As Nomusa passed the iron pot, she picked out a piece of cold sweet potato to eat on the way to the stream. Taking a clay jar in one hand and holding the sweet potato in the other, she crawled out of the low opening of her hut.
Coming out from the darkness of the hut into the brilliant sunshine made Nomusa’s eyes blink. She took a deep breath of the fresh air. What a wonderful day!
She stood for a moment looking about the kraal. There were six other huts in the enclosure, each shaped like a huge beehive. Five belonged to the five other wives of Nomusa’s father. The sixth hut, which was the biggest, was where her father, Chief Zitu, lived. The seven huts were in a circle on a hillside overlooking a wide, lovely valley.
As Nomusa stood there she saw no sign of anyone stirring in the other huts. Usually she saw some of her half sisters, many of whom were about the same age as herself, crawling out of their huts to go for water too. It was more fun going together. But today Nomusa’s father was coming to visit their hut, and everything had to be ready earlier than usual.
She left the kraal and walked quickly down the well-worn dirt path leading to a clear stream in the valley. As she hurried along, Nomusa looked toward one of the other hills to see if any smoke was coming from the kraal of their nearest neighbor. Yes, there was a thin wisp of smoke curling up from a hut. That meant some of them were already awake and cooking. Nomusa wondered if the smoke were coming from Damasi’s hut. There was much work to be done in his kraal, too; for tomorrow all the children from Nomusa’s kraal would go to a party in Damasi’s.
For a moment Nomusa forgot she was in a hurry and stood there thinking as she chewed the last bit of sweet potato. She gazed dreamily into the soft green meadows of the valley, encircled by rolling hills and watered by many little streams. It was the season after the heavy rains, and now the mimosa trees were covered with yellow blossoms and feathery green leaves. The thorn bushes looked softer with their new thick foliage. In some of the trees orchids, green and brown, clung to branches by their thick stems. The sandhills beyond, usually so bare, were now blanketed with grass and wild flowers so that one hardly knew there were jagged rocks beneath.
With the water jar on her left hip and her right arm hanging loosely by her side, Nomusa looked like an ebony statue, her body slim and strong, her hair a mass of short black curls covering her head. She looked as much like a boy as a girl. Her snub nose and smiling mouth were only a little different from those of her father’s other children, but there was something special about her intelligent brown eyes.
Nomusa hurried to make up for stopping, and reached the swollen stream in the valley warm and out of breath. What if her father arrived in their hut before she returned with the water? What a disgrace that would be!
She began sloshing her jar back and forth in the stream to fill it. Much as she wanted to, she would not take time now for a dip in the water. Perhaps there would be time for a swim when she came for water again at noon.