Taken For a Ride

“Goebs had never been as drunk as he was that Friday night.” Vezi said about Mr. Magubane, alias Nkomose, his colleague at St. Benedict’s middle school in Kwa Santi, a Catholic mission station in Natal. “One minute he was sitting with us around the table at P.G’s house drinking, the next moment he was lying on the floor. Lights out.

‘Goodness me. Goebs has floored’. P.G., our host for that Friday night said.

‘We can see that P.G.’ we said.

‘What are we going to do?’ said P.G.

We looked at Magubane lying on the ground. He was tall and hefty and we did not look forward to carrying him home. As usual he was in a tie and suit. He was the only man I knew who could get soused whilst dressed like that. Generally speaking, he held his liquor well, but used to drink to such an extent that he could not remember things he had done or said the night before. Nevertheless, he was a gentleman, always polite and respectful, bearing himself with dignity when sober.

We had to take Magubane home that night. We laid him on his back on a blanket, carried him in it like we were carrying a coffin and huffed and puffed up the hill to his house. We had to rest three times along the way. It took us about an hour to get to his house which was about half a kilometer from P.G.’s.

When we came to the house Mrs. Magubane nearly fainted when she saw us.

‘Oh my God! Nkosi yam’Yo! Yo! Nkulunkulu wami.. What have you done to Nkomose? Why have you killed my husband? Tell me, tell me!’ she cried.

‘No. No ma’am. Nkomose is not dead, He…’

Before we could finish, Nkomose jumped up from where he had been lying, dusted himself off, straightened his jacket and tie and said:

‘Thank you very much for the ride boys. That was very nice.’

He ran past his wife into the house as we chased after him, ready to tear him apart. He ran into the bedroom and locked himself in. We could hear him laughing at us behind the door.

‘We will get you wena Magubane. You think you are clever. Sizokuthola. Just wait and see.’ We shouted as we retreated from the house.

On Monday Magubane said he could not remember a thing about what had happened.

The following Friday Zondo hosted us. Magubane as usual quaffed as much as he could, but we were careful this time not to be tricked by him again. He went home on his own a little bit earlier than usual.

On Monday when he entered the staffroom for the morning tea break everybody fell silent.

‘Good morning gents. And how was your weekend?’ He said.

We kept silent.

P.G., the most senior of us, was our spokesman.

‘Nkomose, we have to talk. This time you have really gone too far. You are giving all of us a bad name.’ P.G. said.

‘What do you mean? What have I done?’

‘You must go and apologize to Ma’am Zikalala. Wait for her outside and talk to her before she enters the staffroom. Ask for forgiveness for what you have done while in you drunken state when you left us on Friday. She is very angry and is waiting for her husband to come home this weekend to tell him what you have done. Then you’ll be in deep trouble.’

‘What have I done? What have I done, gentlemen? Tell me. Please tell me’. Magubane said, genuinely alarmed.

He became even more alarmed when we told him what he had done.

He rushed out of the staffroom to intercept Ma’am Zikalala, wife to school inspector Mr. Zikalala.

He waited outside the door. We watched him through the windows. As Ma’am Zikalala approached the staffroom, Magubane rushed forward and threw himself at her feet, knelt down in front of her, his hands clasped together like people do when praying.

‘Ma’am! Ma’am please forgive me. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was drunk. Please ma’am don’t tell inspector Zikalala what I did. I am truly sorry. It won’t happen again. I promise.’ He said.

Before Mrs. Zikalala could respond, the bell rang for the next class to begin and she turned her back on him to go to the classrooms.

‘Ma’am please! Ma’am!’ Magubane said, running after her.

‘We will talk later. After school’. Mrs. Zikalala said.

During lunch Magubane usually went home to eat. Ma’am Zikalala came to the staffroom in his absence and asked ‘What is happening to Magubane? He was behaving quite strangely this morning; asking for forgiveness for I don’t know what’.

‘We told him that on Friday night in his drunken state he had gone to your house, knocked on your window and wanted to jump through it into your bedroom to force himself on you, but you managed to scare him off!’. We said, laughing. We laughed until we could laugh no more.

‘I was not even home on Friday night.’ Ma’am Zikalala said, joining in the laughter.

Our laughter stopped abruptly when one of the school children came running to tell us that Magubane had locked himself in a classroom and was trying to hang himself with his belt.

We all dashed out of the staffroom to the classroom in which Magubane had locked himself in.

‘Nkomose! Nkomose! We shouted through the window. Don’t do it. Don’t do it’. But he would not listen. He continued trying to tie the one end of his belt to the light fitting dangling from the ceiling. He only stopped when’ Ma’am Zikalala said:

‘Yes, don’t do it Nkomose. I forgive you. You are forgiven Nkomose’.

He stepped down from the chair he had been standing on and sunk to the floor, weeping.

Since that day Nkomose drinks tea only”.