“Don’t cut my neck, Scelo,” says Mr Msomi with a smile.

“My hand is steady, Mkhulu,” Scelo laughs. “It’s your head that is shaking.”

Scelo rubs shaving cream on his grandfather’s beard. He is delicate with the razor – Mr Msomi quickly falls into a nap. Scelo wipes off the remnants of the shaving cream with a warm towel. He holds up a mirror to his grandfather’s face.

“There! We are done, Mkhulu!”

Mr Msomi opens his eyes, inspects Scelo’s work in the mirror and nods in appreciation. “Handsome as ever!” he chuckles.

“You sure are handsome, Mkhulu,” says Scelo.

“When are we picking up Nosipho?”

“Anytime, Mkhulu. She will be ready from eight onwards.”

“Alright then, I better get ready. In all my life I have never once kept a lady waiting,” says Mr Msomi.

They pick up Nosipho at her mother’s house then get back on the freeway and press down to the south coast. Nosipho is next to Mr Msomi in the backseat and he smiles as he chats with her. Scelo turns down the volume to hear what they are talking about.

“I’m your great-grandfather. ‘Ukhokho’ in isiZulu,” says Mr Msomi.

“Khokho?” Nosipho giggles.

“Stop bothering Mkhulu, Nosipho,” says Scelo.

“He’s is not Mkhulu. He is Khokho!” says Nosipho.

Mr Msomi laughs until he coughs.

“Are you alright, Mkhulu?” says Scelo.

“I’m fine, Scelo. I’m just having fun with my great-granddaughter.”

“Yes, we are fine, Dad!” says Nosipho.

Nosipho’s attention is suddenly taken by the beautiful scenery out the window.

“Do you remember the farm, Scelo?” says Mr Msomi.

“Only faintly, Mkhulu. I just remember playing in a big field of grass. To tell you the truth I thought we stopped going to the farm because it belonged to another member of the family and that maybe they had sold it.”

“No, the farm has always been mine,” says Mr Msomi. Happiness drains from his face. “We still farm there; I have people looking after it. I no longer visit because your father and aunt don’t get along. It is depressing to be there all by myself because I know how lovely it was when my children used to get along. They would bring all my grandchildren. It was beautiful.”

“I see, Mkhulu,” says Scelo.

“Mondli and Zinhle used to love going to the farm for the holidays when they were kids. They loved it when you guys were young. It is sad that they don’t get along anymore.”

“Look at the water!” says Nosipho, pulling at Mr Msomi’s shirt. It is a lovely sight as the river under the bridge stretches until it feeds into the ocean.

“That is the Umkomaas River, Nosipho,” says Mr Msomi.

Scelo’s gaze is transfixed by the beauty of the coast as it opens up to view for long stretches. It has gone silent inside the car. Scelo looks back and finds that Nosipho and his grandfather are asleep, holding hands.

Mr Msomi wakes up after Scelo turns onto a gravel road. He wears a childlike smile of anticipation as his farm appears in the distance.

“Slow down when you get to the top of the next hill. The gate is on your right,” he says. ‘Zindli Farm’ is written on the signboard above the gate. “Here we are, at Zindli Farm! Do you know why it is called Zindli Farm, Scelo?”

“No, Mkhulu.”

“Your grandmother named it after your father and aunt: Zinhle and Mondli.”

The manager of the farm appears on a quad bike and opens the gate. Fields of maize stretch as far as the eye can see on either side of the gravel road leading up to the main house. Nosipho wakes up when Scelo switches off the engine.

“Has anyone else arrived yet?” Mr Msomi asks the manager.

“No, Mr Msomi, you are the first ones.”

Mr Msomi is in full glee mode as he is assisted to his wheelchair and into the house. Nosipho runs around excitedly inside the house. She squeezes past Scelo in the corridor as he brings in the last of their luggage.

“No running in the house, Nosipho!”

Nosipho pays her father no mind. What has her attention is the field of grass appearing through the windows as the curtains are opened. Scelo is almost knocked over by his grandfather – Mr Msomi is hot on Nosipho’s tail in his wheelchair. He has the same look of excitement as his great granddaughter.

“Slow down, Mkhulu!”

But his grandfather is also oblivious to Scelo’s remonstration. He rolls his wheelchair to the wraparound veranda. Scelo opens the windows. In comes the joyful screams of Nosipho as she runs onto the beautifully kept grass of the front garden. Immediately following Nosipho’s screams is the happiest laughter to ever come from Mr Msomi.

Zinhle arrives with her husband and children an hour later. Mondli arrives last, with his older children. The attention and pity everyone directs at Mr Msomi dampens his happy mood a tiny bit. But he is still happy that everyone is here and getting along. And he is satisfied that though Zinhle and Mondli avoid making eye contact, they are civil at least.

The family sits at a long table on the veranda for supper. Mr Msomi is at the head. His favourite meal of thick rump steaks, sweet potatoes and coleslaw salad is dished onto plates. But a special porridge with honey and butter – the only thing Mr Msomi eats these days – is dished for him.

“No! Not today!” he tells Zinhle. “Today I’m having my favorite meal. Dish that meat!”

“Of course, Baba,” says Zinhle.

Mr Msomi looks at his family with eyes full of pride.

“I know all of you sacrificed your time to come,” he says. “I want to thank you for that. I am very happy that you are here, giving me this beautiful memory in my final days.”

Mr Msomi’s grandchildren look back at him with eyes full of love. Mondli and Zinhle look at him with deep sadness. This causes him to lose his happy train of thought. He grows sullen, as if a bad thought has suddenly invaded his mind. He shivers, although it is a hot night.

“Please take me inside, Scelo. I’m feeling cold and I want to watch the news,” he says.

He has his head down, his hand covers his face to shield him from the looks of pity from his family. Scelo pushes him into the lounge, followed by Zinhle and Mondli.

“Do you need to rest, Baba?” says Zinhle. Her face has shrunk into folds of concern.

“No, Zinhle, I just want to watch the news. Please bring me a blanket.”

“Baba, are you alright?” Mondli inquires.

“Yes, Mondli. When I get the blanket I’ll be fine. Go ahead and eat your supper. I’m fine.”

“Should I bring you your plate?” says Zinhle, draping the blanket over her father.

“Don’t worry, I will eat later.”

Zinhle’s daughter, Lindelwa, who is a nurse, is also next to Mr Msomi now.

“Mkhulu, are you fine?” Lindelwa inquires.

“Yes, Lindy girl. I was just cold. I will eat later,” Mr Msomi smiles. He points to his great grandchildren playing in a corner of the lounge and says, “I’m safe with them.”

Everyone relaxes after seeing Mr Msomi smiling. They head back to the table, but keep checking through window to see if he is okay. Every time they look they see him laughing with his great grandchildren.

But an hour later all of the little children come running out of the house.

“Khokho is on the floor! Khokho fell!” they scream.

Everyone at the table runs into the lounge. They find Mr Msomi on the floor next to his wheelchair with his eyes closed. Scelo and Mondli pick him up and place him back on his wheel chair.

“Let’s get him into his bedroom,” says Lindelwa, checking his pulse. She lets out a sigh of relief when she finds a pulse.

The whole family fills into the bedroom.

“Everyone out, please” says Lindelwa. “I need space to work and Mkhulu needs air.”

The family retreat to the lounge.

“Baba is sick now because of what you did!” Mondli blurts out, pointing at Zinhle.

He walks over to her. Scelo stands between them.

“I heard you brought your pastor to the house!” says Mondli.

“Don’t start with me, Mondli! Are you saying it’s not the muthi that you have Baba taking that’s made him sick? That witchcraft nonsense?” Zinhle fires back.

“I can’t believe you actually brought another one of your conmen pastors to Baba’s home! He exorcised our home of demons! So the ancestors who have looked after us all these years are ‘demons’ now, Zinhle?”

“Yes they are, Mondli! I can prove to you they are. The scripture says–”

“Are you saying all the Msomis who came before us are demons?” Mondli shakes his head. “So we have the blood of demons in our veins? Just think about it Zinhle! Just listen to yourself! It’s common sense that those who love us now will look after us when they die!”

“Your beliefs are all wrong Mondli! Only Jesus looks after us. He is the only way to God!”

“What is your problem with our African traditions and muthi? It has been used for generations! It is from the ground, from the land that has been ours forever.”

“What is wrong with Christianity, Mondli?”

Zinhle and Mondli go at it for a few minutes. They don’t stop, even when some of their children scream for them to cool it. They only stop when they hear their father’s voice shouting from the far end of the lounge. He is in his wheelchair, and Lindelwa is pushing him.

“You two stop it! Stop it right now!” Mr Msomi shouts. “I do not wish for much in my last days on earth. I wish to see all of you happy and together. I have loved you, supported both of you. I never taught you to hate! And worse you hate each other yet you are brother and sister.”

Mr Msomi is close to them now. He points a trembling finger at both of them. “Where is the love your mother and I gave you? Where did it go?” Mr Msomi’s anger echoes throughout the house.

“Please Mkhulu,” Scelo kneels next to his grandfather. He is on the verge of tears as he turns to look at his father and aunt. “Do you see what you’ve done to Mkhulu?”

“No Scelo! They need to hear this!” Mr Msomi moves his wheelchair even closer to Zinhle and Mondli. He looks them in the eyes. “The best memories of my life are of you two when you were young. Yet I can’t sit and reminisce with you together because you can’t stand each other!”

Mr Msomi begins to weep. “Why? Tell me why?” he inquires form both his children.

Neither Zinhle nor Mondli can answer.

“I’ll tell you why!” Mr Msomi says, wiping away his tears. “It’s because of your beliefs! What are you teaching your children? You are teaching them to hate people with different beliefs to theirs! You need to stop it right now!”

In the silence that follows, Mr Msomi breaks down and weeps. Scelo hugs him, calms him down and pushes him back to his bedroom in his wheelchair. Mondli and Zinhle walk off to their rooms.

***

Tell us what you think: Mr Msomi is an admirable character. What can be admired about him?