Introduction

The cross-eyed old witch deflected to the window. She strode to see the bawling that was happening outside her property. She saw abundance of people assembled outside the gate. Alight firewoods and armaments dancing in the air.

A wrathful community was adequated by the wickedness. The hamlet of Mqanqala had suffered torture and death for many years by her black magic. Now that the culprit had been revealed, the people were adrenalined to make her face the consequences of her actions.

The witch turned to a huge array of bottles. All stuffed with seeds, crops, oil and blood. She was aware that death had finally caught up with her, but one of those bottles was to revive her spirit. Death wasn't nearly to be the barrier of immortility. One of the bottles with a seed cupped under her arm another with blood clutched in her hand as she opened the door and strode out of her crude hut. The barbed wire gate wasn't powerful enough to keep the backlashed people at bay for much longer.

Behind a two-room brick house, where the witch's daughter and her granddaughter were apprehended indoors, she commenced to dig up sufficient cavity to plant the seed. As soon as she was done, she churned the blood in the other bottle with her index finger. She poured it all in the hole before planting the seed.

It would be a matter of patience for a couple of years for her spirit to live once again.

The witch strode back to her hut, where she'd be ready for her fate; she saw her family standing outside the door of the house. A little girl who was between 6-8 years hid under her mother's arms. Frightened of the people who were close to invade their home.

"Take the child back to the house and lock the door" said the witch, commanding with her indolent voice.

The daughter took her child back into the house when she saw her mother locking herself inside the hut. She left the door ajar the time she saw the people finally breaking down the gate. She stepped outside to approach them. They were chunting violently carrying armaments: Machetes and Axes. Demanding the witch to reveal herself.

The daughter courageously tried to calm the people down. She believed she could deceive them about a different culprit that didn't exist. Sadly, all evidence pointed to her mother. The witch who'd tortured and killed people with her black magic. The daughter was eventually threatened if she didn't step aside, her failure to deceive them had further caused the bloodthirst in their throats.

With the witch failing to come out from the hut, the alight firewood were chucked on the grass roof; It wasn't long for the hut to set ablaze.

After the tragic death of the witch, her family continued to survive, becoming accustomed to the life without Gogo.

The hut was demolished and the house was extended with another two rooms. Although the daughter died out of an acute illness years later, living her child who was now a mother of a six year old. A first male child to exist in the Dumakude bloodline. It had been females after females for decades.

The boy grew up well-mannered and amiable. The seed behind the house had grown rabidly to an aloe tree. The tree didn't produce any fruit or medicine so the boy cut it down, seeing it useless without a purpose.

When the boy turned turned eighteen, her mother had another child. A girl. The time she turned six, their mother died. She was an alcoholic abusing alcohol every single day of her life. Highly intoxication finally taking her last breath. She left a huge responsibility to her son, to raise his only sibling and the last Dumakude bloodline.

The new responsibility that had surfaced into the boy's life, had made him forget about the tree that was growing again behind the house.