Not Fiction

By Moedi Mokaba

Moeki Mokaba's Not Fiction is that rarity - something wholly new. He is a South African poet born in the outskirts of Johannesburg and bred in one of the country's countless rural villages; his in Limpopo before being raised in the dusty Orange Farm ghetto and then later settling with his family in the Kagiso location.
Growing up in that neighbourhood impacted on his physical and mental growth. He recognises his life, alongside millions of other South Africans, has fundamentally changed because of an unhealthy sense of humanism and inhumane claims to fame that can potentially rival prominent public figures including South Africa's first democratically elected black president,
Nelson Mandela.
Describing himself as "a simple, average guy", Mokaba says the price of that taboo fame is costly and his non-fiction memoir hints to his mental attitudes and how they fit into everyday life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Moedi Mokaba
• Release date: Dec 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223552611

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Copyright © 2023 Moedi Mokaba

First edition 2023

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 any information storage or retrieval system without permission from the copyright holder.

The Author has made every effort to trace and acknowledge sources/resources/individuals. In the event that any images/information have been incorrectly attributed or credited, the Author will be pleased to rectify these omissions at the earliest opportunity.

Published by Moedi Mokaba using Reach Publishers’ services,

P O Box 1384, Wandsbeck, South Africa, 3631

Edited by Andrew Pender-Smith for Reach Publishers

Cover designed by Reach Publishers

Website: www.reachpublishers.org

E-mail: [e-mail]

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Moedi Mokaba

[e-mail]

Names have been changed (except those of my dearly beloved ones) to protect identities. However, the events and the unfortunate experiences written herein are based on real events. Everything is....

NOT FICTION

Introduction

As I have survived and lived on far enough to tell the tale, I have felt the need to write this book. It is unconventional, compared to what may be dubbed the usual taste of many bookworms, as it is quite an unusual and distasteful cup of tea because of its contents. I am sure the reader will find this to be so as he or she goes through the chapters, especially when heading towards the middle and all the way to the end of the book. I believe wholeheartedly that this is a good read regardless of some (if any) errors, as it will not only challenge or strengthen one’s faith but will also change and hopefully evoke a new perspective on how we view ourselves as human beings. I am a South African poet, and this is my first attempt at writing a book, so please ignore any errors and read on, as I want to tell my story – a story which includes various strange events.

As the saying goes: God works in mysterious ways. This book is testament to that belief, as it poses new questions about the links between those who dwell in the other world and our human universe. It also evokes another well-known phrase: Just when you think you know it all, something new comes up. These real occurrences (the traumas I experienced) can potentially unravel some of the other mysteries of the human mind.

Many undesirable occurrences, past and present, within our communities are overlooked or swept under the rug, while the attractive ones are portrayed as reality. It is often a front to ensure that outsiders only see the good while the uglier side remains hidden. As a product of my environment, I was driven to divulge my ugly experiences. I conclude this introduction by touching on how I believe in doing good to others. This is the unwritten law by which I have chosen to live, particularly given my own bad experiences, because I also believe life is about energy. What you receive stems from what you have given. The same applies to doing bad things. Hence, I believe in sending out good energy, firstly in the hope it is returned, but mainly that it benefits others. Please read this book to the end and enjoy its uncommon contents and unfamiliar story – all of which is based on true events. It really is ‘Not Fiction’.

Chapter 1

The Nature of Our Neighbourhood

It was in 2000 (the Year of the Dragon) when my family and I moved to Kagiso extension 11. Kagiso is a Setswana word meaning peace, and the residents seemed peaceful enough. They lived in peace and harmony, but things are seldom as they appear. I arrived at my new homestead as a nine-year-old boy and headed to Bathuseng Primary School to continue my education. At that stage I was in Grade Four. As with any unfamiliar territory, I initially found the adjustment difficult as many of the things I had been taught had to change. This included my medium of instruction, my writing, and how to get along with the neighbourhood children.

Being the last of seven siblings, I was often left with my second-oldest brother Thobela and his wife while my parents performed church duties and my other siblings continued with their lives. There were plenty of good times under his care, but also times when I felt a heightened lack of belonging and loneliness, particularly when my siblings were away. I sometimes endured physical and verbal abuse from my second older brother and, at the tender age of 12, I toyed with suicidal thoughts while messing around with razor blades. On one occasion I carved fuck life on my arm and, on reflection of that period, I think about how I did not feel comfort or belonging in my new home or area. Those times of self-hurt, a phase that lasted a few months, served as an escape from what I was going through – the constant neglect, abuse, and lack of belonging. As I reached my teens, I eventually faced those demons and resolved the negative emotions.

In hindsight, we were viewed differently from the moment we moved into the neighbourhood. We entertained a novel approach to settling in that perhaps garnered attention and stimulated curiosity. The plot my parents bought was a dump site and required extensive work, including removing the rubbish, levelling the ground, drafting the house plan, building the foundations, and finally constructing a nine-roomed house from scratch. We were one of a few families who achieved that level of construction without hiring a construction company.

The neighbourhood was sophisticated, mostly constituting houses the occupants paid for monthly alongside other services like waste disposal and some maintenance provided by the municipality. Hence, the structures were similar to each other, but different from ours, and this rendered our property open for scrutiny. There was a healthy (or rather unhealthy) sense of competition and judgement among the residents and an unsettling vibe regarding their nature, but as children we never thought much about it.

Born and bred in the village of Ga-Molepo in Limpopo before moving to Johannesburg, Orange Farm township. When finally settling in Kagiso my mother was 55 years old and my father 62. In many areas populated by Black South Africans, there is a stigma attached to people who come from the villages. There is an unfounded belief that every village dweller practices witchcraft and, given our background, we were under suspicion.

I remember playing in my neighbour’s yard with the children who lived there when the child from next door joined us. We were playing with a dead rat we had found in the yard and the household’s children wrestled the newcomer to the ground, stripped him and shoved the rat on to his genitals. They then pulled up his pants with the rat still in his underwear. He cried frantically and ran out of the yard, while the rest of them laughed. He never returned to the yard to play and it was the first time I noticed how cruel and evil our neighbours could be.

We were not as well-off as the rest of the residents. My father was a gardener working in the outskirts of Johannesburg while my mother attempted to make ends meet with her sewing business. Hence, we did not have the bells and whistles that may have helped us fit into the neighbourhood. However, we managed with the little we had as we slowly found our feet as the new family on the block. As one of the older residents, coupled with the stereotyping attached to people from rural villages, some residents assumed my mother was a witch. Their prejudice was based on her age and dark complexion and because she came from Limpopo, a province notorious for witchcraft. However, that did not deter her, a naturally social person, from making friends.

The Difference Between Our Residents

Kagiso is made up of different cultural groups and various languages such as isiZulu, Xitsonga, Sotho, Pedi, and Xhosa with Setswana the dominant language. There was, and still is, some sense of tribalism within the community where cultural groups stick together. Yet, despite their differences, the residents also gel and interact. At first, we tried conforming and keeping up with the lifestyle of our environment such as painting the house every few months, maintaining a budget, employing gardeners, or keeping to ourselves. Basically, we were copying the local trends by emulating the neighbourhood mannerisms. However, my parents could not help falling back on their rural ways such as cooking on an open fire to save electricity or if there was a power cut, and storing water in large containers to avoid water shortages. They also found a field in which to grow crops to prevent food shortages, but their behaviour only fuelled the suspicions that the family was involved in witchcraft. Again, my mother was on the suspects’ list.

Since the community shared similarities in housing and lifestyle, one would assume there was solidarity, but the opposite was true. It was rare to see someone borrow anything or ask for a cup of sugar. Only a few people visited their neighbours or chatted casually with others and goodwill was thin. People typically only cared about bettering themselves and pulling down another person (or small group) if they were deemed inferior. The residents secretly judged and criticised one another and did not get involved in each other’s lives in a positive way. In a nutshell, there was a lack of solidarity even though most of them experienced a similar living standard. Perhaps that was the problem. Animosity bubbled under the surface, especially towards my family as we were different, and Kagiso did not live up to its name. The vibe was more competition than peace.

With the similarities apparent, the differences were drawn along cultural lines and backgrounds. People were alike yet divided akin to the same brand of factory products assembled on a conveyer belt.

Teenagehood and Friends

Despite the minor home challenges, things were finally taking shape in terms of making friends in the neighbourhood and at school. School also became a breeze, and I passed my classes with solid As.

Thobela and his wife Lerato moved out of the house, leaving me with my siblings who were simply getting on with their lives. My parents? Well, they were not often around. My father was always working while my mother was hustling for sewing work. On weekends they went to church, so I was often left to my own devices. Growing up in my siblings’ shadows turned me into the forgotten or lost (if not the black one) sheep of the family where I was often over-looked or disregarded, probably because I was still a child. At first my mother and I did not get along. We had no bond and, with my siblings hogging the attention, I felt excluded from the family unit, especially during the peak of my teenage years. During those times I felt lost, triggering some of the suicidal thoughts I had experienced (but fortunately never attempted) as a young boy. The outcome was I failed Grade Ten.

I was 17 when Aunt Anna came to visit and, after telling her about my bad relationship with my mother, she became our mediator. Her intervention brought my mother and I closer than we had ever been and, after putting aside our issues, we became good friends. As we grew older, my neighbourhood friends and I drifted apart as we no longer shared the same interests. We slowly went our separate ways as things were not the same, but there was still a shared kinship from our childhood experiences.

Like any other troubled teen, I developed bad habits such as smoking. I formed new friendships and reunited with friends I had known in primary school. The two groups lived in different parts of the same neighbourhood, and some brought with them good influences and others the introduction of substance experimentation. Yet, they were not bad people; just a small bunch of misguided teens with whom I would hang out. Our relationships were based on getting high on marijuana, sometimes drinking during school hours and smoking cigarettes. Despite our slightly unruly juvenile antics, we stayed in school and did our best to make something of ourselves rather than fall under the label of corrupt teenage delinquents.

My sister Pheladi had three children from three absent fathers. Her first child, Toi, was born with a disability. He could not speak and did not have the dexterity to use sign language. His brain development was slow for his age, affecting his co-ordination and he struggled with day-to-day tasks such as brushing his teeth or bathing. Around his teens, he started having epileptic seizures and required treatment. The other two children, born three years apart, were normal.

Initially, Pheladi tried raising them, but became neglectful and left the family with the responsibility while she went off to who knows where? for months on end. With our newly rekindled bond, my mother and I were on the frontline in caring for those children.

Growing old and a bit frail, Pebetsi made it her duty to pass on her knowledge, mostly meant for my sister. Since she was not around, I was the one my mother trusted to take her place in the family. As an eight-year-old boy, I learnt to cook, wash and clean, and by 17 could do most of the duties typically reserved for women. Some of that knowledge included life lessons such as taking care of the household and some tricks for running a business. She also noticed my creative skills and taught me sewing, crafting, and beading. Basically, she was sharing her wisdom on navigating life’s obstacles. Through my aunt’s intervention, my mother and I went on to become best friends and made a formidable tag team for the family. We travelled to various places, went grocery shopping, and purchased sewing materials for her business, generally savouring in the opportunity to spend time together.

By my later teenagehood, I was more productive in crafting and was fine-tuning some of my business skills. However, I was not coping at school even though I was one of the brightest children in class. Underpinning the problem was the company I kept, incompetence of some educators and distractions at home. Failing Grade 11, I dropped out of school. I had bitten off more than I could chew, so some things had to give, and school was one of them. Like any other teen, I found my first girlfriend within the neighbourhood, but after we broke up, she hooked up with my brother.

Now that school was out of the way, I had time on my hands. My brother Ace, along with Pebetsi, had saved money to open a local payphone outlet (pre-smart phones) and generate more household income. At first, the business did well, but as time progressed, the profits declined and, when I consider it honestly, I was not doing a great job at running it. After a month shy of a year, I was bored and closed it down as my interests were focused on crafting beads and designing cultural or traditional attire I would sell in my home village Ga-Molepo.

Adulthood and Friends

With time on my hands, my eyes were fully opened to the realities of the not-so-charming side of my neighbourhood. The area exuded a feeling of nothingness as its residents had nothing to do beyond exist. Since this was the life I knew, I faded into that same hopelessness grounded by boredom and a lack of purpose.

There were no developmental projects or positive recreational activities like community projects or initiatives in our area; nothing productive that one would do to pass the time beyond partying or visiting the local tavern. The tediousness of being in the same place and experiencing the same routine eventually got to me, so I regularly travelled to my home village for an extended stay; return to Johannesburg for a while and repeat the process. Knowing our lives were in a limbo, Katlego suggested we enrol at a college. We had nothing better to do with our time.

However, we didn’t have the required capital, so we applied for a bursary to do an engineering course. There were limited options available, and since we had taken mechanical engineering in high school, we figured it would be best to continue with something with which we were familiar. We were now college students and things were going well. We had passed our first year and received our certificates, but the second year proved more challenging. The bursary no longer fully covered our studies and the course had become harder. After failing some subjects and lacking funds, Katlego dropped out. I could have suffered the same fate, but elected to change course and apply for a bursary that would fully cover the costs. This was electrical engineering.

I was gradually settling in and had passed my first and second trimester, but little did I know there would be unknown forces in my way (call it bad luck or misfortune) working against me. At the time Toi was in and out of hospital with epileptic seizures. My father was working, my mother was not always available, my sister was missing in action and Ace was occupied with his new job. Consequently, on the day I was scheduled to write my exam, I remained at home to tend to Toi in case he had another episode. I was the only one potentially available and he had just been discharged from hospital. However, that sacrifice meant I automatically failed the third trimester.

I re-enrolled, but come the exam time, bad fortune struck again, this time in the form of transportation. I went to the taxi stop and waited … and waited …. and waited in vain until the time I was supposed to be in the exam room. No taxis appeared and I later learnt there was a taxi strike happening and, since the college was far out in the city, I had no choice but to walk home.

I enrolled for the third time and ensured I had tied up any loose ends to avoid potential mishaps or hindrances. There was already an outstanding balance for my studies, but I somehow secured a bursary that also covered the transport costs. One would think third time lucky, but no. Despite the preventive measures and strategic planning, I still could not write my exam and again the issue was transport related. This time the transport for which I had applied did not arrive. Now running late, I walked and ran to the taxi stop only to have to wait some more and then learn (once again) that there was a taxi strike.

I had now spent two years trying to complete my third trimester in vain and I dropped out of college.

Back to School

I was back to square one with nothing to occupy my time beyond staying at home or wandering around the neighbourhood. I never really hung out much in my extension, usually travelling to a different one where most of my friends lived. When not there, I moped around at home with the family.

Things eventually settled down regarding my parents’ movements or activities. My father had retired from gardening and my mother was now more present at home. She tended to her crops in the yard along with her other field of crops growing a little further away.

Life changed significantly for my siblings when Ace moved out. He was later followed by Nallah, who didn’t stray too far and only lived a block away. Pheladi was still out-and-about, gallivanting for months on end, so the household now consisted of my two nephews and a niece, big brother Si, my parents and myself. My parents were now well into their sixties and receiving a government pension. Toi received a disability social grant, so the household situation was not too bad. However, that said, living off the government’s social funding was not ideal and other means to make ends meet had to be found. Pebetsi and I combined our small businesses where she did the sewing while I did the crafting and beading. The aim was to improve productivity and expand our business where we were already making more traditional attire such as church outfits and other indigenous products. The business was turning over a great profit because we made everything ourselves from scratch.

Meanwhile, Katlego was during his matric (Grade 12) through a night school in extension 12 not far from our neighbourhood. Although we were birds of a feather, I was not keen on joining him; the thought of attending night school was embarrassing. However, three months after starting classes, he convinced me to register and soon I, too, was attending night school. There was a significant amount of catching up required and, because I felt slightly ashamed to be in night school, I bunked classes and typically caught up at home.

There were six months until the final exams, and I had to juggle schoolwork, business commitments and housework. It meant making merchandise for the business and helping my mother while studying. I was under immense pressure to catch up on schoolwork and had to study virtually every night just to have any hope of passing matric. With one month left before the exams began, I thought I had my ducks in a row and was ready.

Then my bad luck struck again. When the final exam schedule was issued, I discovered I had been studying four wrong subjects and was not assigned to write them. These were except for the compulsory subjects: maths, English and Setswana.

I did not have the right textbooks and it was only days before I was now due to begin writing. I had no trouble with the compulsory subjects and did not even bother prepping for them. It was with those four subjects that I had to pull off a miracle and rely on my understanding and general knowledge. However, general knowledge also told me that general knowledge alone would not be sufficient, so I borrowed and made copies of the textbooks for the newly assigned subjects, then studied through the night to cram in as much as I could. The next morning, I wrote the exam and hoped for the best.

More than five months later, the results were released and, of the night school matriculants in Gauteng, only 10 students passed matric. Katlego and I were on that list. The hard work had paid off and I had finally finished school.

Chapter 2

The Neighbourhood Watch

Prior to Ace moving out, things were quite okay in our household, but after he had found a job at a telecommunications company, we were then able to live a fairly comfortable life and became well-off enough to afford some of the bells and whistles such as hot water, good food, a land line, and all those other nice things, which also put a stop to our parents’ rural ways.

For once we felt like we belonged and things were all right, but to some, if not most, my brother’s success and his newly found means of provision for the family and himself did not sit well with some of the residents in the neighbourhood, and only a select few were genuinely happy for him.

Other than being under the suspicion of witchcraft, we were quite popular because we had the latest games and gaming consoles. Some of our friends who lived in different parts of our area, or on the same street, would come over and play. Life was good for a while with no worries. It was so good that we were oblivious as to how some people really felt about us.

I got used to commuting and travelling around so much that I was not able bear staying in one place for too long. I spent most of my free time in Limpopo where I changed between the locations of my home villages of Ga-Molepo and Ga-Mashashane, and sometimes go and visit friends and family from my old settlement of Orange Farm. One day, when I had just arrived back home from Ga-Mashashane, Ace informed me that our house was broken into while I was away. He explained how the burglar, or burglars, broke in through his bedroom window and stole our television along with our gaming console while he was out and while our close-knit family was still sleeping. They reported the matter to the police the following day. However, the police went on to do very little with their investigation. They then went on to close the case due to lack of evidence. This was their excuse regarding their lack of interest in the matter. This was despite them being directly informed and hearing the word on the street that our next-door neighbour was taking our belongings. The police said they could not find proof.

After the break-in, we reinforced our house with steel barricades fitted over the door and windows. As an extra security measure, we built a wall also fitted with barricades and later replaced the stolen items.

Ace had also felt the unsettling vibe in our neighbourhood after he had started working at the telecommunication company. Despite the security measures that were now in place, our house was still getting broken into and robbed. This got to a point where Ace had had enough and, feeling the need for his own space, moved out.

A couple of years later I would bump into an old childhood friend of mine from primary school. His name was Bramlin and I had not seen him in a while. As we were catching up, he went on to tell me about a youth development programme camp that he had been on recently, and he talked of how it had transformed his life. He did seem different as he was more energetic and so full of life, and altogether much more animated than the last time I had met up with him. Bramlin would go on to tell me more about the development programme called ‘Elevate!’ He thought I would be a perfect fit for the programme. He then assisted me with the registration process and in the first month of the year I got accepted and was set to go on a year-long camp. The programme was divided into three modules where we would stay (in a lodge) at the camp for a week for each module and get to learn about some new things.

Being part of the programme was one of the best times of my life. It was an amazing experience where I got to learn a lot of things such as the inner workings of the government, past and present activists, and uplifting the community, along with other eye-opening stuff. I even got the chance to connect and learn a lot more about myself and had also met a lot of young, driven people. Within that group I also managed to get a girlfriend, which was a nice bonus. I went on to complete the programme, and from then on, I became part of a network full of amazing people who shared the common goal of changing communities for the better to ultimately change the nation through youth development, youth empowerment, and uplifting our societies.

Being part of something this great and wonderful gave me a new lease on life and I was now determined to make a difference in my community no matter how big or small the change might be. Like my friend Bramlin, I too was now full of life, more active, rejuvenated, and ready to tackle the social ills of my environment regardless of how big or small they might be. Before anything else that change had to start with me. With the help of my beloved friend named Nkosazana, we both went on to register our businesses. She registered her beauty salon while I registered an arts and crafts business called BeXtra. With my new establishment I went on to collaborate with other young entrepreneurs and young up-and-coming artists by hosting events, setting up market days and facilitating bead lessons for the youth in our community. All was going well, and my life was now taking a turn for the best.

Some of the friends I used to hang out with were now moving on to harder drugs to pass the time. With me now being this newly improved self, I now had this ‘hero syndrome’ as I thought that I could try and get them off those drugs. I went to meet up with them and we talked about the issue at hand along with how they could kick the drugs, but as time went on things did not turn out the way I thought they would. Instead, I was gradually getting roped in into their world and I also started experimenting with those drugs and before I knew it, I had now become an occasional user.

Things were never quite the same ever since Ace moved out of the house. Our home was now slowly losing its glory while my parents were not getting any younger and with all my siblings out of the house, I was the only one left to keep the balance within the household.

Towards the end of February 2017, I set out to build a two-roomed house in my parent’s yard. I began to build the house from the ground up, doing the construction all by myself. I was building the house just so I could have my own space without having to stray too far from home, and so that I would be able to keep a close eye on the family and the household. Nearly three months after I began, the two-roomed house was finished and all that was left for me to do was furnish the inside. I was now tasked with making it homier and more hospitable.

I was too caught up with my little humble abode and was also totally oblivious to the fact that I was under the neighbourhood’s watch. After I had finished building the house, some of the residents in my neighbourhood were now convinced that we did