MATHONGA

Chapter 44

MATHONGA-
Forty-four

DALISILE-

She bumps into a tall man as she steps out of Zakhe’s hospital room, her tongue goes for a loud click. Sometimes she forgets there are men keeping watch of this room, she finds it totally unnecessary.
It’s been a long day, the plan is to go home, clean up and go to bed. 10pm is on standby, waiting for its shift.
The cold evening air hugs her as she walks out of the hospital, it’s too empty and too quiet out here. She’s not afraid though, it’s not the first time leaving the hospital this late.
Approaching her BMW 4 series, she notices two men taking pictures of it. It’s obvious they are admiring the expensive vehicle. Like the snob she is, Dalisile hurries to tell them to scoot and go pick in dustbins or something.
“Excuse me! Hey, hey! What are you doing?” She’s shouting, loudly clapping her hands and conceited as ever, otherwise she wouldn’t be Dalisile.
The men don’t look startled, or afraid. Neither do they move muscles.
“This is my car, and what you are doing is illegal. I can get you locked up for this.” This one thinks she’s in the village.
One of them finds a joke in her statement. Antipathy claws beneath her skin, this is not how she is treated back in the village. Lowlifes like them kiss the ground she walks on.
Besides, these men look dodgy, she knows she will get into trouble if she doesn’t jump into her car and leave. She hurries to the driver’s side, pulls her keys out from her designer bag. Her hands are trembling, it’s the negative energy she’s getting from the men who have not bothered to move, or say a word.
 
“I’ll take that, thank you.” Comes a disrespectful, shallow tone.
The key is snatched from her. She was busy fiddling with the door to notice them moving in on her.
“If you scream, I will shoot you.” The other says, pointing a gun at her from the other side of the car.
“Keep the bag, magriza.” He adds, laughing mockingly.
Why do hospital parking lots have to be empty? The men don’t spare a second glance, they climb into her car and drive away without giving anything off.
You’ve got to love Johannesburg.

Dalisile is left shaken, frozen on the spot where her car had been. She scans her surroundings looking for anyone who might be willing to help, this damn place is a ghost town.
It could be that visiting hours for normal people ended hours ago and midnight is approaching. What do you do when life decides to show you balls of fire?
She is brought out of her obscure state by the loud ringtone in her purse, her eyes flip to the back of her head as she sees the name displayed on the screen. 
“Are you still alive?” Okay! Mgobhozi can be caring, must be nice to have a sister like her.
“Some scoundrels just stole my car.” Dalisile yells, huffing over the line. 
Anger can be deadly when kept in, it’s good to vent sometimes and maybe take it out on someone when given a chance.
“It’s only going to get worse.” Mgobhozi says, she seems to know something; that witch.
“What are you saying to me, Mgobhozi?” Her eyes are as wide as coffee mugs, Dalisile never associates herself with the word “worse.” Nice life problems is what she is accustomed to.

“I have to say, I hate your son Ntabezikude. He’s the one driving Mathonga to do nonsense, he’s too smart for my liking. Can we kill him? My cult and I are still undecided on who to eat this month. That boy looks edible.” Mockery is found in the tone of her voice and for a bit, Dalisile could hear her drooling. It’s aggravating and makes her cringe.
“You’re not touching my children, Mgobhozi. I might not show them any affection, but don’t let that fool you. I gave birth to those boys, and the answer is no. You cannot have them, I sacrificed enough in the past.”
Mgobhozi cracks into a loud guffaw, it has Dalisile wanting to drop the call. She performs another eye roll, why is life such a rollercoaster?
“Fine, that biltong Mathonga will do.” The ungrateful witch grumbles. You give her a country, she wants the whole of Africa.
“But if you ever change your mind, give us Ntabezikude. It would be a sight to watch him die before we devour him, your son thinks he’s a god.” Mgobhozi serves her statement with a tongue click as a side dish.
“Are you done? Why did you call? I have a case to report.” Dalisile says, walking back to stand at the hospital entrance. It’s safer there, maybe.

“How many cases will you report after this? Don’t bother yourself, my dear sister. Our end is near, the ceremony has broken the curse, soon Mathonga will see you for who you are and that idiot you call a husband is going to throw you out of the house. The second he lays his eyes on you, it will be over for you Dali. Don’t leave Joburg just yet, make sure you don’t meet Vumile at any cost. Rha! I hate that man.”
She hates everyone.
“So my life is basically over? How could you let that happen Mgobhozi? You promised you’d stop the ceremony.”
This is the right time to practise being a middle class citizen, learn how to flag down taxis. The robots are not far from where she’s standing. 
“I have a plan,” well that’s nothing new— Mgobhozi always has something up her sleeve. I’m with Nyoni right now, she’s going to help us.”
“Am I supposed to know who that is?” Dalisile.
Mgobhozi snorts arrogantly, “The only one who deserves to be called a witch. We need access to Vimbela and Sakhile’s graves. I need to get soil or stones from there, it would be better if you were the one to collect it.”
Dalisile sighs, taking orders from Mgobhozi is annoying. Who is queen here? Her or the evil sister?
“When can you get to KZN?”
Mgobhozi seems to forget that Dalisile is not a witch, her means of transport is not a broom or a loaf of un-sliced bread.
“What is wrong with you? Go get it yourself, there’s a back gate, no one ever uses it.” That’s more like it, or maybe not.
Mgobhozi can always turn her sister into a zombie—that must be what happens when you piss off a witch.
Dalisile tells her where to find the key, Mgobhozi sighs— may it be her last... A silent prayer on behalf of the Khanyiles.

“What excuse will I give when someone finds me there?”
The question is asked rightfully because the Khanyiles don’t bury their own where the rest of the villagers do, no sir. It is done on the premises, that’s how big the Khanyile homestead is. All of them are under the same soil, even the ones who died before the chief and his brothers were born. 
“You are their aunt, why would you be questioned for visiting their graves?” Uh, at night? Well… normal people don’t… sigh!
“You’re also a witch, you’ll make a plan.” Dalisile.
Dammit, Vumile’s wife didn’t finish school. How is she this wise?
“What do you want to do with the soil?” Dalisile asks. 
“It’s time we bring your babies out of that hut we trapped them in, they have to be useful for something.” Mgobhozi elucidates.
Dalisile frowns, she would understand if she were a witch like her sister.
“Explain.” Frustration escorts the word.
“Ever heard of idlozi elibi?” (Bad ancestor?)
This sister should’ve choked to death when she went under water.
“Impossible, they were innocent children. Their hearts were pure, you can’t turn them into that.” Dalisile disputes, she is so sure that whatever her sister has planned will backfire.
“That is why I need soil from their graves, it needs to be done at exactly 12 midnight. Soil from the graveyard can be a powerful weapon. Vimbela and Sakhile will enter those premises whenever I send them, they will destroy where I want them to destroy. They will move around in darkness while everyone is asleep, bringing nothing but ruin.”
That’s it, who opened the gates of hell? Something slithered out.