Clearly the old woman was very distraught at having lost her only son and heir to the family fortune. She was almost losing her mind and that was a very scary thought. Zamo sat beside her and held her hand, softly stroking it.
She started telling the old lady about her son, S’khumba, and how much of a good man he was. Her voice was very soothing and the stories she was telling were like a lullaby. MamBhele had never felt so safe in a ‘stranger’s’ presence and she soon allowed her body to relax.
Nozizwe came back at that moment, and set down the tea and scones next to her mother. She also sat down and listened to Zamo’s soothing voice talking about her beloved big brother. Noticing that her mother has not even sipped the tea she had so lovingly made, she chided her, “Mama yitya kaloku. Yhini Bhelekazi! Khange ndikubone ufaka nenye kumlomo wakho oko kusile.” (Mama you must eat, please Bhelekazi. I haven’t seen you put one thing in your mouth all day.)
“Oh mntwan’am akungeni nje. Ndizakuzama kodwa kuba sele ekhala amathumbu. Khawuve. Uyaweva anditsho? Athi tyororo, tyororo.” (Oh child nothing is going down. I’m only trying because of my growling stomach. You can hear it, can’t you?) That little joke gave Nozizwe hope that her mother was getting back to her old self. It was really hard to accept and let go but she had to.
She was still too young and energetic to dry up. Her dad seemed to be coping well, although she knew a man was never one to show emotion or even talk about painful things. The one thing she could count on was that he would always keep the family united. If it were not for him, the family would have fallen apart ages ago. She could also count on him even more so, now that she would be starting university next year.
Zamo had kept quiet for a while, trying to compose herself.
“Are you alright sisi?” asked Nozizwe with concern.
“Oh hayi ndiright akukhonto. Nto nje ndicinga ukuba nizakuphila kanjani ngoku ubhut’ wakho engekho? Ngubani ozakuqhuba iinkomo ngoku? Nawe usingise es’kolweni kulonyanka uzayo.” (Oh I’m fine. I was just thinking about how your family will cope now that your brother is gone? Who will herd the cattle? You’re also going to school next year.)
Nozizwe was really fond of Zamo and considered her the sister she never had. “Oh hayi wethu sisi ungazikhathazi ngalonto. Bakhona oomalume. Omnye wabo kuba engekamthathi umfazi, uzakuza azokuhlala nathi.” (Don’t worry about that. There are the uncles. Since one of them hasn’t taken a wife yet, he’ll come and live with us.)
“Oh kulungile ke. IBhelekazi lona? Ukhona ozakumjonga amncedise kwizinto zalaph’ekhaya?” (What about your mom? Will there be someone to help her with the things of the house?)
Nozizwe smiled and responded, “Yes, my older aunt lives right around the corner and will come over every weekend just to check on things, amncedise nange mpahla efuna ukuhlanjwa. Enkosi wethu ngokusicingela kangaka. Thiza saphoswa ngumakoti kuwe!” (and she will help out with the dirty washing. Thank you for caring and thinking of us. We sure lost a great daughter-in-law when we lost you.)
“Akukhonto wethu. Ndiyanithanda kaloku. Azange itshintshe lonto ngenxa yokungalungi izinto phakathi kwam no bhut’ wakho.” (Oh it’s nothing. I love you guys. That never changed just because things didn’t work out with me and your brother) she smiled back.
MamBhele seemed to be enjoying her tea and scones so much she asked for a second helping of both. This made her daughter feel so good. Maybe Zamo’s presence was the antidote. She stood up and went out of the rondavel and into the other which served as a kitchen.
The other visitors were congregated all over the homestead. Most were inside one of the other rondavels eating the freshly cooked lamb, complemented with idombolo, and washing down the heavy meal with sorghum beer.
While she was waiting for the water to boil, the aunt who stayed around the corner from her home came in and greeted her niece with a warm hug.
“Uphilile nzwakazi ka mama wakhe neyam?” (Are you well my beautiful princess?) asked her aunt.
“Ndiyaphile wethu mamci, niyaphila nina?” (I’m good, Auntie, how are you?)
“Hayi siyaphila mntwan’am, akuncedi ukukhalaza. Sibulela ukugcinwa ngu Somandla.” (We’re good child, it doesn’t help to complain. We are thankful to God for keeping us safe.) She paused for a minute. “Kunjani kodwa apha ekhayeni? Umama wakho uphatheke njani namhlanje? Ukumshiya kwam izolo, ebesanxunguphele kaloku. Bendingekangeni ketana pha kuye.” (How are things here? And you mother? When I left her yesterday she was feeling a bit down. I haven’t been to hers today.)
“Yhu ncinci ubhetele kakhulu! Ebeyewandibhida kodwa mzuzwana nje. Ebe buza ngo bhuti. Esithi makabuye kuhlwile. Ndamzulisela ngekomityi yeti. Wayamkela wasel’ecela ndibeke namaqebengwana. Uwatye wawavuthulula ke, ehlisa ngaloo ti! Abe egqibile tontsi ngatontsi, nqguqu ngangququ, wacela impinda. Lento ke ndilapha
The aunt was so happy to hear this wonderful piece of news. Her sister-in-law had been through quite a lot in this life. More than other people of her age. That was why she was relieved to hear that she was getting better by the day.
With the tea made and piping hot, they both walked to the rondavel where Zamo and MamBhele were still sitting and chatting.
***
Tell us: Have you ever lost a loved one? How did you deal with it?