Zakes Mda - The Madonna of Excelsior

“It is terrible to see him like this,” said Klein-Jan Lombard, sighing sorrowfully.

“Ja, ou Stephanus’s boy used to be big and strong,” agreed the dominee. “He could have easily become a Springbok flank forward if he had pursued his rugby career.”

“It is sad to see him like this,” Gys Uys echoed Klein-Jan Lombard.

“What do the doctors say?” asked Adam de Vries.

“They are not able to put their finger on his problem,” said the dominee. “He’s tired. We should let him sleep. Jacomina says he was hallucinating all night long. something about the lies of the elders.”

“And you all pretend you don’t know what is wrong with him?” asked Gys Uys angrily.

“Do you know what is wrong with him, Gys?” asked Adam de Vries.

“We all know. Let’s not pretend,” cried Gys Uys. “We all know that we used these children to fight our wars. And then we discarded them. All of a sudden they find that they live in a new world in which they do not belong. We, on the other hand, have simply blended into this new dispensation. We were already established in our careers and in our businesses. We have the wealth and the influence and are now in cahoots with the new elite. Things like affirmative action do not affect us at all. But what about these young men who had to kill and be prepared to be killed on our behalf? They suffer the consequences. They are the ones who are on the receiving end of affirmative action and the kind of transformation that decrees that there should no longer be any white faces in any senior positions in the public sector and parastatals.”

“I knew that Gys would find some political reason for the young man’s sickness,” said Adam de Vries. “You always want to score some right-wing political point, Gys.”

“Perhaps Gys is right,” said the Reverend Bornman. “We all regret the past and yet are fearful of the future.”

“Don’t you dare count my name among those who regret the past,” yelled Gys Uys. “There was never anything wrong with the past until you people and your de Klerk messed it up. People like you, Adam, go around apologising to the blacks for apartheid. Did you ever think of apologising to these young men that you used?”

“It is people like you, Gys, who take away all hope from these young people,” said Adam de Vries. “You plant in their minds the false notion that Afrikaners are now the oppressed people.”

The Reverend François Bornman stepped forward and said, “Let us remember that we are here to pray for this sick boy. We are not here to poison the whole atmosphere with our silly arguments.”

The elders put their hands together and bowed their heads. The Reverend François Bornman led them in prayer.

SATURDAY MORNING. Popi decided to help Niki patch the holes in their shack before going to sing at the cemetery. The shack was falling apart. They spent a lot of time attending to the leaks, patching the ramshackle structure with mud at the corners and replacing corrugated-iron sheets that had been perforated by rust with plastic bags and cardboard.

Popi was telling Niki about the cherry harvest season in Clo-colan that had enabled her to put a few rands into her post office savings book. But the money was not enough to buy even a row of concrete blocks. The house would have to stay waist-high until a stroke of fortune came their way.

“The house is not important, Popi,” said Niki. “We should be happy that we do have a roof over our heads.”

“But I vow that one day I will finish this house, Niki,” said Popi. “I tell you, Niki, one day you are going to live in this house.”

Niki’s crusted face cracked into a smile.

“I know,” she said.

“And I’ll furnish it with very posh furniture,” enthused Popi.

“You know that I don’t care for posh furniture, Popi. I am just happy to have you back.”

“Back? From Clocolan?”

“From your politics. At least now I am able to spend a lot of time with you. But sometimes I can see that you are lonely. There is no man in your life. A woman needs a man in her life.”

“You know that I do not need a man in my life, Niki.”

Niki shook her head pityingly.

“I need something more substantial than a man to fill the gaping hole in my heart,” added Popi.

“Sometimes I think you miss being a town councillor,” said Niki.

“I do not miss being a town councillor. The only thing I am sorry about is that I left the council before we could have a festival of our own in Excelsior. And I miss running the library. Of course I can still go there to borrow books like any other patron.”

“Anyway, it is a useless council. All they know is how to eat our money.”

Popi laughed and asked how her mother knew anything about that.

“People talk,” said Niki. “Maria and Mmampe always come with strange stories of how they eat. They say now the spout of the kettle is facing their direction. It is their turn to eat. They say my children were foolish not to eat when the spout of the kettle was facing in their direction.”

“At least as a coloured person I can complain that in the old apartheid days I was not white enough, and now in the new dispensation I am not black enough,” said Popi jokingly. “What about you, Niki? You are black enough, but you are not one of those who eat. What is your excuse?”

Niki laughed. For the first time in many years. She laughed for a very long time. Popi just stood there in amazement. She had not thought her joke was all that funny. Niki laughed until tears ran from her eyes and disappeared into the cracks of her face. Popi was getting worried.

“Are you all right, Niki?” she asked.

“Oh, Popi!” cried Niki. “I am so happy that at last you are so free of shame about being coloured that you can even make a joke about it.”

“My shame went away with my anger, Niki,” said Popi quietly.

“You are free, Popi, and you have made me free too. For a long time, I felt guilty that I had failed you. that I had made you coloured! Every time they mocked and insulted you, it ate my heart and increased my guilt.”

“God made me coloured, Niki, not you. You have no business to be guilty about anything.”

Popi and Niki embraced and laughed and cried at the same time. They were not aware of the bakkie that had stopped outside their gate. The roly-poly frame of Johannes Smit rolled out of the bakkie and up to the gate.

“I am sorry to break up this Kodak moment, ladies, but I have an urgent message for Popi,” said Johannes Smit, flashing a broad smile.

The message was that Tjaart Cronje wanted to see Popi. She was taken aback. She couldn’t imagine why her mortal enemy would want to see her. The temerity of it all was that he expected her to go to his house.

“He wants to see me, so he must come here,” said Popi. “He cannot just summon me as if he is the baas.”

“He is sick, Popi,” explained Johannes Smit. “Very sick. He wants to talk to you.”

“He wants to make peace with you, Popi,” said Niki. “I think you must go.”

“How do you know he wants to make peace with me?” asked Popi.

“His ancestors are telling him to make peace with you, Popi. You can’t go against the wishes of the ancestors.”

Popi laughed and said, “White people don’t have ancestors, Niki.”

Niki offered to go with her. But Johannes Smit said Cornelia Cronje would not be pleased to see Niki in her house. Popi said that if her mother was not welcome, then she would not go either. Johannes Smit relented and allowed Niki to accompany her daughter.

Niki sat in the front of the bakkie with Johannes Smit while Popi sat in the back.

“This is a good opportunity to speak with you, Niki,” said Johannes Smit as he drove out of Mahlatswetsa Location. “Why don’t you join our mentoring scheme with your bee-keeping project? It could benefit you a lot.”