Holding Up the Sky (25 page)

I was enjoying the language study, understanding for the first time why I said some of the things I had learnt to say by rote. My strategy up until that time was to copy what was said by others in particular situations without understanding the component parts of the phrase that was being used. I simply knew when the phrase was appropriate. Over time, I was able to piece together the meaning of parts of phrases from other words I was learning but it was not until the language lab that I understood the grammar. I found the classroom environment a little artificial compared to what I was used to but I tried not to let that dampen my enthusiasm for learning. What's interesting is that my overly rational, analytical approach to all elements of my life, including matters of the heart, did not apply to how I learnt a language. My language acquisition was a far more intuitive process. Given my success in ultimately learning a number of African languages, there was clearly a lesson for me there.

One night when I was back at home in Caluza, the phone rang as we were all sitting in the lounge watching a local African drama. Baba Skhosana picked it up, as he always did when he was home, so that he could monitor calls. If he was not around it was usually Sibongile who ran for the phone, convinced it would be for her which it usually was. Her friends seemed to have a knack for knowing when her father was not at home. This night, the phone call was for me. In disapproving tones, Baba Skhosana told me that there was a young man wanting to speak to me. I caught Nonsi's eye as I took the receiver, clearly understanding that this was not a good thing. In black culture, young women do not admit to having boyfriends. It is considered disrespectful to bring a young man to the house unless you have been promised to him in marriage. I pulled a face back at Nonsi, the meaning of which was ‘he's not my boyfriend'. Regardless of this fact, under the watchful eye of Baba Skhosana I kept the conversation very short, telling Teboho that I would speak to him on campus. When I got off the phone, Baba Skhosana raised an eyebrow at me as I attempted to assure him that it was just someone from class asking for some help with an assignment. However, Nonsi took my hint as I left the lounge room and headed for the bedroom, following behind me in hot pursuit.

‘You've got to be more careful', Nonsi told me. ‘Baba will be watching you like a hawk now.' Nonsi had been seeing someone for well over a year without the family knowing. She often used Themba or Zodwa as a go-between, giving her both a venue for meetings and a conduit for messages. Themba was considered to be one of the household at the Skhosanas' and could come and go at will in the evenings without raising suspicion. He often brought messages for Nonsi when he came. But Nonsi was over-estimating the situation with me. I was hiding no one. She quickly pointed out that Teboho may be hoping for something different. ‘Why else would he go to all the trouble of getting this number when he could just find you tomorrow?' she asked. I realised she had a point–I just hadn't been looking.

Though Baba Skhosana's rules may have seemed draconian to many, I had learnt that in African culture a woman is a child in the eyes of her family until she marries. She then moves from the care and responsibility of her father to that of her husband. So despite Nonsi and I being in our twenties, this mindset had Baba treating us like wayward teenagers. I took it lightly as I knew I could move away if it really became a problem, but I knew that other young women had no such choice. I also knew that Baba Skhosana's intention was to protect us and the image of him holding a brick in his hand, ready to defend his family with his life, tempered my feminist views on the subject. I was also touched that he treated me with the same concern as he did his daughters.

Despite all this, I was yet to be convinced that you waited until an engagement period to find out more about a man so the next day over lunch, I considered Teboho in a different light. His extroverted personality made you feel as if the sun was shining on your face whenever he was near. Yet he also appeared to be a sensitive person who cared deeply about the needs of others. After many days of looking after the children I had brought him that night during the war, he also ensured that the large garage and its side rooms were made available to the housekeeper at ETHOS, Mama Florence. She lived up on the escarpment above Edendale valley where she and her family had lost their home in the violence; it had been looted and burnt down one night as they fed into the valley. Her family were now living on the property at Teboho's request while new accommodation could be found. I also noticed that he did not change his behaviour around white people as many black people did, becoming more withdrawn and less likely to say what they were really thinking. He seemed to stand up for what he believed in regardless of the power or influence of those he addressed. The final thing that was abundantly clear to me was that Teboho was constantly surrounded by women. Perhaps he was like many other township men who felt no pang of guilt pursuing and confessing their love to multiple women at the same time.

I went home that night and discussed this with Nonsi. Her thoughts on the matter were, ‘As long as a man marries you, it doesn't matter if he has many girlfriends along the way'. I wondered if African women had become so tolerant by necessity. I hadn't heard that Nonsi's boyfriend was a ‘player' and I hoped for her sake he was not. I was also aware that many African men did nothing to curb their passion for many women once they married and I didn't know if this was something I could cope with. I remember my horror when the husband of a black South African friend I had known in Canada asked me out of the blue if I wanted to sleep with him. I replied that he was married to my friend and I had a boyfriend, but clearly these were not obstacles in his mind. When I spoke to Msizi about it, he had simply laughed at my naivety.

The following day was my last on campus and classes were finishing at lunchtime, as it was also the last day of term before the July break. Teboho found me in the morning and asked me if I wanted to come with him to Durban that afternoon. He had to go to the offices of an organisation he was doing some work for and wanted some company on the journey. This time I was not so naive as to misunderstand the purpose of the trip and so I agreed; I was keen to clarify what was going on between us, if anything.

We met back at ETHOS at lunchtime and after grabbing some
padkos
, some food for the road, we set off on the hour-long drive down to the coast. Teboho spent the first thirty minutes telling me about one or two women who were often at the lunch table and how he had had the opportunity to have a bit of fun with them. I felt the embarrassment start to rise red in my neck as I listened to him, thinking how foolish I had been to misunderstand his intentions towards me. Just when I was about to stop him from going any further, he told me that he had not pursued anything with them because he believed that if you were with someone, you had to consider them someone that you could potentially marry–otherwise you were simply abusing the situation. My throat, which had been constricted with embarrassment, now relaxed and opened up again, allowing the air to fill my chest. Just as we were nearing the city, Teboho finally got to his point.

‘I would like you to consider a relationship with me. I knew you were the woman for me when I saw your bravery during the Seven Day War. On top of the other things that attract me, you are also courageous in the face of the violence that black people face every day. So I am proposing a serious relationship, not a quick fling. But before you decide, I want to talk to my family and friends back in Mohlakeng to see if this is something they would support. Last night, we spent a couple of hours debating the idea amongst the ETHOS guys and they finally agreed that they would be open to it.'

I sat listening to his proposition, thinking it was the most unusual one I had ever heard. What put my nose out of joint was that he had sat debating the possibility of our relationship with his friends at ETHOS before even raising the idea with me! He must have been incredibly confident that I would say yes. But I saw from the look on his face that his intentions had been honourable, if a little eccentric. He knew of the reasons for my split with Msizi and wanted to raise the issues first before risking a repetition of the hurt I had suffered there. So I agreed that I would think about his proposal over the holidays and we would discuss it when he returned.

The remainder of the trip to Durban passed quickly and in no time we were back at ETHOS. Teboho was leaving the next morning to go back to Jo'burg for three weeks. So he invited me to come in for a bit before he dropped me back in the township. We went to the room that he shared with Pat and as he stole a kiss, I struggled to reconcile feelings of betraying Msizi and hope for a new start.

Over the three weeks that Teboho was gone, I spent quite a bit of my spare time with Margie, the one who knew him best, trying to understand more about who he was and whether pursuing this relationship was the right thing to do. Of all the students, Teboho was Margie's favourite. She thought he was one of a kind: funny, principled, considerate and intelligent. She confessed to having been promoting my attributes to Teboho for a number of months now as she had paired us off in her mind at the beginning of the year. Margie was married to a very special man and enjoyed a close, tender relationship with him. She was now pregnant with their first child. I think she wanted for me that happiness she had in her own marriage and saw something in Teboho that convinced her it was possible. So we sat and chatted and knitted, a surprisingly tame pastime for me but one which, thanks to Margie, I found both soothing and contemplative. Margie was knitting for her baby and so I knitted a jersey which I had decided I would give to Teboho if the answer was yes on both our parts. If the answer was no, I had a large, warm jersey to see me through the remainder of the winter.

During those weeks, I was fortunate enough to attend the National Conference of the Anglican Student Federation that was being hosted at the seminary on the outskirts of Imbali. The keynote speaker and honorary president was Desmond Tutu. On the day he spent with us he was not dressed as an archbishop–in fact he looked rather like a member of the French underground. He wore a black beret and a black jacket with a mandarin collar which he accessorised with his trademark impish grin. He spoke passionately about the situation facing many young Christians in South Africa at that time. In responding to the political discrimination by the State, many young people were being alienated by their churches as radicals who had lost their faith. He knew that we struggled, as he did, to find a way to marry faith with suffering; a life in the church with a life in the struggle. He suggested that we had two options–leave the church or liberate it. Neutrality was a luxury. Unless we act against racism, we become racist; unless we act against sexism, we become sexist–so great are the forces of conformity in South Africa.

I felt enormously grateful to be living in a place that gave me the opportunity to meet and listen to people like Desmond Tutu. He and many others like him seemed to have been refined by the fire of their own suffering, allowing them to become people who held their line and encouraged others to do the same. I found South Africa was the kind of place that asked me every day: ‘Who are you really and what do you stand for?' While this daily challenge was exhausting, it helped to clarify the essence of what was important in life. Money, careers, status and material possessions could not easily stand up to the daily test of ‘What do you stand for?' leaving only human dignity, equality and peace in their place. However, my challenge since then has always been to come to my own conclusions about what is important in life without judging those who choose differently. Choosing the ‘high ground' can take you precariously close to arrogance and if it does, you come tumbling down and are forced to begin again.

Teboho arrived back at ETHOS on the Sunday before classes began. I had heard nothing from him during those three weeks and had no idea how things had gone for him. He simply phoned me from Harrismith, the halfway house between Jo'burg and 'Maritzburg, and asked me to meet him in a few hours at ETHOS. I was waiting there when he arrived. I watched him as he exuberantly stepped out of the car and caught sight of me on the stairs to the house. ‘Hello, my sweetheart', he yelled from the driveway, bag in hand, as he sprang towards the house.

A few minutes later we were sitting in the lounge which was uncharacteristically empty with few students yet back from holidays. He took me by the hand and told me in detail how his consultations had gone. He spoke to Moss and Khumo first. I had met Moss at the beginning of the year at the ETHOS opening and Khumo was his wife who ran the Women's Desk at the South African Council of Churches' head office. Khumo, being no wallflower, was the toughest critic. She told Teboho outright that mixed marriages in South Africa are too hard on everyone concerned, with neither partner able to find acceptance. Teboho had been friends with Khumo for many years. In fact, he was the go-between in the courting of Khumo and Moss when their relationship was still a secret. Khumo loved Teboho and wanted the best for him. His previous relationship had left its scars on him and she hoped that he would find comfort in a new relationship after almost five years alone. But she felt this choice seemed to be asking for trouble. They spoke about it many times over that three-week period and then she stood back, having said her piece. He knew she would support him whichever decision he made, and she did.

Moss was more circumspect, as was his way. Being a minister and peacemaker, he was able to see both sides of the argument, but having the added advantage of having met me, he decided to support his friend's wishes. Teboho also spent many hours debating with his male peers, a number of whom he had lived with for many years. Eventually, the inner circle felt that it wasn't a bad thing, depending on my ability to assimilate. They also told him that they never expected him to make a predictable choice in anything he did, as he had always marched to the beat of his own drum. However, he also told me that there were a few who challenged him in private about being a sell-out to the struggle if he chose to be with a white woman. Taking this on board he went, last of all, to his family. As I sat listening to this long tale of consultation, it was like watching a roulette wheel spin, waiting for the ball to fall. I had learnt by now that African storytelling is a time-honoured art, one not to be rushed–but I could have done with an executive summary at this point.