THE SPEAR

Siyahamba ekukah neyni kwenkos. Siyahamba ekukah neyni kwenkos. Siyahamba, hamba, hamba. OH! Siyahamba, ekukah neyni kwenkos. We are marching in the light of God. We are marching in the light of God. We are marching in the light of God. We are marching, We are marching; we are marching in the light of God…

We all know the great Spear of the Nation, our Father of the land, Utata Mdadiba, whom set up the armed wing of the African National Congress, Umkhonto we Sizwe, The “MK”, in 1961 when he lost hope that passive and non - violent resistance to the apartheid government would bear fruit but this story is about our spear of the nation, a local Joe who lived in the township, Bhongweni Location to be precise. You see, our Sizwe Rhadebe was a man that believed in alternate sources of healing. He always dressed in jeans, beige jacket, golf T-shirt, black all-stars takkies and wearing a brown balaclava, caring a blue briefcase. He seemed sophisticated enough to pass off as a white collar jobber. However Sizwe was a street peddler. You know the type that sells two - step rat killer or super glue or special muti to clean toilettes. Sizwe was a special ladies man. Betsy on Mondays and Tuesdays. Vera on Wednesdays and Thursdays. Zintle on the Weekends. Sizwe Rhadebe was a charmer, a Mjitha.

It was about 1:30pm on a Saturday afternoon at the local taxi rank, Huge Eno advertisement above the fleet of Taxi‘s, like boats docked at a harbour, Sizwe was peddling his goods from his blue briefcase, going from taxi to taxi, when he came across Mama. Mama was a Nigerian Traditional Healer and she offered so many cures from her shack behind the Tavern. Once you entered the dark lit shack, you could feel the heebee jeebies. Skins of animals hung from the ceiling. Different coloured bottles filled with strange powders and liquids. Mama spoke with a Nigerian accent. She was dressed in a colourful kaftan and head scarf. “Obado you. You come for my special short boys, or magic ring or walletto?” “No!” said Sizwe. He was interested in the potion that could make his manhood bigger and better. Mama gave him a newspaper parcel filled with grey powder. “You rub on your finger and then put on your wancho.” Sizwe handed her the R500.00 for the powder.

That night at home in Bhongweni location, Jacobs street, Sizwe did exactly what Mama told him. Rubbing and rubbing of the grey substance onto his knobkerrie. It tingled a bit, but he left it on and fell asleep. The next morning Sizwe awoke and plonked his three legs onto the floor. Yes, friends his knobkerrie was a long and thick a two legs. He screamed a blood curdling scream, when he saw the elephant trunk laying limp on the floor between his feet. “That Mama gave me poison”. “Never you mind, Sizwe. We will make it all right, Sthandwa”, Zintle said as she bandaged Sizwe’s knobkerrie. It look like he had a handbag in his trousers. Away he waddled to the Nigerian’s shack to get a refund on this terrible muti that he bought. He wanted a growth of a few inches and thickness of a few inches, not an augmentation of a new body limb. He pushed the door in at that scary shack, “Mama, what black muti, you sold me? It made it toooo big!!!!” “Slow downo man, did you follow my instructions? I said rub on with finger once then wash off powder. Did you do that O!” “No, I rubbed all the powder onto it.” Pointing down to the bulge in his pants. “I slept with the powder on, I neva washed.” “Ayo, that’s why it looks like an elephant’s nose, I gave you enough powder for six months, not one night.” Sizwe was devastated, what he was going to do with this MONSTROSITY between his legs.

That very cold, dark night, Sizwe laid on his bed contemplating all sorts of things to get his knobkerrie back to normal. Zintle burst into the room, talking in a loud voice, “Sizwe, I got the Pasta to help you. You know the one from the corner church.” Pastor Simon was holding his bible in his left hand and under his arm, he was clutching a Mr Price plastic. He was accompanied by a few brethren from his congregation. They laid hands on poor Sizwe’s back and thighs. Pastor Simon asked to see the augmentation. Sizwe dropped his pants and in doing so, the elephant trunk dropped with a “Phlopp!!!” onto the floor. “Oh. My Lord”, was the utterance from Pastor Simon’s mouth. Sizwe’s knobkerrie was changing all shades of red, yellow and green. For a closer inspection, Pastor Simon held a candle closer to light the area better, so he could get a clean look, he noticed long, hard, grey hairs, resembling a Rhino’s tail sprouting all the way down from the root to the tip.

Pastor Simon laid his hands once more on Sizwe’s body and prayed, “Lift up your heads, O you gates, be lifted up, you ancient doors, that the King of glory may come in. Who is this King of glory? The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in Battle, By his stripes, May you be healed.” Pastor Simon dripped some of the oil he carried in the plastic onto the augmentation. Sizwe accepted his fate that night. He uttered a silent prayer that night for everything to return back to normal. Zintle asked her mother for some transport money to take her “Vat en Sit” to the clinic the next morning. The knobkerrie was starting to leak strange liquids and making all sorts of strange sounds, it sounded like it was trumpeting.

The next door neighbour’s rooster was up at the crack of dawn, crowing its throat out. Zintle had her handbag ready for the trip to the local clinic. Friday’s was a busy day at the clinic, and she wanted to be in front of the line so her Sizwe could be seen too and be on their way back home so they could get rest from all the travelling. When she shook Sizwe to get up, he plonked his legs on the floor to arise from the bed, when she realized his knobkerrie was no longer hanging on the floor. It shriveled up nearly to its original size. “Thank you Lord”, Zintle praised the living God in that single room of theirs.

At the clinic the sister on call examined Sizwe from head to toe, shrugging her shoulders and “ahem” now and again, because the couple knew what could have happened if his elephant’s nose did not shrink. A complete elimination of the knobkerrie, acorns and all. He was lucky gangrene did not set in.

Two days passed and it was Sunday, and the couple was dressed in their Sunday’s best. Denim Jeans, Golf T-shirt, Beige Jacket and Hat. Sizwe left his Balaclava at home. Zintle wore her black and white polka dot dress. Seated in the pews of the Corner Church, The choir opened the morning service with a well know chorus they knew, ”Siyahamba ekukah neyni kwenkos. Siyahamba ekukah neyni kwenkos. Siyahamba, hamba, hamba. OH! Siyahamba, ekukah neyni kwenkos. We are marching in the light of God. We are marching in the light of God. We are marching in the light of God. We are marching, we are marching; we are marching in the light of God…”

From that Sunday onwards Sizwe was very careful of what he buys around the taxi rank. Being conscientious, as to what he peddles to his customers. Two - step rat killer, super glue and muti for cleaning toilettes. As for Mama, you could say karma happened. She was nearly arrested for selling illegal Rhino horn to unsuspecting victims. Her business was shut down permanently... Sizwe was no longer the elephant man, he became the Spear of Jacob Street. “You must Neva, Sthandwa, You must neva.”

Writers note: - Story is only fiction….