Isidlamlilo/The Fire Eater is set in a downtown womens’ hostel in Durban, where we first meet sixty-something Zenzile Maseko (Mpume Mthombeni), a grandmother partially disabled and mistakenly declared dead by Home Affairs’ decrepit system.

It is within the confines of this hostel room that Zenile reckons with Nkhulukhulu (God), recalling the unbelievable series of events and misfortunes that have befallen her across her lifetime. Zenzile, we soon discover, operated as one of the IFP’s most feared assassins (nicknamed Impundulu/The lightning bird) in the build-up to the 1994 South African elections. 

It is a past Zenzile has spent a majority of her adult life trying to erase, conversing nightly with Nkhulukhulu and begging him to cleanse her of her past sins. But when the home affairs declare her dead and are unable to reverse the error on their system, Zenzile finds herself cast into the middle of a Kafkaesque nightmare, driven to desperate measures to prove she is still alive, and in the process, reawaken the vengeful spirit of Impundulu/The lightning bird  to set matters right.

How do we make sense of the violence that mark our histories? Isidlamlilo is a profoundly South African story, but one that resonates beyond our borders as we navigate what it means to live in times of conflict. At the dawn of a new democracy, and emerging from the dying horrors of Apartheid, violent conflict between the Inkatha Freedom Party and the African National Congress raged in the province of KwaZulu-Natal. This violence escalated to an average of 101 people killed per month between July 1990 and June 1993. These politically motivated killings occurred between two organizations who opposed white domination and struggled for freedom for Black people, in effect turning KwaZulu-Natal and parts of what is today known as Gauteng into a civil war. A war that came to rest in the most painful of ways on the doorsteps and hearts of many Black families. Twenty-nine years into our democracy the stories of this war are seldom retold. Isidlamlilo tells the story of one woman, Zenzile Maseko, birthed into this violence. A woman who is both victim and oppressor, a caregiver, and a life taker. How do we make sense of the violence that marks our past? For Zenzile her answer is simple, we survive.

We find Zenzile, alone with her memories, in a small one-room unit in an all-women’s hostel in the city of Durban. Under apartheid Black people were not allowed to live in the city, except in highly regulated hostel spaces. Hostels were, before and under apartheid, dormitory-like buildings run by local municipalities for Black workers, who worked as exploited labourers for urban industries. Hostels mostly housed men, and no families were allowed in these buildings. However, already in the 1920s, more and more black women were coming to the city of Durban looking for work. The colonial municipality then built women only hostels such as the one that Zenzile lives in. Hostels in South Africa are intimately wrapped up in the IFP and ANC violence of the 1990s. These buildings were often large, overcrowded complexes that housed thousands of migrant workers. Complex social and economic reasons saw some hostel residents mobilized around political identities linked to ethnic identities. This legacy of violence continues in a few hostels today. Under the democratic government hostels have been renamed Community Residential Units. Hostel remain the first port of call for many people entering the city from rural areas looking for work. Sadly, they also remain marginalized and neglected spaces by many municipalities. Men’s hostels have opened to families, and women. The hostel that Zenzile has made her home, however, remains a women’s only hostel. A feature that the women who stay in it deeply appreciate.

Zenzile’s story is inspired by the lives of real women living in a Durban hostel. These women were part of an oral history project on migration, gender and inclusion run by the Urban Futures Centre at the Durban University of Technology. They shared their stories of arriving in the city of Durban for the first time, and what it means to try and make this place something like home. It is in these women’s oral histories that we learn that hostels, while difficult spaces with little privacy, are also places of sanctuary for some women. Places from which women slowly start to build lives in the city. This oral history research formed the foundation of an Empatheatre production that produced powerful pieces of theatrical storytelling that were shared far beyond the confines of research publications.

It is in the richness and strength of women’s experiences that Zenzile’s story is masterfully told in Isidlamlilo. Flown in on the wings of the Impundulu (the lightning bird), in Zulu folklore a shapeshifting bird associated with witchcraft and the harbinger of storms and death, Zenzile’s story is a magical and terrifying tapestry. She draws on myth, religious symbolism, and traditional beliefs as she shares the, at time brutal, at times forgiving, realities of surviving in this land. It is a performance that touches on what it means to live with, and through, political violence, the transition to democracy, the brutality of inequality, health epidemics like HIV/AIDS, patriarchy, and the apathetic bureaucracy of government departments. It is also the story of an unimaginably formidable woman, a powerful agent in her own right, with a wicked sense of humour. Isidlamlilo reminds us that we are seldom one thing in this world. As we walk with Zenzile through her memories she reminds us of what it means to refuse to die, to refuse to be overcome.

Dr Kira Erwin

The production has had runs at the 2022 National Arts Festival and The Elizabeth Sneddon Theatre in Durban. In 2023 Isidlamlilo/The Fire Eater will tour to the Market Theatre, Johannesburg, Hilton Arts Festival, Kwa-Zulu Natal, Noorderzon festival in Netherlands, La Bâtie-Festival de Genève in Switzerland and Kampnagel International Summer Festival in Hamburg, Germany. The play text will be published by Wits University press in 2024 and possibly become a set work in South African high schools.

Zenzile: You know it will probably be those people from home affairs who will put me in that ground for good. Yah still no SASSA grant…No ID, no telephone calls. (beat) It’s been two years of this nonsense, and so early this morning I decided I would pay them a final visit. 

A rumble of thunder again as the storm circles back for its final crescendo. Zenzile means business. She grabs her purse and a black umbrella and pushes the wheelchair angrily into position, cursing in isiZulu as she goes. Lights shrink around the scene as she takes her seat for a final showdown with Pink Nails. 

I waited for over eight hours in that queue before pink fingernails looked up from behind her  computer. 

“Yah uphelile u 2 years manje154” I said “Two years of you telling me the same thing…"And The lightsIsiZulu today, what’s your story, child?”  

(Pretending not to recognize her.) “Igama lakho155?” 

“Don’t play games with me “ (She strikes her desk with her umbrella) “You know my name… Wazi kahle ukuthi ngzokwenzani la.156” 

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask... 

“Let me speak to your manager” 

“He’s not here today, Gogo.” 

“Then let me speak to that man there in that picture behind your desk (pointing accusingly with her umbrella).... Get that man on the telephone and tell him I wish to speak with him.” 

“That’s not possible.” 

“Ngobani?” 

“That man is the president of South Africa” 

“And what is his problem? Does he think he is too important to take my calls and care about my little life? Does he not remember how much of my own life I sacrificed so that he can sit there and smile like that when he gets his picture taken? Does he not yet know that it’s us—the gogos of this nation—who hold it together when others are just prepared to sit back and let it fall apart? (beat)No, I will teach that man to care.” 

“I’m going to need your full name and ID number to process your query, Mrs....” “Zenzile Maseko” 

“Spell that for me? 

She is about to spell out her name but pauses for a moment. A rumble of thunder and a flash of lightning She  spells out each letter forcefully) 

“I…M…P…U…N…D…U…L…U” 

“Excuse?” 

“Ungizwile ntombazane”158 

“iIpu……ini159?” 

“Im-pun-dulu!. Type that in…. type it!… If you’re still going to tell me that Zenzile Maseko died  eleven years ago in uMzimkhulu, usimoshelani skhathi sami…Maybe Impundulu is the name that that system will recognize. Type it in now and see… ubuke how your machine keys qhaqhazela when it remembers who I am. (Firmly) Type it! 

The lights in the office flicker and trip, leaving Zenzile lit by a floor lamp that further enhances the menace and determination on her face. 

I’m afraid, Gogo, our system has gone offline now with the load shedding. You are going to have to
Wait now till the power comes back on. 

“No ngeke ukwazi ukungibulala! You can’t kill me…Each time I pull myself out of those holes, I dust myself off and carry on. I carry on and on and on and on because that is what this life has cursed me to do. Yah they’ve shot, cut, stabbed and beaten me, broken every bone in this body, hung tyres around my neck; poured gasoline and pissed on my corpse. They’ve spilled alcohol  in my ancestors names… sat vigils through the nights, sung funeral songs over and over again, and now what must happen, eh?You want me to believe your president's computer has killed me where none of these other things could? (Laughs heartily) 

“I’m going to call the security now, Gogo!” 

No.. do not provoke me child!…For when this creature comes again, none of you will have an office left to return to in the morning. Yah all of these things you see here … iynkomishi zekhofi nama teaspoon; names and surnames; walls; computers; framed pictures of fat ministers; dates of birth; dates of death; numbers and certificates; all of it will be gone before the sun rises. Angiqambi amanga 

No, you cannot kill me. I’ve been here before you and will be here long…long after…Long after you and your family and your children’s children are forgotten. Yah, here we are after those politicians and their supporters and their enemies and their computers and their systems have erased and eaten each other. 

Tremors from the lightning shake the window panes of the building. The wind begins to howl outside.

Never again uyangizwa?…never again made to serve as another’s umthakathi, weapon… comrade, isibunu, isifebe, or whore. What a world I will be left with soon, eh? Free child...free for evermore. 

No …No man left to stand as my  

Leader…Lord…God…King…Commander…President…Deceiver!  

No one's a soldier, follower, servant, or wife. With Jehovah’s book as my pulpit, I’ll rise up (with venom in my veins and lightning on my tongue) to preach from the revelations written by my own life! 

Lightning strikes… Zenziwe’s tone shifts to that of a preacher mid-sermon. She rises from her wheelchair and pushes it to one side, claiming all of the playing space. 

Lutho awusoze wangibulala mina. I’ll be here past John’s judgments... past the coming of the horseman, the breaking of the seals, the sounding of the trumpets, and the pouring of the bowls. Past the earthquakes, pestilences, storms, clouds of ash that suffocate the moon and sun, and floods and swarms. Past the melting of the ice, the drying of the rivers, and the dying of the land. After those plagues have sucked the final breaths from the remaining sinners lips and I’ve washed and sung the last corpse left to sleep there deep, deep, deep in the ground, 

(Another crash. Music building.) 

Past the reckoning, the reaping, and the second coming! Past Jehovah returning to guide his flocks into heaven’s pastures and padlocking the pearly gate behind him. (beat) I’ll still be here. 

No more lists or lines; no more suffering or shame. With hands raised to their heavens, I’ll reclaim the dance of my ancestors… Stamp out the coals left by hell's eternal flames. 

She begins a traditional Zulu dance now, chanting defiantly. Her umbrella clenched in one fist, punching at the sky. She raises a leg uncomfortably before stamping it forcefully back to the earth. She covers the floor space of her tiny room, carrying out this ritual, wincing in pain with each determined stomp. The music ends….Her body slows, recalling its age, its brokenness, and its earthly limitations. 

At the end of the dance, rain begins to fall, streaking down the window pane, its sound filling the theater. Zenzile cranes her head back to meet it, letting go of the umbrella…extending both arms, and

,  surrendering to its sensations. She turns a slow circle before confronting Pink Nails for a final time. 

And when those first rains fall again to cool the steaming earth and there’s nothing ... .not a soul  or human left…even after that…. Zenzile Maseko …life-giver…life-taker… Sidlamlilo and Impundulu will remain. 

Storm calms…the torrential downpour subsides into a softer, soothing patter. Zenzile stands center Thestage, looking out, beyond ‘pink nails’ and the home affairs office, beyond the audience, beyond the heavens. 

Yah you will find her there…. there at the top of that hill…. sitting there laying the final bricks to her house…sitting there on that cursed patch of earth, with the dying stars above and the stinking river below. 

And if Unkulunkulu… you see that she is lonely and you take pity on her….she will offer you one  of her ribs…but on one condition: that you send her another woman and not some useless man. (Zenzile-- as if her request has been granted-- slides off her dressing gown and hugs the garment close to her,  breathing in its scent deeply before tucking her heaven-sent companion into bed.) Then, when that soil is ready, she will plant her gogo’s tree back in the earth. (She cradles the monkey-apple sapling in her  arms before kneeling to place it centre-stage on the ground) She will mix up that special recipe…caring for  it until it bears the first fruits…so that life may begin again, and life may return.

She makes her final offering, sliding the sapling into the last remaining sliver of light. She then sits on the corner of her bed and smiles serenely. 

Yah at last silence will have descended over the hills and valleys and she will be at peace…peace  with the wings of the lightning bird burnt into her back… peace with the Imfezis and wild dogs  of Ipharadesi curled up and snoring on her soft, warm lap. 

She turns away from the audience, stroking an imaginary serpent. The lightning scar stretches and glows across her back for a final moment, mirrored by the image of the sapling branches center stage.  

The lights fade.  

Darkness 

Just the sounds of rain and a lonely distant wind blowing over the ruins of all the earth. know,

-End-

“Isidlamlilo fills a great missing in the story of this country. It exquisitely brings to light crucial and compelling narratives about women, power and being that complicate and explain our history, all at the same time. Isidlamlilo is necessary and urgent viewing” 

Kneo Mokgopa (Narrative Development manager at the Nelson Mandela Foundation.) 

“Through her extraordinary slow-burn incandescent performance Mpume Mthombeni in, as, Isidlamlilo, explores with anguish and bitter humour the quiet, desperate heroism of the African woman in the face of unrelenting suffering. It should, it will, break your heart." 

Prof. Heila Lotz-Sisitka (Professor and NRF-SARChI Chair in Global Change and Social Learning Systems Development at Rhodes University) 

“Woven together from true stories and testimonials gathered by the Empatheatre company, with a near flawless presentation and delivery, Isidlamlilo expands our horizons so often cramped by fears real and imagined, and imparts some of the courage the dispossessed have to daily gather to continue to live. This is fantastic theatre.” 

Steve Kretzmann (NAF 2022 Theatre review)

 “What a privilege to witness Mpume Mthombeni’s searing performance in Empatheatre’s Isidlamlilo tonight. This is what theatre is for. To encounter life in all its beauty, horror, pain, and humanity and to feel with every breath and sigh, into another’s life. Thank you Empatheatre for this gift. It will change you!”

 Yvette Hardie (National Director of ASSITEJ SA and the President of ASSITEJ International.) 

“Neil Coppen’s newest theater production, Isidlamilo — The Fire Eater, is the work of an absolutely masterful genius. Mpume Mthombeni gives a tour de force performance in this one hander with a script that seeds itself from the political violence of the eighties to the state of the nation today. ….This is what world class South African theatre is about and one production that truly deserved the six minute sustained standing ovation that it received.” 

Ismail Mahomed (Head of Centre of Creative Arts, UKZN) 

“This is possibly the most moving performance I have seen in a decade. Electrifying barely covers it! If you are nearby, go, go go!” 

Kyla Davis. (Director of Well Worn Theatre Company) 

“Isidlamlilo is utterly breath-taking. A production that soars with scope and ambition while also managing to maintain a heart-breaking sensitivity and intimacy. A true gem in the pantheon of great South African theatre. Mthombeni is sublime. She delivered a performance unlike anything I have ever seen. I was utterly transfixed by her magnetic presence and astounding range. Don’t miss this show!” 

Rob Van Vuuren (Comedian/Actor/Theatre maker) 

“A brilliant theatre piece and electrifying performance by Mpume Mthombeni. I was really blown away. Siyabonga to the whole team at Empatheatre. We need this!” 

Thembi Mtshali-Jones (Actor and Television celebrity)

“Want to see what it means when we say theatre should be memorable, transformative, inventive, provoking, with comical nuanced shades of light and dark…then watch Isidlamlilo. It’s a powerful, compelling and transformative experience.”

 Philisiwe Twjinstra (Actor and Playwright)

Isidlamlilo was made possible by the National Arts Festival (NAF) and later funding from the NAC PESP fund, with additional support and thanks to the Drama Department and the UFC (Urban Futures Centre) at Durban University of Technology. 

Featuring Mpume Mthombeni as Zenzile Maseko 

Directed by Neil Coppen

Written by Neil Coppen in collaboration with Mpume Mthombeni 

Lighting Design by Tina Le Roux 

Sound design by Tristan Horton. 

Set Design by Greg King 

Additional Set dressing Dylan McGarry, Neil Coppen, and Wendy Henstock. 

Production Manager  Tina Le Roux/Guy Nelson 

Rain SFX by Steven Woodroffe 

Poster Design by Dylan McGarry 

Stills photography by Val Adamson