Blood and Soil

Chapter 1: Homecoming – "Kumusha"

“Chamu! That pitch was excellent! I couldn’t have done it better myself.” Chamu with a wide grin on his face looked in the eyes of his “number 1 fan”, Dietrik. Dietrik was buzzing and the praise for Chamu’s presentation was gushing with each syllable he uttered. “Dietrik, you can stop now!” Chamu said. “We haven’t left the clients’ territory and this doesn’t mean we got the deal”. They were still in the parking lot of their intended victim. Intended victim meant prospective client. Chamu was always the paranoid one. He feared if they were to start jumping to the heavens, in celebration it wouldn’t be long before they were told there was no deal.

They stood in the parking lot of the Oryxtek Company. This was one of the most prestigious firms in the Western Cape, South Africa. The Oryxtek building itself was imposing. It stood protruding out like a giant ivory tower in the clustered office buildings of the Bellville suburb. As they stood next to it in the parking lot, Chamu walked briskly towards their rented car. A newish looking Bmw m5 series, that Dietrik had convinced his uncle to lease out to them. His uncle actually ran a car sales lot in Wynberg, another suburb found in the southern suburbs of Cape Town. Of course this particular car came with the family discount.

Dietrik followed suit just behind Chamu, he was trying hard to bite his tongue on his sun spotted freckled face. It was quite obvious Dietrik could literally smell the excitement in the air. He felt like a thousand volts of electricity were coursing through his veins. As the sky stood overcast, he was so sure there was sunshine on his path. As he looked at his slightly shorter colleague who was walking right in front of him, he couldn’t help but feel a slight sense of admiration. Chamu had just successfully pitched their food-tech delivery application to a boardroom of skeptical old men, who in his mind looked like they belonged to an old stuffy multinational corporation than a budding ICT company that was making vast inroads in literally every corner of Southern Africa through its e-commerce platforms which covered everything from electronics, books, garden tools to indigenous foods.

Just thirty minutes ago, Dietrik had watched as Chamu held the boardroom spellbound with his presentation. Those old farts literally seemed hypnotized as Chamu words seemed to flow like a sweet melody in the white boardroom. He was quite sure he had some of the wrinkled geriatrics nod their heads in appreciation and acceptance of the concept. He was so sure this deal was going to happen. Their hardwork and perspiration of the last 2 years was going to pay off. Dietrik’s mind began to drift off to when he had first met Chamu. He remembered it vividly like one remembers the sight of a rainbow after the first rains of a long hot summer.

It was not because the scene was beautiful but rather one of those memories that try as you might always seemed to stick out. In those days had labeled them “the Lucy fiasco”. Dietrik had at the age of 29 been working for his uncle Pieter at Cronje car sales. He had been the accountant handling most of the bookkeeping and finances of the business. Having completed his Masters in Accounting from one of the local universities, it only felt natural to join his uncle’s small business. He had never considered himself an overly ambitious fellow rather he preferred the comforts of a safe familial job with very little excitement.

So it only felt natural to Dietrik to find a “plain Jane girl” to settle with someone who basically endeared to his own value set of “safe and secure”. And that is how he started dating Lucy. He had met her at college. She had seemed perfect, the quiet bookish girl who hardly anyone ever noticed. She hardly ever spoke much and did not seem to fit in with any crowd. She was perfect he had thought. She was just the right kind of woman who would compliment his bland personality. It wasn’t long before he had asked her out. If he had thought she was just a nice quiet girl from a suburban family, he thought wrong! No sooner had he started dating her, he had already begun contemplating talking to the nearest Catholic priest for an exorcism. She drove him crazy quite to the point where he had decided it was time to call their relationship a day.

Dietrik’s plan was to let her go gently and so it was that he wound up at a seafood restaurant by the Cape Town waterfront. On a beautiful sunny Sunday afternoon, they were both seated in a corner of the wood covered interior of the restaurant. He remembered the classical looking pictures of the swordfish and barracuda stacked in the corner wall. He remembered they were playing a catchy pop song from the South African group Mango Groove. He had chosen this particular date to tell Lucy it was over. He could no longer stand her eccentrics and the unnecessary dramatics she had been putting him through. As he was trying his best to convey his change of heart to Lucy, something else had caught his attention.

There was a black African waiter who had been serving a nearby table. There wasn’t really much to look at this waiter. It was rather his accent and etiquette that stood out like a sore thumb. Dietrik’s automatic conclusion was this was another Zimbabwean economic refugee come to South Africa for a better life. Over the years the influx of Zimbabweans to South Africa had been overwhelming, fleeing their country due to the unending economic turmoil in that country. In fact there were so many of them now, it was a common joke that Shona (the most common language spoken in Zimbabwe) should be considered as a 12th language of South Africa.

This particular waiter had been serving two older women who were visibly inebriated. The women were clearly middle class-corporate types, middle aged and didn’t seem bereft of cash. Dietrik had been forced to survey the scene around him as he was still trying to muster the courage to end the relationship with Lucy. Hence he ended up looking at the environment. It was then the scene caught his eye. Those 2 drunken ladies had been ogling their waiter. It was clear as daylight that they had other intentions on their mind. A slight smile broke the stony look on his face. He could hear the ladies loudly propositioning the young waiter. Dietrik on his part could not help being overtly amused by the unfolding development. It served as a welcome distraction to Lucy.

As the African waiter served the ladies, one of them began to motion the waiter to lean closer. She casually slipped a folded 200 rand note into his front uniform pocket and proceeded to tap his posterior. Dietrik could not quite hear the words exchanged but he was pretty sure that the waiter seemed to politely declining the advances of the lady. However he could not openly resist their advances as he wanted to maintain his job. As the waiter seemed to motion away from the table, Dietrik was quite sure he saw the lady reach out her hand and gab the waiter’s buttock. To which the waiter let out a loud yelp like a wounded dog. This caused the waiter to tip over his tray and drop the empty beer glasses to the floor, smashing them in an instant.

It was not long before a burley looking Caucasian man with a thick crop of white hair on his head and a snowy beard made his way to the drama. The man had a badge written manager on his uniform. The waiter was now down on all fours, carefully picking the pieces of glass. The manager approached the ladies in a most apologetic manner and went on to admonish his employee publicly. The young African waiter did not take too kindly to this and he abruptly shot back with a retort. He then casually got up looked the manager squarely in the eye. The manager seemed to back-peddle, as he raised his finger towards the waiter. To which the waiter was heard yelling “I have had enough!”, and he stomped off out of the restaurant. The whole restaurant had come to a standstill as everyone became engrossed in the standoff between the manger and his recent ex-employee.

After witnessing this moment of bravado, Dietrik mustered up the courage to tell Lucy how he felt. He took a stern expression on his face and broke the news to Lucy. For the customers of that restaurant, the free drama show was far from over. The next scene was part 2 of the show. As soon as Dietrik had uttered the words ‘its over’ to Lucy. It seemed her particular demon took possession. What followed was a scene best described for the movies. Needless to say when it was over, Dietrik could be seen fleeing the restaurant as a seemingly deranged blonde woman gave chase screaming profanities along the way.

A few weeks later, whilst he had been talking to one of the sales assistants at his uncle’s car lot, it was then he saw the former waiter again standing at the reception. Instead of a white uniform and matching black Chino pants, he was wearing a slim-fit designer 2 piece charcoal grey suit with a thick striped blue shirt and a blue silk tie and a pair of shiny black oxford shoes. One might have thought the guy had just come out of a fashion shoot. There was a huge smile on the gentleman’s face and a portfolio in his left hand. Dietrik took a closer look at him, the young African was very well groomed with trimmed hair and clean shaven face. One of his distinguishable features was his eyes which seemed to be always sparkling with a glint of mischief. To cut the history short, Dietrik met Chamu and though both of them were clearly from different worlds, they hit it off like a house on fire. Dietrik’s assumptions about Chamu had been proved correct. Chamunorwa Mutanda was a Zimbabwean living in South Africa. Chamu was at the time studying a software development diploma with a local college and he had been working odd jobs so as to pay for his education.

That was then Dietrik remembered. He had never told Chamu about what had happened after he had stormed out of the restaurant or how Chamu had inspired him to break it off with Lucy. Now as he walked behind him looking at him in his navy blue pin stripe 3 piece Caducci suit and knock off Weston shoes, he could not help but feel Chamu was a genius for the way he had handled himself in the meeting.

Chamu himself also felt the same way. At that moment he was on cloud ten just one level higher than cloud nine. He really wanted to scream his lungs out as he felt the thrill of victory. The moment was still as vivid in his eyes like he was doing it again. He remembered entered the boardroom with Dietrik and setting up his smartphone and the projector. Although he had spent most of the night rehearsing his presentation and also trying to imagine all the questions he would be asked, he knew he was ready. A brief flash in his mind drifted back to the pretty mixed race receptionist who had offered him coffee earlier as they had waited to enter the boardroom which was located just to the right of the reception. But he didn’t any caffeine boost, the adrenaline coursing his veins was all the stimulation he needed. He made a mental note to himself he should get her number after the meeting.

Inside the boardroom, it was a pure show of ostentation. He could see the chairs quite clearly black leather chairs that had all the markings of expensive Italian furniture. All in all there were twelve leather chairs and in between a rather long oval table. The wood on the table was reddish brown with dark highlights. It had a fine texture with small pores and it was smooth to the touch. Dietrik had told the previous day as they had their meeting with the CEO that this was Macassar ebony wood. Only the finest would do for a Multi-billion Rand Company. Especially as at the centre of the table was a sprinting oryx in full fight carved into the wood and somehow embossed over almost seeming to give the logo mythical properties. All along the walls were pictures of the various web interfaces that Oryxtek had used over the years, they started from the left side of the room all the way to the right. Upon closer inspection, one would realize that the frames that housed the pictures were actually OLED flat screen TVs fitted into frames. The company was rich and they loved to show their financial success.

Chamu then realized there was no need for his projector as just after the boardroom table was a 110 inch HDTV occupying a sizeable chunk of the wall behind him. As his eyes followed a white cord coming from the TV, it led to a tiny palm size PC sited on a crystal pedestal adjacent to the TV. Chamu then whipped his faithful flash disk and inserted it into one of the two ports on the PC. He had realized no doubt this one of the latest Intel NUC PCs. On the pedestal was also a keyboard, mouse and a side pointer. Everything was just dandy for him to make his presentation. Chamu managed to open his slide presentation and bristling with confidence he knew he was all set to go.

“Good morning, gentlemen may I introduce you to the undiscovered hope of the food on demand industry; Oh and by the way I am Chamu! From Foodcart” he knew he had grabbed their attention. “What is a hero” he proceeded to show his first slide that had images of famous people, Mahatma Ghandi, Marcus Garvey, Nelson Mandela, Neil Armstrong, Miriam Makeba and Barack Obama. Chamu began to spin his own brand of magic as he highlighted why his startup was great and why it made absolute sense for a tie-up between his company and Oryxtek. As he wound up, he could see through the nods and half smiles he had done great job selling the vision. After a brief grilling session the board was quick to inform him they would contact him in a few days. Over the moon was an understatement towards what he was feeling before he left the building, he went to the reception and said “Excuse me, I don’t want you to lose your phone number how about you put it in my phone for safekeeping?” with a wry smile on his face as he handed over his Apple iphone 6 to the lovely red haired mixed race receptionist behind the desk.

All she could do was giggle and comply with his request and he exited the building. That was a couple of minutes, now as he entered their rented posh BMW M5 2015 edition. They drove off into Belmont Street heading off to Uncle Pieter’s car sale. Chamu felt such an occasion felt like a little celebration not only was he so sure he had wowed the board, but he was pretty sure that he had captured the red haired girl too. He thought to himself it was probably not her natural colour and she had just dyed her hair that way. He was probably going to send her a whatsapp message later, just to get the conversation started. He could hear Dietrik singing his praises and it only felt natural to play his favourite Kendrick Lamar song ‘I love myself’.

As they cruised in the streets bopping their heads, their synchronized head dance was disrupted by the ring on Chamu’s phone. He looked at the phone screen it was an unfamiliar but with a familiar country code ‘+263’. Immediately he knew it was from his homeland ‘Zimbabwe’. A touch of curiosity was in his mind as he stared at the rest of the digits trying to see if they registered in his memory. He answered the phone and instantly his right eardrum recognized the soft feminine voice at the other end. It was his sister Tatenda. Chamu’s earlier curiosity turned to slight irritation and his facial expression from all smiles to a stony expression.

“Vahandzvadzi! Murimupenyu here?” (Brother! Are you still alive?) She said to him in the Shona language. Whilst he was driving, he motioned to Dietrik to lower the volume. To put it lightly there was very little love lost between Tatenda and Chamu. Tatenda was actually Chamu’s 5 year younger half sister; the daughter to his father’s second wife. Since there had been stiff competition between the mothers for the old man’s affection, these emotions were then passed on to the offspring. Tatenda reminded Chamu of the past, a past he always wished he could wipe from his remembrance. “Tichiriko! Zvirikudii?” (I am alive, how are you doing?). By this time Dietrik had also fallen silent out his respect for his friend and realizing the call might be of some importance.

Though Tatenda was thrilled she had managed to get a hold of Chamu, she knew she didn’t have enough money to maintain a long phone conversation after all since Zimbabwe had partially dollarized, telephone calls outside the country had become very exorbitant. “Baba varwara kuno dzoka kumusha!”(father is ill come back home). Upon hearing about his father, Chamu face went even colder the very thought of that man left a bitter taste in his mouth. Chamu always thought of himself as a happy go-lucky, magnanimous fellow but his father was one man he would never forgive or grow to love; there were just too many evil tales buried in the past.

The call ended shortly and before he knew it, they were back at Uncle Dietrik’s business. They rented a small back office behind the main building of the car sale. It had actually been a cargo container that had been modified into an office including aircon. The inside was well…. Not typically what a startup office would look like. In fact it was very plain with basic chairs and furniture and a few laptops scattered the four desks in their office. Chamu took one of the chairs and sat down; his earlier mood had been diffused by the call. He had seemingly turned from a raging bull to a brooding chicken. He looked at his surroundings as the memory returned of why he was here and how he had come to be in South Africa. A place more than 1500 kilometers away from home; a place he had once thought of as having unfamiliar smells, sights and sounds. He took another deep breath as the memory of his childhood home came back. For as long as Chamu could remember, they had lived on a farm in Mkurunzira District in beautiful Manicaland province of Zimbabwe. The farm itself had been quite large having occupied five hundred hectares of pristine land in the beautiful lush, green, hilly countryside that Manicaland can be known for among other things. He remembered the image of his father Tobiat Mutepa.

He remembered that face oh so very well. The ever permanent blood shot eyes, pitch dark complexion, disheveled hair and the gruff beard that hid most of his features. The farm had been in native hands since before the white owned farm land seizures in the early 2000s. In fact among other businesses Tobiat had been known as a successful cattle rancher and tobacco grower. If anything the entire community considered him as a very shrewd and wealthy businessman, who liked to view himself as the chief benefactor of the community.

Chamu remembered it well, how Tobiat had seven different wives and as many children to show for it. He was a rich African man and he had to show it hence the many wives. Some of these wives were the result of debt repayments after struggling rural families had failed to pay back vast amounts of money they owed to Tobiat. As was tradition and custom for distressed families, payment to a debtor could consist of offering a young female relative or daughter and Tobiat gladly accepted a young girl to be his future wife and bear him more children. More free labour for the fields he would often joke to fellow villagers.

Chamu was Tobiat’s firstborn the one who was meant to inherit the vast wealth and lead the family forward. But that now would never likely be possible as there was bad blood soaked deep between father and son. The differences were more than irreconcilable; they were totally now beyond restoration. Chamu recalled that night well the night he had to flee for his life and disappear from the large homestead for good, all for the love of his mother.

As much as Tobiat had been known as the great benefactor of his community, back at his homestead they knew him as something else: a domestic terrorist. His entire family was petrified by him. Often on the weekends when the children heard the sound of his drunken singing beyond the witching hours of the night, they knew father was home. They knew his first act upon arriving home after a heavy night of such beer drinking binges was to wake up any one of his wives and demand supper be presented to him. It wasn’t long before screams would fill the night as he would then forcibly sleep with the unfortunate wife. During the week he was hardly ever there as he managed his business empire. It was Chamu’s mother who became more like the matriarch of the large family, as Chamu liked to imagine it the mother hen that managed her clutch of chicks.

They say the reason for Tobiat’s blood shot eyes was that when he was still a baby; his mother had taken him to the river. She had carried him on her back as she had gone to the local river to do her laundry. This was a usual routine and often nothing serious would happen. It so happened on one fateful day that near the river a Mozambican Spitting Cobra had settled in a hole. As the unsuspecting young mother lay her child down with a few clay toys; she advanced to the river and began washing her clothes. It was not long before she heard the piercing cries of her baby. The child’s cries flooded the morning atmosphere as the troubled mother rushed to her son’s aid. As she approached the cloth where she had left her son she saw the flash of a beautiful brown slithering serpent part the short green grass. As if sensing the onrush of the mother, it fled the scene.

The first thing Tobiat’s mother saw was the child vigorously rubbing its eyes and a slightly milky substance trickling from the eyes. Putting two and two together, the mother acted instinctively rushing back through the savannah bush to their hut in the village and washing baby Tobiat’s eyes with goat milk. The quick thinking, heroic actions of the mother whilst saving the eyesight of Tobiat could not unfortunately save their natural colour. They were forever bloodshot. It was a vivid identifier that would be with him for the rest of his life.

Growing up Chamu had been a regular victim of Tobiat’s bouts of cruelty. On one occasion; when he was ten he had gone cattle herding with the other boys in the community. He remembered a particular clearing where all the herd boys from different villages and their cattle would regularly convene. This spot was ideal as there was plenty of grazing land and a river flowing nearby in case the cattle should get thirsty. This was a daily chore for Chamu during the school holidays. He did not mind the chore as this was an opportunity to socialize and mix with the other village children.

When they were at their favourite clearing they enjoyed a particular game of dare. It was nothing short of an African version. This version was more of a sign of manliness and who would gain the bragging rights among the youths. What would transpire is that while the cattle were a stones throw away grazing on the wild grass, the boys would then split themselves into groups. Normally they would wind up into two opposing camps representing boys from different villages, which stood some distance apart from each other of about fifty meters. In this particular game there would be mounds of dust setup facing opposite each other. The mounds on one side represented the number of boys on one side. After the mounds were setup, the boys would line up respectively according to their sides.

A boy from one side would be given the onus of picking an opponent. The sign to show an opponent had been picked was kick a mound representing a boy from the other camp. A practice that was known as to: “crush one’s mother’s breast”. And so the fight would ensue after the ‘mother’s breast’ had been flattened. These fights were hardly ever extremely injurious, well except to one’s emotional pride and standing among peers for the day. As a sign of further humiliation the losers of a fight would be crowned with cow dung smeared on their heads which they would only wash off upon arrival at home. It would be further embarrassing as they passed by homesteads along the way and well known faces of villagers would burst into laughter at the sight of the losers. The humiliation was aimed at making sure everyone feared losing and the thought of a good chiding from an enraged mother was a further deterrent. This fighting practice was probably a vestige of a bygone era meant to prepare boys for the rigours of becoming warriors at the service of their chiefs in case a war should ever break out between neighbouring chiefdoms.

One day in December which in the Zimbabwean school calendar always is a month for school holidays; Chamu and his friends went cattle herding. Zimbabwe’s traditional rainy season extends from end of October all the way into March the next year. This exact December was no exception it was indeed rainy season. The bells of cattle could be heard far and wide in the countryside. The elephant grass had experienced a new lease of life under the rains and seemed to want to extend to the heavens. The grass then was so tall it extended to nearly one and a half meters in some places. Chamu and his friends waded through the tall savannah grass; their only guide was the well beaten familiar trod paths they had used on their previous herding route.

The skies were overcast and the grumbles of thunder could be heard in the distance. Ordinarily Chamu would not wander far from the homestead with his herd as this was a sign of an impending thunderstorm. That December the rains had been dousingly heavy with the frequent menace of hailstone filled thunderstorms. Mavis had warned him not to go too far today as she also worried about his safety more than the cattle. The only thing on young Chamu’s mind was today’s fights and which village would come out tops. The cattle as if by instinct knew exactly which paths to follow; perhaps they too were part of their own social network.

After traversing the green foreboding grass, there was a sudden rupture into a clearance that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. The ground was bare and damp revealing the sticky, muddy red clay soil scientifically known as ’Terra Rosa’. The usual suspects had already gathered and a roaring cheer could be heard from both opposing camps. Young Chamu smiled as he was relishing today’s entertainment. In the background could be heard peals of thunder as the lightning tore up scenario of the distant hills. This was Manicaland Province after all which bears the other name of the Eastern Highlands due to its rugged terrain and numerous mountain ranges coated with a green carpet of foliage all along the landscape.

The mounds were setup and the boys from the next village were given first pick as to whose little molehill they would destroy first. One particular boy from the next village whose nickname was ‘Goliath’ after the biblical character was given his chance. The nickname obviously was derived from his humungous size as compared to the rest of the other boys although this was probably due to him being overage in contrast to his peers. Goliath wore a khaki shirt that had front pocket ripped off. On his lower half he wore faded red boxer shorts that looked a size too small. He wore no shoes on his feet except if the thick clay mud coating that he had obtained while traversing the grasslands could count as shoes.

Goliath was looking for an easy win. His village had been on a 3 day losing streak and the thought of enduring an evening coldwater bath especially to wash off the smell of dung, not to mention the entourage of green flies that would follow his every steps buzzing and harassing his head. So he picked the mound of the scrawniest and smallest boy he could find and he kicked it. That mound belonged to Chamu!

“Haa aputsa zamu raamaiChamu, itomira mira mukomana!” (He smashed Chamu’s mother breast fight him you cannot take this lying down) Chamu mates urged him on. No one had noticed the rising gentle breeze from the east that carried a clear distinct smell of fresh raw earth or the fact that the lightning strikes had paused. Perhaps they thought that nature itself had taken an interest to this fight. This was a sign of an impending storm. Whatever the case the young boys were only too engrossed in the fight.

Young Chamu stepped into the center of the clearance. He was a scrawny little boy wearing a blue and white stripe t-shirt with plain khaki shorts. The white on the t-shirt was no more of a darker shade of cream due to excessive ‘field use’ Goliath, who had already been standing there, sized up his opponent and smiled. The first pitter patter of raindrops had begun falling bur none had noticed. The noise from both camps was rising to a crescendo drowning out the omens of the forces of nature gathering about them.

And the fight began, the contestants grappled each other. Due to Goliath’s distinct size and height advantage, this was going to be a one sided clash. Young Chamu being the son of the leading citizen of the district; had never really had to fight. Goliath tripped Chamu to the ground. No sooner had Chamu’s back touched mother earth than he found the relentless Goliath sitting on top of him pinning down his arms. Try and squirm as he might to wriggle and squeeze himself free, it was to no avail. Before Chamu could scream out surrender, there was an abrupt bright flash that blinded the entire scene. Everything seemed to have been blocked out for just a brief second and then the boom followed. The boys who had been cheering the fight clasped their ears in confusion.

Goliath leapt to his feet with the weight of apprehension masking his facial features, even young Chamu scrambled up to his feet. There were moans, bellows and spine chilling moos coming from the area where the cattle normally wandered off to graze. The bells of the cattle had gone silent. The boys from both villages could only look at each other with apprehension at the fear of what they thought had transpired. The fight had elapsed from their minds as they now sprinted to the field running with dread and anxiety etched in their hearts and minds.

They got to the fields and what followed a scene of horror as had never been seen in the entire district. The hundreds of cattle that had been grazing were all dead. The smell of cooked flesh filled the air. If such a thing as a graveyard for cattle ever existed then this was it. Some of the herd boys could now be seen on their knees mourning and wailing, clutching their heads. The downpour had begun and the smoke from the burnt carcasses slowly ascended to the heavens. Their cries of exasperation seemed to complement the sounds from the raindrops fury on the ground. The fields were just now a covering of black, brown and spotted; were corpses of cattle lay.

This was all too much for the herd boys. There was still a sense of utter disbelief at the scene; how would one begin to explain these bizarre events to the cattle owners? How were families going to survive without cattle to sell off for income or buy money for fertilizers? For some of the herd boys it obviously meant no school fees for next year as the cattle were the income sources for their families, as for others who were hired hands this meant dire unemployment thus escalating the pangs of poverty in their lives.

A new but common fear then sprung into their minds: witchcraft! Everyone ran to their respective homes and villages to narrate these events. There was no doubt that there would soon be a witch-hunt to determine who had done theses evil things. For Chamu this was not good at all. As he ran home he could already imagine the reaction from his father at the news that a sizeable number of his prized cattle had perished with single lightning bolt. Even as he ran home, as fast as his spindly legs could carry him; there was no telling what would happen once he got home.

As he got to his father’s homestead he could hear the singing of the women who worked like busy bees carrying out their duties. With seven women on one piece of land, there was bound to be a hive of activity taking place. The storm clouds had not yet reached the homestead. Chamu could see his younger brothers and sisters seated on reed mat at the center of the women. Apart from his mother who he called “Amai” literally meaning mother, he called his father’s other wives “Mainini” which meant little mother literally. He could see some of the little mothers using the winnowing trays to separate the dirt particles from the wheat. Chamu stopped as he was now within earshot of the homestead; his eyes quickly surveyed the scene as he was looking for his own mother.

Once his eyes had narrowed upon her, he dashed in her direction. He could see using a giant mortar and pestle pounding the maize to make mealie meal powder. Mealie meal powder was used to make the staple food of the household and the nation. The mealie meal was made into a thick porridge called Sadza. Sadza was so thick that it was normally eaten using hands. One scoops a handful of Sadza and shapes it into a bolus which they then mix with the relish and dump in their mouths.

Mavis had been busy that morning pounding the maize seeds using the giant mortar and pestle she had. This was hard work but she had become used to it. She was feeling slightly irritated as she had chided the youngest wife Judy for her laziness and sloppiness in sweeping the yard. Mavis by nature who had a diminutive, stout stature was a rather quiet lady in terms of demeanor. But where she may not have been a champion of words then she was a model of a homemaker. She quietly slaved away at making the home environment livable.

Though Tobiat had married many wives and each wife respectfully had her own grass thatched hut, Mavis was still considered the alpha female. This was her natural respectful place as the first wife. They had to follow her instructions to the latter, but this did not mean Mavis abused her family position to make life harder for the other wives. She had come to accept this was the culture passed down from generations and so long as Tobiat did not have any other mistresses out there, then she could manage the lifestyle. What she had long lost love for, was her husband. Now however, her thought were more focused on the task at hand.

“Amai! Amai!” Mavis looked up; it was her firstborn son the jewel of her heart. She could tell from his calling that things did not seem right. She was also puzzled why he was back so soon? Normally when he had gone cattle herding with the boys they had hired from the village and the other herd boys, he would only come back at sundown. Her worry grew greater as she realized he was only a solitary figure approaching with no cattle following. She knew these were signs of a disaster. Chamu finally got to her and took a slight pause to catch his breath. Then he narrated to her al that had transpired.

Mavis was dumb stricken, how was she going to explain this to Tobiat? “Maiweee!” (My mother) she screamed’ “nhasi naBaba wako!” (Today, your father will kill us). Mavis knew Tobiat, he was a hard man who loved his wealth more than the people around him. Mavis who wore a traditional African headpiece and some African cloth wrapped around her body was doubly worried. She could feel her body involuntarily shiver at the prospects of Tobiat’s wrath being directed against Chamu. She urged the youth to take her to the place of the incident.

When they got there, the rains had subsided into a slight drizzle. The charred cattle cadavers were now soaked with the rain. Mavis knees buckled underneath her, she could not believe what happened. Hearing and then seeing the same story were two totally different experiences. She covered her mouth with her hand as she sat on the ground. Chamu could only raise his head to his hands. That night as Tobiat came back from his offices at the nearby shopping centre which also carried his name ‘Mutepa Centre’.

His shock turned to fury at the news of losing a sizeable portion of his herd. He could be heard cursing and spraying obscenities into the night air. Chamu was summoned. The young boy terrified at his father’s mood chose to run off into the bush rather than face his father’s rage which he likened to a wounded animal. He would sleep for the next three days in the bush, not daring to go anywhere near the farm.