Hardly had Nomusa’s head appeared at the entrance of the hut when Themba
pounced on it, trying to get astride her neck, shouting, “My calf wins
the race!”
“Get off, Themba!” Nomusa protested, though she had to laugh at him.
“I’m no calf. And who told you about calf races? They are absolutely
forbidden.”
“Kangata told me. He said they have fun with calves in the pasture.”
“How well I know it!” said Nomusa. “I wish I could spend my days in the
pasture and have as good a time as my brothers do!”
“When I am big, I shall go to the pasture,” said Themba proudly.
“Yes,” Nomusa replied. “You are very lucky to be a boy. Girls’ work is
no fun at all.”
“Play _Hlungulu_,” begged Themba. “You promised.”
“Very well, sit down over there,” said Nomusa. “Now put your feet
towards me.
“_Hlungulu, hlungulu goduka
Amas omnlawana wakho adlive
Adlive yig wababa
Gwababa, gwababa goduka
Ubuye ngezotwasa._”
“_Crow, Crow, go home.
Jackdaw has eaten
Your babe’s clotted milk.
Jackdaw, Jackdaw, go home.
You will come back at the new moon._”
Themba giggled as Nomusa acted out the song with grimaces and dramatic
gestures. Before she had actually finished he was already begging,
“Again, again!” When she had sung _Hlungulu_ for the third time, he
placed his wide, bare feet on Nomusa’s lap and said, “Now sing me
_ta-yi-ya-ne-lo_.”
Putting her thumb and forefinger on the big toe of his left foot, she
began softly giving each toe a gentle squeeze. From the beginning of the
song to the end, Themba’s face was one delighted grin. As soon as she
squeezed the last toe, he laughed and said, “More, Nomusa, more!”
At last it was time to stop. Nomusa had to grind the corn for the mealie
mush they would eat later. Usually it was her mother who ground the
corn, because it took strong arms; but since Nomusa knew her mother was
busy entertaining her father, she decided to do it for her.
She picked up a small round stone lying next to a larger one which was
scooped out in the middle. Into the scooped-out stone she threw a
handful of hard kernels of corn. Then, using the small round stone like
a rolling-pin and flicking a little water into the hollow stone, she
ground and ground the corn until it became a coarse corn meal. When it
was ground she poured it into a basket where it would be ready when her
mother needed it for porridge or corn cakes. Part of it would be brewed
for her father’s beer, as well.
[Illustration: [Girl]]
Nomusa went on pounding and rolling the corn. She grew tired and wiped
off the moisture on her face with the back of her hand. She wondered how
her mother managed to pound and pound for such long periods without
stopping. As she rested a moment, she heard someone call, “Yo, Nomusa!”
She looked up and saw Sisiwe entering the kraal with a basket on her
head. The green tops of vegetables showed above the top of the basket.
“Tired after the elephant hunt?” teased Sisiwe.
“I see you have been weeding your mother’s garden,” Nomusa remarked,
ignoring the teasing.
“Yes,” said Sisiwe. “And now I have to fetch water again. I’ll never get
ready in time for Damasi’s party. I haven’t even ground my paint yet.
Have you?”
“No. I’ll go with you to fetch water. Perhaps we’ll find the right paint
stones on the way.”
Nomusa went back to finish grinding the corn while Sisiwe carried the
basket of beans and sweet potatoes to her hut.
Soon Sisiwe came out again, looking more cheerful. This time she was
carrying an empty water jar and eating something. Nomusa picked up a jar
lying next to the thatch of her hut and walked over to meet her half
sister, who offered her a piece of melon. Side by side, one with the
water jar on her left hip, the other with it on her right, the girls
proceeded to the stream.
“Our father has come,” Nomusa said. “Ay, Sisiwe he is as you said. We
saw the new belt of wildcat tails.”
“And did he speak of the elephant hunt?” asked Sisiwe.
“Yes,” replied Nomusa unhappily. “He said that if I were a boy he might
have taken me along. If only I were! He will certainly take my brother,
Mdingi. Well, at least I shall have the fun of taking the cattle to
pasture while he is away, for Kangata is too young to watch them all by
himself.”
Nomusa began to grow excited at the prospect of taking the cattle to
pasture and for a moment even thought it would make up for not being
allowed to go on the elephant hunt.
“Oh, Nomusa, why must you always be so eager to do what boys do? You
should be content with being a girl. Girls are worth much more than
boys. No Zulu girl can be had for a wife unless she is paid for in
cattle. We are valuable.”
But Nomusa’s mind was no longer on what Sisiwe was saying. Her eyes were
searching the ground to right and left, seeking the stones with which to
make the paint. Halfway to the stream, Nomusa and Sisiwe placed their
empty jars under a mimosa tree and left the path to look for colored
stones that were soft enough to grind.
“Here’s a white one,” called Nomusa to her sister. “And here’s another.
If we find two more white ones, we’ll have enough for white paint.”
When they had gathered all the stones they would need, Sisiwe said:
“We’ll leave them here in a pile until we come back from the stream.”
“The water is much lower than it was this morning,” Nomusa remarked.
“How thirsty the sun must be to drink so much every day. Well, anyway,
there’s still enough for a good dip; and here I go!” In she dived, the
pink soles of her feet gleaming. Sisiwe laughed and plunged in after
her.
The two girls began to splash and pull each other under the water with
so much shouting and merriment that birds nearby grew frightened and
flew away. The monkeys hiding in the boughs lifted their heads and
stared in wonder as the girls played in the water.
After a while, Nomusa and Sisiwe filled their jars with water and
covered them with leaves from the bushes. They placed a cushion of
rushes on top of their heads before balancing the jars on their heads.
Then they rose carefully, first one knee, then the other, without
spilling a single drop.
[Illustration: [Children]]
When they reached the spot where they had left their paint stones, the
girls picked them up one by one with their nimble toes, passing them to
their hands.
When they got to their kraal, Nomusa and Sisiwe left the water in their
huts. Then they sat in an open space near the huts, with their piles of
stones before them. With a hard stone they pounded the soft red, black,
and white stones, putting the different colors in separate piles, on
leaves. Umpondo, Sisiwe’s little brother, only a few days older than
Themba, sat between his sisters, picking up the little pieces of soft
stone as they pounded away. Nomusa said to him, “You may have some of
the stones if you wish, little brother,” and she pushed some of them
toward him.
The soft paint stones crumbled to bits easily as Nomusa crushed and
pounded them. After the pieces were small enough, she ground them until
they were fine as dust. Nomusa and Sisiwe worked silently for a time.
Then Umpondo said, “Nomusa, Themba said you know good stories. Do you
know about Uthlakanyana?”
“Oh, yes,” said Nomusa. “Mdingi has told me many stories about that
dwarf and his magic. I don’t know which one to tell you.”
“Any one,” begged Umpondo.
Without stopping what she was doing, Nomusa began, “_Za puma zenke
izilwane, za li dhla; la ngobuhlunga bezinyoka, nezinyosi, naofezela
neninyovu. La kala, lakala ke, la ze la fa_.... Once upon a time
Uthlakanyana took a bag to the forest. Inside of it he had a giant
cannibal whom he had fought and defeated. As he walked along he found a
snake, then a wasp, then a scorpion. All these biting and poisonous
things he put into the bag with the giant. The giant said, ‘Let me out,
let me out. They are biting me.’ They bit and bit him until he died. So
he died.”
“Do you know any others?” asked Umpondo eagerly.
“Yes, but not now.”
Nomusa had now finished grinding her stones. She looked at her three
little mounds of red, black, and white powder. “That’s done,” she said
to Sisiwe. “We shall have enough to paint our whole bodies.” Then she
called out, “Look! Our brothers are already returning from the pasture.
_Hau!_ Mdingi, Kangata!”
Her own brothers were the last of the boys leading their mothers’ cows
and calves into the cattlefold inside the kraal. This was fenced off
from the circle of huts by a thick wall of boughs and twigs. All the
drainage from the huts flowed down to the cattlefold which was on the
lower side of the sloping hill where the kraal was situated. In this
cattlefold were also the mealie and grain pits where the corn was stored
by the various wives after it had been stripped from the cobs. Nomusa’s
mother had told her that the fluids from the cattle percolated into the
ground and turned the corn and grain sour. This prevented the weevils
from eating it up.
As Nomusa proudly watched her mother’s cows walking single file into the
cattlefold, she noticed that her mother’s favorite, Nyawuza, was not
among them.
Where could she be?
Nomusa ran toward the cattlefold just as her brothers were entering it.
Mdingi saw her and called, “Go back, Nomusa! You know it’s bad luck for
girls to be here when we milk the cows.”
“Yes, I know,” Nomusa answered, looking at the cows to make sure she was
not mistaken. “But did you bring back all of our mother’s cows? I do not
see Nyawuza.”
Kangata stood next to Mdingi, looking solemn. Silently he gazed at his
elder brother and sister. Mdingi’s face was a study of misery and fear.
[Illustration: [Men]]
Nomusa knew something serious had happened.
[Illustration: [Huts]]