Thula Baba

A Zulu lullaby

AI generated

Thula thul, thula baba thula sana;

thul’ u bab’uzo fika eku seni;

thula seni

kukh’in kanyezi ziholel’ u baba

Thula Baba is a Zulu lullaby and I remember these words so well.

My childhood was blessed by a beautiful Zulu woman, Johanna, who was our housekeeper for many years. She was my mother, my mama, my safe place in a cold cruel world. She taught me about motherhood and loving your children.

She lived with her children on our small farm in her own home. I thank God for that because if not for her constant presence in my life, I would never have known love.

At times when my heart was broken, I would run to her and she would hold me tight on her lap and sing Thula Baba to me. She loved me unconditionally, like a real mother. She never said anything about my parents, but I know she knew there was no love in my house.

When I won gold certificates at Eisteddfods' I couldn't wait to show her my accomplishments. When I was cast in leading roles in school plays, she was the first to know.

But our relationship was restricted by our different race, in the old hateful apartheid South Africa. She couldn't be there when I acted my heart out on stage because I attended a white school.

I yearned to live with Johanna and her children. I remember countless evenings, sitting around their fire eating pap (porridge) and stew. When my brother was born I was allowed to stay with them and sleep with her in her bed. The bed was high on bricks so that the tokoloshe couldn't come and steal our souls in the dark of night. One whole blissful week I lived with them. I wished my mother would never come home.

When she became ill with tuberculosis she stayed in hospital for months. It was the loneliest and saddest time of my childhood. I cried myself to sleep every night, and begged my mother to take me to see her. The day she came home was a glorious day of celebration.

Johanna was always there to soothe my aching soul. When she passed away I was left motherless with a broken heart. In the Zulu tradition, you must cry all your tears at the grave to allow the soul to depart for the spiritual realm unshackled. It was the hardest thing to do, but I did it. I walked away from that sad sad place and remembered the blessing she was.

I know my Zulu mama has been with me in my heart and on the difficult roads I traveled. One day she will envelop me again in her loving arms.