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6.4.
Autoethnography Part 8.
A community of brothers. Gqeberha,1999 He clenches his fists at his sides, his heartbeat quickening. The hands on his shoulders hold him back; unnecessary although unknown to the person holding him. He abhors the violence in which he knows he will be involved. Across him, another boy his age mirrors him, fists clenched, fear in his eyes. A man standing beside the two speaks. “If you cannot decide who is going to go to the shop, you will have to do it the other way. You have to learn how to compromise and reach agreements or have the courage to stand behind your decision.” Most people would be surprised at who would walk the 100m to buy a loaf of bread when the conflict was over, yet in the world of manhood in Xhosa culture, those who are younger in their journey in manhood are those who are sent on errands. “Why are you angry? Why are you scared? You both chose this.” The man continues. The man behind me moves his right hand off my shoulder, pointing it at the boy in front of me. “He refused to compromise, to do his duty, and chose violence. You chose to hold your ground and not let him bully you. Now you must fight. Remember. You do not hit the face, do not bite, do not use weapons, and you wrestle.” The winner would not be decided by who pins who, but by some other method. The three men surrounding us used a method to determine the winner that we kids did not understand. The men moved the other kids out the way. An aunt of ours sits by the front door watching in silence. “Now, you fight.” The man declares. The fight did not last long. The kid I was wrestling was a year older than I was and heavier besides. We fought the minute they let us go. We were animals forced to learn control. He made the mistake of holding my arm behind my back, pain lancing up my shoulder. I reacted immediately, shooting my head backwards and hitting his left eye. He screamed and let go. I was pinned to the floor a few seconds later, a knee on my back. “No hitting the face. You, hold him.” One of the boy’s friends came to hold me. The man went to the other two and talked for a minute, walking back to me afterwards and nodding his head. “You are both sitting next to each other and watching everyone else play.” He pointed at me. “You still fight with anger and fear. Control your emotions.” He pointed at my foe. “You chose violence when you should have fulfilled your obligation. You are still a child using your fists to solve problems.” He leaned against the fence. “No soccer, and no TV. You will sit and watch them play soccer until I tell you. You are brothers. We all are. And you will learn to act and treat each other properly,” said the man.
