VOID Novel Chapter 11

The conversation with my mother a week ago left me split in two. I understand her determination for those girls to come home. But the path she’s chosen now? It’s not longing. It’s war.If we didn’t know where they were, I’d stand beside her. But we do. I have Sinenhlanhla’s number. She could call them. Or I could drive her there myself, sit with the Msebeles, talk like adults and reach common ground.

Instead, my mother chants in the dark while Sinenhlanhla pays the price. I still hear her cries. That girl wasn’t just sad, she was shattered. When she hung up, I collapsed onto my chair and sobbed until my ribs ached. All day, I waited for her to call again. Hoping she’d trust me enough to open up a lot more.

Now I know. She’s suffering because of my mother’s pride. Her grief turned weapon. Yes, there’s bad blood between Linda and the Msebeles. Old wounds, old lies. But this isn’t about them anymore. It’s about two girls who never chose this war. Innocent. Unarmed. Yet being used as battlegrounds.

The shrill of the alarm jolts me back to reality. It’s in the morning. I haven’t been sleeping properly these days. Thank God it’s Sunday; I’m not going to work. I reach under the pillow for my phone. No messages. No missed calls from Sinenhlanhla.

My stomach knots. What if something happened? What if my mother’s rituals went too far? A week is a long time for someone to be unreachable. I dial her number and it takes me straight to voicemail like the other days.

That’s it. I throw off the sheets, head to the shower, and let the cold-water slap sense into me. I’m defying Linda. I’m driving to Kezi. Linda will forgive me later.

The road from Bulawayo to Kezi is the hardest drive of my life. I keep trying Sinenhlanhla’s phone. At this point, I’d welcome her screaming at me, calling me names, accusing me of lies, just to hear her voice. Just to know she’s alive.

I ask around at the business centre and they direct me to their homestead. Relief washes over me as I see no crowd or tent in the yard. At least no one is dead. My breath returns.

I park at the gate and step out. I spot a woman sitting in the shade of a grass thatched hut. As I get closer, I realise it’s Sibongile. She’s having juice, and biscuits from a huge bowl.

I came empty-handed. What kind of aunt shows up with nothing but questions?

We exchange greetings. She doesn’t look up. She just crunches her biscuits, one after the other.

“I’m looking for Sinenhlanhla. Is she around?” I ask.

“She’s sleeping.” Flat. Dismissive.

“Is she… okay?”

“Okay where?” She scoffs. “She’s getting worse by the day. Whatever sin that child committed must be huge. If she slept with someone’s husband, the wife must be furious, killing her bit by bit like this. Two days ago, she woke up blind.”

“Blind?”

She pops another biscuit into her mouth. “I told her this morning to better pray for death. What’s the use of living like this? At least we joined a funeral cover for them. Feels like we knew she’d die soon.”

My chest caves in. Tears burn, but I swallow them. I’ve never heard of such cruelty. If she can openly say this to me, I wonder how she treats Sinenhlanhla. Did she even eat today or she is starved so that she dies faster? Where’s Kayise?

“Did your mother go to the village meeting?” she asks suddenly, swirling her tongue in her cheek. She thinks I’m someone else. “I had stomach-ache. I couldn’t go.”

How can she not have a stomach-ache while shovelling biscuits like this?

“My name is Lihle Ndlovu,” I say, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “From Plumtree. I’m Sinenhlanhla’s aunt.”

She spits the biscuit onto the ground and stares at me like I’ve risen from a grave.

“May I please see Sinenhlanhla.”

“Mntanomthakathi!” she hisses. “What brings you here? Your mother sent you, right?”

“No one sent me. I’ve been trying to get hold of Nhlanhla, her phone won’t go through and I as worried about her.”

“Worried about her after all these years?” Without warning, she grabs her glass and hurls the juice straight into my face. “You’re not welcome here. Get out before I do something I’ll regret.”

I close my eyes, and draw in a steeling breath. When I open them, I lick my lips. This juice is too sweet. I wonder if it’s even diluted.

“I’m not leaving without seeing Nhlanhla,” I say with determination.

“She doesn’t want to see you. She doesn’t even know you.”

“Then let her tell me herself. If she doesn’t know me, I’ll introduce myself to her.”

I stand up and stride toward the main house. If she hadn’t poured me with juice, perhaps I would still be respecting her and begging her to allow me to talk to Nhlanhla, but now, I’m not going anywhere without seeing my niece. As I walk past the blackened skeleton of the burnt house, anger simmers. I wonder if mom really knows the damage caused by her rituals.

“Nhlanhla!” I call.

“Hey, wena!” Sibongile shrieks from behind. “I’ll set the dogs on you!”

She won’t move for at least five minutes, with that body,

“Nhlanhla! Kayise!” I yell.

A whisper cuts through the heat:

“Hello.”

“Where are you?” I stop, scanning the doorway.

“In here.” There’s a sound of something tapping the door.

Come out, baby girl.”

I impatiently wait outside, my eyes darting from the door, to where Lind is still struggling to sit up.

The door creaks open, and Sinenhlanhla steps out. She’s frail, her skin stretched thin over bone. One crutch under her arms, the other sweeping the ground like a blind man’s cane. Her face is twisted, and her eyes vacant.

She really is blind. Two weeks ago, she stood tall, angry, fierce and beautiful, threatening to strangle me. Now she’s a shadow wearing her skin. And it’s my mother who did this.

“Where are you?” she asks, voice trembling.

“I’m here, my girl.”

“Lihle? Is that you?”

“Yes. It’s me.” She recognised my voice. I cross the space in three strides and wrap my arms around her. The moment I touch her, she breaks down, sobs tearing from her throat like roots ripped from earth. I hold her tighter, tears streaming down my own face.

Had my brother lived, she wouldn’t be here. Had he lived, no one would use his daughter as a weapon. She’s not a person to them. She’s a pawn.

“Help me, Lihle,” she whispers against my shoulder.

Her words break me. This is the girl who wanted to strangle me. Now she clings to me like I’m the last thread holding her to life. I have no words to describe how I feel. I’m hurt. I want to absorb her pain and take it away from her.

Before I can answer, Ice-cold water soaks my back, my hair, my clothes. I turn around. Sibongile stands there, bucket dangling from her hand, face twisted in triumph.

“Go back to whatever hole you’re coming from!” she sneers.

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I’m plugging you to one of our authors. Congratulations Cleo Patra