For years I have asked myself how to tell a good story.

At Kwanoqabaka, a place in the back of beyond, I’ve learnt to tell a story by allowing the story to tell itself, through the lens of my camera. The story unfolds as I record events in the village and speak to the characters about what happened. Each has their own part of this story.

From what I saw and what was told to me, this is how the story began.

Day 1
It is an unmarked day on our calendars, but everyone is rushing to a special place – Komkhulu, the king’s court – to feast their eyes on the new king. Rumour has it that he is a young, ebullient city boy. He is nothing like his father.

From Nolungile’s rondavel curls of smoke, as small as a baby’s fist, escape through the window. Nolungile is 85 and lives with her granddaughter, Onikwa. The old woman kneels to rekindle the fire in the hearth. She is trying hard to warm up water in a three-legged pot.

Not so far away, her neighbour, dressed in an ikrwala outfit with a ‘Navada’ label, leans against the gate. It’s made with wattle tree saplings, extracted from the dense belt of forest on Intaba Yethemba – the Mountain of Hope. He calls for Onikwa, his voice raised to carry to her. They are to go somewhere secret, quickly.

Sintu, the young king, is sitting at the foot of Intaba Yethemba, close to the river bank. He believes he is trapped in a bad dream and waiting impatiently for his release. He misses the city and doesn’t want to be here.

Each time he comes to Intaba Yethemba he squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that when he opens them he’ll be back, walking on paved streets and greeting the city’s chaos with delight. Reality always overrules fantasy he realises. Whenever he reopens his eyes he meets the openness of the green pastures of rural Kwanoqabaka. How dull, he thinks.

A horde of villagers gather at Komkhulu. Their voices reach Sintu’s ears, calling for him to come so they can satisfy their eyes. Sintu sighs in sadness. “Duty calls,” he says and drags his feet to his people, a dark cloud of depression hanging over his head.

As Sintu is waiting for the people, Bantwini – it is he who had called for her – and Onikwa are now crossing through the forest, going to town, hiding in the shadows. Where they are going is a secret and they have to move under cover.

*** 

Tell us: Would you like to be royalty, seen as superior to ordinary people by birth, and in charge of guarding traditions? Why/Why not?