When Hoopoes Go to Heaven (28 page)

‘
Henry?
’

Trying to push whatever it was away, he stumbled in the total darkness into the back of the vehicle, banging his elbow hard against it. One of its doors swung open, switching on the light inside
it. He could see a figure climbing out as something wet slapped his face.

‘
Baba?
’

‘Benedict? Is that you?’

‘Baba!’ He could see now what was jumping up against him and licking him. ‘Krishna!’

‘What?’

‘It’s a dog, Baba. I brought the torch, but I dropped it.’

‘Wait. Titi, bring the torch from the cubbyhole.’

With the help of that torch they found the other one, and with a bit of shaking and fiddling Baba got it to work again. Benedict shone it around the garage, but saw no sign of Petros.

Although the umbrella was large, there was no way three people were going to fit under it. Titi didn’t want to be left alone with a dog, so she went first with Baba and then came back for
Benedict. Krishna didn’t try to follow them up to the house, which was a good thing: Mama would never have let her in, and at least she was out of the rain in the garage. Besides, Petros must
be sheltering somewhere nearby.

The noise of the rain on the umbrella made it impossible for Benedict to ask what had happened with Henry and why Baba and Titi were together. He had to wait until they were all dry and seated
round the candle-lit table for supper.

Then Titi told them that she had said no.

Benedict felt so relieved!

But he couldn’t help feeling sad for Titi, and also for Henry, whose company he had always enjoyed.

‘I thought I could do it if we all stayed together in one house, I thought I could be friends with his other wife. But no. He was going to put me in my own house.
Eh!
When he was
with her, I was going to be alone. If he wasn’t with me to show everybody that I was a Mrs Vilakati, I was going to be just a
shangaan
, a
kwerekwere.
’

Everybody at the table said how glad they were that she wasn’t going to leave them, and she smiled bravely. But Benedict could see that there was something more that she wasn’t
saying.

‘What did Henry say?’ he asked her.

Titi sniffed. ‘He...’ Tears began to flow, and Mama handed her a tissue from inside her T-shirt.

‘He told her he didn’t have to accept that answer.’ Baba had already heard the story. ‘He threatened to smear her with red ochre.’

‘
Eh!
’ said Mama, and when she explained to the children what that meant, they all said the same. If a man smeared red ochre on a lady, it meant that she was his wife. He
didn’t have to ask, and there was nothing she could do or say. It was an old Swazi custom.

‘Imagine!’ said Benedict.

‘Surely he was joking, Titi?’ It was Mama who asked. ‘Smearing with red ochre is also part of a traditional wedding, where both parties are willing and the man’s family
has paid cows to the woman’s family. Was he not talking about that?’

‘I don’t think so, Auntie. I told him no, he couldn’t make me his wife by smearing me, I’m not a Swazi. He told me no, a
kwerekwere
has even less rights than a
Swazi lady. He was laughing, but
eh
, I was afraid.’

‘She took a taxi to my office,’ said Baba. ‘Left him sitting there at Quick Impact.’

‘I didn’t want to go in the car with him.’

‘He could have taken her anywhere, Angel!’

‘I can’t believe he would do anything bad, Pius! That is not the Henry I know!’

It wasn’t the Henry Benedict knew either, but maybe any man could behave badly when it came to girls. Look how badly he had behaved himself when people had said that Nomsa was his
girlfriend. And look – though he really didn’t want to look – look how his own first baba had behaved. When people had looked at his first baba, they had seen a man with one
family, a man with a wife and three children. But that had been just a story, just pretend.

Benedict knew from Uncle Enock that almost no animals stayed together in one pair their whole entire lives, and the bird book said most birds stayed in one pair for just one season, just long
enough to raise their babies. But when it came to other animals, pairs didn’t seem to matter very much. People were supposed to be different, though. But maybe that was just a story.
Although, really, how could it be just a story? Mama and Baba had been in a pair for ever. It was all very confusing, and maybe you had to be big to understand it fully.

After the meal, with the power still off and the rain still pouring, Benedict’s brothers went to bed and his sisters tried to make Titi feel better by helping her with the washing-up.
Benedict knelt in front of the bookshelf with the torch, choosing a book to take to bed with him to read by torchlight. Mama and Baba were talking.

‘But which is better, Angel? Allowing a man to have many wives, or telling him he can have only one, and then he sneaks around and his parents learn they have another grandchild when
she’s already part grown?’

‘No, Pius, you cannot say the two are the same.’

‘I’m not saying they’re the same, I’m just saying we have no right to think our culture is any better.’

‘It’s not exactly our culture!’

‘And where exactly do we draw the line between culture and custom?’

‘Don’t try to confuse me like an educated somebody, Pius. Just look at the consequences of many wives here. Zodwa’s business is doing so well because so many are late from
so-called natural causes.’

‘And calling it natural causes is the real problem, Angel. It’s a matter of being reluctant to say what is actually what, to acknowledge how big anything really is. Just look at this
Malagwane Hill we live on. It’s a high mountain, but it’s called a hill. And women are treated as minors, not the grown adults that they are. When you reduce a mountain to a hill, when
you reduce a woman to a child, then of course you’re going to reduce the crisis of this disease to something minor. And then you end up with the highest rate of so-called natural causes in
the world!’

Benedict pulled a book from the shelf.

‘Yes. And what can people do about it if it’s natural causes?’

‘Nothing. Natural causes are something that simply cannot be helped, something that people are powerless to prevent.’

Benedict chose the
Jumbo Guide to Swaziland.
There was a nice photograph in the back of it of some children and a
Mzungu
looking at a picture that some San people had painted on a
rock hundreds of years ago. That was before the other people who came to settle in Swaziland chased them away or made them late, and their praying mantis god hadn’t been able to rescue
them.

Maybe the San people had painted on the walls of caves. Maybe the
Jumbo Guide
would say where to find those caves.

And maybe they were the same caves that were on Mr Quartermain’s map.

C
ROCHETING IN HER BED AS LUNGI SLEPT, MAVIS
felt a small shiver of excitement.
Umhlanga
would soon be here, the Reed
Dance that she so enjoyed. The colours! The songs! Her crochet hook seemed to be dancing with the bright pink wool of the child’s jersey she was making. As she did every year, Mavis would
spend the day of the dancing for the king with her sisters, proudly watching her nieces among the thousands upon thousands of other young girls who had come from all over the kingdom to dance. But
this year she had a reason to feel even more excited.

This year Innocence had decided that she wanted to take part. Innocence, who never really seemed to think about anything at all, she had thought about this and she had gone to Madam and said she
was thinking of joining in. Madam wasn’t Swazi, she had never done
Umhlanga
, what could she tell her daughter to help her decide? Madam could have asked one of her friends to talk to
Innocence. She could have asked one of Innocence’s teachers. She could have asked the mother of one of Innocence’s friends. But no.

Madam had asked Mavis.

Eish!

Mavis had sat with Madam and Innocence at the kitchen table, drinking tea together. Imagine that! The same kitchen table where the family sat for their meals, where Titi sometimes sat for her
lessons with Madam, and where Madam sometimes sat for lunch with a friend who was visiting, that was where Mavis had sat with Madam to tell Innocence.

You’ll be gone for eight days, she had told Innocence, and, as Innocence’s eyes had begun to sparkle, Madam had reached for the basket of stones and chosen one to hold on to.
You’ll start at Ludzidzini, at the royal village of Indlovukati, the Queen Mother. That’s where all the girls will go to, from each and every region. There are schools near,
you’ll sleep in the classrooms and there’s a river near to wash in.

Eish
, that night you’ll meet many, many new friends! The next day you’ll be in two groups, the small ones up to thirteen, then the big ones from fourteen, that will be your
group. The small ones will walk to somewhere near, maybe around Malkerns, but the big ones will walk to somewhere far.

Madam had asked how far, and Mavis had said not to worry, if it’s very far there will be trucks to take them there. But always the girls are going to arrive there at night, they have to
show they have come from far. The big tents for them to sleep in will already be there.

Madam and Innocence had asked was it true there were no grown-ups, but no, not to worry, there were men there supervising the girls, they were chosen by the chiefs. Madam had chosen a second
stone to hold on to, and Mavis had told them that another night some few lady elders would come to tell the girls about how to behave in their marriage, how to be dignified, how to make friends
with other wives and work together the way they were doing with all the other girls now.

When you wake up, Mavis had said to Innocence, you’ll see that the reed beds are near, and then you’ll cut reeds. The number you cut must be even, otherwise it’s unlucky for
the royal family, nè? And you mustn’t cut many, because they’re more taller than you and you have to carry them all the way back to the royal village.
Eish
, they can be
too heavy! You must bind your reeds together in a bundle for carrying. These nowadays you can bind with bits of plastic bag, but the real way to do it is to plait a rope from grasses.

The next day, Mavis had told Innocence, you’ll go back carrying your reeds and you’ll come at night to show you’ve come far, and you’ll sleep in the classrooms again.
Then you’ll have a day for preparing for the dancing, fixing each other’s hair, checking that your attires are nice, talking, talking, talking. Innocence had smiled. When you’re
ready to buy your attires, Mavis had told her, I have a friend who sews them nice-nice, nè?

Mavis had used her hands to show a line from over one shoulder down to the other hip when she had talked about the narrow sash adorned with woollen tassels that would pass between
Innocence’s naked breasts, and then she had used her hands again to show a short piece across her front when she had spoken about the beautiful
indlamu
skirt.

Madam had asked does the skirt have to be so short, and Mavis had laughed and said not to worry, the front part is covered, it’s only the naked buttocks that can show, just a little bit
underneath the skirt, that was the tradition.

The next day, she had told Innocence, you’ll all take your reeds to the Queen Mother’s house and then you’ll dance, all of you in your groups, all of you singing your songs and
blowing your whistles.
Eish!
Be sure that you’re in the middle of your line of dancers, if you’re at the front or the back of the line, it’s too hard to sing your song
meanwhile the other group in front or behind is singing a different song. The next day the king will come to watch you dance, he’ll talk to you.

Madam had asked can Innocence come home then, but no, she would sleep in the classrooms again, then the next day she was going to come home with meat because the king’s men were going to
slaughter some cows for the girls. But it wasn’t just meat she would have, she would also have new friends, and pride that she’d done work for the Queen Mother’s new reed
fence.

And words in your head, Mavis had told Innocence, about not doing bad things with boys. Madam had said yes, not even silly things like hiding their drink in your schoolbag, and then they had all
laughed. Madam had said it was good that Innocence had a grown-up to tell her what to expect, not just her friends at school, and then Madam and Innocence had thanked Mavis, and Innocence had
hugged her and said yes, she was going to do
Umhlanga.

Eish!

Mavis had been too sad when she’d had to stop doing
Umhlanga
herself. There were girls who still did it, girls who pretended they were still pure. There were girls, too, who said
that your mother could even take you to Zululand for testing, and you could put a small bit of Colgate inside you, then when you lay down and opened for the ladies to check, they would see the
white toothpaste and they would give you the certificate that said you were still pure, meanwhile you weren’t. That was what those girls said, but Mavis and her sisters weren’t sure. If
the ladies saw that it was Colgate, then those girls and their mothers would be shamed in front of everybody who was there, just like any other girl and her mother if the girl was impure. Mavis
never wanted to try that. What would it be for? Here in Swaziland you didn’t need that certificate. And anyway, everybody already knew she wasn’t pure, they had seen her belly growing.
No, she could no longer take part.