Dawn is Coming

Barutis feet were sore. Everyday hed feel a pain in his left ankle.
Everyday day hed feel the warm sweat trickling down his back from
the bright sun viciously shining down on him. Baruti couldnt afford a
car. Baruti couldnt afford a bus ride from his job in the shop to his
home in the outskirts of Sharpeville. Everyday hed leave his house
before sunrise and everyday he would come home after the sun had
set to prepare for a new day. His house wasnt much to look at; it was a
small shack with two bedrooms and a common space. The walls on the
outside were a muddy brown and the inside had very little furniture
and space. His younger sister Mandisa would always be waiting for him
at the door with a beaming smile saying, Brother I am so happy to see
you! Baruti never saw his sister in the morning because she woke up
much later than he to go to her high school.
-You will be done with school next year Mandisa. Would you be
interested in working with me at Mr. Wilsons shop?
-Oh yes brother, I would love to! Would Mr. Wilson want me to
work in his shop?
-Well I have already spoken highly of you to him and he says
hed love to have a new worker there.
Mr. Wilson owned a small convenience store that sold groceries and
other various items. He had come straight from Manchester in England

when he was young and he always spoke against the system of

Apartheid saying, It is a ridiculous violation of human rights and
something ought to be done about it. Mr. Wilson was a sweet old man
and was the only white person Baruti was friends with. He never spoke
to or interacted with the white men, unless it was the police who would
sometimes hassle him at his job, demanding to see his passbook.

Once Baruti walked into the kitchen for supper his mother opened up
her arms and exclaimed,
-My son, it is good to see you. How was work today?
Baruti would always answer with,
-Everything was fine mother.
-Thats good to hear.
-Did we receive a letter from father today mother?
-No, not today my son. But Im sure he is writing to us right
now.
Barutis father and three brothers left to the work in the mines outside
Johannesburg when he was a little boy; he feared that one day he
might have to join them if his job at Mr. Wilsons shop didnt hold up.

At dinner, the three of them sat around the small table and Mandisa
told them about what she had learned today at school. His mother
never went to school and she had lots of questions for Mandisa every

night. Today Mandisa studied geography and brought home a book

with a world map in it. His mother was fascinated by all the names of
the countries and was astonished to see just how tiny South Africa was
in the world. Mandisa went on to talk about a protest she heard was
taking place tomorrow.

-Will you go with me Baruti?

He looked up at her.
-Go with you where?
-To the protest! There is going to be a gathering in front of the
police station to peacefully protest the oppression of apartheid.
Baruti looked to his mother and saw pain and fear in her eyes. He knew
that she was torn apart from her family when one day the police came
to her home when she was a little girl and killed her father and
brothers. She lived the rest of her life with her aunt until she met his
father.
-I dont know if thats a good idea Mandisa.
-Oh come on brother, its only a little protest. Mother, can we go
tomorrow?
Their mother got up and began to clear the table.
-Ill let you go only if you are with your brother.
-Please brother!
- I will go. Baruti said calmly.

Mr. Wilson had been kind enough to let Baruti leave work early and
Baruti was very thankful; he said hed work twice as hard tomorrow
and Mr. Wilson chuckled,
-Dont worry about it Baruti, one day off wont hurt.
Baruti walked toward the police station and stopped at the street
corner where he planned to meet Mandisa. Soon enough his sister
excitedly met up with him and they both started toward the large
crowd of people in front of the police station. Everyone was cheerful
and the air was filled with African hymns being sung in unison. A
stranger walked up to them and said,
-Welcome friends, we are here to protest against the white
mans cruelty and oppression through Apartheid. This is a peaceful
protest so dont be afraid of the police, they wont hurt you. We are
burning our passbooks as a message that we dont want to be
controlled, so please join us and pull your books out.
-Thank you kind man, said Mandisa. We too want to see
justice in this country.
Baruti and his sister made their way deeper into the crowd until they
were nearly at the fence separating the mob from the police station.
He saw that the policemen had rifles at their side, but he made nothing
of it as he figured it an attempt to frighten the crowd. Suddenly, two
fighter planes flew over the crowd at a high speed and everyone

became excited and began to yell and chant louder. He could hear the
policemen screaming more intently at the crowd, saying,
-This is your last warning!
Suddenly a loud bang.
Then another.
And another. Baruti froze; now he was afraid. He grabbed his sisters
hand and looked back at the crowd. The look of joy on faces vanished
and turned to horror. The hymns were silenced and loud shrieks of fear
filled the air. The man beside Baruti fell, then another man right next to
him was shot in the chest. All he could hear were the terrified screams
from the crowd and the bullets whizzing by his head. Baruti turned
around, and ran. He pulled his sister with him who was in shock at
what she was seeing unfold before her. Innocent men, women, and
children were falling to the ground; there were too many to count.
Baruti tripped over bodies and his shirt was soaked in dark red. Before
him lay a grave, a mass of bodies pilled up in a pool of blood. Others
who were running away were shot in the back and Baruti had to run
through sprays of blood that misted the air. He urged the wounded to
get up and run but they lay on the ground moaning and shocked.
Suddenly it became harder to run with Mandisa, it felt as if she had
collapsed and he was dragging her with him.
-Cmon Sister! You have to run! He yelled.
No reply.

-Mandisa, get up!

He looked back at his sister to find blood pouring out of her throat and
her body had become completely limp.
-Mandisa!

Thirty Years has passed since the Sharpeville massacre, but Baruti will
never forget what happened that fateful day.
-We are ready for you Baruti. A man next to him said in his ear.
Baruti closed his eyes, took a deep breath and got up to make his way
to the podium. His feet were not sore, for he had comfortable leather
shoes. His clothes did not reek of sweat; instead he stood tall and
proud in a new black suit. Baruti reached for the microphone and
before him were thousands of people cheering for South Africa, eager
to hear him speak. He put on his glasses and read:
-My fellow South Africans. It does not matter whether your skin is
white or black; it doesnt matter whether you are rich or poor. All that
matters is that you are a South African who loves his country. All that
matters is that you seek justice in South Africa.
He paused and wiped a tear from his eye.
-It has been exactly thirty years since I was here in Sharpeville.
Thirty years since I was here fighting for equality and an end to
oppression. I lost my sister that day. South Africa lost sixty-nine of its
children that day. South Africa lost sixty-nine innocent people who only

wanted to say what they had to say. South Africa astonished the world
that day. However, South Africa gained something in those terrible two
minutes of slaughter. South Africa gained a thirst for change. It is upon
us my friends; a new day is coming for South Africa, yet we are only at
the crack of dawn. We must fight for that daylight which will bring
freedom and justice to our people. We must fight to end a century of
repression and we must fight by putting down our arms. We must
create a battlefield with our words and thought.
The crowd appeared confused at what he was saying.
-My friends, it is our turn to refine this cruel world we live in. It is
our turn to write history for that is the goal of all mankind. If we use
violence, we will extinguish any hope for South Africa. We must remain
strong, we must love our brothers and we must love our country in
order to break free from the bondages of oppression.

A loud roar of applause and cheering came from the crowd and Baruti
returned to his seat feeling more alive than ever. He did not think of
the thirty years of his life of suffering. He did not think of the day he
lost his sister. He did not think of thirty years of a broken family; nor
did he think of his thirty years of advocating for the rights of his
countrymen. Baruti didnt think about any of that. All he could think
about was the new South Africa that was upon them.