Nwelezelanga: The Star Child

by Magubeni, Unathi

  ‘One of these mornings I’ll be gone.’ Her premonition rings loud and true.

  She taught me so much and shared all her wisdom about the book of life; love is what I have for her. To some extent, I am because of her; she fuelled the spiritual force within that gave me wings to realise more of my self. She is my other half; I love her like I love me. We shared dreams and we travelled together to different worlds. I bathed in her wisdom and learnt a lot from her; oh such light that shone so bright.

  My heart feels heavy with emotions never aroused. How can the one so young at heart leave us so soon? The stage seemed to be set for her to breathe new life into our everyday existence. She possessed so much love. We danced in conversation for hours on end and I was a slave to her rhythm. She exuded royalty. She blessed me with her wisdom. I felt her essence and she took me on a journey to a deeper inner self. She unravelled the different rivers and streams that proceed to the ocean of love. She told me stories never told; stories the ancient wise chose to hide in parables and abstract proverbs.

  Some people come into our lives and they go; some stay for a while and we are never quite the same. She represents the latter to me. She paved the way; her bright light narrated ancient stories and her overwhelming love melted hearts. There is so much work that she did in the hidden recesses of people’s awareness; I wish the people of the land could’ve got to know her and appreciate the work she did. I miss her.

  I saw her in my dreams before we met in person. I was perplexed when I saw her in the flesh; my mind kept saying, ‘This is the person I saw in my dream.’

  It was like I knew her in a different lifetime. I couldn’t talk to her properly on that first encounter. I was rattled. I had goosebumps. Her light was too bright.

  She paved the way and fulfilled her purpose. She showed me glimpses of the future when I was searching, full of anxiety and so unsure. She is a goddess; her smiling eyes told stories of innocence and she oozed the universal unified ancestral energy. I felt so at home in her presence. There was much strength in her stride as she strolled with a gait that revealed the convictions of her heart.

  My story is her story and her story is my story. We share the same message. We are the children of the star in service of the high one. We are cut from the same cloth. All hail Nomkhubulwana.

  All hail starlight. You will forever be in my heart of hearts.

  Daydreams visit as I sit alone in the hut. I see Nomkhubulwana in the hidden corridors of my dreams. She smiles and waves. She sprinkles good fortune my way.

  ‘We are the chosen ones,’ she whispers from beyond the rainbow of dreams. ‘It’s all going to be okay,’ she assures me. ‘Remove the malady of self-doubt and move forth with conviction.’ She lets me in on one of the secrets of life. ‘Ubabalwe.’

  I see the contagious smile that she brandished at will. There’s a part of me that wishes she was still here physically so I could witness her move mountains, but in the same breath, and when I get over my narrow-mindedness, I know she is moving wheels of manifestation in the afterlife. She’s my heroine. She reflected pure love back at me. I will forever be grateful. I keep her in my heart and carry her spirit with every step forward. There is no doubt that she is an angel. I feel that our journey is yet to fulfil its ultimate purpose; so the journey continues.

  I’m brought back to the world of dreams by someone calling my name.

  ‘Nwelezelanga!’ a voice shouts from outside.

  I make my way out of the hut to investigate. I see some of the herdboys taking their livestock to the hills.

  ‘Let’s go,’ says Mongi, one of the herdboys.

  I take the cows out of the kraal and join the boys. We make our way towards the Vezinyawu forest. We take the cows to the Muntu-Muntu lake for a drink. The harsh sun gives the boys a good reason to swim. I remain on the banks of the lake and make life forms out of clay. A silly raucous laughter echoes as the boys splash in the water and chase each other. Many lessons that come with age are revealed in these moments of play. The spirit of children is the most wild and agile; the unknown fascinates us.

  I marvel at the world of ants as the boys busy themselves with stick-fighting. Dambuza calls me to come and watch but I shrug off the invitation. I kneel next to an anthill and observe the ants at work. I watch an army struggle to get a dead spider inside the opening of the anthill but reinforcement soon arrives to aid the work at hand. Another army goes out for the hunt and they seem to carry the same vision. The ants can teach us greatly about the march of civilisations; their rhythm beats with the rhythm of earth’s heartbeat. They tell stories that have endured the passage of time. Their ways move like the ocean and align to the consciousness of the earth. They work with such zeal for the betterment of their community and plan for seasons yet to come. We miss the chance of humbling ourselves to the conquering kingdom of old. There’s much more we can learn from the enlightened ones. The bees, the birds and the crabs hold divine messages for our evolutionary leap. The walking dead ignore the knowledge of yore that reveals that the current paradigm is destructive. The natural kingdom speaks profoundly and begs for our absolute attention at this hour.

  These are the days to realise more of self.

  Fifteen

  MANY SEEKERS VISIT our homestead for different reasons. Some come to clear imbalances in their aura so that good fortune may come their way. A large number come to have their confusing dreams interpreted. Many have visited our household seeking relief for their physical ailments and there are those who come seeking advice on how to bring back a straying spouse. There are countless reasons that drive the many to come and see Mama for consultation. There are many who come without knowing the reason they are drawn to our homestead; Mama lets them stay until such time that the reason is revealed.

  ‘Vuka, Nwelezelanga,’ Mama wakes me up from a deep slumber.

  ‘The sun is standing tall and you’re still sleeping!’ she reprimands. ‘A girl should be awake before sunrise.’ She gives me a tongue-lashing.

  ‘I couldn’t wake up, Mama; I had a recurring dream that arrested me in the world of the spirits.’ I convey the reason for my having overslept.

  ‘There was this woman …’

  ‘Light impepho before you say anything further,’ Mama interjects.

  I light the dry everlasting plant and it gives off a spicy smell.

  ‘Go on. What did this woman do?’ Mama asks with mild concern written on her forehead.

  ‘She was weeping on top of a mountain. I felt her pain and brokenness. She seemed to be reaching out for me somehow. She was calling on me with her heart of hearts. I felt so drawn to her and she felt like a part of me. I wanted to wake up but she wasn’t letting go and held on to my attention tightly.’

  Mama takes a pouch containing animal bones, seashells, pieces of ivory, crocodile teeth, crystals, pieces of different metals and other interesting objects and blows into the pouch and tells me to do the same. She shakes the pouch and then throws its contents on the reed mat. She observes the revelations from the positioning of the items. She takes her charmed cow-tail whisk lying next to her and begins whipping the air, driving away unwanted spirits.

  ‘Vumani bo?’ she exclaims.

  ‘Siyavuma,’ I concur.

  ‘I see a woman on a mountain summit; she is reaching out for you, my child.’ Mama decodes the message.

  ‘Who is she?’ I enquire.

  ‘Silence; listen!’ Mama scolds me. ‘She seems suicidal and desperate to see you,’ she carries on. ‘There’s a deep connection she has with you; this woman gave birth to you, my child.’ Mama reveals the hidden truth.

  An odd feeling engulfs me. The revelation evokes deep emotions that were suppressed for the longest time. I grew up with Mama telling me that I was a blessed child who came with the rain. She always said that the Mflolozi River gave birth to me and that I was the luckiest child to have three mothers. I’ve never really thought much about my biological mother though. She’s no different to me than th
e characters in folk tales. She was a figment of my imagination and I never really invested much feeling in her existence. I always had a slight curiosity though to see her someday.

  ‘Will I ever see her, Mama?’ I enquire.

  ‘I don’t know my child; I really don’t know.’ Mama conveys her uncertainty.

  Aunt Nontsebenzo enters with dishes of porridge.

  ‘Yhu, kufuneka usinde apha, Nwelezelanga,’ Aunt Nontsebenzo instructs that I should coat the floor with cow dung.

  ‘Ndizokwenza njalo, Aunty,’ I oblige as instructed.

  We eat the porridge in awkward silence. The new revelations evoke feelings I cannot describe.

  ‘Where is Zimasa?’ Mama breaks the ice.

  ‘She is watering the vegetable garden,’ Aunt Nontsebenzo responds.

  ‘Tell her to come and eat, Nwelezelanga,’ Mama orders.

  I dash outside to call Zimasa.

  ‘Zimasa, Mama is asking for you.’

  She joins us a moment later.

  Mama tells Aunt Nontsebenzo about the dream I had and what it means. The dog barks outside furiously as Mama unravels the deeper meaning of my dream.

  ‘That dog is such a menace; quickly check why it is barking,’ Mama asks.

  I oblige as requested; I see it barking at our visitor. I whistle and call the dog.

  ‘Mabhulu, Mabhulu! Come here.’

  Mabhulu comes to me, wagging his tail, and jumps at me.

  ‘You are naughty, wena,’ I say to him.

  ‘Hehe, this dog doesn’t know me all of sudden,’ says our neighbour Ma Ntuli.

  ‘He is just naughty this one,’ I respond.

  ‘Naughty? This bloody dog almost bit me and you say it’s just “naughty!”’ Ma Ntuli scolds me.

  ‘Uxolo Ma.’ I excuse Mabhulu’s behaviour.

  ‘Is your mother in?’ she asks.

  ‘Yes, Ma, she is in the big hut.’

  Ma Ntuli proceeds to the big hut. Curiosity gets the better of me and I follow her to listen to the reason for her visit this early in the morning. Ma Ntuli knocks at the door.

  ‘Come in,’ Aunt Nontsebenzo responds.

  ‘Molweni,’ Ma Ntuli greets those inside.

  ‘Eweke,’ Mama obliges to the greeting.

  ‘Yhiyo, please forgive me for visiting this early in the morning but I had to come and tell you of the painful and disgusting news I have just heard about,’ says Ma Ntuli with a dramatic expression.

  ‘Yintoni ngoku makhelwane!’ Mama digs for details.

  ‘The news is spreading like wildfire my neighbour; the corpse of a little girl was found in the forest.’

  ‘Uthini ngoku makhelwane!’ Mama expresses her shock upon hearing the news.

  ‘The corpse was cut open with the insides exposed and the genitals missing.’ Revulsion is written all over Ma Ntuli’s face.

  ‘The body was mutilated and her eyes gouged out.’

  My stomach turns on hearing these details.

  ‘Yoh, yoh, yoh, these witches are finishing our children,’ Mama exclaims.

  ‘Who is the girl?’ asks Aunt Nontsebenzo curiously.

  ‘It’s that young sparkling girl with albinism from the Madiba clan in Dwesi village,’ Ma Ntuli tells us.

  ‘Black magic is spreading like a plague,’ says Mama defeatedly.

  ‘Say that again, makhelwane.’ Ma Ntuli shares in the sentiment.

  ‘I’m told that the chief visited the family and consoled them. The royal house will investigate the matter and hopefully the culprit will be apprehended and stoned to death. There will be an imbizo at the royal house tomorrow morning to talk about the scourge that has infested our land.’ Ma Ntuli informs us of the meeting.

  ‘You see Zimasa and Nwelezelanga why I always tell you not to wander in the forest alone; you must always go in groups, even when you go to pick up wood,’ Mama reiterates.

  ‘Our children are persecuted, murdered and mutilated for greed and evil intentions,’ Ma Ntuli carries on.

  ‘How long are we going to let this terror reign, huh?’ Mama asks with a defeated voice.

  I shiver as fear creeps in under my skin. I imagine the horror the victims must have experienced. It must have been awful being pounced on by these barbarians and dragged to the nearest bush to be slaughtered. The hair on my body stands up.

  ‘Remember that child with albinism from Khanyayo village that was kidnapped two moons ago?’ Aunt Nontsebenzo chips in.

  ‘The poor child was abducted from her home as she slept in the hut with her siblings. She was found in a nearby bush dismembered. These witches have no shame. Her eyes were also gouged out, her ears were missing and her private part was cut off.’

  The details of these atrocities make me squeamish.

  ‘Why are they doing this to our children?’ asks Ma Ntuli dismayed.

  ‘Children with albinism are the most prized as their innocence is highly valued,’ Mama responds.

  ‘This is sickening,’ says Ma Ntuli, with loathing written all over her face.

  ‘These witches stoop so low because of greed and the perceived wealth gain from these wicked acts,’ says Aunt Nontsebenzo.

  ‘There was another an incident I heard of some time ago in Mkhambathi village where the corpse of a person with albinism was disinterred and then stolen. The family had only buried the deceased the day before.’ Mama tells us of another evil deed.

  ‘That heinous act definitely disturbed the peace of the deceased,’ Ma Ntuli adds.

  ‘It is hard for our children to roam freely. They live in fear and are treated as outcasts by the villagers and are ostracised. It is really shameful.’ Mama makes another passionate observation.

  ‘Eish, now you’ve got me going! My heart is racing! I was informed of another terrible tragedy where a stepfather sold his stepdaughter. He was involved in the planning of her abduction and chopped off her arms but she lived to tell the tale.’ Mama fills us in on yet another gory act.

  ‘The incident left her traumatised and she was never quite the same. She is mentally disturbed and has never got over the ordeal,’ Mama carries on.

  ‘Yoh, our children are hunted like animals.’ Ma Ntuli throws her hands up in the air.

  ‘There is an active cabal of witches who peddle and perpetuate dark spirits in our land. They sacrifice children with albinism to appease dark lords.’ Mama conveys the ugly fact.

  ‘Our children are killed and maimed for the purpose of those who believe that they will gain power and success as a result of taking a mixture of medicine made from human parts,’ Aunt Nontsebenzo reiterates. ‘Children with albinism are raped in the hope of curing sexually transmitted diseases and for other obscure healing purposes,’ she carries on.

  ‘Families are motivated to kill their children with albinism at birth to avoid the stigma.’ Mama serves another dose of the crazy reality.

  We all sit in the hut filled with astonishment. The jaw-dropping wicked realities leave me dismayed. We are prey to these witches. Icy worms of apprehension crawl up my spine. I feel sick to my stomach. It is a bizarre kind of fear. I can’t wrap my head around what these evil people are capable of. I think again of the terror the victims must have felt when their fate met these dark forces. The truth leaves me breathless and knocks the wind out of me.

  Shame on you, barbarians. Shame on you evil souls of forever-night.

  Sixteen

  THE SUN RISES AS the cock crows welcome the lord of day. The morning is somehow uncharacteristically cold for this time of the year. We sit in the main hut; Zimasa is making a fire to boil water for Mama’s cup of tea. She puts the enamel teapot on the fire. The burning impepho circulates in the hut, evoking calm to all those inside it. Mama relays a dream she had at nightfall.

  ‘Yoh, I had a curious dream, Nontsebenzo,’ Mama says.

  ‘What was the dream about, sisi?’ Aunty asks inquisitively.

  ‘Eish, there was a meeting of the old wise ones in the kraal. They sat in a circle on wooden benche
s, passionately discussing issues concerning the clan,’ Mama narrates with a little unease in her voice.

  ‘They talked for hours and hours until the rising sun was high at noon. One of the elders called me and asked me to fill the empty calabash with the traditional brew. I went looking for the sorghum beer but the containers were dry and empty; I looked in all the huts but there was none to be found. They kept sending children to ask why I was taking so long as they were thirsty.’ Mama still carries the anxiety in her heart.

  ‘It was clear that there was no traditional beer in the homestead. I was so anxious and my heart was beating faster and faster not knowing what to do. I spent the rest of the dream in a complete panic looking for something that I knew was not there.’ She breathes heavily.

  ‘I woke up very early this morning still feeling troubled. The elders are thirsty, Nontsebenzo. I have to make the traditional brew for them and invite the members of our clan to honour the occasion,’ she says to Aunty.

  ‘Yoh sisi, we have to get on it, we don’t want to make the old wise ones angry,’ says Aunt Nontsebenzo, a little shaken.

  ‘You don’t have to remind me, Nontsebenzo, I know the wrath of the old when their peace is disturbed.’ Mama emphasises the point.

  Zimasa offers Mama a cup of tea and places a small three-legged cast-iron pot on the fire to boil water for the porridge.

  ‘Girls, you’ll have to go to the forest to collect wood later,’ Mama says gently.

  ‘Okay, Mama,’ Zimasa and I respond in a chorus.

  ‘Let’s go and fetch water, Nwelezelanga, and fill up the tank,’ says Aunt Nontsebenzo.

  I fetch two buckets from the middle hut and give one to Aunt Nontsebenzo. She leads the way to the nearby stream. We scoop the water into the buckets and make our way back to the homestead. Aunt Nontsebenzo leads the way once again with the bucket of water on top of her head and both her hands placed on her waist; walking with the gait of a seductive goddess.