by Olwethu Mxoli

On Saturday afternoon
after the washing has been hung
and our clothes damp-stained
with its constant carrying back and forth
we sit on grandmother’s stoep
the sun warming my scalp
as my cousin cuts neat rows through my hair
with the tail of the comb
she lays a path for the hair food
and gossips about the neighbourhood

before us the street hums
with the business of the weekend
the girls play uskodgi in the road
the boys chase their soccer ball
the one they made with wet newspaper and old plastic bags
and bhut’ Stera in his bare-chested glory
drags his large speakers
out onto the stoep as he sweeps the week
out of his backroom
and washes his white All Stars
for the evening’s stroll into the midnight

uSdodo is already drunk
and speaks George’s English
and the kids laugh and call him ugly
‘ingathi yinto yokoyikisa abantwana’ they yell at his back
and laugh when he curses them

it is a rite of passage to be chased by uSdodo
to steal unripe peaches from Mlungwana’s trees
to get your ball gutted by Thulani’s grandmother
or to sit on a stoep
calamine-faced in a political t-shirt
and gossip with your cousin
while she bases your hair
pulling tightly at the scalp
until your forehead gleams with her labour

it is Saturday
and the township is bathed in the soft gold of nostalgia