The Long Journey of Poppie Nongena

by Elsa Joubert

  Thandi was not yet four years old. She bound a towel round her body and clapped her hands above her head and twisted her bottom. Her dancing was different to that of the other children, she twisted her bottom in the way of the witchdoctor woman. Nomvula stopped dancing and watched Thandi following the witchdoctor woman down the street. But Poppie grabbed the child in her arms and carried her back to the house.

  You stop this now, she shouted at the children, one doesn’t make fun of older people.

  We’re not making fun of the ouma, cried Bonsile, we are just doing like the ouma does.

  Leave the children alone, said tata-ka-Bonsile.

  Poppie was angry. I’m a church-woman, do you hear. I don’t have part in this kind of thing.

  And when last were you in church, said tata-ka-Bonsile.

  It’s you with your jealousy that keeps me away, she wanted to answer back, but she kept her mouth shut.

  The ouma is also a church-goer, said tata-ka-Bonsile. And to that she had no reply. When she collected for her church and asked Makhulu and the witchdoctor woman, they’d take out their money and pay their tickets. They never missed out.

  If the white doctors can’t help you, you must try the tribal doctors, said Makhulu to Stone.

  Poppie remembered what ouma Hannie had told her, right at the end of her life. It’s like an injection needle, Poppie. The doctor can kill you with it, or make you well. As long as he makes you well, it is good. If the witchdoctor woman can help a person, it is also good. It is a kind of faith. But it is not my faith.

  This she had said in Lamberts Bay when she was close to dying. And now tata-ka-Bonsile kept on with this witchdoctor thing.

  You should have let the old man doctor him, buti Plank said when she chased the ragged old man from her house.

  So she couldn’t go against them when old Makhulu came to tell of a clever witchdoctor man, a Mr Mkwena. And when Spannerboy, home from the sea, said he would give the money for it, tata-ka-Bonsile answered: Now you can’t stop me again.

  They walked a long distance to the other side of Nyanga where Mr Mkwena lived in a council house. The house was built of bricks, whitewashed, and a low wall was built round the garden with a cement footpath leading to the front door. Built against the house was a corrugated iron lean-to, and the young boy who opened the door to their knock took them there. Before they walked round the house, Poppie looked through the open front door and saw the furniture and the wireless and the artificial flowers and the glassware on the sideboard.

  The lean-to was his surgery, where he kept his medicines. On the shelves were canned-fruit bottles with roots and bits of shrubs and leaves and seedpods in them, and next to the bottles coils of hair and jackal tails and bones and broken animal skeletons, on the floor in a corner an intact snake skin.

  They sat waiting on two low benches but Poppie felt ill at ease. I don’t like this kind of thing.

  You must shut up when the man comes in, tata-ka-Bonsile said.

  She knew she must not speak, it’s akuthethwa eyezeri – when someone works with tribal medicine nobody may say a word.

  I’ll hold my mouth, she says, but it’s a nonsense thing that you are doing. She wished to take tata-ka-Bonsile’s arm and lead him home. The Lord is not in this place, she wished to say to him.

  But he sat waiting and she waited along with him.

  The witchdoctor was a lean man, with a long neck and a sharply pointed face, very dark of complexion, with close-set eyes. He kept on twitching his eyes. He wore an ordinary suit and tie, the white string of beads he wore round the wrist under his cuff was the only sign of his being a witchdoctor.

  He sat on a stool opposite them and asked them without looking up: Do you want short news or long news?

  Stone had the feel of the five-pound note of his buti in his pocket. Long news, he answered.

  First the doctor got up and walked out, but he came back after a while. Then he sat down and pulled a stool closer and put down a lamp on it. The boy lit the lamp and put down a small mirror, the kind a woman carries in her hand bag, and a paper and a pencil beside the lamp. Then the doctor spoke words we could not follow, lifted the mirror, turned it round, looked into it and then made pencil marks on the paper. He started speaking. After a time I couldn’t listen any more, mama, said Poppie, he spoke such nonsense, and tata-ka-Bonsile just kept answering: Siyavuma, siyavuma – yes, yes –to everything he said.

  He said tata-ka-Bonsile had been poisoned, not here, but in his home country, a clansman had put the poison in his food. We must go home, he said, and tell all the family to gather at our house, and Monday at hanging sun they’ll see him drawing out the poison.

  On Sunday Stone went to tell his whole clan and Monday at sunset they were all there, they waited until dark, but the doctor man didn’t turn up.

  Tuesday tata-ka-Bonsile went to ask him: And what now?

  Monday isn’t a good day, he said, I’ll come tomorrow.

  But the next day the clansmen wouldn’t come the whole distance again, then it was just buti Spannerboy and Makhulu and an old man Majola, living opposite us, and buti Mosie and I were there to watch, says Poppie.

  Light more lamps, he said, when he came, there must be enough light for you to see the poison.

  Then the man started shaking. He said to tata-ka-Bonsile: Take off your shirt. Come here and kneel in front of me.

  Then he took the razor-blade to cut tata-ka-Bonsile. I hate that kind of thing. He cut him across his stomach and pressed the cut to keep the blood back. He took a tobacco pouch from his jacket pocket and loosened the thong with his teeth. He took from it a horn, I think it was a springbok’s horn.

  Bring a glass jar, he said, so you can see the poison.

  He pressed the horn on the cut and started sucking it. He sucked and he sucked. Nodding his head, he said: Hmm, this poison is very old and strong, it won’t come out.

  Buti Mosie and I looked at each other and I thought, now if I were a man, I’d kick the witchdoctor, but we weren’t allowed to say a word, because we’d be spoiling his work.

  The doctor man took a wire from his pocket and scratched in the horn and threw something into the jar: Hauk, look what’s come out of his stomach. The others went nearer to look, but Poppie wouldn’t go. I’ll make us some tea, she said.

  And so, so what is it that came out of your stomach, she asked tata-ka-Bonsile when the people had left. Aren’t you going to lie down, other days you are in bed by now.

  She looked into the jar and turned it over on the table. It looked like dog’s or cat’s hair that had been mixed with grease to form a little ball.

  Nothing came out of your guts, says Poppie. If anything had come from your guts, your guts would have been cut up, you would have been in a flat faint, and I would have had to rush you to hospital to have your guts stitched up.

  Shut your mouth, tata-ka-Bonsile shouted at her. Shut your mouth about my affairs. Or is it that you want me to die so that you can marry the pa of the child in your belly?

  That man came to rob you, said Poppie.

  He was shaking so much with anger she made him sit down on the bed.

  Was that thing really in the horn? she asked.

  Yes, said tata-ka-Bonsile.

  Can’t you see that the man took a wire and scratched it out of the horn. Are you so stupid?

  She helped him to undress and lie down.

  I was made a fool of, he said to her at last. I’ll go to him tomorrow and demand back my money.

  You won’t get it back, said Poppie. But it was your buti’s money, I’m not worrying about the money.

  Was it the right thing for you to lower the witchdoctor in your husband’s eyes? mama asked her.

  Because Stone stayed sick. After three months he went back to hospital.

  Buti Mosie told her: Sisi, you are heavy again, you must leave the char job. I’ll look after you. ‘Cause your children are my children.

  My buti, you are past thirty. The time will co
me that you will take a wife to you.

  Poppie had heard stories that buti Mosie was keeping company with a girl from the St John’s Ambulance classes but she did not question him about it. She and buti Mosie were alone now; buti Plank was away on the fishing boats and buti Spannerboy had gone to Tristan da Cunha islands with the ships, and Johnnie Drop-Eye had left them and where buti Hoedjie and Muis were living nobody could say. And even when the boats were in, there was so much fish that buti Plank remained living at Kalk Bay. He had moved in with a coloured woman whom they did not know.

  Let me keep on working, says Poppie, everything can’t rest on your shoulders, my buti.

  36

  Of an evening old Makhulu brought a strange man to Poppie’s house, a small man, half coloured, half Xhosa.

  I look to help an old man, he said, an old man with the clan name of Mgwevu. By the help of the Lord I am well now. When I lay in hospital next to him, the old man asked me: When you leave, my little brother, ask around after my people, my people here in Cape Town. People with the clan name of Mgwevu. Then you tell them their oompie Pengi from Upington lies sick in the Groote Schuur hospital.

  The small man held his head askew, enquiringly. I was told a daughter is living here whose mama when she was young, had the clan name of Mgwevu. So the old woman brought me to you, sisi.

  Poppie felt her legs grow weak under her. She sat down at the table, tears started running down her cheeks.

  Sit down, Makhulu told the strange man. I’ll make some tea.

  She gave Poppie tea to drink, with sugar. It’s the shock, she told the old man. This sisi was very fond of this uncle Pengi, but she thought she would never see him again.

  I must go to mama, said Poppie.

  Your mama works sleep-in.

  I must go tell my stepfather so he can telephone mama from his work tomorrow.

  The strange man walked with her from Jakkalsvlei to mama’s house.

  This is far out of my way, he said, but she didn’t hear him. They kept close to the houses, across the street it was bush. And behind the bush the skollies hid. They came slinking along the dirt road, their gum boots making no noise, and before you knew where you were, they grabbed you. Here Poppie did not walk at night. But tonight she sees no bush, nor her mama’s church which they pass, nor the bus road, nor the street with the lamp posts. She sees nothing till she stands in front of mama’s house.

  The people here will walk back with me, she told the old man.

  Her stepfather was asleep, but the children were still awake, doing school work.

  Go fetch your father, Poppie said.

  Buti, said Poppie, you must phone mama. Her tears started again. Like Makhulu, the children were unused to their sisi’s tears. Their father didn’t argue either.

  Oompie Pengi is in the Groote Schuur hospital.

  Pieta and Jakkie walked home with her. She lay awake, worrying, till she thought: By now they should be safely home.

  Buti Mosie came home late from his classes. Why didn’t you wait for me, sisi?

  I was in too much of a hurry, buti, I never thought of waiting.

  The next evening they filled the big lift at the hospital: mama who got off from her sleep-in, Mosie, Poppie, Pieta, Katie and Jakkie. When they were all standing round oompie Pengi’s bed, buti Hoedjie also showed up. Mama had sent him a message.

  At first they didn’t know oompie Pengi. And the tiny, wrinkled little man in the big bed under the grey blanket, did not know them either. Till mama went up to the head of the bed and put her hand on his shoulder.

  Pengi, she said, this is Lena.

  His bright eyes wandered around the bed.

  And this lot?

  These are the children you chased from your house when you burnt it down.

  He seemed to like Poppie better than his sister Lena. Perhaps he took Poppie to be Lena. She stood on the other side of the bed next to him and he held her hand. His grip was strong, it seemed to Poppie that it was ouma Hannie’s hand on her fingers.

  He pulled her nearer to him. My sister’s child, he said. It’s gone poorly with me: my mama threw me out, and now I had to live with this person, and then with that person. And then I got so ill in Upington. I dreamt I walked into a big house and out again, and outside a taxi waited. Then a man in a white coat opened the door of the taxi and said, old Pengi, get in. But I ducked back, I wouldn’t get in and he drove away again. My sister’s child, I was so sick and when I ducked back the taxi drove away. If I had gotten into the taxi, it was tickets with me.

  What does all this mean, oompie Pengi? Poppie asked.

  My God, it was Death, the man with the white coat who wanted me to get in.

  He didn’t talk much to the others and when they were leaving, he clutched Poppie’s arm once more. Where then is my old Plankie? Isn’t he coming to see his oompie?

  The others had left the ward, but she remained at his bed. She told him what she has never told the others about her hard life. What have they got against me, oompie Pengi, that I must struggle so much? Oompie Pengi, I wear my feet out walking to the office. It’s now almost five years that I am walking. But they won’t give me the stamp to stay.

  The next day she stayed away from work and took the train from Claremont to Kalk Bay to look for Plank.

  From the station she walked to the fishing harbour. She pushed her way through the coloured people and saw a fisherman she knew from Lamberts Bay.

  Where’s Maplank? she asked. Where can I find him?

  His boat is still at sea, but wait a little bit, sisi, he won’t be long.

  She waited on the jetty. She smelt the fish and the sea water and the diesel smell of the boats. She watched the first boats coming in past the breakwater. The fishermen threw out the shining snoek on the jetty and buyers started bidding.

  One of the fishermen she had known at Lamberts Bay came to greet her. He bought her a cool drink and asked: Is life treating you well in Cape Town?

  She did not speak to him about her troubles. One keeps them to oneself, this she had learned. If you fall out with friends, nothing stops them from going to the pass office and telling: That woman hasn’t got extension, go check her pass. She stood outside the harbour cafe, sucking at the cool drink through a straw. She was glad to be near the sea again, to smell the fish and to hear the sounds of the boats and the fishermen. But this harbour was different to the one at Lamberts Bay. There the snoek was thrown out from the dinghies on to the beach and they could pick up their skirts and wade in the shallow water to the boats. Here people waited on the jetty.

  Her ears caught the faint thug-thug of boats approaching, the sound changing as they cut the engines. Two boats came round by the breakwater to tie up alongside the jetty. The fish dealers pulled their lorries up as close as they could get to the fish being thrown out on the jetty. Poppie pushed her way through the people, because this one was Plank’s boat, and he must see her.

  There is much noise as the dealers bid, forty, fifty, up to eighty cents per fish. The baskets were emptied and the dealers’ crates filled and carried on the lorries. People shoved her aside and the children who were fish cleaners swore at her but she kept her place till buti Plank had finished his work and came to her.

  Molo, Poppie, he said.

  His forefinger was thrust through the bloodied gills of a fish. He took a piece of string from his pocket and threaded it where his finger was, for her to carry.

  Molo, buti. She took the fish from him, carefully.

  And this, buti? she asked, pointing to his head.

  He had taken off his oilskin jacket, but the ends of his trousers were still pushed into his gum boots. He wore a woollen jersey and a woollen cap on his head. She was pointing at the white bandage which showed under the cap and at the back of his neck. His skin was shaved and painted with red disinfectant.

  Carefully he touched his ear, as if it was hurting.

  God, my sister, that Hottentot hit me with a plank, he got me flat on the grou
nd. I chewed the ground. God, man, when I got up I said to myself: Ja, it’s the same ear that won’t hear.

  She knew that ear had been hurt badly before.

  Perhaps now that ear will hear when we talk about drink, my buti, said Poppie. Because she knew the fight was caused by drink:

  I came to tell you, buti, that oompie Pengi is here. In the Groote Schuur hospital. He wants buti to visit him before he goes back to Upington.

  He wouldn’t believe her. You fucking well lie to me, he said.

  I saw him last night, buti, that’s why I come to find you.

  So he believed her.

  You hear? he says to his mates on the boats. You fucking well hear me, my bloody little oompie from Upington has come. You hear me, it’s the oompie that taught me to tapdance, that taught me to sing, nader na die pale toe... you devil, you bloody little oompie, said buti Plank. He had forgotten about his ear, he had forgotten about the fish, he held his arms as if he was holding a woman or a syrup-tin guitar. He hunched his shoulders and danced a few steps. Oompie Pengi, he said, tonight we tap-dance that hospital into its blue arse and back.

  37

  The month’s extension that the office had given her had again expired.

  I always struggled to get another extension, says Poppie, but I never knew whether they would give it or not.

  She sent word that she wasn’t coming to char. She left the children at home and walked to the bus stop. A thick mist covered the mountain and the whole of Nyanga, bringing dampness to face and clothes.

  Are you going to the pass office? the other women at the bus shelter asked her.

  They knew her. Sometimes, knowing that she would again be kept waiting the whole day at the pass office, she asked them: When you come from work, go into my house to see if the children are all right. She didn’t care any more if they took her stuff; they must take what they wish. Or she asked them: Send your girl child when she comes from school to keep an eye on my children. Now that she was nearing her time, she worried, she saw ill-omens everywhere, mostly she feared that the children would set the house alight. I feared fire, that was the worst, the house burning down, with them inside.