Unbelievers!
Afterwards, both Zim and his daughter feel a bit exercised by the tiff at the store. They are in Nongqawuse’s Valley. Qukezwa is riding Gxagxa, her father’s brown-and-white horse, while Zim walks next to it, holding its reins. They are moving slowly towards Nongqawuse’s Pool.
Today the clouds are low, and the mountaintops are wearing them like mourning hats.
“It was all your fault,” Qukezwa bursts out. “You embarrassed me, tata. You invited the eyes of the people on me.”
They are walking past
usundu
palms among the wild irises that grow in the valley. It is a cool afternoon, and the Namaqualand dove is cooing softly. In Nongqawuse’s Pool a variety of eels, springer fish, and river otters are engaged in various antics, showing off to the visitors.
“There used to be aloes around this pool. In the days of Nongqawuse there were aloes,” says Zim, talking in whistles.
“Don’t change the subject, tata. You heard what I said.”
“Even when we were growing up, there were aloes. Also reeds. Reeds used to cover this whole place. Only forty years ago . . . when I was a young man . . . there were reeds. In the days of Nongqawuse the whole ridge was covered with people who came to see the wonders.”
He talks passionately about this valley. When he began to walk, he walked in this valley. He looked after cattle in this valley. He was circumcised here. His grandfather’s fields were here. His whole life is centered in this valley. He is one with Intlambo-ka-Nongqawuse—Nongqawuse’s Valley.
It is clear to Qukezwa that Zim has no intention of discussing his spat with Bhonco. Perhaps she should tell him about her yearning for the city. Now she also talks in whistles. They both sound like birds of the forest.
“You want to go to Butterworth or Centani? You are free to go there anytime you want. No one has ever stopped you.”
“I am talking about Johannesburg, tata. I have Standard Eight but I sweep the floors. You heard what old man Bhonco said. Maybe if I go to the city I’ll be a clerk and earn better money than the small change that Dalton gives me. I’ll be somebody in the city.”
This astonishes Zim. Surely it must be the work of the Unbelievers again. His daughter has never been dissatisfied with her lot in the village before. She cannot leave, he tells her, for she is the only one left to carry forward the tradition of belief.
“Your brother left and never came back. He was deceived by the wealth of the city. The ancestors cannot be happy with that sort of thing. I swear in the name of Mlanjeni that they’ll beat him up with a thick stick.”
“Of Mlanjeni, tata? Even though his prophecies were false?”
“Who teaches you these things? Mlanjeni was a true prophet. All his sayings were true, but everything was spoiled by young men who could not leave women alone. Mlanjeni said so right from the beginning. His medicine and women did not mix. That is why he himself eschewed women all his life.”
Then he tells her about Prophetess Nongqawuse.
“Like the Nomyayi bird, she flew to the south,” he says. “Nomyayi flew to Gobe to prophesy things that would happen. Nongqawuse used to go with Nomyayi. They were one person.”
Zim assures his daughter that if she works hard enough she will end up being a prophetess like Nongqawuse.
At night Qukezwa dreams of Nongqawuse flying with a crow—the Nomyayi bird. She made sure that she slept with her legs stretched out. She will, therefore, be able to run away from her dreams if they become nightmares. One should be able to escape from the witches in one’s dreams, or even run away from the dream itself.
But tonight there is no need to run away. She flies with Nomyayi in the land of the prophets.
It was the land of the prophets. Then the gospel people came. Mhlakaza first belonged to the gospel people. But later he was in the company of prophets.
The twins knew all about the gospel people. They knew Mhlakaza, even when he was
Afterwards, both Zim and his daughter feel a bit exercised by the tiff at the store. They are in Nongqawuse’s Valley. Qukezwa is riding Gxagxa, her father’s brown-and-white horse, while Zim walks next to it, holding its reins. They are moving slowly towards Nongqawuse’s Pool.
Today the clouds are low, and the mountaintops are wearing them like mourning hats.
“It was all your fault,” Qukezwa bursts out. “You embarrassed me, tata. You invited the eyes of the people on me.”
They are walking past
usundu
palms among the wild irises that grow in the valley. It is a cool afternoon, and the Namaqualand dove is cooing softly. In Nongqawuse’s Pool a variety of eels, springer fish, and river otters are engaged in various antics, showing off to the visitors.
“There used to be aloes around this pool. In the days of Nongqawuse there were aloes,” says Zim, talking in whistles.
“Don’t change the subject, tata. You heard what I said.”
“Even when we were growing up, there were aloes. Also reeds. Reeds used to cover this whole place. Only forty years ago . . . when I was a young man . . . there were reeds. In the days of Nongqawuse the whole ridge was covered with people who came to see the wonders.”
He talks passionately about this valley. When he began to walk, he walked in this valley. He looked after cattle in this valley. He was circumcised here. His grandfather’s fields were here. His whole life is centered in this valley. He is one with Intlambo-ka-Nongqawuse—Nongqawuse’s Valley.
It is clear to Qukezwa that Zim has no intention of discussing his spat with Bhonco. Perhaps she should tell him about her yearning for the city. Now she also talks in whistles. They both sound like birds of the forest.
“You want to go to Butterworth or Centani? You are free to go there anytime you want. No one has ever stopped you.”
“I am talking about Johannesburg, tata. I have Standard Eight but I sweep the floors. You heard what old man Bhonco said. Maybe if I go to the city I’ll be a clerk and earn better money than the small change that Dalton gives me. I’ll be somebody in the city.”
This astonishes Zim. Surely it must be the work of the Unbelievers again. His daughter has never been dissatisfied with her lot in the village before. She cannot leave, he tells her, for she is the only one left to carry forward the tradition of belief.
“Your brother left and never came back. He was deceived by the wealth of the city. The ancestors cannot be happy with that sort of thing. I swear in the name of Mlanjeni that they’ll beat him up with a thick stick.”
“Of Mlanjeni, tata? Even though his prophecies were false?”
“Who teaches you these things? Mlanjeni was a true prophet. All his sayings were true, but everything was spoiled by young men who could not leave women alone. Mlanjeni said so right from the beginning. His medicine and women did not mix. That is why he himself eschewed women all his life.”
Then he tells her about Prophetess Nongqawuse.
“Like the Nomyayi bird, she flew to the south,” he says. “Nomyayi flew to Gobe to prophesy things that would happen. Nongqawuse used to go with Nomyayi. They were one person.”
Zim assures his daughter that if she works hard enough she will end up being a prophetess like Nongqawuse.
At night Qukezwa dreams of Nongqawuse flying with a crow—the Nomyayi bird. She made sure that she slept with her legs stretched out. She will, therefore, be able to run away from her dreams if they become nightmares. One should be able to escape from the witches in one’s dreams, or even run away from the dream itself.
But tonight there is no need to run away. She flies with Nomyayi in the land of the prophets.
It was the land of the prophets. Then the gospel people came. Mhlakaza first belonged to the gospel people. But later he was in the company of prophets.
The twins knew all about the gospel people. They knew Mhlakaza, even when he was
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