Story Series

I love stories.  Fairy tales from around the world are my absolute favorite type of story, so I’m rather desperately asking every Swazi I know to tell me the stories they grew up with.  So far I have only gathered a few, but I hope to re-phrase my questioning in such a way that Swazis better understand what kind of story I’m asking for.  I also love life stories, but am having a difficult time learning to be the unobtrusive interviewer….So here’s the first story in what will hopefully be a regular “segment” on this blog- life stories from Swazis.  Names and some events have been changed.

Sibongokaliso

  I grew up in a polygamous family, and realized from a very young age that that was not for me.  It is not good, Zanele.  Everyone is fighting all the time over everything.  It can be something as simple as a bar of soap.  One person would say “It is mine,” and the other would say “No, I bought it!” and then they would pull out receipts to compare to prove who the real owner was.  So much hating and competition…How many wives? Three.  My mother was the last wife.  Dozens of children, but only the ones I shared with my mother did I consider my real brothers and sisters.  So no, I am not taking a second wife.   

I left home when I finished Form 5 and went to Malkerns to be a firefighter.  I didn’t know the right people, though, so I didn’t make it far in the admissions process.  Then, I went to work for a wood company for a while.  I became a master craftsman- I can build beautiful tables and coffins.  But the boss man wasn’t any good- he was cheating the workers.  You know how I know this?  I once made 20 wooden doors for the Swazi Royal Casino.  I went to deliver them with a few of the other boys.  They were all illiterate- had never even been to school- so I was the only one who could sign the check they were writing us.  The check was for 21,000 Emalangeni!  And then I thought- this is not right.  We were doing all the work and getting paid 500 Emalangeni a month.  This is not enough.  So I went to the boss and asked for more- at least 1,000 a month.  But he refused, so I left the firm.  Later, the foreman left, too. 

After that I went to work at Swazican.  It was a nice job.  I was in charge of the slicing machine.  After it sliced the pineapple, I’d stick my hand out and grab a slice.  All the free pineapple you wanted!  Free lunch, too.  It was a good employer that paid well, but there were no benefits.  I worked there for four years before resigning for this job.  It pays less and there’s no free lunch, but there is a government pension. 

I am a prince, so there are certain things I cannot do.  I cannot attend funerals.  I’ll stay all night for the night vigil, but I’ll slip out before they bring out the body for the funeral.  That’s why they always make the announcement that they are bringing the body out- so that the royal Dlaminis can slip away.  I don’t know why this tradition is, but Dlamini’s can’t do anything with burials. 

Sometimes, my grandfather would get very drunk.  I knew that this was the time to ask him things without getting into trouble.  One day he was very drunk and I asked him why it is that we don’t help with funerals.  He told me that it is because, long ago, our family had bossed everyone around.  I think the real reason is that, in the old days, bodies were buried without coffins and would get very smelly.  The Dlaminis didn’t want to touch the smelling bodies, so they used their royalty as an excuse not to help.  I used to ask questions like this- why we do certain things the way we do.  Now, though, I just accept that no one knows why we do certain things.  It is just our way.