Title Page
THEMBELANI NGENELWA
The Day I Died
KWELA BOOKS
Dedication
This book is dedicated to the memory of my late beloved father, Malusi Jackson Ngenelwa, and to my daughter, Emihle. The time between the death of my father and the birth of my daughter made me appreciate the greatest gift I have: life.
1 My first steps
My first steps
I was born and grew up near a small place called Engcobo, in the Eastern Cape. Engcobo is a small rural town in the former Transkei and it was there that I grew up as a barefoot boy who took pride in herding his father’s livestock. My village was called eMadladleni and we used to herd our parents’ cattle on the banks of Umgwali river. In this place I grew up knowing that a stranger is a friend that you haven’t met yet.
Life was very simple in eMadladleni, but we were encouraged to go to school as teachers were the only professionals in the area, and our parents had dreams of us growing up to become successful people. My parents used to reward me by slaughtering a sheep in my honour for every year of school that I managed to pass. When I passed with a distinction they would buy me a new pair of shoes and treat me to a holiday at my maternal grandmother’s place. This would mean a double celebration, as my granny would also slaughter a sheep for her intelligent grandson.
We were a very loving and close-knit family that valued life and appreciated the little that we had. We were also very religious, with my father being an evangelist in the local United Methodist Church of Southern Africa. He was a well-known, loved and respected preacher. In fact, both my parents and grandparents were very good community and church members.
Growing up in such a religious family had its pressures as well as its rewards. Although our parents didn’t believe in forcing us to go to church, as they believed that we would go when we wanted to, there was no question that we were expected to grow up to be responsible members of the community and church like our parents. My family were hoping that maybe my two brothers and I would even go one step further than our father and become priests.
My resemblance to my father and my status as a first-born son didn’t help to ease this pressure. In fact, the expectations kind of stifled me. I was determined that I was an individual, not just an extension of my parents. Because of this pressure I didn’t pay much attention to religion, even though I came from such a family. We were always taught never to stop praying and trusting in God, but I thought of a prayer as part of a routine rather than a sacred communication with God. I took everything for granted and never took time to think about my relationship with Him. I only prayed when I had to, and once I was away from my parents I would be like any other naughty boy. The only church services I ever went to were the ones that took place at night and the only reason I went was to check out the girls. So it is correct to say that I understood religion but never believed in it.
When I went to Manzana High School in 1992, I chose Mathematics and Physical Science as my major subjects because I had this dream of becoming a doctor one day. As I have mentioned, there were very few professions that we knew about in our village: everyone wanted to be a doctor, a nurse or a teacher.
While I was studying at high school I stayed in a rented hostel for boys as the school was far from my village. It was here that I learned to be independent and where I also learned some undesirable habits. I was fifteen, very short and very talkative, and I quickly became popular for all the wrong reasons.
At home I had always been secretly rebellious. For instance, I would often sneak out at night to attend parties. To do this I would go to bed as early as half past seven in the evening so that nobody would suspect anything and then get up when my parents went to sleep. I would come home early in the morning and, by the time they got up, I would be busy pretending to be cleaning the hut that I slept in.
But at high school there were very few people who knew my parents and I knew that whatever happened at high school would remain there. I quickly attracted a string of friends and girlfriends and started experimenting with cigarettes and alcohol. The fact of the matter is that I was just like every other teenage boy. I was subjected to the same peer pressure that every boy my age was subjected to. I knew my parents’ expectations but I was too busy rebelling.
Despite this, I wasn’t all bad: I was very good with my books, I respected society – especially the elders, as our culture dictates – and I had never failed a single class in my life.
I made some life changes when I got to matric in 1994, chose different friends and focused on my schooling. The possibility of success through education was becoming a reality; I was just one year from university. I started to be more careful about my actions and studied very hard that year even though I was struggling financially.
My father was the breadwinner and the money that he sent home at the end of the month wasn’t enough to sustain my family and pay for my high-school expenses. Our hostel was self-catering and that made things even more difficult. Nonetheless, I was determined to study hard and pass.
At the end of that year, despite struggling financially, I managed to pass my matric with an exemption. My family slaughtered a sheep and invited the relatives and neighbours to celebrate my achievement. I was the pride of the entire community as I was the only one in our village who was sitting matric that year. I also happened to be the first member of my family to achieve an exemption and this made it even more special.
However, in our school there was no career guidance or advice about post-matric education and so I didn’t manage to study in 1995. This was, in part, because my parents didn’t have enough money to pay my fees that year, but it was mainly due to a lack of information that I hadn’t applied for a bursary or any form of financial assistance.
I used that year to do some research about courses and to apply for bursaries and find some work so that I could save up some money for the following year. The following year, 1996, I enrolled with the University of the Western Cape in Bellville for a BSc degree.
2 From Cape Town to Jozi
From Cape Town to Jozi
I made a lot of friends at university and I enjoyed my life there, but my best friend was Khaya Bolosha. We had a lot in common and we both tended to find humour in everything. Our problems seemed to be similar too, especially because we both came from poor families. I remember one year, when I was struggling with paying the residence fees, Khaya offered to share his residence room with me. We shared his room for an entire year. The following year, Khaya had the same problem when he lost his partial bursary and was forced out of the residence. That year I had a room and naturally we shared my room. At the time I secretly celebrated his financial problem because it gave me a chance to pay him back for his good deed the previous year.
By the time he completed his studies we had grown to love each other like brothers and when he moved to Johannesburg, to look for work, we agreed that I would visit any time I wanted.
I did pretty well at my studies, even though finances were tight, and after completing my studies at UWC I was offered a job by the university as an IT technical assistant. The university offered me a job because of my work ethic and the skills I had developed during my days as a student assistant in the university computer labs. However, my contract was going to expire at the end of 2003. I had to apply for other jobs so that when the contract
