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So, in this difficult moment in his life, Skhumba knows not to call his family, and besides, he does not have a cent to call. For, if anything, his family would ask him if he has not a hundred rand to spare for them, so that they can get something to eat.
He loiters around the room, avoiding contact with his open textbook and notepads. The room is big and spacious, his friend confessed to envying him for it. For the first time in his life, he has a room to himself, with a proper bed to sleep on. Back home, he shares the living room with his brother and two cousins on a flat mattress. While every other student has on their walls pictures of hip-hop artists, TV and big screen big-timers, on his wall he has only an A-5 poster of Steve Biko and another, of Bob Marley.
A few of his friends in those fancy degree programmes have sponsorships from the country’s commercial and mining companies. Some have even moved out of res, opting instead for digs, where rules are not as strict.
He got the shock of his life when classmate Sinazo told him they paid over R30-grands in school fees during matric. He had only paid R20. He is one of the learners from Newell High at the university. His loan puts him at the mercy of the government. As their contribution to his education, the university has ruled that his family have to pay the minimal R3000. It is his second year of being registered and he’s lucky enough to have been bailed out of last year’s tuition balance.
He’s witnessed some of his closest friends being shown the gate after not being able to perform competently. Five of them. Tshego was excluded on academic grounds. He is sitting at home in rural Zeerust, doing nothing.
Then, Ayanda, Siphokazi, Tso and Mthura also could not register this year because they still owed last year’s tuition and accommodation costs. The government did not give them the loan.
They were around during registration at the beginning of the year, frequenting the SRC offices.
After toy-toying daily with Azasco and Sasco, they finally decided to give up, realising the university did not want them back.
Siphokazi now leaves with her aunt in Gugs and is a cashier at Shoprite in town. Tso went back to Bloem. His homeboy Teboho complains he drinks a lot. And Ayanda is sadly said to have
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committed suicide by swallowing the deadly water tank pill in May. After complaining about stomach ache, her granny had asked a neighbour to rush them to Frere Hospital, where she died within minutes of arrival.
On the other hand, at the time of his exclusion, Mthura was lucky enough to have learnt a thing or two about business. He only did his first year, but is doing well in his computer repair business.
So he has to study hard and be spared from the exclusions. He has to do it for himself, and his family. He is their only hope out of poverty. But he can’t, he is hungry. So he takes out his FNB debit card and goes straight to the ATM, hoping for some miracle, braving the rain and cold weather outside.
At the machine, he inserts the card and makes a balance enquiry. A slip comes out. He has only R8.35 and he knows the ATM only releases money, in the least, from R10. What is he to do now? he wonders. He’s getting desperate and, a few minutes later, he sees himself inside the bank, queuing for the tellers. When his turn comes, the teller greets him.
“Hello, bhuti, how can we help you today?”
“Molo, sisi, ndizotsala.”
“Okay. You have your ID and bank card hey? How much are you withdrawing?”
Ashamed, he looks around to see if anyone nearby is listening and whispers, “Yes sisi, eight thirty-five.”
“Eight hundred and thirty-five?” enquires the teller.
“No. Eight rand thirty-five cents, sisi,” he whispers.
“No, bhuti maan, you can’t kaloku. You know the bank only gives in multiples of R10. So wait until you get another deposit and come withdraw,” she’s irritated.
“Sisi, you don’t understand. I am leaving FNB and opening another account somewhere, so I am taking any monies I still have left.”
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“May I ask you why you are closing the account, bhuti?”
“I am done studying and leaving Cape Town.”
“Where are you going?”
“Joburg.”
“But there is an FNB in Joburg mos?”
Getting annoyed, “Sisi, I am telling you I am having nothing more to do with your bank. Please give back my money!”
“If you say so, you will get your money, bhuti. No need to shout and be angry.”
At this point, a few other customers look at his direction and the security guard comes closer.
“Sister, you need any assistance?”
“No I’m fine, bhuti,” assures the teller. He says nothing.
“Are you sure?”
“Ja-ja, sure.”
He is made to sign a few papers and then handed coins amounting to R8.35. He takes the money, rushes to Shoprite and comes out with half-brown and half-dozen eggs. He goes back to res, fries himself three eggs, a warming cup of coffee, steals four teaspoons of sugar from one of his flat mates and disappears into his room.
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