Bom Boy Page 17
As she spoke the beads clicked against each other, a twittering kind of rain. Leke listened, he wasn't sure what he was listening for but he listened. She was rattling off a series of names that he didn't recognise. Marcus had wasted his money.
‘One of our children wants to make herbs and heal.’
‘What does that mean?’ Leke asked, speaking for the first time since the consultation started.
‘Your ancestors are speaking. They say they want a life, a child. One of them will return to practice my work – healing. It is a truce with the sangoma-curse that hovers over your life. The child devotes its life to the practice of divination and the curse will cease.’
‘I don't understand though, I don't have any children.’
Sis' Lerato looked beyond Leke, to Tsotso who met her eyes and then averted her gaze.
‘You will understand soon.’
Sis' Lerato collected a stash of dried wild sage and lit it. Soon a heavy smoke filled the small room, the pungent smell would stay with Leke for several weeks afterwards.
Leke didn't understand much of what the ancestors said. Through Sis' Lerato they spoke of farms, crops that weren't rotated when they should have been, land that had to be reclaimed. Each time a different ancestor spoke Sis' Lerato would wriggle in her body and seemed to take on the persona of whoever was speaking. A high-pitched voice demanded Leke make weekly donations, for six months, to the closest shelter.
‘What?’ Leke was confused.
Sis' Lerato turned her head like an aerial picking signal. Then, in the high-pitched voice again, You need to give back, Leke. Give back what was taken.’
A different voice, deep, wanted Leke to buy a motorbike but also warned against drinking and driving, it seemed a joke and Sis' Lerato laughed, loud guffaws. Sometimes she lapsed into a language that neither Tsotso nor Leke recognised. It felt as though the conversation was really between her and the ancestors; Leke and Tsotso were merely there to watch.
‘You okay?’ Tsotso asked, noticing Leke had started fidgeting.
‘My skin's itching’ a steady fire grew along his skin, moving over the surface of his body like a bee swarm. It wasn't painful. Uncomfortable, yes. Despite this Leke stayed sitting, scratching his body as the bee swarm moved from his shoulder to his back to underneath his bare feet.
‘Yes,’ Sis' Lerato kept on saying. Yes, Leke. Yes. Bom Boy. You are back now. You are finally here.’
After twenty minutes the itching abated, the bee swarm flew away. Leke relaxed his body, relieved but exhausted.
After they paid her and were already standing at the threshold she took Leke's hand, You have a lot of ancestors. A lot of your people are on the other side.’
Leke looked at her. He was shaken, unsure of what had just taken place. She had called him Bom Boy, he was sure of that.
‘Your mother,’ she said as they reached the door, ‘I mean your birth mother. She wasn't there,’ she let go of his hand. ‘Your mother was not there.’
Leke drove out of Gugulethu, pulling to the left of the road as cars overtook him. He balanced the wheel with one hand, held Tsotso's hand with the other. The car windows were down and a warm wind, distinctly summer, brushed his face.
‘What did she mean “give back”?’ Tsotso asked as they joined the N2.
Leke used both hands to manoeuvre.
‘I should have told you before. I'm a thief. In the past I've taken things that didn't belong to me. I'm not going to justify it. I was wrong.’
Tsotso was silent for a while. Are you going to do it?’
‘Do what?’
‘Give back?’
‘Yes.’
‘And your mother? You'll try and find her,’ Tsotso said.
Leke, not talking, changed gear, picking up speed. After the previous year's prolonged cold and wet, he enjoyed the feel of the sun on his face.
EPILOGUE
Babalawo I have come to beseech you
Alugbinrin
The potion that you gave to me the other day
Alugbinrin
The one you said my hand mustn't feed my face with
Alugbinrin
The one you said my legs mustn't feed my face with
Alugbinrin
A root tripped me and I fell
Alugbinrin
My hand touched the potion, then touched my mouth
Alugbinrin
Next thing, I look at my stomach and it's expanded
Alugbinrin
Babalawo, I have come to beseech you, Alugbinrin.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Daddy, Akin and Pelayo, the inspiring women in your lives – thanks for all your love, support and friendship. Thamba, thank you for your ongoing partnership and steady unconditional love.
Thank you to Joanne Hichens. You managed to bring a combination of commitment, compassion and straight-edged feedback and I appreciate all that I have learnt through your guidance.
Colleen Higgs of Modjaji Books, thanks for saying “yes” and Karen Jennings thanks for all the work, the reading over and over and the camaraderie.
To my wonderful motley crew of friends: thanks for not disowning me because instead of coming out with you I went home to write. Thanks Kira, Rebecca and Hayley for reading and commenting.
Over the course of writing this story I spoke to and sourced information from a wide group of people: doctors, friends, dog-breeders, nurses, ex-prisoners, prison workers, sangomas, lawyers (it's a very long list) – thank you all for generously explaining everything I asked you to and doing it with grace. Thanks to Heather Parker Lewis for the information you supplied me with on prisons and prison-life.
Mandy and James Campbell-Miller and Tony Dallas, thanks for letting me write in your homes.
To my family at Landmark Education Cape Town – there are too many names to name. Thanks for your immense commitment to what matters to me.
Other fiction titles by Modjaji Books
This Place I Call Home
by Meg Vandermerwe
The Thin Line
by Arja Salafranca
The Bed Book of Short Stories
edited by Joanne Hichens
Go Tell the Sun
by Wame Molefhe
Whiplash
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Snake
by Tracey Farren
www.modjajibooks.co.za