LIVING IN TERROR : I AM AFRAID
I keep having a recurring memory of the first time I felt terror intimately. We were living in Diepkloof, Soweto. Just me, my parents and Dube my beloved St. Bernard. My lift club Combi, would pick me up to take me to school and my parents would drive to work together. On this one particular morning, I think I was nine years old, my parents left the house before me as my Combi was running late and Sisi, the woman who capably took care of our home and of me was on her way but had not arrived yet.
I was alone waiting outside the house with a back pack half my size, a crisp uniform and a highly vaselined innocent face. It was eerily quiet which was abnormal because at my normal pick up time there were other children standing by their gates like me waiting for their transport. Although I was only nine years old, I knew the turmoil the country was in. These were the early 1990s and every other day schooling would be disrupted by stay-aways meaning no one reported to work or to school and if you did not abide there would be consequences. There was also the prevalent and pervasive violence which up until that point seemed to be at a safe distance. Being alone that morning having seen a glimpse of the news the night before was discomforting.
The stillness of the morning was shattered by the sounds of multiple gun shots. Two men were firing their handguns right in front of me while running from another man chasing them. Have you ever experienced a gun fight at such close range that you were convinced that a bullet must have hit you? A minor miscalculation by either of the gunmen and I would have been struck.
No one else witnessed this movie except for me, not even a stray dog in sight. And as quickly as the gunmen had appeared, they disappeared. And as quickly as they disappeared my neighbors came rushing out startled by the soundscape of terror. I, as the only witness was surrounded by people who wanted to know who and what and why. For the first time in my life I felt the paralysis of terror. I could not speak or cry. I was rendered unmovable by fear.
As if to rescue me from neighbors smothering me, my Combi arrived. I do not know how I made it inside. The other kids in the Combi saw all the neighborly commotion and they now too wanted to know what had happened. Still I could not speak. I did not speak at school either. I was afraid. I think I managed to speak when I saw my parents again that evening. They had been told by the neighbors that I had seen something and they wanted to know too.
My body’s intelligent reaction to the terror of that morning was to obscure my memory. I could barely recall the details of what happened. And what I could recall I had started doubting the veracity of. Were there three men? Was is it multiple shots? If it was not for the neighbors corroborating the sound of the gun shots I would have convinced myself that I made the whole thing up.
This was one of the earliest instances of terror in my life. I am grateful that guns and shoot outs have not been a part of my life. But I do live with the terror of things that haven’t happened yet. The terror that our violent country will finally claim me or someone I love. This sense of terror has been heightened by the hyper active WhatsApp groups that warn of every neighborhood crime and every COVID-19 mutation. I am afraid.
How do I ensure that fear doesn’t paralyse me or render me mute? Writer, Arthur C Brooks observes that the real issue is that we have too little love in our lives to protect us against our fears. The only antidote to terror is love. Saint John the Apostle said: “There is no fear in love.” In a reality where we are overwhelmed by the daily reported South African terrors, make sure you are not the reason someone is afraid. Make sure you are the reason someone knows love.
