It took me two months to read this. Hard read. Very hard read. Not my kind of genre. I wouldn't have picked it had it been up to me. I think that I was reading it from my "Parent-like" ego. I found myself chastising and reprimanding Hlomu at every opportunity.
The story spans over 11 years of Hlomu's life. From her first encounter with Maqhele, the-taxi-driver-turned-taxi-owner-turned-business-mogul, the all encompassing thug, at the Bree taxi rank ending with them celebrating 10 years of marriage serenaded by John Legend. Sigh, the stuff that has made Mzansi Magic famous. A legendary love story peppered with ghetto-fabulousness.
The tale was spell bounding. A bit too long winded for me. Filled with unnecessary dialogue, in my opinion. Too many characters. I found myself going back and forth trying to keep up with who's who. I found that because the cast was plentiful, some characters were not given time to evolve. To grow with the story. Maqhele and Nkosana were given time to transform because they played such big roles in Hlomu's story, the others were not given an opportunity to grow, therefore not memorable to me. Sambulo found his voice, not that he ever said much, past the halfway mark into Hlomu's tale largely due to Xolie and Hlomu's relationship.
The plot was way too long making the book quite a thick edition. There were great stories within Hlomu's story which I feel could've been cut down and left to develop to a deeper level. Maybe, Dudu could've broken the tale into a series of 2. Dudu introduced a lot of parallel themes. Abuse within heterosexual relationships. The workings of the taxi industry. Violence perpetuated by family strive. Child molestation and its devastating effects. The harbouring of secrets. Parenting in all its entirety. Parenting our siblings' children. First and second pregnancies in relationships. Whew, the plot kept getting THICKER AND THICKER!!!!!!!Most times I felt like I was watching "The Kardashians" marathon. So wordy. Too many conversations in the first, second and third person. Grammatical errors, which book doesn't have those?? Warped timelines rendering the plot unfollowable in some places.
At some point, I felt like the book was a rehash of some "Housewives of Johannesburg" episode. The private jets. The lavish spending. Pure, pure nauseating opulence. Through all this, Hlomu remained grounded. Steadfast in what she wanted for her family and ultimately she found herself. I loved the idea of her shop. Perfect sanctuary for her. To get away from the madness that was her life. But she didn't hide there. She showed strength by continually making herself be heard. We are sometimes drowned by the BUSYness of relationships, shopping, cultivating envious existences, that we forget to hear our souls speaking to us. The idea of a reconciliation was such an emotional moment for me. When you want to be heard, you stand up and talk.
Reading this book throughout "Women's Month" brought to the fore the very issues that we highlight during this period, gender inequality. Gender roles. Women abuse which the Zulu brothers had no qualms about. I don't think that they realised that they were abusive towards their womenfolk, to them it was just how they did things as men.As Zulu men. Further perpetuating the stereotype that "All taxi drivers are Zulu. All taxi drivers are violent. Therefore all Zulu men are violent". Which reminded me of an essay from Lerato Tshabalala's book about whot not to date.
Once again, black women telling stories affecting our own. Hlomu could've been my child, my sister, my cousin, my niece. We can't pretend as if THIS life is not lived in our townships and suburbs. This right here is how the other half lives. Take out the wealth for a bit and you are left with normal black people doing what normal black people do. Dreaming big. Hoping that we are enough to the people we love. Trusting that those who love us, love us enough to protect us. To provide for us. To take up arms for us. Raising our kids on a wing and prayer. Hounding them children for information. Getting worried when them children shut us out and hauling them back home should they veer too far off the path.
Hlomu's story was a great recounter for me. A narration with local nuances which I could identify with. A great reminder that when you marry black, you marry the whole family and sometimes the whole village. But remember not to let "Somebody nearly left with my stuff", a liberating poem from Ntozakhe Shange's choreo-poetry collection "For Coloured Girls Who Considered Suicide When The Rainbow Is Enuf".