Sometimes There Is a Void (42 page)
Read Sometimes There Is a Void Online
Authors: Zakes Mda
Before taking up my new job I spent a few weeks with my mother and three children at Holy Cross Mission. The children had grown quite a bit and I was very grateful that my mother had looked after them so well. I was also happy to see that on the wall in her bedroom the calendar that I had sent from Ohio with a colour picture of her and the three kids occupied pride of place. In the picture the kids are wearing the new clothes I sent them from America. My mother had the picture taken by the Catholic priest and sent it to me. I then sent it to the calendar company that enlarged the picture and printed it on the calendar. I was told the kids were very proud to be part of a calendar and there it was on the wall, even though it was two years out of date and therefore no longer served any practical function.
My mother told me that Mpho â who had by then returned from Israel and was working at a kindergarten in Maseru with her twin sister, Mphonyane â often visited the kids, sometimes spending up to two weeks when she was on leave from her job. I loved the way my mother had a soft spot for Mpho. She told me that she didn't care whether we chose to divorce or not, Mpho would remain her daughter-in-law for ever.
âBecause both of you will live for ever,' I said, chuckling.
Back in Maseru I was employed as the Controller of Programmes at Radio Lesotho, a title that scared me a bit. And indeed my job involved controlling all programmes, seeing to their quality and also to their content. They had to be in line with government policy, which meant that every magazine or documentary programme had to extol the virtues of the government, to feature Chief Leabua Jonathan or, at the very least, his senior cabinet ministers. My friend who had organised the government loan for me to go to America, Desmond Sixishe, was still the Minister of Information and Broadcasting. But I only saw him when he had something to complain about; for instance, when he was aggrieved because Chief Leabua's speech was not broadcast in its entirety, having been edited to make room for other items, or because the host of a magazine programme forgot the protocol of mentioning
the guests in their proper order of importance at a meeting addressed by Chief Leabua. Most of these were sins of omission, and I was able to get the staff to correct them without any problem.
the guests in their proper order of importance at a meeting addressed by Chief Leabua. Most of these were sins of omission, and I was able to get the staff to correct them without any problem.
Although the news was outside my domain, I noticed that it was also governed by the same philosophy: all the news that's fit to broadcast must have something to do with the prime minister or at the very least with one of his ministers. Every news bulletin led with âThe Prime Minister of Lesotho, Dr Leabua Jonathan
â¦
' He was now referred to as âdoctor' after some honorary degree from an American university.
â¦
' He was now referred to as âdoctor' after some honorary degree from an American university.
One of the most important items in my job description was the introduction of a television service in Lesotho. I drew up the plans for the setting-up of a new station and for training staff. There were already some cameras and editing suites and two or three cameramen and editors. I occasionally sat with them to look at their footage and to make sure that they showed Chief Leabua in the most flattering angles in the documentaries of his
pitsos
â or public rallies â that they shot. I use the word âdocumentaries' very loosely. They were just images of Chief Leabua making speeches and the crowd ululating and shouting slogans and singing songs in his praise. These reels would go on for hours because it was a sin to edit any speech. There were no subtleties or sound bites. Everything had to be faithfully recorded and broadcast, including the speeches of the cabinet ministers who introduced him, extolling his virtues as the great-great-grandson of King Moshoeshoe the Great, and a revolutionary of the first order who freed the Basotho people from the yoke of the British and was also going to free the black people of South Africa from the yoke of the Boers. He was going to achieve this with the help of his North Koreans. And at this women would ululate and that had to be included in the âdocumentary'.
pitsos
â or public rallies â that they shot. I use the word âdocumentaries' very loosely. They were just images of Chief Leabua making speeches and the crowd ululating and shouting slogans and singing songs in his praise. These reels would go on for hours because it was a sin to edit any speech. There were no subtleties or sound bites. Everything had to be faithfully recorded and broadcast, including the speeches of the cabinet ministers who introduced him, extolling his virtues as the great-great-grandson of King Moshoeshoe the Great, and a revolutionary of the first order who freed the Basotho people from the yoke of the British and was also going to free the black people of South Africa from the yoke of the Boers. He was going to achieve this with the help of his North Koreans. And at this women would ululate and that had to be included in the âdocumentary'.
After working on this kind of material I felt dirty and had to take a bath as soon as I got home to the luxury flat that the government was renting for me near Victoria Hotel. It was the same block of flats that was stormed by the Boers when I was still in Ohio where they killed a number of South African refugees and innocent locals, such as 'Matumo Ralebitso.
I wouldn't have lasted in such a job. Much as I was in total agreement with the sentiments of liberating South Africa, and with the
policies of the ANC, and therefore wary of alienating an ally like Chief Leabua Jonathan, I was never cut out to be a propagandist. Especially in such a crude manner. I resigned, losing the privileges of the use of a government vehicle with a driver who transported me eighty kilometres to my home in Mafeteng every afternoon and fetched me there every morning before I was allocated the fully furnished flat, and who took me around to places in Maseru and other districts any time I felt like it. And of course I had to vacate the flat. I went to live in the servants' quarters of my sister-in-law Johanna, who was teaching at the National Teachers' Training College and was staying in the staff houses there.
policies of the ANC, and therefore wary of alienating an ally like Chief Leabua Jonathan, I was never cut out to be a propagandist. Especially in such a crude manner. I resigned, losing the privileges of the use of a government vehicle with a driver who transported me eighty kilometres to my home in Mafeteng every afternoon and fetched me there every morning before I was allocated the fully furnished flat, and who took me around to places in Maseru and other districts any time I felt like it. And of course I had to vacate the flat. I went to live in the servants' quarters of my sister-in-law Johanna, who was teaching at the National Teachers' Training College and was staying in the staff houses there.
All this was a world away. I was on a train to see Ruth. I would deal with my homelessness and joblessness when I returned. At that moment all that mattered was that I was going to see Ruth.
The train stopped briefly at a small station in the Karoo and urchins came running to the windows shouting âDankie Auntie! Dankie Auntie!' Passengers threw apples, oranges, cookies and other foodstuffs to the ground. The children scrambled for the food and fought each other over scraps of steamed bread and chicken bones as the train pulled out. This was the incident that inspired my next play,
Dankie Auntie
, which was directed by Mavis Taylor and opened at the National Arts Festival in Grahamstown in July 1989.
Dankie Auntie
, which was directed by Mavis Taylor and opened at the National Arts Festival in Grahamstown in July 1989.
In De Aar, a town in the Northern Cape famous as the second most important railway junction in South Africa, I changed trains. I bought the
Sunday Times
at a newspaper stand before boarding the train to Kimberley. Between Cape Town and this junction I had shared the compartment with a guy who was so conscious of his dark complexion that he kept on reminding me that although he looked like me he was actually a Coloured. His accent proved his point, although a lot of Batswana and Xhosa people of the Northern Cape are Afrikaans first-language speakers and have the same accent. But now, from here to Kimberley, I was alone in the compartment and had time to think about what I was going to do with my life. The only option open to me in Lesotho was going back to teach at a high school. Once more I had come full circle, despite my two graduate degrees: an MFA in theatre and an MA in telecommunications.
Sunday Times
at a newspaper stand before boarding the train to Kimberley. Between Cape Town and this junction I had shared the compartment with a guy who was so conscious of his dark complexion that he kept on reminding me that although he looked like me he was actually a Coloured. His accent proved his point, although a lot of Batswana and Xhosa people of the Northern Cape are Afrikaans first-language speakers and have the same accent. But now, from here to Kimberley, I was alone in the compartment and had time to think about what I was going to do with my life. The only option open to me in Lesotho was going back to teach at a high school. Once more I had come full circle, despite my two graduate degrees: an MFA in theatre and an MA in telecommunications.
My only consolation after resigning was that Jane Fonda's movie
project would take off and I would be occupied with script editing and perhaps even get a job as a consultant of sorts on the movie set. But even that dream had been smashed when I received a letter from her telling me that she would no longer be proceeding with the project. I still had her letter in my bag where she wrote:
I have abandoned my efforts to develop a feature film on South Africa for lack of a strong story that was more artful than a political docu-drama. Alas!
project would take off and I would be occupied with script editing and perhaps even get a job as a consultant of sorts on the movie set. But even that dream had been smashed when I received a letter from her telling me that she would no longer be proceeding with the project. I still had her letter in my bag where she wrote:
I have abandoned my efforts to develop a feature film on South Africa for lack of a strong story that was more artful than a political docu-drama. Alas!
She went on to say that if it was at all possible I could use the money she had advanced me to support a humanitarian endeavour of my choice in Lesotho or South Africa.
Between counting the telephone poles that were passing the window at a tremendous speed and being awestruck by the barren yet breathlessly beautiful landscape, I browsed through the pages of the
Sunday Times.
I was suddenly struck by the headline:
Fonda, thankfully, cans movie on SA
.
Sunday Times.
I was suddenly struck by the headline:
Fonda, thankfully, cans movie on SA
.
I quickly went through the short article. It was the same old South African âliberal' hysterics about Fonda being some loony leftie who wanted to besmirch their country.
From Kimberley the wheels of the train ground their way to Mafikeng, from where I took a taxi to Ramatlabama border post in Botswana. This was my first visit to Botswana and I was amazed at how the ambience and the people were very much reminiscent of the Lesotho towns. In the bus to the town of Lobatse it was as if I was in a bus from Mohale's Hoek to Mafeteng. The only difference was that here the land was flat, and among the vendors who were selling fat cakes, fish and other home-cooked foods at the bus stop in Lobatse some women were selling Botswana currency. I had South African rands in my pocket so I bought a few Botswana pula notes. I had never seen money being sold this way before. In Lesotho all such transactions were done at the bank.
In Gaborone I booked in at the President Hotel and phoned Ruth. I was sitting in the bar having a beer when she came in the evening wearing a big black floppy hat and a broad smile. As we kissed there were tears in my eyes. I had missed her so much all those months. She didn't go home that night. It was as though we were back in our basement apartment in Athens, Ohio, again.
During the next few days she was due to travel to northern Botswana, right up to Francistown, with three of her university colleagues, to visit schools where some of her students were doing practical teaching or some kind of internship. So she took me along in their Land Rover and I got to see much of the country. She even took me to her home village, Mochudi, and introduced me to her parents and to her two kids. From there she took me to Serowe to meet Bessie Head, a South African writer who had made her home in that village after being exiled in Botswana some years back. Alas, after greeting her we couldn't get anything coherent out of Miss Head! She was very drunk and was more occupied with shouting invective across the fence at the woman from next door. A pity, because I would have loved to discuss a few things with her. Although I was now an ANC supporter, I still had a strong kinship to PAC people, and from what I had read she was a member, or a strong supporter, of that organisation. My affinity with PAC folks â which continues to this day â was understandable because I was from a PAC family.
Once again, I raised the issue of marriage with Ruth. And once again she said there was nothing she wanted more in the world than to marry me, but she still insisted that this would only be possible if my parents went to Mochudi, her village, to ask for her hand in marriage in the traditional manner.
I spent a few blissful days with Ruth, and went back to Lesotho with a heavy heart knowing that she would never be my wife.
Back in Lesotho I buried myself in writing plays while scouring newspapers for teaching jobs, which was the only thing I could do, or perhaps the only kind of job available to me other than the civil service. And I had already had my chance and had blown it there.
The German Embassy came to my rescue by commissioning me to adapt Bertolt Brecht's
The Caucasian Chalk Circle
for six characters. The play â directed by Wonga Matanda, a Trotskyite who was a refugee from Port Elizabeth and a student at the National University of Lesotho â was performed at the Victoria Hotel to great acclaim. One of the actors was 'Maseipei Tlale, an old crush of mine from when we were kids in Mafeteng. Her father had been our local doctor in the town and she and
her sister Nonkosi were popular girls who were the fantasy of every boy. Their father brought them up reading scientific journals, and they both followed scientific careers when they grew up. Their brother, Moabi, became an engineer, Nonkosi became a medical doctor, and 'Maseipei studied in Ireland and became a medical laboratory technologist at the Queen Elizabeth II Hospital where her sister Nonkosi was practising as a doctor.
The Caucasian Chalk Circle
for six characters. The play â directed by Wonga Matanda, a Trotskyite who was a refugee from Port Elizabeth and a student at the National University of Lesotho â was performed at the Victoria Hotel to great acclaim. One of the actors was 'Maseipei Tlale, an old crush of mine from when we were kids in Mafeteng. Her father had been our local doctor in the town and she and
her sister Nonkosi were popular girls who were the fantasy of every boy. Their father brought them up reading scientific journals, and they both followed scientific careers when they grew up. Their brother, Moabi, became an engineer, Nonkosi became a medical doctor, and 'Maseipei studied in Ireland and became a medical laboratory technologist at the Queen Elizabeth II Hospital where her sister Nonkosi was practising as a doctor.
'Maseipei loved the theatre and did a lot of amateur acting. But while we were rehearsing the play she revealed to me that she was in the process of training to be a diviner and traditional healer â what in Lesotho is known as
ngaka-ea-Sesotho
or a
sangoma
in the more common parlance of South Africa. She had been called by the ancestors and had responded by going for training in the Leribe district under the mentorship of a woman she had been shown by the ancestors in a dream or vision. She had walked on foot all the way from Maseru to Leribe, a distance of more than a hundred kilometres, beating a cowhide drum, until she arrived at her mentor's house. She had never been there before, but had been led by the ancestral spirits. She stayed there for training for a number of weeks, and was now an acolyte who would soon be a fully fledged
ngaka
.
ngaka-ea-Sesotho
or a
sangoma
in the more common parlance of South Africa. She had been called by the ancestors and had responded by going for training in the Leribe district under the mentorship of a woman she had been shown by the ancestors in a dream or vision. She had walked on foot all the way from Maseru to Leribe, a distance of more than a hundred kilometres, beating a cowhide drum, until she arrived at her mentor's house. She had never been there before, but had been led by the ancestral spirits. She stayed there for training for a number of weeks, and was now an acolyte who would soon be a fully fledged
ngaka
.
I was fascinated by her story. Somehow I had this affinity for traditional healers and shamans. If they were not my relatives they were my friends and even my crushes. I also marvelled at the cheek of the ancestors. They didn't give a hoot that you were brought up in a superstition-free home where science reigned supreme and that you had followed a career in the sciences; when they called you, you had to respond.
It was from 'Maseipei's experience that I was to create my character Misti in my second novel,
She Plays with the Darkness
, years later.
She Plays with the Darkness
, years later.
Another commission came from the National University of Lesotho. Dr John Gay who taught African Development asked me to write a play for his class to perform. There were no particular guidelines as to what the play should be about. I wrote a play in verse titled
Moroesi
, which was performed to a full house at the Netherlands Hall at Roma. It was directed by a former Peka High School colleague, Mare Tsiki. I don't
really remember the details of this play since I no longer have the script, but I know vaguely that the protagonist was a young woman called Moroesi â I had always liked that name â who led her people to victory against foreign conquerors and oppressors.
Moroesi
, which was performed to a full house at the Netherlands Hall at Roma. It was directed by a former Peka High School colleague, Mare Tsiki. I don't
really remember the details of this play since I no longer have the script, but I know vaguely that the protagonist was a young woman called Moroesi â I had always liked that name â who led her people to victory against foreign conquerors and oppressors.
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