IR Short Stories

Amu’s days were marked by deep sighs and long stares at the bathroom mirror, at the faded black of her work t-shirt, mocking her for the months that had turned into years she’d sworn she wouldn’t still be here. She used to think a degree meant a future. She used to think peace in South Africa was enough. Then she learned what it cost. South Africa had traded transformation for quiet. People called it freedom, but Amu wasn’t fooled anymore. She worked at a five-star restaurant in the east of Pretoria, smiling through twelve-hour shifts for people who pretended not to see her. They always spoke louder when she approached, excusing themselves from responding to her greeting. At first, she’d taken it personally. Now, she said “Good morning” like a ritual, words stripped of meaning with no expected response. Within weeks she had learned that racism looked polished, polite, and rich here. The few Black customers who came weren’t any kinder. They measured worth in rands and treated waiters ...