Isiginali

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Queen of Camp Bay’s Beach. At least that was the manner in which her husband, Ndaba, had phrased it as he hurried out of their suburban home without saying so much as a goodbye to their children. This was the third time he had promised to take them—only to have a work commitment spring up at the very last moment, leaving Saidah to pick up the pieces of their shattered hearts. Her precious little boys—Mavuto and Nepthali—adored their father. Sometimes she felt even more than her. It was upsetting that his latest political responsibilities were precluding him from reciprocating their love and adoration with his time. Boys needed to be with their fathers. Unfortunately, they would never be able to learn how to become a man from her. The same way her husband would never be able to show their future daughter what it would mean to be a woman.

When Ndaba relocated the family from Johannesburg to the Western Cape four years prior, Saidah never expected his career to ascend as quickly as it did. After all, her husband was an indigenous black South African from the other side of the republic competing against the well-connected, moneyed-class of white and coloured Afrikaners—who maintained a stranglehold on the city. Afrikaans may have originated on the continent as a distinct language, but over the generations it evolved into a colloquialism used to describe a specific-type of South African citizen. Kitchen Dutch to the uninitiated. While they often considered themselves to be of a higher-status than their black counterparts, the English-speaking whites that emigrated from the United Kingdom treated them in almost the exact same fashion. She observed that the caste system was in full effect—even amongst the less melanated.

However, the characteristics that attracted Saidah to Ndaba in the first place were also making him an increasingly popular figure in Cape Town politics. Ndaba was a decent looking, clean-shaven man, but he was not handsome by any stretch. What he lacked in s****l appeal, he more than made up for with his charm, honesty and authenticity. Whenever he spoke—average, everyday people stopped what they were doing and listened. While he was probably not the next Nelson Mandela, he was inspiring a lot of confidence in people the political structure had long since forgotten about. Thus the reason he rarely was able to make time to be with her or their children.

If he was going to upset the establishment and bring a fresh perspective to the mayoral office suite—Ndaba had to be all in. A victory at the polls would change their family’s legacy forever, with the possibility that Ndaba could be seen as a legitimate challenger to the presidency in the years to come.

Saidah sat under the beach umbrella and looked around. The Afrikaner sunbathers were out in full-force. The young, pale ones among them must not have believed in modesty. Their beach attire left nothing to the imagination. Disgraceful. There were many families on this beach—not that they seemed to care. A woman’s jiggling breasts and buttocks should not be on display when in the presence of adolescents.

She noticed her boys were no longer building sandcastles and playing with the other children, but to her surprise were grooving to the sounds of a band that serenaded tourists and locals alike with the catalogue of Fela Kuti’s greatest hits. She scoffed and shook her head. After all of their begging to bring them here, neither one had allowed the ocean water to even touch their toes. She could have put a Fela record on at home if this was what they were planning all along. When the band’s latest song came to its conclusion, the two boys raced back over to her.

“Mommy. Can we have some money?” Mavuto said in their native Xhosa.

“Money. What do you need money for?” She asked.

“The bucket.” He pointed. “Everyone else is putting money in it.”

Saidah took another glance at the beach band. It seemed that they were receiving tips for their performance.

“Please mommy.”

“Please.” Nepthali was right behind his older brother.

She sighed. She clicked open her carryall and searched for the cheapest coins she could find. She found two fifty cent pieces and handed one to each of her sons.

“That’s all I can spare, nothing more.”

The boys raced back to the band and dropped the coins into the bucket. The band leader tipped his cap to them in appreciation. Saidah smiled. While this particular family outing had not proven to be what she anticipated, the boys were enjoying themselves nonetheless. And at the end of the day, that was the only thing that mattered.

“I no be gentleman at all o, I be Africa man original.”

Saidah rubbed her forehead. The traffic alone around Camp’s Bay was enough to give her a headache—without the unpleasant crooning she was receiving from her two boys. Every time she pressed on the brake, she could feel the grains of sand between her toes. She was in desperate need of a shower. She remained hopeful that her headwrap was able to protect her hair. She had just gotten it done a few days prior.

She glanced in the rearview mirror at Mavuto and Nepthali. Big smiles were on their faces as they sung their little hearts out while strapped into their car seats. Once again, the beach had proven to be a big hit with her two little ones.

Dusk was slowly transforming into night. The downtown area would soon be run amok with tourists, party animals and swindlers alike—hell bent on doing what they do best. Cape Town was one of the southern hemisphere’s hidden gems for nightlife and entertainment. It was unfortunate that her family life meant Saidah was rarely able to experience it.

“All right. That’s enough singing for one day. Mommy needs to focus.” She said.

The boys quieted down. Saidah returned her eyes to the road ahead. The traffic away from the beach was subsiding. Hopefully, when they returned home, Ndaba would be there waiting. She drove the Toyota Camry another seventeen kilometres until they were back in the southern suburb of Claremont.

Claremont was one of the most diverse neighborhoods in Cape Town, with almost a third of its population coloured or black. Ndaba intentionally relocated the family here to appeal to the common man and woman. Had they gone-through with their original plan of moving to the affluent suburb of Constantia—there was a good chance that Ndaba would have been seen as too posh to make a difference in Cape Town. Just another in a long line of black puppets to the western powers embodying the same ideals as the white Afrikaner who came before him. As long as the social, economic and political hierarchy never strayed too far from the status quo, the opportunity to advance would be there for the taking.

Saidah veered the Camry onto their street and passed several homes before slowing the vehicle. She turned into the driveway to see that Ndaba’s Mercedes was still gone.

Allah help me. I can’t believe he’s still working.

She put the vehicle in park and could hear the sound of the seatbelts unbuckling. She looked backwards to see Mavuto had unbuckled his seatbelt and Nepthali was trying to follow his older brother’s lead.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

Both boys were tongue-tied.

“I didn’t turn the car off. Put your seatbelt back on. Now.”

She waited for Mavuto to put it back on.

“I’ve told you this before. You don’t take your seatbelts off until I have turned off the car. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, mommy.”

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yes, Mommy!”

“Good.”

She turned back to the front and turned off the vehicle.

“You can take your seatbelts off now.”

The boys were itching to get out. She exited first and moved to the rear driver’s side door. Upon opening it, she immediately stepped back. Mavuto raced to the door with his younger brother right behind him. Saidah scoffed and walked to the trunk. She lifted it and pulled out three tote bags. One for each of them.

“Mommy. Hurry. I need to use the bathroom.” Nepthali said.

She would have been moving faster if either of them were the least bit interested in helping her. She placed the tote bags on the ground and closed the trunk. She grabbed them again and walked to the front door. She playfully bumped them out of the way with her backside and set the bags down. She unlocked the door and pushed it open. They raced into the house as she picked up the tote bags for the third time. She entered the house and closed the door with her foot.

She followed them towards the kitchen. By the time she got there, they were already in the backyard, playfighting with sticks. So much for Nepthali’s interest in the lavatory. She set the tote bags down on the kitchen floor and walked to the opened back-door.

“You two need to wash your hands. I’m about to make dinner.” She called out.

Neither of her sons appeared to hear her—choosing instead to continue their fight for supremacy. She waved them off and walked to the refrigerator. She didn’t have the energy to argue with them and getting them to listen was always harder whenever their father wasn’t home.

Saida opened the fridge and looked inside. There was a cold pot of vegetarian Chakalaka waiting for her. All she would need to do was put the pot on the stove to simmer for about half-an-hour, while she added some Peri-Peri chicken to complete the meal. She placed all of the food on the kitchen counter when the telephone could be heard ringing in the next room.

She sighed. There was never a moment of peace in this house. She closed the refrigerator and headed for the living room.

“Hello?”

“How was the beach?”

It was Ndaba. He was adamant about their need to speak and write in English. Saidah respected his wishes as the head of their household, but whenever he was gone, she spoke to the children in Xhosa. Language was an important part of her heritage and wasn’t something she would be willing to part with quite so easily.

“Exhausting. Although, the kids enjoyed themselves. I think we have a couple of new Fela fans in this house.”

He laughed. Deep from his belly.

“They have good taste, I see.” He said. “And what about you?”

“I don’t like the water... or the sand for that matter.”

“I know you don’t sithandwa sam, but I’m glad you faked it long enough for them to enjoy themselves.”

She quietly scoffed. The fact that he had used Xhosan words to say ‘my darling’ immediately made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“You’re a wonderful mom.”

Saidah rubbed her forehead. Ndaba’s way with words had got her again. He always knew exactly what to say to keep her from shouting at him.

“When are you coming home? You’ve been working late for weeks. The boys miss you. I miss you too.”

“Soon. We’re getting close, Saidah. It’s almost over.”

“Thank God.” She sighed. “I am tired, Ndaba. These boys are too much. I need a break.”

“I know you do, but it will be worth it. I promise you. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The dial tone took over the line as Saidah hung up the phone. She sat down on a nearby couch and rubbed the side of her head. The pressure from having a politically-inclined husband who was never at home, along with raising two small, energetic boys on her own, had her at her wits end. The last thing Saidah needed was another trip to the beach. What she needed was a vacation. From everything.

“Ow!”

She snapped out of her haze as the sound of one of her boys crying could be heard. She jumped off of the couch and ran back to the kitchen. She was horrified by what she saw. Nepthali was on the ground, curled up in a ball while Mavuto was beating him with a stick—over and over again.

“I beat you. I beat you. I beat you.”

“Mavvy, stop it. Stop it.”

Saidah entered the backyard and ran to stop her oldest. When he didn’t comply with her direction, she slapped the devil out of him, which caused him to drop the stick. Mavuto touched his face and began crying.

“Get inside. Now. Both of you. I told you to wash your hands.”

Mavuto ran towards the house, ashamed and embarrassed. Nepthali stopped sniffling and rose to his feet.

“Go, go.” She went on.

She pushed her youngest in the back to pick up the pace. She had become so agitated that she was actually yelling at them in English. She re-entered the house and closed the back door. She still had to prepare dinner. At the rate they were going, her children would be the death of her before they reached puberty.