Everything changed on a Tuesday when the village’s main water pump gave its final, metallic wheeze. The nearest spring was a five-kilometer trek, a journey the elders couldn't make.
“You’re thinking again, Bhutiza,” a soft voice called out. It was Mama Nomvula, leaning against the doorframe of her rondavel. Bhutiza
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.” Everything changed on a Tuesday when the village’s