Prologue: Freedom is a dream🌻

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Zoey
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Lecturing us on Johannesburg's hilltop was what my father was known for. He'd pull us out of the house when our arguments with each other would get too heated.

Zolani, my twin brother and I would be forced to sit in the back seat of his yellow rundown Jeep that was older than we'd been alive for,which was ten years at the time.

We would sit on the edge of the grassy hill where purple and yellow flowers would grow overlooking the city of Johannesburg.

"You're like fish and chips," his deep voice said.

" I wish I was a fish so I could smack her in the face with myself !" Zolani retorted, glaring at me with his dark brown eyes that were similar to mine.

I glared back ignoring my father's scolding and I was sure if it wasn't for our father being in the middle I would have attacked him by then.

He once pulled out a braid of mine but unfortunately his hair was too rough and short for me to pull out.

"You're like peanut butter and jelly," my father continued, ignoring the fact that Zolani was sticking his tongue out at me.

"Like Macaroni and Cheese."

I stuck my tongue out in retaliation and he sneered.

"Like Knife & fork."

Zolani and I argued over my father's analogies and this time he didn't stop us. He stayed calm over our chaos, voicing out all the things Zolani and I were like.

"You're like Hammer and Nail

To me, we felt more like oil and water, a terrible swirl and mouth spitting taste. He got on my nerves and I got on his oxygen-his words not mine.

We fought daily, and it irked my mother so much but she always chose Zolani's side, something that made our arguments even more charged. My father on the other hand didn't choose sides, he was fair game.

But sometimes, I thought myself as his favourite.

He'd always take me out for ice cream every Friday when he fetched me from school and he told me it was our little secret and there'd always be this contained excitement bursting in my heart because it would just be him and I.

"Like bacon and eggs."

I didn't feel like anyone else except myself, when I was with my Father. I didn't even have to pretend.

I felt like Zoey and that's all I had to be.

"Pen And Paper." My Father babbled on, ignoring the argument that had gotten a lot more heated.

"Buhle was right!," Zolani cut in." You do have an ugly nose."

I gasped, simultaneously covering my nose with my hands, anger flaring in my heart for this Buhle girl.

"And you've got a stupid ugly mole near your eyebrow!"

He chuckled, " You've got the same one on your right eyebrow."

"That's enough now!" My father yelled, the fury in his eyes silencing us.

He barely raised his voice but when he did even the ants obeyed.

We both sulked, holding back the vile words on our tongues.

My father sighed, and continued his ranting making me internally groan.

"Like Salt and Pepper."

He went on with his million and one analogies of how my brother and I were a team because we were twins.
How we didn't make sense without each other and that we needed each other while Zolani and I blurred out his voice.

I found myself plucking the beautiful flowers on the grass letting them rest on my palm so the wind would blow them away. There was something beautiful about flowers floating with the wind.

"-What I'm trying to say is that you're fighting the wrong battle bantwana bam. You see this world is gonna rip you apart and the dangers that await you make me want to keep you locked in your rooms until Jesus comes back."

He laughed, running his hand through his black hair.

He took hold of Zolani's hand and took hold of mine and after a lot of resistance coming from us he finally intertwined my brother's hand with mine.

"What I'm trying to say is like all the things I mentioned, you go together. You're a team."

He looked at Zolani, squeezing the union of our entwined hands.

"This is what we protect Zolani. We don't fight what we protect."

He turned to me, his dark brown eyes holding mine. "This is what we have to maintain Zoey. The love we have with each other and we never let it grow cold."

He released our hands letting us free. My father looked to the horizon where the sun set over the city that was coming alive even though the night was nearing.

" Okay?" my father reiterated, his gaze dazed like he could see the future.

It was something in his tone that made Zolani and I really drink in the meaning of his words and I was but a girl at that time thinking that I'd never need the protection of my brother.

Zolani and I met eyes, the fury and anger over our silly argument melting from how serious our father made the matter.

"I'll protect her. I'll protect Zoey Tata"
Zolani said, looking right into my father's eyes.

I know now that it was more than just silly words spoken by a ten year old boy but it was a vow.

It was a promise.

"I'll protect Zolani too!" I belted, a smile growing on my face.

We'd protect each other and face this big bad world together.

Instead of cheering me on like I hoped they would, the two of them started laughing. Laughing so hard they held their stomachs and their eyes crinkled.

"What will you protect me from, huh? Flies?" Zolani teased, recovering from his bout of laughter.

I launched to give him a hard punch but my father blocked me, a charming smile on his face.

"Brothers protect. Sisters love."

I huffed. "Mama says women are stronger than men so I'll protect Zolani, Tata."

He chuckled, " Your mother also screams whenever she sees a cockroach in the kitchen."

I was about to argue but he waved it off, wanting to talk about something else. I settled down beside him as he continued to lecture us.

"We're black people." He said it like we needed a reminder.

Zolani, stretched his arm out to his view. "Duh." he said, making me laugh.

"We don't play with the freedom we've been given. You two were literally born free, on the 27 of April 1994. Don't ever take that for granted. The day black people got their independence. The day the new era of South Africa began. Years back freedom used to be just a dream but now looks at us. Look at life! Freedom is our reality!"

He raised his hands like wings would burst forth from his back any moment.

He jumped with passion into his rant about post apartheid and all that it meant for us and not just for blacks but for whites too, for people coming together seeing colour but not letting it define a person's value.

My father always managed to switch every and any conversation into a rant about freedom and all that it meant.

He knew the pains of apartheid first hand, watching his parents and grandparents slave away. He accepted early on that it would be his future but years later he fought for freedom alongside countless South Africans, some of them dying before they could taste it and now he teaches it both to Zolani and I and the high schoolers at school.

He was the most passionate history teacher because he lived through it and he taught it at home.

My father, Kevin Mandela, believed so deeply in God and his perfect timing. He honoured the day we were born more than anything, believing that it meant something.

Believing that we ourselves were the children of Freedom.

"We fight everything that goes against love and not love itself."

Somehow, someway he brought the conversation back to why we drove there in the first place, mine and Zolani's constant feuding.

"We are family and we stick together. I want us to be the family that stays together in love. I want you to value the similarities you both share and not just in your looks and blood but deeper than that..."

He grasped both of our hands with each of his, squeezing gently.

"You're Zoey and Zolani."

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My father's lectures on those grassy hills, flooded with beautiful flowers echoed back to me months later when he lost his life.

I didn't know it at the time but that was the last lecture Zolani and I ever got from Kevin Mandela.

His words echoed back to me years later when I became a teenager. Years later when Zolani did what he had vowed while I on the other hand failed at what I had vowed. Years later when I fell in love with a young man who promised me freedom in love.

Years later when I became a woman.

And even now it echoes back to me, telling me to share this story of freedom with you....

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Although we lived in the era of South Africa's freedom.

It felt like our generation still had so much we had to fight for and not just as black people but as humanity.

It felt like we were trapped with these loads of expectations for the privileges we had because we lived under better circumstances than our parents.

I had to keep this to myself but one night I felt like yelling it out to my mother that privilege did come with its set of problems.

It felt like I didn't know if this was all worth fighting for so I was spitting at the face of the freedom that my father once fought for.

I found myself bound in more ways than one, like I was cornered and caged in but no one could see but me and just like that Freedom became a dream to me.

~★~

When I was eighteen, on special nights, when I really needed it, I dreamt of him.

I dreamt of my twin brother.

It all started in this massive field of daisies. The sky was a beautiful purple hue that left a sweet scent in the air.

I was in my favourite yellow summer dress, that didn't fit me in real life anymore. I spun and relished in the snugness of the dress. What warmed my heart like balm to the soul was seeing Zolani there.

He was taller, growing into a handsome man and the warm sun shone all over him. His brown eyes were aglow with happiness and there was that familiar glint of mischief dancing in the expression of his face.

I always found myself looking for the small black mole near his left eye brow.

In my nightmares, I couldn't find it and my brother Zolani disappeared leaving me in a deep darkness.

But in that dream, he subconsciously touched the mole and smiled warmly at me mouthing the word 'Twins'. I found myself touching the black mole on my right eyebrow, mirroring his smile.

We began running around this field of daisies and it was the most amazing thing ever. The purple sky looked endless and the wind smacked our faces while we ran. Our arms were stretched out and I swear it almost felt like we were flying.

We let the wind carry us running faster than I ever thought I could. The air smelt so sweet and we found ourselves sniffing it like druggies.

Zolani carried me over his shoulders and continued to run. I stretched out my hands to the purple sky and it was almost like I could feel it. We found ourselves laughing on the ground about nothing and everything at all.

Almost like the butterflies in our stomachs were tired of being stuck swirling around, so they broke free with guffaws of laughter.

For the first time we were not running to get away from something, or someone-to escape.

We ran because at last

The both of us...

were free.

I woke up from that dream a million times and it was bittersweet because that was neither of our reality.

My inner voice said: "Zoey, you actually thought it was real?"

But I had this hope that may have been slowly killing me.

I believed Zolani would be a free man again and prison would be a thing of the past.