“I was told you can recognize a sangoma by their dress which is covered in beads, and is very ornamental, in red which is bomvu, black which is mnyama and white, mhlophe,” Helen said, hoping to impress Richard with her knowledge.
Jono nodded. “The medicine the sangoma mixes can be based on colours also. The sangoma mixes opposite colours together, uniting them symbolically and then real life harmony follows. Light colours represent life and masculinity, dark colours are death and femininity.”
“I knew it.” Richard poked Mia who had returned with the bottle of schnapps and a sleeping bag, “you women are the death of men.”
Mia tittered, slapped him on the shoulder and wrapped herself in the sleeping bag. She opened the bottle, took a long swig and passed it to Jasmine.
“Is it true,” Marika asked, “that sangomas study for as long as doctors?”
“Yes. It takes seven years for the sangoma to study, and he, or she, studies a lot of things; techniques of divination, treatment of psychological, mental, physical conditions, animal and plant medicine use, the anatomy of the soul, ritual mastery, prayer and invocation, throwing the bones, chant and song, channeling souls, soul ascension, case study, tradition and culture, and finally, techniques of investigation. Sangomas are also very good detectives and great historians and guardians of local culture and learning.”
“Impressive,” Kate said. “But the witches sound horrible.”
“They are. Witches operate on fear, superstition and rumour,” Jono said. “The evils of gossip. Nowadays even some of the churches use witchcraft to bring new worshippers, convincing them their problems are due to supernatural witch curses that only the church can cure. Some churches even preach that diseases like AIDS and leprosy, blindness, deafness, impotence, and infertility are muti curses by witches.”
“Before we left,” Richard said, “I read an article about how Tanzanian witchdoctors have been killing albinos and harvesting their body parts because they think it will bring them good luck. What’s with that? Why albinos, why body parts for good luck?”
“What have you been reading, my friend, to hear that?” Jono asked and Richard’s expression became guarded.
“General research and whatnot. One’s interested in studying up before a trip, and what with the Internet, it’s astounding what one comes across. Some scary stuff actually. But why albinos, Jono?”
“Because they are considered to be very sacred. They are treated with deep respect because they are believed to be spirits born as human beings. And the whole muti body parts thing, well, that’s a whole other area, my friend, that is a dark thing for sure.”
“I’d be super keen to hear the whole bangshoot,” Richard said.
“Maybe you are, my friend but it is not a discussion for the faint-hearted,” Jono warned. “And yes, Richard, I know the events of which you speak. But one last word on witches: they are also accused of inciting adultery, alcohol abuse, and theft. Witches also have immense power to turn innocent people into witches and therefore it is possible to become a witch without even being aware of it, simply by eating contaminated food or picking up an ‘impure’ object.”
“Do not, for the love of God, tell Harrison any of this,” Richard said. “We’re all sworn to secrecy. Can you image what he’d be like if he heard these sorts of things? He’ll be rubbing everything, including us, in antiseptic.”
“All for one and one for all, we say nothing,” Helen assured him. “Jono, what about tokoloshes? I’ve tried to find out about them but no one would really tell me anything.”
“Ah,” Jono said, “the infamous tokoloshe. Helen, here is the secret to creating one: you remove the eyes and tongue from a full size corpse, then you blow a secret powder into its mouth and it comes to life and will obey your every wish. But there is a high price for creating a tokoloshe, including the death of a relative within a year, because the spirits do not give life freely. If you are prepared to create an unnatural life, then you must be prepared to destroy a natural one.”
“An unnatural life,” Kate echoed and even the fire seemed to flicker and dim. Mia offered her the bottle of schnapps but she shook her head. Mia shrugged and passed the bottle to Jasmine.
“The tokoloshe,” Jono continued, “is a spirit in the households of witches and warlocks and they speak with a lisp…”
“Sofie speaks with a lisp.” Mia sat up, giggling “She must be a tokoloshe. I suspected it all along.”
“But she is not small and brown, nor does she have a penis so long it has to be slung over her shoulder,” Jono said. “Sorry, Mia, but she falls short of many of the physical characteristics needed.”
Mia found this so hilarious she nearly fell into the fire.
“Easy there, cupcake,” Richard said, kicking a burning log further away from her.
“I’m fine.” Mia protested, “perfectly composed, fank you very much. It’s the thought of Sofie with a giant penis slung over her shoulder, lisping…” She and Jasmine hung onto each other, hooting with laughter.
“The tokoloshe,” Jono said, “is very unusual in that he has a single buttock. Apparently Satan was unable to replicate this uniquely human feature, of our lovely, well-rounded bottoms. Therefore, if you wish to scare away the devil, you must bare your buttocks at him and he will be frightened by that which he cannot have.”
“That’s why mooning is such a handy tool,” Mia yelled. “Never mind crosses for vampires, just pull down your trousers and scare the bejesus out of the devil. Richard luv, show us your moon.”
“Yes,” Helen chimed in, “show us.”
“I respectfully decline the invitation,” Richard said. “Go on, Jono.”
“I am too worried to continue,” Jono said. “I am afraid this discussion is being a health hazard to Mia.”
“I’m fine,” Mia gasped, “but my stomach hurts from laughing. Bleedin’ hell, this is too hilarious.”
“Part of the tokoloshe’s duties,” Jono said, “is to make love to its witch mistress, which is why he was created so well-endowed. As a reward for fulfilling these sexual duties, the tokoloshie is rewarded with milk and food.”
“Milk?” Kate was perplexed. “Why milk?”
“Milk is considered a sacred drink in many parts of Africa,” Jono explained. “It has many healing powers. If you do see a tokoloshe, do not annoy it by talking to it and most certainly do not point at it because it will vanish immediately.”
“How on earth can I not look,” Mia shook with laughter, “when it’s hung like a bleedin’ donkey?”
Despite having downed half the bottle of schnapps, Mia was surprisingly coherent, unlike Jasmine, who had abruptly fallen fast asleep and was snoring slightly.
Jono finished the last of his beer and looked regretful. “Well, everyone, that is all for tonight. I must go to sleep or I will be a bad driver in the morning. Thank you very much for listening.”
He looked at Kate who grinned at him.
“Thank you,” Richard said. “You’re incredibly knowledgeable, Jono, and I look forward to more stories about muti and witchdoctors and the like. Anyone else like one for the ditch? Last call, people, last call.”
“I’m going to bed,” Eva said. “Thanks Jono, thanks everyone.”
“Yeah, we’re calling it a night too,” Kate and Marika said, getting up.
“Me too,” Helen said. “That was fascinating.”
“I’ll have one more,” Mia said, “lay it on, baby.”
Jasmine was still fast asleep and Mia patted her head.
“I’m going to brush my teeth,” Kate said to Marika who was tucked up in borrowed sheets and blankets and already half asleep.
Kate unzipped the tent and walked across the grass. She swung the washroom doors open and saw Helen sitting on one of the slatted wooden benches, crying. Kate’s heart sank. The last thing she wanted was another
heart-to-heart and she walked over the basin without saying a word.
“That was a fun night.” Helen said, drying her eyes and blowing her nose loudly. “I even forgot about Robbie for a bit, but now I feel sick again. It’ll be good for me to have some fun, let my hair down for a change. I’m always so serious even when I try not to be. That Richard, he’s so hot, don’t you think?”
Kate, her mouth full of foam, made gargling noises. Helen continued.
“Even just sitting next to him had me all worked up; I could have pounced on him right there. I need him to help me get over Robbie. Mia’s so stupid. I don’t understand what he sees in her. Hopefully, as time passes, he’ll see he has other options, options that he’s got more in common with.”
“She’s his girlfriend,” Kate said, having rinsed vigorously. “It’s not good karma to steal another man’s girlfriend.”
Helen shrugged. “It’s not a nice world, what can I say?”
Kate, filled with fury, walked out without saying another word.
To Springbok and into Namibia
(the Gariep River)
THE NEXT MORNING, KATE WOKE BEFORE DAWN. She unzipped the tent as quietly as she could and climbed up the mountainside using the path Kleine Skok had shown them the day before. The dark blue sky was freckled with stars and a pale yellow ridge in the east lit the mountain top. The air was cool, carrying myriad African fragrances of woodsmoke, dew-wet grass and aromatic flora, and Kate, listening to the cry of the ring-necked dove, closed her eyes and felt happy. She lost track of time; heartbreak and her real life seemed a million miles away and then, worried she should be helping Marika with the tent, she hurried down, threading her way through the mountain grasses, thorny trees and castle-turret rocks.
She passed Helen running laps up and down the gravel mountain driveway, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and her face hard and focused, and she bumped into Treasure coming out of the washroom, with Harrison close behind her.
“I’ll help you with breakfast,” he said, and Treasure grunted a reply.
Kate laughed and told Marika while they dismantled the tent.
“Ja, that Harrison, he’s something,” Marika said. “We’re done, let’s grab some breakfast, I’m starving.”
They found most of the group gathered at the rondavel, with Harrison hovering over Treasure and examining cutlery while Treasure ignored him and arranged slices of bread and poured milk into plastic jugs.
“Plastic holds a lot of germs if it’s old.” Harrison held a jug up to the light. “The germs get in the little cuts from the wear and tear.”
Treasure ignored him.
Richard groaned. “I couldn’t eat a thing. My head’s killing me, my eyeballs are soft-boiled eggs set to detonate. I don’t know why I’m so hungover when I drank scads more the night before and I was fine.”
Mia laughed and dunked her tea bag in her mug. “Maybe a witch poisoned you. How do you feel, Jazzer?” she asked Jasmine. “How’s your head?”
“Fine,” Jasmine said, “Did you guys put me in my tent? I don’t remember.”
“Yeah, you were dead gone. That was a good laugh, last night.”
While the others hung around the breakfast table, Marika went to find Jono. “Did my luggage come during the night?” she asked, her expression expectant.
“It is not here yet,” Jono said, carefully balancing a bowl of cereal, a plate of toast and a cup of coffee, and still managing to eat and drink. “But please, do not worry my dear. It will come, it always does.”
“There’s no hot food except for toast,” Jasmine commented, “if you can count that as a hot food. I could have done with some fried eggs and sausage.”
Two cups of coffee later, Kate popped off to the washroom. She was drying her hands on some paper towel when Charisse emerged from a stall, her hand pressed to her stomach.
“My stomach’s still killing me,” she said.
“The meds you picked up still aren’t helping?” Kate asked.
“It would appear not.” Charisse straightened up and took a deep breath. “Don’t tell the others though.”
Kate said she wouldn’t and they walked out to help load the bus, while Marika hurriedly finished washing dishes with Helen drying and Harrison offering a running commentary. “Germs, germs. Everywhere I look, germs. We are in dire need of new buckets to put the dishes in, look at these, scratched and old.”
“Harrison, if you’re going to try to replace all the things in Africa that are scratched and old, you’ll have a big task on your hands,” Kate heard Helen say, with Marika agreeing.
“Not all of Africa is my worry,” Harrison remarked, “but our health and safety is.”
“These are fine, Harrison,” Helen was curt. “Trust me, I know. What? Do you think I’d put my own health at risk?”
The argument died down and they got all the bits and pieces on the bus and were just about ready to leave when Treasure climbed up into the passenger area of the bus. “Good morning everybody. There’s a rule Jono forgot to tell you. Everybody must change seats every day, so you get to know each other and make new friends.”
“What about the couples?” Richard, Mia and Lena enquired, wanting to stay in their pairs while Stepfan was noticeably quiet.
“Couples may stay together.”
Rydell, close to Treasure, bent down, as if to pick something up off the floor while he admired her feet. He stretched out his hand to touch her but forced himself to straighten up. “I wasn’t sitting here yesterday, so I can stay here?” he asked her.
“Yes, you can stay there. Who’s sitting next to you?”
“No one. You should come and sit here with me,” he added boldly, flushing with pride at the retort. He had woken to find the ghostly voices silent and was feeling clear-headed and whole.
“Thank you but I must stay up with Jono. It’s my job to keep him awake when he’s driving.”
The group laughed.
“Everybody except the couples, switch around,” Treasure insisted. “Come now.”
Grumbling, people switched seats.
“Right, now we are ready to go,” Treasure climbed down the steep narrow stairs, closed the door of the bus and took her place beside Jono in the sectioned-off front cab.
Kate settled into her seat next to Rydell, determined to put him at ease. “What made you choose Namibia? I came here out of the blue.”
Rydell chortled. “Not me. I planned this down the last detail and there were lots of reasons but the most important one is the Bushmen.”
“The Bushmen? I don’t know much about them except that they’re a peace-loving people and very clever. That’s what Marika said, remember? She also loves them.”
Rydell gave her a look. “Clever? Peace-loving?” He snorted again, a high-pitched laugh and Kate wished he would stop.
“What do you mean?” she asked, more to stop his mirth than to get an answer.
Rydell rubbed the palms of his hands on his trousers. “I found a book that was published in 1899 and it changed my life. Do you want to hear about it? It might upset you.”
“I’d love to hear about it,” Kate said, having no idea what she was letting herself in for. “I’m always interested in learning things.”
Rydell cocked his head to one side. “The writer begins by asking what is the lowest of human races? And the answer, according to the book, is the Bushmen — because of their filth, how they never wash and he also quotes one missionary who reports they have ‘few ideas but those of vengeance and eating.’”
Kate was startled and Rydell continued.
“The writer quotes an explorer who says that ‘no meat, in whatever state of decomposition, is ever discarded by the Bushmen.’ Another quote says that ‘while necessity has given them acute sight and hearing, they might almost be supposed to have neither taste, smell or feeling; n
o disgust is ever evinced by them at even the most nauseating kind of food, nor do they appear to have any feeling of even the most striking changes in the temperature of the atmosphere.”
“Do you have a photographic memory?” Kate asked, trying to distract him from his disturbing topic. “That sounds word-for-word.” She glanced over at Marika and saw that she was looking miserable too. She was staring down at her hands, while Harrison was shouting in her ear.
Rydell was oblivious to Kate’s discomfort.
“I’m highly intelligent and yes, I’ve got a photographic memory.” He gave her a sideways glance and a half-smile.
“First off, that book of yours sounds totally archaic with the funny old language and how it’s written, and secondly, if we lived in the desert, we might also eat anything too, in any kind of state. And just because the Bushmen didn’t run around with a bar of soap in hand, or dressed in Western clothes, doesn’t mean they are filthy. If we had to hunt to survive, there’d be some degree of violence in our society too.” She was sure she had convinced him but Rydell made his snorting noise again.
“How’s this for violence,” he hissed in a quiet whisper. “One explorer said, ‘No other savages betray so high a degree of brutal ferocity as the Bushmen. They kill their own children without remorse.’ A missionary reported that ‘when a mother dies whose infant is not able to shift for itself, it is, without any ceremony, buried alive with the corpse of its mother.’ Another missionary tells of ‘instances of parents throwing their tender offspring to the hungry lion, who stands roaring before their cavern, refusing to depart till some peace-offering is made to him.’ ”
The Witchdoctor's Bones Page 8
