NURSE THEMBENI
CHAPTER 26
NGIYABONGA
Ngiyabonga has been trying to get ahold of Menzi for hours, but his phone is off. The guards say they last saw him yesterday. The helpers say the same thing. No one knows where he is.
It is almost supper time and Menzi is still nowhere to be found. Ngiyabonga does not like that. His son recently committed a crime, and even though they have managed to contain the situation for now, it does not sit well with him.
He keeps thinking the boy might have handed himself over to the police out of guilt. Menzi has that weakness in him. He feels too much, he thinks too much, he does not think like a Hlongwane. And that frustrates Ngiyabonga more than the crime itself.
He and MaNxumalo have just returned from the farm. They manage it together. It is respectable work, but it does not bring in nearly as much money as it should.
Sometimes Ngiyabonga is convinced that someone, somewhere, is spiritually sitting on their finances. Blocking them, because there is no logical reason why the land produces so much yet the profits remain so small.
They pay some of the workers with food from the farm. It is practical. The little cash they do make from distributing the goods, they keep for themselves. It is not greed but plan of action. That is how he sees it.
He throws himself onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. MaNxumalo stands in front of the mirror, removing her earrings one by one. She notices the heaviness in his breathing.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Have you heard from Menzi?” he responds instead.
“I am sure he is unwinding. Let him be, he has been through a lot these past few days.” She does not seem worried.
“There is no time to unwind,” Ngiyabonga snaps. “The kingdom is at stake. We might lose it to that boy Mehlomakhulu.”
MaNxumalo gives him a tired smile. “His name is Mehlokazulu, baba.”
“I do not care what his name is,” Ngiyabonga says dismissively. “I want him out of my face. This world is too small for the both of us.”
He says it as if the world personally inconvenienced him by producing a rival. MaNxumalo walks over and sits next to him on the bed.
“Has Mpondo agreed to let his daughter marry our son?”
“Nxá,” Ngiyabonga scoffs. “Mpondo is old. His brain is probably rusted. He has likely not even started thinking about what I said.”
He shakes his head as if deeply disappointed in the pace of other people’s thinking.
“But I do not care,” he continues. “I will pay him a visit tomorrow morning. Thembeni is marrying Menzi no matter what. I do not care what I have to sacrifice.”
“No more bloodshed, baba. It is enough now. The child is traumatized already.”
Ngiyabonga turns to look at her as if she has just said something outrageous.
“Which child?” he asks. “I hope you are not talking about Menzi. A thirty-six-year-old man with pubic hair, a bass voice and an Adam’s apple the size of a plum?”
MaNxumalo exhales. “He is still a child in my eyes. I do not want my son dying of stress.”
Ngiyabonga sits up slightly, offended by the direction the conversation is taking.
“Do not forget, MaNxumalo, without me you would not have a son,” he says. “I put in twice the work getting you pregnant. You think those strokes were for show? Sometimes my back still hurts.”
He rubs his lower back for emphasis.
“Do you know how hard it was to get you pregnant? My mother almost thought you were infertile.”
MaNxumalo closes her eyes briefly. She remembers very well. She remembers the pressure, the whispers and the humiliation. She also remembers the labor pains that felt like her body was being split open.
“I remember,” she says evenly. “I also remember the birth pains. That is why I will protect my son from you if I have to.”
Ngiyabonga gives her a vexed look.
“I hope you are not talking about me.”
She does not respond.
“You do not protect my son from me. He is my son too.” He adds, his voice almost rising.
MaNxumalo stands up and begins unbuttoning her expensive purple shirt. She needs a shower. The water will help her calm down before this turns into something bigger than it needs to be.
“Are you upset now?” Ngiyabonga asks.
“No.” She sounds upset.
“Good. I hope we are still on the same page. The throne belongs to us. We will not lose.” He says.
She pauses for a moment before answering. “I know, baba. I have been on your side since day one. It was me who gave you the idea of wiping out your brother’s family.”
There is no pride in her voice, just fact.
“I just do not want Menzi to fall victim while we are fighting for this throne.”
“He will not,” Ngiyabonga says immediately. “I protect Menzi with my life, MaNxumalo. You have witnessed that. He is my legacy.”
Legacy. That word matters more to him than anything else.
“Tomorrow I will go see Mpondo,” he adds.
MaNxumalo looks at him cautiously.
“And if he says no? If Thembeni ends up marrying Mehlo?”
“Then we get rid of Thembeni, we send her to her forefathers. If we cannot have the throne, no one can.”
He says it like he is talking about removing a weed from the garden. In his mind, this is not cruelty, it is preservation.
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THEMBENI
“Your nanny doesn’t like me, very much.”
“My what?”
“Your nanny,” I repeat. “I heard she raised you. Do you know she told me to make an appointment to see you?”
He’s confused. Could this mean he has no knowledge of what happens in his absence?
“I will talk to her,” he says. I think I have spoiled his mood, or MaPhikela has spoiled his mood.
“KaMajola, this palace is yours. No one can tell you what to do in your own place. If anyone tries and you feel you cannot deal with them, do not hesitate to tell me, or Mvikeli if I’m not around.”
That’s better. I’m a snitch and I do it well.
“Okay, now tell me the rest of the story.” I say.
His face relaxes a bit.
“As I said, my father became king at sixteen, after his father died. He had no time to prepare, or question anything. He just had to ascend the throne.”
I watch his face carefully. There is no performance in it, this is not king Mehlo speaking but a son.
“Because he was still young, his advisors used that against him. He was too naive to see what they were doing. He trusted the wrong people and signed things he should not have signed. Funds disappeared, investors pulled out. Long-standing alliances collapsed.”
His jaw tightens, this upsets him.
“The people lost trust in the Ngwanes. By the time he was killed, the kingdom had already been affected… badly. He was still king, but the title did not hold power anymore.”
I have grown up hearing whispers about the fall of the Ngwanes, but no one ever explained it like this.
“My grandfather and the ones who ruled before that were kings of chiefs. Chiefs reported to them. But that ended with my father’s death.”
“Why was Ngiyabonga not arrested for killing him? Why is he still out there? And why hasn’t Menzi been arrested for trying to kill you?”
“Because no one can know yet of this place, that it exists.” He says.
Oops! Do I tell him that I happened to tell Nala and Qondi?
“How did Menzi become chief then?” I ask, deciding not to risk it. It’s not like I gave them the address.
“When my family was killed, there was no one left to rule. Only my father’s brother, Ngiyabonga, remained. He stayed behind with his family. But the throne was not his to rule.”
Then how is Menzi Chief?
“But the ancestors were angry. Furious, actually. The way my father was murdered… it angered them. They stripped the kingdom of its wealth and what was left of its power. The Ngwane rule was reduced to Manzana. That is as far as it would go.”
“That is why Menzi only rules in Manzana?” I ask.
“Yes.”
Everything is starting to connect, but not fully.
“How do I fit into all of this?” I ask.
“I am getting to that, Phakade lami.”
His fingers are still playing with mine. He looks at me again with that softness that makes it hard to think straight.
“Your father is the one who rescued me from the fire that killed my parents. My forefathers knew the fire would happen. They knew my family would die in a fire. I say this, Phakade lami, because you were predicted long before I was born.”
His expression changes, there is anger there now, very visible.
“There were old folktales… Stories that the kingdom would collapse. That it would cease to exist in its full power. But that there would be a woman who would help her king restore it. Bring it back to the Ngwanes.”
Okay so if his forefathers knew, why did they let it happen? Why let his parents die? Why let the kingdom fall? That part bothers me.
“Why did they not stop it? If they knew?”
He exhales slowly. “Some things are allowed to happen for a greater purpose. That is what I was told.”
I am not sure I like that answer.
“Why could you not rule after your father died?” I ask.
“I was the only remaining child of my father with royal blood from both parents. I was expected to ascend the throne. But I was in exile.”
“Exile?”
“I was hiding from Ngiyabonga, he wanted me dead. His goal was to wipe out my father’s line completely.”
Yoh! Is he that vile?
“Uncle Mvula kept me hidden until I was old enough to understand who I was. Why I was not sitting on my forefathers’ throne.”
“Isn’t Ngiyabonga of royal blood?” I ask.
“He is,” Mehlo says. “But his mother was not. My grandfather had three wives. That was how kings did it back then, some still do it till this day. My father’s mother was the only wife with full royal blood, and my father married a woman from a royal family. That is why I was chosen to ascend after him.”
He leans back slightly but does not let go of my hand.
“To answer your question, KaMajola. Menzi does not have the blessing of the kings who sat on the throne before my father. His blood is not fully royal. Neither is his father’s. They attained power through bloodshed and treason. That is why Menzi can only call himself chief. If he dares to declare himself king of KwaZulu, calamity would fall on his family.”
This is deep.
“So the ancestors stripped the kingdom of its wealth because they killed your parents?” I ask.
“Yes, and that wealth can only be restored through you.” He says.
How? When I have been searching for wealth my whole life.
“I do not understand.”
He squeezes my hand, giving me a gentle stare.
“Only the man you marry can be king. You are a prophecy that must be fulfilled, no matter the odds.”
I let out a small, confused laugh.
“I am still confused. What do you mean only the one I marry can be king?”
“I mean exactly that. If you choose to marry me, I will sit on the throne my forefathers sat on. I will rule all of KwaZulu, not just Manzana. This palace we are in now is nothing. It is foreign to our lineage, my forefathers do not recognize it and they refuse to acknowledge it. They want us back home, in Manzana, where everything started..”
“And if I marry Menzi?”
His jaw tightens.
“If you marry Menzi, he gains the privilege to be king. The wealth returns to his household. The favor of my forefathers goes to him.”
I pull my hand back slightly without even realizing it.
“But you just said he does not have full royal blood. How would he rule?” I argue.
“Because the favor rests on you,” Mehlo says patiently. “It is gratitude from my forefathers to your father for saving me. You carry that blessing.”
“That does not make sense, Mehlo. They are grateful that their only remaining king was saved, but they would still strip you of the kingdom if I do not marry you? That’s not fair.”
“They are hoping that you will know where your destiny lies.”
He looks at me directly now.
“The prophecy did not say you would marry any Ngwane successor. It said you would marry Mehlokazulu Hlongwane.” He says.
“Ngiyabonga knew about the prophecy. They used it to their advantage. Your father knew you would marry a Ngwane successor, but he did not know how deep it went, that I was the chosen one. That is probably why he believed them when they presented Menzi as your chosen husband.”
My mind is racing really. So this is not just politics, it has to do with legacy and power. Mehlo lifts my hand again and presses it gently against his chest.
“I am hoping you will choose me, Phakade lami. Not just for the throne, but for me.”
Everything is starting to make sense. The dots are connecting.
“Is that why you suddenly changed and became softer? You were faking affection just to get me to marry you so you can keep the throne?”
Oh wow! I have been so blinded by his nice words of affection. I take my hand away from him, he suddenly looks panicky.
“No, no Phakade lami. I was cold from day one because I wanted nothing to do with the throne. You can Mthunzi, or KaMavika. Lives were lost because of it, i didn’t want the same thing happening to us, to you.”
How do I believe him? I’m not a mind reader, so how do I know he’s telling the truth?
“I swear Mehlo, if this is a game and you’re playing with my heart, I will burn this kingdom down, with you in it and your forefathers can kiss my ass.”
Shit! The word burn sounds so insensitive after what happened to his parents. He does not look offended but I feel a need to apologize, only for that.
He takes my hand again. “I promise, my heart has always been for you, Themi. You’re my beginning and end, without you, everything means nothing.”
The way he says it makes everything else fade for a second, and that scares me more than the prophecy ever could. What if my brothers accept Menzi’s bride price without my permission? Then Mehlo loses everything. But then, can I trust Mehlo not to lie to me?
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