“What are the matches and paraffin for?” I ask Phindi. The women are coming. I can hear the singing getting closer. It is getting dark. The dogs start howling at the singing.

Phindi just looks at me. I know what they are for. And my arms feel cold even though the night is warm.

“It is for if she doesn’t confess,” says Phindi.

My relationship with my sister is on a rocky path. Mama is giving me the silent treatment. She is refusing to take sides. But by coming with the women she is taking sides. Phindi has started blaming the woman for everything. For stupid things. She failed a test and blamed her, saying she had cursed her, when I know and Mama knows that Phindi didn’t study for that test. But Mama says nothing. It is like she is frightened to take a stand and defend the woman in any way.

Perhaps I can run ahead of the women and get to her house first and warn her. Then do what? Can she run? They can catch her. They can catch me too.

I hadn’t even gone back to see if my water bottle was full of clear water. But I know it was. I had read the pamphlet before Phindi burned it.

We are getting close to the hut now. Tonight there is a light on inside.

I have dreamed about this night. The last few nights I have had a nightmare of the villagers outside her house chanting. They light the paraffin in a circle around her house. I hear screams from inside. The door of the hut opens and the flames leap up. But it isn’t her in the doorway – it’s me and I wake up from the nightmare struggling to breathe.

Outside her hut the ritual starts like it did the other night. The women sing, the water is sprinkled. Then Nomvula shouts for her to come out. The Minister is not with us tonight. He is away in town at some church function. This is why Phindi has the matches and paraffin. He would never have allowed that.

Nomvula shouts louder. Now there is a crowd. More people have come down from the village. Soon it is frenzied.

“Burn her. Burn her! She refuses to confess!” Nomvula screams. I look around. Suddenly another woman takes up the chant.

Then the paraffin is poured and the match is lit. I see its orange glow in the dark. It is thrown and the flames dance up the sides of the house and the thatch roof catches alight.

The chanting is so loud it is making me deaf. Then the door opens. Everyone cheers. “The witch is out. She will confess now!”

But the figure in the doorway is the wrong shape. And when people notice they fall silent. It is not a woman – it is a man who stands there. A tall man, dressed in traditional dress.

As he leaps clear of the flames, there is a gasp from the crowd. It is the Headman. I see the woman behind him. Nobody dares say anything now. My heart leaps with joy and relief. He made it in time. He takes the woman’s hand, just in case any villagers have any hope that he will join in this punishment of her. He takes a bucket of water by her door and throws it at the burning roof. The woman takes another. The flames die down and smoulder, but already half the roof is burned.

He clears his throat to address the crowd.

I hear Phindi shout from the darkness: “Mr Headman … Sir, she’s the reason our cattle are dying. She killed that little baby with her witchcraft. And she killed a cat and left it outside Nomvula’s house!”

“A cat. That is one I haven’t heard,” he says and looks at Nomvula. Who quickly looks at her feet. I know that she lied about that, just to fuel the fire.

Phindi starts again. “We have seen her poisoning our water with her spells.”

At this point, I feel as if my chest is going to burst. I jump forward and stand next her and shout back at the crowd, “That is not true. I have been with her at the river.” Looking straight at my sister now, I say, “Sisi, she knows how to clean our water. She has taught me how to do it. It told how it is done in the pamphlet. The one you burned.”

The Headman steps forward. “My people, I have heard your grievances and as your leader I am with you in your pain. I have come here today to investigate. Find out my own truth. Kaloku, it is a crime to accuse someone without any proper evidence.”

How can he say he feels their pain? Whose side is he on, I think.

“Why do you think the drought began when she arrived here? She’s here to kill us,” Phindi asserts stubbornly. “The Deacon of the church spoke about her – about wicked people in this village.”

“My child, it is not our way to speak ill of our guests. We do not know why nature has brought us this drought. I have learned today in this hut how we can survive this drought. We can only do so by working together. Qhawekazi is right. This woman right here can help us survive until the rains come.”

The most respected and feared man in our village has spoken. There is nothing anyone can do here tonight. And slowly the crowd starts to disperse.

“I am calling a meeting tomorrow at my homestead. You will all be there. This thing will be decided once and for all,” the Headman says as he leaves.

I wait in the shadows. I watch Phindi and Mama as they head back home. The woman is left alone in front of her home that is full of smoke. There is a big hole in the roof where the grass burned.

I wait until everyone has gone then I step forward.

We sit together outside the house on the rocks.

“You went to the Headman,” she says.

“Yes.”

“You are a brave girl.”

“Where were you?” I ask her.

“I got a message,” she said. “I went to find out if it was true.”

“And was it?”

She nods.

I think she isn’t going to tell me what it was. But then she takes a stick and draws in the dirt at the foot of the rocks. Scratches, lines.

“He is dead.”

I look at her. “Your husband?”

“Yes. He died in a car crash.”

“That’s good.” I say slowly. “That means he can’t find you anymore. That means you don’t have to keep moving on.”

“It is relief,” she says. “Although I don’t wish anyone to die.”

We sit in silence for a while. “You never came for your water,” she says.

“Will you come to the meeting tomorrow?”

“Am I not one of the village?” she asks me.

*****

I am among the snake of villagers making their way up the hill to the Headman’s kraal the next morning. Phindi says nothing, walking beside me.

Then, “You have chosen her over me. You are hurting me,” she says at last. “This isn’t over. The Headman isn’t the only one who has a voice in this village.”

“You are my sister – my blood. I love you. But lately you have been hurting me too by hating her,” I tell her.

Phindi is very stubborn. She would rather die than lose a fight.

We are all gathered around at the Headman’s kraal. Everyone except the woman.

The Deacon of the church gets up to address the villagers, invited by the Headman.

“My people, we are gathered here in the spirit of forgiveness…” My sister fidgets next to me. “Things have been said and done in this village…” The Deacon continues talking for a while, in rhythmic riddles, the way preachers do. “…now is the time to reflect; look into ourselves and ask ourselves where have we gone wrong. As the Bible says, believers sometimes sin by thinking; we sin by talking and by action. The most important thing to remember bazalwane is to repent. Forgive! And move foward siyimbumba – united.”

I can’t believe he is saying this now, after what he said in church about the evil-doer amongst us.

The Deacon takes his seat and the Headman takes his turn.

“We will resolve this as a community. People here have got carried away. In their desperation they have forgotten our humanity – Ubuntu. They have made this poor woman a scapegoat. A visitor we should have welcomed with open arms. A visitor who has suffered, but who can bring us healing and help.”

There are mutterings in the crowd.

“A woman you have injured with your words and actions. There is something you can do to make this right. You can rebuild her house, with a new roof. You will all work together to do this. And then, there is one other thing.”

I see the Headman waving a pamphlet. It is the same as the one that Phindi burned. “We are lucky this one escaped the flames.”

Phindi is looking down at the ground.

“I have read it, and I have asked Mafaku – yes she has a name – to show us this afternoon down at the river how to clean our water. What happened in this village is never to happen again!” he says firmly.

As we make our way to the river I see the clouds massing above the hills. They have done this before with no rain. Like they are teasing us.

On the riverbank the women and men gather to watch the woman as she pours the pebbles and sand into a plastic bottle and then makes the whole for the reed. They watch as she fills the bottle with muddy river water. She demonstrates the first step. “When all the water is clean you pour it into another bottle and leave it in the sun for a day to kill the germs,” she says. She brings out from her bag a bottle of clear liquid, and pours a cup. “And then you can drink it and it will taste good.”

The Headman takes it from her and drinks. There is clapping, slowly at first, but then it gets louder and louder.

And with the clapping there is a rumble from the sky. I look up. The sun is gone behind the clouds. There is a flash of lightning a rumble of thunder. All the villagers at once ululate as the first drops of rain begin to fall.

NOTE: You can purify water that is muddy and dirty by using the methods described by the woman in the story. However this does not remove poisons that come into the water from factories, and is only useful in some cases. It is best used where there is no other purification method.

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