SIPHIWO MAHALA’S AFRICAN DELIGHTS

Book: African Delights

Author: Siphiwo Mahala

Publisher: Jacana

Reviewers: Flaxman Qoopane and O Bolaji

The literary landscape of South Africa continues to be the richer with the presence of outstanding Black wordsmiths of the younger generation. Unequivocally one of such writers is Siphiwo Mahala who has taken the literary world by storm with his excellent works of fiction.

His collection of stories titled African Delights (2011) further adds cubits to Mahala’s glittering reputation. His outstanding talent is showcased throughout these cleverly woven stories of his. As Mandla Langa states in the Foreword: “The book consisting of twelve short stories grouped in threes, explores the whole gamut of modern South African life. Most of the stories are told in the first person, with the ones using the third person point of view tending to be longer including the title story”

The work kicks off with “The Suit stories” (made famous by Can Themba). Indeed the author Mahala confesses that the stories are a tribute to the illustrious Can Themba “I revisited The Suit and after reading it several times I started asking questions about what happened to the man who escaped half-naked out of the window…”

The stories have extraordinary range and depth; based in disparate places like Sophiatown, the idyllic rural of Eastern Cape, opulent Johannesburg homes, Eastern Cape. Themes covered seem endless including crime, zany fixations; contemporary issues like adultery, sex and hiv aids; the nouveau riche, and ‘tenderpreneurship’!

The references to aids are strikingly presented, even through dialogue. On page 152 for example we read:

‘There is this disease that’s ravaging young people’

‘It’s killing them old man’ I felt a pang of guilt cut across my chest as I uttered these words. The thought of the disease and its mysteries weighed me down. My estranged daughter, Nosipho remains the only person I know for sure who has died of it. Many other people are rumored to have suffered it, but they never admit publicly. I am still haunted by my own position – thinking of my third test result, which is taking so long to arrive.

‘We are running out of young people, my son’

‘Young people are getting finished, old man’

‘It’s the things they do these days that bring about these kinds of diseases,’

(What do they do?)

‘Things that we see in the streets are shocking my son.’ He started complaining about the youth of today who made a public display of their affections…

The empathy, and even keeling of the author can be seen throughout; perhaps reaching a peak when one of the narrators assumes the form of a woman who muses:

“I’m looking forward to the day the creator turns things around and puts men in our shoes. Won’t that be great, having several men to yourself, and they all know that you are cheating, and your weapon of defence is denial…in the meantime these men clean the house, bathe the children and bring you food while you are busy watching soccer and drinking beer with friends. Afterwards you get to bed late with cold feet, start caressing them and demanding your conjugal rights. You force them to kiss your ashtray-smelling mouth while they are trying to catch up with sleep after a long day of taking care of you and your children…could they (men) ever stand the menstrual pains that we are subjected to every month? What about labour pains? They can’t even watch you giving birth to their own children…’

(page 132)

That the author appreciates the role of women – his wife and kids in particular – is made clear when he tells the readers directly:

“They (these stories) are a celebration of love. In 2001 I met and fell in love with a woman (Miliswa) who was later to become my wife and the mother of our two daughters…I cannot forget our two daughters, my self-appointed editorial assistants, Mihlali and Qhama…”

(Page 242)

There is haunting, even poignant humour and irony dotted throughout this work. No topic is too banal or sublime for the author not to exercise his creativity upon; for example the fascination with a toe (Bhantsi’s toe); or the black world and ballet:

‘And Thembi?’ I probed further.

‘She’s doing all right. She’s doing ballet and she really is enjoying it’ she spoke with a mixture of confidence and pride.

‘Ballet! Black kids do ballet these days?’

‘Why not? She does it better than many white kids…’

(Page 148)

This is a rich steaming marsh of a work that reinforces the place of the author, Siphiwe Mahala as one of Africa’s most fecund writers churning it out in English. There can be no doubt whatsoever that much more is still to come from his vibrant, accomplished pen.