Chapter II: Part 2

Nomusa did not have to be urged twice. She took out her little piles of ground stone, which were lying neatly on large leaves, carried them carefully outdoors, and laid them on the shady side of the hut while she got some water and lamb fat. Leaving each color on its separate leaf, Nomusa poured water, drop by drop, first on the red powder, then on the black, then on the white, mixing each with a different thin twig. Into each color she stirred a little fat until it was just the right thickness. As if she were a chemist, she examined each color with the tip of her finger to see that it was neither too thin nor too thick, neither too light nor too dark. From time to time she tried a little of the color on her arm in order to see if it was just the right shade and would stay on well.

Finally Nomusa was satisfied. With some soft dried rabbits’ paws that she used as paintbrushes, she began smearing her body, first putting on the red coat that made her skin a lovely warm copper color. She waited a few minutes for it to dry well. On top of the red paint she began putting the designs she had decided on long ago. The white circles were painted on first, then black circles put around these. Radiating from these she drew shapes of diamonds, squares, a series of wavy lines, and then dots. It was such a balanced pattern of design and color that an artist could not have done better. For her back she needed some help; so she called Sisiwe, who was coming out of her hut.

“What, you are all ready?” asked Sisiwe. “Why, I haven’t even finished my work yet. I still have to get wood and grind some corn. It’s a good thing the tattooing is done.”

“I will help you with the corn, Sisiwe, if you paint my back the way I tell you to.”

“I shall do it gladly, Nomusa.”

Carefully, Nomusa stooped before Sisiwe’s grinding stone, afraid lest she make cracks in the paint on her body. She began grinding the corn, throwing into the scooped stone a handful of dried kernels now and then. Sisiwe, more cheerful now, ran quickly out of the kraal for the wood.

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While Nomusa worked, she could not help admiring herself, and her eyes wandered up and down the front of her body. Nomusa was pleased with her designs. When she had given her body a final layer of grease to protect and bring out the colors of the paint and had put on all her bangles and bracelets, she would look beautiful indeed. She would not forget to wear her new oxhide neck-pocket, either. Already she had put into it most of her best treasures, to be exchanged for even better ones, she hoped, with Damasi’s guests.

It did not seem at all long before Sisiwe was back again, her arms filled with branches and twigs. She dropped her load behind her hut, then carried into the hut as much wood as her mother would need for several hours. Out she ran to Nomusa and squatted beside her, taking the grinding stone out of her hand.

“I can go on grinding if you will get my paints and cover my back with red paint,” said Nomusa.

Sisiwe darted over to Nomusa’s hut to gather up the paints. When she returned, Nomusa said, “I think the paints will need more water. They are a little dry now. When you have used what you need on my back, you may have the rest of the colors for yourself.”

“You are good, Nomusa.” Sisiwe added some water to the paint, stirring water and paint together with great care. She began covering Nomusa’s back with the red color as smoothly as she could. Nomusa giggled as the rabbit’s foot tickled her sides.

After having made the designs and used the colors Nomusa showed her, Sisiwe said, “It is done now, and you look splendid.”

“I can help you with your back, just as you did mine,” said Nomusa. With Nomusa’s help it did not take long for Sisiwe to be completely painted. Nomusa then went back to her hut to get her bangles and beads. She reappeared before Sisiwe wearing them around her waist, her neck, her elbows, her upper arms, her ankles, the calves of her legs, and her knees. She was now well greased, too, and glistened in the sun. Her bulging oxhide neck-pocket, soft and new, hung around her neck. A thin circlet of white, green, and red beads surrounded her pretty head.

As her little brothers and sisters saw Nomusa approach they stopped everything they were doing. Excitedly they crowded around to examine her decorations and adornments and point out to one another the extraordinary designs on her body. They touched her shiny bangles, her beads and bracelets, all of which she had made herself.

“How I wish I could go to Damasi’s party, too,” said one of her small admirers. “Did you make this bracelet?” asked another. “Where did you get those beads?”

Puleng returned from some little adventure he had been having and began to bark at Nomusa, disturbed over her strange appearance. What with his barking and the shouting and loud questions of all the children crowding round Nomusa and Sisiwe, there was such a din that mothers stuck their heads out of the entrance of their huts and crossly commanded, “_Tula!_”

“Hush!” warned Nomusa. “You will wake all the babies.” She stroked Puleng’s head to reassure him and quiet his barking.

“Here come the others, ready for the party,” announced Sisiwe. “Oh, look!”

Nineteen boys and girls—painted, greased, bedecked with all kinds of beads and bangles encircling almost every part of the body—began gathering at the kraal entrance ready to set forth. Some of the girls wore grass skirts; some of the boys were wearing antelope belts for the first time and were proudly fingering and arranging them. Some had feathers stuck in their hair. Faces were painted with designs meant to terrify and amuse.

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Nomusa and Sisiwe joined their older sisters and brothers at the kraal entrance. They were ready to start for the party now. The smaller children, who were being left behind, began jumping and shouting around them, cheering as they left.

The morning haze had disappeared, and Damasi’s kraal could now be seen clearly on the hill beyond. As Nomusa walked along with her nineteen excited brothers and sisters, she fingered her neck-pocket and began to think of Damasi and how glad she would be to see him.

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SEVEN: Damasi’s Party

The distance to Damasi’s kraal was quite far, but it did not seem so to Nomusa or to her brothers and sisters as they walked toward it, single file. Far off, they saw a thin line of children coming in their direction. They, too, were on their way to the party. Nomusa wondered how many children would be at Damasi’s party. Maybe a hundred.

Kangata was terribly excited about going to a party in a neighboring kraal. It was his first one.

“We are near now, Nomusa, are we not?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered. She began to laugh as she looked at her small brother’s face, for it was marked and painted in such a curious and grotesque manner that his nose looked as if it had been divided in two.

Kangata looked offended and put his grubby hand up to his face to discover the cause of Nomusa’s mirth. Nomusa quickly reassured him. “You have certainly made a design like that of no other. Perhaps you will win a prize.”

When the children neared the thorn fence surrounding Damasi’s kraal, Zabala walked forward quickly to lead the line of twenty brothers and sisters, all children of Nomusa’s father. Zabala, whose mother was called Great Wife because she was Zitu’s first wife, would be chief of Nomusa’s kraal some day, because he was Zitu’s eldest son.

Standing just within the entrance of the kraal to greet the guests as they entered were Damasi’s father and uncle and their wives. They pointed out the huts that had been reserved for the party.

Nomusa found Kangata close at her side, his eyes wide with curiosity, trying to see everything in the strange kraal at once. Delicious smells of food cooking filled the air and made Kangata’s mouth water.

Nomusa began straightening the halo of beads around her head, adjusting some of the bangles that had got twisted on the way. Most of her sisters were arranging their short grass skirts and bead kilts, too.

Zabala walked up to the entrance of Damasi’s hut, followed by his nineteen brothers and sisters. He stood tall before the hut, legs apart, arms by his side, and loudly cleared his throat. “A-hem!” But there was so much noise in the hut, and such excitement, that no one, it seemed, had heard his announcement of their arrival. Again he cleared his throat, this time more loudly, with a reinforcement of “A-hems” from behind him. Zabala glowered at those who had given him this unwanted help.

This time they were heard. There was a sudden hush within. Almost immediately a fantastic-looking head, stuck full of small birds’ feathers, green, blue, yellow, and red, appeared in the entrance. It was Damasi. “_Sakubona! Sakubona!_” he said, smiling.

“_Usaphila! Usaphila!_” called the guests from Nomusa’s kraal.

Chief for the day, Damasi was in charge of everything. He quickly beckoned to everyone to enter. First went Zabala. Then, one by one, all the brothers and sisters crawled in after him on hands and knees.

At first the children from Nomusa’s kraal were shy, but soon they began to mingle freely with the other guests. Waves of noise surged up in the hut. More guests arrived, making the hut hotter and noisier than ever. The boys wandered over to one side of the hut, and the girls stayed at the other.

Nomusa went to look at a calf that was tied in a corner of the hut. It was only a few days old and still too young to be taken to pasture. Together with a young goat, it was being kept as a pet. Girls did not often have a chance to be with cows and calves, and Nomusa enjoyed petting the calf.

Several dogs which had followed some of the children to the party ran in and out, between and over the legs of the smaller guests, looking for pieces of food that had been dropped on the floor. Every little while there was a fight between two dogs when both snatched at the same morsel.

Their barking, snapping, and growling frightened the chickens that had wandered in. Flapping their wings in terror, they crowed and cackled, one or two flying onto the backs of the shrieking children.

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This caused more excitement, laughter, and screeching, until the poor little calf began to strain at its grass rope in an effort to get away. Nomusa patted her. “Do not be afraid, little calf. I will not let anyone hurt you.”

While she was talking to the calf, Damasi’s sister Intombi, a year older than Nomusa, came up to her and said, “It is a fine calf. Do you like it?”

“Who would not?” answered Nomusa. “She will be a beautiful cow.” Then, seeing Intombi’s bulging neck-pocket, she pointed to it. “What have you in there?”

“I will gladly show you,” said Intombi. “But you must show me what is in your pocket, too.”

Nomusa opened her neck-pocket and drew from it a red and green feather, now somewhat bent—the one she had found at the stream.

“M-m-m-m!” said Intombi, admiringly. “What else have you?”

Nomusa’s fingers probed the depths of her pocket. She brought out a lovely bead of clay, brown, with a red and yellow border. The bead was no bigger than a small grape. “I made it myself,” explained Nomusa. “I found a very special kind of clay, mixed the colors, and then baked it in the sun. Do you like it?”

“I do,” said Intombi. “If you will part with it, I will give you this.” She quickly loosened her bulging neck-pocket and took out something brown, spotted with white. It looked very soft and furry.

“Why, it’s a deer mouse!” cried Nomusa. “Where did you get it?”

“I found it nibbling in my mother’s garden. If you like it, you may have it in exchange for the bead.”

“Be careful not to drop the bead, for it may break,” Nomusa said, handing it to Intombi and taking the deer mouse.

“It’s not alive, you know,” Intombi said, as she saw Nomusa carefully examining her new treasure.

“Is it still good to eat?” Nomusa asked.

“That I do not know, but the fur can be used.”

Intombi opened her neck-pocket wide and showed Nomusa all the bits of stone, feathers, bangles, and other trinkets that she carried around with her. Suddenly Intombi sprang up. “Oh, they are starting another game. Let us play, too, Nomusa.”

“What are they playing?”

“Husbands and wives. It’s lots of fun. I hope Zabala chooses me.” Intombi moved closer to the line of boys so that Zabala would not fail to see her. She looked smilingly at him until he caught her eye.

How tiresome to play such a game, thought Nomusa. I should much prefer going outside.

She was standing apart, watching the good-natured scramble of the boys picking their girls, not once thinking about a partner for herself. Suddenly she felt someone tapping her shoulder insistently. “You are my wife for this game,” Damasi said. “Now let me see if you are a good one.”

“And let me see if you are a good husband,” replied Nomusa.

The girls picked up little grass mats and baskets and filled them with food for themselves and their “husbands.”

Damasi said to Nomusa, “I hear you can do all the things that a boy can do. Are you a good cook, too? That is more important.”

“You shall see,” answered Nomusa. “But you must promise to go outside with me afterwards to shoot at targets.” She set to work to prepare a dish that would not take very long. Soon she gave Damasi a mixture of chicken, corn, pumpkin, goat meat, and fried locust.

“Very good,” said Damasi. “Now pass me the _amasi_.” These were the delicious curds of clotted milk that Nomusa liked so much. They were excellent for cooling and for quenching one’s thirst. When Damasi had finished, he belched and said, “Soon we’ll see if you are as good a hunter as you are a cook.”

“Let us go outside now,” Nomusa suggested, “if you have finished eating.”

Together they left the hut. Damasi went into one of the other huts and brought out two bows and some arrows. One bow he handed to Nomusa.

“See if you can hit that branch,” he said, pointing.

Nomusa stood straight and drew her right arm back with a quick pull. Off sped the arrow, straight into the middle of the thick branch.

“Good!” shouted Damasi. “We’ll each take five turns and see how many hits we make.”

As Damasi took a shot, Nomusa saw a bird flying about a hundred yards away. Quickly she let the arrow go, and down went the bird.

“Not many boys your age can shoot a bird on the wing,” said Damasi admiringly. “Where did you practice shooting?”

“In my mother’s garden,” answered Nomusa.

Just then Mdingi appeared. “Let me shoot,” he said.

“Let us take turns shooting,” said Nomusa. “You first, Damasi. Then Mdingi, then I.”

Damasi let his arrows fly swiftly, one after the other. “Three out of five,” announced Nomusa, running to pick up the fallen arrows.

“Your turn, Mdingi,” said Damasi.

Taking careful aim, Mdingi shot his five arrows. “Four out of five!” he shouted.

Nomusa aimed and shot. “Three out of five, like me, Nomusa,” Damasi said.

By now the younger children had grown tired of being husbands and wives—especially the girls, since they had to do all the work for the boys. The smaller girls began to play with clay dolls, and the little boys ran outdoors to play horse.

Sisiwe came up to Nomusa. “What will everyone think of you, playing with boys, shooting at a mark,” she scolded. “You make us ridiculous with your tomboy ways! What good will it do you to know how to trap and shoot? You will never be allowed to go on a hunt. It is better for you to know how to be a good wife.”

Nomusa left Damasi and went to sit with the girls from neighboring kraals. Bored, she listened to stories about things that had been going on in their kraals since the last time they had seen each other: about new babies, accidents to brothers or sisters, what vegetables were growing in their mothers’ gardens, and such things. Body designs were compared and discussed, grass skirts felt, beads admired, and new teeth examined.

There was no special hour for eating. Children wandered in and out of the hut to get what they wanted. It was a never-ending feast.

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EIGHT: Runaway Prize

Nomusa went into the warm hut for some pumpkin, but she came out quickly. She drew in a long breath of fresh air and wiped her perspiring brow.

“Oh, how good the night air feels!” she said to Intombi. “The moon is high, and the stars are sparkling already.”

The cry of a very young baby was heard. Nomusa looked at Intombi.

“My uncle’s wife has a new baby, born eight days ago. Should you like to see her?”

Nomusa was glad to accept the invitation. She loved babies, and she was glad to get away from the gossiping girls.

Together they walked over to the hut. In front of the entrance, Intombi turned to Nomusa. “Here are the ashes of the magic herb in which you must rub your feet before entering. You have come a long way, and you may have got something evil on them. With new babies we have to be very careful, you know.”

Nomusa obediently rubbed her feet in the ashes while Intombi gave a polite cough, which was answered from within by a quiet, friendly “_Bayete_.”

Nomusa and Intombi entered the hut. Nomusa smiled as she caught sight of the new baby, who was still moist from her bath.

“It is Nomusa,” said Intombi simply to the baby’s mother.

Nomusa’s delight in the baby was plain to see; in a few moments she took off one of her necklaces of small shells and hung it around the baby’s plump neck.

“It is a present for the baby,” Nomusa said to the mother. “She is strong and big for her age. I hope she will grow up to be clever in boys’ work as well as in girls’.”

“We had not chosen a name for her,” said the mother, surprised at Nomusa’s wish, “but now I know what it will be. We shall call her Nomusa, which means kindness, for you.”

At these words Nomusa blushed so that her face had an even more beautiful color. It was the first time such an honor had been done her, and she was pleased and proud.

Soon after, Nomusa and Intombi left to join the other children. They found them all assembled in a huge circle in the kraal space. Damasi was in the center going from one child to another examining body designs.

“Hurry, get into the circle, or it will be too late,” shouted Kangata impatiently when he saw Nomusa coming along.

She and Intombi lost no time in squeezing in next to some of the bigger girls, adding their laughter and chatter to that of the others as they waited for Damasi to finish judging the designs.

“Among the boys,” announced Damasi finally, “the prize goes to Fanase. Among the girls”—and he hesitated for the moment as if making up his mind—“the prize goes to Nomusa.”

Unbelieving, Nomusa looked at Intombi and then turned her head in the direction of Kangata. His face was full of disappointment and misery. Sad for her little brother, Nomusa could take no pleasure in having been awarded a prize. Just as she was thinking, “I shall give Kangata my prize,” she heard Damasi shouting out loudly, “The prize for the funniest design goes to Kangata!”

There was a roar of laughter. The children clicked their tongues, “_tsick tsick_,” in congratulation. For a few moments Kangata did not know whether to laugh or to cry, but when Damasi called him into the large ring of children and handed him a basket full of roasted winged ants, locusts, and caterpillars, his face broke into a cheerful grin, and he began to laugh, too. This caused the other children to laugh still more, and soon the kraal echoed with their pleasure. Nomusa expected to hear some of the mothers shout “_Tula!_” from their huts, but no one did. It was Damasi’s party, and the children could do as they pleased for this one day.

“Come into the ring, Nomusa,” called Damasi, “so everyone can see your designs.” More emphatic “_tsick tsicks_” clicked around her. A little embarrassed, she took Kangata’s hand and then looked down toward her wriggling toes.

“I wonder what you’re going to get,” whispered Kangata. But Nomusa neither answered nor looked up. Her only desire was to be allowed to get out of the middle of the ring and go back to Intombi’s side at once. What took Damasi so long? This was a poor joke—leaving her there next to Kangata with all those children staring at her. Kangata, however, was unconcerned. He was eating a locust with great relish and trying at the same time to count the number of delicacies he had won.

All at once the children grew silent. Nomusa looked up to see Damasi coming toward her with a very small gray striped monkey clinging to his neck with both little hands. When she saw the monkey, Nomusa’s heart began to beat faster.

“For you,” she heard Damasi saying, as he gently unclasped the monkey’s arms from around his neck and handed him to Nomusa.

She murmured her thanks and tenderly took the little animal in her arms. She could hardly believe she had won such a marvelous prize.

The girls crowded around Nomusa, trying to pet the little monkey. But he clung to Nomusa.

“See, he loves you already,” said Intombi. “What are you going to call him?”

“He is striped like a zebra,” Nomusa said, still in a sort of daze. “I think I shall call him Dube.”

“I am happy because you like your prize,” said Damasi in a low voice.

“Oh, thank you, Damasi! Indeed I like him very much! It is the best present I have ever had.”

The sun had set long ago. Whatever the mellow light of the moon did not reach was bathed in darkness. As Nomusa stood holding Dube and petting him, Sisiwe came to her.

“Look, Nomusa. They are bringing out the drums. That means we shall soon begin to dance.”

“Oh, I had better go right away and tie Dube in one of the huts so he won’t run away.”

Nomusa carried Dube into one of the empty party huts. He did not like it when Nomusa put him in a corner and tied a cord around his neck. The sound of drums from outside frightened Dube. He clung to Nomusa’s leg as if begging her not to leave him. The drums sounded again.

“Oh, the dance!” cried Nomusa. Torn between her desire to stay with Dube and her eagerness to go to the dance, she pleaded. “Oh, Dube, I really can’t stay any longer!”

Dropping the monkey on the floor, she rushed out to join the dancers. She fell in with one of the rows of children who were already hopping along rhythmically on one leg and chanting “_khelekhelekobe ngajlatshwa ameva_” to the beat of a pot drum.

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It was nothing but a large earthenware pot with a goatskin drawn tightly over the mouth of it. Damasi’s cousin, Bongoza, was playing it by tapping it with the palm and fingers of his hand. The excited and varied rhythms he produced threw the dancers into a joyful frenzy; they hopped first on one leg, then on the other, shouting and chanting.

After this dance had stopped, Damasi appeared with a bow made of a bent reed which he had strung tight with an ox-tendon string. He held one end of the bow in his lips and twanged the string with his thumb. This was the signal for another dance, and the children sprang up again.

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The dancers got in a long line, and this time they composed their own dance. They turned to each other, grunting and screwing up their faces. Such hideous grimaces as they made! It was terrifying enough to scare away a lion, Nomusa thought. Soon she decided it was more fun to drop out of the dance and watch it. She singled out Kangata, whose movements and dreadful faces were so comical that Nomusa’s sides ached from laughing.

“Oh, that Kangata!” she exclaimed. “What awful faces!”

Intombi had dropped out, too. “Let us get some corn kernels so we can play the game of guessing bird names,” she suggested.

Nomusa went with her to a pile of dried mealie cobs. They began stripping off kernels and dropping them into a basket. When they had enough, the girls carried the basket out to an open space. Together they laid the kernels in rows on the ground.

From all sides came the children, eager to take part in the new game. “_Bula Msense!_” they called to each other, announcing the game.

“Boys on one side, girls on the other,” cried Intombi.

The smaller children did not take part in this game; so they stood to one side watching the others. Each child was given a turn at naming a bird for each kernel, picking up a kernel if he could offer a name no other child had yet given. If he could not name a different bird, he had to drop out of the game.

At the beginning the corn kernels disappeared quickly as a child from one side would call out “finch,” and the other side would cry “honey-bird,” or “white-eye,” or “woodpecker,” or “nightjar.”

Nomusa marveled at the number of birds the children knew. She was ashamed of having been eliminated when the game was not yet half over. Mdingi was still going strong against Damasi, Zabala, and Bongoza. Nomusa was very proud of him. Excitedly the onlookers cheered on the remaining contestants.

Presently it was announced that Mdingi was the winner. Intombi brought him a narrow belt of oxhide, with beads dangling from it; and everyone cheered as Mdingi delightedly fastened it around his slim waist.

It was now the turn of the smaller children to have a dance or game of their own. Kangata boldly walked into the empty space and began showing a new dance he had invented. As he chanted, he jumped up, at the same time kicking his buttocks with his bare heels. The other children imitated him.

It was a strenuous dance, and as the children grew tired, their throats became parched and they uttered their songs in short gasps. Weak corn beer and _amasi_ were passed around to quench their thirst.

One of the older boys now came up, playing a flute made of the chinbone of a reedbuck. He sat on the ground and made up plaintive tunes while the children gathered around him, munching kaffir plums, blackberries, wild figs, or roasted caterpillars. The soothing music of the flute calmed the children and made the little ones so sleepy that they dozed off and had to be carried into the huts and laid on mats to sleep.

It was now midnight, and the moon floated behind some wispy clouds, making them luminous and gray. The older boys left the kraal and went off by themselves. Nomusa decided that instead of joining a girl’s game she would go to the hut where she had left Dube.

Softly she groped her way among sleeping children to Dube’s corner, expecting him to jump into her arms. But he did not come to her. He must be asleep, Nomusa thought. She was glad, for it made her feel less selfish for having left him.

It was quite dark in the corner, so she began feeling for Dube. At last she found the cord. But there was no monkey attached to it. With a sudden pang Nomusa realized that Dube might have run away.

Quietly, so as not to waken the sleeping children, she moved about the hut, hoping to find Dube hiding. But he was not there. Nomusa left the hut, wondering what to do. She decided to search in all the huts, and began by entering the main one, where the girls were busy playing _ngelitshe_.

“Yo, Nomusa!” they called. “Have you been in the hills with the boys, or have you been asleep in one of the huts with the little ones?”

Nomusa smiled wretchedly, and Intombi said, “Come and play with us, Nomusa. You will beat us all at this stone game. Here, take my stones for a while. I am tired.” Nomusa wanted to say that she was weary of all these boring girls’ games, but instead she squatted beside Intombi, taking the five stones.

Her heart was heavy as she held the stones in her hand. The game was to hold all the stones in one hand, tossing one into the air while holding all the others and catching the stone in the same hand. Each time a different stone was thrown. When a player failed to catch a stone, she was eliminated from the game. It was easy for Nomusa. She did not feel like playing, and as soon as the attention of the girls was turned from her, her eyes roamed over every part of the hut, searching for Dube. In an absent-minded way she tossed her stones, turning her head from side to side and then back, just in time to catch the tossed stone in her hand again.

After a while Nomusa decided to leave the hut. She gave the stones back to Intombi and crept out into the cool air of the starlit night. The girls continued with their game, forgetting about Nomusa.

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NINE: Wild Boar

Outdoors it was dark and still. Who could find a monkey now? From somewhere far off Nomusa could hear the shouts of the older boys. In the waning moonlight she began walking toward the huts in which she had not made a search. How thankful she was that there were still places to search.

Walking toward the hut nearest the kraal entrance, she was suddenly startled by a long black shadow that seemed to withdraw hastily as she approached. Nomusa stood still, frightened but curious. Something was prowling outside the kraal fence. There was no doubt of that.

Again the shadow passed the kraal entrance, as if deciding whether it should come in or not. Nomusa felt goose flesh creep over her whole body. Was it a wild animal about to attack them? What should she do? She had no weapon with which to drive it off or kill it. She wanted to run or shout for help. The children might be in great danger if she did not act quickly. But if she screamed to attract the attention of Damasi’s father and uncle, she might cause whatever it was to rush in at once and attack.

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Again she saw the indistinct form. At the same time, as the moon reappeared from under the clouds, Nomusa’s eye caught the glint of something long and pointed lying next to one of the huts. Could it be a spear? What a lucky thing if it was a weapon of some kind! When the shadow disappeared again and the moon floated under the clouds once more, Nomusa dashed to the object she hoped was a spear. Yo! It was. She picked it up just as if she had been accustomed to holding such weapons all her life. Nomusa did not doubt for a moment that she would know how to handle it. Often enough she had watched the men and boys throwing spears. Secretly she had even practiced with long, heavy sticks.

She felt the point of the spear with her finger. It was very sharp. She began moving cautiously. Nomusa’s hair fairly stood on end as she saw that the black thing was a wild boar. Only too well she knew how fierce a wild boar could be. Every Zulu feared and hated this vicious beast with his dangerous tusks. Standing with her back flattened against the kraal fence, close to the entrance, with spear up and ready, Nomusa hid in the deep shadow. She waited tensely for the boar to venture in. The wind, fortunately, was blowing in such a direction that the boar couldn’t get her scent. Her upraised arm trembled a bit, then became steady as she waited.

Soon the boar’s ugly head appeared within the kraal entrance not far from Nomusa. He had decided to come in. It was a rare chance for him. Ordinarily the kraal fence was entirely closed, but tonight, because the older boys were out, the kraal gate was left open for them. Slowly the beast moved his clumsy body through the kraal entrance. Once within, he lowered his head as if he had got a whiff of something and, with a snort, got ready to rush in the direction of the hut where the girls were playing _ngelitshe_.

There was no time to lose. With all her might, Nomusa hurled her spear at the neck of the boar. _Hau!_ The spear caught him in the throat. With an enraged snort, he rushed toward Nomusa, the spear still sticking in his neck. He stumbled, and got up again. His roars, mingled with grunts of pain, woke up Damasi’s father and uncle, as well as everyone else who had been asleep. Intombi and Sisiwe rushed out of the hut, followed by the other girls. When they saw the wounded boar they ran behind the hut.

The boar had now fallen, close to one of the huts. He made powerful efforts to raise himself and almost got up, when Damasi’s father dashed up. He let fly an arrow from his bow, and the boar fell dead.

Nomusa ran to the side of Damasi’s father. “How glad I am you came!”

Amazed, he asked, “Was it you who hurled the spear?”

Nomusa nodded.

Everyone crowded round the dead boar in astonishment.

Damasi’s father said: “Nomusa is a brave girl. It was she who discovered the boar and wounded him. She has saved us from great danger. I shall tell her father, Chief Zitu, about her bravery.”

There were loud cries of agreement. “Hau! Yo!”

Damasi’s father put his arm around Nomusa’s shoulder. “Come and rest. You are weary.”

She followed him obediently. Unrolling a mat in the little hut occupied by Damasi’s mother and his baby brother, she threw herself upon it, exhausted. Only now did Nomusa realize fully the great danger she had been in and how lucky she had been. Oh, how tired and sleepy she was! Yawning, she put her arm under her head as a pillow and was about to fall asleep when there flashed through her mind the memory of her lost monkey, whom she had forgotten in all the excitement.

Her eyes filled with tears and she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. She buried her head in her arms. The joy of the day was entirely gone. Though she had been a brave hunter but a short time before, now she was only a small girl crying bitterly over a lost pet.

At last she dozed off and fell to dreaming of her search through deep and dangerous forests for her little monkey.

Muttering restlessly, Nomusa tossed from side to side in her sleep. She put her hand on her neck to scratch herself. Suddenly she felt something soft and warm moving across her shoulders and the back of her neck. She woke up with a start and clutched at the thing with both hands. There was a squeal of pain as she pulled it forward. Her fright turned to joy as she saw that what she held in her hand was the tail of a monkey. Dube!

“Oh, I have hurt you!” cried Nomusa, taking Dube in her arms and hugging him.

Damasi’s mother smiled and said, “I am glad you like the little monkey. Damasi went to a great deal of trouble to get him when he was tending the cows in the pasture. He kept him as a pet for himself until you won him as a prize.”

Just then Damasi’s baby brother wailed. “_Tula!_ We must be quiet now,” warned Damasi’s mother, and then, lying down on the mat next to the baby, she began nursing him. Soon he fell asleep again. Nomusa lay down on her mat, too, drawing Dube close to her.

“Where did you go to, you bad little Dube?” she whispered to him affectionately.

“Tchirk? Tchirk?” Dube answered, snuggling beside her. The warmth of his body next to her shoulder soothed Nomusa into a sleep from which she did not waken until she heard loud calls of “Come! Come! Time to go back to our kraals. Hurry, we are going!”

The sun was just rising above the horizon. The sky was lined with rose and deep blue, but the early morning air was cool, and the waiting children jumped about to keep warm. Pink and red flowers dotted the fields a short distance away, and a few birds were beginning to twitter.

The older boys straggled back into their groups exhausted and irritable because they had not slept all night. But they were aroused into curiosity by cries of “Did you hear? Don’t you know?”

“What? What? Tell us,” they demanded eagerly.

“Nomusa and her wild boar. She hit it with a spear. You can see it over there—behind the cattle kraal.”

Those who had not yet seen the dead boar ran off at once, to return full of astonishment. They all agreed Nomusa was as good as any boy. Sisiwe had to admit that it was lucky for all of them that Nomusa liked shooting and hunting.

Nomusa was surrounded by the girls in her group, who gazed upon her with pride and envy. What a lot she would have to tell Themba! She could hardly wait to see his face when she showed him the monkey. She knew he would ask her to tell him the story of the boar over and over again.

There was a loud whistle. The children fell into lines, waving good-by to Damasi and his brothers and sisters and cousins. Tired and bedraggled, the children marched off. Some pushed each other ill-humoredly and quarreled on the way home, but finally they reached their kraals in time to begin their various duties—the boys going off to the pasture, the girls to their tasks. The boys hoped to make up their lack of sleep while tending the cows; but the girls knew they would have to wait until evening before they slept again. As soon as Nomusa entered her kraal with her brothers and sisters, she went directly to her hut to start her work.

In a few moments Nomusa was out of the hut again, headed for the stream with Dube perched on the empty water jar that rested on her hip. She fairly danced along the path as she looked at Dube and thought, “Never will my trips for water be tiresome again.” She tweaked his ear gently, and Dube looked up at her and said, “Tchirk, tchirk.”

]

TEN: Zitu’s Messenger

For most of the children, the days that followed the party seemed like all other days. But not for Nomusa. She had Dube.

Sometimes she took him with her when she went to the stream. But often she left him behind with Themba, who loved the little monkey almost as much as Nomusa did.

One morning Nomusa was sitting with Themba and Dube outside their hut, telling her little brother the story of Damasi’s party and the wild boar. Already she had told it to him dozens of times, but Themba still loved to hear it.

“Nomusa!” called Makanya.

Nomusa crawled inside the hut. Her mother was feeding Bala.

“When you weed the garden today, I want you to see what vegetables and fruits will be ready to pick in the morning,” said Makanya. “Tomorrow is the day for your father’s visit. He may not be coming again for some time, and I want him to remember this visit.”

“Is my father going on the elephant hunt soon?” Nomusa asked.

“Yes, but I do not know when. He will send a messenger to the headmen of the neighboring kraals.”

“How I wish I could go with him!” Nomusa said.

“This is foolish, Nomusa,” her mother said, almost sharply. “You know girls do not go on elephant hunts. If anyone from our hut went, it would be Mdingi.”

“I know,” answered Nomusa, softly.

“Why can’t you be happy with girls’ work like Sisiwe and the others? What your father hears about your skill and courage may please him, but it would be better if he heard it about your brother than about you. When it is time for you to marry, people will say, ‘I wonder how many cows Nomusa will have to give for a husband,’ rather than how many cows a husband will give for you.”

Nomusa laughed. “I do not wish to marry at all. I wish always to stay with you.”

The mother smiled as she fed Bala clotted milk. “Yes, yes, you think so now,” she replied.

When Nomusa left the hut, Themba called eagerly, “Are you going to play with me, Nomusa?”

“No, I must weed our mother’s garden.”

“Well, tell me a story, then,” pleaded Themba.

“When I come back. I shall take Dube with me, and you play with Umpondo.”

]

When she returned, there was Themba waiting for her. “What about my story?” he demanded.

“Oh, I am so tired now!” said Nomusa.

“You can rest while you tell me the story,” Themba suggested.

“All right. Wait till I get a drink for Dube and me.”

When Nomusa came out, Themba quickly made room for her next to him. “Well, what’s the story going to be about?” he asked, eyes bright with anticipation.

Nomusa thought for a moment, wondering what story to tell. “How would you like to hear about the hyena that tried to eat the moon?”

“Oh, I should like that,” Themba assured her.

“Once upon a time,” said Nomusa, “a hyena chanced upon a bone. She took it up in her jaws and carried it away.

“It happened that the moon was shining very brightly and the water in the stream was very still. The greedy hyena saw the moon’s reflection in the quiet water. Thinking it was a fine big piece of meat, she threw aside her bone in order to grasp it.

“Into the water the hyena plunged her head. But she withdrew it with her mouth empty. The water was now disturbed, and the disappointed hyena could see nothing.

“She sat quietly on the bank, watching the stream. The water became clear again and reflected the image of the moon. The hyena made a fierce spring into the stream, trying to grasp the moon and hold it fast. But she seized only water and returned to the bank with her jaws empty, while the stream became muddy again.

“In the meantime, another hyena had picked up the bone from the bank and had quietly gone away with it. The first hyena kept on snapping at the water until morning came and the moon grew pale and could no longer be seen in the stream. Only then did the hyena look for the bone she had thrown aside to grasp for the moon. The bone was gone.

“Day after day the angry hyena returned to the stream, tramping the bank and muddying the water. Everyone laughed as they saw her run into the stream again and again, snapping and snapping her jaws and catching only water.”

Nomusa looked at Themba, who was leaning drowsily against the hut. “Did you like the story?”

“Hm?” murmured Themba, rousing himself. “If that is the end of the story, I have heard you tell better ones. But thank you,” he added, rising. “I see Somcuba. I am going to play _Ama-hu_ with her.”

The next morning when Nomusa and her mother were preparing the food they heard an odd commotion outdoors. They went out to see what it was about.

“Look at Kangata!” cried Themba.

Kangata was indeed a sight to see. His arms were covered with red circles, and he carried branches of wild cabbage in his arms.

]

“My father has chosen me to deliver an important message to all the kraals in our neighborhood,” said Kangata, proudly holding aloft his branches of wild cabbage. “I am big now; so I am allowed to run and tell them that the elephant hunt is to be two sleeps away.”

“You must tell them where the hunters are to meet and when,” advised Nomusa. “As soon as they see the wild cabbage in your hand they will know your errand. Remember you must not speak until you are asked. Then tell when and where the hunters are to meet.”

“And how does my boy-girl know all this?” asked Makanya, amused. “It is a pity your father did not choose you as messenger, since you know so well how hunting messages should be given.”

“I know what to say,” Kangata assured them. “I must go quickly to the other kraals and return in time to help Mdingi with the cows.”

]

ELEVEN: A Reward for Nomusa

Chief Zitu squatted on his special bamboo mat in the hut of his wife Makanya. He sniffed the food in the bowl Nomusa handed him.

“I think I know what meat this is,” he said to his wife.

“It is Nomusa’s wild boar,” Makanya said, proudly.

“I have heard about it.” Nomusa’s father looked at her keenly. “It is a pity Nomusa is a girl, because she would have made a good hunter. I could use another strong, brave boy to help on this hunt.”

“If I were allowed to go with you on the hunt, I might be able to catch another boar for you on the way,” Nomusa suggested, surprised at her own daring.

“Nomusa! What are you saying!” reproved her mother.

But Zitu smiled good-naturedly and caught her arm in his powerful hand, feeling her hard little muscles. “Nomusa is strong—as strong as many boys older than she is. And she is clever and brave.”

He looked at his daughter again, and then at his wife. “If Nomusa wishes, she may come on the hunt. But she must be sure to cause me no shame.”

Nomusa’s eyes widened with surprise. Makanya was speechless. “Oh, my father, thank you!” Nomusa burst out. “Please let me go with you, yes, yes!” She turned to her mother. “I know Sisiwe will do some of my work.”

As if her father had already arranged everything, he declared, “Mdingi lost the cow, and you found her, so he will not go on the hunt this time. Kangata, of course, is too young. Between your brothers and Sisiwe, your mother will be able to get her work done.” Zitu pushed away his bowl, saying, “I have finished.”

Makanya handed him some white clay with which to remove the grease from his fingers. When Nomusa brought him the water gourd again, he rinsed his mouth and with his fingers rubbed the food from his teeth. He was clean again.

The business of the hunt settled, Zitu gave his attention to his wife and baby. Nomusa slipped quietly out of the hut.

She felt as if she would burst with joy and looked for someone to tell. Themba was standing outside the hut, looking lonely. To relieve her feelings, Nomusa picked him up, pulled his hair gently, and turned him upside down until his little pink heels wriggled in the air. Themba squealed with delight, and Dube hopped up and down, bewildered at this curious kind of play.

Sisiwe came along, bearing vegetables from her mother’s garden.

“Oh, Sisiwe,” Nomusa cried, “our father says I may go on the elephant hunt!”

Sisiwe was too surprised to say anything.

“Will you take care of Dube for me while I am gone?” Nomusa asked.

“Of course, my sister,” Sisiwe answered. “And I will help your mother, too,” she added generously. “Yo, Nomusa, what do you think the other girls will say?”

There were no preparations to make for the trip, and the two days before the hunters were to meet were very long ones for Nomusa. She would have liked to talk about the hunt with her family. But she did not, because she saw Mdingi was hurt because she was going and he was not. Perhaps he really should be the one to go. Still, her father had said plainly that Mdingi would not be allowed to go, since he had lost the cow.

Timidly she spoke to Mdingi about her feelings. “I wish you were going on the hunt, my brother.”

“It is no matter,” Mdingi said indifferently.

But he was unhappy, Nomusa knew. How she wished there were something she could do to help him! If only Zitu knew how clever Mdingi was at composing songs and stories, how much he knew about birds and animals! And even so, he was a better shot with the bow and arrow than most of the boys. He had proved that at Damasi’s party.

It was just that Mdingi did not care as a boy should for shooting and hunting and such things. Still, his pride was hurt when the chief chose his daughter to go with him on the elephant hunt instead of his son.

At dawn on the morning of the departure, Nomusa crept out of her hut very quietly, taking with her the empty water jar. She would leave everything in readiness for her mother when she awoke.

There would be just time enough to fetch the water, grind some mealie corn, and stir up the fire before it would be time to leave.

When she carried Dube over to Sisiwe’s hut, he complained sleepily at being disturbed.

“It is going to be hard for me to leave you, little Dube,” Nomusa said to him.

She fastened a cord to an outer post of Sisiwe’s hut and attached the other end around Dube’s neck. Then she gave him a bowl of _amasi_, which he dearly loved. Soon he began eating; the curds were too good to ignore.

While Dube ate, Nomusa looked in the direction of her father’s hut to see if any of the hunters had yet arrived. She saw two glistening hunters entering through the kraal gate, their spears and large shields held close to their bodies. Nomusa left Dube abruptly and ran back to her hut. She had forgotten to get a handful of fat to rub on her body to make it glisten like the bodies of the other hunters. She had heard that fat made one active and supple.

Rubbing and polishing herself did not take long. Nomusa had done her work well, and she was ready to leave the hut. With a final glance to see that all was prepared for her mother when she awoke, she decided that she could now leave. She had just got outside without awakening any of her family when she heard an insistent call. “Nomusa, wait!”

Startled, she turned round and saw Mdingi with a bow and arrows in his hand. Her heart leaped. Had he determined to go and make her stay behind?

“What is it?” asked Nomusa.

“Here. Take these with you. You will need a good weapon,” and he offered her the bow and arrows.

“They are your best bow and arrows!” exclaimed Nomusa, too surprised even to touch them.

“Ay, but I want you to have them. I am disappointed that I have to stay at home, but I am not angry with you.”

Overcome by Mdingi’s generosity, Nomusa did not know what to say. She hesitated to take the offered bow and arrows, but finally did so. “You are good, my brother. I am sorry it is not you who will use the bow and arrows. I shall take good care of them.”

“It matters not about them. Only see to it that no harm comes to _you_,” Mdingi said. “We shall be awaiting your return.”

He touched her arm affectionately and ran to the cattle kraal without another word.

]

]

TWELVE: Off to the Hunt

Nomusa’s father had already come out of his hut to greet the hunters who had coughed their notice of arrival. He was standing in front of his two tall neighbors, laughing and talking with them.

As Nomusa came up to her father, carrying Mdingi’s bow and arrows, she politely said, “_Bayete!_”