As children growing up eLujizweni, eNgqeleni along the
Wild Coast, we used to play a running and catching game. In this game you had
Mama or Tata who represented the protagonist. For the vilain we had Ingcuka –
the hyena. Abantwana, the poor vulnerable kids, always found themselves in a
perilous situation, having to outrun Ingcuka to get to uMama/Tata. Central to
the game was a call and response exchange between Mama/Tata and Abantwana. The exchange always went as follows (I hate
that I have to translate hence I opted for a direct translation rather than
attempting to rearrange the words):
Mama: Bantwana bam Mama: My children
Abantwana: Mama Abantwana: Mama
Mama: Yizani kum Mama: Come to me
Abantwana: Siyoyika Abantwana:
We are afraid
Mama: Noyika Ntoni? Mama:
You are scared of what?
Abantwana: Ingcuka Abantwana:
INgcuka
Mama: Itya ntoni? Mama:It’s eating what?
Abantwana: Isonka Abantwana:
Eating the bread
Mama: Ilumela ngantoni? Mama: Washing it down with what?
Abantwana: Ngegazi Abantwana:
With the blood
Mama: Lalani Mama:
Go to sleep now
Abantwana: Awohoo Abantwana:
Awohoo
Mama: Vukani Mama:
Wake up now
Abantwana: Awohoo Abantwana:
Awohoo
Mama: Ngomso
yikrismesi! Mama:
Tomorrow is the Christmas!
With mention of ikrismesi
the children would go beserk, lose their minds and as if possesed by some kind
of spirit. They would dash into the danger zone where there is Ngcuka who washes
down his meals with childrens blood. This was the world of my childhood, when I
was still a country bumpkin who knew nothing about itwo-feet or the fact that my isiMpondo dialect would be an oddity
once I got to Mthatha. Looking at it now, this was complete madness on the part
of Abantwana, dashing off like that risking being Ngcuka’s dinner just because
they cannot fathom the idea of missing ikrismesi
the next day.
Now as innocent as this scenario is, there is more
that meets the eye. There is something out of kilter about children whose
imagination could allow them to risk life and limb for Christmas.
The truth is,
for people who grew up in the world I grew up in these things don’t just
happen, they take some kind conditioning. For instance I wasn’t conscious about
christmas till I was five years old. I think that is when alienaion proper started in earnest for me. In hindsight I
think that it was inevitable because of the broader historical context around
me. It had been more than a century since the cheap migrant labour system of
the mines had been sucking the countryside dry began. This system was
calculated to break the entire social structure of Southern Africa. What was
left was a countryside where Africans were herded into reservations and,
without land, denuded of their dignity as a people. With the new democratic
dispensation the countryside was bleeding youth at an even faster rate because
of the perception that there are more opportunities in the city. Needless to
say, the township and squatter camps were waiting for them.
The kind of alienation we have in mind here is one
where the tendency is that the center reinforces and reproduces itself as a
significant force of gravity as far as national or social life is concerned. By
this I mean the kind Chinweizu mentions when he discusses the “Melting Pot”
perspective. Here he says ‘groups from the periphery are being
culturally re-produced in the centre’. Of course no real cultural re-invention happens. Nevermind
a reproduction. What really happens is
that they face immense social pressures that force them to assimilate. About this kind of
alienation Chinweizu goes on to say:
‘The bad side of the game is the
process of centro-marginalization, where the middle will be turned into the
centre of power and wealth, and the periphery turned into the margin which
becomes more and more relegated everyday’.
What is worth mentioning is that when those from the
margin are pulled into the middle it is not for their own good. It is for their
destruction, to be quite frank. When we look at our childhood game closely we
are fortunate because iNgcuka is easy to spot and the blood-drinking antics are
well-known. In real social situations this is not always the case,
unfortunately.
What is quintessential about the all cases of
assimilation-alienation is the almost chaotic madness involved. Where the two
meet there is always a clash of some kind. A review of the song Madness by
Miles Davis, in 100 Greatest Jazz Albums, speaks to something similar. The tune
is a Herbie Hancock composition which appears on the 1967 Nefertiti album.
About the song the review says:
‘“Madness” seems to capture
musically the idea of cultures colliding at the opening theme, announced
against a jaunty running bass and drum accompaniment, literally collides with a
shock against a sudden break up of the rhythm before stretching out again with
Miles Davis’ long unsettling solo’
I might have seen this kind of madness not so long ago.
It was during the opening of a new shopping complex in the East London CBD.
What makes it interesting is that this is the poorer part of the town, where
the so called second economy is located. The spot where the new mall stands was
previously a taxi rank with caravans where one can get umngqusho and
umnqambulo. Like any rank you had oomama that sell their wares from fruit to
ulusu and everything in-between. Now the rank is located in the dingy
underground parking of the beautiful R316 million shopping complex. The once bustling pavement economy is dying a
slow death. And this is not because oomama on the pavement have moved to the
new mall. The proud occupants of the mall are the same multi-nationals one gets
on the main road in the same CBD. The same stores you get in any mall in the
country anyway. Capitalism has decided to pay the dirtier parts of the town a
visit.
As a sangoma, my suspicion
is that this marks the beginning of yet another phase of social erasure. Pretty
soon the poor souls who have always eked a living from this part of the town
will become misfits. The shabby stalls they sell from will soon be an eyesore that
is bad for business. Very soon they will have to disappear and reappear as new
converts to our growing consumerist culture. It will not happen overnight.
Madness does not just set in immediately. First people have the blank
expression that I saw on many that day, an expression of uncertainty about what
this new culture asks of them. Then comes the mob mentality that needs mounted
police to monitor the scene. What tops the list for me is not the competition
where old women, older than my mother, compete at making animal sounds. That
was degrading but it is not what unsettled me. What made my stomach turn is
that people were able to continue as if nothing happened when a lady was
knocked unconscious in the stampede. To me this is no different to what we did
as children when we heard Ngomso
yikrismesi. Do they know that there is iNgcuka waiting to have their blood
for a drink? This to me is MADNESS!
