Big Ups! NO Two

by Haden, Ros;

I am instructed to apply white non-permanent paint to my face, neck, arms and legs. One other accompanying sangoma gives me instructions. From now on I have to sleep on the floor, eat with my hands, and bath in cold water. I do not know how I am going to keep up with the rules I am given.

  At school on Monday Lubabalo does his best to avoid me. He does his absolute best to make sure I see him when he is with girls or sometimes hugging my ex-friends.

  Busisiwe comes towards me at break time and she wants to shake my hand. I do not believe this. It must be a turn of events for the better. She takes my hand and holds it very tight. With her other hand she rips off my shirt cuff button. It all happens so fast. My right arm is left bare, exposing my beads. I try to break free but her group of friends come running and she calls other learners to come and see. I stand there with my heart racing. My eyes fill with tears. I cannot see clearly. When she lets go of my arm I fall down. My cheek rests in a pool of tears. I watch many feet run away.

  ~•~

  Someone is pulling me by my earlobe. It is Lubabalo. I get up, dust myself, and pick up my bag. Lubabalo stands in front of me. “If you know what it is good for you will not report this to the principal. There is no way of stopping Busisiwe. She will always come back for you,” he speaks, keeping his distance.

  “I hear you, buti, I am not supposed to be seen with you either so please leave.”

  “I bet you want me now, ha,” he laughs hysterically. I don’t say anything. I just walk past to class. Our Life Orientation teacher keeps asking why everyone keeps looking at me. I have been warned, so I do not say anything.

  After class, as I rush downstairs a water bomb lands in front of me and wets my shoes. Looking closely I see it is a condom. As I look up to see who threw it, another one lands on my face. My vest under my shirt is wet. Ok, I get the message. I think of a teacher intervention. There hasn’t been one in my struggle. But now I have been warned about reporting. What do I do?

  I walk on – right out of the school gates. As I reach the street somebody taps me on my shoulder. I drop my bag and make fists. I am ready to fight, though I do not know how many people are behind me. I turn, ready. A tall figure stands in front of me. It is Buti Ncedile, our school caretaker. He has a smile on his face. His smile does not reach me though. I hate and I hate.

  “Please allow me to drive you home if you must go home now,” he makes an offer. I hesitate. My father told me I must never take lifts from other people without telling him. What is the worst thing that could happen to me though?

  On our way home Buti Ncedile talks to me about fighting back with words. He speaks of how weak and vulnerable the space is where hatred resides. He tells me how small I am to try to take on everyone against me at school, physically. He says they will most likely come out victorious. He wants to know how else I have been affected by what has been happening to me at school. I tell him that my marks have dropped. He asks me what standard I am in. “Grade 9,” I tell him. He jokingly asks what standard that is, telling me he is from ‘that’ generation. We laugh. At the gate when I get out he says, “Nokuzola, prepare that fight with words and do it for yourself and those who will be bullied after you.”

  ~•~

  It is the day of the SRC elections. I am standing up on stage as Busisiwe and her friends boo and catcall. I look down to see Lubabalo amongst them, the loudest of all of them.

  I am a little shaky holding my speech, I take deep breaths in and out. Out of the corner of my eye I see Buti Ncedile. He is standing just outside our main hall as I start my speech.

  “I am a child of God first. Your actions of late have done no good. They have hurt and scarred me inside. What if any one of you was in my position, would you accept the treatment you have given me? My manifesto does not contain in detail what I will do if you vote me onto the SRC. But should that opportunity come, I would ask you to step back and look at what you have done. To see how you have bullied me and made me suffer. And how people bully those who are different from them, those who are easy to hurt. These are acts that cannot be justified – please stop.”

  There is silence and then the clapping starts. To my surprise the outgoing SRC members start a standing ovation. I can feel all the eyes in the hall looking at me as I sit down. The SRC candidacy does not bother me any more. I know the bullies won’t vote for me. But I have done the right thing and a brave thing. I look up and see Buti Ncedile smiling.

  Our principal is to read the names of those who made it and are voted onto the SRC. I know my name is not on this list. The girls in my class spent a lot of time making this clear to me after my speech. He reads out the names and the girls and boys jump up with joy as they go onto the stage.

  He spends a long time saying what the role of the SRC president is. Then he announces the SRC president and head girl: Nokuzola Judith Mamali. Wow, that girl must be happy. I see everybody looking at me. What, has he just said my name? Phelisa whispers in my ear, “Yes, that was your name.” I do not believe it. I walk up to the stage. The learners are screaming, “Speech, speech, speech!” Our principal whispers into my ear. He wants to know if I will be saying anything. I take the microphone. A song breaks out from the back row in the hall.

  Thina sihamba noNokuzola thina

  Nok’zola thina

  Thina sihamba noNokuzola thina

  Nok’zola thina

  [We are going with Nokuzola – we are.]

  The song goes on for a while until our principal asks the learners to give me time to speak.

  “Thank you for voting for me. I look forward to working with you all in your matric year and to making it exciting. I must say I did not expect this.”

  “You deserve it!” a boy shouts from the back row as I conclude my short speech.

  I run outside to Buti Ncedile and hug him.

  “What happened, Nokuzola? Why do you have the whole school behind you?” he asks pretending not to know.

  “I have been elected SRC president,” I say as I feel my feet leaving the ground. The first team rugby captain, Siphelo, lifts me up on his shoulders.

  From here I must say the view is beautiful.

  I look down only to see Lubabalo. He looks at me with disbelief and misery. I see others run towards him and he puts on this act, pretending to be honestly cheering. I don’t know what he is thinking or what he must really feel about me.

  For our first task I ask the SCR members to work on a bully-free school. We come up with a one-liner on bullying. “Don’t Bully, Make Friends.”

  We have it printed and stuck on every locker in the school. We also have it displayed on the schools’ notice board.

  The pimples are slowly going away, a big thank-you to Buti Ncedile and my father. I can now enjoy my life again.

  Now I don’t worry any more about hiding my beads. Many pupils at school ask me where they can get beads like mine, thinking it is a fashion. I tell them I am ithwasa, a trainee sangoma.

  At netball practice I now wear my short-sleeve shirts and beads without fear.

  Discussion questions

  •Would you have voted for Nokuzola? Why/why not?

  •Does your school need an anti-bullying campaign like this? If so, why? If not, what other campaign would be relevant to your school?

  About the author

  Sonwabiso Ngocowa lives in Masiphumelele, Cape Town. Sonwabiso completed his matric at Fish Hoek High School in 2002. He went on to study for a diploma in Business Management at Cape College, and then worked for Standard Bank at the Fish Hoek branch in customer services. In 2011 he resigned from his work at the bank and is now studying a BSoc Sci at the University of Cape Town. He has written many short stories for FunDza’s mobi site.

  Advice for young writers

  Believe in yourselves – anything is possible with hard work and courage. Don’t get derailed by obstacles in your path, persevere.
/>   4

  AFTER THE FIRE

  Michelle Faure

  “Hi, Nomsa, I’m home.”

  Thandi pushed open the door of her and Nomsa’s new home. It took only one taxi ride to get to or from her new fancy school, but it felt like another world.

  She was always the scholarship girl, trudging from the taxi rank up the hill to the school as all the expensive cars swished past her to drop the rich children at the gates. She would choose her favourite music, place her headphones in her ears, put her head down, and try not to think about the difference between her and most of the other students.

  But arriving home to her sister, Nomsa and her baby Avile was always a relief. Only then could she truly be herself. Thandi dropped her school bag in the middle of the floor and opened the bread tin on the table.

  “I’m starving!”

  Nomsa came out from the bedroom, carrying Avile on her hip.

  “You’re always hungry,” said Nomsa. “I’ve just got in myself. There’s bread, and …,” she said, pushing Avile into Thandi’s arms, “here’s Avile. I’m done with babies for a while!”

  Some things just haven’t changed, thought Thandi to herself. Nomsa always wanted her to help with Avile. She sighed, but took Avile anyway. She took a few slices of bread, and sank into a chair, pushing the slices into her mouth, and a few smaller ones past Avile’s wet, puckered lips. She then kissed him loudly.

  “Sho! I’m so tired!” Thandi kicked off her shoes and continued, “Some days it feels like I’ll never catch up all the work I need to do.”

  There were so many things she wanted to share with her sister, but she held back. Nomsa was already trying so hard to help her, but she didn’t really understand. The truth was, Thandi missed her friends at her old school, especially Thandeka.

  She missed being able to talk freely and easily to Thandeka, as they had done when they had travelled together to her old school. Thandeka had always made her laugh, because they understood each other so well.

  The children at her new school were, for the most part, trying to be friendly. Thandi could see that, but they simply did not understand her world, not like Thandeka did.

  There were lots of people Thandi missed having close by – except, of course, for Themba, her sister’s ex-boyfriend, the father of Avile.

  When their home had burned down, they had moved away without Themba knowing where they were going. Nomsa was at last convinced that the father of her child was a womaniser. And very dangerous. After all, he had been the cause of their house burning. He had been burnt, and was out of hospital now. But hopefully he was out of their lives forever.

  Every day presented some new challenge at the new school. But Thandi started each day with the attitude that she would not be defeated, not by any of them.

  However, today had been different. The challenge she had been faced with might be the one to finally take her down. She just didn’t know what to do, or how to solve it. And she couldn’t tell Nomsa, not yet.

  And then there was Mark. Another challenge!

  Mark had looked across at her in class and smiled. Like he often did these days. Thandi had frowned. It didn’t help that Mark was not helping her to think straight. It didn’t help that Mark had the most ridiculously green eyes that she had ever seen. They actually seemed to glow against his caramel-coloured skin, and his halo of brown curls.

  To Thandi, Mark was just more trouble! The kind of trouble that he had plenty of but she had very little of. Trouble with a capital ‘M’. Money.

  At her new school everything cost money. Especially the Arts and Culture Tour for the Grade 10s. Her grade. The class had raised most of what was needed for the trip to Spain. Except for the R3000 each child had to contribute. R3000 that Thandi did not have, and neither did her mother have. The fire had cost her beloved mother all her savings.

  Thandi swallowed hard, fighting back the tears. The new school was a great opportunity, Thandi knew, but sometimes it was just so hard. Hard to feel so different, and to feel like the only poor one, surrounded by so many people who had so much.

  Thandi knew that most of the students didn’t see her that way. They had no idea how difficult her struggles were. They just took everything about money so for granted.

  Thandeka said once, “Hey, girl, to them money just grows on trees you know. Just grows on trees.”

  Thandi bounced Avile on her knee. She sniffed and blinked back tears, determined not to show her heartache to Nomsa, or anyone.

  ~•~

  It was Friday. Thandi couldn’t wait to see Thandeka the next day. She was daydreaming in class, when she heard her name. She was to go to the principal’s office. He wanted to talk to her. Her heart skipped a beat. What could he want with her?

  Mark caught her eye before she left the classroom and smiled at her. What’s with all the smiles? she thought irritably.

  Thandi knew what Thandeka would say. Thandi could just hear her voice: “Watch out, girl! That boy is trying to smile his way right into your pants!”

  Thandi breathed deeply. Now was not the time to let Thandeka mess with her thoughts.

  The principal had a large, airy office and a big, friendly smile. He shook her hand and indicated that she sit down on one of the shiny black leather chairs. Thandi perched on the edge, her hands tightly clasped in her lap.

  “Well, Thandi,” said the principal, “I wanted to see you so that I could tell you how pleased we all are with you.”

  Thandi felt herself relax.

  “We all know how hard you have been working to catch up,” he continued, still smiling. “It can’t always be easy for you.”

  He paused, and Thandi spoke softly, shrugging a little. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s fine. Good.”

  Again she heard Thandeka’s voice in her head saying: “For such a big mouth, you don’t have much to say for yourself these days, do you?”

  Oh, Thandeka, I miss you so, thought Thandi. But the principal was talking again, saying, “Well, I’ll come straight to the point.”

  ~•~

  Thandi felt her shoulders tensing up again.

  “The Cultural trip to Spain,” said the principal.

  Oh no, thought Thandi, he’s going to say I can’t go.

  “You will no doubt find raising the money a bit of a challenge?”

  Thandi looked up at him. Her eyes filled with tears.

  “Damn it, Thandi! Stop the crying girl!” It was Thandeka’s voice again. Thandi looked down and nodded.

  “Well,” said the principal, standing up and moving to his desk, “as it happens, a solution may have presented itself.”

  He opened a drawer, took out a small box and flipped the lid, showing her its contents. A delicate gold chain with a small diamond pendant lay there, winking at her.

  This time Thandi heard Thandeka’s voice so clearly that she almost thought she was in the room.

  “Girl! Just check that piece of fantabulous bling!” Her voice imitated the nasal voice of the TV presenter on the music show they watched.

  Thandi almost told her to “Shut up!”

  Instead, confused, Thandi said softly, “I don’t understand.”

  The principal then explained how the school knew that she might struggle to raise the R3000. A solution had been found in the form of the pendant. Some rich parent had donated it. They could have a raffle with the pendant as a prize. If Thandi could raffle it she could raise the money she needed.

  Thandi sat quite still. Again, she felt her eyes fill with tears.

  Again she heard Thandeka, “Damn it! What’s wrong with you these days, girl? You just got given the prettiest piece of bling you’ve ever seen. It’s true, though, that a diamond like that would make anyone’s eyes water!”

  “Do you think you can do that, Thandi?” she heard the principal ask. “It will involve a lot
of extra effort for you.”

  “You go, girl!” said Thandeka, in Thandi’s head again.

  “Yes,” Thandi said. “Yes, I could. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “You need to take it to Mr Pieterse in the computer lab. I told him you would be coming. He will take a photo to scan so that you can make a poster and print raffle tickets.” He held out his hand with the pendant. Thandi hesitated.

  “It won’t bite!” he laughed. “Just remember to give it back to the secretary as soon as you are finished.”

  ~•~

  Thandi was thrilled with the way the books of raffle tickets, complete with a photo of the pendant attached, had come out. She was so thrilled, in fact, that when Mark stopped her on the way back to the principal’s office, with the pendant in the pocket of her blazer, she couldn’t resist showing him.

  Mark was so pleased for her, and he smiled so broadly down at her, and looked so deeply into her eyes that for a while Thandi forgot where she was going. To make matters worse he even put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed her quickly, up against his chest.

  Thandi was just thinking how amazingly good he smelt, when the bell rang for the end of school. She pulled away from him, muttering about getting her bag from the classroom. She ran off, fetched her bag and walked very briskly down the hill.

  Thandi couldn’t stop thinking about Mark all the way home in the taxi, nearly missing her stop.

  It was only once she had opened the door of her home, shed her bag and was taking off her blazer that she felt the small, closed box in her pocket. The pendant!

  Thandi flopped down in a chair, clutching it between her fingers. Oh no! She had forgotten to take it back to the principal’s secretary.

  Thandi thought for a moment. She could rush out and catch a taxi back to school – but it was Friday. By the time she got back to school, the office would be shut. Shut for the whole weekend.

  Thandi didn’t know what to do. She opened the box and stared at the pendant. Eventually she realised there was only one thing to do. She had to keep it safe until Monday morning when she could return it to the secretary.