In this chapter I represent the data produced as research stories. Seven research stories constitute the first level analysis. The second and third levels of analysis follow in Chapters Six and Seven respectively. Each research story is a biographical account of an individual's experience of living with stuttering in his Iifeworld over time.
The research stories sit in conversation with each other and may be read in any order. I have chosen to present the research stories in two clusters. The first cluster of four research stories reflect the experiences of the participants who live successfully with stuttering while the second cluster of three stories record experiences of participants who continue to experience stuttering as problematic.
The sequencing is also intended to illuminate the diversity of experiences across the participants.
The seven research stories are titled as follows:
Siyanda's story: Too Good to be True?
Kumari's story: Building Yourself Inside-out Gareth's story: A Long journey
Sagren's story: Re-Inventing Yourself Thabo's story: A Terrible Struggle
Hennie's story: Packaging and Presentation Nontokozo's story: Little Hiccup, Big Problem
SIYANDA'S STORY
Toogoodto be true?
Our (Mis)fortune?
We came into this world with a stutter. I think Xolanimy twin brother and I were born with it. It's God's will. Like everything else it is God's will. My mother was so happy with her little boys she never said anything bad about the stutter. It was just part of us. Our older brothers and sisters, six in all, never seemed to bother much about it.
At home, the way we spoke, with our stutter, wasn't aproblem. Outside home it was a different story. Our first bad memory of stuttering was in Standard One, my third year at school, when I was about eight years old. We went to school in Umlazi, an African township, in the 1970s and the rules were strict. One of the English teachers asks a question. If you don't know the answer then you stand up. He asks me a question. Iam in the process of a stutter. I am trembling and I can't get it out. He hits me. He thinks I don't know the answer. A few seconds later I cough up the answer - out through my mouth and it drops into his ear. He shouts at me "Why didn't you say the answer when I asked you?" I tell him I was in the process ofastutter. He goes back and explains that to all the other teachers. I think he felt guilty. That is my first memory when I was punished for not answering a question on time because of the stutter. I broke the rules. The only other one who knew what was happening to me was my Xolani. We have this connection. We just sit quietly in class in silence. We are very scared that we might not be able to say the words.
The children at school pick on us because of the stutter. They tease us alot. They knew if they irritate us enough then we will stutter. They say "Siyanda, you are in love with that lady. You have to date her". They are pointing to the ugliest one. They make me cross. I try to fight back and I stutter. That is what they are waiting for. They laugh. We play soccer and if you don't score a goal they say "You missed because you stutter. You can't kick the ball because the stutter goes to your leg, you miss".
"You stutter because you are twins and your mother didn't kill one of you". In the Zulu community in which we lived there was a story about twins which started at some time in the days of the Zulu Kings of Dingaan or Shaka. As the story went it was
a
bad omen when twins were born and one would have to be killed. The people in the community had this belief that stuttering was amisfortune. They thought we were not
like normal children and they didn't understand what we went through. The adults didn't tease us but the children did.
I get so angry when they tease. I have to show them who I am. BoomBoomBoom. I fight. Xolani feels I am in trouble and he comes and joins the party. Boom! Boom!
Boom! We have a good fight. That is only response we have to show that we are irritated. Angry! When we are so angry, we can't cough it up. The words wouldn't come out and they laugh more. We can't fight with our mouths. BOOM! BOOM!
BOOM! we sort them out with our fists. We want them to know they must never mess with us. We have to show them what we are made of We learned from our father that it was the way to sort out problems. It doesn't stop there. We are also in trouble at school for fighting. It was not good thing to fight and solve problems but we only learned that later on. My mother was the only one who supported us. She didn't think the stutter wasaproblem and she treated us as equals, like all the other children.
The stutter would appear at any moment, unexpected, out of the blue. I get the feeling of running out of air. Then the tongue is suddenly not in the right place to pronounce that vowel or consonant. The word is there in my mind but it just won't happen. There is a problem with that connection between the tongue and brain. I can't cough it up but the word is there. Itis not that we are disorderly. You feel outof breath, just running out. I don't know how to explain it. It happened often when we spoke and everyone noticed there was something wrong with us.
At school, we became Shy Guys. Wejust keep to ourselves. We never told anyone, not even our mother about our troubles at that stage. The only thing we take part in is soccer. I was good. I played position six. When it is time for debates and speech contests we just say NO! We knew we were different and they will laugh. It was easier to keep out of things. Wedidn't have many friends but we had each other. We played with our cousins in a small group because we knew they wouldn't tease us.
They also help to protect us, so if we fight they help us too. Because of the stutter we didn't expand the network. In the class it was justa matter of answering the question and sitting down. No more. We didn't want to even socialise with the others. We won't watch the movies or do anything else with the others because we didn't want to be exposed. We didn't want to be the centre of attraction. We just did our own thing and got up to mischief too. My mother says we were naughty and stubborn boys.
Primary School in Umlazi was harsh and we were caught in a vicious cycle with no words. You didn't do your work. Ten strokes. Come to school late. Twelve strokes.
The punishment was too heavy. It was not just strict. It was unfair. The situation got bad. We were isolated, reserved and we were punished often. The trouble was not only because of the stutter. At home, we had a broken family. We go home and we see our parents fighting. My father used to beat my mother and we watch. Helpless.
Speechless. We try to hug my mother and comfort her. It affects us physically, mentally and emotionally. The atmosphere at home is so tense. We don't do any homework and when we go to school and we get punished for that too. We are back in the class and we are so emotionally and mentally distracted that we are not in a position to do work.
This happened for about five years from Standard One and Standard Five. All this stuff put together had a negative impact. We couldn't speak our mind. We had to escape from school, from life. So we play truant and go to movies and play in the parks. Then the principal calls my mother. We are erased from the register. My grandmother takes us back and begs the principal "Please take them back. They have all these problems ... " Then we get re-returned to school and the whole cycle starts again. Life is too hard. We are very silent and in pain. Eventually, we just drop outof school in standard five when we were about twelve years old.
One day, around that time we dropped out, we decidedwe had enough of my father's abuse. We stood up and fought back. We found our voices. We told him "We are sick and tired of this thing of yours and now we are in a position to fight back." We grab hold of him and with our hands around his neck we threatened him. That was the last day he hit my mother because he knew the kids had grown up and they meant business. He left, but he took everything with him. There was an empty house and no food. My mother, who worked as a domestic maid, had to find a new house and we went to live in Inanda, in the informal settlement, or as people say "the shacks". That was a very painful time. I don't even like to talk about it. For two years we lived with no money. We never knew when we would eat. We lost focus and stayed out of school for two years. It had a huge negative effect. The stutter was there and it was a problem with everything else. We were going on the wrong side of life. My mother wanted
a
better life for us and begged us to go back to school. She never said anything about the stutter but she said we need an education to succeed in life, to get out of this mess. We went back to school but only one of us made it through. My brother dropped out again in standard six.Turning around
I continued in high school, alone, and still the Shy Guy. I still didn't want speak, be exposed and the centre of attraction. I carried on in this way until some small things happened which started to change my life around. I grew hungry for knowledge and then I became greedy. I read everything to .know more. I was playing soccer and become team captain. I started to get good marks in my tests. The children didn't tease me. The current was starting to flow in the right again. The current was pushing me in a new direction. One day, when I was in Standard Seven I met Bheki on my way home. He was running a drama project and asked us to join. Maybe he thought it would help with stuttering. We said no. A few days later I was curious and watched from adistance. It looked good but this not for me. Bheki was persistent but I was resistant. I stutter. I can't do those things. He begged "Just try, just once." I tried just to show him I can't do it but he was very, very clever. He set up the audition very differently for me. I didn't have ascript. It went something like this
Bheki: Laugh Siyanda
Siyanda: How can I? There is nothing to laugh about Bheki: LAUGH
Siyanda: I can't
He slapped me afew times Bheki: Now laugh
Siyanda: Laugh, laughter (tears rolling downmy face) Bheki: Cry
Siyanda: Cry, Cry(I cried)
Bheki: You did it. You have great potential
He didn't make me say words. I used emotions to communicate. I didn't speak or stutter. A really good audition for someone who stutters. He taught me some important things. I had potential. I can communicate. Communication is not just about words. I can communicate even if I stutter. It was a small step buta critical one, from darkness into light. Inside, I was a natural dramatist and maybe Bheki saw that. He saw more than the stutter. After that, I attended all the rehearsals and I started the first drama group at my school. I had a good new feeling in me. I soon became popular in school and started to enjoy it. I remember one girl saying tome "Siyanda, you are a leader". Maybe she was right. I gained confidence and represented my school at the Youth Development Sessions. As
a
member of the Youth InteractionGroup I went to many workshops and training courses. I learnedsomany new skills.
The thing that helpedmewith the stutter was the stage techniques and assertiveness skills. These skills helpedmeto communicate better with an audience. I learned how to position myself, use gesture, facial expression, change the loudness and tone of myvoice, speak slower, clearer, breath control. My stutter seemed less of aproblem when I used these techniques. I could communicate better and I even took part in debates. The stutter is always there but I am moving away from the darkness of being the Shy Guy. Things went well at high school and I was in a position to communicate even with the stutter.
I feel confidentso I start acting. Stuttering is disruptive especially when the character Iam playing wasn't meant to stutter and the whole crowd is watching. I can't make it go awaybut I can make it easier by getting the airflow better. I had learned breath control as part ofdrama. I figured out that if I breathed a little air out and made a slight sound I could continue. I learned how to manage the breathstream to keep it flowing. I also worked out a way to use the stutter to my advantage. I integrated it into mystage technique. Sometimes, I pause for effect and emphasis but Iamreally in a stutter. I developedmy own special style, Siyanda style. People don't think ofit as aproblem. The best part is that they really listen. When something is different it attracts attention. I can also use the techniques itoffstage if I choose but I generally focus on what I am saying and not the stutter and techniques. This is what I do on stage:
(Audible airflow) On the 21st I was with (I pause for effect when I stutter) my everlasting one, talking talking talking (I use repetition for effect) about our gift from God, being unaware that was the last day, being three is a crowd, being three is a crowd (I repeat the whole phrase for emphasis)
During this time I joined the Youth Interaction Group. I also learned more English so I can speak to people from the higher level, the English-speaking, educated people.
Learning English was good for me because I was in a position to be involved now with people ofother races. I also have the benefitofusing two languages. It helps with the stutter. IfI amstuck in one I use a word from the other language. Sometimes I change over just to make myself understood, not only manage the stutter. If I want to place myself in a position ofgreater power I can use English. I also stutter less in this language maybe because Iamin ahigher position or because Iamcareful about how I speak. I don't do this always because I don't want to be perceivedassuperior.
Down again
Things were going very well until I failed Matric1, my final year at school. I was shocked and everyone was shocked. I can't explain it, not even now. I was demotivated and went to work. Itwasn't what I wanted to do but I had to live and earn some money. I was a kindof supervisor in a tyre company for three years. I had the drama on the side but I was going off-track. I started drinking and I was being self- destructive. I wasn't happy in the job. I feft oppressed because we didn't have rights as workers. I was feeling trapped. None of this was good for me and my speech, it all goes together. The other guys at work were givingme a hard time because the boss putme in a superior position because I could read and speak English. Very few Black people at that time could speak and read English because we grew up segregated and spoke mainly Zulu. One day the workers assaulted me and I hada collarbone fracture. As I lay in the poolof blood I knew that it was asign from my ancestors for me to change direction.
Livinga challenge, rethinkingme
I stayed in hospital for three weeks and I hada lotof time to think. I was black, poor, uneducated and stuttered. These were life's challenges but I was determined to live. I am a philosopher at heart and so I draw on the things I learn all the time to make my life better. You don't ask "How can I make the stutter better?" You ask "How can I make my life better?" Communication is in the centre of everything. You can't only change how you speak without changing who you are. What is my purpose on earth?
We all were put here for some reason. What is my mission? After much thought and through the guidance of my ancestors I knew my mission was to be an educator and help to uplift the community. But I just failed Matric. FAIL. I remembered what that meant. First Action In Learning. I had to learn from my failure. I had to find alternative ways to achieve my mission. I was not formally educated but I could still be a teacher, a different kindof teacher. I neededa vehicle to live this dream. That is how I started my own Drama company. What I will tell you now is how I try to be a successful person, to achievemy mission. The stuttering story is wrapped up with it.
The first thing for me to deal with different kinds of discrimination and prejudice because of the colour of my skin and my stutter. As part of the Youth Interaction
I Matric: Final year of study in 12 year school education system in South Africa
Group I was always involved with different kinds of community and youth programmes. Michael, a white lecturer at the local university coordinated some programmes. Once he invited me to Royal Hotel, a fancy, high-class, five-star hotel in central Durban. This was still in apartheid times, in the late 1980s. The waitress was a white lady. She didn't like the idea of me, a Black, sitting on a beautiful chair usually occupied by Whites. She didn't want me to contaminate her. She put my plate at one end of the table and shoved it across the table to me. Everyone noticed and they were so cross. I didn't say anything. On another occasion, I was running a skills training group. Two White guys left the group because they couldn't entertain the idea of learning from a Black. It was their choice but it didn't feel right. It was a time when Black people were treated badly. I once played Eugene Terreblanche, Die Wit WolF, which tells you how Black people were treated. The words are in Afrikaans.
Kyk Hier! Swart hond! Kom hier! Kaffir! Die tafel is nie skoon nie ... Ag Man, Ag Man! Hulle met krus hare kan niks doen nie, niks doen nie.
(Look here! Black dog. Come here Kaffir. The table is not clean. Oh Man! Oh Man! They, with their curly hair cannot do anything. Nothing!).
In the transition from apartheid to democracy in the 1990s in South Africa I learnt to accept who I am and to understand myself differently. The concept of African RenaissanceBhas given me the power to not look down upon myself. If I do my own thing which is different to yours then it does not mean I am uncivilised. We don't have to adopt the culture of another and try to avoid our own so we can be seen as
"an educated somebody". The African Renaissance gives me the power to celebrate who I am. This includes my black skin, my African nose, and my stutter. I need to restore my pride in being human, to respect myself and to understand that we are all equal in the eyes of God. For me, now it is normal to stutter. It is part of me but it is different to you. Can we live with difference? Unity in diversity? There is also much of me that is just like you. We all do things differently. My stutter like my Black skin can
6Wit Wolf: reference to Eugene Terreblanche, a member of the extreme right wing group ,Wit Wolwe in South Africa.
7kaffir : derogatory term used to address Black people in SA (Maharaj, 2001).
8African Renaissance: The term is intended to signal a new African world in which democracy, peace stability, sustainable development, better life for all, non-sexism, non-racism, equality among people and nations are valued. The task requires Africans to restore their dignity and pride and create new futures based on the goodwill of people. This occurs against a background of colonial oppression which, for centuries, impacted on the lives of Black people on the African continent and denied their humanity (Mbeki, 1998).