Day 8
After my interview with Onikwa I went searching for the only person who had been with Khayone in the mountains, the one who is now his defender. I thought he was the only person to shed more light on why amakrwala rejected Khayone and why they were insulting him. I found him among other amakrwala sitting in a circle. They were speaking animatedly, wagging their fingers at each other. They meant business.

They shook their heads in disapproval of my request to speak with Bantwini privately. But they could not stop him. I’d heard rumours that Bantwini is very stubborn. He does not subject himself to someone else’s rules. They call him nokhontoni – the one who questions all.

He instantly expressed his guilt for not being there for Khayone from when things started to go wrong. This is what he told me.

Bantwini – The Loyal Friend
Eish bra, this has caused so much grief. I failed to protect impintshi yam.

According to my culture a man who is circumcised in hospital is a boy. An umkhwetha who ran from the mountains to hospital is ‘nofotyela’, meaning that he has diluted our precious tradition with mlungu things. He is not fit to be called a man. But Killer did not run. He held on. He could’ve died there. He only decided to go to hospital because he felt his life slipping away. I can’t discriminate against him because of that. He’s my blood.

When we were abakhwetha, Killer got thinner. I suspected something might be wrong. Who was I to worry about the toughest boy in the village? I was sure he was missing home, or Onikwa. We lived in separate amabhuma, circumcision huts, about two kilometres apart. I couldn’t see him for eight days – the first days are in complete seclusion from anyone except men and our attendants.

After my eight days of seclusion I visited his ibhuma. He was so weak, I could hardly recognise him. He kept insisting he was fine. I set a test for him. I asked him to light a fire. It is very strange to go to a bhuma and find no fire. There were no ashes on the hearth, an indication that he was never visited by anyone – even by his khankatha. My khankatha always bullied me to light a fire every time he visited me. I used to hate that. But he told me that fire is good for keeping evil spirits and witches away.

Killer reached for amalongwe, dried cow dung, to start the fire, and eish … he collapsed on the hearth. He was out for an hour or so. Tears just dropped from my eyes. I gave him several good claps. I poured water on him. Nothing was working. I dragged him out of the hut so he could get some fresh air. I kept begging him to open his eyes, to say something. I even said, “Think about Onikwa, Killer. She is waiting for you back at the village. Don’t do this. Don’t die.”

When he regained consciousness, he tried to pull the wool over my eyes, telling me that he was epileptic. He made me promise not to breathe a word to anyone about his illness. I had no choice but to betray him. I told Kwayiyo, who was my attendant, about Killer’s condition. Kwayiyo sent word to Khayone’s father and to the attendant Ginyilahle. Days passed and they never came.

Kwayiyo’s hands were tied. He did not want to take away Ginyilahle’s duties. When I visited Killer again, his hut was empty. He was gone.

News about Killer’s disappearance from his bhuma spread like wild fire. I was disappointed to learn that nobody, not even his father, looked for him. The disappearance of umkhwetha demands a search party. Strange things do happen. Like, what if he was snatched by witches who turned him into a sithunzela, a zombie, a witches’ slave?

At my coming out ceremony, there was a guy who worked at the hospital. He told everyone that he saw Killer at the ndiyakubona ward (ICU) fighting for his life. This was sad indeed for me, but the villagers found humour in it.

I tried to visit him at the hospital but I was not allowed in to ICU. I kept going there until it was okay for him to receive visitors in a general ward. He hid behind a blanket when he saw me. He thought I was there to mock him. I told him that he’s still my friend and I respect him.

People try to build a wall between us. They won’t succeed. Just yesterday, amakrwala were forcing me to stop calling him ntangam. They said Killer must call me ‘Ta-Baylor’ now since we are on different social levels. He is below me, we are no longer equals. That is according to them. I don’t give a shit what they think.

Why the name Ta-Baylor? ‘Baylor’ is my nickname from long ago. I earned the ‘Ta’ when I returned from the bush as indoda, a man. Killer cannot be addressed as ‘Ta’ because he didn’t make it in the bush. I am the only one who calls him ‘Ta-Killer’ and I’m being judged for it.

I’m tired of these guys. They don’t know the basic meaning of being a man. A real man doesn’t go around picking on the powerless. A real man always picks up the fallen. Only the insecure man picks on the powerless. These are not men.

You can broadcast everything I’ve said. I fear no-one alive.

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Tell us: What do you think of Bantwini’s ideas of what is being ‘a real man’?