It had been an ordinary evening, in the middle of an ordinary week, when Nombulelo made a surprising statement.

“My love,” she said to Nkanyiso, who was poring over outstanding work on his laptop, “please don’t take this the wrong way … but I think you must get another wife.”

He looked up, unsure if he had heard her properly.

“You need someone who can bear you a child,” she continued. “I’m willing to accept her, and give you my blessing.” She looked away from her husband.

“What triggered this?” Nkanyiso said, shocked by his wife’s plea.

“We’ve been married for 12 years and trying for a child, but with no positive results. I’ve had three miscarriages, and each time I conceive I get my hopes up, only to find that in a few weeks it is over again.”

Nombulelo’s shoulders sagged. Nkanyiso knew she felt she had failed him, but in truth he had failed her. He had never been honest with her and he had come to feel sure this was what was destroying their future. Their unborn children were never coming to fruition and it was breaking both their hearts.

“No,” he said. “Before we do anything like that you must come home with me. I think I know why this is happening to us.”

And so they had made their travel plans. They arrived in Kwazibuyisele after work on Friday, parked and walked the last kilometre to MaNdlovu’s house, using a footpath.

Now, early on Saturday morning, Nkanyiso and Gogo were sitting outside, enjoying the fresh morning air and eating their porridge. Nombulelo was still asleep, exhausted from the emotional drama of the previous months, and the long trip. It was time; he could not keep the pain inside him any longer.

“Gogo, Nombulelo has been crying about us not having a child.” He paused and looked at MaNdlovu’s face. “It is draining us and I just don’t know what to do. What I am against, is her idea that I should take another wife. Ay, I won’t do that.”

“Mmm, my grandson,” MaNdlovu began, then paused to take another spoon of porridge. “I hear you, and I also want my great-grandchildren.” She smiled at him, her forever-warm face lined with the wrinkles of a difficult life. “I think it’s time I tell you the truth, so you can understand the cause of your predicament.” She frowned, and her jaw tightened.

“I don’t follow,” Nkanyiso said. “What more is there to know? My father’s brother killed my parents.”

MaNdlovu took a deep breath. “Your mother was in fact your father’s half-sister. That was what drove Mzi mad. You see, your grandfather had mistresses and children all over the place.”

Nkanyiso gasped in shock, saying, “But granny … did they know they were related?”

“No, of course not my child. They fell in love and kept their relationship secret until it was too late, and you were already on the way. Then one night a Prophet came to this house and told us the truth. I asked your grandfather if it was true, and he nodded.

“Of course, your parents refused to believe what was being said. Your father accused his father of not loving his daughter-in-law, and said that he had bribed the Prophet to make the accusations. The Prophet remained emphatic and said your mother and father shouldn’t be together. If they defied the natural order there would be no peace in this house.

“But, you see, it was also true that your grandfather didn’t like your mother. He used to say she was too clever and that she would corrupt his son. So, my grandson, since that day there has been war in every corner in this home. We became known as lunatics in this community.”

“But what about Mzi?” Nkanyiso asked. The old woman looked down and her grandson could see tears streaming over her cheeks. His uncle had been taken by the police after the murder.

Nkanyiso stood up and walked a little away along the path to look out at the hut-dotted hills. People were lighting their breakfast fires and a smoky blue hue hung in the air. In the distance he heard a cow calling to her calf and children shouting. This was his place, even with all the sadness that enveloped his homestead. He walked back to his gogo and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“What must we do to break this curse, Gogo?”

MaNdlovu took a deep breath. “That Prophet, the one who told us everything, is still alive. Maybe he can help.”

“Shall we go to him?”

“Yes,” the old lady said. “The sooner the better.”

Nkanyiso stood up and took his granny’s bowl. As he turned to go inside, Nombulelo’s screaming shattered the peace of the morning, just as it had several weeks earlier.

“Aaaa aweee, please help me, please!”

“That’s your wife!” MaNdlovu shouted. “Go to her, quickly.”

Blood covered their bed but Nombulelo was gone. Nkanyiso knew then she had lost another pregnancy, and he felt as if he had been punched in the gut.

“Oh no nooo nooo … why us, why us?” Nkanyiso roared. The pain was too deep. This was their fourth child lost.

 ***

Tell us: Do you believe in ‘prophets’? Can a prophet know things without being told in words?