Uluthando



This whole thing feels like a dream, as if I’ll wake up any moment and realise that it was all an illusion. I wave goodbye to the people I had considered my friends since I arrived here. With the last of my bags in the car, I settled in, ready for the long drive back to Eastern Cape.

***

The pain in my heart is still fresh, but there is nothing I can do except return home. As the car rolled onto the dusty road of Mdeni, I couldn’t help but think about how everything would change now that I am going back.

The corn crops stood tall, women working under the scorching sun even though it is only 10 a.m but the sun is high up in the sky. Their stares turned towards the red Mazda car, probably aware of the news of my return. The first person to leave and now the first to come back, without any qualifications to show for it.

I wanted to hide from their judgmental eyes, but it was too late. My green rondavel home came into view, the four huts standing proudly, just like my mother with her doek and pinafore dress adorned with red mud on her face.

As I stepped out of the car, she ran over to welcome me. She enveloped me in her warm arms, just like she used to when I was a child. I hugged her back tightly, feeling a sense of comfort and safety.

“Iza (come),” she said, leading me inside the rondavel where she is cooking on a wood fire. The familiar smell of burning wood filled the air, and I realised that this is the smell of home.