynthia remembered that earlier they were asked to climb down so that they could produce their legal documentation to pass the boarder to Transkei. She kept asking herself many questions. " Why do we have to produce documents when we travel within a same country. Why there are so many boarders to devide the land that belongs to our forefathers. Why can't we travel freely without being treated foreigners". She quickly remembered that even in Johannesburg black people had to produce the pass documents everytime they were walking in the city. If they were found without the compass( as it was called) they would be thrown in jail and a six months sentence would be their punishment.

Even if a person was looking for a job they had to produce their pass documents. This meant that if a person was coming from the villages they had to have two legal documentation which are the passport to cross the borders and the pass documents to move around Jo'burg. And this was a problem for most of the villagers. They went to Jo'burg to look for a job and then they were arrested or deported back to their villages if they did not have these pass documents. It was not only the right to travel that was limited or prohibited. The were some restrictions that were made concerning buying and ownership as well. A black man was not allowed to buy alcohol from any bottle store or own a tarvern thereof. In this regard many were arrested trying to make means of living by selling home brewed beverages like the traditional beer. These people were operating as unlicensed township tarverns and they had to dodge the police officers in order to avoid getting arrested. The police patrols would be conducted especially during the late hours or weekend where most people were off their duties and tried to enjoy themselves. They would always stayed alert incase the police officers tried to catch them off guard. As soon as someone saw the police can they would blow the whistle or screamed the word "co-o-o-p-s and we everyone would leave everything and run for their lives. When the cops arrived at the crime scene, they would confiscate all the alcohol or rather disposed of it before they arrest the owner and those who were drinking.

Cynthia was thinking about all these incidents while she was travelling all that distance. Her mind was travelling as well, recalling all the events that were taking place while she was still in Johannesburg. She remembered when the cops arrived at her home one evening. They were carrying Knobkerries and hand handcuffs. That was what the black cops would carry when they were going for a raid. It was only the white cops who would carry the fire arms when they were patrolling. Sometimes the black cops would face a dangerous situation without proper weapons. They did not even wear the bullet proof vests. At times they would be the ones who would be injured. The white cops were moving around with fire arms hanging in their waist belts. Cynthia remembered clearly everything that happened the night the cops visited her home. They were given a tip off that Cynthia' s father was a ring leader of one of the anti- apartheid movements. One of the impimpi( the snitch) passed that information to the white officials. Cynthia's father was not at home that evening. It was only her mother and her siblings who were at home. The cops raided their home without every a warrant of search. They put everything up side down looking for anything that could implicate Cynthia's father to the accusations he was facing. On their search they came across a barrel of ginger beer that Mme Mathebula was selling. They spilled it and accuse her of selling illegally. They demanded the keys to the room that was locked. They accused her of stashing alcohol inside that room. They raided it and did not find alcohol. They handcuffed her and dragged her into the police van for questioning. " Where is your husband, have you hidden him', they shouted while kicking her. Mrs Mathebula was crying helplessly begging them not to take her in. She pleaded for her children not to be harmed as well. Cynthia and her siblings were roaming around their mother crying and begging those ruthless cops not to take their mother away to no avail. They were pushed aside and their mother was thrown Inside the van. They were lest alone crying and the neighbours came to look after them when the police had gone with their mother. That night their father did not return home. They kept waiting for the whole weekend until it was Monday. Later that day their mother came back. She was accompanied by some women she was going to church with and was cryng inconsolable. It was chaotic and the only words that Cynthia and her siblings could hear was that their father had been shot. They were taken to the house of their mother"s friend to sleep there. They were confused and crying. The following day they saw people entering their home to console their mother who was sitting in a mattress behind the door. It was when they realised that their father was no more. It was a painful time if their Lives. When her mother realised that Rowen Miller was behind the shooting of her husband, she decided to send Cynthia away. It was for their safety as a whole family. Cynthia was remembering the way she was crying bitterly for the passing of her father. The tears started to roll down her cheeks They fell in her chest as the bus was bumping on the dusty roads of the villages. A column of red dust formed in front of the bus making it difficult to avoid the potholes of the road. The were times it got stuck on the muddy potholes and the driver had to try to reverse it and drive slowly forward. It was like her journey was taking a million years. She could not wait to explore what was awaiting ahead of her. And that made her cry too. The pain of not knowing where she was going to and the pain of leaving her loved ones in a difficult situation was unbelievable. She wiped her tears with a sleeve of her Jersey. The bus came to a halt in front of a bus stop shelter. Her journey came to an end. She took her luggage and climbed down. She looked around confused, not knowing the direction she had to take. The village was full of clustered round mud thatched huts. There were no house numbers. She had to look around until she found the place she was going to. She took her luggage and followed a group of people who were in the bus with her with the hope to ask for directions.