Chapter 1
Each community consists of a diversity of people living their own lives yet sharing the same space. From different households to different ages to different social groups these communities are divided either by choice or by biological endowments. Though you belong to these groups and these communities, primarily you are an individual.
From birth to death, as an individual you go through a series of contests in your quest to reach your destiny. As a result you find yourself consciously or subconsciously selecting your comrades and guides along the way. After some time you might find that some of these comrades are not going towards the same direction as the one you desire. This is where you cut them off and move on with those whom you feel are still going the same direction.
As much as you have such control and choice in which you choose who gets to walk along with you, some of you tend to forget that you can never choose who will be your spectators. Spectators consist of us, your community members. We quietly witness you as you grow from one stage to another. Some of you might not even be aware of our interests in your lives, but from childhood to adulthood we are there, watching. We witness you through firsthand perceptions, through assumptions and through grapevines. Each of us knows a certain portion of your life, and if we were to be taken as a whole community we would scribe your whole biography. The sad thing is that you can never know how much each one of us knows about you. And you can never know who exactly has an interest in witnessing you as you grow. Therefore we are Anonymous Witnesses.
Thembi is one such person who grew up from a child to a young woman being observed by a panel of anonymous witnesses from the community of Edendale, in the city of Pietermaritzburg.
We observed her together with her family. She came from a respected family of community leaders. Therefore some of us expected her to be better bred than an average girl from an average family, whereas the haters wanted her to fall so that they could satisfy their resentments. This made her particularly more interesting towards our eyes.
“…Like father like daughter, the wages of sin is death. Goodbye my darling mother.”
These are the words and more found on Just Magazine. It is Thembi who wrote them right before she attempted to walk what should have been her last walk on earth, the same walk that her father took four days before this day.
Mr. Ngcobo, or we should say a businessman, a Pastor, a father, a husband, Sipho Ngcobo shot himself on the head last Saturday morning and left a note saying:
“For the wages of sin is death. There are things a man cannot live with. But also remember: For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s. Farewell my loved ones”
Now, Thembi was standing next to the railway line, patiently, she was waiting for what was to be the last thing that ever touched her while she was still alive. Of course her eyes were like angry clouds on a stormy day, from her eyes to her chest it was a waterfall, and like thunder her heart was pounding forcefully as the train approached from her left side. Spha from the right side towards her, he seemed to be mirroring the speed of the train, running and screaming his lungs out “No, no, no, no, no Thembi listen to me, you don’t want to do it…”
Unfortunately his voice was not loud enough to penetrate against the vulgar sounds of the train’s horn. He tried again to shout louder but still seemed to have fallen short to get to Thembi’s ears.
Thirteen seconds later Spha was on the other side of the rail looking at Thembi, with his eyes popped out as if he was the one who had just died. In fact they were both looking at each other.
We do not know why Thembi decided she was not going to feed the multi-headed snake any more, why she thought she was worth living after all, and why she thought she still deserved to breathe after what she had done had made her feel so ashamed about herself. Though she still breathes today we all know that she died that day. In fact they both died that day.
Maybe we should begin by telling you what happened three years ago, and tell you all the series of contests that steered her towards the railway. Now seat back and relax as the story is just beginning.
There it is, walking down the passage, from its room towards the lounge. Slim eyes, thick chocolate brown lips that crack to reveal two rows of sparkling stones, dimples on each side, it’s head is made to kill as always, fair-body of an alien from planet-sexy is walking towards it parents. Its walk is the only walk that ever stood a chance against Michael Jackson’s moonwalk. There it is the beauty and the pride of the Ngcobo family, Thembisile Ngcobo approaching her mother and father on her big day.
This day was the day of her matriculation ball, she was indeed looking as astonishing as the word “astonishing” could ever mean. As young as fourteen years, when she bypassed even the oldest chap paused a little and took a glimpse at her just for the pleasure of sight. Now she was eighteen going to nineteen, it was like the more she had grown the more her sight bred the desires on every man she passed by.
What day was it today? Friday the 26th of November 2007. She hugged her mother and made a sudden turn, and then asked “How do I look?” in fear of her father’s reaction towards a split on the left side of her black dress. A split that revealed her left smooth and light brown alluring thigh and a V-cut on her chest that divulged the cleavage of her perfectly rounded brown, soft and tight breasts.
She remembered: when she was fourteen she was not allowed to partake in a beauty pageant at her school because of the nature of clothing. This was why she asked again, “You don’t mind the splits on the dress? The reason I’m asking is because the last time I wore a dress like this you nearly killed me. Remember the beauty pageant?”
Mr Ngcobo asked his girl and his wife to seat down, and then seated himself on the right edge of the couch.
He then explained to his daughter why she could not enter for the beauty pageant four years ago. Yes, she could’ve won, “but it was just not on for a pastor’s daughter to associate herself with things of that nature.” He then told her how this ball was deferent to the pageant. This was not meant to fulfil her urge to feel sexy or to show off her beauty, but this time it was meant to celebrate her efforts of twelve years at school. No one had the right make limits on how she could celebrate her hard earned moment, but herself. He reminded her of the achievements she had acquired up to this point: top of the grade results three years in a row, sportswoman of the year, two bursaries offered and so on.
Mr. Ngcobo was a very charming man. He chose his words precisely every time he opened his mouth. No wonder he was such a great church pastor, such a good businessman, such an exceptional husband, and such an ideal man in the community of Edendale and the Pietermaritzburg city as whole.
The time was quarter to six in the evening, Thembi was now ready, and the only thing between her and her matriculation ball was her partner and his means of transport towards their destination, Samba Hotel in Durban. A roaming sound of a vehicle approached and stopped at the gate. He was here! She came to her feet and rushed to the door, waited for a knock. There was no knocking but a push on the door. To her disappointment it was not him, rather her younger sister Nomalanga homecoming from doing sports at school. It became obvious to her that the vehicle outside was Nomalanga’s school bus. Nevertheless they greeted each other with love and joy. “Wow! You look… you look, man I don’t know what to say!”
Nomalanga then rushed to the kitchen shouting for her parents’ attention, “Mom, did you see Thembi?! Did you see her dress!? Did you see her hair!? Did you…” Mr.Ngcobo calmed her down and told her that indeed they had sees all of those things she was talking about.
“On my matric-ball I want that dress” said Nomalanga.
“But sweetie you are only ten years old, by the time you are in matric, fashion will be a lot different then.” said her mother.
“I know but I love it”. They all laughed.
While they were laughing Thembi enlisted in the kitchen and told them that Bonga had just arrived and was standing outside. She instructed Nomalanga to invite him in, and then she swiftly went to her bedroom “to get her purse”, but we all know that the real reason she rushed to her room was to fix herself once again and make sure she was ‘perfect’ for Bonga’s eyes.
Nomalanga wide opened the door. Without even inviting Bonga in she started asking him a lot of questions about his relationship with her sister and also complimenting him on his attire. Right on the door way, Bonga was in a dashingly designed black tuxedo that matched his silver wrist watch and his black Armani shoes. On his left hand he held a set of keys for the Mercedes Benz that was destined to cart them to Durban. Then Mrs. Ngcobo came out from the kitchen, in the lounge approaching towards Bonga and calling Thembi out for a picture with her partner before they left. She also gave Bonga a little compliment on his attire.
There it was again, the beauty and the feast of Bonga’s eyes. There it walked towards him. His eyes were fixed on the diamond between its thighs, his eyes were also fixed on the twins on its chest, and his eyes were also fixed on its sparkly eyes and on its sparkly smile: his eyes were fixed all over her. He was thinking, “Two years and a half of patience was worth it, man look at that, but what I cannot believe is that she was not joking. Man I’m one lucky mother…”
Whilst he was still in his fancies, Mr. Ngcobo disturbed by touching his right hand shoulder and then said “Son, make sure you bring her back safe and sound”.
They took the photo, and then left. There were smiles on everybody’s faces.
Mr. and Mrs. Ngcobo went inside the house and prepared for the evening prayer that always occurred between six and seven. In the seating room Mr Ngcobo rearranged the furniture by pushing the table and chairs against the east side wall, while Mrs Ngcobo went to get her bible from the bedroom. In the other bedroom Nomalanga was taking off her school uniform and putting on an ‘old’ dress that was last years’ Christmas dress.
There was another knock on the door. It was Mantombi, the maid. Or maybe we should phrase it as the Ngcobo family phrased it: it was aunt Mantombi. She was the fifth member of the Ngcobo household. On this day she was coming from visiting a sick friend at the Edendale Hospital.
“Ohm thanks God I made it before the prayer, but is seems like I missed Thembi. How did she look, or should I say how did they look?” were Mantombi’s first words.
Nomalanga describe the beauty, the happiness, the partner and the car. Then they all went on their feet and sang “You are holy Lord oh Lord. You alone deserve all praise. There is none I shall I adore but you. You alone deserve all praise…” They then began praying.
Mr. Ngcobo was praying louder than everyone, hence he was the head of the house and a pastor. “Dear Lord, dear God, dear Master of all. In the name of the King of Kings, the doctor of doctors, teacher of teachers…God I am praying in the name of all names, I am praying in the name of your one and only son Jesus of Nazareth. God my Lord I humble myself in front you and your army of angels with a request that is guaranteed to be granted, because you are the Lord of nothing but the truth. I pray for all those who could not pray for themselves because of various reasons, I pray for those who do not know you, I pray for those who need help, I pray to get help. I pray for myself to prosper in your eyes and your works, to do the right thing even when it hurt. Lord, give me love that is infinite towards every creature. Lord I pray for my family to… Last but not least Lord I pray for my angel, our angel, our child, our girl to be safe on her way and back from Durban. Amen.”
And then they all recited the following closure together “Lord of power, father of all, bless this night you have given us, and protect us through your grace, Amen”
After praying they all set down, allowing Mantombi to tell them about her ill friend. She told them how much her friend was getting better and the possibility of being discharged by the following day. They started sharing stories about ill people. How sad it was but funny at same time, the things they say, how truthful dying people tend to become. They talked about the how dying people see things, they talked about the wisdom that dying people seem to have.
