12/05/2026
Ngiyinja Emnyama, Ezikhotha Amanxeba
I was once bitten by the neighbour’s dog on my right leg. BOTH my parents rushed me to the hospital. I still remember being sedated, watching the doctor stitch the wound while fear and confusion fought inside me. After treatment, I was sent home with medication and instructions on how to nurse the injury.
But here is where the story becomes interesting.
Every time my mother cleaned and dressed the wound, she would carefully place dog fur over it before wrapping it with a bandage. Curious, I asked her why.
She replied:
“Ukuze ungaphinde ulunywe inja futhi.”
(So that you will never be bitten by a dog again.)
At 15 years old, I did not question it much. I simply accepted her explanation.
Then, almost 30 years later, while scouting for herbs ehlathini, I stumbled upon the carcass of a dead dog. I stood there staring at the white bones, the decomposed flesh, the termites moving in and out, and the overpowering smell of rot. In that moment, an idea entered my consciousness.
I selected a few bones, placed them in my rugsack, and continued with my herbal excursion.
Curing those bones was a mission and a half. I washed them with detergents, soap, pine gel, and Jik, but the smell of the dog never completely disappeared. At one point, I even sprayed them with perfume from time to time. Eventually, I succeeded.
Then the real work began.
One set of bones I stuffed with imithi yokulwa. Another bone — which later became my favourite — I prepared differently. I placed a R20 note down, stuffed it with imithi emhlophe and imithi yodonsa, rolled it like intsangu, and inserted that herbal zol into the bone itself. Between the bones, I placed pieces of Vuka Wekhambi.
I then weaved them into a necklace and wore them around my neck.
That is when I started noticing strange things.
Some people would become unsettled, shaken, or uncomfortable in my presence. That is when I knew they were reacting to the fighting or defensive bone.
Then there were others who, immediately upon meeting me, would ask:
“Ngihlola ngamalini?” “Uhlala kuphi?”
That is when I knew they were being affected by the bone with imithi emhlophe.
Every now and then, I would pour holy oil over the bones to revive the herbs from drying out.
Sometimes these things arrive disguised as ideas, when in truth they are subtle ancestral whispers.
Eventually, I began grating the dog bone into the umbhemiso I would snort. Suddenly, I found myself breathing heavily and sharply, almost instinctively.
Then it hit me.
Perhaps it was always there.
The very same dog whose fur was placed over my wound as a child… now symbolically runs through my veins through the umbhemiso. How could I not eventually become umgodoyi?
Inja notices the weather changing long before human beings do. A dog can sense rain before we even realise the sky has shifted.
Inja inukelwa from a distance.
Sometimes abantu bangene ngesango, and suddenly the dog barks uncontrollably, filled with anger as though it wants to attack them. As the owner, one begins to wonder:
“Uphethe imithi emibi?” “Noma uhamba nezilwane?”
But the greatest value I place on a dog is this:
A dog is willing to give up its own life so that a family member may live.
There are moments when death hangs over a household, when a life must be claimed. Elders say amadlozi can redirect that spirit of death and place it onto the dog instead. Suddenly your pet becomes quiet, weak, or passes away.
That sacrifice is priceless.
Ngiyinja emnyama, Ezikhotha amanxeba.
