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“How can I not cry, Mom? You almost died.” “No, I wasn’t going to die. I wasn’t going to die. It’s okay. I wasn’t going to die.” “But I thought you were dead.” I kept bawling and bawling. “I thought I’d lost you.” “No, baby. Baby, don’t cry. Trevor. Trevor, listen. Listen to me. Listen.” “What?” I said, tears streaming down my face. “My child, you must look on the bright side.” “What? What are you talking about, ‘the bright side’? Mom, you were shot in the face. There is no bright side.” “Of course there is. Now you’re officially the best-looking person in the family.” She broke out in a huge smile and started laughing. Through my tears, I started laughing, too. I was bawling my eyes out and laughing hysterically at the same time. We sat there and she squeezed my hand and we cracked each other up the way we always did, mother and son, laughing together through the pain in an intensive-care recovery room on a bright and sunny and beautiful day.
W hen my mother was shot, so much happened so quickly. We were only able to piece the whole story together after the fact, as we collected all the different accounts from everyone who was there. Waiting around at the hospital that day, we had so many unanswered questions, like, What happened to Isaac? Where was Isaac? We only found out after we found him and he told us. When Andrew sped off with my mom, leaving the four-year-old alone on the front lawn, Abel walked over to his youngest, picked him up, put the boy in his car, and drove away. As they drove, Isaac turned to his dad. “Dad, why did you kill Mom?” he asked, at that point assuming, as we all did, that my mom was dead. “Because I’m very unhappy,” Abel replied. “Because I’m very sad.” “Yeah, but you shouldn’t kill Mom. Where are we going now?” “I’m going to drop you off at your uncle’s house.” “And where are you going?” “I’m going to kill myself.” “But don’t kill yourself, Dad.” “No, I’m going to kill myself.” The uncle Abel was talking about was not a real uncle but a friend. He dropped Isaac off with this friend and then he drove off. He spent that day and went to everyone, relatives and friends, and said his goodbyes. He even told people what he had done. “This is what I’ve done. I’ve killed her, and I’m now on the way to kill myself. Goodbye.” He spent the whole day on this strange farewell tour, until finally one of his cousins called him out. “You need to man up,” the cousin said. “This is the coward’s way. You need to turn yourself in. If you were man enough to do this, you have to be man enough to face the consequences.” Abel broke down and handed his gun over to the cousin, the cousin drove him to the police station, and Abel turned himself in. He spent a couple of weeks in jail, waiting for a bail hearing. We filed a motion opposing bail because he’d shown that he was a threat. Since Andrew and Isaac were still minors, social workers started getting involved. We felt like the case was open-and-shut, but then one day, after a month or so, we got a call that he’d made bail. The great irony was that he got bail because he told the judge that if he was in jail, he couldn’t earn money to support his kids. But he wasn’t supporting his kids—my mom was supporting the kids. So Abel was out. The case slowly ground its way through the legal system, and everything went against us. Because of my mother’s miraculous recovery, the charge was only attempted murder. And because no domestic violence charges had ever been filed in all the times my mother had called the police to report him, Abel had no criminal record. He got a good lawyer, who continued to lean on the court about the fact that he had children at home who needed him. The case never went to trial. Abel pled guilty to attempted murder. He was given three years’ probation. He didn’t serve a single day in prison. He kept joint custody of his sons. He’s walking around Johannesburg today, completely free. The last I heard he still lives somewhere around Highlands North, not too far from my mom. — The final piece of the story came from my mom, who could only tell us her side after she woke up. She remembered Abel pulling up and pointing the gun at Andrew. She remembered falling to the ground after getting shot in the ass. Then Abel came and stood over her and pointed his gun at her head. She looked up and looked at him straight down the barrel of the gun. Then she started to pray, and that’s when the gun misfired. Then it misfired again. Then it misfired again, and again. She jumped up, shoved him away, and ran for the car. Andrew leapt in beside her and she turned the ignition and then her memory went blank. To this day, nobody can explain what happened. Even the police didn’t understand. Because it wasn’t like
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Copyright © 2016 by Trevor Noah Al
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IMMORALITY ACT, 1927 To prohibit il
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RUN Sometimes in big Hollywood movi
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like bouncers at a club, and hold t
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failed her she’d use her wits. If
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you stealing our customers? Why are
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there, this little boy and his mom,
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BORN A CRIME I grew up in South Afr
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Many of the prostitutes in town wer
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he hadn’t, but once I existed he
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Traveling around the world today, I
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TREVOR, PRAY I grew up in a world r
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That’s all she did, all day, ever
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speakeasy. The shebeens were where
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using sonar. Every time she called
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praying continued. It went on for s
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CHAMELEON One afternoon I was playi
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As a kid I understood that people w
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was an ocean of black, like someone
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Before apartheid, any black South A
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and uncles had gone off to the citi
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through those. My books were my pri
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If we weren’t at school or work o
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Apartheid, for all its power, had f
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at school used overhead projectors
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She shrugged again. “So sad. I ho
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“What?” “Look, did you or did
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When I was seven years old, my moth
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I grew up in a black family in a bl
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oth. She brought them home, and I w
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They went back and forth. This woma
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ROBERT My father is a complete myst
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dad’s, where we’d watch Formula
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A bottle of Sprite. Custard with ca
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W hen Dutch colonists landed at the
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your grandfather couldn’t keep hi
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Things like that happened a lot. I
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Revenge truly is sweet. It takes yo
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A YOUNG MAN’S LONG, AWKWARD, OCCA
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Valentine’s card and the flowers
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OUTSIDER After finishing primary sc
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work for it—and I still get my br
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me the digits one by one as I wrote
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COLORBLIND At Sandringham I got to
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pedestrian out for a stroll. Once I
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“Is it David?” “No.” “Ria
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I got up onstage and Tom did some t
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There was a red Mazda that we’d h
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hair and started painting this crea
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“Are you ready?” I said. “Let
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I’d been dating a girl for over a
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GO HITLER! When I was in grade nine
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Business was booming. By matric I w
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Back then, most DJs could spin for
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someone must be the toughest guy of
Page 123 and 124: My mind was racing, trying to figur
Page 125 and 126: THE CHEESE BOYS My friend Bongani w
Page 127 and 128: settlement going on. Third, Fourth,
Page 129 and 130: In the hood, even if you’re not a
Page 131 and 132: “But who did this belong to?” I
Page 133 and 134: “Hey, let’s make a deal. We’l
Page 135 and 136: Everyone must know that your succes
Page 137 and 138: e a whole lot harder for an investm
Page 139 and 140: O nce, when I was ten years old, vi
Page 141 and 142: lesson, and now that lesson is the
Page 143 and 144: me aside and told me what I was in
Page 145 and 146: first night, everyone was giving me
Page 147 and 148: couldn’t afford anything but a st
Page 149 and 150: “I-I’m not fine, Your Honor. I
Page 151 and 152: M y favorite thing to eat as a kid,
Page 153 and 154: could lift car engines and gearboxe
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Page 157 and 158: “Respect?! You almost burned down
Page 159 and 160: She gives and gives and gives; that
Page 161 and 162: on it as well. Clients were getting
Page 163 and 164: Bramley, three neighborhoods away,
Page 165 and 166: wouldn’t happen again, but it was
Page 167 and 168: “This is all I can do,” she sai
Page 169 and 170: “Where are you now?” I said.
Page 171 and 172: times he pulled the trigger, and fo
Page 173: emergency room to give us an update
Page 177 and 178: For my mother. My first fan. Thank
Page 179 and 180: ABOUT THE AUTHOR TREVOR NOAH is a c
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