This and that with Mal'phosa - Not necessarily a prophet

Picture this: a visibly pregnant woman, almost term, sits on a cansi in front of a very hysterical man who is obviously in some 'trance' – saying a lot of indecipherable speech. He is so emotionally absorbed in what occupies or possesses him at present. 'The wind tells me you are pregnant. Mweya uthi wena uzithwarere and inana yonkazana. And inana yenyu is Jairos Jiri – islima. And undoda wakho kakho la sewafiwa – waburariwa nabanthu bantshonja. Rrrrrrrr baba mwari arikuthenka! Haisen Jericho! The wind tells me that you will not diriva that baby naturari. Uchaiswa chigero chayiyo. You will diriva by pheya of scissors! Babylonia Hori Moses! And uchaifira kumbheda uyoyo.'

There go the half-truths again. This is the same man who told me two years ago that if I did not pay Three thousand Rand for the salvation of my husband, the father of my children will die within the week or be arrested for no apparent reason. Not only is he still alive; he is still a free man too. Of course we have problems but he is still alive. She thinks to herself although she is a visibly shaken.
'But how can we prevent all this, baba? How can you help me deliver naturally and safely? And if i should go to theatre, what can i do to come out alive?'  

And a lot of procedures and processes are proposed by the mazibaba. And the cost of the whole proposal goes up to close to six thousand Rand. There are certain chemicals to be bought from the chemist, others from the flea market and yet others from the Chinese. And her name must be enclosed in a bottle for protection from her enemies and the devil. And her panties must must must – a lot of other scary stuff.

Two months later, the woman delivers one of the healthiest baby boys in the whole of Jo'burg, in spite of her obvious fears. When she tells the man, he wants to strengthen the baby – for five hundred rand! Ukwethesa inkanda kuphela? The woman says No, she will do it the traditional way! She however, still thinks it's not over yet. She still thinks some evil stalks her at every turn and will pounce any-time it sees an opportunity. She is a strong believer in this mazibaba stuff and believes the mazibaba god is angry with her for letting that chance to be cleansed.

A month later she meets the mazibaba again. She is taking back a tablet to the service provider because of unsatisfactory service. The mazibaba pleads with her not take it back but to sell it to him. He has five hundred on him, which he gladly pays. 'The rest I will pay in a month's time, all of it.' He grabs the device and disappears into the crowds of eGoli and is not seen until after seven months. He ignores all calls and messages from the poor mother. He has changed residence but would like no-one to know, especially those he owes.

Last Sunday the woman decided to send a scotching message which showed the man the gloves were off! He responded. 'Let us meet near the General hospital in Hilbrow, at eight in the evening.' Remember this is a mufundisi, a mazibaba whom everyone will entrust with their lives.

Yes, he has the tablet. He gives it to the woman's sister while he argues with the owner about the accessories – ear phones, charger and so forth. Suddenly, the mazibaba snatches the tablet and runs for it, shouting that they should go to the police if they so wished. 'You will never find me!' He dashes straight towards Montana spar! Those who saw him say he ran like the wind that helped him tell people lies. He dodged cars at the intersection of Twist and Volmarans. The woman and her daughter were hot pursuit, although they were no match.

And he was about to disappear into the darkness along Harrison street when a young man in a Khosi T-shirt appeared from behind them after hearing a muffled 'Vimba!' 'Wenzeni mama?'
'Ungitshontshele itablet. Please help me mntanami. I will pay you!' 'No, don't worry, ngiyambamba kuphela.' The good young man does over 140km/hour on a narrow, crowded strip, over-takes the mazibaba at a steep, picks a brick and stands right in front of the thieving man of God.

'If you move an inch, I will finish you off. Where is the tablet?' 'Here. Here it is. I did not steal it. Please ngicela lingangibulali. Please bantu bakithi.'

And the young man recognises his voice. 'Aso Magumo wena?' 'Yimi tshomi! Please ngicel' ungisize! Bazangibulala.' 'Yeah, nxa ungatshontshanga what is this tablet doing kuwe?' The young man throws some punches and the thief groans and doubles up in pain. The man of God is huffing and puffing now for fear of the crowd that has now surrounded him and baying for his blood. 'Bulala itshona!' 'Sabalekela lina lapha liyasilandela lizesihlupha, masela!' 'Yeyi, ucabanga ukuthi ngama plazi amakhiwa la? Lapha siyakucitsha manje, nja!' He is hiding behind the woman whose tablet he had snatched. The woman – what a good soul, pleads with the crowds on the thief's behalf. 'Please don't kill him. Angifuni igazi lomuntu ezandleni zami.' She takes her device and heads back to her flat in Volmarans, leaving the thief at the mercy of the crowds. And they are still baying for his blood.

'Phela ngumprofethi lo, uthi uhlala e Sandton esuza amanga, swine!'

'Umprofethi we doti! Isela leli!' And the insults are coming randomly, thick and fast.

He survived, somehow. She met him the other day – without a scratch. He tried to hide behind the baby he had in his arms. But it was too late. 'It is not over, she promised him. Whenever you kneel to pray, it might be your last prayer. And while you are at it, make sure you update your funeral policy with Masasane or Rasta. I will be back.

'Mama, did you notice that ukukiliza konke besekuhambile? Ubesekhulume isiNdebele Nde!' Observed her daughter  when they arrived home. 'Labantu baka Nkulunkulu bayakwesaba kangaka ukufa? Ngiyabonga mina! She said, as she sat down to catch her breath. Ngiyabonga mina!