19/06/2022
My father, ukhafulandi, inkunzi ebomvu, inkomo engadiphi, insizwa eyayizalwa uMhanjana, umafika ajwayele njenge simaku sika mesisi. I only lived with him for only 12 years and 1 month, as he passed away from a car accident in January 1975. But those years were the most important years of my life. My father taught me to be rooted, value culture and tradition. He would call me to come sing to his friends when they visited him at our township home at Umlazi Township - I would sing traditional songs that he had taught me, or had learned when visiting our home eMsinga. Angisayiphathi ke eyesibhaxu - ibiqhuma manje induku endodeni. Lensizwa yayinolaka beyond comprehension. I remember one December when his younger brother came to visit him at our home eMlazi. There was a police patrol yamaBhunu (white police) who got off the police van and walked straight into our home whilst my father and his brother were sitting outside enjoying traditional beer. I don’t know what the conversation was about and how it escalated to a point when my father completely lost it and went bizarre and demanded that the cops shoot him straight in between the eyes. As a Zulu and strictly traditional man, any man coming to his house and showing disrespect was an absolute No No, and had to be dealt with there and there, and not even the cops were spared of his wrath. That’s was my father - ukhafula amashinga! A prosperous subsistence farmer of live stock - cattle, sheep, and goats, who taugh me hunting onogwaja nezimbila. A driver at the biggest butcher shop in Durban, with only Std 2, but got himself a Driver’s Licence. Yayingepheli inyama ekhaya. Happy Father’s Day Dad. .madonia
