“I am going to take my wife with me next time. I am going to kill someone if I see them there, literally kill her.”

In a field somewhere, two men are tilling the soil with their hoes while they converse. When one talks, he stops tilling, while the other listens, but still tilling.

“You should come to school, my man. They teach us to make sense of the streams of ants found on the paper. They say it is writings. They teach us to read them and count them. They are words and numbers.” He starts tilling again and the other man knows it is the cue for him to stop tilling and speak.

“Matsatsi, my man, there is no education more valuable than that found in initiation school. If a school cannot teach a young girl womanhood, or a young boy manhood, that school is not school at all. That education of yours breeds Mathisa and Maqai, and they are also the ones teaching there. I will never be taught by such people.”

“I saw Lebona there. If this was an omen, if there was a foreboding curse about all this, I doubt the village doctor would have attended.”

“He was there to sell himself to the teachers. He is in desperate need of patients.”

“You do concede that they are teachers?”

“Everyone is a teacher. The only difference is the education. Education can either be bad or good, depending on the teacher.”

*****

Inside the house, two women are sitting in the sitting room. They have just had a conversation. One is dressed in a manner that any dignified African woman should be dressed, a skirt that reaches below the knee and a scarf on her head. The other one, although wearing a skirt, enjoys the fruits of suffrage, with no scarf on the head. She is about to leave and she gets up to do just that.

She picks up her books and puts them in her backpack, she takes her umbrella which had been lying next to the couch she was sitting on and bids the ‘African-woman’s epitome’ goodbye, and promises her to come tomorrow to finish off where they ended.

Later that evening, inside the house, a man and the woman are sitting in the sitting room. They are having a conversation.

“A woman came by today.”

“Hm!” snorts the man.

“She was here to tell me about something. I think she was selling it because she had books talking about it.”

“I don’t have money.”

“She said it heals and gives people eternal life.”

He keeps quiet.

“She also cautioned that one must believe in it and have faith in it and then receive it.”

“There is no such medicine. How much did she say it costs?”

“I said I think she was selling it. I am not sure. She only talked about it, she never mentioned the price, but she said she is coming again tomorrow. I will ask her.”

“I will have to enquire about it from Lebona. As a mature and experienced traditional doctor, he surely knows about it. What did you say its name was?”

“The woman said it is Jesus.”

“That is a strange name, doesn’t ring a bell,” says the man and then tries hard to recall it “Jesus. Jesus. Jesus……”

“Go and ask Lebona. Don’t strain yourself about it. You are not a herbalist.”

“I will go and see him tonight; I need some herbs for a headache.”

The woman puts food before her husband. He eats and enjoys the food.

“Did you go and see Lebona about you not bearing children?” asks the husband.

“I didn’t have time. The woman held me up.”

“Alright, I will have to ask him about that too.”

“Do we have enough for those diagnoses?”

“He doesn’t ask much for diagnoses. I was thinking of giving him a goat but I think this money will suffice.”

The man finishes eating his food.

“I am done eating, my wife. I will be leaving.”

“Go well my husband.” He takes his blanket and puts it on. Then he takes his wellington boots and balaclava and puts them on. He takes his knobkerrie from behind the door and exits the mud house which has a thatched roof. The wind is howling outside and its cold bites. It is always like that in the night in Mahlomoleng Village. But he is a man. He is meant to feel the truth, but not show pain. Nonetheless he arrives at Lebona’s hut.

***

Tell us: What do you think of the author’s thoughts: “He is meant to feel the truth, but not show pain.”