Three weeks later, expensive vehicles rolled into the district.
The foreign investors had arrived.
The villagers watched as helicopters landed near the hills.
Men in suits toured the land, taking photographs and discussing future developments.
Rumors spread quickly.
Luxury lodges.
Private farms.
Holiday estates.
Exclusive communities.
Projects worth millions.
Not a single plan included the people already living there.
That evening, one of the investors visited the village.
His name was Richard Foster.
He stood before the community and smiled confidently.
"We are bringing development."
Nobody responded.
"We will create jobs."
Still silence.
"We will build roads and modern facilities."
An elderly woman stood.
She was Nandi's daughter, Miriam.
"And where will we live?"
The investor hesitated.
"Alternative accommodation will be provided."
"Where?"
No answer.
Another villager stood.
"Will our ancestors be moved from their graves?"
The man's smile disappeared.
The meeting ended in anger.
As the vehicles drove away, Chola looked toward the setting sun.
"They don't see us as people."
Thandiwe nodded.
"They only see the land."