It is getting late in the graveyard. MamGcina pauses in the telling of the story of Phindiswa’s mother. Phindiswa wants to know how the story ends. She takes MamGcina’s hand and squeezes it.

PHINDISWA: What happened then, MamGcina?

MAMGCINA: My sister never breathed a word of what happened with Sibonelo among those leafy green trees. But from that day on she complained about a painful stomach and she refused to fetch water from the river.

PHINDISWA: Was she pregnant?

MAMGCINA: Yes, and Sibonelo was the father. Nine months later your mother was born. The elders wanted to know who the father was and she told them she did not know.

PHINDISWA: Why didn’t she tell them it was Sibonelo?

MAMGCINA: She did not want to have anything to do with Sibonelo. She knew that if the elders knew of it, they would have made him marry her and they would have thought it was a good match. Our brother would also have been pleased to have a man who could bring wealth to the family kraal. But Nontozimbi hated him and she had other plans – to go to the city and escape the village. The elders threatened to take her to ‘Enkundleni’ kwa Sibonda. It was rumoured that there the elders knew how to force the truth out of a person. But before they could go, she named Golomile, one of the boys in our village, as the father of her unborn child.

PHINDISWA: Why him?

MAMGCINA: He was one of the notorious boys in the village; for a girl to have anything to do with him was a humiliation to the girl’s family, so my sister reckoned that accusing him instead would save her the pain of having to meet Sibonelo again.

PHINDISWA: Did the elders believe her?

MAMGCINA: They did and since Golomile didn’t have a good reputation none of the elders believed him when he said she was lying and he wasn’t the father. They forced him to go and work for his soon-to-be-wife and child.

PHINDISWA: What happened when my mother was born?

MAMGCINA: Nontozimbi refused to hold your mother in her arms, even though she was as adorable as her father Sibonelo. She looked at her in disgust. It was I who had to carry her, feed her and care for her.

PHINDISWA: That must have been hard.

MAMGCINA: It was. I was sad for your mother, but it was not the baby’s fault. Nonkosi didn’t deserve what her mother did to her. Then one day Nontozimbi walked out of the village to the tar road and hitch-hiked a ride in a truck. She was rumoured to have been seen in Johannesburg and Cape Town. Some people from the village claimed to have seen her, but were never clear where. Some said she had another surname – a Sotho one. Some said she became a model and they had seen her in Drum and Bona magazines. There were many rumours.

PHINDISWA: But she never came back.

MAMGCINA: No, so I decided to bring your mother up as my own. When your mother was older she wanted to know who her mother was and why she had left her – just like you want to know why Nonkosi left you.

PHINDISWA: Did you tell her the truth?

MAMGCINA: (shaking her head) I couldn’t. I tried to stop her from leaving the village; I was frightened of what would happen to her alone in the city. But we were struggling and had no food. We had to rely on the goodness of others. She was determined to go to the city to make money, just like my sister had wanted to go to the city. I had to stop her.

NARRATOR: MamGcina stopped Nonkosi from going to the city in the only way she knew how. It happened on the day Nonkosi had packed her bags and was ready to leave for Cape Town.

MamGcina and Nonkosi are having tea in their village hut. They have no food for breakfast.

NONKOSI: S’true’s God, MamGcina, I need to go to the city and find work otherwise we shall starve to death in this place. We can’t make a living here in the village – even the men have to go and make a living elsewhere. Andithi since utata left the only time we hear from him is when he sends a money order to baas Johnnie’s shop.

MAMGCINA: Ndiyakuva mntanam, I hear you well and truly. I’m frail now and cannot fend for you anymore, but the city is dangerous.

NONKOSI: But how else are we to survive? I have packed my bags and I’ll take the bus tomorrow. But before I do, MamGcina, I need to find out what happened to my mother. The family hardly talks about her. Why did she leave me? Where did she go? Perhaps I’ll find her in the city.

MAMGCINA: (clearing her throat) Sometimes it is better not to dig into the past. It’s good to let sleeping dogs lie, hleze zivuke zikuqwenge.

NONKOSI: So I can go?

MAMGCINA: Only under one condition.

NONKOSI: I’m listening, Ma.

MAMGCINA: That you consult inyanga first.

NONKOSI: (clapping her hands) Inyanga!? You know that I don’t believe in those. What is he going to do anyway, make me find a handsome city man?

MAMGCINA: This is serious, my child. You need to be strengthened uqiniswe so that whoever tries to overshadow you with their bad luck won’t succeed. You need to be cleansed and fortified against all of that.

NONKOSI: OK. I’ll go just to please you even though I hate that man and I don’t like the way he looks at me.

MAMGCINA: I’ll have to go with you. But I promise you he is not harmful and has only the face of ixhwele. When people say they don’t like the way amaxhwele look at them, they forget that the ixhwele could be connecting with the ancestors right at that moment and that he could reveal their fate. We will need to be early ke as Tat’uNqayi doesn’t like consulting when the sun has already risen.

Tell us: What do you think of Nonkosi’s plan to go to the city? Do you think it’s a good plan?