KARMA is for real! In my childhood neighbourhood of Umlazi we slaughtered goats, cattle and chicken. If you didnt slaughter, then you were called uNgoqo (A MISER), amongst other names. That you were not prone to slaughtering couldnt have been for reasons of religious beliefs or something like that. No! Typically we would gossip: Kwa Mkhize amakloza athandinyama kodwa bayancishana (THE MKHIZES ARE GREEDY MEATACOLICS). A neighbour, Mr Mnguni, was one such Manyosi. If ever he slaughtered, it was just a goat - small enough for him and his nuclear family. Wawuzwa ngoba eseshisa amathambo or ubone ngezingane zakhe sezigqoke iziphandla ezintsha ukuthi cha bekukhonjwa ngophakathi kwa Yeyeye (YOU WOULD TELL FROM THE SMELL OF INCINERATED BONES OR SEE HIS CHILDREN WEARING BRAND-NEW ORGANIC ROLEXES THAT THE MNGUNIS HAD A FEAST). For as long as I can remember Mr Mnguni had a limp in his right limb. Whilst he was ikloza, but was one hell of a skilled butcher - he could single-handedly kill a strong bull, complete with its sharp horns and gigantic LHBs (low hanging balls) with a single jab on the back of its vast neck. Bab uMnguni was a hell of a legend, and he knew it. So he never had to slaughter to have meat: nongenankomo uyayidlinyama!. He would be booked a few weeks in advance to be available to slaughter the beast the way he knew best and for his efforts, he would emerge with a sizeable butchers take-home portion. Typically Mnguni would tie the beast to a tree and finish it off before others would deskin and dismember it really. Remember, a typical matchbox township home had a very small yard, an electricity pole either inside its perimeter fence or just outside, and one or more of the peach, avocado, guava and mango trees, the latter which came in handy for the likes of Mnguni. It was Mngunis responsibility to certify the beast dead. Once the beast was down he would twist its tail to breaking point, and if the beast didnt jerk then Yeyeye would say in that authoritative voice, Gone! Ihlinzeni bafana and men would say in unison: Yeyeye! Dluya kubeyethwe! Mnguni would return later that day or the following morning with his craftsmans axe ukuzoyihlahlela. Im told Yeyeyes day of reckoning was when he was tipsy and he tried to certify a bull dead, kanti ayifile inkomo (IT WASNT DEAD). Hheyi! Inkomo yamkhahlela uYeyeye wabantu, yayombhanqa ne-corner lika four room one-rough cast nokwenza. Phoqo edolweni! (THE BULL KICKED HIM SO HARD, HIS RIGHT LEG LANDED ON THE UNCOMPROMISING CORNER OF THE HOUSE AND HIS KNEE BROKE). Thats karma for you!... (Sorry for a long story) The reason Im reminded of Mr Mnguni is because today I was woken up to the news that yet another legend, Mr Mpungose has died. I met uBab uMpungose in 1987 when I did my vacation work at Amatikulu Sugar Mill. He was a resident traditional healer, inyanga eyayelapha ngochatho. Hhayi amanzi, hhayi ngokungcinda, hhayi ngamakhandlela, hhayi ngezintingo, uMpungose wayefutha uchatho ngomlomo kuhayize umama (HE NEITHER USED WATER NOR HOT PLATE NOR CANDLES NOR RAZORS. HE WOULD BLOW A HORN LADEN WITH MUTI AT FULL THROTTLE DOWN A MAMAS ASS AND CAUSE HER TO SQUEAL LIKE A SQUIRREL). Mpungose counted amongst his patients newly-born infants; toddlers; ongqingili; able-bodied men and women; pensioners and invalids. He had to cater for anuses of all shapes, sizes and elasticities. You can understand why he had a very wide variety of nozzles in his room - from kudu horns to goat horns; from plastic nozzles taken from sewing machine oil cans to funnels and bottle necks. Anything that could be twisted and pushed into the rear went! And so I asked my long-term artisan friend who called this morning, Hawu uMpungose bantu, uhanjiswe yini? (SHAME! HOW DID MPUNGOSE DIE). It turns out he had severe diabetes and a kudu horn went far too deep inside his ntazinga. It wouldnt come out and he died from the complications of resultant surgery. Ja, Neh! Thats Kudu Karma for you. Kudela ongizwelayo ukuthi omama bayibeka kanjani behlezi emakhandleleni.
Posted on: Wed, 04 Jun 2014 07:28:06 +0000
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