Born a Crime

up the street picking berries off the
mulberry tree and eating them. I
went over and started picking some
to take home for myself. The boys
were a few years older than me,
around twelve or thirteen. They
didn’t talk to me, and I didn’t talk to
them. They were speaking to one
another in Afrikaans, and I could
understand what they were saying.
Then one of them, this kid who was
the ringleader of the group, walked
over. “Mag ek jou moerbeie sien?”
“Can I see your mulberries?” My
first thought, again, was, Oh, cool. I
made a friend. I held up my hand
and showed him my mulberries.