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Mandisa thanks Skonana for the information and begins to think through what she's just heard. She can't believe anyone would come to Guguletu voluntarily, and remembers when she first heard that the government might force its black citizens to resettle. While helping her mother serve ginger beer to a group of customers, Mandisa overheard one of the customers, Tat'uSikhwebu, mention the government's plans. Mandisa herself was too young and naïve to pay much attention to Tat'uSikhwebu's claim, and although the rumor quickly spread, most others in the community were initially disbelieving.
Months later, however, "the rumor, all grown and bearded, armed with the stamp of the government, returned" (55). Mandisa is outside playing with her friends and her brother Khaya when they hear a plane flying overhead. Looking up, they see the plane dropping something, which turn out to be pieces of paper informing the residents of Blouvlei that they will need to move next month. Mandisa, upset, shows the message to her parents, and the adults in Blouvlei call a public meeting—the first of several that take place over the next few weeks.
Despite appeals to the government, however, the residents are forced to relocate in September. One day, Mandisa's parents wake her early and urge her to help pack up the house. Mandisa looks outside and sees that Blouvlei is full of policemen and soldiers, who begin violently evicting people from their homes as Mandisa watches: "Abelungu men charged. Tin walls were torn down with the inhabitants of the shacks asleep inside some. Shacks came tumbling down, revealing Primus stoves alight, pots of mealie-meal porridge madly bubbling away in others" (65). Along with the rest of Blouvlei's residents, Mandisa and her family make the trek to Guguletu, where traditional family and community life begins to unravel.
Back in the present, Mandisa continues to worry about Mxolisi's whereabouts. Her husband Dwadwa gets home from work and the family eats dinner. In bed that night, Mandisa and Dwadwa discuss Mxolisi; Dwadwa warns that Mxolisi's "vagabonding" will get him into trouble, and Mandisa snaps at her husband even though she shares his concerns (71).
Afterwards, Mandisa lies awake thinking about her schooldays and the many flaws in Guguletu's educational system; Mxolisi, at twenty, is in a class designed for twelve and thirteen year olds. She reflects on the events of the day, and the lack of control she and other adults have over their children in their crusade against the South African government. Mandisa admits, however, that the older generations bear some of the responsibility, for teaching their children to hate and mistrust white people: "Our children grew up in our homes, where we called white people dogs as a matter of idiom…heart-felt idiom, I can tell you. Based on bitter experience" (75). But while the children began by stoning white peoples' cars, they ultimately moved on to destroying the cars, homes, and schools of other black people. At first, Mandisa and others tried to rationalize these attacks as actions against traitors and collaborators, but it became increasingly difficult to do so as time went on—particularly when the "Young Lions" stoned a black man before setting fire to a tire they'd placed around his neck.
Mandisa imagines how this first act of "necklacing" might have unfolded, and notes that the action soon became commonplace. Those who practiced it, as well as some of the community leaders, saw it as a weapon in the fight against apartheid, but Mandisa wryly remarks that she "had not known that it was our own people who stood in the way of the freedom we all said we desired" (77).
Mandisa wakes up early in the morning to the sound of a car door shutting. At first, she thinks it might be Mxolisi returning home and worries that he might have been involved in a carjacking. She consoles herself with the knowledge that she still believes him to be good.
Suddenly, police begin banging on the house and shining lights through its windows. Dwadwa wakes up and begins to dress as Siziwe, frightened, comes to her parents' room. Mandisa wonders whether the noise truly is the police or "skollies, hooligans, common criminals or comrades…disguised as police" (82). Dwadwa, however, answers the door, and the police knock him down before forcing their way into the house. Mandisa tells Siziwe to stay quiet and walks out to meet the police, but as she leaves, the police swarm into the bedroom. In the confusion, Mandisa ends up on the floor, and Siziwe disappears from the bed.
The police eventually drag Mandisa out into the kitchen, and they ask here where Mxolisi is. Mandisa says she doesn’t know, and the police again knock her to the ground. While she lies on the floor, they ransack the house and pull down the hokkie—a makeshift extension to the house where the boys sleep. Finally, they beat up Lunga and leave.
As it continues the story of the forced relocation to Guguletu, Chapter 5 dives deeper into some of the topics that had begun to emerge in the previous section—most notably, perhaps, the importance and fragility of home. In a scene that in many ways functions as a shorthand for the whole history of colonialism, Mandisa's friends and neighborsat first cannot believe that they will be made to move, simply because Blouvlei has such personal and historical significance to them: "Convinced of the inviolability offered by our tremendous numbers, the size of our settlement, the belief that our dwelling places, our homes, and our burial places were sacred, we laughed at the absurdity of the rumor" (54). Ultimately, of course, this is no protection at all, and Blouvlei's residents are sent to Guguleteu, where ties between friends and family prove difficult to maintain. In fact, the superficial improvement in living quarters actually contributes to the destruction of family life: "In the brand-new brick houses of the townships…new needs were born. But how to satisfy those needs? The wages of fathers had certainly not been augmented. Soon, all our mothers, who had been there every afternoon to welcome us when we returned from school, were no longer there. They were working in white women's homes. Tired, every day when they returned. Tired and angry" (67). Mandisa herself remarks more than once that working outside the home prevents her from giving her children the upbringing they need and deserve, strongly implying that the erosion of traditional ways of life contributes to Mxolisi's violent actions.
One of the sad ironies of the novel, however, is that that very violence only exacerbates the situation in Guguletu. Describing the violence that has plagued the community, Mandisa explains that it began with children stoning the cars of white settlers. From there, however, it was a slippery slope to targeting the homes, schools, cars, and ultimately lives of other black people: "Our children made our homes the target of their wrath and visited untold devastation on them" (75). Mother to Mother thus adds a twist to the idea that the sins of the parents are visited on their children; the "children" of Guguletu do suffer as a result of choices made by their ancestors (and the ancestors of white settlers), but they also turn their suffering back onto their elders.
This is nowhere clearer than in the description of necklacing that closes Chapter 5. Images of fire are pervasive in Mother to Mother, where they often serve as a shorthand for the destruction born of apartheid. Because fire spreads indiscriminately and obliterates everything in its path, it is a fitting symbol for the legacy of colonialism in South Africa; the culmination of the novel's fire imagery comes in the Chapter 10 story of the Xhosa cattle-killing and crop-burning. This earlier mention of necklacing, though, stands out for its sheer brutality, as well as for Mandisa's description of the flames "caressing" victims (77).The use of such an intimate term is a reminder of the fact that the violence in Guguletu most commonly hits close to home (or even within families), as well as an invitation to consider other ways in which people are harmed or violated by those close to them; as we will see, for instance, Mandisa considers herself to have been in some sense "impregnated" by her own son Mxolisi.
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