The Long Journey of Poppie Nongena

by Elsa Joubert

  65

  The time had come for Poppie to go home. Nomvula wasn’t willing to stay behind. This is the second year I haven’t had any schooling and had to work on the land, mama.

  Thandi didn’t mind. She had taken a liking to the life. She liked to work with clay and smear the floor of the hut with wet dung. She was of the blood, so she could smear the whole floor, including the men’s half too where Poppie might not go. She was known in the ilali for the beautiful hand-patterns she smeared on the dung floor. She sang new songs which were strange to Poppie. At times when Poppie looked for her, she had disappeared.

  Nomvula complained: Thandi leaves me at home, she wanders on the hillside all by herself.

  But the old auntie Nombunguza reassured Poppie. Don’t be uneasy, a child who is thwasa, is always taken care of.

  Next year you and Thandi will both be at school, Poppie promised Nomvula. Your buti has gone to look for a job, he’ll send the money. I spent all my money on him, so he now must pay for your schooling.

  May I go and stay with auntie Constance when I get tired of staying with ouma? Nomvula asked.

  Surely, you may visit her when you wish.

  Poppie was taking Fezi and Kindjie back with her to Cape Town. She regretted that Fezi would have lost his year’s schooling, for he was her cleverest child. When the bus stopped at the gate of the ilali, the whole village was there to say goodbye to her and the children. The ouma wept: I’ll never see you again.

  But Poppie was in a hurry to be gone. She was wearing her city clothes, and shoes and stockings. She couldn’t think that she had spent two months in that place. From where she sat in the bus waiting for the driver to finish loading the baggage on to the roof, the ilali seemed to her to be small and dirty and poverty-stricken.

  She paid extra money for them to travel back to Cape Town via East London. Is it to see Bonsile once more? she asked herself, the son she had scarcely spoken to since the bush ritual, the son who had become a man, who must now take his father’s place in the family, be her support, earn the money for his sisters’ and brother’s keep and schooling?

  But it was not to see Bonsile that she went to East London. She had a longing for the grandchild sent to them on the day tata-ka-Bonsile passed by. The child is mine, she thought. It is completely mine. It does not belong to the people living in the ilali on the hill. They never talk about the child. It is only mine. The last time I saw him, I was in too great a hurry, I was not in my full mind, now I must see him in a proper way. She had forgotten the daughters left behind on the land. The skinny long-legged girl with the dark complexion and the hungry eyes, the puny baby tugging at her small breasts, had taken their place in her mind.

  When she got there, the house in NU 7 was locked. They had had more rain here than in Herschel. The yard was overgrown. The mealies were full grown, but cramped by the weeds.

  It’s a good sign, she thought, that the house is locked up and the people gone. They are at work, earning money and Bonsile too has found a job. That’s why he hasn’t weeded the mealies yet.

  She felt too tired to visit Majola’s people and her other friends, so she walked round the house to find a sunny spot to sit, for the sun was sinking low. The children played about. Fezi remembered the yard, he rediscovered every stone and plant, and explored the street, but Kindjie was tired and sat down beside her. Fezi fetched them some water from the tap to drink. The city water tasted different to the spring water on the land. The taste of the city water, more than the sight of the house or the garden, more overgrown than when she left, made her feel at home.

  The wife of the tenant was the first to come home, coming round the back to enter by the back door.

  Hau, she said, when she saw Poppie and the children. Why do you sit here? Come inside with me.

  She unlocked and they entered. Poppie sat at the table. She lightly stroked the table top. The tenants looked after the house and furniture well. She gazed around the room while the woman lit the Primus stove.

  Is it well? Are you content? asked the woman.

  It is well. I am content.

  She put both hands round the cup as she drank the hot tea and she ate the white bread which the woman had cut with pleasure, doubling up the slice as she was used to before bringing it to her mouth. Hau, said the woman. You can be satisfied with buti Bonsile. He has found a job. He is getting ahead now.

  Poppie lay down on Bonsile’s bed, waiting for him to come home.

  When they saw him coming, the children ran down the street to meet him.

  If I’d known mama was coming, I would have bought meat.

  The woman cooked stamped mealies and beans and added some of her meat. The house was clean, Bonsile’s room too.

  I haven’t got round to weeding the mealies yet, mama, said Bonsile.

  Majola and his wife came to greet Poppie, the Blaauw family too.

  Stay here in Mdantsane, they told her. Your son is working in the chloride factory, he’ll get ahead. If you get work here as well, there’ll be enough to keep you and the children. Let the tenants stay on as well.

  No, said Poppie. I have it in my mind to get Bonsile back to school. And for that I must earn more money than they pay in East London.

  How could she put it to them that she was sick with longing for the salty smell of the Cape, for mama and buti Plank and buti Mosie and buti Hoedjie, that she couldn’t get used to the tribal lands and the people of the land?

  Because it was against her custom to bring up the matter with Bonsile himself, she asked Majola’s wife the question that burned her: How is it with the child of Bonsile?

  It is not well. The girl was a cast-away child and the auntie has chased her and the baby away and nobody looks after them.

  I sent money from Cape Town, said Poppie. But for the last three months I did not send. I promised tata-ka-Bonsile to do the ritual for Bonsile, it took all my money.

  That is so, said Majola’s wife.

  Does Bonsile give her money? Poppie asked. But Majola’s wife said: Hau, sisi, he’s only been in his job for a week, where’s the money he can give her?

  I will leave the children with you, sisi, said Poppie. Tomorrow I must look for the child.

  It took her a whole day to find them. First she went to the house of the people to whom they had paid the damage money. There was nobody at home, but the woman next door told her: Xoliswe is not here, she left with the child a long time back.

  Mama, Poppie asked: Can you tell me where she has gone?

  I heard, my child, that she works at a cafe in East London and she leaves the child with the old woman Makheswa who takes in small children to look after. I’ll tell you the way to the old woman Makheswa.

  So Poppie started walking once more. Now and then a lorry passed her, or a motor car and when she did not see to give way, water from rain puddles splashed against her legs on the dirt road. By now she was used to the heat and walking uphill and downhill, the long walk did not tire her. At a cluster of shops she stopped.

  Where is the house of Makheswa, the old woman who takes in children? she asked a young girl standing on the stoep. The girl was wearing city clothes, long trousers, her lips smeared red.

  How must I know, old mama? she said. I am not one to cast away my babies.

  The young boys mocked her. Do you want to leave a child with her, old mama? they joked. They had hooked their thumbs into the bands of their tightly fitting jeans. Aren’t you too old for that?

  Who reared you, that you talk in this way to an older person? Poppie had in mind to say, but she kept her peace.

  The girl lit a new cigarette and threw down the butt of the old one. A little boy playing in the mud in front of the stoep, snatched it.

  Do you know where she lives, my child? Poppie asked him. He nodded.

  Take me there, said Poppie.

  What’ll you pay me?

  I’ll give you a few cents.

  With a dirty sign to the girl and the skollie boys on the stoep,
the child got up to go. Poppie followed him.

  As they walked away, other children joined them.

  At Makheswa’s house he stopped. Over there, he said. Then he pointed at her bag: Give.

  Poppie counted out three cents, but when he refused to leave and shouted rude remarks at his friends, she added another.

  The house and the plot were neglected, the grass overgrown, the doorstep dirty, and the closely drawn curtains were torn.

  She knocked at the door. It was opened by an old woman who screamed at the children: Hamba, voetsek, which means: Get away, go. They were scared of her and backed a little way. When she turned to Poppie, they came closer again.

  A cataract covered the old woman’s one eye and it caused her to squint, she looked beyond Poppie while talking to her. She was wearing slippers, her dress was dirty and pinned over the chest with a safety pin.

  Molo, said Poppie.

  What do you want? she asked, looking at Poppie’s clean clothes, her neat shoes. What do you want? Are you from the Welfare? Her body filled the door to keep Poppie from entering.

  No, said Poppie, I’m not from the Welfare, but I have walked a long way. Can I sit down?

  The old woman allowed Poppie to enter.

  The floor and the walls of the room were filthy. As her eyes grew used to the half dark, she saw children of different ages crawling over the cement floor. She nearly trod on a child at her feet. She bent to pick it up and as she bent the old woman used her foot to shove him back to that part of the room where she had spread newspapers, where the children remained to urinate and defecate. The stench in the room was strong.

  The old woman had cleared the corner of a settee and Poppie sat down on it. Next to her were two flat fruit-boxes and in each of them a small baby lay sleeping. One twitched in its sleep, as if trying to cough. Yellow mucus had hardened on its upper lip.

  I don’t take no more babies, said the old woman, if that’s what you’re after, they make too much work.

  One of the children started to stuff bits of newspaper into her mouth. She choked. A girl of about nine years who was carrying a child on her back came from the kitchen and helped the choking child by smacking her on the back and digging her fingers into her mouth to get hold of the paper. The child started screaming.

  Which one is the child of Xoliswe? asked Poppie.

  She felt ashamed, guilt pressing down on her like a weight, because she did not know the child of her blood.

  Bring the child here, the old woman called the girl who had returned to the kitchen and was busy at the stove. She left the pot she was stirring and came to the old woman, then bent down and unfastened the blanket tied round her back in order to lay down the child she was carrying.

  The child seemed to be more or less a year old, but listless. It allowed itself to be taken down and put on Poppie’s lap without making a sound or movement.

  Is this child of my blood? thought Poppie. She felt no bond with him. He was dirty, his shirt ragged, he wore no nappy, his belly was swollen and his little legs skinny.

  The child is makwena, said the old woman, he’s back ward. He doesn’t crawl, he doesn’t play, he knows no one.

  Poppie kept the child on her lap. She settled him on the blanket the girl had taken from her back. She touched the child’s face with her fingertips, gently, trying to learn the shape of his face, stroking it, touching the high bridge of the nose. His eyes opened and gazed into hers. A feeling for the child stirred within her. She gave him back to the old woman. Then she took a rand from her bag and gave it to her. The old woman shoved it down the front of her dress. She owes me more, she said.

  I’ll bring her here tonight, said Poppie, then we’ll pay you.

  That evening in the house of Majola’s wife, Poppie said: I am taking the child back with me to Cape Town. The child given to us in the place of tata-ka-Bonsile will die if he is left here.

  Majola’s wife told her: Fezi’s teacher has heard that he’s back. He told my husband if Fezi stays behind, he will take him up in his class. Fezi is clever, he says, he will catch up with the work. He’ll help him not to lose the year of schooling.

  Fezi had run down the road to meet her when she arrived home. Fezi was ten years old, but childish. Fezi was always close to her, wanting to know: Where is mama going, where is mama now? At the ilali, when she sent him to the shop, it was always: Where is mama going? When he came from the shop, he was restless, not satisfied till he had seen her again. More even than Kindjie, he was attached to her. He was the child of her heart.

  Fezi. It felt to Poppie that bit by bit everything was being stripped from her.

  So she would return to Cape Town with Kindjie and Xoliswe’s baby. They would stay with buti Mosie. And if Rhoda couldn’t cope, Kindjie would have to look after the baby. Kindjie was six years old. She would give up her schooling to look after the baby, as she, Poppie, had left school to look after Pieta, and as Bonsile left Sub A to look after his sisters when they were small.

  But to leave Fezi behind...

  If it must be, it must be, said Poppie. The Lord has given me a child, and He has taken one in return.

  66

  But Kindjie was no help with Vukile, Xoliswe’s baby. Kindjie pulled the child off Poppie’s lap, to sit there herself. When she was made to let go of the child’s legs, she started pinching him. Poppie had to slap Kindjie to leave him alone.

  Xoliswe readily allowed Poppie to take the child to Cape Town. I didn’t want him in any case, she taunted Poppie, the child holds me back. She never sees Bonsile either. That’s past, she said, I have other friends now. The thin body was better dressed than when Poppie saw her last, she wore boots and a wig.

  Let it be so, I’ll take Vukile.

  Before leaving Poppie spent time cleaning and mending Fezi’s clothes. She asked the neighbours to have eyes for the child; she spoke to his teacher: I will send the money for his schooling. She committed him to his care. After his first day at school where he saw his old friends again, Fezi was more willing to stay behind with his brother. But it ate deep into Poppie’s heart to take leave of Fezi.

  Back in Cape Town things didn’t go as well as Poppie hoped. Rhoda had a job as a char and couldn’t look after the baby by day. It was up to mama to help Poppie out, because mama was not working: She was looking after Katie’s child, born while Poppie was at Herschel. Mama was willing to help, but the stepfather didn’t like it. He bullied mama when she fed Vukile or picked him up to comfort him: This whore child from Kaffirland means more to you than your own daughter’s child.

  Weekends when she was off, Poppie fetched the children from mama’s house or from buti Mosie’s house or wherever they’d been left, and she went with them to Mamdungwana’s house. She felt she was on the road all the time with the two children, but what else could she do? She bought food to take to mama and Rhoda’s houses. She told them: Keep the washing for me to do on Saturday afternoon. She brought her own washing-powder and soap.

  Vukile started putting on weight, and showed more life. Kindjie had got used to him. When you’re not here, Poppie, mama said, she looks after him nicely. She feeds him and carries him around on her back, and I’ve shown her how to wash his nappies.

  But when Poppie was there, she showed jealousy, dragging him from Poppie’s lap to clamber there herself, pinching and slapping him. Poppie was careful to give attention to the child, to lay down Vukile and take the little girl on her lap. She did their washing, she took them on foot from one house to the other. She kept on. She sent money to the children in the country, she sent money to Bonsile and Fezi. She bought food for the little ones. Her legs started swelling from the never-ending work.

  Hannie, Poppie told the woman who worked next door, I am working to put money by so that my children can get their schooling next year. It will take much money, but I must keep faith. The Lord will help me. And if it be the Lord’s will, I have another wish as well. I wish to bring Thandi and Fezi back to Cape Town.

&n
bsp; To go to school here? Hannie asked, for she knew the children would not be accepted there.

  No, Hannie, for them to be blessed in my church, like Bonsile and Nomvula were blessed. I don’t want to leave Thandi on the land. I have fear for what might happen to Thandi.

  Poppie spoke to Hannie about her troubles. Hannie listened to her in a way that her own people did not listen any more.

  When I talk about the land, she said, they show no interest, they have turned against me because of the tribal people.

  She had told Hannie about Thandi’s ukuthwasa. They were having tea together in Poppie’s room.

  Let us pray to the Lord that He should take it from her, said Hannie. Why shall the Lord be deaf to our prayers?

  Poppie told her about Rosie, the staff nurse at the Guguletu Day hospital. The nurse was thwasa, said Poppie, but she would not pay heed. Night after night the ancestors appeared in her dreams and told her: We are speaking to you, you must listen to us. But she resisted them. Till she got so sick that she was taken to hospital. But the doctors of the Groote Schuur hospital could do nothing for her, their eyes were blind and their ears were deaf to what was wrong with her. So she went to a Xhosa doctor and he told her: You won’t get well until you accept your ukuthwasa, you yourself are harming your body. There was no other way, but to accept the talent given her. She left our church and studied with a trained witchdoctor. But she wouldn’t leave her job. Till it became too much for her, on duty all week long and dancing and singing with the witchdoctors the whole weekend. She got too tired and fell ill again. She was only cured when she left her job and studied full time with the witchdoctor.

  Ag, but her heart was homesick for our church. But after her training as witchdoctor our church was too quiet for her, so she joined the Zionist where they clap hands and sing and stamp their feet, because this is what she had got used to and what the spirits in her head demanded from her.

  I don’t want this to happen to Thandi, Poppie told Hannie. That’s why I want to bring her back to be blessed in my church.