Oyama: Her Story

CHAPTER 33

The sun hung low as it rose over the Kolobe Ranch, Kea and his brothers stood in the kitchen each holding a cup of coffee. One by one, their sons walked into the kitchen sitting at the breakfast table, there was a stench in the air that cannot be smelled and identified by the human nose. All the boys walk into the kitchen, except Moqhaka and Lebohang, Qhawe is the last of the boys to walk in.
“Oyama o robetse jwang?”(How did Oyama sleep) Kea asks.
“She slept well, the pills knocked her out like a light” Qhawe answers.
Kea nods and finishes his last cup of coffee, “Someone go wake up, Lebohang and tell him to join us” Kea orders.
Mzi and Mogale move from the breakfast table, they head up the rounding stairs and walk through the dimly lit halls. Mogale and Mzi walk into their little brother’s room, surprised the door wasn’t locked. They walk into in the woody room with a Queen-size bed and find him sleeping on the floor, in his pajama pants. They both look at each other.
“Aow eh vuka wena vuka”(Wake up) Mzi says shaking Lebohang with his leg, “Se walala phansi uma kunombhede la, so uyahlanya, yini uyathwsa?”(Why are you sleeping on the floor when there’s a bed right here, are you getting an Ancestral Calling)
Lebohang raises in a snake pose and looks at his brothers confused, “Nxa Mzi,” he says and looks at Mogale, “Mogale, yima nifunani ekamelweni lami?”(What are yall doing in my room) he asks confused.
“Vuka wena asambe”(Wake up so we can go) says Mzi, Mogale walking out.
“Mzi you waking me up early for what?” asks Lebohang.
“Eh baba said, you must join us” Mzi replies, “Vuka aow, you’ll find us at Mkhulu’s rondeval” he walks.

Lebohang groaned, rubbing his eyes as he sat up on the floor. The wooden room was dimly lit by the soft rays of the morning sun filtering through the thin curtains. He scratched his head, still half-asleep, and mumbled something under his breath about how nobody in this house understood the concept of sleeping in. Reluctantly, he stood up, grabbed a T-shirt from a nearby chair, and pulled it over his head before wearing pink bunny slippers, a gift from Isabella his girlfriend. He walks down the halls and down the stairs and to the kitchen door and all the way to the rondavel on the far east of the compound, nearest the family grave. When he arrived his brothers and fathers were outside, Thapelo and Lwandle holding a Goat by its horns, so he decided to put some hustle and jogged the rest of the way to the rondeval.
When he arrived, without a word their father opens the door, “Since when, do I join yall in this?” he asks.
“Dad said you 17 turning 18 might as well” answers Lethabo. The boys all walk into the house and stand around in a circle. The goat bleats.
Kea squats down and lights a candle, dimly lighting the room, they all go down on their knees. Kea lights umphepho, and theirs a silence over the room as it is filled with smoke.
“Ba kga diKolobe rele damisha, kera lena bakga Moshate. Wena ngwansho’Mandla, wena mmago rena ma’Radebe, le wena morwa rena Phakama” Kea pauses letting the words fill the room, “Kera lenna batho bago hlakana ntlo ase yawa mohlwa otshele dipalelo, re eme. Rena batho bago buya dithabeng tsa mmamere le metlwa, bare le metholwane egona ko dithabeng.” Says Kea as he recites his family’s clan praise in Sepedi.
“Re leboga kge le re hlahlele metlwa, le re šireletša, bo nyaneng le bogolong ba rena. La šireletša le ditlogolo tsa lena” he says pausing again, taking a deep breath, “Kera bona ditlogolo tsa lena, Kagiso, Qhawe, Mogale, Mzilikazi, Mazwi, Keabetswe…” the room looked at one another at the words of their brother, “Lwandle, Thapelo, Mandla, Lethabo, Lebohang le Moqhaka, le sitlogolokoko sa lena, kera yena morwa Keabetswe”

The room grew more distant, “Uhm, morwa rena Qhawe, otle le lekgarabe mabane, eh, ne baile bang mutswa, re kgopela, le ska makala kge lemona a sepela mo, aowa kgele dumela le lena, nke le mo direng mmago diKolobe” Qhawe smiles at the mention of Oyama, “Manabeng a rena, le tshwele pele le re šireletše manabeng, shupang marumo a lena ko bona, ba ska tla kgaofe le rena, uhm sehlabelo ase se, kgopela le se amogeleng, lena ba emang ka pel’a dipoho ha di fata. DiKolobe” he finishes as the smoke begins to thin out.
“Lwandle” he looks back, the brothers move the goat forward, Lucas hands Kea a knife, “E amogeleng, le tswele pele le re šireletša” he says, “Kera lena bo’Mogale, Mthimkhulu, Mokoni, Skonza, Moshate. Ba kga diKolobe”
“Kolobe” the boys all repeat, filling the room with the word. As the word Kolobe echoed through the rondavel, the energy shifted. It was palpable—thick with reverence and the unseen presence of those invoked. Kea's hand, steady and deliberate, guided the knife with precision and he goat's bleat was short-lived, a fleeting sound swallowed by the weight of the ritual.
The blood collected in the ceremonial bowl glistened in the dim candlelight, “Ja boys, yall can finish the rest, take it outside and then skin it, and skin it, then sizo yenzi isphandla for each of you and us included.”