On January 31 I had the opportunity to attend the final performance of Tshepang at the Baxter Theatre, Sanlam Studio at the University of Cape Town. Being from out of country, I had seen the advertisements of the play and was interested in seeing a regional stage work on my relatively short stay in the area. Through friends and colleagues I discovered the play is a fictionalized account of actual incidents which took place in a Cape township in 2002.
Baby Tshepang was nine months old when she was brutally raped consequently requiring extensive medical care. Almost immediately six men were accused of the heinous crime, charged and taken into police custody. It was DNA testing that proved all six men innocent and subsequently found the mother’s former boyfriend guilty. Laura Foot Newton’s stellar play is bound up in the events of this terrible story but her focus is firmly grounded the deconstruction of the words, phrases and beliefs which flow through the events. Foot Newton gives an open opportunity to traverse perspectives and points of view in order to form a deeper understanding of how individuals, communities, cities and societies are connected and the responsibilities individuals share as members.
The set is minimalist. There is a bed portraying a place of rest, a place of comfort with its blanket and pillow, and a place of joy depicted by the radio hanging from the headboard. To the far opposite are miniature houses – just shells simply made with no adornment and one looking just like the other. This is the township portrayed as something created haphazardly and without creativity. Above the houses are stark tree branches containing various eyeglasses and sunglasses. These are the eyes which peer in from outside, seeing the township through lenses owned, created, marked, and marred by the perceptions of viewers who do not hold a connection to this place. The outside sees in the township what it wants to see. At back centre stage there is a pile of grain. The pile is simple but denotes the presence of life and work. The town is not desolate.
Mncedisi Shabangu portrays Simon, the full narrator of the production. He begins by masterfully weaving a jocular portrayal of township life where “nothing much happens” under the constant heat of the sun. He makes you comfortable, like a welcoming host. He mixes his dialogue between English and Afrikaans giving the audience a familiar feel in the unfamiliar auditorium. The intimacy of the Sanlam Studio is a perfect fit for the story he must tell.
Nonceba Constance Didi plays Ruth, Baby Tshepang’s mother. Nonceba does not speak. She pantomimes the despair of a mother who has a hurt child for whom she is unable to relieve the pain. She maintains a despondent, unfocused stoicism. Her movements are deliberate and painfully sluggish. Her presence haunts the back of the stage.
The audience soon discovers that life under the sun is anything but banal. It is a frenetic weave of human interactions which connect the people to each other. It is boys who come to their first sexual experience by way of the local prostitute who sets a time limit for each customer based on the turning of three pages of her comic book. It is the drinking at the tavern where men gather to chat, tease, and commiserate. It is the commonality among husbands who also have girlfriends. The obviousness of men’s centrality is realized suddenly. This is a man’s world encompassing man’s sexuality, man’s enjoyment, and a man’s narrative of events. Meanwhile Nonceba (Ruth) maintains her place at the back, at the fringes of the action, almost too easy to ignore.
Ruth’s pain is understandable. The mother left her baby girl unattended and vulnerable in order to go drinking. Who knows how many times she had done this before; but nothing bad had ever happened before. Why was this time different? Ruth sits on a pile of grain diligently grinding the tiny particles with concentrated movements attempting to destroy them, to form them into something new – something clean. She is trying to simultaneously take away and yet rectify the events that hurt her daughter. She keeps the baby’s bed on her back to remind her of the weight she must carry. It is the weight of a mother’s great responsibility that is tainted by the responsibility for what happened to her child. Only when she tires or when the sorrow becomes too much to bear does the bed come off her back. It is an altar of anguish. The sorrow never leaves her and she can never leave it.
Rape is such an ugly word. Saying the word gives off foulness to the mouth. Its various conjugations make it an adjective, a noun and a verb – rape victim, the rapist, a rape, to rape. Rape is forced, intimate violence. It is Simon’s purpose to make the audience understand and to feel the many ways rape is instigated. He explains that when a young man cannot complete the sexual act with the prostitute by the time she finishes her three pages, the male procurer will provide a loaf of bread for a few extra cents which the man can use to reach satisfaction. A loaf of bread – an inanimate object sexualized by acts thrust upon it. Is this rape? He tells the story of a broom violently used as punishment against a young boy, Alfred, by his step-mother. The attack almost kills the boy taking away innocence and leaving only malevolence. Is this rape? Rape is not simply localized in the way Alfred grows up to rape Ruth’s child.
The stage lights dim transforming the once inviting set into a menacing, frightening and unfamiliar typography drenched in shadows. The depiction of the rape is conducted symbolically but violently. The act brings shutters and gasps from the audience.
When the media arrives to cover the story the various reporters sensationalize the brutality burying the economically disadvantaged township in a stigma and stereotype of degeneracy and shame. Is this rape? Six men are falsely charged and immediately become hated entities, losing their families, their community, their livelihoods, even while proclaiming their innocence; yet their lives are demanded in retribution. Is this rape? The culture coupled with its religious doctrine places the word and authority of man over woman destroying her individuality, her self-worth and her capabilities. Is this rape? A baby, whose name is Sissy, is renamed “Tshepang” or “Saviour” without her knowing, understanding or consent which places the weight of redemption for the sins of others on her innocent and unknowing shoulders. Is this rape? Simon demonstrates that the line between victim and perpetrator is not definitive.
Ruth shuffles to the front of the stage and utters the name “Tshepang.” It is soft sound coming from a strained throat that has not spoken in very long. She says the name again – “Tshepang” – the only word spoken by Ruth the entire play. She has found her voice; she has found the courage to speak. Child rape is a constant reality, not an isolated case in some economically disadvantaged township of a far off country. Baby Tshepang brought out the truth. Will we allow the truth of child rape to once again be silenced as a consequence of our disinterest? Will we allow the voices of the weak to be swallowed up by the invidious dishonesty of the strong? Will we continue to allow tradition, culture, and religion to determine when we can speak and when we are to remain silent? Will we allow the media to continue to sensationalize in order to gain market profits rather than demand complete, honest, diverse and unbiased reporting? Will we continue to rape?
- Christina E. Mitchell, Intern
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