The queen hugs me

The queen poses for a pic (photo by Alinka Brutsch)



The queen hugs me (photo by Alinka Brutsch)



While we were touring the African township of Grahamstown as part of our assignment for the Postgraduate Diploma in Journalism and Media studies class we arrived at a place called Joza.

People were going up and about, some were sitting under the trees to avoid the scorching sun, and children were running around generally indifferent to the curious students who had just alighted from the bus and were looking around, listening to the tour guide while taking down notes.

An unkempt, petit dark skinned woman, with a thick layer of clay smeared all over her face emerged from nowhere and pounced on the team. Her locks looked as though they had not seen water for ages. She greeted everyone and asked for money. Otto Ntshebe, our tour guide, called her the queen.

“I have no money,” one team member said as she stepped backwards when the queen approached her. I recalled that I had a few coins and so I gave her some. Unexpectedly she hugged me, cheerfully thanking me.

“God will bless you, He is in the sun” she told me as she pointed at the sun as though she could see God in it. When the bus left I happy that I had met the queen. But later it turned out that the woman was not of royal descent; “the queen” was merely a name Otto affectionately used to call her.