Mother to Mother: Chapter 8 Summary & Analysis

In the wake of the Girl’s murder, the community takes out their anger and horror on Mandisa, suggesting yet again that children are extensions of their parents; what the child does wrong, the parent is responsible for. Leading up to the murder, Mandisa seems to mostly accept that this is the case. Now that it’s clear that Mxolisi was, in fact, involved in the murder of the Girl, Mandisa is beginning to realize how unfair it is to saddle a parent with all of the mistakes their children make.

Mama continues to isolate Mandisa as punishment for not meeting her expectations. The punishments are all-consuming, as even Mandisa’s bathroom breaks are heavily regulated. This passage highlights the price of failing to meet familial expectations in Mandisa’s community, but it also emphasizes that family life, defined as it is by expectations and obligations, can be like a sort of inescapable prison.

Mama places the burden of the unplanned pregnancy squarely on Mandisa’s shoulders, thus abdicating China of all responsibility. Mama’s comments are undoubtedly sexist, but she also points to the way that a pregnancy affects a woman more acutely than a man, since the woman has to carry the baby. In claiming that nothing has happened to China, Mama also suggests that women have more familial responsibilities than men do, and that Mandisa will simply need to accept that.

Throughout her banishment to her grandmother’s house and her pregnancy, Mandisa has been thinking of China as if he were the knight in shining armor who would make her life better—she even contemplated moving to East London just to be closer to him, which would be a “better arrangement.” Here, China falls short of Mandisa’s expectations in a big way; like Mama, China resorts to anger and refuses to listen to Mandisa’s side of the story.

Family is central to the novel, especially in the context of familial obligations and expectations. Having failed to meet her family’s expectation that she be a “good girl,” Mandisa finds herself without any support from her immediate family; losing China, who can be seen as a kind of chosen family member, leaves Mandisa with nothing and no one.

Along with being interested in the way that obligations and expectations manifest themselves in the context of a family unit, the novel also focuses on how traditions play out in families and wider communities. This passage marks the beginning of a slew of childbirth- and wedding-related traditions that Mandisa will find herself expected to follow.

As China prepares to take on the role of husband and father, he must show that he has officially come of age and become a man by getting circumcised.

Mxolisi’s birth begins to flesh out why he and Mandisa have such a unique relationship and why Mandisa thinks of him as being markedly different from her other children. In this passage, Mandisa is forced to come to terms with the fact that Mxolisi is about to change her life dramatically—which she resents—but also feels a rush of love for the baby.

In naming her newborn son “Hlumelo,” Mandisa uses language to encourage a break from the past, as she hopes that there are new, good things awaiting her and her son in the future. Throughout the novel, language is usually a way to connect people to a shared past or experience, which already sets the stage for the ways in which Mxolisi will prove discordant and difficult.

With her pregnancy and now with her marriage, Mandisa is completely going against the social grain of the community, dodging expectations and traditions alike. Doing so only brings shame to the family, however, again highlighting how important traditions and obligations are not just to Mandisa’s family but to the community at large.

Surprisingly, Mandisa has won some support from her father (recall that when news of her pregnancy first broke, her father refused to acknowledge her has his daughter—an attitude he maintained until after Mxolisi’s birth). Mama is against the idea of Mandisa going to school, it seems, because that’s not what traditional mothers do. Since Mandisa has already broken so many traditions and expectations, Mama seems desperate to make Mandisa finally submit to being a certain type of woman.

Tata experiences a swift change of heart when faced with pressure from the rest of his family, which suggests that he’s eager to align himself with the expectations that the rest of the family has for him as a father.

Mama begins to accept—and even love—Mxolisi once Mandisa fulfils the expectation of marrying the boy’s father, as well as the social tradition of moving in with his family.

Mandisa conflates motherhood with “abandoning [her] dreams, hopes, [and] aspirations” indefinitely. This obligation is why she comes to alternately resent and love Mxolisi so much—he was the one who “forced [her] into being a wife” and a mother at just fifteen years old.

The first night in China’s family home is overstimulating for Mandisa; everyone is a stranger, there is loud chanting and singing going on, and her emotions are so deep and painful that she eventually feels numb. Interestingly, the novel points out that this terrifying experience is expected of new brides. However, Mandisa doesn’t seem to glean comfort or support from knowing that the story of her first night echoes many others’.

On her first night in China’s family home, Mandisa is essentially transformed into a new person; she’s given new dwellings, clothing, and even a new name. The name China’s family chooses for Mandisa reveals that they see her as an “unimaginable monstrosity” that appeared out of nowhere and altered the course of China’s life. In a way, this is also how Mandisa thinks of Mxolisi; while she both loves and resents him, he was certainly an “unimaginable” surprise.

China’s father speaks to the way that customs are what make family units strong and unite. He notes how Mxolisi—if Mandisa consents to follow the family’s custom and rename him as such—can serve as a kind of truce between two feuding families. Even though Mandisa clearly doesn’t want to rename her child (and has been just renamed herself, with an openly offensive name), she bends to her new family’s wishes, prioritizing “peace” over further disagreement. The tradition that grandparents are supposed to name a new child connects to the novel’s broader argument that language connects people to a shared history. In choosing the baby’s name, the baby’s relatives officially welcome him into their fold, claiming him as one of their own.

In an effort to continue to preserve the newfound “peace” between her and her new family, Mandisa throws herself into the role of the “good makotis,” or new bride. This role encompasses a great deal of obligations and responsibilities, as she is expected to be a dutiful helper and servant as she adjusts into the family.

Now that Mandisa has satisfied the traditions that a young woman is expected to conform to, Mama finally seems free to worry about other things, like Mandisa’s emotional well-being.

The early days of China and Mandisa’s marriage highlight how traditions and familial obligations can be burdensome and stifling; when they weren’t bound to one another in any sort of obligation, China and Mandisa loved and desired each other. Now that they are essentially forced to love and desire one another—or at least act like a family and have children—both former lovers feel increasingly resentful of and isolated from one another.

China’s sharp comment that Mandisa should have gotten an abortion is horrifying for Mandisa because abortions are illegal and dangerous; as Mama and Mandisa discussed earlier in the novel, and Mandisa remembers here, Ribba died tragically during a botched abortion. Thus, China’s comment betrays that he cares little about Mandisa’s health or well-being—and wishes their son, and perhaps even Mandisa herself, dead. China feels no obligation to his wife or child, and given that the families in the community hinge on expectations, obligations, and traditions, this spells further trouble for the pair’s marriage.

As a new bride, Mandisa is expected to fulfil a very specific and demanding set of expectations, which require her to prostrate herself before the family and serve them as if she were a servant rather than a member of their clan. Mandisa does what’s expected of her—albeit begrudgingly—which shows that she’s made some progress in terms of keeping the peace by upholding traditions and customs.

This passage begins to flesh out the idea that Mandisa resents Mxolisi for specifically getting in the way of her education. Because Mandisa strongly believes that education is the only path to a better life, and her son interferes with this, Mandisa sees Mxolisi as the root cause of all her struggles. He is the reason why she can’t have a better life—and perhaps never will.

Mandisa’s in-laws are unsupportive of her dreams, as pursuing an education lies outside of her duties as a wife, mother, and daughter-in-law.

Throughout the novel, China has acted like he has no obligation to Mandisa or Mxolisi, and here he makes that perfectly clear by abandoning them. Families in Mandisa’s community are centered around obligations and expectations—these things are the glue that keep families strong and united—so it makes sense that Mandisa and China’s marriage would crumble without them.

In renting a hokkie, or shack, “of [her] own,” Mandisa again goes against tradition, leaving behind China’s family in the process. Mandisa constantly grapples with the need to satisfy her family’s expectations of her; in trying to be a good daughter-in-law but ultimately skirting that role after many months of thankless work, Mandisa seems to be making a choice of who her family really is. Her true obligation is to be a good mother to Mxolisi, not a good daughter-in-law to a family that no longer contains her husband.

Mandisa’s choice is not without regret—her acknowledgement that Mxolisi misses his father and grandfather shows that Mandisa is well aware that family is the backbone of life in her community.

In recounting this moment, Mandisa shows how violence was woven into the fabric of Mxolisi’s childhood. Through her detailed explanations of her son’s upbringing and the state of things in Guguletu under apartheid, Mandisa attempts to show the Mother of the Girl—and the reader—that the crime her son committed is far more complex than it seems. In telling Mxolisi’s life story as well as her own, Mandisa places the murder of the Girl—as well as that of Zazi and Mzamo—against a larger history of oppression and pain.

In Mother to Mother, language is important because it unites people and reminds them of their shared histories and experiences. By this logic, lack of language does the exact opposite; in becoming mute for two years, Mxolisi isolates himself from his mother and the wider world.

Nono, Mandisa’s childhood friend who took up with Mandisa’s brother, reappears in the narrative. Both women share stories of the backlash they faced upon getting pregnant out of wedlock. Although these stories are ones of pain and suffering, they allow the women to empathize with one another because of their shared experience.

This passage feels vaguely reminiscent of when Aunt Funiwe and Makhulu implored Mama to “support and protect” Mandisa despite the shocking news of her unplanned pregnancy. While Mama believed Mandisa failed her by getting pregnant out of wedlock, Mandisa feels that Mxolisi failed her by simply being born. Although Mama did not choose to “support and protect” her daughter for many years, Mandisa now has the opportunity to act with “love and understanding” when dealing with her son.

Mandisa continues to piece together her complex resentment for her son. Recall that when Mandisa became pregnant, a local midwife confirmed that Mandisa was technically a virgin—meaning that her hymen was unbroken, thus proving Mandisa’s claim that she never had penetrative sex. This means that it was Mxolisi’s birth that broke her hymen and, in Mandisa’s mind, stole her virginity. Even though Mandisa constantly dodges and resents traditions, she laments not being able to partake in the traditional way of conceiving a child.

Even though many of her struggles stem from having a child out of wedlock—which went against her family and the community’s expectations for her as a young unmarried woman—Mandisa repeats the same behavior here.

Mxolisi is beginning to regain language by communicating with hand signs; as the novel argues that language binds people together, Mxolisi’s increasing use of language corresponds with his growing connection with Lungile and Mandisa.

Lungile uses language—in this case, a folktale—to threaten Mxolisi rather than connect with him in a positive way.

The novel largely positions language as a medium that draws people together and connects them to a shared history, so it’s fitting that Mxolisi asks about his father when the boy finally regains his capacity for language. In not answering his question—that is, in not using language—Mandisa isolates Mxolisi from his past and perhaps from her, too.

The detail about Mxolisi not paying his school fees is a reminder of the family’s poverty. As this part of the novel foregrounds Mandisa’s family life, it’s crucial to remember what’s going on in the background: institutionalized racism, enacted and perpetuated by a callous government, which keeps black South Africans from lifting themselves out of destitution.

Even though Mandisa knows that pursuing an education is one of the only ways a black South African can find a better life, Mxolisi finds politics far more pressing. The rallying cry “one settler, one bullet” is a call to kill white settlers. During this time, the PAC (Pan Africanist Congress) defined a settler as a white person who was oppressing black South Africans—in other words, not all white South Africans were considered settlers at this point. However, some interpreted the phrase without nuance, using it as a way to justify violence against any and all white people.

As Mxolisi grows distant and radicalized, and systematic oppression under apartheid rages on, Dwadwa provides an important sense of stability for Mandisa.

That people call Mandisa “Mother of Mxolisi” rather than “Mandisa” enfolds two of the novel’s key themes. First, it emphasizes the community’s belief that children are extensions of their parents (or perhaps vice versa). This can be a good thing, as when Mandisa is showered with gratitude and praise for her son’s noble action of stopping a rape, but it can also be a terrible burden, as Mandisa has been coming to terms with throughout the novel. Secondly, the phrase “Mother of Mxolisi” is a reminder of language’s capacity to connect people—here, Mandisa’s identity is wrapped up in her son and her status as a mother, connecting mother and son so tightly that they’re practically intertwined.