UMTATA

  Setting Up Camp

  Over the next few weeks Martin was busy setting up the construction site, and during his spare time in the evenings and weekends he worked in the world of boxing and whenever possible he was on the golf course.

  The next time he met with Lemmie was at the mine club, and the old boxer was particularly excited. The club had seen better days; it was old and dirty, some doors were almost off their hinges and everything, it seemed, required a coat of paint. Adjacent to the hall was the Diggers Rugby Club; its goalposts were the highest in Africa. Although the hall was in a poor decorative state, it had the potential to make a reasonable boxing hall. Martin noted that the three sides of the hall had wooden terracing that stretched from ground to roof, enough to hold five hundred fans.

  The next few weeks saw Martin and Lemmie become firm friends, and they had the hall redesigned to accommodate a gym and change it whenever needed to an indoor stadium.

  The smaller back rooms were set up with the appropriate equipment and Martin used one of his on-site contractors to help knock the hall into shape.

  In the main hall they drilled four holes into the floor that were used to insert ring posts where ropes were slung; when not in use the ropes were packed away and the holes in the floor capped. Then the place was back to normal, and showed no sign of a training ring ever being there.

  Lemmie had been busy. “I have contacted many local boxers and it seems many amateurs want to turn professional with you.” He was excited. “They will all come to training tonight, including three of the best amateurs in the country. These are the cream, and all of them are interested in your ideas and the chance to sign professional contracts with you.”

  “Who is the cream, Lemmie; which one will give us our first world title?”

  “Most of them are Olympians and hold medals of one kind or another at amateur level but it is in the stars if any will make professional champions.”

  That evening in the shabby hall, ten boxers worked out in the converted gymnasium. A strange scenario as the hall was virtually full on two sides, of youngsters who had heard of the event through the grapevine and wanted to see their heroes work out.

  One of those observing was a very muscular man of about forty. He wore his trilby hat with its front flipped up in ‘Jimmy Durante’ style, and once you saw him, you did not forget him.

  It was not long before he came down the steps and offered Martin his help. “I will do anything, master – carry the bucket, help with the ring, anything, just say. My name is Benson Chisala, master, and I am here to help you.”

  “Thank you, Benson; I will ask you should I need help.”

  Chisala shuffled back up the terrace.

  Lemmie laughed. “Benson, Benson.”

  “Who is he?” asked Martin.

  “Oh, he is a guy from the mines who is always showing off his body and his strength to anyone that wants to know.”

  “Is he a boxer?” Martin asked.

  “Not as far as I know, and I have known him for twenty years; nobody knows how old he is, but he’s a likeable man.”

  Little did Martin know at that time that Benson would make a bigger impact in Kitwe than any of the more well-known athletes on the team. He would win hearts with his popularity, topple a dangerous foreign opponent, and fight for fifteen rounds in only his fifth professional fight, only lose the lightweight championship on a split decision.

  “The crème de la crème is Francis Musankabala, the bantamweight who is with the skipping rope over there.” Lemmie pointed in Musankabala’s direction then took a breath and went on. “Favourite to win gold at the Rome Olympics but disqualified for being overweight.”

  “Overweight?” asked Martin.

  “He is a natural featherweight, but the Olympic organisers did not tell him until the initial weigh-in that he was entered as a bantamweight one weight lower then he was. There was a lot of scandal and mouthing off in the press at the time so I think he has had enough of the amateur scene and is now turning to you.” He glanced at Martin.

  “Then there is no pressure.” Martin smiled as he called time for the boxers to wind down.

  16

  Home Sweet Home,

  1967—1968

  As the morning sun broke through the blinds of Kwasi’s rented bedroom he woke up with a start, and looked hard at the empty space in the bed next to him. He was alone, and he felt exposed.

  He realised he must stop Naomi before she discussed the situation with his superiors; it would be disastrous for him if he did not, and in no time the whole world would probably know. He must find her quickly!

  His first thought was the bus stop; even if she had boarded the bus before he got there, he might still be in time to intercept her further down the road.

  He thought for a moment. He had the notion she was still at the school, or perhaps visiting a friend; he was hopeful. One thing was for sure, he needed to talk with her quickly, and he drove fast and furious directly to the campus. Hurrying to the dormitories, he found them already locked up for the holidays. Frustrated, he then headed for the common room; it was also empty, as was the library.

  He was starting to panic. Perhaps she had missed the bus? He drove to the stop, but it was deserted; still, he might yet intercept her en route. Checking the timetable, she must have caught the bus at 6.30 – he was now two hours behind it. It was an impossible task to intercept it.

  He rang the school caretaker to confirm he hadn’t seen her, but there was no answer to his call. Now in a wild panic he then ran towards the bus stop where he may get better information on the bus departure time. On the way he met up with the mineworkers Naomi had encountered earlier that day.

  “Why in a rush, my man?” said one of the workers. “Have you missed the bus?”

  “No; I needed to give one of my pupils some letters to post before she departed on the bus to Maputo,” stammered Kwasi. “Did a tall girl catch the bus?”

  “Nee ek weet nie, omdat daar was baie mensa daar” [I don’t know, because there were too many people there], answered the worker in Afrikaans.

  “OK,” said Kwasi, who did not understand a word of Afrikaans and got the opinion the man did not want him to understand anyway. He shrugged and hurried on to the phone booth. “Hello, this is Nzema; is that the porter?”

  “Yes, it is I, master.”

  “Have you seen one of my pupils, one Naomi Zimba?”

  “No, master, she left yesterday and I have not seen her since.”

  “Thank you.” Kwasi put the phone down.

  It was to be six weeks of waiting; a long time for someone with so much guilt and so much to lose.

  The old bus jogged along the highway towards Maputo. Its suspension had seen better days and this made it extremely difficult for Naomi, but she had a double seat and made the most of it, sleeping for nearly the whole journey. It seemed to go on forever and she ached from head to foot.

  It did not matter: she was going home and could not wait to see her mama and papa, her friends and all the village people. They would throw a welcome-home party, she knew that, and she would need to put on her best face and manners and respect all those who were there. Her father and mother had taught her the meaning of respect; her father had once told her, “Show respect always to every stranger and friend you meet in life, even those who do not show you the same.”

  From Maputo she flew to Lusaka, and then boarded a bus that was to take her on her last and longest journey for home. After sixteen hours and forty minutes on two buses, a packed flight, then a further bus to Lundazi, she was finally ready to meet her family and friends and it seemed the whole village was there to greet her. Each person waiting would need to be treated equally, as her mother and father had taught her to do.

  Naomi followed the protocol and her father’s wishes, patiently moving from one villager to the next, each getting a
hug. After two hours she went home to the family rondavel, feeling totally exhausted. Her home was a wonderful sight, especially after all she had gone through, and she kissed her mother once more, then collapsed on her bed and was asleep in seconds.

  As the days passed she began to feel better and tried to forget the terrible dream that she’d had on her last day of school. She felt alone, desperately wanting to tell her mama everything, but she was too ashamed.

  “Naomi, where are you?” Her mama was calling.

  “Yes, Mama, I am coming.”

  She was happy, and gave her mama a huge hug.

  “What is that for, my girl?”

  “For you, Mama, because I love you. Nothing else.”

  “There needs to be nothing else, my dear.” Hilda put down the laundry she was carrying and returned the hug.

  Over the next few days and weeks, Naomi’s happiness and confidence grew. She was with family and friends; they lived simply, with little money, but made the most of what they had. All of this seemed a million miles from the horror at school. It was now a memory, and as the initial pain and embarrassment were left behind she started to feel better and was her usual happy self.

  As the holiday dwindled away, she laughed, and ran through the village with her friends, many of whom were new to her. She saw wild animals she’d never thought existed, and stayed awake at night listening to the sounds of the bush, the howls, screeches and bellows. Before going to bed at night she treasured sitting with the elders around an open fire, singing and talking. She met relatives she hadn’t known about, all of whom made a fuss of her and told her tales of things long past.

  It was during the summer that Naomi celebrated her fifteenth birthday; she did this with the whole village sitting around the campfire, singing and laughing – a glorious memory.

  But all things come to an end and it was soon time to leave for her uncle’s house in Maputo; he would drive her to Swaziland. The thought of going back to school and facing Kwasi was terrifying, and she dreaded seeing him. How was she to handle the situation, and what if he came on to her again? She did not know how she would react if it happened a second time.

  Naomi’s father was now village headman, that entailed sitting in court as a comparable Justice of the Peace, and he ruled this domain with a rod of iron. Although he was a strong, silent man, he tried never to favour any one person over another, but he thought this situation could easily change if Naomi came before him; he would be biased. But in any case, he thought, this situation would never occur; she was after all his beloved daughter.

  She became a favourite of the village, but all good things come to an end and finally after six weeks Naomi bade a tearful farewell to her home, her friends, her family and her dear mother.

  She was to stay at her uncle’s home for a few days before he drove her back to school. But it was during this time that she became unwell, and realised her period was late. She was concerned, but did not mention anything to her uncle or aunt and instead prepared for the long journey to Swaziland and school.

  Despite her worry regarding the missed periods her life over the next few weeks returned to relative normality, but it wasn’t long before her weight increased and her abdomen showed a tell-tale swelling. The reality of the situation hit home and she suspected the worst but, too frightened to ask for help at school, she turned to her mother.

  It was not as straightforward as picking up the phone and dialling a number. First she needed permission to use the school phone, and then her call had to be scheduled according to her father’s availability in his office back in Lundazi. She phoned during the day and only got through to her mother on the third day’s attempt. Naomi cried as she related the situation and they exchanged questions and answers. After putting the phone down Hilda was stunned by the seriousness of the situation, and it was her beloved daughter who was involved.

  The elders of the village called a meeting, and it was stormy as the majority of them were still living in the past. The tribal laws were antiquated and they voted for an execution; this not an option in the 1970s. Life had moved on in the community and this type of thing was a rarity; it was especially difficult for the elders to understand modern law in this instance, so, after a long debate into the night, the wise people of the village agreed the matter would be submitted to the urban authorities, and they would decide whether this was to be passed to the criminal courts.

  Naomi had a check-up at the local hospital in Swaziland, and it was confirmed that she was pregnant. The situation was now in the hands of the principal, her father and the local authorities. The principal called a meeting to review the situation after he had discussed this with Naomi, and requested that a cross-section of the people involved attend.

  Those who attended included her housemistress, Mary (rented house), Chaka, three elders from the village, and a representative from Urban Affairs. The principal also arranged legal representation on an advisory capacity.

  Kwasi’s name was not mentioned initially. It was expected that he would explain his side of the story in due course, but so far it had not been forthcoming. Now severely tainted, he stayed out of sight and waited for the action that would inevitably follow.

  The prevailing situation, if it became common knowledge, might sink the reputation of the school, and as a result the governors were all notified officially.

  Naomi remained silent as the village elder representing the headman offered his conclusions. He spoke in a mixture of Lozi and English, the connotations were clear, and the following options passed to the legal representatives:

  1.As an immigrant teacher in Swaziland and Zambia, Kwasi Nzema would under ancient tribal law have been sentenced to death for partaking in unlawful intercourse with an underage pupil. As this sentence was now unlikely, it was agreed that a decision on the next step would be made after all the relevant parties had reviewed all of the options. The final decision would be made after the school governors made their recommendation on whether the case should go to the criminal courts.

  2.Kwasi would be subject to pay a large compensatory payment to Naomi, and continue to do so until the child became a senior.

  3.He would no longer be able to teach children in Swaziland.

  4.Naomi would have a final say on the committee’s proposals, and she and her parents would have three days after the recommendations have been made to decide how they intended to proceed.

  The question of whether it had been seduction or rape was never mentioned, and Kwasi spent three long days waiting for Naomi’s decision.

  She was distressed throughout the whole procedure, but, after long deliberation, decided her decision would be taken with the best interests of her child in mind. During the trial some discussions were done unofficially between Naomi’s family and Kwasi and he suggested that the cleanest way forward and the best thing for the unborn child would be if he proposed marriage to Naomi. This discussion was then put to Naomi and her mother and a decision would be left pending for a few days. He would need to seek employment outside of Swaziland.

  Hilda and Naomi’s agreed that a marriage would be the best option, it would allow the child to be brought up in a family tradition with an education and better life.

  17

  Forever a Contract?

  1968—69

  The couple were married in Zambia; a complicated procedure, depending on the wishes of the families involved.

  The ancient tribal affair could go on for two or three days. It was a time for celebration in the village, a truly native occasion, colourful, meaningful and a chance for a village party. A church service followed, and this was attended by the Christians in the families and took another two days. Finally, to seal the contract and tie the knot legally, the event was recorded in the archives of the BOME (British Overseas Military Establishment); this served as the town hall in modern Africa but kept its name from the old colonial days. />
  Naomi gave up her studies to look after her family. It would not have been what her grandfather Angus Peterson would have wanted, but life must go on. Kwasi was transferred to Lusaka and the family was accommodated in a modern bungalow on the university campus.

  During the next five years Naomi gave birth to two boys and a girl, but her domestic life was not happy. Kwasi continued his philandering and his conquests did not stop with African girls; it was anybody who would accommodate his needs. He fixed his attentions on a variety of females; one was the wife of an eminent American professor, and he spent most of six months with her whilst her husband was on a degree back in the States. Then he turned his attentions on an Indian widow, then it was a teenager who lasted six months.

  This trend continued year in and year out, and most of this time Naomi was pregnant with his children. She opposed his escapades, but in her innocence she was unaware of the alternatives that were available to her, and even if she had known, her financial resources would not have provided her with the means to do anything.

  Apart from her unhappy marriage, she had a good circle of friends, both around the campus and within the area’s large Ghanaian community. Outside of her husband’s infidelity she enjoyed life, although the stigma of his affairs did not leave her.

  Every night she waited obediently for Kwasi to come home. She would cook his meals, launder his clothes, and tend to all his needs. Most of the time he never came home at all, and she would empty the dinner she had cooked for him into the bin, then wash his plate and go to bed alone.

  Later she moved a daybed into the lounge, and when he did come home she would obediently do whatever he wanted. There was rarely dialogue exchanged between them, and the loneliness was destroying her mentally.