Umfudisi Ufuna Umntwana

(The story is about a born again priest who is so longing to have a child, but there is an issue to be discussed and concluded first)

Scene One

(The priest is visiting his church mate, who is also his friend, at the taxi rank)

Mfundisi:
Tyhini mzalwane, kunjani mfoka Thixo?

Friend:
Mfundisi wam. Emandleni alowo wasifelayo akukho nto. Sisafihliwe phantsi kwelo phiko lisikhusela nokuba uSathana selegquba okukwe nkenkwe efuna isiko.

Mfundisi:
Mkhulu uYesu mzalwane.

Ndingalibelanga kakhulu, kaloku ndisabambe kule bible school ilapha etown, nto nje bendithe mandizosabela ndoda kaThixo. Kwenzeke ntoni na mzalwane malunga nalangozi?

Friend:
(slightly angry) Mthanjiswa wenkosi, uSathana uphuma nakuma kroba angange ntloko yenaliti. Kaloku le ntwana ingu sbari ibisuka kwi graduation emonti. Xa igqitha kula magope aseNciba, gqi isiphekepheke semoto emnyama, ingqale ngqo kule yabo. Bazamile ukuphepha, udriver lo wabo eyizama imoto, yatyibilika yayobetheka edongeni lendlela. Ngenxa yemfefe zalo Yesu usithweleyo mfundisi, akubangakho zingxwelerha apho. Nabo balaliswayo eGcuwa baphume ngoMvulo.

Mfundisi:
Mzalwane, ingweletshetshe yezulu mayidunyiswe. USathana yinkwenkwana enxibe iblukhwe emfutshane, ehla inyuka ifuna indawo yokudlalela. Akanamandla uSathana mzalwane, kodwa akayeki ukuzama.
Yini mzalwane ukuphoswa yinkonzo ibishushu ngolwahlobo ngenxa yesihelegu sangabom.

Ibintle into ebipha! Zintyilozile intombi zeenkonzo. Bangqungqile omama besambatho, zingayeka into ezinkulu ukungqokola kuhle – ndithi khawukhangele (demonstrating in a form of a dance by an old man, singing). Ibingathi indlu yenkonza ingawa mfoka Thixo. Mhle uYesu Mzalwane. UYesu phayana usibonakalise ukuba ungu Simakade ongajikiyo.
Ndithi mzalwane, uYesu akajiki, akaxoki, akoyiki. Abantwana benkonzo bebezengendlu yabo, beqhuba iimoto zabo. Bekunge bhasi phaya, moto, bakkie, khumbi, ndibala ntoni – zonke izeza bantwana benkonzo.
UYesu Mzalwana imiqondiso uyenzo ilanga lihlabe umhlaba!

Imali ibethiwe kula nkonzo. Iqale ukubethwa ebusuku emva kwenkonzo yabafundisi. Kuthe xa kuqala inkonzo yolutsha, kwatsha ibhayi. Ibethwe imali kwasa gede! Mzalwane, intlele into ebiphaya.

Kuqaliwe ukubalwa lomali xa ilanga liqala ukukroba emafini. Ibalwe lo mali laqina ilanga selelikekelela ukugoduka. Ababalayo batshintshana kuhle ukuya kwi lunch mzalwane. Zange ndiyibone imali engakaya. R5 000, ibethwe nge mini enye??
Andiyamkeli nge nyanga iR5000.

Mzalwane:
Mfundisi, pheza ngoku. Undenza ndifune ukubuyisa olwasuku khonukuze ndikwazi ukuya kulangqungquthela (some one calls the friend, tell him that his taxi is full). O’, Mfundisi, sele igcwele nale taxi. Masiphinde sibonane sicaka esihle sezulu
Exeunt

Scene two
(Priest’s wife and mother discuss about the church and the fact that the priest’s wife does not have a child)

Mother:
(singing gospel song happily. She stops to call her daughter). Ncebakazi! Ncebakazi!! Ncebsi!

Ncebakazi:
(Responding). Mama. Yhini ukundikhwaza kangaka Jolinkomo. Awuboni Majola phofu (Inkwakha)? Ingathi kanti ufuna ukundibonisa amawenu.

Mother:
Sukugeza apha. Uyayazi ukuba oko ndasindiswa ndayeka ukukholwelwa kwe zonto. Ndingathini ukumane ndifikelwa yinyoka? Yohlukanjani le nyoko kule yahendana uEfa emyezweni?

Ncebakazi:
Bendiqhula Jolinkomo? Undibizela ntoni ke mama wam

Mother:
Ndifuna undijongele ukuba injani le lokhwe.

Ncebakzai:
(analyzing) Hayi intle mama. Ukuba ubusemtsha ngendisithi uyi designer enzima. Yazi le pattern abantu abaninzi abakwazi ukuyenza.

Mother:
Into ebetha abantwana belixesha umntu ufuna ukwenza la nto ayifundiswe esikolweni, angakwazi ke ngoku ukugqitha. Mna ndiyayi jonga nje into ndiyazi. Jonga la uniform ibinxitywe yi kwayari

Ncebakazi:
Mama, awuna idea. People were like, wow! Ndithande la frill i gold and lime. That was awesome. (slight pause)
Iculile ikwari mama.

Mother
(interjecting) Iculile la kwari jealous down. Ibethiwe imali ngamabantla. Xa umntu omnye akwazi ukubetha i R200! Kaloku iphantse ukuba yi mali yesondlo sabantwana leyo!

Nonceba:
Zibethiwe izipho mama

Mother:
Uthini ngo NoThemba? Ubethe isitovuka endiqondayo ukuba usithenge emonti. Isitovu esinamavili!!

Nonceba:
(interjecting) Sine built in oven. Kuthiwa sisebenza nge gas

Mother:
Esiyana, singasebenza nanga ntoni na. Umbane ungangena phaya. Iparaffin ingangena, phofu neenkuni.

Nonceba:
Njengokuba uNoThemba enikele ngesitovukazi esingakaya, yintoni awakhe wanikela ngayo kulo wakhe umfundisi? Ayikokuzenza betere kwesilambi lento ayenzileyo?

Mother:
Ndambona enikela ngomrhaji wengubo ngenye imini.

Nonceba:
Unyanisile! Rha, ubathatha cheap abantu uNoThemba.
Wayaphi khona lo mrhaji wakhe, kuba andisawuboni?

Mother:
Tyhini! Awujongi moss. Yintoni le usula kuyo inyawo xa ungena phaya ekitshini?

Nonceba:
O’ Mama, uyayibaxa. Ude uwubeke ekitshini umrhaji ka Thesh

Mother:
Uthi Thesh kula nto inemixhadi ngathi icima amasele. Ndifuna ukumfumana kule veki. Uyabona njengokuba kuzakuphehlelelwa abantwana, lo wakhe umntwana akazukusi fumana isitifketi. Uzakuza uNothemba azokusilanda apha. Ndifuna afike umrhaji wakhe upha emnyango, ukakelwe ziinkukhu.

Nonceba:
Hayi mama suku ngcola.

Mother:
Hayi ntoni? Uyayazi ukuba la nto iyakuhleba.

Nonceba:
Hayi! Uthini?

Mother:
Wena umane usithi Tesh ebantwini babe bona bekutya izithende. Uzakuqabuka sele uhamba nge peyinti xa ungena ngqondo.

UNothemba uthi awuzali. Lo nto uhamba eyithetha ebantwini. Kangangokuba ude athi kufuneka uthandaziswe.

Nonceba:
Uyandiqhela! Yazi uyandiqhela uNoThemba.

(pause)

Mother:
Masimyeke ke lo Tesh wakho ke ntombi. Khawutsho, uzakuba naye nini umntwana?

Nonceba:
Yho mama

Mother:
(abruptly)Yho mama ntoni? Yinyani ukuthi awuzali?

Nonceba:
Hayi mama. Kaloku mna nomfundisi siya condomiser.

Mother:
(With sudden burst of shock) Intoni!!! Usebenzisa icondom xa ulala nomfundisi? Yinto owakhe wayiva phi leyo? Ikhona lo nto ebhayibhileni ukuba ulale nomfundisi nge condom.

Umfundisi uthini yena akugqiba ukuba ngumntu omkhulu ecaweni – esindisiwe? Ngama nyala antoni la ndiwevayo zizwe zakwa Jola?

Nonceba:
Umfundisi ndadibana naye emdala kakhulu kunam. Kwaye umfundisi ungumntu othanda ukuya erenkini. Yintoni le ingaka ayenzayo erenkini. Ndadibana naye engu noteksi. Nawe ke mama uyabazi oonoteksi ukuthanda kwabo amantomazana. Ngaphezu koko, umfundisi uyathanda ukuhambela abantu becawe, ndibe ndisazi ke mna ukuba amantombazana ecawe ayamtatazelela.

Mother:
Ngumhlola obomvu zizwe zika Sirayeli!!! Lonke elixesha utshate nomfundisi ugcine amabibi anje ngengilosi yeZulu? Ubumtshatele ntoni umntwana wabantu xa unezizinto zimbi kangaka uzifukamileyo ngaye? Zange ndiyive into enje.

Mamela ke sanalwam. Njengokuba kukudala nje ndabhalisa wena kwii insurances zam, ndiyacinga ukuba noko ngoku umdala kufuneka ndikukhuphe. Ndifuna umzukulwana endizakufaka yena, not wena. Andikwazi kungabi namzukulwana ntombi. Amanye amaxhewukazi ayateketisa, athuma abazukulwana, abona abazukulwana befunda – ndingotheni mna (she exits with anger. Nonceba follows her, heart broken).


Scene Three

(Umfundisi is on the phone, angry at the way the printers printed the baptismal certificates. He enters already talking?)

Mfundisi:
Hayi, hayi, hayi, mhlekazi. Leyo asinto sivumelenengayo. Ndithe ndifuna izitifkeyt eziyi 54, wathi wena ufuna i R162. Kutheni ngoku sewundinika izitifkeyt eziyi 29?
(pause)
Soze! Awukwazi kunyusa imali sendithumele i order. Undinika 54 certificates, or undinika imali yam back. (the wife enters)

Futhi, andiyifuni le nto yenu yokundenzela izitifkeyt ezi yellow. Thina sisebenzisa uBlue no White!
Andifuni na lento yokuthunelwa izitifkeyt late. Ndizifuna by Friday
(pause)
Jonga tata, into yokuphela kwe ink asiyongxaki yam, mna ndifuna 54 certificates, or imali yam back (drops the phone)

(to the wife) Wakhe wasiva isigezo esinje. Umntu anyuse imali ngokuthanda kwakhe. Ndimnikile imali ngendlela esivumelene ngayo, ngoku uthetha into ayithandayo.

Nonceba:
Benziwa yi lento ingabo bodwa esibasenzisayo kwizinto zethu.

Mfundisi:
Hayi kanti nkosikazi, ndizakuba tshintsha.

Nonceba:
Kulo nyaka uphelileyo babhala amagama abantwana wrong(o). UAsanda wabuya enguLusanda. Ndizicaphukela ndingubani iingoma zika Lusanda.

Mfundisi:
Hayi ke nawe uyaqala. Eyokuba uLusanda angavumi ucule ekwayarini yakhe mayingabi yona nto ozakumzondela yona. UYesu ufundisa uxolo novelwano. UYesu ungumxolelanisi. Funda nawe ke ukuxolela.

Nonceba:
(Not really convinced). Ndiyakuva tata.
Khawutsho, athini amalungiselelo ophehlelelo?

Mfundisi:
(Excited) Nkosikazi, oonke amadada asemigceni yawo. Izinto zimi ngoo nina, kushote nje kufike olwasuku, kuphehlelelwe iintsana.
Zonke ii circuit ziyeza, ngaphandle nje kwale ka Mfundis’uMvandaba.

Nonceba:
Iyawayintoni ngoku ngelixhego? Ude afe nini khona uMvandaba?

Mfundisi:
Umfundisi uMvandaba zange aphinde andithande emva kwala meeting wakhutshwa kuyo kwisikhundla sobu chairman. Kuye ingathi ndim lo wamkhuphayo. Bendifuna kanti ukuba abekho kule komiti, noba ulilungu nje. Unamava kaloku umfundisi. Sekunzima nokuba aphendule ii calls zam, unika inkosikazi yakhe, okanye umntwana, kuthiwe akekho.

Nonceba:
Sukuzihlupha ngezizinto ngathi ngamathumelo. Ukuba zonke izinto zingendlela, nantso into efunekayo.

Mfundisi:
Inye nje into engade ihlale kakuhle apha kum.

Nonceba:
Yintoni na tata (with deep sympathy. The priest’s expression also changes to sad).

Mfundisi:
Le yokuba umfundisi Njolobe abe senomntwana. Umfundisi Njolobe mncinci kunam ngeminyaka eyi 11. Wabekwa ndim ebefundisi. Utshatiswa ndim. Ndingumntu otheni lo ungekhe abe namntwana.
Kule ngqungquthela sivela kuyo, xa bekubizwa abefundisi, umfundisi ngamnye ebephakama nentsapho yakhe, mna ndiphakama nawe kuphela. Iyanditya lonto, kwaye nabantu bayathetha – and bathetha ngakhona.

Nonceba:
(with sadness and sympathy) Besisandukuthetha ngalonto nomama izolo. Nam ndiyamfuna umntwana kuba nomama uyamfuna

Mfundisi:
(exhilarated) Uyabona ke nkosikazi (hugging)! UThixo woxolo akhulule! Sendi nawo namagama apha kum entloko. Ukuba yinkwenkwe lo mntwana uzakuba ngu Immanuel, gama elo elithetha ukuthi uThixo unathi.

Nonceba:
(Excited too) O’ tata, ingathi ndiyambona uImmanuel etakataka apha endlini, ehamba echitha zinto, esela ziparaffin kunzima. Ingathi ndiyambona sele emdala ekuleqa kuba esithi undiphethe kakubi, phofu wena sele ulixhego eligobileyo

Mfundisi:
Hayi nkosikazi, uImmanuel uzakuba yingelosi entle elungileyo, umntwana ozakumthanda, kwaye amoyike uThixo.

Nonceba:
Ingaske angabi nale ntloko yakho, intloko enamaduma.

Mfundisi:
Ingaske angabina lenqondo yakho, ingqondo enendzondo.
O’ ingathi ndiyambona simjingisa, wena ubambe kule ngalo ingapha, mna ndibame kwenye ingalo.

Nkosikazi, masimenze lo mntwana.

Nonceba:
Ndiyavuya tata side safikelela kwesisigqibo. Lo nto ithetha ukuba sizakuyeka ukusebenzisa i condom

Mfundisi:
Very good nkosikazi. Zange ndiyithande le condom kwase kuqaleni. Mna iyandisokolisa

Nonceba:
Yi lonto kufune siye eklinik siyo tsalisa igazi sijonge ukuba akekho na apha kuthi one ntsholongwane

Mfundisi:
(changes facial expression to a mixture of deep sadness and partial anger) Uyabona ke nkosikazi, kweli ityeli ndiyala. Wawuthe masisebenzise i condom, ndayenza lo nto ixesha elide. Wathi masishiye i mission sizo hlala apha kowenu ndayenza lonto. Ndihleli apha kowenu ndisakha elikhaya. Wathi mandingakhi kwela nxiwa salinikwa ngu Sibonda. Namhlanje elanxiwa liseyindawo yokudlala abantwana. Wathi mandiyeke ukusebenza erenkini, lo nto ndayenza.

Kweli ityeli ndiyala.

Ukuba awufuni sibe naye umntwana, ndizakuhamba ndiye esitratweni ndiyokufuna umntwana.

Nonceba:
La ntombi yakho yala lali ingaphesheya yabulawa yi ntoni? Kuthe abantu bangazange bavunyelwe ukuya emngcwabeni? Kuthini ungazange uye wena kuqala kula mngcwabo?

Mfundisi:
UThemba wabulawa yintoni?

Nonceba:
Uyayazi ukuba uThemba wabulawa yi cancer.

Mfundisi:
Xa umfuna umntwana ndiza kuva ngawe (he exits)

….turn to next page

Iingxaki Zika Senzo

SCENE ONE

(uSenzo uyobona Umhlobo wakhe etarven. Umculo uyatsho ngaphakathi etarven, Umhlobo uyasela. Endleleni eya etarven uSenzo uhamba eng’alaza, utyiwa yi drop. Uthi xa echama kwalapha endleni ibengathi uchama amatye)

Senzo:
(Uthetha yedwa) Indifumene kanjani la cherry. Andiyazi ukuba bendisiyaphi kwinto embi ngolwa hlobo. Itsho ngomlomo ngathi lizembe, amagxa atsolo ngathi lintshontsho lentaka elimanzi. (achame, aqale ngoku bheka bheka, ekhupa ipipi yakhe ebrukhweni, eyicenga) Shu! Ibuhlungu lento. Umntu achame ngathi uchama amanzi abilayo. Ukuba ndinganayo i chance, ndingamthumela ngoo hili la mntwana. Kutheni umntu angatsho maan xa enesifo esisulela kabuhlungu kangaka? Yilonto amajita engamfuni la mntwana. Kutheni maan amajita ebengandi xavisi. Eyi, kodwa nam ndiyayithanda into. Ndiyithanda ngathi ndandizalelwe yona, okanye ngathi yayizalelwe mna.

(ufika kumhlobo wakhe etarven, abulise) Hey bra Lion. Bendiyazi ulapha, utya I laja (lager). Otherwise zikhiphani bra?

Lion:
Ekse Senzo! Zonke zinamanqatha bra kodwa azityebanga. Otherwise? Huzet?

Senzo:
(Esesezintlungwini). Hey bra, ndikhawethekile. Uyayikhumbula lacherry yase mapayineni?

Lion:
Le ka Bhiza? Ndisamfuna nam la mntwana kanjani.

Sento:
Not yena. Ndamyeka lowo uBhiza wakrobela. Ndimane ndisiya nje xa ku blind. Mna ndithetha ngalanto inesisu ngathi sine Galimoya. La cherry yayikhe yabethwa nangu Tools.

Lion:
Oh! Yah! Ndiyayibona. Itheni?

Senzo:
Eyi! La way bendiyibetha last week, ndazibona ndine pipi ephuma imifinya, yaphele ibabu bomvu.

Lion:
(ehleka) Serious bra yam? Tshotsho. Ndandithe ndiphe uBabalwa. Wathini wena? Wahleka! Kuhleka mna ngoku. Ingaske iqhawuke nalo pipi

Senzo:
Bra iserious le way. Bendiye eclinik bathi zendiphinde ndibuye. Iyandibulala le way.

Lion:
Bra, ndiyakucebisa buyela kula klinik. Nawe maan udlala ixesha elide ungayeki. Izinto zokudlala ezinye zazo zinamazinyo, ziyaluma bra (entertained).

Kutheni ungafumanii i glass eyi one yelaja uzo hamba ugrand?

Senzo:
Ingandi bulala. Ndichama ngathi ndichama imbawula bra. Ingathi ndimpompa amatye la way. I laja yona ndiyayi bawela, qha heyi, kunga blind kum. Bra yam mandihambe. maan (Aphume)


Scene two

Nurse:
(Unesi uhleli yedwa) Kugcwele ke namhlanje kukle clinik. Xa kunje, ndindedwa ndisenokungayi nakulo ti. (Ekhwaza) Olandelayo. (angene uSenzo) Oh! Senzo Mhlobo wam. Ngena Senzo. Hlala pantsi.

Senzo:
Enkosi Nurse.

Nurse:
Ndandithe uzubuye kanene Senzo. (Ayothatha iingxelo). Nazi ingxelo zakho senzo. (Ezijonga uNurse). Heyi Senzo, ndinee ndaba ezimbi nezintle. Ndiqale ngeziphi na kanene? (ezibuza).

Senzo:
Qala ngezintle Nurse. Usuku lwan oko luzindaba ezimbi.

Nurse:
Senzo mhlobo wam, njengoko bendikutsale igazi, igazi lakho lifunywene line Syhillis, iqcushuwa ukutsho oko.

Senzo:
Awunesi. Igcushuwa iqale nini ukuba ziindaba ezimnandi. Kungathini ukuba ziindaba ezimnandi ukuchama kabuhlungu kangaka nurse?

Nurse:
Kaloku Senzo mhlobo wam igcushuwa siyayinyanga apha eklinik. Ndizakukunika amayeza azakukunceda.

Senzo:
(Ebubhideka) Ndiyakuva ke Nurse. Zithini ezimbi?

Nurse:
Ubuthe Senzo kwilixa elingaphambili unenkosikazi Kwaye ikhulelwe. Ineenyanga ezingaphi ikhulelwe inkosikazi yakho Senzo?

Senzo:
Unzima loombuzo Nurse. Phayana kwam kukho i division of labour. Mna ndiyindoda ndijongana nokumithisa, inkosikazi yona ibala inyanga imithi. Andiqiniseki ke ngenxa yalo nto. Mhlawumbi zinthathu okanye zine.

Nurse:
Ndiyakuva Senzo. Phambi kokuba ndize kwezi ndaba zimbi, kubalulekile ukuba lo sisi ukusuleleyo eze naye eklinik azokuncedakala.

Senzo:
Andisulele ndiphinde mna ndizihluphe ngaye? Makazizele angeva ngam. Phofu, akayiyo necherry yam. Bendinxanwe ngela xesha qha.

Nurse:
Ingxaki Senzo uzakuqhubeka ukusulela abanye.

Senzo:
Andinandaba.
Zithini iindaba ezimbi Sister? Lacherry iziphethe kasubi. Ndingakuthembisa sister, neentwala zehagu unazo lamntu. Ukuba akanazo uzakube uyaziyekele. Ziyamfanela iintwala zehagu. Ingakumbi ezizinkulu zimnyama.

Nurse:
Mandiyiyeke lena into Senzo ingathi asizukuphelela ndawo ngayo. Masize kwezindaba zimbi. (Etshintsha itone) Senzo mhlobo wan, kufumaniseke ukuba egazini lakho kukho intsholongwane kagawulayo, iHIV

Senzo:
(Othukile) Intoni? Kum? Soze! Zange ndanayo mna lonto, soze futhi. Utata wam wasweleka engenayo lo nto. Soze iqale kum phaya ekhaya

Nurse:
Kaloku Senzo mhlobo wam, iHIV uyisulelwa ngumntu onayo, nawe ungayisulela komnye umntu. Yilonto kubalulekile ukuba inkosikazi yakho ize eklinik

Senzo:
Inkosikazi yam ingena phi kulento? Inkosikazi yam ibicwangcisa ixesha elide. Soze ibena ntsholongwane. I HIV yinto yoo Phumza. Ngabo abantu abanale nto phaya elalini. Zange ndalala naPhumza mna.

Nurse:
Senzo mhlobo wam, into endifuna undithembise yona kukuba uzakuza nayo inkosikazi apha eklinik. Cingela umntwana Senzo. Usana lungakhuseleka kwintsholongwana.

Senzo:
Usana olungekazalwa, esingayaziyo nokuba yinkwenkwe okanye intombi lungena phi kulento othi isulela ngokulalana? Selulele nabani olusana?

Nurse:
I HIV iyakwazi ukumsulela umntwana okwisibeleko sikanina, yilo nto sifuna ukumkhusela. Uyandithembisa ke Senzo ukuba uzakuza naye unkosikazi?

Senzo:
Eyi nurse, awubazi wena abafazi. Lo mntu uzaku hamba ethetha ngam ukuba engayazi lento. Kaloku ixesha elininzi ndiye ndimkhabele ukubuza na nam uchuku.

Nurse:
Ndiyakucela ke Senzo mhlobo wam ukuba uze naye unkosikazi. Hamba ke Senzo uyekwelagumbi wawuqale kulo, bazakwenza i post test counseling
(Aphume uSenzo ethekhunubembe)


Scene three

Mazala:
(Umama ka Senzo uyashwabula yedwa endlwini) Wabaneliswa uSenzo unyana wam, ukutshata into enje! Uyonqena, utyhafile, akakwazikupheka. Umfazi olala ilanga lide lingene ezimpundu? Ndiyamqalekisa umfazi owazala lomntwana. Iphi khona lento? Uthi ndiphunga nini? Etsho ngamaqatha ngathi sisithunzela. Soze ibekanti akathakathi lomntwana. Etsho ngamehlo ngathi uqhuba ikhetshi. (Ekhwaza) Nosanti! Nosanti!! Rha! yinjakazi umakoti wam jealous down! Nosanzi!!

Nosanti:
Yho lo mama! Akandifuni kanene. I wonder ndamenzani. Mhlawumbi ebefuna ukutshatela kuSenzo bethu? (Esabela) Mama! Ndiyeza!

Mazala:
Nosanti, kudala ndisithi yeka ukuhlala elangeni ngathi ulicikishe. Uzakundizalela umntwana unenkani. Hlala apha. (Ahlale) Mandikuxelele ke ntombi yase mzini. Umntwana wokuqala apha emaZizini uzalelwa apha endwini. Nawe ke uzakuguqa emva kwala mnyango, ulubeke usana lugangwe ziintombi zalapha kwaZizi. Lisiko ke lalapha, lidala.

Nosanti:
Ndayiva lo nto mama, kodwa kwi radio kuthiwa sibelekele ezibhedlele. Yilo nto ndizakuya ekhaya kule nyanga yam yokubeleka khonukuze ndibekufutshane nesibhedlele.

Mazala:
Ungasiphatheli imihlola apha mamCirha. Khumbula ukuba kwa ukuza oku kwakho apha kwaxoxisa, kwaphantse ukuhlula umzi kubini. Ungakhe ulinge usiphathele Izimbo ezingaziwayo apha. Lo mntwna uzakuzalelwa apha, ezaliswa ngoomama abazalisayo apha kwelikhaya. USenzo wazalelwa apha, zikhona eziradio nezizibhedlele eziuthetha ngazo.

Nosanti:
Kaloku mama wam sukulibala ukuba mna nawe size ngokwenda apha, sukuzenza ngathi uliZizi. Ukuba wena wawumnandelwe kukuzalela endlwini, mna andimnandelwanga. Zange ndazalelwa ndlwini kwamna.

Mazala:
Yiva ke nokhontoni ndikuxelel into ongayibuzwanga. Apha soze sive ngawe. Xa usiphathela umgqakwe apha yazi ukuba uzakuhamba naye. Oko wafika apha, oko ndakukhusela ungafunwa. Awufunwa apha kuba ukrwada, uyonqena, umbi, unezothe ebantwini.

Mzale lomntwana wakho ngalo ndlela yakho ingaziwayo, kodwa uyazi ukuba soze axhelelwe nto apha emaZizini. (Kungena uSenzo) Heke, nanku uSenzo inkulu ka Pikoko, iZizi elihle. (KuSenzo) Senzo khawuthethe nalo nopatazana wakho, umxelele amasiko alapha

Senzo:
(Elungisa kwa ukuhamba) Kwenzeka ntoni apha ekhaya, yangathi kuheshwa umshologu, okanye kutuwele inja endlini. (UMazala selephumile)

Nosanti:
(Esenomsindo) Ndixabana no mama, uthi mandizalele emva kwela cango. Ndingayenza njano lonto. Kwa funyanwa iinyoka kwade kwa kabini zizisonge phayana.
Mna ndizaku belekela esibhedlele.

Senzo
Eyi, wena nomama, ukuba umntu engayingena lento yena enganentloko. Sukumhoya umama nkosikazi. Kodwa, khumbula ukuba ngu mazala wakho, yilonto kufuneka umhloniphile.

Nosanti:
(Umsindo usihla) Hayi masithethe ngathi Zizi lam. Yintoni maan singakhe sibe nexesha sobabini. Ndiyakukh:umbula, yinyanga yesibini le. Kutheni na wena, awufuni kukhulisa lomntwana?

Senzo:
Not namhlanje. Ndidiniwe namhlanje. Ndinento apha emqolo endenza ngathi ndiphuma ekhephini. Umzimbo wonke uyala. Ndifuna ukuphumla.

Nosanti:
Akukho ngxaki myeni wan, ndizaku mdlalisa nje uDlamini, ndimbukele xa etakataka. Lonke eloxesha uzakube ungqengqile. (abe busondela kuSenzo)

Senzo:
(Ebhekela) Hayi noSanti, sukusondela! Kutheni ufuna ukundibambi nje. Nditshilo moss ukuba ndiyaqaqanjelwa. Gxebe, ndidiniwe. Uva xa kusithiwani. Kutheni uhleli nje undijikeleza ngochuku? Andithi ndithe not namhlanje?

Nosanti:
(Enomsindo) Kutheni undonyanya Senzo. Ndashwatyulelwa ngubani apha kuwe. Abaxoki moss abantu abathi uno Nomzi. Qho ufika apha ulala ecaleni kwam. Uqaleni nini Senzo ukuba ngudadwethu. Okanye usana lwam?

Senzo:
Swabula ude uyeke. Ndavota kwelilizwe ndivotela ilungelo lokudinwa Ndixhamla lona ngoku.

Nosanti:
Wavotela nelungelo lokulala nabafazi babantu? Ndigxothe Senzo xa ungasandifuni. Andendelanga bhedini apha, ndendele kuwe

… continued next page ...

Hang the President

(Incomplete version)


(The hall is packed to capacity, with dignitaries occupying the left wing of the hall while journalists occuy the right

On this 23rd session of the people’s court Monde Mberane is to present his case as the first case of the day, followed by the case on murder of Steve Biko. Biko’s case is the one that attracted most journalists and dignitaries from far and wide, with names as diverse as those of people such as George Bizos and Helen Zille, the police informers and Biko’s friends such as Peter Jones, Biko’s former girl-friend, Mamphele Ramphele and Biko’s wife Nontsikelelo Biko including young and old men and women.)

People’s Guide:
(In a dignified and slow voice) The voice of the people is the voice of God. Embedded in this voice are words of wisdom as interpreted by the ever shining light of the sun.

I have learnt to respect the people because in them written is my doom’s day, which becomes closer when I flounder.

Allow me Cde (comrade) Ruler to vow in the name of those who came before me that:

I shall not lie in the house of the people
I shall not spill my saliva in the floor, in this house of the people, contaminate the sacred ground – thus insulting the gods and Qamata
I shall respect women in the name of the Ruler as all women are Ruler's objects
I shall hide my face in the presence of any disgrace
I shall honour and respect the name of Hintsa, the greatest grand father of the Ruler
I shall accept Qamata as the Creator before whom nothing existed, and after whom life ceases to be
I shall bury my child alive if that is an instruction from this house, an instruction from the Ruler and the people
I shall respect the Ruler and the Voice of the People
I shall never eat any animal cursed by this house
I shall forever live in this house of the people as I am forever
sheltered by this house

Cde Ruler, our names follow after yours. Our shadows dance under yours. Our voices shiver under yours. You came before us all and shall continue to live after we would have long died.

The trees bow down and honour you, so who am I, a shadow in a pitch dark room?

I exist because you so wish. Who am I, a grain of sand in an endless desert?

You breathed life in me. You gave me colour, shape, size and form.

Allow me to declare, cde Ruler, that you are my Creator, my guide and my source of strength (the house breaks into a song – Besingobani na thina milwelwe yesizwe. Thina siphila ngoku bona uRuler. Mna ndiyi tempile ka Ruler. Cde Ruler ndivulele ndingene)

(The people’s Guide goes to the book in front of the Ruler, reads the first case of the day slowly for all to hear) Case number 53 is the case brought to this House by Mr. Monde Mberane, a circumcised man from the Dlamini clan. His father is unknown, his mother is also unknown. Notwithstanding this, Ruler accepted that his case be heard.

This case is expected to take less than 20 minutes as the case of Steve Biko is the case of the day.

(Focusing his attention to the Ruler) Qamata is the Creator, Satan does not exist, the Ruler is our Father. The Ruler and Qamata are one. The Ruler was the first to be Created, and later watched creation being brought to life. The Voice of the people is the voice of God, but the Voice of the Ruler is God. In the Voice of the Creator oozes love, oozes life, oozes joy.

What would I ever be without the comfort of the wings of the Creator, the Ruler?

(He sings a song, and the house responds in unison)

The Ruler is the Father of God
Without the Ruler there is no God
God and the Ruler are equals but the Ruler is second to none
None does not exits, but the Ruler rules over none

(The Ruler stands up, and silence engulfs the house. After clearing his throat, the Ruler speaks as if is the priest ministering in a church service)
Cde Ruler:
Let he who has a story to tell come forward.
Let the light shines upon he as it shines in the centre of this house;
And let all mortals realize that the light is mine and is forever
For this, let all others respect the Creator of light (whistle, ululations and blowing of horns erupt)
Let the world remember that the house of the people has no winners and losers (the house burst into another ululation and clapping of hands)
The house of the people shall be a place where all tell their stories, long or short. A story shall be listened to and an attempt in satisfying all sides in a story shall be made.

(A song erupts, and the Ruler sits down)Cde Ruler ilanga liyatshon’ ekhaya
Cde Ruler ndikhaph’ekhaya (Chorus)
People’s Guide:
Cde Ruler, my father, my God, my Ruler, this house is here to listen to the story of Monde Mberane. As a servant, allow me cde Ruler to call Monde to humble himself before this house. I hope as I pray that he shall not block any ears of the gods; shall twist no entrails as he tells his story; shall disturb not running water in its course, and shall respect the house.

The people gathered in this house represent the universe. Their voice collectively is larger than the voice that created the universe, because that voice was created by the universe.
Cde Ruler, I promise as I pray that Monde Mberane shall respect the horns of the Kudu that protects this house. Beyond all this, the voice of the Ruler and the Ruler are one. The voice of the Rule is the voice of the people. (He sits down)

Monde Mberane:
(humbly walking to the podium, facing the Ruler, next to whom sit the People’s Guide) I have come a very long way. I walked from the middle of my village to the edge in search of truth and hope for myself, my unborn child and my people.

I learnt many things, amongst which is the reality that one man can be so small in a universe.

My journey took me outside the edge of my small village to the open sphere where individuals are able to interact at free will, but collide, based on chance. My search took me to this house of the people. I came here to ask for truth, and hope. (Music erupts in a form of a slow chorus – Cde Ruler is our Hope and our Truth. Cde Ruler breeds Hope and Truth.Cde Ruler Give Us Hope and Truth. Hope and Truth for Cde Ruler).

When we built this house of the people our names were engraved in it and we were certain that the house will belong to each and everyone of us.
We put the Ruler to serve us all so that we are able to have a personality that is all of us, personality of which we can humble ourselves before, respect and honour at all times.

We put the People’s Guide so to be our conscience regulator at all times. This we did with full knowledge of what we wanted to achieve.

My people; children of my land, today I have a series of questions…
(full version withheld)

No Exit

When I came to this hospital I was not scared. My mother accompanied me, and left me here to be cured. But tell me, how do I get cured when I am not sick, when I have never been sick?

There is a drunk security guard at the gate, with a knobkerrie. There is a fat nurse at the door with a syringe. And there is me in between, scared.

My mother spoke to the nurse, requesting her to give me water when I am thirsty, and cover me when I am cold. This never happened!

I continue to be in this hospital, and I continue to love my mother.

My mother is a principal and owns a shop. She is a law abiding citizen and a devoted Christian. I love my mother.

When I was young she used to take me to the park and sing for me. When I was nine years old she sang a long song for me. Before she could finish it I was already fast asleep.

There is a drunk security man at the gate, and there is a fat nurse at the door. What are they doing? I suspect the fat nurse is a girl friend of the drunk security guard. But what do they want from me? Why me?

I am an innocent man. I don’t rape babies and grannies; I don’t steal chickens; I don’t fuck around with other people’s husbands or wives; I don’t eat rats, I don’t eat shit; I don’t mix dagga with mandrax; I don’t … I never had sex with a pig, or a donkey or a fly or a, or a … In fact, I NEVER HAD SEX!!! Why should I have sex when I have no parents? When I am still wetting my bed, when I live in a box, when I lost my only penis (he cries)

(after crying for about 30 seconds he continues) There is a drunk security guard at the gate, with a knobkerrie. There is a fat nurse at the door with a syringe. In between, there is me and my dog, Puppy. Puppy is a bull-dog, a brown bull-dog with a fluffy tail. My white employer gave me this dog. He loved it, he fed it, and he washed it. When he gave it to me, he cried. This dog does not eat bones, does not eat vegetables, does not eat human shit, or dog shit. For that matter, my dog does not eat. This dog is a virgin. This dog and I are virgins.

My dog does not bark at night, does not chase cats, does not lick stinking feet of strangers. Yes, my dog does not invade dustbins, does not lick the behinds of female dogs, and does not bark at moving cars. My dog does not swat flies, does not sleep outside and does not attack fleas, all because my dog is a born again dog.

There is a drunk nurse at the gate, with a knobkerrie. There is a fat security guard at the door with a syringe. What are they doing? What really are they doing?

Yesterday I did not sleep, I was thinking hard about this nurse, a security guard and their love affair. Suddenly the door was flung open, and I heard shuffled foot steps, thus I raised my head to investigate. I saw a boy who was accompanied by his mother. The mother signed some things, and had a small chat with the nurse. Then the boy was led to his bed. Before he was led to his bed, the nurse unclothed him. Took his clothes and put them in a brown plastic bag, then gave him white and blue-striped wrinkled pyjamas.

That boy, who came here walking on his two feet, did not wake up, he died at night. So I asked, what is wrong with this place? What is wrong in this place?

I phoned my mother. The phone rang, and rang and rang … NO REPLY.

My mother is a matron in a big hospital. She is also a president of a female section in our church. My mother is a dedicated community member who helps the limping and those with hoarse voices.

There is a drunk nurse at the gate, with a syringe. There is a fat security guard at the door with a knobkerrie, and there is me in between.

I have been in this place forever, no food, no girl friend, no music, and no hope.

I miss my girl friend, Lucy. She is a beautiful girl. She used to touch me, play with my thing, and I would touch her, look at her, and smile. One day, Lucy and I went behind a broken truck, below a truck, and on top of it. She taught me how to do this (demonstrating how to do sex). She climbed on top of me while I was on top of a truck. She took my thing and inserted it there, and went up and down, as if going to hell and back, while I was on my back on top of a truck. I love Lucy!

There is something wrong about this place. The pap they cook here has no water, no salt and no mielie meal. Something big is wrong.

There is writing on the wall, NO EXIT!!!

What? No Exit? … Why? … Why?

Yikaka yendawo moss le!

I miss my dog. I miss Lucy. I miss my mother.

NO EXIT. (He cries)

I am going to tell my mother about this. My mother is a police captain. Her uniform is decorated with three stripes and a gold star. When she enters the police station, everyone stands up and salute.

One day my mother held a thug legs up and head down. She bang his head on a concrete floor six times. Everyone ululated and clapped hands vigorously. That thug never robbed again – he died. From such an act of bravery my mother got promoted.

I love this place!

There is a drunk nurse at the gate with a knobkerrie, and there is a fat security guard at the door with a syringe. No! No!! NO!!! Something is wrong. Who is guarding us and who is nursing us?

How can I escape when there s a writing on the wall that says No Exit? Who is nursing me?

The Tunnel

The entrance to the tunnel was wide, yet people squeezed themselves through.

The person who was supposed to control the crowd gave up such a role as he himself wanted to enter the tunnel.

Those with money paid their ways through, while the weak and the poor got pushed out of the tunnel or squashed against the tunnel entrance.

What frustrated most is that the queues were already long at the time the walls of the tunnel were showing cracks.

………….

I built this tunnel,
To shape like a funnel,
A very tortuous channel.
………….

I saw fist-fights, I saw knives, and I saw the most lethal of weapons. People fought for a space inside the tunnel. Many died before they could reach the mouth of the tunnel.

The more one walked inside the tunnel it became narrower. People pressed against each other – the movement was painfully slow, while sometimes there would be no movement.

The further people marched inside the tunnel, the slower the queues, and the hotter it became.

One lady gave birth, assisted by her two young boys (6 years and 2 years).
The old man who coughed and died from TB wanted to know how did young kids enter the tunnel.
The new born died from suffocation while her mother died from post partum hemorrhage, leaving behind her two young kids.

In the tunnel there are no relatives and no friends. In the tunnel there are no debtors and creditors. Inside the tunnel the law is that of the jungle, survival of the luckiest.

Towards the end of the tunnel there were many dead bodies. The floor became more and more slippery from human faeces, urine, vomitus, human fat and saliva.
The walls of the tunnels oozed with sweat, with blood and tears of those who came before.

There were cracks from which the cries of the dead could be heard.

At the end of the tunnel there were fires of hell.

Many towards the end wanted to turn back, but there was no turning back – those inside the tunnel were pushing themselves towards the end.

One mad man walked straight into the burning fire, singing Hallelujah. Some young ladies covered their faces with their hands and cried their ways through. Some of the young ladies scratched the walls of the tunnel, refusing to enter into the burning fire. Some held tight to those who were still in the tunnel, while some tried to break the walls of the tunnel, attempting to escape.

Sexual intercourse could be the only activity inside the tunnel, but people feared contracting some diseases.

But does it matter any more?
Does it matter how one dies when death is a final call – inevitable call?
Does it matter how one dies when death is NOW and LARGE?

Tears in a Dark Room

(The seeker enters the room slowly, pushing the door gently. The room is small and dark. The air inside the room is dull and motionless. The only space is between the door and the bed.)

Seeker:
Hallow (trying hard to see through darkness)! Hallow!... Any body home (slowly getting into the house, leaving the door opened slightly for sunlight to enter)? Hallow (slow voice, soft and slightly frightened). Any body …

Truth:
(As if arisen from deeper stupor) Come in!

Seeker:
(Filled with awe) Greetings my son, how are you?

Truth:
(As if talking to himself, without any person present) This room is my sanctuary, is my companion. Inside the four grey walls of this room I saw the light, I touched the light, and I spoke in the language of the gods talking to the light.
The story of this room started at the time the door was closed. It is ME who closed the door. I ensured that the story continues with me inside this room.
Many many people came to this room but could not find space. Those who found space could not find love. Those who found both, they hated me. Those who found neither love nor space claimed that this room was empty.
How could this room be empty when I lived in it? How could it be empty when my life was stored inside it? … I cried mother…. I cried so bitterly, so sad and so loud. I CRIED! My voice was carried by the air inside this room and collided with the walls and the roof. I heard my echo a thousand times, and I counted it a thousand times. My voice grew stronger with time. After a long while I sat down to listen to my echo, I realized that crying made this room cold, thus I kept quiet. (Paused for a while)…
Otherwise mother, how are you?

Seeker:
(Slightly relieved but somber) My son, I come from a world with three suns and sixteen moons. A world where there is permanent darkness and sunlight. In my world when one sun sets, one rises. The third sun is from a distance, ever expanding and shrinking, intensifying both light and darkness.

The heat of the sun evaporates dreams and freezes them instantly.

This is my world, son. I escape and return to it within a blink of an eye. I hate it, yet all the people I love live in it and love it. What must I do son?

My world floats under my feet and I am submerged in it. I am very scared son, what must I do?
(She steps forward towards Truth) I am a Seeker, a traveler and a frightened woman.

I am looking for my daughter.

I never met her, never touched her, never saw her smile. She escaped immediately after I gave birth to her.

Those who saw her say she is beautiful. They say she is looking for love. And they say she is frightened like me.
I was told son to come to you as you know where she is. Please lead me to her, I want to say to her, I LOVE YOU, Love that does not die with time, love that does not speak evil, evergreen love that abides forever. Please son, help me say to her, I love you (she breaks into tears, and supports herself with an object found inside the room, an object whose description is not known).

Truth:
Wish I had some love for someone to give
Wish I had oxygen for myself to breath
Or some hidden energy that I could dig
In order to make you feel big
So never to look down upon yourself as if you are weak

Seeker:
But son I am weak.
Take me to my daughter. Let me see her.

Truth:
The day I locked the door of my room I saw no one’s daughter but my own eyes. Please mother help me. Leave! Leave and close the door behind you. Let the air in this room never be contaminated by tears of those whom this room never embraced. Let the air from outside never get into this room.

When you leave, let the world remember that I am dead and buried in my room.

Seeker:
Son I will leave. When I am gone, let those who cry at night hunt me down, kill me and chop me into many pieces. Let my flesh be given to my daughter. Let my daughter never starve again son..

Truth:
When you leave never leave foot prints into the floor of this room, and please ensure your breath never remain in this room.
What I breathe in this room is my oxygen. There are no trees in this room to generate oxygen, I am a tree.

Please mother leave

Who Must Give Black John Handouts Today

There are many nations in the world who are proud of being who they are. This pride is hinged on the solid wall of willingness to stand up and do a thorough soul searching. Luckily for us, there are many case studies that can assist us in seeing how these nations have fared, what challenges and what inroads have been observed. The history of this country is that of worrying people. AmaXhosa in the Frontiers fought tooth and nail, AmaZulu led by Bambatha also fought a fearful battle. On the north, Mantatis, Ngungunyana, Makhado, and Queen Modjadji also displayed a fighting spirit. All these fighters fought for what was a general good for their communities. The English and the Afrikaners also battled it out, and Afrikaners emerged victorious. Their plan was simple and detailed, making this country a home to all Afrikaners. Really what was wrong with that? They introduced laws that made a lot of them farmers, and bosses in the land. Afrikaners ensured that their children went to decent schools (in fact, this still happens). They ensured that there are decent houses roofing their people. They reserved jobs for their nation and ensured that they are protected from competition of any kind. Whether other people were happy with that or not, was neither here nor there. Afrikaners were in a nation building frenzy, tightening all screws, making this country hospitable to all Afrikaans speaking people. What was wrong with that? Obviously you can’t give too much to Paul without robbing John. The Black John is still empty handed and waiting for some handovers. The question is; who should give Black John handovers today? The Afrikaners even after Black John’s leaders took over the reins of power, continued to subsidize their children’s schools. They still spend a Rand in ensuring that a grass is cut, the computers are on, and the staff is paid. They literally sponsor their children’s education and ensure that teachers at those schools produce good quality education. All Afrikaner schools are among the best in any town or city where they are found. Black John feels that he has a right to send his children to the Afrikaners’ school. He knows that school fees are exorbitant, and it’s easier there to receive legal summons for a non payment of school fees. What we have learned is that the Afrikaner nation has proved in this country that if you take yourself seriously, there are many people who will want to emulate you and be willing to join you as their perpetual teacher. English speakers and those from the family of Black John who have dubbed themselves ‘English speakers’, continuously find reasons in taking the Afrikaner School Governing Bodies to the courts of law, claiming violation of the right of their children to learn in English. This is in spite of the fact that all nations have a right to self preservation and a right to fundraise, right to have their children instructed in their vernaculars. If Black John wants to be taken seriously, why is he still a receiver of all sorts of handouts, including academic handouts for his children even in the middle of the ‘freedom boat’? Will there be a time when Black John will assemble his brothers and sisters and explain the importance of fundraising for the education of their own children? Will there be a time when Black John will fight for a school in the township that will teach his children in Xhosa or Sotho? Will there be a time when white parents will fight dearly to have their children enrolled in schools in the township? Will there be a time when white people will be too eager to learn our African languages Let time tell (FN. Writing to himself)

House in the Wilderness

The rondavel was small, but was the only visible standing structure in the wilderness.
Inside the rondavel we were 7, and dancing around a highly charged fire, right at the centre of the rondavel.

Outside the rondavel were 31 queues of tortured and brittle Figures who marched towards the house (the rondavel). Their march was wobbly and lackadaisical.

Each queue had 71 figures and each figure had 3 stories to tell – the three stories were one, OPEN! OPEN!! OPEN!!!

The wind outside the house was clear, pure and cold, yet each molecule of air was angry from events of yesterday, events of which you don’t want to hear about!

Inside the house the dance continued, the flames blazed, the sweat rolled from faces and the round wall of the rondavel.

The rondavel had no windows, no cracks and no open spaces for ventilation. The air inside the rondavel circulated from a lung of one person to the next – each time the air was exhaled was hotter than before.

We changed the dance tune. We started galloping and panted heavily. We went on a deep trance, yet remained fully conscious. Our feet stamped gently, but strongly on the floor. We were right, and we knew that we were right.

The smoke from the fire painted us white – we were white like ghosts.

The ash rose from the centre of the fire and circled each man’s head like a shattered dream. Each ash particle cracked into many pieces, and crash landed back to the centre of our fire.

We continued to gallop. Some wanted to roll up and down the wall. Some wanted to crawl straight across the fire. Some wanted to be there and dance. Some wanted to touch the smoke. All of us continued to gallop around the fire of our sweat.

Figures outside the house started to knock softly at the door and murmured words of the outlawed. Each knock fueled the sparks of fire inside the house; each knock choke those watching from the distant land.

Rhythmically the knocks intensified and the Figures started to vibrate.

The wind became stronger, colder, heavier and slower. Some of the Figures started to break, and they disintegrated.

A deep round hole gained shape in the house. We all galloped in a trench, and slowly sunk as we continued to gallop around the fire.

After many years of galloping, some paused, and looked at the wall.

Others paused and looked at the river of our sweat that flowed to the direction of our movement.

That river was so deep that some got lost into it. By that time there was no fire, no firewood, no smoke and no ashes, but the river of our sweat – from what used to be a trench.

Some galloped in slow motion while others thought of the fire that was once the source of heat.

The house observed from outside had no roof, no walls and no foundation, but from inside there was a round cracked wall, porous roof and a river around what used to be fire.

From outside, the wind continued to blow, the Figures continued to knock gently at the door that once prevented them from entering.


Funani ka Ntontela

Dancing shadows - Dark Colours of light

I walked straight, I did not stop, I did not turn - I walked straight. In front of me I saw two shadows moving in opposite directions. Their movement was synchronized like a dance movement. Still I walked straight.

The ever drizzling rain intensified, became dark, heavy and cold. None of the raindrops touched the ground, they all froze in the mid air – still I walked straight.

The clouds above started to rumble, releasing cursing dark colours, as if they were responding to the snow fluffs that circled the small house in the world so far ago.

I continued to walk, I did not turn, I did not stop – I walked.

The air began to condense under the pressure of the falling rain. My legs became stiff; the vitreous fluid of my left eye ball froze. I continued to walk straight.

Shadows emerged again. Their dance movement was no longer synchronized. They rose and fell, and I could hear the bang – Boommmm! Booommmm!! Booommmm!!!

I decided to stop.

I heard the voice as it squeezed itself through the spaces created by moving shadows:

“Child, you have entered a super highway. Here souls are monitored. Each soul has a number, each number has a colour, and each colour has a specific wave length. Collision of souls is not forbidden, but it doesn’t occur.”

I blankly stared at an empty air. My semicircular canals and the cochlea wished to abandon me. Oh my body, how can you desert me at this hour? Oh my heart, how can you shut down when I need the heat you pump out with my blood?

I blankly stared, I did not blink I did not breath. The voice creaked painfully through the entrails of the bigger shadow,

“Thy flesh shall be used as a symbol of dedication; used by those who love me for communication. Flies shall suck from you juices of humiliation. You are mine. I own every part of you.
Hang in there child! The space between light and darkness shall be too hot for you, but frozen. Friction and the prayer shall be married, and you shall be in the centre. I advice you never to pray because the people who are supposed to answer your prayers are today counting rain raindrops. Indeed child you are mine”

Oh my legs, don’t let me down, take me to the space where the light shines, where the flowers grow and the birds hum. Please take me to a place when the grass grows and feed many.

I wondered: how could I hear my blood flowing from my blood vessels but not hear my heart? How could I hear the movement of the shadows but not my ventilating lungs? Oh my body, the body I got from my parents, don’t desert me.

From the world far ago the rain also fell, and it touched the ground. I could see gutters filling up with dead bodies of goats, sewage material and tears of crying babies. I asked the empty, what about me?

Shadows danced around me. The pulled every flesh from me, sucked me, licked me, touched me, laughed at me. Oh my flesh!

I blankly stared ...

My Placenta

What would I have been without my placenta? How would I have been without my placenta?

My placenta is better than any other placenta because it held me tight, protected me and nourished me. I bathed inside my placenta and swam in it. I opened my eyes for the first time in my placenta and had my first swallow inside this placenta, never to mention my first defecation.

My placenta is far better than other placentas because it was my mother’s flesh. After me no one used my placenta, no one could use my placenta because it was mine.

My mother bled when the placenta was detached from her – her body contracted, releasing it.

My age and that of my placenta are one, but my placenta is older than me, while I lived longer than it. My history and my placenta are connected, even though my history is separate from that of my placenta – and that my placenta has no history.

Biko at Heroes Banquet

I STILL remember the words of Kwame Toure when he addressed a stadium full of members of the Black Consciousness family on September 12, 1997, in King William's Town, that Biko was as well known outside as in his own home country.
That is why I am not shocked to discover how Joyce Anim-Ayeko of the Ghana Broadcasting Corporation felt a sense of exhilaration and awe when seeing his grave.
I have an undying belief that sooner in the continuum of the progress of our people, there shall be a heroes' banquet, and the likes of Biko, Muntu ka Myeza, Mthuli ka Shezi, Onkgopotse Tiro, Mapetla Mohapi and so many heroes who were never quoted in this country will march forward carrying banners of victory, scorning all form of human degradation and perpetuated human psychological execution.
Most of us shall wait for that day. And Biko the Tower shall occupy his place in the political rung. There will be a public holiday to allow those who want to commemorate (not celebrate) his death to do so.

Funani ka Ntontela
Daily Dispatch (August 3, 2000)

False Prophet

False Xhosa 'prophet'
A FEW Saturdays ago, we had political leaders, religious leaders and a host of other people commemorating Ntsikana ka Gabha, a "prophet".
Ntsikana was never a prophet. It was one of the hocus-pocus conquests that contributed to the landlessness of our people.
In 1799 Ntsikana was converted to Christianity by Van der Kamp. He started converting people from then onwards. In 1815 Ntsikana went back home to his people.
They were not aware of the wave of Christianity that was crippling other parts.
Ntsikana, understanding the mentality of his people, became a self-acclaimed prophet and told them that his cronies were on their way.
He told them what to pick and what not to pick from the package brought by his cronies.
The choices were all wrong, but people chose any way. From then on, AmaXhosa remained nameless, spiritually hopeless and homeless.
Today we follow religions of all sizes and shapes; we are lost. Yet we still find time and space to commemorate Ntsikana.

Funani ka Ntontela

Daily Dispatch (February 2, 2002)

What Went Wrong?

All self-respecting nations protect and preserve what makes them who they are. History teaches that these self-respecting nations end up being teachers and masters of philistines (un-cultured).
Black people in Africa have been the perpetual learners, imbibing all sorts of teachings, thus becoming followers by any given names. It is not shocking today that a lot of us are Christians, while some of us have found salvation in Islamic faith, Mormon, Bhai even Hinduism and Buddhism. We have not only hated our parents for not having money, but our history of ‘errors’ too.

Isiko lokoluka (‘circumcision’) has been a process where a boy is transformed into manhood, a self-respecting man. In our traditional society a man has been a pillar of the society. A man symbolized security, development and pride of the community. Under going ‘circumcision’ was to ensure that each boy knows what the secrets of his home and his community are. A baton of trust was handed over by the elders to this new man who will be a torch bearer, a pathfinder and a new warm blood injected into a community to take the needs of the community to the next level.

The ritual was never something for discussion in any gathering either than the circumcision school. An initiate (umkhwetha) was hidden from the public, and was taught a new language, a language not spoken in the village. That language encapsulated the essence of respect i.e, how to respect a dog, a tree, water, etc.

Today things have changed. We see initiates walking in the freeways of Mdantsane from this side to the other side of the free way. We see initiates in the trains, in the busses and taxis. Sometimes we see them going home to their mothers to complain about the traditional nurses. Shocking still, we see them going to shops, and we wonder, what the hell has befallen our beloved ritual of transforming a man?

In many a times, cases are reported of initiates who raped girls and older women. We learn about cases where initiates killed a person. Thus we continue to wonder, what went wrong?
When these boys return from the bushes, they terrorize each other like no body’s business. In fact, they become gangsters who go about in groups, menacing those who are not belonging to those ‘chosen’ groups, or those who belong in smaller groups. What they have done, is changing what used to be. I mean, upon returning from circumcision, initiates used to visit those other initiates who underwent circumcision in other areas, but in the same period, the purpose being to share experiences.

Doctor Bevan Goqwana (former MEC of Health in the Eastern Cape), exacerbating the problem, saw nothing wrong with taking helicopters to the bush to film initiates. A lot of us wondered, where is the Department of Arts and Culture in this regard? Why doesn’t that department do or say something about this anomaly? Other guys said to me, the Minister of Arts and Culture, Dr Pallo Jordan, once went to address Xhosa Chiefs in the ‘Transkei’. His address necessitated that President Mbeki go and apologize. That means the department of arts and culture is an apology for this country.
Be that as it may, initiates continue to die in the bushes.

(Funani ka Ntontela Writes To Himself and He is Allowed)

Youth Participation

DEEPENING YOUTH PARTICIPATION THROUGH SERVICE

PRESENTATION MADE AT FORT HARE UNIVERSITY, EAST LONDON (ASHTON CLUB HALL), 15 June 2007

Let me start by thanking the organizers of the event for inviting the Azanian Youth Organisation to partake in such an important topic, especially that we are commemorating 31 years of the tragic shooting of young Black learners who took to the streets to raise their concerns as both learners and members of the Black Community.

I thank the organizers largely because the Chapter 9 institutions such as the National Youth Commission, or any structures in government, tend to sideline any political formation that is not aligned to the political views of the ruling party – thus creating a belief that government and the ruling party are one, all else is an aberration.

Your topic is very relevant, yet I will only single out three words which I believe to be central to this theme.

Youth
This word refers to both a state of mind and physical or biological realities. As a state of mind, youth refers to vibrancy, energy and dynamism in an individual, thus we talk of individuals who are young at heart.
At a biologic level, we limit youth to number of years that a person has lived, and then start politicking about the inclusion of people falling within an age group to the ranks of youth. I know that United Nations has its classification, while there is a debate in Azania as to whether to adopt the UN’s classification or stick to ours.

What we all know is that throughout the history of our struggle, young people established themselves as pathfinders, groundbreakers, torchbearers and sacrificial lambs.
During the mid1800th hundred, young people’s impatience with the then rigid cruel politics, lead to the formation of pressure groups around the Eastern Cape. Many historians believe that the first revolutionary movement, Imbumba Yama Nyama (translated to mean, Black Solidarity) was the first sign of the maturity of the Black youth of Azania

Pixley ka Seme was still at his youth when he agitated for change and when he delivered his version of I am an African.
We can single out any period in the history of our revolution; we will always discover that youth always played a pivotal role, a dynamic role and the only role required to advance the course of the struggle.

The Secretary for Political Education of Azapo, Cde Nelvis Qekema, gives an explanation about the key drivers that propel this youth to such lengths, i.e. undermining a bullet and a bomb; undermining torture, intimidation and death. He argues that the state of being youth is both adventurous, explorative, with intellectual curiosity (questioning order of things, seeking new meaning and answers), and experiential. When you are young, you have all the energy, the time, yet nothing to lose. That forms a basis for some of the reasons why our youth is always there at Merafong, Matatiel, Soweto, Pampierstad and everywhere where change is required. Youth has nothing to lose!

Participation

Steve Biko’s Black Consciousness teaches that participation is one of the products of selflessness. In BC we learn that, youth drives a political wheel of change largely because of selflessness. Steve Biko dedicated his life to the struggle for the complete emancipation of Black people because he was selfless. The youth of 1976 confronted a bullet with a dustbin lid largely because they were selfless.

The history of the Black Consciousness shows that Black people, lead by Biko, built clinics, built bridges, and schools. They had their own treasury in the form of Zimele Trust. Black Consciousness taught them that Black people can only prosper if they take themselves seriously and start to do for themselves, thus a slogan, Black man you are on your own!

Participation, which at this juncture, refers to community participation, cannot be fulfilled, until and unless there is solid consciousness about the social, economic and political needs of the people.
The youth that Steve Biko was part of, was aware of this need for constant political education – that in BC is termed, Conscientization. It is therefore obvious that the youth of any stage in history requires conscientization that is driven by the material and non-material circumstances of that stage in history.

The youth that Biko was part of was selfless, self-driven, motivated and politically empowered, fed on a diet of BC and Scientific Socialism, thus comparing them with the youth of today becomes not only unfortunate, but unfair.

Service

The word service has been thoroughly overused, misused or abused. By service we largely think of ‘government giving to the people’. This has thwarted what Biko died for. The slogan that says Black man you are On Your Own is not limited to the period that was oppressive, abuse and denigrating, but our period too.

In BC we don’t separate participation from service, nor do we separate service from participation. Political activism is a service to the people, and that is what Biko died offering, that is what Mosibudi Mangena went to Robben Island and exile offering.
Like participation, service provision requires selflessness, conscientization and empowerment of those rendering it.
Today, service provision is mixed with all sorts of corruption, nepotism, and what goes with such anti-revolutionary practices.

Youth Participation through Service

In Azapo we always believe that youth participation in the service of the people starts with the empowerment and development of individual members. BC in the 1970s became not just a school, but a conscience regulator, a heart-beat and a rallying point. Young people leant basic principles of ubuntu through BC. We leant to love ourselves, to have a high esteem of ourselves, to put the interest of the community first, thus concretizing selflessness as an embodiment of a developing nation.

In Azapo we believe that true youth participation can be guided by role models, growing up in the same vicinity, under the same conditions as the young people who are called to action.

However, more affluent Black professionals are currently residing in Towns and Cities of our country, thus the only form of role models that the Black youth has, are the so called Magintsas, those who drive a fleet of German cars, living a very high and fast life. That might partly suggest a reason as why Black youth is seen doing criminal activities than white youth. Perhaps, that might partly suggest reasons as to why STIs are more common in our Black communities than elsewhere in the country.

Empowerment of Black people through Affirmative Action and BEE had a potential of calling Black youth to action, but party political hegemony wormed its way through the system, contaminating such a noble process of redress.

Participation of youth in the programmes organized by an organ of state is largely favouring youth drawn from one political organisation. This has dissipated the energy of many capable young people who do not espouse the ‘required’ political ideology, thus rendering youth participation in activities of social development a one sided approach.

Let’s hope and trust that sanity will prevail in this country, and a process of deepening youth participation in the development of society will be based on the needs of the people, not one party political goals, and let’s further hope that what Steve Biko lived and died for, will be realized through us, in one time.

_________________________
Funani ka Ntontela

Azania

ORIGINS OF THE NAME SOUTH AFRICA

In 1652 the Dutch occupied our Azania and called her, a No Man’s Land. French Huguenots, Germans, and more Dutch arrived in ship loads in the shores of what they called the Cape.

In 1795, the British fought against and defeated the Boers (Dutch) in the ‘Cape Province’ and claimed ownership of that land. A series of conquests and re-conquests ensued between the English and the Dutch, all fighting over our mother Azania, with United Kingdom winning most of the battles.

Following this series of fights, the Independence of the Transvaal Boers was recognised by the British in the convention signed in 1852 at Sand River. This Transvaal territory became known as the Republic of South Africa in 1858. In 1877, United Kingdom annexed this pseudo republic, but was later restored by the Pretoria Convention of 1881. The name changed, becoming Transvaal State.
In 1884, London re-authorised the name, i.e. South Africa Republic.

Following the ‘discovery’ of gold (at Witwatersrand), there was a great influx of foreigners who came to grab as much of the riches of Azania as possible. This influx, threatened the Boers (who were already calling other Europeans, uitlanders, or foreigners, even though they were/are foreigners themselves). This lead to a tension between the Boers and the British, and subsequently gave birth to the ‘South African War’ or Anglo-Boer War of 1899-1902.

In 1908 in Durban, representatives from all British colonies, i.e. Orange River, Transvaal, Natal, and Cape, met in what they called a National Convention. This convention was attended by less that one-fifth of the population of Azania. The purpose for the convention was to draft a constitution for a ‘new state’.
In 1909, this draft constitution was passed as an act of the British Parliament
On May, 31 1910 this country was declared a Union of South Africa, with Louis Botha as the first Prime Minister. It is worth noting that this union disregarded the presence of Black people in Azania, and was therefore not intending to draw them to the folds of unity with White people.

On May 31, 1961, this union became a Republic of South Africa following a nation wide referendum by white voters on the 5th of October 1960.
The constitution of the Republic of South Africa maintained all apartheid clauses from the previous constitution. It was this constitution that formalised homelands (Bantu stands).
On September 22, 1984, this country had a ‘new constitution of the Republic of South Africa Act’, promulgated by the Act No 110 of 1983. This is the constitution that gave rise to a notorious Tri-cameral Parliament (where the indigenous people of Azania were not included).

QUEST FOR TRUE CITIZENSHIP

Black Consciousness Movement (BCM), and the Azanian people in general, can only taste the fruits of their liberation if they can regain full ownership of the land. It is from this reason that all people of Azania, Black, Indian, Coloured and White, should join their hands in unity, and call for the renaming of this country as Azania.

This call was first made in 1958 at the All-African Peoples Conference in Accra, Ghana, by Kwame Nkrumah. After on, it was adopted by the Pan Africanist Congress (PAC) of Azania, and then later on used formerly as a name of ‘South Africa’ by the Azanian People’s Organization (AZAPO).

After the 1994 elections, voices that called for Azania to be an official name for this country were soon cooled down by the notions of ‘rainbow nation’ and ‘reconciliation’.

Many people died in this country for a democratic free society, where people will be judged not by the colour of their skins, but by the content of their characters. The struggle was largely about the return of the stolen land from White Colonialist Settlers to the Indigenous Black people. This is the land that the likes of Steven Bantu Biko, Muntu ka Myeza and others died for. This is the same Azania that was pre-occupying the class of 1976, and the same Azania that is engraved in the coffin of Steve Biko.

(Funani ka Ntontela)

This story does not end

This Story Goes On without end

It is true that the Blackman has not only lost his face, his culture, his name, his religion, his manhood, but his soul too. The Blackman is not only a shapeless shadow, but a foundationless creature. When ever and where ever he is found, he is begging for some form and substance in order to make sense of the world (and to the world), and interact with other fellow human beings as a human person.
A Blackman has abandoned his responsibilities in the universe. He has vacated the position of being the core-governor of the universe with the Creator – only because his image has been downgraded by his social circumstances.

When a child of man wakes up in the morning, he can see that his father is a tortured wretched of the earth. He sleeps in a porous cold and small shack. His clothes are torn rags; his face tells a tale of alcoholism and frustration. His life is riddled with dilemmas and questions one after the other. His wife is a laughing stock, lacking in all amenities required to make up a woman. She is the punching bag, continuously deflated in terms of pride and spirit, yet she continues to wait and hope, thinking that one day her man will come back home with a solid, scrubbed, and shining face.

This story is a very long one. This Blackman has come from the farms to the mines, the factories, back to the farms, then to the long queue of the unemployed, in fact unemployables. He wakes up to the street corners raining, cold, windy or hot, hoping to be picked up, used up, then thanked a gentleman’s way (smiling handshake with nothing to produce as a ‘thank’ when going home). When he works, he works for peanuts because he was once told that his brain is at least slightly larger than a peanut. Perhaps, he is still ‘babooned’ in this political unfriendly maze characterized by polarization between the haves and the have-nots. What a Shame!

The Blackman is a sorry sight. He is no longer willing to see the day without vying to the tavern or any alcohol selling place. His life revolves around alcohol. He continuously argues that alcohol makes him forget all worries. He is beaten up at the tavern, falls prey to pickpockets in the dusty streets of the township, and continues to drag home his worries including the fact that he has not disclosed to his wife that he contracted HIV (but what is HIV?). He ‘braves’, with alcohol stained face, the misery of poverty and hunger in his house. He is not affected by the reality that his child is no longer going to school because of school fees and lack of school uniform. He is not involved in politics, does not go to church, has not been to school, in fact, he cannot interpret the world for himself, thus he does not act when required, but only acts on the illusion of being acted upon by angels and all do-gooders of the world.

His wife sleeps in a pool of tears every night because she does not know how to tell him about the affair she has had with their neighbour. She cannot tell whether the HIV she is currently carrying is from this neighbour or from previous relationships. All she knows is that she suffers from a bout of opportunistic infections of all sorts. She knows that she can’t afford the healthy diet spoken about on TV, and of course cannot preach safe sex to her ever drunk Blackman.
Even tomorrow, the story for the drunk Blackman will go on.


(Funani ka Ntontela Writes to Himself, and he is allowed)

Dry Poetry

Biko Lives

The boulder rolled slowly, crushing ice down the hill
Dust balled itself as it followed the boulder in some perfect skill
The sound collided with dust and boulder, rendering them ill
Down the hill reality sealed the unexpected deal

The Towering tree succumbed under a crushing boulder
All dreams shuttered like a fragile glass
What a shame, such a loss so early
There will never be Biko in this world

Masses marched down the hill to weep and cry
But dust paralyzed the tear making tear glands
Allowing leaves to perform the forbidden Arial dance
None of the leaves could land, as the dust could not end
Masses agreed that there will never be Biko in this world

Before masses could touch the tree, it decomposed
Leaving its leaves forming another ball, suspended by dust
Without sound, masses were powerless
It is true; there will never be Biko in this world

From the decomposing tree truck came loaves of bread
From the maggots of the tree came fresh fish
The roots of the tree formed a safety net for the masses
Every one believed that Biko lives!


_____________
Funani ka Ntontela
©August 2007



What does this child want?

A child with many thoughts;
A child of many faults
A child that does not cope;
A child with no hope

Once was full of life, able to jump around
Once was very tough, able to turn around
She betrayed death twice;
For her that was very nice
But what does this child?

She now swims in a dry stream
She now lives with no dream
For her every thing is dead
She thinks she has reached the end
But what does this child really want?

Let my child be here and heard
Don’t add miseries in her head
Let my child cry very loud
Perhaps that might make her proud

You know that she has no dad
You know she is always sad
Yet you make her very mad
What you do is so bad

Let her tell her story;
About her former glory
Let he sing a song, not cry any more
But sing a song, then die and be buried in a song


____________
Funani ka Ntontela
©August 2007


Man the Creator
From the swamps at the foot of the mountain Man emerged
With African reeds He built seven pyramids
And wrote a book of Specifications, a book about His inventions
Then carved a rocks in honour of His God

Man walked to Hut-ka-Ptah to build solid dreams,
Laid a foundation of human endurance and genius,
Engraving tricks of life a solid wall
The Pyramids of Giza are very large

Man frustrated the desert, the heat and the storms
Marched with grace to Timbuktu
The temple of Zinj-ka-Fura is very warm
Wasakara and Karanga people are still singing

The footprints of man glitter in a shinning African stone
His finger prints are a story of success
Indeed Man an artist has done His work
The fountain at the University of Makerere still quenches

Man built a city in Zimbabwe and Mapungubwe
Domesticated animals and fire
Yes, Man symbolizes the Creator in this universe
The Ethiopian obelisk does testify

Funani ka Ntontela
© August 2007