DIE STILTE SEEP in vier (4) SA amptelike tale – Afrikaans, Engels, Sesotho en Zulu deur Johann P. Boshoff | Bydraes | Woes - Kreatiewe platform vir Afrikaans
Titel: DIE STILTE SEEP in vier (4) SA amptelike tale – Afrikaans, Engels, Sesotho en Zulu
Aantal woorde: 7774
Datum gepubliseer: 15 Dec 2015
DIE STILTE IN SEEP - verwerkte Afrikaans deur JPB
"Eisj!" Plankvloere skrop is swaar. En die gang is so lank. Lydia Mogoera hoes. Die lug is koud, maar sy moet die deur oop laat staan sodat die vloer droog kan word. Sy kyk na die vloer. Sy kyk na die groen seep, die skropborsel in haar seningrige hand, die emmer water. En die lap.
Die lap. Dit was Janneman se ou T-hemp. Die een wat hy sleg geskeur het toe hy een nag deur die bosse van die heuwel geklim het. Vreemde kind, dié seun van Nooi Aisa. Só op die heuwel. Snags. Anders as die ander wit seuns wat sy al in haar lewe leer ken het.
Lydia kyk op. Die gang lyk of hy nêrens gaan ophou nie. Veral vandag. Sy voel nogal swak vandag. En hartseer - botlhoko. Haar ma het haar die naam gegee. Maar sy móét werk. Oor Mpho en Boitumelo. Haar gawe en haar vreugde. Sy moet hulle kos gee en klere. Buitendien het sy die kos nodig wat sy by Nooi Aisa se huis eet. Sy voel swak daarsonder.
Nooi Aisa moet ook werk. Sy werk by die OK Bazaars. Nooi Aisa het vir Janneman en vir Lientjie, wat ook kos en klere nodig het. Nooi Aisa is dalk net so oud soos sy, want Mpho en Janneman is albei sestien. Albei nog op skool. Die dogters ook. Nooi Aisa se kinders is op Sentraal aan die voete van Naval Hill; haar eie op Bochabelo High, waar ook heuwels is.
Dus, Donderdae skrop sy vloer in Nooi Aisa se huurhuis.
Sy doop die borsel in the water, trek die seep oor die harde hare. En skrop, met die water, seep, ou politoer en vuiligheid wat meng soos wat sy kringe oor die planke skrop. Sy sit die borsel neer, doop die lap in die water, wringdruk die oortollige water daaruit, en vee die fyn, bruin skuim van die planke af voordat dit droog en hard word. Altyd versigtig. Sy kan splinters in haar hande of knieë kry. Die houtvloer is oud.
Stadig skrop sy agteruit, al dieper die skemerhuis in, haar blik na die oop voordeur toe, waarbuite sy net-net die denneboom op die stowwerige sypaadjie kan sien.
Hoe bleek is die son nie! En kyk, die mossies! Hulle rus ook nooit nie, nè?
Janneman se slaapkamerdeur is nog toe. Dit is skoolvakansie.
‘n Lied druk haar keel oop, droef gedra deur haar naam, gedra deur alles wat sy nie verstaan nie.
Senzeni na? Senzeni na?
Wat het ons gedoen? Wat het ons gedoen?
Janneman kon nie wag vir die fliek om te begin wys nie, nie vandat hy die plakkaat gesien het nie. Die plakkaat was soos ‘n gedig. ‘n Man is van agter af afgeneem, kaal, terwyl hy by die poort van ‘n baie ou stad uitstap. Fransiskus. Van Assisi. Janneman het dit in die Volksblad gesien en alles gelees. Voor daardie tyd het hy niks geweet van hierdie man, Fransiskus, of van Assisi nie.
Die Sondag voor die fliek sy gewone ses dae sou begin wys, het Janneman sy ma vir fliekgeld gevra. Sy moes vermoed het, geweet het. Ja, sy het mos die foto teen sy muur gesien. Het sy self die koerant gelees? Sy moes iets verstaan het, sy bui aangevoel het, want sy het geglimlag en vir hom geld gegee, al moes hy eers die volgende Saterdag sakgeld kry. Vir die vakansie. Dis nog eksamentyd, maar hy leer mos, sy weet. Al loop hy soms snags alleen rond.
Janneman het daardie Sondag meer as afwagting gevoel. Die kerkdienste, oggend en aand, het ‘n onbeskryflike verlange na wie-weet-wat net erger gemaak. ‘n Hartseer hunkering.
Daardie Maandag, net na skool, het hy flink in stad toe gestap om betyds te wees vir die middagvertoning. Hy het nie omgegee oor hy nie koeldrank of springmielies sou hê nie. Na die advertensies, die nuusprent en die voorskoue, was dit pouse. Heeltemal te lank, hierdie pouse, veel langer as voorheen. Hy het bly sit. Toe, uiteindelik, het die mense ingekom, die ligte is gedoof, en het die fliek begin.
Deurskynende lap. Sagte lap wat asof van niks af nie gedrapeer uit die plafon hang, wat stadig in ‘n bries beweeg. Die kamera het elke vou en fladdering vertroetel, stadig af beweeg, en stil gaan staan op die gesig van ‘n jong man. Koors het soos sweet op sy voorkop geblink. Raam na raam was so mooi soos die olieskilderye wat Janneman in kunsboeke in die skoolbib deurgeblaai het.
Raam na raam, met ‘n jong Fransiskus wat op die nok van die dak nader en nader aan ‘n mossie balanseer. Die mossie flikker weg. Dan sien die kamera hom loop deur ‘n lapkleur-werkplek. Stoom styg op uit die rooi, blou, groen en geel putte. Mense roer kleur in die vesels van die lap in, maak dit wat dof is, helder. ‘n Bont mengelmoes.
Uiteindelik: die toneel waarop Janneman gewag het. Wyd en oop op die doek.
‘n Strak en bleek, asof in ‘n dwaal, staan Fransiskus in die middel van Assisi se dorpsplein. ‘n Skare staar. Hy begin in die son ontklee, rug na die kamera toe, gesig na die poort toe. Dis asof hy met elke kledingstuk iets laat val wat meer as klere is, ‘n verlede wat nie sy skepping is nie.
Vasbeslote stap Fransiskus weg van die bondel klere en die skare wat nóg geskok nóg vermaak bly staan en staar. Die ryk handelaar se seun word die diepte en die intensiteit en die daad van hulle eie onvervulde begeertes.
Die res het vir Janneman vervaag. Mense wat soos hy dink en voel, het oor dae en maande by Fransiskus aangesluit. ‘n Mooi meisie ook. Hy het probleme met die pous opgetel, maar dié moes hom uiteindelik aanvaar.
Elke middag het Janneman gaan fliek, behalwe die Donderdag, toe niemand hom die fliekgeld wou voorskiet nie. Nie sy ma nie, nie Tannie Pieta nie, nie Antie Anne nie, niemand nie. Tannie Roestof het hom die volgende dag jammer gekry toe sy sien hoe mismoedig en bedruk hy was. Saterdag na werk het sy ma fliekgeld vir hom gegee. Sy het haar seun nog nooit so gesien nie, maar dit aanvaar. Dit was per slot van rekening die Heilige Fransiskus.
En deurentyd het ‘n paar woorde uit ‘n lied bly voortsing in Janneman se kop, op sy tong, in sy hart.
Of Him we are part.
I feel his love awakening in my heart.
Ons is God se kinders. Van Hom is ons deel. Ek voe sy liefde word in my wakker.
Dit was asof die vakansiedae dae geword het wat Janneman deur fyn gaas sien. Hy het gevoel iets raak anders binne-in hom. Hy het homself eenkant gehou. Soms het hy die hange van Naval Hill gaan klim om sommer net te stap. Hy het hom toenemend verwonder aan die vreemdvaal en stowwerige bosse en veld en die amper mak bokke bo-op die heuwel. Van die grondpaaie het hy weggebly, daar waar stof agter enkele karre opgeskop is en deurskynende, uitbollende wolke gemaak het wat stadig op pad en boom en blaar en halm neergesif het. ‘n Vaal vlies.
Die koue teen sy gesig het nie saak gemaak telkens wanneer ‘n bries gemaklik deur die tekens van daardie skone, droewe seisoen beweeg het nie. Die hunkering in hom het vir hom mooi geword; dit het ‘n seisoen geword wat huiwer op die dun band tussen rus en geilte. Selfs die son, bleek maar warm, het dit voorspel.
Op die heuwel het hy die sterrewag se koepel het skaars besef. Hy onthou hoe hy eenmaal deur die teleskoop na die maan gekyk het. Hy kon geen man sien wat in die maan wegkruip nie.
Net bleekblou vlekke, wat oseane genoem word. Sonder water. Hy kon darem altyd die Suiderkruis raaksien wanneer hy op die voorstoep by hulle huis gestaan het.
Hy het ook op ‘n manier die reusemegafone gesien wat vas is aan die radiomas naby die uitkykpunt oor die stad. Dit het hom altyd verbaas hoe ver en indringend die sirene gehoor kon word. Elke nag, maak nie saak waar hy was nie, het die sirene nege-uur onaards oor die stad geloei. Selfs ver buite die stad by die Veld-inryteater kon hulle dit hoor. Aand na aand het dit die teken uitgeskel dat die strate van wit Bloemfontein verbode was vir alle swartmense sonder passe.
Hoe langer hy na die megafone gekyk het, dit raakgesien het, hoe meer het dit groteske trompette geword wat alarm maak. Alarm van iets anders wat verkeerd was; nie reg nie. Iets in hom was ook verkeerd, iets wat nie sy skuld was nie, maar wat beslis nie reg was nie. Iets waaroor hy skuldig gevoel het, iets waarvoor hy al hoe meer om verskoning wou vra. ‘n Droefheid groter as die grense van sy begrip het oor sy hart kom lê soos stof waar dit val as die bries ophou waai.
Namate die son vinniger op die westerhorison neersak, het Janneman haastiger geraak. Die lug het verkleur soos lap wat in ‘n put geroer word. Blou, bleekgeel, en dan snel van oranje, dan pienk, en eindelik pers. Janneman het geweet hy moes teen die hange af voor die bosse donker afgeëts raak teen die stad se ligskynsel, etse wat die een soos die ander lyk. Af met die hang voordat nog ‘n hemp haak en skeur aan ‘n doring aan ‘n tak wat hy nie kon sien in die skemer en toesakkende duisternis nie.
Die gordyne beweeg nie, al kraak en skuur die kaal takke buite in die oggendluggie.. Die son probeer deur die boonste lap van die gordyn dring. Stadig en saggies glip dit af teen die gordyn op soek na ‘n opening om die kamer binne te val.
Op die bed, met swaar komberse wat die winter moet uithou, lê die slank seun. Sy lyf se hitte is vasgevang onder die gewig van baie komberse. Daar is sweet op sy voorkop. Dit is asof hy koorsagtig stry teen die ongenaakbare goedheid van die gewig. Die sweet glinster in die lig wat deur die gordyne syfer.
Dan snak hy na asem. Sit regop. Staar effens wild na die gordyn. Buite kwetter ‘n mossie. Hy lig hom uit dit wat hom vasgevang wil hou. Wankelrig leun hy oor na die gordyn toe. Sy slank vingers trek die gordyn oop. Hy sien die rustelose mossie terloops. Sy oë word donkerder terwyl die son kwistig oor alles val.
Die vars winterlug aanvaar die uitnodiging wanneer Janneman die venster vlugtig oopmaak, en die yskoue teen hom voel, ‘n paar teue daarvan diep intrek, en dan weer die venster toemaak. Wanneer hy omdraai, sien hy die Bybel op sy lessenaar en die plakkaat uit die week se Personality, wat hy teen die muur bo die lessenaar vasgeplak het, en hy sien die kers langs die Bybel. Fransiskus, wat wegstap uit Assisi uit. Gestroop. En op die voorgrond, ‘n hoop klere.
Die allesoorweldigende droefheid van die vorige dag keer terug. Ook die gevoelens. Ook die drang om iets te doen. Binne sy hart se hart weerklink die lied se woorde, en ontplof dan in sy kop:
Janneman dwaal deur toe. Sag maak hy dit oop. Die koue lug trek oor sy kaal voete in sy kamer in. Die reuk van seep tref hom.
Lydia hou op sing wanneer sy hom sien.
"Môre, Janneman," groet sy die seun wat lomp-verward in die deur kom staan het. Kaalvoet. Flenniepajamas. Oë met soveel seer daarin dat sy skrik. Oë wat haar aanstaar, tot binne-in haar kyk en verder as dit. En vreemd. ‘n Vreemdheid wat mettertyd merkbaarder geword het nadat die prent aan die muur verskyn het, en die kers op die lessenaar daaronder. Hoekom groet hy nie terug nie? Vra vir koffie nie? Enigiets nie?
Janneman sien Lydia. Hy sien haar raak. Regtig raak. Haar brose liggaam, haar regterhand effens angstig op die skropborsel. Die lap lê pap langs die emmer. Die seep is ‘n groen spatsel teen die bruingrys planke. Hy sien haar oë. Hy sien haar oë raak. Regtig raak. Hy sien tot diep binne-in haar oë. Hy sien die oë van al haar mense, en meer as dit: Hy sien die vraag agter die lied se vraag, wat hy nie verstaan nie, en verwag geen antwoord nie.
"Janneman?" is al wat sy kan uitkry voordat sy besef sy seer het trane geword. Geen snik nie. Niks nie. Net trane oor sy jong wange waar hy nader kom in die gang op die amper droë, growwe planke. Hy hurk voor haar en leun vooroor, sy hande uitgestrek na haar toe. Teer en versigtig reik hy na haar seperige hande. Hy huil nog. Sy lig haar hande, oor iets in haar verstaan. En hy soen haar seephande.
Oor en oor mompel hy: "Ek’s jammer, Lydia. Ek is so jammer." Hy weet nie waarvoor hy jammer is nie, net dat hy jammer is.
En Lydia vergewe die seun. Waarvoor, weet sy nie; net dát sy hom vergewe.
En Janneman proe die vergifnis in die seep en voel dit in die fynheid van haar hande.
En hy neem afskeid.
Hy los iets agter, soos ‘n hoop klere op ‘n stowwerige markplein.
SILENCE IN SOAP - oorspronklike Engels
“Eish!” It is hard scrubbing plank floors. And the passage is so long. Lydia Mogoera coughs. The air is cold, but she has to keep the door open for the floor to dry. She looks at the floor. She looks at the green soap, the brush in her sinewy slim hand, the bucket with warm water. And the cloth.
The cloth. It used to be Kleinbaas’s old T-shirt. The one he had torn badly while climbing through the bushes on the slopes of Naval Hill one night. He’s different from the other white boys she knows and has known in her life. He is always doing strange things.
Lydia looks up. The passage seems never to end. She feels particularly weak today. And sad. Botlhoko. The name her mother gave her. But she has to work. She needs the money. She has Mpho and Boitumelo to feed and clothe. Her gift and her happiness. And she needs the food she eats at Ounooi’s house.
Ounooi has to work too. She works at the OK Bazaars. Ounooi has Kleinbaas and Kleinnooi to feed and clothe. She and Ounooi must be the same age, because their boys, Mpho and Kleinbaas, are both sixteen. They are still at school. The girls too. Ounooi’s children are at Sentraal at the foot of Naval Hill; her own at Bochabelo High, where there also were hills.
She dips the brush in the water, runs the soap across its hard hair. And scrubs, with the water, soap, old polish and dirt mixing as she makes circles over the planks. She puts the brush down, dips the cloth in the water, squeezes out the excess water, and wipes off the soapy mix forming on the planks. Always careful not to get splinters in her hands or knees. The wooden floor is old.
Slowly she scrubs her way backwards into the house, facing the open front door with the pine tree just visible outside. How pale the sun shines! And look, the sparrows! They never rest, do they?
Kleinbaas’s bedroom door is still closed. School holidays.
A song rises within her, sadly born not of her name, but of everything she does not understand.
Janneman couldn’t wait for the movie to start its run since he had seen the poster. The poster was poetry. A man photographed from the back, naked, walking out through the gate of a very old city. Francis. From Assisi. Janneman had read that in the Volksblad. Before that, he had no knowledge of this Francis.
That Sunday, before the normal six-day run would have started, he had asked his mother for money to go to the movies. She must have seen the paper too, and that he had put up the picture on the wall. She must have read his mood, because she just looked at him, smiled and gave him the money for his ticket, even though his pocket-money was due only that Saturday. The exams were still on, but her boy always learned for exams, despite his strange behaviour at times.
Janneman felt something beyond expectation that Sunday. And the church services, both morning and evening, intensified the longing within him that he could not describe.
That Monday, after school, he briskly walked into town, to be in time for the matinee. He didn’t mind not having popcorn or a cold drink. After the advertisements, the newsreel, and the previews, it was intermission. This interval seemed far, far longer than at other times. He remained seated. Eventually the house lights went down, and the movie started.
Cloth. Fine cloth draped from the ceiling, it seemed, slowly moving in the breeze, the camera caressing each fold and flutter, slowly moving down, then coming to rest on the face of a young man. A fever glistening like sweat on his forehead. Frame after frame as beautiful as some paintings he had seen in the art books in the school library.
Frame after frame, with the young Francis balancing on the rooftop towards a sparrow. Then walking through a cloth-dyeing workplace, steam rising from the red, blue, green and yellow pits. People stirring colour into the cloth, transforming paleness into brightness.
Eventually, the scene for which Janneman had been waiting opened wide on the screen.
A frail and pale Francis, still very much in a dwaal, ended up standing in the middle of Assisi’s town square. With a crowd staring at him, he started undressing in the sun, facing the open gate. It was as though he, in stripping naked, shed more than mere expensive cloth. It took forever, it seemed, this getting rid of a past that was not of his own making.
Resolutely Francis strode away from the bundle of clothes, people staring at him — neither shocked nor amused. They seemed to have sensed the depth and intensity of the action of the rich merchant’s son.
The rest became very blurry to Janneman. Francis gained a following. There was a beautiful girl too. And the pope had a problem, but in the end accepted him.
He saw the movie every afternoon, except that Thursday, when no one was willing to give or lend him the money for a movie ticket. Not his mother, not Tannie Pieta, not Auntie Anne, no one. Tannie Roestof took pity on him a day later, seeing how miserable the boy was. His mother followed suit that Saturday after work.
And all the while three lines from a song from the movie kept on singing in Janneman’s head, on his tongue, in his heart.
Of Him we are part
It was as though the school holidays became days seen through fine cloth. Janneman felt himself changing. He kept to himself, climbing the slopes of Naval Hill to wander in increasing wonder at the peculiarly pale and dusty bush and veld and almost tame game in the reserve on top of the hill. He steered clear of the gravel roads, where a cloud of dust would rise and hang like a translucent, billowing curtain behind every occasional car, eventually settling somewhere, be it back onto the road or onto the plants lining the road.
He did not mind the chill against his face every time a breeze eased itself through the dusted tokens of that beautifully sad season. The longing in him itself had become a season on the verge of changing from rest into abundance. The shining sun, though pale, hinted at this.
The observatory’s dome he sort of registered. He had once had a look at the moon through the telescope in there. He could not see any man hiding in the moon. Only pale blue parts, called oceans. At least he could always make out the Southern Cross while standing on the porch of their house.
He also sort of registered the huge megaphones fixed against the radio mast at the one end of the hill. It was always amazing how far and penetrating the sound of the siren sounded every night at nine; they sometimes even heard it at out at the drive-in. Night after night it signalled the streets of white Bloemfontein to be cleared of all black people without passes.
The longer he looked at them, the more the megaphones became grotesque trumpets, signalling what? Wrong. Not right. They signalled that something was wrong within him too, something for which he was not to be blamed, but which was not right. For which he felt guilt, for which his compulsion became to say sorry. A sadness greater than his limited understanding settled on his heart like dust after a breeze.
As he dropped definitely towards the western horizon, Janneman gathered speed. The skies turned from pale blue to pale yellow, and then crashed in a cascade of orange, then pink and finally violet. Janneman knew he had better climb down the slope before the bushes became indistinguishable silhouettes. Down the slope, before another shirt got torn from his not being able to distinguish one branch from another in the dusk and enveloping dark.
The curtains do not move, though the stripped branches of the tree moan and squeak in the morning breeze. The sun attempts to penetrate the fibre at the top of the curtains, then gently starts slipping down, trying to find a place to penetrate the bedroom.
On the bed the weight of many blankets helps keep the winter cold away from the boy’s slim body, his body heat trapped. There is sweat on his brow. He has a temperature or must have had a feverish struggle with the unkind kindness of the many blankets. The sweat glistens as the sun filters through the curtains.
Then he gasps for air. Sits up. Stares somewhat wildly at the curtain. Somewhere outside a sparrow stutters. He lifts himself from the entrapment, gets up and unsteadily leans over towards the window. His slim hands part the curtains. His dark eyes catch a glimpse of a restless sparrow.
The crisp winter’s morning accepts the brief invitation as Janneman opens the window, takes a few breaths of air, and then closes it again. On turning around, he notices the Bible on his desk and the centrefold, taken from Personality, put up against the wall above it, and the candle. There is Saint Francis, departing from Assisi. Naked. In the foreground, a heap of clothes.
The all-encompassing sadness Janneman had felt the day before returns. The accompanying feelings as well. And also the compulsion to act.
His automatic inner retaliation is the song that yet again starts within his heart of hearts, and then explodes in his mind:
Sung song meets unsung song, neither singer knowing.
Janneman, in a dwaal.
Quietly he opens the bedroom door. The cold air in the passage crawls over his bare feet into the room. Lydia stops her singing.
“Môre, Kleinbaas,” she greets the boy standing awkwardly in the door. Bare feet. Flannel pyjamas. Eyes with so much hurt in them that it startles her, eyes that stare at her and into her and beyond her. He is strange, with a strangeness that started deepening when the picture first appeared on his wall and the candle on the desk below it. Why, why does he not greet me back, ask for coffee, anything?
Janneman sees Lydia. Really sees her. Her frail body, her right hand resting somewhat anxiously on the scrubbing brush. The cloth lying limp beside the bucket. The soap a splash of green on the brown planks. And he sees her eyes. He really sees her eyes, and the eyes of all her people in them and beyond them. He sees the question behind the question, and does not understand it, nor does he suspect an answer.
“Kleinbaas?” is all she can manage before she realises that the hurt has become tears. No sobs, nothing. Just tears dripping down his young cheeks as he steps into the passage onto the drying, yet still wet, planks. He goes down on his haunches in front of her, softening the light from the front door. Then he leans forward with his hands stretched out towards her. She reciprocates for no reason at all. He gently takes her soapy hands. Weeping still, he bends over and kisses the soap off her delicate hands.
Over and over he says that he is sorry: “Ek’s jammer, Lydia. Ek is so jammer.” Sorry, what for he does not know.
And she forgives the boy. For what, she does not know.
And Janneman tastes the forgiveness in the soap.
He departs from the past, leaving behind something like a heap of redundant clothes.
SESEPA SE TLISITSENG KGOTSO
[Sesotho: Ntheoseng Maroba]
“Jonna!” Ho thata ho koropa foluru ya mapolanka. Le phatjhisi ena e telele. Lydia Mogoera o a hohlola. Moya ke o batang, empa o tlameha ho bula lemati hore foluru e ome. O sheba fatshe. O sheba sesepa se setala, borashe bo kahara letsoho la hae le lesesane, emere e nang le metsi a futhumetseng le lesela.
Lesela leo e ne e le sekipa sa kgale sa Kleinbaas. Ke sekipa se tabohileng ha a tsamaya morung, methipoloheng ya Naval Hill ka bosiu bo bong. Ha a tshwane le bashanyana ba bang ba makgowa bao a kileng a ba bona. O dula a etsa dintho tse sa tlwaelehang.
Lydia o a inamoloha. Ha ele phatjhisi ena ha e fele. O ikutlwa a fokola kajeno. O bile o hloname. Mmae o ne a mo rehe Botlhoko. Empa o tlameha ho sebetsa hobane o hloka tjhelete. O lokela ho hodisa Mpho le Boitumelo. Bana bana ke mpho le thabo tsa hae. O hloka le dijo tseo a di jang ha Ounooi.
Ounooi le yena o a sebetsa. O sebetsa OK Bazaars. Ounooi o hodisa Kleinbaas le Kleinnooi. Yena le Ounooi e ka nna ya eba dithaka, hobane bashanyana ba bona, Mpho le Kleinbaas, ba dilemo di leshome le metso e tsheletseng. Ba ntse ba kena sekolo. Baradi ba bona le bona ba sa le sekolong. Bana ba Ounooi ke baithuti ba Sentraal e mosikong wa Naval Hill; ba hae ba sekolong se phahameng sa Bochabelo, moo ho se nang maralla.
O kenya borashe ka metsing, o bo tlotsa ka sesepa. Ha a koropa, metsi, sesepa, le pholeshe ya kgale di etsa motswako o ditshila mapolankeng. O beha borashe fatshe, o kenya lesela metsing a le tlhotle, a hlakole motswako o sesepa hodima mapolanka. O dula a hlokomela hore a se hlajwe ke dikotwana tsa mapolanka matsohong le mangoleng. Foluru ena ya mapolanka e tsofetse.
O koropa a shebile ka monyako mme o bona le sefate se kantle. Kganya ya letsatsi ha e a hlaka! Dithaha ke tseo! Ha di phomole!
Monyako wa phaposi ya ho robala ya Kleinbaas o ntse o kwetswe. Ke nako ya matsatsi a phomolo a dikolo.
O fihlelwa ke pina, eo leha e le bohloko jwaloka lebitso la hae, e emetseng tsohle tseo a sa di utlwisiseng.
Senzeni na? Senzeni na? Re entseng? Re entseng?
Janneman o ne a tatetse hore filimi e qale ho bapala kamora hore a bone phoustara ya yona. Ho ne ho le boima ho utlwisisa tse phoustareng eo. E ne e na le monna ya nkilweng setshwantsho a furalletse, a le feela, a tsamaya a ilo tswa hekeng ya motse wa kgale. Francis wa Assisi. Janneman o ne a badile ka sena koranteng ya Volksblad. Pele ho moo,o ne a sa tsebe ka Francis.
Sontaheng seo, pele ho letsatsi la pele la a tsheletseng a filimi, o kopile tjhelete ya ho ya bona filimi ho mmae. O badile koranta le yena, hobane o ne a manehile phoustara leboteng. O ne a se a tseba maikutlo a hae hobane o mo shebile feela a mo neha tjhelete ya tekete, leha a ne a tlamehile ho fumana tjhelete ya hae ya kgwedi ka Moqebelo. Dihlahlobo di ne di eso fele, empa morahae o ne a ithuta ka matla, leha a ne a etsa tse sa tlwaelehang ka nako tse ding.
Janneman o ikutlwile a le ka mokgwa o sa tlwaelehang Sontaheng seo. Ditshebeletso tsa kereke tsa hoseng le mantsiboya di ile tsa tebisa tlholohelo eo a nang le yona, le eo a neng a sa kgone ho e hlalosa.
Mantaha kamora sekolo o potlaketse toropong ho ya boha filimi ya motsheare. O ne a sa kgathalle ho fetwa ke diseneke. Kamora dipapatso, ditaba, ditekolo, ya ba kgefutso. Kgefutso ena e ne e bonahala e le telele ho feta dinako tse ding. O ile a itulela. Qetellong mabone a tima, mme filimi ya qala.
Lesela le letle le leketla ho tloha marulelong, le sisinngwa butle ke moya, khamera e nka sebaka se seng le se seng, e theoha butle, e fihla e dula sefahlehong sa moshemane e mong. Ha bonahala mofufutso o kang wa feberu phatleng ya hae. Foreimi e nngwe le e nngwe e le ntle jwaloka ditshwantsho tse takilweng tseo a di boneng dibukeng tsa botaki tse laeboraring ya sekolo.
Foreiming e nngwe le e nngwe, Francis a tshwarelletse marulelong ho ella nonyaneng. A boele a tsamaelle sebakeng se fetolang mmala wa lesela, ho tswe mosi mokotjaneng o mokgobedu, o bolou, o motala le ho o mosehla. Motsamao wa batho o fetola mmala wa lesela, ho fetohe lerotho la mmala, o hlake.
Qetellong pono eo Janneman a neng a e emetse ya hlaha sekirining.
Francis ya fokolang le ya retetseng, ya ntseng a ferekane o qetelletse a eme setsing sa toropo ya Assisi. Nakong eo letshwele le mo bohileng, a qala ho hlobola letsatsing, a shebile ka hekeng e butsweng. E ne e ka ha a hlobola a sala a le feela, o tlosa tse ding, ntle le lesela la theko e hodimo. Ho ne ho bonahala ho mo nka nako ho tlosa tsa kgale tse neng di sa bakwa ke yena.
Francis o tlohile qubung ya diaparo, batho ba mo shebile – a sa tshoha kapa hona ho thaba. E ka nna ya ba ba utlwile botebo le matla a ketso ena ya mora wa mohwebi ya ruileng.
Tse ding di ile tsa ba lerotho ho Janneman. Francis a fumana batshehetsi. Ho na le ngwanana e motle. Mopapa a na le mathata, empa qetellong a mo amohela.
O bohile filimi thapama e nngwe le e nngwe, ntle le Labone, ha ho se motho ya ikemiseditseng ho mo neha kapa ho mo kadima tjhelete ya tekete ya filimi. Le mmae, le Tannie Pieta, le Auntie Anne. Tannie Roestof o ile a mo hauhela letsatsing le latelang, a bona kamoo Francis a hlorileng kateng. Mmae a mo neha tjhelete le yena ka Moqebelo ha a kgutla mosebetsing.
Nako ena kaofela ho na le mela e meraro ya pina ya filimi e sa tloheng ka hloohong ya Janneman, lelemeng la hae le pelong ya hae.
Re bana ba Modimo
Re karolo ya hae
Ke utlwa lerato la hae kahare ho nna
E ne e ka Janneman o bona matsatsi a phomolo a dikolo a a shebile ka leseleng le letle. O o utlwile e ka o a fetoha. O ne a se a sa kopane le batho ba bang, a ehlwa methipoloho ya Naval Hill a tsekela, a makaletse moru le thota tse lerotho le tse lerole, le diphoofolo tse thapileng, tse polokong e tsullung ya leralla. O ile a qoba ditsela tse sa lokiswang, moo ho nyolohang leru la lerole, le ikentse kgaretene kamora koloi e fetang moo, le qetelle le felletse kaekae, e ka ba tseleng hape kapa dimeleng tse ka thoko ho tsela.
O ne a sa kgathalle serame se kenellang sefahlehong sa hae nako le nako ha moya o mosesane wa nako eo e ntle le e bohloko ya selemo. Le yena o ne a hlolohelwa diphetoho le ho ba le tse ngata. Letsatsi leo le kganyang, le ha le ne le le mmala o sa hlakang, le ne le bolela seo.
O o bone moaho ona o phahametseng sebaka. O kile a sheba kgwedi ka sebonelahole a le moo. Ha a bona monna ya ipatileng kgweding. O bone dikarolo tse bolou bo sa tebang, tse bitswang mawatle. O ne a kgona ho bona Southern Cross a eme kantle habo.
O bone le dibuelahole tse kgolo tse kentsweng ditoreng ka nqa e nngwe ya leralla. Ho ne ho makatsa kamoo modumo wa saerini o leng hole kateng le ho kenella bosiu bo bong le bo bong ka hora ya borobong; ka nako e nngwe ba o utlwa ba bohile filimi ba le kantle. Bosiu bo bong le bo bong ha e lla, batho ba batsho ba Bloemfontein ba se nang dipasa ba ne ba lokela ho tswa diterateng.
Ha a sheba dibuelahole nako e telele, e ne e ka diterompeta tse emetseng bobe. Di ne di supa hore ho na le ho sa lokang kahare ho yena, e leng ntho eo a neng a ke ke a behwa molato ka yona. E ne e le ntho eo a ikutlwang a le molato wa yona, eo a neng a ikutlwa a batla ho e kopela tshwarelo. O ne a hlorile ka mokgwa oo a sa o utlwisiseng pelong ya hae.
Janneman o ile a eketsa lebelo ha a leba ka nqa bophirima. Sepakapaka sa fetoha sa ba bosehla bo lerotho, sa ba mmala wa lamunu, sa ba pinki mme sa qetella se le perese. Janneman o ne a tseba hore o lokela ho theosa pele meru e sa bonahale hantle, tlase ho mothipoloho, pele hempe e nngwe e taboha hobane a sa kgone ho bona makala lefifing.
Dikgaretene ha di sisinyehe leha makala a entse modumonyana ka lebaka la moya wa hoseng. Kganya ya letsatsi e leka ho kenella leseleng le hodimo dikgareteng, e theohele tlase, e leka ho kena phaposing ya ho robala.
Diphateng mane dikobo tse ngata di thusa ho futhumetsa moshanyana ya mosesane serameng sa mariha. O fufuletswe dintshi. O bonahala e ka o na le feberu ka lebaka la ho sitwa ke dikobo tse ngata. Mofufutso o kgantshwa ke letsatsi le kenang dikgareteneng.
O a phefumoloha. O a dula. A shebe dikgaretene. Kantle ka mane thaha e a hweleketsa. O a phahama mme o itshetlehe fenstereng a batla a thekesela. O bula dikgaretene mme o bona thaha.
Moya o hlabang wa hoseng mariha o kena ka tlung ha Janneman a bula fenstere. O a o hula a boele a kwale. Ha a fetoha o bona Bibele le kerese, tafoleng ya hae, mme maqephe a nkilweng ho Personality, a manehilwe leboteng kahodima yona. Ho na le Saint Francis, a tswa Assisi. O feela. Kamorao ho na le qubu ya diaparo.
Janneman o ikutlwa a sarelwa hape, jwaloka maobane. O batla ho etsa ho hong.
O fihlelwa ke pina e tswang botebong ba pelo ya hae, mme e kene kelellong ya hae:
Ke utlwa lerato la hae ka pelong ya ka.
Pina e binwang e kopana le e so binwe, dibini tsa tsona di sa elellwe seo.
Janneman o ferekane
O bula lemati la phaposi ya ho robala. Moya o batang o phatjhising o hatsetsa maoto a hae ha a kena ka phaposing. Lydia o tlohela ho bina.
“Dumela Kleinbaas,” o dumedisa moshanyana enwa ya emeng monyako ka tsela e sa tlwaelehang. Ha a rwala dieta. O apere dipijama tsa folene. Lydia o tshoswa ke mahlo a Janneman a bontshang hore o utlwile bohloko. Mahlo a kenellang. Ho na le ho sa tlwaelehang ka Janneman, mme sena se totile kamora hore ho behwe setshwantsho leboteng la hae, le kerese tafoleng e tlasa sona. Hobaneng a sa dumele ha ke mo dumedisa, hobaneng a sa kope kofi, kape ho hong?
Janneman o bona Lydia. O mmona hantle. Mmele wa hae o fokolang, letsoho le ka ho le letona le tshwere borashe ba ho koropa. Lesela le pela emere. Sesepa se setala se hodima mapolanka. Janneman o bona mahlo a Lydia. O a bona hantle, le mahlo a batho ba habo o a bona ho yena. O na le dipotso tse ngata, mme ha a utlwisise kapa hona ho ba le karabo.
O kgonne hore “Kleinbaas?” feela mme a elellwa hore Janneman o a lla. Ha a kgitlehe, o a lla feela. Ke meokgo e theohang marameng a hae ha a kena patjhising a tsamaya mapolankeng a ntseng a le metsi. O kgumama ka pela hae, mme o sira kganya ya letsatsi e kenang monyako. O a inama, mme o otlollela matsoho a hae ho Lydia. Le yena o tlisa a hae. Ha a tsebe hore hobaneng a etsa jwalo. Janneman o tshwara matsoho a Lydia a sesepa. O ntse a lla, mme o a inama le ho mo aka matsohong ao a sesepa.
O phetapheta mantswe ana: “O ntshwarele, Lydia. Oho, ntshwarele hle.” Ha a tsebe hore o kop a hobaneng a kopa tshwarelo.
Lydia o tshwarela moshemane. Ha a tsebe hore o mo tshwarela ha a entseng eng.
Janneman o utlwa tshwarelo sesepeng.
O siya tsa kgale di entse qubu ya diaparo tse se nang mosebetsi moo.
INSIPHO EYALETHA UXOLO
[Zulu: Brenda Nomadlozi Bokaba]
“Eish!” Kunzima ukushukusha indawo ephansi engamapulangwe. Kanti futhi iphasiji yinde kakhulu. U-Lydia Mogoera uyakhwehlela. Umoya uyabanda, kodwa kumele ahlale evule umnyango ukuze indawo ephansi yome. Uyayibheka le ndawo ephansi. Ubheka le nsipho eluhlaza, ibhulashi elisesandleni sakhe esizacile esinemisipha, ibhakede elinamanzi abuthukuthuku. Kanye nendwangu.
Le ndwangu, kwakuyisikibha sika-Kleinbaas esidala. Wayesidabule kabuhlungu kabi ngobunye ubusuku ngenkathi egibela izihlahla emmangweni wase-Naval Hill. Wehlukile kula abanye abafana abaMhlophe abaziyo nalabo ake wabazi empilweni yakhe. Uhlale enza izinto ezixakile njalo
U-Lydia uphakamisa amehlo akhe. Leli phasiji libonakala sengathi alifuni ukufika ekugcineni. Uzizwa ebuthakathaka namuhla. Futhi udangele. Igama elithi “Bothloko”, yileli unina amqamba lona. Kodwa kumele asebenze. Uyayidinga le mali. Unezingane, u-Mpho kanye no-Boitumelo okumele azondle azithengele nezingubo zokugqoka. Lesi yisiphiwo kanye nenjabulo yakhe. Futhi udinga ukudla akudla emzini ka-Ounooi.
U-Ounooi naye kumele asebenze. Usebenza e-OK Bazaars. U-Ounooi naye kumele ondle u-Kleinbaas no-Kleinnooi abathengele nezimpahla zokugqoka. Yena no-Ounooi kumele babe ngabonyaka munye, ngoba abafana babo u-Mpho kanye no-Kleinbaas, bobabili baneminyaka eyishumi nesithupha ubudala. Basafunda isikole. Namantombazane nawo asafunda. Izingane zika-Ounooi zifunda e-Sentraal engaphansi kwegquma le-Naval Hill; abakhe bafunda esikolweni Esiphakeme sase-Botshabelo, lapho kungekho magquma.
Ufaka ibhulashi emanzini, ushikisha insipho emazinyweni alo aqinile. Bese ehlikihla, ngamanzi nensipho, upholishi omdala kanye nokungcola kuyahlangana kona ngenkathi yena enza indingilizi ngaphezu kwamapulangwe. Ubeka phansi ibhulashi, bese efaka indwangu emanzini, uyayivoma ukhipha wonke amanzi, bese esula inhlanganisela eyinsipho eyakheke ngaphezu kwamapulangwe. Uyaqaphelisisa ukuthi angatholi izimbando ezandleni noma emadolweni akhe. Indawo ephansi ewukhuni yindala kakhulu.
Kancane, kancane ushikisha indlela ephindela emuva engena endlini, ebhekene nomnyango wangaphambili ovulekile, kancane nje ubona isihlahla sephayini ngaphandle. Ilanga liqhakazile kodwa liphaphathekile! Bheka futhi nazi nezinyoni! Ziyaphumula yini zona, ziphumula nini?
Umnyango wendlu yokulala ka-Kleinbaas usavaliwe. Phela yisikhathi samaholide esikole.
Kukhona ingoma equbuka ngaphakathi kuye, kodwa okubuhlungu ukuthi ayakhiwanga ngegama lakhe, kodwa yakhelwe ngaphezu kwayo yonke into angayiqondi.
Senzeni na? Senzeni na? Senzeni na?
U-Janneman wayengakwazi ukulinda ukuthi isithombe size siqale ukusuka ngenkathi ebone iphosta. Iphosta kwakuyinkondlo. Indoda eyayithathwe isithombe emuva, ingagcokile, iphuma esangweni ledolobha elidala. U-Francis. Evela e-Assisi. U-Janneman wayefunde loku kwi-Volksblad. Ngaphambi kwaloko, wayengenalo ulwazi lwalo-Francis.
Ngalelo Sonto ngaphambi kokuba izinsuku eziyisithupha ezijwayelekile ziqale, wayecele unina imali yokuya ezithombeni. Kungenzeka ukuthi naye wayelibonile iphephandaba, nokuthi wayebeke isithombe odongeni. Kungenzeka ukuthi wayesibonile isimo indodana yakhe eyayikuso, ngoba wayibuka nje wamoyizela, wayeseyinikeza imali yethikithi layo, nanoma imali yakhe yeviki kwakumele ayithole ngoMgqibelo. Esikoleni babasabhala uhlolo, kodwa indodana yakhe yayikufundela lolu hlolo ngaso sonke isikhathi, nanoma yayinokuziphatha ngendlela engavamile kwesinye isikhathi.
U-Janneman wayezwa okuthile okwakungaphezu kokukade akulindele ngalelo Sonto. Kanti futhi izinhlelo zombili zesonto, yasekuseni neyasentambama, zenza ukuthi isifiso ayenaso ngaphakathi sande ngendlela ahluleka ukuyichaza.
Ngalowo Msombuluko, emva kwesikole, wahamba kancane waqonga ngaphakathi nedolobha, ukuze afike ngesikhathi sesithombe sasemini. Wayengakukhathaleli ukungabi nonamanedi noma uqhume. Emva kwezikhangisi, kanye nokudlulisa izindaba, kanye nokubonwa kafushane, kwaba yisikhathi sokuqala kwesithombe. Leli khefu lalibonakala likude, kude kakhulu njengangokujwayelekile kwezinye izikhathi. Wahlala wathula nje wangashukumi. Ekugcineni izibani zacima isithombe sase siyaqala.
Indwangu. Indwangu enhle elenga esilingini, kwakubonakala sengathi ishukuma kancane ishukunyiswa ngumoya, ikhamera yayilandelela konke ukusongwa nokuvaleka, yehla njalo kancane, yase ifika ima ebusweni bowesilisa osemusha. Esiphongo sakhe kwakukhona umjuluko ofana nowemfiva okhazimulayo. Ifreyimi ngayinye enhle njengokupendiwe okuthile akubone ezincwadini zobuciko elayibhulari yasesikoleni.
Ifreyimi emva kwenye, u-Francis esemncane ezilinganise ophahleni lwendlu maqondana nenyoni. Bese ehamba ngaphakathi kwendawo yokusebenzela yokuguqula imibala yendwangu, isisi sikhuphuka emigodini emibaleni ebomvu, esalwandle, eluhlaza kanye neluphuzi. Abantu abagoqozisela umbala endwangwini abaguqula ukuphaphatheka kube ngokugqamile.
Ekugcineni, isigigaba u-Janneman asilinde ngamehlo abomvu sivuleka kabanzi esikrinini.
U-Francis obuthaka nowondile, eloku endwazile, wagcina esemi ngaphakathi nendawo yesikwele sedolobha sase-Assisi. Kwakukhona isixuku sabantu esimgqolozele, waqala ukuhlubula elangeni, ebhekene ngqo nesango okuyilonalona. Loku kwachazwa njengokuthi ngokuhlubula kwakhe abe ncunu, ususa indwangu ebiza kakhulu. Loku kwathatha isikhathi eside, loku kwakubonakala sengathi kususa izehlakalo zesikhathi esedlule okwakungezona ezenziwe nguye.
Ngesibindi u-Francis wasuka enqumbini yezimpahla, abantu beloku bembhekile – bengamangele futhi bangayijabulele into ayenzayo. Kwakubonakala sengathi bayabuzwa ubunzulu nobukhulu balesi senzo sendodana yomthengisi oyisicebi.
Konke okunye kwaba luvindi ku-Janneman. U-Francis wathola abalandeli. Kwakukhona nentombazane enhle futhi eyayimlandela. Uphapha waba nenkinga kodwa ekugcineni wamamukela.
Wabona lesi sithombe njalo emini, ngaphandle kwangoLwesine, ngoba kwakungekho muntu owayefuna ukumboleka noma ukumnika imali yokuthenga ithikithi lokungena esithombeni. Unina wayengafuni, ugogo u-Pieta, ubabekazi u-Anne nabo bengafuni akekho noyedwa owayezomnikeza. Ugogo Roestof wamzwela ubuhlungu emva kosuku olulodwa, ngoba wambona edane kakhulu. Unina naye walandela ngemva kwaloko ngoMGqibelo emva kokuthi esebuyile emsebenzini.
Ngaso sonke lesi sikhathi imigqa emithathu evela eculweni lesithombe eyayikhala ekhanda, olimini nasenhliziyweni ka-Janneman.
Ngizwa lolu thando luqabuka enhliziyweni yami
Kwaba sengathi amaholide esikole aba yizinsuku ezibonwa ngokuvela ngaphakathi kwendwangu ecolisekile. U-Janneman wazizwa eguquka. Wahlala eyedwa, egibela imiqansa ye-Naval Hill ukuze andwaze ekundwazeni okwengeziwe endaweni eyihlathi nengenambala ngokujwayelekile kanye nokuphilayo okufuyiwe endaweni elondoloziwe ephezu kwentatshana. Wayengafuni ukuzibona eseduzane nezindlela eziyibhucu, lapho kwakuba khona ifu lothuli elilengayo, lenze ikhethini emva kokudlula kwemoto ethile, bese iphela endaweni ethile, noma abuyela endleleni noma ezitshalweni ezimile zenza uhlu eduzane nendlela.
Wayengenandaba nomoya omakhaza owawushaya ubuso bakhe ngaso sonke isikhathi umoya wehla ngaphakathi kwezimpawu zothuli zalesi sikhathi sonyaka esihle esidanisayo. Ukufisa okungaphakathi kuye kwase kuguquke isikhathi sonyaka esasisengqupheni yokuguquka kokuphelele ibe yinala. Ilanga elaliqhakazile, nanoma lalingenambala, lalazisa loku.
Idomu lokubukela wakwazi ukulibona. Kwesinye isikhathi wayeke wabheka inyanga ekulona esebenzisa ithelisikhobho. Wehluleka ukubona indoda yimbe ezifihle enyangeni. Wakwazi ukubona kuphela izingxenye ezingenambala ezisalwandle ezibizwa ulwandle. Okungenani wakwazi ukubona Isiphambano SaseNyakatho ngenkathi emi evulandini lendlu yakubo.
Wakwazi nokubona ama-megaphones ayimiswe agxiliswa eyama emibhobhweni yokukhulisa izwi yomsakazo ngasecaleni elilodwa le ntatshana. Kwakumangalisa ngaso sonke isikhathi indlela umsindo wesayirini wawukwazi ukuphumela ufinyelele kude njalo ebusuku ngehora lesishiyagalolunye; babekwazi ukuwuzwa nakude le ngaphandle esithombeni esibukwa ngaphandle (i-drive-in). Ubusuku ngobusuku yayiphawula izitaladi ze-Bloemfontein yabamhlophe okwakumele kususwe kuyona bonke abantu abamnyama ababengenabo odompasi.
Uma eloku ewagqolozele njalo, ama-megaphones aba ngamacilongo amakhulu kakhulu, abonisa ini? Okungafanele. Hhayi okufanele. Ayebonisa ukuthi kukhona futhi okungalungile ngaphakathi kuye, okuthize ayengeke asolwe ngako kodwa okwakungalungile. Ayezizwa anecala kuko, lapho okwavela khona okwakumgqugquzela ukuthi axolise. Ukudana okwakungaphezu kokuqonda kwakhe okunomkhawulo kwahlala enhliziyweni yakhe njengothuli emva komoya.
Ngenkathi ehlela eqonde e yasentshonalanga, u-Janneman wakhuphula isivinini. Umkhathi waguquka wasuka kokusalwandle okucacile waya kokuluphuzi okucacile, kwadinsileka kwaba yimpophonyana yokusawolintshi, okubomvana ekugcineni yaba okuvayolethi. U-Janneman wayazi ukuthi kumele ehle esiqongweni ngaphambi kokuba amahlashana abe yimifanekiso eyisithunzi engabonakali. Phansi esiqongweni, ngaphambi kokuba elinye ihembe lidabuke ngenxa yokuthi wayezohluleka ukuhlukanisa igatsha kwelinye ekuhwalaleni kanye nasekufikeni kobumnyama.
Amakhethinisi awashukumi, noma amalunga ahleshuliwe esihlahla ekhalaza bese enza umsindo ngenxa yomoya wasekuseni. Ilanga lizama ukungena kufayibha ephezulu ekhethinisini, bese liqala ukunyenyela phansi, lizama ukuthola indawo yokungena endlini yokulala.
Embhedeni isisindo sezingubo eziningi siyasiza ukuvikela amakhaza asebusika ukusuka emzimbeni omncane womfana, ukushisa kubhajwe ngaphakathi komzimba wakhe. Kukhona umjuluko esiphongweni sakhe. Izinga lokushisa lomzimba wakhe liphezulu noma uzabalazelana nemfiva ngenxa yokungalungi ngemfanelo kwezingubo eziningi. Umjuluko uyakhazimula ngenkathi izinhlansi zelanga zingena emakhethinini.
Ukhokha umoya. Uyavuka. Ubheka ikhethini njengomuntu owethukile. Kude le ngaphandle kukhala inyoni. Uyaphuma ngaphakathi kwesibhajo, uyavuka uqonda efasiteleni. Izandla zakhe ezondile zivula ikhethinisi. Amehlo akhe ansundu abona lenyoni engahlaliseki.
Ikuseni lasebusika elimahhadla livumela isimemo esifushane ngenkathi u-Janneman evula ifasitela, ehogela umoya omncane, bese elivala futhi ifasitela. Ngenkathi eguquka, wabona Ibhayibheli Eliyingcwele phezu kwedesiki lakhe kanye nokokubonisa, okuvela Ebuntwini, kubekwe odongeni ngaphezulu, kanye nekhandlela. Nayiya iNgelosi u-Francis, esuka e-Assisi. Incunu. Endaweni engaphakathi, kunengqumbi yezimpahla.
Bonke ubuhlungu obengamelayo u-Janneman abuzwa ngosuku olungaphambi kokuba abuye. Kanye nemizwa ehambisana nako. Kanye naloku okumqhubayo ukuba enze okuthile.
Ukuphendula okungaphakathi kuye eculweni eliphinde liqale futhi ngaphakathi kwenhliziyo yezinhliziyo zakhe, bese liqhuma ngaphakathi komcabango wakhe.
Ingoma eculiwe ihlangana nengoma engakaculwa, ngaphakathi nabaculi bazo kungekho owaziyo.
U-Janneman Janneman, undwazile nje.
Uvula umnyango wendlu yokulala ngaphandle komsindo. Umoya obandayo ephasiji uya ezinyaweni zakhe ezingafakile zicathulo ya endlini. U-Lydia umisa iculo akade elicula.
“Sawubona Kleinbaas,” ubingelela lo mfana omi ngendlela emgajwayelekile emnyango. Akafakile zicathulo. Ugqoke nje amabhijama eflaneli. Amehlo akhe agwele ubuhlungu, loko kummangaze kakhulu, lawa ngamehlo ambheke ngqo, aphinde angene ngaphakathi kuye, adlulele nangale kwakhe. Akajwayelekile anje, kukhona okumangalisayo okwaqala ukujula ngenkathi isithombe sakhe sivela odongeni nekhandlela edesikini elingezansi kwaso. Kungani…kungani engangiphenduli uma ngimbingelela, acele ikofi, noma aceleni nje.
U-Janneman uyambona u-Lydia. Uyambona ngempela u-Lydia. Umzimba wakhe obuthakathaka, isandla sakhe sokudla esiphumule ngokukhathazeka ngaphezu kwebhulashi lokushukusha. Indwangu elele ngokungabonisi mpilo eduzane nebhakede . Insipho engamacashaza aluhlaza emapulangweni ansundu. Futhi ubona amehlo akhe , kanye namehlo abo bonke abantu kuwo nawabo bonke abantu abeza emuva kwakhe. Ubona umbuzo ongemuva komunye umbuzo futhi akawuqondi, futhi akukho mpendulo ayisolayo.
Wavela nje wathi “Kleinbaas” yiyo kuphela into akwazi ukuyisho ngaphambi kokubona ukuthi ubuhlungu base buphenduke izinyembezi. Kwakungekho kukhala. Kwakuyizinyembezi nje ezehla ezihlathini ngenkathi engena ephasiji eyayisoma, kodwa ibe isengamapulangwe amanzi. Uqoshama ngaphambi kwakhe, wenza ukukhanya okungena emnyango wangaphambili kube lula. Usondela phambili elule izandla zakhe ezibhekise kuye. Ubuyisela kuye ngaphandle kwesizathu esitheni. Uthatha izandla zakhe ezinensipho ngoncengezela. Eloku ekhala njalo, uyagoba uqabula ususa insipho ezandleni zakhe esichobokayo.
Uphindaphinda kaningi exolisa, ethi “ Ngiyaxolisa Lydia, Ngiyaxolisa Lydia.” Uxoliselani, into angayazi.
Uyamxolela umfana, ngaloko angakwazi.
Futhi u-Janneman unambitha uxolo ensisheni.
Usuka kokwedlule, ushiya phansi okucishe kufane nenqwaba yezimpahla ezilahliwe.
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