"Vuka, vuka!"
My eyelids felt heavy, like they were stitched shut. I forced them open and blinked into Gogo Nomusa's face. She was smiling, but her eyes carried the weight of something deeper.
"You passed out. How was the trip?" she asked, shivering in that strange way all Sangomas did before letting out a deep, rolling roar. "Ngizokwe ngizwe!"
I rubbed my temples. My mouth was dry. "How long was I out?" I asked, my voice hoarse, suspicious.
"Long enough, my son," she replied, turning away.
I sat up slowly, and that's when I realized—this wasn't endumbeni. I was in her living room now. The familiar old sofa sagged beneath me, and the smell of burned impepho lingered faintly in the air. I frowned. "How did I get here?"
Gogo didn't answer. She was already moving toward the kitchen.
It was late. I could feel it in the air, the way the quiet outside pressed against the walls. The street beyond the window was still, shadows spilling across the pavement under the orange streetlight. I guessed at least two hours had passed since I had taken the ukhamba.
The memory hit me like a sudden drop in water—everything I'd seen, the way my spirit had moved, the strange light that clung to things in that other place. My heart raced just thinking about it.
It had been nerve-wracking. But more than that, it had been… exciting.
"Gogo," I said, leaning forward, "how come I could see everything like I was really there? This didn't feel like a dream. I was there."
Before she could respond, a voice—clear, deep, and resonant—cut through the air inside my head.
Ubukhona.
The word vibrated inside me, like it had been spoken from my bones outward.
I froze.
Gogo turned to look at me and her face lit up. She clapped her hands together sharply, her voice rising with joy, "Makhosi!"
Then she laughed with that smugness only elders could carry. "Ubukhona ngemepela," she said, nodding slowly, confirming what I already suspected but didn't dare to believe.
There had been a presence. A cosmic presence.
I had gone looking for Zinhle in spirit… and something had found me instead.
A smile crept across my face. Not out of mockery or disbelief, but because the weight of this truth was too great to sit heavily. I laughed softly, shaking my head. Knowledge didn't scare me anymore. If anything, it amused me—the way the world insisted on hiding itself, even as it pulled you closer to its secrets.
"But something happened in there, Gogo…" I said, my voice quieter now.
She raised her chin, eyes narrowing slightly. "Tell me."
I leaned back, staring at the ceiling as if the memory was written there. "At first, it was like running through fog. I could hear people, but their faces were blurred, like the air itself didn't want me to know them. Then, out of nowhere, I was standing in a place that looked like home, but… cleaner. Brighter. The air felt alive, like it could speak if it wanted to."
I paused, searching for the right words. "And then I saw her—or I thought I did. Zinhle. She was standing far away, near a river. I could hear water moving even though it was too far to see details. I called her name, but my voice didn't sound like mine. It was deeper, like I was speaking through someone else."
Gogo didn't move, just kept her eyes locked on me.
"I tried to run toward her," I continued, "but the ground shifted under my feet, like it was testing me. Every step felt heavy, like I was being asked if I really wanted to get there. And just when I got close enough to see her face…" I hesitated, my breath catching. "It wasn't her. It was… something wearing her face. It smiled at me, but not the way Zinhle would. There was no warmth. Only knowing. Like it understood me better than I understood myself."
The air in the room thickened as I spoke.
"I asked it who it was," I said. "It didn't answer. But I swear, Gogo… I felt the answer. It was me. Older. Wiser. But still me. And then it reached out its hand, and when I touched it…" I shivered. "Everything went black."
Silence stretched between us.
Finally, Gogo stepped closer, her face unreadable. "Makhosi have shown you something most people never see, even after many years. But you must decide what to do with it. That is the part they will not help you with."
I swallowed hard. The echo of that voice—Ubukhona—still rang inside me. I didn't know if I was ready for the truth. But I knew this: nothing about my life would be the same again. My phone beeped. "Dammit, I forgot..."