Magenge, We Need to Talk: Conversations with Black Men

By Melusi Tshabalala

"Magenge, We Need to Talk” is bestselling author, Melusi Tshabalala's call to men to open up, talk more, listen more and change. The book is built around a series of conversations that Melusi's been having with his male friends, his Magenge, over the years. These intimate and often humorous convos navigate black fatherhood, black love, gender relations, gender based violence, racism, traditions and religion, hosted by the intrepid Melusi, in a wonky world black men find themselves in.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melinda Ferguson Books
• Release date: Oct 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781990973284

Melusi Tshabalala

Melusi is a father, author, adman, entrepreneur, self-appointed educator and all-round bizarre guy. He runs the popular Melusi’s Everyday Zulu franchise, which includes a column in Finweek, and a feature on Kaya FM, all drawn form his debut book Melusi’s Everyday Zulu.

Book preview

1.

Melusi’s dark night

It was a dark and stormy night ...

Okay, no, it wasn’t. It was a bright and sunny, Jozi day. Summer was showing off. Even though it was a weekday, both my wife and I were home. I worked from the office most of the time at that point, and I’m not sure why she was working from home that day. Her being there felt off, but a lot felt off during that period. Something else that felt off was a Facebook Messenger inbox I had recently received from some woman, whose name seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place her. I had ignored her message when it pinged in, because I sensed trouble. I don’t know why I was so irked by the Hello, Mel, but it gave me the heebie-jeebies. Maybe it was my ancestors who were telling me no good would come from engaging. But I never listen, so I eventually went into Messenger and opened that Hello, Mel.

What I read and learned would lead to the swift and painful end of my marriage.

That bright and sunny Jozi day immediately became a dark and stormy night. Literally, hell on earth. The message was the catalyst to what would become the worst period of my life.

I fell into what I call a drinking hole. All I did was drink, throw up, wolf down sleeping pills, sleep, wake up, sit in the dark, dwell on dark, evil thoughts, hatch dark, evil plans of retribution, make threats, call myself to order, then drink some more. Then hatch more dark, evil plans. Cry. Cry. Cry. Then drink some more. I just couldn’t crawl my way out of that drinking abyss. I could see that I needed to get out, and I really tried, but I wasn’t winning.

It got so bad that my teenage son, who was 15 at the time, contacted my mother to let her know he was concerned about me. My mother then phoned to tell me I needed to seek help, before I did something I would regret for the rest of my life. She also warned me that I could die. That call saddened me immensely. This was on top of the overwhelming sadness I was already experiencing in my life. It also embarrassed me that my son was seeing me in that state and that he felt compelled to call for outside help. However, getting out of a drinking hole is no easy task. I would struggle to get my shit together for months to come.

The nightmare that came by way of that message started towards the end of November 2018, and by January 2019 I had lost 10kg. And by then I had consumed a brewery. I think I lost the weight by shedding tears. Fuck, I cried. By January, I had also damaged my throat, with all the throwing up that went hand in hand with the drinking and heartbreak. I needed medical attention. Nothing major, but I was given iodine lozenges and anti-anxiety pills. They made me more anxious so I quickly quit them. The iodine lozenges worked. But there is no medication to mend a broken heart.

What did help me through that time was not any kind of physical medication – prescribed by a doctor or by myself, Doctor Tshabalala. It was talking to amagenge about what I was going through. Because I was embarrassed about what had happened, my first instinct was to tell my friends and family that the marriage had ended amicably. My ego was shattered, but I decided to open up because I know talking about my troubles works for me – it always somehow makes them feel lighter, as though the listener takes some of the load off my shoulders. However, with hindsight, I think I opened up a little too much, and talked to people I shouldn’t have, but what’s done is done. Plus, here I am, sharing my story with you.

The conversations with amagenge were helpful because these were people like me – they were cooked in the same township streets and hold very similar views on life and masculinity. I could talk to them, knowing they would understand immediately what I was saying, feeling and thinking. Empathy and kinship were the difference. Even the toxic bits, where we hatched dark, evil plans together, helped. None of those plans would ever be carried out, of course, but just sitting there – drinking, plotting, laughing about how dumb the plans were, helped.

But one conversation, in particular, really started me on my journey to moving on. It took place in a WhatsApp group called Melusi’s Suicide Watch. I wasn’t happy about the group name, but the person who had set up the group wouldn’t budge – typical group admin. One day, one of the guys said something that knocked the wind out of me, but would later turn out to be a gift.

Friend1: Mshengu, at least you’re no longer a side nigga in your own marriage.

Me: WTF, Jo? Jizas.

Friend2: Hahahaha. It’s funny coz it’s stew. Get it? It’s stew rhymes with it’s true, and stew is the side dish you were in your own marriage.

Me: What the fuuuuuuuck? Fokof, wena.

Friend1: Mngani wami, I know it’s bad. Really bad, but it could be worse. You could still be in the dark, thinking you’re working on your marriage when there is no longer a marriage to work on. You are better off. It hurts, but you are out, Jo. Now no one is a taking you for a naai. You can start to rebuild your life. You just have to look ahead, ntanga. This is a blessing.

Me: I guess. But the way you put it ibuhlungu, ntwana.

Friend1: Harde, boss, I know you understand that language and that’s how you frame things. This is what you would have said to me. In fact, you probably would have said something worse.

Me: What the fuck could be worse than side dish in your own marriage?

Friend2: Hahahaha. Harde for laughing. But it’s stew. Okay, I’m sorry. I won’t say it any more.

Friend3: You will be fine, Steward Tshabalala. Shop Steward.

Me: Fokof, nja ndini. Hahaha.

Friend1: Steward Little.

Me: It’s Stuart Little.

Friend1: Ok’salayo.

That last hahaha was forced because Friend1’s words had cut deep – the truth tends to do that. Deep down, I had already felt like a side dish in my own marriage, like there was someone else out there who was more important and I was just an irritating obligation – isicefe, which is why when the woman in the FB inbox wrote, I need to talk to you about your wife, I knew where it was going. I just hadn’t expected her to tell me that she, this woman in my inbox, was pregnant at the time, and had conveyed this to my wife, pleading with her to leave her man, but my wife would not listen. Add to that the fact that the three of them knew each other pretty well because my wife worked with her man, and this woman even considered her a friend – that was a poisoned bhansela of the entanglement kind. The word entanglement wasn’t a thing then, but this was definitely a messy entanglement. Are they ever not messy though? The whole thing was like an out-of-body experience.

2.

Silver lining and whatnot ...

Anyway, after getting off WhatsApp with amajita, I listened to a podcast that always helps me with perspective – in the episode i-outie, called Robin Sharma, talks about framing a bad day in a way that turns it on its head, by asking, What is the opportunity here? So that is what I asked myself: What is the opportunity in this completely fucked situation? The list of answers grew quite quickly, because I was already unhappy with the life I had built and was living. It was a mess and I was a mess – a big mess – and the messiness had lasted for far too long. I wanted change. In fact, that’s why, the year before, I had started listening to podcasts and reading about how to improve the quality of one’s life.

Even though it was as unexpected as it was unwelcome, the collapse of my life as I knew it meant I could begin to build the new one, the life I had started thinking about in 2017, as I headed towards my fortieth birthday. And that is what I have been trying to do ever since. It’s a long, slow, scary and frustrating process. Letting go and starting afresh with more consciousness, conscientiousness and purpose doesn’t come easily after 41 years of living a certain way and holding certain beliefs about yourself and your place in the world. But that is what I decided to do and had to do.

The first two items on my list of answers to What is the opportunity here? involved my children:

(1) Leading up to that fateful November day in 2018, the little ones (then aged four and six), with whom I lived fulltime, had come to experience a version of life in which Mommy and Daddy were at each other’s throats all the time. They were never sure when Angry Dad would rear his head. It wasn’t good. (2) It broke my heart that I had a different relationship with my teenager from a previous relationship, simply because we did not live in the same house. When he came over on weekends, he was a visitor, and would have to leave at the start of the new week. That sucked. He never complained but I knew it hurt him. And it definitely did not sit well with me.

My new situation presented me with an opportunity to fix these messes and, I am happy to say, I think I am doing a great job in that regard. The little ones never see me angry or fighting with their mother. I am also content that they are happy when they are with their mother, who loves them very much. My teenager seems happier, knowing he and his siblings are on equal footing.

The third answer on my list was the most important because without it I was not going to achieve anything else.

(3) I need to talk to a professional.

I needed someone with the expertise and tools to help me get to the bottom of why I am the way I am, why I believe in the things I believe in and why I do the things I do. While talking to amagenge continues to serve its purpose, it would not be enough to get me where I needed to be. In fact, at times, amagenge may even be part of the problem because, as I said, we are all cooked in the same pot and some of our toxicities and challenges are similar, so sometimes it’s like the blind leading the deaf – sifakana ngekhanda. So, while I often talk to amagenge about my challenges, fears, dreams, failures and wins, I also have a coach with whom I do deep, structured internal work.

Dealing with the collapse of my marriage and facing up to the