Umsuka Wenyani
During the oppressive days of apartheid in South Africa, nestled in the shadow of the Drakensberg mountains, lay the small, remote village of Makhanda. This village, like many others, was under the iron grip of a tyrannical regime that ruled with fear, superstition, and cruelty. Makhanda was home to a traditional healer, a woman named Nomvula, who lived on the outskirts of the village. Nomvula was a woman of great wisdom and mysterious powers, but she was also deeply misunderstood.
The apartheid government, determined to suppress any form of African spirituality and autonomy, had turned the villagers against Nomvula. They called her “umthakathi” the Xhosa word for witch, and spread rumors that she practiced the dark arts. Her once-respected position as a healer was reduced to that of an outcast, feared and reviled by those she had once helped. Even her only child, a son, chose to live far away with relatives, ashamed and afraid of the stigma attached to his mother.
Nomvula lived alone in her small, rundown hut. Her yard was overgrown with weeds, and the once-thriving herb garden had long been neglected, reflecting her isolation and despair. Only a handful of the villagers still believed in her abilities, sneaking into her yard under the cover of darkness to seek her remedies and advice. For the most part, she was left to fend for herself, enduring the scornful looks and harsh words of her neighbors.
One early morning, just before dawn, a loud, thunderous noise shook the village, waking the villagers from their sleep. The sound seemed to come from the direction of Nomvula’s yard, and it was followed by a strange, swirling cloud of dust. The villagers, curious and frightened, stepped out of their homes to investigate. Among them was Thandeka, a beautiful and flamboyant woman who lived directly across from Nomvula. Thandeka, known for her sharp tongue and her close ties with the village’s white officials, sneered at the sight of the dust cloud.
“Just that old mthakathi up to her tricks again,” Thandeka muttered to herself as she turned back inside, dismissing the event as one of Nomvula’s supposed rituals.
Nomvula herself had been awakened by the noise. She stepped outside cautiously, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and curiosity. As the dust settled, she saw something unusual lying on the ground—a thick, black book with golden lettering on its cover. The book was unlike anything she had ever seen before. The title, written in ancient, elegant script, read “Umsuka Wenyani”, which roughly translated to “The Source of Truth.”
Nomvula’s hands trembled as she picked up the book. It felt warm to the touch, and a strange energy seemed to pulse through its pages. She brushed off the dust and carried it inside her hut, placing it on the wooden table that stood in the center of her small living room. The book seemed to hum with life, as if it were breathing.
When the sun finally rose, Nomvula, unable to contain her curiosity, began to examine the book. The first thing she noticed was a strange, black ashy mark on the ground where the book had fallen. The mark was the size of a manhole and seemed to absorb anything that touched it. When Nomvula tried to cover it with soil, the earth simply vanished into the blackness, leaving the mark unchanged. It was no ordinary stain; it was a portal, a small black hole with mysterious properties.
Nomvula, ever the scientist in her own way, decided to test the black hole. She dropped a few small objects into it—stones, twigs, even an old piece of cloth—and watched as they disappeared without a trace. Intrigued, she wondered if the hole had the power to return things. She retrieved a rotten apple from her kitchen and, using her spade, carefully lowered it into the hole. To her astonishment, when she pulled it back out, the apple had been completely restored. It was fresh, shiny, and looked more delicious than any apple she had ever seen.
The half of the spade that had dipped into the black hole was also transformed, its rusty blade now gleaming as if it were brand new. Nomvula was in awe, but also deeply troubled. What was the purpose of this book and this strange hole? Why had they appeared to her, a woman shunned by her own people? She went on to build a structure around the hole to hide it from the public view.
Over the next week, Nomvula dedicated herself to understanding the book. Its contents were baffling—riddles written in an ancient Xhosa tongue, each one more cryptic than the last. The book was divided into twelve chapters, each representing a different level of reality. The first chapter dealt with personal truths, the second with village secrets, and each subsequent chapter expanded to reveal truths about the world, the stars, and even the universe itself.
Nomvula managed to solve three riddles in the first chapter. Each one revealed a painful truth about her own life—truths she had buried deep within herself. The book seemed to know her, to understand her deepest fears and regrets. It was both a source of knowledge and a mirror reflecting her soul.
On the seventh day, as dusk fell, Nomvula sat by a small fire outside her hut, the black book in her lap. She had just finished her meager supper and was absorbed in the book’s riddles. The flickering flames cast eerie shadows on the pages as her eyes grew heavy with sleep. Suddenly, the smell of burning paper jolted her awake. The book had slipped from her hands and into the fire while she was sleeping!
Panic gripped her heart as she snatched the book from the flames, but to her amazement, the book began to repair itself. The burnt edges regenerated, and the pages became whole once more, as if the fire had never touched them. The book was indestructible—or so it seemed.
The next morning, driven by the fear of what the book might mean and the laws of the village, Nomvula made a difficult decision. The village law required that any unusual object or event be reported to the officials immediately, and failure to do so was punishable by death. Nomvula knew she had to report the book, but she also knew the dangers that came with revealing its existence.
She decided to lie, telling the officials that she had only discovered the book that morning. When she presented the book to them, they were skeptical and dismissive, seeing it as another of her supposed tricks. However, when they attempted to tear pages from the book, the pages did not regenerate as they had when the book had been burned. This convinced the officials that Nomvula was trying to deceive them, and they accused her of witchcraft.
Nomvula was arrested and condemned to be hanged. The officials made a public spectacle of her trial, using it as an opportunity to further discredit her and reinforce their authority. As she sat in her cell, awaiting her execution, Nomvula’s mind was a storm of questions. Why had the book come to her? Why had it not protected her from this fate? Was it simply a cruel joke played by her ancestors, or was there a deeper purpose?
On the seventh day, she was brought before the village. The people gathered to watch as she was led to the old tree at the heart of Makhanda, where she was to be hanged. She looked gaunt, defeated, and already half-dead. Her body was weak, but her spirit had long been crushed. As the noose was tightened around her neck, she closed her eyes, resigned to her fate. Moments later, her life was taken, and her body was left to feed the vultures.
Months passed, and life in Makhanda returned to its oppressive normalcy. The healer’s memory faded, and the black book was forgotten, locked away in the home of one of the village officials.
One day, Thandeka, the woman who had always despised Nomvula, was visiting her lover, one of the white officials. As she cleaned his home while he was out, she noticed a familiar black book sitting on top of a wardrobe. Curious, she pulled it down and realized it was the same book Nomvula had spoken of. The book was in tatters, its pages nearly destroyed.
Thandeka, always one to seize an opportunity, stuffed the book into her handbag, intending to read it later. But when she got home, she forgot about the book entirely. It wasn’t until the next morning that she remembered it, and when she opened her handbag, she was shocked to find the book fully restored. The pages were whole, the cover pristine. It was as if the book had never been damaged.
Intrigued, Thandeka began to read the first chapter, quickly losing herself in the riddles. She was so engrossed that she forgot about work entirely, only snapping back to reality after half an hour had passed. As she left for work, she noticed a strange black mark in Nomvula’s old yard, the structure she had built had been long blown by the wind, but it wasn’t until later that she connected it to the healer’s story.
That evening, Thandeka returned to the yard and began experimenting with the black hole, just as Nomvula had done. She realized the truth—the healer had been right all along. The book and the hole were connected, and their power was real. She discovered that the book can only repair itself when it is in close proximity with the hole, and that the hole closes up when it is too far from the book. Excited by her discovery, Thandeka began to gather other villagers who were curious about the book. Together, they formed a movement, determined to uncover the truths hidden within the book and to use its power to change their lives.
As they solved the riddles, they uncovered more secrets, not just about themselves, but about the village, the country, and the universe. They discovered that the black hole could renew anything it touched—animals,
objects, even people. Those who entered the hole emerged younger, stronger, and wiser, their bodies and spirits rejuvenated.
The movement grew, and soon the villagers were powerful enough to challenge the oppressive regime.
As the movement grew stronger, whispers of its existence began to spread beyond the borders of Makhanda. The villagers, once fragmented and fearful, were now united by the power of “Umsuka Wenyani” and the mysterious black hole that had granted them strength and knowledge. They trained in secret, honing their skills and using the book’s riddles to unlock deeper truths about their abilities and the weaknesses of their oppressors.
The apartheid officials, having heard rumors of the villagers’ newfound strength, grew increasingly anxious. They knew that if the villagers fully harnessed the power of the black hole, they could become unstoppable. In a desperate attempt to maintain control, the officials devised a plan to crush the movement once and for all.
One cold, moonless night, the village was surrounded by heavily armed soldiers. The officials had called in reinforcements from nearby towns, determined to quash the uprising before it could gain any more momentum. The villagers, however, were prepared. They had foreseen this confrontation in the pages of book.
The battle began just before dawn. The officials, confident in their superior firepower, advanced on Nomvula’s yard, where the black hole pulsed with a dark, ancient energy. As they approached, the villagers emerged from the shadows, armed not with guns, but with the knowledge and power bestowed upon them by the book and the hole.
The first wave of soldiers fired their weapons, but the bullets never reached their targets. Instead, they were drawn into the black hole, vanishing into its depths. The villagers, standing firm, raised their hands towards the sky, and a shimmering barrier of light emerged from the earth, shielding them from harm. The officials, stunned by this display of power, ordered their men to retreat and regroup.
But the villagers did not give them the chance. Chanting ancient songs of resistance and renewal, they advanced as one, their footsteps synchronized with the rhythm of the earth itself. The black hole at the center of Nomvula’s yard began to expand, its pull growing stronger with every step the villagers took. The ground beneath the officials and their soldiers began to tremble, and cracks appeared in the earth.
In a desperate move, the lead official, a man notorious for his cruelty, ordered his men to charge. But as they crossed the threshold of the yard, the black hole surged forward, engulfing them in its inky darkness. There was no scream, no struggle—only silence as they were swallowed whole, their bodies and weapons alike erased from existence.
The remaining officials, witnessing the fate of their comrades, attempted to flee, but the villagers, empowered by the book, summoned the elements to their aid. The winds howled with fury, tearing through the air with the force of a hurricane. The earth shook violently, causing the ground to split open and swallow the fleeing soldiers. Lightning crackled in the sky, striking with precision and purpose.
The battle raged for hours, but the outcome was inevitable. The villagers, now a force of nature themselves, overpowered the officials at every turn. The black hole, a symbol of their collective will and determination, absorbed the fear and hatred that had long plagued Makhanda, leaving only hope and renewal in its wake.
By the time the sun rose, the battle was over. The once-tyrannical regime lay in ruins, its power shattered and its leaders either dead or in hiding. The villagers, exhausted but victorious, gathered around Nomvula’s yard, where the black hole had returned to its original size, pulsing gently as if in gratitude for the role it had played in their liberation.
In the days and weeks that followed, Makhanda began to transform. The villagers, now free from the yoke of oppression, set about rebuilding their lives and their community. Nomvula’s yard, once a place of fear and suspicion, became a sacred space—a sanctuary where the black hole and the “Umsuka Wenyani” book were revered as symbols of truth and renewal.
Word of the villagers’ victory spread far and wide, drawing visitors from across the land. People came to Makhanda seeking the wisdom of the book and the healing power of the black hole. The villagers, now guardians of these sacred relics, welcomed them with open arms, sharing the knowledge they had gained and helping others to find their own paths to truth.
The black hole continued to be a source of wonder and power. Animals brought to its edge were rejuvenated, their ailments cured and their spirits restored. Objects lowered into its depths returned renewed and whole. And for those who were brave enough to enter the black hole themselves, the experience was transformative—cleansing them of their past burdens and imbuing them with a new sense of purpose and clarity.
Life in Makhanda flourished. The herb garden in Nomvula’s yard, once neglected and overgrown, now bloomed with vibrant life, its plants nourished by the same energy that pulsed through the black hole. The villagers, no longer divided by fear and superstition, worked together to cultivate the land, share their resources, and build a community based on mutual respect and understanding.
The legacy of Nomvula, the misunderstood healer, lived on in the hearts and minds of the people. She was no longer remembered as a witch, but as a wise and powerful woman who had guided her people to freedom. The book that had once brought her so much pain, was now a cherished artifact, its riddles and truths studied by scholars and seekers from around the nation.
As the weeks passed, Makhanda became known as a place of pilgrimage—a destination for those seeking healing, knowledge, and renewal. The black hole, though still a mystery, was respected and revered as a gateway to deeper truths, a reminder of the power that lies within us all when we embrace our true selves and stand together in the face of oppression.
In the months following their victory, the villagers of Makhanda embraced their new way of life with enthusiasm and gratitude. The once-oppressed community became a beacon of hope and renewal, where the power of the book and the black hole worked miracles. People from far and wide, especially those marginalized and overlooked by society, journeyed to Makhanda seeking the healing and rejuvenation that had transformed the lives of the villagers.
But as the fame of the black hole spread, it began to attract the attention of powers far beyond the borders of South Africa. The villagers, focused on their newfound freedom and purpose, remained blissfully unaware that their secret was no longer confined to the remote valley nestled in the shadow of the Drakensberg mountains.
Far away in the gleaming towers of the world’s most powerful cities, whispers of Makhanda reached the ears of those who sat on the High Council of powerful nations. These were men and women who controlled the fate of nations, wielding their influence like a sword. They were not accustomed to being challenged, especially not by a small village of black people who had discovered a power that defied explanation.
In the cold, impersonal chambers of the council, the discussions were tense. The reports they had received were almost unbelievable—a mysterious black hole capable of healing, rejuvenating, and granting wisdom. The council members, stricken with anxiety and suspicion, could not comprehend how such power had fallen into the hands of those they had long considered inferior.
They debated the potential threats this black hole posed to global stability. What if the villagers of Makhanda used its power to build an army? What if they decided to spread their influence across the continent, challenging the status quo? The thought of such power in the hands of black people, whom they had systematically oppressed for centuries, sent shivers down their spines.
A plan began to take shape—a plan to contain, control, or even eliminate the black hole and those who wielded its power. The High Council decided that this anomaly, this threat to their authority, could not be allowed to exist unchecked. They ordered the formation of a secret task force composed of the world’s most elite operatives, scientists, and intelligence agents. Their mission: to infiltrate Makhanda, assess the situation, and neutralize the threat by any means necessary.
The villagers of Makhanda, still basking in the glow of their newfound power and freedom, had no clue about the storm gathering on the horizon. As they continued to heal the sick, rejuvenate the weary, and unlock the deeper truths of the universe through the book, they remained unaware of the dark forces plotting against them from afar.
But the winds were changing. The black hole, once a symbol of hope and renewal, now cast a long shadow over the village. Its mysterious energy, while still a source of wonder and strength, had attracted the attention of those who would stop at nothing to reclaim control. The villagers’ victory, though hard-won, was just the beginning of a much larger battle—a battle for their future, their power, and their very existence.
And so, the story of Makhanda was far from over. The villagers, who had once united to overthrow their oppressors, would soon face a new and even greater challenge. As the forces of the world’s most powerful nations prepared to converge upon their small village, the people of Makhanda would need to draw upon all the wisdom, courage, and unity they had gained to defend their legacy.
The question remained: would the truth they had discovered be enough to withstand the coming storm? Only time would tell, as the winds of fate continued to blow, carrying with them the promise of a future that was as uncertain as it was inevitable.
To Be Continued…