from your own loved ones who have passed on to the other side. You think those Chinese healers can hear our dead? No, they may have magic herbs but you must be Zulu to do what we do.”
Even if they don’t hear our ancestors’ voices, people are seduced by the Chinese: they respect healers who have come from a long ways away. It seems like people believe that the farther away it comes from, the better it must be.
At least, when it comes to medicine.
They don’t feel that way about Somalis or Chinese who own tuck shops and grocery stores. I don’t blame this man for putting up bullet proof sliding where he takes the money, or keeping himself locked in all the time. It wasn’t so long ago that people dragged Somalis through the streets in Durban, killing them for no other reason than that they run the tuck shops so, according to the people, they must be taking away jobs from South Africans.
I greet the man in Zulu, “Sawubona, Ahmed, nina ninjani?” Then in Arabic, “As-salaam ‘alaykum.” I want him to know that he has nothing to fear from me. I’m perfectly OK with his presence here in the township. No matter how different—or similar—he is.
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