SEVEN: Damasi’s Party
The distance to Damasi’s kraal was quite far, but it did not seem so to Nomusa or to her brothers and sisters as they walked toward it, single file. Far off, they saw a thin line of children coming in their direction. They, too, were on their way to the party. Nomusa wondered how many children would be at Damasi’s party. Maybe a hundred.
Kangata was terribly excited about going to a party in a neighboring kraal. It was his first one.
“We are near now, Nomusa, are we not?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered. She began to laugh as she looked at her small brother’s face, for it was marked and painted in such a curious and grotesque manner that his nose looked as if it had been divided in two.
Kangata looked offended and put his grubby hand up to his face to discover the cause of Nomusa’s mirth. Nomusa quickly reassured him. “You have certainly made a design like that of no other. Perhaps you will win a prize.”
When the children neared the thorn fence surrounding Damasi’s kraal, Zabala walked forward quickly to lead the line of twenty brothers and sisters, all children of Nomusa’s father. Zabala, whose mother was called Great Wife because she was Zitu’s first wife, would be chief of Nomusa’s kraal some day, because he was Zitu’s eldest son.
Standing just within the entrance of the kraal to greet the guests as they entered were Damasi’s father and uncle and their wives. They pointed out the huts that had been reserved for the party.
Nomusa found Kangata close at her side, his eyes wide with curiosity, trying to see everything in the strange kraal at once. Delicious smells of food cooking filled the air and made Kangata’s mouth water.
Nomusa began straightening the halo of beads around her head, adjusting some of the bangles that had got twisted on the way. Most of her sisters were arranging their short grass skirts and bead kilts, too.
Zabala walked up to the entrance of Damasi’s hut, followed by his nineteen brothers and sisters. He stood tall before the hut, legs apart, arms by his side, and loudly cleared his throat. “A-hem!” But there was so much noise in the hut, and such excitement, that no one, it seemed, had heard his announcement of their arrival. Again he cleared his throat, this time more loudly, with a reinforcement of “A-hems” from behind him. Zabala glowered at those who had given him this unwanted help.
This time they were heard. There was a sudden hush within. Almost immediately a fantastic-looking head, stuck full of small birds’ feathers, green, blue, yellow, and red, appeared in the entrance. It was Damasi. “Sakubona! Sakubona!” he said, smiling.
“Usaphila! Usaphila!” called the guests from Nomusa’s kraal.
Chief for the day, Damasi was in charge of everything. He quickly beckoned to everyone to enter. First went Zabala. Then, one by one, all the brothers and sisters crawled in after him on hands and knees.
At first the children from Nomusa’s kraal were shy, but soon they began to mingle freely with the other guests. Waves of noise surged up in the hut. More guests arrived, making the hut hotter and noisier than ever. The boys wandered over to one side of the hut, and the girls stayed at the other.
Nomusa went to look at a calf that was tied in a corner of the hut. It was only a few days old and still too young to be taken to pasture. Together with a young goat, it was being kept as a pet. Girls did not often have a chance to be with cows and calves, and Nomusa enjoyed petting the calf.
Several dogs which had followed some of the children to the party ran in and out, between and over the legs of the smaller guests, looking for pieces of food that had been dropped on the floor. Every little while there was a fight between two dogs when both snatched at the same morsel.
Their barking, snapping, and growling frightened the chickens that had wandered in. Flapping their wings in terror, they crowed and cackled, one or two flying onto the backs of the shrieking children.
This caused more excitement, laughter, and screeching, until the poor little calf began to strain at its grass rope in an effort to get away. Nomusa patted her. “Do not be afraid, little calf. I will not let anyone hurt you.”
While she was talking to the calf, Damasi’s sister Intombi, a year older than Nomusa, came up to her and said, “It is a fine calf. Do you like it?”
“Who would not?” answered Nomusa. “She will be a beautiful cow.” Then, seeing Intombi’s bulging neck-pocket, she pointed to it. “What have you in there?”
“I will gladly show you,” said Intombi. “But you must show me what is in your pocket, too.”
Nomusa opened her neck-pocket and drew from it a red and green feather, now somewhat bent—the one she had found at the stream.
“M-m-m-m!” said Intombi, admiringly. “What else have you?”
Nomusa’s fingers probed the depths of her pocket. She brought out a lovely bead of clay, brown, with a red and yellow border. The bead was no bigger than a small grape. “I made it myself,” explained Nomusa. “I found a very special kind of clay, mixed the colors, and then baked it in the sun. Do you like it?”
“I do,” said Intombi. “If you will part with it, I will give you this.” She quickly loosened her bulging neck-pocket and took out something brown, spotted with white. It looked very soft and furry.
“Why, it’s a deer mouse!” cried Nomusa. “Where did you get it?”
“I found it nibbling in my mother’s garden. If you like it, you may have it in exchange for the bead.”
“Be careful not to drop the bead, for it may break,” Nomusa said, handing it to Intombi and taking the deer mouse.
“It’s not alive, you know,” Intombi said, as she saw Nomusa carefully examining her new treasure.
“Is it still good to eat?” Nomusa asked.
“That I do not know, but the fur can be used.”
Intombi opened her neck-pocket wide and showed Nomusa all the bits of stone, feathers, bangles, and other trinkets that she carried around with her. Suddenly Intombi sprang up. “Oh, they are starting another game. Let us play, too, Nomusa.”
“What are they playing?”
“Husbands and wives. It’s lots of fun. I hope Zabala chooses me.” Intombi moved closer to the line of boys so that Zabala would not fail to see her. She looked smilingly at him until he caught her eye.
How tiresome to play such a game, thought Nomusa. I should much prefer going outside.
She was standing apart, watching the good-natured scramble of the boys picking their girls, not once thinking about a partner for herself. Suddenly she felt someone tapping her shoulder insistently. “You are my wife for this game,” Damasi said. “Now let me see if you are a good one.”
“And let me see if you are a good husband,” replied Nomusa.
The girls picked up little grass mats and baskets and filled them with food for themselves and their “husbands.”
Damasi said to Nomusa, “I hear you can do all the things that a boy can do. Are you a good cook, too? That is more important.”
“You shall see,” answered Nomusa. “But you must promise to go outside with me afterwards to shoot at targets.” She set to work to prepare a dish that would not take very long. Soon she gave Damasi a mixture of chicken, corn, pumpkin, goat meat, and fried locust.
“Very good,” said Damasi. “Now pass me the amasi.” These were the delicious curds of clotted milk that Nomusa liked so much. They were excellent for cooling and for quenching one’s thirst. When Damasi had finished, he belched and said, “Soon we’ll see if you are as good a hunter as you are a cook.”
“Let us go outside now,” Nomusa suggested, “if you have finished eating.”
Together they left the hut. Damasi went into one of the other huts and brought out two bows and some arrows. One bow he handed to Nomusa.
“See if you can hit that branch,” he said, pointing.
Nomusa stood straight and drew her right arm back with a quick pull. Off sped the arrow, straight into the middle of the thick branch.
“Good!” shouted Damasi. “We’ll each take five turns and see how many hits we make.”
As Damasi took a shot, Nomusa saw a bird flying about a hundred yards away. Quickly she let the arrow go, and down went the bird.
“Not many boys your age can shoot a bird on the wing,” said Damasi admiringly. “Where did you practice shooting?”
“In my mother’s garden,” answered Nomusa.
Just then Mdingi appeared. “Let me shoot,” he said.
“Let us take turns shooting,” said Nomusa. “You first, Damasi. Then Mdingi, then I.”
Damasi let his arrows fly swiftly, one after the other. “Three out of five,” announced Nomusa, running to pick up the fallen arrows.
“Your turn, Mdingi,” said Damasi.
Taking careful aim, Mdingi shot his five arrows. “Four out of five!” he shouted.
Nomusa aimed and shot. “Three out of five, like me, Nomusa,” Damasi said.
By now the younger children had grown tired of being husbands and wives—especially the girls, since they had to do all the work for the boys. The smaller girls began to play with clay dolls, and the little boys ran outdoors to play horse.
Sisiwe came up to Nomusa. “What will everyone think of you, playing with boys, shooting at a mark,” she scolded. “You make us ridiculous with your tomboy ways! What good will it do you to know how to trap and shoot? You will never be allowed to go on a hunt. It is better for you to know how to be a good wife.”
Nomusa left Damasi and went to sit with the girls from neighboring kraals. Bored, she listened to stories about things that had been going on in their kraals since the last time they had seen each other: about new babies, accidents to brothers or sisters, what vegetables were growing in their mothers’ gardens, and such things. Body designs were compared and discussed, grass skirts felt, beads admired, and new teeth examined.
There was no special hour for eating. Children wandered in and out of the hut to get what they wanted. It was a never-ending feast.
