Tuesday, November 27, 2018

A victory for myself


“Let me explain everything that is taking place here Chihoro. Maybe this is not the culture of your people therefore you might be wondering why we are doing this.”
This was tete Marwei, my father in-law’s sister speaking irritatingly into my ear as we sat under the Mango tree that afternoon in my in-law’s yard. I had to muster all the patience I could to avoid shoving her away.
“In our culture, when a man passes on, the responsibility of his family’s welfare falls on his people. The wife and the children must never be in a situation of need. That is why one of his brothers must marry the surviving widow.
“But our elders were careful in their approach not to impose a man on the widow in order to protect her happiness, hence this cultural rite that we are performing today. You will be given an opportunity to select a husband of your liking who will care for you and the young children. I really want to believe you have been thinking about this for long enough to decide who your next husband will be.”
I could hear her words even though I was not paying attention. My ears could not close, but my heart could. I was analyzing the situation from my own point of view as I watched my prospective husbands arriving for the ceremony.
My husband of fifteen years Petros had died of cerebral malaria more than a year ago, and according to my in-laws, the mourning period was over and life had to move on. However it was them who were supposed to have a hand in how the future unfolded.
First to arrive was Petros’s elder brother Howard, leading his wife, children and friends. He looked very jovial in the checked jacket and an equally matching cap, clothes that I was sure he had borrowed from one of his friends, knowing very well his stinking poverty could not allow him to afford such luxury. Someone had made a poor attempt at grooming him because he held a small walking stick which was supposed to give him some aura of prominence.
Despite his poverty, he had a chain of children with his wife; everyone had stopped sympathizing with his family. It was astounding that they continued siring more children regardless of the fact they could not afford sending them to school, let alone feed them. His family was known for their begging bowl; hardly a day would pass without a child being dispatched to ask for mealie-meal, sugar, salt or even matches.
Of late he had been paying me discreet visits to seek my hand in marriage. “Mainini our elders say a single finger cannot crush lice. If you marry me we will succeed in raising the status of our clan. I’m the best man for you.”
His greatest joke was on his last visit when he made me laugh with pity. “I had a dream last night mainini. Behold we were herding cattle in the forest with my brother as little boys. My brother heard our grandfather calling his name, and he pleaded with me that I should take care of his cattle while he rushed to where he was wanted. I suddenly woke up. You know what that dream means mainini? It means he wants me to inherit his family because I can make you happy.”
I wondered how he was going to achieve that when his own wife was a hermit of paucity in the whole clan.
Hot on his heels was Pritchard, the most hopeless insolent drunkard of all time. All people had given up on him; it seems they looked forward to the day when he would drink himself to death. He was renowned for travelling long distances in search of free beer, it was his lifeline. He lived for nothing else other than alcohol. As a result his family lived in perpetual poverty, because even the little that his hard working wife earned from working in other people’s fields disappeared in his drinking escapades.
Although he was not inebriated on this particular day, it was clear from his mannerisms that he had taken some liquor on his way to this place. He vainly attempted to hide the wobble in his step.
I wonder where he left his family because he was by himself, conspicuous by his tattered dirty clothes from afar. Maybe he slept at some drinking place as he usually did. When he saw me, he stopped suddenly, smiled conspiratorially and walked away struggling to maintain his balance.
Lord have mercy, I whispered to myself at the same time as tete Marwei mumbled something about ignoring the lazy fool.
After some time, my third brother in-law Alois arrived, and I shook my head in sorrow as he took his place next to my other potential husbands seated on goat skin mats. Here is a man who had made it clear to the whole clan that he was the heir apparent to my husband’s homestead. For reasons known to himself, he moved around telling all people that come Saturday, he would be moving his family to his brother’s homestead to take over as the head of the new big united family.
This was coming from a man who was already battling to manage a polygamous family, with children more numerous than a football team. His two wives were also reported to be in favour of that arrangement, and sympathisers had informed me they had begun preparations to invade my homestead. I could not believe the confidence and the nerve characterizing such behavior.
“Chihoro, are you listening?”tete Marwei raised her voice slightly.
“Am listening tete, continue,” in truth I had totally forgotten there was someone speaking next to me.
“That is good mzukuru. I really mean what I say. You are such a well nurtured child, you have to take my advice seriously.”
As she was busy babbling, Petros’s last brother Chemist walked slowly from the gate towards his elder brothers who were gathered in the centre of the yard. My husband had told me this one had got this particular name because their father who sat among a group of elders leading the ritual, had got a job as a janitor in a chemist in town, on the day he was born.
His left eye had begun to heal, even though it was clear to everyone who saw him that a powerful fist had landed dangerously on his face. Chemist was a parody of the whole clan; it was surprising to see him unashamedly attending this function, after a severe fight with their cousin Twoboy.
The bone of contention was that Twoboy had demanded to join the parade as my potential husband because he was my husband’s brother as well, that is, according to their culture. He was the son of my father in-law’s brother, meaning they were all brothers. Chemist had however argued that this ceremony was reserved for the immediate family only. The argument had got so heated it degenerated into a fierce fist fight, leaving Chemist with a swollen eye.
Ever since the idea of staging this inheritance ceremony was mooted, Chemist’s wife had stopped paying me her usual visits, obviously fearing that I might dislodge her from her husband’s heart. That is why she had not accompanied him to this gathering.
I smiled to myself at the thought that two idiots had fought for a woman who was never theirs. But that light moment evanescently melted as horror struck at the entrance of this homestead.
Twoboy was announcing his arrival salutations. Twoboy? Twoboy was defying everyone. I couldn’t believe him as he pulled up his trousers at the waist, at the same time removing his straw hat that he clutched under his armpit and clapped hands in greetings.
Chemist gave him such an angry look, one of the elders had to alter their sitting arrangement. I feared another fight would erupt, but the intervention of the elder seemed to calm the situation.
So Twoboy wanted to inherit me as his wife? Really? Twoboy my dear? Are you serious? What happened to your first wife, how did she die? What is the ailment that claimed her life? And your second wife, how did she die as well? Why are your wives dying? Is it an act of sorcery as you claim? And your third wife? She is ill, what’s afflicting her? Her baby died immediately after birth, and she has never recovered. And according to your warped intelligence, I am supposed to join the queue? This is a joke at best, and an insult at worst.
I looked at the men lining up to get my hand in marriage and thought of my husband and the homestead we had built. Out of the whole clan, Petros is the only one who had worked hard enough to build a modern house with running water powered by solar electricity. It was not easy to build that house, but at the end we were glad we had done so. We had a big garden that supplied the whole village with green vegetables throughout the year. Recently I had begun selling some to nurses at the local clinic, and teachers at a nearby school.
The rains were becoming erratic but we managed to harvest enough to feed ourselves and spare some grain for the lazybones in my husband’s clan.
Our eldest son Indra had begun his secondary education immediately after his father’s death. The other two girls were still in primary school. For the whole year I had managed to send all of them to school without any problems using the meager earnings from our garden. I never borrowed from anyone to meet my expenses.
I had plans to plough our bigger fields during the rainy season, hoping that if we got enough rains I would sell some of the surplus grain to raise cash for my family needs.
Throughout the mourning period, none of my brother in-laws ever chipped in with assistance of any sort. They never bothered to check how the children, who culturally belonged to their clan, fared. It was clear they were just interested in taking over the house that we built with our own sweat.
I saw the elders bring Indra, and they made him seat next to his uncles. My heart felt pain at the sight of my son looking naïve and confused at the events. Of late he had started playing football and his teachers said he reminded them of Madinda the famous dribbling wizard. What made his situation sad though was that he had no football boots, always playing barefooted, and he always pestered me to buy him some. I was determined to save enough to buy him his own pair. Yet none of his uncles bothered to assist him in any way other than boasting that he resembled their great grandfather.
“Excuse me please!” the spokesman of the elders officially kick started the event. The whole assembly joined him in clapping with cupped hands as he addressed the senior elders of the elephant clan.
“Please don’t let me down mzukuru,” tete Marwei pleaded with me in my ear and I moved my head slightly to reduce the irritation.
The elder who had opened the process left the floor to my father in-law’s senior uncle.
“Our people. The death of our son Petros was a great loss to the clan because he died young, leaving behind a family that must be taken care of. According to our cultural customs, one of his surviving brothers must take over the responsibility of caring for the family. This is an age old custom meant to safeguard the interests of the widow and the orphans. In our culture there can never be orphans when the clan is still surviving, and there can be no widows either.
“Our muroora is still young and therefore will be given an opportunity to select her own husband who will provide her with conjugal rights and also fend for the children. Obviously she is a woman and consequently she needs a man in her life.
“This is not new to anyone. Even in the Bible, before Abraham was taken to heaven in a chariot of fire, he commanded the children of Israel that if a man died, his brother was supposed to take that wife and raise children for his deceased sibling.”
I turned around and looked at him in horror at such blasphemy and misinformation.
“Our esteemed aunt Marwei has obviously done her duty to teach her how this custom will be conducted. So we expect to have a smooth process.”
Ululations, whistling and handclapping punctuated this address. There was a big crowd made up of clan members and neighbours that had come to witness a new marriage taking place.
The uncle continued. “Vatete Marwei can you give muroora the dish and the sticks so she can select her new husband.”
Tete Marwei didn’t need to move as two ladies brought the metal dish full of water and two fighting sticks, which they placed in front of me.
“Remember what I said mzukuru. Don’t let that man down; he is the right husband for you. He will sire many more children with you.”
My prospective husbands sat in a semi-circle, with my son Indra at the edge. According to this custom, I was supposed to take the dish and the sticks to a man whom I had chosen as my new husband. If however I did not wish to remarry, I was supposed to hand over the dish to my son as a way of acknowledging that he is taking over as the new head of his father’s family. That is why Indra sat at the end of the semi-circle.
But I took the dish and sticks amid ululations from the crowd, and headed straight to my son’s side, walking slowly as I approached him. I felt the sudden silence with ears and saw the stunned faces with my chameleon eyes.
I came to my son and looked at his innocent face and walked slowly past him, approaching his uncle Howard who opened his eyes as he anticipated a handover of the dish. I however looked him in the eyes and moved past him to Twoboy the cousin from the extended family. He maintained a pale face, even though his body language spoke of his readiness to accept the dish. I quickly advanced towards Prichard who smiled like an intoxicated lunatic, unashamedly extending his hands towards me, almost touching the edges of the dish. I swiftly pulled the dish away from him and moved to the next person, Alois the self-assurant bigamist who had made preparations to move into my home. His eyes brimmed with buoyancy like a conman trying to swindle an ignorant person of their hard earned cash. I didn’t have time for him as I dashed past him as well.
I almost burst out in laughter as I approached Chemist whose swollen eye struggled to blink. I thought I saw some spittle drooling from his agape mouth, as he couldn’t believe his luck. He was literally trembling with joy. Bloody fool, I cursed in my heart as I strolled past him and turned back to face the elders who sat several metres away from my aspiring husbands.
I raised my head and looked at them. They were frozen in shocked silence. They stared at me as if I was a naked witch caught practicing my trade in broad daylight. I saw the conservative atmosphere solidify at the unexpected turn of events, it was so rigid for a moment I thought it would attack me. But I was ready; I had made up my mind.
My hands were trembling as I struggled to raise the water dish. It was a combination of anger and resoluteness that kept me upright. I moved one step towards the elders and the crowds, and threw all the water in their direction. People were caught off guard such that those at the front had to move back abruptly to avoid being splashed by water mixed with sand. I threw the empty dish away, took the fighting sticks, and hurled them towards the bemused crowd and walked back to my sitting position.
The commotion that followed my outburst could not be cooled down like a plate full of a baby’s porridge. The flare-up was a volcano of archaic old-fashioned cultural beliefs, caught in a storm of provoked anachronism.
The situation turned topsy turvey and suddenly everyone was up on their feet jostling all over the place like headless chickens. It was all about my unprecedented behavior, the anti-climax to a usually routine process. Nobody could have predicted this turn of events, and it was difficult to stomach.
Mzukuru what kind of bad omen are you bringing on us? Are you crazy?” tete Marwei fumed where we sat.
“No tete I’m not crazy,” I snapped back.
“Then how do you explain your outrageous behavior?”
“This is my choice!”
“Your choice? What kind of choice is this?”
“I don’t want to get married anymore. That’s what I’m expressing here.”
“You had a way of expressing your choice within our norms. That is why Indra sat there with his uncles. If you didn’t want to get married you could have given him the dish!”
“That is your way tete! I had to use my way to express myself. Why was my son sitting there? Do you think I can ask my own child to be head over my family? No matter how much he will succeed in life, he will always be my child. I refuse to give him a position above myself.”
“And who will be the father to that son of yours?”
“Who has been his father ever since Petros died? Who has been feeding him? Who has been paying for his fees? How much have they contributed to my children’s welfare?”
“Do you know that in our culture we can send you back to your family of origin?”
Tete I came to this family of my own volition. My parents never chased me away. If ever you are going to do anything, just do it now please! Who says I need a man to fend for myself and children? Can’t I make it in life as a woman?”
Her lower lip dropped in shock. She froze on her mat without a word to say. I left her in that state as I walked past hordes of people who moved off my way as if they feared I would harm them.
On my way home, I felt a relief, a sense of victory at rebelling against an antiquated customary rite. It was a victory for myself, a victory for women who had faced similar circumstances, a victory for Alois’s two wives caught in a situation they thought was normal for women, a victory for Twoboy’s chain of wives, both living and dead, and a victory for Chemist’s wife who had boycotted this nonsense draped up in a deceiving package called culture.
By throwing the water in the direction of the elders, I felt I was sending back their backward tradition which has no place in a civilized world. I felt I was shattering the stubborn attitude that serves to oppress women and keep them in a lower position in society. I was breaking new grounds for women.
I expected the elders of the clan to come and evict me from my homestead, but they did not. Instead they chose to ostracise me and I was not moved. If they expected me to crack at some point, then they were mistaken, because I was determined to prove them wrong as a woman.

                                                                                                                      Copyright 2018

Thursday, August 26, 2010

The Ngoma Lungundu

Areka! Areka! Areka!
The voice of the seer boomed,
From the summit of Mount Inyanga,
And smoke thundered
And the land shuddered
And lightning struck everyone into silence!

The Ngoma Lungundu has been found,
To remind people they are the forgotten children of Abraham,
Their cries have reached unto the heavens,
And the gods have sent the Ngoma Lungundu to inform them,
Their rainless decade and strife rife period is over,
Egypt is moving away and the New Canaan is on its way.

But the people have stopped believing in the gods,
Because no prophet has been found among them,
To go between them and their gods,
And they believe they are the cursed black children of Ham,
Who dared peep into his father’s nakedness,
And was destined to save as a slave,
His brothers Sham and Japheth.

The people had therefore made their own ark of the covenant,
And aptly named it the GPA,
The Government of Pirates and Associates.

But the seer told them Egypt was going away,
And Canaan was on its way,
Their manna will fall
Because the Ngoma Lungundu had been discovered,
Among the Great Zimbabwe ruins,
Their own version of Jerusalem,
Whose walls had not fallen like that of their ancestors.

But their manna was already here,
Right at the foot of the great Mount Inyanga,
On the small hills and valleys called Chiadzwa and Marange,
And everyone wondered at this type of manna,
Which instead of teeming from the sky,
Oozes from the ground like water.

And they have gone on to make their own ark of the covenant,
Aptly named GPA,
The Global Pillaging Association,
Because the gods had forgotten about them,
As they were the children of Ishmael and not Isaac.

But the seer spoke of the Ngoma Lungundu,
A reminder of the love of the gods
And the new ark of the covenant
For those chosen to live in the New Canaan
The new GPA,
God Provides for All.

Areka! Areka! Areka!
And the land reverberated,
At the voice of the seer,
Sounding the Ngoma Lungundu.

                                                                                                 Takawira Dururu Ringisai
                                                                                                 26.08.10 ©

Monday, April 12, 2010

The pain of a broken heart

It seemed secure on top of the hill,

Glaring to the world’s view.

Then the earth shook,

And the hill staggered,

And it gave in to the tremor,

Rolled down the rocky slope,

Surviving the smashes against the boulders and flying pebbles,

Until it crashed instantaneously against a protruding rock

And shattered into irreconcilable fragments that flew with the raging winds,

Leaving the well known ache.

I feel the pain,

Stinging like vinegar on a fresh wound,

Scorching the heart with negative emotion,

Drenching the mind with scarring memories of regret,

I try to focus my mind on something else,

To think of previous happy moments in my life,

But the pain stares right in my face,

And I have no choice but to face it.



                                                                                                      Takawira Dururu Ringisai

                                                                                                       03.12.09
                                                                                                       Zbc newsroom

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

TO MY LOVE IN JOHANNESBURG

In the midst of the skyscraper jungle
Harbouring the human flora and fauna,
Of this rainbow nation,
The well in which all Africa quenches their thirsty,
Lies the one whom I love,
The one whom I need,
The one whom I adore,
The one whom I cherish.

Kelebokgile! My cyberspace lover.
Separated over a distance of a thousand kilometers,
Yet kept in touch through the click of a mouse,
Through sms
Through phone calls.

Do you recall the time when we first fell in love beautiful one?
My cellphone battery fell flat as we spoke and texted endlessly,
I walked all the way home when my bus fare was squandered in the internet café,
All was worth the expense,
After all love is like marijuana, it drives its victims into lunacy.

All my inboxes are brimming with your messages
Your e-mails surpass junk mail
Your text messages exhausted all the memory space in my phone
If the world could read all these
Love will earn a new name.

All your messages refreshed my spirit,
Rekindled my hopes,
Rejuvenated my energy
Renewed my inner being, and
Revived my life

I basked in your splendor,
Drowned in the deep end of the pool of your love,
Overwhelmed by your domination despite the distance.
I spoke to myself in broad daylight
Laughed by myself in solitude
And smiled in my dreams
Only love can turn the heart of a man topsy turvy.

I waited patiently for the day when we were to meet,
To hold you in my arms
To walk with you in the rain
To count the stars for you in the night
To kiss away all the pain of past disappointment
To make to love to you till dawn.

Alas, the day never came
The woman who stole my heart disappeared instantaneously
Like fire sparks in an African winter night
Like darkness at the appearance of light
Leaving me stunned like a champion losing to an amateur.

I am shocked by your disappearance
Too shocked to utter a word
Silent!
Bemused!
Traumatized!
Taken aback!

Why?
Why my sweetness?
Why my love?

Whence gone thou love my cherry?
Your love as sweet as the sun in winter
Your love as beautiful as your face on Facebook
Facebook that gave birth to our love
Facebook that brought two distant souls into a cyber love nest

You babe?
You who claimed to be older than your age
You who claimed men know not what they need in life
You who promised never to desert me
Saying I am the Prince succeeding the toads?

Has Johannesburg ingested you up in its myriad of social creeks and crevices?
Or maybe elevated you high up in the rain forest of its skyscrapers?
Whence you no longer feel the need of love?
Whence you no longer love as you used to?
Johannesburg can be nice,
Johannesburg can be nasty,
Johannesburg is like the internet
You can get anything you need

I found love in Johannesburg,
Using the internet,
I enjoyed love
Tucked far away in the City of Gold

I do read your e-mails, yours sms’s
And they still sound sweet,
As sweet as the very first time I read them
They have proved a good source of comfort

I still love my dear
I still care
I still need your love babe

When you read this ode my love
When you reflect, and
When you think about this
Always know, and always put it in your mind,
The megabyte space in my heart is for you.

Takawira Dururu Ringisai
26.10.09 6-10pm
Hatley Court
© 2009

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

anthology complete

hello guys

i have finally managed to complete my second anthology entitled "The Whirlwind and other stories." am going through the editing process and then will have to face the rigorous task of seeking for a publisher. i did a survey of publishers at the just ended Zimbabwe Book Fair and most said they are interested in stuff with prospects of becoming a setbook, or something that is current. well, i say in that case my book will face a problem in getting a publisher, but i won't give up till i see it in print. enjoy the precerpts below.

a swim across river Tshangani

I listened to Teacher Mafu’s narration to my father with intent. His voice sounded melodic and his story exceptionally heroic. My father maintained a stunned silence, permeated by sporadic interruptions, murmurs of amazement and rhetoric incredulity, as his friend excitedly related his awesome feat across the famous river Tshangani. None of what he said missed my ears as I sat cautiously behind the door, while the respected mentor rumbled on about his seemingly inimitable escapade.
“So the river currents washed me all the way from the rock down to the confluence, but I did not drown because I survived on the oxygen stored in my plastic covering. At the plains the river had lost most of its power, therefore I managed to swim with ease to the other side.”
And so it was, that having been impressed by Teacher Mafu’s achievement, I decided to embark on the same experience, so as to boast to my peers about my incredible exploits, as our teacher had done to my father.

theft in 1955

As soon as all the boys were sure they were safe in the small area that served as the secret edale under short crowded bushes, Born Lokitshi then began explaining his purpose.
“Bafana I do believe all of you have balls of steel”, he said sounding as one seeking an assurance than an answer.
The wide eyed anxious boys gave him impatient murmurs of assurance, obviously wanting their town hero to hit the nail on the head.
Their hero gave them a minute’s scan as if trying to locate a weakling, then proceeded with his talk after feeling assured that his colleagues were ‘amadoda sibili’.
“I am here to give you a taste of what town life is all about. Each time that I relate accounts of what takes place in town, you always argue that I am telling lies to impress you. Well, I’ll have to admit that at times I do lie to scare the daylights out of you especially that story about cars moving on the doorsteps in locations, that is not true.”
He paused to study the boys again, some of whom felt relieved to learn that scary story was a fallacy after all, as it had left them with nothing but a phobia for the bright lights. The majority however were irritated by this pause, feeling they had no time for any other issue but this new revelation.
Born Lokitshi resumed in his baritone attention capturing voice.
“Today you shall taste the pleasant pleasures synonymous with the town dwellers,” with the boys expecting more words, Born Lokitshi simply pulled out a black plastic from under his shirt and threw it on the ground.
The boys almost leapt away in fear, scared by this strange looking thing, but remained squatting in their positions peering anxiously at the strange pack that contained their promised pleasure.
The town hero once again scanned his fans, before proceeding to open the pack, which revealed a thick wad of five pound notes.
The apprehension and fright that hit the boys in the woods made them feel naked and exposed. They were too shaken to ask any questions.
Nkosana was the first to break the subsequent silence.
“What is it?” his voice had a suppressed tremble.
“What is it?”Born Lokitshi repeated with plain dismay. “This is money,” he pronounced each word slowly but powerfully.

the strange visitor

Her laughter stopped immediately, interrupted by this accusation.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Exactly what my words say,” he sounded too serious for a joke, his face now taking a famous contortion.
“But how could you say that? Ask my family there, they will tell you how much beer I had reserved for you.”
“Why then did you call all those people to kill me if you are such a nice friend as you claim to be?”
The fear that hit her at hearing that accusation was as powerful as a surge of high voltage electricity. All her merry melted like a piece of ice thrown in a cup of hot water. So this is what he has been attempting to put across all along? What cheeky! Hard as it was to believe, it was true. She just couldn’t take it that the very snake that sent her scurrying out of the hut was standing before her right now, accusing her of inhospitality.
She had heard of such weird stories before, but not at once did she ever phantom that she will have a brush with characters of such horror.

what they never told us from the war

The headman quickly jumped to his feet, ready for any confrontation of any sort.
Cde Kruchev raised his AK 47 and released the safety lock, and the old man pulled up the sleeve of his right hand holding the short axe.
As soon as the guerrilla cocked his weapon, the headman swiftly swung his right arm with great might towards Cde Kruchev. The axe struck the guerrilla’s forehead as the hail of bullets perforated the old man’s belly like a rotting plastic paper. The two men stood face to face, mouths agape and eyes wide in horror, before they fell on their knees, stayed like that for a few seconds, before hitting the ground with their faces at the same time. Their blood flowed meanderingly like water from leaking hosepipes, and confluenced at the hearth, forming a pool, as if accepting that despite their differences in life, in death they were together.
The sound of gunfire caught everyone by surprise, the headman’s family and the guerrillas lurking behind the rocks on the periphery of the village. The subsequent screams from the girls in the big hut brought everyone in the homestead rushing to the big hut.

the whirlwind

I could feel the roaring wind outside through the two small triangular openings on the northern and southern walls of the hut, which let in dust like the exhaust pipe of a tractor. All of a sudden the roof the roof began to creak and shake heavily as if some force were pulling it up, dropping pieces of grass all over the room. Then the thatched cone gave in to the pull of the wind and up it disappeared into the cloud of dust spiraling skywards. Dust poured into the hut like rainwater.
In the next moment the door slammed hard against the left wall as if it was never locked and the wind rushed in like water overpowering a dam wall.
By now I was already cowering under my grandfather Khulu’s chair that seemed unmoved by the unnatural proceedings taking place, clutching its legs as if they were planted on that spot, my face buried in the ground in fear of the wind and dust.
What followed next has never been related to anyone except the one reading this account, for no one would have believed me, what with everyone calling me usomangase, for always daydreaming, and what with this event ending up so consequential. But it is true and must be believed.

shame upon the family

“When I wholeheartedly and innocently asked if we were now having road blocks like what they do in towns, the boys gazed at me as if they were looking at a snake. Their eyes spoke a hatred so astounding.
“ ‘What is wrong bafana bami?’ I asked sensing danger,
“The two boys looked at each other for a moment before returning their hateful gazes at me.
“ ‘Hey boys, will you let me pass?’ I demanded now realizing, this was no child play. It was the eldest who spoke first.
“Heyi wena mdala, do you know that you brought shame upon our family?”
‘What shame are you talking about?’
‘What shame are we talking about? Are you not the one who beat our father to a pulp in front of the whole village? Are you not the one who earned us a name of losers in Chief Siduna’s kingdom?’ It was the younger boy.
I couldn’t believe my ears. What the hell was happening here?
‘When was that?’ I asked with all ignorance.
‘Look at him. He isn’t even ashamed of himself, an old man like him.’ I will never forget the look of scorn on the eldest boy’s face as he repeated my question in an inaudible murmur. A tirade of questions followed.
‘Wasn’t it you who fought my father on your way from a beer drink when we were little boys?’
‘Didn’t you continue kicking our father as he lay prostrate on the ground?’
‘You were convinced we were young and therefore were not watching?’
‘You thought we would forget with time?’
‘I’m sorry m’dala, we had to live with the shame, and we can’t bear it anymore.’”

i killed my son

The next thing that happened took everyone by surprise. Garikai suddenly burst into an uncontrollable spasm of coughs, with thick saliva drooling from his mouth. The group of soldiers standing watch moved, but the one holding him beckoned them with a hand to stay put while pushing him in the line of smoke. As the cough spasms continued, Garikai of all of a sudden rose up with force to a sitting position. He coughed further with some force before opening his eyes wide, scanning the people around him.
Once again the other soldiers moved to assist him, but stopped in their tracks when he started speaking.
“I hope you have learnt a lesson Mai Garikai, an old woman like you ought to know what discipline of the mouth is all about,” the voice was very small like a child’s.
“You don’t just go around boasting about your son’s pension as if it’s your money. Now that we have taken all the money what are you going to do? Watch out next time. I’m gone.”
He coughed again before proceeding, this time in a very different voice, childish but very hoarse.
“What a cheeky woman you are Mai Garikai. You had the temerity to spend the whole day at the borehole, telling everyone who bothered to listen how your son was going to spend his pension. And to think you had to ask everyone whom you told to keep it as a secret. A secret? Why not keep that information to yourself if it’s a secret? Now watch what you have done to your son old woman? Learn to discipline yourself. I’m gone too.”

VaBudya

Positioning his warriors at the rear end of the column, Makate took the lead and commenced the retreat from the seething invaders. It was a painful experience to abandon his own home, the land that was his inheritance, fleeing a group of failures who had no link whatsoever with his heritage.
Meanwhile when VaBudya finally reached VaMakate’s kingdom drooling with vitriol, the sight of the tired smoking flames told a story of a thrown-in towel and a people full of pride, that preferred death to capitulation. That VaBudya had admitted defeat without a fight confirmed their strength had been crushed by Makate’s wife’s desertion. That the king employed a scorched earth policy in retaliation demonstrated his arrogance and a refusal to swallow his own pride.
Realizing there was no livestock or grain left, the very source of this antagonism, VaBudya decided to chase their enemies to the end, since it was clear VaMakate was a snake without a tail.
When they eventually caught up with their enemies, they were disappearing right on the summit of a mountain deep in the forest.
King Makate was holding a hoe in his right hand and facing his enemies battling the height of the mountain to reach their prey. This is the hoe he had used to strike and open the mountain’s fontanelle in which his people were disappearing like sand in a hole. People and livestock were all hurriedly infiltrating the ground as if the sky was about to crumble upon the earth.

Friday, April 17, 2009

my blogspot

hello guys

this is my new blogspot, i do hope to enjoy chatting with you.

regards

tk