The Rainmaker(s)

My ancestors have just conferred a new title on me, rainmaker. Although I wish I were the only rainmaker, it seems like there are two other people who don’t deserve to know they have rainmaking powers. This is a top hush-hush secret, so please don’t tell them.

When I was granted residency by the Jakes Gerwel Foundation, most of the Karoo dams were almost dry. Everywhere was dry. However, wine was easily accessible, so the Karoo wasn’t actually dry. Since I was told the Paulet House had wine, I didn’t really care about the drought. My only desire was to go and write.

I have made the two-hour trip from Port Elizabeth several times. But on November 7th, 2022, my trip to Somerset East was different. I was going there to start working on my next novel. I was looking forward to some much-needed peace and quiet while working on my story. It is always best to work on the novel at the end of the year, in November, when things have settled down a bit.

Gilbert Van Zyl and his son picked me up from Gqeberha. Unfortunately, his car broke down, so we couldn’t go far. It took nearly 6 hours for assistance to arrive, which tested my patience greatly. In the stroke of Irish luck (or is it Afrikaner luck?), a mechanic came to our rescue. Initially, he was there to fix a truck on the other side of the road, but when we approached him, he agreed to check out the car. He even offered to tow the car from Gqaberha to Somerset East. I’m amazed at what a gentleman he is! In a crumbling city like Gqaberha, most people will pass you stranded on the roadside. I couldn’t believe how lucky we were. The key lesson: try not to worry about trivial problems such as drought and writer’s block, as they will eventually recede.

Arriving at Paulet’s House like a witch

Another secret about rainmakers: they’re witches. Beware of them. Some of them wear black clothing. Others prefer to walk around in their birthday suites. Typically, they sleep for 20 to 40 minutes and then wake up again to write. What do they have in common? Rainmakers always arrive at night. It won’t even occur to you that they have arrived.

So when we arrived at number 49 Paulet Street, it was almost 10:00 pm. The next two weeks will be spent creating stories in this house, which once belonged to Professor Jakes Gerwel. The house welcomed us with its old-world charm. It has spacious rooms with a writing desk and chair, a library, Wi-Fi, and a lush garden – everything a writer could ask for.

Meeting other rainmakers

The residency at Paulet House exceeded my expectations. Besides getting to work on my manuscript, I had the opportunity to connect with Sindiswa Busuku and Fikry El Azzouzi. Sindiswa is an award-winning poet and a notable academic. Loud and yellow laughter, her debut poetry collection published by Botsotso, won the 2018 Ingrid Jonker Poetry Prize. Her work has been published locally and internationally.

Meanwhile, Fikry El Azzouzi is a prolific writer known for his columns, novels, and plays. His play Dear Winnie is a radical and rousing musical that restores Madikizela-Mandela’s legacy. His debut novel, Het Schapenfeest, was published in 2010 and received high praise. In other words, I was in good company.

During our stay, Gilbert made sure that we ate scrumptious meals three times a day. It still baffles me how he is able to cook such delicious meals without fail. When I asked him what his secret was, he politely replied, “I don’t even use recipes. I just cook. I love what I do.”  Nash, Gilbert’s son, is also a great guitarist. He sang for us and played his guitar for us.

For the past two weeks, I forgot about Gqeberha and its fickle weather. I didn’t miss even the sound of waves pounding the shores, which often grated on my nerves. I was drawn deep into the world of writing.

Somerset East always welcomes strangers, even those from bustling places like Joburg. Upon first arriving here, you will experience a culture shock, but soon you will get used to all the birds, cows, and towering mountains.

What should you expect in Somerset East?

Here you will find ravenous dogs ready to scavenge. I saw them while crossing Paulet Street. They moved in packs. They were calculating. Often, you can hear blue cranes making a ‘kraaaank’ sound or doves cooing nearby.

Somerset East usually has sweltering nights in November. But during my stay at Paulet House, the weather was mild for a change. We also had some rain over the two weekends we spent there. Rain is considered a good omen in my culture. Rain means luck or a blessing. So you can also call me, Sindiswa, and Fikry, Bo Mutla le Pula, meaning those who bring rain.

Mind-blowing facts:

• On the 7th of November 2016, on a Monday, I came to Somerset East for the first time.
• The second time I came was on a Monday, the 7th of November 2022.
• There has been a drought in the Karoo for seven years until the rainmakers arrived in Somerset East. Okay, maybe I am exaggerating a bit, but who cares?

They say spending time alone teaches you empathy. I say it teaches you to lie like a Persian carpet. Also, it teaches you what to say to your ancestors. How to spend your time. But most importantly, how to use your imagination.

In the same vein, being around fellow writers teaches you how to concoct spectral stories. You’ll learn how to heal people who suffer from Bibliophobia. My new motto is:  if you can’t heal them, bewitch them with stories.

Fellow South Africans, we need more book buyers and readers. That’s why I think writer’s residencies like Jakes Gerwel’s are crucial.

Here is an excerpt of my story:

Death is a process that we all have to go through. Most of the time, we approach it slowly, at times in great pain. Sometimes not.

Am I fast approaching the final destination of my life? Am I going to be another victim of a “get rich quick” ritual? Should I relent to being chopped up and buried in a shallow grave? Should I accept that this will be the end of my 16 years on earth?

Will they hack off my arms, legs, and other body parts while I am still alive? Are they going to kill me first? Will they watch me suffer excruciating pain? No answer. There is no way to predict what they will do.

 My kidnappers seem determined to follow through with their plan. There is nothing stopping them. My pleas included. They are gung ho.

As the car accelerates, all those questions reverberate in my mind. I am petrified, thirsty, and dizzy. Bob Marley’s song, Jamming plays softly on the car radio. “We’re jammin’, And I hope this jam is gonna last…” No, this jam won’t last, Mr. Marley. In life, nothing lasts forever. Pain, strife, fear, and happiness are all temporary.

Here we are, jammin’ towards the end. And I am the only one in this car who will experience that end.

Tata loves this Bob Marley song. This is the soundtrack of his happiness. Whenever he plays it, we know his heart is full of joy. Although his bank account is usually empty. Money eludes Tata with a vengeance. As a result, he owes many people. Some of them are heartless killers, which could be one of the reasons why I find myself in this situation.

I clench my hands; they become tight balls, and hope returns to me in small doses.

Bio: Dumisani Hlatswayo is an award-winning novelist, short story writer, and copywriter. His novella Inhlonipho is currently prescribed for grade 9’s. In 2012, Hlatswayo’s drama, Ngixolele Mngani was awarded the second place for the Maskew Miller Longman award. 

 In 2016, Ukhozi FM aired his drama, Singcwaba Nini. In 2017 Dumisani’s second novel Imibala Yothando won the Sanlam Literature Award For Youth. His novel Ithuba Lesibili was shortlisted for the same award. He recently contributed a short story for an anthology, Please Like What You See. Hlatswayo also writes for TransformSA , and The Olifants News. He currently works as a copywriter for WriterAccess, responsible for writing for US-based brands. He is based in Port Elizabeth. I am attaching an outline for my writing project to this email