Zilia

Chapter 3: Eggs of Friendship

In the moonlit shadows of Ntombi's chicken coop, Zilia and Thulani's quest for eggs turned into a disappointment – an empty coop stared back at them. Determined, Zilia brushed off the setback.

"Don't worry, Thulani. I've got a plan," Zilia whispered, mischief gleaming in her eyes. She hatched a daring scheme to steal eggs from her grandmother's hens behind their hut.

The next day dawned with a sense of purpose. Zilia, wearing a mysterious look, bid her grandmother farewell.

"I'll see you later, Gogo," Zilia declared, an air of confidence surrounding her.

As Zilia approached the goat paddock, her gaze betrayed a newfound determination. She swiftly unearthed six hidden eggs and tied them to her waist rucksack. The sun rose, casting long shadows as Zilia led the goats toward the woods.

"Zilia, hold it right there, child!"

Nomatwile's voice echoed, freezing Zilia in her tracks. Caught in the act, Zilia faced the daunting prospect of being accused of stealing.

"Is something wrong, Gogo?" was all Zilia could muster while her brain was churning for reasonable excuses.

"What has gotten into you, child?" Nomatwile's expression held a mix of bewilderment and disappointment.

"I-I can explain," stammered Zilia, desperately searching for reasonable excuses.

Nomatwile's stern demeanor shifted. "Help me get the corn," she instructed. Zilia's relief was palpable; she wasn't caught red-handed. Climbing a tree, Zilia unhooked the corn sack.

A twist of fate intervened as Zilia's rucksack unraveled, releasing an egg that speckled Nomatwile's forehead. The egg hung in the air before splattering, narrowly missing her eyes.

Nomatwile, yolk-soaked and furious, raged at Zilia. "All these weeks, I've accused the dogs…and it was you all along?"

Zilia, fearing a beating, tried to explain. "I'm not a thief, grandmother. I wasn't stealing the eggs…"

"Not another word from you! Climb the tree and unhook the sack," Nomatilwe ordered.

As Zilia climbed, the rucksack twisted free, releasing more eggs. And then without a second gasp Nomatilwe stood frozen digesting the situation. As she watched through the yolk-soaked mat of her hair, Nomatilwe began to fume. For the first time in her life she began to doubt her guardianship.

Time lapsed from summer to winter in a matter of seconds; Zilia suddenly felt suffocated, and slowly she sank to the ground and leaned her shivery body against the tree. Was this her end, had she struggled so much just to fade away by the hands of her Grandmother? Was this to be her fate? Nomatilwe grabbed Zilia's herding whip from the ground, which further suffocated Zilia.

"Gogo, I can explain!"

"Of course you will explain everything before I'm done with you."

By the time the beating started Zilia merely wailed inaudible screams and gasps. The beating took a long time to stop. Zilia looked down the bloat of maroon bruises that swelled up her body; she watched her tears steadily sinking into the dry earth, her strength slowly ebbing away. She knew she had to stop the crying. With the last of her remaining strength she wiped her face clean. And there she remained under the tree breathing hard, trying to compose her breathing, and slowly losing hope of life. And then it started to rain. She just lay there, blinking -- shouted jauntily to no one in particular, "Why?!"

In the midst of her turmoil, Zilia observed a smaller dog's futile struggle against a bulldog in the rain. The smaller dog's persistent efforts resonated with Zilia, sparking a new-found sense of purpose.

That night, Zilia, despite her physical and emotional scars, paced around the campfire with mute exhilaration. The rain had washed away her sins, and the clan gathered for a meal.

Nomatilwe, despite initial anger, approached Zilia with a newfound compassion. "Zilia, come sit down, my child."

As Zilia recounted the events, Nomatwile's frown deepened. "That Mandla boy should be reported to the chief for badgering you."

Zilia cried. "Gogo, it is all right. I will refrain from venturing that far to the South. I hate the Zulu boys anyway."

"Don't say that!" Nomatilwe led her away towards their hut. "Your father was a good man."

"I don't think I remember him."

"Of course, you were so young when he died. I wanted three goats when he asked for your mother's hand in marriage, he gave me ten. He was a gentle Zulu man."

Zilia stared in confusion. "You let your daughter marry a Zulu? Does that make me a Zulu?"

"You cannot be defined by anyone else but yourself. Zulu, Ngwane, Ndebele - we are all people."

Zilia lay down on her mat, absorbing the complexities of her identity and the harsh realities she faced. Nomatilwe, regretting the physical discipline, shared stories of love and loss. The night unfolded, leaving Zilia with newfound insights and the healing promise of rain.