A day had passed and things seemed to be normal but on the second day rumours of a missing Bandezi swirled throughout the Msukweni village. No one seemed to know where he was or had any idea when was the last time he was seen. Khange shared with his parents that two days ago, whilst on his way from uMtshotsho, he saw someone he believed to be Bandezi disappearing behind bushes at the river bank. Khange’s father didn’t want his son to be known as the last person to have seen Bandezi due to history of the two families.

“Did you say this to anyone else in the village?” Khange’s father had asked sternly.

“No, yes, maybe, there was a girl with him whom might have seen me” Khange had said.

“Well, until she shows up and say that she saw you, you didn’t see him” his father instructed him.

Bandezi’s lifeless body was found at uMthentu river bank with a broken leg and he appeared to have drowned. The mystery of the iGomondela was born with various sightings throughout the villages of Transkei. The iGomondela terrorised the villagers throughout that year. However, after that year the Gomondela only made its appearances during summer and harvest times.

Khange was reaped off from his thoughts of the past by a familiar voice of his wife.

“Khange you just know how to ruin a good family time” Nondima said and then she turned looking at Nompucuko “Don’t worry my child, the Gomondela has never taken any kids”. Whilst correct this statement didn’t comfort Nompucuko. She sat there huddled together like a sack of mielimeal.

 “Come here and help me dish up” Nondima said noticing that her previous attempt to comfort her daughter failed dismally.

Nondima was implementing a different tactic, distraction. Nompucuko stood up and took isithebe (reed tray) hanging from one of the roof poles, holding it with both hands allowing Nondima to place on it an enamel bowl full of umngqusho and mutton.

 “Here take this to your father” she instructed Nompucuko. The family ate that night with everything seeming normal.  

The night that Mbathane disappeared to the forest was overcast and drizzling. He was seen by Zasawe, the village drunkard, walking towards the Bhaziya mountain range in haste and disappearing behind the tree line. Mbathane walked into the forest with determination and a fogged mind. He could not remember why he was there. He was in the middle of the forest in darkness confused, scared, cold and alone. There was a sharp pain coming from his head. He felt something warm flowing down his face. He reached his right hand up to his forehead and dab the liquidy substance then turned his hand to look at it. He could not see what it was but it felt viscous and smelt like blood. He was wearing shorts and a ragged t-shirt that he usually slept in. He was bare feet. He had continued walking aimlessly unaware of the dangers that lurked in that darkness. Behind the tree line dense bushes covered his path, jagged rocks protruded from the ground and trees on the mountain side scraped his body as he passed. He must have walked for what seemed like hours unsure where he was headed until he reached a clearing and he could hear the sound of water. An owl hooted an eerie sound that sent his heart racing and left him breathless. He was overwhelmed with fear and his body mechanisms prevented him from feeling the pain caused by poisonous ivy and Sweet Thorn tree pines. His body was bruised, battered and bleeding. He nearly launched over the edge into the waterfall but managed to stop himself just in time. Mbathane stood there confused, contemplating his next move when he heard the breaking of twigs coming from behind him. He swivelled quickly like a deer in the savannah and in that moment he was face to face with the Gomondela. He was confronted by the dark piercing eyes staring down into his soul. Mbathane could feel the warm breath of the Gomondela on his face. There was something comforting about this presence. It felt familiar. Like an old friend, perhaps darkness was his old friend. Mbathane was no saint. Before he could figure out what was going on his right foot lifted off the ground and stepped into the abyss of the waterfall. He could’ve sworn that he felt a gentle hand nudge, ushering him into his death. He was found five days later floating at the bottom of the waterfall’s plunge pool with a broken neck. Some people felt his death to be justified whilst others feared for their lives. No one knew who would be next or how the Gomondela selected its victims.