SHAMELESS (Book) By Futhi Ntshingila

Book: SHAMELESS


Author: Futhi Ntshingila

Publisher: University of KwaZulu Natal Press


Review by Omoseye Bolaji

Is there a dearth of emerging talented South African female (Black) writers; or perhaps the spotlight is not being shed enough on scintillating young (or younger) talent in this wise? I pondered this after reading a short novel by Futhi Ntshingila titled Shameless.

Decades ago, Nigeria’s Cyprian Ekwensi published his superb work, Jagua Nana which focuses on a prostitute and her desperations. But nowadays it appears even prostitutes have their pride; and the main protagonist of the novel Shameless, Thandiwe, despite selling herself, has patent confidence in herself. This does not prevent her from being subjected to the usual perils prostitutes face of course:

“Prostitutes disappear and their dead bodies are found decomposing in the alleys of Hillbrow…some have died horrible deaths in the penthouses of rich men who put their beautiful bodies in black rubbish bags. They ferry them in the dead of the night to Hillbrow bridges, only to be found by the hobos living in the underworld. Often the bodies are found as remains half-eaten by maggots”

(page 27)

There are three quite perceptive female voices here (in this work) though: Thandiwe herself, Zonke, who chronicles much of what the reader absorbs here; and the assiduous Black female “ambitious” film-maker, Kwena. But the emphasis is on Thandiwe, what makes her tick, her background, her profession and how she survives being almost killed in the end (shot by a jealous client, as it were)

Thandiwe unashamedly explains how she “pleases” men: “I am their priestess; I hear their deepest darkest confessions and I give them the absolution that no regular priest can”. ‘After their heavenly absolution from her, they feel satisfied yet empty, in need of another fix.’

Shedding more detail on her life as a prostitute, Thandiwe goes further: “Dickson became my second client. He hated me and yet, routinely, without fail he came for his fix at Sipho’s flat every Wednesday lunch hour. I think he bragged to his friends because soon I was picking up more clients at their parties…”

Reminiscing on Thandiwe's roots, we read: “To this day, the smell of cow dung reminds me of home. We would follow the cows in the morning and wait for them to shit and we would scoop their warm green shit and pile it up in a bucket. We would get home, sweep the floor, mix the crap with water and smear it all over, making patterns with the sides of our hands, leaving a fresh smell of green,”

(page 35)

We also glimpse how Zonke and Thandiwe became very close. “She saw me watching and her uncle saw her looking at the window. He got distracted, turned to look at me and that’s when it happened. That was the moment Thandiwe and I became blood sisters. It was quick as lightning…”

(Page 42)

And how film-maker, Kwena, bonds with Thandiwe later on: “When the filming is finished Kwena breaks into tears and holds onto Thandiwe. She sobs like a little girl. Thandiwe feels her pain and does what she sometimes does with her sad clients…”

Literary allusions are here in this work, though well modulated. For example on page 51: “At school we were studying Macbeth, and I worried that maybe Thandiwe was going to be like Lady Macbeth now, racked with guilt. She would have visions of bloody hands that could never be clean again…”

West Africans will be pleased to see the (partial) first hand knowledge the author has of food…at a Cameroonian eatery in Yeoville. “They both ask for fried bananas (plantain) and peanut butter spinach”

This is a well written, convincing portrait of a “lady of the night’ from an inside view – more importantly, the author is a woman and avoids the usual prurience and focus on the physical pleasure a male author would normally dish out. This is more of a psychological work tracing the antecedents of the protagonist; and the view of Kwena late on (as per her documentary on Thandiwe) in this work is also moving:

“She said Thandiwe had taught her to push past her fears and her shame – shame about her career and her choices, her life, friends and family – and be the best possible person she could be…the shameless ones are free from illusions. They have mourned the loss of innocence. They choose survival in the periphery’