kagablog

1. You are a journalist as well as a fiction writer. Do you find that the two kinds of writing are different? Do they complement each other or not?

The imagined world of fiction tends to render itself in powerful imagery and colourful language … whereas dealing with dry facts can be intimidating, as the writer is wary of exaggeration. So, writing fiction can be a pleasure in that it opens a new world of images that you had never thought you would be able to enter, to delve into. Fictional language is liberating, entertaining to the writer. Because I am a full-time journalist, the experience of writing Bitches’ Brew, which I completed in a period of just over a year, was an experience touched by many contradictions. I would leave my newspaper office drained, tired … only to be reminded when I got home that I had to get ready for the fictional world of Bitches’ Brew. Sometimes it was inspiring, as it helped me forget the world of daily journalism; it offered me a necessary respite. But sometimes it was way too challenging to get out the world of non-fiction and journalism into that paradise of fiction writing. But by and large, I have found over many years of writing both fiction and non-fiction that the genres can sometimes complement each other. While writing Bitches’ Brew I found that when I got stuck I could always go back to Touch My Blood, which was in its umpteenth draft. The books were written almost concurrently.

2. In the concluding pages of Touch my Blood you describe a typical family get-together in 2005 when you gently reproach your mom for working too hard, and this sentence jumps out at me: “I tell her to sit down now and let her daughters do the serving.” Well, what about her sons (including you) doing the serving for a change?

There is an allocation of duties where I come from. Being the eldest, I was taught at a young age how to cook and clean the house. But when my sisters grew up, the skills were transferred to them – giving me a respite. Then I graduated to “manly” duties – chopping wood, collecting coal from the traders, and buying groceries. In the particular instance that you refer to in the book, the boys (men) had already done their duties. We had bought all the provisions needed for the umcimbi (function) – things like flour, maize meal, wood, coal (for the open fire) – and we had collected the huge Zulu black pots from relatives. But most importantly, we had also slaughtered the beast. Now it was time for the women to “come to the party”, so to speak.

3. At one point you tell us that after qualifying as a journalist you were more comfortable writing in English than in Zulu. Please elaborate.

This is a contradiction, I admit. English is my second language, Zulu my first. In the 12 years I spent at school, Zulu as a medium of instruction featured prominently, as the school that I went to was a typical Bantu Education school, where teachers were generally ill-trained. Some of them who taught us subjects like Business Economics and Biology could hardly express themselves in English, so they would translate English concepts that were found in the textbooks into Zulu. This then posed a problem for the pupils as they had to write their exams in English at the end of the year. That was the tragedy of Bantu Education. Which is why many black people of my generation who went to the same kind of schools are still not adept at expressing themselves eloquently in English. There were, of course, exceptions – people who went the extra mile in teaching themselves English in their own time, through continual reading and writing for pleasure. I was one of those. As fate would have it, the technikon at which I studied journalism was predominantly white. Those days black students had to obtain a special permit from the minister of education in order to be admitted to technikons and universities not designated for their race. In the three years I spent at technikon our studies were in English, our conceptualisation of news values was in English. Our reporting was in English. By the time we graduated, many of us who were first-language Zulu speakers struggled to “translate” the concept of news values into Zulu. When I started making forays into creative writing, therefore, English became the tool I found most effective and “easier” to resort to. Also, the market for Zulu writing was limited, so as a youngster who wanted to be published, one tended to resort to English – there was a plethora of English language publications looking for fresh voices in English: Drum, Bona, Pace, Tribute and, incidentally, Staffrider, which you edited at that time and which was one of the first publications to publish my short stories and poems. But in the rage of my growing up as a writer I gradually moved towards Zulu as my other weapon in my literary arsenal. Today I write fluently and competently in both languages – be it a piece of journalism, an essay or work of fiction. Among other projects, I am in the process of translating Touch My Blood into Zulu.

4. You call Touch my blood your personal Truth and Reconciliation Commission. In the book you recount some very harrowing stories regarding the conflict between the United Democratic Front and Inkatha in the turbulent eighties, including being personally sjambokked by Inkatha supporters. Have you forgiven your assailants? Have any of them read your book? If so, how have they reacted to it?

I regard Touch My Blood as my personal Truth and Reconciliation Commission because in it, and through it, I have found a platform through which I can effect a reconciliation between the many personas that reside in this entity called Fred Khumalo. I have done things in the past which I am now ashamed of. Through the book I am taking stock of those misdemeanours. But I am also reflecting on “the struggle” and how it impacted on people of my generation from both sides of the political divide. Ever since the publication of the book I have, of course, received accolades from people I grew up with. Those who have been forthcoming with their comments, however, come from my neck of the woods. Not one of my erstwhile adversaries has come forward and contradicted what I have to say in the book. However, I recall being interviewed on SABC when a woman from my province phoned in and said Touch My Blood was anti-Inkatha propaganda. She obviously hadn’t read the book, but was basing her criticism on some of my utterances during the interview. Yes, I have forgiven my assailants. In fact, I have been to drinking places where people from both sides of the political divide in my township have broken bread together, laughing about the bad old days and making self-deprecating remarks about how they had been used by the politicians who wanted to fulfil their own narrow political agendas.

5. You mentioned that you have been commissioned to write a biography of Jacob Zuma. Have there been any interesting reactions to this project and how is it proceeding?

Yes, I have been commissioned to write a biography of Jacob Zuma. Let me first point out that is unauthorised. As a result, I have been having a torrid time getting access to him – especially when his rape and corruption cases got underway. I have therefore been using stuff from my previous talks with him, but have also been doing extensive interviews with people who were with him on Robben Island, people who were with him in Mozambique, people who were with him in London, and, very crucially, people who knew him as a kid. It’s tough going, but I am writing the book. People have been encouraging, saying that the Zuma story has to be told so that the nation can know who this man is, what makes him tick, how he got to where he is … Yes, it’s the most difficult piece of writing I have ever committed myself to … but it has to be done.

this interview first appeared on litnet