“Oh, no,” said Hlamba loftily. “I am saving the new one until we go. But I just couldn’t wait to wear the beads.”
Hlamba was taller and plumper than Nomusa. Her body was beginning to take on the form of a woman, and she felt her importance now that her age required her to wear a grass skirt just like her mother’s.
“When I am twelve years old, I suppose I shall have to wear a grass skirt, too,” said Nomusa without any enthusiasm.
“Of course,” said Hlamba. “You will be a woman then.”
“A woman—in two years!” thought Nomusa. Somehow she could not feel happy about it. She wanted so much to play for a long, long time. She walked beside Hlamba for a while, not saying a word, but thinking a great deal. Hlamba kept a steady flow of conversation most of the way, but Nomusa hardly heard her. She kept talking about the designs she would put on her body for the party.
“And what designs and colors shall you paint on your body?” Hlamba was asking. This question interested Nomusa. All the way back to the kraal the conversation continued about the preparations for the party.
“Do you know that our sister Sisiwe has tattooed herself?” asked Nomusa.
“So soon? Did she use a pointed stick, or did she put the glowing embers on the cow dung over the skin?” inquired Hlamba.
“I saw her use a pointed stick. I hope the marks will last at least until the day after the party,” said Nomusa.
“Yes, after all that work and pain of making the tattoo,” said Hlamba sympathetically.