1
 The warm tears
 ofUmakoti
 The sun was already up when I went to piss behind one of
 the huts. We lived in a rural village on the south coast of
 KwaZulu-Natal.,The family home was built on a hill. It was a
 large home with several round huts with grass roofs, a four-
 roomed building, a yard, a kraal and a place for chickens and
 pigs. If you looked downhill you saw a river that teemed with
 fish. .. Everybody used to go there to fetch water, to do their
 washing or to bath. The cows, goats, pigs, donkeys, even the
 birds in the sky, used to go there. It was one of my favourite
 places in the village. There was not only a river but also hills,
 trees, and a big mountain. .
 My mom was in the kitchen lighting the fire. She was a
 very beautiful woman, with a light skin, long shiny black hair
 and a warm smile. But she did not often smile. She was very
 unhappy and always busy. The whole" family called her
 Makoti ...
 My father lived far away in a township on the north coast,
 where he was working as a policeman. He was very tall, dark
 and had a handsome face, but he was very fat and ate like a
 pig. He would demand food at any time. He had a black belt
 in karate and drove a white car, an old Volvo manual. The
 people in the village respected him. Everybody t~at came to
 1
visit my family said I looked like my father. This made me
 feel proud, because my father was educated, and he had a
 house in the township and everybody saluted him and called
 him sayitsheni which means 'sergeant'. I wanted to grow up
 and be like him. I wanted to live in the township and have
 my own car. I was very proud of my father.
 He used to come home at the end of every month.
 Sometimes he came on special occasions, bringing his
 mother, my granny, a box of assorted cakes, sweets, fruits and
 a two-litre bottle of squash. My granny was very dark. She
 had long grey hair and was always very neatly turned out. She
 was a good member of the Roman Catholic Church.
 The whole family went to church every Sunday. This was
 very boring for me. We had to travel a long way uphill on
 foot. On the way we passed a river and drank some water.
 Then, when we got to church, we washed the dust and mud
 from our feet. The church service started with hardly a smile
 on the shrinking face of the old priest. He made everybody
 pray on their knees for hours. I never believed that the priest
 was holy, but I kept it all inside. He repeated the same things
 every Sunday. To me he didn't look like a pleasant person. I
 used to think of him as a ghost that lived in the church.
 After church we went home and had lunch. Then my
 mother would play with my sister, Thembi, and me. My
 mother always looked unhappy, except when she played with
 us. My sister was six years older than me. She was already in
 primary school. I was between four and five years old and
 couldn't wait to go to school, but I was still too young. I was
 able to count to ten though, and could draw in the sand.
 Our family name was Khuzwayo. The Khuzwayo family
 was very proud and they were the most educated people in
 the village. The family consisted of my granny, her three
 daughters and two sons. Her husband had died. One of her
 sons was my father; the other, the eldest, stayed across the road
 from my granny's home with his wife and four kids. Two of
 her daughters were happily married to rich and educated hus-
 bands. The other daughter was not married. She was a te.acher
 and she was study"ing by night to complete her Bachelor of
 Arts degree. My mother was not educated and her mother was
 a sangoma,a traditional doctor and psychic. One morning, as I
 entered my mother's room, she was crying. 'Mummy, why
 are you crying and why are your eyes blue?'
 'Zazah, you won't understand.'
 'Please tell me.' I also wanted to cry.
 She told me how my father beat her. She accused him of
 seeing other women and not considering her his own wife.
 She said she had slept outside that night. Everything was too
 difficult for me, a four-year-old, to understand.
 When my sister came back from school my mother told
 her she was leaving: 'I'm sick and tired of this life.'
 'Are you leaving us, mummy?' my sister asked.
 'No, I will never leave you with these witches. I will
 come and fetch you.'
 My sister started crying and I cried too, but I thought my
 father was a good man. Why did my mother want to leave
 him? Bow was she going to look after us when she didn't
 have ajob?
 My mother started telling us stories about the past: 'You
 know Thembi and Zazah, my first and second sons both died
 at birth because of this family and your father beating me up
 all the time. The Khuzwayo family does not like me because
 I'm not educated.'
 'Mummy, why do people say that my father deserted you?'
 'He left me when I was six months pregnant. He said you
 were not his child and he went to Jo'burg. But then, when
 you came out, you were the picture of him. He came back
 2 3
when you were three years old. Zazah, I had to go out and
 work as a maid with you on my back, because your grand-
 mother wouldn't look after you. They blamed me for not
 having a son that would bear your father's name. They called
 me a witch. They also said I had no education and that I
 knew nothing about money. They convinced your father to
 give all his money to his mother, not to me. His sisters still
 want him to have a second educated wife. And I must be
 silent while they treat me like dirt. He is always right and I
 am always wrong. His mother and his sisters and brothers
 come first in his life.'
 'What about us? We are his daughters.'
 While my mother was talking, she was interrupted by a
 cousin who often visited her. She was a daughter of my
 father's brother. She said: 'Mamncane, I heard my mother
 and Tia (my unmarried aunt) talk about a child that your hus-
 band has from another woman. They say he must marry this
 woman because she is educated. Don't say that I told you.
 My mother will kill me.' There was silence in the room for
 few minutes. I saw a lizard on the wall staring at us and laugh-
 ing at my mother's eyes that were full of tears.
 'Did they say it's a boyar girl and who is the mother?'
 'It's a boy named Mandla, bt,lt I forget the name of the
 mother. They say it must be kept secret from you, because
 you will kill the baby as both your boys died at birth and you
 can't have any more sons.'
 My mother went into the kitchen to prepare lunch for the
 whole family. I could see the sorrow and pain in her eyes,
 although I still regarded my father as an honourable man. I
 didn't see anything wrong with what he did. He was doing
 What a man should do. I was too young to distinguish
 between right and wrong. Mter lunch my mother left for her
 family home 40 km away.
 4
 I
 l
 That evening I was lying on my stomach next to the fire
 while my auntie was preparing supper and everybody was in
 the kitchen. It was winter and the kitchen was warm as there
 was a fire in the middle of the room.
 My grandmother started talking: 'Makoti didn't even ask
 for permission to sleep over at her family.'
 'She must be missing her lovers,' my auntie answered.
 'She forgets that we paid eleven cows for her to respect
 her husband, the whole family and even the dog that barks on
 these premises. I can understand why Mtholephi (that's my
 father) always beats her. She doesn't listen.'
 It was the next morning. The herd boy was leading the cows
 to the pastures and a cock was crowing loudly. I went to piss
 behind the house; at the same time I looked out ITom the hill to
 see if my mom was coming back. I was missing her a lot. I
 realised how much I loved her. For the first time I felt lost. The
 place that I loved, that I thought of as home was no longer
 home to me. I stared at the trees. Two small sparrows were
 playing and their mom came and played with them. I started
 chasing the birds. Why didn't they allow me to play with them?
 My sister called and I ran to her. At least I felt safe beside her.
 She loved housework more than schoolwork. We went to the
 kitchen to have breakfast. It was weekend. Everybody was
 going to the river to wash clothes. The river was a meeting
 place for the women of the village. I loved the river, but I
 refused'to go as I was waiting for my mom to come back home.
 Everybody went to the river except my grandmother and
 my auntie. They were complaining that if Makoti didn't
 come back, who was going to take her place? My mother was
 good at cooking, brewing beer and cleaning. I overheard
 from their conversations that there was going to be a party
 over the weekend. I was surprised that they needed her. So
 she was not as useless as they always claimed.
 5
That winter afternoon I watched the sun go down. My
 mom did not come back and I turned round to go back inside
 the house. Without her everybody was a stranger except my
 sister. My auntie was dishing up chicken curry and rice. My
 grandmother asked me and my sister to step outside. Insi~e
 the kitchen was my grandmother, my auntie and her four
 kids. They were all having supper except me and my sister.
 'Thembi, why aren't they giving us food?'
 'If they don't like our mother, do you think they will like
 us? Zazah, don't start crying. No one will feel sorry for you.
 Our mother is going to come back, so stop asking so many
 questions. You are too young to understand everything.'
 From that time I started getting answers. In my imagina-
 tion I saw my mother's face that was always unhappy.
 Sometimes her eyes were shining with tears. She never
 allowed those tears to come out. She would pray with bitter-
 ness as if she was shouting, asking God to make things better
 in her marriage. And I asked myself why God didn't answer
 her, because she was a wonderful mother and a good wife. I
 started praying to God to bring my mother back.
 That evening we had leftovers from the plates. We could
 only smell the chicken from the gravy. My sister had to do
 the dishes. Leftovers were better than nothing. I fell asleep
 hoping to see my mother come home.
 Another day dawned. I was talking to my sister that morn-
 ing about how cruel our family was not to give us food. I
 would tell my father what they did.
 'Zazah, he won't believe you.'
 'But he always buys food for us. He is our father.'
 'Zazah, he always brings cakes, sweets, fruits and money
 for his mother, but never for us, never for our mother. He
 doesn't even know or ask us what we like.' So I kept quiet,
 knowing it was true what she said. Our grandmother would
 give us cake or something when she was in a good mood;
 maybe once a week. Every evening she would have tea,
 bread and cake before she went to sleep. She would eat some
 sweets and refuse to tell us fairy tales. 'What kind of a grand-
 mother is she?' I thought to myself. I'd always thought that
 sweet things were for kids, but things were different here.
 After breakfast I went to my usual place where I could sit
 on the hill and watch for my mother's return. I thought about
 how beautiful she was and the fairness of her skin; she was
 bright as the winter sun, with long shiny black hair and a
 warm smile. She could fit in well in a coloured community. I
 remembered her telling us that her father hadn't allowed her
 to go to school and he refused to let her work for white peo-
 ple or Indians. He strongly believed that she was going to
 sleep with them because she was very light in complexion
 and had long hair. He preferred to sell her for eleven cows,
 ilobola, with nothing in her hand except her heart that was
 too soft.
 I sat there for hours alone. All I wanted was to see my
 mother coming back home. My cousins and my sister were at
 school. Everybody was like a stranger to me. My granny's
 house was like a cave. Nothing was the same without my
 mom. If my sister was not around I was going to run away. I
 sat there behind the house watching the people going their
 ways up and down.
 Then suddenly I saw two figures coming downhill very
 slowly. One of them was my mom. I leapt up like a locust
 and ran up the hill like a mad dog. My heart was full of joy. I
 jumped into my mother's arms and held her and started to
 cry: 'Mummy, you are not going leave me again, Hhe!' She
 kept silent and held me tighter.
 My mother was with her elder sister. I believed she had
 come to negotiate with my grandmother. We walked towards
 6 7
my grandmother's house. There she was, with a woman with
 a gravel face.
 'Gogo, my mother is back!'
 'Oh, Nkulunkulu ngiyabonga, thank God! Who was going
 to do all the work for the party?'
 My mother and her sister entered the house and sat on the
 floor.
 'Makoti, are you doing as you please in this house?'
 'What do you mean, Ma?'
 'First you went to your family without getting permission
 from me or your husband. Which means that we wasted all
 those cows that we paid for you. '
 'But Ma, your son beats me all the time and you don't say a
 thing about it. He doesn't give me any money for my children.'
 'Look at you, I am still talking and I didn't say that I am
 finished. You lost your two sons because you didn't listen and
 you made the ancestors very angry. If you want to have a son
 to carryon this family's name you must start to obey and
 respect even these premises when you walk on them. We have
 enough cows to pay lob ala for another wife. You remember,
 Makoti, you went to look for ajob without getting permis-
 sion. You got a job and you started thinking you were a man.'
 'Ma, what was I supposed to do? Watch my daughters die
 of starvation?'
 'Makoti, you can't keep quiet, washanendlu, Hhe. I want
 to finish.'
 'Ma, I won't keep quiet. Your son went to Jo'burg leaving
 me when I was six months pregnant. He said my second
 daughter was not his. And you didn't even help me. You
 couldn't even look after my child while I was at work. Now I
 am sick and tired of this family. You never think of me as a
 human being. Why? Is it because I don't have a mother and
 my father is a sick man? Please tell me. Why?'
 8
 i
 I
 \
 My mother burst into tears and she was shaking. Her sister
 was telling her to take it easy. 'Marriage is a difficult business,'
 she said. 'You must learn to overcome all situations with
 patience and perseverance.'
 'No, Thoko,; she told her sister. 'I am taking my children
 and leaving for good. I will go and look for ajob.' .
 'Makoti, you don't want to bring shame on yourself by
 failing to keep your marriage,' said my grandmother.
 'Okay, then I will have to move to the township with my
 husband. '
 'You want these kids to be nothing but bitches, to know
 nothing about their culture.'
 'Why do you say that, Ma?'
 'Because in the township they are going to shit inside
 the house. They won't fetch water from the river. They
 won't know how to get wood from the bush, how to make
 a fire, and then they will be worse than you in handling
 their marriages.'
 The gravel-faced woman nodded, showing her teeth in
 her gaping mouth.
 My grandmother went on: 'Maybe they won't even get
 married. Who wants a woman that cannot clean a house?
 You know, Makoti, if I were you I would obey. Your first
 two sons died at birth because you made the ancestors very
 angry with your stubbornness.'
 'Yes, Ma, and nobody came to see me in hospital. They
 had to burn my sons. I don't know their graves because of
 you. You all are like animals. And now you are busy turning
 your son to be exactly like you. I have a husband working as
 a policeman but he gives all his money to his mother and he
 spends the rest with the bitches in the township. What will
 you say to him? He is a man. So he has all the right to do
 whatever he likes, even if his own family has to suffer for it?'
 9
'Makoti, that boy must give me everything. You don't
 have to be jealous. I raised him myself. Whatever happened
 in my marriage, I stayed and I persevered. And now I am
 reaping the fruits of that. You are a disgrace. I never argued
 with my in-laws. The world is going to laugh at you.'
 There was silence in the room. Then my mom started
 talking. 'I am going to tell him that I am leaving for good.'
 'Hhayi bOJMakoti. I am warning you!'
 Suddenly a car hooted at the top of the hill. I was hoping
 it was my father's car. I thought he would sort things out ashe was a policeman.
 'Mummy, I am going to Daddy.' I ran up the hill to meet
 my father, who was tall and fat as a giant. He held my hand
 and walked to the house with me.
 'Baba, my mom wants to leave and go to her family. Are
 you going to come with us?'
 My father kept quiet and I did the same. As I was walking
 downhill holding his hand, I saw in my imagination a happy
 family sitting at a table having supper: my father, my sister,
 my mother with a newborn baby boy and me. We are all
 happy in my father's house. How I wished that dream could
 come true.
 When we entered the house everything felt bitter inside. I
 fetched the small bench that was only for my father to sit on. I
 went to lean against my mother who was sitting on the floor,
 as in Zulu tradition a woman should sit on the floor on a
 special mat made from grass and cotton.
 'Mtholephi, it's good that you came, we need you a lot,'said my grandmother.
 The gravel-faced woman nodded as usual. She irritated me
 like hell. She didn't have a husband; all she could do was stick
 her nose in every family's business.
 My grandmother said, 'Mtholephi, we have a problem.
 You have come at the right time. I don't even know how to
 say it to you.'
 My mother started talking: 'BabakaThembi, I am leaving
 you and this hell that you have put me through. Enough is
 enough. '
 'Ma, what has happened to MaHlengwa? Why does she
 want to leave?'
 'I will explain to you, BabakaThembi,' my mother con-
 tinued. 'These past two days I was not here. I went home,
 because I am tired of you and your family. It looks as if I'm
 married to your family and not to you. I also heard that you
 have a child from another woman. You kept it secret from
 me, thinking I am stupid.'
 The gravel-faced woman said 'Makoti, let your mother-
 in-law speak. Nobody thinks you are stupid. Mtholephi is a
 man and he can marry ten women if he likes. At least the
 other women gave him boys - you have only girls.' .
 'Oh, so it is not just one woman? Now I don't under-
 stand.' My mom kept quiet and waited. Then she said, 'How
 can I keep quiet when there are so many things hidden from
 me? I didn't know that such good Catholics have so many
 secrets. So please tell me everything I don't know about.'
 'Please, Sis, keep quiet.'
 There were tears in my mom's eyes.
 My grandmother said: 'Mtholephi, this woman of yours
 does as she pleases, as you can see. She cannot even keep
 quiet and let us talk. She went home without my permission.
 She also wants to go and live in the township with you. But
 what really makes me angry is that she says that you give me
 money and nothing to her. Just tell her how hard I worked to
 send you to school so that you can be what you are today.'
 The gravel-faced woman joined the conversation. 'Who is
 going to bear Mtholephi's name if she can't have a boy? All
 10 11
she does is complain. Makoti, you came here to look after
 this family, not to tell them what to do. I think ungukhanda
 limtshel'okwakhe. You don't argue with your in-laws and
 your husband is your king. You have to bear with him in all
 situations. '
 My mother started to cry. 'You are doing all this because I
 don't have a mother. Ma, please stop thinking that I am
 unfaithful to your son, because I am not. When I met
 Mtholephi I was a virgin. Everybody knows that. I am unlike
 your young daughter who had four kids before marriage and
 those kids have two different fathers.'
 My mother was talking about my auntie Tia, the one- who
 was studying for a Bachelor of Arts degree. She was a tall lady
 with big eyes; fat, and a lovely smile; but her heart was not so
 lovely, although she was a very good teacher and a music con-
 ductor at school. She used to be a nurse but was fired for falling
 pregnant without being married. Once she had a fight with my
 mother, so they didn't like each other. My aunt started the
 fight. My mother was very strong, so she didn't stand a chance.
 After all this conversation in the kitchen my father came
 up with a solution: after the party that coming weekend we
 would be moving with him to the township. I was very
 happy that we were going to be a family again, staying far
 away horn all the troubles that caused my mother to leave us.
 I couldn't believe that my dream was coming true.
 That weekend there was itiye. ltiye is a cultural ceremony
 for ancestors. People came from different parts of the village
 to sing, drink Zulu beer, dance and eat. They did all sorts of
 things to be happy and a cow was slaughtered. The women
 wore dresses as colourful as a rainbow. Everybody took turns
 to dance according to their age groups. The teenage girls
 showed their legs and breasts, topless with colourful beads
 round their necks, arms and waists. Their bums showed when
 they swung up their legs. The cow-skin drum thumped and
 the older women wore beautiful headdresses to show they
 were married. The men went to the kraal where they slaugh-
 tered the cow. They braaied the parts of the meat that only
 men can eat. They joined the crowd afterwards to watch the
 women doing their best. The guys started fighting with sticks
 to show who was strongest. The winners were cheered and
 the losers were jeered by the crowd. My sister was one of the
 best dancers in the village!
 My father promised to come and fetch us at the end of the
 month. My grandmother was very unhappy about my moth-
 er's decision to move to the township. I was very happy, as I
 didn't like housework, especially not fetching water and col-
 lecting firewood.
 One night we were in the kitchen. My mother was cook-
 ing and I was on the mat next to the fire as usual when my
 granny said: 'Makoti, you must not send this child to school.
 She will waste my son's money. She is lazy, always lying next
 to the fire. She is even too lazy to talk.'
 'Please, Ma, she is still young. Give her a chance.'
 'Makoti, I wonder if you ever listen to anything I say. You
 forget that I am the one who paid lobola for you and I know.
 what is best for you.'
 'You were doing it for your son, not for me. Ma, you
 know I respect you, but you take advantage of me at times.'
 It was the beginning of spring. Everybody was checking
 how much seed they had. If they did not have enough, they'd
 have to buy or ask friends if they had some to spare. In those
 days people helped each other. Those with an oversupply
 would share with their neighbours, but the Khuzwayo family
 was very proud.
 I remember a poor man who used to go from house to
 house begging for food. He had no family and his clothes
 12 13
were torn and dirty. He used to come and ask food. My aunt
 and granny always told him to go away, because he stank.
 Only my mother would give him something to eat.
 I asked my mother why she was always helping poor
 people. She told me this tale: There was a rich woman who
 had everything she wanted. One day she made a request: she
 wanted to see God. She called the servants to clean up the
 place. The house had to be absolutely perfect. But one
 servant was ill, so he failed to clean as the madam requested.
 She fired him. He pleaded that he had children, but she didn't
 understand.
 The next day the rich woman was all dressed up like a
 queen. Everything she wanted she could get. Suddenly a man
 appeared at the gate. He was clean and shining and you
 couldn't look into his eyes. He looked poor; he had no shoes
 and a very long beard. The woman rushed to the gate to tell
 him to go away. She said she was tired of feeding the poor
 who couldn't help themselves.
 Later a tall handsome guy appeared at the gate wearing a
 tuxedo and carrying a walking stick made of gold. His limou-
 sine was parked outside. The woman rushed to open the gate
 for him and let him in. The servants threw flowers on his way
 to the house and everybody bowed before him. When the
 man left the house he took a book out of his briefcase with
 the title inscribed on the cover: Devil's servants. The devil said
 to the woman: 'The man you chased away wa~ God and now
 I can have you for myself.'
 'Zazah, that is the end of the story.' I did not question my
 mother any further.
 My grandmother used to make the family pray for hours.
 Some would even fall asleep and she would wake them up. The
 Worst part was that everyone had to kneel. I was wondering
 why our grandmother never told us stories or read to us f1-om
 the Bible. But I loved her. She was the only grandmother I had.
 Time was moving on and the days were passing. The
 weekend my father was supposed to come he didn't show up.
 That Sunday I didn't go to church, because I didn't have any-
 thing to wear. The dress I had was too small and my shoes did
 not fit me. My mother was complaining that her husband was
 working, yet she never had a cent from him to buy anything
 for us. The clothes we had she had bought while she was
 working as a maid, but the family stopped her because a
 woman was not allowed to work.
 The Monday morning my mom asked my grandmother
 for some money so that she could buy clothes for my sister
 and me. My grandmother refused.
 Then my mom told me to get dressed. 'We are going to
 your father in the township. I am tired of him lying to me.'
 My grandmother didn't like the idea, but she couldn't stop
 my mother once her mind was set on something. We had to
 ask directions on the way.
 The houses in the township were all the same: four-
 roomed, built with red bricks. They were not far apart like in
 the rural areas. There were hills as well and a small river not
 far f1-omour house.
 When we arrived at my father's house there was nobody
 there. The woman next door was very unfi-iendly so we went
 to the neighbours on the other side. These people were fuendly
 and the woman explained to my mother that she must report
 my father if he didn't support his children. As a policeman he
 had to stay within the law. They were very nice people.
 Then a cute boy arrived, a little older than me, and said:
 'My mother sent me to tell you that the house is open and
 you can come.'
 We went into my father's house for the first time. To our
 surprise there was a woman preparing food. My mother
 14 15
greeted her. The woman started shouting: 'Who allowed you
 to come in with your children, and who are you?'
 'Mtholephi didn't tell you that he had a wife and children
 on the farm?'
 The woman stood with her mouth wide open, amazed.
 She was about twenty-five. She said: 'I didn't know, but I
 think I'm going to leave you with the keys. If you go, please
 leave them next door. That is where I get them every day. '
 Then she left in a hurry, looking shy, scared and surprised.
 The house was okay, with a kitchen, a lounge, two bed-
 rooms and a bathroom and it was fully furnished. We made
 ourselves at home. While we were having lunch there was a
 knock on the door. A fat woman stood there as if she was
 looking for trouble.
 'Sanibona, I'm looking for the father of this house. I'm
 fetching my bed sheet. Anyway, who are you? Are you the
 new maid in this house?'
 'No, I'm the mother of this house.'
 'What? Do you know that I have a son fi-om this man?'
 'And do you know that I am married to him?'
 'Well, he wants to marry me as well and they told me
 things about you.'
 'Who told you things about me?'
 'Your sisters-in-law told me if! bring my son to this house
 you will kill him, because you are a witch and your mother
 was a sangoma. Of course I have a son with him and you are
 an uneducated witch.'
 'You know, I'm not the aggressive type, but I think you
 must get out of my husband's house. Come back when he
 marries you, not now.'
 'This is Mtholephi's house, not yours.'
 'Aha, we shall see.' My mother slapped her and pushed her
 out of the house. Then she started swearing at my mother,
 telling her to come outside. My mother came out with a
 bush-knife. The woman realised it was time to disappear
 before something happened. I noticed that she ran to the next
 door neighbour's house and I told my mother.
 'Don't worry, my baby, she won't come back here. I
 promise you. Okay?'
 We continued with our lunch. It was a long and confus-
 ing day for me and I was trying to figure out what kind of a
 father I had and wondering whether he was going to bring
 another woman home. My mind was really troubled, and I
 had no answers.
 A big police truck arrived at about four in the afternoon.
 When my father got out, the woman next door called him. I
 ran to him and he asked me, 'How did your mother get
 here?' I told him the whole story.
 'Your mother is really crazy. Who gave her permission to
 come here? Shit. Zazah, go to your mother.'
 He went into the neighbour's house for about twenty
 minutes and then came home.
 'MaHlengwa, who said you must come here?'
 'I need money to buy clothes for the children. These
 clothes they are wearing I stole from your sister's daughter
 and I have to return them when I get back home.'
 She was standing there next to him, staring at his red eyes.
 He was breathing heavily and sweating with anger.
 'MaHlengwa, you have not told me what you are doing here.'
 'BabakaThembi, don't you know I came here because I
 need money and the children have nothing to wear when they
 go to church? What do you want me to do? Go and report to
 the court that you don't want to support your kids?' My father's
 expression was changing fi-om bad to worse. He called her into
 the bedroom. After a while she came out looking very angry.
 'What do you want me to do with this ten rand? Tell me
 16 17
what I can buy with this. Tomorrow I am going to report
 you to your station commander. Now I know everything.
 You cannot fool me any more. Mrs Zumu told me what to
 do when you fail to support your children. You have the
 cheek to tell me to go back to your mother at this time
 because you want all your bitches to come and sleep in this
 house. Well, salakahle.)And my mother pulled me, showing
 me we had to leave. <
 My father followed us outside and shouted: 'Fuck off or I
 will kill you and your bitch. This is my house.'
 Those words ?rom my father were very strange to my ears,
 they were unbelievable. Did he have to say things like that
 outside the house with everybody listening? I asked my
 mom: 'Mummy, why is Daddy angry with us and why is he
 swearing?'
 'Zazah, because he doesn't like giving us money.'
 'Mummy, it's late, where are we going to sleep?'
 'We will wait for the bus, don't you worry.'
 It was around seven in the evening. We waited at the bus
 stop for one and a half hours. Then a woman from the house
 below the bus stop came and told us there was no transport at
 night. Her name was Mrs Mthethwa.and she invited us to sleep
 in her house and made us supper. She and her husband had a
 daughter, Fundiswa, who was one year older than me and we
 got along very well. We had lots of things to talk about. I had
 another good reason for us to move to the township!
 How I wished my family could be as happy as Mrs Zumu's
 and Mrs Mthethwa's families. I had great faith that everything
 was going to be alright but I was scared. I had seen so much
 swearing and fighting that day.
 My mother woke me up that next morning to tell me that
 we had to get ready to leave. While we were on our way to
 the station commander, we met a man called Mr Nkomo. We
 didn't know it was the man from next door to my father's
 house, as we had only met his wife. He was a policeman. He
 was nicer than his wife and he showed us the way to the
 polite station. When he heard the things that my mother
 reported, Mr Nkomo was surprised that my father was not
 looking after us. That afternoon we went back to the rural
 areas. My mother had to borrow money from Mrs Mthethwa.
 This was the first time that I thought that maybe my father
 was evil. Maybe he really was bad to my mom. That must be
 the reason why my mother was always unhappy. But I also
 loved him very much and I really believed in him. I saw him
 as my protector, my guide, my role model and my supporter.
 I needed his love.
 I believed my father learned a real lesson when my mother
 reported the case. The station commander gave my father a
 warning that if my mom came to complain again, further
 steps would be taken. My father came to fetch us that week-
 end and took us to the township. The next day we all went
 shopping. Only my sister had to go back, because she had to
 go to school. And I really was proud of my mother for what
 she did. During that time my mother was happy and I was
 really happy.
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