This and that with Maluphosa Maluphosa: Bullies All over

Dee is very dejected; his daughter has left school, temporarily, one hopes. She is said to be fleeing bullies at her school. Phela eMzansi bullying is so dangerous it's no-longer viewed as a rite of passage.

I remember at primary school where the big boys would way-lay us on our way home and cause grievous bodily harm, especially on closing day. The warning 'Ngizavala ngawe' was never just an idle threat. No action would be taken by either teachers or parents and this made us want to defend ourselves by some even more dangerous methods.

One boy who was in grade seven was stabbed by another in a lower grade. The smaller boy had to sleep in a near-by mountain for fear of the police who came every other day looking for him.

Grade Sevens usually made us pay for protection, which they never gave anyway; we would bring sweets, igwadla, pens, exercise books and other valuables just so they could protect us from known bullies.

There is this 'man' who had repeated grade three so many times he could not count how many. His compensatory method was to bully us to doom. We would guffaw each time he gave a wrong answer, which was always. When the teacher went out, say, to the office, he would come back to find the whole class crying. The 'man' would indiscriminately punch, push, kick, shove and slap the whole class. Everyday after school he was taught alone, phezu kwentaba close to the school.

Bullying was worse at secondary school. There was name-calling and physical abuse. There was this notorious group which even the prefects feared. Each time the gang appeared, prefects looked the other way. Most of these bullies suffered from substance abuse. They would go out, 'over bounds', ko maSbanda or eHabane town ship, and come back stone drunk, to harass the juniors– ama dzwinyu. We were forced to sing throughout the night as if sisebhesini yama Zanla. We would also shout, EMzingwane, saland'ipudding.'

Then there was this narcissist who used to give us the same instruction every day;

'Bafana, I want my window to be spotlessly clean. Awuboni lingcole njengamahlanz'enja.' He would bounce away like a rugby player who just scored a penalty. This guy was not like most bullies who are cowards; but like most bullies,he had no sympathy. When he wanted to play it dirty, he would. He used to give any targetted boy $2, and a shopping list. The boy would run to the tuck-shop to bring groceries worth over $50, and some change. He also used to give form ones his uniform to make ready for the following day. And he was always spotlessly clean himself.

The notorious group also competed for undivided attention; they would also want to hear us sing our lungs out; 'Thina singama dzwinyu, sisuth'udaka! Siqumb'indumba.' One day they came with so many games to play on us it was so terrifying. First, we had to prepare ikoro for them, in a five litre bottle. Next, they made us sing and dance until every one of us convulsed violently with coughing, and our voices were mere squeals.

Then we were made to sit on a bench as if on an emergency taxi. 'Four-four makhiwa. D-squre d-square!' one of them touted. We were forced to 'board' the 'taxi' to a D-square we knew was only in Bulawayo. One of us was hand-picked to be the driver; he had to make noise like a taxi does; change imaginary gears, step on the accelerator and clutch; obey non-existent robots, Give-ways and passenger and rail crossings, and blow the horn at imaginary passengers every now and then.       

One of the bullies posed as a traffic cop. He stopped us and said the taxi was over-loaded. The driver had to pay a fine. He paid real money, not the imaginary type. The one who pose as a tout shouted, 'Asibhadaleni makhiwa,' and we had to part with our pocket money.

Lastly, one of them said he would show us how to blow out electricity lights, using his breath, and we had to do it too. He did it, many times. It was later-on that we realised his accomplice was standing with his back to the switch, and each time the one blew high up towards the lamp, the other gently rubbed his back against the switch, and the lights would go off. All the dzwinyus were made to pay for failing to blow off the lights.

There was this monster, Chigodora. He was so abusive in language and deeds he made whatever little esteem was left in us just evaporate. He would move around after lights off, targeting the boys who looked rich. He would loot their provisions and money and promise them hell if they reported him. If you were so unlucky as to get visitors, he would come after whatever they brought you once the visitors were gone; chicken, confectionaries, toiletries, money, and your new uniform. We used to polish his shoes with our own polish, wash his clothes with our own soap, and made sure we moved around looking for an iron to press his uniform. I didn't like this guy a bit! So I developed a way to fight back. If he wanted some drink from me, I would fetch the water from the toilet seat; if it was clean water, I would drink a mouthful, rinse my mouth and spit it all back into his miserable bottle.If he wanted me to wash his uniform, I would just hang it on the line without washing it, and iron it. this eventually earned him the name Scruffy.

Once I found one boy who also had had enough of this guy, farting into the bottle he was sent to collect some water with. He said he was balancing the equation!

We also taught him inhlamba and untruths each time he had some home work in Ndebele. I can remember these answers which made him berserk! 'Ukukhupha isikhumba enyamazaneni – yikuklinya. Ukuqedisela inkomo egulayo – yikunciphisa. Inyama yomlomo wangaphansi – yinkamisa. Inkomo ehamba kakhulu – nguthathekile. Inkomo ezifeleyo – yingcino.' every day in the Dining Hall, he moved around, collecting eggs and fruits from the culprits.

But bullying is not at schools only. Institutions of higher learning also have systems, subtle or covert, of bullying students or learners. Those of you who have been to schools of nursing might have an idea.

At the school of midwifery in Mpilo, one bully came up with what came to be known as the Bishop's score, where by the ladies were rated according to their beauty. I am sure it is kind of soft bullying but imagine how the poor ladies who came out last felt!

And we have bullies in place in some government places, like Home Affairs. People are tossed around until they have forgotten what it is they wanted in the first place.

One is made to feel so guilty they cannot challenge even the wrong spelling of their names. My grandfather's name was recently spelt Chavanhu, ko Msitheli, and was told he was wasting time complaining.

People there corrupt and adulterate names with impunity; and correction of those mistakes is paid for by the complainants. And this makes these Msitheli bullies worse.

The results of bullying are quite dire. Depression is prevalent. Who am I now, Tshabangu or Chavanhu? I know a boy who took his own life after being frustrated by home affairs in Pretoria. But we all know what has happened to government bullies; those who overstay their welcome by crook or hook, and demand that you vote for them or else.

Finally I met a Xhosa bully emawosweni. He asked if I would open my own restaurant if I had worked there and had gained enough experience. I said, 'Of course.'

'Then indaba yakho ngeke iphele mfowethu; izofana leka Sathane. Satan had worked for a long time eZulwini and gained so much experience he wanted to start his own thing. But waboshwa ngu mthetho,' said this guy. I said to him, 'Mo comment.

Ngiyabonga mina.