The Lost Examples

By Mzwandile Stamper

Four black boys wrecking havoc with a killing list, murdering high ranking apartheid police security officers, who dedicated their lives in torturing, and killing black activists.
In 1985 during the apartheid uprising in South Africa, the Port Elizabeth security police were faced with an absolute uphill. Lieutenant Eugene Van Der Merwe was tasked to face Tomtom, and the Butcher Boys. To fight an enemy you can't see is like walking into a dark room blind folded, and no amount of skill prepared him for what was about to fall on his lap.
On the other hand, the will, and the motivation behind Tomtom, and Lieutenant Van Der Merwe was the hunger to fight for the cause they both believe in. This fiction will paint you a picture about the hurdles of apartheid armed struggles, and the fight to be understood as queer during the most challenging times of segregation in South Africa.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mzwandile Stamper
• Release date: Aug 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9780620924542

Mzwandile Stamper

Hallo, my name is Zwai, I was born, and bred in Port Elizabeth, South Africa, in a province of the well known political figures like Mr. Steven Bantu Biko, Dr Nelson Rholihlahla Mandela, and more. To be honest, this book called me, I'm a technician by profession, and the only relation I might have with the literature is my late mother, Thandiwe who was a heavy loaded book worm, growing up in South End, and my later father who was a car mechanic, and an occasional write. I grew up during apartheid, and now we are post apartheid.

Book preview

The Lost Examples

MZWANDILE STAMPER

This book is dedicated to my late parents

Zamile Wisdom Stamper

&

Thandiwe Ethel Stamper

My daughter Panashe Ntlahla

Rhadebe, Mthimkhulu…

Njuza, Sthukthezi, Jolinkomo….

Contents

Prefacevii

Prologueviii

Chapter1. Mingling With a Retard

Chapter2. The Before

Chapter3. Stuffed Vetkoek, Polony and Ginger

Chapter4. Whelve

Chapter5. Just another Day

Chapter6. EMbizweni

Chapter7. Now Showing

Chapter8. Shwaka

Chapter9. The Last Chapter

Preface

Most of the thrill written in this book is half real with few experiences of my own, and half fiction to paint my narrative. In short this fiction will take you back to 1985, in a township called New Brighton, Port Elizabeth in South Africa. The breath-taking effects of apartheid, and it’s residual after effects that can be easily distinguished post-apartheid. And those elements can be seen shrouding our country in a way we recognise.

I was humbled to live during the dying hours of apartheid, being overwhelmed by emotion during the pre-change, and movingly watch freedom that people sacrificed for being washed away.

This book, as I wish, can be an inspiration to remind people, of the hardships, and triumphs that comes with the price tag of freedom.

Big homage to Afrivision for their visual contents, The Casual Observer, New York Times articles, Baines Gary Fred, speeches acknowledgements, and my beautiful locals who gave me honest behind the scenes stories about 1985 in New Brighton, and many more.

Prologue

Even before the riots, and uprisings started, every black male was equipped with one form of weaponry one way or the other. And as the apartheid government tightened, and getting more brutal, and out of hand. Teenage kept more than just his AK-47 on his sleeve, but rather four young boys as his recruits.

Throwing them right in the abyss, boiling and tamed to be as brutal as hell. The fight for freedom must go on until it is won; peaceful as part of the community of, we cannot rest. Said Tomtom to his three brothers, quoting Oliver Tambo at Teenage’s funeral, their mentor, their brother.

Make apartheid unworkable. Make South Africa ungovernable. Prepare the conditions for the seizure of power by the people. Nkushy recited his brothers’ sayings, quoting Oliver Tambo.

Mzwandile Stamper

August 10 2021

1. Mingling With a Retard

Some stories do not require, or demand to be told. But what if I tell you a story about New Brighton, 1985…The scene opens with the monthly gathering, indodla.

"As if she knows how I feel, instead that texture kicks in when we don’t have a meal for the night, why would I care about her candle anyway." Thought Tomtom, killing the light in the room, and sandwiched himself with blankets.

A squinting away from the sun’s bright glare on the window, the over bright sun rays giving Tomtom a wakeup call. A long sigh, Another day, and a Wednesday on all days, he said sitting limply.

Showing a leg is not something I am look forward to, however I can’t lock myself in this bed, these walls always looking at me with its four eyes of despair. I have to fix this door, these loose hinges are not gonna cut it and I can finally get rid of this squeaky noise when it’s windy, and a better padlock, a conglomerate with strong links to make sure no one snoops around in my room. Damn, shit just keeps piling up. He mumbled lightly

His smooth conglomerate is wrapped around a bored hole below the no longer working door handle and the door frame is held by a Viro padlock. The walls had crusty paint peels and rippled wallpapers that have been painted over.

At night you can hear the whistling of the broken window, mice skittering behind the walls, creaks from the door, and a patchy wooden floor covered by a small Welcome door mat next to his bed.

What a shitty junction. If I knew it would come to this. He went on with self bashing.

He had a dressing table with a stripped veneer, with a huge mirror, kept company by a high up metal kitchen stool. Due to his home’s location, he could hear voices, and footsteps thumping two meters far from his window.

(Town, town, town mama…town)

(Honk, honk, dogs barking, and people talking)

Shit its 07h15, and no wonder the noise, these damn kids in my yard, and I will be damned if I have to clean again, how could they? If they think they are gonna pull a Bhut Clinic on me they got it all wrong. He said, agitated. Hey, you vagabonds get off my damn yard, hey you little chicken shit, hey. he shouted territorially

Ha-ha, ha-ha (kids running)

Next time there is not gonna be a next time, you hear me! Yeah you better run

Hey, stop yelling inside the house Ntombi shouted from the other room cogently. Ntombi was Tomtom’s half-sister, she was older that him, and they were living together.

They are playing in the yard Ntombi, and I can’t find my key. Replied Tomtom, shouting back accusingly. They better not play with me I don’t play that kaka zeentwana. He continued bellicosely.

How many times did I tell you to find another door? aloofly she shouted.

Why is she always full of shit?

I am looking, Sisi. He replied impedingly, sitting on the edge of the bed. He slid his arm on the left sleeve of his black tee, then his torn jeans, and finally his wire tied navy blue flip flops that are self moulded to a boat shape.

Even though Tomtom might be deadpan sometimes, he still felt better when her half-sister was around, telling him what to do, and making him feel home. Born from a white father, and a Bantu mom, Tomtom was a special case, at least to those who first lay their eyes on him. He had opal green eyes, dark, and loose hair he always shave. Here what can I say, the girls in school were crazy about his eyes, but he never found time for such people, it was all about his friends, and New Brighton.

Tomtom was more of a coloured, loose straight hair, and funny eyes.

* * *

The weather, eBhayi, is always something of a mystery. If the sun shines early in the morning, it’s best to carry a jacket, or a jersey, when going to work, and if we wake up to an overcast, that is how it will remain the whole day. As the saying goes, ‘you change three times like iBhayi weather. For the most part, this particular day, was as lovely as its wild sparrows.

I need some air. he muttered,

So fresh and crisp outside, instead of listening to her dragon noise every day. Ah I can feel the last of the morning dune, and the droplets spraying a sheet on my slimy kop. He mumbled, making his way to the gate. The air was tamed by cayenne pepper, and bori aroma, the smell of charcoal, and braai kept the neighbours captive early in the morning. On the other hand, too much sun was never his friend though. It turned him into a furnace, tan, and darker, not the kind of complexion you would use to describe the outcome of that kind of communion. What choice did we have, even the smell of bakery could drag you off your house like the man with his police dog.

Occasional honks of a horn from jikeleza’s, town and Korsten taxis, you can hear a bus exhaust rumblings loud as a thunder.

Damn, fried onions, and ox liver. I can smell it already. This ain’t right man, here we are hungry, and all these provocative scents. Fuck, my stomach is empty. He thought to himself.

I swear if it wasn’t for the smell, I would have thought someone’s house is on fire! So many people this early, it is like a festival out here. Oh, it’s that time of the month again. Said Tomtom surprisingly, while dragging the wooden gate behind him. The late comers were arriving, setting up their stands opposite the hall, and money lenders at the entrance door, for debtor’s controlling. Even in the midst of hundreds of people, in the market, they will still find you, and they don’t play with their money, young, or old, blind or in a wheelchair, they don’t care, all they care about is their money.

Ziyabila today! He said culturally, rubbing his hands together. Where are you going, this early in the morning? Asked Tomtom, his best friend Thobo, aka Tee. He was a slender chap, chiskop, tall and youngish. Dark in complexion, and I mean dark, but he was charismatic, calm and confident.

They heard the same direction where all the noise, and exotic smells where coming from, following the footprints to the joining pavement in the main Ntshekisa road. Sorry Makhulu, uxolo Gogo…sorry Mkhulu. They ducked and dived, sewing through a wave of stick walking, wheelchair pushing, grannies and old toppies with all of their accompanying entourages.

Even in walking you have a higher ground, I can’t keep up. Remarked Tomtom breathily. Did you know that you grow extra meters if you eat beans? Said Thobo, trying to change the subject. He glanced to their right, and pointed with his head. Look at how slow that guy is always walking, always on his push back, and those shiny shoes, and same outfit. Top of the morning to you ‘Mr Never Ending Story.’ Said Thobo

He is a retard. Said Tomtom amusedly

How dreadful! I’m sorry to hear that. He replied with a grin. You’re mirthless you know that, you need to work on your ability to feel something brother. Said Thobo abstractly.

When he comes for his pay, he likes to stand on this FH, (Fire Hydrant) and all you will see is a 20’s of ciggerete butts building like a pyramid of Sudan. Chuckled Tomtom.

What does he even put on when he is washing those same clothes?

I bet his fingers are so burnt you’ll need a screwdriver to remove the skin on the finger tips, why are you up so early anyway? Remarked Tomtom

Well now that the exams are done, my mother, found me a new job in the house, being a full time caretaker. Replied Tee, quenching all smiles from his face.

Can we rob him? Tomtom asked, turning his face to Thobo. Locking their eyes.

Who? He asked

Him, the tortoise guy. Said Tomtom quirking an eyebrow, and he smiled.

No! Hell no. His eyes wobbled as if he just lost a bet on a dice game. His forehead squeezed and his eyebrows pulled towards each other like two rams with front legs high up, and seconds before their heads collide.

Yhoo, is everything about robbery with you? Asked Thobo

With me? I’m not the one who’s got a job. Replied Tomtom

Uh, my mom is waiting for her bus fare, see you later. He turned to the direction of Monde, the shop.

I’ll wait for you here rather Said Tomtom

* * *

He buried his ass on one of the railway track, jilted a meter up from the ground with a gold and black paint. As the morning grows so was the attendance.

I gauss Tee knew from the beginning of the day it’s going to be a long summer, why do I have to care about what he thinks anyway? I taught myself how to ride a bicycle, the day I stole it. Tomtom said vaguely, folding his arms, and his shoulders crunching. He turned his head to the left with his face still frown, and vulnerable.

Good morning Bhuti. Greeted Tomtom, looking arid, and lightheaded.

Morning. Replied the man with a self-made Sudanese pyramid. He was sunk, and locked on that fire hydrant. Can you spare me a smoke? Asked Tomtom. Sure. He replied, unhurried. He looked at him with relaxed eyes, and a smirk with a cigarette in his mouth. Without a word, he pulled out a 20’s Lexington from his top left chest pocket, and he opened the cap while holding his ciggerete with his left hand. He looked bleak, and subdued, and more like withdrawn from the world.

Can I borrow your light? The boy asked fixing a ciggerete in his mouth, and reaching out his hand. Bewildered, old man said, blowing smoke while talking. You have balls asking me for a ciggerete, and a lighter kwedini.

I’m sorry Taimer, my name is Tomtom, and I can’t thank you enough. Replied Tomtom. Ah…okay, at least you’ve got manners, I was always wondering, do you guys also use clan names? He asked conversationally. Yeah, every Xhosa does! And what does that even mean? Accusatively replied Tomtom, fumed by the old Taimer’s question. No, no, nothing, just trying to make conversation replied the man

Yeah well you have a funny way to start a conversation old man.

Your generation. Remarked the man, smiling.

Listen here Taimer, just because you gave me a ciggerete, and a light doesn’t permit you to act old to me! And why a passing generation always complain about the upcoming one anyway? You know nothing about me. Said Tomtom narrowing his eyes and, looking annoyed.

Are you hungry? I read it on the Readers Digest that people get moody when they are hungry. Asked the old man with a teasing smile across his face.

Are you making fun of me? he queried, his green eyes twinkling. No not at all kid, I just want to make it up to you. What brings you around here today? You don’t seem to be chasing a spot in the queue. He raised his head, and continued, looking forward, sucking his poor cigarette butt, till you could smell the burn of the filter. My name is Zama Maboxongo, by the way, sorry about that. He said. I’m here for my social grant, and as you can see I’m not in that much of a hurry. Said Zama

I stay around the corner, that green corner house, and I just needed a smoke. Replied Tomtom pointing a finger to his home.

Hey, hallo Taimer. Greeted Thobo, carrying a Steri milk, teabags rolled in a cut-off piece of Evening Post, and a loaf of brown bread. Are you done? he continued, directed to Tomtom. Yes! Infact, Bhut Zama, here offered to buy us something to eat. Replied Tomtom

Really, sir? a smile edged Tee’s mouth. Let me drop these in the house then, and wait till mom is gone to work. I’ll be back, now, now. Tee jovially sped home, with a loaf bread, and milk, clutched on both of his arms."

"Maybe Tee’s mood on this robbery thing is sign, maybe I should find another way, but what way is there?

"On the other hand he seem like a nice guy." Tomtom pondered, and unintentionally stirring at Mr Maboxongo, was a Spoornet chimney, in his early 60’s, chubby, and semi pint size. He was a true definition of his generation. He was on his checked red, and bottle green cap with a pompom, black and white Florsheim shoes, and a powder blue creaseless Markshire, as if he used an industrial steam press. His Scottish cardigan, had short sleeves, allowing his regular fit Pringle shirt show its emblem on the top right shoulder. He was as neat as a table prepared for a Gala dinner. Always on his blowout, and pushed back curly afro looking so flamboyant. Even though he was slaving so hard for his smoking habit, he was glittering with after taste of life.

At least I can have a taste on how it is to chat with a Taimer at his age, and I can see he don’t mind. Wondered Tomtom, arms folded, and alone in the midst of multitude. Everything drifted away, and he allowed himself to get lost in his pitch black, and door less room.

"Sometimes, when people make accidents they get so shocked they run from the scene." He chuckled, Tee’s dad is cool; he don’t talk a lot but we all know how to keep his rules, and he is good car mechanic on his spare time. Like how every morning around ten, he will pass home to drop some meat he buys from Springbok, driving his work ambulance. Thought Tomtom

In the black communities growing kids is a community matter, not only your parents. Even in the darkest days of apartheid, we always take care of one another. Tee’s mom was working for a madam in Charlo, she will bring us all the white people’s food, with all the green vegetables in a bread. That is a funny thing for anyone to be eating, only goats, and cows, eat green stuff that is how we always felt. Sometimes she will bring us cooked meat, and all other left overs, and she will joke about how madam will insist on her taking home things like stale bread with moulds, and how much she would laugh about how much madam can’t think for herself, that no one can eat such things. Irrespective of her generosity, somethings don’t need standard eight. So Tee’s mom will pack it, and separate it from other checkers, and once she reaches the bus stop, she will throw it away in the nearest dust box. She always said we are generous about the food, from madam always, but we are not pigs.

I can still remember Tomtom’s curiosity that afternoon, sitting in her kitchen table with Thobo, while she was roaming around the kitchen from drawer to cabinet. Oledi, why have you never attempted to highlight the condition of the bread to madam? Asked Tomtom dumbfounded by madam’s behaviour.

She paused for a second, looked at both of us and said, Never turn down such gifts even if it’s bad, we don’t have much and they are courageous enough to give us work. Tomtom, and Tee’s eyes where so locked to hers, their chins resting on their clucthed wrists, and listening contently.

Taimer, its almost 08h30, and Tee’s mom will be passing here on her way to work, and she can’t see me here or she will get mad, I’m just gonna heard to my house, and maybe you can meet me there. He remarked, recovering from his pause.

I will definitely come around, do you want anything specific? asked Zama taking steps away from the fire hydrant.

We can eat anything, and don’t forget its two of us neh! Said Tomtom moving away from Zama.

Okay

* * *

Tomtom rushed back to his room and he effortlessly tried to tidy his room, making his bed and sweeping, trying so hard to maintain his composure from disbelief. Is it really a Wednesday? Why would he come here? Especially with food. Maybe he just wanted to get rid of me, ah well, my room is tidy for a change. Thought Tomtom throwing himself on his bed

Just by waiting I’m getting hungrier. he said looking ravenous, toss, and turning around his room.

"Knock, knock, Hallo, Whiteman." Zama shouted

Taimer, yes…come, door on your left. He responded, while sitting up straight, and composing himself. He walked in, and took five steps to the room where the voice was coming. Hey Whiteman

I almost thought you were not coming. Said Tomtom sitting on his bed.

And why do I have a feeling that you think the worst about everything Whiteman. Smiling

What?

I grabbed what was in front of me, I’m tired of that place, and here is three ginger beers, Deidei, ox liver with onions, ‘I bought the liver from Station’s wife’, three polonies, and a beef braai. Zama replied

You know her ox liver? Wow she is the best…you know every time we buy her ox liver, we would lock my room, burn a lot of incense and eat. Remarked Tomtom

I’m lost Whiteman, what is the incense for? inquired Zama

So that my sister, on the other room can’t smell a thing Said Tomtom, laughing

Yeah she knows how to make it best, hers is not dry because she uses a lot of round onion and she splashes her meat with Paprika, mixed with a pinch of crushed salt instead of cayenne pepper. I haven’t seen that being done in a long time. exclaimed Zama

Wow, that’s deep, how did you know that? Nodded Tomtom, sarcastically.

Zama laughed, and never answered, as he was busy chewing his braai meat. (Radio Xhosa news playing). He committed to his meal until the end.

Here is water for your hands, and here is a rag too. Offered Tomtom.

What, why are you not eating? asked Zama wiping his hands. I’m just waiting for Tee, nothing broken right, I mean, at the end we would have to wait till an elder is done eating right. Replied Tomtom

Yeah you’re right.

South Africa is buzzing about the changes awaiting for us. Still the systems of doing things hasn’t changed yet, and everything was as we know it. Gulped Zama.

Do you follow politics? He continued, before drinking a glass of water.

Who doesn’t? Our politics are simple, free our black people from prison, stop the killings from the police Replied Tomtom, exasperation in his voice.

I mean I do, it’s just that uh…

People, and politics must always be like you, and Tee. It is the right way to ensure the liberty, and freedom of the people. Said Zama

Ahoy Rasta man. Shouted Tee, walking in, arms swinging, and jovial, dark, and skinny.

Ahoy brodaman, hey can you bring a tray for me also, and rinse that Castle glass, the small one, thanks…And hey I almost forgot to remind you that we have to go take care of that skeleton! said Tomtom

Okay Tomtom, later? Replied Thobo.

I’m with you. MamTshawe’s ginger doesn’t even burst ha-ha, she should just call it a flat line ginger beer. Said Tomtom mocking MamTshawe’s ginger beer.

"Why do you always wiggle it upside down? You want it to burst