It Takes Two

by Haden, Ross;

  I shake my head when Lwando says this.

  “I just don’t get why we should rob an old man … twice …” continues Mfundo, looking back up at Lwando now.

  “Mfundo, Mfundo, I don’t have a cent in my pocket. Is that fair?” demands Lwando. “No, no, no, we said it was OK to steal sheep. Ja, we said we are hungry so we will help ourselves kulemihlambi, to these herds. It is time to take over this whole village,” Lwando declares, looking at me and then turning to face Mfundo. “We need to work together as a solid group. I am beginning to think you are weak, mfethu.”

  In that moment I wish I could leave the Black Tights. Things have changed. I don’t like how things are going, or what Lwando is saying now.

  “OK, OK, OK, stop! I am putting on the tights,” says Mfundo as Lwando threatens him.

  We pull the tights over our faces to mask them, and run outside. Dogs bark and howl.

  Near Tat’uLudwe’s kraal we wail like wild dogs in the grass, on all fours. On our toes and palms we move forward near the footpath. No words. We wait.

  ~•~

  Tat’ uLudwe comes singing from a distance:

  Ndidlaaaa,

  Amaqhosha ebhatyi yaaaam

  Andinxili, ndiyashusha

  (I am spending my money, my money. I am not getting drunk, I am just warm under the influence.)

  Tat’uLudwe lifts his walking stick in the air from time to time. He has a terrible limp but I can see that when push comes to shove he will use his stick as a weapon.

  “Pssst! Down, down,” whispers Lwando. “Come closer,” he adds.

  My body stretches just above the grass, my palms open on the ground. I move silently.

  “Mfundo, go for his pockets; hold them tight. Don’t give him a chance to pull out his Okapi.”

  “OK,” responds Mfundo.

  “Sabelo, go from behind and grab the stick.”

  “Ndik’bambile, I got that.”

  “And I … I will be up in his face …”

  Like a pack of hyenas waiting to attack, we lie flat on the ground. When Tat’uLudwe is a few metres from us, even less, vumbululu, quickly we get up.

  “Yintoni na, what is this!? Where are your faces?” Tat’uLudwe cries, staring wildly at us. He can’t make out who is who behind our stocking masks.

  Like a flash of lightning I feel the whip and pain as he hooks my arm with his walking stick. Mfundo has buried his hands deep in Tat’ uLudwe’s pockets.

  “Ssshhh,” Lwando warns Tat’uLudwe.

  “Kwekhu madoda, zizithunzela ezivelaphi ezi, where do these ghosts come from?” Tat’uLudwe cries.

  Lwando hisses like a snake next to the old man’s face.

  “Oh please, don’t kill me,” Tat’uLudwe begs.

  “Then respect me, hey wena, ungazong’hlanyisa, don’t make me mad,” Lwando raises his voice.

  Where did that come from? I ask myself when I see in the dark shadows the shape of a butcher’s knife. Lwando waves it about in front of Tat’uLudwe’s face.

  “Let go of the stick. Voetsek! Let go.”

  I feel Tat’uLudwe’s arm release, becoming softer. Only now I realise that I have not disguised my voice.

  “Turn his pockets inside out,” Lwando says.

  We freeze for a moment. I can’t believe this is happening.

  “Hurry up!” Lwando screams at us.

  I throw Tat’uLudwe’s stick on the ground. I take both his arms and lock them behind him.

  “Oh yini, why? Imali yabantwana bam, my kid’s money,” cries Tat’uLudwe when Mfundo goes for the pockets inside the jacket.

  “Sakwenyusa amafu, we will send you past the clouds. Shut up, old man!” Lwando shouts at him.

  “All pockets emptied to me,” says Mfundo.

  “Good job, ndoda,” says Lwando. He waves the knife again, in front of Tat’uLudwe’s eyes.

  “Now, you listen to me very carefully, old man,” says Lwando. “Uyandiva! Do you hear me? Kneel down. Lie with your face down. Don’t move. Hey!” Lwando raises his hand with the knife. Tat’uLudwe staggers backwards. He leans on me. He feels heavy now.

  “Lala phantsi, xhego, lay down, old man, flat on your stomach,” I whisper into his ear. My voice is hoarse. He goes down on his knees with both his hands on the ground. He places his face on the grass. A soft cry escapes his lips.

  When he is on the ground Lwando turns and runs. We follow, down towards the river. In the long grass there we count out the money. Then we head back to the old house to change back into our normal clothes. We split up the money and head to our homes. Our night’s business done, I hope.

  As I walk up the path to my house I see a figure standing in the shadows next to the new electricity poles. It is Sihle. He must be waiting for Nonyaniso. I pass him, but I don’t say anything to him. I walk in through the gate and take the dogs off the leash. If he comes to Nonyaniso’s window, the dogs will get him.

  I go into the house and lock the door behind me then strike a match. A yellow flame bursts into the darkness.

  “Mhhm, you smell like a burning farm of dagga. I think it is time I reported you to Mama.” It is Nonyaniso. She is standing in the dark waiting for me. Did she see Sihle outside? I hope not. I won’t tell her that he is waiting by the pole.

  “I think it is time you shut your mouth and go to sleep. It’s not like Mama cares about me anyway,” I reply to her, quickly.

  “You are you, Sabelo. My lovely brother. You should not be messing around with dagga.”

  “And you should be out of my business.”

  “Ahm, sokhe sibone, we will see.”

  “Are you going to your Nosiviwe’s party?” I ask her.

  “I will only be there during the day. In the evening I will be with …”

  “Sihle, let me guess. I don’t want to see him near our home, Nonyaniso. That is disrespectful to me and Mama, you know.”

  Still, I don’t tell her that Sihle is outside. I won’t do that. No, I won’t.

  In my room I lie on my bed listening for the sound of stones on the zinc sheets. Sihle had done this once, trying to get Nonyaniso’s attention by throwing small stones on the roof in her room. But everything is quiet.

  ~•~

  The next afternoon we are back on the dusty soccer pitch like nothing happened last night.

  “Majita, guys, we are wasting our time with playing football. We are not going to turn pros anyway,” says Lwando when we get back to our hideout, our old ruined house behind the village.

  We don’t answer. Lwando has become a ‘sort of’ leader overnight. We allow it. Nobody crosses him. Overnight it has become a case of what he says goes.

  “Nosiviwe is having a birthday party tomorrow. You know what the Black Tights have to do?” says Lwando.

  “What?”

  “A gang has to do what a gang has to do. You boys are sissies.”

  Mfundo looks at me.

  “Boys, we gate crash the party and take control.”

  “It’s not like these girls will go there with money. What would the Black Tights want from them?” asks Mfundo.

  “Mfundo, Mfundo, Mfundo … follow and learn, my boy,” replies Lwando.

  I think that Lwando has gone mad as he cups his crotch with his left hand to make his point. “If you guys do what I am thinking tonight, then I will know you own this place. That way you will be respected.”

  He stands above us, like a teacher. His right hand grips my left shoulder: “Hear me – untouchable boys,” he says, shaking my shoulder. His foot stomps on the ground with each word.

  We remain silent.

  ~•~

  The next day when I come home from watching a soccer game, umama ukwelite inyama yehagu, she has bought pork meat on credit. Idombolo, the dumplings, sit fat and tasty on the enamel plate in the kitche
n. Nonyaniso is not going to start a fight with big brother, now. Not when there is such good food. It’s all she can think about, drooling over the meat.

  “Thathani ukutya, take your food,” says Mama.

  We take the enamel plates that are set out on the checked red-and-white tablecloth, heaped with meat and dumplings.

  “Ah, bhuti maan,” Nonyaniso says.

  I look at her, surprised. Why am I bhuti today all of a sudden? Every other day she screams my name at the top of her voice. She has been telling me how her friends and her have nothing good to say about me any more.

  “Ah, bhuti maan,” she says again.

  “What is it?”

  “Khawusike kaloku, please cut me another piece!”

  “Nonyaniso, you have a plate full of meat in front of you.”

  “I need to eat a lot, if I’m going to dance at Nosiviwe’s early tonight. After that I am going to be with …” she says and laughs.

  I remember that it’s the party tonight. And I remember Lwando grabbing his crotch as he told us what he planned to do. And I want to warn Nonyaniso. But I remain silent.

  ~•~

  It is still early evening when I meet the gang in the deserted building. With some of the money robbed from Tat’uLudwe, we have bought two bankies of dagga.

  “Are we wearing tights for tonight’s mission?” asks Mfundo.

  “Are you fucking mad? How are we going to a party with black tights over our heads?” asks Lwando.

  I look around the group. We are all wearing our best clothes for the party. I have on a red hoodie, skinny jeans and my only pair of white sneakers. Only mother knows when I will get new shoes.

  After we’ve smoked up the room we step out into the cool night and make our way to the party.

  The moon comes up, full now from behind the distant hills. It gives us tall shadows as we walk on the footpaths cutting through the village to Nosiviwe’s house. Our left hands are deep in our pockets, our right hands wave as we walk.

  Dogs bark as we walk past the houses. We are not too worried now about barking dogs. We are dressed like humans, not ghosts with black tights over our heads. Our mission has not started.

  Nosiviwe stops us at the door, “No, you are not invited,” she says to Lwando, her hand against his chest pushing lightly, like she’s only half serious …

  “All right, all right,” Lwando puts his hands up. “What do we do to get in?”

  “Nothing, just go.”

  “Your house music is bad, man. Useless. We can go get our latest CDs for you. We will bring some vodka as well,” says Lwando, and flashes her one of his charming smiles.

  Nosiviwe runs inside. In a few minutes she comes back.

  “Deal. Bring your music and vodka. But don’t think we have anything for you – maybe just a piece of sausage each,” she adds.

  We walk away to Lwando’s place.

  “Aha, ha ha! A piece of sausage each!” laughs Lwando.

  “At least that is something. Don’t be ungrateful, Lwando,” I say to him, getting irritated by his new-found arrogance.

  We get the CDs and bottle of vodka and head back to Nosiviwe’s place. The party is filling up when we get there and we have to push to get through the door.

  ~•~

  We have just connected the sound system to more speakers when the girls want to move the party outside.

  “No, no, no. Keep the party inside. That way you won’t have more uninvited people like us,” says Lwando, laughing.

  I pull out the bottle of vodka from the front of my pants and place it on the table. Lwando turns the music up loud. The girls start dancing.

  After a long while of dancing and drinking, some of Nosiviwe’s friends start to leave. Soon there are only her close girlfriends left. Two girls remain. Three including the birthday girl.

  “Do you see the key hanging on the door?” asks Lwando, speaking loudly into my ear.

  “Ja,” I reply.

  He puts his ear close to my mouth, “Huh? I can’t hear you.”

  “Yes, I see the key,” I repeat.

  “Just now I will give you a signal to lock the door. I will need Mfundo to hit the light bulb with the broom behind the door just after …”

  “Yes,” I say, pretending to be dancing next to Lwando. “Wait, wait, wait! And then what happens in the dark?” I ask, a little worried now.

  “In the dark, my friend, in the dark! In the dark we get what we want. See those thighs dancing there – you want to be between those legs, don’t you?”

  I want to. What guy wouldn’t? I have always wanted to have sex with Cikizwa. But she always tells me that she does not date boys from the village where she lives.

  She always asks me, “Why do you love me, Sabelo?”

  How do I answer that? “Because you have slightly bow legs, a round ass and the most beautiful lips?” I don’t know.

  But what Lwando has in mind is wrong. He does not seem to care. I know this will be our initiation. Between myself and Mfundo, whoever does not do as he says will be punished, kicked out of the group.

  At least Nonyaniso is not here. She must have left the party early to be with Sihle, just as she has been bragging about from days ago already. Today, her disappearing with Sihle is good. For once I am glad she is with him.

  Tonight I am on a combination I have never tried before. We smoked two bottle kops and a fat zol before the party. Then vodka is added to the mix – a lot of it. My head is spinning. I feel reckless. I want what I want. I start asking myself: Why would parents leave girls alone at a party? Leave them to the care of neighbours? Not such a good idea. Where are the neighbours now?

  Nosiviwe’s parents have already celebrated her birthday in the afternoon. Now they have gone to relatives for the evening, leaving the young ones to party. Part of me wishes her parents would come back. Before it is too late.

  Lwando gives me the signal. I go to the door. Mfundo is dancing next to the cupboard. He looks ridiculous. But we are all high as kites. The girls don’t notice our movements.

  Just as I get to the door it opens. I freeze. Nonyaniso is standing in the doorway, a big smile on her face.

  “No, no, no, you can’t come in.” I try to push her back outside.

  Nosiviwe comes running to the door. “Let her in, chocho, chommie yam, my friend!” she screams happily. They hug. I turn to look at Lwando.

  He mimes the words, “Vala ucango, close the door.”

  Fuck it, I hate Sihle even more. Why isn’t he with Nonyaniso tonight? Why is she here?

  I close the door. Mfundo hits the light bulb. The room is in total darkness. The girls run screaming into one of the bedrooms which has lights on. Screaming.

  Lwando and Mfundo follow them. Lwando has the butcher’s knife he threatened Tat’uLudwe with in his hand.

  Hesitantly, I open the door of the small cupboard on the wall that houses the electricity switchboard. I flick the switch down. Now the whole house is in darkness except for the light on Lwando’s cellphone. He is shining it at the girls, who are huddled in one corner of the bedroom.

  “Shut up, shut up, shut up! You are making my head go mad,” he shouts.

  “What are you doing?” Nosiviwe cries.

  “This is a knife. I will cut all of you if you go on screaming like that.”

  The girls keep quiet. I can make out their shapes huddled against the wall. I search for Nonyaniso. I want to try to pull her to the front room. No time. Lwando and Mfundo are already pulling the girls into a line.

  “Make one more sound. Refuse to play with us and all of you are dead,” Lwando says again. We pin the girls down.

  I feel for Cikizwa. No – not this one. It is not her. I can make out the shape of her hair in the dark. I feel the next one. I think it is her. But, someone is already on top of her.


  I move to the next one in the line. I try to feel for the face of the girl underneath me. It is wet with tears. I slide her panties off. She cries silently as I carry on.

  “Move,” I hear Lwando’s demanding voice.

  I am not sure who the girl is I have just had sex with. But it is too late to try to find out. Lwando is pulling me up. I think I hear Nonyaniso’s cry, but which one is she? It is pitch dark.

  I get up, push past Mfundo, out into the night.

  ~•~

  I lie on my back. My head is aching. I think of Lwando. One of the prison warders told me he is fighting for his life in hospital. He was attacked by the parents of one of the girls raped at Nosiviwe’s party. I don’t know what happened to Mfundo. I have heard nothing about him.

  All I can remember of the day after Nosiviwe’s party is a group of women from the village pointing at me as I walked to the old dilapidated house behind the village. Our spot. Then there were shouts from behind me. Police were running towards me – one of them was the father of one of the girls who was raped. No wonder they came so soon. How could we have been so stupid? That is the last thing I remember, before I came around in the back of a police van.

  I had just been with Nonyaniso at home. She had been crying at the kitchen table. She did not want to talk to me. She did not want to look at me. Why hadn’t she spent the night with Sihle? Why had she come back to the party?

  I had managed to keep the Black Tights away from my kraal. But now something far worse had happened. Tat’uLudwe did not even greet me the next morning. He must have suspected that I was one of the boys that robbed him. He didn’t know the half of it, yet.

  Now I am in prison, behind bars, locked away. No money for bail. Awaiting trial. The girl’s father made sure of that.

  “Bhantinti, prisoner, we have been calling you,” shouts one of the men in my cell. His shirtless body has tattoos everywhere. He has a big chest. Strong arms. He is missing two front teeth. From time to time his tongue slides out of that gate between his teeth. He does this just before words come out his mouth.