by Ethel Maqeda

She hesitates. Young people wait for the elders to start important conversations, not the other way around. It's only midday on an ordinary, clear-sky summer afternoon. The sun is gleaming with blinding ferocity, but it's dark inside Gogo's thatched, round, mud hut kitchen – cool and shadowed. It's always dark in Gogo's kitchen. The only light is a sliver from a small triangular hole in the wall, not big enough to let all the smoke out or make the room lighter. She used to think that the room needed to be dark for Gogo's things – the drums behind the door, the masquerade dancer mask and animal skin blankets on the floor next to the drums, and the rows of jars with roots, herbs, and other concoctions on a shelf. Gogo is a sangoma. She can speak to the ancestors and see the future. In Nomadlozi's child's mind, talking to the ancestors could only be done in the dark. Nomadlozi wants to sit next to Gogo on the cool earth floor. Gogo works quietly and quickly. She sits on a reed mat next to the fire, shelling groundnuts. The thick black smoke doesn't seem to trouble her. Nomadlozi is ashamed that her own eyes water easily. She wants Gogo to rebuke her and say:

"Ehe, child of my child, do you want to spend the whole day standing out there in the sun doing nothing? Do you want to be like the dancer who learns the dance when the drummers have dispersed? Come in here and help me shell these groundnuts and learn to do something useful with your hands, you lazy girl!"

She wants Gogo to say it with the same feigned exasperation that used to make her laugh until tears streamed down her cheeks. She would then be able to duck her head and cross the threshold. But Gogo keeps shelling the groundnuts. An earthenware pot sits simmering on the fire – bean stew. Nomadlozi's stomach grumbles. Gogo keeps tending the fire, making sure the heat is just right, moving the logs apart when the pot starts bubbling over. In the city, everyone has a stove with a dial with numbers that moderate the heat. She watches Gogo's hands, hypnotized. Gogo works quietly and quickly. There is a lot to be done before the sun sets. She has no one left to help her with the chores – all her children and grandchildren have scattered across the world. Nomadlozi knows she has to say something now, explain herself, and try to make Gogo understand why she has to leave too. Tell her that she has a one-way ticket. Once the shelling is done, Gogo adds more water to the bean pot and gathers all the shells off the floor, making everything neat again. Now! She has hesitated too long. Gogo stands, picks up the water pot, and heads towards the door, brushing past Nomadlozi, leaving her feeling inadequate and something else she can't quite describe.

A version of this story was first published in Volume 3 (Palm-Sized Press)