They’re Human Too
Individualism can be either the worst or the best of things, depending on whether it resembles a grain of sand or a blade of grass. The grain of sand has no attachments; it is as free as the wind. But it is also at the mercy of the wind, blown about from place to place until it settles, a nameless particle lost in the mass. By contrast, each blade of grass is rooted in the earth. This is how I view our world now. The blacks have now become rooted, equal with the whites. A sense of accomplishment gained.
I see them, day after day, getting off the ‘black bus’, the pain in their eyes, their red droopy sleep deprived eyes. How can this be fair? When we inhabit spaces where our heart is not? Being judged by the colour of one’s skin does not seem right. How can we live in a world like this? I ask myself this question every day. Something must be done.
The blacks have been discriminated against in virtually every aspect of society. They need a voice and need to be heard. I thought to write a novel from the view of my auntie’s house maid Miss Layla. This will be a difficult task; the men think less of us women and to be a proper lady we have to “know our place”. To treat the blacks as an equal person, I don’t think people will be too happy about that.
I waited till my aunty left home to work when I confronted Miss Layla.
“Miss Layla, may I ask you a favour?”
“Of course my dear, what is it?”
“Now this is a huge favour to ask, but you must consider it. I want to write a book from the black perspective of the world and get your story across to the white society, to make a change to your life”
"Oh no, that cannot be done, it is far too dangerous for me and you! Please never speak of this again”
It took a while to convince Miss Layla but in the end she agreed to participate as long as it was in the privacy of her own home far away from work. We got started on this project the very next day and she told me things I would have never...