Zakes Mda - Ways of Dying

This put some ideas in Nefolovhodwe’s head. He discussed the matter with Jwara, who encouraged him to go. But he warned him to be careful not to get lost in the city. Many people went to the city and did not come back. They forgot all about their friends and relatives in the village. Nefolovhodwe promised that he would always have the village in his heart. After all, he was leaving his two best friends behind, and his wife and nine children.

In the city, Nefolovhodwe soon established himself as the best coffin maker. Like everyone else, when he first arrived, he lived in one of the squatter camps. Unlike the village, death was plentiful in the city. Every day there was a line of people wanting to buy his coffins. Then he moved to a township house. Although there was always a long waiting list for township houses, he was able to get one immediately because he had plenty of money to bribe the officials. The township house soon became too small for his needs, and for his expanding frame. He bought a house in one of the very up-market suburbs. People of his complexion were not allowed to buy houses in the suburbs in those days. He used a white man, whom he had employed as his marketing manager, to buy the house on his behalf.

The secret to Nefolovhodwe’s success lay in the Nefolovhodwe Collapsible Coffin which he invented soon after his arrival in the city. The coffin could be carried by one person, like a suitcase, and it could be put together in easy steps even by a child. It was cheap enough, yet durable. The instructions that accompanied it were simple to follow, and were written in all the languages that were spoken in the city. Although it was lightweight, when it was assembled, it could carry the heaviest imaginable corpse. People came from all over — by train, by bus, by private car, and on foot — to buy the Nefolovhodwe Collapsible Coffin.

There was also the Nefolovhodwe De Luxe Special, which was a much more expensive type. Only the wealthiest people could afford it. This was also very much in demand. It was made of oak and of ebony. It had handles and hinges of gold or silver alloy. The lid had carvings of angels and other supreme beings that populate the heavens. By special order, for multimillionaires only, some of the carvings would be made of ivory. Ivory was still easily available those days.

However, a problem arose. Smart people did not want to be buried in a Nefolovhodwe — and when people talked of a Nefolovhodwe they meant the De Luxe Special; the more popular and cheaper type was just called the Collapsible — even if they could afford it. They knew that at night, unscrupulous undertakers went to the cemetery and dug the de luxe coffin up. They wrapped the corpses in sacks, put them back in their graves, and took the coffins to sell again to other bereaved millionaires. An undertaker could sell the same coffin many times over, and no one would be the wiser. Many wealthy families thought that their loved ones were resting in peace in a Nefolovhodwe. They were not aware that they lay in a condition that was worse than that of paupers who had to be buried by prisoners. At least in pauper burials, the corpses were wrapped in strong canvas.

Nefolovhodwe knew about the digging up of his coffins, and was very disturbed by it. Although he was making millions every year, this corrupt practice affected his business and the reputation of his products. But he did not know how to stem it.

Toloki decided to go to his father’s old friend. If there was anyone who could help him, it would be Nefolovhodwe. He recalled that there had been a time when Nefolovhodwe was the butt of the jokes of village children because of his poverty. He had once given a black eye to a boy who had made stupid jokes about Nefolovhodwe’s tattered and gaunt appearance, and his malnourished children. ‘You can’t talk about my father’s friend like that!’ he had said, before he floored the boy with one nifty left hook. The teacher punished Toloki for fighting at school, and reported the matter to his father. Jwara never raised the issue with Toloki at all. Instead he told Nefolovhodwe about it when they were drinking That Mountain Woman’s beer. Nefolovhodwe smiled when he next met Toloki and said, ‘I heard what you did on my behalf when children who have no behaviour were insulting me. You are a great soldier who will grow to protect us all.’ From that day on, Nefolovhodwe never skipped the opportunity to display his affection for Toloki. Even when his father referred to him as an ugly boy, Nefolovhodwe would protest.

‘You don’t talk like that to your own child, Jwara.’

‘What would you know about it, Nef? You have never had a child like this.’

‘I have nine children of my own. Some are ugly, and some are beautiful. But since they are all my children, they are all beautiful to me.’

In the city, fortune had really smiled on Nefolovhodwe. His house was surrounded by a tall security fence, which had warnings that it was electrified attached. There was a well-trimmed hedge inside the fence. Toloki went to the gate, but it was locked. He stood there for a while, not knowing what to do next. A security guard with two big Alsatians approached, and demanded to know what the hell he was doing there.

‘I want to see Nefolovhodwe.’

‘Just like that, eh? You want to see Nefolovhodwe?’

‘I am Toloki from the village. He is my homeboy.’

The guard thought the whole thing was a joke. He laughed mockingly at Toloki.

‘Your homeboy, eh? A great man like Nefolovhodwe is your homeboy? Does your homeboy want to see you too? Do you have an appointment?’

‘No, I do not have an appointment. But he is my father’s friend. Please tell him that Toloki, son of Jwara, wants to see him.’

The security guard hesitated for a while, then decided that he might as well just call the house and share the joke with his master. He spoke on the phone that was in the guard room by the gate, and came back to open the gate for Toloki.

‘The master does not remember you. But he has a vague memory of someone called Jwara in some faraway village. He says I should let you in, but you had better have something very important to say.’

Of course the guard was lying, thought Toloki. Nefolovhodwe was not an imbecile with a short memory.

He was led by another guard across the spreading lawns, past a dozen or so German, British and American luxury cars, to the back of the double-storey mansion. They entered through the kitchen door, and Toloki was searched by another guard, before he was led through numerous passages to a big room that was expensively furnished. Nefolovhodwe, who had ballooned to ten times the size he used to be back in the village, was sitting behind a huge desk, playing with fleas. Toloki later learnt that he ran a flea circus for his relaxation. He took it very seriously, and his fleas were very good at all sorts of tricks. He believed that they would one day be skilled enough to enter an international competition.

Nefolovhodwe did not even look up as Toloki entered, but continued playing with his fleas.

‘And who are you, young man?’

‘I am Toloki.’

‘Toloki? Who is Toloki?’

‘Toloki, sir. The son of your friend, Jwara.’

‘Well, I don’t remember any Toloki. What do you want here?’

‘I am looking for employment, sir. I thought that since you are my homeboy, and a friend of my father’s, you might be able to help.’

Nefolovhodwe looked at him for the first time.

‘You come and disturb my peace here at home when I am relaxing with my fleas just because you want employment? Don’t you know where my office is in the city? Do you think I have time to deal with mundane matters such as people seeking employment? What do you think I employ personnel managers for?’