Its like a kaleidoscope of memories screaming behind there on the corner of my head. But the very moment never comes and it all comes silent and he comes - they come. His glorified smug face is hid behind the rays of the midday sun, he laughs then disappears but his laugh slowly dying out of presence.
Part of me knew the second they came to the house that it would happened. Its not what I saw but what I felt that awakened the fear. Crazy thing, is I don't know if I am ever going to feel that feeling or know that I should. It burnt in my bosom like gin entering a virgin mouth, the burns just continues until it destined place.
How could the devil bring one to his playground, take everything including every person in the victims' lives and leave them? What is the point? Why didn't he take me, Teska Hupe, with his mob?
Why hadn't he searched the house, found us and ended our lives as he did to them.
I remember that night fine and clear.
Mama was giving birth that night. She often felt ill during that pregnancy, got better but her strength she had never gotten back. That was a miserable night, gail-forced winds threatening to take our hut away. The rain calming the dust evoked but didn't manage.
The stars were few as if designed specially for this day. Limited light, air was cold like the atlantic.
'Xuks trekp t'wajit omna ketrz vernt', she screamt. - HURRY THE BABY IS COMING.
Unathi, my sister, run out to get help from the local midwife - Greta. I held Mama's hand without wisdom of what was going on or to happen. She squeezed my hand and I remember howling my guts out in sync with her travails.
Papa left us that we because he said the worse was to come due to this birth. I recall Mama begging him to not leave and he pushed her to the floor. That day he never came back and Mama was never the same. Her eyes continued to redden as the fever worsened but medicine was not going help her in those days.
The midwife, barged in the house asking me to bring warm water. Panicking I drew lukewarm water from the tin we used as a kettle. Hands shaking violently I dropped the water, it splashed in all direction and mother's cries grew ferociously. I tried again and delivered the water.
In a few minutes life was brought to our home. Suddenly the feeling came, it burned my chest and my throat lost all lubrication.
'Hre, blim hjek k'jwait ke'ej omna. Hej yu haka irta erker prutera ontma kreman', Greta whispered - Girls, calm down and go under your bed quietly don't even make a sound even when you see blood.
Greta then gave the baby to Unta, her daughter, waiting behind the back door.
We rushed under the bed and closed our mouths. Outside we saw a mob were scarlet robes hiding there countenance and by their hands candles - with them an uneasy presence swallowed us all.
Mama's breathe was shortened as she noticed the men. Greta scared but determined to protect Mama, even when it meant her life was going to be taken; she held her jurke'r - crucifix - mumbling words to Ghery't (God) for aid.
They entered. Screams were evoked. Chaos everywhere, they dragged them to the wall and pierced Greta with a dagger in her heart. Mama howled and all her vocal muscles were in function but her cries were for nothing because the birth she gave was an abomination to the Kataliban.
They tied her to the table with her legs separated and her thighs exposed. Shut her mouth. They painted her belly and head with something that could've been blood but it was not visible because our eyes were hid behind the waters of sadness.
The man exposed his face and said something - but not clear - and he cut mother open in every possible place. The servant drew wine glasses and Mama's blood filled them. They drained her life drop for drop.
We watched the blood drizzle on the floor in slow motion, swaying as a leave in autumn wretched from its mother brunch. The splashes echoing there, here and there again as if it were recorded and placed on repeat.
Laughing and buoyant the murders were, they left the house without checking if we were there. We remained in our stationery point for hours grasping every fine detail of the slaughter that took place. Our eyes were cameras processing every picture in our sub-concious waiting to play the image later in life.
It was a cult - some evil sort of cleansing.
We stood up, lifeless, trying by all means to format the event that took place. We cleaned the house, untied Mama. We cleaned her, dressing her in her favourite gown, brushed her hair, placed a katalina - flower - on her hair and closed her eyes.
We did the same to Greta with assistance of her daughter. We dug graves and buried their cold hardened bodies. In that time, my emotions were switched off and I wore a frown as facade to hid myself.
We burnt the house and I squeezed Unathi's hand. Never, never again shall we be frail and vulnerable - we vowed.
Finally, our tears we dry and from that day my tears, no man saw, and were dried up somewhere in my hands and on the floor. The dawn was froze at our sight and the sun never forgot our sharp faces.
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone.
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