In those days, Toloki used to sit in the sun during the week, and wait for the bulldozers. Often they came during the day while people were at work. When he saw them coming, he would rush into the shack and take all his furniture out. This consisted of a single bed, two chairs, a small table on which he put his primus stove, and a bathtub. Children who remained in the other shacks would also try to save their family valuables.
Bulldozers would move in and flatten the shacks, and then triumphantly drive away. Residents would immediately rebuild, and in no time the shanty town would hum with life again. Like worker bees, the dwellers would go about their business of living.
When bulldozers failed to get rid of the shanty towns, the government devised new strategies. They recruited some of the unemployed residents, and formed them into vigilante groups. The function of these groups was to protect the people. Their method was simple, but very effective. They demanded protection money from the residents. This was collected on a weekly basis and paid to the leader of the vigilantes, who had given himself the title of Mayor. Some residents refused to pay, since they did not see why they needed to be protected by a group of layabouts who spent their days in shebeens. The shacks of those who refused to pay would mysteriously catch fire in the middle of the night. Babies sometimes died in these fires. The next day, the survivors, with the help of their neighbours, would carry out the task of rebuilding, and would make sure that they paid the protection fee in future.
Toloki was adamant that he was not going to pay any protection fee. People who were not keen to see him die advised him to stop playing the hero and pay his protection fee like all other decent citizens. One day he was summoned before the Mayor.
‘I hear you are not prepared to pay the protection fee.’
‘Because I don’t see why I should pay it.’
‘Do you think the residents who pay it are foolish? Have you ever heard of any family which diligently pays its protection fee having their house catch fire?’
Toloki laughed, and told the Mayor that he must not forget that they used to drink together when he still had his boerewors business in town.
‘That is why I called you here, because I know you personally, and I don’t want to see you hurt. Normally we never bother to warn people who refuse to pay. We just ignore them, and when their shacks catch fire they start running to us for protection. But in your case, I said, I know Toloki. Even though he is now doing strange things at funerals, call him here so that I can advise him like a brother that he should pay his protection fee.’
Toloki cursed under his breath, and left. The Mayor remained sitting there, with a look that clearly told of the sorrow he felt for the poor foolish man.
That night, Toloki suddenly felt hot in his sleep. When he woke up, his shack was on fire. He was only able to save his venerable costume. He stood at a distance, and watched as raging flames consumed all his dreams.
Then he walked away in a dazed state. He did not know where he was going. But his feet led him to the docklands, where he had used to work when he first came to the city, and where he had slept in waiting rooms and in toilets. He was going to establish his home in one of the quayside waiting rooms, and eschew forever the company of men. And of women.
It is strange how things don’t change in these shanty towns or squatter camps or informal settlements or whatever you choose to call them. The same vigilante groups exist today, protecting the residents the same way they did eighteen or so years ago, when Toloki still had his shack. The situation is even more complicated these days, what with the tribal chief wreaking havoc with his hostel-dwelling migrants. But today people are strongly united. None of these groups are ever able to gain any lasting foothold in the settlements and in the townships. People fight back.
Toloki’s eyes roam the pictures on the wall. It is a beautiful house, even if he who had a hand in its creation says so. If you don’t praise yourself while you are still alive, no one else will. They will only praise you in their funeral orations when you are dead.
He wonders why Noria has invited him to stay with her. And why he agreed, turning against his vow of living the life of a hermit for the rest of his days. Things have happened too fast for his comprehension. He only met Noria on Wednesday, at the Christmas funeral of her son. And only four days later, on this memorable Sunday, he is sitting with her alone in her shack. He has moved all his worldly possession from the headquarters that have been his home for eighteen or so years.
What power does this woman have, who has dragged him into communion with live human beings, when he had vowed to dedicate all his life to the dead? What is the secret of her strength? Only four days ago she was burying her child. But here she is now, taking this tragedy in her stride. She does not carry her grief like a cross, but goes on with her life. And she says Toloki knows how to live! Only once has she mentioned the dead child, that time they fetched building materials from the docklands on Boxing Day. Who was the father of this child anyway?
She is looking at him with her penetrating eyes. Her poppy-seed skin glistens in the flickering light of the paraffin lamp. She breaks the silence.
‘Why don’t you ask me, Toloki?’
‘Ask you what?’
‘The questions that are racing through your mind.’
‘You read minds, Noria. How did you know about the questions?’
‘Go ahead and ask.’
‘Maybe it is personal, Noria. But I want to know about your second child, the child we buried four days ago.’
‘You want to know about Vutha?’
‘You are confusing me, Noria. You told me that Vutha died and was eaten by dogs even before you came to the city. . perhaps fifteen or would it be seventeen years ago now. . well, the exact years don’t matter. But it was many years ago. If he were alive today he would be a young man, maybe with children of his own.’
Noria smiles at the thought of grandchildren.
‘I would have been a young grandmother, don’t you think?’
But Toloki is not in the mood to discuss grandparenting.
‘Who was the father of this new Vutha?’
He is ashamed of himself for asking the question. Issues of this nature are sensitive, especially since we know how Noria used to be free with her favours to men back in the village. But Noria is not at all angry with him. She smiles and says the child had no father.
When she first arrived in the city she had no intention of giving up her old ways. Instead, she intended to enjoy the city and all its opportunities to its fullest. But a turning point in her life came when she learnt of the death of her son, and of Napu. From that day onwards, she lost all interest in men, and her body had not, to this very day, touched that of a man. The cruelty of the world killed not only her uplifting laughter, but all human desires of the flesh.
Then one day, seven years ago, she discovered that she was pregnant. The homegirls did not believe her when she told them that she did not know how it had happened, as she had eschewed all contact with men. Although they had not seen her with any man, they believed that she had been seeing someone secretly.
‘I do not expect you to believe me either, Toloki. But that is how it happened.’
‘I believe you, Noria. I believe you absolutely.’
And he genuinely believes her. Noria, as Jwara used to say, is a child of the gods.
She explains that she had not slept with any man, except for the strangers that visited her in her dreams, and made love to her. Some of these dream figures began their existence on top of her as strangers, but by the time they reached their fourth ejaculation, they looked and acted like a youthful Napu. The Napu of the aloes.