MaSoci and the Minister follow Nomvula into the hut. I push in after them. There is the chair and the table and the cupboard. But the woman is gone.

I feel so relieved but I can’t show it. Everyone else looks disappointed. They hover around hoping she will come back but eventually they have to admit defeat and go home.

“She will come back,” Nomvula says as we all part ways. “And when she does we will be ready.”

It sounds like a threat.

That’s when I know that I have to do something to change the villagers’ minds before she returns home. I wonder where she has gone, and for how long. Perhaps she has disappeared again. Moved on to another village. Perhaps someone recognised her here and her husband will come looking for her.

I lie in bed, these thoughts churning in my mind. In the faint morning light I know what I have to do.

I leave early before Phindi or Mama have a chance to ask me where I am going. The grass is wet with dew. The seasons are changing and still it hasn’t rained.

The Headman’s kraal is the largest in the village and on a hill on the outskirts, with a view down to the river and across to the far hills. He has the largest herd of cattle and flock of sheep. I see hectares upon hectares of land for his garden and fields as I walk up the long, winding path to his homestead. He must be suffering the most with this drought. His cattle and sheep look thin, and the fields dry and yellow. I wait outside next to his big kraal, as is customary, until one of his wives sees me.

He comes out to greet me, smiling

“Terrible isn’t it?” he says, pointing to one of the cattle which is skin and bone. “One of the most hurtful wounds nature has inflicted on us.” The Headman addresses me as an adult, which is very rare, and I instantly admire him for it. I see his eyes have grown sad when talking about the drought.

I extend my hand the way adults do and surprisingly he responds by shaking mine too. Now is the moment. I need courage. I cannot turn and run. What does he think of the Minister and what the villagers are saying? Does he believe the accusations too?

“What is even more heart-breaking is what we are doing to each other,” I say.

The Headman shakes his head and says, “I have heard about the concerns that the newly-arrived member of our community is the prime suspect.”

“Mr Headman, I have come to plead with you on this very matter.”

He indicates for me to sit. Two chairs have been brought outside into the early morning sun by one of his wives. We sit down.

“Continue,” he says.

“They are wrong about her. She is not a witch. She has a name, Mafaku.”

“Mm-m … ewe … ewe. No surname?”

“There is a reason.”

I am taking a chance telling him. What if he knows her husband? What if he goes straight to him? But didn’t she say she has been moving on for a long time? Maybe her husband is far away.

I tell him about how she ran away. I take that risk. I tell him how her husband was cruel to her, how she feared for her life. And then I tell him about the water. And the pamphlet and how she can purify the water and that she can teach us all how she does it. “This will help to people prevent people from getting sick from drinking the river water. It is better than drinking that mud.”

The Headman listens to me intently, rubbing his wrinkled hands.

“Mkhulu, I believe it would be an even greater tragedy if this knowledge went to the grave with her. The villagers are threatening to kill her. They say it isn’t just the drought she is responsible for – there was a baby that died.”

“So I heard,” he says. “In older times when new people arrived in a village, our Headman gave their Headman land to live in…”

It is my turn to listen and agree.

“Our Headman would exchange a gift of cattle with their Headman, and show them our grazing lands for their cattle to graze in. He would say, ‘Your people and our people will consult when matters arise that have to be discussed. We will celebrate together.’ We did not start wars for no reason. The newcomers were welcomed. Their strength added to ours for domestic and political security. And we lived in peace. That is our code!”

“Yes, Mkhulu.”

“Tell you what my child; I will look into the matter. I want to see for myself. I do not go on rumours from women who gossip. I will find out for myself and then I will make a decision.”

He looks at me and I know the conversation is over. There is nothing more I can do now, except trust him.

As I come near home Phindi comes out with Mama.

“Where have you been?” Phindi asks me accusingly. I can’t tell her. She will spread it in the village. It will cause more trouble.

“Just walking down by the river,” I tell her.

“The woman is back,” Phindi announces. “Nomvula saw her by the river early this morning. Tonight we are going to her hut.”

I think about the Headman. I want to run and tell him that if he waits it might be too late. But I can’t. I have to trust him now.

“Nomvula found a dead cat on her doorstep this morning,” Mama says, looking at me.

“Nomvula probably put it there herself.” I can’t help it, the words slip out. Nomvula is a troublemaker. “Did you see this cat?” I ask Phindi.

“I don’t need to,” says my sister. “You are choosing a dangerous path,” she tells me.

“You will come with us tonight,” says Mama, “or there will be trouble.”

Is there any way I can warn Mafaku? Why did she go away? Where did she go to? And why did she come back? All these questions, and no answers.

***

Tell us what you think: Why do people mistrust people they don’t know? Would it be better if we all had the Headman’s attitude to strangers?