“You’re thinking again, Bhutiza,” a soft voice called out. It was Mama Nomvula, leaning against the doorframe of her rondavel.
As the stars began to flicker, Bhutiza didn't look at the road to the city anymore. He looked at the garden he was going to plant tomorrow. Bhutiza
“I’m just wondering if the soil remembers me as much as I remember it,” he replied, wiping grease from his hands. “You’re thinking again, Bhutiza,” a soft voice called
Mama Nomvula walked up to him, handing him a cup of the fresh water. “You look for the city to find your greatness, Bhutiza, but you brought the river to us.” He looked at the garden he was going to plant tomorrow
In that moment, the title "Bhutiza" felt heavier and humbler than ever before. He realized he wasn't the one who stayed behind; he was the one who held the ground. He didn't need the city to be a big man; he just needed his people, his tools, and the dirt under his fingernails.