Inkululeko !

by Mzwandile Poncana (Botswana)

Making a local connection South Africa

The sand dunes rose around the congregation like silent kings. The sun glared at us like an unfeeling monarch. Even though I could feel my body mounted into the moment (whilst watching the calm wedding take place in front of me) my mind was elsewhere. It was in the brown hilltops around the town, it was back home in Botswana. But most importantly, my mind was with Siphiwe. “Do you, Thembe Eskiwe, take Tumelo Reflisizwe to be your husband?” The pastor asked. “I do.” A few hours ago, I couldn’t tell when the night ended and the dream began. We had left Siphiwe’s dad’s home, and he was taking me to see the new goats his family were rearing in their nearby farm. We walked for an hour in the unpolished terrain. In the midday heat that tightened my skin and dried my lips, I continued over the rough blistering ground and followed his lead. “You came at the right time.” He said. “The rain has come so it’s more chilled. It’s usually blazing hot at this time. People say the town gets so hot that it feels cursed.” I smiled back and said. “That’s interesting!” It was interesting, but what was more interesting was that, to Siphiwe, I always seemed to come at the ‘right time’. This was my third visit to Mthatha, but it was my first time traveling here alone. This was my family’s version of “turning me into a man.” Instead of the Ulwaluko, I battled the rabid creature called “air transit” on my own by flying from Gaborone to Port Elizabeth on the cheapest itinerary. When we reached the farm, there was a sign reading “No Trespassing” in Afrikaans. I didn’t know the language so it was strange that I could decipher the finality and authority of the message. “Boers used to own it but they sold it to our family after Apartheid.” He remarked to me. He easily climbed over the fence. I followed him and almost fell onto the rocky earth on my way down - but he caught me and held onto me. For a moment, it felt like he held me for longer than he was supposed to. Even in the dark, the farm came to life. It was a luscious green haven of bushes and cactuses. Goats, pigs and sheep rummaged around like miniature troops. The cold midnight air whipped itself against my skin, and brought with it the scent of fresh manure. Siphiwe squeezed me harder, looked me in the eye and neared his face towards mine... “Do you, Tumelo Reflisizwe, take Thembe Esikwe to be to your wife?” “I do.” The congregation roared out in ululations. The air became electric and I was surprised my body didn’t vibrate with the noise. Siphiwe was facing me at the side of the crowd. Whenever he smiled, a light touched his eyes - and now his eyes were two balls of beaming gold. Siphiwe was my first friend in Mthatha. My grandmother introduced him to me as the kind boy next door, around my age. After the wedding, we walked through the rocky earth - our hands occasionally rubbing against each other. Two boys roaming the dusty paths of Mthatha, progressing the path already laid out for us. “How did you find the wedding?” He asked. “It was fine.” I replied. He laughed. “Just fine?” He asked with amusement in his eyes. “I guess.” I replied somberly. “Weddings make me sad. I know I’m never getting married. He didn’t respond - but from the sudden pause of his laughter, I knew he understood. He took me home and waved goodbye. It was my last day there, and it would probably be many years until I returned. We would both be men, and that would mean we’d both be less free. We’d have killed all the parts of ourselves that allowed us to feel each other as much as we desired to. But memories are not always abstract - they can be as solid as ghosts that you carry around. I know then, as I know now, that his arms will always be pulling me closer, even when I’m flying away from his town.