But the competition judging day was nearing, and Peggy needed an outfit if her personal presentation was to match the effort she had put into making her home the creative expression of herself and her heritage that she intended it to be. Just as the frustration became unbearable, a message from Amadlozi, the ancestors, arrived with a clarity she could not deny, “Peggy, go to the forest”.

Mrs. Masuku rose quietly , not waking her husband and children sleeping peacefully beside her on grass mats, and opened the wooden door. She took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh scent of the Mango flowers in bloom. And trudged off into the darkness.

As dawn broke, and the first rays of light started climbing the rugged granite hills protruding from the valleys, Masuku walked alone, eyes to the ground. The object of her attention - seed pods from that grand and hardy shade tree of Africa - the Mopane. And lots of them - necessary to stitch into a regal outfit that will make her the talk of the ward.

“Everyone is an artist” says Masuku, “we just need to learn how to see”.

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