The Springbok: Part 5

Going

They didn’t make an announcement. There were no dramatic speeches. No suitcases dragged through the driveway. Instead, the idea of leaving crept in like a draught through an open window. It was slow and barely noticeable, until suddenly, it was everywhere.

Ben first realized it was real when he walked into the lounge one afternoon. His mother was sorting through photo albums. She wasn't flipping through them like she usually did. There were no smiles at old birthday parties or beach holidays. Instead, she was stacking them. Packing. Sorting which memories were going and which were staying.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Elsa looked up and tried to smile. “Just... organizing.”

But a tear track on her cheek revealed her true emotions. She didn’t bother to hide it.

Later that evening, Willem came home with ink on his hands. At first, Ben thought it was oil from the workshop. But then he looked closer. It was from fingerprinting, immigration forms. The kind they filled out at the police station.

“Are we going?” Ben asked. The question felt heavy in his mouth.

Willem didn’t answer immediately. He sat down slowly on the old recliner, looking at his son like he wasn’t just ten years old anymore, but someone old enough to understand.

“We’re applying,” he said. “To Canada.”

Ben had only a faint idea of where that was. Cold. Far. Foreign.

“Will Tshepo come too?”

Willem shook his head. “No, my boy. Just us.”

Ben lay awake for hours that night. He wasn’t sure what he felt. Relief? Maybe. Fear? Definitely. He thought about his room, the cracked corner of the ceiling where the gecko lived. He thought about how the rain sounded on the tin carport and the way the air smelled just before a Highveld thunderstorm.

What if Canada didn’t have thunderstorms like that?

The days that followed were filled with strange goodbyes. Not final ones, just careful, uncertain ones. Elsa began sorting things into boxes labelled Keep, Donate, and Leave. The Leave pile was the smallest, making it seem unfair that a whole life could be divided like that.

Ben stopped drawing for a while. Each time he picked up a pencil, his hand froze. What was the point of sketching something he was about to leave behind?

Then came the break-in. It happened on a Wednesday night.

The alarm didn’t go off. The back window was smashed while they were asleep. They didn’t hear it until it was too late. When Ben opened his eyes, Willem was already yelling. He heard shuffling feet, a crash, and then the bang of the back door slamming shut.

Nothing major was taken, just the microwave, some electronics, and Willem’s wallet. But something bigger had been stolen: their peace.

Elsa cried in the kitchen while Willem boarded up the window with scrap wood. Ben sat at the table, numb. That night, he found his sketchbook again. He drew a house on a boat, sailing across dark waters. In the windows, the lights were on. Safe. Bright. Still together.

He titled it: Going.

In the following weeks, everything moved quickly. There were passports, documents, and goodbyes.

At school, Ben told Riyaad he might be leaving soon. Riyaad didn’t say much. He just nodded and looked down at his shoes. “You’re lucky,” he finally said. “If I could leave, I would.”

Tshepo didn’t say anything at all. Not until the very last day.

Ben noticed Tshepo sitting under the jacaranda near the soccer field. He hesitated, then sat down beside him.

“I heard you’re going,” Tshepo said.

“Yeah.”

They both stared at the field.

“I still have that picture you drew,” Tshepo said. “The one with the cracked bridge.”

Ben smiled slightly. “Did you ever add your brick?”

Tshepo nodded. “Yeah. I think it held.”

They didn’t hug. They didn’t shake hands. They just sat there, side by side, until the shadows grew long.

The night before their flight, Elsa brought out an old photo from a drawer. It was of her and Willem, young and sunburned, sitting on Muizenberg beach. She showed it to Ben and said, “This is the South Africa I grew up in.”

Ben studied it. The smiles. The brightness. The easy laughter frozen in the frame.

“Will it ever be like that again?” he asked softly.

Elsa didn’t answer.

The next morning, they left the house at dawn. The sun rose behind them as the car rolled down the driveway. Ben looked back one last time. The gate stood open. The house was still. Familiar. And then it was gone.

At the airport, he drew one last picture before boarding. It was of a bird with a heavy heart, flying across the ocean.

He titled it: Leaving.

As they set forth on this journey, they carry with them the memories of what was. Their hearts hold both hope and apprehension for what lies ahead. The transition from home to a foreign land is never simple. Yet, it promises new beginnings and the potential for brighter days.

Every ending brings a fresh start, and Ben is ready to embrace the unknown.

Leaving

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