TEBOGO AND THE PANTOPHAGIST...whites still on fringes

TEBOGO AND THE PANTOPHAGIST
…whites still on the fringes

By Peter Moroe




Tebogo and the pantophagist is the seventh book featuring the adventures of Tebogo Mokoena, the Free State based sleuth created by Omoseye Bolaji. And this new addition is also quite readable.

Bolaji has been criticised for hardly including any white characters in his works of fiction. The trend largely continues here, although there is a peripheral account of Tebogo, Mr. Shasha, and the intriguing lady, Debbie, visiting a white couple in this latest work:

“The entrance to the house which was in the 'suburbs' consisted of high iron gates which soon opened after we arrived. Two dogs gambolled around us as we got out of the car, but with the white lady hostess (their owner) there, they were scarcely in a malevolent mood. The lady, called Tracy, led us to the sitting room.

It was rather untidy with some four cats having a field day there. There was a fine library and a very big TV. A laptop was on the table to the left. Tracy smiled and joked a lot, and was soon joined by her husband, Ryan, a handsome strapping white gentleman. They were a very handsome couple and obviously felt free with Shasha. Drinks were served with refreshments.

Debbie seemed uncharacteristically silent most of the time, but perhaps not in a hostile manner…

Ryan said to me after a while: ‘Let me show you our garden’. We went outside to a lovely garden and Ryan I soon noticed was VERY proud of the garden. He went into extensive details involving technical “jargon” of gardens, seeds, colours, weeds and the like. His face shone with great pleasure as he talked and I was surprised having a fairly good garden was such an expensive business. My ignorance in this wise did not seem to discourage him as he went on and on, smoking something that looked like ‘the weed’ in the process…”

It is not only the narrator’s stark ignorance of the intricacies of gardening that is obvious here. “Ryan was VERY proud of his garden” is an inadequate summary of the thrilling paraphernalia and undulating possibilities of gardening. Like many black people at grassroots level, a garden is something almost remote, or even a nuisance to Tebogo, though he does not exactly say so. But for Ryan it is an extension of his very being.

Then there is Debbie’s attitude after they leave the couple:

“After we left the house Shasha said in the darkness. ‘Very nice couple. The type of people who make the idea of a rainbow nation realisable…’

Debbie said curtly: “Did you see the way those cats were so free with Tracy, running all over her, playing with her, jumping all over her. It irritated me. You can see she loves those cats with all her heart. They made her all dirty. Did you see her fingernails?”

I did not like this, and nor did Shasha, I’m sure. “Come on! Many whites love cats. There’s no crime in that,” Shasha said. “It’s nothing. She can do anything for her cats. She normally plays with them even more than you saw today,”

'Let’s change the topic, it’s making me feel sick,' Debbie said…"

Debbie’s attitude here reflects how many black women who grew up in the townships would feel in a situation like this, with the condescending approach to animals. But note that both Tebogo, and Shasha (who is besotted with Debbie) condemn her attitude; this type of approach is typical of Bolaji’s fiction which tends to be conciliatory and broad-minded.

TEBOGO AND THE PANTOPHAGIST

TEBOGO AND THE PANTOPHAGIST
…whites still on the fringes

By Peter Moroe

Tebogo and the pantophagist is the seventh book featuring the adventures of Tebogo Mokoena, the Free State based sleuth created by Omoseye Bolaji. And this new addition is also quite readable.

Bolaji has been criticised for hardly including any white characters in his works of fiction. The trend largely continues here, although there is a peripheral account of Tebogo, Mr. Shasha, and the intriguing lady, Debbie, visiting a white couple in this latest work:

“The entrance to the house which was in the “suburbs” consisted of high iron gates which soon opened after we arrived. Two dogs gambolled around us as we got out of the car, but with the white lady hostess (their owner) there they were scarcely in a malevolent mood. The lady, called Tracy, led us to the sitting room.

It was rather untidy with some four cats having a field day there. There was a fine library and a very big TV. A laptop was on the table to the left. Tracy smiled and joked a lot, and was soon joined by her husband, Ryan, a handsome strapping white gentleman. They were a very handsome couple and obviously felt free with Shasha. Drinks were served with refreshments.

Debbie seemed uncharacteristically silent most of the time, but perhaps not in a hostile manner…

Ryan said to me after a while: ‘Let me show you our garden’. We went outside to a lovely garden and Ryan I soon noticed was VERY proud of the garden. He went into extensive details involving technical “jargon” of gardens, seeds, colours, weeds and the like. His face shone with great pleasure as he talked and I was surprised having a fairly good garden was such an expensive business. My ignorance in this wise did not seem to discourage him as he went on and on, smoking something that looked like ‘the weed’ in the process…”

It is not only the narrator’s stark ignorance of the intricacies of gardening that is obvious here. “Ryan was VERY proud of his garden” is an inadequate summary of the thrilling paraphernalia and undulating possibilities of gardening. Like many black people at grassroots level, a garden is something almost remote or even a nuisance to Tebogo, though he does not say so. But for Ryan it is an extension of his very being.

Then there is Debbie’s attitude after they leave the couple:

“After we left the house Shasha said in the darkness. ‘Very nice couple. The type of people who make the idea of a rainbow nation realisable…’

Debbie said curtly: “Did you see the way those cats were so free with Tracy, running all over her, playing with her, jumping all over her. It irritated me. You can see she loves those cats with all her heart. They made her all dirty. Did you see her fingernails?”

I did not like this, and nor did Shasha, I’m sure. “Come on! Many whites love cats. There’s no crime in that,” Shasha said. “It’s nothing. She can do anything for her cats. She normally plays with them even more than you saw today,”

“Let’s change the topic, it’s making me feel sick,” Debbie said…

Debbie’s attitude here reflects how many black women who grew up in the townships would feel in a situation like this, with the condescending approach to animals. But note that both Tebogo, and Shasha (who is besotted with Debbie) condemn her attitude; this type of approach is typical of Bolaji’s fiction which tends to be conciliatory and broad-minded.

See also:

http://kaganof.com/kagablog/2010/01/02/review-of-tebogo-and-the-pantophagist/

Remembering Ben Mtobwa

Remembering Ben Mtobwa

Ben Mtobwa, who published several exciting works in Swahili popular literature, died exactly one year ago (9 November, 2008) at the age of fifty. Mtobwa was a Tanzanian, and like the late Cyprian Ekwensi, he was fascinated with the allure of the city (mainly Dar es Salaam)

Ben Mtobwa was quite popular among readers in east Africa (where Swahili is a lingua franca) To put it in continental context, Mtobwa was a writer who appealed to many readers at grassroots level: like David Maillu (of Kenya), the late D.O Fagunwa (and later Kalu Okpi) in Nigeria; Osare Konadu initially, and now Ike Tandor (both of Ghana); and perhaps Gomolemo Mokae of South Africa.

By writing in Swahili, Mtobwa commanded a vast readership in his native Tanzania and in east Africa in general. Quite a number of his works have been translated into English, which further enhanced the popularity of this author.

Ben Mtobwa was bitten by the writing bug since he was a youngster and was already writing extensively whilst in school. His shorter fiction was published in many publications locally, which served as a spur for him to continue to write, experiment with forms, and later become socially conscious through literature. He also wrote non-fiction, and children’s books. His many books ranged from Lazima ufe Joram (1983) to Mtambo wa Mauti (2004)

Mtobwa, as a key Director of Heko Publishers in Tanzania used this opportunity to develop and encourage other writers, publish a newspaper and promote pertinent documentaries. His death shocked his many readers and the literary world in general, but his works (books) remain a monument to his memory.

Remembering Ben Mtobwa at the weekend, Ladybrand literary activist George Rampai said: “Ben Mtobwa was a remarkable, prolific writer; no doubt a born writer. He died young, but the likes of Emily Bronte and D.H Lawrence died even much younger. I think of a popular black African writer like the late Mtobwa, and my mind e.g goes to Leseli Mokhele of Lesotho, who also writes exciting fiction, is an expert with the short story, publishes a popular newspaper, and has had works broadcast on air…Africa must encourage her exciting writers and keep their legacy alive…hence we celebrate Ben Mtobwa’s great legacy”
- Courtesy Eclectic Writers’ Club, Mangaung

"TO DUDU"

“TO DUDU”

A poem by Tiisetso M Thiba

How will I start to say this DUDU?
By the vision eye I could peer through your fissure heart
Even though you didn’t tell my ears about your anguished feelings
When I juggle around the pain of sorrowfulness
And you hoping for a jolly good time
But you encountered some 'wonderings'
My beautiful DUDU I wish I could answer your wonderings
But I’m also wondering like you
I know I’ve shattered your heart
But you kept standing tall above them all
To swear it wasn’t the component of my ideals
When I did not have vigour to kick high like sansei

I know we don’t have abundant era together
We didn’t go far yet we are just beginning
We had a few months together now
Not a year but running close…
But so far you’re an angel sent by God
A flower that keeps blooming every second
You are my light when I wander in the scaring night hopelessly
The moonlight that keeps flashing all the time
We are all fallible humans, not perfectionists
We have our own weaknesses and strong points
But there are other weaknesses uninvited, and will never be
Satisfaction of precarious is not one I intended to tender
Satisfaction of proactive is the one in my mind
But you promised to be my armour when I’m down
And I do believe you will keep your pledge
That’s why I’m saying this: “I LOVE YOU TO DEATH”

When I cascade a tear and make the pillow sludge
You felt hurt and I know you don’t want to see me mar
And also mine I don’t want to see you crying ‘cos it hurts me a lot
In life sometimes other pains are unbearable
And you keep strengthen and revive me all the times
I need to be strong for the future outcome
I’m yearning you only the sunshine on your destiny
I hope you will always wipe tears on my cheeks when I couldn’t
I wish your big heart well-being and cheerfulness
You will always roam in my mind
You are someone who owns my heart, and brought joy to my heart
I will always remember you wherever I head to; remember me too!
The lessons you taught me I will learn them by hear
I will adore you until the end of time “DUDU”!!!

World Class African Author wins prestigious award

Mandla Langa, one of South Africa, and Africa’s most powerful imaginative writers, has been hailed for winning the Commonwealth Writers’ Prize. Langa won the Best Book award (African Region) for his novel, The lost colours of the chameleon

The lost colours of the chameleon (2008) is essentially about the vagaries of political power. The author formidably creates an island (Bangula) in the Indian Ocean where plenty of strife and bloodshed take place. As most African countries are well used to over the decades, it is the ordinary man who suffers most during this anomy.

Elinor Sisulu, who chaired the Judging panel for the Africa Region enthused about the novel: “(It) combines allegory and realism. Langa deconstructs the inner workings of a mythical African state laying bare the frailties of leaders too blinded by power to effectively confront the major challenges of their times”

The lost colours of the chameleon came out tops from a very impressive short list of books produced by excellent writers. These included Zoe Wicomb’s The one that got away, and Sindiwe Magona’s Beauty’s gift ( a moving work that confronts the ravages of aids)

Peter Moroe, literary critic, says that Mandla Langa has always led the way with quality works. “Langa is quite simply a world class writer, polished and elevated. He’s one of South Africa’s all time great black writers – like Es’kia Mphahlele, Lewis Nkosi, Njabulo Ndebele or Zakes Mda. Mandla Langa’s writing career, his pedigree, shows he’s always been sublime,”

In 1987 Mandla Langa published the brilliant work, Tenderness of blood. Then followed A rainbow on the paper sky (1989), The naked song and other stories (1996), The memory of stones (2000); and now the acclaimed, award winning The lost colours of the chameleon.

The Best First Book Award (Africa Region) went to Nigeria’s Uwem Akpan for his collection of short stories, titled Say you’re one of them.
- Paul Lothane

KPD Maphalla - a superb Sesotho Writer

KPD Maphalla – a superb Sesotho writer

KPD is one of the all-time greats of Sesotho literature. Still only in his mid 50’s he has already published well over 40 books! The University of the Free State honoured him with an Honorary Doctorate in 2007 thanks to his excellence in writing in his Mother tongue.

For many years (apart from those who knew the man personally) rumours circulated that the author (Maphalla) was a “syndicate”; that there was no way any writer, especially a black African one, could be so prolific. (Perhaps there are parallels here with the English writer Enid Blyton who in her lifetime wrote and published so many books that many wondered whether this was humanly possible). But Dr. Maphalla has been seen physically at literary gatherings, especially whilst being honoured more than a few times. He is certainly not a myth!

Maphalla's works of fiction in the Sesotho language are liberally read and studied in many schools in South Africa. Studies on the man’s works have also been published by scholars. The distinguished writer has not enjoyed the best of health in recent times, but this does not mean he is no longer writing.

Indeed in recent times he published another excellent book in Sesotho, titled Ha Maru A Rwalellana. It is quite a thick book that shows Maphalla is not resting on his laurels. He is already a legend, following in the footsteps of the likes of Thomas Mofolo and JJ Moiloa, distinguished Sesotho writers (now deceased)

Despite the despair of commentators on the general dearth of quality writing in the Sesotho language, in recent times younger writers in the genre – especially Thabo Mafike – have been showing great promise. But of course they have a very long way to go before they can even be mentioned in the same breath as the illustrious Maphalla.

Pule Lechesa, literary critic, who has also published a couple of works in Sesotho (both translation) says: “As a Mosotho I am very happy to see good works published over the years by Sesotho writers. It is sad that recently some sub-standard writers in the language have emerged – lacking the length, breadth, characterization etc needed to produce quality works in the (Sesotho) language. But at least people like Maphalla will always be icons,”

Other works written by KPD Maphalla – who started writing as a young man from his QwqQwa base – include Mohlahlobi, and Ha Ditswere Di Tsanyaola.

KPD Maphalla is also the brainchild behind MoabaSesotho, a national association of Sesotho writers.

Enemy of the State by Maxwell Perkins Kanemanyanga

Book: ENEMY OF THE STATE
Author: Maxwell Perkins Kanemanyanga
Publisher: Eselby Jnr Publications

Review by Pule Lechesa

The book, “Enemy of the State” which comprises ten short stories penned by Maxwell Perkins Kanemanyanga, is a welcome addition to short stories written and published by African authors over the years. As the blurb of the book reminds us:

“Fiction of the shorter variety have been spun out over the decades by distinguished African wordsmiths like Chinua Achebe, Ngugi wa Thiong’o, Ama Ata Aidoo, Dambudzo Marechera, Es’kia Mphahlele, David Maillu, Gomolemo Mokae, Omosei Bolaji, Leboela Motopi, et al.”

The author can not be faulted for his love of books, and acquisition of general knowledge, which can be seen from the short stories. For example he tells us about the life/books of “Mandela, Fredrick Douglas, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr, Mahatma Gandhi and many others. But the people who really left a big impression in his life were Dr King JR, Mandela and Gandhi. Like these three great men he believed in the philosophy of non-violence”

But as all-time British literary icon Joseph Conrad is often criticised for heightened language and ultra adjectival descriptions, Maxwell ‘s love for words and “grandiose” ideas often go too far. He, many times gets “carried away by the exuberance of his own verbosity”

Examples abound from this collection; including phrases like: “and transform this pending cosmic elegy into a creative psalm of brotherhood. And let’s all pray…” We shall look at some of his supposed grand concepts and ideas-debating in some of the short stories soon.

Another issue is the unsatisfactory ending of many of these stories (including the Title story, The Enemy of the State). Apart from the impressive adjectival speech of the Colonel, we are never told what happens in the end. Is he killed too, or does he come into power to help his country and people?

Alas, the grandiose speeches often become ends in themselves without substantial logic and conclusions; apart from the debacle of the Colonel in the title story, there is the “The Prof of Universal knowledge (the title itself is pomposity personified!). He goes on and on examining the ills of society bringing in even old Athens and its philosophy. This might be construed as “overkill” by many readers – the author wanting to show off his knowledge which becomes tedious in the end.

Yet there are germs of truth in the exegesis; eg decrying immorality. “you see five children with the same mother and different fathers”. But there is nothing to show that the protagonists here have done anything to ameliorate such societal ills; in fact by placing so much emphasis on their drinking sprees they seem part of the problem.

Sometimes there is the inadequacy of information in Maxwell’s fiction. In one of the stories, a mother is praised thus: “She did this and that to make sure her children got food and education.” What exactly did she do? What extremes did she go too? Were these legitimate or otherwise?

A story like “The man who rose from the dead” in this collection beggars belief. What is it all about? We know it is about a strange man, Chitakatira but there is limited substance or rhyme or reason in the story. What is the intention of the author in showing us such a man? He is not exactly a bad man, but his demise is clearly unsatisfactory. What is the lesson to be learnt from his life?

There is also the bizarre confession from a guy in one of the stories (The hustler). He says directly: “Anyway, there are two things that I want you to do for me at my funeral. You must buy a bottle of Hansa and a new pant for ladies and put them in my grave, on the other side where there would be my head”. Fiction might mirror life or reality, but this type of colourless, rather shameless character is not to be advocated.

The lure of greener pastures is a very sad story. It is unfortunate enough that Daudi, the man is placed in a position where he has to travel elsewhere for survival…after some travails he seems to have learnt his lessons, is coming back home wiser and ready to be of use to his family. His wife has betrayed him, and as if this were not enough he dies a painful, unnecessary death. The landscape is generally grim with most of these stories.

In Unbridled erotic adventure turns sour! – one at least comes across a very amusing tale. Just desserts for illicit lovers might well be our simplistic verdict. But we might wonder what happens next to the lovers locked together. It’s better not to imagine the fate of the lovers!

* The book, "Enemy of the State", has won the “Mangaung Up and Coming Author of the Year” Award.

Meet a top notch author

Meet a top-notch author

By S Botsime


The awards are rolling in for excellent writer, Malope Mathete. This gentleman who has written and published most of his books in Northern Sotho has raked in many awards, including the prestigious M-Net Best Writer award (2009)

Speaking to Malope Mathethe one would realise the passion that runs in his blood about literature. Asking the gentleman how it all started, he elaborated that he started to be bitten by the bug when he was in grade ten.His first book was published in 2000 (Seradikane), and he never looked back since then. He still has a nine-to- five job with the Police force in the forensic department. Some of his books are Seradikane, Maaka ga se Makhura, Bophelo ba Lehono, Tlaisego, A family of Orphans, Babusi ba Lehono, Ho Fetogile just to mention a few.

Giving us more information about the award winning “Babusi ba Lehono” he pointed out that it’s all about corruption, backstabbing, patronage and conspiracy. Many of his books are being prescribed for schools by the Department of Education which gives him great pleasure. “I am inspired by great African writers like Ngugi wa Thiong’o, Chinua Achebe, etc” he said.

He added: “I am doing research about albinos and hoping to pen my next masterpiece by the end of this year. My message to young writers is that they must never be discouraged and people must be proud of their home language. I owe it all to Mrs Romoba my life science teacher,”
Those interested in contacting him can do so at this number@083 744 8499.

INDABA WITH FREE STATE WRITERS

Book: Indaba with Free State Writers
Editor: St George Vis
Reviewer: Peter Moroe

Indaba with FS Writers is a very welcome book – and credit must go to the Editor of the work, George Vis for his initiative and hard work. It is another boost to black writing in the Province.

The quality of the interviews is generally quite high, with Kgosietsile Dinthloane showing that he is world class with his brilliant comments on poetry in particular. Anybody who reads what he has to say in this wise would be much richer for it. Charmaine Kolwane also weighs in with some very fine comments too. It is good to see women showing their zeal when it comes to writing.

That is why it is particular disappointing and shocking to read part of what Neo Mvubu has to say. One would have expected that such a young writer who has been fast tracked – she is already published in anthologies, Internet etc – would be positive and grateful. But she whines and complains about not getting enough “support” from so-called established, older writers. Does she even think about someone like Ntate Kgang Motheane who only got published at over 60 years of age? Does Neo realize how privileged and lucky she is? Does she even appreciate being included in this new book whilst someone like Flaxman Qoopane is not there?

In contrast to Neo’s attitude are the very fine comments of both Skietreker (Seape) and Teboho Masakala, both also very young writers who are evidently delighted to be already in the limelight so early. Their interviews show their positive nature and gratitude for already making their way in the literary genre. In fact “Skietreker” is even confident enough to self-publish – showing he does not believe in being spoon-fed all the way. A writer should essentially be used to privacy and should not expect others to do more than encourage them, or perhaps make publishing a bit easier for them. History has thrown up very good writers who had to wait for endless years before breaking into publication.

It would come as a great shock to critics and scholars – and the international world of literature – that O Bolaji is not featured in this book. After all, his name is synonymous with Free State black literature worldwide. But not much should be read into this, as there are many tributes to Bolaji in this new book; also, there are more than enough full-length books and international articles published on Bolaji’s literary works anyway.

Others would also express surprise that writers like Qoopane and Job Mzamo are not interviewed. The simple truth is that in a work like this, not everybody can be included for various reasons. Jane Wilkinson’s classic, Talking with African writers will always be celebrated – yet many great African writers (like Ama Ata Aidoo, Ola Rotimi, John Ruganda and Es’kia Mphahlele) were not included in the book.

Writers focused on in the book are: Thabo Mafike, Neo Mvubu, Kgang Motheane, Mosidi Mohlakela, Kgosietsile Dinthloane, Seleke Botsime, Charmaine Kolwane, Teboho Masakala, “Skietreker (Richard Seape) and Pule Lechesa. The first edition of the book I saw had some mistakes but I understand they have now been corrected.

On the whole, this new book, Indaba with Free State Writers is a fine work that celebrates Free State black Writing and shows why writing from this area is admired by many. More importantly, with so many young writers featured it is clear that the literary future of the Province is in good hands

Fateful Journey (Fiction)

FICTION

FATEFUL JOURNEY

By Maxwell Perkins Kanemanyanga

“Mwanangu wofamba zvakanaka asi hona imi amai wako ndangomirira rangu zuva . Kuti unodzoka ndichimupenyu hamheno mwari wacho. Asi ziva kuti ava vana varipano ndiwe baba uye mai wavo , ini hapana chandichagonawo. {“My sons, have a nice journey; as for me your mother I am just waiting for my day. I am not sure you will come and see me alive here, but remember you are the father and mother of these children here”) So the matriarch said stolidly. Tendai the son had no courage to say anything to his mother. He just stood there open-mouthed, and the dimples that used to charm ladies became perfect streams for his tears.

Tendai Dombo was born in a family of three, one girl and two boys. His father was a teacher based in the city of Bulawayo. Mr Dombo was a caring, loving father and husband till the day he met Dorothy the woman who hypnotized him and made him forget his family. His family was still in High fields, the oldest location in Harare. Whereas he used to send $500 to his family every month, now he was just sending $150 or nothing at all. This was really a shock to amai Dombo. She was married to her husband for nearly twenty years now but she had never experienced this heartbreaking scenario.

One day she visited her husband in Bulawayo without informing him like always. This was the day it came to her comprehension that she had lost her husband for good. She was forced to sleep on the floor while her husband slept on the bed with his Dorothy. The following morning she took the first bus back to Harare. She had heard stories of husbands who abandoned their families for mistresses but now it was not a story anymore but harsh, ruthless reality. Mai Dombo was a hard working woman. Now she had no choice but to work harder and support her family alone. She borrowed money from her friends, bought vegetables, tomatoes and onions from the market which she sold to earn a living. With this money she managed to send all her kids to school.

Presently, Simbarashe the first born passed his Ordinary level but there was no money to send him further. Mai Dombo gave him money to go to a driving school and he later got a license. Simbarashe got a job to drive taxes from Mbare to the city centre. He was a careless boy and his mother was worried about him. He could not take his eyes away from dresses. As a driver he had money always and spent dollops on women, one lady in particular. Fortunately for the lady he agreed to marry her. However even though he was a ladies’ man he never forgot his mother, brother and sister. He helped his mother with the money for food and school fees.

Mr. Dombo never felt sympathy for his wife. His dear Dorothy was always there to give him solace. He gave her money to get emergency passport and more cash to cross the border to South Africa and Botswana to buy goods which she sold in Bulawayo. Dorothy was a clever woman with a very cold heart. However this was one aspect that Mr. Dombo never realized. For him Dorothy was pretty, caring and sexy as compared to his aging and no longer attractive mother of three. Across the border Dorothy was selling her body to truck drivers. She always traveled free. On the other hand poor Dombo never suspected anything.

But he began to panic when he developed pimples all over the face and his private parts. He had been drinking and smoking since his teen ages but he never coughed like he was doing now. His friends advised him to go to Mpilo hospital to be tested for T.B. He did as his friends said and what he heard there was really bad news, he was HIV positive. This was really a bitter pill to swallow.

As if this was not enough Dorothy his sweet darling deserted him in his hour of need. This is how she repaid all what he did to her. Poor Dombo thought of his wife since the day he abandoned her and the children. He felt shame for what he did. He imagined how his kids looked now and tears started to flow down his weary face. Even though he ill treated his family he could not bear the thought of dying far away from them. So with the help of his friend he took the long, painful and shameful journey of his life. Mai Dombo was angry with her husband for all these years but she could not help it but only feel pity for the lifeless body of the man who fathered her beautiful kids. Dombo spent only two days at his home and he was gone for good.

It was never raining but pouring for amai Dombo. Whilst she was still licking the wounds of losing her husband she also lost her first born Simbarashe again to the same disease. Her only daughter dropped out from school. Her only hope now was the last born Tendai. Tendai was obedient and hard working just like his mother. He passed his Ordinary levels and went on to study for a diploma in accounting. Unfortunately for the poor boy, his country was hard hit by credit crunch, there were no job opportunities. Unemployment rate was at a high 80% and they had the highest inflation in the world. The poor boy decided to cross Limpopo in search of greener pastures. He took a haulage truck that dropped him at Beitbridge Border Post. With no money to bribe the officers, his only option was to cross illegally. On the way he saw other guys going the same direction and he accompanied them. His wish was to go Johannesburg but he had no money hence he looked for a job in Mesina. He worked there to make bricks till he raised money that could take him to Johannesburg.

He arrived in Johannesburg but he had nowhere to go. He phoned his friend whom he was communicating with since he was in Mesina but on this day the number was not available. Luckily he heard some guys speaking his language and introduced himself to them. Tendai explained his story and the guys assured him that was the usual story in the city. Fortunately the guys agreed to go with him. The young man was expecting to see a well furnished house but what he saw was a room in a basement at a service station. Each person paid R5 to go inside. Inside the room there was a pile of blankets and card board boxes. One of the guys joked that they were sleeping on the floor, but at least they can eat a full chicken - something they could not afford in their own country.

Tendai realized that the grass was only greener on the other side till you get there. Early in the morning the guard woke them up, they went into the toilet to wash their faces because there was nowhere to bath. It was very early in the morning but there was nowhere to go on this chilly and breezy day. The guard was leaving hence he wanted them out because his authorities could see them. The rest of the guys went to their usual chores of selling juice in the streets and dodging the police.

Tendai went to the city to look for a job. He met a Chinese guy who offered him a job for only R130 a week because he knew Tendai had no papers. Every day was a rendezvous with the police. Sometimes he was lucky, sometimes he was not. He was not used to living without washing his body, so the day he got his first pay he went to Alexandria to look for a place. H e got the place and stayed peacefully. After two months he heard rumors that foreigners were no longer welcome. The poor boy was determined to work hard for his mother and children left by his brother, so he dismissed these rumors.

One day he was coming from work when he saw a group of people singing with big pangas as if they were going to hunt for elephants. It was too late when he realized that he was the elephant! A horrific, painful end awaited him. He could not believe human beings could be so cruel. All he could say was “oh my brother my enemy” and he was gone.
Maxwell Perkins Kanemanyanga is a Zimbabwean journalist based in South Africa. He is a 2006 and 2007 nominee of the Lorenzo Natalie Prize.
mkanemanyanga@yahoo.com

TEBOGO AND THE EPITHALAMION

TEBOGO AND THE EPITHALAMION

Book: Tebogo and the epithalamion
Author: Omoseye Bolaji
Publisher: Eselby Jnr Publications
Reviewer: Peter Moroe



Tebogo and the epithalamion (2009), the latest in the “Tebogo Mokoena mystery series" has just been published. Here, sleuth Tebogo Mokoena tackles the case of a bride to be, who suddenly vanishes from her own house. Here I shall just briefly touch on one or two aspects that strike me as regards this new book.

The issue of “morality” seems to interest Bolaji in his writings.Critic Petro Schonfeld writes almost sarcastically in this wise in her book, Tebogo on the prowl (pg 38): “The virtues of Dave are legion. He did not flirt with women…he liked a simple life…he was popular and generous…he liked reading…he was a writer…almost a saint…His character overshadows Tebogo (whose) characteristics are few compared to the praises Dave receives”

Also note that Aryan Kaganof in his review of Bolaji's book, People of the Townships writes: “I would suggest that Mr. Bolaji has created a morally ambiguous protagonist in order to test our own opinions and ethics. The truth is that judgements on the moral plane (sic, plain) are extremely hard to make, both in life and, as John Lefuo amply demonstrates, in fiction”

In Tebogo and the epithalamion there is this type of tantalising ambiguity on issues of “morality” again. For example when Tebogo and Seleke the ‘rich man’ discuss:

But whether Neo “had played her cards right” or not, was hardly the issue here. I stared at Ntate Seleke and said: “But is it true – that there is another woman in this town who has a baby for you?”

Mike flinched as Seleke’s face changed into a ruthless mask. Indeed he (Mike) looked away uneasily, perhaps cursing me inwardly for raising this matter which I had heard about. But I tried to look unperturbed.

Seleke said at last: “Are you questioning my moral ethics?”

Yet the irony is that Mr. Seleke is probably morally flawed as it emerges that he has fathered a child quite carelessly whilst drunk and has little or no respect for the mother of his young child.

Mike Lechesa is one of the pivotal figures in the book, and his portrayal in the book is almost flawless: we can see that he is sensitive, quiet, courteous, has been very sick, etc. We can also see that on the whole, he has no sense of humour; hence a second reading of the book reveals a jarring note when Tebogo first meets him (Mike):

“Mike!” I said hugging him.

“Be careful, Ntate” Gloria (who worked at the B and B) said. “Mr. Mike was very sick and is just getting better,” So she knew him well too.

“So I’m a sissy eh?” Mike joked.

It is quite clear here that the narrator (or rather the author) has temporarily super-imposed what would have been his own comment – putting such words into Mike’s mouth as it were. There is nothing in this work to indicate Mike was capable of “cracking such a joke”

Although probably the worst book in the series, this is another very readable edition of the adventures of Tebogo Mokoena the Private investigator. Regular readers of the series would be thrilled.

ALSO IN THE SERIES

Tebogo Investigates
Tebogo’s spot of bother
Tebogo Fails
Ask Tebogo
Tebogo and the Haka

If Only I listened (Short story)

IF ONLY I LISTENED

A short story by Teboho Masakala

It was a cold night in June, with the onset of withering winter and everybody dressed warmly and all in their homes safe and warm. Right there in the town of Roadridge there was a family which was sitting around the fire, with the father perched on the chair holding his daughter on his lap and telling her stories while the mother was busy washing the dishes.

“Now the story comes to an end,” said the father”

“But Dad I want to hear more stories,” said the young girl.

“No Lucia! It’s time to go to sleep “said the father.

“But dad” the girl started again.

“Okay Lucia it’s bedtime, but before that you should first take a bath” said the mother, Elizabeth, firmly. Thereafter Lucia went to the bathroom and closed the door behind her. “OK Christopher, there was no need to be so ‘impolite’ with the child” said Elizabeth with a smile.

“But honey I wasn’t so bad,” Christopher retorted with a smile too.

After some minutes Lucia had done with her bath and was on her way to bed. ,” DAD! I’m done” said Lucia. “Okay honey I’m coming,” replied the father.

Moments later Christopher put Lucia to bed and sung her a lullaby like he always did. Moments after singing, he said to her “My dear child, will you promise me something?’ “What dad? What can I promise?” said Lucia.

“Promise me that you will always listen to your mother, respect her, always do what she says,” said Christopher.” I promise I will dad and I swear I will” said Lucia,” Good girl, and here is a little teddy-bear doll as a gift to you my child” said Christopher smiling, “Thanks dad, I love you” said Lucia. He kissed his daughter on the forehead and went to bed.

One Sunday morning Christopher became sick and was coughing and Elizabeth helped him to bed. “My dear Chris what’s wrong?” said Elizabeth. “I am sick the doctor said that I have a lung problem”said Christopher and he was coughing. Elizabeth and Lucia who loved him so much began to cry, but Christopher told them to stop crying. Lucia went to her room and began crying. The days went by and Christopher was close to dying. Ultimately he called Lucia and Elizabeth; and he said to Elizabeth: “My dear love, you know that I love you right?”
“Yes I know” the distraught lady replied.

“Please take care of Lucia,”

“I will” promised Elizabeth. Then Christopher said to Lucia “Remember what you promised me,” “I do remember dad” said Lucia.

“I can now rest in peace,” said Christopher. He looked at them and died. Elizabeth and Lucia cried all day long.

The funeral passed and Elizabeth and Lucia were all alone in the house, they looked at Christopher’s pictures crying disconsolately.

Time passed, and presently Elizabeth said to Lucia “My child, tomorrow you are starting high school, please make sure you make your dad proud because he is watching over you and know that he is with you in spirit “.

“I will mom and I promise you” said Lucia and she kissed her mum on her cheeks and went to her room.

Monday was the first day of the school and Lucia was already dressed up for school, agog with excitement. “Today is your big day,” said Elizabeth, “Thanks mum” said Lucia. Lucia told her mother to take her to school and she did so. As Elizabeth was about to return home from the school premises, Lucia said to her, “Mom I love you”. “Me too” said Elizabeth and she went home.

Lucia was on her way to class and she saw two girls looking at her. They came to her and one of them said “Hello, my name is Sharon and this is Emily…welcome to SYDNEY TL High School” “Thanks” said Lucia shyly; then the three of them went to class and they were introduced to their attractive teacher, MR MARVELLOUS CRAIG.

Lucia’s first day at school went well and she told her mother all about it and her mother said to her: “Lucia, please behave yourself at school, be aware of bad friends and always pray,” said Elizabeth.

“I will mum. I promise,” and Lucia went to sleep in her room and was excited about her day at school.

The following day at school, Sharon and Emily, now close to Lucia went to her with Emily saying: “I have a party tomorrow, it will be fun!”

“But I can’t go, my mum will kill me,” said Lucia.

“Don’t be a chicken, you are in high school now” said Sharon, “or you can sneak out during the night,” Then they went to the class and as MR MARVELLOUS CRAIG was busy teaching, he looked at Lucia and smiled at her. Lucia smiled back shyly and Emily and Sharon noticed everything. They said to Lucia “MR MARVELLOUS is a fine guy, a nice guy, if he comes and proposes to you, just say yes…”

Lucia winced. “But I am too young to be in love” said Lucia.

“Don’t worry Lucia. MR MARVELLOUS is very rich and will take care of you” said Emily. The school was out, and Lucia was back at home and her mother Elizabeth, as if sensing something, said to her:

“Lucia, you are my only child. Please beware of bad friends, please”

“I will” said Lucia. The next day at school Lucia was with Emily because Sharon was not at school; she said to Lucia “Come to a house party at Monica’s place tomorrow”

“NO!!” said Lucia.

“Oh you are afraid of Mummy” said Emily and she laughed. She teased the young lady in front of her now blossoming into a very attractive female.

“I will come’ said Lucia in the end.

And after school MR MARVELLOUS went to Lucia and proposed her and she found herself agreeing. Sadly she had forgotten what her mother said. Lucia started going to parties, sneaking out at night and lying to her mother. Lucia would tell her mother that she was going to study but she would wait for her mother to sleep and then go out through the window and come back later at night.

At school “Marvelous” came to Lucia and he said to her “Come to the party and I will be there”

“I will my love” she said, now having a crush on him. She kissed MR MARVELLOUS on the lips. Sharon and Emily knew that Lucia and Marvelous were now close. “I love him because he gives me money” Lucia told them, “you know my father is dead”

“Just accept the money, my friend” Sharon said and they told Lucia to come to the party and because Marvelous will be there. Lucia now met with Marvelous after school.

Elizabeth called Lucia one Saturday morning and said to her. “My child, many girls are pregnant and some are dead, please promise me that you that you won’t be one of them and that you will take care of yourself and love yourself”

“I will mum,” said Lucia guiltily, knowing that she was no longer a model daughter. Yet her mother now kissed her on the cheeks and forehead.

The grand party arrived and Lucia told her mother that she was going to read, but she wanted her mother to go to sleep so that she could go to the party. Elizabeth went to the study room and saw Lucia apparently reading - not knowing that she was pretending and she went to sleep. When Lucia saw that her mother was sleeping, she got out of the window and went to the party.

At the party Lucia met Emily and Sharon and Mr. Marvelous was there and he saw Lucia looking at him and called her. Lucia was tentatively shy, but Sharon said: “Your man is calling you, go now,

“OK my sugar daddy needs me! See you girls,” Lucia quipped.

When they were together Marvelous said to Lucia “Come with me and I will show you something” Marvelous took Lucia to the backroom and made love to her. Lucia was in a whirl as she went back to the party. She confessed to Emily and Sharon that she had slept with Marvelous.

As time went on, Lucia started feeling unusual but thought it would go away, but it didn’t. Elizabeth noticed something wrong about her but she thought her daughter was just gaining weight and she carried on with her life.

After two months Lucia found out that she was pregnant and that Mr. Marvellous was the father of her un-born child, and told her friends about her status. Emily and Sharon said brusquely: “It’s your fault that you slept with him and it’s up to you to see what you do with the baby”

“I thought you guys were my friends!?” sighed Lucia in despair. They laughed all together and said “You are on your own, we are not friends with pregnant people”. They left her alone and told the whole school about her pregnancy and that Mr. Marvellous was the father.

Lucia’s world came crashing down on her and she felt all alone. She told Mr. Marvellous that she was pregnant and that he was the father of her un-born child. “What?!” exclaimed Mr. Marvellous. “I have kids and a wife, now you are telling me that I’m the father of your baby? You want to destroy me!” With his rage he slapped Lucia in the face and by so doing he left for his car leaving her standing on her own.

The next day Lucia did not go to school. She did not know how to tell her mother that she was pregnant but instead she locked her self up in her room crying and crying. She knew what her mom’s reaction to the news would be. At a distance, Elizabeth heard Lucia weeping and came rushing to her room which was unfortunately was locked. “Lucia, Lucia open the door honey” “No, I don’t want to” “Honey but why not?” “Just go away, I have disgraced you Mama”

“Open the door for me, PLEASE!!!” “I won’t”. And Lucia cried even more loudly. Elizabeth had heard enough. With all her might she slammed her rotund body on the door until it opened and she gained entry into her daughter’s room. “Lucia, what did you do, tell mommy what’s wrong” “Mom, I did not honor my promise to you and dad” “how my child, tell me what’s wrong, maybe I can be of aid”.

With her imagination going wild it was hard for Lucia to murmur the words, but she finally said “Mom I’m…..I’m pregnant”

“You…..you….Lucia you are what?!!!”

“I’m pregnant and the father is none other than my school teacher. And he’s very angry with me too”.

With the thoughts of how her daughter disgraced her, Elizabeth started to cry. “I told you to behave and you went out and slept with your teacher, why? Why did you do this? And Elizabeth looked at Lucia and cried.

Lucia went to the kitchen and took out a knife. “Put that knife down” said Elizabeth. “No mother, I am killing myself” said Lucia with determination. “No, don’t” said Elizabeth

“Bye mom” said Lucia pointing the knife on herself, “No we can talk about this, you are my only child Lucia, please don’t kill yourself” said Elizabeth.

“Bye Mom” reiterated Lucia, a glint in her eyes. She stabbed herself on the stomach and blood came out, and she fell, face down on the floor. Elizabeth, screaming shrilly, looked at her muttering “IF ONLY YOU LISTENED”

Lucia cried, “I am sorry mother”. She closed her eyes and died, blood dripping from her lifeless body, Elizabeth cried a lot because her only child was dead. She stood there looking Lucia, tears coming out of her eyes, “If only you had listened, my child” said Elizabeth, and she continued crying because she knew that her only child will never come back to her. She tore her dress and covered the face of Lucia and continued crying. The horror, pain and distress, was too much for her. A few minutes later, she had a heart attack and also died.
Copyright Teboho Masakala

Introducing Toni Morrison

(Above) Toni Morrison

Introducing Toni Morrison

By Marika du Plessis

Recently I read a magnificent novel, titled Beloved. I found out that I just could not put it down! Only a very talented female author could produce such a book, I strongly felt. The author of the book, Tony Morrison, I soon learnt, was actually the first black woman to be awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature.

On the evidence of Beloved, Morrison certainly deserves great awards. I found myself doing more research on this lady and the following background information would be useful to those being introduced to her: (I’m indebted mainly to Wikipedia for the information)

Toni Morrison is one of the greatest black writers the world has ever seen. An American by birth, she was born in Lorain, Ohio, the second of four children in a working-class family. As a child, Morrison read constantly; among her favorite authors were Jane Austen and Leo Tolstoy. Morrison's father, George Wofford, a welder by trade, told her numerous folktales of the black community (a method of storytelling that would later work its way into Morrison's writings).

In 1949 Morrison entered Howard University to study English. While there she began going by the nickname of "Toni," which derives from her middle name, Anthony. She received a B.A. in English from Howard in 1953, then earned a Master of Arts degree, also in English, from Cornell University in 1955, for which she wrote a thesis on suicide in the works of William Faulkner and Virginia Woolf.

After graduation, Morrison became an English instructor at Texas Southern University in Houston, Texas (from 1955-57) then returned to Howard to teach English. She became a member of Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Inc.

Morrison began writing fiction as part of an informal group of poets and writers at Howard University who met to discuss their work. She went to one meeting with a short story about a black girl who longed to have blue eyes. The story later evolved into her first novel, The Bluest Eye (1970), which she wrote while raising two children and teaching at Howard. In 1973 her novel Sula was nominated for the National Book Award. Song of Solomon (1977) brought her national attention. The book was a main selection of the Book-of-the-Month Club, the first novel by a black writer.

In 1988 Morrison's novel Beloved became a critical success. It won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction. Beloved was adapted into a film. The New York Times Book Review named Beloved the best American novel published in the previous twenty five years. In 1993 Morrison was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, the first black woman to win it.

I also learnt that Toni Morrison’s works have impressed and influenced a number of South African black female writers, and even the very young ones like Neo Mvubu. It was also interesting to read the part in one of Pule Lechesa’s books where he writes that when Toni Morrison was announced as winner of the Nobel award for literature, another fellow American asked: “Who is he anyway?” The ‘joke’ being that Morrison was actually a woman and the man was genuinely ignorant about her! I urge South African ladies to try to get hold and read any books written by the eminent Ms Morrison.

SELEKE BOTSIME is Free State Columnist of the Year (2008)

How SELEKE BOTSIME was named “Free State Columnist of the Year (2008)”

The formal Citation on the Winner:

“We are very proud to present the inaugural edition of the ‘Free State columnist of the year’ Award. Let it be stated from the outset that we shall be having only one winner every year – the reasons for this are obvious; but suffice it to say that if we are having 2nd and 3rd prizes etc yearly, the columnists would be exhausted very soon!

Yes, this country (South Africa) is blessed with many marvelous columnists. We confess unashamedly that our emphasis are the black African columnists as a lot still has to be done to boost the morale of such columnists who we know are always assailed with multi-faceted doubts. Who is reading me? Do I have readers? Do I write and publish “nonsense”? Why don’t I get more feedback from readers? These are a few of the questions that often assail our columnists.

In the Free State here, we have admitted that we are particularly impressed with Mangaung Issue columnists; they have the grassroots touch with an ear to the ground as it were. But it has to be noted that regularity and longevity are important components of writing a column; there is a dearth of this with most black columnists.

Also, it must be admitted that we are still way, way behind the situation overseas, where many columnists are read by hundreds of thousands of people! In England for example, Julie Burchill has hundreds of thousands of readers writing in a popular newspaper, Sun. Burchill is famed for the wide reaching topics she dwells on and her intellectualism; yet she still has a powerful personal touch.

For 2008, our panelists have been very impressed with columnists who strengthen the moral fibre of the country; such columnists hardly revel in sensationalism or frivolities; they are more or less spiritual upholders and teachers. Hence Rolang Motlanke of THE WAY and Seleke Botsime of Free State news figured very high in the ratings.

Mr. Motlanke is a brilliant writer and columnist; quite international class, in the way he brings sundry ideas together, with adroit allusions and deductions. He has influenced the lives of many positively and hopefully his impact would continue to grow. The only drawback is that his magazine- and columns- come out only intermittently, not on a very regular basis.

Now we come to the Silhouettes column written by Mr. Seleke (SLK) Botsime. Virtually throughout 2008 the column came out on a weekly basis, celebrating the virtues of spirituality, intrinsic knowledge, and wisdom from the Bible, and intellectual spouting that we can enjoy on a regular basis.

The profundity of the column has to be specially commended. These are not just articles we can just pick up and read quickly. We have to savour slowly the special language and intellectualism that bedecks them; we ponder over the same, re-read and appreciate. Old fashioned values are celebrated – with society at large exhorted to be morally strong.

The Dec 12 (2008) edition of “Silhouettes” column serves as an example of a very outstanding, lustrous write-up. Virtually all the lines and sentences are polished, full of wisdom and philosophy, meant to enlighten and move us forward. Obviously this is a man who takes especial care in his writings, with unbelievable inspiration and intellect.

It must also be pointed out that Seleke Botsime, also known to many as a cerebral musician, already has a national and international profile of his own. On the world online encyclopedia, Wikipedia he is included amongst South Africa’s noteworthy jazz musicians. But our concern here is mainly his column.

In sum, we at Phoenix Press and Club are proud to announce that the winner of the inaugural ‘Free State Columnist of the year’ (2008) is Mr. Seleke Botsime, the man behind Silhouettes column in the Free State news. Congratulations!”
Courtesy of Phoenix Literary Press and Club