This and that with Maluphosa: - Amabele and a fight

Godlwayo reminded me of some games we used to play ekweluseni. Phela we did not have ama cell phone, TV games, play stations- even isoccer ball was such a rare commodity who-ever had it was player-coach. We used to improvise for almost everything.

Do you remember ibhola yephepha which we made from umgodla wemphuphu staffed with newspapers, shaped into something like a soccer-ball, and tied together with some string or irekeni? We would move from one village to the next, looking for games. We never used to play for money emakhaya. It was all about friendship. Of course, there were villages where we were never allowed to set foot. These were villages we were involved with in gang wars. Even when we went there, the games did not end well. Just before the end of the game, the home mob would invade the playing field, attacking everyone in the field. We would run for our dear lives siyefika emakhaya sesibizana ngamakhwelo. There is a place where this is still rife lanamhlanje - ko Mapenka eFilabusi, near Phangani. We were ambushed and rocketted with missiles simply because we had won a game. And this happened in front of the then MP.

We used to play mostly in spring because we never had to look after cattle; zazisemahlangeni, meaning they were allowed to roam anywhere and everywhere. Those boys who came from etoni, like Godlwayo, were lucky enough to have an old torn isikhumba sebhola. They had more advantages over us; they were from etoni and had some valuable remnants of a soccer ball. But abafana betoni were spoilled brats - all of them. They would make us play soccer according to their whims and changed rules everytime to their advantage. Who-ever challenged any of the bogus rules, he would be given verbal red card. Or the brat would simply take his ball home.

Godlwayo was an annoying bully. He carried around some dragon sticks which he would swing expertly, and make spectacular moves that stunned us. He would threaten to whack our heads with the magic sticks if we challenged him. He had a soccer ball which we called uxakuxaku, out of his ear-shot. But it was better than what we were used to. It could go far and had a little, though uneven and unpredictable, bounce. The referee penalised Godlwayo at his own risk. Godlwayo would disregard all rules of dribbling, dodging and ball control and bulldoze his way through an already willing porous wall of defenders, shoot at goal and miss but still celebrate a goal. And the ref would celebrate with him. We would in turn score a good legitimate goal but Godlwayo would overide the ref and disallow the goal.

One day he forcibly took some water which we had deliberately spiced with inhlaba, a wild aloe used in traditional medicine as a laxative.

He gulped it down his noisy throat, like the Drunken Master. He did not finish the game but still he had a hand in the outcome.

Just before Christimas, our own ingqwele, Dee, came home from etoni. We told him about the notorius Godlwayo. There was a hastily arranged game with Godlwayo's village. Even the sight of this new athlete among us did not deter Godlwayo from ukudelela. Dee challenged him, obviously ready to prove something. There was an unholy exchange of words and inhlamba which most of us rural folk did not know or were forbidden to say. One brave boy quickly made amabele, small ankle-high heaps of sand which represented the fighter's mother's breasts. Dee made Godlwayo's mother's breasts with lumps of stone and multiple nipples. He plucked some thorns from isinga, the mimosa tree, and plunged them into the mound representing his opponent's mother's breasts. He spat his disgust at the breasts, yasuka! Godlwayo forgot about all the karate moves he always threatened us with as Dee dazzled him with random uppercuts, hooks, powerful jabs and inqamula. It did not take a long time; and Godlwayo lay in the hot sand, totally clueless and helpless. He looked like a giant migratory bird just flattened by an automobile, all dusty,dishevelled and disorderely. He stood up slowly, trudged to a nearby dust road and scooped about five stones at once. He hurled them at us; indiscriminately and in such quick succession none of us had a chance to duck. Then he ran for it.

He was swearing in the town boy's English all the time;

"It' not your loud to beaten others! Am gonna murdered you. Do you listen? Am gonna heated you until you volume, nja!" I gathered later that he meant vomit. The following day he went back to town, his face sore and puffy, and his front teeth vampirish.

Amabele or izitshwala, as the small mounds of sand were called, were used as bait for those abadelelanayo. Kicking my mother's breasts meant you accepted the challenge to fight me. If one was scared enough not to kick or destroy the breasts in front of him, he would be booed until he complied, knowing pretty well he would not win the fight. And fighting in the bush was not meant to harm, maim or kill your opponent. it was just a show of strength and dominance. It was also a way of strengthening the boys for real life situations and equiping them with survival skills. We never used guns, and knives were for abadala in gambling schools or ebhawa. It was inqindi through and through. Fighting was just a pastime while we looked after cattle.

Another thing that made us fight was inkomo zomdaka. We would make these miniature cows from solid clay, polish them nicely and put them in the sun to dry. Then we would challenge our opponent's cow to a fight. This usually did not end too well. If my cow was broken, I had to finish the unfinished business with the other guy. Dee usually held a fist-sized stone with the other hand behind his back. When you thrust your cow forward to meet his, he would, with the speed of lightining, produce the stone to collide with your your cow, breaking it in half. He would then stand up and laugh like the predator in Predator, until you cried from frustration. Godlwayo would hastily make amabele and it would all end in a prolonged, bloody and exhausting affair. But there would be no grudges afterwards.

We used to make our real bulls fight too, and this too ended the same way; blood, tears, scars, red eyes and embarrassment for the loser. Another game which was popular was ukubhaqa insema. Insema is a large ijodo of a thin small plant found mainly ezibomvini. We would dig it up, throw it into the air and strike it with our knobkerries or make-shift spears. The game was meant to teach us to be accurate ekuzingeleni. Ayekhona amageca, those losers like me who never got to hit anything really, and the other guys made knew only one way to punish us; amabele. Geca versus geca.

We also played ingqobe zesihlahla. We had 'our own' trees which had lushy and strong folliage. We would all climb there and give one guy the task of giving us ingqobe. It was amazing to see us diving from branch to branchlike excited noisy bononos. If by any chance you found yourself phansi, sezingezakho. This was by far my favourite game. There were not many casualties. Of course, Godlwayo, with his township mentality, would refuse to play when it was his turn to chase after us. And he would be the first to tell us ingqobe was 'now boring.' Let us see fights! Then he would make amabele and arrange fights between any two boys of his choice, regardless of the differences in their ages, weights or willingness. How many of our children have the survival skills that were imparted upon us by our predecessors? Most of them are just broillers who would not survive a day outside their sheds. And please, let's get talking.

Malphosa.malphosa@gmail.com.

Yimi lowo! Ngiyabonga mina.