EXTRACT | ‘In Shifting Sands’ by Leskey Mduduzi Cele

ABOUT THE BOOK

Leskey Mduduzi Cele has always had a fascination with words. He diligently wrote about things happening in his life from childhood. He has now drawn the short stories, snapshots of his life, into this book.

It tells the story of a young boy from the backwaters of KwaZulu-Natal as he makes his way through life in a rapidly changing country and world. A country initially in the throes of apartheid emerging into a democracy at the other end. A story which begins in the dusty streets of Sobantu and Edendale outside Pietermaritzburg in the late 1960s, moving to Ulundi and Dlangezwa in northern KZN in the mid-to-late 1970s. A story which takes the writer to Limpopo as a university student in the turbulent 1980s and to his life as a professor, father and husband.

EXTRACT

The Raisins

Think of a slice of raisin bread. Then, make the bread itself ‘white’ South Africa, governed by the South African government, and the raisins the part handed over to the Zulu-speaking citizens of the country for ‘self governance’, and you are looking at a map of the Natal province of South Africa in the mid-70s. For a more realistic representation, the raisins would have to be of different sizes and irregularly shaped, but the rest is spot on.

Ulundi was in a largish raisin known as Zululand, located somewhat to the north, close to the upper crust. The two most notable things the raisins had in common were the complete absence of contiguity and the means to support any meaningful economic activity. The location of the raisins, you see, was carefully chosen to exclude any parts that easily lent themselves to any form of development or were located close to any discernible resources such as water, underground minerals or indeed anything that our lighter skinned compatriots could desire. The cities of Durban and Pietermaritzburg, and all towns throughout the province, for that matter, were lily white while the townships and shack settlements within walking distance around them and on which they depended for their labour force were raisin territory.

Keep in mind that this raisin policy was in place in all the other three provinces of South Africa as well and that all in all, the raisins, occupied by close to 80% of the population, accounted for not much more than 20% of the available land, and you should get a sense of the way the government of the time saw the world. The government’s policy – variously known as the ‘Homeland Policy’, ‘Separate Development’ (separate but equal, they said) and Apartheid (apart + ‘-heid’, the Afrikaans suffix meaning -ness) – was in full swing.

Our family was among the first to arrive when these developments necessitated the consolidation of all administrative structures for black South Africans in Natal province to the newly built capital and seat of government at Ulundi under the leadership of Chief Minister Buthelezi. Senior civil servants, teachers, nurses, school inspectors and many other professionals made the not-so-great trek from Pietermaritzburg (which continued to be the provincial capital of the entire province), Durban and the rest of the province to this new seat of government.

Ulundi, at this point, consisted of about 500 or so houses and government offices, and the literature of the time indicated that the plan was for rapid development to a city two-thirds the size of Durban. Since only another 29 or so houses were added in 20 or so years thereafter, we can safely say that it fell well short of this ambitious target.

In terms of amenities, there were none. Nothing. The nearest decent supermarket was about 50km away in Melmoth and you had to go another 50km for things like school uniforms in Eshowe. Empangeni was a two-hour drive away and here you could get some furniture although you had to go all the way to Durban, about two more hours further, if quality was of any concern.

The only transport I can remember was the SA Railways bus which served the Durban to Nongoma route. I remember well to the eccentric driver, known to all as Skhwili Nobhoko. This Afrikaner man spoke Zulu without even a hint of an accent and carried four sticks in his cab which he pulled out to resolve any disagreements which arose along the route. He was a renowned exponent of Zulu stick-fighting and would insist on dealing with any issues ‘like men’ – and if that meant parking the bus on the side of the road while he battled it out with one of the passengers, that is what he would do. He was so loved that I swear he would have been the president of the country if we had the vote. That’s all it takes with us, you know. Speak the language and show a bit of love for our culture and you are one of us.

To be fair, not everything was bad. The houses were significantly better than the standard four-roomed township houses and electricity and internal plumbing were things many of us were going to have to get used to. The roads were tarred and the school was a five-minute walk away. A definite improvement on the exhausting trek to school that we were used to. We loved it! It was around this time that TV finally arrived in South Africa and we were introduced to National League and English football. We played no international football then, remember? That was because of international sanctions placed on the country by the world. Soon Agnetha, Bjorn, Benny and Anni-Frid were teaching us ‘The Name of the Game’ and their ‘Knowing Me, Knowing You’ was the most popular track on the dance floor of the school hall, which was the town’s entertainment centre after hours. We also got to see the titanic battles between Bjorn Borg, Supermac and Jimmy Connors as Martina Navratilova’s chip and charge tactics were pitted against Chris Evert’s baseline precision.

Within days of our arrival, we had a football team going and that is how I came to meet the most brilliant footballer I have ever played with. Nkosiyabo would surely have made a name for himself in the professional ranks if his love for our sisters and fermented beverages had not surpassed his talent and stunted his further development in later years. In his latter days in high school, he was the undeniable star and entertainer even though his other two obsessions had him firmly in their grip by then.

Killer Zungu was as witty as they come and had a story for every occasion. We both knew the plots to virtually every James Hadley Chase novel and titles like ‘No Orchids for Miss Blandish’ and ‘The Guilty are Afraid’ were part of our regular conversations. I still have a vague recollection of the plots of titles like ‘The Doll’s Bad News’ and ‘The World in my Pocket’. We could not imagine a finer, more sophisticated style of writing!

Another teammate from those days, Zipho Dlangalala, was briefly on the Orlando Pirates coaching staff a few years ago and is still a recognisable name in local football circles.

Among the grown-ups, Leslie Njoko, recently retired from top division AmaZulu FC, was among the founders of the aptly named Pioneers Football Club. Among the notable stars of the team were Willow (there goes that hated species again) and my favourite, the genius striker Selwyn Mdluli. What a player! Among the defenders, a man we called Sailorman or just Sailor stood out. More so because this lanky specimen of humanity was also a founding member of Moses Mchunu’s first karate dojo and the acclaimed Ulundi Choral Society, and was on hand to guide us youngsters with the ins and outs of tennis when we took up the sport. Yes, anything to do with sport and Sailor was in it. He was to achieve fame later in life as the legendary Zulu football commentator Zama Masondo, the man who gave the world ‘Laduuuuma’ for a goal and ‘Ngonyawo lonwabu’ (the chameleon’s walk) for the slow-motion action replay.

Cele will launch his memoir at Exclusive Books Mall of Africa on November 21 at 6pm. Click here to RSVP.

Extract provided by JDoubleD Publicity.