The History of Our World Pt. 1

“Like almost every truly horrible thing that has ever happened in the history of our world, the end also began with a kiss.”

― Dennis Sharpe, Destroyer of Worlds

Jabulani

“You are strong. Stronger than the Baobab, that quivers in fear of you. 

You are powerful. More powerful than the prayers to the Ancestors. 

You are swift. Swifter than the waves of the Nile.”

My father’s words echo in my head. “When you fight, keep your head down. The last thing you need is for you to be any more ugly than you are. Keep your fists up. Strong fists. Fists of iron. Light on your feet, like Ali. And don’t ever, not even for a millisecond, take your eye off your opponent. Follow his movements. It is a dance, after all. Feel the rhythm of his energy as it clashes with yours. You are different, but the same. And you have one goal and one goal alone, Jabulani. Win.” I throw the first punch, and it hits him flat on his lower jaw. He shakes his head, rattled for just enough time for me to throw my second punch - this time I give him a mean left hook. He grunts. “Come on Goliath, is that all you have?” I hear my friend Sizwe yell from the crowd. People laugh. I am tempted to turn around, face my admirers and bask in the glory that is me. But I can’t. This boy in front of me is bigger than I am, faster probably, and definitely angrier. I am only doing this because I can. There is nothing for me to gain from this. Maybe respect, fear perhaps, from potential bullies. But everyone knows that this is what I do. I find an opponent. We meet at the abandoned quarry after school, outside of the confines of classes and uniforms. So here we are, poor Eddie bleeding from a cracked lip, trying to throw something, anything at me. But I am strong. I am powerful. I am swift. He cannot catch me - he won’t. After a few more well-timed jabs, he concedes the match. I stand taller, pleased with myself. ‘Yes,’ I think. ‘This is the mark of a winner.’

Sizwe gives me a big hug. He is so scrawny, I can tell it takes all of his effort to do so. “You had him from the beginning, Jabu. You really did.” He imitates my movements, weaving in and out like a wannabe Karate Kid. 

I laugh and punch him lightly in the arm. “Next time it’ll be me and you.” I side-eye him, catching the panic on his face. “I’m kidding, Sizwe. I’d never fight you - I know I’d win without having to flex a muscle.” He laughs, knowing this to be true. I glance over at him, appreciating my friend of fourteen years. We met at school, two four year old boys who cared for nothing more than toys and scraped knees. Now look at us, in our final year of high school, and truly living the dream. Sizwe is the smart one of us two. I try, but books don’t work as well for me as they do for him. He’s going to America on a scholarship next year, and I’ll continue working at the cotton mill, only full time now. I wave him goodbye as we part ways. I don’t know why, but I feel his eyes on me as I walk away, burning my neck with their gaze. I don’t turn around, convincing myself it is merely my imagination. 

Sizwe

I glisten, I glow

I am engulfed by your radiance

So bright, so beautiful

Like waves washing over me

Thank you.

Jabulani

I really like my name. It means “rejoice” or “bring happiness”. I also really miss my father. He drowned himself just over three years ago, by the now abandoned quarry. His body was found after three days. What they do not tell you about Death is that she is a spiteful mistress. She will rip your soul out, time and time again. And she creeps up on me, everyday. In the form of people who remind me of him, like my mother. Or in the form of a memory. A jacket. A word. He gave me my name. And yet, I just couldn’t bring him enough happiness to make him stay. But my mother needs me, and so I make sure to show up for her and be there everyday. I’m her only child - I know she would be heartbroken if she ever had to lose me too. Sometimes I feel bad for forgetting the big things, like the sound of his voice. But I’ll never forget his words. He taught me how to fight. To him, that was a rite of passage. “A man,” he would say, “is like a river. A current runs through him, it is his job to decipher how to use that current to destroy where he must, and build where he can.” So I fight. Once a week after school, I fight. I allow my father’s legacy to live on through me, making sure to make him proud in every way possible. 

“Jabu, Sizwe’s outside,” my mother calls. I change into my shirt and brush my hair quickly before stepping out of my room. I see Sizwe, dressed formally in corduroy trousers and a red button up shirt. I laugh at his ridiculous get up. After all, we’re only going on a date with these girls from school. Nothing fancy, just a movie at Wadzanai’s house. She lives in the suburbs. I had convinced him to come along with me so her friend Revai wouldn’t feel lonely. 

“Ko Sizwe, what’s with the costume?” 

“I think he looks quite handsome,” my mother comments, eyeing him like a hyena would an antelope cadaver. 

“Okay… lets go. Bye mama. I’ll be back at 10.” I rush Sizwe out of our home before my mother gets a chance to say anything else. As soon as we’re out of the gate, I hand Sizwe some condoms I bought the day before. 

“What’s this?” He asks.

“A sweet,” I say sarcastically. “It’s for tonight, you idiot.”

Sizwe stops dead in his tracks. “I thought we were watching a movie.”

“We are,” I say, dragging him forward by his shirt. “We’re… watching a movie.” I laugh the laugh of a boy pretending to be a man. Sizwe frowns. “What?” I ask.

“I don’t want to have sex, Jabulani.”

“So don’t. Just kiss her or something. I don’t care. As for me and my big friend,” I clutch at my crotch, “we shall be very happy tonight.” He shakes his head, walking faster. I can tell I’ve upset him, so I say, “hey look. I’m sorry for not telling you earlier, and for essentially forcing you to come along. I understand if you’d rather go home, it’s just, I really want to spend a good time with Wadza. I like her a lot.”

He stares at me blankly. I always find it unnerving when he does that - his brown eyes are so piercing and perceptive. I shift uncomfortably. He speaks. “It’s okay. Let’s go.” He puts the condoms in his pockets and begins to walk. I can’t help but find myself staring at the back of his head, wondering what he is actually thinking about me. I can’t help but find myself thinking it’s not good.

Sizwe

I stumble, I fall

I am surprised at your abilities

So vast, so overwhelming 

Like currents rushing through me

Why?