Under African Skies (33 page)
Read Under African Skies Online
Authors: Charles Larson
I turned into the side road leading up to the police camp and stopped at the barrier just inside the iron gates. There was a flurry of activity in the little hut on the side of the road. Two armed men emerged.
One marched purposefully toward the car. “Name and address?”
He leaned through the open window, surveyed me and the interior of the car. He paused by my left hand, which was still holding the gearshift. I ignored the bayonet waving half a foot away from my throat and supplied the information.
“Can we help you?”
I mentioned my desire to visit one of the top-ranking officers.
“Just a moment, sir.” He marched back to the hut. I could see him phoning.
I wondered why there were roadblocks manned by heavily armed police at several points on either side of Mtalika town. It seemed as if Mandania was in a perpetual state of siege or under curfew. As far as I knew, the nearest war was across the border, and it had nothing to do with us.
“Just obeying orders, sir.” The man came back. “I have to ask his permission to let you through.”
I shrugged and asked for directions. The barrier was lifted, I drove past slowly, and waved back at the mock salute I was given by the other man.
“Alekeni! Long time no see!”
The officer, in civilian clothes, pumped my hand with exaggerated enthusiasm, as I got out of the car. “Come in.”
I didn't know if my mission could be discussed in the house with so many children milling around. “Thank you!” I said all the same.
The sitting room was filled with enough furniture for two houses. He waved me to a sumptuous chair, into which I sank up to my waist. I bobbed up again and sat forward on the edge of the seat.
“This is Alekeni, my old schoolmate.” He introduced me to a parade of sons and daughters, who detached themselves from various corners and rooms and advanced an arm and a shy smile. They filed back to their occupations afterwards like a small regiment.
Brief pause.
I decided to plunge straight into the purpose of my visit.
He jerked forward. “Yes.” He spoke rapidly. “Ndasauka. I heard about it. Routine, of course. I'm kept informed of what is happening.”
“The problem is,” I continued, “that we don't know what is happening and we are really worried about it. It's a week now, and there's no news of his whereabouts or even the reasons for his being taken in.”
“But why come to me?” He was very agitated. “It's not really my department.”
“For the simple reason that we were at school together, we were friends. His wife also said you go to the same church. She, in fact, is the one who suggested I should come to see you.”
“You realize this is a delicate matter?”
“But we don't know anything.”
“I'm telling you it's a delicate matter. If anyone knew you came to see me about it, I would be in trouble.”
“Surely you can mention at least to his wife the nature of the suspicions or the speculations as to why he was taken?”
“It's too sensitive.”
“I take it it's not a criminal charge, then.”
“In his case, it wouldn't be that.”
“It's political, then?”
“Look, I only got to know about it as a matter of routine. I didn't inquire further into the details, although I saw his name on the list.”
“There are others involved, too?”
“Yes, and I trust you appreciate the fact that I can't just lift the phone and call the Special Branch?”
“I do, but surely on the list there was some explanation why the people had to be taken?”
“That's why I'm saying it's too delicate to discuss with you at the moment. Give me a few days and perhaps I can let you know what can be safely told.
“When can I get in touch with you again?”
“I'll get in touch with you.”
When we parted, I had a strong suspicion he would not contact me again and that I had lost an old school friend forever. As I drove out past the armed guards, I wondered if the country hadn't been in a state of emergency all along and I hadn't known. It was too delicate to announce publicly, and so, too, would it be when the next one was taken.
â1996
(BORN 1943) SOUTH AFRICA
Born in the Transkei (a former South African homeland), Sindiwe Magona grew up in Cape Town's black townships. She attended the University of London from 1971 to 1973, eventually earning her B.A. in psychology and history from the University of South Africa in Pretoria. Graduate work took her to Columbia University from 1981 to 1983, where she earned a Master of Science in Organizational Social Work, with a minor in Business Administration. In 1992, she was awarded an Honorary Doctorate in Humane Letters from Hartwick College in Oneonta, New York.
Magona began her writing career with a two-part biography: To
My Children's Children (
1990) and
Forced to Grow
(1992). During 1993 and 1994, she translated the former into Xhosa and wrote
Imida
(1995), a book of essays, also in Xhosa. Her two collections of short storiesâ
Living
,
Loving and Lying Awake at Night
(1991) and
Push-Push
!
and Other Stories
(1996)âhave been widely praised and reprinted. Her current writing includes a one-woman play
, I Promised Myself a Fabulous Middle Age,
and a forthcoming novel,
Perhaps I Do Not Die in Vain.
My Children's Children (
1990) and
Forced to Grow
(1992). During 1993 and 1994, she translated the former into Xhosa and wrote
Imida
(1995), a book of essays, also in Xhosa. Her two collections of short storiesâ
Living
,
Loving and Lying Awake at Night
(1991) and
Push-Push
!
and Other Stories
(1996)âhave been widely praised and reprinted. Her current writing includes a one-woman play
, I Promised Myself a Fabulous Middle Age,
and a forthcoming novel,
Perhaps I Do Not Die in Vain.
Magona is active in the South African literary scene, giving frequent lectures and readings as well as participating in the
Weekly Mail
and the
Guardian Book Week
annual literary events. She lives in New York City, where she works for the United Nations.
Weekly Mail
and the
Guardian Book Week
annual literary events. She lives in New York City, where she works for the United Nations.
The author says about “I'm Not Talking About That, Now”: “In this story, an ordinary family living in one of South African townships takes
center stage during the post-1976 political upheavals in that country ⦠. My aim was to show how the political impinged on the personal; people's lives were affected in ways they had perhaps never imagined; the heroism of the day, which we hear a lot about, had another faceâbeastly behavior from men, women, and people so young we still referred to them as âchildren' âall people who, in another time, would not have known they could be capable of such. Someone refusing to take a wounded neighbor to the doctor? A father refusing to take action so that he could go and bury his own child? Singing and dancing over the writhing, flaming body of a victim of an attack who'd been deliberately set alight?
center stage during the post-1976 political upheavals in that country ⦠. My aim was to show how the political impinged on the personal; people's lives were affected in ways they had perhaps never imagined; the heroism of the day, which we hear a lot about, had another faceâbeastly behavior from men, women, and people so young we still referred to them as âchildren' âall people who, in another time, would not have known they could be capable of such. Someone refusing to take a wounded neighbor to the doctor? A father refusing to take action so that he could go and bury his own child? Singing and dancing over the writhing, flaming body of a victim of an attack who'd been deliberately set alight?
“Yet most, if not all, of the actors in the South African drama were ordinary people, not know for thuggery before they did what they did. I suppose you could say I'm grappling with the transmogrifying power of a certain type of event. Understanding that, perhaps, might we come to judge less harshly? Or not judge at all? I really don't know. Like a lot of other people, I'm just trying to understand what really happened to the gentle, humane, kindly people of my childhood. Could they be the same as these that people the stories that come out of the South Africa of the last thirty years? I am mourning the lost innocence of families where the husband's snoring was a major disturbing event, the wife's industriousness, or lack thereof, a calamity.”
Mamvulane lay very still, her eyes wide open, staring unseeingly into nowhere. She listened to her husband snore softly beside her.
A big bold orange band lay on the carpetâpainted there by the strong dawn light pouring through the bright orange-curtained window.
Reluctantly, she focused her eyes. Her head was throbbing. She glanced at the alarm clock on the dressing table. God, it wasn't even five o'clock yet. How was she going to survive this day? she asked herself. Her right eye felt as though someone was poking a red-hot iron rod into it from the back of her head, where he'd first drilled a hole.
Irritatedly, she pushed her husband onto his side. Immediately, the snoring stopped. She listened to the drilling inside her head, assuming that with the noise of Mdlangathi's snoring gone, the pain would subside. And, indeed, it did appear to be in abeyance if not completely vanished.
She took a deep and noisy inward draw of breath. Cruel fancy played her tricks. She could swear the air was faintly laced with the barest soupçon of the bittersweet smell of coffee. Mmmhh! What she wouldn't give for just one cup. Just one.
Her stomach growled. Swiftly, she placed one hand on her still girlishly flat tummy. She felt the quick ripples of air bubbles in her bowels. When last had she eaten? And what had she had then?
Mdlangathi, her husband, lying next to her, mumbled something in his
sleep and turned over to lie, once more, facing the ceiling, his distinctly discernible paunch hilling the blankets.
sleep and turned over to lie, once more, facing the ceiling, his distinctly discernible paunch hilling the blankets.
Immediately, the snoring resumed, provoking swift and righteous retaliation from his wife, reflex by now, after all the years with him and his snoring.
Mamvulane dug an elbow into his side, grumbling, “
Uyarhona
,
Mdlangathi
.
Uyarhona
!” for habits die hard. In their more than twenty years of marriage, among the constants in their relationship was his snoring whenever he lay “like a rat suffering from acute heartburn,” her talking to him as though he were awake and the answers he never failed to mumbleâpearls from an ancient oracle. She always chided herself that she actually listened, paid attention to the barely audible ramblings of a snoring man who'd gone to bed drunk. But she always did. And tonight not only was he drunk when he went to bed, Mamvulane told herself, but she had never seen him so agitated. Would she never learn?
Uyarhona
,
Mdlangathi
.
Uyarhona
!” for habits die hard. In their more than twenty years of marriage, among the constants in their relationship was his snoring whenever he lay “like a rat suffering from acute heartburn,” her talking to him as though he were awake and the answers he never failed to mumbleâpearls from an ancient oracle. She always chided herself that she actually listened, paid attention to the barely audible ramblings of a snoring man who'd gone to bed drunk. But she always did. And tonight not only was he drunk when he went to bed, Mamvulane told herself, but she had never seen him so agitated. Would she never learn?
Last night, however, was the worst she'd ever seen him. He'd returned positively excited, ranting and raving about the gross lack of respect of today's young people.
“
Baqalekisiwe, ndifung' uTat' ekobandayo. Baqalekisiw' aba bantwana, Mamvulane.”
Baqalekisiwe, ndifung' uTat' ekobandayo. Baqalekisiw' aba bantwana, Mamvulane.”
“What children are cursed?” his wife wanted to know.
And that is when he told her of the curse the actions of today's children would surely invite onto their heads.
“Why do you say such a terrible thing?” his wife wanted to know.
“Now, now, just as the sun set, I was on my way here from the single men's zones, where I'd gone to get a little something to wet my parched throat. What do you think I should come across? Mmhhmh?” He stopped and considered her with his bleary eyes.
His wife conceded ignorance. “I'm sure I don't know. Why don't you tell me,” she said. She wanted to scrape together what food there was in the house. And try to prepare a meal.
“Do you know that a group of boys accosted a man? A grown man, who was circumcised? Boys laid their filthy hands on such a man ⦠a man old enough to be their father?”
“Where was this?” asked Mamvulane, not sure how much of Mdlangathi's ramblings she should take seriously.
“You ask me something I have already told you. Where are your ears,
woman? Or else, you think I'm drunk and pay no attention to what I tell you? No wonder your children are as bad as they are, where would they learn to listen and obey since you, our wives, who are their mothers, have stopped doing that? Mmhhh?”
woman? Or else, you think I'm drunk and pay no attention to what I tell you? No wonder your children are as bad as they are, where would they learn to listen and obey since you, our wives, who are their mothers, have stopped doing that? Mmhhh?”
“Are you telling me the story or should I go about my business?” retorted Mamvulane. She was taking a risk, for she did want to hear the story. But she also knew that her husband rather fancied the sound of his own voice.
“If you want to hear the story, then pay attention. I told you I was from the zones. On my way here, I came across a group of boys, you know, these little rascals who are always passing by here, pretending to be visiting your son, Mteteli, when you full know it's your daughter they want. And they were manhandling one of their fathers.”
“Who was that?”
“Now, you make me laugh. You imagine I stopped and asked them for their
dompasses?
Am I mad? Or do you think I am a fool? Or is it your hurry to be a widow that is putting those stupid words into your mouth? Mmhh?”
dompasses?
Am I mad? Or do you think I am a fool? Or is it your hurry to be a widow that is putting those stupid words into your mouth? Mmhh?”
With great deliberateness, Mdlangathi attended to the business of picking his teeth. First, he took out a match. Then he took out his jackknife and started whittling slowly on the tiny match, chiseling it till the back had a sharp point.
“When a woman told me what those dogs were doing, I knew enough to mind my own business, my friend. Today's children show no respect for their fathers.
“This man, the woman said to me, had had too much to drink. Now, mind you,” quickly, he went to the defense of his fallen comrade, “the man drank from his own pocket, he didn't ask those silly boys to buy him his liquor. So what is his sin? Tell me, what is this man's sin when he has drunk liquor he bought with his own money? Why should these mad children make that their business, mmhhmh?”
“What did they do?”
“These little devils,” bellowed Mdlangathi, eyes flashing. “Don't they force the sad man to drink down a solution of
Javel? Javel,
Mamvulane! Do you hear me? What do you think
Javel
does to a man's throat? To his stomach? I ask you, what do you think it does to those things? Just visit and make jokes with them, heh?”
Javel? Javel,
Mamvulane! Do you hear me? What do you think
Javel
does to a man's throat? To his stomach? I ask you, what do you think it does to those things? Just visit and make jokes with them, heh?”
He glowered at her as though she were one of the “little devils” and he was itching to teach her a lesson.
Bang! went his fist on the table.
“A grown man, no less! The boys make him drink that poison. They tell him, âWe are helping you, Tata, not killing you!' Then, when they see that his belly is well extended from all that liquid, they give him a feather from a cock's tail and force him to insert it into his throat, â ⦠deep down the path the poison traveled,' they say to him.
“The man does as he is told. Only he is so enfeebled by the heaviness of his stomach and what he'd had before he drank the
Javel
solution that his attempts do not immediately bring the required results. Whereupon the urchins take matters into their hands.
Javel
solution that his attempts do not immediately bring the required results. Whereupon the urchins take matters into their hands.
“âThis poison crushes Africa's seed!' they say, one of them taking the feather from his trembling hand and pushing it down the man's gullet himself.
“Do you hear what I'm telling you, Mamvulane? Even a witchdoctor does not put his own hand into the throat of the man he is helping to bring up poison from his craw.
“But that is what these wretched children did. Put their dirty hands down the throats of their fathers and forced them to regurgitate the liquor they had drunk.”
None too sober himself, Mdlangathi embarked upon a bitter tirade directed at all of today's children, miserable creatures who had no respect for their elders.
Recalling last night's events or the account her husband had given her, Mamvulane now looked down at him, asleep still by her side. Poor Mdlangathi. So vulnerable in the soft early-morning light. Poor Mdlangathi. He must have got the fright of his life, she thought, shaking her head in dumb disbelief at the things that were happening these days in their lives.
Her immediate problem, however, was what were they all going to eat once they got out of bed? She had all but scraped the bottom of the barrel last night. Her mind made an inventory of all the food they had in the house: a potato, by no means gigantic; two small onions; a quarter packet of beans but no samp; there was no salt; a cup or a cup and a half of mealie meal ⦠And then there was no paraffin with which to cook whatever she might have, far from adequate as that itself was.
Three weeks now, the consumer boycott had been going on. Three weeks, they had been told not to go to the shops. She was at her wit's end. Mdlangathi and the children expected to eatâboycott or no boycott. Whether she had gone to the shops or not didn't much concern them. All they understood, especially the younger children, was that their tummies
were growling and they wanted something to eat. And their unreasonableness, conceded Mamvulane, was understandable. Now, her husband's case was cause for vexation to her. Wasn't Mdlangathi another thing altogether? A grown man. With all that was happening. But still, he wanted and expected no changes in his life. Didn't he still go to work every day? That's what he'd asked her when she told him they were running out of food. What did she do with the money he gave her? As though, in these mad and crazy days, money were the only issue, the sole consideration. And not the very shopping itselfâthe getting of the food. With the comrades guarding every entry point in Guguletu. And neighbor informing on neighbor. People sprouting eyes at the back of their heads so that they could go and curry favor with the comrades, giving them information about others, especially those with whom they did not see eye to eye about things. Yes, it was so. For the very people who denounced others to the comrades were not above turning a blind eye to the same things ⦠when the actors were people they favored. But did her very reasonable, understanding, and loving husband, who always gave her his wages, understand that? No. He thought she should just hop on a bus and go to Claremont and there go to Pick 'n Pay! Mdlangathi was something else, concluded Mamvulane, shaking her head slowly like one deep in thought. How did he arrive at thinking, at a time like this, that food shopping was still a simple matter of whether one had money in one's pocket?
were growling and they wanted something to eat. And their unreasonableness, conceded Mamvulane, was understandable. Now, her husband's case was cause for vexation to her. Wasn't Mdlangathi another thing altogether? A grown man. With all that was happening. But still, he wanted and expected no changes in his life. Didn't he still go to work every day? That's what he'd asked her when she told him they were running out of food. What did she do with the money he gave her? As though, in these mad and crazy days, money were the only issue, the sole consideration. And not the very shopping itselfâthe getting of the food. With the comrades guarding every entry point in Guguletu. And neighbor informing on neighbor. People sprouting eyes at the back of their heads so that they could go and curry favor with the comrades, giving them information about others, especially those with whom they did not see eye to eye about things. Yes, it was so. For the very people who denounced others to the comrades were not above turning a blind eye to the same things ⦠when the actors were people they favored. But did her very reasonable, understanding, and loving husband, who always gave her his wages, understand that? No. He thought she should just hop on a bus and go to Claremont and there go to Pick 'n Pay! Mdlangathi was something else, concluded Mamvulane, shaking her head slowly like one deep in thought. How did he arrive at thinking, at a time like this, that food shopping was still a simple matter of whether one had money in one's pocket?
The very thought of getting up was too much for her to entertain this morning. Hunger has that effect. Her anger mounted with the growing realization that she faced a hard day with no answers to the questions it raised, that she had to feed her family and had nothing at all that she could put together to make a meal.
It's all very well for the comrades to stop people from going to the shops, she fumed. They were fighting the businessmen, they said. But as far as she could see, it was only people like herself, poor people in the township, who were starving. The businessmen were eating. So were their families. They were getting fatter and fatter by the day. They had meat and bread and fruit and vegetables and milk for their babies. They put heavily laden plates on their tables ⦠not just once a day, as most people like herself did in good times, no, but each time they had a mealâseveral times a day. Oh, no, the businessmen the comrades were fighting were in no danger of dying from starvation. It was not their bowels that had nothing but the howling air in them. And not their children whose ribs one could count.
Midafternoon that same day, Mamvulane said, “
I have to do something today!”
As there was no one else in the house, she was talking to herself. Thereafter, without a word even to her very good neighbor and friend, Nolitha, she made her way out of her yard. Looking neither left nor right, away she hurried.
I have to do something today!”
As there was no one else in the house, she was talking to herself. Thereafter, without a word even to her very good neighbor and friend, Nolitha, she made her way out of her yard. Looking neither left nor right, away she hurried.
She had her day clothes on, complete with apron and back-flattened slippers. The pale of her rather large heels showing, she flip-flopped down the road. Anyone seeing her thus attired would have assumed she wasn't going any farther than perhaps fifty or so meters from her very own doorstep.
It was a little after threeâtime to start the evening meal. For those who could do that. Not me, thought Mamvulane bitterly. Not poor me, she said under her breath, walking away as nonchalantly as you please.
NY 74 is a crescent street with three exit points: north, west, and south. Mamvulane's family lived directly opposite the western exit, separated from it by two large buildings, the Community Center in front of her house and plumb in the center of the circle, and the Old Apostolic Church behind it. In reality, therefore, from her house she could not see anyone coming or leaving from that exit which lay on NY 65. The other two exits were clearly visible from her house. And usually those were the ones she favored because, until she disappeared altogether, she could always turn back and yell for one of the children to bring her anything she might have forgotten.
But this day she slowly made her way toward NY 65, soon losing sight of her house. “
Andizi kubukel' abantwana bam besifa yindlala
.” And thus emboldened by her own thoughts, she went on her way. No, she was not going to watch her children starve to death.
Andizi kubukel' abantwana bam besifa yindlala
.” And thus emboldened by her own thoughts, she went on her way. No, she was not going to watch her children starve to death.
Her plan was simple. And daring. Straight through NY 65 she walked. Into the zones, she went, her gait slow and steady, not once hesitating. Past the zones and into the Coloured township of Mannenberg. She'd gained enough anonymity, she deemed. Along Hanover Road she made her way until she found a bus stop. With a sigh, she stopped and leaned against the electric pole marking the stop.
Into her breast her hand fished for the little bundle, the handkerchief wherein lay her stash. Money. Bus fare and much more.
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