Day 2
I walk through the village to Khayone’s house. I want to hear his story from him, in his own words – the story of a circumcision-gone-wrong. I find him standing next to the kraal at home. I have heard that people in hospital were better to him than at home. A lot has changed these days: nurses are kinder than they used to be. They even smile at patients and no longer scorn boys with failed circumcisions. Back in the day, it wasn’t that simple. We loved to hate them.

This is what Khayone tells me.

Khayone – The Bogus Man
I am a living curse. I can ‘contaminate’ people with bad luck.

Names? I have plenty of names. When I was ‘Khayone’ my parents loved me. They gave me this name to bring glory unto my father’s name. When I was ‘Killer’, boys feared me because no-one could defeat me in a stick fight. When I was ‘Khisto’ I was in love with someone. Onikwa gave me this name because I completed her.

Now they call me ‘nofotyela’, ‘nontywentywe’ and ‘lulwane’ just because I failed to become a man the Xhosa way. I pursued refuge to the one place an umkhwetha is forbidden to go.

I went to initiation school at 20 with my old friend, Bantwini. I was too old. Some go there at 15. But my father said I wasn’t ready even when I was 18. Bantwini waited for me, until my father decided to send me to the mountains. Bantwini wanted us to go there together so that we could call each other ‘ntangam’ even when we’re old. ‘Ntangam’ means two people born on the same year and circumcised on the same day. Good friends also call themselves ntangam. But you can’t call a man by that word if you’re still a boy.

Bantwini and I were circumcised by the same ingcibi, traditional surgeon. This makes our bond as friends even stronger. I was upset with my father for appointing a different ikhankatha. I thought I would share an attendant with Bantwini. My father appointed Ginyilahle. His name means ‘the swallower of hot coal’. Bantwini’s attendant was Kwayiyo, a good man – unlike the drunk that was assigned to me. The end results of having two different attendants speak for themselves. Bantwini is not the nofotyela, I am.

Even though Onikwa prayed for my safe return, my manhood did not escape surgical amputation in the hospital theatre. I remember her calming smile the day of my circumcision. She struggled to hide that she was worried about me.

She wrapped round my wrist a bracelet made from her grandmother’s precious beads. She said, ‘It’s a charm of luck and good will.’

I promised her I would come back a flawless man. Weeks later a different, broken, hopeless Khayone emerged. I am still wearing her beaded bracelet, waiting for luck to give me a signal.

I need to break up with her without breaking her heart. I want her to understand that it’s for her own good. It’s the only way she can escape the curse. I don’t want her to be in a relationship with a person whose social standing is now lower than a dog’s. I have no right to make demands. The right to marry her is only reserved for real men. It will be hard to forget about her. I love her … with my heart and soul.

I will never be called Ta-Killer as I had hoped. I am not worthy of the title ‘Ta’ next to my name since I am nontywentywe. I have no manhood to gloat about.

Nobody in the village understands or wants to accept what I did. No-one wants to hear me explain what happened in the bush or why I chose to go to the hospital as an umkhwetha.

Please understand this: I was saving my life.

Just yesterday I met a group of amakrwala. I passed them on my way from the spaza shop. They said hurtful things to me, humiliating things. They laughed until I was out of their sight. I’ve become the village idiot. Yet I would be amongst them, if I hadn’t gone to hospital, you know.

Bantwini always tries to defend me. But this results in fights. The other day he got stabbed on his hand. Luckily it’s a small wound. He is my best friend; he’s impintshi yam.

What are the makings of a good man? Dignity? Humility? Loyalty? I’m not sure.

I have spoken to a lot of people that don’t know.

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Tell us what you think: What might cause villagers to cruelly reject someone mutilated by a failed circumcision like this? What do you think of this attitude?