Sivuyile is a heavy believer in Ancestors and African traditions, as he was an African himself. He approached his Altar – which was heavily decorated with Amabhayi (Ancestral cloths), containers of snuff, untouched bottles of Brandy and bundles on Impepho and a lot more things that looked strange, mysterious but extremely captivating. He lit a bundle of impepho, opened a container of snuff, and sprinkled a few pinches on his Altar. He cupped his hands and clapped them as he chanted his clan names.
He humbly asked that the Gods of Karma come forth and serve justice. He asked that his Ancestors of purity and light chase away all darkness in his Life and deal with his enemies. He snuffed out the candles, meditated for a few minutes, proceeded to change his attire and slept.
Sivuyile payed a visit to the community leader the next day and spoke in a deep conversation with him. He described the gang leader and his boys in clear detail. The community leader realized that the man before him is describing people who are no other than Nkosinathi and his couple of partners in crime (his boys). The community leader vowed to fight back, he vowed to take the war to them so that the people may finally know peace and harmony.
Nkosinathi walked out the entrance of the spaza shop, the cool breeze hit his face and he opened his drink and threw a few gulps down his throat. As he strided down the street he could not help but notice the endless stares, gazes and glares being shot in his direction. He brushed it off at first realization. But the second time around, it had dawned on him that there was more to it than just random moments of acknowledgement.
“There he is!” A man had shouted!
Nkosinathi turned to face the man, who was striding towards him, the man appeared to be followed by a couple of people. Nkosinathi – being fearless – waited on them, to see what they would do. The men reached Nkosinathi, they interrogated him, a couple grabbed a part of his t-shirt and pulled at it violently. The scene turned into a fight, Nkosinathi by some streak of luck, somehow found the miraculous means to fight through them and escape.
He sprinted with every ounce of strength his body could gather. The men, followed, chasing after him.
Nkosinathi went in between many zinc houses and strange corners of the community. At one he climbed into a yard where dogs had almost torn him apart. He lost the men eventually. He made his way to the zinc house (shack) of one of his boys, he knocked and didn't give him a chance to respond, he just barged in to find him laying on his bed. Heavily knocked out by a good dose of the usual… Nyaope and marijuana.
“Hey ndoda (man)!” Nkosinathi yelled, shaking him vigorously.
“Urrrrghhhhh… what… is… it… man… leave me… be,” he responded, unable to even lift his eye lids.
“HEY!! WENA!! WAKE THE HELL UP!!” Nkosinathi yelled.
His eyes jolted wide open, bloodshot marune, “Man! What is it?! You are killing my high,” he said. The state of being annoyed and tired at the same time all written on his face.
“Get your guns. Some men are after me,” Nkosinathi said.
The man struggled to get out of bed. He armed himself as Nkosinathi watched called his other partner in crime. The man stopped in the middle of putting a knife in his pocket, something strange caught his attention. Nkosinathi had failed to reach his other partner, he put his phone back in his pocket and then suddenly froze in his movement, with confusion written all over his face.
“That sound,” Nkosinathi chimed.
“Are those people?” His partner question.
The noise grew louder, as it did, it became crystal clear. It seemed to be many people, screaming, shouting, singing and marching. Nkosinathi and his partner figured… there is a high chance there may be after them. The moment the thought to make a run for it crossed their mind, the window suddenly smashed in and many glass pieces fell to the floor, with a big stone landing by his partner's foot.
They ran for the door. They opened it and ran straight into a crowd of enraged community members, carrying torches of light, spades, sticks, garden forks and all kinds of tools. Nkosinathi and his partner were pulled violently into the crowd and were separated in the chaos. They were stripped like animals, left only in their silk underwears and dragged towards the middle of the community. His partner had suffered a broken leg, one enraged community member had smashed it with a sledge hammer.
Nkosinathi was decorated with lethal wounds across his body and a face that was heavily bruised. Each bruise was a different colour. Their hands were tied up with a rope that the people used to pull them. Nkosinathi and his partner each had their own rope and the community members pulled on these ropes violently, forcing them to walk in the direction they desired.
Some hurled stones that bashed open wounds in their skin, others threw fruits and other types of food. One community member had showered Nkosinathi with a big pot of hot soup. Other community members whipped them with whips that looked like instruments of slavery, and others beat them with sticks. To say that they looked like a mess by the time they reached the middle of the community is actually an understatement. They looked worse than a horror movie. No pun intended.
One would think that they had already received their punishment in full. But nothing could be further from the truth. This was just the introduction... the ill fate the Sangoma spoke of was drawing near.
‘Maybe I should have listened to that boy, my brother,’ Nkosinathi thought.
They saw their third partner in crime, in the centre of the enraged crowd, looking just like them – stripped and full of heavy bruises, cuts and wounds. Each had a tyre placed around their shoulders, so to restrict the movement of their arms. Nkosinathi and his boys were then put together in the centre of the crowd where containers of petrol were emptied onto them. There was a thick space between them and the crowd surrounding them.
Thick, sharp stones still flew in their direction, just as food and all sorts of objects. And these were all shadowed by insults that degraded them of all their humanity.
‘You don't deserve Life,’ ‘You are more worthless than dog shit,’ ‘You don't belong in this world, we are better without you,’ ‘You are not fit for your wives and girlfriends, someone else must take over from you,’ ‘God created you by mistake.’ ‘Even a disease is better than you.’ ‘We should cut off your manhood, we don't need men like you.’
Nkosinathi and his boys trembled in fear as they soaked in petrol. He looked on ahead as the community leader addressed the enraged crowd, stating that the community shall be cleansed of them and they shall never bother anyone ever again. The leader dipped a wooden plank in petrol and set it alight. He then tossed it. Nkosinathi's eyes locked onto the burning plank as it made its way across the air.
Memories of everything he had done to hurt the innocent had flashed before him. He closed his eyes, the plank landed on the puddle of petrol surrounding Nkosinathi and his boys. And the petrol was set alight.
The rest is history…
The End.
