Ben: : Amie prequel series book 2, #2

By Lucinda E Clarke

When Ben's family move from the rural kraal to a modern house in the capital city, he finds himself caught between the old and the new. His eyes are opened to a world he could never have imagined; where men walk on the moon and satellites provide high speed internet. As Ben enters his teenage years, it is time for him to become a man. Age-old customs must be followed not, as he hoped in a modern city hospital, but back in the village where his family have lived for generations. Excited yet fearful; is he the only one who notices the rust on the surgeon's knife?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Umhlanga Press
• Release date: Nov 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386426929

Book preview

1  THE CALLING

Ben scuffed his bare, black toes in the dust to make swirling patterns, only to obliterate them and begin again. He hated to admit it, but he was frightened. It was bad enough for the other boys, but he was the son of the brother to the chief of the village and the vast areas surrounding it. The people would expect more of him, he would possibly be the first one and he would not dare flinch, nor cry out however bad the pain was. He shuddered just thinking about it. It was made even worse because he knew that he was the eldest in the age regiment, and the standing in the tribe rested on his young shoulders.

Like the dust particles he was stirring, thoughts circled around Ben’s head. He was torn halfway between the old world and the new world.

He was now a part of the modern Africa. He lived in a house with a bathroom, where hot and cold water flowed from the taps, and he slept in his own bed in a room he did not share with anyone. He attended the best school in Apatu, which was run by the local International expatriates who showed him pictures and videos of places on the other side of the world. He watched in awe at images of spaceships rocketing skywards and men walking on the moon. He listened as they explained how satellites orbited the earth too far above them to be seen. In many respects he was receiving a parallel education to Amie, but that is where their similarity ended.

He was familiar with the village where his family sent him for the holidays. When he was very small he thought it was fun to throw off his shoes, run barefoot across the savannah and bathe naked in the shallow river. He’d follow his father’s cattle for long days under the blazing sun, occasionally screaming and chasing away the odd hyena or a wild dog that came too close. He’d wave his long stick and jump up and down without getting too close. To his relief, not once did the predators come near; they slunk off with their tails between their legs.

In his earlier years he’d enjoyed the company of the other boys close in age, as they ran free as the birds, ducking and diving under the lower hanging branches of the smaller thorn trees. They spent hours poking long sticks into the tall, red termite mounds and throwing stones at the weaver birds’ nests to bring them crashing down to the ground, much to the frustration of the males who shrieked with fury. Hours of hard work patiently weaving the strands of dry, yellow grass into the tightly knit balls precariously fixed to the very end of the thorn branches, were lost because of the fecklessness of some nasty little boys running wild. He’d competed in the informal running races, mock fights with sticks against the other children, and sat breathless at the feet of the local story teller. The old man recounted tales of past heroic deeds by members of their tribe, stories of how the majestic African animals lived on the plains and the legacy of the ancestral spirits who guarded the tribes-folk from beyond the grave.

Like his peers, as a small child, Ben lapped it all up, but then came school, and life in the city, with car rides, western clothing, and a plethora of new ideas that he was subjected to from every quarter. Little by little he began to question many of the things that he had learned at the feet of the elders. What age were they living in?  True, he was proud of his heritage, somewhat conceited by the high positions his family held in Togodo’s government, but he realized that much of the new information he learned clashed with the old knowledge.

Where did he, Ben, live? In the past or the present? Right now, he was not looking forward to his immediate future.

The first time Ben experienced a ‘night emission’ he was appalled. He couldn’t remember the last time he had wet the bed and he wondered what was wrong with him. He was too ashamed to tell his mother, so, uncharacteristically, he made his own bed that morning and pushed it to the back of his mind. He hoped the sheets would dry out in the warm air.

On his return from school his mother looked at him strangely but said nothing. It wasn’t until his father took him aside that evening, that he knew his accident had been discovered.

His father ordered the women out of the room and indicted that Ben should sit on the floor at his feet. This action annoyed Ben a little. Their family didn’t sit on the floor; they used the sofa and chairs. Why this anachronism from the past?

He sighed and sank down onto the carpet and leaned against the coffee table.

They tell me you have reached the beginning of manhood, his father stared at him.

Ben didn’t reply. Was wetting the bed part of being a man? He didn’t think so.

So, the time has come to send you back to the village, to make you a man in truth.

A bolt of fear shot through Ben. But I can come back? I don’t have to stay in the village forever?

No, a few weeks only, depending... His father paused.

Ben was itching to ask what his return depended on, but he had a vague idea of the answer. It was time for his initiation and it scared him more than anything that had happened to him before.

2  AMBAYA VILLAGE

Ben hoped his father would drive him back to the village in the large black car that he used around Apatu the capital of Togodo. To his dismay he was told to accompany his cousin, who was delivering supplies to several of the outlets in the rural areas, in his bakkie (pick-up truck). Each village had its own spaza shop, often a small wooden shack hosting a wide range of stock: shovels, canned milk, sacks of maize meal, dried foodstuffs, bottled water, packets of crisps, canned drinks and a variety of sweets. Few, if any of the spaza shops had electricity, so they only sold items which did not have to be kept fresh and opening hours were dictated by daylight hours. Most were run by local enterprising women. In comparison to the men, they were hard working, reliable, and smart enough to replenish the shelves as items were sold. Ben had heard of several men who took advantage of the government scheme to set up stores and filled them with goods to sell. Quite large sums of money were handed over and smart cabins sprung up all over the place offering a wide range of products. However, many of those who were thrilled to become fully fledged entrepreneurs overnight, simply took the profits and made for the nearest shebeen (local drinking den). They also went on spending sprees at the chain stores in the local town and bought ghetto blasters (portable radios) and new clothes, only to discover there was no money left to re-stock their shops. At no point had anyone thought to explain the basic economics of buying, selling, and re-investing the profits. Now, several of these abandoned shacks littered the landscape and the scheme was quietly dropped.

Ben looked forward to returning to the village and greeting all his younger cousins, but this time he was fearful. He felt vastly superior to those who had remained in the countryside; they all clamoured to hear what life was like in the big city. He loved showing off by telling them about his school and his house with the running water in the indoor bathroom, although they did not quite comprehend it and couldn’t imagine it either.

Had living in the town made him weak? He worried about this as the old bakkie trundled along the dusty gravel road. He seldom ran around barefoot and the soles of his feet had grown soft. Even stepping on the smallest stones caused him to wince and he doubted he’d be allowed to wear shoes for what lay ahead.

All too soon they drove into his village and pulled up outside the spaza shop scattering chickens and scaring a few goats who skittered to get out of the way. As soon as they halted, the vehicle was surrounded by groups of small children jumping up and down, screeching with delight. Some peered in through the front windows to see who was inside, while others ran to the back, climbing up onto the tyres to see what goodies were piled as high as the roof of the front cab.

Ben looked out at the sea of happy smiling faces and took a deep breath. He couldn’t sit there forever. He opened the door and stepped out. The bolder of the children fingered his smart clothes, pointed to his shiny black shoes and gave him admiring glances. They jostled to stand next to him and one of them pulled on his hand to guide him to the largest hut set to one side of the kraal.

Ben’s rural village was typical of thousands of African settlements across the length and breadth of the continent. The main kraal was surrounded by a roughly woven fence about five feet high made from stout tree branches. It was strong enough to prevent the cattle from escaping at night when the young herders brought them back at sunset from grazing on the veld.

Inside the fence, in a rough circle, were several huts built from natural materials. The walls were constructed from a mixture of wet mud and cow dung, with a couple of openings to let the light in. The roofs were thatched with dried reeds. It was the women who collected the bundles of long grass, but it was the men who tied them in place over a framework of unseasoned tree trunks. All the huts had conventional wooden doors, brought in from the towns, and hung on rusty hinges often held closed by pieces of wire or frayed string.

In the dry season the walls crumbled and had to be frequently repaired. The grass roofs were also home to an assortment of small creatures and insects and needed replacing every few years, depending on the weather.

Despite looking primitive and neglected on the outside, the interiors were surprisingly well-furnished. The hard-beaten mud floors were polished and shined, sporting gaily-coloured rugs, sometimes woven from discarded plastic bags. The walls were decorated with pages from magazines, clothing catalogues, and flyers that the supermarket companies pushed through letter boxes to announce their weekly specials.

The furniture was far from being rustic – often modern if a little shabby. As soon as they could afford a deposit with one of the numerous department stores, sofas and chairs were bought on the purchase plan and proudly installed. Most homes also sported a cabinet or tallboy to display the few photographs, sports cups or pieces of precious china.

Bedrooms were simple and usually contained a bed, or a mattress on