I was descending the stairs making my way to the parking lot, and I suddenly froze, a flashback about the afternoon I assassinated Jed Carter. By default, I turned around zoning in on every building window, terrace, rooftop, every crevasse, open space. My senses heightened, I felt the Adrenaline Effect ignite, and consume me. Every sound no matter how significant or not, I tracked. I searched from giggles, arguments, laughter, markers on boards. I was glad this was a switch on and off ability. Imagine if one could hear and listen to everything, literally, and think at the same time!
I focused on the sound and pulse I wanted. A weapon, long-range yet nothing similar. I had been too relaxed much like my peers who were oblivious to the world. How careless of me! My senses returned to normal. "I thought… Could it be 'thee' Juda Kufu? Now I'm (starting to doubt)", mocked a girl who set three steps from where I stood. I focused my attention on the girl, "honestly mate, do you- Lindiwe!?", "JK!", she leapt for an embrace. "Oh my gosh! It's been a long time, oh my gosh, the last time I saw you, we were kids sleeping in a box under a bridge.", she gave me a beatific smile.
Later that day we sat in a booth at Mama Africa, an African restaurant in Long Street. Lindiwe who set on the opposite side had indulged herself to the well-acclaimed Jollof Rice. I, on the other hand, skipped the Jollof for Banga Soup accompanied by two large glass cups of fruit juice and exchanged stories of over the heart, traditional food in a colourful, rustic setting with an eclectic mix of bands and drummers, Mama Africa.
After Mr Gola had taken Lindiwe away to live with his family, she was later shipped off to London to study social sciences at a girls-only boarding school. After completing grade twelve, her foster father asked her to return. In doing so, she enrolled at the same institution I was enrolled in and coincidently happened to be in the course, Applied Linguistics.
I shared my story, well not the clandestine life story. Obviously, there's no need to be redundant, you do know my story. She gazed at me and broke into a laugh. What?", I asked, "I have read it on Facebook and on one of those silly sub-Christian religious movies but I have never thought I was going to witness it", she chuckled. "Well, you should have seen me do a Denzel Washington on Training Day", "now that is my All-Star movie", "that's my All-Star actor", I conquered. "Well now that we have sorted that, tell me, how had you managed to find the Scroll of Zei", she muttered.
Luckily, I gobbled the juice before she asked otherwise, it would not have remained in my mouth. "Excuse me?", I pretended, "oh, cut the pretence JK. I know what you are, an Apostle of the Bantu Rite. Born into a faction, that's why my mentor could not take you in.", she said.
"Your mentor? Dr Gola?", I asked. She nodded, "hypothetically speaking, what if I were what you claim then how have you come to know of this?", I muttered. She rolled up her right sleeve revealing markings unknown to my knowledge.
"I'm a Maroon of Cabo da Boa Esperança", she said as she rolled down the sleeve. "Cape of Good Hope?", I asked, she nodded, "Spes Bona", she added. "The Maroons, really?", I asked. "JK, you found the Scroll of Zei", "perhaps…", "I need your help in locating this target", she placed a piece of paper on the table and shifted it to me.
I could not believe the names I saw written on the piece of parchment. I shook my head while returning the piece of parchment on Lindiwe's side of the table. "JK, I need your help in tracking them, you can find them", she pleaded. "I'm retired", I refused her plead. "Freedom is attributed to those who seek it. Is that not one of the pillars that your creed is founded on, I require your aid", she argued.
"I need every information you have on the lot. Where they move, when they move and how they move", I succumbed to her plea. "I knew you wouldn't resist my charm", she said smugly. Try saying that in front of Makela, I thought to myself.
Here I thought I was retired from the Creed days, I found myself with a Maroon who wanted (by order) two Pharisees. We stopped at the red light on a crossroad, my indicators signalling my turn to Loop Street. "Tell me, how had you moved from a cardboard box to owning a Zonda?", she asked while wearing her Ray-Bans. "Complement, the rich find my command irresistible. Exactly what are Pharisees, I mean, unless you are referring to the Biblical hypocrites", I asked.
The traffic lights turned green, (oh, yeah... did you know that we call traffic lights in South Africa, robots. Oh no! now I sound like Makela). "A Luciferian organized crime, from feeding the needy and sponsoring the greedy. Money by any means necessary is their way of life.", she answered. We reached another stop at yet another crossroad, on our way to Cape Town Central Metro Station. Constant gazing and glare in all directions. Which was due to the Zonda, a vehicle that does not commonly grace the streets of Good Hope.
"your Creed is a principle to a way of life, how had you become so rich. You need not answer, I am only curious. You turned out alright", she said. "Thanks. Were the Maroon Council present at the Maditau's summon?", I asked, "yes…". I took in a profound breath, "I hope I am wrong, but, it does not feel as if it is over", I shrugged.
I took a left turn to the parking lot, yet again, that discomfort feeling of an assassin with a bow and poison arrow. Why could I not let go of this particular feeling? Was I afraid of the paranoia of dying the same way I administered Jed Carter's assassination? My hand was stained with the blood of hundreds if not, thousands of Bearers. Yet only Carter's death sickened my being.
I was lost in thought until Lindiwe noticed it, "the price your conscious has to pay for the blood you stain", she said gazing at me. "I'm starting to dislike parking lots, you might never know who is about to end you", I grimaced. "Do you think you assassinated an innocent?", she asked with concern. "I don't know what you're talking about…", I lied flatly. She got out of the vehicle, closing the door and left without a word.
I had no idea of what to think of Lindiwe. Which of the Lindiwe? The student I met at the steps and my childhood best friend or the Maroon who possess the traits of a philosophic spy. It was one of those moments I needed Makela's annoyance and council. I longed to call her yet I would not succumb to it.
After Lindiwe's unceremonious departure I drove to Athlone. There was one person I had to see. It was late in the afternoon, by such a time the Learners at Spes Bona FET were leaving the school for home. It had not taken me that long to reach my destination as I rarely obeyed traffic lights (don't judge). With Akon's I'm So Paid track playing at a volume of 90, the vibe was set. Plus, a Pagani Zonda speeding is far more theatrical, and after two years, I was in a need for speed.
As I anticipated correctly, the school's vicinity was packed with Learner's. Others crossed the roads in groups as they lived near the school. Others occupied seats in the Cape Town flavoured taxis. Most natives travelled either by bus or train.
To the allure the Zonda possessed, in her excellent curve, Nomakaya froze time. All eyes were on her. The loud music from the Taxis appeared to be on mute. I have seen three Lamborghini Gallardo speeding in Belgravia a couple of years ago, but a Zonda? No.
I scanned around as I passed by to see if there were any none South Africans. Two years ago, there were five Angolans at the school. I, Kai, the egocentric Angolan wannabe President of Angola and his twin sisters, apart from the resemblance, because they looked like triplets when together, yet, utterly different. The Twins were nice and decent. To my satisfaction, I spotted one refugee, a teenager, probably in his late teens.
I parked my car in a teacher's parking space and two my surprise, the grade eight Learner's I left two years ago recognized me, "Aweh, Kufu. That's deidelik, bru", said one of the boys who stood on either side trying to impress the girls among them, who had lost interest due to my presence or Nomakaya's.
"Good afternoon Mrs Thornton, is Mrs Sahir still here?", I asked. Mrs Thornton gasped when she saw me, "My word! Kufu, look at you all gentlemen and polite. How have you been?", she asked while inspecting me. "Believe me Mrs Thornton if I told you. You would not believe me", "and you sporting a beard!?", she laughed, "it's nice to see you, man", "Likewise", I confessed. "You might find her in 10E or the staff room. My word, Kufu!", she beamed.
Mrs Sahir as usual was busy tutoring a group of learners, I was certain to find her in 10E and not in the staff room. None noticed that I stood at the door. Mrs Sahir, as passionate and dedicated as she was professional, took no notice of anything or anyone beyond her classroom. I could not help smile as I watched her facilitate her learners. She is indeed a phenomenal teacher.
I folded my arms and stood against the threshold in awe. I could not believe that once, I was like them, I wanted to leave school off to university. Teachers like Mrs Sahir spoiled their learners with guidance. It was difficult not to miss school after three months of university.