Khumbulekhaya: A Quantum Leap

Only a few things in this world make me happier than being called by my clan name, Chizama. My mother calls me that. Bless her. Usually when she recites our clan names she says Cete ; Chizama wase Mdizeni kwa Mayipase. Until a few years ago, I thought eMdizeni was Nirvana, some place of perfect peace, heaven almost.  A town whose reach is only in imagination. It produced my father, right? A perfect man in my eyes it can’t be short of perfection.


As one grows up, one wants to know their heritage. We start to question where we come from.

December 2014 I asked my parents to tell me more about themselves and their upbringing. One should know what to write on their orbituary like. Shhhh my parents do not want to hear about death, please don’t tell them I mentioned orbituary ahahha. We took a drive, just the 3 of us to spots where they used to play;  their homes; their schools etc. One thing stands out from that long drive, however. My dad showed me a police station where he used to obtain his work permit, the same place where my great grandmother used to go for a visa whenever she was in town to visit her children (my grandmother).  Yup, one needed a work permit or a visa. This is the very same police station I was taken to as a child in the early 90s. Who took me there, you ask? School teachers. Let me explain. For the first time in 1990, The Government of South Africa granted black people access to model C schools and previously whites only beaches. A few black children who were considered smart enough and could afford white education flocked into English medium schools for what we thought was access to good education which would later translate to better opportunities. Our first day at school we were taken to the police station and told “ This is where you will get locked up if you start riots and toyi toyi in school premises.” Yes they took young children to a police station just to keep them in check.  I never told my parents this until the day we took that long drive, almost 25 years later. The oppressor may trivialise Apartheid today and say 22 years of democracy but the system caused so much damage to black people, our generation will not see freedom. The best we can do is make things better for our children.

Back to the present:

I told my siblings about the long drive and they showed interest in seeing these locations as well. In November 2015, I suggested a family road trip: my parents; my dad’s only surviving sister; my siblings and the midgets better known as grandchildren. The best time being Christmas break when all of us were available.

True to form, 26 December we set sail. We hired a Quantum just like they do on Khumbulekhaya. We packed half a lamb to give to the Chiefs and relatives at our destination. One cannot visit home empty handed in black culture, that’s unheard of. The excitement I had that day, I cannot put into words. 3 generations in this minibus taxi all elated about what was to come.



Quantum Leap

 

OoChizama

 

 We started at my mother’s parents' home. We had heard of stories from her childhood but had no imagination of where that would be. It’s hard to imagine your own parents as children. In your eyes they’re mom and dad and They were born as such. My mom showed us her very first home before Apartheid Government removed them and built what is town (CBD) today. Like they did in the rest of black townships across South Africa, Apartheid Government had no consideration for blacks. Removing them and building factories on their ancestral land was nothing. Today we are told to forget it, stop whinging already as if an oppressed mind can “unopress” or emancipate itself, just like that. They seem to misunderstand just how deep they cut, not in flesh but psychologically as well. Am I getting worked up about injustice again? Don’t mind me, please keep reading.

Not far from my mom’s house was my dad’s parents’ house. This made it easier for mom and dad to date, I whispered to my sister. My late grandfather has to know about this. Right under his nose, my dad was making moves on his daughter haha.

3 hours later we landed Emdizeni, kwa Mayipase.  This is me, my umbilical cord; my land; where ooChizama were born. I chose to sit at the backseat with the window open to capture shots. What I captured on camera is nothing compared to what my mind photographed however. We entered to my dad’s village and made the first stop. I shed a thug tear… which nobody noticed, thank the Pope. Phew.

My dad got out….. and everything unfolded in slow motion. Here is my hero; my superman entering the gates zakwa Chizama.  I felt my heart filling up I thought it would explode...





       

Khumbulekhaya

There was a dog in the yard, we feared for my dad's life. Dogs are animals and unpredictable. My dad is 70 years young and his reflexes not so up to scratch, like. The dog smelled him and probably knew who he was. It never reacted. My second youngest niece, the ruler followed him despite being told to not get out of the car. Like I said, she rules.

Her Royal Highness, The Ruler

 Nobody was home unfortunately. My dad's aunt  who lives there now had gone emgidini (google that), which was even better for us. We were about to eat food from a three legged pot.  

We took off to emgidini. The driver AND my family were in such haste I got upset. Why couldn't we “Drive slow homie, you never know homie about these... homie” you know, Kanye West steez. I meeeaaan! I wanted to inhale fresh air you know, walk a mile in my ancestors’ footprints, kiss the ground and stuff. They heard my plea and my dad allowed us to walk a little. I swear I greeted everyone that day. I wished I could walk around with a board that reads #IAmChizama on my chest hehe.  We drove a short distance and reached umgidi. I put on a skirt, to show respect and look descent. I had been in shorts as always. The first gentleman we walked into was Tatú Fezile, who immediately recognised my brother “Chizama” he said. He thought he’s our late uncle’s (My father’s elder brother) son. He was not too far off, in my world all my aunts are my mothers and uncles my dads. I was raised that way. My brother probably responded affirmative to his question. We were welcomed and they gave us one of the houses to sit and converse. Different people started coming in to introduce themselves. We were not expected to know them, we had not visited there in recent years. Neither had my dad, I think…

Emgidini

 

We demanded to see our grandparents residence before moving to the city. One gentleman Tat'u Nyhobho offered to take us there. 

Circa 1942. My grandparents. Cava the swagger: Suit, Tie and gloves

This is my highlight of the entire trip. We left the Quantum at the bottom and took a long walk to my "grandparents’ house"  It was an emotional walk for me. I get goosebumps each time I travel back to that moment. My father, our King and Tatú Nyhobho walked in front of course, followed by my brothers carrying their daughters on their shoulders (what a beautiful sight) ; then us girls;  my mom and aunt at the back.

Stragglers

      

Long walk to our roots

My mom and aunt were supposed to have been ahead of us but they walk slow. They’re old. Again do not tell my mom I said this. We arrived at the site, Tat'u Nyhobho showed us the homestead, which was now empty of course. We have lots of land, it seems yet we are caught up in the city, trying to make money. I was in my own little world for a few moments, I prayed to my grandfather to say thank you for his son, better known as my dad. Thank you for looking out for us and representing us in Heaven you know. His grave is not there unfortunately, he passed away in the city and buried where Apartheid Government decided to build factories making it impossible to visit his grave site. Visiting his old house compensated to a certain extent and put our spirit at ease.

 

 

 

 

Today I can finally say I know my heritage.  I thank God for the opportunity to experience this with my entire family 

To all the people of Mdizeni KwaMayipase, singoo Chizama; AmaCete; OoBhurhuma; Amalowa; OoMbambo zinomongo; OoDliyamekrwada; OoNcenceza baseMlanjeni; AmaGqunukhwebe; OoMalahl’aluthuthu ayatshisa wawanyathela ungafa  siyabulela.

  .... and you  Dear Reader for taking this journey with me

 

Highlights

1.      Travelling with my family for the first time in over twenty years. We last did this during pie and guava juice days (See Lessons From My Dad for details)

2.      The midgets. Jeezas! Those things are terrorists. One jumps up and down on the seat and automatically the rest of the crew follows suit. They traversed the vehicle so frequently it made my head spin. One would demand  to sit with on their mom's lap and the rest of the army would imitate. The one who decided to remain in their seat would diss the others for misbehaviour and it would start again with these small people not knowing what to do with themselves and annoying us the elders. My sister caught me staring through the window at some point and laughed. What’s wrong she asked, I said I wish I could turn all of them to statues until we get home. We love them anyway and this trip would not have been as much fun without them. Aaaah Chizama!



Terrorists