The Sun Rose in the East

He looked out of his clouded eyes at the faint steady lightening in the east. But he calmed himself, and took out the heavy maize cakes and the tea, and put them upon a stone. And he gave thanks, and broke the cakes and ate them, and drank of the tea. Then he gave himself over to deep and earnest prayer, and after each petition he raised his eyes and looked to the east. And the east lightened and lightened, till he knew that the time was not far off. And when he expected it, he rose to his feet and took off his hat and laid it down on the earth, and clasped his hands before him. And while he stood there the sun rose in the east.

Yes, it is the dawn that has come. The titihoya wakes from sleep, and goes about its work of forlorn crying. The sun tips with light the mountains of Ingeli and East Griqualand. The great valley of the Umzimkulu is still in darkness, but the light will come there. Ndotsheni is still in darkness, but the light will come there also. For it is dawn that has come, as it has for a thousand centuries, never failing. But when that dawn will come, of our emancipation, from the fear of bondage and the bondage of fear, why, that is a secret.

Cry, the Beloved Country p. 312

Light invaded darkness. Life despite death. Kumalo waited the resurrection of day as it would signify that death had finally come to the one he loved. Darkness and light. Light slowly emerging, kissing the tops of mountains and slowly and steadily filling the valleys—such a steady repetition that we hardly think on it. Such faithfulness. Such promise. And in that promise, that stage act of the final resurrection, we wait. For all is not right here. Death seems at times to win. Sorrow hounds us. Yet while we stand in the midst of death, the sun always rises in the east. 

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