iraim^ Vol. 2 No. 1 March 1979

on my homeward way africa bound towards sunrise it was hard the road was steep it was heavy but i heard the beat and i heard them sing i heard it blown the golden horn i heard the echo stirring my soul i heard them cry tears wetting dry earth from eyes that have seen the bitterness of life A CYA production written by Matsemela Manaka and directed by John Moalusi Ledwaba EGOLI is a three-man play featuring Susan Shabangu, Daniel Stopa Lekalakala and John Moalusi Ledwaba. Stage Lighting/Moses Mamabolo Posters/Kay Hassan Transport/Solomon Sephadi

PERFORMANCES AND VENUES Box Theatre (Wits) - March 1, 2 and 3; Entokozweni, Soweto - Fund Raising for P.U.S.O. (People United to Save Orphans) March 24; Port Elizabeth - March 29, 30, and 31; Maseru - April 13 and 14; Swaziland - April 19, 20 and 21 CONTENTS Vol 2 No1 March 1979

Soweto Speaking/Nhlanhla Paul Maake's Creative Youth Association (Diepkloof) Conversation Piece/ Joe Masinga's Bogus Patrick Makungo/Masilo Rabothatho/ Cripple 2-3 Matsemela Manaka/Manabile Manaka/ Drawings by Peter Mashishi/Kay Hassan 37 — 38 Modase Mogotse, (Rustenburg)fNoorie Cassim (Kimberley)/Poems 4 Jill Bailie (Johannesburg) / Silent Movie, Madi Group (Katlehong)/Vocms by Tebello A story 39-42 Radebe/Maupa Kadiake/Daizer Mqhaba/Bonang Mohale/Magoleng wa Selepe/Drawings by/Napo Essop Patel (Johannesburg)/ Four Poems 42 Mokoena/Moses Sedo 5 — 7 Timothy Motimeloa Makama (Tembisa)/ Amelia House (Kentucky) Awakening/A story .... 8 James Twala (Meadowlands)/ Poems 43 Ingoapele Madingoane (Klipspruit)/ black trial, an extract 10 Eugene Skeef (Westville) Three Poems 44 Mbakasima Group (Evaton/Sebokeng)/ A story Zwelibansi Majola (Umlazi, Durban) by Mandla Sibeko, A poem by Abia Ramalebo Street King, A poem 45 Diudoileng 11 Shafa'ath Ahmed Khan (Pietermaritzburg) Matime Papane/Thamsanqa Zondo (Sharpeville)/ It Was All A Misunderstanding/A play 46 — 47 Poems 12 Zithulele Mann/Two poems. 47 Richard Rive (Cape Town)/Riva, A story 13 Sheila Fugard (Port Elizabeth)/ Kriben F.H. Adkins/Roy Joseph Cotton/Peter Horn/ Pillay (East London)/Poems 48 Mike Dues/Allan Kolski Horwitz/Keidi Adams/ Bafana Buthelezi (Botswana)/ Sophia Tlali Avril Swart (Cape TownJ/Poems 16 — 17 (Lesotho)/ Poems 49 Fezile Plam (Guguletu)ZFour Poems 18 Staffrider Workshop 11/ Es'kia Mphahlele. . . 50 - 52 Bayajula Group (Kwa Thema)/ Drawings by Madi Phala/Nhlanhla Xaba/Fikile Zulu/A poem Reviews/ Brenda Leibowitz, Joe Masinga, by Bonisile Motaung 19 — 20 Ledaka Sepenyane, Alex Levumo, Mshengu . 53 — 56 Children's Section Drawing by Frankie Gartasso (Ga-Rankuwa Arts Association)/P'oems Ntsu kaDitshego/Marguerite Poland/ by Anthony Makou/David Mphuso/Anthony Vusumzi and the Inqola Competition More 21 A story/ Shadrack Phaleng /A poem 57 — 59 Photographs/ Sheli Poplak (2, 15), Robert Magwaza Rratau Mashigo/Paul Khoza (Mamelodi)/ Poems. . 22 (32, 58), Ralph Ndawo (56), Sello Moikangoa (59) Mzwakhe Nhlabatsi/A Drawing 22 Graphics/ Madi Phala (19), Fikile Zulu (20), Nhlanhla Xaba (20), Mzwakhe Nhlabatsi (22, 52), Kwanza Group (Mabopane)/ Poems by Kanakana Vusi Zwane (3), Napo Mokoena (5, 6), Moses Lakhaimane/Ashok Joshi/Nape 'aMotana 23 Sedo (6, 7), Fikile (10), Peter Mashishi (37), Kay Hassan (38), Matsemela Manaka (53), Frankie Mtutuzeli Matshoba (Orlando West) A Son Ntsu kaDitshego (55,57) of the First Generation/A story 24—32 Covers/ The art of Harry Moyaga* Guyo Book Club (Sibasa) Poems by Nthambeleni Phalanndwa/Maano Dzeani Tuwani 33-34 Humbulani wa-ha Marema/Ntsieni N. Ndou/ (Sibasa/Venda)/ Poems 34 Joseph Letsoalo Seshego, (Pietersburg) Lebandla/Hungry Eyes/ Short stories 35 ^Enquiries regarding purchase of the originals should Shimane Maoka/Thabo Mooke (Hammanskraal) be addressed to the artist, c/o Staffrider, P. O. Box Poems 36 31910, Braamfontein 2017 SOWETO SPEAKING/ Nhlanhla Paul Maake writes about an encoun ter with bureaucracy in /CO N V E RS AT ION PIECE

Ten hours fifteen minutes. Care­ that' — but Pula knows that wishes are goes to bed with. They all laugh up­ fully and steadily Pula walks into a not taxis and he lets the green-eyed roariously, simulating pleasure at what well-polished office at a Licensing and monster die. has just escaped her mouth. Though Traffic Department. He has come to Immediately behind the typists a their laughter is hollow and dry, the make an appointment for a test on bevy of ladies are giggling. He eaves­ manipulated tea-maid is flattered. road signs and traffic regulations so as drops, hoping to hear what their jokes She then explains that she never to acquire a provisional driver's li­ are all about. To his disappointment goes to bed with dirty and stupid cence. their conversation is a miscellaneous black men. This one is used by her With no option he enters concoction of idle gossip. masters — during and after working through a double glass door inscribed Another soberly dressed gentle­ hours. Poor black girl, selling her pride 'NIE-BLANKES' in white letters. Be­ man struts in and walks to a desk near and her body for nothing. neath this racial instruction the Eng­ Professor's. He picks a sheet out of the The Professor looks at her in­ lish version 'NON-WHITES' looks as IN basket, adjusts his thick-lensed terrogatively, then roars at her, 'Where brutally clear as the original impres­ spectacles and struggles to decipher is the milk jar?' She looks around the sion. the message in the typed letter. table, but it is not there. 'I am sorry. I The office is so spacious that it left it in the kitchen, baas,' she answers could accommodate an articulated in panic. 'Go and fetch it, you stu­ truck. Fifteen steps take him as far as pid . . . ' Deflated, she rushes out of a counter about waist-high, with a the office. No protest from the others. glass pane stretching from the surface The immaculate one walks to of the counter to the ceiling. the counter and through a round open­ This counter, which looks ex­ ing in the iron curtain he asks Pula tremely wide, and this glass pane what has brought him to this office. which seems exceedingly thick, create After stating his case he waits. The two worlds - Pula's side, the world of Professor walks away and disappears in black people who have to wait for a corner. After a few minutes the hours before being attended to, and Professor comes back to explain that the other side of the glass 'iron cur­ the forms for an appointment are not tain', populated by a number of ele­ available — they are in the 'big baas's' gantly dressed ladies and gentlemen — office, which is in Germiston. Pula white of course. pretends not to understand the Pro­ Today he is alone in his world fessor's mother tongue. The latter and he knows that he has to wait until switches to staccato English in a heavy one of those creatures beyond the wall Afrikaans accent. decides that he has waited long Pula knows very well that the enough. As he stands there, his 'pass' Professor is lying and he is tempted to in hand, his curious eyes probe tell him so bluntly. He stands there as through the iron curtain and find their if he does not understand what was mark - a middle-aged man, slender, ... like a hunter taking aim with a rifle' said. On second thoughts the Professor grey hair, black pinstripe suit, snow- He brings the sheet close to his nose, decides to phone the 'big baas' for the white shirt and black tie. He is the and makes no mistake about it, the forms. Pula thanks him politely and kind of man everyone would like to frown on his face menacing. Fortu­ waits, impatient and exasperated. vote for, but unfortunately the fran­ nately the iron curtain guarantees Pula The Professor picks up the re­ chise is strictly limited. His academic security against the crooked teeth. His ceiver from the cradle on the counter, and immaculate looks compel Pula to left eyelid covers the eye like a hunter dials some numbers and after a crackle call him Professor. The atmosphere taking aim with a rifle. To Pula's relief a female voice replies. He notices an around him, created by piles of files he utters a sigh of capitulation and expression of recognition on the Pro­ and documents on his desk, make the drops the letter in the OUT basket. fessor's face, then the ball begins to honorary title more appropriate. The The door is pushed open and a roll — in Afrikaans of course. point of his pen, like a claw, rhythmi­ black lady enters the forbidden world She wants to know why he did cally sways over an open file like a of offices. She is carrying a tray the not honour the appointment the night tiger ready to pounce on a meatball size of Johannesburg, with many before. He explains with a shower of hanging at the end of a swinging pen­ cups, saucers, sugar-basins, cakes, apologies that his wife smelt a rat. The dulum. Spasmodically the claw darts bread, knives etc., etc . . . After she voice of the fairer sex sounds adamant into the file and viciously cuts a has put the tray on a desk there is an and unforgiving, and it costs the Pro­ swathe across the page. It reminds Pula avalanche, they help themselves to tea fessor a volley of honey-coated epi­ of his former English teacher deleting and cakes. thets to calm her. He is smiling vic­ 'redundant' sentences or 'gibberish' The myopic one casts a cursory toriously, but unfortunately the beam­ from his essay, the slash accompanied glance at Pula (or should I say at the ing smile is seen by a person for whom by a slap across the face. iron curtain?) and adjusts his spec­ it is not meant. His attention is disrupted by the tacles to have a clear view of this black The topic changes - now they clattering behind the professor. His creature on the other side. He then discuss a friend of a friend. The friend eyes meet two ladies in I-don't-know- looks at the tea-maid (as they call the of a friend paid a visit to his brother's whether-it's-blue costumes. Any black lady) and asks in paraplegic English family. One night the brother went to man could mistake them for twins — 'Do you like that man?' (I have purged bed earlier than usual, leaving the visi­ ugly twins at that. Their fingers are my version of the question.) She looks tor and his wife in the living-room. tapping skilfully on the keys of type­ at Pula, then replies that she is very The woman started making seductive writers. 'How I wish I could type like fastidious about the type of man she suggestions to her brother-in-law and

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 SOWETO SPEAKING/ Joe Masinga's pen on a man caught between the gutter and gaol in /BOGUS CRIPPLE

He wore a haggard-looking face eating, he thought of a trick. To turn over the rest with string. An hour later and his eyes were fixed on the ground. himself into a permanent cripple he emerged as a typical cripple. He His clothes were ragged, soiled with would certainly bring in more money. murmured an inaudible blessing to dirt. Passers-by stared at him suspici­ After his meal, Tizzah moved out of every good Samaritan who showed ously. the shop seeking shelter. kindness to him. On his way, he Tizzah — as he was affectionate­ As he neared the toilets, a picked up a stick. ly known — was a middle-aged man policeman was pushing two men into a Finally, he sat next to a jewel­ sitting despondently on the pavement. police van over an illegal gambling lery shop. The steady flow of clients His thoughts wandered back to his old, game. Their plea to the policeman to was interrupted when a short, broad- happy days. Life in jail had completely set them free fell on deaf ears. A chill shouldered man emerged from the destroyed his future. He was penniless ran down his spine. He was relieved crowd and stood before him. He coujd and hungry. A dustbin nearby was lit­ when the police van pulled away. He not believe his eyes: the 'maimed' man tered with refuse. Slowly, he moved to sauntered into a toilet, clutching dirty was Tizzah. the dustbin, his curious eyes directed newspapers, a sack and a roll of plastic 'Tizzah!' bellowed the man with at every person. With the speed of a tucked under his armpit. A young man a rich, powerful voice. Tizzah re­ cat, he picked a stale brown bread and holding a broom with his right hand mained silent as death. Two plain­ gulped it into his mouth. His lean fing­ gave him a mean look. That mean look clothes policemen eyed the scene sus­ ers carefully groped into the garbage. from a labourer was too much for piciously. A tall, bearded, athletic young Tizzah, but he tried to maintain his 'Will you kindly tell me how you man stopped in his tracks, his eyes cool. met with an accident,' said the man, fixed on him. Tizzah continued with his eyes glued on him. 'I met your bro­ his meal, unconcerned about people's ther, Peter, last week and he said no­ curiosity. A sense of pity compelled thing about your accident.' the new arrival to show sympathy to­ 'Mind your own business. Even wards the hungry man and, beckoning, if I was dead, you would be happy in­ he tossed a coin on his tattered cap. ./':":"'y 531 stead of mourning.' 'Thank you,' said Tizzah with a lti&;'••''•• *;-: " "'••!•% Tizzah, his face contorted with 1 hoarse voice, clutching his tattered hat fury, made a deep sound through his with its few coins. He moved to a throat and swung his stick at this in­ Chinese restaurant. quisitive man. One of the plain-clothes Entering, he was subjected to policemen confronted the man, closely bumps and jabs from late shoppers followed by his companion. Eagerness while he bought a packet of chips and was written on their faces. slices of bread, and perched himself on 'Do you know him?' quizzed a chair at a corner table. While he was one of the policemen. 'Yes, he was my pal and I am certain that he is not a Conversation Piece continued cripple.' The policemen looked at Tizzah, he yielded. From that night the two their faces tightening. One of them made love in the living-room while the struck a match and burned the string husband slept. On the sixth night they while his friend unwrapped the con­ were caught in action. The ailing man tents covering the legs. People came emptied his Smith & Wesson ,38 into running from all directions to see the his brother's skull. The professor goes bogus cripple. on and on with his narrative until, af­ 'Move out, now,' yelled the man 'I am unable to stand up and ter kissing the receiver loudly and at him, pointing a finger at the door walk,' he pleaded, pointing a finger at uttering soporific goodbyes, he drops which was slightly ajar. Tizzah pro­ his legs. it ceeded to move, not paying any atten­ The policeman raised his hand The Professor, with an air of tion to this man. His bloodshot eyes and lashed out at him but he remained dignity and sympathy, tells Pula that were glued on the ground. glued to the ground without uttering a he was talking to the 'big baas' but has 'Move out, you dirty pig,' re­ word. He was pulled by the policemen been told that the appointment forms peated the man. towards the police van, walking pro­ will only be available after three Tizzah stood staring at him. The perly now without displaying any sign months. man held his ground when he tried to of injury. The police van door jerked For three pregnant seconds move forward. Then like lightning the open and he was thrust in. His eyes black and white stand tete-a-tete. In si­ labourer grabbed him by the collar of stared on the ground, unable to with­ lence they curse each other for mutual his shirt and tossed him out of the toi­ stand countless faces fixed on him. double-crossing. The transparent iron let. A single push sent him flying like Some of his victims made threatening curtain between them becomes thicker an acrobat performing breathtaking gestures while others were laughing at in their eyes. Thanks to the architect movements. A pile of papers, a sack him. The police van pulled away mov­ of this building, the impressions cry­ and a roll of plastic were scattered on ing down Commissioner street to John stallizing in this moment will live on the floor. He picked up his 'luggage' Vorster Square. for these two men. Pula decides to and quickly disappeared into a dark break the thick ice. 'Thank you very alley. He stumbled over some bricks much for what you have done for me and fell. His heart was pounding heav­ Illustration by — I will call again after three months.' ily against his ribs. He wrapped his legs Vusi Zwane This comes out in fluent and perfect with an old sack, stuffed it with news­ Afrikaans. Take a bow. papers, and bound the plastic sheet

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 RUSTENBURG/KIMBERLEY

SOUL'S DISPARITY

We came from faraway, from a land of darkness and continuous wars; Where light seemed very strange to watch, the roads there were dangerous with dongas gaping at the sun.

When shall we see the sun again in this droning night resistant to sleep? THIS OUR LAND And caress the warm breeze from seas of fraternity and love? You did not want to take my hand in this our very own land — We felt western belief embracing change in our sleep Like you I came from this very earth We drank this to our fill Like yours it is the land of my birth — and now we have our eyes glued on the moon! I too love the table mountain O, how we sheltered our heads I also love the very same city fountain — under roofs of civilisation . . . And froze our hopes in regrets I love the birds as they sing in the trees for having allowed poor souls to practise an I love the wide open spaces and the breeze — alien life! Like your heart mine cries out too But every day; when civilisation enlightens our souls, when I see the beauty of our skies so blue — we drag our feet in despair .. . Yet, in this our very land Motlase Mogotsi/Rustenburg I may not take you by the hand —

For yours is white and mine is black THE PRIDE OF TSHOSA A MOTSISI And here life may not be like that Even though our hearts sing the same tune We survived his pride Even though our eyes shine for the same desert dune. from a mere nation to a populous recognition Noorie Cassim/Kimberley alongside his guidance a paddling boat of bright men Some leaders failed in direction WE KNOW LOVE withered and succumbed in unpatriotic defeats of unfaithfulness Oh people you shall not drown in your tears thus, in deep monstrous seas are buried But tears shall bathe your wounds. meeting graves so much disliked! We had a voice with which to ride any breeze Oh people, you shall not die from hunger which received strays destituted by wars But hunger shall feed your souls. and rekindled the hope of free thinking near the ruins of Matlotleng Oh people, you are not weak in your suffering the pride of Tshosa, son of Motsisi! But strong and brave with knowing.

Motlase Mogotsi/Rustenburg Oh people, if you have known struggle Only then are you capable of loving.

I'M AFRAID TO GO HOME Oh people, be aware of the love you have

Miles away and behind closed doors. Let not your tears submerge it My wife Lorato, fully dressed, and busy with supper. Let not your hunger eat it Although singing joyfully awaiting me, she'll sleep Let not your suffering destroy it — cold today. Oh people, bitterness does not replace a grain of love: Through the forest, behind mountains — Let us be awake in our love. Muffled voices are there, waiting . . . thus, I'm afraid to go home. Noorie Cassim/Kimberley

Under eyes of frightened stars, here I am, alone and afraid to go home.

Loneliness, watching me through the powers of the night here I am, alone and afraid to go home.

Ah, life in wild forest, frightened heart, oh, yes, my wife Lorato will sleep alone tonight.

Miles away and behind closed doors. My wife Lorato, fully dressed, and busy with supper.

Motlase Mogotsi/Rustenburg

4 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 MADI/KATLEHONG

The name MADI is derived from the acronym made from the first letters in music, arts and drama, and the i is taken from literature. This is, in short, what this Katlehong-based literary group is all about. In its infancy the group has already brought together a number of up and coming Katlehong artists, poets, writers and dramatists. Top of the group s regular activities is the Madi Arts Fair. The first of these monthly Fairs was in January where CYA.s musical group, Babupi, were the central attraction, and an extract from Matsemela Manaka's play, Egoli, was performed. A weekly Arts Academy for the serious study of the arts, conducted by invited experts, is run by the group at the Katlehong Art Centre in Phooko Section. Madi is destined to be a milestone in the appreciation of the arts in Katlehong. Madi writefs who have appeared in previous issues of Staffrider are Letshaba Thubela and Moloto waMoloto.

TSHISA-NYAMA

The very fact that it is isolated THE MOON AND THE SUN From other shops proves the reality: This a Bantu Special Restaurant Created in Time Owned by all Italian team-mates. Both belong above. Each seems to hate the other, The pap, you braai till it turns chocolate brown For the one's existence depends The meat and the wors, you leave in the red oven on the other's disappearance. Till it resembles our customers' colour. The binnegoetes, you leave half-raw, half-cooked. How striking a similarity Is posed by man. The shop, you don't label the name. Just like the moon and the sun The tables must be of hard steel, the chairs as well. Men assume The plates must be of aluminium, One man's poison The spoons, big, round and rusty. Is another man's meat. The advertisement must be fuming smoke At our peril they thrive, That is burning meat and pap. Our tears bring them joy Let a Bantu man call it Tshisa-nyama, Though their time has run out; We don't mind the queries and all such. And the sun must shine, the moon must go Albeit for a while: The soup must be made from a cheap recipe, so they were created in Time. The ingredients as costless as ever. The sweets must be sticky, and also Dube-Dubes. Tebello Radebe Cigarettes? mainly B.B., Lexington and Mboza.

When he orders he must be as audible as a motor horn. LOVE Should he warble like a swallowing Bull, Give him any item in front of you — Mother, what is love? He'll not lodge even a single complaint. Is love to love anyone of the opposite sex? Is it to love my fellow man? Business manners — not applicable to him. Just shout at him: 'Funani Bhizzah?' Love is said to be free, He'll never wrinkle — 'Funa Pap en Steik!' not so? And then draw shekels from a dirty horseshoe-pouch. But for me love is not free. If love is free Same, must be wrapped in an inky Newspaper Why can't I love He must eat outside on the dusty stoep everybody on earth? Who does he think will clean for him After finishing with all those remnants? Love is said to be a winner? Now I know who is the best loser. The suitable drinks served are usually: When I was a child AI Mageu, Hubby-bubbly and Pint — I loved everybody If he wants something decent, try next door! through the help of Modimo We sell only Bantu appetising stuff here.

But now my love isn't as free He must eat like a pig stuck in the mud, as before His teeth, must emphasize the echo of the for my love is oppressed Battle with the whitish-pink coarse tongue. by molao He's mos never taught any table decency!

And my love turns It is a restaurant designed solely for Bantus. to hate. No other race has any business to interfere, How I, who used to hate hate before The food sold here is absolutely fire-smelling: love hate now! Sies! I'll never eat that kind of junk! Ga!

Maupa Kadiake Tshisa Thixo safa Yindelelo!

Daizer Mqhaba

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 MADI/KATLEHONG

Napo Mokoena/ Untitled

%•,.*

Napo Mokoena/ Infatuation Moses Setlo/ Dancing Mmathitelo

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 THE WRECK

Man in himself is born to die. He comes forth in bloom and freshness, 3? like a flower to droop and wither away under the very influences which at first he successfully resists.

Man in himself and in his history is like a ship at sea, at first riding triumphantly over the waters in which he at last, be the voyage long or short sinks and disappears.

Death is passed upon all men, for that all have sinned. It is appointed unto men once to die, and however brightly or usefully a man may pursue his course here, warding off the power under which eventually he will succumb, yet the time comes when he must bow to the power of death.

Man in his brightest day is but a ship in trim, with all her sails set, but sooner or later she must become a wreck, and the greater or grander the ship, the greater the wreck. And so shall the end of man be, for he is a sinner and the wages of death is sin.

Death is appointed unto men because of sin. But after this is the judgement. This is the second death. Moses Setlo/ The Tough Bite So, every man must one day come to the end Of his particular road, When his journey through life is concluded: and the man who is good at anything ought not to calculate his chances of living or dying.

Bonang Mohale

MY NAME Nomgqibelo Ncamisile Mnqhibisa

Look what they have done to my name . . . the wonderful name of my great-great-grandmothers Nomgqibelo Ncamisile Mnqhibisa

The burly bureaucrat was surprised. What he heard was music to his ears 'Wat is daai, se nou weer?' 'I am from Chief Daluxolo Velayigodle of emaMpodweni And my name is Nomgqibelo Ncamisile Mnqhibisa.'

Messia, help me! My name is so simple and yet so meaningful, but to this man it is trash . . .

He gives me a name Convenient enough to answer his whim: I end up being Maria . . . I. . . Nomgqibelo Ncamisile Mnqhibisa.

Magoleng wa Selepe

Moses Setlo/ Midnight Story

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 7 KENTUCKY, USA

AWAKENING/ a story by/AMELIA HOUSE

Into the fleapit. A collection of missed and lose my pension.' i suppose there were not more than drunks, junkies, prostitutes, robbers — a Sergeant de Vos had witnessed these fifty. Even ten Blacks would be a crowd gathering of human debris. Although scenes nightly but he had grown tired of to you.' trying to hide himself, the fat, little man crusading — tilting at windmills. 'I mean hundreds. They were singing in the corner was perhaps most notice­ if I call Mr. Peterson now, he will be and shouting.' able of all. He clutched a satchel under able to fetch his son before midnight. 'Singing is no crime.' one arm, while he tried to wipe the dirt Eric will then not have to appear in The driver ignored Eric's interrup­ off his neat, dark-blue, pin-striped suit. court. Strange though, I thought his son tion. His round face and bald head shone al­ didn't smoke or drink. That family 'A young boy led them. I won't be though this belied the dullness he felt doesn't deserve the disgrace.' surprised if he isn't a Varsity student. inside. Two women chatted loudly as Sergeant de Vos almost welcomed Give those people a little education and they leaned against a side wall. Their the commotion he heard from the cells. they all become agitators. What does the hair had been freshly hot-combed for He could not risk the other policemen native want with education?' the evening's work; lips were made knowing of the phone call. Eric did not want to hear a long ti­ rounder and fuller with pillar-box red For Eric it had been another late rade about the ungratefulness of the na­ lipstick. Both smoked defiantly. Their evening. He had to attend lectures at the tive, but he was anxious to find out the 'Evening-in-Paris' perfume would nor­ University after a day's teaching. He events of the day. He felt as if he had mally be offensively overpowering but taught English and Science at the High emerged from hibernation. He let the here it was a welcomed smell. It pene­ School and was studying at night to driver drone on. trated the mixture of lingering dagga, complete his Bachelor's Degree in Eng­ 'That young boy led the group from sour wine and beer, sweat and urine. lish and Economics. Every Wednesday Langa all the way to Cape Town. That's Two drunks lay, out cold, on the floor. evening he worked in the library until it easy twenty miles, I guess. They went to A number of other regulars filled the closed at half-past nine. He had to sprint the Court House, Caledon Square, with pit. They were the night's take and to the stop to get the last bus down to some petition.' would appear before the magistrate in the railway station. After a long day, he 'Lord knows they have enough to the morning. did not want to face a three mile walk. complain about,' muttered Eric. 'Here's a teacher. Perhaps you can Tonight the streets were deserted. He 'Their leader made a big speech. He teach him something. They're the high felt as if everybody had gone to shelter said they had no weapons. It was a and mighty, hey!' cackled the police­ from a threatening storm. peaceful demonstration. Any fool man. knows those knobkieries they walk with 'How's about a show then?' shouted You students spend time on Ancient are powerful weapons.' one of the customers. History and don't know what's happen­ 'Hardly a match for guns.' 'Yea. Down, Mr. Library. Teach ing right now. 'They demanded this, that and the them to say "Please, my Basie!" Do it other. The Commandant was clever nicely down on your knees.' 'I seem to be the only one around though. He said he would speak to the Eric had no will to argue. tonight. I didn't see Dr. Jay in the lib­ leader if the crowd went away.' 'That's nice. Hands together. Hey, rary,' he chatted to the bus driver. 'So the people once more fell for you, join the show. You can piss all over Normally a White driver might resent that old trick.' this nice teacher.' the over-friendliness from a Coloured, 'You know, those stupid people had A tough looking young man stepped but this driver had driven the Varsity to be shot at first before they would go forward. Even in his complete abjection, bus so long that he knew most of the away. I suppose the Commandant is Eric sensed that this scene had been students. still speaking to their leader.' staged before. The other actors were re­ 'Dr. Jay probably knew how to save 'You mean he was arrested,' Eric in­ gulars in their roles. Eric realised he his skin. Got away early. Agitator. They voluntarily commented. could only endure this by removing his can give him a fancy title — Professor of 'No. He was allowed to go in with his mind from this terrible scene. African Studies — he's nothing but a petition.' The driver pretended not to At the desk, the clerk for the night damn Communist. I wouldn't be driving know the true nature of the interview. was going through Eric's belongings. He the bus if I didn't have to. It's the bread 'Those peaceful Kaffirs swarmed into a was a middle-aged man who had not and butter for my family. Today was riot. Their swinging kieries caused as progressed beyond sergeant. A kindly terrible.' much damage as locusts do to a crop. man who believed in giving the offen­ 'What happened?' I'll be glad to be home. My wife must be ders a chance to mend their ways. When 'Where've you been? Everybody was worried. Emergency radio messages he joined the service, he believed he warned to stay home because of the were broadcast. Warnings to clear the would be able to affect some change. He riots.' streets.' found Eric's name and address in his 'What riots?' 'How many shots were fired by the wallet. He recognised it as that of the 'Didn't you hear the radio? I suppose police?' postman on their beat. you were busy in the archives. You stu­ The driver still ignored Eric's com­ 'I thought he looked familiar. Those dents spend time on Ancient History ments. young policemen seem to belong to an­ and don't know what's happening right 'The shopkeepers quickly bolted other breed. They would hate to see any now. That's education for you. I hope their stores. The kieries smashed win­ offender go straight. They delight in my children learn more useful things.' dows and displays were looted. The crime. Seek out crime or even create it. 'Who started the riots?' damage was terrible.' I wish I had the courage to speak out. 'I was driving up the road when I saw 'How many were shot in the back?' I'm sure Eric Peterson is innocent. If I the huge crowd of natives. They were 'Their leader's interview will be a speak out now I will probably be dis­ like swarming locusts.' long one.'

8 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 KENTUCKY, USA

They were betrayed if he was arres­ 'I'm asking nicely, Teach. All I want them, their ready wit and sense of hu­ ted. What else can we expect?' is a cigarette,' he nudged Eric. mour were admired and copied. 'Why do you Coloureds at Varsity 'Oh, yes. I don't smoke, but here you 'Kenilworth. Kenilw-o-r-th .. . Wyn- always side with the Natives?' can buy some.' berg. . . next stop!' the conductor 'We all belong to the Oppressed.' The next moment Eric had knuckle­ shouted. 'You all become Communists at that dusters under his nose. The skolly stood Home was near. He could almost place. What can you expect — when over him. smell the good food. What a long day. even a Native is a Professor. Your par­ 'I'm the gentle fellow. I do like your He was out and headed for the bridge ents want you to be decent. My children watch. I'm not violent. I annex proper­ before the train had completely stop­ will not go up that mountain to that ty peaceably.' ped. Home. Then he remembered ivy-covered building — Communist Eric wanted to protest. That was the that the bridge was now 'Whites Only.' breeding place. They'll go to Stellen- first watch he ever owned — bought He doubled back to the other end of the bosch.' with his first pay cheque. He handed platform. He had to use the subway. On Eric did not care to comment. over his watch. He knew better than to this station the policemen were also well 'At Stellenbosch they will know they argue. Two other skollies were watch­ represented. Their absence would have are Afrikaners. ing. surprised him. Only two other passen­ The driver had started on one of his 'Tell us the time on your own Big gers had got off. Here too the people favourite topics. Ben.' seemed in hiding. He felt the need to get 'There are too many Jews at this 'He doesn't know how to tell time,' home quickly. place. The Ikies try to be nice to every­ teased one of the two onlookers. He ran down the steps and jumped body. That doesn't work. We can't all The one had put on the watch but he the last two. Instead of landing on his be bosses. As we Afrikaners say, if I'm still stood over Eric as if deciding what feet, he found himself carried a few boss and you're boss, who will grease next to annex. paces by two policemen. the wagon wheels?' 'Where do you think you're going? Eric retreated to his reading. You're not supposed to be on the He could not concentrate. He streets.' thought of Dr. Jay. They usually rode 'Ja. Everybody was warned to be off the bus together. Had he heard of the the streets.' riots? Dr. Jay lived in Langa. 'I've been to the library.' As the bus reached the railway sta­ 'An educated Coloured, geleerde tion, Eric recalled the driver's account. Hotnot You've been to the bar. Look The police were out in force. With trun­ how drunk you are.' cheons and guns at the ready, they were 'I'm not drunk. I don't drink.' prepared for an invasion. 'Shut up. Hou jou bek, Hotnot.' Just as Eric got to the station, he saw 'Hey, pal, leave the teacher alone,' A kick landed. He was bounced from Dr. Jay get out of a car. one whined. 'I know his Dad. Used to one policeman to the other. Satchel Dr. Jay was immediately pounced teach me Sunday School.' ripped out of his hands. Contents on the on. Even Eric almost joined in the ground. Was he watching a replay of the 'Where's your pass, Kaffir?1 the laughter that was evoked by the idea Dr. Jay incident? Was it really happen­ policeman demanded. that any of them had attended Sunday ing to him? Dr. Jay fumbled untidily in the School. 'Communist books, hey?' pockets of his neat dark-blue pinstriped Eric offered no comment. He knew The books and papers were trampled suit. His satchel was pulled out of his the rules. If he tried to defend himself, on. Eric watched his term's work dis­ hand, the contents strewn on the he might be beaten up, even stripped. appear. ground. He did not want to relive that experi­ One policeman produced bottles of 'Quick. Your pass!' ence. That had happened to him in wine. He put one into Eric's satchel. 'That's Professor Jay. How can you College. 'You don't drink? What's this wine treat him like that?' Eric blurted. Although the skollies terrified Eric, doing in your bag?' 'Shut up. Do you want to be arrested he could not help feeling a sadness at Eric opened his mouth to protest. for obstructing justice?' the waste of their lives. They could be The other policeman had opened a Dr. Jay attempted to retrieve his making a positive contribution to their bottle. He poured the wine into Eric's books and papers. He joined them as he community. A few of the skollies came mouth and over his clothing. was knocked down. from good homes, but they allowed 'Don't be so greedy. You can't drink 'You Communists teach decent themselves to be ruled by the 'tough quick enough. Why do you spill so Kaffirs to riot. You're the cause of the leaders.' Some of them even had some much? Look at your clothes.' trouble we had today.' schooling. They bolstered their man­ 'Constable, do you think this man is Eric's train arrived. How could he hood with dagga and knife-fights. None drunk?' erase the picture of Dr. Jay on the of them had regular jobs, so they preyed 'Stinking drunk!' pavement amid his books? He could not mainly on the 'decent people' in their Eric looked like a confused little boy concentrate on his reading. Usually he own community. They wore pants cut between the burly policemen. He was buried himself in a book for the half- off below the knees, caps with peaks to often mistaken for one of the senior hour ride. Tonight he stared blankly out the side or back. They walked with a students. His students called him 'the the window at the dark mountain. Table special skip-step — both hands in pants' absent-minded professor' because he Mountain seemed to cast a shadow over pockets stuck out to the sides. They was always lost in his own world. He the whole world tonight. usually had gang affiliations and often was more comfortable with books than 'Good evening, Teach. Gotta cigar­ congregated on street corners. There people. At home he was adored by his ette for me?' they rolled dice, sang and smoked two sisters who never failed to wait up Eric continued to stare. dagga. Although the community feared for him every night. His parents still

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 9 KENTUCKY, USA protected him as if he were in junior too drunk to walk? We'll drag you.' You both looked so stupid.' school. Eric decided to comply. The humilia­ 'I'll do it to you if you don't shut up. 'Come from the library? Where's ting parade up Main Road and Church Then your Evening-in-pissland-Paris will your books? Only a bottle of wine. Street to the police station must be en­ smell real good. Dronklap, drunkard.' dured. A flashing knife signalled a free-for- 'Siesl You're stinking. All Coloureds Into the flea pit. all. Some of the regulars took their drink cheap wine.' 'You, punk, do you enjoy pissing chance to land a few blows on the Handcuffs slapped on. over somebody? Being piss-drunk you policemen in the scramble. The police­ Eric tried to say something. The have enough for your show. Sies. You're men had to take the blows during their policemen were enjoying their jokes and too weak to say no to that pig! efforts to restore order. did not want to be interrupted. One Mr. Tough, like hell.' Eric wished he had the courage to slapped him across the face. Knocked Eric heard one of the women trying land a few on those policemen as he his glasses off. to put an end to the show. crawled to the side of the cell to avoid 'Come Jong, kom. We're not going to 'You enjoyed the show before.' the feet and fists as best he could. carry you. You have to walk. Are you 'Yes. You and another Mr. Tough.

KLIPSPRUIT

Ingoapele Madingoane's epic poem, black trial, became part of a new popular cul­ ture before it was ever printed. Many thousands of people have heard him read, of­ ten backed by the musicians and poets of the MIHLOTI GROUP, black trial is of­ ten recited by other performers, and is fast becoming a part of the lives of its audi­ ence. It will be published by Ravan Press in March, as part of Madingoane's first book, africa my beginning. The cover drawing is by Fikile.

In this issue we publish an extract from black trial

little hector died and africa went on mourning for the other three ongkgopotse mapetla abantu biko in the heart of africa africans shall meet as one not forgetting and africa uta swemakiswahili to seal the african bond before the others as they said i die ancestors of africa how i long to be there fulanis of nigeria jies of Uganda in that part of you africa eastafrican mbutis abantu tirikis and drink from the calabash you've taken away from us umuthi we inkululeko spirits of your power before i die as ancestors of africa how i long to be there africa where all of africa shall dance marabi nigeria Uganda congo & liberia from the beat malombo leaders have emerged without power while elders drink pombe sufficient from likhamba eligaywe o-makoti to help africa shake off this burden be-sizwe before i die ancestors of africa how i long africa to see strong warriors singing the strumming of tabane and the emphasis of bebyi chanting songs of expectation on the traditional cowhide sounds african soil from thobejane's african drums i would be so glad if i too was one medupe's meditations might have been before i die enough music and message how i long to be loved africa by that in the service of all men african woman in africa ancestors of africa as lonely as the river nile in the blazing desert Sahara waiting ancestors of africa oh hear our cries for the man of her heart to slip on the rivers and valleys have turned red that canemade ring on the finger that fields and bushes have gone bare points out while you went to ask the path to our future for permit before i die tarzan is trekking our bases how i long africa o swema kiswahili ancestors of africa your black gold has to appear african as africa gone have with me a family to love colourful ancestors of africa i would be glad that i was black ancestors of africa oh hear our cries before i die

10 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 MBAKASIMA/EVATON/SEBOKENG

WHY, TUMELO MY SON? a short story by Mandla Sibeko

Many people saw him coming with sponsible for such a thing? It was the ruins of the church, it dawned on the paper bag. As he approached the alleged that he had brought a paper bag her that a petrol bomb had been used in Anglican Church, he joined the chorus along the day before. Their trust in this blowing up the church. The pieces of sung before entering. The young people young man whom they had loved bottle which might once have contained within the church were jubilant to see eroded, leaving the dongas of despair the petrol were nowhere to be found. It him. This was their leader, the chairman and hate. The church authorities were had been alleged that a Russian bomb of the Crusade. surely going to denounce them for ever had been used by Tumelo. Quite a lot was done on that day by accepting an outsider who was so Tokoloho met individual members of the youth, by way of drowning frustra­ destructive. the Crusade and re-organized them. tion before it drowned them. Late in At Tumelo's home they were not Their new meeting place became her the afternoon they left the church in shocked when the cops came to pick home. She showed them what she had groups, filled with jubilation. Tumelo, him up, for this was not the first time. discovered in the ruins of the church. the chairman, was the last to leave the But when news reports in the press were Tshidi, one member of the Crusade, was vicinity. He had locked the church and read the next morning, despair descen­ the first to recognize that piece of pa­ closed the windows as usual. ded upon them, too. Both parents could per. Yes she had seen it on the bottle Rev. Ntokozo and his wife, Ma- not believe what they read. Tokoloho, which was carried by Tshokolo, one of Moriti as she was commonly known, the younger sister of Tumelo, even her suitors. It dawned on her that Tsho­ were proud of this young man Tumelo. dared to denounce the reported news as kolo was an informer, and an arch­ They loved him for his character, his an outright lie. She was determined to rival of the late Tumelo. Tshokolo's sis­ ability to organize and motivate the dig out the truth about the whole ter, who was offered a scholarship to youth. He wasn't a member of their matter. Zambia, had brought some Zambian denomination, but of their society. To The following day came the most vinegar home. She said it was particular­ him barriers of difference had melted. shattering news: 'YOUNG MAN COM­ ly tasty. He could speak close to six of the MITS SUICIDE! DENIED ALLEGA­ The members of the youth crusade languages spoken by their various TIONS OF BOMBING THE CHURCH!' went to Tshokolo's home and deman­ neighbours, though by nationality he The young man who had been arrested ded that he show them a bottle of Zam­ was a Tswana. in connection with the bombing of the bian vinegar. Tshokolo, shocked by the On that very same night a tragic inci­ church had hanged himself in his cell. discovery, confessed to bombing the dent occurred. The Anglican Church Tumelo wasn't the suicidal type. It church and telling the cops that Tumelo was blown to smithereens by a bomb. was unbelievable. The youth crusade had, on the grounds that he had seen This occurred at about 10 p.m. The ru­ vowed to find the people responsible for him carrying a paper bag. Tshokolo's mours of this incident spread to the the destruction of the church and re­ confession gave a new complexion to whole township in less than an hour. At venge Tumelo's death. To Tumelo's the whole matter. The three cops who 3 a.m. the next day, Tumelo was picked parents this was a blow beyond reco­ had interrogated Tumelo confessed to up by the Security Police. very. They were thrown into a deep having beaten him during the interroga­ 'Church Blown Up! Young man melancholia and their mental state tion, which resulted in his losing consci­ arrested!' This was the style of the head­ wandered forever in the thin borderline ousness and never again regaining it. lines that morning. Members of the that separates the sane from the insane. Tshokolo was sentenced to eight years church, milling like bees early in the Tumelo's funeral drew thousands of in prison for sabotage. The three cops morning at the scene, were murmuring people, some coming from afar. It was each got five years in prison for the and whispering to each other. The news one funeral that will never be forgotten murder. got around that Tumelo had been arres­ by the people there. Rev. Ntokozo was The church has been re-constructed ted. One church elder exploded: 'That pardoned by the church elders for what and next to it is the large youth centre young bastard, leaving his cursed de­ occurred but he could not pardon which was constructed by the commu­ nomination to do this here! Why were himself for cursing and condemning nity. Tokoloho is now the ever-jovial Rev. Ntokozo and Ma-Moriti so blind!' Tumelo. Somehow it was evident that leader of the youth crusade which holds Someone backing up the old man from Tumelo was innocent. its meetings there. Many constructive the crowd said: 'He wanted to establish Tokoloho, Tumelo's sister whose ideas for the benefit of society are put a god-cursed inter-denominational heart was hardened by this occurrence, into practice here. The Rev. and Ma- youth movement. Now look at the and her inner yearnings for justice and moriti love Tokoloho very much — results!' freedom deepened, almost went crazy. this may be in part the payment of a This was the hardest blow to She felt it her duty to clear the name of debt. Tokoloho's parents are both in a Rev. Ntokozo and his wife, Ma-Moriti. her brother. When she picked up a piece mental asylum and may never leave it. Of all people, how could Tumelo be re- of paper advertising Zambian vinegar at

WHAT IS DEATH? Death is deep sleep. To live everlasting life. Doctor, what is death? Grave-digger, what is death? Mother, what is death? Death is when brains and heart Death is hard work for me. Death is a stray bullet, Cease to function. Undertaker, what is death? That hit your sister at school. Hangman, what is death? Death is profit. Father, what is death? Death is a day's job. When they cry all the way to the cemetery Death is when your brother Priest, what is death? I laugh all the way to the bank. Dies in detention. Death is a chariot which Teacher, what is death? Takes us to our Heavenly Father, Abia Ramalebo Diutloileng

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 11 SHARPEVILLE

THREE POEMS BY MATIME PAPANE AND THAMSANQA ZONDO

BURNING HUT

It burns And rains ashes DEATH WITHOUT COMPROMISE Down to the ochre Smeared and hardened He who has no heart knows no compromise, By those hard and black fingers He who knows change knows he cannot Of an Ndebele maid. compromise change, For the truth of change is the truth of I sleep And now it smells, growth, In my box Making fuel And today Azania stands on the threshold of Away from pass-men justice and liberty. For a downfall But a knock To its own destruction. Comes at my window Hearty men in harmony with justice Seeking my soul Experience the joyous pains of change, Quiet down, fire For a permit But the heartless experience the sting of that Slow up your roar: For a pass: pain. Do not molest I am a staffrider. These souls, Sweet are the fruits of pain, And sour the fruits of pain: Souls in flames, My life Dead souls. For now Azania moves and the apples of life Is a number, Are at hand: Eat Brother! Eat Sister! My life Be happy in suffering, for opium is sent Ndebele clan It is not worth a history, packing, Take hold of your power An absurd story. And change is on the doormat of my father's Thatch is burning I live house. Like a staffrider Hurry up, woman On the pavement But for a heartless man life is vanity, Incite the river And vanity knows no compromise: By the wheels To a mere metre's distance An enemy of mankind. Of the S.A.R. loco's. And bring thence the liquid In vanity they move and monopolise, For your burning hut, And you and me are their objects. I weep Quench your soul's thirst But for reality we stand, By day 'For life is earnest' — And rescue your art: And by night, out And for that we die, and must die. African hut, I cry Mighty art. Like an orphan How cruel death seems to be, Like a widow And how painless it is, Matime Papane/Sharpeville In it change is not compromised, For her widower: And great is the man who knows this fact, I am hungry And experiences this fact. And staffriding, STAFFRIDER My life But woe to men of vanity An uncertain life. In the alleys of arrogance and ignorance they I ride move, And hang High up on a crane In luxury the dance! dance! dance! On a moving locomotive, I toil, They don't know this fact: a great man has My soul Build, died. It hangs in air. And smarten this city. I am a staff rider: Like the sun, Azania rose on that day, for a Low down My life Flower of progress died, and scattered On a pavement It is staffriding. Its celestial seeds: I beg On fertile soil did they fall, Like a leper: And the sun of Azania became hot I go to school I am hungry, As it rose, To Unisa Unemployed or not, And it rained as the sun set. To 'Turf and all: My life the My life is staff ridden, Life of a staffrider. Thamsanqa Zondo/Sharpeville My future It is bleak. Guns and bullets I They barrel And my life And brim We live On my side A life unworthy: Of the cities I am a staffrider. I've built: They want my soul, I turn My trespass. By that Eloff, Right here By that Commissioner: I've laboured, 'Dompass!' Right here They seek me out I'll be shot: For a book unworthy: I am black, I am a staffrider. I am a staffrider I am black I am a staffrider. Matime Papane/Sharpville

12 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 CAPE TOWN

RTVA/a story by /Richard Rive

A cold, misty July afternoon about University. What more could one want? ous to know to whom the laugh be­ twenty years ago. I first met Riva 'I'm sure that at a pinch I could longed, though far too self-conscious to Lipschitz under the most unusual cir­ make it,' I teased George. 'I speak Eng­ join the group immediately. I strained cumstances. At that time I was a first lish beautifully and am educated well to hear scraps of conversation. Now and year student majoring in English at beyond my intelligence.' then I could make out George's voice University, one of the rare Coloured 'My deal Paul, it won't help. You are and the low, soft Afrikaans of the rang­ students then enrolled at Cape Town. far too Coloured, University of Cape ers. There was also another voice which When I first saw her Riva's age seemed Town and all. You are far, far too sounded feminine, but nevertheless indefinable. Late thirties? Forty per­ brown. And in addition you have a lou­ harsh and screechy. My curiosity was haps? Certainly more than twenty years sy address.' getting the better of me. I climbed out older than I was. The place we met in I collapsed in mock horror. 'You of the sleeping bag and as unobtrusively was as unusual as her appearance. The can't hold all that against me.' as possible joined the group around the Rangers' hut at the top of Table Moun­ Leonard grinned. He was not one for fire. The newcomer was a gaunt, angu­ tain near the Hely Hutchinson Reser­ saying much. lar White woman, extremely unattrac­ voir, three thousand feet above Cape We trudged on, instinctively skirting tive, looking incongruous in heavy, ill- Town. both club huts as widely as possibe, un­ fitting mountaineering clothes. She was George, Leonard and I had been til we reached At last, which was ten the centre of the discussion and enjoy­ climbing all day. George was talkative, minutes slogging away, just over the ing it. She was in the middle of making an extrovert, given to clowning. next ridge. A large main room with a a point when she spotted me. Her finger Leonard was his exact opposite, shy and very welcome fire going in the cast-iron remained poised in midair. introspective. We had gone through stove. How the hell did they get that 'And who may I ask is that?' She High School together but after matricu­ stove up there when our haversacks felt stared at me. I looked back into her lating they had gone to work while I like lead? Running off the main room hard, expressionless grey eyes. had won a scholarship which enabled were two tiny bedrooms belonging to 'Will someone answer me?' me to proceed to University. We had each of the rangers. We removed damp 'Who?' George asked grinning at my been climbing without rest all after­ haversacks and sleeping bags then took obvious discomfit noon, scrambling over rugged rocks off damp boots and stockings. Both 'Him. That's who.' damp with bracken and heavy with rangers were off duty and made room 'Oh him?' George laughed. 'He's mist. Twice we were lost on the path for us at the fire. They were small, wiry Paul. He's the greatest literary genius from India Ravine through Echo Valley. Plattelanders; a hard breed of men with the Coloured people have produced this Now soaking wet and tired we were wide-eyed, yellow faces, short hair and decade. He's written a poem.' finally in the vicinity of the Rangers' high cheekbones. They spoke a pleasant, 'How exciting, ' she dismissed me. hut where we knew we would find shel­ soft, gutteral Afrikaans with a distinct The others laughed. They were obvious­ ter and warmth. Some ranger or other Malmesbury brogue, and broke into ly under her spell. 'Let me introduce would be off duty and keep the fire easy laughter especially when they tried you. This is Professor Paul. First year warm and going. Someone with a sense to speak English. The smell of warming B.A., University of Cape Town.' of humour had called the hut At Last. It bodies filled the room and steam rose 'Cut it out,' I said very annoyed at couldn't be the rangers for they never from our wet shirts and shorts. It be­ him. George ignored my remark. spoke English. On the way we passed came uncomfortably hot and I felt 'And you are? I have already forgot­ the hut belonging to the white Moun­ sleepy, so decided to retire to one of the ten.' tain Club, and slightly below that was bedrooms, crawl into my bag and read She made a mock, ludicrous bow. another hut reserved for members of the myself to sleep. I lit a lantern and quiet­ 'Riva Lipschitz. Madame Riva Lipschitz. Coloured Club. I made some remark ly left the group. George was teasing the The greatest Jewish watch-repairer and about the White club house and the fact rangers and insisting that they speak mountaineer in Cape Town. Display that prejudice had permeated even to English. I was reading a novel about the shop, 352 Long Street.' the top of Table Mountain. massacre in the ravines of Babi Yar, 'Alright, you've made your point. 'For that matter we would not even gripping and revolting; a bit out of place Professor Paul — Madame Riva Lip­ be allowed into the Coloured Mountain in the unnatural calm at the top of a schitz.' Club hut,' George remarked, serious for cold, wet mountain. I was beginning to I mumbled a greeting, keeping well in once. doze off comfortably when the main the background. I was determined not 'And why not?' door of the hut burst open and a blast to participate in any conversation. I 'Because, dear brother Paul, to get in of cold air swept through the entire found George's flattering her loathsome. you can't only be Coloured, but you place, almost extinguishing the lantern. The bantering continued to the amuse­ must also be not too Coloured. You Before I could shout anything there ment of the two rangers. Leonard must have the right complexion, the were loud protests from the main room. smiled sympathetically at me. I re­ right sort of hair, the right address and The door slammed shut again and then mained poker-faced waiting for an speak the right sort of Walmer Estate followed what sounded like a muffled opportunity when I could slip away. English.' apology. A long pause, then I made out George made some amusing remark (I 'You mean I might not make it?' George saying something. There was a was not listening) and Riva snorted and 'I mean exactly that.' short snort which was followed by peals started to laugh. So that was where it I made rapid mental calculations. I of loud, uncontrolled laughter. I felt it came from. She saw the look of surprise was rather dark, had short, curly hair, was uncanny. The snort, then the on my face and stopped abruptly. came from Caledon Street in District rumbling laughter growing in intensity, 'What's wrong, Professor? Don't you Six, but spoke English reasonably well. then stopping abruptly. like the way I laugh?' After all I was majoring in it at a White By now I was wide awake and curi­ 'I'm sorry, I wasn't even thinking of

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 13 CAPE TOWN it; 'I don't. Only I don't like her type need to play up to Jews and Whites.' 'It makes no difference whether you and the way George is playing up to her. 'Now really, Paul,' George seemed were or not. Nevertheless I hate being Who the hell does she think she is, after hurt. 'Are you anti-Semitic as well as ignored. If the others can treat me with all? What does she want with us?' being anti-White?' My remark must have the respect due to me, why can t you? 'I really don't know. You heard she hit home. I'm like a queen, am I not George?' I said she was a watch-repairer somewhere 'No, I'm only anti-Riva Lipschitz.' wasn't sure whether she was serious or in Long Street. Be reasonable, Paul. 'Well anyhow, I like the way she not. She's just trying to be friendly.' laughs.' He attempted another imita­ 'You certainly are like a queen.' 'While playing the bloody queen? tion, but when he started to snort he 'Everyone loves me except the Pro­ Whom does she think she is because choked and collapsed to the floor fessor. Maybe he thinks too much.1 she's White.' coughing and spluttering. I rolled over 'Maybe he thinks too much of him­ 'Don't be like that. Come along with in my bag to sleep. self,' George added. us. She's just another person.' She snorted and started to laugh at George appeared grinning widely. He Three months later I was in the vici­ his witticism. George glowed with pride. attempted an imitation of Riva's snort. nity of Upper Long Street. George I took in her ridiculous figure and dress. 'You coming or not?' he asked laugh­ worked as a clerk at a furniture store in She WAS wearing a little knitted skull­ ing. For that moment I disliked him in­ Bree Street. I had been busy with an cap, far too small for her, from which tensely. assignment in the Hiddingh Hall library wisps of mousey hair were sticking. A 'I'm certainly not.' I rolled over in and had finished earlier than expected. I thin face, hard around the mouth and my bag to sleep. had not seen him since we had last gone grey eyes, with a large nose I had seen in 'Allright, if that's how you feel.' mountaineering, so strolled across to the caricatures of Jews. She seemed flat- I heard Riva calling for him, then af­ place where he worked. I wanted to ask chested under her thick jersey which ran ter a time she shouted 'Goodbye, Pro­ about himself, what he had been doing down to incredible stick-thin legs stuck fessor, see you again some time.' Then since last we met, about Riva. A senior into heavy woollen stockings and heavi­ she snorted and they went laughing out clerk told me that he had not come in ly studded climbing boots. at the door. The rangers were speaking that day. I wandered around aimlessly, 'Come on, Paul, be nice to Riva, softly and I joined them around the fire at a loss what to do next. I peered into George encouraged. then fell asleep there. I dreamt of Riva second-hand shops without any real 'Madame Riva Lipschitz, thank you. striding with heavy, impatient boots and interest. It was late afternoon on a dull, Don't you think I look like a queen, thin-stick legs over mountains of dead overcast day and it was rapidly getting Professor?1 bodies in the ravines of Babi Yar. She darker with the promise of rain in the I maintained my frigid silence. was snorting and laughing while pushing air. Upper Long Street and its surround­ 'Your Professor obviously does not bodies aside, climbing ever upwards over ing lanes seemed more depressing, more seem over-friendly. Don't you like dead arms and legs. beaten up than the rest of the city. Even Whites, Professor? I like everyone. I It must have been much later when more so than District Six. Victorian came over specially to be friendly with I awoke to the door's opening and a double-storied buildings containing you people.' stream of cold air rushing into the mean shops on the ground floors spilled 'Whom are you referring to as you room. The fire had died down and the over into mean side-streets and lanes. To people"?9 I was getting angry. She rangers were sleeping in their rooms. catch a bus home meant walking all the seemed temporarily thrown off her George and Leonard were stomping and way down to the bottom of Adderley guard at my reaction, but immediately beating the cold out of their bodies. Street. I might as well walk all the way controlled herself and broke into a 'You awake, Paul?' George shouted. back. Caledon Street, the noise, dirt and snort. Leonard shook me gently. squalor. My mood was as depressing as 'The professor is extremely sensitive. 'What scared you?' George asked, my immediate surroundings. I did not You should have warned me. He doesn't 'Why didn't you come and have coffee wish to stay where I was and at the like me but we shall remain friends all with the queen of Table Mountain?' same time did not wish to go home the same; won't we, Professor?' 'I can't stand her type. I wonder how immediately. What was the number she She shot out her hand for me to kiss. you can.' had said? 352 or 325? I peered through I ignored it. She turned back to George 'Come off it, Paul. She's great fun.' the windows of second-hand bookshops and for the rest of her stay pretended I George attempted a snort and then without any wish to go inside and was not present. When everyone was collapsed with laughter. browse. 352, yes that was it. Or 325? In busy talking I slipped out quietly and 'Shut up, you fool. You'll wake up any case I Jiad no money to buy books returned to the bedroom. the rangers. What the hell did she want even if I had the inclination to do so. Although falling asleep, I could pick here?' Had George been at work he might have up scraps of conversation. George George sat up, tears running down been able to shake me out of this mood, seemed to be explaining away my reac his cheeks. He spluttered and it pro­ raise my spirits. tion, playing the clown to her queen. duced more laughter. 'She was just I was now past the swimming baths. Then they forgot all about me. I must being friendly, dear brother Paul, just A dirty ily-spotted delicatessen store. have dozed off for I awoke suddenly to being friendly. Fraternal greetings from There was no number on the door, but find someone shaking my shoulder. It her Mountain club.' the name was boldly displayed. Madeira was Leonard. 'Her White Mountain club?' Fruiterers. Must be owned by some 'Would you like to come with us?1 'Well yes, if you put it that way, her homesick Portuguese. Next to it what 'Where to?' White Mountain club. She could hardly seemed like a dark and dingy watch­ 'Riva's Mountain Club hut. She's in­ join the Coloured one, now, could she? maker's. Lipschitz — Master Jewellers. vited us over for coffee, and to meet Wrong hair, wrong address, wrong This must be it. I decided to enter. A Simon, whoever he is.' laugh.' shabby, squat, balding man adjusted an 'No, I don't think I'll go.' 'I don't care where she goes as long eye-piece he was wearing and looked up 'You mustn't take her too seriously.' you keep her away from me. I have no from a work-bench cluttered with assor-

14 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 CAPE TOWN ted, broken watches. 'Nasty weather,' she said, 'Bad for ing sharply. The same cat? * Excuse me, are you Mr. Lipschitz?' I climbing.' Table Mountain was wrapped 'Here we are.' She unlocked the wondered whether I should add 'Master- in a dark mist. It was obviously ridicu­ door, entered and switched on a light. I Jeweller'. lous for anyone to climb at five o'clock was hesitant about following her inside. 'What exactly do you want?' He had on a weekday afternoon in heavy wea­ 'It's quite safe, I won't rape you,' she not answered my question. 'What can I ther like this. Nobody would be crazy snorted. This was a coarse remark. I do for you?' His accent was gutteral and enough. Except George perhaps. waited for her to laugh but she did not. foreign. I thought of Babi Yar. I was 'George,' she said as if reading my I entered, blinking my eyes. Large, high- about to apologise and say that I had thoughts. 'George. What was the other ceilinged, cavernous bed-sitter with a made some mistake when from the far one's name?' kitchen and toilet running off it. The side of the shop came an unmistakable 'Leonard.' room was gloomy and dusty. A double- snort. 'Oh yes, Leonard, I haven't seen him bed, round table, two uncomfor­ 'My goodness, if it isn't the Profess­ since the mountain. How is he getting table-looking chairs and a dressing table or!' and then the familiar laugh. Riva on?' I was panting to keep up with her. covered with bric-a-brac. There was a came from behind a counter. My eyes 'I don't see much of them except when heavy smell of mildew permeating had become accustomed to the gloomy we go climbing together. Leonard works everything. The whole building smelt of interior. The squat man was working in Epping and George is in Bree Street.' mildew. Why a double-bed? For her from the light filtering in through a 'I know about George.' How the hell alone or Simon and herself? dirty window. Rickety showcases and did she? 'You live here?' It was a silly ques­ counters cluttered with watches and 'I've come from his work. I wanted tion and I knew it. I wanted to ask 'You cheap trinkets. A cat-bin, still wet and to see him but he hasn't come in today.' live here alone or does Simon live here smelling pungently stood against the far 'Yes, I knew he wouldn't be in. So also?' Why should I bother about counter. you came to see me instead? I somehow Simon? 'What brings the Professor here? knew that one day you would put in an 'Yes, I live here. Have a seat. The Coming to visit me?' She nodded to the appearance.' bed's more comfortable to sit on.' I squat man indicating that all was in ord­ chose one of the chairs. It creaked as I er. He had already shoved back his eye settled into it. All the furniture must piece and was immersed in his work. have been bought from second-hand 'Come to visit the queen?' junk shops. Or maybe it came with the This was absurd. I could not imagine room. Nothing was modern. Jewish, anything less regal, more incongruous. Victorian, or what I imagined Jewish Riva, a queen. As gaunt as she had Victorian to be. Dickensian in a sort of looked in the Rangers's hut. Now wear­ decaying nineteenth century way. Riva ing an unattractive blouse and old- took off her coat. She was all bustle. fashioned skirt. Her face as narrow, 'Let's have some tea. I'll put on the strained and unattractive as ever. I had water.' Before I could refuse she dis­ to say something, explain my presence. appeared into the kitchen. I must leave 'I was just passing.' now. The surroundings were far too de­ 'That's what they all say. George said pressing. Riva was far too depressing. I so last time.' remained as if glued to my seat. She re­ What the hell did that mean? I start­ appeared. Now to make my apologies. I ed to feel uncomfortable. She looked at How the hell did she know? Was she spoke as delicately as I could, but it me almost coyly. Then she turned to in contact with George? I remained came out all wrongly. the squat man. quiet, out of breath with the effort of 'I'm very sorry, but I won't be able 'Simon, I think I'll pack up now. I keeping up with her. What on earth to stay for tea. You see, I really can't have a visitor.' He showed no sign that made me go into the shop of Lipschitz stay. I must get home. I have lots of he had heard her. She took a shabby — Master Jeweller? Who the hell was work to do. An exam tomorrow. Social coat from a hook. Lipschitz — Master Jeweller? Anthropology.' 'Will you be late tonight?' she asked The conversation had stopped. She 'The trouble with you, Professor, is him. Simon grumbled some unintellig­ continued the brisk pace, taking her that you are far too clever, but not ible reply. Was this Simon whom George fast, incongruous strides. Like stepping clever enough.' She sounded annoyed. and Leonard had met? Simon the from rock to rock up Blinkwater Ra­ 'Maybe you work too hard, far too mountaineer? He looked most unlike a vine, or Babi Yar. hard. Have some tea before you go.' mountaineer. Who the hell was he then? 'Here we are.' She stopped abruptly There was a twinkle in her eye again. Her boss? Husband? Lover? Lipschitz — in front of an old triple-storied Victor­ 'Or are you afraid of me?' the Master Jeweller? Or was she Lip­ ian building with brown paint peeling I held my breath, expecting her to schitz, the Master Jeweller? That off its walls. On the upper floors were laugh but she did not. A long pause. seemed most unlikely. Riva nodded to wide balconies ringed with wrought-iron 'No', I said at last, 'No, I'm not me to follow. I did so as there was no gates. The main entrance was cluttered afraid of you. I really do have an exam alternative. Outside it was dark already. with spilling refuse bins. tomorrow. You must believe me. I was 'I live two blocks down. Come along 'I'm on the first floor.' on my way home. I was hoping to see and have some tea.' She did not wait for We mounted a rickety staircase, then George.' a reply but began walking briskly, tak­ a landing and a long, dark passage lit at 'Yes, I know, and he wasn't at work. ing long strides. I followed as best I intervals by a solitary electric bulb. All You've said so before.' could half a pace behind. the doors, where these could be made 'I really must leave now.' 'Walk next to me,' she almost com­ out, looked alike. Riva stopped before 'Without first having tea? That would manded. I did so. Why was I going with one and rummaged in her bag for a key. be anti-social. An intellectual like you her? The last thing I wanted was tea. Next to the door was a cat litter smell­ should know that.'

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 15 CAPE TOWN

'But I don't want any tea, thanks.' 'I don't know why I came. Maybe it right then, Professor. If you must then The conversation was going around in was because you asked me.' you must. Don't let me keep you any meaningless circles. Why the hell could I 'You could have refused.' longer.' She looked almost pathetic that not go if I wished to? 'I tried to.' moment, staring dejectedly at the tray. 'You really are afraid of me. I can see 'But not hard enough.' This was not the Riva I knew. She was that.' 'Look, I'm going now. I have over­ straining to control herself. I felt dirty, 'I must go.' stayed my time.' sordid, sorry for her. 'And not have tea with the queen? Is 'Just a second.' She disappeared into 'Goodbye,' I said hastily and hurried it because I'm White? Or Jewish? Or be the kitchen. I could hear her switching out into the passage. I bumped into cause I live in a room like this?' off the stove then the clinking of cups. someone. Simon looked up surprised, I wanted to say 'It's because you're I stood at the door waiting for her to then mumbled some excuse. He looked you. Why can't you leave me alone?' I appear before leaving. at me puzzled and then entered the got up determined to leave. She entered with a tray containing room. 'Why did you come with me in the the tea things and a plate with some As I swiftly ran down the stairs I first place?' assorted biscuits. heard her snorting. Short pause and This was an unfair question. I had 'No thank you,' I said determined then peals of uncontrolled laughter. I not asked to come along. There was a that nothing would keep me, 'I said I stumbled out into Long Street. hiss from the kitchen where the water was leaving and I am.' was boiling over onto the plate. She put the tray on the table. 'All-

CAPE POETS

F.H. Adkins, Roy Joseph Cotton, Peter Horn, Mike Dues, Allan Kolski Horwitz, Keith Adams, Avril Swart

SETTING THE MAP ENCOUNTER IN THE NIGHT In the hard times Going home in a mellowed mood, even the firefly loses its glow the brandy still retaining some of its well-being and the world is possessed thoughts of good things flowing by a damp melancholy. and then seeing the dreaded van and its occupants feeling the fear pouring out of its victims I left my wife in her village: my colour making me helpless and offering easy excuses she with her running limbs, compromising with silent curses: the coals of night swept from their place sleep would not come that night there in her eyes. and only when death is no longer a stranger will I be truly free And she worked the vegetable patch and act accordingly. of her mother. Keith Adams

I took my strength to the library: STRANDFONTEIN CLIFFLIGHT hours of solemn ticking as I sifted the archives Orange bar for facts of my people. Mourning-dove grey Greenfinger Sometimes I was lost in the quiet of turning pages. Stonypeak sunset They seemed like ears of corn in a breeze. Avril Swart The narrative of conquest and loss like a blanket in clashing wools. LONG ODDS

We will claim our land Religio Uno Domino, on the basis of blood Smik-smak and the droppings of cattle Sidewalk gamester — and the newly established right of the dispossessed Tables tremble Gongs ring, It's lunchtime to their lives. In long street Allan Kolski Horwitz Avril Swart

16 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 CAPE TOWN

SUB CONTINENT

Out, SILENCE IN JAIL! Far out Beyond the outer reaches of consciousness Nothing was sadder Hangs a cloud there was no more saddening want of fear — and doubt than the deadly lack of music Paralysed around the perimeter Skulking in the stolid eye Dennis Brutus of the storm Surrounded They don't like music in prison By frenzied, fear-filled so they banned Dennis Brutus's poems Knife-edged living and Wopko Jensma's poems loving and Breyten Breytenbach's poems warcloud swirling madness and Wally Serote's poems They sit - and Sipho Sepamla's poems and James Matthew's poems Out, and my own poems Far out Beyond the outer fringes They hate music and poems of experience and pictures and statutes Hangs a cloud of paralysing indecision they have cleaned out the country: Fearful there is silence between its bare walls Filled with hate the silence of bones in the desert and anger cleaned by the vultures Stultifying, ruling Stifling the mind: But unaccountably Fear and doubt music crosses the border feed on one another on waves of ether Living, loving through every crack Headlong bound between the heavily armed border posts In angry flight. Peter Horn They scream with fear, Or is it laugher, Mad, hysterical — HUNGER WROTE THE EPITAPH

It's getting fainter now this city It's going further away pregnant with hunger Far grinding underfoot away tons of cemented sweat Way beyond reach whose swimming pools Way beyond the outstretched are catchment areas of tears arms of reason whose towered names Far beyond the hand refuse to listen of human friendship where cities are different nightfalls F.H. Adkins and one neon lit the other lit for stilling the hunger of men coming home TRANSKEI NIGHT ask him (from Transkei Poems) who only plods mechanical feet the marvels of the day Sleep, sleep. The hills ask him must sleep. The passion who stares at you from sockets of the fields arouses gouged by his day the deathly owl. Foul, foul ask him is the world where the who knows his place maggot reigns supreme. Sturdy by the ages of the day is the flock whose breathing and could not befriend the moon here: quickens the dust. All the I know you remember world's creatures must 'our father ' bathe their dreams in musk. Mike Dues Roy Joseph Cotton.

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 17 GUGULETU

FOUR POEMS/Fezile Plam

Work by Guguletu writers Nkos'omzi Ngcukana and Zoli Kota will appear in the April issue of Staffrider.

FACE OF AFRICA LET THERE BE LOVE To my left it's misery If I'm to live and to my right despair, And be happy 'front of me a hazy future don't harass me and down it'sjwealth Let be, a wealth I will never share Let go, up there it's distortion: — Freedom! Your face, Africa Free to travel spells nothing else but Share SHAME Free to think DISGRACE Create CRIME and Free to work SIN. Wherever, at will, Make my contributions 'Use my talents'.

Restrictions kill ANDINALO Reservation incites I should sing Police vans, fearful men Let there be love. In grey uniform and khaki, Raids, endless raids for the pass and permit: and you haven't got it Mama. ODE OF A WOMAN 'Ewe andinalo mnta'nam.' Then they splash Look at that: in the water, scattered all over the place then they dance men and women running clapping their little as if pursued by a lion, hands, and if they haven't got it, they have to run, then they sing and you too Mama. young voices full of life: 'Ibe andinalo mnta'nam.' they're happy.

Little kids are crying: But what do I say 'Come back mama, when they come back you've forgotten my bread!' and know they can But she keeps her pace only saying, 'I cannot help it, my child! say Mama Andinalo!' Eleven months of the year?

But I say: run Mama, How does a young child Don't let them catch you. love a stranger When Papa comes back and finds nobody who comes into the family at home only ten days a year? he will understand; he's used to it, Oh Nkosi Sincede! used to the miseries that have become his daily bread.

When darkness falls and you have been repersonalized, we will go back and console him: you will be able to restore that warmth - and share your love. But now you have to run: you haven't got them, Pass or Permit. 'Ibe andinalo mnta'nam.'

18 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 BAYAJ ULA/KWA-THEMA

NEW WORK BY THE BAYAJULA ARTISTS/Madi Phala/Nhlanhla Xaba/ Fikile Zulu/ Next issue: Sam Nhlangethwa.

BAYAJULA POET/ Bonisile Motaung/ Next issue: ZakheV Amandla Mtsweni/ Tim Dladla. Poems by Bonisile Motaung have appeared in Staffrider No. 2 and Staffrider No. 3.

Madi Phala/ The Strength is sinking . . . go latlhela madi metsing

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 19 BAYAJ ULA/KWA-THEMA

BLACK WOMAN, BLACK WOMAN

Black woman, black woman Beautiful like sunset across the horizon, With plaited hair and a face Shining with vaseline, making her More black in the night: Her face wears the look of nature.

Black woman, black woman She is a boat with sails A captain and a soul A boat sailing on stormy seas Meeting rocks Sometimes washed by rain At times stormed by waves Fighting against winds That constantly change her course Sea robbers fishing her cargo Leave her anchored with hope

Black woman, black woman She moves with the Dignity of a funeral, It is not tears Shining in her eyes But petals of blood Mourning the history Of her suffering: Obituaries of her children Deeply line her face Leaving freckles to mark Their graves.

Black woman, black woman Laughs and Screams When the day is Black In the matchbox she Proudly calls 'My house' though she never Owns it, Fikile Zulu/ Untitled When the curtains are closed And the room is dark And the air around Is black, Everything not herself is Buried.

Black woman, black woman My heart Jumps The Toes squeeze Blood boils through The Marrow, Your thighs are My sighs. I shout I Weep I Scream I Laugh Black woman, black woman I Love You . . .

Bonisile Joshua Motaung

Nhlanhla Xaba/ Mementoes . . . carvings by the late artists on the outer portion of the cave 20 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 1 GARTASSO / GA-RANKUWA ART ASSOCIATION

HIDDEN SOUNDS

! HOMAGE TO A MOTHER From behind the misty hills Hidden behind the cloudy horizon ] What a precious name, There is a melody i The name that stands by one's side That's hard to hear. j at all times! There wails a trombone ! It comforts and sympathizes With unwavering blasts ! with one Of certainty and confidence. In times of sorrow, It's like honey to the tongue, It rejoices with one Like a seed to a bird, | In times of happiness This melodious sound None can take your place Which I can't enjoy. | 'Cause of the unique warmth, Which makes the heart throb with joy. I am like a caged dove.

Anthony Makou There are pillars on both My wings, My feathers drop like citrus leaves: PLAY ME A SONG They fall in dirty water. They fall on muddy plains. Oh! play me a song, Their beauty is no more 1 A song that will heal my soul. Than a penny's worth. My soul is hurt, Hurt by somebody . . . Anthony More

Let it be tunes Once played by our Ancestors Those are the ones which UPON THE FALL OF NIGHT j Will heal the wound In my soul When darkness descends Upon the dusty, turbulent earth, j If those tunes fail Clasping it in its claws, i j To heal my injured soul, Crushing the small beautiful twig, 1 Better go to a secluded place Sucking I To search for tranquillity, The milky liquid of power while ! And be like a hermit. Castrating The delicate cells of manhood, Anthony Makou Depriving the light of worthiness,

And when this night Comes down The light falters and dies. And when this dies The gods of darkness rejoice Upon this death of light. But light grins Upon its destruction j by darkness, While the demons of darkness A CHILD IS BORN Smile Upon the failure of the happy | Strewn leaves on the soil as usual, Life. Naked branches jerking up and down, While a freshness in the dull breeze responds And this powerful darkness Like people outpacing each other, to awaken the world from Swallows the irregular form its sleep. of this light, The Child will be born, a name he will be given, Driving it to total obscurity A name that no-one ever thought will gather blood before In its geometrical form, gold Reducing its efficiency to moronic To liberate the sins of men. Inefficiency, While in the day the sun is hot To efficient insanity, During the night the sky is clear and lit To progressive lunacy, For the blind and lame to see and believe. When this darkness of night Like Thomases we shall see, like Peters we shall believe. Descends.

David Mphuso Anthony More.

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 21 MAMELODI/PRETORIA

SEFOFU (Blind man)

Staring in the dark, groping for luck, WHOM TO BLAME? one day perhaps a miracle on the door raps, I am suffering. But why? I have just lost my job. Then look for another. brightens the room But where to start looking? The police are all over, searching for 'jobless per­ and curses the doom sons'. You explain to them, but they don't care. You ask your employer to give of this darkness you a chance. He ignores you, so you go to the labour inspectors. They say: Jy and sadness. wil nie werk nie. Gaan terug na jou werk. How can you terug gaan} You've been fired. Their answer is: Ons sluit jou nou nou toe. The darkness lingers on Now where to go, I ask myself. I find a twenty cent coin in my pocket. yet life goes on, With this I can only go to the beerhall to console myself. I do just that. To­ shedding the lachrymal morrow I will go to the Labour Office for an endorsement stamp in my refer­ and being dismal ence book. It's for my own safety. But which road shall I take to get there? The won't drive the dark away police are all over the place, especially on the roads leading to the Labour Office. and give sight today No, I will remain indoors today. Perhaps it will be better tomorrow. I wake early the next day and stand at the front gate watching the passers- He twists the cane by. I see one of my best friends. the blind man 'Go siege, bathibile, mo gotlhe, useke wa leka le gotuwa ka gati,' he warns some pennies to gain me. It's bad,they've closed everything off. Don't go out of the gate. the blind man What to do? I want to work. The police are not to blame though. They have their instructions. So I stay at home. Then one night there is a banging on He stands on cement the doors and windows. the blind man Poisa! Poisa! Vula! VulaV sings for a cent I wake up and open for the poisas. I am aware that I am the culprit. There the blind man is no greeting from them. 'Kewena mang monna? Kenna John pasa ya gago ekae? Areye areye Glory to the kind men Monna, apara ka pele in the land rover" the poisa says. the pleading can is full 7s dit by?' the white constable asks the poisa. gay is the blind man 'Ja, Morena,' the poisa answers. the pouch's gonna be full 'Hoekom wil jy nie werk nie?' he asks me. I do not answer; I am afraid. 'Nou gaan jy hard werk, vir niet,' he says. The white stick gropes for home, I am charged under Section 29. Who, I ask myself, is to blame? the shoes shuffle, full of form, blind man, blind man Paul Khoza sings a song: perhaps, one day I'll see the way

Rratau Mashigo

Mzwakhe Nhlabatsi/Untitled drawing

22 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 KWANZA/MABOPANE

THE SUBLIME WITHIN

How like a sweet song is my spirit wherein thought, feeling, deed are ballets in single harmony. Like a silent lake is my mind reflecting motion on its surface, itself unmoved, motionless still.

It mirrors from moment to moment the whole field of inner life BOTSE BJA GAGWE in entirety of truth: be they dark desires or motives veiled, Tlang le bogeng corruption embalmed, Le bone — ke senonnodi sa mahlolephega or, whether they be inner or outer masks Le rego le a se hloka seboka worn in subtle-sweet deceit Ke itse go setsa to blindfold my eye Ya bowa mafisa — nna ya nkgaoletsa to what I am — Ya ntira makukwane the all-seeing mirror shines, Ya ntshupetsa kotsi — go loba. strips all, and I stand naked as in noon-day. Bulang mahlo le bogeng Ke naledi The waves of desire rise Mahlo ke dipone, a bonogela ba masuana but to fall in this omniscient ocean of my mind. A pokapokeletsa 'pelo tseo di lego tsa gare ga maru Passion surges, rises, storms, Ge re hlamula ka tsa lerato. the ocean roars — Ke mathunyaane, ke botse bua naga ga se le lemologa my mind reels — is tossed — almost lost; Nko ke magolo a sethaga self-awareness rescues me: Molomo ke dikgabisi tsa botsoro I am not lost in the storm, Thonthodi sefahlogong go adile. the storm is lost in me. Tsinkelang Such transcendent stillness fills me — Gasang mahlo mmeleng freed from the space-and-time prison! Le bone ge mabothakga a dirilwe Neither past nor future: O hlophegile — o hlamegile o beatsantswa — bageso! actions having no reaction, Letswele ke la mmatshungwana neither born in past, Ge a sisitse ra ngwaela motshubo pele — re akola ka letsatsi nor bearing future. Noka ke sefagafaga But action incarnated as creation — Ke dilo tsa ga Mampa — a Mapagane. spontaneous, fresh, new, free ...... And the heart and soul of my desire is A mathakga, beetse! that this spirit sublime lives ever, never to die . . . A botsoro, batho! A bopilwe ke mang manongonongo? Ashok Joshi Petlwane ke ya mang — Ke ra lena le rego Bopedi bo le ela borwa, Ge e se mpedi'a Seimela, kgagarana ya thaka ya marumo. Kgaotsanga, go re tswari!

Kanakana Lukhaimane

(For Thembeka) CANDLE

Love's labour Dark­ wrought you ness plagues to this hour: my vague eyes you are new — so a match with inner strife stick plants for fresh life. a noisy kiss — unctuous with You've pinched the last moon — lemon life. This ray; he now karate-chops the swollen cocoon. candle, placental to me has itself Next month innards of your brown a placenta that horizon descend: a bounty none should frown n-i-b-b-1-e-s upon; tarantism of the hearth the white body awaits the debris of birth! to a wat'ry coffin.

Nape 'a Motana Nape 'a Motana

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 23 ORLANDO WEST

A SON OF THE FIRST GENERATION/a story by Mtutuzeli Matshoba

Of the two: To love or to hate — Which is the easier?

The Tune-in around with earplugs. And then, you I felt like aiding him to coax the an­ see, they were talking through my head, swer out of his friend. 'What is it sonny?' my ears and consciousness forming a 'A baby/ answered the one wearing a sort of crossed-line telephone system. grey straw hat with a black band, and a I guessed that he wanted to get The Previous Day tweed jacket with narrow lapels which something off his chest. He wanted to was a size too big for him. He replied as get rid of the worm perhaps. His sister had welcomed him with the from an empty and dejected soul. 'No one would be excited by finding good news when they were passing the 'Hey, ndoda. What's wrong with himself a step-father first try, Bro shops three hundred metres down the you? Girl or boy?' Zakes.' street from home. He had felt shy in 'Boy.' Bro Zakes raised his eyebrows dumb- front of so many people. The train staggered, heaved and foundedly. He blinked as if he had got 'It's a bonny boy, my brother. I swayed with its human load, and the something in his eye. 'You want to tell knew Martha could never beat you to hold-on straps hanging over our heads me the child is not yours?' the winning post. When I 'phoned slipped in our grips as the weight of the 'Ya.' maternity and heard it was a boy I was passengers leaned heavily on us. 'How can that be? Mos ub'umuskepa so excited, dear brother!' You might have thought that our almost everyday uMartha . . . ' His eyes 'Ek se . . . come on Thembi, don't destination was Pandemonium, capital blinked some more and seemed more talk so loud. People are looking and of Blazes and that we were fast nearing mystified. listening. You're broadcasting to the it. The way we were sweating! Trickles The voice of the younger man told of whole world now.' of sweat tickled down the side of my the pain in his soul. I knew from the Those who had overheard had put on ribs and cascaded over my brow. mention of a girl's name that it was a welcoming smiles of congratulation. He Maybe it was the heat which vapo­ pain of unrewarded love; of betrayed had experienced the feeling that had rised the cheerfulness out of the young emotions. 'I took her home with me always enveloped his being when he man's soul. every day, Bro Zakes, I admit; but na­ heard he had passed a standard at His friend wrestled a handkerchief ture can never lie.' school. out of his clothes and wiped his face: 'Why? How can you tell a baby a few During his courtship of Martha it had 'Shoo! Eight in the morning and the sun hours old from the lump of meat that it occurred to him from time to time that is already so damn hot! How the hell do is? Those who identified it concluded he could never be sure how much he they expect us to work in the frying too early that it's not yours. They meant to her until she bore him a child. heat?' should wait until that meat takes human During her pregnancy he had lived for I couldn't guess who they were, but I shape if they have doubts.' nothing else but pampering his 'ill ma­ thought how intransigent man can at The train snaked around a bend and dam'. She had been all his for all the times be. Never satisfied. Cold, rain and they all fell on us again, distracting us period she had 'pushed the wheel­ heat, conditions beyond his control, are for a moment while we sought to main­ barrow,' no other creature in trousers all reasons for complaint. tain balance. giving her a second glance. He had 'I reckon you're awed by your new­ 'They did go to identify the child grudgingly parted with every cent for ly acquired fatherhood status, mfana. It and they returned with the gifts they dire necessities while he was saving for is sometimes frightening to think that had taken with them. That means . . . ' lobola. They would marry when the there's a new human being on troubled 'You didn't go and find out for your­ baby was weaned. earth just because of you. To think that self; why?' 'Aunt Nellie, Aunt Thandi and Aunt the new life is as delicate, as vulnerable Bro Zakes had to draw the informa­ Nomvula have already gone to see the and as mortal as yours; nothing perma­ tion out of the young man, as it appar­ child. The presents that we bought for nent. I think death starts at conception, ently sat heavy and deep in his soul. He his reception! He's going to be the best mfana. Growth is a slow death process. must have truly loved the girl; gambled dressed newcomer on earth, my mo­ That's why people die naturally when with his emotions. Like Dr. Faustus, ther's child, I'm telling you. they get too old.' sold his soul to Lucifer. 'To think that it will be ten days be­ Great simple life concept, commuter Before the lovelorn young man could fore I see them,' he remarked dreamily. train philosopher! His dome did not reply, Bro Zakes continued: 'Hho-o . . . The sister had gone into a friend's shine for nothing. Father of three, Kana, a child is not seen by men before house and he had continued alone. stable matrimony, social drinker, zestful it's ten days old and the umbilical cord Alone with his exultation! Nature had worker, Sophiatown upbringing and has dried, fallen off and been buried.' seemed so mysterious to him and he had four-room at Rockville. You can always 'I went, Bro Zakes. Couldn't wait for thought it was wonderful not to know tell the latter from the Afrikaans- ten days and couldn't wait to hear from the why and the how come of every­ sprinkled dialect. anybody else whatever it was that made thing. Only the other day they had dis­ His friend and co-worker, the young­ them return with the gifts. Especially cussed life and death during their lunch er man, was not listening. He looked as not from Auntie Abondabas. break. The topic had been inspired by if a worm was gnawing at his heart. 'Mhh . . . What was it?' Bro Zakes the death of an old man who had work­ Don't anyone say I was listening in could not suppress the ring of intense, ed with them. Bro Zakes had said that on anybody. In the first place I never go sympathetic curiosity in his voice. life was both a passing phase and per-

24 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 ORLANDO WEST petual state, limited by death but per­ by a scrawny, dejected horse which appreciation from more men than her petuated in birth. They had all agreed seemed to have accepted ages ago that Monde. She regarded the satisfaction that Madala, as they had nicknamed the life was drawing a squeaky ten-foot she derived from her popularity with late old man, was not dead but still liv­ wagon that sagged to one side on flat men as essential to her feminine ego, ing in his descendants who would also car wheels, under the weight of fire­ seeing no point in being a woman if one die but remain alive in their own off­ wood and a ragged driver, through could not raise the pulses of men and spring until the end of the world. He sandy streets all hot day long. The ani­ attract love propositions wherever one began to see Bro Zake's concept in a mal hung its head almost to the ground went. However, she declined the latter brighter light now that he had passed his and did not bother to look where it was advances courteously: 'I'm sorry, buti.' life on to another human being. headed as long as the driver held the 'For what? Sorry that a man is Aunt Nomvula was the last to enter reins. attracted to you?' the house and the bundle of baby kits Ten minutes later he felt like killing 'That I hear you talking but your and the shawls which had been meant the dog that attempted to prevent his words happen to be falling on barren for Martha's mother were unmistakably entrance to the yard, and at the same soil.' still on her head as she sank low to a- time announced his advent against his 'What? You mean you're not interes­ void catching the top of the door-frame. wishes. He picked up a stone, and be­ ted? Then you're not woman enough.' That was the moment he started feel­ fore he could throw the canine had van­ 'Yes, I am. What brought you next to ing tremors deep down at the base of his ished around the corner of the house. me if you think I'm not a woman?' immediate joy. They were supposed to There had been a shady movement 'I didn't know that you were an ice­ return empty-handed, happily discussing behind the front-room window lace be­ berg. A girl who does not enjoy being a brand-new clansman! He had seen it fore Martha's elder sister opened the admired is not woman enough.' happen around him for as long as he door and let him in with a smile which 'That's the trouble with you men. could remember. The birth of a normal immediately betrayed her strong desire Can't give appreciation without expec­ human being was always reason for infi­ for the floor to gape and consume her. ting something in return. And I'm wo­ nite jubilation, not the sombreness that 'Where's Martha? Tell me Busi. She man enough for a man in spite of your he could make out four houses away. alright?' opinion to the contrary.' She thought of Was there something grossly wrong Busi's eyes had flitted towards one of Monde and suddenly felt bored by the somewhere in the whole set-up? the doors. She had also stammered young man's company. The first thought to invade his something which he had not even tried 'What man? You mean I'm not one?' throbbing mind was the safety of the to grasp. His mind had been in that The young man felt really sore this mother and the child. His brain simply other room long before the rest of him time. failed to register a possibility of such had portered it there. 'For a man that's waiting for me at hideous proportions. He blotted it out, Busi had grown roots where she had Park Station. And, you're also a man and the next thought seared through been when she let him in. but, unfortunately for you, I happen to like a burning spear: had there been be engaged.' someone else, someone who had re­ 'Hey, don't play that trick on me. mained obscure until that final hour? At Cupid's Targets Where's the ring to prove it?' this reflection he felt the instinct to kill 'I'm engaged at heart, brother. It right in his marrow. If that were the 'Hey, sis . . . sorry, tu . . . ' The does not take a gold and diamond ring case, he did not give a nip for life, exist­ strange young man quickened his pace for us to prove our love for each other. ence or any of Bro Zake's hogwash to catch up with Martha. She did not Those things are for whites and people about these two states of being ... he slow down to wait for him. Only one with lots of money.' did not care for anybody or anything in male voice meant anything to her and The argument had carried on along existence, let alone his own life and the she could recognise it at a soccer cup fi­ those lines, until they descended onto life of whoever might have wronged nal at Orlando Stadium. The man who the crowded platform where Monde him! Then came a slightly more accept­ was calling 'Please, sisi. Wait for me. waited for her at the same spot every able likelihood: perhaps they had not We're going the same way . . . ' was just evening. She suddenly stopped and been discharged from hospital, and that blowing his breath to prove he was still reached out to slip her hand under his had been the cause of disappointment alive as far as she was concerned. arm. 'Here's the guy I've been telling to his highly expectant folks. It had He caught up and she felt his arm a- you about my friend,' she said. been a long time since a son had been cross her trim shoulders. She brushed it Monde grinned and greeted: 'How's added to the clan. off as she would a fly: 'Don't touch me. it mfo?' He had progressed by no more than a You've no right to hug me,' she said The other one grunted, 'Sweet,' and few faltering strides while seeking an without looking at him. sheepishly returned the grin. 'I thought explanation. Then his inner self chal­ 'Alright, if you think I've got lep­ she was lying about you. Anyway, so lenged his will to a turbulent tug-of-war rosy,' the man said with mock pain in long and good luck to you lovebirds.' for his body, and he found himself his voice. standing in the middle of the dusty 'Oh,' — she looked up then, with big track like one trying to locate a vital eyes that were as clear as a baby's — 'Who is he?' factor in the shadows of his memory. 'that hurt you? I didn't mean to.' She 'Ag, lovey. Just another one of the Until he heard the hoarse warning in smiled to show it. That soothed the hurt Park Station playboys trying his luck.' Sotho: 'Out of the way, mister. You look in the young man's face. 'How did he fare?' wanna be trampled?' followed by a They turned up Eloff Street in the 'Oh, Monde. Why ask me that? How whistle and: 'FIRE-E-E-WOOD!' like a direction of Park Station. At half past do you expect me to reply?' lost dog howling in the middle of the four the evening bustle was beginning. There was a short pause. night. He moved out of the way to the At twenty Martha was a fullblooded 'Sorry, sweetheart. I'm both proud side of the street and for a short period black lass. Warm but not excessive.Sen­ and jealous that other men confirm my of awareness watched the wagon drawn sitive and woman enough to welcome fortune by trying their luck with you.'

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 25 ORLANDO WEST

He threw his arm around her and gave yesterday, before you came across this 'Wait, lovergirl. Let me prepare to her an affectionate squeeze. girl, was preaching to me about the grab a seat. . . ' 'I should be the one to apologize for morals of drinking women?' The middle coach they always allowing him to accompany me right up 'That's exactly what I'm trying to boarded crawled past them and Monde to you, darling,' she muttered softly, discourage the poor girl from, Jabu. dived inside through an open window snuggling closer as if she expected them There's a lot of good in her but no one and broke his fall on the dusty floor. to fuse into one love being. 'It's as if I to appreciate it. In a way I'm. trying to Legs kicked in the air as men dived in were showing off to you that there are save a beautiful creature from the pit­ and, before the train screeched to a halt, always men trying to worm into my fa­ falls of vice,' Monde would argue defen­ there were human clusters like rugby vours.' sively. scrums at the doors. They studied each other's faces like 'Oho. You're wasting your time, Martha moved down to the coach twins who had been separated for many mfowethu, I don't want to lie.' Monde had entered and was caught in years. 'We'll see.' the whirlpool of jostling for some mo­ 'When we first met you had lovers Jabu had seen for himself and even ments before she burst inside and rush­ but you took me on. No harm in an­ learned to appreciate Martha. ed to Monde, who sat on the longitudi­ other guy seeing what I saw in you. It 'No, love. You don't understand,' nal seat with his legs wide apart, his hat all depends on you to accept or reject Martha explained. 'I don't miss the past. next to him and a no-nonsense expres­ them,' Monde said, trying to make her I'm always thinking how good my an­ sion on his face to show that the seat feel at ease. cestors have been to me. What d'you had been 'booked' and any intruder was 'I never loved anybody before I think I'd be today because of men who likely to incur his displeasure. found you — or was it you who found appreciated me only because I wore me?' skirts and kept a promise of ecstacy un­ 'It doesn't matter. We are one an­ derneath them? I'd be counted among The Way to Perdition other's foundlings.' He gave her another the Soweto human scraps I'm telling squeeze. you, lovey.' She paused to look into his When eight of them — three 'teagirls' 'S'true, Monde! I never loved any­ eyes and smile faintly, almost sadly. and five others from the manufacturing body else before you. That's why drink 'You came out of the blue and gave me department — were called to the general had been a prerequisite in all my associ­ all that a woman needs in order to feel manager's office a few minutes before ations with men. I had to have some­ fulfilled; you taught me to love.' they were due to knock off, they were thing with which to lessen the pain of 'I never taught you anything. I loved all of one mind. my shame at being intimate with men I you in spite of everything.' Martha found Maria and Mme Thandi did not love. Had to be "anaesthetised It was her turn to squeeze his hand. already waiting solemnly opposite the before I was operated upon".' 'Thanks ever so much for that, papa. I closed office door. The rest of them 'You talk as if you're the only person wish all men were like you . . . ' who had been called were still changing with a history. Always mentioning the The homeward-bound workers were out of their work clothes. She walked past as if you lost something by dragg­ swarming around them. The trains up the carpeted passage with arms fold­ ing yourself out of a vicious way of life. rumbled hollowly in and out of Johan­ ed across her chest and the general What is it that you miss so much in the nesburg station. Stone-faced whites on appearance of a child summoned for a past, which makes you look back, heh platforms three and four. A youth in tanning. sweetheart?' Monde asked, slightly dis­ 'Lee' denim overalls, checkered shirt 'What is it now Mme Thandi?' she turbed at being reminded of the bygone and perched white 'sporty' sun hat was inquired when she came to the two days and the embarrassing lengths to teasing the whites: 'Hey, baasie!' women. which he had gone to convince Martha Some of the stone faces showed signs Mme Thandi was equally confound­ that one man was enough to make a of response. ed: 'Who knows, my child? I was only woman happy and that HE was the 'Wat se julle, kaffers? Ha, ha, ha!' ordered here without any explanation as man. His friends had made him an ob­ Some of the people on platform two to why.' ject of mockery for chasing one girl chuckled at that. The stone faces snap­ 'Don't be frightened, maan. Maybe when the hunting grounds abounded ped away, looking tormented. we're going to receive wage rises.' with easy game, 'Hey, kaffers!' 'Yo, Maria. I wouldn't cling to that Jabu, his best friend, had been the Nobody looked this time. hope if I were you. What if "baya- wettest blanket: 'Yissis, sonny! what 'What's eating you? Why don't you diliza"? has gone wrong with you?' he would make conversation, or at least smile to The prospect of staff reduction was ask, preparing to deride him. yourselves? Look at your faces . . . You too much for Mme Thandi: 'Come on Monde would not reply, knowing all look like you drank poison ... Or now girl. You're too pessimistic. The what was coming. have you all been scolded ... Or fired firm is doing well and they can't afford 'You go on as if this girl has "dressed from work? . . . Tell us, we might be to chase people away — they'd lose you in a heavy greatcoat," my friend. able to help . . . ' business.' Look at Pinkie for instance. She is just The nearby people on platform one 'What can prevent them doing so? plain crazy about you but you turn a and two had a refreshing laugh after a They might think that we have been blind eye and keep running after this hard day's work. Those on platform working here too long and have deve­ kid that anybody can make for a bottle three and four switched off their receiv­ loped ways to beat their security,' of beer. I bet she feeds you all the love ers and wished their train would arrive. Martha replied, adamantly refusing to potions in the market,' Jabu would con­ Our two lovers were swallowed in the nurse any hopes. tinue to rail. buzzing life around them, although to Her fear was catching. Maria mused 'You believe in potions?' them nothing else seemed to matter but anxiously: 'Oh-h . . . You can say it 'Of course! Why not, if there are themselves. again sisi. They can get rid of us at the cases like you for proof? Who would be­ Their train clattered into platform bat of an eyelid and have us replaced by lieve that you're the same guy who only two. the first work-hour tomorrow. Just ima-

26 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 ORLANDO WEST

gine how many women throng Polly tion, was totally out of their minds. one else feels it's time.' street, desperate for a job, these days.' The office door swung open and a 'Desperate for subsistence, my child. grunt from inside told them to go in. As The fear of hunger is the driving force in the others hesitated, Sarah led the way. Dawid Steenkamp our lives. Everything belongs to them They followed and spread to the right and they hand out little doles for which and left of the door behind them. May had been his nannie. we are forced to prostrate ourselves and 'Mind the wall girls,' the general May had been so dear to him and he lick their shoes or "bite each others' manager warned from behind an acre of to her that he had evolved an attach­ heels" to receive.' gleaming mahogany with gilded ballpens ment akin to an Oedipus complex to­ 'And 'strue, Mme Thandi. We might jutting out of a cobalt blue stand, two wards May and not to his natural, mo­ have been "pimped". You know, I don't scarlet and cream-white telephones and ther. trust that Sarah. The other day . . ' a brown leather table mat on top. The May's broad back had been so com­ 'Sh-h-h, here they come,' Mme Tha­ off-white walls of the spacious room fortable, soft and secure. ndi cautioned when the others came would embarrass a fly, and the ankle They had gone shopping with Bull, into view at the end of the passage. deep ocean-green carpet appeared not to the Danish hound. They had gone walk­ The three of them fell silent and have been made to be trodden under­ ing to the verdant, willowy and tranquil tried to study the attitude of the five foot. 'Mister Merwe', with a double parks all three of them together, al­ approaching women from a distance. chin, a glossy over-nourished pink skin though for some reason mysterious to All but Sarah wore stricken faces. and well-groomed black hair starting to his sprouting mind, May and Bull had Sarah was reassuring them: 'You'll grow white at the temples, looked like a confined themselves to the walks and see. He's only going to remind us about Prime Minister. would not go for a tumble on nature's the party. You should be smiling be­ Dawie Steenkamp entered the office carpet. cause that means overtime pay.' She was and went to rest his athletic figure on Their home, where they slept on an the 'head-girl', if that is a suitable femi­ the low window sill so that he seemed iron bed elevated with bricks, relaxed nine gender for 'Induna' or 'baasboy'. to be an appendage of the skyscrapers and listening to the radio in her own On the last day of October, the end behind him. The girls stood still and language which he was beginning to pick of the financial year of the firm where waited. up in scraps, had been the servant's Martha was employed to make tea for 'You all look nervous. I'm sorry to quarters of the large Steenkamp house. the fifty-two white male and female have called you in this manner. There's The family could not take May to secretaries or clerks, who had seemed to nothing to it except that next week . . .' 'their' church on Sundays. So she and be two sets — one male, one female — of 'Merwe' spoke like a real Prime Minister. Dawie stayed behind and prepared 'multiplets' when she first arrived, a He proceeded to lay down what would dinner. generous party was thrown for the be needed of the 'girls' the following They could not go on holiday to the white staff and they received their an­ Wednesday. Natal coast without Dawie. So they had nual bonuses. The occasion naturally taken May along with them. She had called for the extra services of the three remained knitting in the car when they 'girls' who made tea, plus a few other On their way home that evening had gone to cool off in the surf. girls from the predominantly black Martha had told Monde about the 'Why won't you come May? Please manufacturing department. From the arrangements. do.' His innocent eyes had twinkled size of the ceremony one could deduce 'Nxa!' with ignorance. that the garments and draperies the firm 'What's it, love?' Monde had asked 'No, Dawie. I can't swim and I have dealt in earned considerable profits: the with a ring of concern in his voice. no swimsuit.' firm could afford to give its employees a 'Nothing. We've just been reminded 'Oh, May,' his eyes had made May free treat several times a year, but chose that the end of the month is drawing feel a tinge of guilt. to make one big celebration of it. No, near and there's going to be this party at 'Honestly, I can't, Dawie. Now go on two celebrations, for the white and work.' to mommy.' black workers separately. 'What's with it? Mos it's just part of 'No. I want to stay with you and The whites took the first turn and on your employment. Take it that way.' watch you knit. . . my May . . . You're this occasion drank like fish and ate like She looked at him with disbelief my May; aren't you, May?' elephants. The blacks had their Christ­ written on her face: 'But that means I'll 'Yes, Dawie.' mas party when they received their 'pre­ have to sleep at home to prepare myself. 'Father says "maid". I tell him it's sents' of towels and matching washrags, I can't go there dressed the way I like. I May, not "maid".' bed-spreads, table cloths, glass and tea­ have to dress for a party, white style, The jersey had been ready on his cup sets; even teetotallers broke their it needs time to do that. I can't do it at birthday, towards winter. resolutions and helped themselves to the your place. And you act as if you don't 'free' booze. mind that we won't be together that These events at work were nothing night — why?' Five years later he was going to the special to Martha and her colleagues. 'What difference does one night Hoerskool in Vrystaat and May and he You could even say they regarded them make, sweets? We'll be together the fol­ had stayed closer than ever. She had as part of their duties, which in her case, lowing night. Don't try to make me fret cried most and this had made him cry being only making tea and running er­ over it.' too. At eleven years of age he had slept rands for the white employees, needed 'Actually, it's just that I didn't want in his own room, though it had been no detailed attention. Every day's work to show up at home just yet. Wanted to difficult to move him from May's room. was completed that same day and did show my mother that I'm a woman and In spite of this the bond between them not carry over to the next. Small won­ can take care of myself. Last time I was had never loosened. She had accom­ der then that, as the end of October there she told me about fornication and panied him to the bus-stop in the morn­ drew near, the evaluation of the firm's all that sort of old fashioned morality. ings and waited for him in the after­ financial positon, necessitating celebra­ I'll marry when I like; not when some­ noons out of an almost maternal love.

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 27 ORLANDO WEST

Her own children had been faraway in couth, as when he purposely referred to Party Day 'Zululand' and all the maternal care she May's husband, when he had come to might have bestowed on them had been take her out on her day-off, as 'Your The cheap alarm clock rang or rather showered on Dawie. boyfriend is looking for you, May,' she rattled, at exactly half past four that The whole family had tried all they had only reacted in an admonitory morning, disturbing everybody's sleep in could to treat her as one of them. But tone: 'But, child . . . that is my hus­ the hollow matchbox. Martha, being the because of prejudices peculiar to this band,' and chose to take it in her stride. one who had set it the previous night, land there had been times when she had 'Boys will always be boys. When they jerked painfully out of her dreams in been reminded of her position in life — reach a certain stage of their lives they the twin bed she shared with her sister as in the church instance. However these become incontinent of speech,' she had when she was at home. had never rubbed off on Dawie, whose reflected afterwards. Still dazed, she blindly patted the childish innocence of human evils had Without contact with other people floor near the bed to locate the irrita­ made him pure. except his own kind at the Hoerskool, tion and stop it. Then she searched for When the two older children had Dawie had become completely detached the candlestick with the matches on it. gone to the Hoerskool they had pro­ from May. He was now wholly 'on the The light brought her closer to full mised to write. They had neither kept other side' and inaccessible. What May consciousness. Yawning audibly and the promises nor as much as sent regards had feared on his first departure had stretching her arms until she heard the in the letters to their parents. Only Bull eventually been realised. The innocent shoulders crackling, she sat there look­ the family dog had received greetings. little boy was gone and his place had ing blankly at the gloomy candlelight, Each time they had been home on vaca­ been taken over by an almost callous fighting the urge to succumb once more tion she had sensed that they had grown youth who demanded to be addressed to the welcoming embrace of slumber. colder towards her. This had bled her only in tongue-knotting Afrikaans and She won by swinging her legs to the heart but she had dismissed it as being who seemed blindly to believe that all floor, whereupon the chill characteristic part of life. Dawie would never change. people of different descent from his of matchbox architecture sent a reviving In spite of her trust in the little lad, were enemies bent on effacing his spec­ shiver through her body. The next mo­ he was leaving for the same Hoerskool ies from the world. He had become ment all her senses were a hundred per­ and there was good reason to fear that completely distrustful of humanity and cent awake. the Hoerskool would do to him what it himself untrustworthy — in that if this After making the fire and putting the had done to the others. She had cried attitude were encouraged it could deve­ kettle on the stove she again had to res- because of this and Dawie had cried be­ lop into an unshakeable prejudice which sist the temptation of going back to cause he had not been able to accept would affect his relationship with his wait in bed. The reason for her being up that he would not be with May for a human brothers, among whom he held that early passed through her mind and long time. the delicate position of self-appointed she summarised her opinion of end-of- At that time he had been a staunch fashioner of destiny. the-financial-year parties in her favour­ believer in the cruelty of his parents. These meditative considerations ite three-letter exclamation:'Noca!' and Separating him from his May! There about Dawie had deeply pained May's went to sit on the bench opposite the were many schools everywhere in heart. She could not quite accept the stove like a sad soul, her hand support­ Johannesburg. Why did they have to fact that all the love she had showered ing her chin on her knee. She thought: send him to the Free State, many miles on the boy when he was younger, and why do they always have to be waited away from May? which had been rewarded with a pure upon by us? Sis! Those women are just They had taken him there by car and child's love, could be so completely ornaments! She tried to remember when May had accompanied him to the gates erased by later teachings of hatred and she had last woken up at her chosen of the Hoerskool. The gate-watch, an contempt. For this reason she had clung time, except on Sundays. That brought old white with a mole on a big nose had desperately to the hope that matu­ Monde's encouraging image into her stopped her from going any further than rity and more experience would later mind. When they were together it was the portals. Torrents of tears had give her 'white son, Dawie' a more ra­ not such a tough business to wake up marked the parting. Once the gates had tional outlook on life, and the memory and face a day of labour. If only he clanged behind him and his parents who of a black woman who had tried to sow would pass at her place on his way to had taken him to the tight-lipped board­ an all-embracing love in his soul would the station, so that they could go to­ ing master, they had been worlds apart. linger in his mind. gether as always. She knew he would The other children had given him hell However, May's stay with the Steen- come. It was one of the things she coun­ for crying over a 'Bantu maid'. Every­ kamps was at its end. She never saw ted among her few blessings: to be in body at the Hoerskool had seemed bent whether her hopes for Dawie were ever love with a man like Monde. There were on subtly scarring his love for May. fulfilled. Having brought up the three few left like him. Everybody went to children and seen the first daughter the shebeens. married, she found that only a daytime By the time the kettle was humming The change had been remarkable. cook and house-cleaner was now re­ she was feeling much more like a hard When he came home on holiday he had quired. Having no stable abode in Jo­ day's work. First rinsing the baby pail adopted a reserved attitude towards hannesburg, she had decided to retire outside, she emptied the hot water into May, as if his schoolmates and teachers and be forgotten in the parched valleys it, cooled it with two jugs from the had kept a close but invisible watch on of KwaZulu, the land of her birth, 'emmer' under the kitchen table and him. among those of her contemporaries who went back to her room. With each succeeding term of school had never lost themselves in the cities, Her sister was awake: 'Thanks to he had drifted further away from 'his' but had returned to the old land, mak­ your sleeping home last night, Mati. I May. The latter had excused him by ing way for their off-spring whose turn would have overslept.' convincing herself that it was all because it was to venture out to try and eke out 'Didn't want to disturb you, sisi. he had grown accustomed to living a living in the promisingly glittering ci­ Thought you still had time,' answered without her. When he had been un­ ties. Martha, placing the pail on the floor and 28 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 ORLANDO WEST removing her washing utensils from her finished chiding before answering: all her white male colleagues would be bag. 'There now, sis Busi. This is exactly guilty, beyond any doubt. For the first Busi sat up in bed yawned and what I fear even when I've decided to two hours the ladies did nothing but sighed; then said: 'You know Mati, I give you a surprise visit. I haven't got make their rounds of the offices to ad­ woke up as I was dreaming about you. I the guts to come because I know you'll mire, envy, show-off, privately criticize dreamt you and Monde were getting swoop on me before I draw breath to and secretly hate one another. Were it married., present my excuse. You're too strict not that she was only a black 'tea-girl', 'Oh, sisi. How can you dream bad maan, sisi!' which disqualified her from competing omens about me?' 'What's the use? What's the use of an as far as the white women were con­ 'You're so superstitious, my mother's excuse when I prepare everything and cerned, Martha would have been -the child. One would think you were born sit here waiting for Noah's dove? Even mark of the most poisonous glances and on the farm.' now I'm not prepared to listen to any­ asides. After washing Martha dressed half­ thing except: how's life treating you?' Like most social gatherings the party heartedly though with her usual care 'Just fine "squeezer". Only that last started in low key with people chatting and without forgetting that the general night was the longest in my life. I've in subdued groups all around the large manager had put it in no uncertain discovered I can't live without her.' room (the 'Council Room' was its pre­ terms that they all had to appear in 'Oh, that's beautiful! Mati, you hear tentious title on other occasions) while their 'Sunday best'. that? Don't play with this poor child. If Martha and her black co-workers made She had chosen her favourite but I had the choice I'd take you to the endless trips to and from their kitchen rarely touched cool, sleeveless light blue Commissioners right now, before either which served as a bar. Martha regretted silk maxi. The dress had been bought of you gets other ideas.' Busi winked at the high heels, and even her dress was for big occasions and there were few Monde before retreating to the bedroom largely covered by a white pinafore such occurrences in her life. and leaving them alone. which fitted her snugly into her role in After she had slipped it on her well- 'How d'you feel about going to work the party. formed body she was not satisfied, but this morning?' As more liquor was served it began to went ahead with matching accessories: a 'I woke up angry and missing you. have its effect on the merrymakers and set of large navy blue beads, white ear- But now that you thought of coming their initial reserve started crumbling. stones, a white girdle and blue-and- it's like any other day.' Male-female pairs separated themselves white soft leather shoes with heels 'Good, lovey. Are you ready? We from the milling crowd and took to which had led Monde to ask her if it must leave immediately to make the sta­ shady corners where, first cautiously, were safe to walk on them. She added tion on time.' then boldly, they began to chip away at the finishing touches by painting her 'Yes papa, I'm ready, but first you the bounds of conventional modesty. long nails a matching blue and adorning have to say hello to my mother.' Martha began slightly to enjoy the her delicately plaited hair with a pale ar­ 'Ag, Martha. You know I'm so afraid day when the men paused mid-sentence tificial rose. of her. Moreover she's still asleep. Why in conversation to scan her contours All through these preparations her disturb her rest?' complained Monde. with laser-beam stares, earning the dis­ sister helped her. 'Now you look like 'Never. She cannot be sleeping at this approval of their female partners. She the queen of Sheba, beautiful sister. time. She's the first to regain conscious­ was not pleased because the men were Abelungu bakho are going to wish they ness in the morning. Come on in. It's white but because they were men, and it were black.' been a long time since you saw her.' amused her to note that no matter what When she looked into the wardrobe Monde was about to utter a stronger kind of restriction was placed on them mirror she saw that Busi was not flatter­ protest against it when the o'lady spoke or what mode of behaviour was expect­ ing her. She wished she were a model from her bedroom. 'Don't let him es­ ed of them, they still could not be pre­ and not a tea-girl. Making tea was bury­ cape Mati. Bring him in here. Where vented from exercising their right to re­ ing a talent, she thought. have you seen a shy man?' spond to femininity, in spite of a wo­ Outside, Monde felt a tightening in Not that Monde was shy. He remem­ man's colour. Legally she was not a his midriff. He experienced the same bered the days when he and the o'lady woman to them, but naturally there was sensation after every short period apart were arch-enemies, and he was always no way of excluding her from consci­ from her. He knocked. The door opened promised a charge of abduction for tak­ ousness. and her pretty face peered from the ing Martha out. But the o'lady had since In the kitchen Mme Thandi and the shade of the house. Monde stepped into given up, and learnt to like Monde when others had appointed themselves 'tast­ her freshly applied floral aura: 'Hey, she realized that the two were so in­ ers' and thus managed to keep up with you outshine the sunrise, girl!' His eyes separable that the tradition she meant the party spirit in the council room. On­ absorbed every minute detail of her to uphold was of no account to them. ly Martha felt a bit bored, which Sarah beauty. He braced himself and went to meet quickly noticed. 'Come on, Martha. A 'Awu, Monde. Don't exaggerate, 'she her. little champagne wouldn't harm a baby. cooed, pretending not to believe the Just so's you don't feel out of place — sincerity of the compliment. come on, maan.' Busi came out of the bedroom beam­ At work — despite all the slit dresses, 'I wouldn't touch it in a million years ing all over: 'Oooh, hello squeezer! transparent blouses and bare backs on Sarah, my darling, honestly. When I Where did you think you'd end up? view — they buzzed around Martha like called it quits in this field I meant it.' You've promised a thousand times to bees around a flower on a spring morn­ 'Hawu? Don't say, my baby. People pay me a visit, and you never did unless ing when she arrived. The incidence of have said that and broken their resolu­ Martha was here. I've been waiting for a accelerated pulses transcended the race tions as easily as the devil sinning' said chance to tell you that you mustn't spectrum. 'Men will be men, in spite of Mme Thandi, jovially, drawing beer our think I don't know that to you the only the Act,' she thought when she caught of a can with a straw. important person in this house is Mati.' them eyeing her hungrily. If people 'Strue Mme Thandi. I wouldn't like Monde waited smiling until Busi had could be charged for 'illegal' thoughts to let the man in my life slip out of my STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 29 ORLANDO WEST hands because of drink. He made me was included in the mixture. took a drink each time Maggie did. stop, and as long as he loves me I'll re­ 'What could it be now? Even during a When they returned to the hall main as dry as a desert.' party!' She searched her mind for an an­ dauntless Sarah was sharing the middle They laughed appreciatively at that: swer as she went hurriedly after the of the floor with a white lass, each danc­ 'Yoo! Martha and that boy! But would others. 'With his endless accusations the ing to the rhythm of a pop song in a fa­ he be so strict on you as not to overlook bastard should have been born a prose­ shion peculiar to her background. this one instance?' cutor.' Everybody, especially every man, was 'Oh Nkulukulu wami,' thought Mar­ She caught up with them. cheering heartily. tha. No one to support my flounder­ 'Merwe' led them to the party hall Maggie said: 'Let's go, Martha. The ing will power. Instead they are all beg­ where he clapped his hands once to one you showed me the other day.' ging me to take just one sip for the sake freeze his subjects to pole-like atten­ The latter did not hesitate. Amidst of the party. I would understand if that tion: 'Er . . . ladies and gentlemen. I her frenzied gyration with Maggie she were the case.' thought there was something we were heard Mme Thandi cheering: 'Awu, my 'They have their party in the other forgetting . . . ' children!' and adding to the entertain­ room and we have ours here in the kit­ 'Yeah, yeah!' everybody agreed bois­ ment with a motherly version of the chen. It's not that we are gatecrashing. terously, although they did not know dance. We can't just sit and watch other people what the 'Prime Minister' was going to The song over, Martha felt like an­ having a good time. We must partake say. other drink. 'Damn,' she thought hazily. somehow.' 'Our hon'rable waitresses here. The 'I'll take as many as I can hold and She wished Monde had been with her party they are waiting on is going so Monde will understand.' to prevent her from doing what she was well that they deserve an on the spot in­ Miss Stevens, a beautiful middle-aged finding it hard to resist. 'If I had never vitation . . . ' spinster and the 'Prime Minister's' sec­ started drinking in the first place! This Martha felt a courageous warmth in retary, was serving a round of drinks. poison must have a permanent effect on the pit of her stomach. It was her op­ When she came to them Martha took one's will to resist it. How long is it portunity to show off what kind of one. since I last took a strong drink, and here black stuff she was really made of. Maggie looked at her quizzically: I find myself with my will power going They'd stop seeing her as a 'tea-girl' that 'Why, Martha? You're taking too much.' brittle. Aga maan, as if I couldn't mea­ day and look upon her as a woman, as 'Oh never mind, Maggie,' she an­ sure how much it would take to make Miss Stevens and Maggie, both white, swered, 'I know my dose.' me drunk. What? Kenna Mati, who is did. 'What'll your boyfriend say?' thinking this way? Noca! Why is the While many of the intoxicated minds 'He'll be cross, but he can fo' :.' time dragging so slowly today? I wish present reeled, trying to decide whether They laughed. they would finish. The world is easy to they had any choice in the 'Prime Mini­ Towards the end of the party, in the face without drink, but a sober world, ster's' decision to relax South African afternoon when many people had left not a drunk one. Lord! They're all so white convention, Maggie was making but those who remained were still feast­ drunk and happy, getting happier by the her way to Martha. The two were genu­ ing, Martha had needed to visit the la­ moment and there's still so much left ine friends. For some reason known dies. The passages were full of couples perhaps only to her Maggie couldn't un­ desperately clinging to each other. Habit They heard a man's footsteps ap­ derstand and was disgusted by her led her to the black workers' toilet one proaching the kitchen and with amazing people's racial prejudice. However, it floor below the one where the party was reflexes everyone found something to was not to demonstrate this that she be­ held. do — rinsing glasses, packing empties, came friends with Martha. They just be­ The right angled, tunnel-like staircase emptying crumbs — but their general came friends: two beautiful girls admir­ was gloomy. Only the light reflected manager, though also plastered, had no­ ing each other, seeing the beautiful side from the passage made her descent vis­ ticed, for when he went into the kitchen of each other. ible. She switched on the passage light he said: 'Mh-h, such diligence, girls. Nice The two friends started talking and when she came to the lower floor. loud party talk, and then sudden indus­ giggling as soon as they came into con­ 'I followed you. Felt lonely in that try at the faintest approaching footfall.' tact. Martha decided that another drink, crowd without you.' He was speaking No one said anything nor turned to something light this time, would do. from the top half of the flight around face him, including sober Martha. No Together they went to the kitchen bar. the corner. one ever said anything for herself when She took a half-glass of champagne and 'Yoo!' Martha exclaimed with sur­ the 'Prime Minister Merwe' accused; nor smacked her lips: 'I didn't know his pre­ prise. 'You frightened me.' did anyone ever look into his over- judice was soluble in alcohol. Whatever Dawie filled the whole tunnel end, nourished face and icy eyes. made the Prime Minister decide to invite towering above her like the colossus of He did not know what was meant by us Maggie? Surely it was not solely his Rhodes. She felt like a mouse trapped in good humour: 'Take off those aprons decision.' a dead-end hole, with a starved feline and come with me.' 'Miss Stevens hinted, and you know waiting with characteristic patience at They responded like a pack of that she's the only one in this firm the opening. She started trembling like trained dogs. Martha was the last to whose suggestions are worth his consi­ the poor mouse, too. hang her apron behind the door, while deration.' 'So that's why,' she thought, realising the others were already in the passage The sweetness of the champagne for the first time that she had taken following 'Merwe'. lingered distastefully in Martha's mouth much more than she could contain, 'so The glass that stood half-full on the and for something to neutralize it she that's why Mister David Steenkamp un­ sink was irresistible. Without a second opened a can of beer and took a sip. nerved me so much when I was serving thought she snatched and gulped it as in Long abstention made the effect grea­ him drinks.' the old days, at one tilt. It was too late ter. Her head felt pleasantly light. Dawie had always been a loner at to stop it going down her gullet when Engrossed in a lively conversation work. He was everywhere. He person­ she realized that whisky, for one thing, and wishing to keep it that way, Martha ally attributed it to the early days STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 ORLANDO WEST of his life when he had been torn away light-years, arched across a whole inhu­ 'I'd never get used to calling you from the one person he had ever loved, man universe of wasted lives. Her love that.' and been taught to hate. It was only as a for Monde, based on respect for him as 'Ja. You will when we've struck grown-up that he had got to know that a man, instructed her to have nothing to something human and not the baas-ser­ they had never been able to destroy the do with this message from outer space, vant acquaintanceship, the rubbish.' love he had held towards May. That this strange and compelling appeal to She heard that from afar and it made was when he began to notice his 'weak­ the roots of her human sympathy. her fight to maintain control of her fa­ ness' for dark-skinned women. That love Monde's effect on her was to make her culties. 'Damn the drink!' she thought. which should have been eradicated sys­ feel responsible for herself: their love 'What? What did you say . . . ' tematically from his being had only hi­ was a triumph over a world in which 'I long to take you where the fact bernated deep down inside for a cold neither of their lives mattered until they that we're South Africans of different season, while the waves of hate, con­ mattered to them, at which point the colours and rights will be of no ac­ tempt and selfishness swept over it. And power of the oppressor received its count.' because this revived emotion had no ob­ mortal blow. Yet here was this other 'Why Dawie? Why choose me? There ject towards which it could be directed, voice crying across a wilderness wider are so many white girls. I can't. I don't May having vanished into the sea of even than the one she had wandered in want to get into the papers. Oh God black skins that covered the land, he before she met Monde. In the moment . . . ' Her anaesthetised mind tried to hunted blindly and tirelessly for fulfil­ that she had turned her eyes away she resist. ment. The law did not allow him an had experienced a short struggle be­ 'The white girls bore me. It's as if outlet. But his reasoning was that it was tween the equal forces of disgust and they are all my sisters. I want a girl from an immoral and inhumane law that the compassion that Dawie evoked in another family. God made us one hu­ prevented him. So he felt no qualms her. The disgust, in a strange way, man race but different families. The ad­ about breaking it. His main hunting reminded her of the person she had venture of life lies in the families dis­ ground was Swaziland, beyond the been before she met Monde. The covering the beautiful human charac­ borders of the country he so loved, yet compassion told her of the person she teristics in one another. And sharing so hated for its laws. At home it was the now was. And in that moment she had them.' dark alleys of Hillbrow and the glitter­ known that she, as the person she now Her mind searched for something to ing streets of downtown Golden City. was, felt responsible for this white say: 'But the laws made by you white The only part of it which left him stranger. Even though her compassion people say it's wrong. You get arrested.' unfulfilled was the financial ingredient. threatened the very basis of 'I see things differently from the rest It was so impersonal that it made him her new self, her love for Monde! Poor of my family. That is my right.' Thanks yearn for the day when he would find Dawie! to the whisky he was able to state his one black woman with whom he could The drinks she had taken had braced outlook on life without wracking his form a real relationship and give to her her nerves and now a romantic element brain. The situation demanded that he what rie was not allowed to give openly attached itself to Dawie's following her be completely free of any fears he might That was why he had continued to hunt. into a secluded spot. In her semi- have had about stating his case. He felt It had not surprised Martha when she drunken state what might have shocked natural and the days of old washed back found him alone with his thoughts when her earlier excited her now. The appeal­ like the sea into his consciousness, those she was serving drinks. They all knew ing blue eyes looked straight into her days with May abroad in the green that he kept to himself and this obvious soul. Her drugged mind tried to find out parks, before the first black woman had loneliness inspired a feminine sympathy why she was so excited and defenceless. ever said: 'How much are you prepared in all the women at the firm. What got Was it habit? Had she grown so used to to pay me?' them all where it hurt most was that al­ a man by living with Monde that one though he was the right hand of van der night without, plus a few drinks melted Merwe he was such a gentleman and so all her resistance? Neither was it a Face to Face with the Truth impartially considerate towards every­ habit of the old booze parties and she­ one that Mme Thandi had once said of beens, though prior to the drink she had Life floats away with the wind him: 'This one is lost. He has forgotten felt no urge . . . of time that he's white or he never knew it.' The voice of those teachings which It is temporary When Martha was handing round her had coagulated their feelings towards Yet eternal first tray of drinks, even before the beauty in those not of the same skin be­ Limited by mortality whisky he insisted on had gone to his came fainter in their minds, until it Yet eternalized by birth head, he had said: 'Thank you very went totally silent. Natural laws took Its origin not felt much' in such a warm voice that Martha over and offered no option but obedi­ Not known had almost tripped when she walked ence. The cat stalked the mouse. Until it is there away from him. 'No. Mr. David. No. We'll get into On each of her subsequent rounds he trouble!' If he did not commit a double man­ had tried to look deep into her eyes. 'I cannot resist you, black girl. You slaughter, or a suicide, or both that ear­ She had looked away each time afraid are so beautiful, Martha.' ly evening, it must have been because that if she allowed their eyes to meet She reacted in the natural manner of his will to live was harder than alloyed and lock something might happen which a black maiden to a compliment. 'Oh steel. would necessitate a cold brush-off for Mister David — a plain person like my­ His heart had pumped so hard that poor Dawie. self? I don't believe what you're saying.' the blood vessels all over his body had Poor Dawie! Yes, that was it. His Her boldness had given her a pleasant threatened to burst, and the sweat had eyes, so full of longing, looked at her, surprise. She had not expected herself been wrung out of his skin until the searched for her, like eyes from a differ­ to be so much at ease. shirt he wore was like a second skin. ent but equally human planet. They 'I prefer to be called Dawie by The irises of his eyes had thumped in held a need so great that it spanned people I like.' unison with his heart. Breathing had be- STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 ORLANDO WEST come a problem and his bowels had were welling up in Monde's eyes. 'It is ing. shrivelled inside him. First a haze as myself I feel like killing now, because I 'And it shows that despite the laws dark as the darkest night had blotted should never have been born.' which divide people according to race, out everything before him. Then it had 'Simply because nature has taken her men are equal and related to each other been slowly replaced by one as red as course, Monde?' in their natural context. Every animal the insides of the eyelids when the face 'No. Because you shall never be mine species reproduces within itself, with is turned towards the sun on a cloudless again. You betrayed my feelings. Even if those of its own kind. He, the first gen­ day. But all the time he was looking. it had been a black man I would still eration 'coloured' child, my child, links The following haze was a silver one and feel the same way about it.' The tears us in direct relationship with the people the last, the natural light seeping had not rolled out of his eyes. They just of the white skin. If they reject the rela­ through the window. dried. He felt an unexpected surge of tionship, we accept it. I accept my child At this stage he had awoken from his courage rising from the trough of his with all that is in me of a mother's love.' hallucinations and seen her on the ma- feelings. 'You did well to wait till the tress on the floor, weakly holding the last moment, Martha. It shows that you baby up to him with trembling hands. wanted to save me from the shock for as EPILOGUE Her naturally big eyes were bigger and long as possible.' rounder, and glassy and frightened. The 'Yes. Also because I was not sure. I Dedicated to my 'Coloured' brother and very recent throes of bringing forth a met the white man only once, when I sister. child had made her gaunt, and the pink was drunk.' The sexual myth was that night gown she wore looked like a rose one intimate meeting between a man Yes, a child is born; a new human be­ petal. and a woman was harmless. ing comes into the world, and the 'He cannot be yours, Monde . . . I 'Your guilt was not the birth of a worldly gods have the audacity to call have prayed every second of the nine child but your betrayal of my feelings. his natural conception an immoral act, months that he should be yours . . . but There are many like him in our midst, insinuating by that that the child's very now I know that the only prayers I can and nobody hates them because they existence is immoral! say are for him ... I am beyond re­ were fathered by white men. Remove But I do not see what can be im­ demption . . . For one moment I wanted the thought of killing him from you moral in the mere existence of a human to kill him . .. but forgave him . . . How mind, Martha. He will survive like any being. Even the child born after an act could I expect mercy if I could not give other child in the black community, of rape cannot be stripped of his right him the basic right of life, like the mil­ whereas in the world of his father he to exist, once born. lion of other babies born into the would be a bad omen. He would not go Martha's child was a first-generation world? Give him a chance too ... I to kindergarten without a question be­ 'Coloured' a direct fusion of the races, a know I have betrayed your trust and I ing asked. He would not attend school natural bond between two people of a deserve no less than contempt from without a question being asked. He different skin pigmentation and in his ... But do not perform what you're would not go to church without a ques­ descendants this human bond shall be thinking on either of us for he has not tion being asked. He would not be represented until the end of time. betrayed anybody . . . ' Her voice allowed even to enter the house of his To me a so-called 'coloured' human sounded millions of light years away father's people. He would not live in being is a brother, conceived in the same from him. It was some super-natural, their neighbourhood without permission black womb as I. Child of a sister rob­ omnipotent reason that spoke through from the lawmakers. But among us he bed of the pride of motherhood by the her. The reason for life. The reason why will live like any other human being. He man-made immorality laws. he lived and why they lived, and a will be given a name and I hope it will White father, black mother, coloured reason he could not fathom but simply be Sipho, because he is a gift from God child. Marriage of the races, above man- accept for its infinitude. like all babies are.' made laws. Black man and white man 'If nature has approved of the baby, He stopped, and Martha's eyes met married in the blood that flows in who am I to dispute it Martha?' Tears his in the light of the same understand­ Martha's child.

The stories of MTUTUZELI MATSHOBA have been a regular feature of Staffrider since issue No. 2. My Friend, The Outcast (Vol. 1, No. 2) explored corruption and cruelty behind the scenes of a Soweto eviction. Call Me Not A Man (Vol. 1, No. 3) dealt with organized thuggery by a group of police reservists. A Glimpse of Slavery (Vol. 1, No. 4) penetrated the dark world of the labour farm. In our next issue look out for A Pilgrimage To the Isle of Makana.

Matshoba's stories are inspiring others. CYA's drama section is working on stage adaptations, and artist MZWAKHE NHLABATSI is working on illustrations for A Pilgrimage.

Ravan Press is publishing A GLIMPSE OF SLAVERY — a collection of the stories — in May 1979, and a novel is also in preparation. 32 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 GUYO BOOK CLUB/SIBASA

IT IS DARK oh the stinging pain the questions (unanswered) these things we sat and watched intoxicate our minds as our rivers and we say came flooded from the mountains it is dark baboons running from the bushes no more lights into our mealiefields and this dog has us in its grip milk becoming sour we kick in the udders of our cows but it comes back thick like pus from a rotten wound like a fly around chunks of meat and our tears fell like water from a dripping Nthambeleni Phalanndwa tap and we said: this dress our days have on ON TOP OF THE MAGALIES is black For Nape a Mo tana like that of weeping mothers at the graveyard. I pray and sing Drink and dance at dawn On top of the Magalies we woke up Look hope . . . hope . . . hope Those are our mealie fields instead And there are Afrikaner bulls grazing we read terror in the faces of mothers those weary mothers Bleeding bantu lovers at the graveyard — remember Smoke senior service voices weary At their ease in Braamfontein: eyes weary We in Brits hold a pipe heads drooping Leaning on the muur of a dam crying Gazing at a thousand bantu arses weeping Greeting heaven the same people heroes Amin may be the greatest marksman in Uganda a son here Let him pip south of the Limpopo a daughter there Where each family numbers more than thirty we met again We know our job and we are at it at Avalon, Doornkop We fed the bantu with the pill to run blindly To spend his days at the family planning clinic like chicks from a refuse dump And walk around with VD. when the hawk stoops Maano Dzeani Tuwani

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 33 GUYO SIBASA/VENDA

THE ISLAND

The Island is bad, (except p'rhaps for the mad) and Oh, how it makes me sad and Oh, how it makes Them glad.

WHAT IS LOVE Humbulani wa-ha Marema

I love you my brother So much that I can't Share the endowments God bequeathed us with you. I will privilege you with your rights To suit my egocentric purposes, Because I love you. WHETHER

My brother, J love you The sorrowful wind that blows Is why we can't live under one roof. the heavenly teardrops against the window-pane, You must dwell in the Subtopia and whistles thru' the chimney And I will reside in the suburb makes me shiver with anger You will not visit my palace without notice, that so many people won't know Because I love you. where, or whether, they'll get the next meal.

/ love you, my brother Humbulani wa-ha Marema Is why I'll give you a Homeland And deny myself the privilege. I will sing music for you And you will dance to my tune, Because I love you.

/ love you, my brother Is why we can't worship CITY-BOUND TRAIN Even God our Father together. I preach love to you: Packed in each coach Do as I say not as I do, As the engine pulls with force Because I love you Our relatives leave us To seek money to feed us. J love you, my brother Like a snake it twines the mountains Is why we can't rest together With coaches bound like chains: At our country's luxurious hotels. All the strong brothers, city-bound! Even for the eternal rest at Avalon I will do my best to keep us apart, Ntsieni N. Ndou Because I love you.

/ love you, my brother Is why we can't learn together: What is good for me can't be good for you. I will design a special kind of Education To suit my purpose and maintain my status, WATCH OUT Because I love you. if you continue Yes, brother Baas to write your poems in such vile style, You have a lot of love for me: we'll send you to the seven-mile Isle But in which direction does your love flow? (no ordinary exile) Is it not flowing in the direction of your house? by using our judicial guile (like 'the Garden of Eden reptile): Tshilidzi Shonisani Ramoshe then we'll close your file.

Humbulani wa-ha Marema

34 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 LEBANDLA/HUNGRY EYES/ introducing the pen of Joseph Letsoalc /SESHEGO, PIETERSBURG

LEBANDLA after them properly, the children start either, and yet I suffer the experience. I There are people there — every day searching for some of the things they have to see them everyday, as long as except on Sundays. And they would need themselves. They leave their I'm not ready to hide from reality. Walk like to be there on Sundays too, as long homes. Some run away because when around the streets on the outskirts of as their hands can hold a calabash, as the father is drunk he curses them and the black townships, you'll see them. long as their throats can swallow. My also beats them a lot. You may hear him They're always there in tattered soiled people are disappearing, they are shouting at them, and see them backing clothes, their small bodies stinking of sinking. Maybe they realise it too, yet against the wall, hiding their tiny, dirty dirt, smelling of poverty. they can't stop themselves from sinking. faces with their even dirtier hands. What If you don't have the heart of a lion, And now, it goes down, down their do you expect them to do, except run please do not go to the rural areas. throats. away from home, away from the curs- Disease among the young ones there is Who is to blame, who is wrong? ses, beating and hunger? rampant. They are bony, pot-bellied They can't manage without it, a cala­ Worst of all is when children join with round big hungry-looking eyes. bash, 'The True Beer' or 'Zebra' or their parents in this business. They too Maybe it is marasmus, maybe kwashio- 'Highveld', or anything you might call begin to find their pleasure in drinking. kor, what else? If the little ones knew it. And what should they do but down You see a girl of sixteen giving herself to what it meant when we say 'The year of it? It is their pleasure. It is their only a man just for a drink or some money to the child' they would revolt against us, way to ignore suffering, poverty and all buy her a drink. My people are sinking. because the promises we make to them kinds of oppression. Who made them First were the fathers, then the mothers are splendid but they're never fulfilled. suffer? Who made them forget that by too. The boys also followed suit — and They are born in great numbers, born chasing the calabash they are destroying worst, the girls too. Maybe another to suffer. After they're born there is no­ their societies, themselves, their health? Staffrider can tell us why these things thing in this world for them. Their fu­ Forgetting oneself is the most cruel happen. ture is bleak, it holds nothing for them. thing in life. It invites ill-health, ill-dis­ They've no parental guidance, no home cipline, and a rotten life, damage to HUNGRY EYES education, no money to take them to oneself. But with a calabash you don't 'It gives me a heartache every time I school, no clothes. Where can all these even realise that you're forgetting your­ think of it, and nightmares every night. be provided if their parents can't even self, not a chance. I can see them going It haunts my soul daily, but I can't do afford to give them food daily, although down there hurrying, as if they will be anything about it, or maybe I can.' the parents may be working? No, the dead within seconds if they can't drain I heard these words a long time ago. I parents can't manage it. They have to it down. Reaching the place they group can't forget them: They are true words. pay rent for their 'shacks'. There is a themselves according to their friendship, They talk about an experience, an ex­ high daily transport fare for them to the so-called 'lebandla'. One of them perience which I have also had. And I pay too, for they have to travel apart­ will go to the barman and buy three or didn't like it, either. heid distances to work. And now they four calabashes of beer: they call it Tiny eyes, tiny hungry eyes, looking are taxed everyday, the so-called GST. 'pompi'. Then you'll see the calabash at everything which comes within sight, Hungry eyes rove, they catch some­ going from mouth to mouth, 'rotation looking at everybody who might inter­ thing and memorize it; another some­ of the calabash'. The murmur of the est them, maybe might give them some­ thing happens, they won't miss it, they voices inside the beerhall is something thing, something they might ask for. catch it and memorize it too. They you wouldn't stand for if you weren't The owners of those hungry eyes are memorize everything, the good and the used to it, but that is everything in life bony figures, too young to make a living evil. When they are alone they practice to them. themselves, too young to try. what they saw — and is it not true that They may be there from morning to The little ones are not rare, not hard practice makes perfect? What is good sunset, no breakfast, no lunch, maybe to find. They are everywhere. You can't for them lives with them, grows with no supper too. What is a meal to them if fail to see them, and you don't have to them and sometimes dies with them. It they are not drunk? hunt for them, because they are not in is almost always evil that grows with Drinking brings problems — for hiding. They are roaming around the them, for they're living, growing in a themselves and for others. There is streets looking out for their needs. They society subject to poverty, and poverty fighting between them: perhaps because are always where food can be found. is evil. they are not one 'family' of drinkers, You can see them attaching themselves 'Come with me, go with me, but take but distinct groups. Some groups are to other children with parents worth me wherever you wish to take me, but enemies to others — and don't be sur­ having. Parents who have enough to give please do not take me to another no­ prised to find enmity growing even their children, enough to throw in the where! I don't need another place where among the members of the same group. rubbish bin. The rubbish bin is a kitchen my eyes will grow round with hunger, But their families? There will be no for these hungry ones. What gave me a where my eyes will grow big with discipline for the young ones at home. pain in my heart was to see how these hatred of the ones I love, the ones who Where will they get discipline when wealthy people treat these hungry poor don't care a damn about me. I hate to their parents are away all day, returning ones. A dog looks better cared for than see my stomach growing big, while there home only when they are drunk? these hungry ones to them. They are is nothing inside it except water and Drunk, when they should give love to cursed, ill-treated by their counterparts, food which lacks nutrition. Take me their children, or tell them of God. reminded time and again that they are with you and please, don't take me back They always talk of Him when they are poor and indeed that they are dogs, who to where I've come from. I will miss my drunk and when there is no mealie- can't stay at one home. How can you friends with whom I used to share any­ mealie for the young ones. But where stay at home when there is nothing for thing we grabbed, with whom I used to can they get a bag of mealie-mealie you to eat at home? learn the cruelty of human being to while they can't even afford a half-loaf, Yes, the woman was telling the truth human being. I survived! but can possibly afford a calabash? Hav­ when she said she couldn't do anything Those were the words of a survivor I ing realised that there is no one to look about it. I can't do anything about it know.

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 HAMMANSKRAAL

AN AFRICAN WOMAN

Over the baby's cradle she stood, With a bullet in his heart And warmly she held him, And blood on his shirt: With every hope that he'd be a man, It was a horrible scene to look at, A man of dignity and stature. But I had courage and strength: It was my son lying there, Come rain come sunshine, she had to go My beloved son, the one I loved most. Looking for what she could do for him: With age catching up, Friends, the community and relatives came. Her baby was all to her. From far places they gathered to be with me, To come and console me, Overlooking the difficulties she confronted, To come and bring me back to the living world: Ignoring the insults she got, Yes, they came to pay last respects to my son The welfare of her child all important, It was a mourning day: She cared little about herself. Never again would I see my son's body.

God showered the woman with fortune, Thunderous explosions began, He gave her courage and strength, I thought it was World War III, That she might care for this child People went beserk, everybody was screaming — To whom his gift was intelligence, and a love of the people. My son's coffin fell! Yes, it was a shooting Then what a spear the authorities ripped into her heart, A shooting at my son's funeral! After so many years of devotion: It was just like the son of God at his crucifixion. The pride of her life taken from her, Lord forgive them, the son said, The only and all, for whom she had cared. But I'll rise, and I'll come back, Come back and reign. Yes, it is three months now! No sight of my beloved son, Shimane Maoka No word from the child I brought up! No warmth in my heart, No more those happy evenings together. No cheer in my home: Yes, they have taken that son of mine, son of the soil!

Oh, what a pain in my heart! After so many years of difficulty And so few of happiness, After so many expenditures On my son's education, Only to lose him in a minute, In that one minute which parted us.

He was beaming with happiness YOU HAVE NO SHAME And the hope of coming back, Back from the struggle for his people. You black girls, He had hope within him that he'd come back. Who swallow 'the pill' as if it was any other pill, That the sun would shine for all, all the people. You, who assemble your garments as if you were marching to Never did that materialize! a party Nor did I see the beaming face, When you are merely marching to school, The beaming face of my beloved son. You who adorn yourselves like a rainbow at weekends And march to decorate the corridors of shebeens and beer My body was left cold after I was told; halls Told by the pressmen that my son was dead Merely to charm those whose hunger is great for you, My heart was cold, You have no shame. I never shed a tear, You black girls, I never believed a word they said, Who move hungrily from one fancy car to another Never thought such a thing would happen, Like that pick-pocket I saw in the Mamelodi-bound train, Happen to my child, my beloved son. You who find pleasure in taking off your black Oh! the little thing I used to love, Tights within the mansions of Houghton, I used to laugh with, You have no shame. Yes, he was dead, dead in a cell. You black girls, Who are not ashamed to sleep in the beds of your mothers His life was taken; more taken was I. Listen! It is my people you are degrading. I had courage and strength. I felt what had happened was God's will. Thabo Mooke Yes he was lying there, dead as he was,

36 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 CREATIVE YOUTH ASSOCIATION/D1EPKLOOF

Black culture — poetry, music, paintings, sculpture, songs and plays —lived again at CYA's free art festival held at the Diep- kloof Dutch Reformed Church in Zone 4 recently. Three aims of the festival were to support the International Year of the Child, to further CYA s three-year struggle to secure a venue, and of course to welcome, in collaboration with the Johannes­ burg PEN Centre, the International Secretary o/PEN, Peter Elstob. The festival kicked off with music and poetry from CYA The following groups performed: Mihloti (featuring Ingoapele Madingoane s africa my beginning), Dillo, Motsweding, Kwan- za, Bayajula, Mbakasima, Alexandra, Madi, Tembisa. Extracts from Egoli, CYA s three-man play, were performed. Joe Rahube, who has recently joined CYA, did it again with his one-man stunt, and the festival closed with a musical jam session contributed by Blue Ocean, Babupi, Isizwe, Bahloki and Mahlamala's Trio, all from Diepkloof

PEACE

I came here for peace, But where is peace to be found? I wandered, looking for peace While violence whimpered around me.

The saying goes, Don't steal, My experience is, the disease called poverty.

The saying goes, Don't scold My experience is Aggravated humiliation.

Is that the case With every being? Under the blessed black sun I was born dark:

I want peace.

Patrick Makungo

DOG EATS PEOPLE

Whenever oppression supresses the basic needs of anything that lives, one must expect nothing but chaos and destruction to ensue. It is dangerous for people to accept a little of anything and feign content. People must not give a little of anything to anyone who does not have. The hit back has messy repercussions. Anyone who knows Soweto knows how many hungry dogs are straying. This is not the case in Soweto alone, but also in other townships where black people are kept. People were eaten by dogs some time ago in the sixties. The place was Pim- ville. Did these dogs do this of their own accord? Would you say that dogs are naturally dangerous — if they are not chained? Any normal human being knows about the declared 'non-citizens' who live in poverty and unending hunger. Somewhere (I know not when) people started to kill, and have been doing so since. Were they just wont-work loafers? If they were, are they still?

Masilo Rabothatho Peter Mashishi / Untitled

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 37 CYA/DIEPKLOOF

A POEM

My eyes page through a myriad faces Only to unveil your sweet smile That takes my heart for a mile Pulsating a rhythm of desire.

Sarcastic you, Stop feeding me with hang-ons and hallucinations, And filling my veins with shadows Fathomless to men and angels alike.

Artistic you, Sculpture of old, honoured by the new, Why fill my heart with nectar And give my palms a nocturnal touch, While my lips are as dry as desert sand?

Narcissus, you, Why make me jealous of myself While you simmer in the silence of the unknown, Leaving the swallows to mock my existence?

Manabile Lister Manaka

DON'T DELAY

I am off to exile Off to the land that carnates All afrika's flowers:

When i land there Will i think of home, When i reach there Will i think of riches Which i left behind?

I may: And then I won't delay.

Matsemela Manaka

CROSS ROADS

Jesus's cross Reminds me Of roads.

Kay Hassan/ Nowhere to End Mabuse Letlhage

38 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 JOHANNESBURG

SILENT MOVIE/ a story by Jill Bailie

I saw a porcupine for the first time she could only walk very slowly. because she was the best dressed and that night. It had a solid body and its My brother and I had been to visit Larry sat her two dolls next to Anna; quills swayed like seaweed in the moon­ the tall man and his wife before. They Anna was just like a doll. light. When it saw us it scuttled away had lived in the forest for seventy years. When we were drinking our tea the across the potato land and into the Anna, Gideon's wife wore heavy bright­ grandfather started moaning and groan­ darkness. My brother and I had been ly coloured clothes. She was thin and ing. I think he was warming up because camping up in the hills and on our way short, her face was creased and her eyes soon afterwards he told us about the down we passed by the calf-hut. It was shone like fireflies in the night. I think cricket. He had been walking around the empty, except for a water trough and she could see clearly in the dark. She side of the hill to fetch water in his this time we also found a big lady. She lived under the ground in one room. bucket. He said that he heard a grating, was sitting in a corner wrapped in a The six steps were steep and lighted piercing, scratching noise. I knew that blanket, smoking. Her hair was grey but only from outside. Inside she lit six he was deaf but maybe you can hear the curls on*her forehead were tinted candles, three on either side of the noises like that even if you are deaf. yellow from the smoke which she blew room, all set into niches dug into the Then he fell into the grass. He lay on his through her teeth. Her cheeks looked sand wall. There was another candle in stomach, still, and looked carefully until like yellow curtains hanging between the far wall, it was in a wider niche he saw a green bottle. It was a wine grey walls. She also had a moustache which was decorated with pieces of bottle and beside it was a glass standing and prickly brown bristles on her chin. material. The floor was soft, straw had upright. Next to the glass was a blue- There was a buzzard in the sky. I was been spread over it then covered with a black cricket and inside the glass at the scared of her. I knew about witches blanket. There were other little holes bottom was a rim of sticky red wine and from books I'd read but my brother dug into the earth for clothes and cups a dead cricket and two newly-born dead didn't. He thought we should just go and paper. And there was a blue blanket crickets. I could see that he was still cry­ home. But I wanted to do something. folded in the corner. She only had one ing because his chest was throbbing and Eventually we decided that we would pair of shoes. I think she thought she he could hardly speak. He said that the start a fire all the way around the hut, was dead and had buried herself. The cricket had jumped into the glass to but quite far away from it. She would tall old man was named Gideon. He had have her children and she was too tired then have a chance to escape if she wan­ white skin and unlike Anna was very to jump out again, so she and her child­ ted to. Otherwise she would be burnt. I big. He lived on the ground in the en­ ren had died of starvation and the other knew that my father would be angry trance hall to the tree house. The frame cricket was singing to them to jump out about his hut but when I told him why of his room was made of wattle tree when they couldn't because they were we'd done it he would understand that branches and between these white ferti­ dead. we had to burn the witch. We made a lizer bags were stretched. Each bag had I knew from before that the old man big fire. The flames were high and very been sewn to another very thoroughly. was very old. He didn't really know hot and moved quickly over the veld The roof was the same. In one corner of what was going on. Larry and me and towards the hut. Then we heard a deep his room another blue blanket lay fol­ my brother and the grandfather had all sound like a drum, as if someone was ded. He had a wide yellow brown table, gone to a film in the village one day. It calling. It seemed to surround us. It was his eyes were green and his hands was a silent movie and very funny. The louder and stronger than the crackle and tanned red. He spread them on the table grandfather began to cry towards the roar of the wild fire. I was afraid. I told and pushed himself out of his chair. He end and we had to take him home. He my brother that it was all her evil spirits bent his head before he touched the told us that he couldn't enjoy the film escaping before she burnt. He was roof, but he was not a giant. His hair because he was deaf. He could see us scared too. Then we saw a tall man was swept to one side and his head was laughing and he wanted to laugh but he floating over the next hill towards us, he always tilted like a bird. He was listen­ couldn't hear. I wished I could tell him was running but it looked as if he was ing very carefully. This is how we found that it was a silent movie. floating. When he came he just said him when we arrived for tea with my Our tea party was spoilt because the ' You mustn't burn my sister.' And after sister. grandfather wouldn't stop snivelling. Al­ a little while of beating at the fire it Larry, Gideon's son, had met us at so we were all getting a bit cold. It was went out. The hut was made of bran­ the stream and told us that his grand­ early in the morning. These people ches and mud but covered with a father had just arrived from across the seemed only to be awake at night and a corrugated iron roof, so it was very hot plains over the hill, and had been in­ little during the day. My sister also liked inside by the time the big woman came volved with a cricket on the way. They the night, especially at full moon. She out. She was sweating and smoking but were all sitting at the wide yellow always took our dolls for a walk and a she smiled. At first I didn't see that she brown table. Gideon sat on his chair and picnic then. My parents thought that was smiling because she was so ugly. She Anna sat on a stool on her legs. Her it was better for us to do things at night even asked us to have tea with her at her skirt hung down to the ground over the because during the day the neighbour's brother's house. stool. The ugly big woman sat cross- children were awake and we always had We went home to find my sister. We legged, smiling on a wide bench. I terrible trouble with them. In the early found her pushing her pram down the wished she could have a nicer smile be­ morning just when it's becoming light, road towards the dam. She was taking cause I knew my sister didn't like ugly when you can't see the sun but you her dolls for a picnic. She was wearing people. The grandfather had eyes the know that it's coming, the weather or my swimming costume and my mother's size of the nail on my little finger. He the air gets quite cold. If my mother's high-heeled shoes and hat. She had was shrinking I think. He sucked his awake she always tells us to put our jer­ gloves on and make-up. She was very teeth and his cheeks into his mouth. I seys on. excited about going out to tea, but it think he thought he could turn himself I decided that the grandfather need­ took us a long time to get there because inside out. My sister sat next to Gideon ed a treat. I asked Larry and we decided

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 39 JOHANNESBURG that first we would take him on a tour behind their chicken house where they ground and she carried a packet. She of the tree house and then for a ride in parked their car which didn't work. had black hair and a black doek over her our car. He had never been up into the They were always giving us trouble even head and shoulders. Slowly we followed tree house before, he had always been the eldest one who was twenty-five. He her. We walked quietly and carefully so afraid of steep drops downwards, but had very big eyes and was fat and short. that she wouldn't be disturbed. Some­ we thought he wouldn't mind now be­ He didn't like moving round much. He times she moved quickly and sometimes cause he was so nearly blind that he was responsible for planning their slowly. She threw her head and arms would only be able to see the branch he attacks. back and forwards and stamped her feet was holding onto anyway. Anna was We found the car waiting for us at silently. She stooped to pick up stom- frightened by our suggestion so she home. It wasn't really a car but it work­ pies which she put in her packet. We went to her room under the ground. ed just as well. It had two horses in the walked quietly around houses, across The fat woman took Gideon's blue front attached by leather straps to the streets, behind shops, under the railway blanket and slept under the willow tree back seat of a car which still had the line, into the station, over the bridge, near the bathing area on the river. The back wheels underneath. Our horses for about an hour and everyone in the birds had woken up because the sky was were strong and fast. We all sat on the village was quiet and still as the brown­ just grey. seat and whistled and very soon we were ish lady stooped and swung herself until Gideon picked grandfather up and at the stables. Another fire. Those child­ her packet was full. She went into the put him on the third branch. The first ren had tied the cows to their troughs veld, into some trees, and tore the storey of the tree house was on the fifth then set the shed alight. That was easy stompies apart, collecting tobacco. She branch. Larry and my brother stayed because of all the hay. My father was rolled it all up into a piece of paper. She behind him and I helped him from the there. One cow was dead, burnt, and the had never smoked before, you could see front. The first landing was the kitchen. shed was badly damaged. He was angry because it was the wrong kind of paper It had running water which came and sad. We were too late to help so we and the cigarette was about six inches through a pipe from the river. You had went home for breakfast. When we got long. She put it into her mouth then lit to suck the pipe before the water would there those children had broken a few it. The whole cigarette burnt quickly come. There was also a little gas stove. windows with stones. We hadn't been and caught her long hair and her doek. The second storey was Larry's room; It defeated for a few weeks so it was their It was very interesting to watch her hair had a light which worked because of turn to win. During breakfast we burn but Simon ran and put it out be­ batteries which had to be attached to planned our revenge. fore her head could burn. She was cry­ wires. There was a brown sack on the It started raining very hard and the ing just like the grandfather. When we floor and a few books and a blue lightning was bright and sharp. The dogs asked her why she wanted to smoke she blanket in the corner. The third storey hid away. In twenty minutes the rain said that she'd heard that smoking com­ was Simon's room; he was Larry's had stopped but there was a fresh still­ forted you when you were sad. Simon brother. And the fifth storey was his ness. Larry wanted to go home so he trimmed her hair in the truck with other brother's room. He was the eldest did. Then he came back. The grandfa­ scissors and my brother and I bought so his room had a balcony which led ther had been struck by lightning. He her a new black doek. She said that her round into the lounge which was at the was dead. My brother and I went to the son had put the coffin in a tree and that top of the tree. All the rooms were very tree house in our cart which was pulled they would put it into the ground when small, about the size of two car tyres by Boesman, a pony who wore bells and it fell down. We said that we would give together and one and a half upwards. ribbons on his harness. Gideon had al­ her a lift back to town after we'd The bedrooms had small windows cut ready carried him down and Anna was bought the pig meal. We took the into the fertilizer bag walls. The tree wrapping him up when we arrived. We brownish lady home in our car. We went didn't seem to mind, it still had many put him in the cart, a small white parcel, to see the coffin in the tree but it wasn't leaves. It was an evergreen tree. Grand­ and we all walked with the cart, the there and neither was it on the ground. father liked it very much in the lounge bells tinkling, across the hill and onto She started crying again so I stayed with and wouldn't come down so we just tied the plain where the grandfather lived. her while my brother went to fetch a rope gently round his waist then His friend, an old brownish lady was Larry. round the trunk of the tree and left him waiting for us beside a coffin. Gideon We had a very special way of finding up there. laid him inside and Anna placed some things. Larry and my brother and I sat When we got down again there was a dry yellow flowers on his chest. Then together and the brownish lady brought messenger from my parents to say that we walked over the hill again. The the old man's hair. It was in a bottle be­ the children next door had attacked the brownish lady wanted to take the coffin cause it had to be cut off before he was stables. We quickly fetched my sister away by herself. Anna and Gideon went wrapped up. Larry put a strand in the from Anna's room and took her shoes to Anna's room and didn't come out for palm of his hand and then we all spat off so that she could run home with us. a few days. The fat woman took them into his hand. After we had mixed it It was definitely morning by then. The food. We all wondered whether those Larry slapped it with his middle and in­ sun was warm. We ran across three lands children had anything to do with the dex fingers and we all watched to see of erogrostis and a mielie land and storm and especially the lightning or which way most of the spit flew. About across the dam wall where we frightened whether it was time for grandfather to half a teaspoonful flew in the direction the coot by mistake: we were in a die and so the lightning had just flashed of the hill so we knew who had stolen hurry. My brother had an axe and Larry him away. the coffin because those children lived had a stick. They led the way just in My father sent us to town to buy pig on the other side of the hill. The brown­ case we were ambushed. meal. We went in the truck with Larry's ish lady was still crying but she quieten­ The children next door lived in a brother, Simon. Just before the village ed a bit when we told her that we had house with three rooms and a kitchen. where there are a few houses we saw the discovered where it was. Unfortunately There were twelve of them and a mo­ brownish woman again. The sun was we couldn't go in our car because the ther and father. They bathed in the sink above us and getting hotter. She was bells on Boesman's harness would have in the kitchen: we spied one day from walking crouched over, searching the given us away. So we had to use the STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 40 JOHANNESBURG

other car with the two horses. There was an entrance at each end. We trees. We only went there to slide down The last time I'd been to the shack sat crouched waiting for the Indians. It the steep red slope. There were we had interrupted their chicken killing. was spring and we saw the sun catch the brambles there and we collected the There was a heavy wagon in the ripening green fruit and pink blossoms of the berries for jam. No-one was there that veld with a heavy wooden table and tree above us. We had also prepared two day and it seemed as though the rocks heavy rusted iron wheels and a forked saucers and left them in the sun just were twisting in the heat as I walked a- iron handle. Some of those children had outside the back entrance. In one saucer cross the narrow dam wall. I was bare­ been killing chickens on it. They sold there was water and in the other a piece foot and I stood on a frog and I felt its chickens and eggs but they killed the of paper with 'Indians' written on it. life tubes on the sole of my foot. It chickens by slicing off their heads with The paper was covered with water and didn't actually burst but I felt them an axe. One child would hold the head then we had sprinkled a layer of red fly pounding under its blistered skin. I and another would chop and all the poison over it. I knew that they would turned and stared at it, open-mouthed others would laugh and dance and play find us this time because they would as it poised itself to spring into my while the headless, feathered, red-brown have followed our tracks and also be­ throat. That's what blocked my scream. body ran around the veld sparkling in cause they were desperate. If the sun I lay in the grass trying to close my the sun. It made my tummy pull into evaporated the water then the Indians eyes. My stomach heaved because I had my spine and I saw the black spots in would die or all become very sick, but closed my mouth and was feeling im­ my brother's eyes grow rounder. There we weren't sure how close they were. prisoned behind my teeth. My arms was so much blood and so many wings Perhaps they would arrive before the clasped my knees and I rolled from side pounding the air, wanting to escape, to sun had a chance to take the water to side in the green green grass, hot hot fly away headless, but they couldn't and away. Then we heard them. First the sun, clear blue sky. I unfolded even­ their heads lay in a heap on the wagon. I crackling of a few twigs then a loud wild tually but had to put my fingers into took one home to look at it carefully. cry to summon the other warriors. We mouth and pull my lips and cheeks Ever since then we had called them moved slowly silently towards the back outwards before I could unclench my Indians, because Indians did that sort of entrance. My brother spread the red fly- teeth. Everything was waiting, even the thing. But this time it was very quiet poison across the opening. He helped stones were still as I walked slowly be­ and the shack quite still. All we did was me to jump over it then we ran. Across tween them through the grass up the hill push the door open with a long pole, the recently ploughed mielie land. It towards the wattle trees. slip in cautiously, slide the coffin out of was difficult because the furrows were Every year our family and the the kitchen from under the sink and put deep and I fell often. Through the pad­ Indians and the people from the forest, it onto the car. We buried him deep in dock where the cows lay chewing their walked together over that hill, into the the ground that night and slept in the cuds drowsily in the penetrating sun, valley and up the next hill because at forest on the side of the hill. round the stables, over the fence, the top a flower blossomed for two days It was damp but the polecats still through the garden, past the windmill to every year and it was so radiant that we came to collect the left-overs when the the loquat tree. We had built a tree had to walk slowly to see it. Its leaves fire had died down. We watched them house high in the loquat tree. It was spread on the grass overlapping one an­ raking the coals and embers and gnaw­ covered with leaves and had a roof made other, then the stem rose straight out of ing the bones or carrying them away. of thinner branches, but no walls. They the ground, two fingers thick with They all scuttled away quietly but swarmed around the tree sweating. They nodules on it. It opened into an ostrich suddenly we saw a bulging dark shape would have killed us if they'd caught us. egg of buds, which all became petals and coming through the trees very slowly. It Their faces were smeared red with the green cups holding them had white was Boesman. He had a friend, a tall chicken blood and the feathers on their fluff on them. It was the only flower of black horse, much older than himself heads were white from our chickens its kind and much bigger than the and not able to work or be ridden any that they had stolen. We were too high others. It was in the ground surrounded more. During the storm he had been up for them to harm us. They began to by grass but it came out of the mist. dance and chant. Then I saw that the grazing out on the plain and the lightn­ The wattle trees were on fire. I saw soles of their feet were stained red and ing had struck him down. My father had from a distance and pumped my sto­ remembered the fly poison. They had buried him near the old man's grave that mach to make my legs run faster. As I stood in it. After a few minutes some of day and Boesman must have got out of arrived so did the tractors pulling water- them stopped dancing. Then others his camp to look for him. We followed tanks on wheels and trailers carrying stopped. They couldn't move their him at a distance and watched as he drums of water. The red fire tore at the ankles or their feet and I thought the smelt out Night's grave. When he found trees which screamed. It was a human spirited poison would move all the way it he walked round it and stood by it shriek or scream and their branches and up their bodies. They became quiet and and afterwards trippled towards the trunks became entwined with the blue, spoke in whispers. My brother climbed sheds where he was fed at night. We red flames and they bent to the ground down the tree and spoke to their leader couldn't sleep very well that night, too as the flames stretched to the open sky. — not the eldest child, he wasn't there. many thoughts were trespassing and The farmers could only protect their They said they would leave us alone if sleep just couldn't find us. lands and their houses by burning fire we took the poison away so that they Larry had warned us that the Indians brakes. Even when the high yellow and could move again. I climbed down and would attack again soon because we'd red flames had ceased, the grass and helped my brother to wash their feet. fetched the coffin back and buried it. fence-poles smouldered and hissed for I My brother and I got up very early and I was quite worried or frightened be­ three days. I went home on the tractor gathered logs and branches to reinforce cause we'd beaten them so thoroughly. with my brother. our fort. We had built the fort three or Whatever it was I was feeling very still I had to go to work in the city the four months before but because it was inside myself so I went for a walk to the next day. I felt like a baby that was be­ so well camouflaged it had never been frog dam. It is an oval, shallow dam at ing pulled out of my mother's navel. discovered. It was under the great crab- the bottom of a long red eroded piece There wasn't very much blood and soon apple tree behind the chicken house. of the mountain beyond the wattle the cord stretched and snapped. In the

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 41 JOHANNESBURG city I was like a child feeding from its and blue feathers as I sat beside her eased aside when it realised the tragedy breast; sucking the milk, then flesh, watching. 'If only I could catch one and and rolled tentatively backwards. He blood. As I sucked for more so it fought make pigeon pie,' she said quietly like wasn't there, he must have jumped over against me because it couldn't give me an undercurrent in a gently rippling the bridge, the road was so long. everything I wanted, yet it had to let me stream. So I decided to hitch home in­ I saw a mole cricket for the first time live. My work suckled from me and stead of taking the bus. that night. It was positioned red-brown likewise I had to struggle with it to let it I wished my brother had been with in the middle of my square room. Its live. me because I took a lift in a Bentley and jaws were moving but I couldn't hear One Sunday morning I found an old was quite frightened by the two brown anything. I wanted to but there wasn't a lady, similar to the brownish lady sitting heads and over-coated shoulders which sound. Outside there were cars but not a on a bench at the bus terminus. She hummed from the front seat. We slid sound and I couldn't hear what the big wpre a grey skirt and green jersey with a over the M2. angular cricket was saying. I felt as if I white floral blouse under it. She held a On the bridges over Braamfontein was in the sea, tumbling in the waves brown paper bag and a black plastic bag there was a man with blood bubbling but without my glasses, so I didn't to match her shoes. Her lips were red from his face, down his body, mostly on know which way to go to the sand. I and her rouge soothed her purple-silver the left. Round his loins was a white don't think he could hear me either be­ hair. Before her was a vast flock of pig­ cloth, underpants, dish cloth, sheet, cause he just went on moving his firm eons, fighting, pecking, flapping, greedy nappy, or towel and he was running, jaws, like the end of the film strip when for the crumbs that the woman threw. slowly swaying, staggering, he had the reel keeps turning. The sun was sprinkled over their grey brown hair and long arms. The Bentley

FOUR POEMS BY ESSOP PATEL

NOTE TO KHATIJA NOTE TO GRECO

a union of stars engaged Life, in a silent conspiracy immortalities fleeting car with the urban darkness, traversing the unpredictable freeway, unobtrusively life and death playing passing through the disheveled scenery, a game of dice NOTES ON THE STEPS danger watching Grecian girls d wading through the tide a waving handkerchieves the midnight hour n at departing lovers i heard leaving on an Odysseyian voyage, a sad song

the night descends in the heat of the night g like a lover, in a shebeen. i heard as the sun slots into the abyss of darkness a dry groan under the street lamp like an old Hellenic coin. an inebriated tramp the blistering dawn i heard a skull crack

on the prison steps w i saw g bK °x n a broken guitar i ... TO MY SON and with a black alley cat. . , my brother's blood. son, remember what your mummy said, tonight give baragwanath is breathing give your hand to every hand like a sedated babe like in the arms your grandfather did in Mecca of soweto to to every black-bronze-brown hand and forget not the white hand.

4? STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 TEMBISA/MEADOWLANDS

EVERYTHING IS JUSTIFIED FOR EXISTENCE SAKE

I watched a man go through a test, My life is like an empty shell, As they laid his son down to rest; The shape of which is hard to tell, And bravely trying his utmost best, Whose depth is of an ancient well; When they lowered him six-feet-deep, For not at all am I to know, Never to crumble down and weep In all the years that go by slow, For the dear soul he could not keep; The reason why I'm living now; A priest said, 'Be not horrified, 'Cause anything I'd try to do, 'Cause everything is justified.' Would surely split my mind in two, And leave me broken-hearted too; It occurs often in real life, For not a single step I take, In my street where robbery is rife, The slightest difference will it make, A man's life cut short with a knife, So I exist, for existence sake. The while he tries to make ends meet; And now he lies cold in the street, My search has led me miles around, A bundle wrapped in a white sheet, For simple reason true and sound, The widow's eyes, her grief implied; But this shall not be run to ground; And everything is justified. My wings are clipped to slow me down, My shame I wear, a lifetime gown, The murderer, playing hard-to-find, And fear upon my head a crown; At peace among his own kind, I jump no higher than a hop, Dagga-smoke coursing through his mind; To climb and never reach the top, Floating high in sweet oblivion, Like who and what am I, full stop; After a murder so wanton, A fruitless search for peace of mind, Spinning records of Brook Benton, Has left me chasing miles behind, Blood-money bulging in their jeans; For truth was never mine to find. And the end justifies the means. To all my fellow faceless ones, Now, a reasonable debate The day you plant my flesh and bones, Concludes that no man chose his fate; Weep not for me if only once; We're all of us subject to hate; For death I hurry to expect, It consumes our minds like poison, Before I lose my self-respect, Like the gaping gates of prison; A virtue, mine, that none suspect, Life and death march in unison: Who read the cover of a book, There's no cause to be mystified, And undermine the pains it took, For everything is justified. The author whose intent they cook, In spices such as man can fake; Timothy Motimeloa Makama /Tembisa I let them have their piece of cake Whilst I exist, for existence sake. FLOWER SELLER Timothy Motimeloa Makama/Tembisa The barren concrete is Bedecked with fast-waning flowers: In the bee-less shady stall She paces the concrete side-walk DUSK with a bunch of flowers He hears the people passing by. in her gaunt hands. His hat, Only faint whiffs of aroma Empty at dawn, Escape from the coloured flowers Empty at noon, And mingle with the spreading Empty at dusk is Fumes of the afternoon traffic. Like his stomach as large as the gizzard of a sparrow.

Her coarse and mournful voice is He sits too low to be heeded Lost amid the roaring traffic By the carefree passers-by As she cries aloud, Who stretch his neck like a flamingo, Hard-eyed, With a sad and sun-splashed face The subway becomes quiet, That repleats her poor business: Silence surrounds him like friends. 'Flowers here, 75 cents a bunch!' He knows it is dusk, A solitary dusk again. The greying hair on her head He stretches his arm towards his hat: Is like the shrivelled head of a flower. It gropes painfully to and fro, She thrusts her peasant hand At the unwilling, unhearing passers-by. He staggers up and drinks the tasty smell It moves like an unoiled crane. Of home-made porridge and toasted tripe 'Flowers here, 75 cents a bunch!' Floating in the air like yesterday.

When the traffic subsides, James Twala/Meadowlands Her rage unfurls like a flower: She loses her sweetness Faster than the flowers in her hand. James Twala/Meadowlands

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 -4T WESTVILLE

^1 l J|*1 fs »^ ^Wlvyi«xay»'J

WE THE DANCERS

We the dancers Greeted the sun j Sitting by the lowest step | Of the curtained house j We were the old nurse j For the faded child j See the way we felt j In the blueness of her eye We will sit AFRIKA (My peace with life) Before the house was built We will drink our tears \ Afrika Before her eye could blink You are the horizon When we will dance To which I turn We were free ... | | To see the sun rise To wean the poet We the dancers I Who praises you daily Came dead with the fetching flame i For bearing your breasts We were the fly | j To these my seasoned lips The fires feared j j Do not desert me Yet took for our wing's release j For I love you We waited as the bars j I want to cherish you Held in cell window-sills j | Take me into your heart For the off-beat j For you are the path We will slip j Whereupon treads my pride Before the count was expected Do not beguile me When we will fly For you are the sky The sun was borne in our pinion ... j That measures my manhood And spares me stars We the dancers To kindle my soul Awoke the bare earth Let me drink of you To yield to the tattoo For you are the river Our temper beat That flows with vigour The senile moth moulted | Carrying the taunting tale Beyond the strains of the nocturne j ! Our forefathers died to tell . . . Our lowered foot 1 i Afrika Quivered at the ordination ! | You are my peace with life . . . Of an apprenticed midwife j Far from the the African wharf j Eugene Skeef Oblivious of its prophetic poise | Even the squeak 1 Of the lower deck LYING WALLS/RISEN BRIDGES Could not shame the resonance j Of the sibilant silence j In our eternal wait Of our bearing wave j In our shelter from the infernal tempest The minor cadence of our song 1 ! We have filled the house to siege . . . Groaning aloft the Atlantic storm The walls have fallen As we dance to go ] ! In the faith of our risen temper . . . To become loose 1 | Now they are set to lie In the flesh of the apple | That we must cross untimely bridges We will skin too the serpent Till where our fermented souls Before the earth wore trees | must bear . . . Men we will move ! and bear . . . The waters have 'brought forth | and bear . . . Abundantly the moving creatures That have life Eugene Skeef Eugene Skeef

44 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 UMLAZI-DURBAN

STREET KING a poem by Zwelibansi Majola

At twenty-one the Mighty King begot the king and the silence ended. The king ditched the gun and dived for the Good Book in which he sought solace. In the filthiest shebeens he found recruits whether for a day or for life; for a moment or longer; The king had them singing; hailing Hallelujah and crying. The king picked them up, exposed in their suits of truthfulness; for what drunkenness conceals soberness reveals. In the silent afternoon buses filled with the fatigued Surely he was a king; he cried for deliverance; though he's gone now and forgotten. In the noisy morning trains of the strong An uncrowned king he was, he prayed for the working-class. Raised a prince of the gutters and the ghetto. They came from all corners of the underworld Never the warmth of fire and rugs for his flesh, to hear the king spreading His gospel. Never the love of man for his heart; nor proteins for his young body. Not everyone liked the changed king, least of all his underlings. At six For the king had withdrawn a rare talent from the sport. he went job-hunting in town. Unusual powers lay dormant. The wonders of the ghetto ceased to exist for him. The underworld suffered an exodus from its ranks. Bare-footed he ran over the frost and Fear for the king mounted, the winter cold pierced his legs. So did hate. At sunrise he rode staff on buses. Then one day In summer he braved rains and thunderstorms. a crack was heard at the bus terminus, leaving a crack where the king's At times he earned five or six or seven bob eye had been. that went into benzine and dice. With one eye, the other in flames of pain, the king saw a White dagga-dealer retreat. At seven he should have started school, And the king was filled with hate. Instead he experienced the black side of life. The gospel has no place for hate, so he withdrew: Many a stolen loaf he carried under his arm; Medicine never stilled his pain. the only storage for stolen fruit was the belly. Sausage rolls were chewed on the run. The king saw, listened and understood. Nobody cared, nobody knew; The breeder of misery stood revealed: Not his father, nor his mother Blackness, Apartheid. who disported herself in the arms of another street-king. The king's sole eye viewed his clenched fist. Once more he ruled the streets. At fifteen he went for Jewish. Brothers and sisters listened. Florsheim kept his shiny feet dancing for hours on end. In their midst dwelt a man, Baggy Saratoga and Brentwood hid his thin legs. dedicated to the cause. London Fog was his night shelter. The king denounced sweating for a pittance. Jack Purcel gave him the easy run. He loathed sell-outs, foreign stuff, On sunny days Viyella was his pride. liquor, Mercedes-Benz, the lot. In winter Pringle saw him through the nights. Never paid a cent for them. Night and day the king stood his ground, They were shed on acquiring new and better. Wrestling with the chains of oppression. The old and dirty were left to his underlings. He taught boys fist-fighting and soccer jiggling. He baffled men's outfitters. He remembered his work at six and encouraged vegetarians. As always, he ruled. At seventeen he dipped deeper into the pockets of the unwary. Ruler though he was, his life was ruled. Wads were lifted out of back-pockets of fathers; The hole in his head limited him: Hankies left the warm bosoms of mothers. They fenced him into the hostel He was a king of the art. where he ruled a few months longer. Dedicated, gifted, determined. With his single eye he commanded respect of the migrant blind. Not until he was twenty was he observed Such was the life he led. swimming in the happy waters of immortality; His brothers provided his daily bread; or breathing dagga. He had united them. Then he was well-off; the king had arrived. The king thwarted the powers-that-be; for what he fought was what he saw; Only once did he confide in the fairer sex; what he preached was what he felt. and landed behind bars. He never referred to books. He came out a master; a true king to be, hailed on both sides of the Bar Curtain. The king's sole eye had seen better days. It was a cause of anguish. The king didn't dig Noah's life-style; The king was tied to his bed in his doleful room. He was a loner. Those who knew him left for the homelands. Except for a few nights here and there, The new ones did not know him. quickly forgotten, The king was down-trodden and forgotten. Venus never smiled upon the king. Welfare gave him his living.

At twenty the king shed his sheath; And then one day A barrel protruded from his fist. en route to the welfare office Many a widow he made. (He knew the ghetto streets by heart) Many a shopkeeper was ruined in front His fate was sealed. of his barrel. Stumbling through chanting crowds, The king was a loner; he never talked, uplifted by his brothers' was never sold again. freedom songs, Everything was so closely kept in his chest that he became restless, sleepless, sickly. He never saw a machine unslung, aimed, a trigger pressed. Everybody ran. He was left alone in the street. The bullet thudded into his chest, and his life was cut short.

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 45 PIETERMARITZBURG

IT WAS ALL A MISUNDERSTANDING a play by Shafa'ath Ahmed Khan

THE PLAYERS. MESSRS. PIETER HURTER (TOWN MR. KHAN: Mr. Hurter, I said at least I could try it — CLERK) AND SHAFA'ATH AHMED MR. HURTER: Really, Mr. Khan? KHAN (THEATRE PERSONALITY) MR. KHAN: Well, why not? PLACE: MR. HUR TER 'S OFFICE MR. HURTER: Ha! Ha! Ha! Okay then - MR. KHAN: Look how easy it becomes — A knock on the door. MR. HURTER: Alright, Mr. Khan! Ha! Ha! Ha! MR. HURTER: Binne! MR. KHAN: The people will love it, Mr. Hurter. Enter Mr. Khan. MR. HURTER: Oh, will they? Ha! Ha! Ha! MR. HURTER: Oh! MR. KHAN: Won't you, Mr. Hurter? MR. KHAN: Good afternoon, Mr. Hurter I am — MR. HURTER: Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! MR. HURTER: I know . . . Mr. Khan! Please take a seat. MR. KHAN: It's something new for a country town — MR. KHAN: Thank you . . . MR. HURTER: For the whole world, Mr. Khan! Ha! Ha! MR. HURTER: Well, Mr. Khan, what can I do for you? Ha! MR. KHAN: Quite a lot, Mr. Hurter! MR. KHAN: Imagine how they will flock — MR. HURTER What is it? MR. HURTER: Yea, sure! Ha! Ha! Ha! MR. KHAN: The Town Hall . . . MR. KHAN: Whites, Africans, Coloureds, Indians — MR. HURTER: Yes, what about it? MR. HURTER: Hooh! Hooh! Hooh! MR. KHAN: It's the most central venue in town — MR. KHAN: All of them will flock from offices, shops MR. HURTER: Naturally, it has to be. After all, it is the and supermarkets in Murchison and other seat of all civic and cultural activities in our nearby streets! You, too, will be delighted town! to nibble at your sandwiches and watch me MR. KHAN: Cultural activities? and my cast entertain you! Something new MR. HURTER: Yes — stage-plays and all that! for Ladysmith, isn't it? MR. KHAN: Stage-plays? MR. HURTER: Ja, seker, my hemel! Hooooh! Hooooh! Mr. Khan smiles with satisfaction. Hooooh! MR. KHAN: Well, Mr. Hurter, I suppose we can now MR. KHAN: Oh, I'm so glad you like and thoroughly talk business . . . you see, Mr. Hurter, I enjoy this whole idea want the Town Hall — MR. HURTER: I do, indeed! Hoh! Hoh! Hoh! MR. HURTER: You mean you want to buy it? MR. KHAN: Ha! Ha! Ha! Well, thank you, Mr. Hurter, I MR. KHAN: Oh no, Mr. Hurter! How could I afford to must get moving on — there's posters and reimburse the people of Ladysmith? After all that to be attended to! all, they have been paying their rates for MR. HURTER: Ja, sure, I won't hold you any longer! Ha! such a long, long time now — how could I Goodbye, Mr. Khan! possibly deprive them of so rightful and MR. KHAN: Bye, Mr. Hurter! Ha! Ha! Ha! central an amenity? MR. HURTER: And good luck! Ha! Ha! Ha! MR. HURTER: Of course you can't — I would protest! Ha! Ha! Ha! . . . W-h-a-t? P-o-s-t-e-r-s? . . . MR. KHAN: Naturally . . . no, don't get frightened, Mr. Khan! Mr. Khan! Mr. Khan! Mr. Hurter, I just want to hire the Town Mr. Khan comes rushing back Hall! MR. KHAN: What's the matter, Mr. Hurter? MR. HURTER: Oh, I see! .. . you j-u-s-t- w-a-n-t t-o h-i-r-e- A brief silence prevails. i-t! MR. KHAN: Well, are you alright, Mr. Hurter? MR. KHAN: That's right — just for half-an-hour or so! MR. HURTER Yes — no, thank you! Oh! Oh! MR. HURTER: That's all? Ha! Ha! Ha! MR. KHAN: Why, is there something wrong? MR. KHAN: Yes, that's all! Ha! Ha! Ha! MR. HURTER: Quite a lot so, Mr. Khan! . . . Mr. Khan — MR. HURTER: Ha! Ha! Ha! No problem, Mr. Khan! MR. KHAN: Yes, Mr. Hurter? MR. KHAN: Thank you, Mr. Hurter, I expected so MR. HURTER: Do I understand you intend inviting the much! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ladysmith public to view a stage- MR. HURTER: You must be joking! Ha! Ha! Ha! . . . Here, performance by you and your cast? fill in this form! Don't omit to put down MR. KHAN: That's right, Mr. Hurter! what you're going to do for that half-an- MR. HURTER: Well, I never understood this all along! hour or so! MR. KHAN: W-h-a-t? MR. KHAN: No, I won't! MR. HURTER: I- Mr. Khan quickly peruses through and fills MR. KHAN: Mr. Hurter, did you think I'm a crank or the form. something — that I was going to use the MR. KHAN: There you are, Mr. Hurter! Town Hall stage to placate my soul? Mr. Hurter runs through the form. MR. HURTER: No, no, Mr. Khan — MR. HURTER: Ha! Ha! Ha! MR. KHAN: Yes, Mr. Hurter, you thought I was going MR. KHAN: What is so amusing there, Mr. Hurter? to enact something all alone to an inani­ MR. HURTER: No, nothing! Ha! Ha! Ha! mate audience of walls and velvet cur­ MR. KHAN: Well, isn't it a wonderful idea? At least I tains — could try it! MR. HURTER: Oh no! MR. HURTER: Oh yea! Oh yea! Ha! Ha! Ha! . . . You MR. KHAN: Oh yes, Mr. Hurter, you didn't think I know, Mr. Khan, I can't understand this. needed the Town Hall for legitimate MR. KHAN: What can't you understand, Mr. Hurter? lunch-hour theatre! After all, it is the most MR. HURTER: Look — uh! . . . suitable central venue, and it is the seat of MR. KHAN: Yes? all civic and cultural activities in our MR. HURTER: I — I know Ladysmith could be frustrating town! ... I suppose your earlier decision is for a theatrical — now reversed . . . MR. KHAN: Damn frustrating! MR. HURTER: I'm sorry, Mr. Khan — MR. HURTER: Yes, but you can't be that — MR.KHAN: No, that's fine with me, but — 46 — STAFFRlDER, MARCH 1979 ~ — NETERMARITZBURG

MR. HURTER: But, Mr. Khan, I want you to appreciate MR. KHAN: But remember what the prime minister it's government policy that stops us from once said — that many problems could be acting the way we would like to act. Then solved by local authorities at the lowest there are no separate toilets, and separate level? this and separate that! The telephone rings. MR. KHAN: Ohja! MR. HURTER: Stadsklerk! . . . O hullo Matt! . . . Goed MR. HURTER: And it's no use asking you to apply for a dankie, en jy? . . . Ja! special permit because I know you will not No, we must oppose them to the hilt — prostitute with this sort of thing. Even if they've got to move out! . . . It's time the you had one the department will stipulate department left it to us to decide what is that only Indians may attend, or you may good or bad for our town! . . . J a! Ja, okay perform to mixed but separately-seated Matt, totsiens! . . . O my hemel! . . . Well, audiences provided there are these and that's it, Mr. Khan, it was all a misunder­ those facilities! standing! I'm sorry I can't be of any help! MR. KHAN: And, of course, I would never have ceded a MR. KHAN: I suppose you could be — but you don't centimetre since it would essentially have want to be. been just another way of providing strata­ MR. HURTER: Huh? gem for — oh forget it! MR. KHAN: Well, I had better move out from here and MR. HURTER: I think so, too — leave you to be peaceful! . . .

GRAHAMSTOWN

Izinkonjane Zasegini with Zithulele Mann

ON EATING A PLUM IZIBONGO ZIKACLEGG

I picked a plum on a clouded day. Nkonjane eyakha isidleko sodwa, It wasn't the best of its bough, Phondolunye lwakwaClegg, there were small wooden flecks on its skin Sithandwa sokhokho enyakatho nasenzansi, and it could have reddened some more, Ngamangala ngathi but I eased it from its open crib Lungolwakwabani lolululwane and brought it in. Izinduku luyaziphatha kodwa lumhlophe IsiNgisi luyasiqeketha kodwa lumnyama, And leaning across the kitchen sill, Nkunzi esina emigwaqueni yaseGoli, and keeping the sidestreet Osina esitejini zasemayuniversithi and chimneys in view, Osina ehostelin'yasejeppe stroked away the purple Waze wasina nasemshadweni wengonyama, which lay around its heat like haze. Mkhetwa wamadlozi enzansi nasenyakatho Athi 'Nangu umfana wesizwe jikele.' Was this as studied as it sounds? Mshayi wesigingci ocula noMchunu Bashaya izigingci bagingqise isizwe, It wasn't the best of its bough Mvulindlela ovula izinqondo zabamhlophe, but it gave of its sweetness, Sisho kuwe sisho kuwe and was for a time as permanent Phambili wethu, as Jupiter Sikhombise indlela esizohamba ngayo kusasa. or a parliament of saintly men.

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 47 PORT ELIZABETH/EAST LONDON

IT WAS THE PAIN . . .

THE VOORTREKKERS It was the Pain that moved the pen Trek further white man darkly Powerless to love starkly Without any illusion across the white of the page Recalling no vision attempting a trail of bits of life The hold is of the gun for you to see The Laager swept clean and understand Hamburg Gronigen Haarlem All ports of chance It was the Pain Abandoned centuries ago that made me look back Find again the absent cities and see the emptiness of yesterday Take up the threads of an a time lived only for its sake Eighteenth century dream unaware Lest the black sniper's bullet that 'the mystery of life is not solved Find soft marrow of bone by success, which is an end in itself, The wagon wheels have left but in failure, Only ruts in the road in perpetual struggle, in becoming' Sheila Fugard/Port Elizabeth Australian friend* if those words were the only words you ever trailed across the white of a page the prize would still have been yours

Kriben Pillay/East London

* reference to Patrick White author of Voss and winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature

A LETTER TO BANDI* ON FRIENDS This letter comes to you empty of the things I invited You and You and You I wanted to say to my home, empty of the shock, the horror, Friends I know and love, the pain of the day to celebrate a special day. framing only black marks on a white page But mother dear framing only hopes Ever so queer in a fearful age Reported to a friend this letter comes to you (as is the trend) with all my love That there were present in her house but (she's liberal, she'll never grouse) empty of the things Two Blacks, (very decent), I wanted to say Three Coloureds, (two old, one recent), framing only black marks Two Whites, (pity so few), on a white page. And the rest Indians, (all Hindu).

Kriben Pillay/East London I don't recall all these people, Only You and You and You, *This poem was written on the occasion of the detention of Friends I know and love, BandiMvovo, who was detained on 11 September 1978. Who came to celebrate a special day.

Kriben Pillay/East London

48 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 BOTSWANA/LESOTHO

TRIBUTE TO MAPETHA

I pay tribute to you Mapetha son of Mohapi son of the soil POEM a memorial born of the memento I looked into those eyes. you left in this world I searched for a message. your footsteps of freedom It was printed there. your unremitting endeavour And I was reading: to the point of death. 'Child, this life is dangerous: tread on softly.'

I remember the day we were last together I lowered my eyes silently knowing this possibility Hating advice in my cell Hating sympathy at an academic concentration camp Hating knowledge as we shared our hearts about Azania Fearing Truth. to the other side of the dead of night. When the next day dawned A gaze stronger than my hate I thought it was Azania A gaze mightier than my fear and am dead sure Cut through my bent head when the next day dawns I lifted my eyes it will be Azania. I looked through a glass window Into a room full of sunshine Despite this turn in the road of our struggle On the wall hung words we are still consociate Words engraved in gold on a plate as your blood was spilt 'Child, my love is your guiding angel.' our tears were shed and the black fist grows I looked down on the ground nourished by this interflow. I saw ants going in single file I wondered whether they were guided You were murdered By the love of the mother of all ants as the enemy set How did they know where they went? the whole black world ablaze trying to destroy the indestructible I doubted the people's will to be free. I doubted the truth in her eyes I doubted my power of interpretation It once happened in Vietnam and Cuba I doubted doubt itself. while the guns roared the days were grim Those eyes did not leave me but their day dawned I felt them bore through my bone the gun was powerful Into my brain yet the people were more powerful. Into my soul.

We were enraged I lifted my head. as we lost scores of black lives I looked into uncaring eyes But now we can see our land on the horizon I looked squarely into those eyes like the sun at dawn. They sent a spark of defiance They challenged. Like Tiro My mother's eyes said: the great psychological liberator: 'Child, we are equal he was banned from Soweto Age, books, experience are not authority yet Soweto was born. This life is no stranger to you When he spoke Than it is to me his words were wrapped in a black fist. Courage is its authority.' In spite of this casualty I smiled and nodded my head. Your power lives the black fist Sophia Tlali / Lesotho the people breaking the chains and Azania being conceived.

Bafana Buthelezi / Botswana

5TAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 49 STAFFRIDER WORKSHOP

Es'kia (Zeke) Mphahlele / WORKSIHO P II / More guidelines for the short story

Es'kia Mphahlele's new novel, Chinindu, will be published this month by Ravan Press.

'Come into my parlour,' said the spi­ America: Ernest Hemingway; Richard the folding table from its niche above der to the fly. Don't be anxious. I'm not Wright, Langston Huges, James McPher- the washbasin in the compartment, and going to strangle you or tie you up with son, James Baldwin (the last four being placed on it the three magazines she had my web. I just want to show you how blacks) sent him to buy at the bookstall, along language is used with effect. You can Russia: Anton Chekov; Maxim Gorki; with the paper from Switzerland that, fail your reading public by using anae­ Nicolai Gogol; Tolstoy this week, had been kept aside, unread, mic or soulless prose. Good prose has Britain: Doris Lessing (born in Southern for the journey. energy, which in turn comes from Africa); Arnold Bennett; D.H. Lawrence For a full fifteen minutes before the powerful feelings well expressed. If your Ireland: James Joyce train left, he and his employer were free subject has weight or substance, has Ghana: Ama Ata Aidoo to ignore the to-and-fro of voices and what is called 'high seriousness', you Nigeria: Chinua Achebe; Cyprian Ekw- luggage, the heat and confusion. Mrs. have something valuable to begin with. si Hansen murmured down to him; Alfred, It looks for a language. You must let it Kenya: Ngugi wa Thiong'o (formerly chauffeur's cap in hand, dusty sunlight lead you, the writer, towards that lang­ James Ngugi) the colour of beer dimming the oil uage. A subject does not have to be a Mozambique: Luis Bernardo Honwana shine of his black hair, looked up from sad incident to qualify for 'high serious­ South Africa: Nadine Gordimer; Charles the platform and made low assent, used ness'. Comic events, if they are not mere Bosnian; Alex la Guma; Richard Rive; the sentences, the hesitations, and the tomfoolery for its own sake, should be James Matthews; Alfred Hutchinson slight changes of tone or expression of seen as another form of seriousness in (deceased); Lewis Nkosi; Alan Paton; people who speak the language of their the way they are related to other as­ Dyke Sentso; Can Themba (deceased). association in the country of their own pects of life. range of situation. It was hardly speech; In time, if you have the inborn curi­ The following are excepts from some now and then it sank away altogether osity of a person who feels the urge to of the works worth reading. We simply into the minds of each, but the sounds write in his/her blood and bones, you must read, read and read and learn how of the station did not well up in its will develop an instinct for the right other and better writers go about the place . . . subject. Listen to stories people tell job. Good literature enriches us by in­ you, read the newspapers and periodi­ creasing the measure of our feelings, by Nadine Gordimer has a sharp eye for de­ cals, move about with your pores open, sharpening our awareness, by educating tail; whether it be visible,tangible ob­ as it were, your physical senses awake, us. As long as we can understand it and jects or human behaviour or move­ your mind quick to sense that one in­ are sensitive. No writer can hope to en­ ments. She has the extraordinary skill of cident, person or a crowd, does not rich us if his own knowledge, his range assembling this mass of detail and ar­ emerge in isolation. It bears some rela­ of feeling and of his ideas are limited to ranging it so that it may carry meaning tion to others. That is when you feel the his family and township or district forward. Objects become images (word compulsion to seek that relationship. In community. pictures) which in turn tell us something the process of searching for it, you are Some samples of prose follow: read about feelings that we normally associ­ looking for a meaning. The meaning lies each passage carefully and understand it ate with them. All the things Alfred had somewhere in the answer to the ques­ before you read the comments which to put together for Mrs. Hansen make tion: what else is being revealed in this follow. images, which together make a symbol: incident, that person, this crowd. Chase they represent the comforts women like after those relationships, pursue them Nadine Gordimer/ENEMIES Mrs. Hansen enjoy when they can afford relentlessly, to the farthest point your Mrs. Hansen was giving last calm a servant, black or white. They also re- - mind can take you. instructions to Alfred, her Malay present the closeness that exists be­ We're in a workshop this time, not a chauffeur and manservant, whom she tween employer and servant in South parlour. Come in. You will find here was leaving behind, and she did not look Africa. Notice, for instance, the medi­ newspaper cuttings, handwritten sket­ up. Alfred had stowed her old calf cases cines, the eyeglasses and so on that he ches, things begun and never finished, from Europe firmly and within reach in had to take care to place where she paper with candle-wax and paraffin her compartment, which, of course, could find them. Notice also that she smudges. But I've a corner that shows influence with the reservation office had has to give him instructions on the busy some order too: bookshelves ranged ensured she would have to herself all the station platform, with the confidence with books by good writers. I learned a way. He had watched her put away in a that he will carry them out. The author lot from them as an apprentice; and special pocket in her handbag her train does not have to tell us that Mrs. Han­ even when I'd begun to publish, the ticket, a ticket for her de luxe bed, a sen is a woman of means and going on younger ones had a lot to teach me, book of tickets for her meals. He had in years. She lets the action and the sur­ they showed me other dimensions made sure that she had her two yellow roundings speak for her. This should of the human experience, other ways of sleeping pills and the red pills for that teach us an important technique. Do viewing the same experience. And you feeling of pressure in her head, lying not tell us in bald statements that never cease to be increased in this whole in cottonwool in her silver pillbox. He characters or things or places or events adventure, I can tell you that. You want himself had seen that her two pairs of are boring or exciting or horrifying or to know the names of some of the spectacles, one for distance, one for funny or whatever. Let the action and short-story writers who have taught me reading, were in her overnight bag, and the dialogue demonstrate such qualities. a heap of things? Here goes: had noted that her lorgnette hung below Instead of saying that 'It was a terrible

50 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 STAFFRIDER WORKSHOP

sight' or 'a ghastly sight', you should Death in the City the top row of her teeth. She had a show that it was visibly ghastly. Then The air outside, caught him sudden­ heavy mouth, smeared blood red with you won't need to explain. ly in its cool grasp, making his skin greasy lipstick, so that it looked stark as prickle; and the glare of street-lights a wound in her dark face. Her coarse Dyke Sentso/UNDER THE BLUE GUM and windows made his head reel, so wiry hair was tied at the back with a TREE that he had to stand still for a moment scrap of soiled ribbon in the parody of a to let the spinning of his brain subside. pony-tail. . . At first, a deep-rooted suspicion and The spell of dizziness settled slowly, mistrust and then a fear, ugly and his head swinging gently back to normal Writers of fiction take note of the profound. Men went about their daily like a merry-go-round slowing down and immediate surroundings where an inci­ work with their ears a-cocked, their eyes finally stopping. On each side of him dent occurs, or which matter, in order wide open. A rustle among the leaves, a the lights and neon signs stretched away to create a real-life picture. They whisper in the night. . . and men's with the blaze and glitter of a string of describe surroundings so that we have hearts stopped still with misgiving. An cheap, gaudy jewellery. A man brushed a concrete idea of how they look, feel, unguarded word here, a misplaced word past him and went into the pub, the smell and so on. Writers are interested there and men strove feverishly to doors flap-flapping, and the murmur of in objects, in details of behaviour, e.g. interpret them into an intelligible voices from inside had the sound of surf Adonis's skin prickles; he pulls up his whole. Suspicion sprouted and grew . . . breaking on a beach. A slight breeze had zipper, digs hands into pockets, and so people waited with their breaths held in. sprung up over the city, moving the on. Such information explains a charac­ Two years, four years . . . ten years . . . hanging signs, and scuttling bits of paper ter and adds to the picture of real life. The people waited still Ten years, were grey ghosts in the yellow electric In this passage from a long short-story thirty . . . all was still. . . Ha!. . . light along the street. There were about the life and death of one of those But suddenly the suspicions were re­ people up and down, walking, looking free-coasting District Six youths, the au­ doubled and a fear, stark and naked, into the shop windows or waiting thor does not allow any object to escape throttled the hearts of men. They slept aimlessly. _____ his notice, in order to show that his with their hearts in their throats, pistols characters are living in a real world, one under their pillows. During the day they i § m ippn i that we can see, touch, smell, taste, practised shooting locusts . . . at night listen to. Note the images; locusts shot them. In the cities they barred and barricaded their doors and the air outside, making his skin prickle; windows . . . in the farms they hedged the glare of street-lights and windows; in their homes with barbed wire and the blaze and glitter of a string of cheap, thin meshed wire netting, and allowed gaudy jewellery; the doors (of a bar) huge dogs to saunter arrogantly within flap-flapping; murmur of voices; sound their yards. Then men slept better, with of surf breaking on a beach; people pistols for cushions and dogs for guar­ walking up and down. Adonis pulled up dian angels. . . the zipper of his leather coat; arti­ Such was the time when our story ficial glare of Hanover . . damp, battered begins . . . houses . . . broken-rib of front railings; The big white man stripped off his vacant lots and weed-grown patches. dull-white overall slowly and hung it on the wall, then he dropped himself easily Michael Adonis pulled up the zipper And many more. All these add meaning on a couch and composed himself to of his leather coat and dug his hands to the story, to the character, they give sleep. But the sleep refused to come. It into the slanted pockets and crossed the a story volume. District Six is a slum, was Saturday and with his work fin­ street. The courage of liquor made his and the characters behave accordingly. ished, his mind sought some form of thoughts brave. He thought, 'To hell This author in particular writes what is recreation, which, on the farm, he with them. I'm not scared of them. Of often called 'documentary fiction'. This found difficult to find . . . Scofield and the law and the whole means short stories and novels in which effing lot of them. Bastards. To hell setting (place and surroundings) is mi­ Notice the mood of expectation Sentso with them.' He was also feeling a little nutely described (documented). This is creates. There is suspicion and mistrust, morose and the bravery gave way to done because the writer relies heavily on then a fear (note that it is 'a fear' and self-pity, like an advert on the screen setting to explain the behaviour and at­ not just 'fear'.) People (white) begin to being replaced by another slide. titudes of his people. Perhaps place even sleep with guns under their pillows. The He turned down another street, shapes character. This is one of the story is going to be about a white boy away from the artificial glare of Hano­ techniques we use to produce reso­ who shoots a black boy, son of his fa­ ver, between stretches of damp, bat­ nance, and therefore to explore mean­ ther's servant. Be careful that when you tered houses with their broken-rib ing. It is also a way of orchestration, create such an atmosphere, it should be of front-railings; cracked walls and i.e. of recording sounds and sights and part of the story, and not something high tenements that rose like the smells to accompany the telling of the outside of it; it should be demanded by left-overs of a bombed area in the main story. But such orchestration must the theme, i.e. what the story is about. twilight; vacant lots and weed-grown add meaning to it and not be the Sentso begins the story with this pas­ patches where houses had once stood; product of a wild imagination. It should sage. But atmosphere (i.e. feeling pro­ and deep doorways resembling the not be a kind of ornament, such as we duced in certain surroundings or among entrances to deserted castles . . . Adonis can imagine on a man who is over­ a group of people, e.g. fear, suspicion turned into the entrance of a tall narrow dressed, strutting down the street and so on) can be created in several tenement where he lived. . . She came like a rooster. other ways. As the story proceeds, lines down and stood on the first step, can be woven in to create atmosphere. smiling at him and showing the gap in A BALLAD OF OYO STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 51 STAFFRIDER WORKSHOP

Ishola (also called Mam-Tunji be­ as twilight; their feet feel every inch of 'They opened her up?' cause her first son was Tunji) found a the tarmac but their wares press down lYes, opened her up.' tramp on her counter slab at Oyo's on the head and the neck takes the And the baby removed?' central market, where she took her strain, while the hip and legs propel the 'Yes, the baby removed.' stand each day to sell vegetables and body forward. A woman here, a woman 'Yes, the baby removed.' fruit. Furiously she poked the grimy there in the drove has her arm raised in 7 say . . . ' bundle with a broom to tell him a few a loop, a loop of endurance, to support 'They do not say, my sister.' things he had better hear; there are the load, while the other arm holds a 'Have you heard it?' several other places where he could suckling child in a loop, a loop of love. 'What?' sleep. She sells food off this counter, They must walk fast, almost in a trot, so 'This and this and that not fire-wood — like him; so he thought that they may not feel the pain of the Ah-h-ah! that is it. . . ' to lie on a cool slab on a hot night, eh? weight so much . . . 'Meewuo!' — why does he not sleep under a run­ 'They don't say meewuo . . . ' ning tap? And so on. With a sense of A ballad is a kind of song that tells a 'And how is she?' revulsion she washed the counter. story. The writer here uses a language 'Am I not here with you? Do I know These days, when market day began, that sings, alternating with dramatic the highway which leads to Cape it also meant that Ishola was going to language. The story opens with a dra­ Coast?' have to listen to her elder sister's endless matic scene: something is happening 'Hmmm . . . ' prattling during which she spun words and harsh words are being spoken. The And anyway how can she live? What and words about the younger sister's last paragraph switches to description, is it like even giving birth with an open being a fool to keep a useless husband and poetic lines are used: 'they can be stomach, eh ... I am asking you — a like Balogun in food and clothing. Off seen riding the dawn, walking into sun­ stomach open to the winds!' and on, for three months, Ishola had rise'; 'a loop of endurance'; 'slender as 'Oh, pity . . . ' tried to fight against the decision to tell twilight', and so on. 'Road' and 'loop' 'I say . . . ' Balogun to go look for another wife repeated, as is typical in a ballad. My little bundle, come. You and I while she went her own way. Oh, why We are used to seeing ballads in verse, are going to Cape Coast today. I am did her sister have to blabber like this? not in prose. But just as we can write a taking one of her own cloths with me, Did her sister think that she, Ishola, prose-poem, we should be able to con­ just in case. These people on the coast liked being kicked about by her man the ceive a prose ballad. This will not neces­ do not know how to do a thing and I way Balogun did? sarily follow strictly the tradition of the am not going to have anybody mis­ That is right Ishola, her sister, who verse ballad. handling my child's body. I hope they sold rice next to her, would say. You give it to me. Horrible things I have are everybody's fool are you not? Lie Ama Ata Aidoo/THE MESSAGE heard done to people's bodies. Cutting still like that and let him come and sit them up and using them for instruc­ and play drums on you and go off and Note: The beginning of a short story, tions. Whereas even murderers still have get drunk on palm wine come back and set in Ghana. A woman has received decent burials. I see Mensima coming beat you scatter the children — children news that her daughter has given birth . . .And there is Nkama too . . . Now of his palm wine-stained blood (spitting) in hospital, but after a Caesarian. It is they are coming to pity me. Witches, like a hawk landing among chicks then mostly monologue, but other voices are witches, witches . . . they have picked you have no one to blame, only your indicated by implication. The woman is mine up while theirs prosper around stupid head (pushing her other breast on her way now to see daughter and them — theirs shoot up like mushrooms. forcibly into her baby's mouth for child, but cannot get over the idea of a emphasis) . . . baby being taken out of a womb that Often a writer may not indicate who is Day and night the women of Oyo has been cut open. speaking, merely recording voices that walk the black road, the road of tarmac suggest several persons speaking. This is to and from the market. They can be 'Look here my sister, it should not how Ama Ata Aidoo begins her story. seen walking riding the dawn, walking be said but they say they opened her Listen to the woman mumble to herself: into sunrise; figures can be seen slender up.' 'my little bundle, come . . . '

Mzwakhe Nhlabatsi's drawing introduces EYE, a new Staffrider column which be­ gins in our next issue and will be devoted to visual art workshops and exhibition re­ views. Artists who would like to illustrate Staffrider stories are asked to contact us immediately.

Let us create and talk about life Let us not admire the beauty But peruse the meaning Let art be life Let us not eye the form But read the content Let creativity be a portrait of one's life

Matsemela Manaka's poem NyaUL 52 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS

Brenda Leibowitz reviews Hill of Fools by R.L. Peteni (H.E.B.) Joe Masinga reviews The Detainee by Legson Kayira Letlaka Sepenyane reviews No Longer At Ease by Chinua Achebe (Heinemann Afri­ can Writers' Series) Alex Levumo reviews No Baby Must Weep by Mongane Wally Serote (A. Donker (Pty) Limited) Mshengu reviews Mhudi by Sol Plaatjie

Hill ofFools/R.L. Peteni world and give birth to her illegiti­ political situation. A tragedy in which two lovers of mate child, and allow it to face the His mission to Banya to consult a warring clans, Bhuqua and the beautiful taunts and jibes of a cruel world? No, white doctor is obstructed by the Zuziwe, arouse the anger and warlust of she could not bear that. Must she then Young Brigade under the orders of the the two tribes by making amorous ad­ destroy her own child, the flesh of her dictator, Sir Zaddock Mlingo. Jancha, vances towards each other. Needless to own flesh, she, who ought to protect it commander of the Young Brigade, and say, on account of the ill-feeling be­ and defend it to her last breath? No, she tween the groups, the jealously of Nta- could not do that either. No! Again his men terrorize Napolo. He is offered beni, an aged boorish type whom the and again, no! (pp. 13 7, 138) a lift to Banya and detained at I Snake heroine has promised to marry under It is evident from the above that the Camp with the promise of being re­ pressure, the jealousy of other indivi­ novel is didactic, but that at the same leased. duals in the town, and the tradition- time it draws the reader's attention a- Napolo's unsuccessful attempts to based belief in fighting for revenge, a way from the didactic statement about demand his release cease on the arrival 'faction fight' occurs, during which a war, authoritarianism and hatred by in­ of Jancha. Both Hona and Napolo are Hlubi dies and the Thembu warriors go troducing the elements of fate and the released at night, to be drowned in the to court, but talk their way out of a pri­ cruelty of life, so that the blame for this river. Visitors from the World Council son sentence by claiming that 'faction tragedy cannot be squarely placed on of Churches would otherwise be bound fights' are part of nature, a fact of life. specific social, political and cultural fac­ to know of the death of Mazito, suf­ Neither family will allow their son and tors. To add to this confusion, the con­ daughter to marry the other, the two crete elements of the tragedy are by no fered at the hands of the Young Bri­ cannot escape to Port Elizabeth because means unequivocal: there is tribal fac­ gade. of influx control, nor to the country tionalism, but also apartheid, (pass laws, Napolo successfully manages to sur­ areas, because of poverty of relatives, police, the courts) and although these vive, is certified dead by a policeman, and to introduce just another factor, the are inadequately explored, if at all, then escapes from the mortuary into irresponsible Bhuqua has made Zuziwe there are factors which interfere, such as another country. pregnant. The drama reaches an intellec­ the hero's bull-headedness and irrespon­ This book portrays dictatorship en­ tual and emotional climax just before sibility, Zuziwe's beauty and the fact gulfing African society today, affecting Zuziwe decides to abort her child and that she is protected and spoilt by her people regardless of their political be­ dies, where her predicament is set out as parents. The result is fairly frustrating follows: for the reader, for although the emo­ liefs. Kayira's crisp and witty writing But how could she go on living after tions of the individuals as well as of the illustrate every action in a clear-cut giving up the man she loved and de 'mob' are convincingly portrayed and manner. stroying his child? Why should she love the sorrow of Zuziwe acquires poignan­ so much the man she ought to hate? cy and a certain heroic stature, the des­ Why were the Thembus and the Hlubis cription of black village life in South No Longer At Ease/Chum* Achebe such resolute enemies? The individuals Africa and the problems besetting it, it­ Obiajulu Okwonkwo, the only son of were ordinary, decent, normal people self lacks incisiveness and direction. a retired priest, happens to be the bright with normal feelings and desires. It The style is simple, and as one can boy of the village of Umoufia, and the was the group feeling, the group hatred, see from the above passage, fairly unex­ tribe, through their organisation the which turned them into angry, unfor­ citing. The scenario (Romeo and Juliet Umoufia Progressive Union (UPU), giving maniacs. In their madness they style) is unoriginal, and the river image­ made a virtue of a vice. Was it part of ry, (Xesi or Keiskama — boundaries be­ delves deep into its meagre financial re­ the irony of life that she should be tween warring tribes and symbols of life sources to send him to University in compelled to turn away from the man and death) is fairly obvious. However, England. she loved, the man who loved her, the book is unpretentious and makes for Instead of studying law as has been and embrace a man she did not love, pleasant enough reading. fervently hoped by his tribe, Obi takes a that she should be compelled to raise degree in English and returns home with her hand against her unborn baby lying a B.A. degree — to the utter chagrin and trustingly in the innermost recesses of The Detainee/Legson Kayira dismay of the UPU. her body? What cruel justice was this Legson Kayira, author of four novels, This is soon forgiven him as his that was meted out to her, to her lover, shows us a perspectived view of Napolo, to her innocent baby? Must she defy the people are consoled by the fact that Obi a simple villager caught in an intricate will procure a well-paid 'European post.'

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 53 REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS

The UPU is, however, soon shocked random or chance but rather that they car ' at learning that Obi is associating with embody all the contradictions of the stretching my shadow along the donga Clara, a woman who is an Osu and circumstances and times in which the into the dirty water that therefore belongs to the caste of un­ narrator is living. Further, the poem is flows slowly touchables. Obi annoys everyone by his inseparable from the current moment of perhaps destined for the sea, mulish obstinacy in continuing his the narrator's mental and emotional surely, the sea must be having a large amorous relationship with Clara whom state which is itself laden down with red map from the waters he has met on a ship en route to Nigeria layer upon layer of turmoil inherited of the donga, . . . after his university studies. Clara has from the past. qualified as a nurse in England. The poetry itself seems to stem from The movement to the sea reflects the After the clash with the UPU (he the endless striving of the narrator for space that has to be traversed by the owes them the tuition money for his an understanding of the burden be­ masses in 'body and soul' in order to studies), Obi is plunged into financial queathed to the current moment by the consummate the time of oppression in difficulties caused primarily by his hot- past. Serote tirelessly traces the connec­ the time of liberation yet to come. The headedness and refusal to follow his tion between his subject's current angu­ poem moves forward through a sus­ better judgement. ish, the suffering of the past and what tained traversing of the distance be­ The point of no return is reached there may be to hope for in the future. tween the personal experience, deve­ when Obi accepts a bribe from a well-to- Serote is not primarily concerned lopment and formation of the subject do Lagos businessman. Obi is soon trap­ with writing about overt political re­ and the total mass of history that the ped by the police with twenty pound pression of the black man in South Af­ subject at times appears to be entombed notes which have been marked by his rica. Instead he assumes this level, and in. trappers. This is followed by his arrest leaves it behind in his search for some The subject is inseparable from the for bribery. essential meaning and significance in the masses, and if the subject is entombed, Obi comes out of it all as a pitiable experience of dispossession and oppres­ it is the dead weight of the collective character who finds himself the victim sion. Serote journeys through the im­ experience of the masses that appears as of circumstances which lead to his own ages and representations of the shared the subject's burden. The subject cannot undoing. He has returned from an Eng­ cultural experience of oppression of the personally transcend this burden. The lish University to a well-paid position in black man in South Africa. It is in this only hope of transcendence into the Lagos. He soon forgets the people who sense that Serote's statement is a politi­ time of liberation lies with the 'river'; sacrificed enormously for his education cal work, an affirmation that there is with the subsumption of the subject to and proudly enters the Lagos elite class. meaning and significance behind the the flow of the river, in which the black He further erroneously assumes that seemingly repetetive patterns of deni­ man is seen as the inevitably rising tide. since his people had deemed it proper to gration that black South Africans have Serote's poem involves the reader in give him education and status they have endured. Serote is determined to plumb personally experiencing something of a further duty to him in his new posi­ the depths which hide in everyday the pain inherent in traversing this dis­ tion. This attitude further estranges him realities the greater realities that con­ tance between masses, history and the from his people. sume the past and embody the future. personal realities of an individual sub­ The UPU is still forgiving after his ar­ Serote embodies the past and all it ject. The irony and the pain in travers­ rest and arranges legal representation for contains in metaphors drawn from the ing this distance lies in the extraordi­ him, but to no avail as Obi is convicted flesh and the senses. The most impor­ nary loneliness that the subject, alone, of bribery and his future lies in ruins. tant of these is that of the 'wound' that has to endure once he has perceived the The author poignantly portrays the expresses all the particularities that his­ extent of the distance to be covered be­ traditional prejudice of whites vis-a-vis tory has impressed onto and into the fore liberation and the resolution of the African, especially the educated Af­ narrator. some of the contradictions of existence. rican. The prejudice is personified in In this work Serote has isolated the Green, the uncompromising head of the . . . but this wound, this gaping i essential political and psychological rea­ Government office where Obi is em­ wound, this throbbing wound is com­ lity of Africa today; the double bind ployed. fortable at the bottom of my soul. . . that in one breath separates the individ­ Green's virulent prejudice finds mis­ ual from the masses through the culture placed vindication in the fall from grace i have pleaded with the voice of this of oppression/exploitation and at the by Obi. He virtually gloats over the en­ time same time renders the individual's fu­ tire episode. past and coming ture in separation from the masses in­ One cannot miss the lesson to be but i shift on this chair conceivable. gleaned from this immensely readable the wound can't be born | Serote's is a great work of sustained book by Achebe. One is educated in or­ the soul lies sprawled like a woman poetic exposition. He hides nothing, der to serve, and therefore to plough defeated by her womanhood without ever resorting to glib glossing back one's knowledge into the better­ over of the immense complexities of the ment and advancement of one's people. His subject is incontrovertibly a milieu in which his writing is itself des­ 'blackmanchild', and the experience tined to orbit, awaiting its true rebirth Serote writes is formed by the poetic with the rebirth of culture in South Af­ No Baby Must Weep/Monganc Wally submersion of the particularity of the rica that is surely coming. Serote individual subject/narrator into the Serote's poem concerns the trajec­ collective experience of the black tory of the personal development of the masses. This crucial submersion is Missionaries, Liberals and the Elite: Sol subject/narrator of the poem. Starting achieved through the metaphors of the Plaatje's M hudi from the earliest experiences that shape river and the sea. During the 19th century and the ear­ his subject's life Serote is determined to ly decades of the 20th a sizeable group show that none of the influences are . . . and along came the floodlights of a of black Christian intellectuals came in- 54 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ to being in South Africa. Educated at and perceptive mind, H.I.E. Dhlomo, Thaga's friend, de Villiers. mission schools, they cultivated a 'west- writes in his play She Killed to Save of Tim Couzens's very informative in­ tern' lifestyle. For this educated elite the collapse of the Gcaleka after Non- troduction gives a more than adequate there seemed little doubt that Christian­ gqause's prophecy failed and sees this account of what is good in Plaatje's no­ ity was a force for progressive change in great tragedy as a god-given opportunity vel. He describes Plaatje's industrious, Africa. They saw the mass of their to convert the Gcaleka to Christianity varied and selfless life. He defends people as still lost in the 'darkness' of and 'civilized labour' — for the white Plaatje's style against unfair criticism what they themselves called 'primitive farmers and the missionaries, of course. and notes his use of proverbs, songs and society' and they saw the Europeans as Similarly, though we may admire a great folktakes. He convincingly interprets possessing a vital Christian civilization in deal in Sol Plaatje's Mhudi — especially the various political elements the novel which it was their ambition to.partici­ when we consider it in the context of contains: it is a 'defence of traditional pate. Thus by embracing Christianity Plaatje's life and time — we nevertheless custom', 'a corrective view of history' and a western education they distanced find much that is not admirable when and 'an implicit warning' of the inevita­ themselves from the majority of the we consider the novel as something to bility of revolution 'if certain conditions people and came to occupy a middle be read by South Africans now. continue to prevail'. These are some of position between them and the Euro­ the very positive reasons for hailing the peans. achievement of one of our earliest wri­ At first they believed that they only ters. As Mothobi Mutloatse wrote in had to show that they were both edu­ The World, 'Sol Plaatje, by any stan­ cated and Christian i.e. 'civilized', and dard, was a giant in his time'. the European would open the doors of However the novel was republished his society and let them enter to share last year (1978) and as I wrote above it the fruits of 'civilized' life. However it is not only its importance in Plaatje's soon became apparent that those in time that we have to consider. Its ap­ power and the majority of the Euro­ pearance now compels us to revalue it in peans had no such intention. No matter the light of present circumstances. And how 'civilized' the elite became, the in this light problems are revealed which door remained tightly shut. Tim Couzens, Bessie Head, Nadine Gor- This is not the place to look into the dimer and company do not even begin political behaviour of the elite — though to mention. their politics resembles in many ways •'•*%** In the introduction Mhudi is com­ their literature — but rather into the pared to Achebe's Things Fall Apart: problems posed by their creative writ­ 'for just as Achebe does in the later ing. These are important problems as it novel, so Plaatje portrays a traditional is they, the elite, who for a long time society at a crucial stage of transition. have done the lion's share of the writ­ Throughout the novel he explores the ing. In fact it is only recently that un­ Mhudi is set in the South Africa of qualities of traditional life which seem scripted theatre based on improvization 150 years ago at a time when the Boers to make it more attractive than the life and publications like Staffrider have were just beginning to penetrate into of its usurpers.' But would Achebe have challenged their monopoly. the interior. There Mzilikazi and his referred to Okonkwo's wives as 'the How do we evalutate the work of the amaNdebele held sway over a minor simple women of the tribes' (Mhudi p. elite of thirty, forty, even sixty years empire of vassal Sotho and Tswana 25)? Could he have written 'strange to ago? I think it is important to appreci­ clans. One of these clans, the Barolong relate, these simple folk were perfectly ate their literary skills — the craft, the of Kunana, made a fatal mistake and happy without money' (Mhudi p. 27) or language and the imaginative richness. It seized two of Mzilikazi's indunas and 'she slept — as the Natives would put it is also important, I think, to study their put them to death. In retaliation the — like a wolf that could be skinned works in the context of their own time. Ndebele sacked Kunana and slaughtered when asleep without waking*(Mhudi But surely we must consider, above all, thousands of Barolong. Ra-Thaga flees P. 153)? Or referred to Queen Mnandi's the effect of their works on readers at from the devastated town and after clothing and jewellery as 'barbaric the present time? If they are seen to much wandering in the game-infested splendour'? Mhudi is filled with the contain attitudes which in our modern wilderness he meets up with another phraseology of Plaatje's colonial men­ times have a reactionary, in other words Rolong fugitive, Mhudi. They fall in tors. He freely uses terms such as harmful, effect then isn't it our duty as love and eventually make their way to 'primitive', 'simple' and 'barbaric' to critics or educators to expose these atti­ Thaba Nchu, where the Rolong rem­ describe traditional Tswana life. tudes and to warn our readers or our nants have sought refuge with Moroka. No, not only would Achebe not have students about them? When a party of Boers is relieved of its written like this but Dikobe, author of In a nutshell the problem is this: our cattle and yoke-oxen by Ndebele sol­ The Marabi Dance did not either. early writers were important initiators diers, Moroka rescues them and they Achebe, Dikobe and others, Casey Mot- in the history of our literature and their too pitch camp at Thaba Nchu. Even­ sisi for instance, wrote about the achievements have been an inspiration tually a powerful party of Boers, Gri- people's experiences from within, and a source of pride to us. Unfortu­ quas and Batswana sets off to fight Mzi­ whereas Plaatje like many other writers nately however most of them were the likazi. The Ndebeles are routed by the of the elite was writing from without. captives of their class and time, aliena­ guns of the Boers and forced to flee He interpreted 'the Native mind' to his ted from the bulk of the people by their across the Limpopo. Ra-Thaga and European readers, as one 'civilized' man education. Many of the thoughts they Mhudi have the satisfaction of seeing talking to another about the 'uncivi­ expressed are, seen in the light of our the massacre of their people, the Baro­ lized'. own time, repugnant and dangerous. long, revenged and they return home in Yet if Plaatje's description of Tswana For instance, that otherwise inspiring an old ox-wagon, given them by Ra- traditional life and his use of vernacular

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 55 REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/ REVIEWS/

proverbs and expressions is almost al­ the Ndebele 'were in the habit of thereafter the Matabele and all the ways condescending and even apologet­ walking about in their birthday garb tribes allied to them (e.g. Zulu, Xhosa, ic, he reserves for the Ndebele a more thereby forcing the modest Bechuana Swazi, Shangaan, etc.) were regarded forthright vocabulary. In the Introduc­ women and children to retire'. Later he with awe, and the Bechwana would have tion Couzens claims that 'in Mhudi, claims that the Ndebele fought their nothing in common with them. It Plaatje is concerned to defend the cus­ battles stark naked. Yet all this is as speaks volumes for the magical force of toms of the traditional life of the Bara- nothing in comparison with his lurid Christianity if their descendants now in­ long (and, to some extent, by extension, descriptions of Ndebele warriors cutting termarry with members of such tribes of the blacks generally)'. This claim just down women and children. For in­ as Plaatje did himself. Can he not have doesn't square with the facts. Most of stance: 'Ra-Thaga saw one of them been aware of how his novel might ex­ the time Plaatje's descriptions of the killing a woman and as she fell back, the acerbate such animosities? At the pres­ Ndebele differ in no way from even the man grasped her little baby and dashed ent time when tribalism is to be fought conservative white historians that we all its skull against the trunk of a tree' and and solidarity is so important surely we were made to read at school. All the de­ again 'a Matabele withdrawing the can ill afford novels which dwell on the graded terminology is there - 'Mzilikazi, assegaai from the mother's side, pierced past hatreds of Rolong for Ndebele, king of a ferocious tribe called the Ma­ her child with it, and held the baby Xhosa for Mfengu, Sotho for Zulu? tabele' (p.28), 'hordes of Matabele' or transfixed in the air' (p. 32). There is a lot that can be said about 'the Matabele hordes', 'courtjester' for Whatever the historical accuracy of other attitudes expressed in Plaatje's imbongi (p.50), 'ever louder and louder the above claims and descriptions, novel which however understandable for droned the barbaric music' (p.52) for Plaatje was aware of the animosity a member of the educated elite of Ndebele music at the celebrations of the which (even in his day) many tribalistic Plaatje's day are offputting and disturb­ Battle of Kunana. He attributes an Sotho-speakers entertain for what they ing in the context of our own. We can excess of superstition and witchcraft to call 'Matebele' — always a word of con­ leave them to the reader, who has now the Ndebele. He also suggests that their tempt — i.e. Zulus, Xhosas, Swazis etc. been put on his guard, to think about customs were by comparison with those This is shown in a quote from his own for himself. of the Barolong especially distasteful. writings on p. 10 of the Introduction: For example, he claims (on p.29) that (for nearly three-quarters of a century

56 STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 CHILDREN'S SECTION

Staffrider's new children's section is our contribution to the International Year of the Child, In this issue we publish the first part of a story written for children by Marguerite Poland, a poem by Shadrack Phaleng, and the photographs of Moikangoa and Robert Magwaza. The drawing which signposts this section is by Frankie Ntsu kaDitshego. if) Everyone agrees that our literature lacks stories suitable for children who will help International Year to make a new society. We hope that the Staff rider Children's Section will encour­ of the Child 1979 age writers to close the gap.

Frankie Ntsu kaDitshego STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 57 CHILDREN'S SECTION

VUSUMZI AND THE INQOLA COMPETITION/a story by Marguerite Poland

Vusumzi Ntuli was coming home would peer in the window where the 'Weh Vusumzi, mntan'am,' she said from school. It was twelve o'clock and guitar was displayed with a ticket prop­ smiling. 'What have you learnt today to the sun was high and bright. His books ped against it saying, 'Reserved for the tell your grandmother?' were tied together with string because Kwazakhele Youth Club'. He wanted to Vusumzi was impatient to search for he had no satchel. His old black blazer touch it and pluck the silver strings but wire for his inqola but he was always re­ bulged round him as the wind shrieked he was afraid to ask. The young man spectful to her. 'Many things Mkhulu,' across the flats from the river, hurling who worked in the shop was known to he said. 'Reading and sums and how to dust and gravel at the house. Smoke everyone. He wore jeans and a black 'T' plant beans so there will be many.' from the four great chimneys of the shirt and important-looking sunglasses. 'Eehhh,' sighed grandmother. 'You power station lay sideways in the sky His name was Boxer Nxumalo — of must plant here so Mkhulu can grow fat and even the orange and cream buses course because he was quick with his because I am very old now and tired of toiling down Daku Road seemed to lean fists — and Vusumzi, being only ten, work and the food is not much, my against it. would rather avoid him. child.' Vusumzi Ntuli was excited because At home he stacked his books care­ 'Yes Mkhulu,' said Vusumzi scratch­ there was to be an inqola, or wire-car fully under the bed, looked into the pot ing the sole of one foot against his other making competition, at the youth club on the primus stove and scraped out a thin, rough leg. and Vusumzi was determined to win it. crust of cold mealie-meal. Eating this he 'There must be homework for you to The prize was a guitar^ and there was went into the back yard where his do Vusumzi,' she began. nothing he wanted more. He had been grandmother was washing. He greeted 'Only a little,' said Vusumzi sniffing to the music shop with Mrs. Dladla and her, listening to the whoosh-whoosh of loudly and rubbing his nose with the others from the club toichoose it. They the clothes rubbing against the washing back of his hand. had decided on a shiny red-brown gui­ board. Grandmother seemed very old to 'Well, you had better do it,' she said tar with steel strings and a glossy cow­ him yet when she bent down to the big firmly. 'Oh those fowls!' she cried look­ boy transfer pasted on it. tin bath her legs and back were straight ing up from her work. 'Chase them! The music shop was next to Super- and strong. She had soapsuds on her Chase them out!' Save Stores where his mother went on forehead where she had wiped her hand Vusumzi chased the fowls away from Saturdays and while she shopped he across her face. I the big paraffin tin in which his mother

•S-MtTT S^Ss STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 CHILDREN'S SECTION made ginger beer to sell at her hawker's Thomas went forward hesitantly. Mr. stall. 'Shoo! Shoo!' he cried as he scat­ Yeko was leaning on the counter talking tered the long-legged chickens. Grabbing to a customer. A fat woman in a bright a stick he raced round the yard after overall was weighing sugar into small them, then slipped through the gate into brown packets which she slapped on the Njoli Road and away from Mkhulu and shelf behind her once she had stuck her ideas about homework. down each with a strip of sticky brown He went to the youth club. Mrs. Dla- paper. Thomas stood in front of her for dla was sewing with the girls and some many minutes picking at the corner of boys were kicking a ball on the gravel the wooden counter with a dirty finger. outside. Vusumzi stepped over a group 'Yes?' inquired the woman vaguely of little ones watching the game from without looking up. the doorway and found his friends 'We want wire,' said Thomas, 'for Thomas and Siphiwe who were play­ making cars.' ing darts. Two older boys, Josiah Penxa 'Wire?' She frowned. 'How much you and Velaphi Mpofu, came over and, got?' pushing the smaller boys away, snatched 'No money. We want scraps.' the darts and began a boisterous game. 'There's no scraps here,' said the Thomas protested but Josiah launched a woman tucking a stray end of hair un­ dart threateningly towards him. Thomas der her scarf. She turned away. started bravely after him. 'Just leave 'Can I speak to Mr. Yeko?' asked him Thomas,' said Siphiwe grabbing Thomas. his arm and pulling him away. 'He's busy,' she snapped. But as Other children were making their Yeko came over at that moment and wire-cars and Mrs. Dladla left her sewing wrestled with the cash till, she said in a and waddled among them clucking ad­ lazy voice, 'This boy wants wire scraps miration and encouragement. or something.' 'We need more wire,' said Vusumzi. 'Wire?' said Mr. Yeko looking over 'Let's go and find some.' his glasses. 'Best place is Yeko's store or behind 'Yes, Mnumzana,' murmured Thomas the garage,' said Thomas. respectfully. Mr. Yeko was a fat man The three boys went across the open with a shining bald head which he rub­ land near the Welfare Offices where the bed often and vigorously with a blue grass was short and scrubby bushes grew and white handkerchief. He was very at an angle because the wind was always stout and very shrewd. He listened as blowing. An albino mule with odd pink Thomas told him about the inqola com­ eyes grazed here and a few yellow dogs petition. hunted among the grass for scraps and Being a patron of the youth clubs in mice. The boys poked at the bushes the township, Mr. Yeko did not like to with their sticks and trotted along the refuse the request, so he took the boys edge of the commonage where a fence out to the yard where many cartons had once stood. They found some wire and fruit boxes were piled, along with — mostly rusted and old, but too good an old motor car without wheels. The to throw away. fruit boxes were fastened together with 'Let's ask Mr. Yeko if he has any,' strands of wire and the boys pried these said Thomas. loose. 'Yo!' exclaimed the others. 'He will They ran back to the youth club chase us.' with three large plastic packets of wire. 'Why should he?' scoffed Thomas, Mrs. Dladla gave them a pair of pliers to much the bravest of the three. share and they sat together in a corner They climbed up the steps to Yeko's sorting their pieces. store, the others hanging back while

AS A CHILD I saw as a child I saw as a child A large building with a cross A large and beautiful space With a minister and congregation With children and playing facilities And I never knew why And I never knew why I was prohibited from the church. I was prohibited from the park. I saw as a child I saw as a child A large advertisement-placarded building A large double-storied building With refreshments and meals With children and compulsory education And I never knew why And I never knew why I was prohibited from the restaurant. I was prohibited from the school. Shadrack Phaleng

STAFFRIDER, MARCH 1979 59 j CAPTION COMPETITION RESULT

On the back cover of Staffrider Vol. 1 No. 4, we had a competition for the best caption to a photograph. We are happy to announce that Mr. M.D. Mmutle is the winner, and we'll be sending him the RIO,00 prize.

NEWS FROM SOUTHERN AFRICAN PEN CENTRE (JOHANNESBURG)

The Centre is at present working in three main fields: (1) organization and co-ordination of readings in the Reef area ; (2) workshop activities; (3) assistance to harassed or imprisoned writers and their families.

Readings are at present taking place approximately once a fortnight. For information on forthcoming read­ ings, availability of transport, etc. telephone the chairman of our Centre at Johannesburg 39-1178 or the secretary at Johannesburg 724-4033. All Staffrider readers are cordially invited to read their work or join the audience on these occasions.

The PEN Centre sees it as its task to secure the right to write, free from institutionalized harassment, for all South African writers. It is therefore taking up cases of alleged harassment whenever these are reported, and asking writers to stand firm and united on this issue. It is also raising and distributing financial support for the dependants of imprisoned writers.

Membership Form/ To be posted to Southern African PEN Centre (Johannesburg), P.O. Box 32483, Braamfontein 2017

I am a writer and would like to be a member of the Johannesburg PEN International Centre. I enclose the annual membership fee of R3,00.

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Printed by Zenith Printers (Pty) Ltd., 60 Juta Street, Braamfontein, Johannesburg, 2001 for die Publishers, Ravan Press (Pty) Ltd., 105 Corbett Place, 62 De Korte Street, Braamfontein, Johannesburg, 2001. FUBA presents TWO PLAYS BY ZAKES MDA Opening at Diepkloof, Soweto on 14th February 1979. DEADEND Charlie James Mthoba Voice Richard Mgemane Tseli Nomhle Nkonyeni There will be an interval between the plays WE SHALL SING FOR THE FATHERLAND Amstel Merit Award Winner 1978 Sergeant-Major Edward Soudien Janabari James Mthoba Offisiri Eddie Nhlapo Banker _ Richard Mgemane Businessman Eddie Nhlapo Young woman Nomhle Nkonyeni Old woman Nomhle Nkonyeni Clerk Eddie Nhlapo Directed by BENJY FRANCIS

Designed by NORMAN COATES

Stage Manager Morris Mohlala PERFORMANCES AND VENUES: Maseru - March 5 and 6 Bloemfontein — March 7 and 10 Lobatsi — March 12 Gaborone -March 13 and 14 Turf loop — March 16 and 17 Northern Transvaal — March 19 until March 24 IN THIS ISSUE

Covers/ The art of NKOANA MOYAGA the words of INGOAPELE ('Black Trial') MADINGOANE Writing and art from the new groups/ MADI (Katlehong)MBAKASIMA (Sebokeng)/GARTASSO (Ga-Rankua)/ MALO POETS (Durban) Also featuring/BAYAJULA (Kwa Thema)/KWANZA (Mabopane East)/GUYO (Sibasa/Nzhelele)/CYA (Diepkloof) Stories by/RICHARD RIVE/MTUTUZELI MATSHOBA/AMELIA HOUSE/JILL BAILIE

N-XK:

STAFFRIDER IS NOW A MONTHLY MAGAZINE IN THE NEXT ISSUE (APRIL) EXPECT Stories by MOTHOBI MUTLOATSE, K.F.S. NTULI. MICHAEL SILUMA, MTUTUZELI MATSHOBA, CHRISTOPHER WILDMAN, LETSHABA THUBELA and others Poems and art from the new writer's groups: MOROPA ARTS ASSOCIATION, ZAMANI ART ASSOCIATION, DURBAN OPEN SCHOOL Regular Soweto Speaking writer MIRIAM TLALI will be back from Iowa, USA where she has been attending the International Writing Programme.