Angella Johnson VIEW FROM A BROAD
It is exceedingly rare that the president of Johannesburg’s Central Divorce Court refuses to dissolve a marriage. Yet that was exactly what Helen Lotriet did after questioning a young husband who claimed his wife regularly cheated on him.
“Are you still living as husband and wife?” inquired Lotriet. It is a standard question – separation, however short a time, is still a prerequisite for divorce.
“Yes,” replied the man standing in the witness box. “But she is seeing other men.”
Lotriet (happily married for eight years) stared at him from her magistrate’s seat and asked when was the last time he had had sexual relations with his wife.
“This morning before coming to court,” came the sheepish reply.
Laughter punctured the hostile air hanging suffocatingly over the packed courtroom where couples huddled to end their once happy unions. A stern Lotriet told the man she did not believe his marriage had irrevocably broken down. “Go home and see if you cannot resolve your differences for the sake of your children,” she ordered.
As South Africa’s divorce figures continue to soar – 34 788 people last year compared to 29 878 in 1990, when blacks were first included in the statistics – this kind of attitude warms my heart.
For there is a somewhat cavalier attitude shared by those who grace the drab downtown court, once the Central Native Appeal Court and then the Central Bantu Appeal Court.
Like so many things in today’s world, divorce is fast-food quick. Most of the parties have been married for less than five years – one couple took only two months to decide they were not suited – and it is all over in a couple of minutes.
There is a do-it-yourself feel about the procedure, which costs R50 compared with several thousands at the high court (where whites, coloureds and Indians had to go under apartheid).
But there is no dignified ending at the divorce court, no black-cloaked attorney looming like the angel of death while raking in hefty fees. Just men and women squabbling over money and custody – often men want to keep the children to avoid maintenance payments.
Others dispute paternity and refuse to pay maintenance – they get sent for blood tests. But one father took my breath away when he shamelessly asked the court: “Why should I have to pay?” He wasn’t even disputing paternity!
Watching the flow of predominantly black people washing their dirty emotional laundry on a busy Thursday morning was like having front-row seats for the dramatic re-enactment of their matrimonial breakdowns.
Take the case of Alfred Somala from Dobsonville, whose attempt at a quickie divorce was being thwarted by his wife’s declaration of love.
Lotriet was perplexed. “You still want to be married to him when he does not love you any more and has moved another woman into the marital home?” she quizzed.
It later emerged that the wife’s reason for contesting the divorce was to secure a share of goods she had left at their home after clearing out over a year ago. “She went off with another man, but it didn’t work out. So now she wants to just come back into my life,” claimed an angry Somala.
“Well, it’s too late. I’ve moved on and want to marry someone else.” (Goodness, hasn’t he learned anything?)
Somala was granted his decree nisi within a few minutes and made his exit a satisfied man. His now ex-wife stormed away in a huff after the court said it did not have the power to settle disputes of property split.
This cleared the stage for Les (71) and Mona (70) Breda from Eldorado Park. I wondered why these old codgers wanted to separate in their sunset years. Heck, if you’ve been together for so long, why bother? But it transpired that the couple, who had both been widowed, met at an old people’s club, got married five years ago and separated after three years.
Their battle was over money. He argued that as they were both pensioners there was no need for him to pay alimony.
“Yes, but he gets over R3 000 from a private scheme and I only get the state allowance of R400 per month,” complained Mona.
“I don’t know what she is talking about,” countered Les smoothly (he looked dapper and ready to move on to his third marriage). Lotriet ordered them to go off and return at a later date with evidence to prove their income claims.
“He threw me out because his children did not like me living in their mother’s house and made my life a living hell,” wailed Mona afterwards. “It’s not fair. I have nothing and he has so much more.”
Women invariably get a raw deal when a marriage breaks down – even traditional African ones. I am reliably informed that in the old days a Zimbabwean man would simply hand his poor wife a hoe and bid her farewell.
A Zulu man did not have to be so courteous. “Hamba khaya [loose translation: piss off home]!” was all he needed to declare, and the woman would scurry back to her mother’s house with personal belongings and the children.
Of course, there was no such thing as divorce in African culture. If a couple were in trouble, they called in family elders to mediate. Protracted discussions would usually result in their staying together and unions were rarely broken.
These days, however, there is no shame associated with divorce (even President Nelson Mandela has had two) and everything is being done to make it cheaper. That was why the divorce court, once the exclusive province of blacks, opened its doors to all races last April.
But most whites still prefer to go to the high court, which lends itself to a more dignified end. These people usually have more property to divide (and certainly more men who are working), but leave the fighting to lawyers. Here parties are represented by expensive advocates and most have already agreed the financial settlement.
Once again I was struck by the speed (an average of three to four minutes) and the impersonal nature of the process. But while those broken hearts had nice addresses, they told the same stories of shattered lives.
I found the whole thing hugely depressing. If people insisted on making divorce almost as popular as marriage, why not make it more enjoyable. Maybe add some music.
Perhaps the Tammy Wynnette country and western classic, which goes something like this: “Our d-i-v-o-r-c-e, becomes final today. Me and little J-o-e, will be going awaaay …” should be played in every divorce court. Rather the same way that Felix Mendelssohn’s wedding march heralds the dawn of a marriage.
Because, judging from the response of a Benoni woman, divorce is also a cause for celebration. After getting a judgment to claim half of her ex- husband’s Spoornet pension, she rushed from the high court shouting: “Yippee! This calls for champagne.”