We are living through a sequence of crises, from our warming planet to the pandemic to the Russian invasion of Ukraine.
Imagine then the joy of picking up an antidote to all the doom and gloom in the form of a new book by master storyteller Fred Khumalo. The title sets the scene: Two Tons o’ Fun is named for the rather large American female duo who began their musical career as the backup singers for disco-funk star Sylvester. It’s the nickname given to the main character of the story, ghetto girl Lerato Morolong, born in 1993, and her BF, Janine, who become known for their dance moves.
Set in sprawling Alexandra, now 110 years old and home to a population of more than 700,000, the story begins with a loud collision that scares off the crows feasting on the carcass of a rat. Shouts and whistles pierce the air and a boy running past Lerato and her friends says “Zilahlile” — “there’s a situation to be taken advantage of”. A car and a horse-and-trailer truck have collided, and the truck is spilling its contents, with the residents of Alex carrying it off in their plastic “Shangaan Gucci” bags.
On the corner of London Road, Lerato spots her mother: “I caught a glimpse of my mother busy stuffing her own loot into a bag. On seeing me, she grinned. ‘Are you on a sight-seeing trip, girl? Come on, roll up your sleeves and work!’ She was a huge woman with the agility of a thin girl. Think of the well-endowed Queen Latifah moving like Sho Madjozi.”
Lerato explains that everyone knew her mother had “magic fingers”: “She was the only woman I knew who could walk out of Pick n Pay with a whole frozen chicken lodged between her thighs, and the security guards who frisked her and even went through her handbag would be none the wiser.” A loud, angry, man-eating, beer-drinker, June-Rose, is just one of the many colourful and ultimately delightful characters that populate this riotous novel.
The accident will change the course of young Lerato’s life. With two other bystanders, she helps the injured truck driver. The woman who drives them to hospital is Professor Ngobese (Auntie Gugu), mother of Janine and resident at number 80, the only house in the neighbourhood with a street address, aka “Those White People”.
When a long-lost uncle arrives on the scene, Lerato and her sister Florence are unconvinced, and certain that this new man will result in yet another sibling to feed. Florence runs away and the consequences are tragic. But harmonica-playing Uncle Moroke turns out to be a real member of the family, and another turning point in the forever sceptical Lerato’s life.
The neighbours and friends have a lot to say about the black people who live like whites, but it’s Auntie Gugu, with her two doctorates (and no medical scrubs in sight) who realises that the brilliant Lerato has a reading disorder. “You are such a good storyteller, Lerato ... Now you must begin to write those stories yourself. Reading and writing, that’s power,” she tells the young girl, while helping her overcome her learning disorder.
Lerato learns to read, and even to love libraries, places she once thought were only for white people or “for those strange black people we saw in the movies. People like Bill Cosby and his family. Why would a sane black person waste time inside a strangely quiet place that smelled of damp when there was so much fun to be had in the streets? I mean, duh!”
She was a huge woman with the agility of a thin girl. Think of the well-endowed Queen Latifah moving like Sho Madjozi
When Lerato has the opportunity to spend a day at Janine’s swanky private school, St Magdalene’s, she discovers the chasm between public and private education in post-apartheid SA: “Unlike my school, where the teacher stood at the front of class, scribbling furiously on the blackboard, saying things and asking us to repeat after her, here at St Magdalene’s the teacher sat on a chair and had a conversation with the students. She told stories, and the students would comment, sometimes even challenging her ... Why did our teachers back home make the learning process such hard work? Why did our teachers back home shout at us, call us dumb, tell us how useless we were, all in the name of education?”
Homophobia, xenophobia, gender-based violence, teen pregnancy and the enduring legacy of our past are all central to the novel, but Khumalo has a lightness of touch and a gift with words that challenge political correctness and make the reader care about even the least likable characters.
There are times when his voice takes over the narrative, particularly in describing the Rainbow Nation and its aftermath: “These fat black politicians driving big cars with their fat-buttocked wives, unashamedly stole food from our mouths. They made promises of a better life for all when they couldn’t even control the rats in our neighbourhoods. Millions of rands were spent on projects such as the renaming of towns, cities, roads. From Pretoria to Tshwane, from Ridge Road to Peter Mokaba, from Machadodorp to eNtokozweni, from Witbank to eMalahleni. Yet these were the same shitholes in which our people had suffered during those horrible apartheid years. Children continued to drop into pit latrines and die in a country that prided itself on being a modern economy. If this truth makes your body itch, go take a shower.”
Two Tons o’ Fun is searing, poignant, charming and excruciatingly funny. It pulls no punches and takes the reader on a deep dive into the rat-infested, narrow streets of Alex, where five or six families cohabit on a stand, where music blares, where pap and cabbage is a staple and chicken skins a rare treat, where people can hear what their neighbours are up to in both love and war, and where indestructible human bonds are formed across generations. It’s a glorious read and one that will lift even the dullest of spirits.
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