ZAMAHLOBO THE BLOOD WIFE
CHAPTER 08
MKHONTOWESIZWE
He lets out one final, steadying sigh and turns back toward the house. Walking into the lounge, he finds everyone still seated, now with refreshments served. All eyes lift and settle on him as he returns to his place beside Zamahlobo . The room holds its breath, waiting for his verdict.
He clears his throat. “BoPhakathwayo nani boMtimande, I apologize for storming out earlier. I have listened to what you all have said… and I agree. I will marry MaPhakathwayo.” He turns to meet Bhekizitha’s gaze. “Bab’Qwabe, you have my word. I will care for your daughter. She will have all the respect she deserves.”
Relief smooths the lines on Bhekizitha’s and Mandla’s faces. When Mkhontowesizwe glances at Zamahlobo, he finds her smiling at him—a quiet, grateful curve of her lips. He offers a small, sincere smile in return.
–
Traditions are set into motion. A formal letter was sent to the Qwabe household to initiate the lobola negotiations. A date was agreed upon, and the response was carried back to the Ngwenyas. Now, the day has finally arrived.
The Qwabe homestead buzzes with organized chaos, especially among the women. Everything must be perfect for the guests. Bhekizitha has called upon his brother to assist with the negotiations. Senzo, Zamahlobo’s older brother, will also take part. Her other brother, Themba, sends his regrets from overseas but promises to be there for the wedding itself.
Representing the Ngwenyas are Mandla, his brother Bongani, and Sibonelo. Mkhontowesizwe can hardly believe this is his reality. He never pictured himself marrying, let alone paying lobola for a woman he barely knows—all because the ancestors decreed it.
Zamahlobo is with Sindiswa and Zekhethelo, being prepared in a separate room. The rich brown of her dress and matching doek frames her face perfectly, the very image of a radiant makoti. A traditional scarf drapes over her shoulder, and flat sandals grace her feet. She sits patiently before a mirror while Sindiswa works her magic with makeup.
“Done,”Sindiswa declares, stepping back with a satisfied smile.
Zamahlobo studies her reflection and is impressed.Sindiswa truly is an artist.
“Thank you.”
“Zama bakithi, awuzibuke umuhle kanjani!”Zekhethelo exclaims. She steps forward, gently touches her finger to Zamahlobo’s eyelashes, then places it behind her ear. “May no one cast an evil eye on you today.”
“Ma, wenzani?”
“Chasing away any envy or ill-will. Awuwabuki yini amandiya?” Zekhethelo’s eyes twinkle.
Sindiswa laughs,and Zamahlobo can’t help but chuckle. Boredom is impossible around Zekhethelo.
The sound of a man’s voice chanting clan names at the gate makes Sindiswa rush to the window.
“They’re here.”
A sudden wave of nerves washes over Zamahlobo. She prepared for this, but is she truly ready for marriage?
“Zama,are you alright?” Zekhethelo asks, noticing her biting her nails—a childhood habit that surfaces only when she’s anxious.
“Just nervous.”
“Everyone is. Don’t worry. Everything will be perfect.” Phetheni says walking in .She looks at her daughter with a proud smile.
–
Outside, Bongani’s voice rings clear, reciting the Ngwenya lineage and stating their purpose. Mandla and Sibonelo stand behind him, all three imposing in dark suits. Mkhontowesizwe waits in the car; tradition bars the groom from the negotiations themselves.
Funani, Zamahlobo’s uncle, and Senzo approach the gate. They may live in the city, but tradition holds firm. The gate remains closed, a symbolic barrier.
“Sikhulekile koQwabe boGumede, Wena kaMalandela kaluzumana, Phakathwayo kaKhondlo kaMncinci, osidlabehlezi kaPhakathwayo. Abathi bedlumuntu bemyenga ngendaba! Yithina oNgwenya, oMadonsela, oMtimande, Bambolunye, Zingaba mbili, Zifuze konina. Sizocela isihlobo esihle.”
Funani and Senzo listen, their faces impassive. Bongani clears his throat and switches to a more direct approach.
“We have brought a small token of respect.”He accepts a bottle of 18-year-old Macallan whisky—the imvulamlomo—from Sibonelo. He places it on the grass by the gate, adding a folded stack of rand notes beside it, then steps back.
Funani and Senzo exchange a glance and a subtle nod. They had planned to let the party wait, but the gesture is respectful and complete. They open the gate.
The Ngwenya men are welcomed into the yard and led to a largerondavel where the negotiations will take place. Greetings are exchanged, and the men settle in—fathers and uncles only, as tradition dictates.
The negotiations proceed smoothly. Money is no obstacle for the Ngwenyas, and they meet each request with grace. Agreement is reached, and drinks are shared in celebration.
–
Zekhethelo enters the room where Zamahlobo waits, her face a dramatic mask of concern. Zamahlobo’s heart plummets. Did something go wrong?
Then Zekhethelo’s expression breaks into a brilliant smile.“The negotiations went perfectly!”
Zamahlobo and Sindiswa exhale in unison,laughing with relief.
News spreads quickly. The Qwabe yard fills with relatives and well-wishers. The men gather under the shade of a large tree, sharing umqombothi. Women bustle around cooking pots and serve guests, ensuring everyone is comfortable.
As the sun begins to set, guests gradually depart. Mkhontowesizwe leans against his car, watching the golden light wash over the homestead. He takes a final drag of his cigarette as he sees Zamahlobo approaching.
He stubs it out and meets her eyes.
“Hey,”she says, her smile soft and genuine.
“Hey.”He returns the smile. She truly looks like a makoti—graceful, beautiful. She comes to stand beside him.
“Ukahle?”he asks. They haven’t had a real moment to talk all day.
“I’m fine. And you?”
“I’m alright.”For a moment, they simply look at one another. The silence is comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. Together, they turn to watch the sun sink toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose.
“So…we’re really doing this?” Zamahlobo murmurs.
Mkhontowesizwe chuckles softly.“I guess we are. Soon you’ll officially be Zamahlobo Ngwenya : The blood wife according to dad’s seer .” He says and chuckles, finding it hard to believe it himself.
“Ancestors,huh?”
“Yeah. But at least they chose a beautiful keeper for me. I will give them credit for that .”
She looks at him,a playful warning in her eyes. “Ungadlali ngami.”
“I’m not playing. Umuhle, MaPhakathwayo. You are breathtaking . Truly.”
Zamahlobo looks down,her smile deepening. When she glances up, he is still watching her, his gaze thoughtful and warm. And for the first time since all this started ,her stomach flutters with something that feels like hope, not fear.
100+ comments. I was asked to bring this sale back so here it is. NB: it’s no longer my birthday month I’m just lazy to create a new advertisement post!😂