The Long Journey of Poppie Nongena

by Elsa Joubert

  She went by bus to Claremont station and felt her time was very near. It was hard to walk. The clinic had told her the baby would come in the middle of the month. It was the beginning of the month. When the train pulled in at Claremont station, she pressed her heavy body forward with difficulty, clinging to the rail to lift herself. The door banged to behind her before she sat and she had to hold on to the seat before turning to sit down.

  Only a few stations before they reached Observatory. She passed through the subway to the street taking her to Standard House where the papers are given for the pass to be changed.

  Because of the rain, there were no long queues of people waiting outside in the street. All had pressed inside the building to get out of the wet, and were crowding the passages. She pushed in through the door and was shown where to join the end of the queue. The people moved forward inch by inch, for long stretches of time the queue did not move at all.

  Poppie tried to wipe the wetness from the shoulders and sleeves of her coat. The coat was mohair, bought secondhand from Mrs Scobie. It was too small for her and pulled over the shoulders and didn’t do up properly down the front, though being heavy, no piece of clothing would close in any case. Being big of build she did not show so much. The rain had soaked through the coat and down her back but she did not feel the cold. The passages were crowded, the air stuffy and warm, she smelt wet clothes and body heat. It was better to be inside with the others than outside in the rain.

  When the queue started moving and the first people entered the waiting room, the women in front and behind her said: Go and sit on the bench there. We’ll keep your place.

  They said to each other: When one is nearing the end, it is hard to stand so long.

  Right through the lunch hour they queued. Other women came and sat ‘with her. Poppie talked, but not too much. Sometimes it was easier to talk to these strange women about the trouble with her pass than to her mother or her neighbours or her brothers. My husband’s boss died, one woman told her, before he could work the full ten years. How could he now help that, tell me? I’m coming to speak for my child, another woman said, I want her to come back to stay with me. My husband is sick, said Poppie, that’s why he can’t work.

  After lunch the white men came back and the queue started moving again slowly. At last Poppie was in the office, seated on the bench against the wall. Behind the big desk the white man sat.

  He had her file in front of him. He paged through it, he saw the declarations, the letters, the forms. He paged through the file, let the pages fall back, discouraged.

  I can’t give you another extension. It is finished now.

  He sees her eyes on his face, expressionless. Her mouth does not move to talk. He sees the heavy body.

  Look there, there behind you. He pointed to the long queues of people waiting. Every one wants extension. Everyone wants permits.

  For what is the law there if we just give, give, give?

  He drew a piece of paper towards him, wrote something on it, stamped it. Take it to Nyanga. I give you seven days, then no more. Nyanga must make the arrangements to let you leave beforehand.

  Poppie knew what the arrangements were. Papers for the train ticket. To her husband’s people. To Kaffirland.

  You would go and marry a raw Kaffir, mama had said to her. You are the one that likes Kaffirland so much. I didn’t know, mama, about the law. Could mama know about the law?

  As Poppie took the paper and walked away, the black clerk said: She’s near to her time, that woman. The white man did not answer. She heard the clerk quickly adding, as if he was afraid that he had given offence to the white man: But show me one that’s not pregnant.

  Then he let the next woman enter the room.

  Mosie was sitting reading at the kitchen table. After work he passed by the Parade and bought a book to read. He saw that Poppie was cooking more slowly than usual.

  Is it not time yet, sisi?

  It’s too soon.

  But in the night she woke him. Go and fetch old Makhulu, she said.

  The doek was off her head, it was the first thing she threw off, it made her feel hot, she wanted nothing to cling to her. She had woken up with the pain. If it is a boy child she knew it eats at the small of your back. Now it felt as if the small of her back had been broken in two, and with the pain a hotness all over her body.

  When the pain had eased and the hotness drained away, she spoke to Mosie. The nurse’s card is on the shelf, under the teapot, buti. When you have called Makhulu, tell Mamdungwana, let the man take you to fetch the nurse.

  Mosie put on his trousers, his jersey and jacket. He knew that since ‘sixty nurses didn’t come in the night unless you sent a car. He saw that Poppie was holding on to a chair, she stood quiet till the pain left her, one hand pressed into the small of her back, the other gripping the chair. When the next pain had gone, she slowly walked to the room.

  From the room she urges Mosie: Go now and call the old woman. But don’t waken the children.

  Makhulu was the first to arrive.

  Come closer so that I can hold on to you, Makhulu, said Poppie when the cramp came and she felt it was really strong.

  Makhulu stood beside the bed, and Poppie held on to her forearm.

  Mamdungwana had just thrown an overall over her nightdress and put on shoes before coming. She asked Makhulu: Is everything ready?

  Makhulu stayed with Poppie who held on to her. Mamdungwana knew the house, she lit the Primus, put on water. Where is the stuff you bought? she asked Poppie.

  You must look in the suitcase.

  By the time the water was hot, she had put out everything the nurse would need, the wash-basin, the cloths, the Dettol and soap and powder. From the top of the wardrobe she took down newspapers and brown paper.

  Put the paper on the floor, said Poppie, I can’t lie on the bed any longer.

  She got down from the bed; Makhulu held her by the arm to help her down. She knelt on the papers, on one knee, the other leg stretched out sideways. The pains came, left off for a while, came again. When they come again, without leaving off, then you feel you have to help yourself, then you start to push down.

  The child was born on the newspaper.

  It is a boy, said Makhulu.

  They wrapped something warm round him, an old blanket of one of the other children.

  The afterbirth was not down yet, so Makhulu brought a wine bottle and let Poppie blow on it, but it was no use.

  The nurse arrived and took away the bottle from Poppie. She cut the cord and tied it, then made Poppie get back on to the bed, and worked with her until the afterbirth came. Makhulu held the baby, Mamdungwana was the nurse’s hand, passing her this, then that.

  Poppie named the child Fezi, but the nurse and the old women called him Weekend. He was a small, puny baby and cried a great deal.

  Makhulu and Mamdungwana cleaned the house and gave the children food. Mama came from her sleep-in to see the baby and Mosie took mama to the bus stop in the early morning dark for her to be in time for her work. Mosie went to Westlake to tell his brother-in-law of the child that was born.

  But Poppie did not have joy in the child or the people who were rejoicing around her. Her thoughts were on the paper in her handbag, still folded the way it was when she walked out of the Observatory office. Only she knew about the paper lying there.

  She lay on her bed with a bitter feeling in her heart against her husband who had brought this thing upon her with his illness, against her brothers and sisters who did not know what was happening to her. As she moved slowly through the house, rinsed the child’s nappies, cooked food, there was a darkness like a wall between her and the people with her. Pieta and Jakkie brought gifts from mama, a blanket, more nappies, Katie and Baby wanted to play with the baby like with a doll. She talked little with them. She gave Katie the nappies she had rinsed and said: Hang the nappies on the line. Six days she stayed inside the house, because a woman who has given birth doesn’t at once go out
among men. Only after six days did she fetch water again, or walk to the washing-line.

  Tata-ka-Bonsile did not come on Sunday and sent word he was feeling worse and not allowed out.

  She moved slowly from the house, outside to the fireplace, to the washing-line, to the tap; in the mornings she wished for it to be afternoon, in the afternoon she wished for it to be evening. She stayed away from her work and sent no message to explain.

  The folded paper lay in her bag like a dirty thing she had hidden there. The devil tempted her: Ask the old witchdoctor woman who lives with Makhulu for muti against the folded piece of white paper. Let her help you the way she helps the white people with their court cases. And then fear overcame her: The muti would work against the child.

  She had nightmares and rolled about in bed, she dreamt that a goat was to be slaughtered for muti, but the child was slaughtered, not the goat. She remembered a story from the Bible about a woman who was chased into the desert with her child and she remembered a child that was slaughtered, and now she screamed in her sleep.

  Lord, she prayed, take these things away from me. But dear Lord Jesus, where must I go?

  At other times long strings of curses that buti Plank and buti Hoedjie used went through her mind till she covered her head and moaned: Ag, Lord, God, help me. Take this sin away from me.

  The nurse came every day for ten days to wash the baby but she had a lot of work and was in a hurry and couldn’t do much.

  The seventh day Mrs Retief came to see Poppie. Poppie heard the hoarse voice that she knew at the door. Mrs Retief pushed open the door and came inside.

  And so, what is going on here? she asked.

  She picked up the small bundle and opened up the blankets.

  Well, well, so this is Weekend.

  The child was small and skinny, the little arms and legs lay tightly pressed against the body, dark and creased as at birth. He was dirty and wet.

  Give me a nappy, she said, so I can clean him.

  Is Wilson helping you? she asked. She knew about Mosie, by the name of Wilson.

  Poppie nodded.

  So what’s going on here? I don’t know you like this?

  Poppie went to the room where she kept her handbag. She took the paper from the bag and gave it to Mrs Retief.

  Lord Almighty, said Mrs Retief.

  Again she looked at the date. The seven days they gave you have passed. What are we going to do with you now?

  She knew Poppie’s story. She looked at Poppie once again: Poppie’s face had grown darker, the hollows of the eyes were nearly pitch-black, she looked neglected, the house was dirty.

  You can’t leave, she said. Not with a husband in Westlake and a week-old baby. We’ll have to ask for an extension. That’s all.

  Poppie shook her head.

  Come along with me, I’ll take you to the office.

  Again Poppie shook her head. She drew back from Mrs Retief, she did not trust her either.

  Mrs Retief didn’t believe Poppie could be like this. You’re not a stupid girl. You’re quick to understand. What has happened to you?

  Poppie seemed dazed and uncomprehending, afraid to leave the safety of the pondokkie, the four walls that enclosed her like the shell of a snail.

  Mrs Retief knew that the pondok can be tom off her back the way children crush the shells of snails underfoot. She knew that Poppie knew this too, and that was why she was afraid of going to the office.

  I’ll come and fetch you, Poppie, said Mrs Retief. There is no other way out. I’ll take you in my car, then it won’t take long. I’ll say you’re sick, then they won’t keep you waiting. Come. Come now. I’m coming tomorrow morning, hey? The sooner the better.

  She lost patience. You know as well as I do that it won’t help you hiding here. Come, behave like a grown-up person, and we’ll have it fixed tomorrow morning.

  Mrs Retief spoke and the office in Observatory gave her a month’s extension and Nyanga stamped the pass.

  I must get a job, Poppie thought when she had got her extension. A job before the extension is finished. I can put the child on my back and try to get a job.

  But Muis helped her out. She brought money from Hoedjie.

  She played with the baby. Now watch this little Hottentot, she said, he doesn’t let go of his auntie’s finger.

  She looked round her. Poppie’s house had a different feel, nothing was clean and bright the way it was the first time she came there, the bed hadn’t been made, the blankets on which the children slept just kicked to one side. The linoleum in the sitting room hadn’t been polished. Her hands itched to get busy on the house.

  She and Hoedjie hired a room in somebody else’s house. Her industriousness burned in her hands.

  Here, give me your nappies, I’ll wash them for you.

  When the nappies were on the line: Where’re your cloths and your polish and your brushes.

  She kicked off her shoes, put on an apron, carried furniture from the kitchen. She washed down the shelves of the dresser, scrubbed the table, scoured the pots, washed the windows. Then, while the stuff was still outside, she tackled the floor.

  Ag, if you could have seen me, she told Poppie, ag, that linoleum mat in the passage of the Reformatory. Nobody could polish it like me. I tackled that mat and shone it like a mirror. Ag, that mat, it was the only thing that I had a heart for in that place. First the polish, and then with the hand-brushes. They praised me for that mat.

  Now you come and sit down here at the table with the child, Muis said when she had done with the sitting room which was also the kitchen.

  She tackled the bedroom. The smell of birth was still in the room. She hung the blankets in the sun, carried the bed and mattress outside, shifted the wardrobe and washed down the walls. When the room was clean and the bed made, she put on water for tea.

  Mama always said you were hard-working, Nosamile, said Poppie. It was the first time that she’d used the in-law name for Muis. Now I believe her.

  Now what is it to clean up such a small pondokkie, said Muis.

  When the child was three weeks old, Poppie started charring again. She left the child with Muis. Muis was good to Weekend, till she started drinking again. But then Spannerboy’s wife, Constance, came from the tribal country to visit him in Cape Town, and Constance could look after Weekend when Poppie went to work.

  At Westlake the doctors asked Stone: What is bothering you? The spot on the lung had healed, but they saw that he was getting no better. They sent him to Groote Schuur in the van and there other doctors spoke to him: What is worrying you? they asked.

  It’s that my wife cannot get a pass and that my children have no one to look after them.

  We think you should go home now. If you have a job and you are earning money for your children, your health will improve as well. The spirit and the body have an effect on one another.

  Stone didn’t understand everything they told him. Some days he felt he would rather stay in the hospital. He was afraid of getting on to the train, of the people on the stations, of the police. I won’t be able to get a job, he told them.

  The doctors tested his eyes and gave him spectacles. Wearing the spectacles he felt stronger. Come, give it a try once more. If you have a job, you will get better, they said.

  One of his clan told him of a job at a garage in Goodwood where he was working himself. Giving petrol to cars wasn’t such hard work, so Stone took the job and once again came to stay at home.

  When my extension ran out, says Poppie, I was given another extension for two months, then for a month, then for three months. Since Mrs Retief had spoken to them, there were new words written on my file. I could read it myself, it said: Under investigation. The woman for whom I worked took me to the Black Sash people, but those people, they couldn’t do nothing for me, because my husband did not qualify for the Cape, that’s why I had to go away. So they said to me I must tell my husband he mustn’t leave that job before he’s worked for ten years in the Cape. That’s th
e only chance for me.

  38

  After oompie Pengi had been sent back from Groote Schuur to Upington, things started going badly with buti Plank.

  He left the fishing boats and went to live with mama, but when he quarrelled with the stepfather, he moved in with Poppie. He and buti Spannerboy built on another room where Spannerboy and Constance slept. It was very small, only space for a bed, built of sheets of corrugated iron and lined with cardboard. Constance stuck pictures on to the cardboard.

  Buti Plank drank a lot. When he was drunk, he spoke about oompie Pengi: He was a fucking real man, he was my tata, he was my buti. His wife walked out on him, just like mine walked out on me, she went away to Lüderitz, she stole his child from him.

  He sang the songs that oompie Pengi had taught him, especially the song about Sonny Boy. As he sang, the tears streamed down his face. Every evening he spoke of Sonny Boy.

  There my oompie lies in the hospital bed, and the taxi man, the Death man, is standing at his bed and he tells me: Plankie I long for that child of mine, Plankie, why did I let that fucking whore take my child. I’ll go look for your child, oompie Pengi, I promised him.

  Sonny Boy is a grown-up man by now, buti, said Mosie. He was already older than us when we were children.

  I must go look for him, Mosie, said buti Plank. Then I’ll go look for my child, the child of that girl I payed lobola for.

  He started planning to go on the boats to Lüderitzbucht to search out the children. Sonny Boy is a grown man, it’s your child at Lüderitz, Mosie told him. But Poppie comforted him: Come to bed now, my buti. It’s just the drink that is hurting you so, when will you learn?

  Stone was the one with the most patience for Plank. He gave him money when his money was spent. You helped my children, brother-in-law, now I must help you.

  He was robbed till he had nothing left. One night he came home only in his underclothes, shoes, pants everything was stripped from him. Then Mosie went to his cupboard and gave his brother some clothes.

  He spoke to him: Buti, I don’t like it when you drink and hang round the streets. Drink and stay here with us. It’s people like you that the skollies are watching for to rob.