Thelma for President

By Thandiwe Kgosidintsi

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Jul 9, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453535950

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CHAPTER ONE

bullet-square block.tif     Well, maybe she did. She was a very complex person. Are you surprised? Why, it was no mean fit that she had come a long way to arrive where she was. Looking at her, you either blamed apartheid or the women’s movement for making it acceptable for women to smoke, drink, bear children and still maintain a semblance of a career. Her dark deep charcoal grey blotched face was all puffed up in clear footprints commonly known in the township as phase face-drinker’s face—the face that is always looking drunk. As one of the few intellectual women of her age group, she had embraced life with full abandon. No one could stop her, in her growing up years, from smoking ganja and cigarettes, everything with alcohol in it whilst bearing children galore. Who said a little drink to pass the day is not healthy? she would ask with her toothless smile. Stop believing everything the White man tells you. Life is too short! she would then crackle with hoarse laughter.

bullet-square block.tif     Who was Thelma Thusi, really? Her children hated her mood swings. She could unexpectedly embarrass a boy child by smothering him with a wet kiss and a bear hug in full view of his classmates. That would not stop her from cracking the head of her daughter with an ashtray, depending on her mood. Her colleagues found her unreliable at times. She tended to listen to her heart and to follow her instincts. On her way to work, she could suddenly remember to attend an auction to replace her skorokoro car. No amount of pleading from her secretary, Sizwe, who had been with her forever, would change her mind. He had long stopped guilt tripping her about professional conduct. Thelma would simply shake her unkempt hair, that always looked half styled, and whisper Sizwe, Sizwe, when are you going to stop having a slave mentality? She would then take a long, wet draw from her cigarette and rush into the waiting court and desperate client. Sizwe would swallow hard and promise himself to remember to buy Miss Thelma a cigarette holder for her next birthday. The wet stubs looked disgusting on the office floor.

bullet-square block.tif     Thelma could never be defined or set in a certain way. Behind her back, her friends said: It will happen if Thelma is sober enough and has not changed her mind. If she suspected what they thought, she did not let on. To her, Thelma came first-to hell with the rest. Her Learned friends in court, tended to listen to every word she said. They planned their arguments around hers. Not to do that would lose them cases. They hated her guts but knew that she won most of her cases. Some of the lawyers, of all colour groups, attempted to break Thelma’s reputation by suggesting wild nights out with her. She would simply smile coyly. Do you know the meaning of wild? Can you make it through the night with Thelma? Have you finished sharpening your pencil on secretaries? Hey? A big man like Advocate Naidoo, who had some struggle credentials and was married to a White woman, would retreat with Sorry I asked to save his face. Other people, especially Blacks and women, were happy to spread wild rumours about Thelma—the crazier, the better. Thelma’s mother was a witchdoctor; her family ate frogs because they came from Malawi. Her parents gave her up to be a tokoloshe when she was a baby. Hence her inexplicable intelligence. Otherwise, how can anyone who was drunk every evening, always be the one to win most of her cases? Something was wrong. Be that as it may, Thelma’s clients admired her sharp brain. It went right to the core of any legal problem and then continued to shred the prosecutor’s arguments to pieces. Everyone agreed that Thelma was a difficult person with an enviable ability. That is who they thought Thelma was.

bullet-square block.tif     The sexy part of the grapevine amused Thelma. To think that she had been a late bloomer! She knew this by the nicknames her family and community gave her when she was young. Anything from Nunu, the little, furry, creepy, worm-like creature, to Mnyamana, the very dark little one.

bullet-square block.tif     To get the context, one should just remember that foreigners or strange nationals are referred to as small animals in the Zulu language. Being too black or dark is synonymous with being ugly, especially for a girl. Probably as a result of such nicknames boys started late to whistle in Thelma’s direction, when she rushed past to buy bread and milk from the local Ntuthuko General Dealer. The shop had a big sign with irregular paint letters and two spelling errors that said: ASIKHO ISIKWELETI. ZAMA EMAKHULENI-THERE IS NO CREDIT. TRY THE INDIANS’. Like many matters in her area, Thelma would wonder why any shop owner would encourage his customers to try elsewhere. The sign reminded her of the common township saying: Ungabo ngilindisa ubala njengekula elidayisa ubhanana mina!-Do not make me wait aimlessly like a foolish Indian selling banana! Why was it foolish to sell banana? Was it not making money for the Indians? Needless to say no one could answer Thelma on these questions. It crossed Thelma’s mind that maybe there was a connection with the fact that Ntombi, her mom, sent Thelma on the last Friday of each month with a list of orders to Bassa’s Bazaar for monthly groceries. Bassa would deliver in a big truck on Saturdays. In his truck would be goats for ceremonies, groceries for people and all other kinds of bargains like curtains and blankets. Blankets were essential for all kinds of ceremonies from birth of a child through to lobolo and funeral rituals.

bullet-square block.tif     When Bassa’s son stopped the truck for unloading the goods, it would be like a festival. Everyone would come out with their money tied in old handkerchiefs tucked in their breasts or hidden in men’s socks just above the ankle. There would be detailed explanations for short payments: Son, tell you father I lost my brother in Dalton. I cannot pay . . . my daughter is getting married . . . the company paid us short time . . . . Siraj would nod his head respectfully and say: Mina yazi yena lo good customer. Khokha mbayi mbayi—I know you are a good customer. Pay later. He would then continue to give basela and lots of red dye sweets to the screaming and pushing, shoving kids. By this time the boys would be tired of unloading the truck and delivering bags in the neighbourhood. The girls would be pushing and shoving to see inside with snotty crying babies on their girdles. Their voices would be hoarse from shouting: Yeheni nangu uBassa we bantu!—Hey, here is Bassa, people!

bullet-square block.tif     Soon everyone would be done. People would wave Bassa goodbye like family when he took his departure until the following month. When unpacking the goods into biscuit tins and cupboards, Ntombi would sigh and say: Ag shame! Lilungile ikula lenkosi-Oh! Shame! The poor Indian is so kind. Poor Indian? Thelma ruminated like a cow. Ntombi and her friends never failed to confuse Thelma.

bullet-square block.tif     On the other hand, Bab’Dlamini, the shop owner of Ntuthuko, understood customer service as pulling the leg of his young clientele and shouting expletives at his ever changing staff that he recruited from his village. Heyi wena, s’dwaba sikanyoko!—Hey you, your mother’s skirt! Thelma noticed that the workers who poured paraffin, sold wood and coal outside, were the same ones who cut bread and sold cut cheese and red mamtsotsi sausage to customers. They simply used a dirty rag to wipe their hands from one chore to another. Ugh! Thelma would remark under her breath. None the wiser, Dlamini enjoyed playing practical jokes with children coming to buy small items in—between month-ends from his shop. He would search the boys for stolen items and would wink and pinch the girls’ breasts.

bullet-square block.tif     The girl with tight budding breasts would scream Eshu! Dlamini would go Ha! Ha! You are too delicate, you Ncube girl. I cannot make you my youngest wife. Next thing, the girl would run out of the shop as soon as Dlamini moved his bulky self from behind the counter to reach out for her peaches as he called them. What Thelma noticed was that Dlamini never played such pranks with her. Instead he always asked Thelma to make sure that he had calculated her change correctly. He only remarked that with a big head like hers, Thelma would definitely make a good teacher one day. He would then smile and shake his head. A pity your Nyasa father did not get cleansing herbs from my father before getting you. Had you been born a boy—you would have grown up to be a good lawyer or a sharp shoot policeman. Oh! Hawu! Bakithi!-My People! Thelma could not help feeling that for this omission Bab’Dlamini, with his protruding eyes and rotund tummy, was blaming someone-the Dube ancestors-most likely.

bullet-square block.tif     On her way home, Thelma would wonder why she could not be a lawyer or a sharp shoot policeman. She rather liked the sound of that. Indeed who said being a boy was necessary for everything important? She did know what a lawyer was. Its Zulu name—ummeli—gave Thelma an idea of a person who stood for others. Stood for others where? Who were those others who could not stand for themselves? Were they possibly as tired as she was when she had to stand in long queues for cheaper, damaged vegetables at the Indian Market in town? She would not mind getting one of those lawyers to stand for her. Anyway, whatever a lawyer was, it did not sound like an attractive job.

bullet-square block.tif     But a policeman-that Thelma knew very well. There were plenty of them in the neighbourhood. Some rode bicycles and horses whilst others drove vans. They wore shoes so shiny; they looked wet to Thelma’s untrained eyes. Policemen looked angry and serious. But Thelma noticed that they never stopped a man from beating his wife and children. If a man was staggering drunk and walking home, a policeman would laugh and tease him saying Mudle maliyakhe—Eat him—his money. Only when Thelma’s father Joe and his friends got drunk and rowdy, would patrolling vans stop and bundle them in the back after beating them up with batons. Ntombi and the other mothers would fetch the men the following day with something called a fine. Thelma had no idea what a fine looked like. But it sounded important. Once in a while police came to collect Sis May who owned a drinking place down the street. Sis May never slept over in stokisi like her father did. A few hours away, and Sis May would be back in her house blowing loud music and selling up a storm. Thelma would ask her mother why Sis May came home so soon when she had to listen to her mother’s wailing after her arrested hubby. Ntombi would implore God and reprimand her ancestors for the return of her husband who will never touch a drop of alcoholic drink again, and on . . . . and on . . . . Thelma used to wonder why her mother was so distressed. Joe and his friends would be arrested again in a fortnight. His workplace would not dock his pay because he would produce proof that he had been arrested. And all will be back to normal. If Joe was getting embarrassed by the letter from jail, he could always buy a medical letter saying he had been sick in bed. There were plenty of those letters around. They all had a hospital stamp on them. Ntombi answered her daughter’s question by first looking at her daughter, narrowing her eyes and then saying:" You are full of questions, young woman. Now let me tell you—Sis May is friends with the Sersant and cannot be arrested. The junior constables always try to defy the Sersant’s orders not take May in. They realize their mistake when they get transferred to the farms. Who wants to work there? There is no crime except for cattle theft. Drinking is allowed. People walk naked. There is no public indecency.

bullet-square block.tif     There is no trespass or vagrancy, people sleep under trees. As a policeman what tshotsho-bribe—can one get in Mbumbulu? A goat? Mme! Mme! Ntombi would laugh at her own joke. Thelma would shrug her shoulders. The mother would continue There is no crime except for cattle theft and land disputes. The witchcraft is so advanced, a policeman can just vanish into thin air whilst investigating a crime. Awu! Ma! Stop it. You frighten me," Thelma would close her ears with the palms of her hands. Thelma did not know whether to believe her mother’s jocular explanation. Ntombi seemed to know everybody’s story.

bullet-square block.tif     Thelma wondered if her mom was not making it all up because her father was visiting Sis May’s house for drinks every weekend. Thelma selected her choice career-Policewoman-that was it. As soon as she was big enough to choose her own clothes, Thelma started wearing pants in preparation for her career. Who knows? One day Thelma would replace the evil Sersant, Sis May would be locked up for good and Joe Thusi would stay home and do