Dingindawo, as he was affectionately called by his peers, was tall with long thin arms that looked as if they were made to support a sky. Reader, if you have ever seen the person who was called Atlas in history books, envision his image if you want to picture Dingindawo. I always used to tell him that if I had abs like he had, I would be making a lot of money in the beauty pageants. Unfortunately, I was as thin as a rake: the wind would blow my body sideways as if it needed to be propped up with stones. He would answer, “Look, Mzoli, my friend, this body of mine is not to be on display for competitions of modelling pageants. This is the temple of God…” I stopped him when he was determined to preach.

He would smile at me. “Hey, dude, go to the gym and stop critiquing your body. God created you for a purpose. There are people who would want to have your body.” I was happy when he encouraged me like that. This guy was dark-skinned with large snow-white teeth. He had an artful way of saying things. We were both 18 years old.

When dawn broke, he told his sad story of how he grew up in Thombo in Mthalala village. When I heard it, my heart broke into pieces. He was already weeping when he concluded with these words: “If it was not for the Evangelist Maqholo and Baw’uTolo, I think that I would have committed suicide.”

“Oh, why do you say that, my friend?” I looked at him straight with shocked eyes and listened with curiosity, wishing that the flies were not buzzing around. “Uqhubile lo mfo nebali lakhe.”

He continued with his story. “We were born in the village of Mtyu at Libode, as three siblings. Our family was caught up in a tragedy that I still visualise even today. Our home was burned down because there were claims that my mother was a big witch, and the reason why my father had a lot of livestock was because he went to Rhotso for muti. ‘Let the dog and its puppies die’ were the words uttered by people who were petrol bombing our home in that district of Bovini. My mother’s children, as well as my parents, were burnt to ashes. I do not even recall how I got out of that rondavel that was surrounded by young men. Someone shouted, saying, ‘Run and cross through Mthakatye and go to Ngxokweni where your father’s older brother resides!’ I ran and ran, looking for it that night, getting hurt in between the thorn trees and dongas, and at times I ended up falling and rolling down the slopes. The hooting of the owls in front of me did not matter any more. To cut the story short, everyone who burned my home down was arrested and sent to jail in Ngqeleni, but believe me when I say that the justice system these days is weak because most of them were released after a judge was bribed. Only a few are serving a few years, namely four or five years.”

“At Ngxokweni, I didn’t spend even a day because I was scared of the Mtyu village people’s wrath. I got a lift from someone who was driving to Mthalala, which is in Thombo, where my aunt who is my mother’s sister lived. In Thombo, I grew up like a real orphan with my aunt treating me differently from how she treated her own children. She ill-treated me. Whenever I was asleep and dreaming, my aunt was the one I dreamed about. She would be chasing me with a knife. Sometimes she would be using her longest snake to chase me and saying that I would never pass Grade 9 no matter what, and that was due to how her children, Sizwe and Siziwe, who were not brilliant, disappointed her. Those who noticed this situation informed Baw’uTolo about it and asked him to adopt me. That did not even phase my aunt. She said that I could leave because I was finishing her groceries anyway.”

“Baw’uTolo had a great belief in sangomas and African herbs and I was told that I needed to be inspected by a sangoma. When I got out of there, I couldn’t hide my amazement when I found out that the witches had already placed their nails deep into my skin and inserted their poison while I was asleep. I even found out that my home in Mtyu had been destroyed because of the witches’ spell. I was told that if I had not come to see this sangoma, I would have died.”

“According to the sangoma, many of the witches were jealous of my brilliance at school. He informed me that the witches have a connection with Satan, who is their leader. Satan had already heard that I was seeing a sangoma, so his witches were going to change their strategy. The sangoma strengthened my body with iintlanga and intsizi after his assistants helped me with ukufutha, and they were cleaning my system, which took a long time. Even though I do not fully believe in witchcraft, I merely agreed to follow the sangoma’s instructions. He told me, ‘My son, I know that you are a Christian but hear me out when I say that even those bewitching you are attending church with you and are going there to pray for their evil schemes to counter your success. Therefore, you must not stop using my herbs. You must regularly come for more traditional medicine until all the poison is out of your system. Are you listening to me?’”

“‘I have heard you, Tata.’ I agreed just so that he would not be on my case.”

“A few months after I had thrown away the sangoma’s herbs, I had completely lost my mind. No matter how much I prayed, nothing helped. Nothing changed until Bab’uTolo advised that I go and stay with his cousin, Baw’uMaqholo. He was an evangelist who prayed for people at eMajola, which is in Ntsimbini. I felt better there at my new home. They prayed for me, the demons disappeared, and I recovered. He is the one who paid my school fees and expenses here at Gcinumthetho.”

My friend then kept quiet as if his tongue was non-existent, and his mind seemed to be far away. I said, “Shuu! Life is hard, pal. Whatever support you need from me, just shout, you are not alone. Anyway, let’s get up and go to the river at eDiphini and do our washing.”

Tell us: Do you believe in witchcraft? If so, have you ever experienced it?