Hunger Eats a Man (5 page)

Sithole, Priest's friend, refuses to seek employment at the farm. He is convinced that his ancestors have a far better job in store for him, so there is no need to sell himself to be a slave for a white farmer.

“Not in a million years!” he said boastfully to Priest on Saturday, when Priest was trying to convince him to go. Priest knew that he was fighting a losing battle, but spoke to him anyway for the sake of MaXulu, Sithole's wife, who begged him to talk some sense into her husband. They both knew, though, that nothing could change Sithole's mind if he had let himself believe his ancestors wished for him to follow a certain path.

“He is a hundred per cent believer in ancestors. It's astonishing,” Priest always says.

Life is hard at Sithole's home, as it is in almost all the homes in Hunger-Eats-a-Man. Sithole has been without a job for six years now. He was working as a bus driver at Putco in Durban and used to get a good salary there, something both he and his wife came to realise when he lost the job. In those days his was counted as one of the well-to-do families in Hunger-Eats-a-Man, and he indeed “did not mind it”, as he told his wife every time he got an opportunity. MaXulu's opinion on the matter – that her husband actually relished the thought of being among the wealthy men according to Hunger-Eats-a-Man standards – was closer to the truth.

The Sitholes have a five-roomed house, which qualifies as beautiful due to three facts: it is made of bricks, it is plastered, and it is painted. The creamy-white colour is now fading, but it does not deter Sithole's pride. Both he and his wife point to their home without fear or shame. When things were not yet like this, visitors were always encouraged, the aim being to show people how expensively and beautifully furnished the house was inside. But when hunger strikes, no one brags about wood and cloth, no matter how expensive.

Before Sithole lost his job, he was contemplating reroofing his house with tiles, something he correctly believed would have made him a force to be reckoned with, not only in Hunger-Eats-a-Man, but in the whole of Gxumani. But his dream did not come true because of the retrenchment. He came to realise there were many sacrifices he had to perform for his ancestors with the small amount of money that made up his retrenchment package. In the first three years after his retrenchment, Sithole slaughtered a goat every month and four cows a year on average. This made him a renowned and respected man in Ndlalidlindoda. Some young men, whom MaXulu detested with all her heart and called good-for-nothing trash, were so full of respect and admiration for Sithole that one of them, Kitoto, even seriously contemplated changing his surname to Sithole, something that gratified Sithole as much as it aggravated his wife.

There is also a rondavel in Sithole's homestead. It is neat and good-looking in spite of its age. It is only the thatching, which is eroded and black, that testifies to the fact that the rondavel has occupied the same space for more than fifteen years. It is also plastered and painted like the house. But the colour is white. MaXulu suggested it would make sense to paint it creamy white too, but Sithole insisted on a pure white colour because it symbolises good luck. In this view, he was supported by his ancestors, who visited him in a dream and told him that their house must be painted in white.

The rondavel is the most significant building in Sithole's homestead, according to him, at least. It is used solely for communication with
the ancestors and for performing sacrifices to them. Sithole is one of the few men MaXulu knows who love and trust their dead relatives so much that they pray to them on a daily basis. Every evening, round about six, Sithole retreats to the rondavel, where he burns incense and talks to his ancestors about anything. “As if they care,” MaXulu usually says to herself. It is only when Sithole makes sacrifices in the form of goats and cows, and when he thinks the subject he wants to consult his ancestors about is of particular importance, that he calls MaXulu and the children to be present and pay respect. This angers MaXulu, who sees no point in sitting there listening to someone talking to the wall.

The fact that Sithole does not want to go to the farm and try his luck like other men annoys MaXulu a great deal. She cannot even imagine some invisible spirits watching over them and making plans to better their lives by offering Sithole a job of his dreams, whatever that is. No. That is not going to happen, and Sithole knows it.

“Why didn't they do that in the last six years that you have been without a job?” As much as MaXulu respects and fears her husband, she just cannot keep quiet about this. “No, Sithole. Just say you are afraid of hard work at the farm. You got spoiled when you worked sitting down when you were a driver at Putco.”

MaXulu is in a state of quandary. A part of her wants to threaten Sithole that if he does not go to seek work at the farm, she will. This she can say in spite of having been involved in a car accident that left her spine so fragile that she cannot do hard work. But now she knows her husband will gladly let her go. This thought increases her suspicion that her husband is afraid of hard work.

Thinking of hard work, why is it that men of today are so weak and lazy? MaXulu doesn't know. But she knows there was a time when men were men. When men were not afraid of sweating. She recalls, with great veneration, that her own father had resigned from his job when he was promoted – which sounded to him like a demotion – to work as a clerk in the office, instead of pushing wheelbarrows full
of concrete and cement outdoors. He told his employers that he was unwilling to do such a feminine job, that he would rather go to seek work somewhere else. Some place where they would not insult him by giving him a job fit for the womenfolk. The employers begged him in vain, telling him that they wanted him to have the job because he was the only educated man out of all the employees because he had Standard Two.

“MaXulu, pleeease!” Sithole says reproachfully whenever they discuss this matter, something they do quite often these days thanks to his wife. This topic makes him feel emotional. It is as if they never talk about anything else any more.

“Except,” it's MaXulu's defiance, “except when we talk about your ancestors and the sacrifices they selfishly demand from us when they know that we are starving and they can do nothing about it.”

“MaXulu, pleeeease!” The anger in Sithole is brewing. It's one thing to say he should go to look for work at the farm, but it is absolutely something else when someone, whoever she is, talks like that about his ancestors. “MaXulu. Please. Don't start again. If you as much as say another word about this …” What will happen is too much even for his mouth to pronounce.

MaXulu obeys. But the anger inside her is unbearable. This is their only chance to get something and Sithole refuses to take it? Just because he believes some evil spirits will give him a better job? Shit! Why did she marry such a hopeless man?

As the conflicting thoughts run through her mind, Sithole is watching her mouth while it moves about without articulating any sound. She is darker now, a sign that she is really upset. Sithole is touched by his wife's state and wants to console her. Only he does not know how. He was brought up to be a strong Zulu man. Being passionate and caring is a weakness, according to his standards. And it is weak men whose wives haul them by their noses, weak men who care about the feelings of their wives. But now things are bad and even he wants to be kind to his wife.

“Please, my wife, don't be stubborn.” He is doing his best. “I always tell you that the ancestors expect us to give, and in return they will give us even more.” He looks at his wife, not knowing if the words fulfil his purpose or not. But soon his old self takes over, “I wonder how you even reached Standard Five with that stone-head of yours. A relationship with the ancestors is a give and take. We give and they take, and they give and we take. Just listen to the sound of that! I should have been a poet.” He laughs heartily and looks for at least a smile on his wife's face. He only sees anger and disbelief.

Then his wife says, “But we have done nothing but give. Every time we slaughter goats and cattle in this house … We keep on giving but when it is time to take, we have to give more.”

“Hmn!” Sithole starts, feeling pity for his wife. “It is clear that you know nothing about these things, MaXulu. But what can one expect from someone who grew up as a Watch Tower, saying our ancestors are demons.”

“To tell the truth,” MaXulu forgets herself and talks back, “I never actually believed that they are demons. But I'm beginning to now.”

“You see?” Sithole almost jumps. “How can we ever have anything if you talk like that about my ancestors? Hhe? Don't you know that they hear us?” Sithole is shouting now. His wife's crazy talk may cause him to slaughter a goat, begging for forgiveness.

MaXulu has her own feelings on this, “No. No. No. Sithole! This is just not working.”

Sithole feels like there is a deep void inside him. “As I am telling you, things will be better now. Remember that we have been slaughtering these goats and cattle in a vacuum because my great-grandfather's brother (may his soul burn in hell) turned our ancestors against us by stirring the wrong concoctions.”

“You know what?” – it's still the new MaXulu – “I hate hearing that. I just hate it.”

Sithole ignores her and goes on, “But Zwane has rectified all that now. I only need to make the last sacrifice to my great-grandfather
with a cow and you will see how rich we will become.” Sithole can't help smiling when he gets to the part about being rich. “We will be richer even than Hadebe. We will have not one stairway but many.”

“This confuses me,” MaXulu begins. “There is always a problem. Someone is stirring up black medicine? Someone needs a cow to be slaughtered for them? No. A car without wheels cannot move!” MaXulu almost spits in disgust.

“MaXulu, please! Don't say my ancestors have no wheels. Take it from me. Zwane has rectified everything. You heard with your own ears our grandfather saying that …”

MaXulu does not let him finish. “No, I did not. All I heard was Zwane pretending to be your grandfather and only a fool did not notice that.”

“But, MaXulu …”

“No, Sithole. Don't enter into my mouth when I am speaking the truth for once in our marriage. Do you remember that I asked your grandfather his name and he did not know it? Just because Zwane did not know it?”

“I tell you over and over again that you were not supposed to confront my ancestor like that. You could have died or even been struck dumb. A young wife never talks to the ancestors.” Sithole is beginning to feel hot and MaXulu does not care.

“And that is why you had to remind him of his name?”

“Oh! Don't be so difficult, MaXulu. Zwane did a great job rectifying our ancestors. Look now, you can feel that there is no strain on our shoulders. We can walk and breathe freely.”

“All I feel is hunger,” MaXulu says. “And that walking and breathing freely should not have cost us R2 000. We would not be this hungry if you had not thrown that money away.”

Sithole takes a deep breath before responding, “Oh. There you go again. Do you think this money would never have been finished if I did not use it to pay Zwane?”

“Of course not. But I will always complain about it as long as we are hungry.”

She sends a furtive glance at her husband and notices that the anger is fuming inside him. The devil in her tells her to ignore his anger and continue. “And now you want to take the little we have and make Mkhipheni's feast.” The tears that fill her eyes amaze and disappoint her. She doesn't want to be weak any more. “You are wasteful!”

Sithole forcibly hits the sides of the sofa with both his hands. He did not intend to do this, but as he does they both realise that he is angry, really angry.

“MaXulu, pleeeease!” he shouts now. “Let's forget about this because you are just like a child.” He pauses for a while, thinking that it would indeed be better to close this discussion here and now. But the anger inside him has reached its saturation point. “It shows that no
mbeleko
was performed for you when you were a child, not to mention
umhlonyane
and
umemulo
. This means you are not registered in your family. You are just floating.”

“I'll rather float than be as wasteful as you are. And what is wrong with me that none of those silly rituals were performed on my behalf? What defects do I have?” MaXulu asks confidently, knowing that she lacks no human quality even though she was not brought up the way her husband expects every sane person to have been.

“What about those big pimples?” Sithole says, his face brightening. It's amazing how revenge sometimes heals the soul. Sithole is even able to entertain a dry smile now. “It's not even pimples. It's
ikhambi
.”

“But I'm beautiful in spite of them,” MaXulu says triumphantly.