Went to my magwinya lady today, she's contained at the canteens on north campus, As she rose up her left eye was bluish ****** grey, A lump in my throat formed not as big as the one on her face, my eyes secreted their salty solution, my mind quickly processed confusion, "M-m-m-m-may i-i-i p-p-lease have five magwinyas" She smirked at my muttered utterance as she began to fill the thin transparent plastic with the oily flour-filled *****, I reluctantly asked "What happened to your eye?" She responded in Xhosa reasonably assuming my common cocoa coating meant our tongues matched until I told her otherwise. Eventually she simply said, "Fight". I said, "you got in to a fight?" She said "Mmm".
I went over to my banana lady and said the magwinya lady has a black eye and she casually claimed, "Her boyfriend beat her yesterday." Confirming what my teary eyes and lumpy throat knew to be true when I saw my sweet magwinya lady with a swollen eye ****** grey and blue.
Frustrated at the nothing I could do. Powerlessly pirched on a brown bench as the black sparrows chirped pleading for a piece of my last magwinya, Should I tell her to escape? Is that even my place? How many black eyes are blotched on this bruised land i, a fearful foreigner, trace? I'll bury my brain in my book, somewhat cowardly crook, I'll see what i saw but take no second look, like a camel's head in the sand, I'll timidly tell myself these things are just too hard to understand.