Breaking the Wall Between Us: A Journey from Douala to Johannesburg Since her childhood, all Amina had ever known was poverty. She grew up in it. She watched her dad die in it. She still remembered the night no nurse attended to him because they didn’t have enough money to pay. She remembered seeing her dad collapse in the hospital corridor. That night, she understood one thing: poverty was a sin. And she hated it. Years passed. She worked hard to help her mum raise her two brothers. But despite her efforts, it seemed like poverty didn’t want to let go of her family. Then one evening, Amina had just left Ma’a Mado’s Salon. There, she helped with hairdressing and makeup. That was one of the five jobs she did in a day, for a miserable pay. She walked along the dark streets of Mabanda. Everyone was scared to walk there at night, but she was used to it. She had been walking like that for years in her quest for money. Then she heard laughter. It came from Pa’a Sam’s bar. “Pa’a Sam, one more bottle.” Pa’a Sam looked at the man with bitterness and answered, “You should go get a job instead of wasting your time here asking for bottles you can’t even afford.” Due to the excess alcohol, the man laughed. “Haha, this old man, where should I find a job? You know the condition of our country.” “Stop blaming the country. What have you done yourself?” Then Amina passed by. “Good evening, Pa’a Sam.” “Good evening, my daughter.” Then he turned to his customer. “Do you see this young girl? She’s an example. She works every day to make her life better, unlike you, always asking for bottles.” He sighed and switched on the TV. It was the evening debate news. News Anchor on TV: “Good evening. Tonight on our debate: the inadequate economic situation in Cameroon. With us are two economists, Mr. Atangana and Mr. Belo. Sir, why are many young people leaving?” Mr. Atangana: “Because there are no jobs! Look at how other countries are developing. Take, for example, South Africa. The level of industrialisation there is very high, and opportunities are available. And that’s the same in many other African countries. Our graduates are sitting at home while other countries are building.” Mr. Belo: “That’s true. But we must also be honest. Not all those countries will be willing to accept other Africans into their countries. You mentioned South Africa. They have jobs, yes... but they don’t like strangers. Our brothers go there and are chased, beaten, and called names. That’s not the life we want.” Mr. Atangana: “May I ask you how you got that information?” Mr. Belo: “Of course, we see that on social media every day. It’s a difficult choice for Cameroonians: stay with no work, or go where you may not be welcome...” Pa’a Sam turned the volume down. The men in the bar went back to arguing and drinking. Amina was still standing at the door. She heard every word. South Africa... jobs... but they don’t like strangers. Her chest tightened. She told herself to forget about it and kept walking. When she got home, she brought out the small plate of rice and beans she had packed from Ma’a Mado’s salon. Her mom looked at her, her heart heavy. Amina’s eyes were red, and her hands were rough from too much work. But she felt even worse because she couldn’t do anything for her family. The next morning, just as the sun was rising, the phone rang. Amina picked it up. It was her aunty. “Amina? It’s Aunty Grace from Johannesburg.” Amina seemed shocked at first, then she replied, “Ooh, hello, Aunty Grace. I’m really surprised by your call.” “Yeah, it’s been a while. Actually, my call was to check on you and your mom. Are things still difficult for her?” “Yes, Aunty. We’re trying, but nothing is changing.” “That’s so bad, my child. You know, you can join me here in South Africa. I can’t make you come. If you can find a way to reach here, then I’ll find a way for you.” Amina didn’t seem convinced. She just replied, “Okay, Aunty, I’ve heard you. Thanks for the proposal.” After that, she went ahead with the chores and prepared her brothers for school. After leaving her brothers at school, she went directly to her mom. She told her everything about the call and the news on TV. At first, her mom kept quiet, like she didn’t know what to say. Then she finally spoke. “Did she say she could help you get there?” Amina lowered her head. “No, Mom. She said if I could get there by myself, she would take care of the rest.” Her mom quietly sighed. “For now, let’s not take a decision. We’ll try to find out from other people. I don’t like what I hear about that country.” Amina just nodded quietly and left for her multiple jobs. The whole day, she couldn’t stop thinking about all that had happened. Even Ma’a Mado noticed she was elsewhere the whole of the evening. Finally, her time to leave came, and she rushed home, anxious about what her mom would tell her. When she entered the house, her mom was waiting for her. Amina sat calmly and waited. “My daughter, I called Uncle John, who also lives in South Africa. He told me life is very hard there for strangers, and he doesn’t think you should come over. But I also know he’s a selfish man who hates helping others. So I called Aunty Grace back to confirm what he said. She said he wasn’t completely wrong, but he exaggerated most of the facts. She convinced me that jobs are available. So I took a loan today. Joining that to our savings, it can help you get there.” She spoke fast enough that Amina wouldn’t get a chance to argue. Amina understood that and didn’t say anything. The whole week followed with the arrangements to get Amina ready for her departure. Before he died, her dad had rendered a service to a man who worked at the delegation, Mr. Samuel. Out of gratitude, he helped Amina obtain all her papers so she could leave the country legally. In two weeks, everything was ready. Her mom even bought a smartphone for Amina so she could call Aunty Grace. When the D-day arrived, Mr. Samuel took them to the airport. Amina hugged her mom and brothers in tears, promising to make a lot of money for them. Then she waved them goodbye and made her way to the plane. While on the plane, she thought of the new turn she was taking. She saw herself working by her aunt’s side and making money for her family. But she didn’t know that a surprise awaited her in South Africa. She watched Douala disappear through the small window. After a short, restless wait in Kigali, the second plane took her farther south than she had ever been. When the pilot finally said, “We are landing at O.R. Tambo,” her heart was beating so fast. The airport was huge, cold, and noisy. Trolleys clattered, and announcements were made in English, Zulu, and Afrikaans. Then the time was announced: Local time-6:45 a.m She found the Wi-Fi, her hands shaking. “Aunty? It’s me. I’m here. At Terminal A...” Silence on the other end, then: “Amina, I... I’m stuck at work in Pretoria. Stay there, don’t move. I’ll come.” She waited. 7 a.m. 9 a.m. 11 a.m. People came and went. The phone went to voicemail. She couldn’t call her mother in Douala. Her mother had borrowed money for her to be here. She would die of stress if she heard Amina was alone. Night fell. She curled up on a metal chair near the international arrivals, her backpack as a pillow. Then, shouting. A rush of people near the exit doors. Security guards were moving people along, saying the terminal wasn’t for sleeping. A hand grabbed hers—a young woman her age, with a small backpack, speaking english with a Nigerian accent. “Don’t stay here. If you sleep here, they will think you are stranded. Come.” Outside, the Johannesburg air was freezing. They hid behind a pillar near the parking zone. Amina saw two police vans. Some officers were checking the papers of a group of young men sitting on the curb. “They are not deporting everyone,” the girl whispered to her. “But if you have no address, no one to receive you, and you look lost—they will take you to the station. And tomorrow, Lindela*. ” *(Lindela is the repatriation centre.) “Why are you helping me?” Amina asked. “Because someone once helped me too. And because if other Africans don’t hold on to each other, who else will? They think we’re here to steal their jobs. We just come to survive.” Outside O.R. Tambo “I’m Chioma,” the girl said, still holding her hand tightly as they walked quickly away from the vans. “Lagos. And you?” “Douala. Amina.” Chioma laughed, but it was a tired laugh. “Douala, Lagos, Kinshasa—same story. My uncle said Nigeria to South Africa is big business, but when I landed, his number stopped going through.” They didn’t have money for a taxi to the city. They continued walking very close to each other, shivering. Two strangers from two different countries. A minibus taxi driver stopped. A South African woman in her 40s was driving— unusual, as most drivers are men. “Where are you going, my sisters? You will freeze here,” she said in English. “We... we have nowhere,” Amina whispered. Then she instantly regretted saying that. The woman looked at them. She didn’t ask for a passport. She didn’t ask for money. "My taxi is off today. i stay in Kempton park, 10 minutes from here. You will come eat something and charge your phone" That night, she took them home amd offered a room. "My children are big enough, they left the house some months back. Sleep here today. Tomorrow you can try getting to your relatives. And you can call me Nomsa" she said. She lived with her husband. They were kind people who lived a simple life. The next morning Amina dialled her aunty's number again, but still no reply. The same thing happened days after. Finally they decided to find a job so they won't be a burden to Nomsa. But everywhere they went to, their nationality was asked first. They had to deal with the disapproving looks each time they mentioned they weren't South Africans. One afternoon, while they were still struggling to get a job, a young man ran passed them holding a hand bag. A large crowd of young boys was after them. When they finally caught him, they gave him a harsh beaten and collected the handbag. The owner later came and it was handed to her. The crowd stood close to the man laying in pains waiting for the police to come get him. Amina amd Chioma could get some of the boys say "I knew him, he's a Zimbabwean" "These foreigners only bring crime" "That's how they're to be treated, this is all they deserve" "The police should come get him and send him back to his country" Amina amd Chioma quickly left that area in fear of being spotted by the angry crowd. When they arrived at Nomsa's house, they told her everything that happened. Nomsa looked so sad. She sat on a nearby chair and explained. "This situation is really sad to hear. But i can guarantee you this is not South Africa, it's fear. People have no jobs so they look for someone to blame. The Government tells them it's foreigners fault" Chioma burst in tears. " But it's not our fault. Most of us here are just trying to survive. I see the way they look at foreigners on the street. They often tell us to go back where we come from" Amina tried her best to console Chioma. Aunt Grace finally called, but she didn't give any good news. "Amina I'm sorry, you can't come to Pretoria now. The job I was keeping for you was given to someone else, I'm sorry" "It's ok aunty, I'll manage" Then one day, Nomsa brought good news. "My sister who holds a salon in Yeoville needs two girls to make braids" That's how Amina and Chioma found themselves in Yeoville. Nomsa's sister was very kind. She permitted them to sleep in the salon after work. Yeoville was different from Kempton park. Everyone was looked same. The owner of the shop next door was from Malawi. The boy who sold airtime was from Congo. The restaurant servers were from five different African countries. And the restaurant served dishes from other African countries too. You could buy, work with no one asking where you came from, except to ask about your favorite food. Amina's journey to South Africa didn't go as planned, but she found a safe place where she could work money and feel accepted. After some months of savings, she could finally send some money to her mum in Cameroon. And the money helped in paying their debts and buy more food. Mom, I'm fine, everyone treats me well here. Once you accept the others as they are, everyone lives in happiness"