by Gaile Parkin
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.
FIFTEEN
CROCHETING 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.
She had always enjoyed each and every day of Umhlanga, but she had loved best the two days of dancing, the Reed Dance itself. The rhythms of the movements and the songs, over and over all day long, the rows and rows of girls snaking up to the front and then falling back again, singing again and again, dancing over and over, it had all made her feel like her body was there meanwhile her mind was in another place. It had made her feel like she was part of something very big, not just a small girl on her own.
Doctor was too happy that Innocence was going to do Umhlanga, she hadn’t wanted to in all the years before. And Doctor and Madam hadn’t argued about Gogo Levine for almost a week. Mavis had heard nothing, and neither had Lungi.
But Doctor and Madam had something new to talk about now, and so did Mavis and Lungi. Mavis and Lungi both thought it might somehow have something to do with why Innocence wanted to do Umhlanga. There was a new girl in the house, Nomsa, and since she had come, Innocence had been different. Not unhappy, just different. More serious, maybe. Thinking about things more. Unsettled was the word that Madam had used. Innocence is unsettled, she had said to Titi’s madam.
The day after Nomsa had first come, Mavis had been cleaning in the children’s bathroom upstairs and she had heard Madam talking with Nomsa in the bedroom next door.
Nomsa, Madam had said, you know that there’s no punishment here, no anger, no judgement. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, I’m only asking because I can help you better if I know. Nomsa’s voice was very soft and quiet, but Mavis had heard her saying yes, she understood, and then Madam had asked her what was she planning to do.
Mavis had stopped scrubbing at the toilet bowl with Harpic so that she could hear Nomsa’s answer. Nomsa was going to feed weevil tablets to her mother, her mother had asked her to. She had been in so much pain, and there was nothing else that Nomsa could do. She had been begging Nomsa for many, many weeks.
Madam had asked her if that was all, and then Nomsa had cried for a while before saying no, if the tablets worked for her mother then she was going to take some herself because of Mr Thwala at school. Then Nomsa had cried and cried, and she was still crying when Mavis had finished cleaning the bathroom. As she had passed quietly by the open door of the bedroom, she had looked inside and seen Madam holding Nomsa tight-tight.
Later, Lungi had heard angry voices outside near the garage, and she had looked out of the window at the side of the kitchen and seen Madam and Doctor arguing. Doctor wanted to get into his bakkie and go and fetch his gun, he wanted to shoot Mr Thwala for violating Nomsa, and Madam was begging him not to go. Then Gogo Levine had gone out and shouted at them both. What kind of bloody example for the children is this, she had asked them, how are you going to raise them from jail? Then they had all come inside and asked Lungi to make them tea.
Mavis and Lungi had both heard about such a thing happening, sometimes it was even in the newspaper. A teacher or even a headmaster would help himself to one of the girls, and then – to make him feel okay or to keep the girl quiet – he would give her a hundred emalangeni. It was always a hundred emalangeni. Madam and Titi had even talked about it for Titi’s lesson when it had been in the newspaper and Madam was teaching Titi about if this then that. If a teacher does this, then he pays that. And if he does this, then he must go to jail. Mavis and Lungi had asked each other, was it written somewhere that a hundred emalangeni was how much these men should pay? Eish!
The next day, when Madam took Nomsa to the doctor and Mavis went to give a very special clean to the bedroom Nomsa was sharing with Innocence, she saw that Madam had put one of her special stones on the chest of drawers next to Nomsa’s bed. It was one of the big stones from the shelf in the lounge, the pale pink one that was the stone of love. Madam had told a visitor about it while Mavis was standing on a chair just outside the lounge, cleaning the top of the wood around the lounge doorway. If you had that stone, then it helped you to feel that you were worth something, and if you felt that you were worth something, then you knew that you were worth love. That was what Madam had given to Nomsa. It was a nice stone, but it had many sharp edges. It wasn’t enough for a girl that life had tumbled the way it had tumbled Nomsa. No. It didn’t yet talk about shining.
Mavis went back down to the kitchen and searched very carefully through Madam’s basket of stones on the table. Three or four of them were the same pale pink, and she chose the largest. Smooth and rounded, it was already shining in her hand, but she gave it an extra polish with a few drops of Windowlene to help to bring out all of the shine that it had. Then she took it upstairs and put it beside the other one next to Nomsa’s bed.
It was a much paler pink than the bright pink she was crocheting now. Any mother that bought this jersey at the market in Mbabane would have a very happy child. When the jersey was finished, Mavis would use a bit of the wool to replace part of a square of her blanket that was wearing rather badly. The wool that was wearing was a reddish brown, and the pink would look fresher, cleaner, next to the bright green that was in the same square.
As Lungi turned over in her bed and began to snore quietly, Mavis’s thoughts went to Titi, who had spent many nights turning in her bed inside the kwerekwere house, trying to think what to say to her boyfriend who wanted to marry her. Mavis would have said yes before the question had even finished coming out of his mouth. But after all that thinking, Titi had said no. Eish! Then he had said he was going to smear her with ochre. That was a man’s right, but it wasn’t what any woman wanted, not any woman Mavis or Lungi knew or had ever heard about. As much as Mavis wanted a husband, she didn’t want a man to marry her without even asking. No. A man who married her without asking would do anything he wanted without asking, and that wasn’t nice. Mavis wanted a man to love her, she wanted to love him back. She and Lungi had told Titi she shouldn’t worry, smearing with ochre wasn’t something a man said he would do, it was something he just did. If he said he would, then he was just joking with her, or just saying it because he was angry that he didn’t get what he wanted. There were men who were like that.
But Titi had lied to Mavis and Lungi about the men in her own country. They didn’t take just one wife there, her madam’s own son had taken another without even telling the first. Titi said no, he never married the second. But all those years he had never told! Eish, the men in Titi’s country were not honest, Titi should rather marry a Swazi.
Petros was going to marry, there was a girl in Nhlangano. He had come to talk to Mavis about his dog, and he had told her about the girl. Look, he had said, and he had shown her a photo, an old kind of photo that didn’t have any colour.
Holding that photo, looking at that girl, Mavis’s hands had trembled. She hadn’t known that there was a girl. She hadn’t known that he was waiting until he was better before he went to negotiate with the girl’s family. She had sent him to the doctor and paid for him to get better, and now he had gone. Doctor had given him some holiday, and he’d gone to Nhlangano to pay lobola. He had no cows to give the girl’s family, so the tin of money under his bed must be very full.
He had come to tell her that his dog was going to stay with the dairy manager while he was away, and while he was away would she please give the food for his dog to the dairy
manager instead. Mavis had tried not to let her face show how hurt she was that he had thought the food she gave him was for his dog rather than for him. While they had talked about how taxi drivers didn’t want a dog inside their taxi because a dog could mess, and about how it was fine for a chicken or a goat to be tied to the roof of a bus but it wouldn’t be nice for his dog, and about how he would come back and earn some more money on the farm and then Doctor would drive him and his dog in the bakkie to Nhlangano when the wedding time came, all the time they had talked about those things Mavis had pretended that she was happy for him.
But she wasn’t happy, and when he came back, she was going to tell him.
She was going to tell him it would break her heart when he left again.
She was going to tell him it was like he was her own boy.
SIXTEEN
WHEN THE TIME CAME, ALL THE MAZIBUKO children got the day off school to support Nomsa at her mother’s funeral. That day, Mama drove the Tungaraza children to school in the red Microbus, which she didn’t like to do on account of the early morning mist and fog on the way up the hill into Mbabane. Baba said it wasn’t mist or fog, it was actually a cloud sitting low on the mountaintop, but Mama said she didn’t have to know what something actually was to know that she didn’t like it.
Helping themselves from the small pile of bricks that Uncle Enock stored at the back of the garage, Benedict and his brothers built the small step to help Mama climb up into the vehicle in her smart, tight skirt, and then they put the bricks back again. Mama never needed help getting out: by turning sideways on the seat so that both of her legs were out of the door, she could slide to the ground gracefully.