THE HUT:

Way back, when the sky kissed the land, in the tender rolling hills of Mvezo, sits a little simple thatched mud hut. From within the circular walls of this little hut, in this gentle place, at the feet of the whispering Mbashe River, the birthing voice of Mama Nosekeni Nkedama sang out to hills and the birth of her son Rolihlahla echoed through the ancient land, rejoicing his arrival. The hut smiled quietly, proud in the sun.

Rolihlahla, “Pulling-the branch-from the –tree”, Troublesome, call him what you may, but he had arrived that bright African day, with a steely determination and his future determined by the stars, to change the course of his country´s history. The hut knew as soon as the child was born, that he was special.

Time marched into the future, events occurred, terrible events and Rolihlahla marched with it, fist raised. The hut just watched from its gentle hills, impotent and sad at seeing what was happening.

Time passed, everything aged, white head, cracked walls, loves loved, births birthed, adobe renewed, politics in upheaval, thatch crumbling, man imprisoned, weeds rife. The world spun, the hut´s man did great things, was removed by inane injustice and returned with a vengeance, dignity and love without malice, while the hut sat in her gentle hills.

The great man grew old and left this world, for a more compassionate place. He left the world´s people weeping with their sad missing. The little hut still sat, rain-dropped tears dripping down her crumbling walls, but proud she was there at his beginning, that she had watched him grow and now she welcomed him home with open arms, “Welcome home my son”. When his body was safe within the embrace of those gentle hills and his soul had flown to heaven on the wings of Angels, the hut breathed a sigh of relief, within the winds of Thembuland and finally released her vigilance.