We, the ”original buppies”, got through high school, with my younger sister, Rirhandzu, and me attending the Deutsche Schule, first in Johannesburg and later in Pretoria. We had grown up in Germany and were highly sought after by the German school as they sought to deracialise it. The invitation seemed of benefit to us because we could not speak English on our arrival in the mid-1980s. Eventually I became the first black South African to matriculate in German Mother Tongue. In time, the school enrolled more local black learners, facilitating this by offering a German Second Language class.
My peers in other private schools and those dreadful convents still speak very highly of my school — I guess many have been captivated by German jewels such as Audi’s ethos, Vorsprung durch technik. Anyhow, growing up in Germany from the age of five (not in exile), I near lost my real mother tongue, but never my ear for a good story. My mother, Molly, is a great storyteller and the person I emulate in my own written storytelling. On request, she would tell us my favourite story, one miraculously even more compelling to me than Schneeweis und die Sieben Zwerge [Snow White and the Seven Dwarves] .
The story is Senannapo, a legendary Sotho folk tale (though some Tswana historians claim it as their own). Senannapo was a princess, the chief’s favourite child, and the owner of a loyal dog that followed her everywhere. Senannapo was the prettiest girl near or far and the other girls were very envious and secretly hated her. I will not spoil the story for you, so I’ll let her dog tell it, and you, if you like, can hum along in the most beautiful and sombre soprano you can muster, or try the well-known melody adapted by W Sejamutla and performed by Imilonji Kantu on their Ibuyile iAfrika album:
Senannapo, Senannapo
Ba mmolaile … Senannapo [They have killed her … Senannapo]
Ba mpha lesapo … Senannapo [They gave her bone … Senannapo]
Ba re ke leje … Senannapo [They said I should eat it … Senannapo]
Nna ka legana … Senannapo [I refused … Senannapo]
Ga ke je motho … Senannapo [I don’t eat a person … Senannapo]
E le mong wa ka … Senannapo [Who is my owner … Senannapo]
Thebe sa Kgosi … Senannapo [The chief’s favourite … Senannapo]
The village girls had plotted Senannapo’s death by making it look as if she had fallen into the fire when they were playing. When they went to collect wood, as they regularly did, they played a game. They dug a hole in the ground and made a fire, and one by one they would jump over the fire. When it was Senannapo’s turn, they pushed her, instead of letting her jump. She burnt to death, and some girls suggested that they throw some of the bones to her dog, seeing that dogs usually thrive on meat and bones. But this dog had witnessed everything and would not betray its mistress. Thus it went back to the village singing this melody repeatedly in a melancholy manner, until everyone gathered at the chief’s residence and the allegations made by the dog were verified and Senannapo’s buddies made to account by the elders for their heinous crime.
”Buppie burnout”, a column I wrote in the September 2004 issue of M&G Leisure, spoke of the dynamics of being middle-class products of the townships, attending what were then white private schools during apartheid. I hadn’t finished telling our story.
We had been experiencing many serious problems as youths in the late 1980s, Senannapo, with young men rebelling in a way that is not easy or pleasant to describe. ”Jackroll” entailed armed boys abducting girls whether they were alone or in company, as they were on their way to or from school, the store, a party or whatever setting; the girl(s) would be gangraped for hours or days, then returned to the scene of the abduction, ”safely”. Jackroll legends included ”Jack Brown”, who humbly lent his name to this terrifying phenomenon, and arch-copycat protégé ”Mrembula” from Dube.
I hold a theory that this widespread crime extravaganza initially emanated directly from the envy and hatred these guys felt towards the buppies, as the first spate of these crimes was elaborately launched at open-invitation night parties hosted at our suburban schools. The buppie girls and their male companions were under siege. That is where it all began, spiraled down and never really ended. Today they call us ”Trust Fund Babies”, but being singled out and held up has long lost its shine, surely … Senannapo.