MELAMINA THE QUEEN

CHAPTER 29

JABULILE CELE

The drive back to my childhood home is quiet. I haven’t said a word since we left Durban and my husband somehow understand because he hasn’t tried to make small talk. We are both worried about our kids. I am just fuming because my ancestors are the ones who did this to my kids. It’s true. You can never outrun your past, no matter how hard you try. When we get to KwaHlabisa, my husband parks the car near the Centre that has Spar and heads inside. He comes back a moment later with a few plastics and cake. I am curious as to what’s in the plastics but I know the cake is for me. He always buys me cake when I’m feeling down or sad. He places the plastics in the back seat and opens my door. He puts the cake in my lap and returns to his seat. We then resume our drive.

“If you don’t want that, I will stop the car and feed it to you.” He threatens and I chuckle.
“It doesn’t look fresh though.” I complain and he rolls his eyes.
“You are a long way from Durban to complain about the freshness of the cakes, mkami.” I pout and he laughs. “Relax. Our children are going to be fine. You might have neglected your ancestors but they would never be this cruel to you. It’s just a warning but it’s good because we are grabbing the bull by the horns.” I nod and look outside the window. I feel so lost. I don’t know what to do or how to react to this.

The remainder of our journey is filled with silence. When my husband drives up the Kwa-Nanzi heel before reaching eTsheni, I take a deep breath. This is it. I direct him on where to turn and as we descend the mountain that leads to my childhood home, I am bombarded with nostalgia. I am taken back to my childhood. Running up and down the mountains. Fetching water from the valley. Fetching wood from the fields. Attending Sunday service. Assisting dad with his regular patients because he was a prophet of God and many people came from different places just to consult with him and they really got the help they needed. I believe mom was more powerful than dad but she had a traditional gift. Isangoma.

There are so many graves surrounding the chapel that’s outside the yard. I only remember three of them. The ones that were said to belong grandparents. I wonder if that was true or not. My husband parks at where the gate is supposed to be. It takes me a few minutes to recollect my emotions and put on my shoes.

“I am giving you 5 minutes. If you don’t come back, I will go in guns blazing.” I chuckle. Drama even at times like these.

I climb off the car and head to the first house near the gate. It’s locked, so I don’t bother knocking. People in the rural always have their doors open unless they are sleeping or out. I move to the second one which belongs to my older brother’s first wife. It’s open so I knock and soon, a young child comes to the door. She smiles up at me.

“Hey, little girl. Is MaDuna in?” she nods and runs back to the worn out 2 bedroomed house.
“Gogo! Gogo! There is a lady here to see you.” I take that as my cue to let myself in. A women in her late thirties comes out of the kitchen and frowns at me.

“Is there something we can help you with, sisi?”
“I am here to see MaDuna. She is not expecting me but I am sure she would love to see me.” She gives me an assessive look before heading to a bedroom. I don’t make myself comfortable in the couches that look like have seen better days. I am not a snob but I am a cautious person. The lady comes back with a very old lady and I do a double take before I actually recognize her as MaDuna. She looks so old and worn out. She squints her eyes at me before she gasps.

“Sgcino. Is that really you?” that’s the name most people used to call me, a nickname. We all have those from out past.
“MaDuna, how are you?” last time I checked, she was the alleged witch in the family. Family drama and dynamics.

“Mtaka Sibongile. We never thought we will see you again.” She limps until she reaches where I am standing. She holds my hand. “You look good. Has life been treating you well?” we get over the pleasantries and I find myself swallowing my pride and sitting on one of the worn out couches.

“Where is my brother?”
She sighs. “He is currently at Benedictine Hospital. He was diagnosed with bladder cancer. He went from Inyanga to Inyanga looking for help but they never did figure out his problem. When he finally decided to go to the hospital it was too late. He doesn’t have very long time left.”

I sigh and look down. He inherited my father’s rage regarding my issue but I don’t have him. “I’m so very sad to hear that. I also have a problem of my own. My kids are sick and they are saying I should take them back to where ubaba was born.” She frowns.

“In Melmoth?” I didn’t even know we originated from Melmoth but I nod. “I don’t know the whereabouts but your older sister might know. She lives in KwaMahede, a big house that her son built for him. It’s by the road. The biggest. You will see it.”

U Ntombikababa. I don’t know why I didn’t keep in touch with her or any of my sisters. In a way, I just forgot all about my family and focused on my little ones and my husband. I am sure she is pissed at me and she won’t even want anything to do with me. I bid farewell to MaDuna and she instructs one of the boys in the yard to accompany us. When we get to MaHede, Ntombikababa is sitting outside but stands up and limps her way inside the house when her eyes land on me. Here we go.