Authors: Nkosinathi Sithole
Hunger Eats a Man
HUNGER EATS A MAN
For Phiwa and Cebo
“The only thing that moves here in Ndlalidlindoda is time. Everything else is stagnant,” Priest says to himself as he contemplates the land that has been his home for more than twenty years. It is now winter, and Priest hates winter. Gxumani, of which Ndlalidlindoda (Hunger-Eats-a-Man) is part, is situated near the Drakensberg mountains, so it gets very cold in winter. He has heard many people say that the City of Gold is cold, but he knows that no place can be colder than Gxumani, not in winter.
Yet Priest is now inured to the discomforts of cold. His only concern regarding winter is that the land loses its beauty. To him, the only thing that thrives in winter is the wind, and the wind makes him feel uncomfortable. Everything else is ugly and hungry. He focuses his gaze far away on the land owned by Wild Life and notices that the grass is dry and reddish white. Even the grass in his homestead seems to be crying for food. This prompts a thought in him that interests him so much that he wishes to share it with his wife. He goes inside and seats himself on the sofa.
MaDuma is fixated on the beadwork she is crafting to sell to the tourists at Zenzele (Do-It-Yourself). Priest spends a full minute studying the features of his wife. She is not really beautiful, but she is also far from ugly. MaDuma has lost almost all her back teeth and her cheeks are now sunken. However, this does not interfere with the
fairness of her features. Priest thinks her eye-glasses make her look more beautiful than she actually is, then decides that this is unfair. But what is fair in this world any more?
Priest clears his throat and says, “I think here in Ndlalidlindoda it has been winter for many years now.” He sounds excited by his observation.
MaDuma does not honour his introspection by raising her head as she answers, “You are hungry.”
“Exactly! We all have been hungry for many years and that is winter.”
MaDuma is greatly annoyed by her husband's asinine talk. She removes her eye-glasses and confronts him. “Get out!” she roars. “Don't bring your hunger to me. I've got my own problems!”
But later she calls him from where he is sitting outside and leaves a tray with his food on the coffee table. The food is served on a green-and-white plate and another identical one is used to cover it. Next to the covered plate his wife has placed a glass of water. Priest does not have to lift the covering plate to know that his food is pap and potatoes. For a long time now he has eaten pap and potatoes with his family. The taste of the food, or the absence of it, does not matter. It is better to have pap and potatoes than to have nothing.
As Priest is chewing his disagreeable food, he hears a soft voice speaking to him: “Father, the principal said we should bring R50 to school.”
The voice is Sandile's, Priest's son of fifteen. He is, according to his father, a cute young boy who takes after him in being smart. Priest loves his son very much. But right now, just when he is hungry but cannot eat what is supposed to be his food, just when he is depressed, this boy tells him that he should miraculously have R50 to send to school. No! This is not his son!
He glances at the boy and sees a ghost or devil who has come to tempt him. Priest is angered by this devil in front of him. But his anger is contained when he recalls a day when, as a young boy, he was
crying for food and his mother asked him if he thought that by giving birth to him, she could give birth to the food as well.
“He said they need the money to pay the privately paid teachers and the security guards,” Sandile continues.
This makes Priest even angrier. The principal is now at the receiving end of his anger. The idiot! He will go to him right now! Priest looks at the ticking clock on the wall and decides that it is late, the principal will have gone home already. He seems ready to spit or swear, but then changes his mind when he sees the picture of Jesus hanging next to the clock, looking directly at him. For a moment he closes his eyes and says a short prayer. But his rage is too much for him, so he explodes, “This principal of yours is crazy! Where does he expect us to get the money from? Doesn't he know that there is no work? Even if we did have work, does he think we could give our money away to be wasted?”
Sandile looks at his father and thanks God that he does not have his black complexion. “But, Fatherâ”
“No, my son. They will not eat my money. Let them do that to the fools.”
As Priest finishes speaking, Sandile waits, confused. He is hoping that despite what his father has just said, he will tell him something meaningful to say to the teachers at school tomorrow.
Realising his son is not satisfied, Priest can only pledge to go himself to the school first thing in the morning. This will be a chance for him to spit out his anger. “Don't worry, son. I will tell the truth as I know it. They have to know that we know the truth.”
Sandile becomes frightened.
“It took a brave man, son, to confront Shaka the king when he ruined his kingdom just because his mother had died. Sometimes the truth heals.”
“Yes, Father, I understand.” Sandile sounds as if he is going to cry.
The following day Priest awaits his children's departure for school before he prepares himself for his own errand. He looks content and pleased with himself as he puts on his priest's garb, which colours him all in black. The journey to school is a fifteen-minute walk from Priest's home. This is nothing to a man like Priest, who is used to walking. In no time he arrives at the school and heads for the principal's office, which is in the middle row of the three buildings that constitute Bambanani High School.
He knocks violently at the door and makes his grand entrance after he is invited in by a voice that disapproves of the way he has knocked. Seeing that it is Priest, the principal feels remorse for the way he has shouted at the representative of God and begins to apologise.
“I came here not as a priest but as a dissatisfied citizen. I came here as an unhappy taxpayer,” Priest says in a voice the principal does not recognise.
The principal directs a surreptitious glance at the man in front of him and sees a priest all over. He sees an embodiment of the colour black. He sees Father Gumede. But who has just spoken to him? The principal looks again and realises there is nobody else. Whoever has spoken to him has used the respectable voice of Father Gumede. He tries to figure out what the matter is, but to no avail. So he decides to start from the beginning, as he knows it. “Good morning, Father Gumede.”
“Yes, a good morning indeed, Mr Hadebe,” Priest responds in a grim tone and the principal realises that, one way or the other, he has displeased the gods.
It pains the principal to consider what wrong he may have done. He can find no answer. He feels like someone who was too drunk the previous day to remember what wrong he might have committed. He soon understands that whatever the fault is, the only way to find it out is by asking Priest.
“Can I help you, Father Gumede?”
Priest is still busy trying to organise his words. There is too much
to say and last night he did not sleep for trying to rehearse his speech. Now all his words have deserted him. But prepared or not prepared, he has to speak: “There is too much crime and unemployment is rife in this country. Why should common people suffer like this when those on top have everything? Hhe?”
The noise the children are making, the teachers loitering around not doing their work, all come between the two of them. The principal is frightened. His weak mind seems to have stopped working. But his memory is better, so he still recalls what Priest has said. “Yes, that is true. There is too much crime and many people are without employment.” He feels inferior as he speaks.
“I happen to be one of those who are unemployed,” Priest says triumphantly, as if being unemployed is the best thing that can befall any human being.
“Yes. Let's hope things will change for the better. It can't go on like this.”
“This is not a matter of hope, Principal.” Priest's voice is high. “It is too serious. Maybe you do not know that, because you are working and have money to take care of your family and yourself.”
Priest's words hurt the principal. It is true: he has a good job and is able to support his family. He also knows that leading a healthy life among people who do not is sometimes viewed as some kind of weakness or betrayal. But what is he supposed to do? Must he quit his job and add to the statistics?
“Now, these children you are teaching here,” Priest starts after a brief hiatus, “where are they likely to find employment?”
The principal wishes he could take this question as a rhetorical one, but it is not intended to be so. A look in the visitor's eyes tells him an answer is needed.
“You said you did not come here as a priest?”
“Yes. I'm nothing but a dissatisfied citizen.”
“But still I want to ask you a question that may require your biblical knowledge.” The principal does not give Priest a chance to respond.
“Do you think God loves everybody equally? The rich and the poor, the leaders and the led?”
Priest is taken aback by this question. He wants to leave God out of this. What does he know about God? What does he know about anything any more? Yet he cannot say that to the principal. So he decides to misunderstand the question. “Are you asking that because you are rich and I am poor?”
“No,” the principal stammers, “I was just ⦠I was just ⦠asking.” He wishes he could withdraw his words. “I'm sorry.”
“Do you know how it is to be poor?” Priest shouts.
“You know,” the principal starts sadly, “I am not very rich myself. I know how it feels when you want something and you cannot afford it.”
“But you want us to pay for unnecessary things like the security guards and the privately paid teachers? Where do you think we will get the money from?”
Only now does the principal understand the reason for Priest's surprising and disturbing visit and, now that he is aware of the cause of his predicament, he begins to feel better. “The security guards and the privately paid teachers are very important, Father Gumede. There is a shortage of teachers and the government cannot afford to pay for all those we need.” The principal feels strong again. He begins to feel the clothes he is wearing â something he ceased to do as soon as Priest came in.
“But how do you think we will pay if we do not have the money? Why don't you tell the poor souls to go home, plough the fields and wait for God to bring rain?”
The situation is tense in the principal's office. Priest is getting angrier and angrier, while the principal is now less afraid to speak his mind. This is Father Gumede, who knows nothing about how a school is managed.
“You were not in the meeting where we agreed about this. Now what do you want me to do?”
“I want you to tell me where am I supposed to get the money to throw into the water?”
“I think it's better for you to leave now, Father Gumede. We have wasted a lot of each other's time and it looks like our conversation is taking us nowhere.”
“I'm not satisfied yet. I'm not leaving until I am satisfied. I am still as unhappy as when I came in here.”
Priest's refusal to leave makes the principal realise he must take drastic measures if he is to free himself from this man who is so keen on torturing him. As he is busy thinking about the way out, the bell rings, marking the end of the current period and the beginning of the new one. The principal takes some papers and prepares to leave, intimating to Priest by a motion of his hand that he should do likewise.
Priest contemplates the practicality of refusing to go and decides it would be in vain. He stares straight into the eyes of the principal with such doggedness that the other man flinches. Priest is happy to see that. He is making his point.
“We are not finished yet!” he says grimly. “We will meet again, PRIN-CI-PAL!”