Hillbrow and Kliptown were the only areas of Johannesburg that Joseph knew. He was afraid to venture downtown: so much traffic; so many tsotsis, pickpockets who beat you and took your money; so many tall, tall buildings; so many white people speaking English. (Joseph had mostly spoken Sotho with the farmer and knew hardly any English.) The pass system frightened him. Curfew was at 10 p.m.; if your pass said you were allowed to sleep in Hillbrow, you could not be in Berea, for instance, after ten o’clock. The few times Joseph found himself out after curfew, he had to slink along side streets, avoiding the illuminated thoroughfares that were well-patrolled, to get back to his part of town. The police showed little mercy to violators. One thousand blacks were arrested every day for pass law transgressions; that number would ultimately total eighteen million. Joseph’s dream of a better life in the city quickly dissolved.
* * *
By contrast, things went well for Nomkhitha in the beginning. She lived with her Aunt Letitia and Letitia’s daughter in Kliptown; Letitia rented two rooms in a large house from a black preacher. Nomkhitha spent her days filling out applications to different nursing schools. In this, Letitia was very helpful: discussing each question with Nomkhitha, checking the completed form, posting the letters for her. In return, Nomkhitha kept house for Letitia, who was working as a teacher. And when Letitia adopted a small boy, the child of a friend, Nomkhitha helped to care for him.
Nomkhitha relied on her aunt and cousin to instruct her in the ways of the city. Her cousin, who was two years older, had a fashionable wardrobe and liked to give Nomkhitha dresses to wear when they went out. Nomkhitha marvelled at Johannesburg: the smart shops, the beautifully dressed women, the city’s frenetic feel. When Letitia took her class on a field trip, she often invited Nomkhitha; the Johannesburg Zoo, with its astonishing array of animals, became Nomkhitha’s favourite outing. She felt no desire to make friends with other young women. The ones who visited her cousin seemed rather frivolous; Nomkhitha, by comparison, considered herself a serious person with plans and ambitions. She was content to stay within the orbit of her relatives and their rooms – and wait for her new life to start.
Then the rejections began. Nomkhitha was nervous every time a response from a nursing school arrived and could not bring herself to read it. Instead, she thrust it at Letitia who, after quickly scanning the letter, put her arm around Nomkhitha’s shoulders saying, ‘I’m sorry, they don’t want you.’ Years later, Nomkhitha would learn that she had, in fact, been accepted to some of the schools. But her aunt didn’t want to lose Nomkhitha’s help around the house. So she lied to Nomkhitha. And Nomkhitha, in her dependence on her more worldly relation, never questioned Letitia.
The months passed. Nomkhitha became increasingly frustrated: at this rate, her life would never amount to any more than dusting Letitia’s furniture, doing her laundry, washing her dishes, looking after her boy. She didn’t know what to do. Nomkhitha saw no future in going back to Bengu; everything there now seemed so primitive. But determination alone was not getting her an education. About one thing Nomkhitha was very clear: she didn’t want to end up a fast woman, a rusker, as they were called. She saw them everywhere, the girls who came to the cities with high hopes, and returned to the village, and great opprobrium, with a baby.
One day, Nomkhitha was outside sweeping the front stoep when a group of young men walked by on their way to the Presbyterian church next door. Joseph was among them. He had joined the church soon after arriving in Johannesburg and his work there had become his passion, the one thing in his life that made him feel like a human being. There were visits to the sick, prayer gatherings for the dead, leadership meetings, Saturday meetings, choir. His activities didn’t leave him much time for a social life. Joseph had often noticed Nomkhitha in his comings and goings: a slim young woman with beautiful legs and strong, chiselled features. On that particular morning, bolstered by his friends, he felt bold.
‘Hello,’ Joseph said, tipping his hat.
Nomkhitha stopped sweeping. A wiry youth with a receding hairline and rounded face was grinning at her; he was so light-skinned that Nomkhitha thought he was coloured, as apartheid nomenclature designated people of mixed race. She wanted nothing to do with such a man and went back to her sweeping.
But Joseph persisted. He made a point of arriving early at church on Sundays in the hope he would find Nomkhitha outside. They never exchanged more than a few pleasantries before Joseph hurried inside for services. Once he saw her at the greengrocer. ‘Hello again,’ he said, ‘may I talk to you?’ Nomkhitha gathered up her bags and ran all the way back to her aunt’s rooms; I don’t want a boyfriend, she repeated to herself, I want school. But one day she relented and spoke at length to Joseph. They began to go on short walks together: Joseph would escort Nomkhitha to the nearby shops and buy her some fruit or sweets. They talked in Xhosa; Nomkhitha didn’t know Sotho. Then Joseph would take her home.
After a time, she agreed to spend Sundays with him. Nomkhitha began to anticipate Joseph’s visits eagerly; she liked his neat appearance and disciplined manner. (Even Letitia approved of their liaison because of Joseph’s avid church attendance.) Joseph usually dispatched one of his young nephews by bicycle to inform Nomkhitha of their meeting time. At the appointed hour, she and Joseph would stroll slowly along the row of shops, then into the field that lay beyond. There they sat and talked for hours. One afternoon, Joseph spoke of marriage; he hadn’t intended to marry so young, but found that Nomkhitha had an irresistible quality about her. Nomkhitha, who had decided she was in love with Joseph, nonetheless wouldn’t countenance such a discussion. Not long after, Joseph sent his sister May to visit Nomkhitha on a kind of scouting mission. She reported back to Sara and Joseph’s siblings that Nomkhitha was a beautiful woman: this was the one their brother should marry.
Then Nomkhitha discovered she was pregnant. Now she and Joseph had to get married; she would have brought a terrible dishonour to herself and her family otherwise. Besides, Sara insisted on the nuptials as soon as she heard the news. Joseph’s brothers travelled to Bengu to meet Nomkhitha’s family and arrange lobola, the bride price. The Mashininis agreed to pay the equivalent, in cash, of five cows. They also paid for a wedding dress and veil. Olive came north to help Nomkhitha select the household goods she would bring, as tradition demanded, to the marriage. By then, Daniel was too old and sickly to contribute much money; Olive, Nomkhitha and Letitia scoured the city to find an affordable dinner set, cups, cutlery, brooms, sheets, towels. Furniture was out of the question. It saddened Olive that she could not provide her daughter with the same elaborate dowry she had taken to Daniel’s village.
Joseph and Nomkhitha’s wedding lasted for two days. It was a small affair; Transkei was too far away for many members of Nomkhitha’s family or her friends to attend. Thabiso, Joseph’s childhood companion from the farm, was his best man. He had stayed behind when Joseph moved to Johannesburg, but made the journey for the most important day of his friend’s life. The wedding began with a service at the Presbyterian church. Throughout the ceremony, Nomkhitha kept repeating to herself, almost as a mantra: I will still go to school, I will still go to school. Afterwards, there was much praying and singing and taking of pictures. In one, Nomkhitha signs the registry while Joseph gazes over her shoulder: he is dapper in a tuxedo and bow tie, a white carnation stuck in his lapel; Nomkhitha has her veil up, as tradition required of pregnant brides. Both look young and hopeful.
Letitia had a reception at her rooming house after the church service. Nomkhitha changed into another dress for the festivities; people sang traditional paeans to the bride and groom, danced in the garden and ate copiously. Olive arranged for two sheep to be slaughtered for the occasion and provided beer as well. The latter was illegal; blacks could drink beer only in licensed establishments. People came from all over Kliptown, many of them uninvited, and the celebration went on all day. Nomkhitha slept at Letitia’s house that night; Joseph returned to Sara’s. The next day, in a much-diminished re-enactment of Olive’s grand, cross-country