A quintessentially South African short story: Born to Fight

Thabiso Mchunu Cele got up from the old mattress lying on the cold cement floor of the corrugated iron shack which he shared with his parents and three brothers. As he unlocked the old wooden door to go outside to use the long drop toilet, he shivered in the early morning mist which hung over the township that he called home.

He could smell coal and wood fires burning where his neighbours were boiling water for washing and to make a cup of hot, strong, sweet, black tea before starting their day.

He went back inside and greeted his family, who were by now also awake. “Thabiso, his eldest brother Joseph asked, are you starting work at the boxing academy and gym today?”

“Yes I am Joe. I had better get ready. I can’t be late on my first day!”

He pulled on a track suit and laced up his Jordan’s, a Christmas present from his Uncle Thulani. He took the warm soapy wash cloth from his mother and quickly ran it over his face and head.

“Here you are Thabiso, his father said. “Here is your taxi fare. You must pay me back at the end of the week. You’re a working man now!”

Thabiso laughed. It sounded so good. A working man! He had passed his matric last year and was very happy that his father’s friend, who owned the academy in the city, had offered him a job as a trainee boxer and general assistant.

Thabiso’s father had named him after a champion South African boxer, Thabiso Mchunu, who had challenged for the WBO Cruiserweight title in 2016. He had fought against boxers from South Africa, Russia, Namibia, Latvia, Moldovia, the Ukraine, Burkino Faso, the Congo, Nigeria and America. Thabiso had waited eighteen years to be able to follow in his idol’s footsteps. His name sake had had 27 fights; 22 wins, and only 5 losses.

He thankfully drank the hot tea which his mother had poured for him and, taking his packed lunch from the table, he put it into his new Uzzi back pack holding his boxing shorts, shoes, hand wraps, a white vest and his yellow and black gum guard, a present from his father and made in the colours of his favourite soccer team Moraka Swallows.

Thabiso ran for a taxi. The rank was already busy but he soon got a seat and was on his way to “Egoli”, place of gold. Getting off of the taxi in Fordsburg, he jogged the five blocks to the “Future Stars” Boxing Academy and Gymnasium. As he opened the red swing door, the smell of old sweat, blood and worn leather hit him like a brick! He laughed out loud. “Home, he shouted, I have come home!”

“Hello Thabiso! Welcome! Come and meet the team.” Walter “Basher” Khumalo was known throughout the boxing world as the best trainer ever to have produced champions and Thabiso knew how lucky he was to start his boxing career under his watchful eye.

Two hours later Thabiso was so tired that he could hardly stand. He had scrubbed the toilets and urinals and polished the wooden floor on his hands and knees.

After collecting, washing and drying piles of dirty towels in the laundry room, making litres of tea for Basher and had washed up so many dirty dishes left in the kitchen sink by the boxers that he had lost count he was tired but happy.

“Thabiso, come here boy!” Thabiso dragged his tired body over to the ring side. “Yes, Mr Basher?” “Go and change and get yourself a headgear and gloves from the locker room, I want to see what you’ve got”.

Thabiso did so and felt excited as he swung his leg over the ropes and entered the ring. Another fighter was dancing lightly around the ring in red headgear, and wearing a pair of worn leather boxing gloves. Thabiso waited while Basher bound up his hands and laced up his gloves.

“Ok, said Basher, fight!”

Thabiso moved towards the centre of the ring, but the other boxer beat him to it and without warning, threw Thabiso a straight jab to the head which made him see double. He shook his head, trying to focus on the other fighter. Boom! His head rocked back on his shoulders. Boom, boom, a double jab to his ribs sent him down onto his knees on the canvas.

“Right that’s enough for now,” Basher ordered. “Thabiso, come and meet your sparring partner.” The boxers removed their head gear and Thabiso was staring into the most beautiful brown eyes that he had ever seen. “ubuhle ntombi” sprang into his mind. Lindiwe Kumalo, meet Thabiso Cele. Thabiso this is my daughter, Lindiwe” his mentor said.

“Coach, please find me some real competition next time?” The girl said to her father laughing loudly as she left the ring.

These words were all the encouragement that Thabiso needed to start training as hard as he could. He did everything that Basher asked of him and more. Every spare moment he was skipping, shadow boxing and using the punching bag until his knuckles bled. He begged the other boxers to spar with him and he ran miles and miles to build up his endurance.

He had asked around about Lindiwe. She had been visiting her father’s gym since she could walk. She had shown a natural talent for the sport from a young age and now, she was a champion in her own right and her father was setting up a title fight for her in America. Thabiso knew that if he was going to catch her eye, he was going to have to up his game.

Lady luck smilingly gave him a gift. Basher got sick with the flu and he asked Thabiso if he would take his daughter to an important meeting in town that night. “She will drive you in my car” he said.

“Of course, I will Basher,” Thabiso said, cool as you please, while his heart was beating out of his chest. At last, a chance to impress this young fighter. In his mind his uncles were already starting Lobola negotiations for this lovely and talented girl.

Using his savings, Thabiso went clothing shopping during his lunch break and bought his very first grey, checked suit, a white button-down shirt, a grey tie and a leather belt. He chose a pair of black Daniel Hechter shoes and black cotton socks to finish off his outfit and when Lindiwe came to fetch him at the gym that night, he was pleased to see a look of approval in her eyes. Round two he thought. This young man with the “heart of a lion”” was poised to conquer the world and win the respect and heart of her.

With her father’s approval the pair quickly became a couple, but Temba “Slugger” Dlamini, a heavy weight boxer from Orlando, also thought that he had a chance with Lindiwe, and he watched the pair like a panther waiting to strike. His chance came the very next week. Basher called Thabiso and Temba over saying, “Men, I have a match-maker coming into the gym this afternoon and I really need to impress him, so I want you two to put on an impressive sparring match for him to watch. Three pm sharp!”

At three, the two boxers climbed into the ring and began circling one other, looking for an opening to land the first punch. Temba saw an opportunity to break through Thabiso’s defences, and landed a solid punch into Thabiso’s midriff. The spectators clapped; the match maker knew that he was going to watch an exciting bout.

Thabiso closed in but Temba let loose with a killer punch to the head, powered by all of his pent up jealousy and frustration. Thabiso’s gum guard flew from his mouth, blood began to ooze from an old eye injury and he was unconscious before he even hit the canvas.

Lindiwe screamed, “Dad, ring for an ambulance!” She knelt beside Thabiso, wiping away the blood from his eye with a towel. She looked over to where Temba was lounging in a neutral corner with a look of vicious victory on his face. Lindiwe rose and would have gone over to him to take up the fight but her father held her back.

“Leave this to me my daughter. His voice was low and angry. Travel with Thabiso in the ambulance, I will meet up with you at the hospital.” Temba, I will see you in my office, now!” No one ever knew for certain what took place between “Basher” and “Slugger that day, but Temba was never billed for a fight in Gauteng ever again.

After Thabiso recovered and with the traditional wedding negotiations between the two families completed, the bride price confirmed and paid, the happy pair got married and went on to make a name for themselves in the boxing world. When Basher died, they managed the gym together, raising up champions and keeping Basher’s legacy alive. The memory of the bitter taste of blood was overshadowed by the sweet taste of victory for him.

BIO
My name is Susan Farrell; I am a published author and poet, specialising in Flash Fiction. I am retired and I live on the idyllic South Coast of KwaZulu-Natal.
I received my diploma in fiction writing from the Success College in Gauteng.
My writing career began in earnest when I sold my first short story to the Farmers Weekly Magazine for the princely sum of R50!

Subsequently, my poem, “From Nation to Nation”, commemorating 9/11, was published in the United States of America. I have been published in a flash fiction magazine in Los Angeles and I wrote “Bible Stories in a Nutshell” for the Joy magazine for a time.
I have a blog, “Prayer Warriors United” on Facebook and I am presently developing a site called “Writers Write.”
“Born to Fight” evolved from my five years of volunteer work with an orphanage in KwaXolo, experiencing first hand that where you live or what you do or do not own does not define you – the sheer will to excel and to rise above ones circumstances does!

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