SH s

T E RIZO
School Edition

Stephen Mpofu

Zimlaiwe Plilis · In u,u ui1.

Zimbabwe Publishing House
183 Arcturus Rd
Kamfinsa, Greendale
Harare
Zimbabwe

Telephones:
+263 73 341 4139 +263 78 519 0618 +263 78 519 0615

© Stephen Mpofu 1984

First published by ZPH 1984

Published by ZPH 1996
Reprinted 2011
School Edition 2022

School edition edited by Teti Chigutsa

ISBN: 978-1-77901-875-5

All rights reserved. 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 written permission
of the publishers.

ii
 ZPH READERS
for secondary schools

1. Shadows on the Horizon Stephen Mpofu

2. I Will Wait Bertha Msora
3. Waiting for the Rain Charles Mungoshi
4. Coming of the D:ry Season Charles Mungoshi
5. Impilo Injalo Danisa Mkwananzi
6. Kunyarara Hakusi Kutaura? Charles Mungoshi
7. Um.zenzi Kakhalelwa Lena Mazibuko
8. Down Second Avenue Ezekiel Mphahlele
9. The Non-Believer's Journey Stanley Nyamfukudza
10. The Identity Card Jean-Marie Adiaffi
11.Zvai:rwadza Vasa:ra Gonzo H. Musengezi
12. Tongoona Raymond Choto
13. Kutongwa kwaDedan Kimathi
Ngugi waThiongo & Micere Mugo translated by I.K. Takawira
14. Emfulweni Wezinyembezi Ezekiel S. K. Hleza
15. Ndakagara Ndaziwona Sharai Mukonoweshuro
16.Akakangi:ra Nyimo Murufuse Tendai Mutazu
17. Detective Ridgemore Riva Rodwell M. Machingauta
18. Kudzikotsira Never Chinemo
19.I Will Marry When I Want Ngugi waThiong'o & Ngugi waMirii

iii
 ZPH READERS
for primary schools

1. English Time Readers Series Books 1 to 4

2. Nhaka Youpenyu Readers Series Books 1 to 4
3. llifa Lesizwe Readers Series Books 1 to 4
4. Colour in Action David Corbet
5. Alphabet for Africa Tony, Namate and Hugh Lewin
6. Tsuro Ngaidyiwe Tendai Makura
7. Upon my Mother's Back Melanie Marie Northcraft
8. Masharinve Akaitwa Jongwe Tendai Makura
9. Pirinolo the Street Maste::r Julia Mercedes Castilla
10. Tagutapadare Solomon Mutswaira
11. Flame Tree Market Patricia Farrell
12. Chiperehumwii Pad Masiyanise
13. Rondo Baba Pfuk1..rnuka
14. Jessica the Mour.1.tain Slayer Patricia Farrell
15. Messages of Love Gillian Leggat
16. The Talking Walking Stick Tendai Makura

iv
 CONTENTS

Page
The Village Priest................................................. 1
The Black Pot......................................................6
Midnight Operation........................................... 13
Nyamandu........................................................26
Bruised on both Sides.......................................32
The Criminals...................................................43
Hunters of Fortune ............................................58
Shadows on the Horizon....................................63
Rain-Making.....................................................85
Eye Operation...................................................93
The Night Prowler. ........................................... 104
Marriage.........................................................111
Behind the Mask............................................. 122

v
 THE VILLAGE PRIEST

At Independence in 1980 Tinoidziwa returned home to his

village in Midlands, from years of study overseas, to find a
magnificent new church building sitting where there had
once been only bush. It was a gleaming church with a high
tower that tapered at the end to resemble an antenna
providing effective communication between the congregation
and God.
His father, Mandere, explained that the building was the
result of collective effort and a symbol of self-reliance. Tired
of attending church services in a primary school classroom,
the people had come together and made bricks. They had
made many thousands of bricks, with the help of their
children. Later they had raised money to buy other building
materials. This they had done by selling grain or beer brewed
especially for this purpose. The headquarters of their Church
in town had contributed towards construction costs.
"However, that church, son, has tarnished God's name,"
added Mandere. He was a tall, thin, old man with a
prominent Adam's apple.
"I'm astonished," replied the son who, like his father, was
tall and slender but had a more scholarly look with a big
head and narrow face that had sharp, curious eyes. "From
what you said earlier I don't see how the church could have
spoilt God's name."
Mandere and his son were seated outside in the shade of a
tree facing the church in the primary school grounds, only a
catapult stone's throw from the village. There were other
homesteads scattered around the school as far as the eye
could see in this partly-wooded area.
Mandere said, "After the church was officially opened,
Reverend Jones brought a piano from the head office and
1
 then his wife drove here from town every Sunday to come and
play the piano. The people liked the music very much and
some left their beer and came to church only to listen to the
piano. But others, like members of a choir which the boys
and girls had formed here in the village, came to church to
laugh at the piano's music."
"To laugh! Why, father?" Tinoidziwa asked.
"Because the choir wanted the piano out of that church
and that is what started all the trouble."
"You mean, the choir was jealous of the piano and the
woman and so there was trouble?"
"The choir wanted to replace the piano, to play their own
instruments in the church on Sundays and of course, we
supported them. We appreciated the good work that Mrs.
Jones was doing, travelling all the way to come and entertain
us. A very hard-working Christian that woman is! So we
thought, 'Oh, what a good idea to give her a deserved rest if
our own boys can sing for us on Sunday in her place'."
"And she didn't want to stop coming, or what?"
"Not that. The village priest, Kanana, who had just arrived
to begin work here - we understand that he had just
completed his training somewhere beyond the many seas -
did not look at the matter the way we did and he did not keep
quiet about it."
Tinoidziwa appeared increasingly impatient. He felt like
screaming when the old man looked at his torn khaki
trousers and began plucking blackjacks from them
apparently having forgotten all about the story. Tinoidziwa,
himself dressed in smart slacks and an impeccably white
shirt, adjusted his necktie and said, "Father, are you saying
that Kanana supported Mrs. Jones or what happened
exactly? I'm dying to know."
"Kanana stood up front of the congregation one Sunday
and what does he say? 'The choir cannot be allowed to play
its instruments - the cowhide drums and banjos - because
2
 these are not melodious enough to lift the hearts of the
people closer to heaven. So, for that reason, the piano will
stay.' That is what he said. That man!"
"So how did it all end then?"
"The banjo boys, our very proud boys, angrily walked out of
the church banging their instruments and a few of us went
with them." Mandere laughed, like one coming to the end of a
long story. "But who could blame them for that? Certainly not
Christ... not God... I hope. Had I become a priest as I had
wished while at school, I would have given those boys and
girls the piano to use... But still they triumphed in the end."
Tinoidziwa smiled. "That's good for them. As they say, 'All is
well that ends well'."
"But nothing seems well with that church, especially with
Kanana still around and pretending to be a devout Christian.
That church is really a shame to God."
Suddenly Tinoidziwa glimpsed signals of a new
development and was quick to act before the signals vanished
like flashes of lightning. "Excuse me, father," he said, "do you
mean there is something else you people here don't like about
the church?"
"It makes that church a laughing stock even to the devil."
"Now that's serious."
"As you will soon hear, it is indeed serious ... You see, on
another Sunday when the church was full of congregants I
happened to be one of those seated in the front row of pews.
Then the time came for offering and we rose and stood in a
line, as usual - you know. We went up and turned round
near the altar where we threw our offerings into a basket of
rara which the priest had set on a chair behind which he was
standing. "I tossed a few coins into the basket and went back
to my seat. I then spotted an elderly woman with a very pious
face go past our pew. She was the last person in the queue. I
noticed that people were also looking at her. I saw that the
woman was dragging a big parcel along as she went, with
3
 both hands. She would lift it slightly, move a pace or two and
then dump, lift, drag and put it down again."
"You couldn't see what the parcel was?"
"It was most of the time between her legs but I noticed that
it was covered with a white cloth which was beautifully
embroidered. The cloth covered the top of the parcel and went
halfway down." Mandere stopped to moisten his lips. "Like
others, I must confess, I was quite puzzled. And so was
Kanana, from what I could read on his face."
"It sounds funny."
"I would not say that," the older man replied sternly. "I
must also say that something that struck me about the
woman was that wore very simple, yet dignified, clothes
and walked barefoot like most of the other women. So when
she reached the chair she dragged her parcel up and stood it
against the chair. She bowed her head and closed her eyes
with her hands raised together in front of her in prayer. It
was then that Kanana stepped forward... "
Tinoidziwa grinned, whereupon the old man frowned, cast
his eyes down and continued, "The woman remained
standing and watching, very, very, surprised as Kanana
bent forward and lifted the embroidered cloth as if he were
lifting a soiled napkin."
"So what is it - the parcel?"
"Monkey nuts. A bucketful of those tasty, brown
nuts."
"Monkey nuts?" asked Tinoidziwa with his hand to his
mouth.
"Yes, monkey nuts." The boy thought he had never
his father's voice so confident and calm before.
"But monkey nuts, really!"
"The that is full of nourishment, the type makes
excellent dovi"
"So?" Tinoidziwa burst into laughter as he posed the
question.
4
 "Well, what does the priest say to the woman? Son, that
manl... 'Amaz; Christ needs money; not monkey nuts.' The
poor woman replies, 'Can't the church sell the monkey nuts
to raise the money for Christ?'... Don't laugh, Tino, this a
very serious matter.''
"I'm sorry, father, but I find the whole story really funny. It
doesn't sound real to me, it really doesn't."
"It did not appear to be real to Kanana or to other
people in the church. Nor to me, at firsL That woman
actually meant to offer those monkey nuts to Christ, to
Some of them laughed - the way you are laughing.''
"So you see why I laugh, father?"
"After studying that woman I felt sorry for those who were
laughing at her and I felt pity for Kanana, too. For there
were, holding Bibles they could not read; there were with
their eyes wide open yet unable to perceive a true Christian.
For them and their priest money was supreme. With it you
could show Christ how much you loved Him; without it
was no way of demonstrating that love ... that Is that
Christianity?"
Tinoidziwa's face suddenly changed. " he said in a
low, calm voice, "now I understand what you mean. we
need that church, anyway, or does it need
"I wish you could pose question to Kanana himself,
the old man said as he turned to the blackjacks on his
trousers.

5
 THE BLACK POT

The conflict between Mr. Mayo and Uncle Maramba began

one summer day near our village in Mwenezi District. Mayo
had been driving home, to the west of our village, in his big
Chevrolet when he came upon cattle crossing the road. He
steered the cream vanette to one side to avoid the animals
and lost control.
It had rained the previous day and there were still puddles
here and there on the road. The sodden earth smelt fresh, the
air quivered with the buzzing of insects and the singing of
birds; even the cattle were filled with joy as they browsed
with their tails raised. And though the sky was overcast we
now and then felt a touch of mellow sunshine on our
scantily-dressed bodies.
I was one of a group of herdsmen who rushed to the scene
immediately Mayo's vanette stopped, inclined to one side.
Mayo was still behind the wheel, pounding the accelerator
and changing gears madly.
Then he emerged and after examining the vehicle he stood
with his arms on his waist, looking this way and that. He was
a tall, handsome and proud man. Even in his predicament,
his pride seemed unscathed.
Most of us did not sympathise with this man at all; we were
more curious to know how he would flaunt his status
symbol, the way he had often done, in his present position.
Mayo had bragged to the other people that he was the
"twilight of civilization" in this area, that he wiped mucus
with a white handkerchief while the rest of us still used the
back of our hands. But above all, what appeared to have
provoked the people's dislike of him, were his remarks that
no barefoot villager should ever dream of riding in his vehicle.
Indeed he had passed neighbours on the way, even when it
6
 was rammg. when came across beautiful girls he
them rides even if the soles of feet had cracks.
The man had set up here after retiring as a
chikonzZ: He built a he kept a few
chickens.
A herdsman beside me was about to day something when
Mayo's unsteady rang "These villagers ... why do
you let your cattle move on road as they are cars for
which we pay tax? Now see what has " He flung his
hands up in despair.
A man laughed softly, mockingly, us on turning
round I discovered it was Maramba.
Moyo "Old man, help me to pull car out this...
Ah, is it funny, man, car stuck? do you
like that?"
it is funny that I am laughing,"
vanette left wheel was down to the
a newly drainage ditch.
old man, you must help me. Moyo's hands were
clasped in front him pleadingly.
Twilight, I cannot you."
opened but no came out.
"No, I cannot help."
not, old
oxen don't wear you know, so how can they
near your They are barefooted." Uncle Maramba uttered
last words as he started off on way the road.
"Bother!" Mayo and down. I thought never
seen him so depressed. took out a dirty white
handkerchief the pocket of his jacket and wiped
brow.
Presently a tall boy stepped out of the crowd. He was not
one of us and must have joined the crowd after our attention
was drawn to Moyo and his car. "I'll you, uncle," said the
boy. "I'll go and bring our oxen." The departed hastily.
7
 * * *

Word reached our village one afternoon that Uncle

Maramba's pet dog, Bhoki, was dead. A messenger had
reported that the dog had been shot by Moyo when he caught
it in his chicken coop eating eggs. "He sent me to ask you to
come to collect your dead, thieving dog or else we are going to
burn it."
We were all so stunned that not one of us said a word.
"Mr. Moyo also said that if you don't look after your dogs
properly, the next time he 'Nill shoot you," the messenger, a
youth of about sixteen years, went on.
I had never seen Uncle Maramba so enraged. One moment
he said perhaps should not have taken the dog along
when he went out in search of beer. The next moment he
said, "Dogs eat eggs anyway. He should have known that
protected his eggs."
That afternoon sent me to dig up the root of any tree
near the road. He I should pull the root across the road
and bring him a small piece of it, I found a mususu root not
far from the village.
At nightfall he asked me to accompany him somewhere.
Soon it became so dark that we could only find our way by
means of the light of a torch which Uncle Mararnba had
brought with him. A torch-light's distance from the village we
came to an intersection and the old man stopped and
listened in all directions before going down in a crouch at the
centre of the intersection.
Now the darkness was so intense as to be almost tangible.
gripped me when I became aware, for the first time, that
the old man had brought an earthen pot wrapped up in a
newspaper and tucked under his ann. set the pot on the
road so that it was in the full glare of the torch-light. It was a
medium-sized pot; black and awe-inspiring.
8
 Again, Uncle Maramba listened in all directions and
nodded. Then he lifted the pot in both hands and shook it. I
could hear the sound of something rolling inside the pot. He
placed the pot on the road, shoved a hand inside it and
brought out a brownish bean. He glanced at the bean in the
torch-light and then tossed it into his mouth and swallowed.
Next, he took out a small piece of soil-covered root from his
shirt pocket, cut it in half and threw the roots into the pot.
Moments later he was whispering something with his eyes
shut while removing both roots from the pot. He laid them
tenderly on the ground and, taking the pot in both hands he
raised it above his head and dropped it onto the roots,
breaking it into shards which flew in all directions. I covered
my face with my hands.
"Do you also want to swallow the bean, Zviyo?"
"I'm too scared, sekuru," I said.
He rose. It's all set now; I'm armed to face Moyo. He killed
my dog - something that doesn't talk - and now I am going to
teach him a lesson his white masters failed to teach him...
Come, let's go home now."
As we Walked back home I said, "sekuru, please explain all
this to me?"
"What do you want to know?" He was leading the way,
walking with his eyes dead set forward in a way that made
me wonder whether it was a cardinal rule not to look back
after performing the ritual.
"That pot..."
"The pot? For many, many years it was used for carrying
water to wash the bodies of our dead relatives. Only a pot like
that is used in preparing for a fight where blood may be
shed."
"What purpose does it and the bean serve?"
"In ancient times our people prepared themselves for war in
exactly the way I prepared myself for Moyo. That way they
protected themselves against the enemy's weapons."
9
 "But Mayo has a gun, you know that."
"Yes, he has a gun all right but I'm not scared of that, for
even the bullet of his gum will be turned back on him."
"You can do such wonders? Really? But why do they not
teach us these things at school? I'm sure that if these things
ever happened then they would have been written in our
story books."
Uncle Maramba grunted in his familiar angry way and I
knew at once that I had offended him. However, I was keen to
know the truth about this ancient way of warfare, in spite of
his anger.
"So you think I am talking rubbish, hey?" he said, turning
to face me. There was not a stir in the darkness separating
us; all I could see was the torch-light flickering up and down,
up and down, like a spook ahead of me. Further ahead the
fire in our hearth also became visible and presently we heard
children's voices around that fire.
"I didn't mean that, sekuru." I tried to soften his temper.
"I'm just wondering, like anyone else, why the people who
wrote our story books left out his interesting aspect of
warfare."
"I can only think that they were ashamed that we knew
things they didn't know and that they would look foolish in
the eyes of the world if our clever war tactics became known
to so many people." He turned and looked at me as we
walked on at a slower pace. "What do you think yourself?"
"I still find it hard to believe that, for instance, a bullet
could be forced by some magic power to go in another
direction... to miss its intended target by the sheer power of
some ritual."
"Like all children to whom all this is now like ngano, I agree
it is hard to believe. I also agree that disaster came about
when those with little knowledge of the ritual prepared
fighters for battle, pretending they knew everything. However,
done correctly the practice offered protection as you will see
10
 for yourself tomorrow when I Moyo for killing my dog ...
You'll come with me, won't you?"
I was still puzzled as we entered the village and did not
answer.
It was still early when we set out the next morning for
Moyo's village. There was still very little activity in the villages
and it being Sunday, when people took a well-deserved break
from the labours of the season, we were the to plough
through the dewy footpath and so by the time we arrived at
Mayo's homestead our feet were dripping with the dew.
Uncle Maramba carried a knob-keriy. He was a man of
mature years but with incredible At back of
mind I thought that we had come so early so we could
surprise Moya. I also thought that perhaps, the olden
days, went to the battlefield early being prepared
by the n 'angas so that the medicines could work more
effectively.
Meanwhile, I had devised my own escape. I had planned to
throw myself to ground once Moyo pointed his gun at us,
or simply run out of the line of fire. I instinctively to
practice these ways escape as we stopped the of
Mayo's home.
home consisted of one brick house, a hut, a shed for
his car and a fowl run at other It was ringed by
freshly-cut wooden poles and I spotted two bundles of barbed
wire nearby. At the spot where we had stopped there was to
be a gate.
Soon enough we spotted a woman in black escorted
from behind the car shed to brick house. She walked with
her head bowed and appeared to be weeping. Uncle Maramba
raised his knob-keriy pointed it at a man who stopped in
the yard after seeing us. The man's arms were crossed in
front of him and his head was slightly bowed.
I peered forward hard but could not see Mayo's car. It
certainly was not in the shed.
11
 "Moyo! Hey, Moyo!. .. Why did you kill my pet dog? Don't
hide under your wife's skirts... Come out here ... Bring your
gun and I shall teach you a lesson your mother forgot to
teach you," Maramba yelled, his voice shaking, the knob­
keny flailing in his implacable grip. I could see the fire in his
deceptively shy eyes.
A man coughed right behind our backs and we spun round.
Uncle Maramba raised his weapon higher.
"Ah, you people ... are you crazy?" the man said.
"Matatu, why do you frighten me like this? What do you
want here?" the old man said, lowering his guard.
"Haven't you heard?" Matatu said. His face was very grave
and set to weep.
"Heard what?" Uncle Maramba said, drawing closer to
Matatu.
"Do you see his car today? Haven't you heard that it hit a
tree last night. .. and he has left us? So you didn't know?"
Uncle Maramba clubbed the ground; whether with delight
or disappointment that he had been deprived of the chance to
demonstrate his expertise in traditional warfare, I shall never
know.

12
 MIDNIGHT OPERATION

''Wonderful! Wonderful! Wonderful!"

This was my first impression of Bulawayo on arriving
from my village in 1960. It was nightfall when our bus
edged into the city. How exhausted we all were!
As we travelled through the city centre towards the
bus station, however, the excitement of seeing
everything within my grasp could not have refreshed me
more. Advertisements blinking relentlessy in a whirling
kaleidoscope of colours, starry street lights, streams of
cars purring gracefully or tearing away in different
directions and leggy girls in mini-skirts, with vague
eyes, at shop windows: all these were as real now as
they had been imaginary all my life. As I waited for my
brother to meet me I could hear various sounds of
arriving, departing or shunting trains at Mpopoma
station to the west. All these were magical to the ear.
"No wonder people get lost in this city of yours," I said
as my brother and I walked to his hostel.
"It's quite a big place, isn't it?" he said.
I knew that he had missed the point and I said, "It's a
wonderful place, I mean. Really wonderful!"
"Well, I suppose so."
His reply disappointed me. Why should he "suppose",
he who had lived here almost his entire life? Or had
familiarity bred his contempt of the city? I wanted to ask
these questions but on second thoughts I decided not
to.

13
 I rested for a day, at his insistence, before I launched
myself into the hunt for employment. Armed with my
school papers which included a brilliant
recommendation from my Principal, my a.rnbition was to
find a decent job, save some cash and at a
teacher training college while the same time
advancing my education by correspondence.
By the end of the first month, which was January, I
had visited almost all major industries that I could
think of and had received nothing more than the
occasional, "Try time" or some such reply.
My morale was high I still had confidence
myself. I I a better of
finding a - a decent one at that pathetic
hordes other job-seekers that I came across my
daily rounds. Some of these people hardly had
to show for their they carried situpas
or reference letters.
by the third month I to
panic. me, Bulawayo had lost its excitement and
assumed the image a of heartless creatures.
As time wore on I became I realised
although my brother liked me and would go lengths
to keep me afloat, was a family man who needed
everything he earned too look after his own family. I
to get a job and on my own feet a man.
Eventually I joined job-seekers' brigades. These were
people who left their homes in the and
spent the day searching for jobs. We would meet one
place and then move on to other industries hoping to
come across an employer with available.

14
 One morning luck was on our side. We were standing,
as we always did at the gate of a small factory when we
saw a white lady come out. She stopped on the steps
facing us and gestured with her right hand. Immediately
we were elbowing each other as we instinctively formed
a queue in front of her.
The lady was tall, pretty and calm-looking. Her hair
was short and red, her eyes blue, her face ashen and
her lips very red.
"Let's see your papers," she said, coming down the
steps. She plucked the papers from those in front of me.
She smiled as she examined one school certificate and
that smile gave me the ray of hope that I had longed for
for months.
On and on the woman came, walking along the queue,
plucking and scrutinising papers as she went. Those
who impressed her she told to stand in front of the
queue.
I was one of those whose papers she took and whom
she invited to stand in front. I kept raising my nose and
sniffing at the sweet smell that issued from the sweet
factor_y. It was a strong, delightful smell. We had been
through many smells and they were nowhere as
delightful as this: the smell of burning tyres, the smell of
beer dregs, the smell of welding fire, the smell of freshly
mixed mortar, the smell of paint, the smell of tar, the
smell of wood shavings...
Finally the lady walked back to the steps, a sheaf of
papers in one hand and said, "Those whose certificates I
have not taken may leave. Try again another time - you
may be lucky."
The lengthy queue fell apart.
15
 "Those whose certificates I have can get into the
factory," she said.
I was the second from last person in the queue and I
noticed that as we filed past he, there on the steps, she
studied everyone from head to toe.
"Nol Stop!" she yelled when I was level with her and
she stretched out her right hand to stop me. "What's
your name?"
"Chaminuka," I said, a bit surprised by her action.
She ran her fingers swiftly through the sheaf of papers.
"Chaminuka ... This must be it." She pulled out my
school certificate and the reference letter attached to it
and threw them in my face.
"Why? You chose me, madam," I protested, bending
down to pick up my certificate which had fallen on her
shoe and she kicked it at me.
"I made a mistake," she replied and nodded to the
man behind me to get inside. She gazed at my feet and
frowned, as if I had just excreted on them. I didn't
realise that you have no shoes on."
"O, but I do have shoes, madam. They are at my
brother's hostel! I left them behind only today because
one of them is torn, God knows."
The woman's eyes contracted, her red lips started to
twitch. "Look here, you kaf.fir, she screamed wildly and I
saw faces peering out of windows, "this is my factory;
not your so-called god's factory ... so get out of here at
once or else..."
I could not believe that I was being deprived of that
sweet scent which even she seemed to be wearing. It
was as if a dream had turned into a nightmare.

16
 "I'm going to call the police and they'll teach you a
lesson," she said, hurrying into the factory, after my
defiance.
I glanced longingly at my former fellow-brigade
members and ambled away, hoping that one day I would
come across a black man who might be more
sympathetic to my plight.

* * *

When I had exhausted all my individual efforts I went to

register with the Employment Exchange. Perhaps my
hopes had been too high because now my inability
find employment had become unbearable.
However, I had heard that there were black people
working at the Employment Exchange and my hopes
were boosted that I might at last deal with a fellow black
man. All my encounters so far had been with
Europeans. Or with Europeans and the black people
who stood by to organise queues or act as interpreters.
I was therefore pleasantly surprised when I found
myself in front of a black man. After registering, my
colleagues and I advised to report at the office
every morning to see anything had materialised for us.
A month passed and there was still no joy. I began
to wonder whether it was really worth while staying
this place. reports that
unemployment in towns was just as bad if not
worse, so I changed my mind about trying elsewhere.
thought of crossed Why
here to suffer place with such heartless
creatures? But immediately I knew the answer. My
17
 parents were counting on me. They had spent the little
money they had on educating me and now I had to
something for them in return. If I went back home I
would be a most unwelcome burden and people would
laugh at my father saying that he would have been wiser
to drink his money while he still lived than to throw it
away on a son who was unemployed. Moreover, I told
myself, I had no land to cultivate so that, maybe, I could
become independent of my parents. So I had to stay.
By now I had made friends with two young men,
Temba and July. They were both big "street toughs"
aged about twenty, like me. Temba, a natural leader,
intervened when he saw that I was becoming
increasingly morose and withdrawn.
"Don't worry, my friend," he said, "we will get jobs in
the end."
"Sure," July agreed, "we'll finally get jobs."
One day as we lay on the lawn outside the
Employment Exchange, Temba, the most articulate of
three of us, said, "If this colonialist, imperialist
Rhodesian Government refuses to create employment
for us we can always find something from which to earn
good money."
"Really?" said I, feeling a resurgence of hope.
"Yes," they both answered.
"Such as?" I was impatient.
"Just wait and see," Temba said. "Let's see if anything
turns up here first."
Soon it became apparent to me that, although my two
friends were loafers like myself, they always had money
to flaunt. Indeed even as we talked now, they had wads
of notes rolled away in their pockets.
18
 When I first discovered relative affluence, in
comparison with the rest of us, I thought they maybe
they were children of rich Then one
Temba came to the Employment Exchange with a
swollen hand.
"Did you fall?" I asked.
"Just a slight knock," he replied, eyeing July. They
both laughed.
As I studied ugly scars on the faces of both men I
concluded that they were tsotsi:3. previous mention
of an alternative means of endorsed
conclusion. I had heard of how lived off the
people they robbed and I had thought them to
heartless. Now, however, I had nothing but admiration
for July's and Temba's exploits.
I had also become aware that a number of loafers who
had registered recently were being offered jobs before
us. In fact, Temba drew my attention to some of these
cases and one afternoon he asked me accompany him
to see our black Employment Officer.
"Gentlemen;' said the Officer as we entered. "I can
only deal with one person at a time, so one of you ·�,ill
have to wait outside." He was a middle-aged man with a
broad, dull face. Not wanting to cause a scene I went
outside but left the door half-shut on purpose.
"Yes, so you want know what I have you today?"
the Officer's voice rasped.
«Naturally," I heard Temba' say in his stubborn, thick
voice. There was silence. Then, "I'm sorry is still
nothing for you but corning back. Keep trying."
"For how long must I keep trying?"

19
 "I don't know. It depends on how soon we can find
something for you."
"But I've been trying for too long and there doesn't
appear to be anything being done."
"Well, as I said, keep trying."
"Haven't I tried hard enough, I wonder?"
"Remember, you're not the only person we're dealing
with here; there are hundreds of other people like
yourself who want assistance and they keep trying.
"How much is it to try hard" Or - well - to try well?"
"Now what are you talking about?" the Officer's voice
rasped high and angry.
"We don't come here just to drink your soup but to
find employment." The Employment Exchange had
started providing loafers with soup.
"You loafers are difficult people, aren't you?" the
Officer scorned with a laugh.
"What do you mean?"
"Don't you realise that we help you people by giving
you the soup, otherwise you would starve to death? You
must appreciate that the authorities spend a lot of
money on this soup to help you."
"My goodness! They must spend that money creating
employment. We've been coming here for months
without help and yet some who pay for your services..."
"Now what are you on about?"
"I know people who bought jobs right here in this
office. They never slept at your doorstep as we've been
doing."
"You're lying. Get out of my office before I call the
police!"
"Call them and I'll tell them you sell jobs!'
20
 The Officer stammered and then retorted, "They know
I don't sell jobs."
"Maybe... but I'll give them concrete proof." said
Temba as stalked out of the office and banged the door
behind him so hard that other loafers, even those
sprawled across the lawn, turned in our direction.
That confrontation with the Officer left me thoroughly
confused. Thoughts crammed my mind. Does it make
any difference whether it is a black person or a white
person you confront with your problem in this place? I
had become completely disillusioned.
"Now what's that alternative job you talked about the
other day?" I asked my pals as we hastily left
Employment Exchange. Temba and July drew closer to
me and began to outline the whole project. I said no. We
walked on, going nowhere really, in silence. I was tense.
After giving me time to reflect they again assailed me
with pleas that we should engage full-time in their
project because there was nothing else we could hope
for from that black Officer.
"Maybe we should have dealt with a different person
altogether. Maybe one of those whites," I said.
"Perhaps, but all that is history now, it's past and we
can go back there and say we want our cases to be
handled by another person. The police are probably
waiting."
July butted in. "That will be walking right into their
handcuffs."
I pondered this whole new situation into which I was
being thrust and decided, in the end, that I should give
their project a trial. That evening I my brother that I

21
 would sleep out that night. I said friends in the Old
Location wanted to take me out to the cinema.
At first he was reluctant to let me go, insisting that he
should see those friends before he could trust me with
them. When I lied that they were former classmates and
that one of them had been a school prefect he consented
but advised me to take good care of myself.
Temba and July were already waiting at our
rendezvous when I arrived. It was quite dark in the bush
where we met, metres away from the Khami Road
bridge. I could not miss Temba's clean-shaven head in
the dark and I noticed that both men wore black wide­
bottomed trousers and tight black T-shirts which they
called their "combat outfit".
From the pocket of his baggy trousers Temba
produced a short, thick, baton-like stick at the end of
which was attached a bicycle chain. He swung it up and
down and the chain straightened out. "For beginners,
who may be cowards, this will be your weapon." His
voice was tense.
"If you think I'm a coward you just wait and see," I
said.
"Mind your voice," July said in a hushed tone.
It was nearly midnight. I could tell from the
illuminated hands of my Christmas-gift Rotary wrist
watch. My eyelids were heavy; it was long past the time
they should have been closed.
We stayed in this hideout for some time whilst I
practiced how to strike a fatal blow with my weapon. I
also practiced the head and body blows as we edged
slowly towards our operational zone - the Khami Road
bridge. With bus services already over for the night,
22
 motor traffic on this road was down to a car or two once
in a long while which was why, as Temba said, it was
suitable for our operation.
We hurried across the road, from east to west,
stopping beneath the bridge and taking extreme care
not to step in the filthy water that trickled down the
brook that carried the bridge.
"As I said earlier," Temba's shaky voice rasped, "try to
avoid groups of people. Look out for lone passers-by. If
the fellow gives you money fast don't hurt him badly;
just give him one blow to get away fast from here. If he
tries to be funny knock sense into his head."
"Do you understand?" asked July.
"I understand." I replied.
"Now go and try and let's see if you are not a coward,"
Temba said.
I felt nervous and there was a rush of sweat from my
body. I tightened my grip as the weapon almost slipped
from my hand.
I climbed over the bank of the brook and stopped in
the tall grass close to the bridge on the western side.
The idea was that I would rush at my victim as soon as
he was in the middle of the bridge, assuming that he
came from town heading west. It was known that factory
workers who knocked off late preferred the tarred road
to the dirt roads passing through uninhabited areas.
However, should a victim approach the bridge from the
west and I failed to corner him, Temba and July
promised to come to my aid. This had, in a way,
bolstered my morale.
I cannot now recall how it all happened but I still have
vivid memories of Temba calling me a "coward" and
23
 "stupid person" after a lone cyclist hurtled past me
without any warning and I swung the chain too late,
hitting the edge of the bridge and causing a great deal of
n01se.
Very shortly afterwards another cyclist came by. This
one was whistling and his bicycle squeaked as he cycled
towards me. At first I thought he and the cyclist that
had slipped through my amateur attempts may have
been together but I dismissed that thought and walked
in a crouch to the centre of the bridge. The cyclist
stopped singing as he approached the bridge and I
sensed too, that he had slowed down.
A light hit me in the face and I ducked. The cyclist
braked to a halt and as rushed forward he tried to turn
his bicycle around.
"Money!" I screamed.
The man dismounted and gazed at me rather stupidly.
"Money!" I swung the chain with all my might (and I
think it was with eyes shut) and missed!
Still the man didn't take advantage of the opportunity
to flee for it. Now I delivered the blow at an angle and I
think I grazed his head. I cannot remember for certain
because just then something hit me in the back of my
head and I sagged to my kneed, wondering whether I
hadn't hit myself. The world blurred out.
When I recovered consciousness I was giddy and I
sensed something cold was around my wrists and I
could not move my hands. They were held together
behind my back by some cold metal.
"Where are the other tsotsis you work with?"
demanded an authoritative voice. The giddiness cleared
from my head. "This is the end of your midnight
24
operations," the man screamed as he picked up his
bicycle with one hand while the other grabbed my collar.
"Move! You 11 have to show us where the other tsotsis
who ran away live. country will better off
without beasts like " the black policeman said.

25
 NYAMANDU
The chilly wind whistled into the shop through a hole
high up in wall.
"Hey, don't you see the customer? Do you think I pay you
money for standing there and hugging yourself? If you're fed
up with my work why don't you go back and look after your
father's cattle ... or become a terrorist?" Nyamandu, the shop­
owner, barked the orders from a comer behind the counter
where he sat a chair leisurely sipping tea from a cup held
in his raised hands. He was wrapped in a heavy coat with
around the collar and a red-and-white woolen scarf was
wound round short, fat neck so that his small round
looked like that an overfed python.
The sales-boy lowered his shivering hands as he crawled
out of his shelter behind the door to serve a woman who
stood fingering dresses strung up above her head. He gritted
his teeth with anger and cold as he went.
Anger because boy had been planted there precisely to
verify reports that Nyamandu ill-treated his workers and that
he was also anti-guerillas. The boy was a mu;ibha and he was
also becoming impatient at the apparent reluctance of his
superiors to act. feared that his cover be blown.
The customer left the shops moments later complaining
that the dresses were "too expensive".
"These villagers are really funny," Nyamandu said as the
woman left. "So she came in all this cold expecting me to just
hand her the dress?"
Presently more customers entered and Nyamandu hoisted
himself to his feet. was a huge man with a belly that hung
over his trousers which he secured by means of braces.
"Do you have any blankets in this store?" asked one of the
new arrivals. He was tall, thin and unshod. He wore old green
26
 overalls with cropped legs and he repeatedly wiped mucus
with the back of his hand.
"What do you think I am, Teke? A cheap shop-owner, who
can't afford to stock blankets?" Nyamandu turned round, like
a hippo and pointed with his hand at a pile of blankets on a
shelf in the corner. "What is your budget?"
Teke did not answer. Nyamandu's eyes rolled towards the
entrance and noted that Teke was also looking in that
direction.
Two youths, aged between fifteen and twenty, had entered
unnoticed. They stopped at the door where the sales-boy had
been standing and they were looking about the shop with
suspicious eyes. of them wore a khaki shirt, khaki
shorts and black canvas shoes; the other wore a filthy white
shirt, grey trousers with patches at the knees and the
buttocks and torn shoes. Their eyes were wild, their hair
unkempt.
Without anyone noticing it, the sales-boy gave the "all
clear" sign with a wink of his eye and the pair walked side by
side and stopped in front of the counter opposite Nyamandu.
Nyamandu said with a huge frown, "Yes? There's no work
here - sorry."
The boys eyed each other and their grew sterner.
"We have not come to look for work, father," said the one
khaki.
"So what do you want here?" Nyamandu roared back in his
hoarse voice.
"We have come about some warm clothing, father, like
those coats in the window."
"Oh, those?" He eyed them in a manner that told one
suspected them to be broke. "The is shown so take a
look and let me know which ones you want."
The pair looked more confused now. Teke had remained
standing where he was when boys arrived and he had

27
 listened to the dialogue with his arms crossed before him.
Two or three customers had also stopped, facing the counter.
"We have no money... I mean, father, we are your sons in
the..."
"You people," Nyamandu shot out a finger which he wagged
in the face of the boy in khaki, who had been doing most of
the talking, "how can you come here saying you want coats
when you have no money to buy them? Whoever spread the
rumour that this shop was now for charity? Who said every
beggar in this place should come here for free clothes?"
Teke literally leaped from where he had been standing and
stopped between the boys and Nyamandu. "Hey, how can you
describe these children as beggars? Has money blinded your
eyes, I wonder?" He spun round and, in a flash, plucked two
jerseys from their hangers and brought them to the counter.
"How much are these?"
The other customers drew closer and watched as
Nyamandu reached out for a blanket the sale-boy had put on
the counter. He dragged it towards the jerseys. "The jerseys
are thirty dollars and thirty five cents and... "
Teke grabbed the jerseys and handed them to the boys who
said, "Thank you, sekum, thank you very much. We shall not
forget your kindness." They stopped in the doorway, looked
round suspiciously and then disappeared.
Teke spun round into the glare of Nyamandu's eyes. He
produced the money for the jerseys and as he handed it over,
Nyamandu said, "Give me another ten... "
"What for?"
"This blanket here."
"Forget about that," Teke said, turning away from the
counter. I'll sleep by the fireside until I get more money to
buy a blanket but those children - where can they get fire?"
Seconds after Teke had left the shop Nyamandu swung to
one side and grabbed a telephone receiver from a shelf. The
sales-boy moved nearer to him and he gasped as Nyamandu
28
 said, in English, "Yes... they must be terrorists... Come, come
now... pardon me?... Yes, I ordered your booze ... You're on
your way? Good, good..." He replaced the receiver and turned
round grinning and rubbing his hands together.
The sales-boy looked nervous and he bit his lower lip. Fire
raged in his big, wild eyes which he kept flashing at
Nyamandu whilst he served the customers.
About ten minutes later Nyamandu looked anxiously
towards the door and flicked his fingers as he heard the
sound of an approaching vehicle. He emerged from behind
the counter, pushing the sales-boy aside to make way for his
potbelly.
The vehicle, a kudu, burst on the scene, stopped with a
jerk and half a dozen troops leaped to the ground
brandishing FN and G3 rifles.
"Where are the terronsts? Where are they?" yelled a huge
man with a nose-ring.
"You're late, they must have disappeared," Nyamandu said
to the man.
"Which way did they go?"
"I was in the shop ... talking on the phone when they left ...
There was also an old man, a villager, who bought them
clothes... He must be a collaborator."
"You know where he lives - that terronst collaborator?"
"Yes, I will go and show you tonight. I'll show you his
village, and perhaps we will catch him red-handed feeding
the terronsts... then you can give me more money this time."
"You think so?" the big white soldier said, relaxing. "Do you
think we'll trap the terrorists in the village?"
"I am sure he is a collaborator - that old man. If they are
not there he will say where they are."
Nyamandu himself lived at his shop. He had recently sent
his wife and children away to manage their new shop in Fort
Victoria (now Masvingo).

29
 "So where is the beer, my friend?" the man with the nose­
ring asked.
"Come on inside." Nyamandu led the way into the shop.
The other soldiers lowered their weapons and followed their
leader inside. As they entered the customers came out
clutching their parcels nervously..
Nyamandu led his guests to his office on the back, where
he served them a crate of beer and roast beef which he also
sold in the shop.
The sales-boy was pondering over how to alert his
comrades when the big white man entered the shop and said
to him, "Boy a close watch over our vehicle. If you see
anything suspicious let me know immediately. Okay?"
"Okay, baas," the sales-boy, whose name was Kefasi,
He had afraid to go outside, thinking the
might suspect was one of the
had wanted to make sure their plan succeeded, if possible,
with no loss of life on their side. Now with the instruction to
watch over the car, he reasoned that the time had come for
action. So he went outside and came back, went out again
and returned, on each occasion signaling to the comrades in
their hideout not far from the shop. then spied on the
soldiers and when satisfied that they were drunk, he strode
outside and gave the final signal. In fact he gave two signals
directing an attack from the back of the shop and another
attack from the front. When the moment came, when he
heard explosions in the back of the shop, he slammed the
front door shut and locked it after setting fire to the clothes
on the shelves. Then he heard commotion inside as people
ran towards the door into the fire of his comrades. Outside
the kudu was ablaze and one of the comrades ordered him
away to safety.
There was a brief exchange of automatic fire and then the
exploded in flames. Smoke billowed from shop and
climbed high into the sky. There was crying and groaning
30
inside and the comrades fired sporadic shots into the doors
in front of the shop and in the back. The crying turned into
feeble whimpering and finally died down. The comrades
ceased fire as the roof caved in and then collapsed to leave a
burnt-out skeleton of steel and concrete.
The comrades re-grouped in front of the shop and glanced
at the smouldering debris inside. They turned their eyes
towards the smouldering, crimson-red sun and then they left
the scene as quickly as they had come, their AK4 7 and SKS
rifles slung over their backs.

31
 BRUISED ON BOTH SIDES

Mandere, the deputy police chief in a Village Committee that

had just set up by guerillas to coordinate war activities,
was not at home when the soldiers made their call at his
village. It was the morning after a nasty train derailment on
the Rutenga line, east of Bonda mountain, the previous
night.
The village was close to the scene of the accident and on a
road to the west where more villages were situated. There had
been several villages near Mandere's village but these had
been abandoned when the villagers, terrified by
troop movements by rail and by road, moved away to
relatively safely areas.
The two soldiers, one very tall an very light in complexion,
the other shorty and swarthy, arrived unannounced in the
village and were welcomed by two fiercely charging dogs. As
the tall soldier trained his F.N. rifle on the dog in front, a
woman emerged from a hut. When she reached the threshold
she stumbled to halt and gasped, emaciated hands
coming to rest on small chest. Then called out to the
dogs in a feeble, voice. They backed away and came to
stand guard on side of her, whereupon the soldier
released his finger from the trigger and embraced his weapon
as both men trudged up to the stunned woman. "Why don't
you keep your dogs tied up?" demanded the tall soldier.
"Ah! Tying up here in the village? No-one does that
"
"Where is the man of this village?"
"My husband? He went to a beer party beyond the
mountain yesterday and did not return."
"When is he likely to back?"

32
 "I don't know... Maybe today, maybe tomorrow. It depends
how much beer there is."
The soldiers stamped their feet in annoyance and threw
sharp glances all around them, the long, shiny bayonets of
their guns blinking thirstily against the sun.
Turning to look fixedly at the woman the short solider said,
"Where are the terron:Sts who caused the accident?"
"Terronsts? I have no idea of what you mean," she said,
instantly looking perplexed.
The soldiers communicated with their eyes and then turned
and tramped off, heading west.
Mandere returned home just as the soldiers were swallowed
by a forest of mopane trees. His wife herded him into the hut
where she had been when the soldiers first came, which was
one of four huts in the village. She was recounting the story
of the soldiers' visit when they heard successive bursts of
gunfire in the direction the soldiers had gone.
They were still stiff with anxiety and anticipation, Mrs.
Mandere hardly able to continue with her story, when the
dogs again started to bark. It must have been ten or so
minutes after the shooting had died down.
Mandere brushed aside his wife's pleas not to risk his life
and went to investigate. Outside in the blinding sunlight he
shaded his eyes with his hand and then retreated, a pace or
two.
"Don't run away, or we will shoot!" yelled the tall soldier, a
coloured, in a tense, angry voice.
Mandere's body stiffened and his heart throbbed rapidly.
The soldiers quickened their paces, their guns pointed at
him.
"Are you the owner of this village?" fired the tall soldier. The
other soldier kept turning round and round to cover his
companion.
"Yes, this is my village," Mandere replied. The dog, on
seeing him, had stopped barking and charging and had come
33
 to stand in front of him, so that they shielded him from the
soldiers. His wife had meanwhile come out of the hut and
stood cowering behind him. She made the observation that
the soldiers were more furious now than they had been
earlier on.
"Who are the boys who fled when they saw us over there?"
the tall soldier asked.
"Where?"
"Didn't you hear the shooting?"
''Yes, I heard it; but I don't know them."
"Of course you know them... they could well be boys from
the villages."
"I don't know. Who is not afraid of soldiers... what more
young people?"
The tall soldier, who remained motionless as the
interrogation progressed, fretted silently.
Mandere sighed quietly with relief when both soldiers
appeared to have run out of words. Up to now his mind had
been going through hell. He suspected that his wife, unable
to bear the pressure of the two soldiers, had sold him out and
that all this questioning was simply to formally seal his fate.
Then the chief interrogator said, "Where were you when we
first came here?"
"In the bush."
Mrs. Mandere gasped aloud and both soldiers looked at
her. She was terrified. When Mandere answered the soldier's
last question she knew at once that his account would differ
from the one she had given to the, two men. The soldiers
would deduce from their different tales that one or both of
them were lying and this in turn would mean that the couple
must be covering up their collaboration with the guerillas, a
crime punishable by summary execution. The thought of
death stabbed her like a dagger plunging through her heart.
"So after planting the landmine and after watching it
destroy human lives and government property, you fled into
34
 the bush!" said the tall soldier after a thoughtful pause. "Now
we've found you."
"I know nothing about landmine and I'm not the only
one who fled into the bush. Many other villagers ran away too
when we heard the explosion and saw fire. It was a terrifying
experience."
"Why did you run away if you were innocent?" cut in the
short solider. He had come to a halt and fixed his small,
bloodshot eyes on Mandere.
"I was frightened, my wife was frightened, we were all
frightened as I said earlier ... We're in a war and I know as
well as many others do that in times of war, such as we are
in, innocent people die for the wrongs of ,,
"Why did your wife not run away?"
"We all ran away. She had to come early to prepare food for
the school children." Another sharp look at the woman and
the tall soldier said, "Why are you standing in the doorway?
What are you shielding inside there?"
Mrs. Mandere was surprised by the question. She cast a
sharp glance over her shoulder and stepped away from the
door. "There's no-one inside! Why don't you go in and see for
yourselves?"
With swift movements of their guns the soldiers drove the
couple into the hut. They stood near the door for a few
moments and when their eyes became acquainted with
dimness inside, the tall soldier strode forward, upsetting
everything in his way with his feet. Meanwhile, the short
soldier stood guard at the door.
To the right, when facing the was a short stoep.
back of the room was raised and cramped with earthenware,
calabashes various other household utensils. There was
a fire in the hearth. Smoke through the open door
and two narrow slits in the wall which served as windows. A
covered earthen pot was cooking, propped by three
hearthstones and the short soldier sniffed the delicious
35
 aroma of beef as he watched his colleague trample on
anything in his path.
A lid went flying from a plate and stopped against the wall.
Bending double over the plate, the tall soldier said, "Smart
collaborators!" He straightened and pointed a long, crooked
finger at the plate. "See! The terronsts were fed here before or
after the sabotage!" He directed his angry words at the
couple.
"That was my portion. I left it half-eaten when we fled and
we will feed it to the dogs because we don't want to waste
food."
There was a long, agonising pause during which the
soldiers studied their prisoners more thoroughly and the
couple was seized by an irrepressible feeling that they were
hastily moving towards their doom. The tall soldier said, "I
see that the terronsts have worked hard on you. You sound
thoroughly politicised." To the couple the words sounded like
the stark pronunciation of the death penalty.
"We don't know anything about what you are saying."
"I don't know... We don't know... Typical of the rote
parroting of terronst nonsense! At the appropriate time we
shall make you know. We shall re-educate you."
"I'm telling you the whole truth when I say I don't know
anything about terronsts.,,
"When the time comes you shall know... In the meantime,
do you own donkeys?"
"Yes."
"Is none of them missing?"
"One went missing about a month ago."
"I'm sure it is the one on which the train fell. Come with us
and remove it."
They asked a man they met on the way to help them to pull
the carcass from beneath the train.
The accident scene was devastating. The diesel locomotive
seemed to have hurtled into the air after detonating the
36
landmine to come down in mass of twisted steel several
metres from the line. The wagons must have lurched forward
then telescoped into one another, spilling their cargo of
brown sugar over a wide area. Some bags of sugar had burst
open inside the dovetailed wagons or beneath those that were
upturned. Somewhere a pool of coagulated blood gathered
dust.
The area bristled with soldiers.
Two men emerged from a thicket of mopane trees and
stumbled to a halt in front of the locomotive engine. They
stopped slightly to have a look at the scene and as they
backed away along the cattle track on which they stood, the
soldiers saw them and one of them called out to them in a
dull voice, "Stop!. .. Come here!"
The pair raised their hands, so that the jacket of one of
them rolled from the crook of his left arm to rest between his
shoulder and his neck. Several guns were pointed at them as
they came to a stop, virtually surrounded.
"Who are you and where are you going?" asked a white
soldier in Shona.
The men rattled their names. "We're on a sad journey... to
bury a relative who died yesterday," added the older man who
sported a white beard. He wiped his neck and brows with his
hands.
"Why are you walking through the bush?" the white soldier
asked.
"We are taking the short cut, baas," the older man replied.
"And why are you carrying those weapons? You must
terrorists!."
The men stole a glance at their hands. "Men, unlike
women, carry a stick or something on a journey, just in case
they need to defend themselves."
Mandere, seeing that he was no longer the principal target
of the interrogation, felt safer.

37
 "All right, madhala, give us a hand over there in removing
that dead donkey from underneath those wagons," said the
white soldier. "And burn it!"
The donkey must have been in flight when death caught up
with it, for it faced away from the railway line and its forelegs
were still thrust forward in dead motion; only its hind part
from the waist lay smashed underneath a wagon.
When the men announced the completion of their
assignment and were about to leave, the white soldier said,
"We have all this cheap sugar, here, madhala, why don't you
each give us fifty cents for a pack to take to the funeral? I'm
sure your people will be glad to have it."
The older man thrust his hand into his pocket but a heavy
wink of an eye and a silent stirring of his companion's dry
lips caused the man to drop the coins with a dull jingle back
into his pocket.
"We don't need the sugar," the other traveler said.
"Why not? The government no longer needs the sugar. Or
would you be pleased to see it all eaten up by ants? Just give
us twenty-five cents for each of these large packets, then."
Both men vigorously shook their heads.
The white soldier dismissed all the four men and they were
on their way when the coloured soldier called out to them
and they all turned. He pointed his gun at Mandere. "You
short man in overalls, come back!"
Mandere spun his wound then studied the three other
man. Only he was short and fat and only he wore tight­
fitting, pink overalls. His lips seemed to form the words, "I
don't want to die," as he returned.
"Sit down!" the coloured man ordered the confused
Mandere whose big eyes were filled with please for mercy.
"Do you know how we deal with terron'sts collaborators?"
"No."
"We shoot them because they are a much a danger to the
State as the terron'sts are. And you are going to go that way
38
 unless you stop fooling around and tell us where the
terrorists who sabotaged this train are hiding."
"I have not the slightest idea of where they are."
"You certainly do; we followed their spoor right into your
village where we found the food they are. All this is
incontrovertible evidence against you."
"I swear by my mother that I'm innocent. I know
absolutely nothing about terrorists.
"Don't tell me you've never seen of them or heard of them?"
"Yes, I have seen them ... "
"Ahal Where and when?"
"In the past. They were passing by ... not through my village
but near it. Others have also seen them. But since I never
talked to them I don't know where they were going or where
they are now."
The soldier eyed the prisoner in a .. �H�·�'-""'way, snorting
and frowning. you want to die, you don't want to
tell us the truth?"
"I don't want to die, sir, but there nothing I can do if I
must die for telling the truth."
The next moments were an absolute dread for Mandere.
The other soldiers having dispersed to leave the interrogator
and another two soldiers, he convinced himself that
intervening, stony silence was the to his execution.
He shuddered as the coloured reloaded his rifle and then
resigned himself to his fate completely. He silently prayed for
his soul.
"I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. .. You may go!"
Mandere's shoulders heaved as he gave a deep sigh of
relief.
"But a minute!" the soldier roared as Mandere rose to
leave.
"This man, just give us fifty cents or twenty-five
and ... "
"Thank you, sir, I don't need any sugar"
39
 "If you are shy send your wife with the cash and we shall
sell it to her. If the other villagers want some sugar as well,
ask them to approach us."
"I shall see," Mandere said non-commitally. He had been
sufficiently drilled by the guerillas to know that the soldiers
were desperately trying to set a trap in their hunt for the
train saboteurs.

* * *

Mandere went to a meeting at the guerillas' base, a thickly

wooded area every bit of which was under surveillance by
sentries. The entire Village Committee as present as were
several other villagers. It was three days after his
interrogation.
Today the guerillas were in a turbulent mood: the lines on
their faces, the biting of lips and the decidedly ominous,
serpentine grins - all these portended hard times ahead.
As the crowd sat in tense, expectant silence, a fat guerilla
wearing blue jeans and a peaked cap to match addressed the
Village Cammittee.
"One of you, comrades, is a sell-out!... Yes, a sell-out," he
repeated as the officials of the committee exchanges stunned
gazes. "A sell-out is a snake and you all know what to do with
a snake which sneaks into your house, don't you?"
The officials, upon whom all eyes were now fixed, nodded in
silence.
The guerilla had brought his AK4 7 assault rifle from his
back and now gripped it in his hands as he paced the area in
front of the crowd with a violent step.
Mandere cleared his throat in a slow, subdued manner.
The guerilla stopped directly front of him. "You! Stand
up!" He pointed a finger at Mandere. "Yes, I mean you!"

40
 The guerilla began to pace up and down, this time taking
his time as if the war had already been won. He addressed
the crowd in general.
"Following the successful job we did the other night the
enemy went to one village to seek information about our
whereabouts and was given food, even assisted to remove a
dead donkey from underneath the goods train we blasted.
The person who fed them and gave them a hand happens to
be a member of the committee whom we appointed - this man
standing right here in front of me. In addition, he chose to do
the obvious thing: he remained silent about his activities
believing. I'm sure, that we would never discover what
happened."
"Ah!" the village committee chairman exclaimed upon
hearing the guerilla's accusations which rang in his ears like
the cavils of a shrew.
Surprise, dismay and fear visited Mandere to form a
constellation which paralysed him. He felt bruised on both
sides. After transcending the helpless state of mind, Mandere
stared valiantly in the guerilla's face. "With due respect to
you, comrade, I flatly deny the malicious allegations made
against me. Contrary to the claims that I fed the enemy
soldiers who came to my village in search of the comrades
who blasted the train, the report that I presented to my
superior here will vouch for the truth of my refusal to be
unjustly put in the same bed with the enemy."
All eyes shifted to the committee's secretary, who spoke
presently.
"I can confirm that the comrade made the report to me the
same afternoon that the enemy soldiers nearly shot him
when they found-eaten food in his village before asking him
and other men to burn a donkey that had been hit and killed
by the train. I, in turn, passed on the report to comrade
chairman that same evening. He can confirm this himself."

41
 All diverted to the committee chairman, a chubby
faced man in his early forties. lowered his head while his
big mouth remained wide open and soundless.
"Comrade chairman," the guerilla addressed the man,
"what you to say?"
Other guerillas had emerged from nowhere and they stood
motionless beside the one talking with their guns poised for
action.
"Hey, look at me!" the guerilla yelled harshly. "Didn't you
hear what I said? Did you receive a report from these two
comrades, or not?"
The man cast a furtive glance at the guerilla and
looked down to say, "Yes, I received the report."
"Why didn't you report to us?"
The man did not reply.
"Hey, are you on our side or are you an enemy informer?"
Again the man did not reply.
"As you can see for yourselves, comrades," the guerilla said,
his voice having suddenly assumed a intonation, "you
have been working with an enemy within ... To us the fact
that he has shirked the responsibilities we gave him by
not keeping us informed of the enemy's activities, means that
he has instead informing on our activities. We cannot
allow such people to enjoy the best of both worlds."
They all looked down, their hearts filled with fear of the
condemned man. Darkness was fast creeping

42
 THE CRIMINALS

came for her at this Midlands hospital on a Tuesday

afternoon in 1977. was off duty and was ironing her
uniforms in her hostel room when the shuffling of feet
prompted her to turn her face towards door. Her head
jerked back slightly her eyes opened wide as the two men
stopped near the door which one of them had left half shut.
Both men wore fine suits. One of them was big and had a
black patch over his left eye. The other man did not look
unfamiliar but she could not presently recall where she had
seen him before. was short, stocky bald-headed.
wore dark glasses with a silver frame. The one-eyed man
cleared his throat.
"I take it you're Nurse Mayo?"
"Yes ... Why?"
The one-eyed man nodded to his companion who moved a
pace fonvard, pushed Nurse Moyo with his hand, flung
open the wardrobe door and started to search inside.
"Why? What's matter?" Nurse Mayo demanded, her
hardly blinking and one hand still holding the hot pressing
iron.
"We're policemen," said the one-eyed man. When the other
man had moved forward he had shut the door near which he
now stood with his big legs wide apart and his clumsy­
looking arms poised. Looking at him one got the impression
that he wanted to make sure their quarry was safely in
net.
Nurse Mayo stooped to switch off the pressing iron which
she then set on the ironing board. Turning first to the man at
the door then to the one half-buried in her wardrobe, she
shook her head, "Why are you searching my room?"

43
 "Keep your big mouth shut or else I will ... " the one-eyed
man threatened. He had fashioned a fist the size of the
biggest of her three plant pots and he waved it menacingly at
her.
Nurse Moyo stepped back out of his range and curled
herself in a comer behind her bed. She was a small girl just
approaching twenty years of age. The worst she could ever
wish for herself was for that pulverizing fist to spoil the good
looks on her round, plump face.
From the safety of the corner she watched in horror as the
short man ripped open letters which he read cursorily.
searched her clothes and every nook in the wardrobe and as
he turned his attention to a suitcase on the bed, Nurse Moya
wrinkled her face. Her mind was re-enacting scenes: she
recalled an incident one evening. She and another nurse
been returning to the hostel from work. Her companion had
pointed to a man leaning against a lamp post behind a tall
hedge just opposite the hostel. They had stopped only a few
metres from the man. The other girl, who had intimated to
Nurse Mayo that she was expecting a friend, had coughed
purposely. The man, who wore a dark jacket and grey
trousers, had swung round and gazed at them for several
seconds before walking briskly away. The frames of his sun­
glasses had glinted in the setting sun as he glanced back
three times before the girls proceeded to the hostel. There
had been further sightings of a man of the same description
and the similarity in the physical appearance of the man who
was now throwing things out of the suitcase and that of the
mystery man, sent a tremor through Nurse Mayo.
The man looked angrier at the end of his search than when
he had started it. The small room was messy with clothes
and bits of paper thrown all over.
"Anything?" the one-eyed man asked as the other pulled a
khaki handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and wiped his
face and hands.
44
 "Nothing, Chief," said the other, "nothing of interest."
The one-eyed man turned to Nurse Moyo. "Now you come
with us..."
"Where to? What have I done?"
"You'll be told at the Charge Office!"
"I must know now what crime I've committed so that my
friends may also know."
The one-eyed man's face tensed and he made as it to yell
but instead he bit his lip and squinted his eye at the girl.
After several tense moments of silence he shot out a finger at
her and said, "Girl, if you keep wasting our time like this
we're going to throw you out of this room. Do you
understand?"
"But what do you want from me, sir?" Her voice shook and
she stood with her hands crossed on her chest.
"You're under arrest! Do you understand?"
"Under arrest? What have I done?"
The one-eyed man turned to his companion. "She's very
stubborn... Throw her out!"
"Nol" she raised her hands to keep short man at bay.
"I'm not refusing ... Please let me change into something."
"Those trousers will be good for you," said the one-eyed
man.
Nurse Moyo looked down at her white, billowy trousers
which she wore with a striped long-sleeved shirt and white
sandals. Then she turned to her bed and as she stretched out
her hand the short man grabbed a newspaper which lay
beside her sweater. It was yesterday's issue of the daily
newspaper.
"Look, Chief, look," the man said as he stepped back and
showed the newspaper to his boss. He pointed a finger at a
news item with a red circle around it. "Today we caught her
red-handed."

45
 The one-eyed man took hold of the newspaper and raised it
to his He frowned and his lips twitched. "So were
going to send this one away as well?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, sir," Moyo
said. All knew was that had marked the item with a
red pen unconsciously. It had made her angry. Not all
of it but part from the Security Force Headquarters in
Salisbury (now Harare) which reported that some
collaborators had been "caught in cross-fire" when security
forces engaged a group of guerillas in a rural district near the
hospital where Nurse Mayo worked. As she substituted
"murdering innocent villagers in cold blood'' for "caught in
cross-fire" she had run her pen round the item and then cast
the newspaper on the bed to start ironing.
The two men each otheL
"Let's get moving," the one-eyed man barked the ordeL
"Yes, Chief," his companion said. turned to face Nurse
Mayo and nodded to her to move.
Nurse Moyo picked up her sweater and her handbag.
The one-eyed man opened the door nodded to the short
man to get out first. "Follow him," he ordered the girl and
then followed close behind her, shutting door as he went.
"Move on!"
"I want to lock the door," Nurse Moyo said, gazing
frightfully at the man.
He mumbled something. She produced a bunch of keys
from her handbag, nervously selected the tight key and then
took several seconds to insert it in the keyhole.
As they rushed across an open space towards an
unmarked white 404 parked near hedge, Nurse
Mayo glanced this way and that, her eyes unblinking.
Moments later her escorts stumbled to a halt and the one­
eyed man cried, "Why do you stop? Move!"
Nurse Moyo gasped and rushed her best foot forward. She
had not realised that she had stopped. It had all been an
46
unconscious move: she was anxious to be seen being hustled
away between the two men. For, as the war intensified,
people had disappeared, some mysteriously, some in almost
the same way she was being taken away and most of them
had never been accounted for. Nurse Mayo reasoned that if
someone saw her with her "abductors" and they knew they
had been seen, then the chance of her disappearing, or much
less being harmed, would be reduced.
"Why are you dragging your feet?" she short man
demanded as he pushed her forward with his hand.
They changed course slightly and made for an opening in
the hedge through which they sneaked out. The short man
outpaced the others and when he reached the car he flung
open the back door through which the one-eyed man shoved
the girl and then seated himself beside her.
At the Charge Office they locked her up in a cell on her
own.

* * *

was for interrogation on the morning of the third

day. A man had never seen before led her to a room with
long, thick curtains. He was a tall, thin man with protruding
upper front teeth and he wore civilian clothes.
Another man sat in the room at a small desk on top of
which he with a finger, nodding his rhythmically
with his lips moving silently. When the prisoner appeared, he
raised his face and pursed his brows. "Sit over there!" he
pointed to a bench the corner towards which he turned his
eye like one focusing a camera lens on a subject.
Nurse Moyo crawled to the bench and seated herself on it
with a bump. She had not had a change of clothes and she
stank of sweat. Holes had developed in her cheeks making
her look like a ghost and her hair was in disarray.

47
 The one-eyed man drew a notebook from his pocket and
laid it on the desk in front of him. He eyed the girls and then
lowered his eye to the notebook which he now opened. He
pulled out a drawer and took out a writing pad which he
handed to the thin man at the door. Again he cast his eye
down and then up at Nurse Moyo, whilst the man at the door
waited expectantly, then he said, "We're now going to discuss
business... the business of your presence here. In other
words: the reason for your arrest. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Nurse Moyo said. She now looked calm and
resigned to her fate.
"But if you tell us the truth, if you choose not to waste our
time, things will be easy for you, my girl. Do you
understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"But if you think you are clever and start playing around,
we'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget for the rest of your
life... Do you understand?
"Yes, I do."
"Fine ... Fine... So tell me: for how long have you been a
spy?"
The thin man's pen screeched on the writing pad.
"I beg your pardon," Nurse Moyo turned an ear.
"I said for how long have you been in the spying business?"
"Ah!... I'm shocked... I don't understand what you mean.
I've never been a spy."
"Yes, you're a spy and just now I'm going to show you that
you're a fool, you don't think we know what you're doing. As
a matter of fact I'm going to show you that we know what
most of you at the hospital have been doing... and sooner or
later some of you are going to pay dearly for betraying the
Government. I must tell you at the outset that no terrorist
can ever hope to rule this country. It can't happen and it
won't happen... "
"Honestly, I don't know what you're talking about."
48
 "You very well do because you've been sending secrets
about our security operations to our enemies who harbour
terronsts... "
"I've never done anything like that in all my life."
"Tum to your left," the one-eyed interrogator gestured with
his hand. "Do you see anything on the wall?"
The prisoner craned her neck and for several seconds she
studied the wall.
"You can't see anything?"
"Yes, these dark spots ... ?
"Yes, those patches of blood. Some people have come here
behaving the way you are and the time I was finished with
them, by the time I'd made them shed that blood as a lesson
for hiding the truth, they realised their foolishness ... Now,"
he rose, and turned up the long of his shirt, "I'm
going to give you the same treatment..."
"Please don't... hurt me," she curled herself up in the
corner.
The interrogator grabbed the notebook and strode forward.
He stopped beside her. "I won't hurt you if you cooperate."
Nurse Moyo sat up, watching his every move. The
interrogator bent fonvard until his head was level with hers.
flung open the notebook to reveal or more letters
stapled to a page. She concluded from their pale appearance
that they must be photocopies. The interrogator drew the
notebook closer to her eyes, whereupon she saw on the
opposite page a list of three names. The man shut the
notebook and withdrew it when she raised her eyes to have a
good look at the names.
"Now don't tell me you didn't write those letters?"
"Ah ... Yes, I wrote them. who gave them to you?"
"Who gave them to us, you ask?" he his eye
trained menacingly on "Who gives God information about
what goes on on earth?"

49
 She gasped, out of breath. "Anyway," she spoke with her
head bowed, "those letters are completely innocent... I mean I
wrote them to my young sister at school advising her not to
come home at this time because of the situation in the
country... which is not very good. That's what they were all
about, sir."
The interrogator had backed away and was now seated on
top of the desk, facing the prisoner. He turned over a few
pages and cast his eye on the letters. "In two of your letters
you tell lies about our security forces: you say t:bat if your
sister comes she might be killed or raped by our soldiers on
the way... True or false?"
"I advised her so."
"Why"
"Because I feared for her life. I didn't want her to come and
- well - perhaps get into trouble."
"So you admit that you sent military secrets to a country
which harbours terron'.sts and is this at war with us?"
I admit that I wrote letters to this young school girl. Like
me she knows nothing about what you call military secrets. I
wrote the letters, as I said earlier on, purely out of love for
her and if that is what is meant by military secrets then I
admit I acted in complete ignorance."
The interrogator laid the notebook on the desk and sat
back with a weary sigh. With no further questions coming
presently from the man, Nurse Mayo saw her freedom in
sight. Moments later, however, the man at the door snapped
a question that nearly made her scream with indignation.
"But who told you, girl, that our security forces rape
people?"
Nurse Mayo's head dropped, her hope of freedom virtually
quashed. She did not even know how to answer that
question. So it initially came as a bit of a relief when the chief
interrogator said, "Now tell me something else... " He watched
in silence as she slowly raised her head and looked into his
50
 face. "How many secrets have you passed over to the
terrorists in this country and about the movement of our
security forces? We know that you people in the hospital feed
them and even treat them when they are seriously ill or when
they are wounded."
Her eyes opened wider. "I don't anything about what you
are saying."
"Nurse Moyo, you're doing the wrong thin in the wrong
place," her interrogator said. "Politics and nursing don't mix
well and when the time comes we11 show you the truth of it
all."
Before the threat in his last words took effect, the prisoner
felt rather flattered: she had never at any moment considered
herself a politician as such although she had always felt
when possessed a political insight superior to that of many
men she had come into contact with. Indeed, she felt the
same about her interrogator and the other man with him and
those others she had interacted with in this place. For
instance, she had not first believed her ears when earlier in
the interrogation the one-eyed man had bragged that
terron:Sts would never rule the country. It has seemed that he
had merely been parroting other people's sentiments but as
the interrogation developed it has become clear to her that
the views the man had been expressing were truly his own
and that they also appeared to reflect the thinking of
colleagues. Still, the question remained unanswered whether
these rnen were entrenched in the "wrong" political camp
because of their lack of political foresight, o:r whether it vvas
fanatical loyalty which made them cling to a system whose
life-chances they knew little about, or a combination of both.
If it was because of the latter reason, she wondered vvhat
would happen should the terron:Sts got into po1.ver. Was it
possible that these people, if the new government decided not
to sweep them away into the rubbish dump of histor.1, would

51
 move from their old camp to a new camp with the same
fanatical loyalty?
The chief interrogator broke the tense silence by rising
suddenly. He grabbed his notebook and nodded to the other
man who also rose and together they went outside and locked
the door behind them.
Nurse Mayo relapsed into fear and despair as she listened
to the men's feet shuffling away. When she heard them
returning some fifteen to twenty minutes later her body
tensed as she fixed anxious eyes on the door handle.
The shuffling ceased at the door but she could hear voices.
She arched her body forward and waited, with an ear to the
door.
"Now if she goes... what about the list?"
"It's better she goes so that we can wipe it out
properly."
She identified the last speaker as main interrogator.
The knot in her stomach tightened when the list was
mentioned. Her own name was on it and the other people
listed were a nursing sister and a hospital executive. At first
when she had become aware that her letters had been
intercepted - she had thought that perhaps the list had been
kept in connection with the letters and thus, her arrest.
However, the dialogue between the two interrogators seemed
to suggest that her release would not in any way guarantee
her total freedom.
She sat up with bated breath as the door was unlocked and
the junior interrogator came in. left the door ajar.
"Back to your..." he gestured with his head and thumb.

* * *

The prisoner sat leaning against wall at noon, the next

day, when the same man came to the cell. "How are
nurse?"
52
 "Well... not bad," she replied, sitting up.
"I've brought you good news, nurse."
"Good news?"
"Good news. You're now free to return to your work."
She gasped and then she rose. "You mean... you mean ... I
can now leave this place? Really?"
Sure, nurse, sure."
She hugged herself with a sudden rush of joy. There was
actually such an outpouring of joy that she felt like hugging
and kissing her bearer of good news but his surly face put
her off.
"There are formalities to be completed before you leave," he
said and indicated with his head and thumb to her to follow
him.

* * *

"What did he mean by wiping out our names?" Nurse Moyo

said and a man seated beside her on the bus held his left ear
towards her and said, "I didn't get you, my daughter?"
"I'm sorry, father," she apologized, "I was talking to myself."
The man grimaced then turned his eyes away in another
direction.
Though she was now free Nurse Moyo still felt an
uneasiness at the back of her mind which did not go away
even when she saw the gleaming buildings of her hospital set
against a setting sun. She felt remotely detained even as the
other nurses mobbed her congratulating her on her release.
They informed her, as they accompanied her to the hostel,
that one of them had spotted her being driven away and had
alerted hospital authorities whose enquiries had established
her whereabouts. Tears rolled down her hollow cheeks as she
listened to their stories. For had not until this moment,
felt deep attachment of the other girls to her. She felt like

53
 a prodigal daughter returning home to the love and warmth
of her family.
were approaching hostel one nurse stopped.
"Look," she pointed in another direction. 'He's still there!"
The rest of the group stopped and looked in that direction.
"I wonder why he has been standing there a guard so
long," another nurse said.
The man had been looking in another direction but the
girls' presence to drawn his attention, for he
turned his head sharply in direction. It was not quite
dark yet and the girls could see clearly that he wore a black
patch over his eye.
The girls proceeded to the hostel while he gazed dreamily at
them. For Nurse Moyo, appearance of the man
immediately brought two things to her mind: it
reminded her of how and his colleague had searched her
room leaving it in a terrible mess the other day; secondly it
filled her heart with more gloom as she wondered whether he
had been sent ahead of her to "wipe out the list."
By the time she went to bed that night she had already
made up her mind what to do her life. the the
other girls called round at her room to say good morning,
room was empty. All her personal belongings were also
missing. A report was made to the but
the enquiries that followed were inconclusive. The hospital
only came to know of her whereabouts when she wrote to
them from Gweru asking for a testimonial and almost
immediately afterwards to send her the
other names on her interrogator's list had

* * *

Nurse Moyo had just reported for work at the Casualty Ward
one afternoon in April 1 when a Eight
attracted attention. Though was
54
 aroused her curiosity and she went round to see his hospital
admission card. His case history confirmed her suspicion.
The patient had arrived two days ago when Nurse Moyo was
on her nights off.
About an hour later the patient in Bed Eight woke and sat
up in bed. He had turned the blankets to one side to reveal
his right leg cast in plaster. His case history stated that he
had been injured in a landmine explosion. From whichever
part of the ward she was, Nurse Moyo watched him keenly.
When she saw him raising the injured leg with both hands
and then lowering it again and again after he woke, she had
felt herself choking with anger. However, she had controlled
herself and watched the patient's behaviour. Most of the
other patients were euphoric as they talked about the
forthcoming Independence celebrations, or compared the past
with the prospects of life in a truly independent state. Not so
the patient in Bed Eight. From the gloom on his face he
seemed to be in a world of his own. Nurse Moyo thought that
perhaps he was in pain. Her call of duty overshadowed her
boiling fury and she took painkillers to him.
"Good afternoon! How are you feeling?" she said as she
stopped at his bed.
The patient had been exercising his leg and when he looked
up and their eyes met, he dropped his leg and winced, with
dismay on his face. A grin formed on his mouth and then his
lips trembled.
"I said how are you feeling?" The grin on his face had
stoked the fire in her heart and her arms began to tremble.
"Ah... Ah... Not... not bad." His eye retreated into its socket
as he stared at her. "Do you... do you think I'll be all right,
nurse - the leg?"
"So that you can be mobile again to murder more people?"
she asked silently. Seconds later, she coughed to steady
herself and told him, "Oh, yes." Then to torment him she
added, "You should be home to celebrate our Independence ...
55
 Wouldn't that be wonderful celebrating our Independence at
home with everybody else?"
The patient bowed his head. "Well, I suppose you are right."
His indecisive answer summed it all up as far as she was
concerned. The man was still as unrepentant as he was when
they interrogated her and declared that freedom fighters
would never rule the country. Inside she spat a mouthful in
his face. When she realised that saliva had formed in her
mouth and that she was about to violate a norm, she
swallowed noisily.
The patient looked at her and when he lowered his eye he
said, "I am wondering, nurse, whether I haven't seen you
somewhere before?" He now appeared helpless and
frightened.
"Yes, you're my ghost," Nurse Moya said and the
patient's eye rolled up with a start. The tray of medicine in
her hand shook. Thoughts were piling up in her head. She
had heard that members of the security forces had fled the
country when it became clear that their Government had
been defeated the General Election. Was it not possible
that others might still be hiding in the country? If that was
possible what would stop those who had fled from recruiting
their colleagues within the country, like this former
interrogator, to sabotage the new Government? She recalled a
story she had heard recently. It was said that some of the
former agents of the old regime had begun to worm their way
into "hiding" in different sectors before the new Government
took over power. "Where can one get a magic wand to
neutralize these agents in order to protect our
independence?" she asked herself.
Meanwhile, the former interrogator had seen her lips
moving and he had fixed his eye on her. When their met
a four-letter word formed on her lips and she spun round and
stalked away from Bed Eight, the tray swinging in her hand.

56
"With these criminals still at large," she soliloquised as she
"shall we ever be

57
 H FORTUN

workers emerged a forest building at o'clock and

wearily two men hands rather
hastily on the steps one shiny skyscraper before rushing
inside and locking away.
One of the men was Jimi, a chain a big pot
belly, broad shoulders and a small head. Theirs had become
a ritual. As always would wait for the other man. When
certain the building had been cleared, would swagger from
his ground floor to the steps overlooking Union Avenue.
a big pipe between his he would stand
gazing an.'Ciously across the street and soon after, or perhaps
five or so minutes later, a tall, bony-faced man would come
hurrying down street towards him. They would shake
hand briefly Jimi would shove his man inside while
locked the. door of his office behind him. would swagger to
the window out on his gleaming black Mercedes
parked under a shade. He would rake the surroundings
his blood-shot eyes before shutting the window and throwing
himself into a brown oval chair just one piece of the
furnishings graced the vast
Things went on like this for a considerable period.
Today Jimi spoke with unusual excitement as he sank back
in the oval chair after showing Mavhiri a parcel in his drawer.
"But sir, you're giving me a difficult task," Mavhiri
said.
"The trouble with some of you," Jimi said laughing, "is that
you'll only your eyes it already too late ... You
see, we must make hay while sun is still shining... So I
want you to get this thing out as quickly as possible. I want it
out of here at once. The safe is not its proper place.
"It's difficult, sit."
58
 "Now look here, Mavhiri. I did you a big favour getting you
a job. This was not because you're of my own tribe; I had
confidence and trust in you... that you would carry out
certain tasks for me. You've been a good boy all along. I don't
understand what has now entered your head. I don't
understand what has now entered your head. I don't see why
you can't perform this task. Moreover, it's a big, precious
groundnutthis one, as you saw for yourself. You stand to
a handsome commission."
"It's a big groundnut all right and I know that you'll reward
me for it watched and already there talk that some
are corrupt."
That I'm corrupt?"
"No names been mentioned but that's no guarantee
that names will not be sooner or later."
Jimi laughed and leaned in his seat, the pipe
clenched between his teeth. "If don't know it, my
fellow, I want to tell you that life is no easy task. It is like a
long journey up a mountain. The steps that mountain are
irksome and I think - well, you may not think so yourself -
there's no harm stopping once a while to browse and gain
more strength to continue the climb. Don't you think so?"
"To stop and browse would, in my opinion, be behaving like
a span of oxen which divert from the furrow in order to
browse."
"The analogy fits - but so what?"
"Well, sir, farmer will complain that the oxen are
undisciplined and they don't plough well."
"In which case, he must give them a break to graze for a
while in order to regain their strength."
"Here, sir," Mavhiri said smiling, "the analogy is obvious."
had never felt more confident in his life.
"How?"

59
 "They're already saying it - the people - as I said earlier
they're saying that when leaders start behaving like an
undisciplined span of oxen they need to be un-spanned."
"Naturally! So why not remove the yoke or the yokes?"
"Give them an election and you may I mean those in
positions of leadership like yourself - all be sent away for
good."
Jimi frowned and lowered his head. He looked impatient.
"This is a very minor point you're driving me to. What I called
you for here today is to get his groundnut out of the country
before those nosy dogs realise what is happening. I don't
want anyone to come shoving their filthy feet around my
office."
An ugly frown twisted Mavhiri's face and Jimi was
dismayed by it. "This is a very difficult task, sir, I have
already said it."
Jimi paid little attention to "I've got your air ticket line
up and you should have no difficulty departing. None,
whatsoever." paused, his eyes frn.ed on Mavhiri. "Two days
away from work won't ruin this country and I'll cover for
you, besides. Your supervisor is one of us - our homeboy -
and I know he won't make a fuss about it." regarded the
younger man imploringly.
"Still, the task is difficult and right now I feel, for the first
time in my life, like a bull trying to break out of a pen at
night to destroy crops while people are sleeping. Somehow I
feel terribly frightened of the consequences."
Jimi laughed; a big, confident man's laugh. It was as
though Mavhiri had just given him total assurance that the
task would be carried out after all, with speed and precision.
"In the case of your bull breaking out of a pen," he said
amid laughter, "what consequences are there other than
simply being whipped?"
"When cattle break out of a pen that pen is not repaired
whilst they are inside."
60
 "Naturally, my dear fellow! Naturally! And so what? They're
always brought back in when the repairs are completed,
aren't they?"
"I envy them, sir, I envy cattle," Mavhiri said in self-
pity. As for us, what guarantee is there that is we break out
of this pen - the system by continuing to do what you're
asking me to do we11 brought back into the system?"
"Ah! So you think whites are foolish when they say we must
make hay while sun shines? You think it's a foolish
saying?"
"I wouldn't say that but it depends on what hay and whose
hay it is."
"Now look here you foolish young man!" Jimi thrust the
pipe at Mavhiri, inadvertently turning its bowl and emptying
the burning tobacco on his own trousers. brushed it
with incredible swiftness for those sluggish hands. The office
was filled with the smell of ash to the extent that Mavhiri had
to fan his face with his hand at one point.
"Sorry about old man," the younger man said as Jimi
sat back in the sofa and refilled his pipe.
"I wanted to .. I want you to know that if you don't
stand up and make the hay, the way wide ants do,
there is still sunshine, no-one will do it for you. That's
people mean when they say you 'eat Zimbabwe'. They mean
that you open your eyes while others still have theirs closed.
You make a move, in other words, like all hunters of
fortune."
With his left hand Mavhiri smoothed his red necktie and
Jimi regarded the hand with suspicious, or fearful,
Mavhiri could not tell which.
Moments of mid-boggling passed and Jimi rose to
his feet and adjusted his brown and white braces. He walked
over to the window and leaned against it, facing his car. After
standing there in silence for a few minutes he came back

61
slowly and finally stopped in front of Mavhiri, so that was
hovering over the younger man.
"Have you now changed your mind? I you all this time
to think it over."
Mavhiri's eyes rolled up whilst at the same time he shoved
his right hand into the left inner pocket of his corduroy
jacket. He brought out a card, glanced once at it, his lower lip
in his mouth, the bony face unusually taut now and thrust it
towards the standing man.
"Yes, I've changed my In I changed my mind a
long time Sorry for that, old man."
Jimi Mavhiri raised the card higher.
"Oh, no!" exclaimed Jimi. His wide-open eyes gazed
fearfully at the card. He threw himself into the oval chair,
and his face with his hands.
"I can't it! When did you become a detective? If only
I had known you were a sell-out." He looked up at Mavhiri.
He was almost in tears. "How can you do such a thing to me?
We're homeboys."
we're homeboys all right but this is a different matter
altogether. You're under arrest it's now our turn to ask
questions. So let's moving before it's too dark"

62
 drumbeat echoed across Mpopoti as crowd
drank and danced. The mood could not have been more
convivial; it was even ominous.
Yesterday the people had been threshing Nguvo's mountain
of mhunga and he had reserved enough beer for party
y
toda - a bright Sunday. The other day the villagers had been
threshing at Afrika's village and the previous week they had
harvested another villager's maize crop. During the
season they had brought their spans of oxen together to help
one another out in ploughing their fields. Over the this
cooperative spirit had grown and had, by now 1949 drawn
the people of Mpopoti West into a tight-knit community.
As the merry-making continued, children suddenly came
running from behind the village and plunged into the
stunned crowd. But before people could investigate, three
on horseback appeared in the distance. The dancing
stopped the crowd turned in that direction.
"That looks like " a man said as the drew
closer. "But who are those whites?"
Razaro came from a village the area and worked for a Mr.
""'"'"V''-'n who farmed to the west of Mpopoti.

"That looks like Franschoek on the white horse," said one

man. "What about white man on the black horse?"
Razaro led the way into village. He a brown mule.
Franschoek st.:J.tely on white horse a black spot
on its forehead. He was a big man, much the
man on the other horse which white spots. They came
and stopped in front of The man on the
horse looked paler than Mr. who had a
tan.

63
 "Yes, madhalal" Franschoek cried in greeting, touching the
tip of his helmet.
The crowd mumbled a reply. The men clutched their hats
in their hands and wrinkled their faces at the white men. The
women regrouped in the back where they stood with children
clinging to their skirts. The other white man pressed his
aging Battersby down with his hand. He beamed impassively
down at the people while Razaro repeatedly flexed his neck
and coughed with shameless pomposity.
Franschoek winked an eye and the other white man turned
and said something to Razaro in English. As the white man
spoke, Razaro listened to him with his head inclined in that
direction. He then cleared his throat and faced the crowd to
interpret in the vernacular.
"We have come to tell you that this land on which you live
has been bought. It is now European land... " He turned to
the small white man. "This baas standing before you is the
new owner..." Again he turned his ear to the white man who
gestured with his hand as he spoke. "Baas wants you to leave
his land as quickly as possible so that he can start to work
on it ... "
There were gasps of astonishment and a dn1m slipped from
a woman's hand and fell with such a bang that Franschoek's
horse leaped into the air whilst the others stamped restlessly
on the ground. There was grumbling and stamping of feet in
the crowd and a man said, "This mubhunu must be joking..."
"What's he saying?" the white man asked Razaro, who
interpreted in kitchen English. "Tell them that is I come again
and I find them still squatting on my land I'll order their
arrest..."
"Where are the handcuffs?'' yelled the crowd as Razaro
interpreted. "Arrest us now ... We shall not move ... This is the
land of our ancestors and we can show you their graves ..."
Franschoek spun around in his saddle and said to Razaro,
"My boy, yini yena khuluma?"
64
 Razaro muttered something and shrugged his shoulders.
Now his big eyes had an icy stare about them.
"Baas," a man cried in the crowd, his voice shaking, "what
about the fields we have winter-ploughed?"
"That's not my ndaba. You can go and do the same where
you're going."
"Where are we going, baas?"
The white man shrugged his shoulders. Ask the Native
Commissioner that question."
Another man pushed his way through the crowd to the
front. He was a big man in his mid-forties. "Is it the Native
Commissioner who sold you this land since we, the owners,
don't even know you?" His voice was booming.
"My boy, you're standing on my land and I shall brook no
subversive politics on my property. Do you understand?"
"You have no land here!" the crowd yelled. Razaro stopped
the interpretations. He looked uneasy as the crowd screamed
and hurled abuse at the white man. At first the people moved
forward and backwards as they shouted but when the horses
began to stamp the ground with their forelegs, they advanced
waving their fists, knob-kerries, stones and other missiles. A
man beat a drum noisily and the mule and the horses shot
up in the air and thundered away in different directions. The
people yelled all the louder as the riders clung precariously to
their mounts.
The party came to a virtual end. People left one by one or in
twos or groups. Some cursed as they went whilst others
vowed to stay on, regardless.
As Afrika resumed his seat on a disused mortar near Nguvo
and three other men, he said, "So the rumour was true, after
all!"
"So it was, Afrika, it was..." Nguvo said.
However, the rumour had not been the only early signal. A
spirit medium had also foreseen trouble coming and he had
warned the people. At a beer-party at Afrika's village a few
65
 days ago, Maporisa had become possessed by the spirit of his
uncle. "I see strange shadows on the horizon over there," he
had pointed towards the west. "They are shadows of those
without knees... coming here. I also see another shadow very,
very far away... It is coming, coming, coming ... " Just then
another man had said drunkenly to the host, "Afrika, your
beer is so good this time that it makes people see imaginary
shadows." Some people had laughed, whereby Maporisa had
stormed out of the village. An elderly man, however, had said
to the man who derided Maporisa, "You must drink within
reason... You shouldn't say such bad things because
Maporisa's spirit has never told us lies. Never!"
Now Nguvo said to those around him, "It seems the end has
come for all of us." He bowed his head and shook it. "If I had
taken that rumour seriously perhaps I would know by now
where to take my children to." After a long silence he said, "I
think I must leave this week for Mberengwa."
"To do what, father?" his son, Fanyana, asked. He had
quietly seated himself on the ground behind them and had
listened anxiously to what they had been saying. He was
eighteen years old but many said he was mature beyond his
years. He had a big head and a bright face with a long chin.
His father's reply was long in coming. "Son, after what that
white man said, have we any future in this place?" He shook
his head in negation. "We have to look for a new home."
Afrika bade them farewell and left, shaking his head, deep
in thought.
Fanyana excused himself from the elders and left for his
hut soon after Afrika's departure. He scribbled a note and
asked one of his sisters to deliver it to Memmy. Memory was
Afrika's eldest daughter and they were very much in love.
They had fallen in love while they were still both at school.
They had completed Standard Six and Fanyana was waiting
to go for teacher-training the following year. He planned to
teach for a few years after his training and to further his
66
education. He also hoped that by that time Memory would be
wife. Now the dispossession of their land threatened his
future. He wondered where Memory's family would go should
white man succeed in chasing them away from Mpopoti
His father's pending trip to Mberengwa worried him in
that it threatened to him from her.
Memory was already waiting when he arrived at their
meeting place, east of their villages. The place was in a dense
bush where no-one was likely to see them. The girl wore a
new brown frock whose design, like most of her clothes,
emphasized rural themes. Fanyana thought this one
embraced her more than the other and it fully
outlined her elegant figure. dark-brownish
complexion the soil under whose fertility
was the cause of the conflict between villagers and the
white man. Her had been shampooed with soso and it
gleamed in the sunlight.
"I'm sorry " Fanyana apologised as he sat down
beside her on
"It only to show ... "
"What?"
"That this is one-sided."
"What is?"
"Why don't I also find you waiting for me one day?"
"I'm sorry, darling, I'rn sorry."
"That won't change the truth."
"What truth?"
"That it one-sided."
"Surely you know by now I love you more than
anything on this earth!'

"I haven't made an issue with it because I don't want you to

start wings."
"False wings? Unnecessary
not what I said."
67
 She eyed him with loveful eyes and he knew the message
had got home. She looked at the sun and then rose.
"Why are you getting up? Don't tell me that you want to
run away before we even discuss my letter."
"I came because I want to discuss it. But let's talk as we go.
Mother was not at home when I left, you know, and I don't
want her to get back and not find me home."
Fanyana rose and they began to walk back home, hand in
hand.
"Have you heard that someone's buying this land?"
Fanyana asked, his voice tense.
Memory stopped. "So it is true? It is really true?"
"You know about it?"
"Well, I overheard my parents discussing the issue last
night."
"What did they say?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "I wish had paid more
attention."
"That would have been the right thing."
"So who is buying the place?"
"A certain nameless white man."
"Are we going to be affected?" She appeared worried. "Is the
white man going to chase us away? Or will he allow us to
stay on his land? And what are you people planning to do?"
"Staying around," Fanyana said. He had been anxious to
know what her parents had decided to do. In the absence of
this information he thought it premature, indeed imprudent,
to alarm the girl at this stage. In any case he \,Vas now
confident that the people would fight to prevent the white
man settling in Mpopoti. The confrontation with him
yesterday was ample proof of this and with sufficient time to
organise themselves they could be an indomitable force. He
was personally eager to organise the other youths in order to
form a strong resistance force. He was sure that if the white

68
man was defeated could his to
change his mind about emigrating.
They walked on in then was a struggle
Memory broke loose and stopped some meters away.
Fanyana was laughing unashamedly.
"What you want to do? can't you from
your mind?" She was panting.
"Why do you behave a little girl ?"

"How many have I told you that l don't want that?"

"I know you don't love me."
Memory spun round and faced in the direction
were going. pointed a finger said,
what you often told me about
there?" It was a strip of very fertile with woods and tall
grass on it.
"I love virgin so much and I want to turn
our field when we get married. If anyone it
then I'm going to cause hell on earth."
Memory frowned, "Your memory is very
"Why?"
"Because you forget that I've told
that plot of lad which you you love
that until we
"All right, let's talk about something "
scratching his head. "Do you think you can find out some
more from your land business? I want
what "

promise to find out what my

future and I shall let you know
They shook hands first, over
shoulder as hastened away.
Midway between Afrika's his (J\vn, Fanyana
came across a of
69
 standing on opposite sides of the road. Some of the youths
carried knob-kerries and others had fishing rods slung over
their shoulders. A pack of mangy dogs accompanying them
lay down or rested on their haunches at their masters' feet,
their tongues hanging out.
Fanyana had grown up with some of the boys. They had
herded cattle together, hunted or fished together until they
had graduated from the local school and gone to Dadaya
Mission. When he saw these boys he decided to exploit this
chance meeting by sounding them out on the land problem.
"So, boys, what do you think about the seizure of our
land?" he addressed the group.
A sly-eyed youth frowned at him. "The white man has not
seized this land; he has bought it."
"Did you see the price?" he asked the youth. "And what do
you other gentlemen say?"
"My parents say we are not going anywhere," said one
youth. "Which is just as well: because this new farmer also
means new job opportunities... I want to get married next
year so I must find a job and earn money, to pay lobola."
Another youth said he would have wished to stay but his
parents said they were emigrating. We have started to sell our
cattle, sheep and goats because, as far as I can tell from what
mother says, we're likely to leave the country. Father is so
upset about losing his fields that he see no point in
remaining in this country any longer." Another youth said
everything would depend on his parents and yet another said
his father wanted to remain in Mpopoti West as a tenant
farmer.
The sly-eyed boy said to Fanyana, "What about you? What
is your family going to do?"
"I wish that we could prevent the white man from coming
here. I'm sure that if young people like ourselves ba_._'1ded
together we could easily stop him..."

70
 The sly-eyed boy laughed. "When I first heard that books
could drive people mad I never believed it. But after hearing
what you're saying, Fanyana, I'm convinced the story is true."
He then walked off, laughing like a madman. A skinny dog
scampered after him from underneath a bush and the rest of
the youths followed, also laughing. Fanyana viewed the boys'
attitude as a setback, but not one that was insurmountable.
In fact, he was sure that if he followed them up individually
he could convince them to join him in a confrontation with
the white man. He blamed their ignorance on their semi­
literacy coupled with immaturity. Apart from a higher level of
education, he had himself been exposed at school to
literature and his discussions on political developments in
other parts of Africa, so that his perception of life was
broader.

* * *

The villagers woke one morning to find about a dozen men

busy at work. Some of the men pegged the ground while
others dug holes in the ground behind them. When the
villagers discovered that the route the fence would take cut
through some of their fields they were enraged. Word of what
was happening soon spread and Fanyana was among the
men sent out by Afrika, who became the de .facto ring-leader,
to summon other villagers. A group of men assembled in
Afika's village. Fanyana and three other youths were among
the group of ten which Afrika then lead to the work-party.
The men said they were employees of the new farmer whose
name they gave as Mr. Andrewson.
"We advise you to leave this place immediately if you don't
want trouble," Afrika said.
The workers replied that they were under "very strict
instructions from baas' to listen to no-one else. A short,
elderly man who spoke with a foreign accent and stood out as
71
 supervisor added, we abandon this job we shall be
.. Where can we job?"
Fanyana and youth became agitated mid
threatened to assault workers if they did not depart at
once but Afrika them. He then his resistance
away.
That night Fanyana and the three youths (they had not
been among the he had confronted the other day)
enlisted three other people into their . At dawn Afrika
and Fanyana, who acted as second-in-command, led their
force of thirteen men into a clearing somewhere in the bush.
Only a few of the men were armed with knob-kerries or
sticks. Afrika told them that he believed their numerical
strength would scare the men to leave. was the kind of
man who that shock tactics succeed where
others thought a bloody confrontation was the answer.
He told his men they were to hide in the bush near
clearing the work party had made and then burst out when
the workers arrived on the scene.
The work was long in arriving. As they came they
talked and laughed noisily. They stopped at the clearing
where they their excess clothing. Following behind them
was a four-wheeled ox-drawn cart laden with fence
From his hiding place Afrika counted two dozen men and his
shock tactic boomeranged as the men swarmed to the cart
before it even stopped and began to unload what both
and his attacking force saw not just as fence poles to be
rammed into ground, but as potential weapons to smash
their brains out.
"We can't win this one," he whispered. He crouched and the
way his timid eyes combed the bush they hid the
impression that he was seeking escaping routes. "We'll have
to try .. in another way," said as he backed away
and then sneaked away with his men, their weapons lowered.

72
 They reassembled at their leader's village that evening after
Fanyana and the three other youths had gone round the
villages on their list, reporting that a new strategy had been
worked out. However, this time only seven men turned up;
some were said to have gone beer-drinking, others had said
they thought night was not the right time to do a job.
Fanyana carried a closed tin of paraffin. When the force
arrived at the clearing Afrika ordered everyone else to stop.
He and Fanyana and another youth tiptoed towards a heap of
fence poles in the clearing. They stopped for several seconds
and then they tiptoed round the heap, watching every
suspicious object in the clearing. Afrika then whistled to the
rest of his men who promptly advanced. "Fetch dry grass and
sticks and heap them on top of the poles," he said to the
men. That done, he ordered to go stand at a safe
distance.
"Should I now pour the paraffin?" Fanyana asked.
"Sprinkle it on the grass first and then on the poles starting
from the top," Afrika said.
"There we are!" Fanyana said, after emptying the contents
of his tin.
"Now join the others while I fix those stubborn fellows and
their employer who has the heart of a stone," said Afrika,
taking a box of matches from his breast pocket.
As they departed, leaving behind a raging mountain of fire,
Afrika said, rather indulgently, "That will give them a taste of
what's to come."
The workers came to clearing early the next day but
soon disappeared. Word of what had happened soon spread
and some villagers started to make hasty arrangements to
emigrate warning that the white man might avenge the
destrnction of his property in a more brntal way. But others,
seeing that the workers had not returned for several days,
began to boast that victory had been won and they

73
 abandoned plans to leave Mpopoti West. Nguvo was the
latter category.
For Fanyana, the arson had a great development and
he decided to celebrate it in style by taking Memory out for a
picnic.
As the young couple drifted away from their homes
into the woods, he boasted that was "my father-in-law's
second-in-command." Today he had also made up his mind
to get Memory to consummate love as some kind of
tribute to his valour.
The couple finally sat down under a leafy tree. Memory
leg-weary and Fanyana told himself this would work in
his favour. He had no doubt about the girl's strength though
her breadth and mass sometimes her appear a push-
over.
When she that his mind was going too far she
wrinkled her and pursed her lips. "Now let's try to defeat
that temptation, my dear."
He threw his arms dejectedly into the "Oh, my God!"
"Shouldn't you 'Oh, my Satan'? God the evil you want
to commit don't like each other, you know."
"Darling, don't tell me you can't be to me for just a
while, even after the operation we carried out with your dad?
I promise 1 won't trouble you any more you please me
because I shall know that you love me one hundred per cent."
tome was so plaintive that Memory could not help
laughing.
"So love means that you should do something just to please
your friend, though you may not be interested?"
"What could be a way of demonstrating love than
sacrificing one's interests for the sake of one's lover?"
looked down while digging a hole in the ground with a
stick "Are you really serious?"
very serious... After that I shall no longer have any
doubt about how much you love me."
74
 "Maybe I should ask you to demonstrate your love first
you think I don't love you? Perhaps that will strengthen
your case, actually. So, dear, may I ask you to do
something that will your own love to
"Ask me anything do it. But not to you a11. aero
because that, I cannot provide.
"I would like you to go burn that plot of land ... the one
which you say will our fields when we "
"Memory, of all how dare you
How dare you day that? I thought you knew fire destroys
soil? Now if I destroy the fertility of that virgin land, how can
we ever make it very productive?"
Memory shot up and she as eyed him Fanyana noticed that
her lips were trembling and she wrung her agitatedly.
"So you think that land of yours is more important that
I am? I didn't know you were cheating me. I didn't know that
your so-called love for me is false ... "
Fanyana seemed nailed to the ground. He just looked up at
her, his eyes wide open. "But what's the matter, Memory?
What makes you create these stories that I don't truly love
you?"
"Because you want to set me on fire ..."
He was numbed.

* * *

A week later the villagers were summoned to a meeting at the

Headman's village. The Chief had died and had still not
replaced. Matanga, who was the Chiefs relative, was
acting Chief.
A large crowd turned out for the But instead of the
acting delivering the address, three uniformed black
policemen took turns to talk. warned that those who
had destroyed Mr. Andrewson's property would be
dealt with" if they did not leave Mpopoti immediately and that
75
 any further interference with the white man's workers would
be just as severely punished. However, the policemen also
announced that Mr. Andrewson wanted some villagers to stay
on in the area to "look after his cattle and to work on his
fields." Those who preferred to stay were to register with
Headman Matanga, 'who has kindly decided not to leave as
he wants to look after those who will remain in this area."
That evening Nguvo told Fanyana that he had decided to
register with Matanga.
"No, father..."
"Why not? The white man says that those that don't want
to go are free to stay and I know that you want to stay."
"I've changed my mind, father. You see, the white man
wants some of to remain because he wants us to turn into
his slaves to work on his land as a price for occupying the
land he has robbed us. I think it is better for us to fight and
die for our land than to be alive on it as slaves. And we can
only fight effectively from a different place."
Nguvo looked down and grumbled to himself. When he next
raised his eyes and fixed them unblinking on Fanyana he
said, "I tend to agree with you that perhaps it is better to
flight from somewhere else, especially after the warning by
those policemen. And with Afrika and the others going you're
weakened, aren't you?"
Fanyana sat up and his mouth remained open for several
moments before he could speak. "Afrika is going? Where to,
father?"
"He was not at the meeting but I understand he returned
this afternoon from a long journey. I gather he is definitely
going away."
"Excuse me, father," Fanyana said and rushed away from
his father's house towards his hut. The sun was about to set
and dark shadows were creeping towards the village. He lay
of his bed. His mind was in turmoil. He could not imagine his
life without the virgin land.
76
 When he woke it was daybreak and he was fully clothed. A
letter lay at his pillow. He ripped open the envelope which
was not addressed and held his breath as he read it.

Darling,
What Ifeared has happened. Meet me at the usual
place at lunch Don'tfall to come.
Memory

This time she found him already waiting. She burst into tears
the moment she saw him.
"What's wrong, Memory? Just what is the matter)) Please
stop crying and say what has gone wrong... Are you pregnant
I wonder?"
She eyed through streams of tears. "Because you're
just after spoiling me and then running away."
"I'1n sorry, but I'm confused you say you don't know
what has happened."
"They're taking me away... from you." She wept more
bitterly. "We're going away ... " She buried her face in her
hands.
Fanyana noticed a folded piece of paper stuck between her
hands as she stood with her head bowed. A portion of the
paper was wet. He plucked the paper, unfolded it tenderly.
"My goodness! So you're going to Gokwe?"
Memory looked up and, strangely enough, appeared to
brighten up as Fanyana, his face buried in his hands, wiped
his eyes with his fingers. He then looked up and threw
arms around her shoulders and drew so close to him that
he felt the warmth of her sharp-pointed breasts against his
partially exposed chest. He wiped her tears with the tips of
his fingers whilst at the same time he tried, with some of the
awkward adjectives, to describe his love for her.
Eventually Memory glanced at the sun and announced, "I
must go. Everybody is busy packing. I just slipped away to
77
meet you." She laid a finger on the piece of paper in
Fanyana's hand. That's the address we are going to ... and
please, do write!"
"But why this sudden move?" he said as they left their
meeting place. "What are you going to do with the cattle and
the goats and the donkeys and the chickens? you taking
them with you?"
"You see, policemen have been coming to our place and
asking father too many questions since the burning of those
fence poles. Mother has managed to convince him to change
his mind about staying... As for the cattle and the other
things - well - we shall leave them at Uncle Maporisa's place
to sell for us... That's what mother has told us.
At the crossroads, their parting place, she started weeping
again.
"Don't worry," he soothed her with his hand on her shoulder,
"I shall write to you as soon as possible about our own
destination and when we've settled down I will definitely visit
you. So have restful nights wherever you '11 be because
heart will be there too."
"And mine ... where you are," she said through her tears
and then she walked away without looking back.
"Andrewson must for all this," Fanyana said as he
walked off, very slowly, after Memory had entered village.
A big lorry was parked in the centre of the village and people
were carrying loads to it.

* * *

"This is a place. There are agricultural demonstrators

who did not exist in Mpopoti, there are health inspectors
whom we had never heard of in Mpopoti and there are more
schools." With these words, Nguvo tried to salve the wounds
of the hearts of his family, particular on Fanyana's heart,
caused by the loss of their fertile land. For Fanyana, however,
78
 Mberengwa was not the kind of Utopia his father was making
of he instead saw reserve as a place of slow genocide
he wondered whether any white man would have agreed
to be press-ganged to in lines of crowded villages such as
ones in this said that their land been seized
by Andrewson at the of the white because they
had lived as though were s state within a state. Some
of independent state of Mpopoti West where they did
what they wanted at their own pace. white man had
viewed this as a threat to his grip on the black man's mind,
just as he viewed way Africans lived elsewhere in the
country as a to his very existence. However, owing to
the large numbers people involved, which made genocide
impractical, of an outcry the civilised
he had decided that the be executed
nevertheless in a civilised, covert manner. Thus he had
shepherded his into reserves such as Mberengwa with
sterile soils, convinced that hunger malnutrition and
disease would slash their life expectancy. Nonetheless,
because he still that mass deaths caused by starvation
might attract of the world, he had sent
agricultural demonstrators to help doomed peasants to
food from the land to hold
sent in the
speed of epidemics.
Fanyana's anguish confused a bit. "I wonder who is
seeing madzarzgaradzimu (optical illusions) - me or
he said to himself Yet the more he viewed life in the reserves,
the sharper vision of what should be done became
the more revolutionary fire in him burned. He started to
for but recoiled at the realisation that no one could
stage for that in Mberengwa. to
aware that he would
have no to till when he got The family only
one small field to work and they had to constantly it
79
 with compost and cattle manure to make it produce just
enough to sustain the fifteen members of the family. One
he witnessed a nasty incident as he and members of
family were busy distributing manure in their field.
families had clashed with picks and shovels and buckets at a
nearby field. Members of one family had started to dig an
anthill with which to manure their field when other family
burst on the scene claiming the anthill was theirs because
"we were the first ones to nail this peg " Their
representative pointed to a the other family apparently
had not seen. The fight broke out when the family which had
arrived earlier refused to leave, saying "this anthill belongs to
God". All this took Fanyana's mind back to Mpopoti where
his family had farmed as wished and where each year
they sold many of surplus maize. Presently virgin
land and Memory loomed large in his mind.
Two years later Fanyana disappeared soon after graduating
as a teacher. a fruitless search he was presumed "dead
mysteriously" and a funeral was held. Months Nguvo
learnt that Memory had also missing.

* * *

One afternoon November 1981 a bearded man arrived in

Mpopoti West by car. He was accompanied by his who
was in her mid�forties and their two sons aged five and
years, respectively. They stopped car near the ruins
Afrika's village and the man, around years climbed
on top of an anthill. He helped his wife and children
onto the anthill.
"You see There it is -- our virgin he
excitedly towards the north.
r>n:PPrl :yes,'' the WQJTia_n She was so ove1joyed that
she could find no words to that infinite "So no
one has it said, see
80
 that bushy place over there? That's the plot of land your
father was always talking about."
"Yes and our base was that very place," Fanyana said
then added more sentimentally, "This was the first farm we
liberated in this part of Zimbabwe. Oh, I shall never forget
how my boys made Andrewson run for it... on foot! I told
them not to shoot him. I wanted to punish him, to make him
feel the black man's anger at the seizure of our land. I
understand, reliably, that he has vowed never to set foot here
again. I hope that somehow our people, at least some
them, will return to their ancestral land." He turned to the
children. "Certainly your grandfather will be the first person
to want to return here when we tell him this evening how
Mpopoti West is still Mpopoti West with fertile fields, ever­
flowing streams, good grazing land ... "
"There someone at car, his youngest son said. "Did
we lock it? might steal ... "
His parents turned in that direction. "Not in place...
people here are not thieves . ., Well, there used not to be
thieves around," the man said, rather absent-mindedly.
The person at the car was an old man. He stood facing
them and leaning against walking stick. The afternoon
was warm but the man had on a
coat. He shouted his greetings, waving his at the same
time.
The family climbed down and Fm1Yana led way to
the car, his wife sons in that order. The
footpath which walked was narrow littered

Fanyana shook
Fanyana noticed eyes were on his and
that he was suppressing as b.e shook hands vvith
her.
"Are you not Afrika's asked the
man as clasped her
81
 "Yes, I'm ... Do I remember you well? Memory said.
The old man gripped her hand and shook it vigorously.
Muzukuru, how can you forget sekuru Maporisa?" He
turned to the children. "Whose are these?" he then spun his
head round to face Fanyana, before she could even answer.
"And who is this?"
Fanyana smiled. "Nguvo's son, Fanyana..."
The old man stretched out his hand again and Fanyana
embraced him. "So you're alive both of you? So the funeral
was a mistake?"
"And sekuru, these are our children," Memory said.
"Ah, and you even have children!" Maporisa said as he
strode forward and put his hands on the boys' heads.
Leaning back whilst propping himself up with the walking
stick he said, heard of your funeral and we heard some
time later that Memo had run away from home ... "
"So news came this far?" Fanyana
"What does not travel, muzukuru?" He eyed Memory and
he fixed his gaze on Fanyana. "So where vvere you all
years?"
"In the war, We were fighting to get our
country... the land that Andrewson had
"So it is true what I heard ... that you were once seen in this

It was boys who chased Andrewson away

from here."
"So they did?"
sekuru."
old man was quiet for some time with his head bowed.
Then, as if recovering from a memory lapse, he said,
how is your father ... and your mother?"
"When I last from last month, they were fine,
sekuru." He at his wristwatch. 're actually on our
right now, from "
"So you in Harare?"
82
 "Yes, sekum."
The old man seemed a bit uneasy now. His face was
already wrinkled with age, but it wrinkled some more and his
eyes shrank as he looked towards the west. "I thought, when
I saw the car, that perhaps you were the new owner. .. We do
not know him yet."
"New owner? Of what?" Fanyana said.
"Ah, so you have not heard? He bought the farm from that
European."
"Who is it sekum, and which farm are you talking about?"
"I thought you knew all about this? He has bought this
farm where we are standing, from... ''
"Another white man?"
"No. He is like you and me."
Fanyana gasped with shock and his wife looked just as
dismayed. "What is his name?" Fanyana said. His voice
trembled.
"They call him, Gambura."
"Oh, no! It can't be him... who has a short leg?"
"You're right, they say he limps."
"No!...NoL .. Noi. .. That spy? That sell-out'? Not Gambura!"
"Well, they say his name is Gambura and that he walks
with a limp."
"That man, sekuru, was a big sell--out: whilst we were being
bitten by mosquitoes he was eating and drinking and
belching with the enemy... selling out the stru_ggle; whilst we
slept in the bush clutching our guns for warmth, he slept
cozily clutching his wife like a sleeping child with a doll. But
when he saw that the struggle as about to be won, and his
paymasters were beginning to desert him, he started to drift
towards us and since Independence he has been telling
people that he had been a great freedom-fighter...
"Ah, so that is what he is like?" Maporisa said, his hand
coming to rest on his chest and his mouth full of ;::;urprise.

83
 "That is the man, sekum, who reaps what others have
produced." A thought presently came to his mind: this must
be the distant "shadow" that Maporisa's spirit had spoken
about in 1949. "When we became independent we thought we
had won the war..."
"But we have."
"No, sekum, we still have to fight on... bit a different enemy
this time. A black enemy trying to live like the old enemy."
He looked down and shook his head.

84
 RAIN-MAKING

The Chief and his advisers, whilst waiting for the man to
return with the news, repeatedly ransacked the high forlorn
sky with anxious eyes. The question on their faces, which did
not need to be encumbered by words, was, "Will it ever rain?"
They sat under the shade of a tree behind the Chief's big
house. They were decidedly downcast men, all ten of them;
they felt lost in an alien land. Were their fathers present the
position would have been different; they would have given
their advice on how to try to induce the skies to yield rain.
But those human archives of traditional practice were now
mere grains of dust.
At an earlier meeting the Chief and his men had decided to
hold a rain-making ceremony. The decision was an act of
desperation. They had agreed that as far as the formalities
were concerned, they would have to rely on the vague
recollection of some of them and on conjecture, if by the time
of the ceremony they had still not raised anyone
knowledgeable in the ways of old.
When the awaited man arrived he walked over to the Chief
who sat on a high chair facing away from the hot late­
moming sun. He crouched beside the chair with his left arm
holding the side of the chair for support. The Chief bent his
head down as the messenger reported back on his mission,
talking in undertones. The Chief was nodding in a somewhat
peevish manner.
When the old Chief stopped and looked up, his face was
tense. At that point the messenger, having unburdened
himself, eased his person down on his hips. His eyes were
still screwed up at the bemused Chief, who presently said, "I
don't really know what has happened to this land... "
"Bad news, Chief?" asked one of the elders.
85
 "I'm terribly pained... Mamvura tells me that the women
have failed to find a girl who is still a virgin!... this is not
bad news, tell me what is!... me!" He lowered his
anguished head into his hands and held it for some time.
"How are we going to conduct the ceremony without virgins?
And when I come to think of it, what do all the women this
land they are doing as mothers and teachers when the girls
are getting defiled moment they open their eyes to the
world?"
He rose, his booming voice reverberating in the ears of the
utterly shocked and terrified audience. For this was their first
taste of the Chief in a really terrible mood. "I be Chief
over such irresponsible people! Find me a virgin!" he roared
as his stilt-like legs propelled him towards pole mud
house.

* * *

The ceremony was held on a Sunday. By mid-morning,

frothing calabashes were already assembled or were on their
way to rendezvous points. The few virgins that the women
had eventually managed to raise led the processions of
women carrying the beer from these points to a nearby
mountain. A spot where the ceremony was taking place at the
foot of the mountain had been cleared bush, grass and
stones. The enfeebled lay propped against boulders or sat on
them.
Meanwhile, the rest of the people the
song and dance.
Chief arrived accompanied by Masoso, svikiro.
Masoso was a powerfully built man whose paunch had defied
the drought that wrought malnutrition its wake.
mimicry of his broad face suggested a myriad of things in
people's minds. There are those, like Chief and some of
86
 his henchmen, who had come to regard him as an honest
man; but there were also those who claimed intimate
knowledge of the man and testified to the Chief that he was a
dubious svikiro who earned his bizarre fame by conning
people. This later group was utterly opposed to invitation
that the Chief had extended to Masoso to officiate at the
ceremony. They said it would be a disgrace were he to do so.
The Chief pointed out to the detractors that none but the
svikiro knew that venue of the ceremony had for a long
time been a shrine. None but Masoso could still remember
the ceremonial and dance and none but Masoso had
confirmed that were an important element of any
successful rain-making ceremony.
"If you can find me a better replacement," he said, "I will
grant your wish relieve Masoso of responsibilities
assigned to him.
Today Masoso looked awe-inspiring his ceremonial gear.
His dark plume was especially at first sight of it
children hid their faces in their mothers' skirts.
It was the svikiro, assisted by virgins, who led in
dancing. He divided the gathering into two groups. The men
stood on one facing the women. They were also to lead
the song and women were to respond. The men were to
point to of their bodies and questions which
\Vomen were to answer. Both would then jump
as they and sang thus:
For whom is the toe?
for Mak:aure.
For is the foot?
Makaure.
For whom is the shin?
Makaure.
whom is the knee?
'T's for Makaure.
For whom is the thigh?
87
 'T's for Makaure.
For whom is the ?
'T's for Makaure.
For whom is the stomach?
'T's for Makaure.
For whom is the chest?
'T's for Makaure.
For whom is the neck?
'T's for Makaure.
For whom is the mouth?
'T's for Makaure.
For whom is nose?
'T's for Makaure.
For whom is the head?
'T's for Makaure.
For whom whole body?
'T's for Makaure.
Masoso roared angrily at the end of this round. He went
complaining over to the Chief and ng the way some elders
supported his protest. After consultations with Masoso the
Chief said, "We're disappointed that some of you still refuse
to follow the svikirds instrnctions... Some mothers continue
to look down when certain parts of the body are mentioned,
others deliberately raise their voices so high that any mention
of those parts is submerged... This must cease forthwith
because according to tradition, so your great svikira,
every word of this song must be said and heard... Mind you,
we're not praying to your in-laws for rain; Makaure should be
able to hear our cries... Now let the women start!"
For whom is the toe?
'T's for Makaure.
For whom is the foot?
'T's for Makaure.
For whom is the shin?
'T's for Makaure.
88
 For whom is the thigh?
'T's for your husband!. ..
The dancing came to an abrupt halt amid peals of laughter.
People were searching all over with their eyes for the culprit.
"Who said that?" screamed the Chief. "Who caused the
disruption?"
The man's voice had been so loud and distinct.
The crowd on one side of the arena fell aside to reveal a
man staggering on his rubbery feet. In his late twenties, the
man seemed surprised to see all eyes on him.
"Hey, you!" the svikzroyelled. "You must be drunk?"
"Ah," the ma.11 laughed, "what is all this beer around for?
Aren't we supposed to drink on this day?" laughed in his
drunken stupor and staggered towards a nearby boulder for
support, belching contentedly as he went.
Midway through the dancing the svikiro yelled in an
unearthly voice. Everybody stopped dancing. The svikiro
called out the name of one virgin. A girl stepped forward and
there were murmurs from some young men to the effect that
"that one is not a virgin."
"Where is the for Makaure?"
The girl turned shyly and pointed a in one direction.
"Let me have it, my daughter."
The girl disappeared in the crowd and when she reappeared
she bore in hands an elaborately beaded calabash. She
knelt before the svikzro who bent down and received the
calabash and then dismissed the girl with a slight twitch of
his evil-arched brows. He glanced longingly at the foamy
beer. He swallowed noisily and the young man who had
disrupted the song laughed.
Then the sviktro knelt down and set the calabash on the
ground. rubbed his palms, licking his lips and lifted the
calabash. He turned round uncertainly, raising the calabash
to the level of his with his neck muscles sticking out and

89
taut. Now facing the mountain, he said in a loud and
trembling voice:
Makaure,
You who has one big eye that sees us all
You who has one big breast capable of feeding the
entire nation
You who answered our forefathers' prayers
when the skies laughed at them,
Turn the tit of your big breast towards
our dry mouths.

Makaure,
Don't you see the skies laugh at us?
Our crops are dead like grass
Our livestock die like cockroaches
overcome with gamatox.

Makaure,
Hear our prayers...
With the audience spellbound the svikiro poured libation.
The women ululated and danced in circles as the sweet­
smelling beer sluiced out of the calabash. There were
whispers that he was doing the wrong thing; that the beer
should have been left untouched at the shrine.
Then the svzkiro and the Chief gave a signal and the crowd
swooped on the rest of the calabashes for a long binge.
As the sun went down the crowds poured out of the
mountains and into the parched open land. Wiping their
brows and necks they walked down wearily and when they
glanced imploringly back at the shrine the stark calamity
sprung back to their eyes; the mountain resembled a head
dressed by an amateur barber. Some people taking a short
cut plunged into a river and trudging down it their feet raised
scudding dust such as one sees behind cattle moving in
single file along a veld track. Across the dusty river on a flat
90
plain ribby cattle crawled hither and thither, searching with
their dusty tongues for life-saving blades of grass.
The Chief and Masoso stopped somewhere and watched
shaking their heads as two vultures appeared to be dancing
tiiumphantly on their fallen suppliant.

* *

In the weeks that followed the people waited anxiously for the
skies to up. Instead more heat poured out of the
firmament. Optimism way to dismay, confusion and

Chief summoned a meeting one day on advice

of Masoso.
'I of you addressed gathering,
"because I am very I'm in possession disturbing
(he round to face who belched noisily
twisted his torso feigning possession). The spirit of
this man says some of you have violating the Four
Rules. I must warn is doing that to stop immediately
otherwise ... "
then reiterated the rules:
No-one should a bicycle or carry a bicycle
pump through plough
Two: No-one should their fields on chZ:<:::z:
Three: All structures standing in deserted homes
should be demolished.
Four: nests should be pulled down trees
or grass on sight.
In the day that followed vigilante groups were formed to
monitor situation. This was followed by massive witch-
hunting.
the people were at one another's throats skies
suddenly opened and it heavily flooding and
dams.
91
 On the night that it rained people rushed out of their
houses to receive the rain with their open arms and mouths.
They danced and danced, singing songs of praise to Makaure.

92
 EYE OPERATION

Ezra had concealed a secret from Rita up to this day -

exactly a month before their wedding was due. He had been
afraid to tell her that he was slowly losing his sight in his
right eye because he didn't know how she would react being
such a totally unpredictable person - a characteristic he
thought to be the only taint in her perfection.
However, when he woke up on this particular morning, a
wintry Sunday in July, with the bothersome eye scarcely
seeing anything and with the other itching ominously, he
plucked up courage and sent Tendai, a childhood friend and
workmate with whom he also shared a flat on Samora Machel
Avenue, to Mount Pleasant to inform Rita of his illness and
that, as a result, he would be unable to take her out that
night.
"Rita is very mad at you," Tendai said on his return. "She
says you've been dishonest by not telling her the truth about
your health, in spite of her repeated enquiries."
"I suppose I was wrong," Ezra said, still in pyjamas, seated
on his bed beside Tendai.
"But what surprised me was this... She said, 'Go and tell
him that I don't think that young and still attractive as I am,
I am prepared to marry a dishonest blind man. I am not
suffering to a point of having to do that... My parents are still
alive.' I must say that I even became angry with her when she
said that."
A bit shaken, Ezra said, "Shamwari, you're not serious she
uttered those words - Rita?"
"I swear by my sister Grace who is in her grave."
"Ah!... But do you think she really meant it?"
"You know your girl very well: she always means every word
of what she says and I think you should try to forget the past
93
 and see a doctor - tomorrow, if possible ... Yes, I know you're
bitter about the way that other doctor treated you. I'd have
same if I were in your position, but is there any sense
losing both your eyesight and your girl?"
The doctor had advanced glaucoma which he
v.«A-"-'''"'"' on the patient's negligence. As the doctor prescribed
medication he said that he was in doubt whether to
recommend surgery away. "I'm not guaranteeing that
even surgery will save your sight at this late "
Ezra, almost in "Doctor, why don't you let me try
medication first and if that fails ... "
"You must that your 1s very, very
serious. Your eye has risen to bursting point and
anything can any time... take this
medication come back for a days,"
the white doctor sympathetically.
Ezra felt as they left the Tendai, his
mate at twenty-seven, gave him comfort encouragement,
saying there was still a slim chance the medication could
work wonders.
The two men worked as accounts clerks with a major
transport in Harare. did not return to work
that day went straight home to start treating the eye.
Ezra's started aching later afternoon. Fear
gripped thought something anything - was about
to happen to He visualised relationship with his
proud twenty-year old stenographer girl in virtual
unless he a miraculous
By the day he had a secret resolution: ws
to pray and night for recovery and if nothing
happened would rather his own life than a one-
eyed man without Rita.
When time came for the check-up, his physician, Dr.
Jameson, that no improvement had taken place.
you seven days and if is no change afraid
94
 we'll have to operate," he said. He was a bulky man whose
cold stare gave his new patients the jitters.
Ezra reasoned that an operation would most likely delay
the wedding whilst recuperated, and he wondered if
would take that. Moreover, there was no guarantee, as Dr.
Jameson had said, that even the operation would restore his
sight. That being the case, he set his suicide project for the
day of the next review if there was still no improvement.
Within those few days he had lost so much weight that he
now resembled a skeleton.
One day, as he and Tendai discussed his fate in the office
during lunch, an office orderly overheard their conversation
and approached them.
"I think I know someone who might help you, Comrade
" Kizito, the orderly, said. He them the directions
to Moomba village, near Lake Kariba and the person to look
up.
Again Ezra and Tendai asked for time off from work
drove Tendai's car to the village question the next day.
They took along a bicycle which they used to travel from the
road, where they left the car, to the village, some five or
so kilometres away; it was virtually inaccessible by car.
A frail-looking elderly man was seated on a stool beside a
fire in a shelter when they arrived in the village which very
much fitted the description Kizito had given. It was soon after
lunch and they dismounted and stopped as the elderly man
craned his to look in their direction.
"Good afternoon," hailed them in local language.
"How can I help you?"
"We're looking for village. Would this it?"

went to meet them, wore an_

old sooty jacket which was torn at shoulders elbows
and wrinkled "
this is man said.
95
 "The village where there is a woman who cuts people's
eyes?" Tendai asked.
"Yes, it is," the elderly man answered, fighting back laughter.
He strode forward and took the bicycle away from Tendai and
then led the way into the village.
They sat down around a fire, on a dilapidated mortar. The
elderly man and the pair exchanged greetings and then
lapsed into silence.
After a while the man turned in another direction and
called out. An elderly woman emerged from behind the village
accompanied by a troop of children. They came and sat down
near the man who regarded the strangers and said, laughing,
"This is the woman who cuts eyes... Mama Moomba, my
wife." The woman looked dismayed but then calmed down
when Mr. Moomba continued to laugh.
Tendai looked at the woman. She had a shrunken face set
with a set of brilliant eyes.
Ezra whispered something in Tendai's ear.
"We've come a very long way, mbuya. We have come from
Harare and my friend has a terrible eye problem which has
now affected his head... I mean his head is also aching badly
now as a result. So I wonder whether you couldn't please cut
his eye."
Ezra shuddered and the children giggled.
Brief silence and Mama Moomba said, "Ah, but who told
you about me?"
"We work with a man who comes from this area who
happens to know you. His name is Kizito."
The woman pondered and then there was a flash on her
face. "Is that Jeturo's son?"
"Well, we don't know his father's name," Tendai said. "I
wish we had asked that... if we had known ... "
"He is short and very dark, with very long hair like a
chinyau?" the woman asked and some of the children looked
frightened.
96
 "Yes," replied Ezra and Tendai.
"He must be the one. So he's now in Harare! How is he,
then?"
"Fine," they both replied.
"So what exactly is troubling you, my son?" the woman
said, regarding Ezra with a soothing, reassuring motherliness
that put the patient at ease.
"I've a terrible ache right here above the forehead (Ezra
touched te spot} and my eye can hardly see. Kizito said he
thought you could help me."
"How long have you had the problem for?"
"It's a fairly long time now," Ezra said.
"Have you been to hospital?"
"I have."
"And what did they say?"
"The doctor gave me medication and said that if I did not
apply the medication, since I don't favour an operation, I
would become blind and then die soon afterwards."
"So what happened?"
"Well, I applied the medication as instructed but there has
been no improvement and I think the problem is worsening."
She looked up, studied the fickle sky and shook her head,
seemingly in dismay. "It won't work, my son, it won't work... I
don't perform eye operations when there is no sun like this."
She rose immediately and walked off towards a hut, almost
rolling in her oversized frock as she went. She entered a hut
and shut the door but opened it moments later to a
portion of her trapped frock.
Now Ezra sat with his wrinkled face between his piston like
knees.
Meanwhile, Mr. Moomba inquired about their journey and
received half-hearted responses.
Some thirty or so minutes later Marna Moomba re-appeared
in front of her hut and stood looking up at the sky.
Mr. Moomba smiled "You people may be lucky."
97
 "Why" demanded
"Ah, she has gone back into the house," he
When she finally came out she scooped a hoe from near her
and disappeared the village, children ran
from the shelter after
"You people are very lucky,"Mr. Moomba pointing at
the sun which now more persistently.
Mama Moomba soon re-appeared near a behind
the shelter. She beckoned to the people around the fire
whilst, with her bare she cleared a spot on the verge of
the yard.
"Samu, bring me a dish of water and a " she said. The
eldest boy in the of children with her, who had not
been present when Ezra and Tendai emerged from
behind the granary carrying a hoe on his shoulder.
When Ezra, and Mr. Moomba stopped in front of
Mama Moomba noticed that she held a twig which bore
sharp, crooked thorns.
"Sit on the stretch out your "Mama Moomba
said to Ezra.
Everyone remained standing in a semi-circle. Drawing
closer to the patient, the woman said, "Do you
mashaVL?"
"What?" ��.a�� the patient, a bit bewildered.
"Mashavi things for which beat drums?"
"Oh, no. No mbuya."
Mama Moomba dropped the thorny twig into a
plate on the at her feet and picked from it a
razor which she held tightly between her fingers
her face as she eyes on the
forehead. laid a finger on spot, above the
and left it there a while, eyes half shut.
The sneezed.
"Don't move your head again don't be afraid,"
nodded and she shook admonishingly.
98
 The woman rubbed the target spot with the inside of her
palm and then examined it keenly. "Yes, that's the devil
causing my son's problem," she said, nodding her head and
pointing out a pulsating artery to the onlookers who bent
forward to view it.
Mama Moomba raised her right hand and the razor glinted
in the sun and the patient shuddered as though ice had been
flushed down his spine.
"Do you have a pound?" she asked.
The patient hesitated, again looking bewildered.
Tendai asked, "Do you mean to dollars, mbuya?"
Both she and her husband laughed. "Here in the village we
still call them pounds ... "
"And shillings," Mr. Moomba added, still laughing.
Ezra took out his wallet and plucked a two-dollar note from
a roll of bills. He laid it on the woman's ready palm. Mama
Moomba bent down and put the money in the plate at her
feet.
"Now you sit very still," she said in a throaty, reassuring
voice, the razor poised and Ezra nodded. "I said don't move
your head."
In a trembling, barely audible voice he said. "Yes, mbuya."
She examined the blade and started to hack into his flesh.
He winced and groaned, his eyes painfully shut, as the razor
made its slow, excruciating journey. As blood began
cascading down his temples he looked more frightened. "Oh,
no!" he screamed at the woman, "Please stop it!"
Mama Moomba laughed softly and then with lightning
speed she picked a thorn from the plate and hooked out the
bothersome artery with masterly deftness. She cut out a
piece of it and threw it away and blood started to spurt out
gorily. Seeing this she tilted his head to one side and the
same time made the patient lean down on his elbows so that
he bled into a hole she quickly dug with her foot in the
ground at the edge of the sack on which he sat.
99
 And as he bled she pressed the skin above the cut with a
small piece of stick held in both hands and more blood
came out and filled the hole and began flowing away along
the edge of the sack. She then scooped earth with the back of
her foot and stemmed the flow.
When he had bled for what seemed a long time indeed, she
studied his face. "Don't you feel like fainting?"
He shook his head feebly but seconds later his mouth
opened, as if he were about to vomit and he passed out,
causing considerable panic all round.
Tendai hurled himself to the ground at Ezra's feet and
pulled off his shoes before loosening the belt and then
undoing the patient's necktie.
"Mutt." Mama Moomba cried and Samu handed her the
medicine he had been preparing. It was in the form of a bark
(which Tendai has kept to this day for chemical analysis)
pounded and then mixed with water to make stick like
plaster of Paris. She applied it deftly over the wound and
secured it with a long piece of cloth wound several times over
round his head. In that haste she also swathed one ear in the
bandage.
"Will he be all right?" asked Tendai frantically?
Mama Moomba gave him a stem glance and picked up the
dish of water with a flashing left hand and, almost kneeling
down, she sprinkled water over Ezra's head repeatedly until
he opened his eyes, hastily at first.
"I feel like going to the toilet ... in my trousers," the patient
said.
"Not in your pants, mate!" cried Tendai and Mama Moomba
and her husband and the children burst into of
laughter. When the laughing ceased Tendai studied the
patient queerly. "Mbuya, do you think he is OK?"
"With some patients we have had to make porridge to revive
them but the spirits have never laughed at me... They have
never cursed me with a corpse," she said.
100
 The patient tried to lever himself up on his hand but
faltered and Mama Moomba had to go to his aid. As he sat
looking about him shyly, she smiled broadly and to
Tendal, "There he isl"
"Hey, do you still feel 1-i-k-e?"
"No, not now, it has gone back "Ezra answered
again there was uproarious laughter.
Mama Moomba examined the bandage, freeing the trapped
ear. "Is it too tight?"
Ezra felt the bandage with his ··�u�.� "I think it's all
now."
"Now what does it feel like - head and the eye?"
said.
"He shook head and smiled. "My feels
now... don't know why. The ache is disappearing, I
know why."
Mama Moomba turned to Samu who rushed off to the hut
to fetch some water. Aged eight or nine, he appeared smarter
than other boys of his age, so Tendai thought as
brought a mugful of water.
Ezra gulped water with his eyes shut then sighed
at the end.
"Do you think you are strong enough to stand up
asked the woman.
Ezra rose. He a little and a little girl raised laughter
by saying, "llfbuya, what did you find in his blood?"
"We found this dirty blood ... which I "Mama
with grandmotherly affection. "You see,
dirty blood and it caused him pain. Now problem is
over."
the woman
Moomba up a left-over
it to Tendal. "Apply to the wound
medicine come off healing takes place.
use one penny ... what you call sendi .. to
101
 and then apply the bandage, but my opinion of this method
is that it does not completely prevent dirt from getting into
the wound and so it delays healing. But the medicine will
stop anything dirty reaching the wound... I am sure you will
have a good journey."
Ezra and Tendai exchanged surprise glances.
"So we may go?" Tendai inquired.
"But don't rush him whilst he is still weak like this," Mama
Moomba said.
"If possible, stop and rest after travelling a short distance
and see if the medicine is all right," said Mr. Moomba.
Ezra was pensive. It was difficult to believe that after
suffering so much paid he had now been cured. He told
himself only the pending medical check-up would tell if this
woman was indeed his newly-discovered saviour.
Tendai, too, appeared cynical. Moreover, he wasn't a
believer in magical wonders himself and so he inwardly
dismissed Mama Moomba as a con-magician.
"I suppose we may leave now, considering we have a long
way to go," he said to Ezra, who took out his wallet and was
pulling out some two-dollar bills when Mama Moomba said.
"Ah, what's that for?"
"The fee... By the way how much is it, mbuya?" asked Ezra.
"But you have already paid, muzukuru."
"Only two ...?"
"That's what the vadzimu demand," Mama Moomba said
and grinned as Ezra withdrew his hand with the money.

* * *

The wound on Ezra's forehead healed within a few days and

during those days he forsook the medication from the
hospital. This was so that he could ascertain properly
whether the operation was a success. In any case, he thought

102
to himself, what purpose do eyes serve if they won't show me
the way to heaven when I implement my project?
On the day of the crucial check-up the doctor informed
him, after a thorough examination, "I must confess that I am
baffled by your rate of recovery ... It's like a miracle!"
"You mean ... really... there is that much progress?"
"It's unbelievable! So you should continue with the
medication that I prescribed because, as you can see for
yourself, they have worked wonders on you, real wonders!"
That evening asked Tendai to accompany him on a
visit to Rita's place. As they went, Ezra informed him of the
doctor's remarks and they laughed and laughed.

103
 TH NIGHT PROWLER

was late at night and Zindoga had just parked his Jaguar
in the garage and turned off the engine. An important which
he had forgotten suddenly flashed at the back of his mind
and he chided himself for his poor memory. Then leaned
back in his seat and grinned so sheepishly that his teeth
must have lit up his big mouth in the mass of darkness
around him.
A thought had crossed his mind. He nodded in agreement
with himself and was about to drive out of the garage with
the lights switched off, when a voice shattered his peace.
"What's happening over there? Are you spending the
the carport, I wonder?"
Startled, Zindoga spun his short neck round to gaze
through the garage window at their bedroom. There, in the
bright light, his wife stood at the window facing him. He knew
she could not see him in the darkness but he felt her
searching, inquisitive little eyes. seemed even to see the
anguished look on her face which had become a permanent
feature of late.
"What an owl of a woman!" he cursed silently laughed
to spite her. It was a subdued laugh provoked by a sudden
memory of how he had wriggled out of tighter jams in the
past. He hauled himself out of the car and sauntered towards
the house, leaving both the car and the garage unlocked.
Nyasha met him at the door with, "What were you doing in
carport all this time?" Meanwhile she sniffed at him and
examined his clothes critically.
"What were you hiding?"
"Why?"

104
 "Why don't you stop making a fool of me and answer
properly? Where were you up to this late hour, anyway?"
"Why?"
"Why ... why... why what? Why don't you out of my
house and go back to your women?"
"Women! Listen, Nyasha...!" Zindoga scractched his
head. "Are you serious... that I should get out of this house?"
"Of course I am! How can you talk to your wife as if you're
talking to your ... "
Just then Zindoga turned round and walked off and within
minutes the Jaguar came roaring out of the garage in a
tearing hurry.
"Hey, stop! Where are you going?"
Zindoga pounded the brakes and the Jaguar jerked to a
halt. He was dying of impatience as looked through the
window at her approaching. "You chased me away so what do
you want? You and the children can sleep more soundly
without my snoring, I suppose? I'm going away to sleep in the
bush and should anything happen to me you'll be held
responsible." With that he noisily the first gear and
the car went hurtling through the and stopped with
tyres screeching near the main road from Harare to
Bulawayo. It then sped off until Nyasha could only hear the
noise of its in her own head.
She turned round and wept as returned to the house.
Passing the children's room she stifled her sobs and stiffened
her neck but the sight of a big empty bed with clean mint­
scented waiting to be slept in drew more tears from
her and she vainly hid her grieving in her hands.
She quietened down a long while later and admonished
herself for her rash action. I've probably scared him and may
never know the reasons for his strange behaviour lately, she
thought. The next moment a dreadful thought her.
What if something terrible happens to him? How will I explain
it to his relatives?
105
 Zindoga entertained himself with a love song as he drove
deeper into the night. What a pleasant thing to drive on the
dead of night with almost all the drunks and their wretched
wrecks safely out of the way! He whistled through his
scattered teeth as the Jaguar sailed through the night.
When he had travelled a good distance from Harare he
branched off into a gravel road to the right. A short distance
down this road the sight of a fence in the glare of his
headlights made him grin with fine memories of his past
adventures.
The barbed-wire fence soon disappeared from view and he
slowed down. He knew that he was approaching another road
and he turned left into it. It was as good as any country road
can be. Driving along this road he was soon flanked on both
sides by barbed wire fences. He dipped the lights, slowed
down again and stopped in front of a tall iron gate where the
fences terminated. made a U-turn and parked the car on
the side of the road near the gate. As he walked towards it
Zindoga grew prouder of Monica. He told himself it must have
been her idea to leave gate open. On his previous nocturnal
visits he had had to jump over the gate which he had always
found locked.
However, the truth was that he was so blinded by his sweet
thoughts about the girl that he failed to see a white piece of
paper which had flashed in the light as he made a U-turn.
Earlier in the day a terrible accident had happened at the
farm. An impetuous storm had felled a wooden post carrying
electricity to the farmhouse. The post with its lethal cargo
had crashed over the fence surrounding the farm, turning it
into a death trap. That just before sunset when this
happened and when the farmer called engineers in the city he
had been told to wait until the next day as there were major
faults in the city to be attended to first.

106
 Worried about the situation, Monica had slipped away to
the gate before going to bed. She had then secured the piece
of paper with the warning on a long stick which she had
planted on the ground in front of the gate, beside the road,
where she was convinced anyone could see it.
Unaware of what had happened, Zindoga walked through
the gate then stopped to relieve himself. He held a bunch of
keys in one hand. He stretched out the hand towards the
gate for support but withdrew it in an instant. The tip of the
key had come into contact with the fence and a strange
sensation caused him to withdraw the hand. As he zipped up
he dismissed the sensation as a normal body spasm.
He walked down the road hastily and soon approached the
farmhouse. He tiptoed across the yard to stop with bated
breath at the door of Monica's room. It was dark and the
place was very still.
Every time he stood in front of that room Zindoga always
felt that, like Monica, it had also been made for him. To an
ordinary observer the room appeared to be a b builder's (or
the farmer's) afterthought. It was attached to the main house
and had only this outside door.
On regaining his breath, Zindoga bent down in front of the
door and started to rake the ground with his fingers.
A puppy lying on the ground barked drowsily at him. He
could see it a short distance away in the darkness. He
ignored it and knelt down. He gripped a stone, squeezed it
hard between his fingers then cast it aside. swore at the
darkness. His fingers gripped a blade of grass, felt its gloss
and bent it. It broke and he swore. After much searching he
had laid his fingers on something soft and pliable when the
frightened barking of a dog curdled his blood. Just then, he
heard a door open and when he listened more carefully he
heard soft footfalls which presently ceased. He tiptoed to the
corner and peered. He first froze there with cold fear but

107
 mustered enough strength to back away from the door as a
dark figure approached, stealthily leaning against the wall.
It was not easy to tell in the darkness whether it was a man
or a woman coming until Magodo whistled and yelled
encouragement to the dogs as Zindoga fled into the bush. To
aid his dogs further, Magodo also shone his torch in the
direction that the night prowler was running.
The darkness in Zindoga's way intensified as the torch-light
hit the back of his head. He lowered his head and ran zig-zag
for a distance until he could no longer see the flickering light
with the corners of his eyes. Then a new fear numbed his
head as he ran, breathless. He had always suspected that
Magodo possessed a gun (although Monica had feebly tried to
allay his fears) and that one day he might loose it on him. So
it was really to his bravado that had continued with
his adventures However, tonight he was certain that
Magodo would pull the trigger and that it was sheer luck that
he had outrun the man at all.
Now he was exhausted more out of than out o real
fatigue as the distance he had covered was quite short. He
slackened his and picked up stones which he threw
ahead of him. He whistled under his breath and bleated
something. Confused, the dogs went barking past him. H
sighed deeply, throwing more stones in front of him and the
dogs yelped wildly as they ran in confusion.
Zindoga jogged relentlessly behind the dogs. Just in case
Magodo had decided to waylay him armed with his gun, he
steered clear of the road.
Then there was no longer any sign of the dogs. He stopped
to regain his breath, listening in all directions. When satisfied
that no-one was pursuing him any longer, walked on at a
pace.
Meanwhile, Magodo had decided to investigate what the
stranger had been doing front of his daughter's room. He
shone his torch and his curious eyes raked the ground. He
108
 bent down and picked up a string which he pulled. It
appeared to be tied to something inside the room. He
examined it again and noted that it went underneath the
door. switched off his torch and put it in the pocket of his
dressing gown.
The mystery surrounding the string in his hands deepened.
Minutes ago he had yielded to superstition telling himself
that the prowler must be a "witch". Somehow that thought
could no longer hold now.
He pulled the string harder. He thought he heard
movements inside. Again he pulled. The door was slowly
opened and a whisper invited him inside.
"Sorry, darling, I overslept ... Be careful. .. Don't make noise
otherwise they'll hear us... was cleaning his gun this
afternoon, you know!" She giggled under breath.
Magodo shone his torch and Monica knew who it was. She
her breath, then gasped. hid the shame on her
face with her hands which dripped tears as she dropped
onto bed facing away from her father.
"What's all this, Monica?" Magodo spoke loudly, hovering
over the weeping girl. "What's string for?... Who was
outside the room?... What on earth going on?"
Monica turned her face slightly and looked at him through
streams of tears.
"Why don't you answer me?" stretched out his hand but
Monica just evaded it by leaning to the other side. The top
part of her night dress was damp with her tears.
.. he ... forced me... to tie the so that he could
pull it and I... I'd open for him."
"Who's he?"
"I don't know."
Zindoga's corpse was found the next morning clutching the
live fence. The carcasses of the two dogs lay entangled in the
fence not far from corpse.

109
 Later that morning Monica was rushed to hospital where
she had a miscarriage soon after. The doctors attending her
said her miscarriage was due to excessive shock.

110
 MARRIAGE

Fishing became a pastime for the young couple. At

weekends, when he was not at his Shabanie Mine office and
she was not teaching, they would drive to Runde river and
spend the day fishing. They had a favourite spot at the
riverside. This was a high rock jutting out of the riverbank. It
had a flat, almost square top where they sat on a rug which
they spread out comfort with their fishing gear which
included tins containing worms used as bait. Seated on top of
the rock they felt from crocodiles, hippos or river snakes.
On this day, Dendera was fuming and fretting as he
nibbled at his lunch. Sarah observed he angrily threw
crumbs into the water. Actually she had been aware for some
time now that of late he talked less and brooded more. At
first she had thought it must be the mounting strain of work
but when the whole situation led to sexual abstinence she
realized that matters were more serious than she had
thought them to be.
"What exactly is the matter, darling?" Sarah asked after
Dendera hurled his tin of worms water and watched
it sink slowly.
"Six months of waiting... of being laughed at. .. That's not a
joke and I can't take it any longer." He looked away from
as he spoke. "A man gets married to have children. That is
precisely the point of getting a wife. Otherwise why buy a cow
if you can still get free milk'? Why buy a cow at all?"
the urge to go further and tell her that he had become the
subject of laughter and ridicule by other men who questioned
his virility. felt inclined, too to tell her that his own
relatives were unhappy about childless marriage and
that one of them, an aunt, had even asked whether he was

111
 incapable of getting another woman who could bear him
children and thus end the shame of his barren matrimony.
However, the stream of tears that met his eyes when he
looked at her froze the words in his mouth. Yet Dendera was
a man of determination - he rarely flinched when it came to
matters closest to his heart. Rather, he would fight all the
way until he achieved the goal. Right now he was poised to
wade through the torrents of tears to put his inner feelings
across to her. "I don't want to see your tears; give me a child!"
"Why, honestly, do you keep torturing me that that as if it's
all deliberate?"
"How am I to know if it's not deliberate? And how am I to
know if there isn't something wrong with you, besides?"
Last time you dragged me to the gym.ecologist and he told
me in your presence that there was nothing at all wrong with
me. Now what do you want me to do? In any case you know
very well that I love children very much... "
He rose, fretting and kicked her tin of worms into the
water. "Yes, perhaps you love other people's children."
"Please stop torturing me like that! It's not my wish that we
don't have children... What has entered your head today?"
"I want children."
"Maybe we should both be examined. !'
"Are you questioning my manliness? Are you suggesting I'm
impotent? How outrageous of a wife to question
husband's virility!" He paused to wipe his brows. "I want to
give you a lesson you won't forget for the rest of your life. I'm
giving you one last chance and if there are no results by then
that's it - you quit!"
Sarah buried her face in her hands. It was as though vvith
the ultimatum Dendera had flung wide the gates of her tear­
ducts. For a moment she wished those tears were
currents of a river so that they could wash her away.
Eventually she slowly raised her head and the deep green
water spread out placidly her tearful eyes.
 Dendera was pacing up and down, up and down, talking to
himself like a madman. Finally he halted beside her. "You
heard what I said? If there are no results within a month
from now this marriage will be just as good as dissolved." He
emphasised his point by kicking a couple of bream Sarah had
caught back into the water.
Sarah had, meanwhile, turned in another direction. She
had stopped crying and was struggling to remove her
wedding ring. It was a glittering golden ring which had cost
Dendera a small fortune. He had not minded the cost, being a
showy man himself anyway, because he wanted to
demonstrate his love for her with the ring. He had always
loved Sarah very much. Even when friends and relatives
began to make discreet comments about the instability of
childless marriages he had thought that they were being
hasty, that they should give Sarah a chance. Even after a
visit to the gyncecologist, when things still did not seem to go
in their favour, he had not lost all hope. However, the
pressure from his relatives and the jibes by his friends had
all together built up into such a storm in his heart that it
threatened to wreck even the slenderest hope of the survival
of their marriage.
Little had he known that the pressure he exerted on his
wife had finally driven her to the brink. For when he looked
at her she had the ring between her fingers. Now she looked
agitated and there was a wild, fatal gleam in her eyes.
"Sarah, what are you trying to do?" He moved closer to her.
She rose and stretched out the hand with the ring towards
him. "Here, your ring." Her voice shook. It was unworldly. "I
know that your relatives want you to many another woman
who will give you children. Don't think that my silence meant
ignorance or stupidity. I wanted to see how far they could go
and how far you would respond to their demands. Now there
is no doubt left in my mind that you want to give them their
wish. So what is left for me? What ought I to do in the
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 circumstances? From the threat you gave me today I'm
convinced that the sooner I remove myself from your sight,
out of the way of the other woman, the better for you, your
relatives and that unfortunate woman. So," she bent forward
one foot poised to dive into a pool, "I should give you the
chance ..." She tried to leap into the water but Dendera
somehow managed to intercept her. He dragged her down the
rock, sending their lunch boxes tumbling into the water and
took her away to their Toyota.
"I'm sorry ... I'm sorry... I didn't mean to drive you to do
such a terrible thing," he said as he opened the door and
practically pushed her inside. He was badly shaken by the
incident and as they drove off he kept an eye on and on
her door. He drove slowly all the way back to their house.
One evening Dendera returned home from work and told
Sarah of a man who was said to be an expert in matters of
conception."
I told you long before this that, like other Christians, I don't
consult witchdoctors."
Her reply provoked his anger but he managed to control
himself. "I'm not talking about witchcraft," he in a calm
voice. "I'm talking about a black, traditional doctor."
"Still, devout Christians like myself are not supposed to
deal with such people... They are all evil and we must deal
only with the doctors at hospitals."
"Listen, Sarah... If you don't want to cooperate then you
don't expect me to listen to you. You should know what it
means if we are to live together... "
They were in the bedroom: a small room, modestly
furnished. Opposite bed where Sarah sat was a dressing
mirror and now and then, as Dendera paced up and down
the room like a soldier on guard duty, he glanced at her
tortured countenance in the mirror and frowned. did not
utter a syllable this time but the way he chewed on his lower

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lip, the way he frowned at her and the way he repeatedly
crashed his clenched fist into his left palm, spoke volumes.
Sarah sat up. She winced each time he slammed his fist
against his palm. She prayed that he did not direct that
massive fist at her small head with its long fluffy hair. She
had always felt adequately protected in his arms but she did
not feel safe to be at the receiving end of his fists.
"It is against my will ... I know that I'm fighting against my
conscience, but we can try that man of yours. I can only hope
that God will not punish me for dealing with such people."
Dendera sat down on the bed with a huge sigh. He turned
to her and said, "Just forget for the time being that you're the
daughter of a minister of religion and instead, do what I, your
husband, want. That is what will make us happy. That is
what will save our marriage."

* * *

The n'anga was an elderly man called Banda. He worked as a

security guard for a private company. Dendera and Sarah
went round to see him one Sunday afternoon after church
service. An unassuming man, he sat cross-legged on the
ground at the back of a building he was guarding and
listened with immense interest as Dendera explained the
purpose of their mission. Sarah sat on an old newspaper
which Mr. Banda had spread for the couple. Her legs were
crossed before her and her head was bowed as she whispered
repeatedly to herself, "This is my last hope. Lord help me."
"I want to tell you something," Mr. Banda began after
Dendera had spoken. "I once worked in South Africa for
many years and the medicine I'm going to give you came right
from the bottom of the sea. It is very powerful and if it fails to
help you within two months then no other medicine in this
land will help you."
"So you think it will work, sekuru?" Sarah asked excitedly.
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 'That we have to see, but if it does not work then no other
person will help you." Having said that he prescribed the
medicine for both Sarah and Dendera. He gave Sarah some
white powdery stuff which he asked her to take in her tea or
porridge at the end of her menstrual cycle. For Dendera he
killed a big white cockerel and cooked the meat together with
an assortment of roots which had a pungent smell.
Dendera's treatment especially gave Sarah resurgence of
optimism. For a long time she had had her own doubts about
her standing as a husband.
After two months with no perceptible results Dendera quit
their bedroom and made his bed in the spare bedroom.
If I'd known that you were not serious about what you do
I'd never have agreed to come with you that old man," she
said on the night he moved out.
"What do you mean I'm not serious?"
"How do you expect the medicine to work if you run away
from me like that?"
"Why should I continue to waste my energy for nothing?"
"So that's what is in your head? I see!"
He was surprised by the way she reacted. She showed no
sign of the emotion that had led up to her near-suicide the
other day. She was utterly composed. So composed, in fact,
that she managed to show him her small white teeth before
he walked off. Knowing her husband to be a notorious
sleeper, she made a point every morning of knocking at his
door and asking him to rise and take a bath whilst she made
breakfast for both of them. They had a girl working for them
but Sarah nearly always made it a point to prepare breakfast
for Dendera herself. She knew him to be discriminating in
food. She knew he would rather go hungry than eat food
which he thought to have been improperly cooked. She was
proud of this habit because it was she who had imposed it on
him. It was one major achievement over him which she was
most proud of.
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 One day, a month later, Dendera suggested to Sarah that
they go out fishing. They had not been out together for a long
time now.
"I've been dying to have this opportunity," Sarah said when
he announced the news to her on a Friday. "I can't wait to
have some fresh air out by the riverside. Oh 1 How I long for
the fresh fish, especially roast bream!" Moments later she
looked out through the sitting-room window and frowned. "I
hope the weather won't spoil things."
One important thing Sarah did not openly express was her
belief that by inviting her out Dendera wanted to make
amends. The thought of his comeback buoyed her more than
her love of roasted fish. At no other time in their marriage
had she self more desirous of him. So desirous, in fact, that
she understood for the first time why it was that sometimes a
woman raped a man. This new feeling was so powerful that it
frightened her a little.
Alas! Little did the poor girl know of his secret designs. When
Dendera absconded from her he had hoped that this
deliberate slight on her integrity as a wife would force her to
pack and leave. He had reasoned that if that happened, so
much the better for his plan of getting another woman in her
place. However, when she stayed on and even seemed, by her
behaviour, to mock his desertion of her, he had resolved to
take matters into his own hands. He had planned to strangle
her late at night while she slept. On second thoughts he had
changed his mind, convinced that strangling could not pass
as a case of suicide. That meant he might be arrested for
murder and if he managed to elude the noose he might have
to spend years in jail. If that happened, he reasoned, his life
would be completely shattered. When he finally got his
freedom, age and the stigma of being an ex-convict might
jeopardise chances of marrying a fairly young woman who
would give him the children he so much desired.

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 A thought had occurred to him. He had recalled Sarah's
attempt to leap into the river that other day and had told
himself that such an act stood a better chance of being
regarded as suicide. He had thus decided to lure her to their
usual fishing spot. He intended provoking he by suggesting
that she had aborted all her eggs, hence her inability to
conceive. Knowing her emotional character, he believed that
she would react to the provocation by flying into the
crocodile-infested river. This time he was even prepared to
physically push her into the water if she appeared to have
developed cold feet.
"Please don't forget the matches," Sarah said early the next
day as they prepared for their trip to the river.
"What do you want fire for," he growled at her.
"This thing of mine..." she laughed.
"What?"
"This desire for fish will kill me... I'd never known that I
love fish so much."
They were about to drive off when Sarah said she wanted to
change into something else.
"What's wrong with those jeans?" Dendera growled.
"They're becoming too tight."
"Too tight? That's funny, they look all right."
"I feel the tightness," she said, getting out of the car.
Dendera watched impatiently as she walked rather leisurely
back to the house. But something struck him: he became
aware that she was gaining weight. A little more flesh in the
hips... As she returned to the car, walking with the same
slow, articulated step, he noticed that her complexion had
lightened a little ... Her small breasts, too, appeared to have
outgrown her chest. Her frock made him frown.
"I feel better in this dress," she said as they drove off. It was
a black frock designed like a maternity dress. She had made
it herself but it was one of the dresses she rarely wore.

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 They parked the car not far from the rock, unpacked their
lunch boxes and fishing gear and climbed up to the top of the
rock. Away to the north it had rained last night. The radio
had said it was the heaviest downpour so far this February.
As they sat on their sun-drenched rock, feeling the sedative
touch of the sun's warmth on their bodies, the couple became
aware of the rising level of water. Murky currents eventually
developed. They were swifter and frightening downstream
where the river narrowed into a bend.
By lunch time they had caught about a dozen breams
between them. By this time the water level had risen still
higher but they felt safe on the top of the rock. At the bend
the water began to roar like a wounded lion in the throes of
death. Dendera noticed that when Sarah listened to the noise
she cringed. That observation emboldened him to push her
into the water when the time came. He became so tense that
he could hardly finish eating the chicken drumstick that he
held in his hand. On the other hand Sarah devoured
everything in sight but the raw fish. Her appetite made him
wonder whether people on the verge of death ate so
voraciously too.
Then he fixed a vicious state on something resembling a log
and partially submerged under water. It appeared to be
floating against the currents coming towards the rock and as
it drew closer he threw the chicken leg and hit the log which
dived under-water, but not before he clearly saw its saw-like
tail. He turned to Sarah thinking that this was the moment to
attack with the crocodile in the vicinity of the rock. He was
certain it would make mincemeat out of her in no time at all.
Sarah's head was buried in her lunch box as she shoveled
everything into her mouth. She had not been aware of the
presence of the big crocodile to which he wanted to feed her.
When she looked up he stared at her.
"What has gone wrong? Why aren't you eating?" she asked,
licking up some soup from the corners of her lunchbox.
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 "Nothing," he said. In actual fact he was at a loss how to
provoke her.
"Seeing you're full, why don't you please make me a fire? I
want to roast one of those fish." She selected a bream of
medium size and showed him to him too.
He was silent for a moment whilst she eyed him as if she
wanted to devour him. He was becoming too impatient.
Making a fire and then roasting fish. That would take a long
time and thus delay things, he thought, By the time finished
with those chores the adrenaline to execute his scheme
would have stopped flowing. Or, worse still, there might be
other people around. He pondered the whole situation once
more. A frightening thought occurred to him. He had heard
that if a person died before getting what he wanted badly his
ghost often came back to his house demanding what he had
been denied. He told himself that he did not want Sarah's
ghost to haunt him demanding roast bream. Better do what
she wanted and forestall the confrontation with her ghost. At
the same time he found the thought of Sarah's ghost
haunting their house a bit weird, for he had always thought
her to be so fearful of sin that her devoutness would lead her
to heaven through the eye of a needle with ease.
Seconds later he realised that he had found the way to kick
up the row with her. He would roast the fish for her and as
she ate it he would chide her by saying, "Some people
concentrate on eating and forget to conceive." He bared his
long scattered teeth as he rose and searched for a box of
matches in his pocket.
"Don't laugh at me," she said. Her cheeks bulged with the
remnants of Dendera's food. "I'm not eating all this for
myself; I'm also eating for your child." She stopped chewing
and watched his reaction. Her small, humble eyes were filled
with love.
Dendera inclined his head back and gasped. The next
moment he was up on his feet with his hand on her shoulder.
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He stood facing the roaring river. She faced away from it.
Were he at that moment to push her towards the river she
would first hit the rock with the back of her head, roll down
and drop into the water. But he turned an ear.
"Did I hear you correctly? Did I hear you say, 'child'?"
She hesitated, raised her love-filled eyes and smiled. It was
a disarming smile which could make any murderer throw
away his weapon. "Yes," she spoke slowly, "I said child. That
child you have denied your warmth by deserting me... "
"Oh, Sarah!" he said. He rounded her up in his arms, lifted
her and kissed her. "Oh, Sarah, so we're going to have a
baby? But why didn't you tell me the news all along? Why,
really, why?"
"This was to be your birthday present next week," she said,
giggling, "but I was helpless to keep the secret."
"I love you, Sarah."

121
 had been driving along lines of villages for close to an
hour, stopping occasionally for the Land Development Officer
(LDO) to talk to the people about good land husbandry, with
me interpreting in the indigenous tongue.
It was a sunny Friday afternoon and as we headed home
for a weekend rest a figure appeared on the road ahead of us.
It was the figure of a girl and we soon caught up with her.
When we were level with her she stopped in the tall grass
alongside the road, her long thin arms folded across
chest. The jeep stopped suddenly and the girl gasped, eyeing
us wildly.
"Doesn't she want to taste the comfort of the white man's
moving house?" the LDO said to me. I conveyed the message
to her in our mother tongue. She stepped back a pace or two,
as if driven away by the force of the LDO's words.
"Where are you going?" she asked me whom she knew.
"Horne ... and you?"
A gust of wind whistling in the grass threatened to bare the
lower part of her body and her arms rushed down and
gathered up her 60's style frock around her. "I'm also going
home," she said. She was tall, dark and breathtakingly
beautiful. Her spike-pointed breasts looked as though they
were about to burst through the red frock.
"What is she saying?" asked the LDO.
I laughed. "She says she is going home. You mean, you still
haven't grasped even some elementary?"
"Corne on, Ezra, don't tease me! This is the wrong time to
ask such questions. When you people speak to each other
you talk so fast that I can't catch many of the words. Besides,
I must confess, right now I am concentrating on her
beauty... "
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 We both laughed. The girl (her name was Tsitsi) looked
bewildered. To calm her down I said, "Tsitsi the LDO says you
are very beautiful."
With a violent shrug of the shoulders she retorted, "Oh,
nonsense! Why should he admire me?" She was studying the
LDO's hairy arms, which he waved broadly as he spoke, with
a queer look.
The LDO GRINNED, "What's the talk about this time?"
"She says she's surprised that you admire her." I
responded.
"He laughed, then said, "Let her come on in. We'll take her
wherever she wants to go, except heaven. Oh, isn't she a
beauty!"
I got out of my seat to allow Tsitsi to climb into the car. She
sat, rather squashed, between me and the LDO.
"I'm the LDO, your mudhoments friend and workmate," the
LDO introduced himself as we started off again. Even as he
sat there one could see he was a big man. When he grinned,
as he did now, his chubby face reminded me of a bulldog
which had won a prize at Shabanie Mine the month before.
I repeated the introduction in our tongue for Tsitsi's
benefit. Then I told the LDO her name, her father's name
(Jeremiya) and where her village was situated. Meanwhile,
Tsitsi looked down and wrung her hands.
"You're a very lucky man," I said.
"Why?"
"This girl riding in your car like this... in these villages!"
"Do they normally run away from cars?"
"They don't normally trust a stranger; let alone a white
man."
"I suppose it's because you are with me."
"She could still have declined the lift if she wanted to."
"So you are serious that I am lucky?"
"Yes."
"I hope you're not just pulling the wool over my eyes."
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 "Whatever for? Why should I do a thing like that to you?"
"I take your word, Ezra. I certainly agree with everything
you say. You're my salvation this place - without you I
don't know how I would communicate with your folk."
"But sooner or later you must be on tour own."
His face flushed. "On my own?"
"I mean that you should learn to communicate with
people without an interpreter so that if I'm not around or if
I'm ill, for instance, you can still find your way around."
"Right you are! But I really wish that your African
languages had been taught us at school... at the nursery
school, for a start ... " He shook his head pitifully for himself
and I couldn't help sympathizing with him. At the same
however, I recalled that his young son, John, had mastered
much of our own mother tongue from my little brother
Tapiwa, his at seven. When John was home from
Shabanie Mine for the school holidays, as at this time, he
and Tapiwa spent much of their time playing together at the
Whitesons.
"There is a common belief in this area that the best way to
learn a foreign language is to fall in love with a girl who
speaks that language."
"Her?" the LDO asked and for a few moments I was at a
loss how to communicate this to Tsitsi. However, she must
have noticed that he was savouring her with loveful eyes - or
was it lustful eyes?
"I want to drop off here," Tsitsi said in an urgent tone of
voice.
"Did I hear correctly - she wants to get off here?" the LDO
asked.
"You got it!" I yelled, to his surprise. "You got her right. Now
I think she can help to polish it up for you."
eyed me glumly. "Polish what for me?"
"Our tongue."

124
 He laughed. "I thought you meant something obscene. I'm
sorry."
We both laughed at the way one's mind can be so fatuous.
The vehicle had stopped and I hopped to the ground so that
Tsitsi could alight.
"Please tell her for me..." the LDO said, studying her
immensely.
She brushed aside his intrusive hairy hand.
"That... ?" I asked, about to laugh at her action and the
frown on her face which went with it.
"That..." with the wink of an eye.
As Tsitsi was thanking the LDO and myself for the lift,
saying that she would inform her parents about it so that
they could thank us for her, I communicated the LDO's
feelings to her. I watched helplessly as she gazed queerly at
me and then at the LDO, making funny sounds with her
tongue.
"You wanted me to ride in your car for that?" she asked me.
"Calm down, sisi Tsitsi, cool down... I'm merely speaking
for my friend who says he..."
"What nonsense! What is he going to do with me?"
She gave us her back and I looked quickly at the LDO only
to catch him licking his lips and savouring her as she walked
off, her big hips moving rhythmically.
"Sisi Tsitsi!" I yelled and she stopped and tuned. "Please
think about it. Don't be afraid of him; he's just like any other
human being."
We drove off again in silence as the dun, now a crimson
red, vanished from sight and dark shadows started to creep
in all about us. We came across a herd of cattle crossing the
road and the LDO steered the jeep more cautiously. The
cattle raised a cloud of dust which soon scudded across the
road behind us.
The LDO glanced at me. "Ezra, it's amazing how things
happen in this world."
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 "What do you mean?"
"I confess hooked up."
"You mean, Tsitsi has stolen your heart, as they say?"
"She sure has but the problem now the follow-up." He
regarded me solicitously.
"I'm sure we'll meet her again one of these days," I said,
intent on getting him to talk some more.
"You can't leave my feelings to another chance meeting," he
protested. "What happens in the meantime?"
"I suggest you drop her a few lines."
"A letter? can she read English?"
"Do drop her a few lines and you'll get a reply, I'm sure."
"Can she read English, I wonder?"
"You see, our people are very kind and there will always be
someone to read the letter for and to answer it for her as
well. That's the kind of communal solidarity you find in this
place."
"All right! If that is the case, if you're giving me assurance
that we can communicate that way, I'm going to write and
send Bhoyi to deliver the letter. Or is it better if I post it from
town?"
"The boy will do it, I'm sure."
Bhoyi was the Whiteson's servant. was a boy of about
fifteen and he sometimes accompanied the LDO especially on
his trips to town. He came from a poor family which had
failed to send him to school. Actually, he had gone as far as
Standard One when he dropped out and was eventually to
offer his labour to the Whitesons.
On Sunday, two days after the encounter with Tsisti, I
decided to visit the Whitesons to find out if the LDO had sent
his worker to deliver the letter to Tsitsi. IT was a dull, grey
Sunday afternoon, made worse by the appearance earlier in
the pulpit of a two-faced priest. It was said that both the devil
and an angel dwelt him.

126
 As he stood self-righteously facing the congregation he had
denounced what he called a creeping culture of immorality in
the community in which he lived and worked, with beer
parties providing fertile ground for waywardness. At that
moment it seemed that the angel in him was talking. Away
from church when the devil took over, as the people who
knew him said, Jemusi the priest indulged in peccadilloes.
As I approached the Whiteson's house I met Tapiwa. The boy
looked upset; so upset that I wondered whether his friend
wasn't at home. The boys seemed to have become inseparable
comrades - one appeared to feel stark naked without the
other's company, the way twins or a couple madly in
love.
"Isn't there anyone at the Whiteson's?" I asked.
"They're there," Tapiwa said and immediately branched off
into a well-beaten cattle track. It was as though my sudden
appearance was an intrusion into his thoughts or as though
I'd scared him off the road into the short-cut home.
Entering the Whiteson's yard I heard voices. I recognised
the LDO's tenor and at once I intuitively halted to listen with
an ear inclined slightly in the direction of the voices. I
proceeded towards the voices, almost walking on tiptoe, to
stop in full view of the LDO and his son John. They stood
with their backs to me but I could see that the LDO, his
trunk arched forward slightly, had his hand resting on the
tap of their water storage tank. John stood beside the tap
and his head was bowed towards the tap. The LDO's tone
was clearly agitated.
"What did I say?"
The boy's answer was inaudible from where I stood, near
the car.
.. I said I don't ever want to hear you speak that kaffir
language with that African boy again," thundered LDO.
John tossed his little head up and lowered it again as his
father opened the tap and the water sluiced out.
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 "Now you rinse your mouth with this water," the LDO
spoke in an undisguised harsh tome. "Never, never again
must I hear you utter any kaffir word in this home or
elsewhere."
I must have choked as a result of what I heard, for I could
hardly breathe and my tongue coiled itself up in my throat, or
so it seemed. I coughed to clear my throat.
The LDO spun his head round to look in my direction and
our eyes clashed. Unlike Jemusi, the LDO had finally
emerged from behind the mask where he had been hiding.

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