Str8, No Chaser | KULUKHUNI KUYITSHE! By Nick Hadikwa Mwaluko

In Str8, No Chaser, we follow a nameless, unspecified African protagonist searching for queer comforts in the form of sexual encounters while transitioning their gender identity from female to male. The protagonist is looking for “material” to know more about women, before becoming a man, even though the narrative arc does a great job at foregrounding a fluid, transitory space through which the protagonist navigates.

by GRIOT - Published on 09/12/2021
Illustrated by @sylviakdoodles

I’m doing research on women before my transition into manhood. I figure a new body with a new penis will lead to a radically different sex life, so I want to prepare before my surgery. Most researchers prefer books. I prefer living subjects. Knowing first-hand how to handle a straight girl could prove crucial to my survival as a new man.

Plus, I doubt a book has been written that explains how to achieve maximum orgasm when a new body with a new penis meets a mature pussy first time. By the way, if a doctor or any other medical professional plans on writing that book, I’d be more than happy to volunteer my services. Imaginary title for the imaginary book: “New Penis, Mature Pussy Mine Lustful Connection.” Suggested subtitle—“New Penis Longer read: Much More Brutal Than Any Nigerian Dictatorship.” Then I’d add a short plug for my fundraiser a the bottom nearing the citation section, or something just as sophisticated.

Back to my personal research. I have narrowed my op-tions down to three types of women – a five hundred-pound whore from any tribe within any region on my beloved conti-nent, though I must confess a strong preference for easterners with their receding hairline, prominent cheekbones, slender teeth, wiry wrists and ankles; number two: a white girl (for-eigner) and local girl in the same bed for what I call ‘Idi Amin Swap ‘n’ Mop.’ Imagine black and white human chess pieces in a heated battle on a board as metaphor for my hungry body hoping to score; and finally, anonymous. In French – l’anonymat. I prefer the French pronunciation because it leaves a tinge of expectation, the weighted lift of an early exit eagerly sits on my tongue when I say it out loud no matter how rusty my French accent – l’anonymat.

I have a list of ‘must haves’ for my subjects. All the girls have to be anatomical females, translation: must identi-fy as female bodied from birth. So no women who were once men. No chicks with dicks. No men who dress up as women. No men or women who blur the lines to embody some kind of complex, intricate, heavily labeled gender swirl. No African queen or Senegalese Beyonce or Nigerian Mona Lisa dipped in sub-Saharan ebony, and definitely no bitches. I can’t en-joy African women who’ve been circumcised—out out out. Can’t stand the “Rural Specialty” of Africans with flurosis as in rotten, discolored teeth thanks to bad drinking water in their shanty slum homes. I’m not attracted to albinos. No disabled. No deformities; I hate the horrors of human flesh. Deaf and/or dumb-mutes, okay, they can apply. Crazy women should too. During my break, I’d go for an orgy with Somali pirates, sprinkle in a few post-child soldiers or mercenaries for a rehabilitation fuckathon, of course. Biracials (0.5s), quad-roons (0.25s), bi-ethnics, trans-nationals, refugees, third-cul-ture women top my list; they go to the front of the line, as can Egyptian belly dancers.

Educated women are hot. Best of the best. Educated African women hear the difference between “s” and “sh”, be-tween “–r” and “–l” this way ‘I love you’ does not sound like ‘I rub you’. Nigerian women with Ph.D. doctorates score an A-grade; Nigerian women married to doctors score higher. Nigerian women married to doctors who perform sex change operations do not exist.

Also, the women have to be, must be, cannot be any-thing but straight (heterosexual), meaning zipper straight, meaning strictly straight. By strictly zipper straight, I mean they must have no curiosity or experience with the same sex—ever. So, say she’s walking one night. It’s dark. Her path is punctured with potholes, lined with shadow and bright. Say she notices a tiny rat, and thinks, ‘Awwww, how cute’. If she suspects that fuzzy, cute little rat is butch-lesbian, she should run in the opposite direction; an urgency to wash her hands if a female cashier accidentally grazes her palm during mone-tary exchanges; nauseating terror a step inside a lesbian bar or club. Strictly zipper straight.

Luckily I know a five hundred-pound whore at Kim-ani’s, the corner bar down the street from where I stay. She likes me. I’m not bragging; she told me once when she was completely wasted that I’m her type. Flattered, I returned the favour by taking a long, hard, honest look at her. Sweet rump with ankles styled after the neck of a beer bottle. Pinched waistline leading to ample childbearing hips. Like a tight-fit-ted closet spilling into a room flooded with light. Magic shaped by wonder unearthing a miracle. Not bad, not bad at all. But how do I ask for some ass? In the movies, particularly Nollywood teasers, ever notice how asking for ass is often a point of conflict or heightened tension? The scene suddenly slows for clipped, intensely serious dialogue once the star, some hand-some, dark-skinned Nigerian straight cis heterosexual dude asks a beautiful Nigerian straight cis heterosexual chick for pussy. He rests his arm along the length of a simply decorated couch in a simply decorated sitting-room, looking all cool, seemingly nonchalant, mug to lips, sipping slowly at his no-froth beer that probably tastes like day-old piss but since he’s too absorbed checking her out from the corner of his eyes dude doesn’t even register he’s consuming stale urine. Then the chick’s nice but ugly twin sister, watching the same movie in the same sitting-room, suddenly decides time to leave, an arly exit indicating to viewers an intimate scene between two consenting, pretty privileged African adults is just about to unfold.

Depending upon the director’s artistic sensibilities—in this case experimental—the scene bleeds into a beach where the couple navigates modestly tame waves along a tranquil shore, skipping hand-in-hand, then it cuts back to the sitting room scenario as the raging waves flow towards the present moment. The film does another, even sharper close-up on the man’s eyes for added intrigue and because he’s a skilled read: self-absorbed, narcissistic actor, he hogs time for his close-up, staring into space way too long while pretending to search for the right words at the right time to pop the big question which he does perfectly since all his social cues are in place from birth so he knows exactly when to do what and what to say when. But what should I do? What do I say? Where are my social cues? Seriously, how do I perform “real African manhood” without it being a performance? How would a “real” African man really react when he’s not (yet) a man but really is an African who isn’t acting? Should I ply her with more drinks? Be polite? How polite is polite? Should I be direct but not too di-rect since that could read as offensive? Should I hint then hope she takes the lead from then on? Is hinting feminine, leading masculine, and taking control real African masculinity? How do I know what I don’t know if my truth is not real and my reality is a lie? I mean it’s not like the stakes are high – a whore doesn’t say ‘no’ too often – but the point of my research is process-based procedure, is knowing how to act straight when I transition from female to male so I know how to live that way.

‘Miss? D’you wanna—’ Pause. StopStopStop, seriously? I’m a survivor. So there’s this tiny little voice in my head. It’s fluent in self-doubt and hyper-criticism. And obsessively risk averse. It surfaces immediately to offer a checklist of pointers to improve my—performance.

Number one: your speaking voice is too shaky. I don’t give a damn if social anxiety is making you nervous or mess up; that’s DEFINITELY NOT African manhood, kid. Suggestion: rewind, try again. Next time, be assertive, be aggressive. Make her assume you’re in control. How? Claim the incredible arsenal at your disposal. Remember you have a mega-monster jet black super penis between your legs, barely able to fit in your under-wear it’s sooooo humungous. Ideally, in a world filled with social justice, your cock would have its own Facebook page. Two pag-es. Page one spilling into page two since your unruly black cock cannot, will not be tamed, controlled, dismissed, denied, erased, silenced, made invisible or disappear—just like your speaking voice in the present moment, right? Say it: My cock is my voice. Repeat after me.

My cock is my voice.
Good. See my point, do you? Confidence is key. Claim it.”
Got it.
Good, go.
‘Um, Miss, maybe, um…’ Stop stop, press stop. Fumbling isn’t any better, kid. Attack. Play the verbal terrorist. Drop words like bombs. We’re at war. Battle lines are ancient. Your ob-jective must be precise, as clear as an explosion in her ears. Try visualizing. Think ‘strong’, think ‘hardcore, stone-face tough guy’. Think of the hunt, the chase, the pursuit then kill. Think real African man. A picture of your father emerging? Followed, in quick succession, by all the African men in your life? Have they ever, even once, shown an African woman mercy?

That’s when I say it:
‘Whore,’ louder, ‘WHORE, you and me are going to fuck.’ ‘Sure, Sweetie, after the next round of beers.’

In her voice I hear the texture of late nights with rowdy men stitched together in smoke-filled rooms. Jagged steps, her absentee father stumbles home drunk, his body a loaded gun firing obscene gestures, launching curse words like grenades in her line of fire. Shrinking, she grows small, from little girl to abused woman who remains invisible because the people in her life can’t stop screaming long enough to look at her, and when they do look they never see her, and when they see her she’s not there. She covers her ears to numb her heart, eyes closed for dark silence because she sees her father, that beautiful, broken man is everywhere. Her eternal always.

I want to walk into her nightmare like a dream. A tall, thin melodic line weaving promises through the life-force only poetry provides. Speak words from our shared life. If only I could. If only I could tell her my truth, that I know her because I am her. Because she is me. My abusive, alcoholic fa-ther staggered home drunk then pissed fire on me so I closed my eyes, invented myself, entering a world where I became an African man with a penis that knows what it means to be an African woman.

Should I say so?
If I do, will I die?
Words, Words, Words…
The fire meant to burn you also purifies
That purifying fire is Black rage
Unexpressed pain because you are an African man
Unexpressed pain because you are an African woman
Unexpressed pain because you are an African queer
Unexpressed pain is what and why you rage.

Black rage roaming, consuming one generation into the next. Pain piercing past heart, pinching then screaming in places you’ve been told are untouchable. Can’t be reached. Because you don’t deserve love. So those places will die un-claimed because of you. They say.
Untouched, unseen, unheard, unclaimed
How to reclaim unexpressed pain. Carve from it the miracle of healing, one that redistributes the damage. There is a world beyond this Life that is alive. Want to see it? Then close your eyes.
She does. She dreams. Rising, the dream floats. As it blossoms in its purpose, she’s made large. She takes it in, all of it.

Her: You’re not an African man.
I’m terrified.
Her: African men want me dead. Because white men want them dead.
Me: Dead?
Her: You don’t want me dead. Who are you? You don’t look like a man or woman.
Me: I’m both. Neither. All. There is a war between my legs, see? I close my eyes tight to open my legs wide.
Her: Mine too. My civil war is my pussy, see? She opens her legs. She closes her legs. She opens her eyes. The dream is dead.

Back to Kimani’s dingy, dirty, disgusting bar. We down the last of our drinks, I pay plus tip, then we struggle up the staircase with a six-pack ‘til we reach my pathetic room at the boarding house. My charming cheap dump complete with who knows how many cigarette stubs, walls made of cow dung, burning bush outside that doubles as communal toilet with leaves or toilet paper, whichever you prefer. Careful, don’t step on the laundry tossed to the floor, underwear stained with my (period) blood from last month’s menstruals. Home sweet home, welcome.

‘Whore, I have to use the bathroom.’
‘Sure, Sweetie, you go do that while I make myself at home.

There are tools. There are tactics. There is terror. Life’s mysteries get no deeper than five hundred pounds of leg wide open for a first fuck, believe me. I can take a sixteen-inch, custom-made (dildo) from the dresser drawer and plough away all night in the dark with the lights off, refusing to take off my clothes that way I’m invisible while there. Part real, part dream, fully between. Or, I could tongue and finger it with card-carrying lesbian magic, then go for the kill with the twelve-inch in the other suitcase under my bed, take her by surprise when she’s resting eyes closed during round two, three, four, etc. Or we can talk into the night, only I can’t say a word. I can’t tell her I’m twenty-nine and still a virgin. Can’t say I have to sleep with her to make myself a man like my Daddy because I don’t know him, not really. And I can’t say she’s my (male) rite of passage, that thing I have to fuck but don’t can’t reach leave alone touch.

More drinks, more silence, I’m working it, wondering if she’ll break wind while I’m in between licking away like a madman. Saliva collecting at the corner of my mouth for lube when rickety-rock goes the bed as we’re both jiggling. It crosses my mind that this is more work than I expected, that she’s getting a gazillion times more pleasure from it than I am. Head back, eyes closed, moaning with poetic force while I’m work-ing it, between break or bust, digging deep like a shantytown miner desperate for diamonds. With her eyes shut, I wonder if she’s thinking of me or someone else, maybe a handsome Nollywood A-lister, then she orgasms, the mounting miracle releasing—Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!—then she dies—Aaaaaaaaah—then from nowhere the bed falls “Thump” to the floor so my pig-face neighbour downstairs comes up the rickety staircase, pounds on my door, says he’ll call the police if I don’t stop with the stupid late-night antics—Asshole. Did he smile when he called me an asshole? We don’t look at each other. We dress in silence, stare at our styrofoam cups now and again between gulps. I make mental notes while she rolls up her stockings. You did the do, Man! Congrats.

Lesbian technique works really, really well on her.

Licking, stroking, finger fucking, flexible tongue tip, improvi-sational and unscripted love-making huge, etc. Biiiiiig assets. Must use L technique on straight chicks when I transition. Note to self: Does penis make or unmake manhood? Notice how her intense orgasm freed her from her body while she was in her body. Hence: your jealousy. Don’t you want to be free from your body? Beyond your body? Obviously, ques-tion/issue lingers, though feel increasingly less doubtful for some odd reason.

PSA (Public Service Announcement)—scratch that—PPSA (Potential Public Service Announcement) African men, your attention. Please consider: Maybe there’s a lesbian in every relationship. Or maybe there should be. Maybe every relationship needs a lesbian because maybe every man needs to learn how to love a woman the way a wom-an loves a woman. Maybe the best relationships, maybe the best couples are made of three – a man, a woman and someone else, someone who doesn’t have to be man or woman so every-one can be. Just be.

Hey, where’s my wallet?’ I notice while straightening up that money is missing. ‘How should I know where you put your wallet?’

‘You little bitch, you’ – I got an excellent education in talking to women from listening to my dad romance my mom – ‘Cunt, stupid idiot fat fucken foolish bullshit bitch-ass. When’d you steal it? While I was on top of you, then you hid my money wallet in your fat, creamy pussy cunt, you no-noth-ing sick whore.’ She bolts down the staircase thank God. I lift the mat-tress off the floor to try to fix the bedpost back in place when I see a wad of bills and shiny coins spilled everywhere. I feel aw-ful, so awful I sink to the ground. Me and my big ugly mouth. She hadn’t taken a thing, not one money note, not even her own pleasure in the end. With all my nasty talk, she went away quiet and clean. Sure, she isn’t much, but she is a human being, maybe all the more human because her vulnerability is so obvious. I’d call after her, but she’s far away by now. Plus, I never bothered to ask for her name. I go back to Kimani’s, ask if the bartender’s seen her. He says he’s seen her, sure he has. ‘But I can’t serve you,’ he says. ‘Not anymore. Please leave.’

‘Str8, no chaser’ is part of ‘Boo. Decolonize gender’ , a collection of stories by African authors that challenge the Western gender binary from a decolonial perspective. Boo is conceived by South Africa-based Italian translator and social anthropologist Agnese Roda and California-based Tanzanian author Nick Mwaluko.

Every two months GRIOT features a story from ‘Boo. Decolonized gender-based stories’ translated in three different languages.


Ngenza ucwaningo ngabesifazane ngaphambi kokuba ngihlinzwe ukuze ngibe yindoda noma umuntu wesilisa. Ngicabanga ukuthi umzimba wami omusha nenduku (1) entsha kuzongiholela empilweni ehlukile, ikakhulukazi uma ngenza ucansi. Ngakho ke, ngifuna ukuzilungiselela ngaphambi kokuthi ngihlinzwe.

Nakuba abacwaningi abaningi bekhetha izincwadi, noma kunjalo mina, ngithanda ukusebenza ngabantu. Ukwazi kwami ukwenza ucansi nomuntu wesifazane kubonakala kuyinto ezobaluleka empilweni yami njengomuntu wesilisa. Ngaphezu kwalokho, ngiyangabaza ukuthi ikhona incwadi ebhaliwe echaza ukuthi ufunyilelela kanjani kuvothandaba uma umziba omusha, onenduku entsha uhlangana nenkomo (2) evuthiwe okokuqala. Uma kukhona udokotela noma omunye onubuchwepheshe kwezokwelapha izinhlelo zokukuloba leyo ncwadi, ngiyokujabulela kakhulu ukumnikeza usizo lwami, bese isihloko saleyo ncwadi kube yilesi: “New Penis, Mature Pussy Mine Lustful Connection”. Isihlokwana sakhona kube yilesi: “New Penis Longer and Much More Brutal Than Any Nigerian Dictatorship”.

Ake ngibuyele ocwaningweni lwami. Ngikhethe izinhlobo ezintathu zabesifazane. Owukuqala, isifebe ubukhulu baso obuyizinkulungwane ezingamakhulu amathathu, esisuka kunoma yisiphi isizwe kunoma yisiphi isifunda ezwenikazi lami engilithandayo nakuba kufanele ngivume ukuthatheka kwami ngabantu abasempumalanga yezwe; nezinwele zabo eziqala kude, iziqhoma zabo ezivelele, amazinyo amancane, izihlakala namaqakala abo azacile. Owesibili, umuntu wesifazane owundlebe zikhanya ilanga (3) (owangaphandle) nentombazane yasendaweni esembhedeni owodwa kulokho engikubiza ngokuthi ‘Idi Amin Swap’ n ‘Mop.’ Ake ucabange izicucu zabantu ezimnyama nezimhlophe ebhodini le-chess njengesingathekiso somzimba wami olambile nethembelokhlabana. Owukugcina bese kube yilowo ongaziwa, abathi ngolwamaNgisi u – Anonymous, okuthiwa l’anonymat ngolwamaFulentshi. Ngithanda ukulibiza ngesiFulentshi ngoba likushiya ulangazelele; yize noma isiFulentshi sami saseMpumalanga Afrika singasihle kahle, ngiyakwazi ukuliphimisa leligama — l’anonymat. Liyaye liphimisekeyize noma umsindo walo uhlala ngokuzimisela olumini lwami.

Abantu besifazane engenza ngabo ucwaningo kunemininingwane esemqoka okufanele babe nayo: wonke amantombazane kufanele abe abesifazane ngokukuzalwa. Babe abasesifazane kusukela ekuzalweni. Hhayi abesifazane ababengabamadoda phambilini; hhayi amadoda aseAfrika agqoka njengabesifazane; hhayi abantu besifazane abanezinduku; hhayi amadoda noma abesifazane abafiphaza imigqa yobulili noma abaqukethe uhlobo oluthile lobulili obuyinkimbinkimbi noma okungachazeki; hhayi indlovukazi yase-Afrika noma uBeyonce waseSenegal noma uMona Lisa waseNigeria ogcwele ubumnyama kwase Sub-Sahara uthi hhayi onondindwa (4). Abanginiki mdlandla abantu besifazane baseAfrika abaye basokwa – abadlalele le kude kwami. Angibathandi neze abantu besifazane baseAfrika abahlala emakhaya, abanamazinyo abolile nangenawo umbala ngenxa yokuphuza amanzi angcolile asemakhaya abo asemkhumkhwini. Angizithandi iziphiwo, nabakhubazekile; ngizonda kabi ukukhubazeka kwenyama yomuntu. Izimpumputhe ke zona, zilungile, anginankinga nazo, zingasebenza. Abesifazane abahlanyayo nabo abanankinga. Laba abanobuhlanga obubili, esingabuye sithi ama 0.5s ngolwamaNgisi, amaquadroons (ama0.25s), nalaba abanobuzwe obubili noma abaqukethe ubuzwe obubili, ibona abahamba phambili ohlwini lwami, njengabadansi baseGibhithe abandansa ngezisu, laba phela okuthiwa ama-belly dancers ngolwamaNgisi.

Abesifazane abafundile bahle. Bahamba bodwa. Abesifazane baseAfrika abafundile bayawuzwa umehluko phakathi kwamsindo ka “s” nomsind ka “sh”, phakathi kwamsindo ka “r” futhi nomsindo ka “I”. Ngale ndlela u ‘I love you’ awufani no ‘I rub you’. Abesifazane baseNigeria abaneziqu zobudokotela, phecelezi I Phd., badlula ngamalengiso, nakanjalo nabesifazane baseNigeria abashade odokotela. Abesifazane baseNigeria abashade nodokotela abahlinza abantu ukuze bashintshe ubulili abekho.

Futhi, abesifazane kufanele bangabi ongqingili (5), ngamanye amazwi bangabi izitabane. Ngalokhu ngichaza ukuthi akufanele babe nesifiso sokwenza ucansinoma benze ucansi nobulili obufana nobabo. Ake sithi nje ngobunye ubusuku ehamba, kumnyama, endleni ahamba kuyona kunemigodi nezithunzi. Abone igundane elincane, bese afikelwe umcabango athi, awu ‘laze lalihle’. Uma ecabanga ukuthi leligundane angaliboni kahle liwungqingili, kofanele abelelekele ohlangothini oluhlekile; aphuthume ngokuphazima kweso uma kwenzeka ukuthi ngesikhathi sokuhwebelana ngemali umkashikazi wesifazane ethinta isandla sakhe ngephutha; abe nokusaba okukhulu uma esejoyintini yongqingili babantu besifazane (6).

Ngenhlanhla sikhona isifebe engisaziyo ubukhulu baso obuyizinkulungwane ezingamakhulu amathathu ejoyintii yaKimani, ijoyinti elisekhoneni ezansi komgwaqo kwala engihlala khona. Singikhonzile; angiziqhayisi. Sangitshela ngelinye ilanga sidle amponjwana, ukuthi ngiwuhlobo lwaso. Nginokujabula, ngabuyisela umusa kuso, ngasigqolozela ngokusingquluzela. Isinqa saso esihle neqakala laso eligqokiswe njengentamo yebhodlela likabhiya. Ukhalo laso olukhulu eliholela kuma-hips anezinkomba zokuzala. Njengekhabethe eligcwele izimpahla lichithekela ekamelweni eligcwele ukukhanya. Ubuciko obusungulwe ngokumangalisayo kwembula isimangaliso. Akukubi, akukubi neze impela. Kodwa ngingalucela kanjani ucansi? Emabhayiskobho, ikakhulukazi kulawa ase-Nollywood,uke ubone ukuthi ukucela ucansi kuletha isimo sokungqubuzana noma ukungezwani okukhulu kanjani? Lesi sigameko silandulelwa inkulumomphendulwano enokungqubuzana okukhulu lapho usaziwayo, oyigeza lensizwa yaseNigeria, ongewona ungqingili, ecela intokazi enhle ucansi. Ubeke ingalo yakhe ngokuphakama kukasofa ohlotshisiwe kancane egumbini lokuhlala, nalo elihlotshisiwe kancane, ubukeka epholile, ezindebeni zakhe kukhona inkomishi, uphuza kancane kancane ubhiya wakhe, ebuka intokazi ngamakhona amehlo. Iwele lentokazi elimbi nalo ebelibuka ifilimu efanayo ekamelweni lokuhlala livele lisukume iphume ngokuphazama kweso. Lokuphuma okusheshayo kubonisa ababukeli ukuthi isimo esilandayo siphakathi kwabantu ababili baseAfrika abadala abamukelayo futhi abanenkululeko.

Ekuncikeni emicabangweni (yokuhlola) yomqondisi, ngezinye izikhathi kuyaye kuvezwe olwandle lapho izithandani zihamba ezihlabathani zolwandle olunamagagasi amancane zibambene ngezandla, bese kubuyelwe ekamelweni lokuhlala.

Le filimu iyaqhubeka itshengise ngokuseduze amehlo alendoda, ngokuphazima kweso ibheke emkhathini ifuna amagama afanele ukubuza umbuzo ngesikhathi esifanele. Lokhu iyakwazi ukukwenza kwazise phela ngoba izinkulumo zazemphakathini ezifanele isimo esinjenganalesi izazi kusukela esizalweni sayo; iyazi kahle ukuthi kufanele yenze ini nini, futhi kanjani ngendlela yakhona efanele. Kodwa mina ke, yini okufanele ngiyenze? Yiziphi izinkulumo nezinkomba zami zasemphakathini? Okwangempela, ngizokwenzani noma ngizotshengisa kanjani “ubuAfrika obuqotho” ngaphandle kokuthi kube ngathi wumdlalo? Kungabe indoda “eqotho yaseAfrika” izizwa kanjani uma ingakabi (okwamanje) indoda kodwa ingumAfrika wangempela? Ngisithengele ezinye iziphuzo? Ngihloniphe? Ngisiqonde nje ngokuqondile kodwa hhayi ngqo, ngoba lokhu kungase kucasule? Ngabe kufanele ngisikisele bese ngithembe ukuthi yiso esizohola endlela eya phambili? Empeleni akusiyo inselelo lokhu engibhekene nakho – isifebe asivamile ukuthi ‘cha’ kaningi – kodwa iphuzu lokucwaninga kwami inqubo 11esekelwe enkambisweni, Ukwazi

‘Ntokazi? Uyafuna’ – ima isikhashana. ImaImaIma!!! Izwi ekhanda lami elalichichima ngokungabaza kanye nokugxeka lagxambukela ngokushesha langinikeza uhlu lokuhlola izwi lami njengoba ngizama ukukhuluma nalentokazi: “Ukukhuluma ngokuqhaqhazela okukhulu. Kungaba ukukhathazeka okukwenza usabe. Lokhu okwenzayo akutshengisi ubudoda obuqotho kwaseAfrika. Phinda uzame, zama futhi. Ibanesibindi esikhulu, nobudlova ukuze icabange ukuthi uyalawula. Sebenzisa ubukhali bakho obungavamile. Khumbula ukuthi unenkunzimalanga yenduku emnyama phakathi kwemilenze yakho, enganeli ngisho nezimbatho zakho zangaphansi. Kahle kahle, ezweni eligcwele ubulungiswa bezenhlalakahle, induku yakho eyinkuzimalanga emnyama ingaba nekhasi layo ku-Facebook. Empeleni, amakhasi amabili. Ikhasi elilodwa lichithekele ekhasini elilandelayo ngoba induku yakho emnyama ngalawuleki ayikwazi ukulawulwa, ngeke iqukathwe, ilawulwe, ixoshwe noma iphikisiwe.

Iphuzu lami yileli: ukuzethemba kuyisihluthulelo. Kubambe ngazo zombili”. “Ngizwile”, ngabe sengiphendula.
Kulungile, hamba”, kusho izwi elisekhanda.
“Uxolo, ntokazi, mhlawumbe, uxol …” Yeka yeka, ima, ibambe lapho. Ukungingiza akuyona into engcono, mfo. Hlasela. Dlala amaphekula. Amazwi awehle njengamabhomu. Inhloso yakho kumele icace. Zama ukubuka. Cabanga ‘kanzulu’, cabanga ‘ngokweqiniso wena sgansonso sansondo’. Cabanga sengathi uyazingela, uxoshisa inyamazane, bese uyayibulala. Cabanga ndoda eqotho yaseAfrika, njengoyihlo. Eqinisweni cabanga ngabo bonke abantu besilisa baseAfrika abasempilweni yakho abangakaze babonise owesifazane waseAfrika nanomcane umusa lo.

Yilapho ngisho khona: ‘Sfebe,’ isho futhi, isho kakhulu kunakuqale, ‘SIFEBE, mina nawe sizobhebhana.’ Sase siphundile madoda isifebe, ‘Yebo, Sthandwa, emumva kwalabobhiya abalandelayo.’

Ezwini laso ngizwa ukubunjwa kobusuku okunabesilisa abangalawuleki, abahleli ndawonye emakamelweni agcwele intuthu. Izinyathelo ezintengantengayo, ubaba waso ongekho empilweni yaso eqhuba imbuzi ekhubeka engena ekhaya. Ungafunga ukuthi umzimba wakhe isibhamu esihlohliwe esidubula izenzo ezihlambalazayo, namagama ayiziswana eza kuso ngathi amabhomu. Sasukela entombazaneni encane yaseAfrika saze saba owesimame waseAfrika ohlala engabonakali ngoba amadoda empilweni yaso angeke ayeke ukumemeza, futhi uma esibheka awasiboni, futhi noma esibona asikho. Sivala izindlebe zaso ukuze sipholise inhliziyo, sivale namehlo ukuze sithole ukuthula okumnyama ngoba sibona uyise, lolo hlobo lomuntu wesilisa uyena yonke indawo. Yena njalo kuze kube phakade.

Ngifuna ukufika ebunzimeni baso njengephupho. Izinkondlo ezinamandla okuphila kuphela ezinikeza umthamo omude wezingoma ezincane ezinikezana izithembiso. Zikhuluma amazwi mayelana nokuphila kwethu okwabiwe. Uma nje ngingakwazi. Uma nje ngingasitshela iqiniso lami, ukuthi ngiyasazi ngoba ngiyiso. Uma ubaba wami ohlukumezayo exhwanguzela efika ekhaya ephuzile engibasela ngomlilo, nami ngangivala amehlo ami, ngase ngizivuselela kabusha, ngangena ezweni lapho ngaba khona indoda yaseAfrika enenduku, eyazi kahle kamhlophe ukuthi kusho ukuthini ukuba owesifazane ongabonakali waseAfrika.

Ngimtshele ngikhulume? Noma ingabe ukuvuma kwami kuzongithathela ubudoda kwami na?

Umlilo obuhloselwe ukukushisauyakuhlanza futhi
Lowo mlilo ohlanzayo intukuthelo yabantu abamnyama
Intukuthelo yabantu abamnyama iyahamba, idla izizukulwane nezizuzukulwane. Ubuhlungu kubhoboza kudlule enhlizweni, kuzichofozele bese kumemeze ezindaweni owawutshelweukuthi azithandeki, azifunwa, azifinyeleleki ngoba azisoze zathintwa.

Ubuhlungu obungenakuvezwa ngoba uyindoda yaseAfrika
Ubuhlungu obungenakuvezwa ngoba ungowesifazane waseAfrika
Ubuhlungu obungenakuboniswa ngoba ungungqingili waseAfrika
Ubuhlungu obungavunyelwe yibona obuyintukuthelo nokukwenza ube nentukuthelo
Amazwi, Angasoze athintwe, abonakale, azwakale, angakaze aphimiswe Ubuyisela kanjani ubuhlungu obungacacisiwe?

Ukudweba isimangaliso kubo, isimangalisoesiphilisayo, leso esiphinde futhi sibuyise umonakalo. Kukhona ilizweeligcwele ukuphila okungaphezu kwalokhu esikuphilayo. Ingabe ufunaukulibona? Vala amehlo akho. Lelilizwe liyenza. Liyaphupha. Liyaphakama, iphupho liyahamba. Njengoba likhula libayinhloso, lelilizwe lenziwa libe likhulu. Liyathatha konke.

Lona: Awuyena indoda yase Afrika.
Ngiyesaba kakhulu.
Lona: Amadoda aseAfrika angifuna ngifile. Kanjalo namadoda amhlophe abafuna befile.
Mina: Ngifile?
Lona: Awufuni ukuthingife. Wena ungubani? Awubukeki njengendoda noma owesifazane.
Mina: Ngiyiko kokubili… Ngiyikokonke. Kukhona impi phakathi kwemilenze yami, uyabona?
Lona: Nakweyami. Impi yami yombango inkomo yami, uyabona? Livula imilenze; livala imilenze; livula amehlo. Iphupho lifile.

Asibuyele ejoyintini yaKimani, engcolile, enyanyisayo. Siqedele iziphuzo zethu zokugcina, ngikhokhe futhi ngikhokhe ne-thiphu, sibese sizabalaze ukunyuka izitebhisi siphethe amabhiya ahamba ngasithupha size sifike ekamelweni lami eligcwele inkathalo. Ekamelenilami eligcwele izinqamu zikagwayi, izindonga ezenziwe ngobulongwe, ngaphandle kukhona ihlathi elibuye lisebenze njengendlu yangasese enamaqabunga noma ipheph lendlu yangasese, noma yikuphi okukhethayo. ‘Qaphela, unganyatheli izingubo ezilahlwe phansi, isembatho sami sangaphansi singcoliswe igazi lokumentsa kwenyanga edlulile.Ngyakwamukela ekhaya.’

‘Sfebe, kumele ngiye endlini yangasese.’
‘Kulungile, Sthandwa, hamba wenze lokho mina ngibe ngikhululeka lapha endlini yakho.’

Kukhona amathuluzi. Kukhona amaqhinga. Kukhona ukwesaba. Ngikholwa 19ukuthi izimfihlakalo zempilo azijul zidlule umlenze oyizinkulungwane ezingamakhulu ayisithupha uvuleke uthe gengelezi ukuze kwenziwe ucansi. Ngingathatha ithuluzi locansi lokuzakhela elinesisindo esiyisikhombisa (idildo ngolwamaNgisi) ekhabetheni lokugqoka bese ngenze ucansi ubusuku bonke ebumnyameni lapho izibani zonke zicishiwe; ngenqabe ukukhumula izingubo zami, ngaleyondlela ngibe khona ngibe ngingekho futhi. Isigamu sangempela, iphupho eliyisigamu. Noma ngingakwazi, ngingakhotha ngomlomo noma ngisebenzise umunwe, kwazise phela womabili amathuluzi asetshenziswa ongqingili babantu besifazane uma bezibandakanya ngokocansi.

Ngisiqede ngethuluzi locansi elinesisindo esiyisihlanu elikwipotime Kukhala ibhungezi endlini, ngiyasisesebenza, ngizibuza ukuthi sizophelelwa umoya yini ngenkathi ngingaphakathi kwemilenze yaso ngikhotha inkomo. Naku phela sekukhala umbhede ngenkathi sobabili sisebenzana. Kuyangifikela emqondweni wami ukuthi lo msebenzi muningi kunalokhu ebengikulindele, nokuthi isona esithola ubumnandi obuphindaphindiwe kunami. Silele embhedeni, sivale amehlo, senza imisindo ongafunga ukuthi inkondlo ngenkathi ngisebenza ubulili baso, ngingena phakathi ngiphakamise, ngimba ngokujulile njengomvukuzi wasemakhaya ophekophele ukuthola idayimane.

Njengoba sivale amehlo nje, ngiyazibuza ukuthi sizocabanga ngami yini noma omunye umuntu uma sesifika kuvuthondaba? Ngokuphazima kweso ukukhala kwase kuyanyuka – Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Kwaqede kwaphela kwezwakala ukukhala – Aaaaaaaaaah – sathi singalindele kwavele kwawa umbhede, sathi sisanake lokho, naku sekunyuka emastebhisini umakhelwane wami onobuso bengulube, ashaye umnyango wami, athi uzobiza amaphoyisa uma ngingayeki imigilingwane yami engaphusile ebusuku. Slima ndini! Kungenzeka ukuthi umamathekile ngenkathi engibiza ngeslima ndini? Asibhekani. Sigqoka nje akekho okhulumayo, sibheka izinkomishi zethu ze-styrofoam ngokuphindaphindiwe maqede siyeke. Ngenkathi siphakamisa amasheya aso, ngifikelwa imicabango – usebenzile, Ndoda! Siyakuhalalisela.

Amathuluzi ongqingili abantu besifazane ayasebenza ngempela, impela kahle kuso. Ukukhotha, ukuthinta ngesandla, ukucansa ngomunwe, ukukhotha ngolimi oluguquguqukayo, ukwenza ucansi ungalulungiselele, njalo njalo, izinto ezibalulekile kakhulu lezi. Ngizosebenzisa wona lamathuluzi uma sengenza ucansi nabesifazane abangebona ongqingili mhla sengishintsha ngiba umuntu wesilisa. Kumina ngithanda ukusho lokhu: ingabe induku iyakwenza ubudoda? Khumbula indlela uvothothondaba laso lisikhulule emzimbeni waso ngenkathi sisemzimbeni waso. Ngakho: umhawu wakho. Awufuni ukukhululeka emzimbeni wakho? Ngaphezulu komzimba wakho? Ngokusobala, umbuzo noma inkinga kuhlala kukhona, nakuba uzizwa ungenakungabaza.

Nasi isimemezelo sokusizakala komphakathi. Siyeke leso, nasi isingeniso sokunikezwa kwenkonzo yokusiza umphakathi, madoda aseAfrika, ake ningiphe indlebe. Cabangani lokhu: mhlawumbe kunongqingili kubo bonke ubudlelwano. Noma mhlawumbe kufanele kube khona. Mhlawumbe bonke ubudlelwano budinga ungqingili wumuntu wesifazane ngoba mhlawumbewonke umuntu wesilisa kudingeka afunde ukuthanda owesifazane ngendlela owesifazane athanda ngayo owesifazane. Mhlawumbe ubudlelwano obuhle kakhulu, mhlawumbe izithandani ezingcono kakhulu zenziwa ngabantu abathathu – indoda, owesifazane nomunye umuntu, lona ongafanele abe umuntu wesilisa noma owesifazane ukuze wonke umuntu abe yilokho afuna ukuba yikona. Abe yilokho nje.

Ngiyaqaphela ngenkathi ngigqoka ukuthi isikhwama semali asikho, ‘hhayi bo, sikuphi isikhwama sami?’ ‘ngizokwazi kanjani ukuthi isikhwama sakho usibeke kuphi mina?’

‘Wena sfetshana, wena’ – ngathola imfundo enhle kabi kakhulu ekukhulumeni nabesifazane ngenkathi ngilalele ubaba wami ekhuluma nomama wami – ‘nkomo, silima esiphindaphindiwe esikhulu. Uyintshontshe nini? Ngesikhathi ngingaphezulu kwakho, wabe usifihla isikhwama sami semali kwinkomo yakho emnandi, enkulu, enamafutha, wena sfebe esigulayo.’ Sihlikela phansi esitebhisini, ukuze sibone indlela. Asibonge uNkulunkulu. Ngiphakamisa umatransi ukuze ngizame ukubuyisela inqina lombhede endaweni yalo ngibona imali eyamaphepha neyizinhlamvu ezicwebezelayo ichithekele kuyo yonke indawo. Ngizwa ubuhlungu, kakhulu kwangathi ngiyacwila. Mina nomlomo wami omubi kakhulu.

Sasingazange sithathe lutho, hhayi ngisho nemali eyiphepha elilodwa leli, hhayi ngisho nokuzijabulisa kwaso ekugcineni. Ngamazwi ami onke amabi, sahamba kuthule futhi ngokuhlanzeka. Ngokuqinisekile, asiyona into etheni, kodwa singumuntu, mhlawumbe siwumuntu okuphindaphindiwe ngoba ubungozi baso bubonakala ngokucacile. Ngizosimemeza, kepha sesikude manje. Ngaphezu kwalokho, angizange ngizihluphe ngokucela igama laso. Ngiyahamba ngiya ejoyintini yaKimani, ngifike ngibuze umsebenzi wakhona ukuthi akaze asibone yini. Uthi usibonile, futhi unesiqiniseko. ‘Kodwa ngeke ngisakwazi ukukukhonza njengakuqala,’ kusho umsebenzi wasejoyintini yaKimani. ‘Ngeke ngisaphinde futhi. Ngicela uhambe.

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