Written in the Stars (A Romance Novel)

Ntando sat quietly outside the Red room, his feet rhythmically kicking against the legs of the wooden stool he sat upon. His bottom had begun to ache and he lifted his body up a fraction to offer it some relief. He had been waiting outside the hut for hours with nothing to do. He watched as the chickens clucked about the yard, the dog chased his tail, the beetle pushed cow dung across the stoep, young women with calabashes filled with water made their way back home from the river and his friends laughing they practiced their stick fighting. He didn’t know why he had to be here but his father had said to be there as it was important. His mother had left him at the door when they had arrived and had not yet emerged from the room. And his aunts had given him some food and water so he was full , bored and tired of waiting for so long. He could occasionally hear a small mewling sound and his mother’s voice singing in a soft tone. His eyelids were growing heavy when the door to the red hut squeaked open. He startled awake and lifted his head to see his mother leaning against the door frame. “Ntando. You can come in now.” She stepped aside and allowed him to proceed before her. The strong, sickly sweet scent of incense filled his nose and his eyes burned at the smoke that filled the room. When his eyes cleared, he noticed that the room was much larger than he had assumed and was stifling hot. It contained a fireplace against the wall furthest from the door, a small window to let some light in, a bed stood on his left hand side and next to it was a basket placed on what seemed like a very long bench. His mother’s best friend MaKhumalo sat on top of the bed and held something wrapped in a lot of blankets. She smiled warmly when she saw him, her tired whisky coloured eyes wrinkling in the corners. “Ntando. Come and meet your betrothed. She has finally arrived.” MaKhumalo whispered, rocking slightly as the bundle in her arms moved. A wave of dread and nervousness gripped the young boy as he cautiously stepped up towards the bed. He looked at his mother, who motioned for him to climb on the bed. He sat next to MaKhumalo and stared down at her stomach in confusion as it had been swollen ten days ago. A cooing sound came from the bundle, startling Ntando. “Look who decided to wake up. She must be excited to meet you,” said MaSithole, Ntando’s mother, a huge smile on her face as she watched them from a chair. He leaned over and peeked into the blankets. Two pairs of chocolate coloured doe eyes on a light brown face stared up at him. A baby. His mother had brought him here to see a baby. “Hold her,” MaKhumalo whispered, gently placing the baby in his arms. Ntando looked down at what was the most beautiful baby he had ever seen. She had soft curly hair, a small button nose and a complexion that was way lighter than his own dark chocolate skin. He felt a smile tug at his face when she let out a yawn. “What’s her name?” Ntando whispered. “Her name is Buhlebendalo but you can call her whatever name you want.” His mother said, gleefully. The eight year-old stared down at the baby girl, his eyes unable to stray from the delicate features of her being. He had seen a baby before when his brother Simphiwe was born but Simphiwe had been wrinkly and looked like a grumpy old man. He finally lifted the baby when he had had enough and MaKhumalo lifted the bundle away from him. Ntando stood up, murmured his farewell and ran down to the grazing fields to play with his friends. Later that evening, his parents informed him and Simphiwe that they would all be attending MaKhumalo and her husband Bab’Mkhize’s daughter’s naming ceremony. She was ten days old today and so far only her parents, in-laws and betrothed knew her name. Tonight the entire village would know her name. When they arrived at the Mkhize’s house, the entire village began to ululate and clap their hands. Women rushed to Ntando and kissed his cheeks, congratulating him on the birth of the baby, while the men clapped him on his shoulders. His father and his mother were beaming brightly, accepting the congratulations and jesting with the villagers. This confused the young boy as he could not fathom why he was being celebrated. The entire spectacle continued until the family reached the front of the room where Bab’Mkhize and MaKhumalo. Bab’Mkhize smiled down at Ntando after greeting his parents. “Ntando, my son, it is finally time for your people to see the gift uNkulunkulu has blessed you with.” He watched as MaKhumalo left the room with his mother following closely behind her. He wondered what was so special about the baby. Sure, she was a beautiful baby but she was only a baby and a girl at that. The room stilled but a spirit of excitement and anticipation filled the room. Whispers filled the room again suddenly as MaKhumalo walked back into the room with her head bowed and his mother following her, a small pink bundle rocking gently in her arms. Ululations and praises resounded across the room. The lolling sounds of women’s tongues signifying the joy that all who were in the room were feeling. Ntando’s father, His Royal Highness iNkosi uNdlovu, raised his hand and the people quieted down. “My people. The day we have all waited and prayed for has finally come to pass. The future Queen of Ngwenyane, our beautiful homestead, is born. She will bear the next line of oNdlovu. She is as radiant as the dawning sun. Her eyes shine brighter than all of uNkulunkulu’s precious stars. Her name symbolises all that we hope she will stand for. Through her the beauty of creation will be made manifest. Her name is Buhlebendalo.” Shouts of joy, praise and approval sounded through the room. And once again the people of the village swarmed onto the young boy, kissing his cheeks, shaking his hands and congratulating him on his gift. He was saved from further abuse when his best friend, Muzi, dragged him from the house and into the empty yard. The boys ran to the hill that overlooked the river and lay on the soft grass. Millions of tiny white diamonds glittered down at them as they stared up at the night sky. “When I grow up,” Muzi began, “I am going to the big city, Egoli, like my brother. He says it is beautiful. The white man taught him how to go underground and dig up diamonds and he says they look like uNkulunkulu’s stars.” Ntando turned towards his friend. “When I grow up, I have to be king but I want to be a businessman and have lots of cars and a big house. Even bigger than my father’s.” “And a girlfriend!” Muzi teased, laughing at the embarrassment that filled his friend’s face. “No! I won’t have one! That’s disgusting!” Ntando retorted, trying yet miserably failing to act angry. “But you have to get marrried, you’re a prince.” Ntando thought about it. He wouldn’t mind being married. He would have someone to cook and clean for him, and bear him many sons as his father always said. But Ntando wanted to marry someone nice, like MaKhumalo. She always brought the children homemade sweets and pastries when she went to do her laundry at the river. He hoped his wife would be just like her and he wouldn’t get married until he found her.