Isdore Guvamombe Reflections
Back in the village, in the land of milk, honey and dust or Guruve, if you like, I locked up cattle in the kraal without much ado. I then tethered the goats under the silhouette sunset horizon.

It was my secret that I had allowed cattle to stray into Razaro’s maize fields, while watching ants build their castle. Stupid!

Grandfather was yet another monster, highly intolerant of those who allow cattle to stray, let alone stray into other people’s fields. Grandpa would beat me certainly and even if grandmother tried to protect me, she would be beaten silly, too.

By sunrise the following morning, Razaro was outside our house, tearing his long hair and crying loudly with an axe in one hand. I cringed. Grandpa knew Razaro and he quickly locked himself in.

Through a crevice left between the door planks I saw Razaro. His tiny stature masked a fiery temper, rare courage and violence. He had a niggling little voice, a very contemptuous looking smile on his lips that surely, was reserved for him only.

Razaro challenged grandpa to come out, but grandpa even reinforced the lock.

Razaro went to the kraal, drove out all the cattle into grandpa’s yard and forced them to graze on the maize, our best maize crop. For more than an hour he made sure they munched, munched and munched until one-by-one they started sleeping. He still wielded his axe. Grandpa and everyone remained in the house.

When Razaro was sure the cattle had had enough, he left them and went to his house. He had revenged. Grandpa was too shocked to even beat me up. But I knew he would explode one day – sooner rather than later. The main crop was gone, courtesy of my stupidity. I cringed again.

Soon the entire village gathered to see the destruction. They condemned me and Razaro alike. But in the public court of justice, Razaro should not have revenged. He had cattle too, though not many. Grandpa gave himself solace by saying the crop in the other fields would suffice.

Besides, he had three sons who were teachers and one who was a magistrate.

In the worst case scenario they would not let us starve. For moons on end Razaro refused to talk to grandpa, neither did he agree to shake hands with him. He was a person who never let go so easily.

One afternoon, as the cicadas religiously prayed for rains while clinging precariously to tree trunks and leaves, my father got home in a car.

He had bought an Austin Cambridge, courtesy of a salary windfall from an out-of-sorts Zimbabwe-Rhodesia Government, fronted by Bishop Abel Tendekai Muzorewa and Ian Douglas Smith.

It was the first car in the village and thus attracted a lot of attention and admiration.

The car was a small beast of British origin, my father explained. It was quite a speed monster, he proceeded. As a teacher who had graduated from the prestigious Kutama College many years earlier, he pronounced English words with the right British accent.

While the villager admired the beast, grandpa started telling him about Razaro’s issue. As usual grandpa started his story with half a dozen proverbs. My father shook his head with disbelief.

As the culprit, I kept my distance but made sure I was within earshot to hear essential details.

Village elders with cotton tuft hair gathered around the car, then after passing one or two pleasant comments punctuated by a scullery of proverbs, they joined in the discussion of Razaro’s revenge.

At that moment Razaro’s son Virimai came running and within gasping and panting, he announced a cobra had spat into his father’s eyes while working on the hedges that fenced his homestead. He needed to be rushed to hospital.

The village stampeded to Razaro’s home, grandpa included. There he was lying on the ground writhing in agony, his deep-set eyes, high cheek bones and thin straight nose, made him look like a man about to die of pain. Loice, the only village woman suckling a babe, was made to milk into Razaro’s eyes straight from the teats. No. He must be rushed to the hospital.

Grandpa talked to his son, my father, with a cool authoritative voice. “Rush him to hospital.” Soon the British beast took off. Minutes later Razaro was in hospital.

It was discovered no snake had spat in his eyes but that it was the milky stuff from the hedge that had affected his eye. He was treated and discharged after a week.

Thereafter Razaro offered to pay for the transport, but grandpa vehemently refused. Flat!

You Might Also Like

Comments

Take our Survey

We value your opinion! Take a moment to complete our survey