Short Writings from Bulawayo II , livre ebook

Short Writings
from
Bulawayo
II
Edited by Jane Morris
‘amaBooks
ISBN 0-7974-2896-8 ISBN 978-0-7974-4499-7
© This collection: ‘amaBooks, 2005
© Each contribution remains the copyright of the author
Published by ‘amaBooks P.O. Box AC 1066, Ascot, Bulawayo email: amabooks@gatorzw.com
Printed by Automation Business Forms, Bulawayo
Cover painting: ‘Two Fat’ by Bekezela Mlilo
( bekezelamlilo@yahoo.com )
‘amaBooks would like to express their thanks to the Zimbabwe Culture Fund Trust and HIVOS for making this publication possible.
Crossing the Divide, by Derek Huggins, was previously published in his collection Stained Earth, Weaver Press, 2004.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Contents
Everything is Gonna Be All Right
Mzana Mthimkhulu
It’s His Who Wakes the Hare
Christopher Mlalazi
My Dustbin
John Eppel
Whirlwinds
Farai Mpofu
Bathing with Tadpoles
Judy Maposa
Something about Tea
Bryony Rheam
The Coming
Godfrey M. Sibanda
Past State House
Tawanda Chipato
Crossing the Divide
Derek Huggins
The Photo
Mathew Chokuwenga
Full Circle
Catherine Buckle
Illuminating Flames
Pathisa Nyathi
Rosewater
John Eppel
City Insomnia
Tinashe Mushakavanhu
Between Two Men
Addelis Sibutha
Our ‘Notre Dame’
Deon Marcus
The Seekers
Bhekilizwe Dube
The Girl with the Stolen Virginity
Mathew Chokuwenga
2084
Wim Boswinkel
The Messenger’s Finger
John S. Read
My Meat!
Christopher Mlalazi
Amainini Wendy
Tinashe Mushakavanhu
My Hood
Mthandazo Mahlangu - Mhlanga
One for the Road
Godfrey M. Sibanda
Hope
Tawanda Chipato
I’ll Fly Away
Farai Mpofu
The Baboon
Anne Simone Hutton
The Anthill
Gertrude Nyakutse
Contributors
Everything is Gonna Be All Right
Mzana Mthimkhulu
For a man whose wife we had buried two hours earlier, Mpala was too energetic for my liking.
He emerged from the four-roomed house with the air of a conquering army general about to inspect his troops. The heavy trench coat from his police days did not seem to weigh him down. He quickly got down the three steps and started shaking hands with the mourners. Although I could not hear his words, I could tell that he was thanking the mourners for coming.
“Come on Majaha,” naka Zandile, my cousin-sister nudged me. The two of us were sitting on a bench by the gate. “Get up and meet your son-in-law half way.”
“I am now overall father of the extended family,” I reminded her. “So do not order me around.”
“As long as I am four years older than you I will order you around. Besides, with aunt naka Thandiwe now gone, I am the oldest surviving member of the Ndlovu family. I can order all of you around. Now, stand up and offer Mpala our family’s condolences.”
I gulped down what was left of my coke, stood up and walked towards Mpala.
Mpala’s broad clean-shaven face was calm. “Son-in-law,” I murmured as we shook hands, “our families have suffered a major loss.”
He winced, as though fresh arrows had pierced him. “How true, baba Ndlovu, how true. Your daughter was the best wife a man could ever wish for. I suppose it was the inevitable outcome of an impeccable upbringing.” I smiled to acknowledge the accolade.
Suddenly he covered his face with his hands and broke down in tears. He was at least a foot taller than me so my attempt to put my arm around his broad shoulders was not a success. I felt awkward trying to comfort a man who at fifty-five was ten years older than me.
“Hush, son-in-law,” I said softly. “Everything is gonna be all right.”
“Do you think so?” Mpala asked, as he tried to wipe the tears from his eyes. His sad face pleaded for assurance. “Do you really think everything will be all right?”
“Oh yes,” I said, injecting in my voice a confidence I did not feel.
“If you think so, then it must be so,” Mpala smiled. In an instant he seemed reassured and happy. “Before you leave, our family would like to speak to yours on an important matter. How about you coming to see us in twenty minutes?”
“Sure,” I nodded. He turned round and walked back to the house.

I quickly gathered members of my extended family to prepare for the meeting. By default, I was now the family head. Our eldest brother had ten years earlier emigrated to the United Kingdom. The second oldest brother had been killed in a car accident three years back. Our fathers were now all late. So here I was, the guiding light of our family affairs.
The family members gathered in a semi circle with naka Zandile and myself facing them.
“I have no idea why the Mpalas want to meet us,” I told them, “but I think it is a good idea that we first...”
“I know what they want,” naka Zandile cut in. “They intend to ask for a ripe girl from the family to replace our aunt and be Mpala’s wife. Majaha, you must have noticed the way Mpala was delighted when you assured him that everything was going to be all right? This was because such an important assurance was coming from the most senior male member of the family.”
“But I was just repeating a line from a Bob Marley’s No Woman No Cry,” I protested. “I am in no position to wave some magical wand and solve Mpala’s problem.”
“Yet you went on to offer him a wife?” Siphiwe, my twenty-four year old sister chided me. She was evidently enjoying her first involvement in an adults’ discussion. I clicked my tongue in annoyance. There was laughter at my unhappiness with the way the meeting was going.
“Look people,” I cut through the laughter. “You all know that I am against these backward tribal practices.