Last Saturday, 17 May, we buried our uncle. A very talkative man, another uncle quipped that he was a teller of stories - real and unreal. He went by many names, but was popularly known as Sgidla. My mother explained that he was born a big child, and therefore was given the nickname "Sgidla". In the early 1990s, he worked at a hair factory in Uitenhage where he "accidentally" lost one of his fingers. I say accidentally, because one of his colleagues, whom we met in Port Elizabeth in the early 1990s, who was surprised to learn that Sgidla was our uncle, told us that in fact the man deliberately caused the so called accident. He told us that our uncle was such a feisty character, who gave "amabhulu" a very hard time. They had given him another name - Magib'sela! This injury led to his retrenchment. He told everyone who cared to listen that he was disabled and therefore was entitled to disability grant. Indeed he got his disability grant.
We have known for many years of course that our uncle lived under what I would call abject poverty. He was nonetheless and extremely stubborn man who would never seek help from his siblings (my mother and aunts). Our last visit in December to his shack in Kenton - on - Sea, he was in his element, telling us stories and expressing his dreams.
When he died two weeks ago his state of abject was laid bare for all (at least within the family) to see. Funerals in our communities are still an expensive exercise and if you have not prepared for it (through buying funeral insurance) such a funeral may not occur. And rather bizarrely, it was indicated that my uncle was a DA member, and there were talks that the party will contribute towards buying a coffin. I am told, the DA did indeed contribute, but it was not a coffin.
It is clear my uncle didn't have a coherent home. His wife was not very useful during the preparation of the funeral. My sister had to move in to avert cancellation or postponement of the funeral. The burden of preparations became her responsibilty. In the end the funeral happened in a dignified manner.
Realising that things nearly went very bad, a family meeting was convened after the funeral. What caused me to write this blog entry is that meeting. Obviously here, I expected sparks to fly, but I marvelled at the extent of candour with which things were discussed. My uncle left behind three children, one of them is old enough to go to circumcision school. The family now was attempting to atone for what it called "failure" to assist Sgidla when he was still alive. His family is likely to face similar or more hardships now that he is gone, but the family was committing to help avert that.
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