“Now the water, Nomusa,” said her mother.
Nomusa brought it to her. Her mother took a large mouthful of the water, held it in her mouth a little until it was warm, and then squirted it on Bala. She did this over and over again until the delighted baby was thoroughly washed. She was then laid on her mother’s mat, where she promptly stuck two fingers in her mouth and fell asleep.
Seeing that the clotted milk jar had not been put away, Themba begged softly, “I’m hungry, Nomusa. Me, too.”
Nomusa poured some of the milk into his mouth.
“Here, little greedy. But then you must let me wash you.”
She filled a hollow gourd with water and held it high over Themba’s head, letting the water trickle over him. Themba danced up and down holding his hands over his head and shouting, “It’s raining, it’s raining!”
“Tula!” warned his mother. “You’ll wake the baby.”
Nomusa began rubbing her hand up and down his sturdy little body to clean him. She loved all her little sisters and brothers, even those belonging to Zitu’s other wives.
“I’m going to eat now, Themba. Run outdoors. When I have finished and done some work for mother, I’ll come and play Hlungulu with you.”