Zukiswa Wanner

OK, I have been having emails in my personal email box from characters who have access to my email address.
‘I know you don’t like blogging unless you feel you have something to say but what’s with the silence for this long? Much has been happening in SA and in your life. Surely, an opinionated ass like yourself has something to say? ’ someone who claims to be my friend emailed me asking.
Indeed a lot has been happening in the last few weeks.
Comrade JZ became the President of South Africa sans showerhead thanks to cartoonist Zapiro. South Africa marked a year of shame for the xenophobic (read: negrophobic) attacks with some muted discussions about the need for investigations and prosecuting wrongdoers (Joy! The family of the dude who was necklaced to death in Ramaphosaville must be soo relieved!). Ndumiso Ngcobo launched his second collection of satirical essays on South African life entitled, Is It Coz I’m Black? (available on Kalahari.net NOW) then as an advance for this very shameless plugging of his book I have just done on my blog, he bought me a six pack and mentioned my name in the acknowledgements section of the book [I admit it. I am a friend!]. Another friend, Kenyan writer, documentary maker and all-round Master of All trades Parselelo Kantai got short-listed for the Caine Prize. I submitted manuscript number three to my publishers and started writing for upcoming SAFM radio soapie Radio Watyamacallit. A rather interesting debate has started on BOOKSA post-Franschhoek Literary Festival on literacy and the black person. All good reasons for me to blog but honestly I was not feeling inspired by any of these seemingly appealing topics.
What I could not forget though was a phone call from my aunt to come to my little hometown for some umsebenzi for one ancestor or another. I turned the invitation down because I am so “busy and important” in bright lights, big city Joburg.
Then I thought about it. And thought about how crazy it is for me to avoid going to a town I always claim to be home but that I can’t bother going to. So I decided to write this knowing that we now have a new administration in charge of the country.
This, which is a plea for the small town.
The back water town.
The home town.
It is a plea for its recognition and its development so it does not get drained of its best people in their prime.
I was born and educated out of South Africa. I now stay in Johannesburg and have been staying in the City of Gold since returning to South Africa in 2003 so it always amuses my friends when I talk of my home town.
‘What home town?’ they ask, ‘you did not even grow up there and you do not stay there now.’
And they would be absolutely right. But the funny thing about home towns is one’s sentimentality with them. Although I stay in the melting pot that is Johannesburg, I always think fondly of the place I call home because it is there where my father is buried and there where, when I want to get away from the hustle and bustle of this big city that can swallow one up, I go.
My home town is a little town in the Eastern Cape called Stutterheim or eCumakala as it is known in the vernacular. For non-drivers, the good news about getting to Stutterheim is that it is on the train and bus route from both Cape Town and Johannesburg. The down side to that is, you have to pile on many jerseys and blankets because, the closer one gets to Stutt as the locals call it, the colder it gets particularly in the winter months. It is often stated by many that, with Stutterheim, until it snows it remains cold. In 2004 the snow only came in December so it was cold the whole time.
Those who know Stutterheim say ‘town’ is a bit of an overstatement because of its size. Sure, it’s more Norton in Zimbabwe than it is Bornemouth in England but I figure that since we have our own municipality, we qualify. Unless someone is from the Eastern Cape, most people do not know where it is and when I talk of its location, I do so by using the three towns closest to it. Like many small towns, there is nothing remarkable about this town, but it is for this reason that I write about it. Because there are many small little towns like it in South Africa which are remarkable by virtue of their people but which will never be put on any tourist map of places to go.
‘It’s 60 km from East London and 40km from King Williamstown,’ I say by way of explanation. ‘Stutt is between Queenstown and King,’ I say further trying to give my audience a geographical idea from the map. I find myself additionally saying that Stutterheim has one traffic light by Amahlathi Municipality offices and that ‘if you blink you miss it.’
There are one too many shebeen and bottle stores although in the last three years, the town has added a library on its ‘things to do while in Stutterheim’ list. This however, is not good enough to put the town even as a Sho’t Left challenge stop except as a rest stop.
Most of those who work in Stutterheim- and there are many unemployed – are civil servants. Those who can, leave as soon as it is expedient to do so, which is unfortunate because it is for such reasons that many similar hometowns remain underdeveloped while big cities become congested. I am of course as guilty as the next person in ensuring that my hometown remains underdeveloped. I have chosen the glamour and glare of big city lights to it. Sure, once a year I make the trek home during the holiday season but I never stay there for any significant amount of time. I resolve to stay there for at least two weeks getting to know people and appreciating the town. After three days I find myself calling friends from Mdantsane who are also down in the Eastern Cape on holiday so I can go and visit.
‘Ndibhorekile (I am bored)’, I say. ‘Can you look around see whether I can get some accommodation that side so I can come to East London?’
Like many people from such small towns, I complain every year about how little there is to do and how bored I am when I get to my home town. And like many such people who call these towns their home but do not stay there, I take the quickest exit route whenever that home town vaguely starts losing its romance. And those who are not as lucky as me continue to stay, and drink, and breed.
I wonder, what type of facelift could places like Stutterheim receive to keep their people there for any length of time? I wonder too as I plead for the small town, just what it is I can do as an individual to make places like Stutterheim that bit attractive for myself and those like me?
Perhaps the new cabinet could give us some answers on how they intend to uplift the less urban areas?