Touch My Blood, by Fred Khumalo

Touch My Blood, by Fred Khumalo. 9781415200049 / ISBN 978-1-4152-0004-9

An autobiography about coming of age in a Durban township in 1980s South Africa, Touch My Blood is written with warm humour and angry introspection by journalist Fred Khumalo.

Fred Khumalo  

Prologue: It surely must be the perfect way to maim or silence an adversary in a crowded place without attracting attention. With the single-mindedness of a pervert and the casual air of a baker kneading dough, you reach out and grab his testicles and squeeze. He is so shocked he doesn't fight back. He's at your mercy, paralysed, his arms dangling. This is not the sort of instruction you find in manuals on self-defence. It's something that happens on the spur of the moment, the result of an explosion of anger. Also, it's not a method to be proud of. Yet at the age of twenty-four, I found myself in a packed nightclub squeezing a man's balls. In 1991 I was an intern on a programme run by the Canadian International Development Agency. The motivation was to help young black South Africans study and gain hands-on working experience with relevant institutions overseas. I ended up in Canada. And on the night in question was with my fellow interns at the African Club, a haunt for African expatriates in Ottawa. We were relaxed and enjoying ourselves and eventually were introduced to a South African who had been in the country a long time. We were overjoyed, believing he would be our guide in this strange land. "So, you guys tell me you from home, huh?" There was a slight twang to his voice. "Now, say this to me, why are black people fighting against each other seeing that the white man is ready to give them back power and land?" Above the din of the music we tried to explain the complex political situation at home. When ANC supporters killed supporters of the Azanian People's Organisation, yet both organisations claimed to be fighting for black liberation, you were bound to be confused. Add the Inkatha Freedom Party to the equation, you were bound to lose whoever you were trying to enlighten on the intricacies of South African politics. In response to our explanations our newly-discovered brother said, "Maybe the white man should continue oppressing our people if liberation is going to throw the country into civil war, know what I'm sayin'? Every time the white man grants black people their freedom in Africa they start fighting, you know what I'm sayin'?" The tension was palpable. I tried to change the subject. "How is life treating you here? Any opportunities for the likes of us?" - "What do you think you have to offer us?" - Us? And then came the clincher. "So, how's Soweto now? Have the boers finally installed electricity into your houses or are you still using coal stoves and candles?" Shock jolted through the dimly-illuminated faces around the table. Our compatriot didn't look much older than any of us. He couldn't have been born in exile, judging by his very South African accent and complete lack of political savvy. Surely, no matter how long he had been in Canada or anywhere in the world for that matter, he must have seen the electrified houses, shops and streets of Soweto on TV, as the township had been the focus of the international media since the 1976 uprisings? The man broke into my thoughts. [...]

This is an excerpt from the book: Touch My Blood, by Fred Khumalo.

Title: Touch My Blood
Author: Fred Khumalo
Imprint: Umuzi
Type: Autobiography
Uitgewer: Randomhouse Struik
Cape Town, South Africa 2000
ISBN 9781415200049 / ISBN 978-1-4152-0004-9
Softcover, 15x22 cm, 196 pages