Six years ago, I had to face my biggest fear. The fear in question? Limpopo. Limpopo is the northern province of South Africa (Wikipedia), riddled with myths that even Greek mythology cannot compare with. Just before COVID-19 restrictions confined everyone to their homes, my mother had asked that I travel from Soweto (Gauteng) to Nkomo to connect with her paternal family. 2019 was my gap year from life, so the opportunity was snatched happily. As soon as I got on the 5-hour taxi drive, the childhood jokes laced with exaggerated narratives about Limpopo started creeping in, “WHAT IF THEY TURN YOU INTO A TOKOLOSHI?” The thought invaded my mind mercilessly. Similar thoughts circled around my head until I zoned out.
Although my fear of tokoloshes and everything that preceded me about Limpopo could be attributed to the misconceptions I never outgrew as I got into my adulthood, it also highlights observations by Tateo (2015) and Zittoun (2015) where it was noted that historical and cultural traditions across the world are rich with narratives of supernatural influences on human life, with mythical creatures terrorizing and haunting human condition. The belief in tokoloshes is directly linked to believing in witchcraft (Sabam-Twalo & Ally, 102). My crippling fear of Limpopo was heightened by the fact that for so long, I had lived my life acknowledging the supernatural power possessed by those who practice witchcraft. For people in South Africa, the concept of a tokoloshi is as normal as a toddler saying mama a thousand times each day. This point was well articulated by Nel (11), when he noted that tokoloshes are acknowledged in the daily rituals and practices of contemporary South Africans. Tokoloshes are understood to be supernatural cultural figures similar to goblins believed to be night terrorizers who happen to be hairy, short in height and stout (Sibam-Twalo & Ally, 102).
When I woke up and the wheels rounded closer to Nkomo, I was amused by how green the land was. Mangoes were glistening in their different variations, bananas were looking scrumptious and avocados were ready to be picked. I could not believe how one province was so fertile that so many fruits were showing off their beauty. Unoccupied land gave a fresh breeze from the open window blowing fast-blowing wind in my face. I had short hair, so the wind was just pumping my cheeks boyishly…
The use of imagery in the essay piece makes it possible to linguistically draw a vivid picture of Nkomo village, which helps “activate [readers’] sense organs and perceive the message as intended by [… the writer]” (Paudyal, 114). For a place that is not well represented and known by readers, the use of imagery allows the reader to take the trip with the narrator, taking in the views as she does too. The choice to write about a group in South Africa that is usually marginalized, especially from a perspective of a visitor is quite symbolic. The stance allows the reader to deduce that observations made will not be made from a perspective of an expert on the topic. By opening up room for the marginalized province to be centre stage in the piece, an interest might be piqued, and an advocacy for difference and understanding allow the voices, images and self-representations of marginalized people to have room in the literature canon (Carilli). The entire experience taught me exactly why it is so vital to have different representations in literature and media. We fear what we do not know. We distort it to suit us.
My focus on the contrast between my expectation and the reality that had awaited me at Nkomo touch on a very sensitive topic; othering. Othering is defined as “various constructed notions of (non-)belonging and difference that engender marginality and structural inequality” (Akbulut & Razum, 1). The concept of othering made me realize that although I was aware that the province is in South Africa, I had already rendered the province and the people so different and isolated from the rest of the country. As far as I knew, the people from the province did not belong to South Africa the same way everyone else belonged to it. This internal alienation, however, was quickly contradicted by the physical reality that stood before me. As soon as the taxi left me at the bus stop, a contradictory reality kicked in. The Limpopo I found myself standing in was not the one that had preceded me mentally. Although there were gravel roads and the expected rural aesthetic, the houses were beautiful, the kids were buzzing with childhood excitement and nothing seemed sinister about the village…
The plot twist of the shape shifter being on night patrol of ensuring community windows is not only offers comic relief, but acts as a tool to possibly dismiss any unwanted views that could have been gathered by reading the essay piece.
Reference List
Akbulut, Nurcan, and Oliver Razum. “Why Othering should be considered in research on health inequalities: Theoretical perspectives and research needs.” SSM-population health 20 (2022): 101286.
Carilli, Theresa. “Marginalized voices in the global media dialogue.” Oxford research encyclopedia of communication. 2021.
Homa Nath Sharma Paudyal. Department of English, Prithvi Narayan Campus, Pokhara, Nepal.
Nel, Darryl Stephen. The Tokoloshe and cultural identity in post‐apartheid South Africa. PhD thesis. SOAS University of London, 2018. (link unavailable)
Sibam-Twalo, Zimkhitha, and Yaseen Ally. “I will not Lie to You. The Tokoloshe Exists”: Mythical Creatures and Their Influence on Mental Health Amongst A Sample of Amaxhosa in the Eastern Cape, South Africa.” Indilinga African Journal of Indigenous Knowledge Systems 21.1 (2022): 102-118.
Tateo, L. “The Psychological Imagination.” University of Sao Paulo’s Psychology Institute, vol. 27, no. 2, 2016, pp. 229-233.
Zittoun, T. Social Relations and The Use of Symbolic Resources in Learning and Development. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015.
As someone from a multiracial and multicultural country and family, I have a number of identities tied to different places. Six years ago, in the midst of COVID-19 and what I like to call my “20’s crisis”, I found myself being ‘called’ to Limpopo, one of South Africa’s nine provinces. Limpopo is the fifth largest province in South Africa, and the most fertile province of the country! The province is home to my mother’s paternal family. Growing up in the townships of Soweto, Limpopo was always painted in a dim light open to be interpreted in all devilish ways. For some odd reason, it always felt like a province detached from the rest of the country, almost like a mythical place with mind-boggling stories that summoned fear. Just like Africa is usually presented as one homogeneous country, Limpopo and its diverse cultures from housing 3 of the official languages were treated as one lump province. So, even as a young woman in her 20s, my presumptions about the province preceded me and wrote stories I could not put into words when I was a little girl hearing about it from fear-mongering peers.
The first few nights at my aunt’s rural mansion were met with unease and hallucinations that kept me up. The experiences from my childhood fed my hallucinations and instead of aggravating my family with my ill-informed misconceptions about the village, I found solace in writing. Towns like Thohoyandou, Giyani and Polokwane had architecture that fit well into the South African glove, while maintaining the rich heritage and cultures associated with each language group. Being in Limpopo gave me access to Tshivenda, Xitsonga and different dialects of Sepedi. All these were languages that were ‘censored’ and ‘othered’ in Gauteng. Suddenly, it became clear that the myths I had held on to had blinded me from the beauty of the diversity that came from my mother’s province! That calling to visit Limpopo allowed me to rewrite my assumptions about the province, the people, the way of life and the myths I had held on to for years (which I explore in other pieces I wrote after that period). More than anything, being in rural Limpopo opened up a space to tap into a genre of creative writing that I find fascinating; paranormal and supernatural fiction.
Historical context
During the Apartheid regime, South Africa had homelands and these have continued to experience slow development. Limpopo, being the ‘Province of the North’ and the pathway to countries that are still in the toddling stages of development, found itself being isolated and left to fend for itself. Because of this, the people from the province are usually seen from ‘distant’ lenses. Corruption from government-appointed officials also means that the provincial advancement trickles slowly compared to other well-governed provinces. Again, what is not understood and known is at a risk of being distorted to suit certain narratives. For the longest time, Limpopo has been marked by astonishingly high accusations of witchcraft. Although it is a fact that not everyone believes in witchcraft, some people still attribute their misfortune to witchcraft. During my visit at Nkomo village, my family and I would spend nights around bonfires, sharing stories. When my mother’s cousin told a story about how some families were driven off to marginalized and isolated villages on suspicion of witchcraft, it dawned on me that accusations of witchcraft had far more damning effects beyond misconceptions and negative attitudes; it actually had the capacity to ruin the livelihoods of families.
In 2019, Sunday Times had published an article explaining how a village named Helena was a dumping ground for families ostracized for practicing traditional healing and being suspected of witchcraft. Another online article published by Health-e News in 2022 highlighted the stigma faced by surviving members of people who are murdered by communities on account of witchcraft. Years later, numbers of witchcraft related killings have decreased but have not completely disappeared. By writing this piece, I rewrote what I would have earlier dismissed as witchcraft to be paranormal activity, which could even be debated to be hallucinations. The fact that the lady of the night had only come to warn the narrator to keep her windows closed at night creates a witty mood for a crazy situation.
Literary context
I find reading horror, paranormal and supernatural fiction quite thrilling. Anthony Horowitz’s short story Scared; Nnedi Okorafor’s Who Fears Death? and Zondiwe Manganye’s One Last Dance with the Devil are some of the thrilling reads that opened up a portal of creativity in me. Through these writers’ pieces, I got dared to try writing pieces that are out of my niche. It is out of engaging with these writer’s pieces that I too realized that I could go beyond writing normal fiction and tapped into challenging genres. My writing process is not really structured. I usually just need a prompt and a clue of what I would like a story to be about, then little pieces of the story come pouring to me. After writing a first draft, I reread to check for consistency in the piece, and tie any loose ends that may have come as a result of spontaneous writing! My biggest challenge in writing the draft was figuring out whether I stuck to the parameters of the question and did not get overwhelmed by artistic excitement!
Work Cited
Health-e News. “Number of Witchcraft-related Incidents Take a Dip in Limpopo.” Health-e News, 10 June 2022, https://health-e.org.za/2022/06/10/number-of-witchcraft-related-incidents-take-a-dip-in-limpopo/
Horowitz, Anthony. Scared. Hachette Children’s Group, 2002.
Manganye, Zondiwe. One Last Dance with the Devil. Independently published, 2023.
Mbhele, Thulani. “Helena, the Desolate Exile, Has Become Known as the ‘Place of Witches.’” Sunday Times, 14 Apr. 2019, www.sundaytimes.timeslive.co.za/sunday-times/news/2019-04-14-helena-the-desolate-exile-has-become-known-as-the-place-of-witches/
Okorafor, Nnedi. Who Fears Death. Penguin, 2010.
Pinky Ajayi is a student at Houston City College majoring in Associate Degree in Nursing (ADN)