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Writing Still: New stories from Zimbabwe

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From ‘The Grim Reaper’s Car’ by Nevanji Madanhire

The other day we went into town. Mother said we were going to see a doctor. But when we came out of the doctor’s he had done nothing to me. No injection, which was a relief.

No pills either. Mother said the doctor was too expensive.

But, outside the doctor’s was a beautiful shop. I did some window-shopping. I liked the TVs. We sometimes watch TV next door. The other day we saw the president. It was on Independence Day. The president fought for freedom, not father. If father is right that he too fought for freedom why doesn’t he wear a black suit, a white shirt and red tie? I can imagine our president holding a big gun; like Rambo’s. We saw Rambo at the community hall last month. I think Rambo was just imitating our president, for how could he shoot so many people if he was not imitating our president?

The TVs were expensive. The smallest one cost $150,000. But if I sell nuts and save a dollar a day, we can still buy it. I won’t give up until we buy the TV. Then we would see our president from our own house. I wish I could see him one day holding the big gun as he used to do when he shot all the white settlers.

I am a born-free. That means, when I was born, the president had already killed all the settlers.

Oh, it’s still Wednesday. I slept and then I thought it was the following day. I woke because of the dream. There was a big black car, it stopped by and a man looked out through the window and said: ‘Let the children come to me.’ It was our president but why didn’t he have eyes in his sockets? And I didn’t like the look of his smile. It was too … toothy.

I have missed assembly. I should have seen all the Misses today in their colourful dresses. They dress best on Wednesdays. I don’t know why. But I like Miss Ndoro’s hair. She puts rollers in it every night and when she removes them in the morning the hair falls back in waves. I won’t need rollers when I grow up. My hair is soft and wavy. I mean since the beginning of the year. I think I am growing up. And I am in Grade 5. Next year I will be in Grade 6. And then I will be in Grade 7.

I think I should go to the toilet now.

Mother hasn’t returned from the market yet. I am not hungry but I haven’t eaten anything since morning. Anyway this is not the first time I have felt that way. Mother forces me to eat when she comes back from the market but the more I force the food down my throat the more I feel like throwing it up. I think I am not hungry.

Father has not come back either. I don’t know where he is. I don’t know how he spends his days.

Tati is slung on mother’s back and enjoying himself. I don’t think he ever feels hungry because as soon as he begins to cry mother puts her breast into his mouth and he tugs at it with his hands and begins to suckle. Sometimes it’s as if he is chewing the breast. I think it’s made of rubber because Tati’s teeth are sharp.

It’s time to take my Cafenols. A few years ago mother used to give me the pink sweet ones. Now she says I am grown up. So I have to take the white bitter ones … they are bitter. Mother buys them in piles. They are always in packets of three. One, three times a day. At first I used to just close my eyes and swallow them down with water. Now they stick on my tongue. No matter how much I try to flick them to the back of my mouth they stick on my tongue and being to melt. They are bitter. I tried another trick. I dissolved them in water and tried to gulp the solution down. It was terrible. I tried to wrap them in a morsel of sadza and swallow them, but they still stuck in my throat. Now when mother is away I just don’t bother. I just throw them down the toilet. But when she is here … Oh. They say the tongue is what tastes stuff. I have never been able to avoid the tongue. I wish she would give me those pink sweet ones. I can’t be that old, can I?

Mother must be coming any time now. This is about the time she prepares the evening meal. I think it’s a trick. She does not want to cook the afternoon meal and the evening meal. She cooks sometime between the time she is supposed to cook the afternoon meal and the evening meal. It looks like everyone down the street has followed her example. Or is it that she has copied everyone else’s example? So mother is coming in any time now to prepare our lupper. I think the word lupper is known only in our street.

But I don’t think I will have lupper tonight.

Father normally comes home a little later than mother. I think it’s also a trick. He knows his meal will be ready and mother would have brought some money from the market. After eating he always asks for money from mother. She always says she does not have any. I don’t believe her because the basket in which she carries the tomatoes and the vegetables will be empty, or almost empty. Then how can she say she does not have money? She does not look good with those black eyes.

But why can’t father get a job? Pupu’s father works. If father really fought and chased away the white settlers he should get a good job. The white settlers had good jobs, so we are told. I don’t think father chased away the settlers because, otherwise, he would have a job.

Mother has just walked in. Long time back I would have run to her and taken her basket from her or at least carried little Tati. Now I don’t have the power in my joints to do that. Mother understands. But she is always angry when she comes in. I can hear it in her voice.

‘Have you taken your pills?’ she asks with fire in her voice.

‘Yes, mother,’ I say, hoping they have dissolved thoroughly in the toilet bowl.

‘If you lie to me and you have not taken those pills you will die,’ she says.

She walks towards me and feels my forehead.

‘Still hot,’ she says. ‘You are not going to school again tomorrow.’

Tomorrow is sports day. I will miss sports. I am good at high jump. I compete for my house. My house is called Tembwe. The others are Mugagawu, Mboroma and Chimoyo. Father says they are the names of great places. I don’t believe him because in Geography the only great places are Great Zimbabwe, the Victoria Falls, Matopos and the Hwange National Park.

I would like to go to the Victoria Falls one day to see the angels flying to heaven.

Mother has lit the paraffin stove. I can smell the paraffin. It makes me feel dizzy. I can smell it in the food when we eat it. I can also smell it in my clothes and in the blankets. It makes me dizzy. Why can’t we buy an electric stove that does not have the smell of paraffin. Why can’t we buy anything?

Mother is going to cook dried kapenta again. I hate it. I think she should cut away the heads first before cooking. I think it’s in their eyes that the smell comes from. And they stare at you so much as you eat them. I close my eyes whenever I bring them to my mouth.

She won’t put tomatoes in the kapenta. She says all the tomatoes are for sale. The onions too, and the vegetables. She does not add anything because the kapenta is salted already. I think that is why she alone loves kapenta.

Father doesn’t seem to like kapenta either. He is always cursing, saying he wishes the war would come back. He says they used to eat nothing but chicken during the war. But where did he get the chicken in the bush? I think he will be lying. That is why I don’t think he fought the war.

Mother wants to bathe me but the water is cold. She says she won’t warm it because we will run out of paraffin and paraffin is so expensive these days. I hate cold water. I think my fever comes out of it. She says bathing is healthy and cold water is best for sick people. I don’t believe it. I can’t refuse to take the bath because she will become angry and slap me. I will wrap myself in the blanket afterwards and sleep. I wish they could give me an extra blanket.

I failed to eat the kapenta. Anyway, I am not hungry.

Father has already walked out. He did not eat too. He cursed and cursed.

‘Can’t there ever be just a piece of meat for the father of the house?’ he said as he slammed the door shut.

‘Do you want me to go and whore?’ mother shouted after him when she was sure he would not hear her.

What is to whore? When I told her the other day that I needed another blanket she said, ‘Do you want me to go and whore?’

I didn’t have the bath after all. Mother said it would kill me because the water was too cold. But she boiled a cupful of water on the stove. She said that would not waste that much paraffin. She then soaked my towel in the hot water and dry-cleaned me. That’s what she called it. She did the same with Tati. She herself had a proper bath with cold water.

I am all wrapped up in my blanket now but I am dizzy because of the paraffin. I can smell it everywhere. Mother is singing a lullaby for Tati. I think the song is funny.

I had good luck today

I picked a button on the road

etcetera

It is funny, the song, I mean.

I am sleepy. I think the lullaby is for me too.

I am cold. I think mother will give me an extra blanket.

I had dozed off. That man in the big black car came again and said: ‘Let the children come to me.’ He smiled. All those big white teeth and empty sockets. No eyes. But was it our president? I think so, but I am not sure this time. If I go into that big car, what happens?

Mother will give me an extra blanket. It looked warm in that big black car.