The consistent motion of tyres dipping into a hollow portion of the dirt road then receeding onto solidity results in the 1999 Toyota Caravan taking part in a violent bouncing motion. A consequence most suffered by the passangers stuffed into the caravan. Comfortability being a luxury we cannot afford.
Prior to the eight hour departure, one of the Malaicha's had graced us with his kindness by opening not one, but two of the tinted caravan windows. A gesture that rescued us from suffocating on our bodily reactions to a 20km walk, swimming in a crocodile infested river, and finally heaving underneath the border fence.
I struggle to breathe regardless.
The consistent ebb and flow of tragedy that preceded the death of my grandmother was relentless, it never tired nor did it sympathise. It remained constant, ever returning in moments where I so urgently needed relief.
It had resulted in multiple tragic circumstances, but most importantly it placed me in the midst of family conflict sourced by a greedy uncle thereafter leaving my fate in the hands of village elders.
Akin to Prince Charming arriving with his white horse and a carriage, Tanaka Sibanda sped through the small rural village of Masvita, the sand of the dirt road erupting after him in a cloud of dust, the roaring engine spurring a sound foreign to the ears of Masvita's inhabitants.
His dramatic arrival disrupting their activities, a group of boys playing soccer frantically running away from the road and into the corn fields, faces peeping from behind curtained homes, women raising their heads pausing the action of putting clothes a washing line.
The successful nephew of my grandmother stepped out of his brand new 2009 C-Class Mercedes Benz, drawing attention from all eyes that could reach him, enlarged by his mere prescence. The pristine white colour glistened in the light of midday, as if the boastful man had intended for it to blind the eyes of those beneath him.
Brown leather shoes placed themselves firmly on the village dirt road, Tanaka Sibanda waltzed toward us, confidence practically oozing out of his Italian blazer, round stomach bursting out of his navy blue pants. He flashed an ear-to-ear smile that revealed his gold tooth and greeted each elder carefully, ensuring that they were dazzled by the whiteness of his car as well as the charm that escaped his lips.
Indeed it had worked the mouths of the elders, that were barely populated by teeth, were mesmerized by the wealth that defined his very being. My fingers had clenched tightly onto the wooden bench that served as my bodily support, fingernails digging into the rotten wood and sandled feet shuffling my feet nervously in the caramel sand, I writhed with anger and fear.
The question was simple.
Should Sekaye be allowed to continue to reside in my grandmothers house or should ownership be transferred to Tanaka Sibanda?
It seemed the question had already been answered from the moment Tanaka Sibanda humbled himself to sit on the wood rotting bench, instead of a plastic chair, and persuaded the elders with charm that danced around them.
He spoke of how business in Masvingo was booming, how his seven children were excelling at St.Michaels Private school, the purchase of his fourth home Masvingo. The replies of the elders echoed in praises to God.
"Mwari Vsakanaka", God is good.
Thereafter four minutes passed. It had taken four minutes, three minutes of persuasion and a minute of unanimous delibaration for the decision to be placed.
The fifteen metred home that I mustered my first words in, that I studied countless times by candlelight beside my sleeping grandmother, the home that trembled at the sound of my lung emptying screams on the morning of my grandmothers death.
Tanaka Sibanda, the very same man that profusely refused to grant me $10 to purchase the medication my grandmother so desperatley needed, was the new owner of my grandmothers house. His gold tooth glistenend through the tears that blurred my eyesight.
"Mskana ano gara neh Tanaka", The girl can live with Tanaka.
My knees sway side to side as the caravan continues furiously down the road, a wave like motion that we all partake in. My eyelids continue to flutter as furiously as a butterflies wet wings, in return all that recieves me is darkness and grumbles, sighs and groans from different corners of the caravan, these being the only sound besides the tires against the road.
The cut against my leg continues to sting, and the Toyota bounces against a pothole once more. Swaying my shoulder into the cushiony body of the woman who had so kindly wrapped my leg with her tattered Zambia.
I blinked finally, and felt the single tear that slowly came down my face like highly anticipated rainfall in the midst of a drought. My vision cleared, and focused solely on Tanaka Sibanada, who did the same, and focused solely on me.
All that was left in me scorched from within, deep from the pit of my stomach like red hot flames far and reaching, swallowing everything within its midst, including my will to fight. By the time the flames of my rage had reached my throat, Tanaka's hands that riddled with plump veins clasped onto the hands of the boney elders', meeting in a firm handshake.
My lips persisted, refusing to part. My eyes seemed to be the only part of my body that could move as they followed Tanaka, his lips parted revealing the gold tooth that sparkled that summer afternoon.
He continued to parade himself, barely able to contain his joy at his new accumulation of the home that my grandmother exhaled her last breath in.
Her body barely recognizable, skin clinging onto her bones, hanging like brown leather. She used her last few words to tell me of a mother I never knew, how I would be able to find her in johannesburg, that I must leave this village and search for my mother.
My grandmother opened up her hardened palm, revealing the last shred of hope, crumped and faded, yet clear as day, a picture of my mother and I.
Just as my grandmother had, Tanaka opened his hardened palm in front of me, yet he held nothing within it, as empty as the promises he made to my grandmother on the rare occassions he graced our village and charmed us with his wealth and words that danced around us.
He attempted to do the same to me,
"Ndinovimbisa kuti ndichakutarisira iwe pa Masvingo", I promise I will take care of you in Masvingo.
His gold tooth sparkled once more and my lips parted and let out a blood-curtling scream, so startling that Tanaka repelled as if he had touched fire and I collapsed onto the rock riddled ground beneath me.I continued to scream, unheeding to women that surrounded me desperatley wiping away my tears and trying to calm me down.
I held the picture tightly, and continued to scream.
CITEȘTI
Sekaye (REVISED EDITION)
Ficțiune adolescențiSeh-Kai [noun]: Laughter "It had been worth it ofcourse, only the brave would swim across a river infested with crocodiles, perhaps even the desperate. Our desperation was no secret" Sekaye, seventeen had always spent her days dreaming of...
