EPILOGUE

The men's voices outside rose in perfect rhythm with the drums, a fierce chorus echoing through the homestead.

"ZULU KA NDABEZITHA!"
"Gatsheni kaNdaba! Mashingila, wena owazalwa nguMageba!"

Cows shuffled violently through the gate, hooves striking the earth like thunder. Dust billowed, women ululated, and some men clapped while raising sticks high in the air.

I stood frozen, caught between pride and dread.

The chanting — the power — the pride — it should have filled me with joy. But instead, it weighed down on my chest like a heavy stone.

"Hhayi cha! Ngubani le ethumele izinkomo zami ngaphandle kokuvuma kwami?" Baba's voice thundered as he stormed to the front yard, his walking stick striking the ground hard, full of fury.

"Ngiyalingwa impela ngisehlane! Akekho ozothatha indodakazi yami engakakhulumi nami!"
(They must be mad! No one is taking my daughter without coming through me!)

His face flushed red, veins bulging, every inch a father ready to defend his honor.

I stepped forward, heart pounding so loud I feared it might give me away.

"Baba—"

He whirled, pointing his stick sharply at me.

"Cha, Sethu! Hlala lapho! Lona ngumbhedo! Bayathanda ukuphoxa abantu. Izinkomo azizukwamukelwa!"
(No, Sethu! Stay put! This is madness! They enjoy humiliating people. These cows will be sent back!)

My voice shook but refused to break. "Baba, angikwazi ukuhlala phansi."
(Baba, I can't sit down and be silent.)

He blinked, surprised by my sudden defiance.

I drew in a shaky breath. Knees trembling, chest burning with the weight of truth.

"Ngiyaxolisa, Baba..."
(I'm sorry, Baba...)

All eyes turned to me. Even the chanting stopped, like the world was holding its breath.

"Ngiyaxolisa ukuthi angizange ngikucele imvume. Kodwa lezi zinkomo..." I swallowed hard, tears stinging. "Azizange zithunyelwe nje. Zithunyelwe ngoba sengiphukile."
(I'm sorry I didn't ask your permission. But these cows... they weren't sent just like that. They were sent because I'm broken.)

The silence that followed could have shattered me.

Baba took a slow step forward. "Usho ukuthini?"
(What do you mean?)

I met his fierce gaze, voice cracking beneath the weight of my confession.

"Angiseyona intombi, Baba."
(I'm no longer a virgin, Baba.)

Women gasped around me.

One aunt dropped her cloth in shock.

Baba's mouth opened, but no words came.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Things happen in this world — mistakes... but—" my tears overflowed. "Ngiyamthanda."
(I love him.)

His silence grew heavier than any insult.

"I couldn't keep lying. You raised me with dignity. You deserve the truth."

Finally, his voice broke through the quiet, hoarse and raw.

"Ngubani lo mfana?"
(Who is this boy?)

I whispered the name that had echoed through my heart for months:

"...Katlego Moeketsi."

His hand dropped slowly to his side.

I added softly, my voice steady with the promise of what was to come:

"He's ready. He wants to do this right."

.........................