The young king, Sintu, is in bed. He is happy that his inauguration ceremony was disrupted by rain. It doesn’t bother him that he is still a nameless king that cannot be hailed. He flings his arms open, feeling free.

But that joyous feeling evaporates as he remembers that his problems are far from being solved. He folds himself into a ball and starts to shiver.

He lifts his eyes to the thatched roof. He turns his eyes to the wall smeared with mud. He thinks he best forget about city life and the love of his life who he has left there. He has to accept his fate in the countryside. After all, Kwanoqabaka is where he was born.

At the same time Sintu is lamenting, Khayone arrives home, dripping wet from the rain. He steps onto two huge flat stones that serve as a step in front of the kitchen door. The kitchen is a hut with small windows and a door too low to allow anyone to walk in upright. There is no furniture inside except for two benches and an old table. A three-legged pot stands at the centre of the hut, where the hearth is. It is similar to Sintu’s room, except that it reeks of wet cow dung and smoke.

“Tata, Mama, look it’s Bhuti Khayone,” says Khayone’s sister, Nomzamo, throwing herself at him.

“That one is dead to me,” says Ngungunyana, Khayone’s father, spitting on the floor. “I have no son.”

Before Khayone can sit, Nomzamo serves him a bowl full to the brim of umgqusho and potatoes.

“I don’t think you were fed enough at hospital,” she says in her sweet voice.

Just as Khayone’s fingertips reach for the bowl, Ngungunyana cries out: “Hand it over. Let me feed him. Allow me to hand it to him like he expects everything in life to be handed to him!”

Nomzamo gives the bowl to Ngungunyana. He carefully puts it on the floor then kicks it to Khayone who is a distance away. Samp and beans, along with pieces of potatoes, spill onto the floor.

“This is how we feed dogs and oonotywentywe, to toughen them up,” Ngungunyana, says glaring at his son.

The empty, spinning bowl finally comes to rest against Khayone’s feet.

“Eat on the floor like a dog where you belong you bloody fool!” Ngungunyana instructs, harshly.

***

Tell us: How does this homecoming treatment from Ngungunyana make you feel? Why is Khayone treated like this?