Self-abasement, pastime of the small-minded

THIS particular account from a colleague bears relevance today.

A raconteur of note - he shall remain nameless simply because of my wish to protect him from his own ego - he has a story about a contemporary of his at the Turf of old who was studying towards a BA degree.

Everyone knew the other potpourri of subjects this fella took in his course but not this particular one he mysteriously only referred to as "language".

Since this was before WikiLeaks it took a while for the state secret to be unravelled.

It was XiTsonga!

Another colleague, whose name I withhold because this is the season to be merry and I am also eager to weigh in with my brand of generosity, is accountable for the next anecdote.

Each time his demons push him to speak at the top of his voice in his mother tongue, I take the liberty to remind him that his is a language that did not feature on national television until around the time Duma ka Ndlovu was sufficiently inspired.

It may have happened earlier but, as they say, what's a month between two friends, interlocutors bent on taking the mickey out of each other?

Well, the days of the Cinderella languages are long behind us. Our model Constitution accords equal respect to all 11 tongues, or so we're made to believe.

This time last week I was laying out on my bed my finest accoutrements to be at the South African Literary Awards gala dinner in all my sartorial splendour. It was a grand affair that really moved my cheese.

Winner of the Lifetime Achievement Award was the matronly Mary Mabuza, a former pedagogue who served the department of education in various teaching capacities.

For her BA she majored in English and XiTsonga, clearly without succumbing to self-abasement, that pastime of small-minded people. Her profile, submitted for the awards function, says "her mastery of the two languages opened the way for her to read widely, and in turn produce literary works of a high standard".

The profile informs us further that her first literary work was published in 1983. It is a collection of 12 short stories titled Khuluka na Ritavi (literally meaning flow with the Ritavi river).

She's an accomplished [wo]man of letters now working on her autobiography and translating her short stories into English.

I had made plans to read the complete works of Annelie Botes during this festive break but that can wait. Were language not a barrier, I'd start imbibing from Mabuza. I cannot wait to drink from the fountain of her wisdom.

I envy her children and grandchildren for the unfair advantage they already have over other children by learning first-hand from her.

By the way, criminology and sociology being her other subjects of tertiary pursuit, I salivate at the prospect of wading into her literary jewels.

I want to kick myself for succumbing to the lure of fermented grapes over the opportunity to have introduced myself to dame Mabuza and taking her numbers.

Imagine how rich our literary heritage would be by now were there no apartheid-induced hang-ups about being Shangaan or, for that matter, black.