Mosi oa Tunya Literary Review ISSUE #2

P
A
G
E
27
food. Staring at a large road sign, he tried
to work out what it said. In the end, he
shrugged and trudged into the next town.
Eyes wide, Amos stared at the bustling
people who hurried about with cameras,
chatting excitedly. Following a large green
truck, Amos came to a beautiful shady spot
with lush green grass that was filled with
canvas huts in all colours, shapes and sizes.
As Amos stood and stared, a pale woman
brushed past him. He shrank back.
“Sorry,” she said hastily, glancing back at
the bedraggled boy.
A horn sounded, she sighed, turned
back to the urchin, shoved the package
she held into Amos’ hands, and with a faint
smile hurried off in the direction of the
sound. Sniffing tentatively at the parcel,
his stomach growled. The smell of food.
Behind a building he tore at the wrapping.
Just as he was about to devour the burger
he found, a hand snatched it away.
“Wena. You. What are you doing?” A voice
had snarled. “This is our spot. We don’t
take kindly to strangers muscling in on it,
do we boys?”
Looking up, Amos saw a group of
large boys leering over him. The brute who
had spoken had his fist raised. Squeezing
his eyes shut, Amos waited for the blow.
When none came, he opened his eyes to
see an even larger boy who had stopped the
fist in mid flight, twisted the attached arm
painfully, and casually said, “Leave him be,
Philemon. He’s just a kid. Now Hamba. Go.”
The boy smiled at Amos. “New to town hey?
I’m Jabu. What’s your name?”
Shocked, Amos stared at the grubby,
grinning boy. He was tall and lanky, and
wore a pair of shabby trainers that stuck
from his feet like boats. Amos was unable to
speak. He glanced wearily over his shoulder
in case the other boys returned.
“Nah, they won’t bother you again. I am
here to protect you now.”
Jabu turned and picked up the package that
had been dropped in the dirt and wiped
the packet on his grubby trousers. “Here.
What’s your name?”
“I’m Runt,” replied Amos.
“You can’t be called Runt,” snorted Jabu.
Shrugging, Amos replied, “Someone long
ago used to call me Amos.”
“Welcome to Victoria Falls, Amos,”
replied Jabu, flinging his arms wide. “Stick
with me and I’ll show you the tricks of the
trade.” Even then, Jabu had been aware of
the potential advantage of Amos’ small size.
Over the next few weeks, Jabu had been
true to his word. He showed Amos the best
campsites to fleece visiting tourists and
the marketplace where they shopped for
curios. “These stupid tourists come to this
marketplace to buy these ugly trinkets.
They are too busy looking at this junk to
notice us,” a grinning Jabu told Amos.
All the years with Scarface had taught
Amos to be quick on his feet and nimble
with his hands, and due to his small size,
most people didn’t suspect him. Jabu was
impressed. “You’re good at this, Amos my
man.”
They lived together in Jabu’s
homemade tin shack behind the old
forgotten railway carriages. Each day they
would return home with their spoils. Amos
tried nicking the best in an effort to earn
Jabu’s praise. Then, one day after a busy
day at the marketplace, Jabu vanished.
Thinking that perhaps Jabu had returned to
their tin shack hideaway, Amos ran home,
eager to show off his latest prize. But Jabu
had disappeared, gone without a trace,
leaving Amos on his own once more.
Without the protection of Jabu, the older
boys turned on Amos again and he had to
be exceptionally quick during his visits to
the lucrative campsite or the marketplace.
If the boys had caught him, a beating would
surely follow. He was not big enough or
strong enough to fight back yet.
“You be careful Runt!” the boys would
chant. “Maybe the tokoloshe will get you.
Yeah, the boogeyman will get you like he
got Jabu and Zenzo and Vusa.”
The bigger boys chased Amos from
the tin shack, and he was forced to find
shelter on the streets. In his nightmares,
the tokoloshe always had the sneering face
of Scarface. Amos was forced to retreat to
the darker parts of the town, areas where
the local drunks lurked in the shadows.