This and that with Mal'phosa - Galo-Yephuka!

My grandfather wrestled my grandmother's love from her heart via 'galo-yephuka'. This is nothing like a gun to your head, a knife to your throat or a spear to your heart but the panic is just like that induced by these other dodgy methods and would force out a confession. Galo-yephuka - literally translated as 'arm-break' - involves snatching and grabbing vice-grip style, your victim's arm and wrenching it backwards, applying pressure beyond your victims pain-threshold, until they give in; 'Yes yes yes!! Sengikukhombile bo-o-o!' Whiff whiff whiff! At times both hands were used to fast-track positive results. Depending on the point where the arm is weakest, the wrist, elbow or shoulder sometimes snapped! But it was folly for anyone not to notice they had reached a point of no return and one more 'No' would land them at some surgical ward in a Central Hospital.

Another method him and his contemporaries used was 'qamuka tshani.' Although not as dangerous, it also produced desired results. The young men would carry along a piece of grass from a besom and produce it when they finally met their targeted girl. They would puncture the girl at the most pain-sensitive part, like the inner arm or thigh. They would apply rough pressure, with the pin piercing the soft tissue to point of bleeding. A point of no return would soon be reached and if the girl, from unbearable pain, brushed away the piece of grass, usekhombile.

Now, makes me wonder how many of us old folks a product of these and other sadistic methods are.

My grandmother is said to have screamed and hollered profusely - not from joy but from pain and disgust. She felt that her aspirations and preferences had been ignored blatantly. Even in later life her feelings, opinions and thoughts never counted for anything. Having agreed to marry grandfather on his own rudimentary terms, grandmother knew it, accepted it and lived with it. To grandfather, she was just a worthless trophy he had won at some informal, insignificant wrestling match. Grandmother's name was never important except when there was a meal to be prepared or a shirt to be ironed or when one of her now grown up sons rebelled against him. So granny was not just a silent partner in the union but a sleeping one, if not swooned!

Looking at grandfather's arms now - a ghastly pair of massive, scaly, disfigured but animate cylinders suspended from a harsh, Herculean frame - I understand why granny always balked when grand-father reached out to touch her arm. Her body still remembers the trauma she went through.

Some say men are like lions, always out there hunting for fresh meat. And grandfather was no exception; he was always out there, looking for more prey, sniffing around for potential competitors and creating some, just to keep his arms busy and the community on its toes.

He would come up with stories like 'Omekhelwana bayan
githakatha, bafuna ukungibulala.' Or 'Abafana laba bafuna ilifa lami ngingakafi.' And we knew he was itching for a fight. This somehow helped him stay in control since the community was scared to cross paths, let alone swords, with him. The language he understood best was galo-yephuka. The evidence was there in the village for all to see; a broken or permanently twisted arm here, a grossly scarred head there or freshly broken ribs next door, or an arm in a sling somewhere else. He would pound herd-boys for guffawing when he passed, even after they had explained the source of their fun. Grandmother would look the other way and be as deaf as a deaf person determined not to hear. She had seen galo-yephuka applied or administered to some chancers in the village, with nasty side-effects and for the sake of peace, she never raised any concern.

Grandmother had brought her own children into this unholy union - children grandfather found so difficult to accept. He had his own too - a bunch of gremlins that turned the community up-side-down at the behest of my grand-father. They banked on his protection, even if they were in the wrong.
He did not like granny's children. He would call them any name that came to his mind, regardless of the mood of the moment.

'Wena sanamabishi!' And granny would look around for whoever was close.
'Wena uyihlo uyakubiza.'
'Agh mama, angiso sanamabishi mina.'
'Kanti kule ndaba? Ungasabela uzahlephuka?' she would laugh uneasily in the face of a mini-rebellion. The small boy would go to grandfather, grumbling. If heard, he would get a prescription of galo!
'Wena mahliki,' or 'Wena worowani'! And the boys learnt to trip over one another, trying to please grandfather.

If ever he brought sweets for the children, he'd give one each to his children and only one to grandmother's boys.
'Hlephunela abanye wena mangqofi!' And krrrrr went the molars, crushing the valued commodity to smithereens. And the boy would first mumuza before spitting out the sticky shiny paste into his hand and scooping bits with his dirty finger nails to give to his siblings.
They had one blanket which they spread on the hard ground, lay on it and pulled the other end to cover themselves - come Summer come Winter. To cap it all, they slept in a porous hut where one could count the stars at night. When it rained, they spent the night nestling against one another close to the wall. Their plates had countless holes at the base and grandfather would chuckle joyously when the boys had fresh milk for relish. They had to learn to repair the plates - plug the holes with pieces of grass - or sleep on hollow tummies.

Grand-father kept old 'African Times' newspapers in a sack in his bedroom. These were used as toilet paper by his own children. If any of granny's children requested for the paper; 'Sebenzisa ugodo you swine!' or 'Iziqu ziphelile?' and the boys obliged.

Other than being uncouth with his general speech and acts, he was known to be blasphemous beyond redemption. One day, after a very excited God's witness had finished telling her side of the story, he blurted out,
'Wena mntwanyana, the god you have been taught to believe does not exist. The god of religions who sits on high and watches you and responds to your prayers, that entity who you believe has a hand in your day to day life and such a grip on your heart and mind, exists only in your day dreams!'
'I will pray for you khulu. I will.'
'Pray for me to do what? Is that not intimidation?' Pause, and then 'It has been proven that prayer does absolutely nothing for the person being prayed for but it makes the one praying feel relieved, hopeful, and superior!' Another pause, then 'And no benefits accrue to believers that are not available to non-believers! Hamba kahle mntanami.' Meeting closed. The poor witness shuffled away like she had just wet her pants. 'Oh, when can I expect the results of your prayer?'

Even when grandfather finally decided to marry another wife - that childless marriage that was destined to fail from the start - grandmother was silent. She was never invited or consulted in the negotiations and her role was to accept the new woman and teach her the ropes. As children, we began to think grandmother was just redundant. We wanted to see what was written in that marriage certificate that was so different from any other certificates we had seen. At gatherings that had nothing to do with her, and to which she was not invited, grandmother's name would be thrown in, just to whip us into line and to give us a living example of how galo-yephuka was an effective tool to tame anyone. She lived a much unfulfilled life and died a sad, silent death. Her opinion began to count.

Grandfather, now decrepit from age, would ask, 'What would your mother say if she saw you doing that?' Galo-yephuka would no-longer work as a tool to force anyone to walk the straight and narrow. And he always conveniently conjured this line each time he suspected he was faced with a rebellion from her children. But still he refuses to observe all the traditional rites for grandmother, like umbuyiso or ukuthethela. He says if all her off-springs were brought together under one roof they would disrespect him and rebel. But others have gone back where they came from. The ones remaining are those abangela plan, who still want pick crumbs from under his boots and drink slimy sediments from his glass in exchange for menial tasks around the house. Galoyephuka! Ngiyabonga mina.