Does it Hurt to Die (23 page)

‘I forgave them for that after I grieved, for they knew not what they were doing,’ she replied.

‘I can recall Jannie looked at me and then Etienne, who raised his eyebrows suggesting that he too was impressed by Kathleena’s faith and uncertain how to explain it. I think we all realised then that while we had been brought up in a Christian country, we had all missed out on gaining the faith that Kathleena had and which seemed to be able to get her through crises such as she was facing with Sibokwe. At that time we were all a little bit envious of Kathleena’s faith and, truth be known, a little guilty of the scepticism that hovered in our subconscious. We then gathered a few of Sibokwe’s belongings and said a tearful farewell to Kathleena.’

‘
What was it like for you leaving your mother and Pofadder,’ asked Christian, looking at Sibokwe.

‘
I’d often seen the plane fly into Pofadder but had never been out to the airport. I can still remember that excitement mixed with fear and a bumpy ride back to Cape Town. But then when Sian was there to meet us and hugged me like a son, I had a feeling that everything was going to be OK,’ said Sibokwe.

‘
We then settled Sibokwe in with us and quickly arranged all the blood tests. I’d alerted the anaesthetic department to a possible transplant, and a national request had gone out for a donor. Then we just had to wait. I think you know the rest of the story from Renata,’ said Mike, ‘that we were all ready to transplant Sibokwe when your father was involved in the shooting in the church.’

‘
So my father doesn’t actually have his fingerprints on your abdomen then, Sibokwe, as he didn’t actually do the transplant?’

‘
No, not his fingerprints, but without him I wouldn’t have this liver and be talking to you now.’

‘
I think one of the great things for him must have been to know that you survived and had another chance at life before he died,’ said Christian.

‘
I can tell you that he was, Christian, and it was for no other reason except that was what he really felt he had been born to do, using his intelligence and surgical skills to help others,’ said Mike.

‘
So, whatever else you find out about your father, just remember what he gave me. By having another chance at life, I have determined that as part of the legacy of life that he left me, I need to contribute in a similar way with those of our people who don’t share the opportunities that many of us have,’ added Sibokwe.

‘
I will,’ said Christian. ‘That’s an amazing thing to remember my father for, and thank you, Sibokwe.’

‘
You’re more than welcome.’

‘
Why don’t you and Isabella come back with me and I’ll show you around the University of Western Cape this afternoon?’ said Sibokwe. ‘Then we could call in and see my mother, who lives in Guguletu, before I drop you back to Mike and Sian. What do you think, you two?’

Christian glanced across at Isabella, who was grinning almost as though this was all part of a well-thought out plan.

‘Well, Mum has given me the afternoon off, so I’m free,’ said Isabella. ‘What about you, Christian?’

‘
Sounds like a plan.’

‘
He’s even speaking like a South African now,’ said Mike. ‘Just need to work a little bit on the accent, though.’

‘
Leave his accent alone. I like that Aussie twang,’ interrupted Isabella.

‘
Wasn’t the University of Western Cape originally for coloured people?’ said Christian, looking at Sibokwe.

‘
You’re quite right; it was established in nineteen sixty by the South African government for coloured students only. It was part of the grand plan to educate coloureds but to keep education separate under a special apartheid education Bill of 1957. Therefore, we started really, as a bush college supervised by the University of South Africa, which really only offered limited training for people wishing to have jobs in the coloured schools and civil service. Most of the early lecturers were white, as was the board. All the lectures were given in Afrikaans. Since very few non-whites could get into a white university, it was very much an inferior education system, controlled by an apartheid government that didn’t want to see blacks educated to any position where they could be threatening.’

‘
I read, though, that that’s where the black consciousness movement started, and gave rise to the African National Congress,’ said Christian.

‘
You’re well informed,’ said Sibokwe.

‘
Don’t praise him too much,’ pleaded Isabella, ‘his feet may not touch the ground otherwise.’

‘
He seems well grounded to me, Isabella. You wouldn’t have an ulterior motive for keeping his feet on the ground here would you?’ Sibokwe joked.

After a moment of laughter, he went on
. ‘The university is much different nowadays, though. We’re fully autonomous having rejected apartheid formally in 1982, after many protests and many of our students were banned. There was a move to rename it Mandela University after the fall of the apartheid government, but many thought the history of the black consciousness movement might be lost. We now are a truly multicultural university. The only real reminder of apartheid, some would say, would be the great white pillars that provide an entrance way. That, in itself, is an interesting historical metaphor, although some of the students have suggested they now should be painted black.’

‘
Sounds like it’s going to be a very interesting place to visit. Did you ever find out what happened to your father?’ said Christian.

‘
I think that’s almost as long a story as yours is going to turn out to be,’ said Mike, as Ruby started to clear up some of the plates.

‘
I did go through a similar situation to yours, Christian, wanting to find more about my father and why he was killed,’ said Sibokwe. ‘But for me there were limited records to find and I had to rely on some friends who had survived the purge of the security forces. Thompson, my father, moved down to Cape Town to try to find a job to provide for my mother and my family. I think she can give you most of the history when we see her this afternoon. I have to warn you, though, she’s a great talker and she’ll love meeting you.’

‘
She’s a wonderful woman,’ said Nadine, speaking for the first time. ‘And, Sibokwe, just remind me again, I’ve never understood why with you being so successful she still lives in one of the townships.’

‘
Well, you remember she has this great faith and she thinks that’s where she can be of greatest use to God. I’ve invited her to move in with me on numerous occasions, but she won’t leave. She feels that this is where her vocation is, saving souls in the township.’

‘
And,’ said Isabella, looking directly at Christian, ‘with that great faith of hers, she’ll be out to convert this young Aussie as well.’

‘
Now, Isabella, you’ll have Christian worried. She’s a very caring and loving woman, who is adored by everyone who lives around her. And while she’s very keen to let you know that her love is divinely inspired, she’s also sensitive,’ said Sian.

‘
I was teasing, Christian,’ said Isabella.

‘
OK,’ said Sibokwe as Ruby cleared up the rest of the dishes on the table, ‘why don’t we call in and see Kathleena on the way.’

Walking down the steps to the red Honda, Sibokwe suggested that Christian sit in the front seat, so that he would be able to see much more as they headed out of the city. As Christian opened the front door he could see written on the bonnet, beneath the University of Western Cape emblem, the United Nations logo, in white italics
, ‘freedom is not a choice but a birth right’. Some things we take so much for granted, he thought, as he held open the back door for Isabella.

Smiling a thank you at him, she playfully smacked him on his bum. Christian laughed. He was getting to like her cheekiness more and more.

The drive to Guguletu Township was, Christian noted, a journey of contrasts, something that he was coming to realise was the essence of South Africa. They were soon leaving the high walls of the white middle-class suburbs with their electrified fences and security gates. The carefully manicured front lawns were quickly replaced with no footpaths, no shoulder to the edge of the road and increasing numbers of plastic bags and rubbish. While Christian was trying to adjust to the contrasts, Sibokwe turned off Klipfontein Road into a road called NY 117.

‘
Why don’t they have street names with the names of people?’ said Christian.

‘
The NY stands for Native Yards, which dates back to apartheid days,’ replied Sibokwe.

‘
I can’t imagine anything more demeaning than having that as a street name, and it would be a priority to change if I was the government.’

‘
There’s been much discussion about it. Some say that they should be changed and replaced with names of popular people, like Mandela Drive, but others see retaining the NY as a constant reminder of the past and what should never become the future,’ added Isabella.

‘
From a practical point of view, I guess it would be difficult,’ said Christian. ‘We just went past NY 177, and so I imagine changing hundreds of street names would not only be confusing but also a huge task.’

‘
That’s also part of the ongoing debate,’ said Sibokwe.

When they approached the shantytown where Sibokwe’s mother lived, the road stopped and was replaced by a smooth dirt track. As far as Christian could see, there were only small corrugated iron huts, some with windows, mostly without, but almost all with some form of graffiti. He also noticed many children running around, their laughter contrasting with the impression of overwhelming poverty.

‘Has Guguletu been here since the beginning of Cape Town?’ asked Christian.

‘
No, the shantytown that we just drove past, called Langa, was officially the only place that blacks could live in Cape Town. However, when District Six in Cape Town was demolished to make way for more white homes, Langa became overcrowded and many people overflowed into Guguletu. Many of those who moved in were no longer able to work in white houses, where they’d been gardeners or maids, and gangs have become a major problem.’

As the Honda bumped up the dirt road, Christian noticed many people spread out along the street selling everything from food to clothing. Almost anything was used as a display table, from old cardboard boxes, to two plastic containers stuck together. Minibus taxis and cars drove as though they owned the road, with taxi drivers hanging out of the window yelling and hooting at any one who got in their way.

Sibokwe pulled up outside a small corrugated shanty in NY6. As they, parked Christian noted the ‘Clever Kids’ graffiti all along the front wall.

‘
There she is,’ said Sibokwe, waving as a black woman in a bright yellow top, her hair swept up neatly on top of her head, appeared at the window and waved at them. When Sibokwe got out of the car, he turned to Christian and Isabella and said, ‘Just wait here for a second. I need to find someone who will look after the car while we go and talk to Kathleena.’

‘
What does he mean look after the car?’ said Christian, looking at Isabella.

‘
Sibokwe is well known because he’s defended many of the youth, and unless he gets one of them to keep an eye on the car there won’t be much left when we return,’ said Isabella matter-of-factly.

Christian’s eyes followed Sibokwe, who was seen talking to someone who seemed to be the same age. They shook hands and hugged, and Christian could see them laughing together as Sibokwe pointed at the car. The man wore a T-shirt that had been deliberately ripped open to display a tattoo, which even from a distance Christian could see read
‘Clever Kids’. After a quick chat with Sibokwe, the man dispatched two of his friends to stand next to the Honda.

‘
Come on, you two, we can join Kathleena now,’ said Sibokwe, ‘the “Clever Kids” will look after the car.’

It was only a short distance from the car to Kathleena’s front door, but Christian was conscious of many eyes watching them. For the first time in South Africa, he felt out of place. All around him were people of a different skin colour to his own and he was the only white face, perhaps for miles. For an instant, he felt a sense and taste of fear. Nothing he could see specifically frightened him, but it was just the sense that he did not belong and was some kind of intruder. As if sensing his unease Isabella deliberately took his hand and then kissed him very openly on the cheek.

‘Just in case you were feeling overwhelmed,’ she whispered.

The front door of Kathleena’s shanty was ajar, and Sibokwe called out to his mother as he pushed the door further open. Christian heard her voice and laugh before he saw her. She was much shorter than what he had envisaged, probably almost a head shorter than himself, but she projected a radiance that made her seem much taller. He watched as she enthusiastically embraced Sibokwe, noticing that the dwelling had one room in which there was only one window, which was cracked, while a small curtain struggled to stay attached above its old wooden frame.

Partly dividing the main room was a waist high wooden wall. Beyond the wall and close to the window was a small stove with a large basin. Completing the room were three chairs and a new-looking gas refrigerator; a gift, Christian thought, from Sibokwe. His eyes were drawn to a large cross on the wall. Directly underneath was a desk with two small candles and an open Bible. A visible reminder, he thought if anyone needed reminding, about Kathleena’s faith.

‘
Mamma, you know that you’re meant to keep that door locked at all times,’ said Sibokwe, extricating himself from his mother’s embrace.

‘
I know, I know,’ she replied, ‘but how am I going to help everyone if they can’t find me?’

Sibokwe turned to Isabella and Christian and raised his eyebrows indicating this was obviously a conversation they had had many times before that had made little impression on his mother.

‘Mamma, this is Christian, the son of Professor Jannie de Villiers who all those years ago gave me a new liver.’

‘
How wonderful to meet the son of the man who saved my son,’ said Kathleena, beaming at Christian before also giving him a wholehearted embrace.

‘
Mamma, Christian was asking on the way over if I’d managed to find out much about my father as he is trying to do with his,’ said Sibokwe. ‘I said that you could probably tell him the story better than I could.’

‘
Well, that’s quite a long story, so we should make a cup of tea,’ said Kathleena, walking around the half wall to put the kettle on the stove. Christian watched her move to the small table and shift the candles to one edge to make room for four cups. Sibokwe quickly gathered two chairs and a small bench for them to sit on.

‘
My husband was called Thompson,’ said Kathleena. ‘And just before Sibokwe became sick, he had moved to Cape Town to try to earn more money so that we could send the children to better schools. This is the place that he lived in; I was given rights to his shanty when I moved here many years ago.’

‘
Through Sibokwe’s influence,’ added Isabella.

‘
Mamma, do you want me to make the tea? Christian might want to sit down to hear the rest of the story,’ said Sibokwe, knowing how much his mother enjoyed talking.

‘
Are you suggesting I talk a lot?’ Kathleena laughed as she looked at Sibokwe and turned off the gas.

‘
Why don’t I make the tea,’ said Isabella. ‘That should free you both to talk to Christian.’

As Isabella took control of the kettle, Sibokwe and Christian each took a chair and faced Kathleena.

‘The first and only job Thompson had was with Hartsburke Fabrics. He started as a carpet trimmer. He used to write to me once a week and tell me how much he missed all of us and how hard he was working. He must have made a good impression on the company, as they promoted him into dispatching and gave him a five rand a week salary increase. He had told me that he wanted this money to go into a special school fund because he was certain that Sibokwe was going to become someone very educated and important.’

‘
So, Sibokwe was the favoured son from the beginning,’ said Christian, smiling at Kathleena.

‘
All boys are favourites of their mothers!’ said Isabella as she poured the tea.

‘
Ignore her, Christian, otherwise she’s encouraged to be even cheekier,’ said Sibokwe.

‘
Go on, Mamma. I quite like hearing about how I was going to become educated and important.’

‘
Well, the new position also gave Thompson more time for reading, which he loved doing, usually at lunchtimes. He worked every Saturday, which he didn’t really mind since there was little else that he could do in the township. There were also township gangs back then, and although they weren’t as bad as they are now, they were constantly breaking into people’s homes and demanding protection money; so he thought it was better if he was at work. He figured it didn’t matter if they ransacked and took everything in your house, but they couldn’t take your most important possession, your life, if you weren’t there.’

‘
I thought the gangs were the product of the overcrowding after District Six was closed,’ said Christian.

‘
No,’ said Kathleena, ‘the gangs weren’t such a problem in the beginning, but with overcrowding and no real employment, they turned to drugs and violence. There was no control over them because the white police didn’t care as long as the violence stayed in the black townships.’

‘
And, back then, the police only really came into the townships if they thought there was a political subversive that they could find and interrogate,’ added Sibokwe.

‘
And now that you do have a combination of black and white police, why don’t they control the gangs?’

‘
Sibokwe,’ said Kathleena, ‘your mother is speaking.’

‘
Sorry, you know how I can’t help myself when it comes to discussing what goes on here.’

‘
Now, where was I? Oh yes, Thompson joined the African National Congress. I don’t think it was because he felt the need to improve the conditions under which they worked, but mainly he saw the need to change some of the really annoying things living under apartheid such as carrying a passport to identify what colour you were. The ANC would meet on Sunday, which was his only day off. He made many friends. Although a few crazy members wanted to violently overthrow the white regime, he felt the majority wanted a peaceful change.’

‘
I remember reading about the Pass laws on the plane on the way over,’ said Christian. ‘They were really hated by coloured and black people weren’t they?’

‘
That’s quite right,’ said Sibokwe. ‘The white government, which had institutionalised segregation from the early nineteen fifties, had become increasingly ruthless in enforcing segregation. The Pass laws were at the centre of segregation and therefore a source of major conflict. They dated back to the seventeen nineties and were introduced to try to exclude all blacks/natives from the fledgling Cape Colony, many of whom at that time were slaves. When the colony expanded to become the new South Africa, the Pass laws were consolidated to regulate the movement of blacks in urban areas and to give the white government greater control over where they could live. All blacks over the age of sixteen had to carry a “passbook” at all times stipulating what area a black could be in and how long they could remain there. Failure to carry one or produce it when requested by the police usually resulted in arrest.’

‘
A passbook to indicate what colour you were really was an insult and was a reason for racial abuse, which is why it caused so much anger,’ said Isabella quickly.

‘
Sibokwe and Isabella if you keep interrupting me, I’m going to have to ask you to go and stand outside,’ said Kathleena, with what Christian thought was mock indignation. But he also was unsure whether she was not a little bit miffed with her son interrupting her. However, the general affability indicated to him that interruption was a family tradition, and Christian could see the pride in Kathleena’s eyes when Sibokwe spoke with the knowledge that he had.

‘
Thompson had accepted it as part of working and living close to whites,’ she continued, looking at Christian and ignoring the grins from Sibokwe and Isabella. ‘From time to time he would write about the indignity of the passbook and how some kind of protest should be organised.’