When Two Elephants Fight

Part 2,Life at the Khosas

I started getting used to life at Mr Khosa's. He said l should feel like home so l was trying by every means to feel like it. After all living there had plenty of benefits. For starters l was now living nearer to school and l could go home for lunch and will be back before the bell rings. He also bought me a new set of school uniform and he was always there for parents meetings. Such meetings were never my mother's kind of things and she never came even if she had the time. I now had someone  to cheer me on on prize giving days. Mr Khosa would clap loudly and reward me with a present whenever l went to collect my prize. I started  to feel normal. I had never experienced such a feeling in my life but l liked how l felt. I mean having a father to cheer you on at school. Someone who comes to look for me saying I was his child, someone to sign my report cards and report to school whenever a parent is needed there. I felt happy that things turned the way they did. Now l understood why God kept queit when l asked him to stop the disaster so l started talking to Him again. I even asked for forgiveness for ever doubting Him.
The only problem l had with the whole situation was when people at school started calling me Tracy Khosa. I didn't like it at all. Yes l felt that Mr Khosa was good to me and all but the truth was he wasn't my father. I didn't have anything to my name except for my own name and surname. Even though my father didn't want me but my surname is one thing l took from him naturally. After all l am a Moyo by blood so being called a Khosa was just plain insulting to me.
There was this day when we were having general work in the school grounds. My classmates started calling me Khosa Khosa and l got mad that l shouted, " l am not a Khosa!!". Just then Mr Sithole came by. You remember him right? That old bastard who embarrassed me in grade six. Yes my grade six teacher who made that nasty revelation about my father. He stepped closer and said, " If you are not a Khosa so who are you?" I just lowered my eyes and looked down. I knew that whenever this man is involved, then l had to brace my self for the worst. I was digging at the ground with my toes because l was bare footed. I had removed my shoes so that they wouldn't get dirty during the general cleaning. " You are practically a Khosa because he is the one raising you. You live at his home, eat his food and he also clothes you so what does that make him? He is performing all the duties that your father ran away from so he is now officially your father because he is the one fathering you. Fathering someone is not only determined by blood but what you contribute in raising that child. So in your case here Mr Khosa is more of a father to you than your own father whom you do no even know". When he said "whom you do not even know" I was at least happy that the headmaster was discreet enough not to tell anyone about my ugly reunion with my father. But l couldn't get any happier because what Mr Sithole said was like a sharp sword cutting through my heart. To top it off he did it infront of my classmates. The old beagle really knew how to ruin anyone's mood. You would swear he went to college to learn  about poking his nose in other people's businesses. I wish Mr Shumba, my current teacher by then, would have given Mr Sithole lessons on minding his own business. Mr Shumba was my current teacher when l moved to Mr Khosa's place, at times he would be present when other kids called me Tracy Khosa but he never bothered to butt in. If anything he always lives his life like he never exists or like he is the only person on earth. I liked him for that. He was my role model. On the other hand Mr Sithole always made sure he embarrass me whenever he got the chance. I thought when l finished grade six l was done with him but seems like l was deceiving myself. I hated him for always interfering in my life. And l hated him more because all of the things he said were nothing other than the truth. He always had a way of unearthing the truth l always tried hard to ignore. Or should l say the truth l was never prepared to hear. Though what he said was true anyway l didn't want to accept it. Yes Mr Khosa was doing all of my father's work but l couldn't keep on receiving from him that l even had to take his last name. That last name was the only thing that l had left and throwing it out was like throwing away my identity. I have never met any of the Moyos besides my father but deep down l was a proud Moyo. Wether l lived with him or not l was still a Moyo or should l say an abandoned calf. Just because the calf is abandoned and ended up being raised among goats doesn't make it a goat too. Thats what l always told myself.
Ever since Mr Sithole made that second public humiliation for me l became every learner's target. Even the grade 3s ended up calling me Khosa. The more they did, the more agitated l was. I wanted to be calm but I always lost my temper giving my bullies more strength to continue bullying me.

At home the issue of identity also became a problem especially when Mr Khosa's relatives visited. I was proud to be a Moyo but I always feel out of place whenever they visited. Mr Khosa was of the Dube totem. The zebra was their totem and they call each other with clan names. The boys were always called Dube and the females MaDuve. Even little Takudzwa was called by such a huge name. Whenever he cries especially when aunty Eliza visits she would say, "come here Dube, who has dared to upset my great Dube the only beautiful ones in the jungle?". The Dubes believe that they are the prettiest in the jungle since  their totem is the zebra. Even Spiwe was also called Maduve. I was always envious whenever she was called that. She wasnt even pretty but they praised her with clan names calling her Maduve, Manjenjenje. I must say l was a bit jelous. At times l wished l was staying amongst my own people so that l will also be called Mamoyo which is my clan name. Aunty Eliza was Mr Khosa's only sister and they were very close. They were only three in their family. There was Mr Khosa, aunt Eliza who was married in the neighboring village, and uncle Petros who lived in the town with his family. Uncle Petros once visited with his wife when they heard about my mother's marriage to Mr Khosa. He seemed like a pretty good person but his wife wasn't that great. She was always on my mother's neck criticizing whatever my mother does be it cooking, sweeping, how she arranged her kitchen stuff and even how she eats. She really annoyed the hell out of me. I almost told her where to get off but l didn't want to cause a scene. I didn't want to embarrass Mr Khosa also or listen to a lecture from him on how children should respect elders. Aunty Eliza was very loving and caring towards her brother's children and she loved my mother too. But the problem was that she never seemed to like me. I once overheard her asking my mother why she can't just send me to my father. I didn't wait to hear any more of the conversation but since l was still not at my father's place, l guess my mother objected.