The Ghost-Eater and Other Stories Read Free Page A

Phaphamile.’
    â€˜I will do that happily, Ma.’
    â€˜Continue.’
    â€˜So on the first day of school, I went with my daughter, Khwezi, as usual to pick up Andiswa and walk them to school. They are in the same class, grade three, this year. Lumka and I always take turns walking the girls to their school, Observatory Girls’. One week on, one week off. We have been doing this since our girls started school.’
    â€˜Oh, that’s a supportive system.’
    â€˜On this first day, when Khwezi and I arrived at their gate, there was just chaos. Andiswa was lying down with a blanket over her and Lumka was weeping uncontrollably over her body and her madam and his husband were both on their cellphones. All four dogs were barking and we were just so confused.’
    â€˜No!’
    â€˜Yes, Mama. When Lumka noticed me she started shouting in between her sobs: “The gate! The gate!”’
    â€˜â€œThe gate”? What did she mean?’
    â€˜Oh, I can still hear her now: “The gate! It’s the gate! I told them about the gate!”’
    Sebenzile started weeping.
    Mrs Ndlovu stood up and came around the table to put her arms over Sebenzile and started to pray aloud. Sebenzile cried louder and louder at first and Mrs Ndlovu raised her voice to match Sebenzile’s volume and at some point simply repeated the words ‘Yiba nabo, Nkosi’ or ‘Hlala nabo, Nkulunkulu waphakade’ or ‘Yehlis’ umoya wakho, Nkosi yamazulu’ or ‘Bafukamele, Jehova.’
    Phaphamile, who could hear the conversation from the back veranda, walked into the kitchen when she heard the loud cries and Mama Mfundisi’s voice getting louder and louder over the wailing. She had heard about the girl who was killed in her school uniform by a big wrought-iron gate that fell on her. The women in Phaphamile’s stokvel had prayed for the girl and her mother. Since she heard the story, she stopped using the big wrought-iron gate at Mama Mfundisi’s home. She always used the small wooden, manual pedestrian gate which was locked with a padlock to which she also kept a key. Some Houghton homes have these smaller pedestrian gates just as some have small rooms for security guards. Mrs Ndlovu once said to Phaphamile that she does not ever want to have a security guard looking after their home because that would mean that they do not trust the Almighty.
    â€˜But you have the big wrought-iron gate and a high wall, Mama,’ Phaphamile had challenged her employer.
    â€˜We found those here when we moved in. The Lord chose this home for us.’
    Phaphamile remembered this conversation as she stood there. She watched the two women and started crying as well. She stepped close to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down to cry. In time Mrs Ndlovu shook Sebenzile’s shoulders in a comforting way, put her right cheek over her head, wiped her own tears and came round the table to sit. The three women sat around the table, each crying silently now.
    Phaphamile broke the silence. ‘Is it true that abelungu bakhe paid for the funeral and made her go home to Cofimvaba in an aeroplane?’
    â€˜Yes, it’s true.’
    â€˜Oh, may the Lord bless them. How many white people can do that?’ asked Mrs Ndlovu.
    â€˜Mama Mfundisi, what is the point of flying home to East London when there is no one with money to fetch you from the airport? What is the point of that?’ asked Sebenzile, her voice getting louder and louder.
    â€˜Sebenzile, kubongwa okuncane, kubongwe okukhulu. But, you still haven’t told me how this accident happened exactly.’
    â€˜The women in my stokvel said the girl was also bitten by the dogs. Is that true?’ Phaphamile asked.
    â€˜Oh no, that’s a lie.’
    â€˜Tell us the truth, Sebenzile,’ Mrs Ndlovu said in an encouraging tone.
    â€˜Mama Mfundisi, what I know is that when I arrived that morning there was