Cry, the Beloved Country
The day was warm, and the smell strong in the carriage. But Kumalo was a humble man, and did not much care. They saw his clerical collar, and moved up to make room for the umfundisi. He looked around, hoping there might be someone with whom he could talk, but there was no one who appeared of that class. He turned to the window to say farewell to his friend.
— Why did Sibeko not come to me himself? he asked.
— He was afraid, umfundisi. He is not of our church.
— Is he not of our people? Can a man in trouble go only to those of his church?
— I shall tell him, umfundisi. (1.3.18-23)
— I have a place for you to sleep, my friend, in the house of an old woman, a Mrs. Lithebe, who is a good member of our church. She is an Msutu, but she speaks Zulu well. She will think it an honour to have a priest in the house. (1.5.1)
They went into a room where a table was laid, and there he met many priests, both white and black, and they sat down after grace and ate together. He was a bit nervous of the many plates and knives and forks, but watched what the others did, and used the things likewise. (1.5.3)