Our Last Goodbye | Teen Ink

Our Last Goodbye

December 11, 2014
By _tinaavu BRONZE, Portland, Oregon
_tinaavu BRONZE, Portland, Oregon
2 articles 0 photos 1 comment

I’ve been working as a maid in this house in Johannesburg since 20 years old, caring for the children, sweeping the numerous steps, and obeying my masters. The lady master was always so picky about what she ate, how straight the clothes should be, and everything inch of the house had to always be spotless. Even her husband didn’t enjoy her. He always remained silent, carrying on with his own business. The surprising thing was the only relationship between him and I were that he was my master, and I was his black maid, but it didn’t seem that way.


The law of our South African land was apartheid, the separation between the two races, whites and blacks. Everything was based on our race classification. If you were white, you had the rights to live in a house, get good education, and get high paying jobs. Now, being black like me made me a maid. The only jobs my people got were lows ones, the ones controlled by whites. The whites had higher spots in society, and we had longer working hours, with minimum wage not even guaranteed. I had no choice but to work, to plainly survive. I ended up getting a job to work for Mr. and Mrs. Smith just at 20 years old. It has been a little over 3 months, and I was already getting super irritated and tired of Mrs. Smith.


“Hey you, are you done cleaning the steps? You need to go clean the kitchen too. It aint gonna clean itself! Hurry up you brat,” Mrs. Smith shouted annoyed from the living room.


“Yes ma'am, I’m finishing up right now,” I replied increasing my speed for the last couple steps.


From behind, I could hear the soft approaching steps of Mr. Smith. I stood up, stepped to the side and bowed my head to greet him. Standing up too fast made the excess water from my rag get onto Mr. Smith’s clothes.
“I’m so sorry Sir! I didn’t mean to. You can give me any punishment,” I quickly said frightened for what was coming my way.


Surprisingly, he just flashed a slight smile and made his way down the steps.


My heart started to race, and that was when I developed special feelings for Mr. Smith. Day after day, Mr. Smith would take my side at times, and smile secretly at me without Mrs. Smith seeing. I knew he felt the same way about me that I felt about him, but there was nothing we could do. If someone, specifically Mrs. Smith found out about us, I wouldn’t be able to live with ease. So we kept our relationship secret, and only met privately when Mrs. Smith was gone. Things progressed fast, and soon I was pregnant.


“Oh I see you maid. You got pregnant huh? As soon as you give birth to that thing I’m sending it to the bantustans,” Mrs. Smith strictly pointed out.


“No ma’am. I want my baby with me,” I pleaded.
“No way! Unless you wanna quit and find another job. You ungrateful little b****.”


I went on my knees and begged, “Please let me keep my baby! I don’t want her at the bantustans. She won’t make it past 5 years old.”


“That sounds like a you problem. I don’t care what you want! I’m sending it and that’s that. No more discussions,” Mrs. Smith said as she walked away.


I couldn’t take her attitude anymore. Gathering my confidence I said, “Fine! I don’t need this job. You don’t even treat me well. Might as well move out and live elsewhere. I can find a better job than this any where!”


“Ha ha ha. Oh, really? Why would anyone want you? You’re just a weak brat. You can only live legally in the bantustans! No where else for you n*****s,” she said, her face burning with anger.


If I left, I had to go live in the area of my own people, but I didn’t want to part from Mr. Smith.
While she was gone, we had a serious talk with each other.


“Mr. Smith, I really love you, but we aren’t meant to be. I’m black, and you’re white. There’s just no way. There’s all these laws against my people. We can’t be together in peace,” I said my eyes full of tears.
“What else can we do Annie? I mean you can’t possibly leave me.”


I stood from his lap, “I just can’t take her anymore! I don’t even know how you married her, she’s so irritating!”
“To be honest, I’ve thought the same. All my love for her has disappeared. She’s nothing but s*** now. I like you,” he said embracing me in his warm arms.


“But are you ready to give up your whole life and leave with me?” I asked.
He hesitated, and remained silent for a while.


“No huh? I thought so,” I took his arms with my hands and unwrapped myself from it. “You aren’t ready to leave. You have your whole life. Why would you want to leave and live in small compartments with me? The law doesn’t even allow us together! We’ll have to hide for who knows how long!” I screamed frustrated.


He just sat there for the longest time, not even saying a word. Maybe he was thinking and would leave with me, I thought.


“Annie, I’m sorry but I agree. It’s true. I can’t spend my life hiding from society. I have a lot of respect for you and your people, but that’s just me. We just can’t,” he said lips pouted.


“I’m gonna leave! My kid and I together,” I said.
“I guess this is goodbye,” he said pulling me in for our last hug.
I rested my head against his shoulder and held on tight. “I’m gonna miss you,” I whispered.
“Me too Annie. Me too.”


“Goodbye,” I said heading for my room, which was downstairs in the little room separated from the house. I packed the few clothes I had into a piece of fabric and we had our goodbyes again. Our last goodbye.


The author's comments:

Learning about apartheid in South African, I was interested in writing a story about what it would be like if a colored woman, and a white man fell in love back in the 1970's.


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This article has 2 comments.


on Jan. 10 2015 at 10:15 pm
_tinaavu BRONZE, Portland, Oregon
2 articles 0 photos 1 comment
Thanks for the feedback! Now that I think of it, I didn't really focus on writing it the way they spoke back then. I'll be sure ti next time!

Orlivee BRONZE said...
on Jan. 10 2015 at 2:56 pm
Orlivee BRONZE, Lagos, Other
2 articles 0 photos 26 comments

Favorite Quote:
Never make someone a priority if they will make you an option.

Very nice piece However, I think the language style should have been different, depicting the way the blacks spoke in those days.