Taxes only good for the government and not ordinary citizens

TAXES were, of course, good for the government and not so good for the ordinary citizen who barely understood what was happening. To him, it was a simple case of the government extending its high-handedness and abusing us because we were black. The Whiteman wanted to demonstrate his superiority over us - just like ingqwele would do. It was just the government reaping where they did not sow. Not even Ng'thunywe-yinkosi ever tried explaining the reasons for taxes that he was so keen at collecting, leaving the villagers feeling hated, cheated, robbed, poorer, devastated!

It was for the slightly enlightened to make educated guesses – the money collected came back as services to the ordinary villager. Roads were graded or upgraded every year before the rains came; school buildings were refurbished and painted and furnished per rising need;  school grounds were kept very neat; dip tanks were kept clean and fresh; fields were maintained and kept in good, productive shape and there was hardly a need to buy inhlanyelo because ibiphuma nxa kuvunwa laphana. Hence, most men in the rural areas saw no reason whatsoever to go looking for jobs except just to be able to pay their taxes. Well, it was not easy telling the black rural communities to do anything against their will, and forcing them to go look for work because you wanted your tax paid was just courting trouble.

Thina abamnyama are not ruled either by time or time tables. If I wake up and I want to go looking for my missing cow and along the way I meet someone hunting, or I decide I want to go to a beer drink, I will shift my focus and energy to this new task without fear or shame. If what I am doing now is not appealing enough, I can easily change to do something else, never mind priorities. If, as a villager I wanted to be preparing for ploughing between August and November and the white man wanted me to be sweeping his office or herding his cattle or bathing his dogs, or licking his feet, there was bound to be a very big problem! So, the white man met a lot of resistance from amongst the villagers.

I remember how we used to run away lezinja when Ng'thunywe-yinkosi hurtled past on his cream-ish scooter. He would get home to find nothing that attracted umthelo – bicycle, wheelbarrow, scotch cart, dogs, and adolescent boys – all gone! That was one way of beating the white man at his game – but then there were always sell-outs who would tell him, laphana kulezinja ezingu thirteen, lebhara entsha lenkomo ezimbili labafana abangu seven. And father would be forced to cough up a fortune just to cover all these ‘unnecessary costs'.   

One man, Qobho was his name - would come out clean and tell Ng'thunywe-yinkosi that he didn't have work and therefore would rather serve jail time. And when the white man, the commissioner himself went around on his supervisory duties, Qobho would ask him directly; I don't have a job, and mina ngingumntanakho. So how do you expect me to pay your taxes? The commissioner would not believe him because each time he went to this homestead, bekudliwa inyama. Little did he know that this man had sworn that ngeke adle imbhida khona kulenkomo eplazini lika nkosi.

He was not the only one; I remember a family that never struggled with anything – be it food or taxes or clothes. They were quite well up but did not own even a cat. Not even one man amongst the ten in the family, had a job. They also benefited from the inkosi cattle which they stole during the night when inkosi was hundreds of kilometres away and his workers were bragging and drinking sgodo khaya in the villages. Whenever there was a cow short in the farm, these two families were always the chief suspects. And when a goat or cock went missing in the village, it would miraculously pop up at the kraal or pen or coop of either of these families. If you were a respected member of the society, they would give it back but if they thought of you as a nobody, you'd choose if you'd rather lose your goat or your life or both!

Later, there were claims that these men had cocks crowing in their tummies – abantu sebebalungisile. They said the cock would, without warning, crow or croon, depending on the time of the day and also on its mood.

And finally when those nocturnal vagabonds who called themselves comrades and we later called them opasi, came preaching about a life without taxes, we sang halleluiah! Well, they never asked for our opinion – theirs was a life of orders and demands – come to the base; bring sadza ne huku; don't go to school, all of you. Don't take your cattle for dipping; don't go to hospitals; don't tell Smith's soldiers that you saw us. And there was a price- a big price – to be paid by anyone who denied them what they wanted or betrayed them. They would come back and you would pay with your dear life – they'd throw you into an inferno, or pierce your chest with a byonet or crush your every bone with isivalo senkomo!

Even these nocturnal meetings were a force-matter. If you missed them for any reason, you were food for the maggots. And now, do you wonder why even now we are forced to attend rallies which at times do not concern us; or forced to work when everyone else wants to protest; or we are forced to salute leaders who do not represent us in any way or have totally lost our respect, as it were? And little did we know that by supporting such a tax-less cause we were actually digging our own graves, literally!

Ngiyabonga mina!