Blake Schwendiman's Blog and Blook

Chapter 32

Thursday, 10 March 2022 – 10:45 p.m. MST

Ramesh repacked the few items he had brought to Phoenix and added the spare clothing he had received from Quinn. He was glad to have it for the few days he was in Durban.

His head spun as he considered all that had happened in the last thirty-six hours. No one would have believed his story, if he had anyone to tell. He went to the patio and sat. He enjoyed being outside so early in the year. There were many things he missed about Arizona.

He began considering his trip to Durban. He thought back to his early years. He remembered the football and cricket matches he played in his home town of Chatsworth. He tried to recall the sounds and sights of the festivals in Durban that he had attended with his family. There were some good memories that Ramesh was able to recall, but the most vivid memory of his youth was one that he had tried to drive from his mind for almost forty years.

Ramesh remembered spending a muggy summer day outside with his younger brother Harij playing in the garden. With their nearest friends they had established a makeshift football pitch and spent most of their days practicing and playing. Harij was one of the best football players in the neighborhood. Ramesh was both jealous and proud at the same time, depending on who else was playing.

Their neighbor, Mr. Reddy often stopped by with home-brewed ginger beer or left-over samosas and gave pointers and tips. Mr. Reddy had been a football coach for a boys team for years and loved to help the kids. He was an entrepreneurial man, always changing jobs. He had recently entered the local taxi business, had purchased a used Kombi and was making regular trips between Chatsworth, Phoenix and downtown Durban. Ramesh and Harij had been allowed to make a few special trips with Mr. Reddy just for fun.

It was on a particularly sweltering day that Ramesh and Harij sat on the grass of the football pitch and just talked with each other. They dreamed of playing football professionally and the money they would make. Three Kombis arrived and drove right into the garden at Mr. Reddy’s house. A dozen or more African men piled out of the Kombis and rushed into the home. Ramesh heard Mr. Reddy cry out. There was shouting. Then Ramesh saw Mr. Reddy being dragged out of his home. He was unconscious. Three Africans lifted him up while two others pulled a rubber tire over his neck and filled the inside with petrol. Harij started screaming and running toward the house. Ramesh grabbed him and pulled him back.

Ramesh remembered the horrifying scream and the acrid black smoke rising up from the burning figure that had been his neighbor. The three Kombis disappeared almost instantly leaving two young boys clutching each other and weeping as their dear Mr. Reddy suffered a most terrifying death. The necklace, as it was called, was typically reserved for Africans who opposed the ANC, the African Nation Congress. Rarely was the necklace used on a non-African, but Mr. Reddy had stepped over a boundary that few outside South Africa could comprehend. The taxi routes were owned by the Africans and were violently defended. Newcomers were not welcome. Especially Indian newcomers.

Less than six months passed before Ramesh and his family emigrated to the United Kingdom. Harij was never quite the same. He lost interest in football and spent most of his time alone. Ramesh had used the event as a catalyst for his career. He focused on his studies and emphasized ethics and politics.

Ramesh stood. He drew in another breath of sweet orange blossoms and returned to the suite. He settled onto the bed and tried to find some pleasant memories. He hated falling asleep with the fresh thoughts of tragedy burning in his mind. He could find nothing that was truly pleasant.