y Walt OyisiphoKaMtetwalood'What! If I say stop it! I don't like it!my wife knows I mean just that. She hasto stop whatever she was doing orsaying. And that must be done instantly,'boasted Mshengu.'Haykona Mshengu', protestedNyambose, shaking his head, 'that is notthe decent way to speak to a wife,umfazi wezinkomo. Stop it! stop it!What is that?''You are too soft, Nyambose, justtoo soft. That's why women are soobstinate, because you beg and consoleand condone them instead of reprimandingthem for having done anythingyou disapprove of,' continued Mshengu.'We Mshengu', chipped in Mangethewho had all the time been eavesdropping,'women are also human beings andtherefore should be recognised andtreated as such. These tender heartsshould be handled with care, they arefragile.'w romen are also humanW beings, Von that's an obviousfact, said the loquaciousand voluble Mshengu.This was a conversation byworkers of Mathetha Supermarket duringlunch time. Their abysmal ignorance ofthe socio-politico-economic set up oftheir country was very strong. They hadnever bothered themselves about formingtheir own organisation as workers. Theyknew nix about trade unions. Duringdinner time a handful of men wouldgather under an oak tree to play umrabaraba,another group (Mshengu's)would bask in the sun, chat, crack jokesamong themselves and giggle alouddisturbing those who have decided tosleep. The topics for discussion inMshengu's group revolved around womenand liquor. They would not discussanything relevant and constructive. Thatwas exactly what was happening thatFriday.'Women are also human beings, that'san obvious fact', said the loquacious andvoluble Mshengu, 'but they are alsocunning and tricky. A woman can coaxyou to maintain a child not from yourown semen if you are not up to date.''That will never happen in my house,I can see that child from the outset,' heconcluded rather conclusively, rising upin due response to the ringing of the bellwarning about dinner time that hadexpired.At 5 o'clock the workers of MathethaSupermarket knocked off. As usualMshengu was cycling behind Mangethe,his bonafide mate, along the way toMzinoni Township where they werefull time residents by virtue of theirSection 10 permits.'Mshengu, how can you stell that achild was not fathered by you?' askedMangethe bringing Mshengu to theconversation they had had at work. Theshengu pedalled fasteruntil he came to ride alongsidehis mate, so that theycould have their tete-a-teteundisturbed.weather had just changed and the SouthEasterly wind was so strong that it blewaway Mshengu's voice when he tried toexplain.Mshengu pedalled faster until hecame to ride alongside his mate, so thatthey could have their tete-a-tete undisturbed.They kept a steady pace andfunny enough, no car came behind them44 STAFFRIDER, VOL. 6 NO. 2, <strong>1985</strong>
to interfere with their parallelism.'Ini Mangethe? A child not from me,not of my own blood, ngambona zisuka.And to clarify that point, my findingswill not be based on heredity business,I know heredity has mutations andvariations a layman like myself cannever understand,' he answered in hisboastful manner.M• W •angethe wondered whyVuyo had never run tohim and perhaps opened thegate as other children did uponseeing their father.'How can you find out then, tellme,' insisted Mangethe.They were starting an ascendingslope and had to put much effort intheir pedalling to propel their bicyclesforward and up the road. They startedpanting heavily until they reachedthe summit of the steep slope and werebeginning to descend along the road.Neither was pedalling now but still theywere riding alongside each other keepingtheir speed constant.'Uyabona Mangethe, I have threechildren,' he said showing three fingers,the thumb and the pointing finger bent,and proceeded 'NguAfrica, Nobantuand Nobelungu.''What, their names!,' interruptedMangethe.'Let me finish first and commentthereafter. You see when I give thesechildren a hiding, they all do one thingin common. I don't mean I punish themall simultaneously, it depends who haswronged. The one given a hiding will goto the back yard, squat there and crythere! Nobody ever told them to do so.The child that will not follow myfamily's crying tradition will not be ofmy own blood and sweat.'Overwhelmed with amazementMangethe did not know what to sayalthough his mouth was wide open.Ultimately the voice came out. 'HawuMshengu! How did you discover such ahorrible experience?''You call it a horrible experience?''Hearken Mshengu, haven't youconsidered that the reason why a childmay run to the street may be that youwill not catch him and give him yetanother hiding.''Not my children,' blurted Mshengu,'If he runs to the street. . . no, my childwon't do that. If the child runs to thenext door neighbour, his father livesthere,' concluded Mshengu sophistically,'You've got wonders Mshengu.''It is because I discover them.Especially those that concern childrenthat will behave strangely and say thingsbeyond one's comprehension.'They cycled and entered thetownship through the main road, Thelawayeka.They parted when Mshenguhad to turn into Seventh Street to gohome. Mangethe continued down themain road and turned at EleventhStreet.Before long, Mangethe reached homeand saw his only son, three-year-oldVuyo, playing with his mates in theyard. Vuyo merely glanced at him andcontinued playing. Mangethe wonderedwhy Vuyo had never run to him andperhaps opened the gate as otherchildren did upon seeing their father.This thought harassed his spiritualbeing. At that very moment the wordsof his friend echoed in his mind ' . . .children that will behave strangely . . . . 'Slowly he opened the gate and pushedhis bicycle into the yard.The following day was Saturday, andevery afternoon of this day Mangethewould go to watch a football match, butthis was a strange Saturday. Instead,he took his portable radio and founda cool place and listened to mbaqangamusic while drinking libazisa, amthombo-brewed beer.His mind was scattered but waspromptly collected by the appearanceof Vuyo kicking a punctured plasticball. Mangethe stared at him intentlywatching his every movement; the wayhe kicked the ball, the way he ran afterit. He studied the boy intently. If hehad gone to school and studied what iscalled child-psychology, it would havehelped him in this task, he thought. Hewanted to detect whether the boyresembled him in any way. But alas,as far as he was concerned, he did notsee any feature he shared with the littleboy.He remembered that a psychiatristonce said Vuyo sustained brain injuriesduring parturition.'Fortunately the damage is slight andwill not take long to heal,' thepsychiatrist had said.Mangethe sat there and forgot hisbeer for a short while pondering overMshengu's experience. He was inwonderland when suddenly Vuyokicked his ball towards his father andthe ball, by sheer accident, rolled andbumped against the bottle containingbeer. Beer spilt leaving sorghum-soakedspots on Mangethe's trousers. Half ofthe contents was lost.Without dubitation, as the chanceprevailed, he belted the poor boyseverely without compunction. Vuyoyelled and ran for cover. To Mangethe'samazement, instead of running to thegate into the street, as he expectedperhaps, the boy ran into the kitchenand crept behind the stove and criedthere. Mangethe followed him and methis surprised wife in the doorway.M• W •angethe believed Vuyohad run to the ancestors forprotection, and not to the streetor to the next door neighbour.She had never been as surprised asshe was at that moment because it wasthe first time that Vuyo had been givena hiding as the psychiatrist hadexpressively warned against it.Without asking MaVuyo could seewhy the boy was crying so bitterly asthe belt was still dangling in Mangethe'shand.'Yintoni BaVuyo?,' she asked,addressing him in that special andaffectionate manner.Mangethe was very pleased withhimself. He noticed when Vuyo wascrying that only his left eye yieldedtears, something that used to happento him too when he was a boy. That wasone positive hereditary feature theyshared.Vuyo hid behind the stove, the sameplace where Mangethe stored thecalabash of home-brewed beer wheneverhe had an ancestral ceremony. Mangethebelieved Vuyo had run to the ancestorsfor protection, and not to the street orto the next door neighbour.Kwenzekani BaVuyo? The childis crying, you are smiling and I amasking a question but you don't answer,'MaVuyo continued. Mangethe turnedhis back to his wife and walked backslowly to his place soliloquizing, 'Myson, my blood. Vuyo, my blood son.'Mangethe understood now why hisson did not run to him or open the gatefor him as other children did.That Vuyo's strange behaviouraccrued from his psychiatric malady,ruled in Mangethe's heart and he enjoyedthat.JjJIQ Contributiontowardsthe Destruction of theMyth of Changethrough the Ballot orA Lesson to be learntfrom ReactionIn our struggle for knowledge,our weapon must be books.In our struggle for insight,our weapon must be discussion.In our struggle for freedom,our weapon must be consciousness.In our struggle for power,our weapon must be struggle.Farouk StemmetSTAFFRIDER, VOL. 6 NO. 2, <strong>1985</strong> 45
Change language