Standing on the Bridge

STANDING

ON THE

BRIDGE

STANDING

ON THE

BRIDGE

Willard Simukali

Copyright © 2017 Willard Simukali

Published by Willard Simukali Publishing at Smashwords

First edition 2017

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system without permission from the copyright holder.

The Author has made every effort to trace and acknowledge sources/resources/individuals. In the event that any images/information have been incorrectly attributed or credited, the Author will be pleased to rectify these omissions at the earliest opportunity.

Published by Author using Reach Publishers’ services,

P O Box 1384, Wandsbeck, South Africa, 3631

Printed and bound by Novus Print Solutions

Edited by Vanessa Finaughty for Reach Publishers

Cover designed by Reach Publishers

Website: www.reachpublishers.co.za

E-mail: reach@webstorm.co.za

Content

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

1

Meeting again after more than a decade

The weather outside was hot and dry. Luyando worked hard scribbling tirelessly with his pen on rough paper. He was working seemingly under pressure. When made to work under pressure, he rarely had time to eat or drink. Only one highly absorbed in or somewhat intoxicated by one’s work would not think to stop for a while and take a glass of water at this hour of day. He had a series of reports on tours to various parts of the country to complete. He wished himself some time to relax. He also needed time to think of new things. He had to work under pressure now in order to have some free time soon.

He stopped scribbling for a moment and thought for a while. Yes, new things. He sighed.

In the past about six months, Luyando had used whatever spare time he could have to think of a new course for whatever remained of his future. He would have to try something completely new and hopefully more challenging. That might require him to go back to school. However, he had work to do now, he thought. He had to stop the thought. He held the pen in his hand more firmly and was going to start writing again when he heard a knock at the door.

The door opened. A man entered, followed by a lady walking behind him. The man greeted and immediately left, closing the door behind him. The lady sat on the chair opposite Luyando’s desk. Luyando looked at the lady sitting in the chair. He said nothing and thought about nothing in particular. His mind was in limbo. He just stared. They looked at each other in silence.

My name is Tumelo, said the lady, breaking the silence.

Luyando said nothing. He just sat there quietly, unable to say anything.

Tumelo stood up from where she sat. She walked to Luyando’s table and, standing on the other side of the desk, she picked up Luyando’s pen and wrote her name and mobile phone number on a piece of paper. She was mentioning her name again and the number as she wrote. Then she left, closing the door behind her.

Tumelo was now gone. They had last met about ten years before. If Luyando had tried to say anything, he would not have known exactly what to say. If he had known what to say, he would not have the strength to say it.

That is just how he felt. Long before this day, Tumelo had often come in to greet Luyando and chat a little. She would then quickly go away, often promising to come back soon the same day if Luyando prolonged the chat, only to disappear until after many days. Today’s visit was, therefore, nothing special, Luyando concluded. It was time to do business as usual.

Tumelo did not turn up again until about three weeks later. Luyando received her calmly without much surprise. He took time to watch her. She was not the same old Tumelo he had known. She had gained a bit of weight and looked prettier.

It was now ten years ago since he’d had to leave for studies abroad. He had invited her before leaving to go abroad on a trip to the area of the Great River, the River of God, south-east of Forest City. He had planned to tell her after the trip that he wanted her to be his wife. Intuitive as she always was, she had invited a lady friend of hers to come along. Luyando knew that this was a deliberate move to block his advance. He had taken some lovely photographs of her and her friend and the beautiful places that they had seen. He’d had the photographs sent to her, but she claimed she had never received them.

It has been long, Tumelo said to break the silence.

Where do you stay? she asked.

Not far from here, he replied.

Let us have time to meet there and talk, she suggested.

It did not sound strange to meet and talk, just the two of them. They had grown up as brother and sister. Previous suggestions from Luyando to get into a relationship or statements by his late friend, Mukuleka, to that effect did not weaken this basic fact.

I had such a great desire to see my friend, Mukuleka, and I called his station of work as soon as I came back from abroad and received the sad news of his untimely death six years before! he continued. I was so shocked that I determined not to ask about any other person, including you, to avoid any further shocks, he added after a short reflection.

Well, it happened, responded Tumelo. My brother died almost suddenly. She explained in much detail what had happened and how adversely the death of Luyando’s friend had affected her family. As for me, I lost my husband, she added, slightly changing the topic.

Oh, I am very sorry! Luyando said in sympathy. My fear was, you’d never take such a bold step – I mean, get married. Luyando did not hide his surprise.

He collapsed at their family home and was soon pronounced dead upon arrival at the hospital, she said. She talked of the emotional stress she had suffered, causing her at one point to lose all interest in living until she realised that she had children and dependants to live for.

I am sorry.

You never cared to write me from abroad.

I wrote and sent the photos I took of you.

Really? Why didn’t they reach me?

I suspect they were tampered with by the authorities.

What a shame!

Well, those were the days leading to democratic change. Almost everybody was paranoid.

You remember the last time I came to spend the night at your house?

Yes, of course. It is now long ago.

And how you played music for me on the piano while I ate my supper?

Oh, what small things you remember. Luyando tried to downplay the matter.

That is not a small matter. I held it in my memory. Oh, how wonderfully you played!

Tumelo then talked about Little River Town. She reminded Luyando how they had mounted the bicycle to ride into town. She sat behind on the carrier while Luyando rode the bike. She had worn copper-coloured attire with beautiful motifs that prompted Luyando to refer to her as a butterfly. Yes, butterfly; such a colourful, wonderful creature.

They met and chatted more often. Tumelo made every effort to get in contact each time she came to Forest City. They held their usual short conversations. They stood outside Luyando’s office one day to brainstorm over a little project that Tumelo had in mind. Suddenly, it started raining. They got into the vehicle to continue their discussion. The discussion went on smoothly. Sometimes they disagreed. When Tumelo pinched Luyando to correct or scold him, their body language took a dramatic turn. Yes, they still related as brother and sister, but they were good friends as well from then on.

2

Luyando’s Home

Pangas, spears, battle sticks and foot bungles had been found there. There was once a dense forest. There, one might still hear sounds and voices: the blurting sound of goats and of past human activity and voices of women laughing or giggling in derision. Strange light might also appear there. It could be time for a happy or mournful ritual judged from sounds of percussions made using nsakalala. Dogs might be heard barking, setting the scene for past existence on an ordinary day. There could be heard, if not seen with one’s eyes, a record of the past that had once been associated with the place. There was this mysterious other existence that people usually attributed to the very distant past. There was, thus, also the dwelling place of basangu spirits. At Musamu Muyumu, by interpretation, ‘The Dry Tree’, fierce battles against the Matibbini had been fought. A road passed by from Ngweze River in the north to Chinkobweda, located to the south-east of Musamu Muyumu. It passed by the area of the once ‘Dry Tree’ to the left of the road as one travelled south-east from the north.

The same road passed through the royal palace of Mwami Pasika to the south-east. Going past the Mwami Pasika Royal Establishment, the road continued southwards to reach Chinkobweda, where there was a railway siding. Beyond Chinkobweda, this road joined the main tarred road leading to Mbarama, the South Town that much later was upgraded to city status.

Musamu Muyumu was famous for two main reasons. The first was that the Mwami, the fourth to ascend to the Mbalunasha throne, had met his death there in battle. The Mbalunasha Royal Establishment was also the source of much unforetold trouble. Simutemambalo, who betrayed Chundu by leading the people of the Foreign Land to where his own people could be found, was of Mbalunasha royal seed. He was grieving for the loss of his wife and had a contention with the Mbalunasha Royal Establishment, whom he blamed for his loss. The people from the Foreign Land had found him cutting mabalo or imbalo. These were thin, but firm cut branches of shrubs that served as lateral supports inside and outside of the housing structure and, tied together with fibre, they rendered stability to the structure under construction. Further to the south of Musamu Muyumu was the palace of the Mbalunasha Royal Establishment. Alternatively, one travelled a short distance from Chinkobweda to the west to easily reach the palace.

The second reason was that Musamu Muyumu was the former settlement of the first Mwami Nanyatu, the nephew to the first Mwami Mbalunasha and the first Mwami Nzemo. The first Mwami Mbalunasha and the first Mwami Nzemo were brothers from two different mothers. They had moved with their nephew, who came to be Mwami Nanyatu, from the south-eastern banks of the Great River, the River of God, around the confluence of the latter and the little, but significant Moloka River. They had fled for their lives in fear of the first Matibbini Nkosi, the Great Road, and Path of Blood. He referred to the Great River, the River of God, as eGwembeni; the place of the boats sailed by the Chundan people living along its banks. He had come from further down south to settle in the land of the Great Stone City, sixty-five years before the completion of Namutitima Bridge. He ruled from his capital, the City of Executions. The City of Executions was located further south-east of Mbarama, the South Town, across the Great River.

The first to become Mwami Nzemo journeyed much further north-east of Musamu Muyumu to settle in Nzemo area. This was located almost in the middle part of Chundu. There, he went on to excel as both chief lwiindi priest and rainmaker. He no doubt drew much influence from his South-Eastern Chundu origins along the banks of the Great River, next to the Moloka River. This area had been characterised by low levels of precipitation and an irregular rainfall pattern for centuries. Later, Mwami Nanyatu also moved further to the north-east and settled near Moloka located south and long before Nzemo. They had all drunk from the little, but significant crocodile-infested Moloka River that stretched from the north-western part of Moloka and, passing through, it joined the Great River further down. Thus, the Southern Chundans were those who had typically drunk from both the Great River and the little Moloka River on their east-west migrations. Moloka was, thus, neither great nor small, but moderately and sufficiently significant. Moloka had since a very long period of time before become the cultural centre of Southern Chundu. It was later to become the first colonial capital of part of what was to become the Great Country. The old administration centre at Choonga area of Moloka was all that still remained of it.

Eastwards from Chinkobweda and not very far away was the royal palace of Mwami Zipataka. He was known historically as the Man of Thirteen, Kasimbo or the Man with the Little Cut. He had started out from the valley of the Great River to settle in Kabanga, in the area between it and the Moloka River and next to their confluence. He was again later to move away from there with a small group of thirteen adult family members of both sexes other than himself. They were moving from the east to the west in search of better and more fertile land. A well-travelled member of the extended family by the name of Siambulo had brought an inspiring report of potentially good farmland further west. The group of thirteen grew into a big family. Luyando was the fifth great-grandson of the first Zipataka and was, thus, in the seventh generation of the Mwami in his mother’s line. Later, both Mwami Zipataka and Mwami Pasika were decommissioned from their bwami by the former colonial masters, whose policy was that of indirect rule. The policy of indirect rule was a modified form of the old principle of divide and rule. Musamu Muyumu was consequently later incorporated under the Mbalunasha jurisdiction.

Slightly north-west and not far away from the real Musamu Muyumu, the site of the ‘Dry Tree’, was the village settlement where Luyando had spent his childhood. Later, the village was to spread towards Musamu Muyumu proper. The villagers liked to have space between them. Village settlement was a dynamic location and relocation of people. Shortly after Luyando’s birth, his village people were relocated away from the banks of the Ngweze River in the north to the new location, south, where Luyando spent his childhood. At that time, the village was still a closely knit group of family members living next to one another.

On the left side of Luyando’s mother’s house was a path that passed through Luyando’s mother’s field. Across the village ground to the west, the same path continued and led to the well. Before reaching the well and not far from it on the left side was the graveyard. To the right of Luyando’s mother’s house was the house of his junior mother and further to the right was the house of Grandfather Senga and Grandmother, Grandfather Senga’s wife. She was the sweetest and kindest person that Luyando ever came to know.

Just apposite Luyando’s mother’s house, west, was the house of Sixpence and his wife. They had one son and a daughter. Next to Sixpence was Mutonga’s house. Mutonga was father to Kantu, Luyando’s age-mate and close friend. They played a lot together. Further beyond that was Lweendo’s father’s house and then that of her grandfather and grandmother. Lweendo was slightly older than Luyando, but the two were very close to each other. She was such a dear girl and very kind to Luyando. The two should have played even more together, but they belonged to two different sexes, which had their own different roles to be played.

Across the path and further to the left from Luyando’s mother’s house was Grandmother Nampande, mother to Mutonga. Going on to the south on the same side of the village was Grandmother Nakabumba. Behind her hut was the hut of Bulowa, her father. Next, after Grandmother Nakabumba, was Great-grandmother, the ex-wife to the last Mwami Zipataka and mother to Grandmother, the wife to Grandfather, the village headman. West and opposite Grandfather, the village headman, was Jani’s mother’s house. Jani’s mother was the daughter of Grandfather, the village headman. Behind the village headman’s house was a road leading to the villages located far away to the east and crossing the road from Ngweze River to Chinkobweda. About two houses from the village headman’s house was the house of Grandfather Mpese. After Grandfather Mpese’s house were more big trees in the midst of the village ground and over there was the house of Grandmother, mother of Aunt Muuka.

Luyando never went that far except on few occasions when his father asked him to accompany him to go and bank his money. Grandmother Mother of Muuka would, on the appointed day, bring out the metal safe she buried under her bed. She would count the old coins first before the new cash was put into the metal safe. Then she would take back the metal safe to her bedroom and secretly bury it under the bed and make the floor flat and smooth with wet clay mixed with cow dung. Other houses continued beyond, north.

Luyando’s village was built on the red-brown soil. Beyond the well was a shallow depression through which rain water flowed from the south to the north towards the Ngweze River. To the west of this depression began the black soils that served as pasture for the village. The same area of the black soils to the west was referred to as Ijaamwa lya Musamu Muyumu, because it bordered the Musamu Muyumu area proper. The black soils were once the home of many kudus, antelopes and duikers as well as lions and wild dogs without number. Water and wild setaria grass were still abundant and fresh then. A few of the smaller wild game animals still remaining up to the time of the fight to liberate the sister countries south of the Great River had almost all been cleared by a group of freedom fighters stationed nearby.

To the right of the well on the red soils were the locations of two kraals. One kraal was nearer to the well and the other further north, but within proximity of each other.

There were large trees behind the houses surrounding the whole village. They were mostly mubombo and musiwe trees. They made the edge of the village start to look very green in spring. Not long after that, the humming sound of the cicada bugs signalled the imminent onset of the rains. The consistent sound of the cicada bugs was the only sure indication that the rains were on the way, insisted the old men of the village. Spring was, in essence, a time for new life to begin. Many cows would also soon drop their young. Even young couples chose to publicly declare their marriage vows for life. More than that, this was time to regain one’s hope, which one might have lost in the course of the year. The rains would soon come. Soon, life would change and the dryness and deadness of matter that went with it would come to an end. It was a time of high expectations for the future.

There were also a few big trees left standing in the middle of the village. Luyando and his friends would climb the trees in the centre of the village when nobody was there to forbid them. Some were left for shade. They served as public places where women pounded their meal. Others were fruit trees like the mucenje tree that produced sweet small berries that ripened during the hot dry season. The seeds of the mucenje berries, or ncenje, were hard and relatively large. There was not much that one could eat of one little fruit, but they were sweet and the wild birds loved to visit and get their share of what remained of the little fruits, both fresh and dry. From the mucenje wood, one made very good yokes for harnessing oxen.

Luyando found his childhood life at home to be rich. The most critical part of the year was the period following winter up to the end of the year. In a bad year with poor harvest, there was the threat of starvation. This was the part of the year when people might go around to find food, or kusunza. In a very bad year, people cooked a little maize or sorghum or millet porridge and ate it with large quantities of dried vegetables or fresh cat’s whiskers cooked in salt water without any cooking oil. Cat’s whiskers grew abundantly with the onset of rains.

One particularly bad year, Luyando’s mother got a piece of cow’s hide