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Isdore Guvamombe Reflections
Back in the village in the land of milk, honey and dust or Guruve our home lay serene, shabby and dusty as ever in the late afternoon sun. Under the late afternoon heat, hens clucked drowsily to themselves, intermittently disturbed by the horny big cock that mounted and descended as if it had taken Viagra.

On the village open ground children squealed: girls played boxes, their dresses stuck in the hems of their panties shouting “harauru . . . harauru . . . harauru!” and hoping from one box to another on one spindly leg. Boys played paper ball, raising clouds of dust. The sun continued to move towards its setting, imperceptibly.

Suddenly, a car pulled up and Auntie K, who lived in Mvurwi Town, had arrived.

She rarely visited.

Maybe once in three years! She was among a few women to live in town in Rhodesia.

She was not married and worked for some whites-only nursery school. Neither did she have children. She did not want to have any.

Auntie was dropped off. The car was a spectacle. It attracted everyone in the village. This villager saw a car at close range for the first time, let alone touch it. It was fascinating.

Auntie K was onion-shaped and light in complexion but her face was ashen. We were later told she used Ambi Black Powder. She smelled good, too.

This villager compared his nondescript dirty and pungent shirt and shorts, bare legs and cracked feet to Auntie K’s pristine frocks and chocolate cream skin. The villager gazed at her with awe and fascination. She didn’t seem human at all.

Mother quickly instructed us to chase after the cock. That signalled the end of its procreation antics.

This villager was then sent some 4km away to alert another auntie, Auntie Rati, that her younger sister had come. There were no cellphones then.

Auntie Rati’s house was always the same. They were voices inside. Her vicious dogs set after me. I rocked dizzily on my feet. Before anyone came to this villager’s rescue, he ran helter-skelter along the dusty road, the dogs closing in. Suddenly the dogs caught up with this villager and tore into his clothes and flesh, devil heavens!

Auntie Rati’s eyes were full of exasperated affection. She cleaned the wounds with salty water.

Back in the village many relatives had gathered at the homestead to see Auntie K. She was equally shocked by the wounds and offered, as pacification, that this villager visits her in town, one day. Goodies, she said, awaited the villager in town. It was an open invitation.

Many, many moons later after this villager had written his Grade Seven final examinations. He worked in someone’s garden to raise enough money to visit Auntie in town. Mvurwi was just 50km from the village but visiting it those days was too far to contemplate.

Cleared by both parents, this villager set off for Mvurwi, but not until the delay in being paid for the menial job forced him to leave in the afternoon.

A huge Mverechena bus rattled to a stop – all metal, tyres and a groping engine – and this villager having boarded in a huff, the monster took off, past Muzika, Ruyamuro, Kondo, Chikonyora and Mupinge, repeating its feat at every bus stop until it stopped in Mvurwi.

After alighting, this village boy looked for house number 472 in the township and the sun had just set. There was no electricity at the house and Auntie K cooked outside.

This villager confidently entered the yard and about that time Auntie K came from the core-house, pot in one hand and cooking stick in another.

She tended the fire, her eyes flickering around blindly from the resultant smoke. She looked up and saw this little village boy standing studiously, unmoving. She was irritated and about to send the boy off, when she realised it was this villager.

“Ooooh, it that you? Why are you here my brother’s son?”

“To see you Auntie!” exclaimed this village boy, joyously.

“Well that is very nice of you. But why did you not come in the morning? I am sure it is late now and I need to take you back to terminus so that you don’t miss the last bus to Guruve. But thanks for coming to see me,” she heartlessly declared.

Without being allowed to enter the house and without even a glass of water, she walked the village boy to the terminus . . .

To be continued next week

“I could not allow you into the house because no one will clean your footsteps for me. I have neither a child nor a maid,” she continued.

Soon the bus arrived and this villager boarded, boiling inside and feeling betrayed, rejected and dejected.

• (to be continued next week)…