Vusi stood under the tree across the road. Shadow and cover. Hidden from the tall imperious Zulu man who stood guard in front of the orphanage. This might be the place. He had seen children leave early in the morning, they all held hands and walked together. He had followed them. They had gone to a church down the road. He had waited. One hour. Then he followed them back. Thandi was not with them but they may know where she was. He was going to have to be brave.
The small boy-man put his shoulders back and crossed the street, walking straight up to the guard. He stood as tall as possible and addressed him as an equal. He hoped that the guard could not see that his leg was shaking so much that he was struggling to stand upright.
‘Sawubona, ubaba.’ Vusi greeted Petrus.
‘Yebo. Sawubona, umfana, little boy.’
Vusi bridled at the form of address. ‘I am not a child. I am a man.’
Petrus bowed. Not a trace of amusement on his face. ‘Ngiyaxolisa, umufo. My apologies, fellow. How can I help you?’
‘The church ladies stole my sister. I am here to get her back.’
‘I see,’ said Petrus. ‘And why do you think that she is here?’
Vusi said nothing. It was taking all of his self-control to simply stand where he was. He was exhausted and scared and very, very hungry. He had lost the only member of his family that was still alive and the tall man in front of him filled him with anxiety. Then, to his shame, he felt his eyes well up and hot tears rolled down his cheeks. ‘Her name is Thandi.’
Petrus went down on one knee and put his arms around the little boy. And, for the first time since his mother had died, Vusi cried.