conversations

"My mother was a princess in her tribe," E. says. E is a greying lecturer, his car long consigned to the garage. A teacher's paltry pay won't get it going.

When he and his brothers were born, they were 'princes', set apart, treated as royalty.

"Even now, if I go back to my rural home, the people will clear the way for me. 'Here, this one is a prince,' they say. 'He must sit next to the chief'."

..........

Mai D's son has finally paid his lobola (bride price). Six of the bride's relatives came to her house last week. ("I told my son, I don't know what I am going to feed them. There isn't even a dollar in the house..."). Mai D's grown daughter was there too, to receive them. "That's important in our culture," she tells me. "The sister of the man must be there." All that's left to pay now is a 'fridge and some blankets. The son's been granted time to find those things.

You must be happy, I say. Mai D had worried the prospective in-laws would set lobola too high: the girl was educated at a South African university (that could have put the price up).

"I am," she says. "My son has done the right thing. He has not run away with someone's child."

"Soon we will have a wedding."