Under Water
Page 18
“Why? Who—?”
“Where are you?” His voice drops low. “I need to see you. I need to touch you. It is the only way—Khosi. I need to know you are all right.”
My heart feels like it’s flying through my mouth and it’s beating beating. I want to see him too. But—
“I’m all right, really,” I say. “I’m all right.”
He lets out a long, slow breath. “When will I see you?”
“Angaz’,” I say. “I am not in Imbali.”
“We have questions for you. The police. Nhlanhla? She was shot dead? We found her in the street. What happened?”
“I have questions also,” I say. And then I stop. This is not the time for questions. I already know who, what, why. The answer is “everybody” and “nobody.” It doesn’t matter whether this was my family, or the community, or the taxi drivers. No matter what the question is, the answer is: I can’t go back.
The house is gone. I loved that house because it was the only house I knew. But now that Mama is gone, and Gogo is gone, and now that Auntie Phumzi came and took all of their things—it’s a shell, empty of any reason to stay.
I already knew, but now I know even more. The amadlozi sent me on a journey and now they are making sure I don’t go back. It is the gift of God, that we all receive blessings, even if we don’t deserve it, or recognize them when they come.
We have nothing with us, it is true. OK, I have exactly ten rand in my pocket. Enough to buy a packet of Rooibos.
Yes, Mkhulu says. It is time.
Was this what it felt like, to be Ahmed and his wife when they left Somalia and came to South Africa? They had nothing, but they had each other.
“I am safe, Sifiso,” I say at last. “But I am not coming back to Imbali.”
Voice shaking, he asks, “What do you mean? Have you decided? About us, I mean? Is it no?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But I will call you when I am settled. It may be some time…but I promise. I promise I will call. You can depend on that.”
He is silent for a long while. Then: “Ngiyezwa.” That is all. He understands. And I believe he does. Perhaps there is a future for us, down the way. Perhaps. If my will can make a way, it will happen. Durban is not so far from Pietermaritzburg. He could live here and work there. Or transfer. But first I must make a way for me and Zi to survive. To thrive. And I must have this baby and see how I am as a mother. I hope I am kind and funny and patient, like my own Mama was. And these are things I must do on my own, for a time, before I lean on somebody else.
“My aunt’s name is Phumzile,” I say. “Phumzile Zulu. She lives the other side of Imbali, near your mother. You should see what she knows about this fire. She accused me of witchcraft when Gogo died, because Gogo left me the house. She does not want me to have the house and now she has her wish.”
“I will do that,” he promises.
“Langa is in Edendale hospital,” I say. “So is Little Man, my—my ex-boyfriend. I don’t suppose you’ll completely solve the taxi war by finding them…but it may help.”
I remember the images I saw when I first listened to MaNene’s ancestors. Two lions chasing after a gazelle. The gazelle’s body, broken and mangled, lying in the dirt. A pool of blood mixing with earth.
I take a deep breath. Again, I am making guesses but I have no reason not to share these hunches with this man who loves me. Even if I don’t deserve his love.
“And there is a woman named Gladys Nene,” I say. “Find her. She lives in Imbali J somewhere, though I don’t know where. She has two sons. Ask them about Ahmed, the Somali who owned the tuck shop, the one who was found dead against my gate. It is possible they were behind it. Or know who was behind it.”
“Ngiyabonga,” he says.
I suppose I could call Little Man but I already know that is a deadend path. Someday I must tell him about the child but that can wait. He is too much caught up in this taxi war.
Instead, I hand the cell phone back to the kind lady who lent it to me and turn back to the parking lot and Zi. She is twirling in circles, making herself dizzy. Her hands are lifted to the sky. She staggers and almost falls, catches herself, looks toward me and grins. Then she starts twirling again.
I have no money. I have no job. I have no family. Except Zi. And, of course, the ancestors. I will always have them. Nor can I forget, I also have this baby, and she—yes, I already know, this baby is a she—she will ensure that when I die, I too am one of the ancestors.
We left everything behind and now it is all gone. Even Nhlanhla is gone. But we have each other and we have our lives. And we are here, at the ocean, my source. The place of my baptism into the life of a sangoma. And now, the beginning of my new life.
The ocean stretches out behind us, a vast roiling blue-grey soup of nothingness and…and everythingness.
I will name her Amanzi. Water. Because no matter where I go, I will have water. And here in Durban, I have an abundance of water, my power.
It’s time, Mkhulu says, and it feels like I can hear Gogo’s and Mama’s emphatic nods.
The world is my ocean. I will find my way in it.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
It’s a big responsibility to write a book set in a culture that is not your own. It is not a responsibility I take lightly. For many years, I have been lucky enough to be welcomed into South African homes from a diverse range of local cultures as a granddaughter, daughter, sister, auntie, and good friend. For all the many people I can’t possibly name here who are friends and family, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Ngiyabonga kakhulu. Baie dankie fir alles. Obrigada. And—gracias.
I want to specifically thank my dear friends Futhi Ntshingila, Gugu Mafokeng, and Bukhosi Dube. The three of you helped this text reach a higher level of authenticity and accuracy and I can’t thank you enough. I wish I lived close enough to see you all regularly but I will take the stolen moments we have and cherish them. And to Izak de Vries, friend and collaborator and colleague extraordinaire—thank you for the photo that graces the cover of this book, as well as your photo for This Thing Called the Future.
My brother Dumisani Dube died suddenly last year in South Africa at the age of 56. I will miss him always. This book is dedicated to him.
With lots of love to him and to all South Africans, everywhere!
CHARACTERS
Ahmed: the Somali tuck-shop owner in Khosi’s neighborhood
Babaomkhulu / Mkhulu: Khosi’s great-grandfather, now dead and one of the amadlozi
Beauty: Khosi’s cousin, Phumzile’s child
Bo: Little Man’s boss, attempting to take over some of Langa’s taxi routes
Elizabeth / Mama: Khosi’s mother, dead for 3 years
Gladys Nene: one of Khosi’s patients, a woman who seeks absolution for her sons’ wrong-doings
Gogo: Khosi’s grandmother, now dead and one of the amadlozi
Gogo / MaDudu: Khosi’s next-door neighbor
Langa: taxi owner, a “big man” in Imbali
Lethabo: one of the thugs hired to kidnap Khosi and Zi; he’s the driver
Little Man: Khosi’s boyfriend
Liyana: (female Zulu name, means “It is raining”) a toddler that Khosi heals
Lungile: Khosi’s uncle, her mother’s brother
“Makhosi”: the sangoma who trained Khosi
Mdu: one of the thugs hired to kidnap Khosi and Zi
Nobuhle: Liyana’s mother
Phumzile / Phumzi: Khosi’s aunt, her mother’s sister
Sifiso: police officer and love interest
Thandi: granddaughter to “Makhosi,” formerly Khosi’s best friend
Zi/Zinhle: Khosi’s little sister
GLOSSARY
Amadlozi: the ancestors.
Amadube: zebras.
AmaShembe: a distinctly African religious group that emerged originally from mission Christianity but combines elements of Christianity with Judaism, Scottish fashion, African culture, and African healing arts and mysti
cism.
Amasi: sour milk.
Amanzi: water.
Angaz’/Angazi: I don’t know.
Asambeni: Let’s go! (plural)
As-salaam ‘alaikum: Peace be upon you. A greeting in Arabic.
Babomkhulu: grandfather.
Bakkie: a pickup truck
Bhuti: brother.
Blue spirit: a flammable liquid used in rituals by most traditional healers.
Braai: barbecue in Afrikaans.
Cha: No.
Emsamo: the part of a traditional hut where the amadlozi sit.
Futhi: again.
Gogo: grandmother.
Hamba /Hambani: Go! Run! Adding ni to the end makes the word plural.
Haibo: Wow!
Hawu: Wow!
Hheyi: Hey!
Ikhekhe: cake.
Imbali: flower, but also the name of a township outside of Pietermaritzburg, South Africa.
Impepho: incense or sage.
Inshallah: God willing. Arabic.
Inyama: meat.
Ja: yes or yeah in Afrikaans.
Khumbi: an African taxi.
Kodwa: but.
Kulungile: It’s all-right. Or, as a question, Is everything all-right?
Kwenzenjani: What is it, or What is wrong?
Makhosi: an honorific title for sangomas.
Makoti: daughter-in-law.
Mealies: corn
Mfowethu: brother.
Mtanami: my child.
Muthi: medicine.
Ndodakazi: my daughter
Nee: no in Afrikaans
Ngeke: never
Ngikhathele: I’m tired.
Ngiyagula: I’m sick.
Ngiyakuthanda: I love you.
Ngiyabonga/Siyabonga: Thank you/We thank you.
Ngiyaqonda: I understand.
Ngiyezwa: I get it or I hear you.
Ngiyathembisa: I promise you.
Ngiyazi: I know.
Nina ninjani: How are you?
Nkulunkulu: God (literally “the old old one”).
(i)Ntombi: girl.
(i)Ndodakazi: daughter.
(i)Ntombazane: little girl.
Phansi: down.
Phuthu: a corn porridge that the Zulus eat with meat and vegetables and gravy
Sala kahle: Stay well.
Sho: Sure! Said when someone is in agreement.
S’thandwa: an endearment like honey, sweetheart, lover.
Sangoma: a traditional Zulu healer.
Sawubona, Ahmed, nina ninjani: Hello, Ahmed, how are you and your family?
Shibhoshi: Jeyes Fluid
Sikhona: the response to “Nina ninjani” in Zulu greetings. It means “We are here” (literally), that is, “My family and I are well.”
Siyahamba: We are going.
Spaza shop: a small convenience shop often run out of person’s home. Stocks household items like soap or convenience store items like cigarettes and soda.
Thando: love.
Thwasa: an initiate, a person who is in the process of becoming a sangoma
Thula: shut up
Tokoloshe: a mythical creature in Zulu lexicon, a small hairy man that creates mischief
Toyi-toyi: a southern African dance that symbolizes the spirit of revolution and shaking off the shackles of oppression
Tsotsi: gangster
Ukugeza: cleansing.
Umthakathi: witch.
Utshwala: traditional Zulu beer.
Vuvuzela: a plastic horn that produces a loud monotone note.
Woza: come.
Wena: you.
Yebo: yes.
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
1. What similarities exist between your community and the community of Imbali? What differences? Do similarities outweigh the differences or vice versa?
2. South Africa is a multicultural society. What are some of the other cultures Khosi encounters or that are mentioned in Under Water? What are the benefits of living in a multicultural society? What problems can occur?
3. What personal challenges does Khosi face in this book? What political challenges does she face? How does she respond to irrational prejudice and accusations that she encounters, either directed towards herself or towards others?
4. Why is violence such a common feature of Khosi’s life in Imbali township? What are Khosi’s reflections--both private and verbalized--on the problem of violence?
5. Khosi’s boyfriend Little Man gets sucked into the taxi war that begins to dominate life in Imbali. What are the causes of the taxi war? What are the consequences of the taxi war?
6. Khosi is a sangoma--a traditional healer in the Zulu tradition, which includes herbal remedies and communication with a host of ancestral spirits who help determine the source of patients’ health issues. What are some of the reasons patients come to visit Khosi? What are some differences and similarities between their understanding of illness and their definition of health issues and yours? Do you think medical doctors would be able to address the illnesses of Khosi’s patients? Why or why not?
7. Khosi keeps very quiet about her pregnancy until her neighbor MaDudu confronts her with it. Why is Khosi so quiet about it? Are those the same reasons a seventeen-year-old American teenager would keep quiet about an unplanned pregnancy? Why or why not? What new challenges will Khosi face after her baby is born?
8. In many ways, Khosi must face the challenges of her life alone. What gives her strength? In other ways, Khosi is not alone. Who is on her side and how do they offer Khosi support?
9. Khosi struggles to reconcile the spiritual differences between her Catholic faith and her relationship with her ancestors. What are the tensions between the two? Does Khosi ever find a balance or an answer? Why or why not? Will this continue to be a struggle for her going forward? Why or why not?
10. Khosi talks about water as the source of her healing power. How does Khosi use water in her healing practice? What does water symbolize in this book?