15TH March 2016 – the night of Sizwe Mtshali’s graduation. Thousands of hours over the course of fifteen years racing towards this moment and concluding in a law degree – magna cum laude- now met with a dead heart and a synthetic smile.
His path from this departure was indisputable. Since his matriculation it had been made clear to him by the authorities within the family that there were those who would depend upon him. Relatives far away and those inside the walls of his home had urgent needs that demanded close attention. Being the first in the family to obtain a degree, he had been crowned the blessed golden child; the child whose failures would not merely be an embarrassing disappointment but a stinging financial blow. Investments into Sizwe’s future had been made and the time to reap what was sowed had arrived. Later on that night, as he was swarmed by powerful hugs, congratulatory pats and respectful handshakes, as his mother, aunts, Gogos and sisters voices pierced the air with ululation and song, he could not resist regret; the regret of all the choices which had led him this night- a night spent in mourning of his youth.
Sitting in the grand auditorium, surrounded by beaming faces and booming smiles, his boredom devolved into a quiet rage – why could he not summon their joy? The parents were more relieved than joyful, sincerely hopeful and this was understandable. A degree was the assurance of stable income, a secure home and a well fed family. Still hung over from decades long passed, the parents present had not yet realised the ground beneath us has turned into liquid. The dreams promised by a piece of paper and the tangible reality awaiting graduates now, more than ever, seem to be irreconcilable. All of life’s goods, material and otherwise, can no longer be easily gripped and instead run through frantic hands like water.
Sizwe’s faith rested in focused action exacted by an indomitable will. That and luck but only the gambling naive relied on luck, which bowed in loyalty to none. In this simple philosophy he had usually found consolation when confronted with trouble and suffering. But in the past few months he had been losing resolve – always weary, always worried and never not tired. The serenity of his dreams ruptured by a question now always on his mind,
Is this all there is left for me in this life?
He had a disdain for such thoughts, thoughts which induced self-pity and fooled him into trying to change circumstances whose composition were beyond his control; tonight’s party would serve as a good distraction. When he arrived it was already in full swing: plenty bodies inebriated and docile long before midnight; everyone appeared to be determined to bathe their livers in liquor. Joints passed around the apartment like sticks of cotton candy. Rooms crowded with smoke as faces and voices floated amongst clouds of grey. Music so loud, aggravating tenants on the first floor of the twelve story building. Neighbours angrily knocked and bitterly hollered every twenty minutes but the land lord had been bribed and so no one cared and the volume only increased as the night dragged on.
It dragged on that is, only for Sizwe. Bored and still not drunk he laboured through it all with a jealous frown. Conversation was underwhelming, loud chatter about firms, articles and internships and monthly income and real estate and rent and utilities. Sizwe thought his ears under attack, all around bombarded by plans for the future, voices breaking under the strain of excitement and lethal amounts of vodka. “We made it!” They say said smiles wide, faces bright. Zooming in on those faces, Sizwe could easily recognize the marks of fatigue collected over years. Years of zealous study, all-nighters in libraries and computer rooms, stacks of never ending assignments ruining youthful bodies now withered by caffeine, stress relieving booze and spoonfuls of Ritalin. Past the tired faces around him, smiling as eyes sank into sockets, fear moved with vicious vitality, Never before had their lives been thrust into such deep uncertainty. Certain ties had to be severed and they would begin to know that responsibility, whose presence is pervasive, and only to be ducked by the wonderfully wealthy. As this reality appeared with more terrifying clarity, they spoke of the past with an urgency to return, their eyes running back into it, now beginning to appreciate the security provided by dependency.
Picking up a bottle of vodka and a lukewarm litre of lemonade, Sizwe took the elevator to the top of the roof. He thought it a novel place to pass out. Eventually he was joined by Mandla, friend of five years and also a top graduate.
“I don’t understand you man. Isn’t this all you’ve ever wanted these past few years? Look at us: top of our class four years straight, both our CV’s thick and polished, articles done and now internships with the best law firms in the country – what more could a guy want?” Mandla’s optimism made Sizwe slightly nauseous.
“I don’t know. It’s hard to explain but it just doesn’t feel as rewarding as I thought it would be”
Inhaling deeply on his cigarette, Mandla looked at the dark sky, cloaked in stars and tried to restrain his bewilderment,
“I’ve never heard you talk like this before”
Sizwe chewed on his thoughts for a moment and then,
“Something happened halfway during the degree…”
“Halfway?”
“Even before that honestly. Everything became dry and disappointing, you know? I go through days on campus or in the dorm always doing what needs to be done or at least what I’m told I should be doing”
“But you love the law?”
“Bullshit. You love the law; I just manage through it well enough. I don’t even know what I enjoy doing anymore. When I do have spare time I freak out, as in, what do I do with it? I feel like all I’ve become is an extension of my degree. And what’s really shit, really unbearable is that it won’t get better, nope, not if I continue where I’m going”
Unaccustomed to hearing Sizwe speak with emotions unrestrained, Mandla struggled to hear what he was actually saying and this forced him to question their friendship.
“I get it, you’re worried about the future, its making you question some important stuff and you’re stressed out but it’s not all work, work, work. There’s relief in times and nights like these.
Sizwe cynically chuckled, “this ain’t worth much” he said pointing down to the party below them.
“I mean yes, it feels good now but the night always ends. The bottles run empty and everyone leaves. Then you wake up knowing it’s all gone, not remembering most of what happened and those awesome feelings, physical feelings, that won’t ever come back. Now you gotta deal with all that’s being thrown at you, sober as a nun. There has to be more man, it can’t just be working our asses off, getting lit on weekends and sex with strangers”
“You’re being melodramatic. It isn’t just fucks with pretty strangers; there’s friends and family and –
“When and with what time? Our parents barely get time to see us, I mean they can’t even claim they raised us and who can blame them? It’s hard to keep it all together; if it isn’t putting food on the table it’s paying the rent or sorting out the mortgage or paying off school fees. And friends? We’re all gonna be too busy trying to make senior partner to give a shit about friendship. Besides the occasional dinner or night out, most of it won’t mean much” The air between them grew cold.
“Then why did you get into this stuff in the first place? No one is forcing you to be here”
“You know it isn’t that simple, people are gonna start relying on me. I had to follow the cash and maybe –maybe- I’d find ease knowing I was doing important work you know? But it isn’t anything special besides litigation for the rich”
“Well then what do you want? Not everyone’s cut out for the social justice gig – the world needs people like us and it just so happens that it pays really well. I don’t see what there is to complain about” Mandla’s frustrations made Sizwe feel small and his complaints childish.
“I don’t know what I want. I haven’t known in a long time and I’ve wasted so much. I don’t want to die having wasted all of this, being scared of so much”
Maybe he was being melodramatic and maybe what he felt and thought would pass along with the conclusion of this season of his life. Still those thoughts crept into his mind, devouring any and all optimism for the future and now hope too had become elusive, always annoyingly beyond his reach. 12 floors huh? That would get it done. The vision of his ideal self had become a dim childhood memory. Dreams of his future, prosperous and to be enjoyed with a content smile, had become irreversibly foggy blotches nearly beyond recognition.a
He needed to think, to suspend himself from reality and work out what had been possessing him for the past two years. Neither his parents had understand the depth and gravity of what he felt but they would think relaxing in Durban for a week or so would be a well-deserved break. They sensed his distress – it was in the blood shot eyes, the fidgety fingers and sweaty palm, the bouts of late night vomiting he thought they couldn’t hear and the complaints about his back or sudden migraines.
Driving from King Shaka Zulu International Airport, he was calmed by the distant sound of waves dancing on the shores and the smell of sea salt swimming in the air.
End of Part 1
Born Free Blues 