ROAD TO DAMBOLAMADZI- Muyange Nsefu

CHAPTER SEVEN.

On the next morning, everything was the same.

It was strange. Everyone was so blind to the quiet consistency in their everyday lives, only really taking notice once something changed. Yet, as Wezi stirred a spiral of honey into her oatmeal and glanced around the group, it was the notable lack of change that truly stood out.

Since the previous evening, the atmosphere surrounding the convoy, and the demeanour of each member, didn't seem to have altered in the slightest. The night had fallen short in its role as a grand meridian, failing to partition the past and future, and bringing with it neither perspective nor closure. It was as if yesterday had spilled, like a toppled brush pot, into the next morning, colouring everything with the same temperaments, fears and divisions.

Khangiwe Moyo and Veronica Phiri sat facing each other, their legs crossed on a plastic groundsheet. Neither were saying very much, albeit for vastly different reasons. Khangiwe was still preoccupied by her own smouldering indignation, whereas Veronica looked overcome with a subtle but pervasive dread. Neither had taken food from Yange's stove, a decision Wezi suspected Khangiwe made for the both of them.

King, Romeo and Jullietta were across from Wezi. King was making conversation, attempting to revive his usual good humour. Romeo and Jullietta helped him out, laughing at his jokes, and smiling along with his stories.

Elizabeth Morgan hadn't stepped out of her car all morning, eating her own rations and maintaining a welcome distance from the rest of the group. Her eyes meet Wezi as she looked her way, and Wezi treated to a sharp, sardonic dismissal.

And Yange? Yange was attending to the practicalities of the road; serving breakfast, then topping up the Land Cruiser from one of the hulking jerry cans. It was clear the routine was comforting to him. Wezi could easily imagine this was how he dealt with a great many problems. Compartmentalising. Recasting himself as a blunt instrument engaged in a set of necessary processes. He had made himself too busy for grief, and would likely remain so until the feeling faded.

As coping mechanisms went, it wasn't remotely healthy. Wezi knew. She was doing pretty much the exact same thing.

WEZI: "Romeo, could I get a few words with you?"

Romeo looked up from his food, a little surprised.

ROMEO: "You want me?"

WEZI: "Hah, yeah— if that's not too much trouble."

ROMEO: "Oh no no, no trouble at all. You want to do it now? I'm not too hungry."

WEZI: "No me neither. That would be great thank you. Would you mind if we moved away from the stove?"

Romeo nodded keenly. Putting her bowl to one side, Wezi took Romeo to the edge of the mango grove. Nobody looked after them.

ROMEO: "How are you holding up Kopala?"

WEZI: "I'm getting there. How about you?"

ROMEO: "I'm uhh— yeah I'm getting by too."

WEZI: "So can I ask— why did you choose Romeo as your call sign while your sister kept Jullietta?"

ROMEO: "Hah well it came pretty easy. We used to play outlaws when we were little kids, one time Jullietta stuck up a bank."

WEZI: "Really?"

ROMEO: "Well, no it was a shawama parlour actually. But Jullietta was pretending it was a bank and then she ran in, holding her hand like a gun. She told Mrs. Gondwe it was a stick-up and she needed the shawamas for her lover, me!"

WEZI: "Wow, that doesn't seem like her."

ROMEO: "Oh no she was a wild child. Always living in some romantic story. Anyway, we got free shawamas that day and a new nickname in town after that. When Yange told us about the call signs it was the first thing we thought of, for me to be Romeo, while she keeps Jullietta, close to the real thing, right?"