There is a place, far from the quiet suburbs where one knows one’s neighbours only by name and never sees them. A place where children run idle in the streets while their parents labour in the big City of Gold to bring home food and hope for a better tomorrow. It is a place called Phola, a place with nothing much to brag about except that all the shacks face the morning sun and the inhabitants, for the most part, live together in peace. Until recently, it was a very ordinary place to live.
For a while now, however, neighbourhood children have been disappearing from the midst of their families and friends, and no one knows what has become of them. None of the residents of Phola, however, want to talk openly among themselves about what is mentioned in whispers only. Of late, Phola is no longer an ordinary place to live in.
Chapter 1: A cry in the night
Night has fallen. The moon bathes the tiny homes in a milky light, but the harsh bright lights of tall street lamps wipe the soft shadows from the dwellings at their feet. The air is still and warm, with moths whirring about in search of a light to dance around. Mamani, the woman who sells food, sits by an open fire outside her shack, roasting mealies. She swats at the mosquitoes that whiz about her neck, her arms and the sleeping toddler strapped to her back. The high-pitched buzzing irritates her. From the far end of Phola music blares from a ghetto blaster and people can be heard laughing and dancing to the infectious rhythm of kwaito music.
A pack of stray dogs has gathered near a rubbish bin. They are thin and their coats are mangy, and at any sudden movement they bare their teeth in vicious snarls. A black and white cat with half its tail missing struts in the moonlight, unaware of the danger. As it rounds a corner near the rubbish bin, the dogs stop sniffing for food and, with wild yelps, dash after it. In their mad chase they bump an old couple out of the way and knock over a basin with water that someone has left outside her door. Angry curses are hurled at the scraggy cat and unruly dogs. Finally the cat jumps on to the roof of a shack, leaps on to the next and vanishes into the night, leaving the disappointed dogs aimlessly sniffing about.
In the distance a police siren wails, but the children playing hide-and-seek in the maze of shanties do not hear it. Their only worry is not to stray too far from their homes, because, of late, their parents have become very strict about that.
In a nearby shack, a girl is sitting at a small table, staring at an open book. Next to the open book an alarm clock softly ticks away the seconds. A short candle casts a faint yellow light on the cardboard-covered corrugated iron walls and the lyno floor. In one corner of the room there is a single bed, in another there are a table and two chairs. A small wardrobe and an old kitchen unit are propped against the wall opposite the door.
The girl sighs. She is tired, but she knows she can’t go to sleep until her homework is done. She is also worried, because the candle is about to burn out and it is their last one.
Nolitye is short for her 11 years, but has long dreadlocks that fall to her shoulders and big, shiny eyes that light up when she smiles.
Nolitye turns and looks to where her mother Thembi is asleep, curled up on the single bed with her back to Nolitye. Nolitye and her mother do not have much money, but their clothes, although old and a little tattered, are always clean, and they have tried to make the shack as homely as possible. The wall behind the bed is decorated with a poster of two hands joined together in prayer. The room is always neat.
Outside a dog suddenly barks. Nolitye knows who has caused the disturbance. It would be Ntate Matthews stumbling between the tightly packed shanties. Every full moon Ntate Matthews drinks too much and, when he’s tipsy, he’s usually disorderly, his mouth quick to insult anyone or anything that crosses his path.
The dog barks more loudly. Nolitye pushes her book aside. It must be Rex, she guesses. Like most township dogs, he is a mixed breed, a big, sturdy black mongrel with hanging ears. He sometimes looks friendly, but mostly shows his fangs in a snarl. He is the leader of the pack of four strays that roam their area.
“Get away, you ugly thing! Hamba!” Ntate Matthews shouts. “Shut up, you ugly thing!”
Nolitye knows the shouting only makes Rex more vicious. She can imagine Rex moving closer, ready to attack, saliva drooling from his fangs.
Now Ntate Matthews is kicking an empty tin at the dog and growling like a mad animal himself. More dogs are barking outside.
Nolitye tries to forget about the noise outside. She pulls her maths book closer. She must finish her homework before the candle burns out! Maths is her favourite subject. She likes the simplicity of playing with figures and the fact that, if she does the sums carefully, she always gets the answers right.
“I said, get away, you beast!” Ntate Matthews shouts so loudly that Nolitye peeps over her shoulder. Her mother is still fast asleep. She snores softly. Nolitye can’t ignore the racket outside any longer. Now even the neighbours are yelling at Ntate Matthews. An irresistible urge overcomes her and she quietly gets up.
“You big drunk, why don’t you go home and sleep!” someone shouts.
“Ag shut up.” Ntate must have fallen over himself, because someone bursts out laughing.
“You won’t be laughing when your kids start disappearing,” Ntate Matthews says.
As Nolitye tiptoes to the door, a young man’s voice asks, “What rubbish is this guy talking now?”
“Watch your mouth. You young people think you know it all today,” Ntate Matthews grumbles.
Before Nolitye can turn the key in the lock, her mother stirs. “And where do you think you’re going, young lady?” she asks sleepily.
Nolitye freezes. “I was just … uh going to get some water for the kettle, Mama.”
“What? We filled the bucket together this afternoon.”
“Oh yes … I forgot,” she says, caught out.
“Nolitye.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Don’t lie to me. I know you wanted to go outside.”
“Just one stone, Mama, please.”
“You’re always collecting stones. There’s already a bucketful of your silly stones under the bed.” Thembi sits up. “Is it that stupid name your granny gave you that makes you do it? ‘Keeper of the Stone’, ‘Keeper of Knowledge’ — where have you ever heard of such a name? I wonder who put it in her head.”
“The stones are not silly, Mama. And my name is not stupid. Gogo said: ‘You mess with a woman, you mess with a stone.'”
“But your grandmother didn’t mean you should collect a stone every time you hear a noise outside. You know Ntate Matthews always does this and the following morning he just gets up as if nothing has happened.”
“I know, Mama. But I just have to. Please.”
She pulls a face that would make any mother’s heart melt. Thembi sighs.
“Okay, but don’t be long. You still have to finish your homework and the candle is almost burnt out.”
“Thanks, Mama! I won’t be long. I promise.”
Nolitye doesn’t bother putting on shoes. She turns the key and closes the door quickly, before the candle can blow out.
Ntate Matthews is still staggering between the shanties, shouting at the top of his voice. Rex and the other dogs are circling around him, snarling.
“Get up, you lazy people, and kill these stupid beasts!” Ntate Matthews yells. “And what are you staring at?” he lashes out when he notices Nolitye watching him.
She turns her gaze away but from the corner of her eye sees Ntate Matthews trying to kick another empty can. This time he trips and falls on his bum. More people have come out of their shacks, some in their sleepwear. Everyone laughs raucously. Nolitye can’t help but giggle.
“Shut up, you idiots!” Ntate Matthews slurs. “You don’t know who I am,” he says, pointing drunkenly at his chest. He burps and everyone pulls a disgusted face.
“Yes, we do,” a young man answers back. “You’re just a lousy no-good. Go home and sleep.”
The man dismisses Ntate Matthews with the wave of a hand and saunters off. The other neighbours also disappear into their shacks and leave Ntate Matthews to his drunken state and the dogs.
Rex grabs Ntate Matthew’s trousers at the ankle and doesn’t let go. Ntate Matthews swings his other leg and gives the dog a cruel kick that sends it moaning. But seconds later Rex returns, teeth bared. The other dogs close in around Ntate Matthews, ready to attack. Rex opens his jaws, growling ferociously.
“Rex, don’t do it!” Nolitye tells the dog. “He’s just a harmless old man.”
“Who says I’m old? I can still give you a beating,” Ntate Matthews is quick to say.
“He’s got a big mouth.”
“You little brat! What do you mean, I’ve got a big mouth?”
“I didn’t say that,” Nolitye says.
“I may be drunk but I’m not a fool,” Ntate Matthews insists.
“Then get up and go home, you stupid man.”
Ntate Matthews, who has been watching Nolitye closely, frowns. He opens his mouth, but no words come out.
“What’s the matter? The cat got your tongue?” Rex says to his face. The other dogs relax and mill around with wagging tails. Ntate Matthews rubs his eyes.
“What is going on? Who is behind this witchcraft?” he demands, surprisingly sober.
“So now he knows the secret. Big deal,” one of the other dogs growls, an equally big dog, but brown with one pointy and one floppy ear and a dark ridge of wrong-way-round hair running down his back.
Ntate Matthews shakes his head. “I must be very drunk,” he mumbles to himself.
“Don’t worry, Ntate Matthews,” Nolitye tries to comfort him.
“But how can these strays talk?” he asks urgently.
“Hey, watch your mouth,” Rex growls. “We’re not strays, we live here.”
Ntate Matthews gives him a bewildered look.
“I don’t know why you can hear them, Ntate Matthews. Only children are supposed to hear animals talk,” Nolitye explains, a little furrow on her forehead.
“It’s because he’s drunk,” Rex explains. “Freaky, but it sometimes happens like that with grown-ups. He’ll probably wake up tomorrow and not remember a thing.”
“But he’ll have a stinking hangover and a headache,” a tiny dog with a long body and long whiskers, a thin tail and ears like a bat’s gleefully yelps.
Ntate Matthews stands with his mouth open. He feels a little dizzy. It is too much for him to accept that animals, dogs of all things, can talk. His face screws up in fright. He holds his cheeks in his hands and shakes his head.
“Are you alright?” Nolitye asks.
“I knew I was drinking too much. Now I can hear dogs talking. What’s happening to me?” He starts wheezing.
“Relax, it’s not the end of the world. You’re drunk, remember?” Rex taunts him.
“Yes, I’m drunk,” Ntate Matthews says, trying to calm himself. “I’m drunk and this is just a bad dream.”
“That’s right,” Rex agrees.
“A very deep and very bad dream,” Ntate Matthews mumbles.
“What were you drinking anyway?” Rex asks.
Ntate Matthews pinches himself, hoping that he will snap out of whatever it is that makes him hear dogs talk. Then he gives himself a hard slap on the cheek.
“You can’t like yourself very much if you do that,” Rex comments.
“It’s useless,” Ntate Matthews sighs. “I’ve lost my mind.”
With his shoulders hunched he starts sobbing. And then, in the middle of his tears, he lets out a long burp that sounds just like a growl.