Part 2

“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.

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.

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.

Nomusa knew something serious had happened.

FIVE: A Lost Cow

At first Mdingi stood silent. Then he confessed.

“While we were resting after playing games, I began to think about a song. Sometimes when I do that I forget about everything else. It was like that today. When I looked for the cows, they had wandered off. I ran to drive them back, but I could not find Nyawuza. I left Kangata with the others while I searched for her. I looked and whistled until we had to come home. But I could not find the cow.”

“It is my fault, too,” Kangata said, stoutly. “I fell asleep. Oh, this is the worst thing that could happen! When Tahle lost a calf once he was punished severely.”

Nomusa felt very sorry for her brothers, especially for Mdingi. Kangata might be scolded, but the cows were Mdingi’s responsibility. If Nyawuza were not found, he would certainly be punished for his carelessness.

It was especially bad because Nomusa knew that their father frowned on Mdingi more often than on any of his children. Zitu himself was very strong and brave, and a great warrior and hunter. He was often disappointed in Mdingi. It was no secret that Mdingi liked making up songs and telling stories more than anything else.

Nomusa’s heart filled with pity as she saw Mdingi’s misery. She began to think of what might be done.

“If we wait till morning, Nyawuza may be killed by some animal. That would be a disgrace for you always, Mdingi.”

“It is true,” Mdingi acknowledged dejectedly.

“She must be found,” Nomusa declared. “I shall go right away to look for her.”

“But, Nomusa, it is growing dark! You would not be safe. Some wild animal might attack you!”

“I must find Nyawuza,” Nomusa said firmly.

“Then I shall go with you,” said Mdingi.

“No, no! You must milk the cows. And say nothing about this. Our father is in our hut now; if he hears what has happened he will be very angry. My work is finished; I shall not be missed.”

“I cannot let you go alone,” Mdingi protested. “Nyawuza knows my whistle.”

“Show me how you whistle,” directed Nomusa.

Mdingi whistled, and Nomusa imitated him. After a few tries she could do it exactly like Mdingi. Here is one more thing Nomusa can do as well as I, Mdingi thought bitterly. She should have been the boy.

“Do not say anything about the lost cow,” Nomusa cautioned. “Tomorrow is the day of Damasi’s party, and we might not be allowed to go.”

Out of the kraal flew Nomusa like a small wild thing, her neck pocket bouncing as she ran. Her brothers watched her go, now worried about Nomusa as well as the cow.

“I should not have let her go,” muttered Mdingi to Kangata as they went to the cattlefold to do the milking.

Nomusa ran along the deeply marked path which the cattle had made on their way from the kraal to the pasture. She wasted no time, but still her keen eyes saw signs that told what her brothers did in the pasture all day.

There were the remains of a fire. They must have caught some birds and roasted them. And perhaps they had taken some yams from their mothers’ vegetable gardens. What a good time they must have had, thought Nomusa.

She could see large worn-out banana leaves on a small clay slope. These the boys had used as sleds for coasting. What fun it was, and how easy to find another banana-leaf sled when the old one was worn out!

Under a tree lay a large ball of leaves, twigs, and moss. Nomusa knew what that had been used for. Her brothers, lined up on two sides, had hurled pointed sticks at the ball as it rolled swiftly downhill.

Small wonder that Zulu boys grew up to be such great hunters with their spears and bows and arrows. Even little Themba had a toy bow and arrow with which he played at hunting. But he used the chickens and dogs around the kraal as targets, much to the annoyance of his father’s wives.

Nomusa came upon some long sticks standing against the trunk of a tree. She had often seen the boys play this game in their kraal in the evening. Standing opposite his opponent, each boy would try to strike the other’s body, holding the stick in the middle so that a large piece extended on each side of him. The boys used all their speed and agility to try to ward off the blows from their opponents’ sticks. A player had to be skillful indeed or he would soon be covered with bruises.

As Nomusa had expected, the cow was nowhere to be seen about the pasture. She began whistling loudly and calling the cow with all her might.

“Nyawuza! Nyawuza!”

From a long way off came faintly the echo: “Nyawuza! Nyawuza!”

Nomusa decided she must go into the woods. Where else could the cow have gone? Picking up a pointed stick, Nomusa walked into the shadowy woods.

She whistled Mdingi’s call over and over again. Moving between the well-spaced trees, she pushed aside with her stick the vines and creepers that came in her way. Once the whir of flying wings over her head gave her a great fright.

Only a bat! she thought, ashamed of her fear.

But the farther she went into the woods the less courageous she felt. She wished now that she had let Mdingi come with her. Oh, where could Nyawuza have gone? Was she perhaps already eaten by a lion or a hyena?

By this time Nomusa was deep in the woods. Her eyes had become so accustomed to the darkness that she was able to see where she was going quite well. She called and whistled, she slapped at trees with her stick to frighten off lurking animals. She had often heard that the rhinoceros hated loud noises and ran away at sudden sounds. She hoped it would frighten away other animals, too.

Once she saw some small glowing eyes peering at her from a bush. It made Nomusa’s flesh creep with dread. The fast beating of her heart made her whistle tremble and quaver. Her throat suddenly went dry, and she found herself scarcely able to utter any sound whatever.

All at once, Nomusa heard a low and doleful moo from somewhere to the right of her. She plunged excitedly through the thicket in the direction of the sound. Another low, mournful moo.

Nomusa came to a small swamp; and there was Nyawuza. One foot was caught in a liana, and she was still struggling to free herself from the vine.

With a cry of joy and relief, Nomusa rushed up to the cow. She put her arms around her neck. “Nyawuza, our dear one, are you hurt?”

She bent down to examine Nyawuza’s leg and to see how she could free her. Nyawuza had got herself more and more entangled with the vine by trying to free herself. First Nomusa pulled at it with all her strength, but soon she saw that it required cutting. She had no knife, so she tried using her pointed stick to get between the vines and the cow’s leg. This hurt Nyawuza, and she frantically pulled herself away.

“What shall I do?” wondered Nomusa. She groped about on the ground looking for a rock with a sharp edge, feeling rather than seeing the stones. All at once she felt a sharp pain in her hand.

“A snake!” gasped Nomusa.

But it was not a snake bite after all, but a cut made by something sharp, perhaps the very thing she could use to cut the vine. Nomusa bent down, feeling about cautiously for the sharp object that had cut her.

Ah! She had it—a stone with a knifelike edge, half embedded in the earth. Nomusa dug it out, with some difficulty, and ran to Nyawuza. She knelt in front of the cow and held her leg firmly with one hand while she chopped at the vine with the stone.

Nyawuza looked on with melancholy eyes. The task of cutting the liana was not easy, though the stone was sharp. The vine was tough and full of sap, and it did not break easily. But Nomusa worked and worked at one place until she had cut it through. Finally Nyawuza was free.

By this time Nomusa was so tired that she felt as if the kraal were a hundred miles away. “Come, good Nyawuza. We must hurry home. Our mother is waiting.”

On their dark journey homeward, Nomusa kept up a conversation with the cow to reassure her. Now and then Nomusa stumbled over rough ground and unexpected bumps. Sometimes she was not at all sure which was the right direction, and she grew frightened at the thought of being lost.

It seemed a very long time before Nomusa felt under her feet the familiar path leading to her kraal. Delighted to be so near home, she gave Nyawuza an affectionate and resounding slap on her rump.

The cow gave a sudden leap forward, and went galloping into the kraal, almost dashing against a group of Nomusa’s older brothers and sisters.

But Nomusa did not stop to speak to them, for she must find Mdingi at once. It was long past the cow’s milking time, and her udder was swollen.

Before Nomusa reached the cattlefold, Mdingi came rushing to meet her. “You found her!” he cried in relief. “I have been worried about you!” There was much more that Mdingi wanted to say, but Nomusa knew what he felt.

“Go quickly,” she said gently. “Nyawuza needs milking.”

“I go,” Mdingi said.

Nomusa turned back to the other children, who were playing a spitting game. At a given signal, they passed their hands before their mouths, spitting on the palm as it passed. Then each child was given a chance to guess where the spit had hit the hand.

Nomusa watched for a few moments, but she was too tired to play. As she was about to enter her hut, she saw her father sitting outside the entrance gazing at the rising moon and smoking his oxhorn pipe. Without turning his head, he said quietly, “I am glad you found the cow, my daughter.”

Astonished, Nomusa said to herself, “By what magic does my father always manage to know everything that is happening in the kraal?”

Before unrolling her mat, Nomusa took some half-cooked pumpkin and some stewed meat from the pot. Drowsily she began to eat. Puleng came to help her, and together they finished the pumpkin and meat.

With one arm around her dog’s neck, Nomusa stretched out her tired legs and fell sound asleep.

SIX: Preparing for the Party

The first thing Nomusa thought when she awoke was, “Today is the day of the party at Damasi’s kraal! My work must be done quickly so I shall be ready to go this afternoon.”

Mdingi and Kangata were now awake. Their eyes shone with excitement, and Nomusa knew that they too were thinking about the party. Because of it, they would start off to the pasture earlier today.

They helped themselves from the cook pot. Nomusa pushed more dry twigs on the smoldering fire so her mother could start cooking more food when the pot was empty. She and her brothers made sure there was enough food left for their mother and Themba when they awoke.

Out of the hut crawled Nomusa, Mdingi, and Kangata, one after the other, eating the food they held in their hands. They looked up at the sky to see what kind of day it was. Off in the distance Nomusa saw some threatening-looking clouds.

“Oh, it’s not a nice day,” she said, disappointed.

“That is true,” replied Mdingi; “but it may clear up before we leave this afternoon.”

“I think it’s going to rain,” said Kangata pessimistically.

“Come along, Kangata,” ordered his big brother.

Nomusa was just leaving through the kraal gate when she heard one of her sisters calling, “Nomusa, wait for me!” It was Hlamba, the daughter of her father’s third wife. Nomusa’s mother was his fourth wife. Hlamba, too, was carrying a water jar, which she balanced expertly on her grass-skirted hip.

Nomusa waited until Hlamba caught up with her. “_Sakubona!_” she greeted her. “I am glad to have your company, sister. I see you are already wearing your new beads. They are beautiful! And is that the grass skirt you are wearing to Damasi’s party?”

“Oh, no,” said Hlamba loftily. “I am saving the new one until we go. But I just couldn’t wait to wear the beads.”

Hlamba was taller and plumper than Nomusa. Her body was beginning to take on the form of a woman, and she felt her importance now that her age required her to wear a grass skirt just like her mother’s.

“When I am twelve years old, I suppose I shall have to wear a grass skirt, too,” said Nomusa without any enthusiasm.

“Of course,” said Hlamba. “You will be a woman then.”

“A woman—in two years!” thought Nomusa. Somehow she could not feel happy about it. She wanted so much to play for a long, long time. She walked beside Hlamba for a while, not saying a word, but thinking a great deal. Hlamba kept a steady flow of conversation most of the way, but Nomusa hardly heard her. She kept talking about the designs she would put on her body for the party.

“And what designs and colors shall you paint on your body?” Hlamba was asking. This question interested Nomusa. All the way back to the kraal the conversation continued about the preparations for the party.

“Do you know that our sister Sisiwe has tattooed herself?” asked Nomusa.

“So soon? Did she use a pointed stick, or did she put the glowing embers on the cow dung over the skin?” inquired Hlamba.

“I saw her use a pointed stick. I hope the marks will last at least until the day after the party,” said Nomusa.

“Yes, after all that work and pain of making the tattoo,” said Hlamba sympathetically.

When Nomusa and Hlamba brought their water jars to their huts, the bigger boys were already in the cattle pasture. Only the smaller children were playing about in the kraal space. They were making toy kraals, cattle, and dolls out of clay and baking them in the sun.

There was Themba among the little boys, making clay oxen and cattle kraals and pretending to trade toy cattle for dolls as wives. That was what the men did.

While the small children played, the older girls were busy helping their mothers, and there was great activity inside and outside the huts.

Nomusa had finally finished weeding her mother’s garden and had carried back in her left hand a large pumpkin. In her right she held three long pieces of sugar cane. Out of her mouth stuck a small piece of sugar cane which she was chewing and sucking as she walked briskly to her hut. She had stuck five gray and white porcupine quills in her thick hair. Carefully she dropped the pumpkin and the sugar cane before the hut entrance and pushed them before her as she crawled in.

“Well, today you have returned very quickly, Nomusa,” her mother said approvingly. “Have you weeded the garden well?”

“That I have, my mother,” said Nomusa. “And see what I have brought you”—pointing proudly to the quills in her hair.

Her mother stopped brewing corn beer and came over to examine the porcupine quills. She took one out of Nomusa’s hair and put it into her own, trying it out by gently scratching her head with it.

“Yo! Very sharp point,” she observed. “How did you get the quills?”