Jamie James

Jamie James

and the Curse of the Ancestors

Roy Aronson

I dedicate this book to the men in my life;

Jamie James honours you all.

Jack Aronson, my father, was born on 28 May 1915

and died on 21 October 1978.

Duncan Compton-James, my father-in-law,

was born on 18 October 1927 and died on 18 May 2009.

My son, Jamie Daniel Aronson,

was born on 19 October 1998.

—RA

Contents

1 – Instructions from the past

2 – Meeting Mafutah

3 – People at work

4 – Calm under pressure

5 – Night shift

6 – Savannah goes home

7 – Condition scoring

8 – Friday night at the braai

9 – The sangoma

10 – Listen with your heart

11 – Painted dogs

12 – Roll on Friday

13 – TGIF

14 – The iron smelter

15 – A conclave of ancestors

16 – Back to the present

17 – Elephants

18 – Ancestors

19 – Judgment night

20 – Homecoming

21 – The celebration

22 – The curse

1

Instructions from the past

In a dream I saw my father riding a horse early in the morning. He seemed to be inspecting his lands. Suddenly a snake appeared and struck at the horse. The horse reared, and my father was thrown off its back.

Before my father hit the ground, I woke up.

My heart was hammering in my chest, and I was sweating all over. This was the same damn dream I’d had countless times, but it still left me terrified. I just lay there, the sheets thrown off my soaked body, waiting for my nerves to settle.

It was Saturday morning, so there was no school today. I got out of bed, stumbled to the bathroom and looked into the mirror. The face that stared back at me was so much like my father’s, the same wide-set brown eyes and thick, dark-brown eyebrows.

I was born sixteen years ago as Jamie-Daniel James, but right from the start everybody called me Jamie. My parents then lived in the suburbs near the mountains in Cape Town, and my early years were happy ones. Sadly, my mom passed away three years ago and that left my dad and me very much on our own. He never really got over her death, but right now he was doing fine.

Me? I guess I was okay too.

I had just finished my exams and was about to start the December holidays. I was pretty sure I had passed grade ten; I just didn’t know how well I’d done. I was usually in the top ten of my class.

I dressed and quietly went into the kitchen to make some toast and coffee without waking my father. Today was going to be an unusual day. A friend of mine from school, Vuyo Smuts Washington Ntobela (his name was as colourful as his character), had made an appointment for both of us with a sangoma. Vuyo had been to a sangoma in Polekwane before, and said it was an amazing experience. I didn’t know of anyone else who’d been, but I’d decided to trust Vuyo’s judgment.

I was excited to meet this special man. Maybe it was because I felt a kinship with my ancestors, and I’d read that ancestral communication was something these people were trained in.

Our appointment was for ten o’clock. You never could tell, maybe this man would give me some useful information. I had some difficult decisions to make and help would be welcome.

A push in one direction or the other might help me decide where I would end up spending my school vacation.

I’d been thinking about becoming a vet. I’d spent many happy hours at our local vet in Cape Town, cleaning cages and taking the in patients for walks when they were well enough. I’d even been asked to assist in some after-hour emergencies.

What I really wanted was to become a wildlife vet. I’d seen plenty of TV documentaries about their work, and it looked like something I’d really love to do. I’d already applied to five vets, three in the north-east of South Africa, near the large game reserves, one in the Western Cape, and one in the Eastern Cape. Three of them had offered me a job.

I knew I needed to make some sort of commitment soon, and I was feeling the pressure. My hope was that the sangoma would help me choose the right one.

Vuyo and I caught the bus to the city centre, and from there we got onto another bus that headed out of town. The sangoma lived in one of the African townships on the outskirts of Cape Town, and the bus dropped us off at a stop close to where he lived.

We had to walk the rest of the way. I had to admit that we were a little nervous about the outcome of our visit and the fact that we were not sure about the directions the sangoma had given us.

After a bit of wandering around without any luck, we realised we’d better ask someone for directions or we might miss our appointment. With an anxious swallow, I decided to approach a group of young black men standing on a street corner.

When I asked whether we were going in the right direction, one of them said in a hostile tone: What do you want with a sangoma?

I told him that we had an appointment with him.

The young man paused and then said something in Xhosa to his friends. My heart started beating faster.

He turned to us and laughed. It can be dangerous for mlungus to walk around here. You should be more careful. He then pointed down the street to a nearby door.

I was embarrassed that we were so close and that I was so nervous about asking them for help, but this was nothing compared to what I felt a minute later when we knocked on the sangoma’s door.

A young man, not much older than us, opened the door. He asked for our names and then looked in his diary. We were expected and on time. He showed us in and motioned for us to take a seat in the entrance hall. He said that he was an apprentice, and that he would call us when the sangoma was ready to receive us.

Vuyo and I walked into the room feeling tense and intimidated. We sat and waited in silence, each of us wrapped in his own thoughts. Within a few minutes the apprentice returned and showed us in to where the sangoma would meet with us.

The room was dimly lit and it took a while for our eyes to adjust to the gloom. I looked around and noticed that there were shelves covering the walls. On them were glass bottles of all sizes. Some were filled with what looked like plants; others contained insects in some kind of liquid.

Suddenly and unannounced, the sangoma entered the room. He walked over to an animal skin that lay on the floor, sat down and gestured to us to sit in front of him. He was a large man, probably my father’s age, and he was wearing a leopard skin loincloth and leather sandals.

Strips of leopard skin were wrapped around his ankles and wrists, and on his bare chest was a breastplate of porcupine quills threaded together, and hanging from just below his neck to his navel. On his head he wore a headdress covered with black eagle and peacock feathers, pieces of leopard skin, and what looked like the paw of a hyena.

The tension I’d felt when we entered the house was mounting, and I sneaked a glance at Vuyo. He also looked very tense. My palms were clammy and I could feel the sweat running down my armpits and chest.

The sangoma stared at us with piercing black eyes for what seemed like ages. Then he asked in a deep voice: What brings you young men here to me this day?

Before we could say anything, he raised his hands to silence us. I do not need your answers. I will give you the answers. Sit quietly while I burn my mpepoh and consult with the bones.

The sangoma pulled out what looked like a roll of herbs from the skin pouch tied around his waist. He lit one end and it began to billow with fragrant smoke. He waved the smoking bundle of herbs around his head and in front of our faces.

The room was suddenly filled with smoke, and the sangoma inhaled deeply. In my panicked state I too took a big swig of the fragrant smoke. It seemed to calm me a bit. He then reached into his pouch again, took out a leather purse and emptied its contents on the floor in front of us.

I could see that they were the bones and teeth of animals, but before I could try to identify them, the sangoma had started chanting. While shuffling the bones and teeth with his hands, a constant stream of words that I didn’t understand, came pouring from his mouth.

He turned to me and pointed his right hand finger at my chest. Hau, young mlungu, he said, "there is a great weight on your shoulders. I see death and destruction that has endured for many years. Your ancestors are twazaing you all the time. They pluck at your shirtsleeves to get your attention. I see a darkness that happened many moons ago and that darkness endures.

"You must go on a journey soon. You will work with Ndlovu the elephant and Mbejane the rhinoceros and Ngonyama the lion, and other animals of the African plains. I see you travelling to a town on the south western border of the Kruger National Park, the town you call Nelspruit.

When you are there, working with the animals, you will meet a young warrior. He will take you to a powerful sangoma, the Wise One, who will help you with a very important quest. That is all I can tell you. Do not ask for more. There is no more.

I just sat there and stared at the sangoma in disbelief. How on earth did he know all these things about me? How could he possibly know that one of the vets who had accepted my application was based in Nelspruit?

Sitting in that smoky room with the bones and teeth scattered on the floor, I realised that I had been leaning towards Nelspruit all along. What made it all the more strange and exciting was the sangoma’s mention of meeting a warrior and a Wise One, and going on a quest.

The sangoma then did a reading for Vuyo, but I was so taken up with what he had told me that I didn’t pay attention. When they were done, I watched in a daze as the sangoma stubbed out the glowing embers of the herbs, gathered the bones and teeth, put them back in his purse, and then walked out of the room.

The apprentice came in carrying a small wooden bowl. He said that only we would know the value of the information that had been given to us, and that we had to put in the bowl an offering that was equal in value to that information. Anything less, he warned us, would be an insult to the ancestors.

Without hesitation, I emptied the contents of my wallet into the bowl, saving just enough money for the bus fare home. The apprentice then placed the bowl on a small altar in the corner of the room and lit a candle. He asked the ancestors present in the room to bless the gifts. Then he motioned us to follow him out.

Outside, our eyes were blinded by the noonday sun. We had been in the sangoma’s dark room for nearly two hours, but it felt like an entire day had passed.

I was now quite certain that my fate had been sealed. I was going to Nelspruit to work for a wildlife vet I’d never met, and if a warrior and a Wise One and a quest were waiting there for me as well, I was ready.

Or so I thought.

2

Meeting Mafutah

After our meeting with the sangoma that Saturday morning, I contacted the vet in Nelspruit. His name was Doctor Roger Ashman, a man whose reputation within the wildlife community was awesome. I told him that I wanted the job, and he asked me to e-mail him my travel plans.

When school finally closed for the December holidays – with my dad’s help and encouragement – I flew to Johannesburg, then caught the bus to Nelspruit. Dr Ashman had been kind enough to arrange accommodation for me near the vet practice. I was going to be there for four weeks, and I was determined to make every minute count.

The first time I met Dr Ashman he was in his office doing some paperwork. I introduced myself politely, and he came around his desk to shake my hand. He wasn’t all that tall, but he had strong shoulders and a healthy tan. The one thing we had in common was the cleft in our chins. I figured it was a sign that I had come to the right place.

With the formalities out of the way, Dr Ashman showed me around and gave me a tour of the surgery. In addition to treating wildlife animals, we also treat small animals and pets at an animal hospital attached to the rest of the compound, he explained.

It was obvious that this was a well-equipped practice, run by someone with a keen eye for detail. I knew there and then that I had better keep myself organised if I wanted to succeed there.

While we were walking around the grounds, Dr Ashman asked me about my favourite subjects and sports at school. I told him that apart from rugby, I was especially keen on golf, and he said: Well then, we’d better book a game as soon as we have some free time. I play as often as I can, which is to say not much.

We ended up in the staff’s social room where he poured me a cup of coffee and gave me some ground rules about working in the practice.

The animals always come first, Jamie, he said. Besides that, punctuality, cleanliness and attention to detail are really important to me. If you start cultivating some of these habits, I bet you’ll make a pretty good vet one day.

He also told me about what to expect of the following day. He had to attend to a very interesting case at a private reserve on the western border of the park; one that involved an elephant bull that for some mysterious reason was becoming increasingly aggressive.

Normally, Dr Ashman explained, elephant bulls become dangerous during the breeding season, which is also called musth. But Mafutah (the Fat One) wasn’t in musth and was behaving strangely nonetheless.

The usually tranquil elephant had been mock charging vehicles of tourists, breaking down some of the pole fences near the lodge, and venting his spleen on a large tree near the