Nthombi Faces the River

Nthombi Faces the River

Nthombi is only a child when she faces the river for the first time.

She is afraid, but wills herself to power through the fear, as her brothers do.

It’s almost a play-challenge, she is sick of the desert on this side of the water, and wishes to walk the paths that she can see only from afar, on the other bank.

She wades into the water hesitantly. A pebble, carried by the current, hits her ankle. She cries out, losing her footing.

She plunges right into the heart of the maelstrom. Boulders come at her from all sides, pounding her soft flesh and threatening to break her bones to splinters.

She screams and struggles and cries, until at last the savage current has had enough and finally disgorges her downstream, bruised and injured and sobbing in her failure.

She isn’t strong enough. She does not have the muscles of a swimmer, and her body is soft and plump, manifestly unsuited for the trial.

She vows that she will develop the necessary strength.

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The second time she faces the river, she is a woman grown but not yet old, slim and toned and ready for the challenge. Ready to explore the paths that await when she succeeds in conquering the river. She vows that the rocks will not touch her. She can move swiftly, lithe athletic body flowing like the current, around them.

If she is water, they cannot hurt her.

Boldly, she wades past the shallows and spreads her arms out in the deep current.

When a boulder comes at her, she dodges, quick as a fish. She dances, making sure to move with the current, balancing in three dimensions as she rolls with the rocks.

She has done it. She is water, and the boulders cannot touch her. Yet Nthombi is not a fish.

Every boulder that she dodges takes its toll. Every time she surfaces for air, she risks being hit. She dives deeper, trying to keep up with the dance even as her chest burns for air.

She can’t hold her breath that long. She tries to come up, but a boulder blocks her path. Her brain spins, and she gasps, involuntarily, for air.

The water fills her lungs, consuming, burning as agonizingly as flame. She fights to reach the surface, burning, choking, sobbing.

She washes up later in the same place as before, coughing up water and tears and phlegm, and gives up the dream of reaching the other side. She will never make it now.

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Nthombi faces the river for the third time. She stands for a while on the bank, staring over at the paths she never managed to reach in her youth.

Many others have crossed the river. They did it easily, laughing as they dodged the rocks. They wandered on the other side, leaving her behind.

Her skin has not hardened, and if anything her reflexes have only dulled with age. Her body is still feeble, such easily breakable bones and squishy meat. She is still afraid.

The only thing she has now, which she did not have then, is the sure knowledge that the river cannot be fought nor averted.

When she plunges headlong into the maelstrom, the boulders will pound her to pieces. The cruel current will have its way.

What remains to emerge at the other end of the rapids cannot be known. If anything remains to emerge at all, it may not be the person once known as Nthombi.

But the nagging torment of uncertainty is worse by far than the pain of the trial. On this side of the river is only the desert, the barren world that is known. On the other side, a multitude of paths. She cannot say where they will lead. But the river must be forded, unless she wishes to live forever in the desert.

She knows that now, and without hesitation, she leaps.

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