Zawadi

• Harula Mollas, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2014

“Zawadi, that is the name we will give her”, said the exhausted mother, “as she is the best gift God could have ever given us”.
After 15 ruthless years, Zawadi still wondered whether her mother really meant what she had once said. After the death of Mandela, the life conditions and the mentality of the people were crumbling, just like the statues of democracy were silently collapsing. No one knew what tomorrow was holding, the oppositions were tirelessly fighting against each other, trying to replace the man of freedom. Zawadi had to extract diamonds in the new mine, otherwise she would have to turn into one of the desperate girls in the dark and lonely alleyways that always had a severe smell of liquor. However, there was one thing that made her forget who she was – her irreplaceable paintings.
The fear of another civil war made every citizen shiver. The new diamond mine was only making enough money for a tiny meal. Zawadi had no choice but to offer her beauty to strangers, just to earn enough money for the medicine of her ill mother. She hated waking up in the morning, as she wished that that day would be her last one.
Jack Williams was an American tourist who lived near Zawadi’s poor neighbourhood. He always complimented her different styles of art and he constantly said that if Zawadi went to USA, her future would change for once and forever. She would never believe him though; she thought she would always be the unwanted, miserable, African girl. However, one day Jack visited Zawadi’s hut and made an unpredictable suggestion.

Zawadi could see Jack’s thrill. It was hard to deny the feeling of safeness and happiness, which she had never felt before. She could not bear selling pleasure to drunken men any more. After the foreseeable death of her mother, Zawadi was determined to leave Africa. Jack’s promises had given her hope for the first time.
New York, was it a country or a planet on its own where millions of selfish individuals lived their meaningless and busy lives? She had never seen that many diverse faces, each one narrating a different story. Jack, happier than ever, was swiftly passing the crowds, heading towards his luxurious apartment. His expression was a playful but mysterious.
Next day, they went to an isolated nightclub. She realised that the owner of the club also owned women, who similarly to the desperate girls in Africa, sold their love and privacy to fun-loving man. Zawadi’s body grew numb as she gradually became aware of what was happening. Desperately, she asked Jack why he had taken her to such a miserable place, but he simply neglected her, receiving a bag full of American dollars. Zawadi shut her eyes and merely tried to ignore her trembling body and heavy heart. Instead, the only thing she could now feel were the cold tears flowing from her eyes.
Four months after her arrival, Zawadi approached apprehensively to her owner and begged for help. Her body was exceptionally tired and painful. Her body temperature was well above normal. When the owner finished his conversation with the private doctor, who held the results of the examination, he headed towards Zawadi aggressively and hit her so hard that Zawadi fell unconscious.
Zawadi woke up with the agitated sound of the other illegal prostitutes. She was soon informed that she had HIV and her condition was simply incurable. Zawadi felt sick again, she knew that that was the end of another misfortunate African orphan. She shut her eyes and never opened them again…