My Mother: My Inspiration

By Mbono Vision Dube

Mothers, especially those endowed with womanhood, will ever remain precious, influential, and inspirational. In this novel, the author explores the life of a particular woman from her teenage years up to the time she has turned eighty-three on how her life history has inspired the author and other people around. Lindokuhle (wait for good things) struggles in life through thick and thin to better her life, that of her biological family, and that of people around her. She fends for her children and commands respect from a husband who returns love for hatred and respect for disrespect for years. Lindokuhle is depicted here as the modern Proverbs 31 woman. She finally wins her husbands love, proving to the world that love can turn a stony heart into jelly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Jun 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543489125

Mbono Vision Dube

Mbono Vision Dube nee Ndlovu is currently a lecturer of languages and linguistics at Zambian Open University. She comes from a rich background of story tellers and enjoyed particularly stories narrated by her great grandmother and grandmother. She is married to Professor Obed Dube and together they have three children: Thenjiwe, Thando and Thandani. She has written two novels so far: Bittersweet: confessions, forgiveness and love; Dear Mum and Dad: Memoirs of an Emotionally Torn Woman; She enjoys reading and writing.

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MY MOTHER

MY INSPIRATION

Mbono Vision Dube

Copyright © 2018 by Mbono Vision Dube.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2018906423

ISBN:        Hardcover          978-1-5434-8914-9

                  Softcover           978-1-5434-8913-2

                  eBook                 978-1-5434-8912-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 06/08/2018

Xlibris

800-056-3182

www.Xlibrispublishing.co.uk

772833

CONTENTS

DEDICATION

PREFACE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

EPILOGUE

DEDICATION

I dedicate this novel to my late mother, Helminah Flora Ngwenya Ndhlovu, my late aunt, Sonengani Ngwenya, my aunts Sinosizi Susan Ngwenya, Siphelile Mnkandla, Sithabisiwe (MaMguni) Ngwenya, Winnet Moyo, my late aunt Kirilei (Kiri) Ngwenya, my late model and spiritual mother Mrs Khasi Mathema, my late powerhouse Mrs Christine Khoza, my spiritual aunt Mrs Edna Kamanga, and my spiritual and dormitory mother the late Mrs Mzozoyana. I love you all. To my sisters and cousin sisters both biological and spiritual, who have been inspired by these powerful women in society I urge us to keep the lamps burning.

PREFACE

W hen I opened my eyes to mother earth, I was welcomed by velvet hands; loving and compassionate full of concern eyes; a dashing heart-breaking smile; a sweet music like voice and a chest that matches no pillow beneath the sun. The arms that embraced me on that day were arms that exuded love. All I could say at that point in time was to cry. I was trying to respond to the written love my mother was showing me. She had all the strength to smile like that after such an excruciating experience; child birth. She had just delivered me in an ambulance before even reaching the hospital. A bumpy road rocked her back and forth, up and down until she could not hold me in anymore. Is it not amazing; is it not strikingly surprising that this woman could still hold me in her arms, draw me to her chest and rock me back and forth whilst the attendants were still working on her? Amazing! I could tell I was her jewel. I knew she would dare not trade me for anything in the world. Obviously, my eyes quickly familiarized with this gem that was cut from precious stones from faraway lands. My eyes beheld gold, silver, diamond, ruby, emerald all fused in this one and only special and precious woman in my life. That twinkling smile and that glazing spark in her eyes gave me no other choice or option but declare her mine. There and then I decided she was mine. Though I did not get the opportunity to bond through breast feeding, the love and care that I got from my mum, Lindokuhle, was enough to compensate for the lost warmth from her breasts.

Lindokuhle, popularly known as Lindy among her peers; Mamkwena or Naka Maphapha among her in-laws; Gogo Sitshela among her grand and great grandchildren; Gogo Mfundisi among church members of her congregation; Sisomdala among her sisters, nieces, nephews and brothers; is my inspiration. I have been inspired by other women in my life, for example, the lives of my great grandmothers MaGampo and Mahlophe, my grandmother Zinzile, my aunts Mrs Khasi Mathema, my late aunt Mrs Christine Khoza, my spiritual aunt Mrs Edna Kamanga, and my high school dormitory mother Mrs Mzozoyana. But this kind of inspiration I get from my mum is unique. Her origin, history before she got married to my dad; her professional and home life are books unwritten yet readable to many as anthologies of an inspirator.

Lindokuhle was born in 1931. We have always celebrated her birthday every 16th day of May. Her rich roots are drawn from two countries: Botswana and South Africa. Though she calls herself a Zimbabwean, it is only by birth. My mother’s maternal grandparents were from South Africa. Her grandmother Zothile Mahlophe was of the Zulu origin. Her grandfather Samuel Mlatshwa was of Xhosa origin. Before her grandmother married her grandfather, she had had two marriages. First, Zothile Mahlophe married Lavuno and they had only one child, Sibangani. Sibangani had five children. Two of these children, for the sake of my brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews and cousins, are Nembezi (Naka Nelson) and Kitu (Naka John). We grew up with Nelson and John but had no idea how they were connected to us. Lavuno died in war. Zothile then married Buthelele. They had three children. We knew them very well. These were Sifelani (Mrs Mawale or Naka Pi), Galile and Nhlupho (Naka Ganga). As fate had it, Buthelele also died in war. Interestingly, my great grandmother did not give up. She did not say Oh I already have four children let me rest and call it quits. She went ahead, after all these heart breaks, and married my great grandfather Samuel Mlatshwa. They had only one child, my grandmother, Zinzile Manano Mlatshwa.

My maternal great grandfather Mlatshwa was a caravan driver. Those years back then the caravans were cattle driven. Great grandfather drove caravans from Cape Town to Zimbabwe ferrying gold dust. What a challenging career! Caravan drivers from South Africa were very popular with women both single and married. His brother, whom he was always travelling with, took someone’s wife and ran away with her to South Africa. The husband and his kinsmen demanded for their wife from my great grandfather. He had to go and get the woman who now had a daughter, the lady we always called Vongi or Naka Sifana. But when my great grandfather Samuel handed over the woman with a child, the husband just accepted his wife and rejected the child. That meant my great grandfather had to take care of that child. He had to get married and get married fast. The woman to win his heart was Zothile Malophe. She had to leave her children with her mother Kwemude to take a long winding trip with her new husband.

Zothile Malophe actually found it an interesting journey because she decided to be travelling with him. She must have felt that being left behind when her third husband travelled long dangerous distances would spell another widow tag on her. She would rather be with him every step of his life. Who could blame her? Two husbands had left her and gone to war. They died there leaving her with four children! This woman really wanted to build a home but this time she would rather be her husband’s belt. What a brave woman! My grandmother was born in South Africa and was later taken to Zimbabwe on one of those cattle driven caravan trips. There was a place called Mtuzugwe where most caravan drivers parked their caravans and had some settlements there. This area was convenient because it was kind of a central spot. My great grandfather, on this particular trip with his family plus his niece, his brother’s daughter Vongi, had a breakdown and could not fix the caravan as fast as he thought.

Days turned into weeks; weeks into months and months into years as he continued, hoping to fix the caravan until he gave up. That is how my great grandmother found herself in the hands of missionaries. She had to work to help put food on the table. Some of her children she had left in South Africa crossed over to be with their mother and stepfather. As my grandmother was growing up, she had to do some chores for the missionaries for a few hours after school. When her mother could not raise money for school fees, she had to take up full employment at Masase mission. Later, my great grandfather, whilst looking for gold dust in Mtamba area, met another woman who later became his second wife. I have always wondered why the Mtamba people claim we are related to them. It is simply because our great grandfather’s eyes wondered to another woman. The result of this union was my grandmother’s step brother, Ntango. He was the only brother my grandmother had who shared the same name. Samuel Mlatshwa later died and was buried at Mtuzugwe. The Mahlophe-Mlatshwa history is interesting to me and I hope my brothers, sisters, cousins on my mother’s side will also find it interesting to read. Yes, I also had an Aha experience because I am now able to thread beads together. My mother and her siblings never showed there was step this and step that. It is now that I can understand the relatives that swarmed my grandmother’s homestead and I do appreciate.

My paternal great grandfather, Daniel Mukwena, left Botswana for Zimbabwe as a young missionary for the London Missionary Society. He was in the company of his brother. Though from Botswana, his mother was a Zimbabwean from Plumtree. She was a MaSibanda and a grand aunt to the Mpalanka family! Yes, this was another shocker for me. So we are also related to the Mpalanka family? We grew up with them and even shared desks at school with most of them but had no slightest idea we were related. My mother, as she was narrating this history, she smiled and said, Whew! Thank God no one decided to marry or to get married there. It would have been incest.

But we did not know mum, I pushed her on.

How would you know when you people spend hours on end either watching TV or involved in cheap talk? Our grandmothers were our movies. What a way to brag.

Blessed are you mum. Your grandchildren will not thirst for such information as we did. I attempted to will her on again.

Where are my grandchildren? The animal called Diaspora has consumed them.

As we chatted on, I discovered more about my great grandfather that I had no idea of. He drove cattle driven caravans for months until they reached Plumtree, a border town between Zimbabwe and Botswana. They stayed there in the name of rest for years. It was in this locality where my great grandfather earned the nickname ‘Khohliwe’, simple meaning ‘forgot’. He was to forget that once upon a time he was from Botswana. While in Plumtree, my great grandfather and his brother Mabhanti lived among their maternal relatives. Later on they moved into the interior. My great grandfather earned favor with the missionaries and was sent to train as a teacher at Tigerskloof. His first station after training was Nhlozamandla where he met Mary Gampo Balani. From Nhlozamandla he was sent to an open school at Mberengwa Office. Because of his talent, the missionaries entrusted the opening of schools on his lap. He later went to Mtuzugwe School. Missionary Daniel Mukwena Bakwena as he was known in that community and Mary Balani Gampo had seven children: Gracia, Ndaba, Fani, Isaiah, Mduduzi, Naniso and Ntando: five boys and two girls. He later died and was buried at Mtuzugwe.

The London Mission Society took it upon itself to take care of Mukwena’s widow and children by providing them with land and a job for my grandfather Ndaba who was the first born son. This would make it easy for him to care for his mother and siblings. Makuva, in Chingoma area became a suitable habitat for the family even though my grandfather was teaching at Ruvuzhe. I must say the Lutheran Mission has kept its word: it still takes care of the Mukwena Bakwena generation in different ways. Hats off to the London Mission Society which was later on swallowed up by the Lutheran Church, for continually honoring the descendants of the hero of faith.

MaGampo’s life certainly inspired my mother’s life in a million ways. She made sure the family stayed together and as such, when we were growing up we never knew the difference between workers and family members. She made sure everyone was treated alike. Prayers and worship were a must. She was of a different faith from that of her late husband and did not change it (her faith, that is). She indeed was a strong willed woman. I will always remember great grandmother for her insistence that all children eat from one plate. She would say that scooping food from the same plate regardless of who touched which part of food would make us stay and remain united. That was her theory which I emulated and believe worked and is still working among us. When we meet during big events, we find ourselves celebrating our reunion by eating from the same plate. MaGampo was a gallant warrior of faith and love. Her name was tattooed and engraved in our hearts. We will always remember her animated bible stories and folk tales. Her love for my grandmother Zinzile Mahlophe made many people think she was like her own biological daughter. They worked together to see that peace and tranquility reigned in the Bakwena family; something rare between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law. Long live MaGampo in our hearts!

My grandfather Ndaba, on whom the name Mukwena had stuck like a tick and my grandmother Zinzile met both at Mtuzugwe and at Masase Mission. Masase Mission then was popular for harboring beautiful maidens. My grandmother Zinzile definitely topped the list. Though she was a daughter of ‘ingoli’ (someone from South Africa, and was from a