The village of Dendere sat in the crevices of a small mountain. Its position made for easy access to the river in the valley that spilled into the faraway sea but was high enough to protect from floods and more importantly intruders. Dendere’s queen, Ma Dendere stood tall with the smoothest dark mahogany skin you would ever see. Making eye contact with her was like looking at God, her dark brown eyes, often black, seemed to see every sin you had ever done but with them came kindness and forgiveness. It was as if whatever bad thing you have done, could not phase her.

The people of Dendere loved their queen fervently. She was a queen who never wore the crown with arrogance or scorn. She did the work of the young women, helping weave and fetch water. She trained with the men to prepare for intruders. No work was too low or too hard for MaDendere. She knew your name and kept up with your life as if she were your best friend, confidant, and guardian. Sometimes she was called Queen Mother, as she treated everyone in her village as her children. You would never see her cry but often hear her laugh. You could hear her deep belly laugh from the valley by the river. So when the news of MaDendere’s pregnancy was announced, the people immediately started to celebrate. She seemed to glow even more, as the months of her pregnancy passed.

On The second full moon of the year, the people were awoken by sounds of crying, rushing, and laughter. The queen was giving birth. The people gathered as they watched the Queen being rushed down to the river. As she moved her skin glistened a faint blue under the full moon. The women of the Dendere whispered how beautiful they thought the baby was going to be. “with a mother who looks like that, the baby will be so smooth, skin as soft as butter, she might slip out of their hands into the river!” After hours of pushing, crying, and laughing by the queen, an heir was finally born. When people gathered to see the baby as the queen approached, a time of celebration and festivity as the village had a new heir, the queen, and her advisors rushed in panic-hushed tones.

The queen clutched her baby to her chest and covered her in blankets, no one saw what the baby looked like. Many retreated to their homes, sensing that tonight would not be a night of celebration but rather that of mourning. Before bed, many prayed for their dear queen, that she may overcome such a tragedy. One of the pregnant women thought the queen may ask to mother her unborn child, she thought of this and thought, “What an honour it would be to serve the Queen in such a manner”.

The next morning, the advisors announced that the Queen had birthed a beautiful healthy princess and that everything shall go back to normal while the queen takes time away to heal from a difficult birthing process. It was unlike a queen to forego the celebration that usually followed a healthy birth but the people agreed to continue as usual, knowing that it would ease the queen to know that things are moving smoothly while she recovers.

From that point on, when the princess made public appearances she was always covered from head to toe in cloth, the only parts visible were her deep dark brown eyes, hands, and feet. The young women rumoured that the queen kept her child hidden from the world because she was so beautiful, “The princess must be protected from evil eyes, the queen must only be doing what mothers do best, protecting their daughters.”

20 years later, an old nomad walks by the river on a full moon evening. As she walks by, she sees a young woman standing knee-deep in the water looking at the moon, as if waiting for it to respond. She approaches the young girl and as she gets closer she realises that this woman may be the most beautiful woman she has ever seen. The tall woman has what could only be described as crocodile skin. The scales are found in the crevices of her neck, they climbed her spine, and they touched her face. She reminded the nomad of her favourite animal, The giraffe.

Tears fell from the woman’s eyes into the river, and her scaled body glowed blue under the light of the full moon. The places the scales found themselves seemed to be the places where a loved one would hold you; the sides of her temples to kiss her forehead and her spine to steady her. The nomad realising she had stopped walking, decided to continue her journey further away from the river so as to not disturb the women’s private meeting with the moon.

As she turned, she heard the young woman cry. Between the sobs, she heard her say “You made me a princess, with foul skin. My mother keeps me hidden away. Nobody even knows what I truly look like. I don’t know what I did to be punished with such a fate.” The old nomad felt hot tears move down her cheeks, unsure of what she could say to make the young women see or understand that the old nomad had embarked on her journey to find God again.

And now she found God, in the river, standing tall, scales on her skin and tears filling the ocean.

This piece was written as part of the Fundza Fellowship Programme.