Chapter 7 - First Steps to Johannesburg

The coins clinked in my hand, tiny and insufficient. I counted them over and over, hoping the numbers would change. They didn't. Bus ticket? Not enough. First month's rent? Barely. Food? Impossible. My stomach twisted with hunger, panic gnawing at my chest. I had no choice. I swallowed my pride and walked to the small house where my old teacher lived—the one who had quietly paid for my farewell trip years ago. I hesitated at the gate, heart hammering. Asking for help again felt like admitting failure. But survival didn't wait for pride. When she opened the door, she looked at me—older, of course, but still sharp-eyed, still seeing everything. "I… I need help," I muttered, avoiding her gaze. "For the bus… and rent. "She studied me for a long moment. Then, as if deciding something crucial, she nodded. "Come in."I followed her into the small kitchen. She pulled out an envelope, counting notes carefully. "This will cover your bus ticket and first month's rent. Don't waste it."Relief and shame collided inside me. "Thank you… I don't know how to" She cut me off. "You'll find your way. Just… be careful, child. The world isn't easy, but you've got grit. Don't lose it."I left her house clutching the envelope like a lifeline. My hands shook with anticipation, fear, and hunger. The bus station felt larger than I expected. Every honk, every shout, every movement made my heart race. I found my seat, hugged my bag, and imagined Johannesburg: tall buildings, crowded streets, endless possibility… or danger. Hours later, I arrived. The city swallowed me immediately its noise, its movement, its scale. I dragged my bag to the small apartment I had managed to rent with borrowed money. Bare walls, a single bed, a cracked window home for now. My stomach grumbled sharply, reminding me again that I had no money left for food. I sank onto the bed, exhausted. The envelope was empty, my stomach empty, yet I refused to fold. Tomorrow, I would find work. Tomorrow, I will begin searching. Somehow, I would survive this city. Somehow, I would find her Mem Vance the mother I had never known. Outside, the city lights flickered like tiny promises. I pressed my hands over my face and whispered her name, trying to steady my racing thoughts. Could she even care? Could she be real? Sleep came slowly, uneasily, full of the city's shadows and a hunger I had carried from childhood. Yet somewhere inside, a small flame of determination refused to go out. Tomorrow, the real journey would begin.