Hunger Eats a Man (13 page)

“Here is your supper, my husband. Please enjoy yourself,” MaDuma says as she places the tray on the coffee table. Priest feels happy when he sees his food. He is tired. He has been working all day planting in his garden. “Thank you. You do not know how hungry I am,” he says and takes away the plate covering his food. His face changes when he sees that it is only pap.

“You are making a fool out of me!” Priest shouts, gesturing with his open hand at the food.

“Oh! My God! Didn't I bring a glass of water?” MaDuma comes back to look at her husband's food. “But it's here,” she says coolly.

“You mean water?”

“Yes, Sandile's father. I thought you would use it to help your food down. There is no other way.” MaDuma seats herself on another sofa, across from her husband. “Eat
uphuthu
and drink water. And enjoy.” She smiles.

“You continue mocking me?” Priest is now pitch black with anger.

“Getting angry with me will not help at all, Sandile's father. Just imagine chicken when you eat. This is hunger. It is powerful.”

The following day Priest goes to search for work at the “courthouse”. This is an abandoned building that was used many years ago by the people of Ndlalidlindoda to prosecute the criminals in the area
when the residents had had enough of crime and the police were not helping. He arrives at about half past eight. Many people are already here. Some are standing across the road, near Ntuli's spaza shop. They look at the faded sign above the courthouse: “Jealous Down Butchery”. Underneath are the words “Pork full of surprises”, which tells everyone who sees it that, in its day, this butchery had served pork lovers quite well.

Priest goes inside the courthouse, which no longer has windows or doors. It is empty, except for two large tables. It shows that the place has not been used in a long time. Everything is dirty and covered with dust. On top of one table are coils of human excrement.

Once everybody has arrived, the job begins. Now the table that has no faeces is taken outside and three men stand over it and face the others. Bongani, who is in charge of Community Development in Gxumani, has some papers in front of him. He hits the table lightly with his hands and announces loudly, “Now, people, listen carefully. I want you to know that we cannot possibly employ all of you as you are so many. Even the grass is not as many as you are.”

Priest feels a pang in his heart as the people laugh at the joke. He can always feel if things are not going to be okay for him. His gut tells him that he is not going to get the job as a road digger.

“A person will be employed because of his luck,” Bongani starts after the laughter has ceased. “We give everybody a chance. So we have decided to give you numbers. If your number is called, you will get the job. If it is not, at least you will have it to yourself.” Bongani smiles again. The seekers of employment are too frightened to laugh now. The moment of truth has come.

A man goes around with a bucket and everyone picks a piece of paper out of it. Priests' number is 107.

“I think we should start with prayer,” Priest suggests humbly. “I don't feel confident at all. I always feel like this when I am going to lose.”

“You want us to pray for you?” one woman shouts at Priest. “You
are crazy! Can't you see that if you lose it will be better because our chances will increase?”

“Okay, people!” Bongani intervenes. “You don't have to argue now. Everybody close your arses tightly as now I am calling the lucky numbers.”

But Bongani is interrupted by another loud, hoarse voice that is not directed at him. “You, beautiful Thembuz of Gubazi. You, who awaited the dog to give birth so that you will eat sour milk.”

Everybody looks in the direction of the man, Sithole. He is talking to his ancestors and he does not give a damn about other people. “Here I am,” he continues. “I ask you, grandmother Nomsompiya, to go to that man and fetch this number 38 I am holding here. If I am not employed today, it will mean you do not exist!” he says sternly. The others laugh. Sithole pays no heed to them. “Ha! I have been slaughtering goats and cattle and nothing happens!”

After ten minutes the people at the courthouse are divided into two groups. Those whose numbers have been called stand on the slope to the left of the building. Priest is among those who were unlucky. They are still standing where they were, facing the employers across the table. Priest looks at Sithole and smiles. His grandmother did not come to pick the number 38 for him.

“As I have told you,” Bongani says, “we cannot employ all of you at the same time. Those who failed today will get employed in future. There is still so much to be done. We are still to build more roads and bridges, and many other things.”

“I think there is a mistake here, Bhungane,” interrupts the loud voice of a short, dark man. Bongani looks at him, astonished. Many people know the man. He is Sokhela.

“There is a number you have forgotten. You left out number 14 by mistake. Can you search for it in your pockets?” Sokhela shouts. He is in the group of the unemployed but is not as worried as they are. The noise of disbelief stirs among the people:

“What is this man saying?”

“Isn't he mad?”

“Are you talking, my brother?” Bongani asks.

“I was saying that you did not call all the numbers. Number 14 was mistakenly left out.” Sokhela sounds sincere.

Bongani recognises him and frowns. He tries successfully to hide his shock, and shouts, “I don't understand what you are talking about!”

“It's me,” Sokhela says. “I was at your house yesterday. Don't you remember the ‘short-cut' prayer?”

“Did you or did you not smoke today?” Bongani asks in a loud voice.

“I didn't smoke. I am perfectly fine.”

“Can somebody who has dagga help this man.”

Other people laugh. Sokhela is on the verge of crying now.

Bongani does not notice Sokhela's anger. “He is craving for dagga – now his mind is not working straight.”

The listeners laugh again.

Priest goes back home with Sithole. Sithole lives at Phanekeni, a little further from Priest's home. On their way they talk about their situation. They both have left their families in bad conditions. Food is scarce in their homes. Priest tells Sithole that he is even afraid of going home to his wife. The two men also speak about Sokhela. Sithole tells Priest that Sokhela is not mad at all. In fact, Bongani has also told him about the short-cut prayer Sokhela spoke about. The principal came to him, Sithole, and told him that if he gave him R200, he would be employed. But Sithole refused, relying on his ancestors instead.

When he arrives home, Priest expects to see his wife angry, but she is not. As soon as he has sat down on the sofa, MaDuma enters the living room and takes her seat. She does not ask how it went at the courthouse. She needs no telling. She observes him and then asks, “Is it true that you have been without a job for six years now, Sandile's father?”

“No. Five years and four months. In fact four years if you count my working days at the farm.”

“Whatever.”

“I think this is Satan's doing. He is tempting us. He wants to see how much we love our God.”

MaDuma's voice is calm. “I have made up my mind. I am going to see the sangoma.”

“You know that I am a priest, MakaSandile. How can you do such a thing?”

“I will do it,” MaDuma's voice is low. She is determined.

“MakaSandile, please!” Priest starts to beg. He knows that if his wife has set her mind on something then nothing can stop her. “What are people going to say?”

“I don't care what people say. In times like this,” she starts sternly, “one needs things that are tangible.”

“Oh God! I am not going to be promoted to a bishop.”

MaDuma leaves the following morning. Because she has no money to pay for a taxi, she walks. She leaves home at about six and arrives at Khumalo's at half past seven. Khumalo is a Zionist. He is a healer who uses both herbs and holy water. He prays to Jesus and the ancestors. His home is situated near Juteni Road at Ndlangamandla. He has a big white house and a short kneel-and-pray hut, which he uses for consultation.

When she arrives, MaDuma is tired. She goes to sit on a bench in front of the house. There is a young lady already sitting here. She tells MaDuma that there is somebody inside. As they speak, the door opens and another woman comes out. The one who is on the bench stands to leave and MaDuma realises the two women are leaving together.

When she is called to enter, MaDuma spends a minute admiring the room she has entered. The floor is plastered and anointed with red polish. There are two calabashes where Khumalo is kneeling. On his right there are different herbs that MaDuma does not know. She likes the smell in the room.

Khumalo is wearing a gold shawl with black spots, the colour of a tiger. He burns the incense when MaDuma has told him she wants him to foretell for her.

“Hhethe!” Khumalo sneezes.

“We agree!” MaDuma says loudly.

“I see suffering!”

“We agree!”

“I see the father of the home is in trouble.”

“We agree!”

“I see his head almost breaking in pain.”

MaDuma keeps quiet.

“No. It's work. He needs work!”

“We agree.”

“Hhethe!”

“Great Kings.”

MaDuma arrives home in the afternoon. She is hungry, tired and angry. She knows there is no food so she does not bother to go to the kitchen. Instead, she goes to her bedroom and locks herself inside, having told her husband that she is not to be disturbed. She wants to take a nap to clear her head because what Khumalo told her disturbs her very much. At first she decides not to tell her husband, but then she changes her mind. Now she is sleeping to gather her strength.

It is exactly ten past five in the afternoon when MaDuma wakes up and goes to join her husband in the living room. Priest is watching the Siswati news on SABC1. But what he likes more is about to begin. Being unemployed has caused Priest to have more time to himself than he wants. As a member of the unemployed community, Priest has developed a great interest in watching soap operas, especially the one that is about to show –
Days of Our Lives
.

MaDuma seats herself on the sofa and keeps quiet. Three minutes pass and nobody says a word to the other. MaDuma goes to the television set and chokes it off. It is old and the two parts are balanced
against each other. Although there is an old wall unit in the house, the television is placed on a sofa, to make it “comfortable”, as Priest always says.

MaDuma goes back to her seat and says nothing. Priest smiles to himself when he realises his wife is hunting for a fight. He is not about to give in to her whims so easily. Two more minutes pass and nobody says a word. It is as though they are in some kind of a competition in which whoever speaks first will lose. MaDuma has won once, when she turned off the television. But she wants to win again and again and again.

When these two parents were still so deeply in love, they used to play a “gazing game” in which they looked at each other closely without uttering a sound. If one of them laughed, the other would win. MaDuma wanted them to always play this game because she always won and she liked winning. As time progressed, she forced her husband to bet when they played. Whoever lost, which always happened to be Priest, would buy a drink for the other. Sometimes they bought the drink before the game began. If this was done, MaDuma insisted on buying Coke because it was her favourite and she knew she would win.

Priest used to tell his wife that he could not help smiling when he looked at her like that because she was so beautiful. MaDuma was really flattered by this. But in reality, Priest has an easy smile. He has a sense of humour. Until a few years ago, it was hard, or even impossible, for Priest to look at his image in the mirror and not smile. When MaDuma learnt that her husband smiled when he looked at himself as well, she was angry. She wanted her face to be the only one that made him smile.

“This is tantamount to masturbation,” she growled at Priest when she finally caught him. “You know that masturbation is a sin.”

It's eighteen minutes past five now and MaDuma finally decides that she is not going to win this one. She wants to tell Priest about her journey. She clears her throat twice and looks for a smile on Priest's face. There is none. There is neither smile nor anger. He is absolutely
expressionless. MaDuma cannot hold herself any longer: “Okay! You win.”

“I win what?”

“The battle. What else?”

“Ohho!” Priest waves a dismissive hand at his wife.

MaDuma pauses and then says, “Khumalo says you won't get a job because you are bewitched.”

“You see? I told you that sangomas tell lies,” Priest says triumphantly.

“Listen to me, will you!” MaDuma says sternly. “He said they bewitched you to be disagreeable with the oils of a wild pig, now your blood is not flowing.” She pauses. She wants to take her time. “And he is right, you know. I have always wondered why I sometimes hate you so much.” MaDuma waits for her husband to speak but he doesn't. She carries on, “I think you will have to see him and get some herbs.”