This and That with Maluphosa - Siyidla ngaphi?

Siyidla ngaphi lamhlanje? Well, this used to be such a common question emakhaya during those 'good old days'. And at times an invitation to a wedding or Christmas party would already have been sent out.

A few days or even weeks before Christmas thina abancane qha would have been bought khakhi shorts with one pocket and a thick strong elastic band at the waist-line, a t-shirt written 'Ngi promota Sbare', 'Iviki ngeyami,Ngiphimali yami',' Watsha bhare, siya Egigini', or those with the picture of Father Christmas, lama-tender foot amnyama. There is one time I got blue ones, and the whole village was amazed. Brother had bought himself ama Super-Pro. Osisi had ama-international and dresses which resembled ezabakhaphi.

Our home was on over-drive a few days towards Christmas, and worse on Christmas day. Mother used to make umqombothi and father would slaughter a cow for the many expected visitors who came from far and wide. As early as at dawn, you would hear the first ones bekhuleka esangweni;
Gatsheni!
Boya be nyathi,
Buyasongwa busombuluke;
Mpongo ka Zingelwayo;
Ndlovu zidlekhaya ngokuswel'abelusi;
Lina bakwakhumbul'amagwala;
Lina abakwasihlang'esihle!
Mthiyana
Ngokuthiy'amadod'emazibukweni;
Nina bakwamdubisi!

This would set a trend that would make my father feel very important. One could tell by the way he sauntered authoritatively around, giving orders to the women and children like a decorated army general.

What we loved about Christmas was the bountiful bread, sweets, amabhazi, drinks and music. Father used to buy close to 50 loaves, just for the day, slaughter a cow, and buy crates and crates of coke and Fanta and tins of jam. From the time izigqoko zekhisimusi were bought, we would sneak into mother's bed-room at every slight opportunity, just to check on and try our beautiful clothes, abadala bengekho. And to tell the truth, Christmas Eve was the longest night ever. We would talk a lot of nonsense all night, just to make the time go faster. All we for the morning to arrive so we could, wash sipikle nge Vaseline, put on our new clothes and go emalayinini or the shops to show off. I don't remember ever getting any present from anyone. The food and clothes were enough to make our Christmas merry.
 
Father had a radio; those long Supersonic machines whose casings looked like coffins. It was about a metre and a half long and had long legs and amazing musical out-put. It was automatic, meaning it lifted its head each time it came to the end of the record and went back to start. My other three brothers had Merilyn radios, which were shaped like the Supersonic but had inferior sound out put. People never really danced until well into the evening. Most of the music we danced to was by Mahlathini; who does not know 'Izulu liyandunduma' or 'Lilizela Mlilizeli'? We also had instrumental songs by O-Max Mankwana, John Moriri, MaKhona Tsohle Band, Boyoyo Boys,West Nkosi. In the later years ngabo 80, there were Abafana BaseQhudeni with 'Ubugcwelegcwele'; and Amaswazi Emvelo with Thululalele Mngan'wami and Mama ka Nomvula. All these were on vinyl, either as LPs or sinlges.There was one particular single that was very popular at that time. It was a Shona song, Baba kabhoyi. And where it said 'yinamo', every one chorused 'Tshilamoya!' It had been brought by a man who looked after bab'omdala's cattle. Thinking about him now, I realise he had Mr. Bean's face and a nicely shaped mpabanga which made his head look like a slahla of a Peugeot.

On this particular Christmas, he had left everyone assembled there in stitches when he tried to khuleka;
Ntshovu, Kakeni.
Boya benhlwathu;
Boya bomsombuluko;
Rina abakumbiramagwazha,
Sishanu esishe mtinyama.

After a few drinks, the visitors would start demanding records of their choice. Then we would be treated to random, not synchronized, dances as the towns-people showed off their dabhu, agogo, skimberely, twist and irabi. Then came lunch time; rice was as scarce as money, and we were treated to leftovers after the VIPs had had their feel. This would be put into a big dish and bonke ontanga would greedily eat from there. And then it was time to dance the day away. Ubabomncane liked to shove a pillow under his shirt so that he would look like he had a big mkhaba. He would make plenty funnies which left the spectators totally memerised.
                                       
Then, in the middle of the night when everyone else was feeling tired and sleepy, one would hear a marvelous baritone voice slicing through the darkness, emva kwezindlu. And then a song would come out as more voices joined in. I had four amazing brothers whose love and talent for Mbube was simply outstanding. They came home with songs they either pilfered from Siyabalandela or Zama Zama choirs.

'Salibonani zihlobo' would be an introduction, then 'Thina abako N', 'Umlomo tubhu',' eGwelutshena', Ibhulukwe lekhakhi. These were accompanied by powerful thuds made by an electrifying stomping of booted feet. At the climax of each song, obhudi would kneel down in a semi-circle so they'd take turns to show off their dancing skills. One of them would walk around the ring like a cripple; the right hand limp against his chest, one leg bent inwards at the knee so it gave him an exaggerated limp, as he emulated oJiri. And then in the morning, 'ENdlovu, Siyabonga thina'. One song which caused us a lot of problems was 'Indlu ka Thekwane'. This was at my sister's wedding eMagedleni. We dove onto one hut as we sang the song, plucked the thatch and scattered it all over. Sahlawula ngenkomo.

But Christmas was not always this mnandi; the two saddest being 1980 and 1985. In the former, father was in a coma following some blood-clotting disorder in his brain. And the whole family was scared, nervous, sombre and anxious. In 1985, my grand-father was murdered in cold blood by armed men who were in full army gear. They had called him 'mtenkesi' before pounding him with umgigo and finishing him off with a bayonet.   
                                
Otherwise, kwakumnandi emakhaya, before we were divided by politics. Now it's difficult even to share your day with the closest of your relatives because they might be sympathizers of some political party you hate with all you have. Yint'enjani? Siyidle kahle ngokuhloniphana langokuthandana. That's the essence of ubuntu. Ngiyabonga mina!