History is repeating itself. His cooperative society is on the verge of success. But the South African banks are determined that it should not succeed. So much for black empowerment!
Hopefully the beadwork and isiXhosa costumes they are sending to Johannesburg every month will make enough money to put down on a secondhand vehicle, even if it does not have cold storage.
“But you can spare a few minutes a day to attend to the problems of water,” insists Dalton.
“No, I cannot,” says Camagu. “You went about this whole thing the wrong way, John. The water project is failing because it was imposed on the people. No one bothered to find out their needs.”
“That is nonsense,” says Dalton. “Everyone needs clean water.”
“So we think. .in our infinite wisdom. Perhaps the first step would have been to discuss the matter with the villagers, to find out what their priorities are. They should be part of the whole process. They should be active participants in the conception of the project, in raising funds for it, in constructing it. Then it becomes their project. Then they will look after it.”
Camagu is of the view that, as things stand now, the villagers see this as Dalton’s project. He thought he was doing them a favor when he single-handedly raised funds for it and invited government experts to help in its construction. It was only later that the community was involved. Dalton hand-picked a committee of people he thought were enlightened enough to look after the project. The villagers were given a ready-made water scheme. It is falling apart because they don’t feel they are part of it.
“That is the danger of doing things for the people instead of doing things with the people,” adds Camagu. “It is happening throughout this country. The government talks of delivery and of upliftment. Now people expect things to be delivered to them without any effort on their part. They expect somebody to come from Pretoria and uplift them. The notions of delivery and upliftment have turned our people into passive recipients of programs conceived by so-called experts who know nothing about the lives of rural communities. People are denied the right to shape their own destiny. Things are done for them. The world owes them a living. A dependency mentality is reinforced in their minds.”
“Are you trying to say I don’t know what I am doing?” asks Dalton. “You come all the way from America with theories and formulas, and you want to apply them in my village. I have lived here all my life. So have my fathers before me. I cannot be called an expert from outside the community. I am one with these people.”
“That is the main problem with you, John. You know that you are ‘right’ and you want to impose those ‘correct’ ideas on the populace from above. I am suggesting that you try involving the people in decision-making rather than making decisions for them.”
John Dalton has a wounded look. Camagu assures him that he is not belittling his efforts to develop his village. He is merely being critical of the method.
But Dalton walks away without saying another word.
Camagu decides to go and while away time at the concert. People are beginning to gather at Qolorha-by-Sea Secondary School. The village is already filled with the peals of bells, alerting people that the concert is about to start. On his way to the school, Camagu passes Bhonco’s homestead. Under the tree in front of the pink rondavel the activities of the elders of the Unbelievers are going on. Camagu wonders if they will not be going to the concert even though NoPetticoat is one of the star attractions.
The Unbelievers are engaged in their memory ritual. When the pangs of unbelief gnaw them, they are undeterred even by important community activities like school concerts. Bhonco, son of Ximiya, would have loved to bask in his wife’s glorious voice at the concert. But when the elders of the Unbelievers came early in the morning and demanded the invocation of unhappiness, he had to give the concert up. Of course there may still be time to catch up with it if the Unbelievers return from the time of the ancestors early enough. The concert normally goes on for the whole day.
The Unbelievers like to explore various strategies in pursuit of happiness. Whereas Believers have a tendency of wanting to stay ignorant of the things that could make them unhappy, the Unbelievers like to induce sadness in order to attain happiness.
They are now dancing the painful dance that will send them into a deep trance in which they will commune with some of the saddest moments of their past.
Mjuza and Ned, the notorious amaGqobhoka, were talking their Christian nonsense again. They were telling Twin-Twin and old Nxito that it was wrong to seek happiness in this world. Happiness could be achieved only after death.
“That is a mad idea if ever I heard one,” argued Twin-Twin. “How would you attain happiness after death if you failed to attain it when you were still living? Even the ancestors would kick you out of their ranks if you came to them as a failure like that.”
“As for me,” said Nxito, “I do not think happiness is obtainable. I have been living in this world for many years. I have seen men and women search for it. But when they think they have got hold of it, it escapes. They have to begin searching once again. It is an illusion. That is why our people are now dying of starvation. All in pursuit of happiness.”
“Don’t tell us about those,” responded Ned. “They are stupid heathens.”
“For me,” said Twin-Twin, “the pursuit of happiness is fulfillment enough.”
“Happiness can only be achieved after death, when we join the Lord and sit at his right-hand side,” insisted Mjuza.
“At his right-hand side? Why at his right-hand side?” asked Twin-Twin.
“Well, that’s where people sit when they join the Lord,” said Mjuza sheepishly. “That’s where Jesus sits.”
There was silence for some time, while the men pondered this heavy matter. They puffed rhythmically on their long pipes, blowing out rings of smoke that hung like halos over their heads.
“Perhaps followers of the religion of the white man like Mjuza and Ned have a point,” Nxito said finally. “It is better to forget about happiness. Look what its pursuit has done to my people. They thought it would finally be achieved when the new people came.”
“The followers of the god of the white man are lost, Old One,” appealed Twin-Twin. “I know that many of our people are beginning to resort to this white god. It is because prophets who purport to speak for our god have let us down. But if we commune with the ancestors, and do all that is right by slaughtering for them, they will give us happiness. Of course they will never come back as the amaThamba, the Believers, have been deceiving the people. Only we shall go to join them when Qamata so decides.”
Mjuza and Ned decided it was futile to try to convert these people. They were set in their ways. It did not matter, though. They remained friends still. Unbelievers, whether they were Christians or heathens, could be relied upon as allies of The Man Who Named Ten Rivers. Or so Mjuza and Ned thought.
“Anyway,” said Mjuza, “it is clear that we shall not see the question of happiness with the same eye. Let us talk about what you called us here for.”
“We summoned you here because messages from the Gxarha River are becoming more frantic,” Nxito explained. “Hardly a day passes without a messenger coming to say that Nongqawuse and Nombanda are demanding my return to my chiefdom. What should I do? What do Gawler and Dalton, the representatives of The Man Who Named Ten Rivers, want me to do in this case?”