It was Monday morning, and a volleyball net had been set up on the beach, in the same spot where the soccer game had happened a few days earlier. A homemade banner that had once been a sheet flapped between two poles. MBCC YOUTH GROUP it said. ALL WELCOME! Someone had painted a picture of some stick men playing volleyball on it. A petite blonde girl, wearing a zebra print vest and pink shorts covered with beaded tassels stood at one corner of the court, winding up to serve.
“Okay guys,” she said. “Are you ready for the amazing serving machine that is …”
“Schwarzenegger!” shouted a kid from the other side of the court. Anya threw the ball up, let it fall and then smacked it as hard as she could with her wrist. It flew way off to the side, completely missing the opposing team, and the first play of the MBCC Beach volleyball mission was lost.
The teenagers on the sand laughed and clapped, and Anya goodnaturedly took a bow, rubbing her sore wrist. “Maybe I’ll just help keep score,” she said, and went to join James under one of the gazebos beside the court. Someone else took her place, and the game began. James sat back in a beach chair under the shade, pleased at what he saw. About ten teenagers from the beach had joined the fifteen or so regulars for the volleyball game, and so far, the mood was lively. The boys had set up the sound system, connected to a car battery, and some upbeat Christian music was playing. Pastor Tim and Joyce were sitting in beach chairs under another gazebo, keeping an eye on things, but happy to keep a low profile and leave it all in James’ capable hands.
There were two rules, written on a chalkboard propped up beside the gazebo:
PLAY FAIR
AND
WEAR CLOTHES
The second rule had caused much debate. Some of the teens had said they couldn’t tell anyone wanting to play what they had to wear, but James was adamant that this was not the event for guys or girls to be modelling swimwear. They even had a pile of white T-shirts left over from a craft day to give to anyone who wanted to join in but fell short in the clothing department.
“Sunburn, people!” James had said. “This is Africa, you need to protect yourselves!” So, the clothes rule stayed, and James suspected that most of them were secretly glad.
Jill was busy setting up a table with a water cooler and plastic cups when Alex and Anna saw the activity from their balcony and walked down. Alex had recovered from his partying, although he had felt pretty bad all of Sunday. Anna had given him a few suspicious looks but he hoped she hadn’t figured out he was nursing a hangover. He had surprised himself by feeling anxious and antsy that morning, waiting for it all to start. When he saw Jill busily helping he felt a strange unfamiliar buzz of nerves in his chest. She looked really good this morning, her sleeveless T-shirt showing her smooth shoulders, her hair in a short ponytail, stuck through a peak cap. She had a delicate silver necklace around her neck, with a silver cross pendant, and a few colourful plastic bracelets on her arm. He noticed every detail, trying not to make it obvious that he was looking at her. She had made things pretty clear, but he was trying not to think about that. If friendship was all he got for now, he would take it. He had a plan – he was going to go to all the beach mission events, and show her he wasn’t just a high school jock. He would get to know her friends. He would try to be a part of her world. He wasn’t planning on giving up.
“Hi!” she said when she saw them. “You came!”
“Yep,” he said. “Convinced Anna to try volleyball.”
“You did not,” said his sister, swatting his arm. “I’m here to watch.” She walked over to where James sat under the gazebo. She looked at the rule board and read it with raised eyebrows, her hands on her hips. “Am I decent?” she asked. Her shorts didn’t cover much more than they absolutely had to, and although she wore a top it was so sheer that her bikini was clearly visible beneath it. James didn’t seem to be able to speak – he immediately offered her his chair, and missed recording a point in the games, much to the annoyance of the team that was playing.
Alex couldn’t help smiling at his sister. She wanted some attention and she knew how to get it. Hayley came up to Alex with a pen and a sheet of schoolbook labels. “Here, Alex,” she said, handing him a sticker. He looked at it, his name written in very girlish handwriting with a little heart in the corner. “Uh, no thanks,” he said, handing it back. What was this, Sunday School? He noticed that everyone gamely wore them, and that Hayley had put little hearts on all of them. She shrugged and handed one to Jill, who stuck hers on her T-shirt, giving Alex a disapproving look.
“What?” he said. “Do I have to?”
“No,” she said. “You could just be a sport, though. And it helps to learn everyone’s names.”
It does help, he thought, even though it was pretty lame to be on the beach wearing a name tag. He could read the names of the boys from the soccer game, some of which he had already forgotten. Oh yes – Tristan was the skinny guy, maybe fifteen years old, Hayley’s brother. Fez he remembered. David of course, and Ricardo with the big afro. Josh had a name tag too; it said: “Josh Kramer” on it instead of just Josh. He asked Jill about it.
“There used to be another Josh at church, so he was always Josh Kramer. Everyone still calls him that for some reason.”
“Okay,” he said. “The stickers are useful. But I still don’t want one.”
“Suit yourself,” she said. She was glad that he had come and that he seemed chilled – after what had happened the day before she hadn’t been sure how it would go. Thankfully so far, he was just being friendly, and she hoped it would stay that way.
“Are you going to play?’ he asked Jill.
“Maybe in the next game,” she said. “I’m not very good at it, though.”
“Then I’ll play too,” he said.
The game was progressing nicely. Each team had eight players, three at the back, three at the front and two in the middle of the court. The player at the right-hand corner served, and kept serving if the point was won. If a point was lost, the other team served, and the players rotated their positions on the court. The only problem with this game, and the teams of mixed abilities, ages and sizes, was that some of the guys got competitive and tended to rush for the ball, keeping the weaker players out of the game and sometimes causing accidents. James and David kept watch, calling out the “poachers” if they showed this unsportsmanlike behaviour.
“Tristan!” yelled James, above the music. “No poaching!”
“Sorry coach!” Tristan shouted back. He also apologised to the poor girl he had jumped in front of and collided with. They hadn’t even got the point. After that the boys tried a little harder to behave themselves.
Soon the first game ended and the teams changed. Some of the kids stayed to play again but the others who had been waiting for a turn moved onto the court. Alex and Jill were on opposite sides of the net, and Anya was playing this time too, next to Alex. Anna had declined, and stayed in the shade of the gazebo with James. They started playing, and Alex realised that Jill wasn’t too terrible at volleyball. Neither was Anya, actually. Alex’s team served, and Jill, on the other side, shouted “Mine!”, got underneath the ball and sent it over neatly. It headed straight for Anya, who was in front of the net next to Alex.
“Alex, SPIKE!” she yelled, putting her wrists together and sending the ball vertically up into the air, just in front of the net. Alex figured out what she meant just in time, jumped up and slammed the ball over the net onto the ground in front of the helpless opposing team. “Awesome, Anya!” he said, giving her a high five.
“Oh yeah, oh yeah, I’m a legend!” chanted Anya, spinning in a circle with her hands up, the tassels on her shorts flying. “You’re not so bad yourself, surfer dude,” she said.
When it was Alex’s turn to serve he aced it, sending the ball speeding to an empty corner before the other team had a chance to reach it. The kids on Alex’s team cheered and slapped him on the back. “Way to go, Ace!” someone called, and the name stuck. Most of them didn’t know his name anyway, seeing he had refused to wear a sticky label.
By twelve o’clock things began to wind down. The Volleyball had gone really well – kids had been playing non-stop since it had begun. Even some primary school kids had flocked to the net, hoping to play, and the teenagers had humoured them and let them try.
Alex had enjoyed the sport, and the company of the guys, especially Fez and Ricardo. He discovered that Fez had grown up in the nearby township, and that his mother was a domestic worker in the town. Her employers had sponsored his school fees and he had attended the local primary school, rather than the school near his home which had mostly prefab classrooms, classes of fifty children, and only a dirt playground. He had spent his childhood between both worlds: a town kid during the week, living in his mother’s domestic quarters, and a township kid on the weekends, where he shared a small brick house with seven relatives. Now he went to the high school near the township, his excellent start at the primary school giving him the edge over his peers. But he still liked to hang out with the friends he had made in town, and go to the church and youth group whenever he could. He had a passion for surfing and the sea, so he and Alex had something in common, despite the huge differences in their daily life. Ricardo’s dad was one of the local policemen. His family, like a few others in Marshall Bay, including Hayley and Tristan’s, had enrolled him for a correspondence course for high school rather than send him to boarding school in a bigger town. He liked it – he said it gave him more time to surf, read and play soccer.
“So, what’s your school like?” asked Fez, as the three boys took
a breather from playing volleyball and sat down for a drink of water.
“Big,” said Alex. “Traditional. A lot of pressure to do well in everything. They kick you out if you fail.”
“Wow,” said Fez. “The teachers at mine are so happy if you pass something. Last year our school’s Matric pass rate was fifty five percent.”
“What?” said Alex. “Almost half the Matrics failed?”
“Yes, and some of them were doing it for the second time.” Fez shook his head. “It’s bad. The teachers don’t know what’s going on in their subjects half the time, and one of my classes has sixty kids in it.”
“The max at my school is twenty-five,” said Alex. “How do the teachers help everyone?”
Fez laughed. “They don’t even try, dude. There were kids in my Maths class who I swear did not hear a thing the teacher said all year. They handed in nothing and wrote pretty much nothing on the exam. I think the teachers are just trying to get through the day.”
“And you?” asked Alex. “Are you learning anything?”
“Hey, some of the teachers are okay,” said Fez. “But for Maths and Science and stuff I have textbooks my mom’s boss got me, so I just study them at home.”
“Not all the kids have textbooks?”
“The government is supposed to give them textbooks, but lots of them never arrived, and the ones we have get stolen and messed up.”
“It’s chaos, man,” said Ricardo, scratching his head through his afro. “I went there with him for a day, just to check it out. Some of those kids are like twenty in Grade 11. They go to school to make deals, score girls, steal stuff. They steal the lightbulbs, man. Forget toilet paper, pens, whatever. The teachers lock themselves in the staffroom at break. Fez is like the top student there and he can’t even do trig, man.”
“I can do trig, you moron,” said Fez. “It’s just a bit hard when the teacher doesn’t get it himself and can’t answer my questions! I just have to hope I know the right stuff when I get to exams.”
Alex was speechless. He had no idea things were so bad here in the Eastern Cape. He was embarrassed to talk about his school any more, where every boy had a tablet or a laptop, and you could buy cappuccinos at the tuckshop. The school fees were probably more than Fez’s mother earned.
“You’ve got the tutor group though, Fez, don’t forget about that,” said Ricardo. “My Grade 8’s all passed Maths this year thanks to their stylin’ tutor!” He puffed himself up, his hand on his chest.
“Tutor group?” said Alex.
“On Saturday mornings in the term Pastor Tim takes a bunch of people to my school to give extra classes,” said Fez. “Lots of people here do it – Jill’s aunt teaches English. James tries to help them with History. Pastor Tim does something, even the older high school kids like Ricardo here, and Hayley and Anya help with the Grade 8’s. It means the ones who really want to learn get a chance for some help.”
“That’s cool,” said Alex, impressed. He wondered if there was something similar in Cape Town that he could help with. But then
Saturdays were for rugby matches, water polo league … “What pass rate did your school get?” asked Fez.
Alex felt a little self-conscious. “They all passed,” he said.
“Eish!” said Fez. “And exemptions?”
“They all got those too,” said Alex. “Seventy percent of our matrics got at least one A.”
“Yho!” said Fez and Ricardo together.
“Yeah, well I told you, they kick you out if you fail,” said Alex. “And you?” asked Ricardo. “Are you one of these straight A genius guys?”
“What do you want me to say?” asked Alex, laughing. “I get good marks. I want to be a doctor. I have to get A’s.”
Ricardo gave a long, low whistle. “That is cool. Hey Fez, imagine if you or me was a doctor! Doctor Mahlangu is in the house!”
“Eish, that would be cool, hey – scalpel please, Doctor Jantjies!”
The boys laughed but Alex was pensive. He hadn’t really thought about the fact that except for his actually doing the school work and all the extra activities, everything else was in place for him to succeed. He had a good school, opportunities to prove himself, and Dad’s money to pay for the fees and support him. Something like medicine wasn’t impossible for these boys, but so much more difficult to achieve.
“Okay everyone, listen up!” James was making an announcement. “I hope we see all of you later at the church hall. You guys who we just met today, tell your parents to bring you there from seven to nine, okay? And there will be ice cream – I repeat – THERE WILL
BE ICE CREAM!”
That met with a loud cheer.
“Thanks for the awesome volleyball, guys!” continued James. “There will be more tomorrow, 9am, same place. See you then!” He handed out flyers with details for the kids to give to their parents, talking personally to every kid he could.
Bunches of tired, sweaty, happy kids started drifting back to the beach, and James rallied his troops to help with the packing up.
Alex and Anna helped a bit and then strolled up the hill back to the house.
“You were really getting into it,” said Anna, draping herself on a couch as Alex opened the fridge to get a drink. “Get me a sparkling water please, brother dear!”
“It was fun,” said Alex, throwing the drink to her across the room. She caught it and opened it.
“Not your usual crowd,” she said.
“No.” Alex poured himself some juice and sat at the cool granite kitchen counter. “Not at all.”
“I mean, James went to university,” she said, “although he seems to be wasting it all working at that church. And Jill seems pretty smart … but that one guy’s dad is a policeman. And … is her name Hayley? Her dad is the janitor at the primary school.”
“So?” said Alex, turning to face his sister, who had her feet up on the glass coffee table and had switched on the TV, surfing the channels.
“So, nothing – just as I said, not your usual crowd.” She yawned. “And they are mostly so young,” she said. “I need to meet some older people. Speaking of crowds, where were you on Saturday night?”
“Nowhere,” he said, perhaps a little too quickly. “Just a party across the road. With some people from the beach. It was dumb. I left.”
“You didn’t ask me to come.”
“You weren’t invited,” he said. “It sucked. Forget about it.”
“It couldn’t have sucked that much,” she said. “You smelt of beer when you came home and you were hardly your sunny self yesterday.”
“Whatever,” he said. “It was nothing.”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “Mom and Dad would not be impressed to hear you went drinking.”
“I did not go drinking!” he snapped, very aware that of course he had and she knew it. “Just drop it, okay?” He took his drink and went upstairs to get changed for a swim in the pool, hoping she would forget about it. He was hot and sweaty and he needed to cool off before tonight.