Although it was morning, inside the straw hut it was still dark. Nomusa
lay on her little bamboo mat, stretching and scratching her lean, naked
body. She yawned and thought to herself:
Yo, I am still so sleepy! If only I did not have to get up to fetch
water from the stream! Why must I leave my comfortable mat when Mdingi
and Kangata may still sleep? Zulu boys have all the fun, and they don’t
work nearly so hard as the girls.
Nomusa rolled up her mat, moving quietly so as not to wake her baby
sister and her little brother. They lay sleeping on a larger mat next to
her mother, Makanya.
As Nomusa passed the iron pot, she picked out a piece of cold sweet
potato to eat on the way to the stream. Taking a clay jar in one hand
and holding the sweet potato in the other, she crawled out of the low
opening of her hut.
Coming out from the darkness of the hut into the brilliant sunshine made
Nomusa’s eyes blink. She took a deep breath of the fresh air. What a
wonderful day!
She stood for a moment looking about the kraal. There were six other
huts in the enclosure, each shaped like a huge beehive. Five belonged to
the five other wives of Nomusa’s father. The sixth hut, which was the
biggest, was where her father, Chief Zitu, lived. The seven huts were in
a circle on a hillside overlooking a wide, lovely valley.
As Nomusa stood there she saw no sign of anyone stirring in the other
huts. Usually she saw some of her half sisters, many of whom were about
the same age as herself, crawling out of their huts to go for water too.
It was more fun going together. But today Nomusa’s father was coming to
visit their hut, and everything had to be ready earlier than usual.
She left the kraal and walked quickly down the well-worn dirt path
leading to a clear stream in the valley. As she hurried along, Nomusa
looked toward one of the other hills to see if any smoke was coming from
the kraal of their nearest neighbor. Yes, there was a thin wisp of smoke
curling up from a hut. That meant some of them were already awake and
cooking. Nomusa wondered if the smoke were coming from Damasi’s hut.
There was much work to be done in his kraal, too; for tomorrow all the
children from Nomusa’s kraal would go to a party in Damasi’s.
[Illustration: [Huts]]
For a moment Nomusa forgot she was in a hurry and stood there thinking
as she chewed the last bit of sweet potato. She gazed dreamily into the
soft green meadows of the valley, encircled by rolling hills and watered
by many little streams. It was the season after the heavy rains, and now
the mimosa trees were covered with yellow blossoms and feathery green
leaves. The thorn bushes looked softer with their new thick foliage. In
some of the trees orchids, green and brown, clung to branches by their
thick stems. The sandhills beyond, usually so bare, were now blanketed
with grass and wild flowers so that one hardly knew there were jagged
rocks beneath.
With the water jar on her left hip and her right arm hanging loosely by
her side, Nomusa looked like an ebony statue, her body slim and strong,
her hair a mass of short black curls covering her head. She looked as
much like a boy as a girl. Her snub nose and smiling mouth were only a
little different from those of her father’s other children, but there
was something special about her intelligent brown eyes.
Nomusa hurried to make up for stopping, and reached the swollen stream
in the valley warm and out of breath. What if her father arrived in
their hut before she returned with the water? What a disgrace that would
be!
She began sloshing her jar back and forth in the stream to fill it. Much
as she wanted to, she would not take time now for a dip in the water.
Perhaps there would be time for a swim when she came for water again at
noon.
No sound broke the morning calm except the gentle splashing and sloshing
of the water as Nomusa pulled her jar from one side to another. Then a
sudden screech coming from one of the trees overhanging the stream made
Nomusa look up. Above her head she saw two parrots sitting side by side.
Their brilliant feathers bristled stiffly, and they shifted uneasily on
the branch. What was worrying them, she wondered?
The parrots flapped their wings, and again they screeched, this time
more insistently. A long scarlet feather slowly fluttered to the ground,
and Nomusa dashed out of the stream to catch it before it landed. She
did not want it to get wet and bedraggled on the moist ground.
But it was not easy to clamber over the rocks and stones. The feather
fell into the deep grass beneath the tree before she could catch it.
Just as she was about to grasp it, there was a shriek from the parrots
and a loud hiss. Nomusa jumped back and almost fell into the stream as
she stumbled against a tree stump. She jumped up on the stump and looked
fearfully down into the grass to see what had hissed at her.
It was the imamba, one of the most dreaded snakes. Its body was a bright
flame color; as she watched, the creature raised its head from the
ground and spread out the brilliant skin on its neck so that it looked
as if it had a hood.
The imamba turned toward Nomusa and hissed again. Nomusa knew that this
meant the snake was about to strike. She could see its short fangs, its
back-curved teeth. Its lidless eyes were round and cold and cruel.
Nomusa broke into a cold sweat as she saw the snake’s long, slender
tongue, forked at the end, waving like an antenna to detect the odors
and vibrations in the air. The imamba was looking for her so that when
he spat his poison at her he would make a direct hit. She knew just how
he would do it.
He would throw his body forward, and two jets of his venom would shoot
out from the ends of his fangs. If this poison reached so much as
scratch on her skin, it could kill her. If it got into her eyes, it
would blind her, perhaps forever.
[Illustration: [Girl]]
There was a large stone nearby, but Nomusa knew that her people never
killed snakes, no matter how dangerous they were. Snakes were full of
evil spirits that would avenge themselves on the killer.
Nomusa wanted to run, but she knew better. Instead, she stood without
the slightest movement, so as to keep the snake from striking. The
imamba swayed his head slightly in a rhythmical motion that made Nomusa
almost dizzy as she watched.
How long, she wondered, would they remain staring at each other before
something happened? If she made the least move now, the imamba would
surely strike. A few drops of sweat oozed down her nose and made the tip
of it itchy, but Nomusa dared not lift a finger to scratch it.
The parrots had now grown unusually still, as if they were watching the
outcome of the contest. Why did they no longer shriek or screech? All at
once there was a swift blur of an object that flew to one side of the
imamba, causing the snake to turn quickly in that direction.
Nomusa made a mighty spring from the stump, landing in the stream with
such a noisy splash that the water rose over her in foaming bubbles.
She was safe!
[Illustration: [Huts]]