came from. He really was interested in me. Then the old man said, ‘Have you told this Shangaan about the mother of your child? Where is she anyway?’
Bam! Just like that. My stomach lurched. Mbongeni seemed totally unperturbed. He said, ‘Yes, I have told her that I have a child with another woman.’
UMkhulu uVukayibambe persisted, ‘Well then, tell me what you intend doing about your existing child, and the mother of that child!’
Mbongeni said, ‘Mkhulu, I will take care of the child. I have never denied paternity.’
‘I don’t believe in illegitimate children. I was hoping that when you came back from wherever you’ve been all these years, you’d come home and do the right thing by the mother of your child.’
‘I’ll take care of the child, Mkhulu.’
‘If you marry this Shangaan, marry the mother of your child as well.’
Mbongeni almost jumped out of his seat. He was visibly shocked by the suggestion. ‘No, Mkhulu, I can’t do that.’
‘Why not? Only two wives? You would manage. After all, I personally had four wives, and your own father had two. The Ngema men have never had a problem with isithembu. So, what’s so special about you?’
Later, when Mbongeni and I were on our own again, we spoke about this matter that had been raised by his grandfather, the matter of isithembu. I always knew that polygamy was still being practised in some parts of Natal and Zululand, but I had never encountered a real-life person who had a first-hand experience of it. Mbongeni had told me his father had two wives in his lifetime, but it sometimes sounded as if he had left Mbongeni’s mother for another wife. In reality he had taken that other woman in addition to Mbongeni’s mother. Maybe when Mbongeni told me that story, I’d immediately taken cover in denialism. I didn’t want to face the fact that polygamy was something that could touch somebody I knew, somebody I loved. Now my encounter with Mkhulu Vukayibambe had made me very scared. Mbongeni assured me that he had no plans whatsoever to take a second wife. ‘What would I do with a second wife? Mkhulu is just too old, possibly senile, to even raise this matter. It will never happen, my love. What would I do with a second wife?’
Despite the fact that Mkhulu Vukayibambe had called me iShangane, which made me laugh instead of making me angry, and despite the fact that he had tried to drive a wedge between me and Mbongeni by raising the issue of polygamy, I still liked him. He fascinated me. On the many occasions that we would visit Mbongeni’s ancestral home in the next months and years, I remained fascinated by Mkhulu Vukayibambe. To think that he had actually witnessed the Anglo-Zulu War of 1879! This amazing relic had grown up when there were still no cars in the country; when there were still no trains; when gold mines still hadn’t been discovered; when there were no streetlights, no tarred roads, no skyscrapers. All these things had come into being in his lifetime. He had seen the introduction of radio, of telephones, of television. He had outlived his wives, his siblings, and many of his own great-grandchildren. I am mentioning him because in the years to come, his stories would come out, through Mbongeni’s mouth. Indeed, when Mbongeni was developing his concept of ‘theatre of the ancestors’ – an African answer to Grotowski’s ‘poor theatre’ – he was thinking of Mkhulu uVukayibambe. His productions, he believed, were not his. They were stories the ancestors wanted told, and they were using him, Mbongeni, as a conduit.
In the few days that we spent at the Ngema household, the debate about isithembu would crop up every now and then between Mbongeni and his grandfather. In the kitchen or in the yard where we women gathered, cooking and cleaning, we also spoke about isithembu. Ma Hadebe, Mbongeni’s mother, who was in a polygamous situation herself, made it known to all and sundry that she had never approved of polygamy. In a general traditional setting, the first wife has to approve of her husband taking a second wife; if she does not, the husband cannot proceed with his polygamous fantasies. But in the case of Mbongeni’s father, Zwelikhethabantu, the old man had defied the first wife and proceeded to take a second wife. It was never to be a happy polygamous setting. Having been born in the township, and of parents whose upbringing hadn’t been touched by polygamy, I always assumed that this institution was a sad cry from the past; that it did not exist anymore. Which was why I was shocked by uMkhulu uVukayibambe’s suggestion that Mbongeni, my Mbongeni, should even consider what I’d always thought of as a repugnant practice. Ma Hadebe was relieved that her son did not nurse any polygamous dreams. But she still warned me: ‘Stay with him at all times. Never trust him, never leave him alone.’
Years later those chilling words would come back to haunt me.
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