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The Hlabisa Family

The sun is low in the sky by the time I turn off the highway and join the road to Hlabisa. All around me the hills are basking in rich yellow light, in front of me the road drops in and out of sight as it follows their undulations to the horizon. Along the grass verge people are slowly making their way home, stray dogs bark lethargically at each other and minibus taxis hurtle past me, defying death for at least one more day. It is rather like one might imagine the closing scene of Mr Benn, had it been made in Africa.

It is dark as I pass out of the game park and into Hlabisa itself. A hot wind blows the occasional coke can skittering across the town’s wide, and only, street. There is a curious multi-coloured glow up ahead and as I pass the shops it resolves into a small illuminated sign strung across the road: “Happy Christmas!” And behind it another, “Welcome to Hlabis” – the “a” is broken. I grin – there are also illuminations on the lamp-posts – a multicoloured candle, Father Christmas, and most incongruously – a snowman – in this town that I cannot imagine has ever seen snow.

I turn into the hospital. The hospital has also been infected with festivity: Father Christmas and his Snowmen are strapped to the gate. The guard greets me. “Where you coming from?”

“I have been in England for my sister’s wedding.”

“Ahh! And now you are back.” He takes the obligatory and cursory look into my car boot “Happy Christmas!”

I drive on to the residences. I am an emotional smoothie: the high emotion of a family wedding, the poignancy of Dad’s absence, returning to South Africa for my final two months, the sinking feeling of being on call the weekend before Christmas. All blended together. I heave myself out of the car somewhat reluctantly and drag the suitcase (overladen with Fox’s Biscuits – like the French, South Africa has not discovered the art of biscuit making). There is the murmur of voices from Magnus’s flat. Wednesday is always our “Braai Night”. I had been intending to unpack and sleep but I will just say hello. I slip open the door and stick my head in and am greeted by cries of welcome. A plate of food is thrust into my hand, hugs and kisses are exchanged (with blokes and girls respectively. Obviously), news exchanged.

Bed later. This is my Hlabisa family and it will not last much longer.

Comments

Anonymous said…
Hey Ed. I don't know how I came accross your blog. but here i am completely taken and even writing back.believe me i've never done anything like this before. now, why am i writing back? Your blog has brought me tears of nostalgia. I live in County Wicklow in Ireland and once lived in Hlabisa hospital when my dad Dr Dennis Madide worked there. I have fond memories of Sister Dittie and her friend as well as sis Alma who coordinated crafts projects in the hospital. my first experience of schooling was in Kwa Malusi Omuhle primary school, where we used stones ans sticks to learn to count under the tree, back in the seventies. In Ireland my six year old daughter uses beads and blocks for the same purpose in a neatly arranged class room, but you know what? they call it the Montessori method over here and i have to pay through the nose in school fees for the 'priviledge'. Little do my daughter's teachers know that 35 years ago a Zulu lady teacher applied the same methods embodied in the Montessori phylosophy, out of her own initiative, and made nobody pay extra for it. Back to business:I have great respect for Western people like you who acknowledge, appreciate and respect our talents, wisdom and achievemements when they come to live and work among us Zulu people in Zululand. Enjoy your last moments in Hlabisa, and when you go to Matubatuba for your shopping, Do cast your eye to the far right , behind the shops in Nkodibe opposite Nkodibe Secondary school; You'll see an abandoned building that used to be my father's surgery. That tiny place took a lot of pressure away from Hlabisa hospital. My father dealt efficiently with minor but persistant issues such as bilharzia;ringworm; scabbies;'guava constipation' and malnutrition etc. Sadly he's four years gone now.Congrats on your sisters' wedding. couldn't view the photos though. pardomn my spelling I'm all too weepy to bother.

Take care and all the best to you in the coming year.

Thabi Madide
23 December 2007 at 15:15
Ed Moran said…
Dear Thabi,

It was wonderful to read your note. Thank you for making the effort - it meant a lot to me! When did you leave SA? Do you visit still? Your Dad sounds as if he must have been a remarkable fellow - particularly given the political climate that would have predominated at that time. I would love to hear more reminiscences! Have a wonderful Christmas and New Year.

Ed.
25 December 2007 at 20:13
Anonymous said…
Hai..ED,am Nokwe from Hlabisa,studing in Durban University of Technology,Am just happy that u had a wonderfull time in our area with a small town,i love my Hlabisa too,it a very peacefull place and ther is nothing i enjoy then coming back home during the hollidays.
5 May 2009 at 10:30
Anonymous said…
Hello Ed

I have been placed at Hlabisa hospital for my community service next year. I am feeling so nervous and have no idea what to expect... especially regarding accommodation etc.. I haven't heard the best feedback about the place from another girl who was meant to go there.. and i am currently trying to be transferred but part of me wants to go try it out... Can you offer me any advice?

my e-mail address is 14682702@sun.ac.za
Regards
Jade
21 October 2011 at 13:08
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