I took a mouthful of sadza. I chewed slowly. I always liked to feel the taste of sadza first on my palate. I then took another handful of sadza, rolled it in my palms. I dipped the ball of sadza in boiled cabbage. The taste was distasteful. It was plain boiled cabbage. There was no oil, even tomato juice to spice the soup.
I pushed the plate away. I drank a glass of water to clear my mouth. I looked at Mai VaMaidei across the table. She had a basket full of covo before her.
She was tying the covo into smaller bundles which she would sell at the market in the morning at a tidy profit. Market women were always doing that. It was a great scam in the name of business.
“What happened to the meat I bought yesterday?” I said.
“We cooked it all. It was only enough for one meal,” Mai VaMaidei said.
I scowled. “But I only ate one piece of meat,” I said unbelievably.
“There’s too much waste in this house these days,” I said.
Mai VaMaidei maintained her silence but all the time she worked swiftly with her hands. There were now several small bundles of covo which she placed in a larger basket.
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There was a small garden at the back of the house. I decided to go and grab some fresh cobs of maize. It would not take long to boil the corn. My stomach grumpled.
“Uncle Jestini arrived in the afternoon,” Mai VaMaidei said. Whatever was going on in my mind stopped. I suddenly lost my appetite. The mention of Uncle Jestini was enough to drive me mad. He was my father’s young brother.
It was then I saw a small worn-out travelling brown bag in the corner just behind the door.
I hated Uncle Jestini with a passion. And for a good reason too.
“Where’s he?” I said.
“He’s at Zororo Bar ,” Mai VaMaidei said.
“I don’t want to see him,” I said flatly.
I almost died under his watch 15 years ago. My father trusted him. He thought I would be safe with him. All the memories suddenly flooded back. There’s this one incident I will never forget.
I went with Uncle Jestini in the veld herding our cattle and goats. If there’s one thing that is difficult to keep under control in the savanna, it’s the goats. Goats will keep you on your toes every time. They are not content to lope tree leaves and tussock grass at one place. Goats will always think that the next bush has better and tastier leaves so they will hop from one bush to the next. That’s how we lost one of the goats.
We found the goat standing on a small island of rocks in the flooded Save River. The water was moving fast, brown and angry, carrying branches and foam downstream.
Uncle Jestini did not say anything at first. He just looked at me.
Then he pointed.
“Go and get it.”
I thought he was joking. I looked at the river again. The current twisted around the rocks, hissing. My throat went dry.
“I… I can’t,” I said.
He did not answer. Instead, he walked to a eucalyptus tree nearby and broke off a thick branch. When he came back, he held it loosely in his hand, but his eyes had changed.
“If you don’t go,” he said quietly, “I’ll beat the daylight out of you.” I was barely 14 years old at the time.
My stomach tightened. There was no escape.
I stepped into the water. It was colder than I expected. The current pulled at my legs immediately, as if something alive was trying to drag me away.
I took another step. Then another.
And then I slipped.
The river swallowed me whole.
For a moment I did not know which way was up. Water rushed into my nose and mouth. I kicked wildly, my heart pounding, until my head broke through the surface. I gasped for air, coughing, my arms flailing.
“Don’t fight it!” Uncle Jestini shouted from the bank.
I forced myself to stop struggling. I floated, breathing hard, letting the current carry me sideways. Slowly, I began to move with the water instead of against it.
The goat bleated weakly from the rocks.
It was only a few metres away.
I pushed forward, my arms heavy now, my legs trembling. The water slapped against my face. I swallowed more of it.
Then suddenly the river rose.
A wave of water lifted me without warning. Something moved beneath the surface, fast and silent.
The goat jerked once. Its head bobbed up, then vanished.
The water closed over it.
I froze.
A cold fear spread through my chest. I did not need to see it. I knew what was in that water.
A crocodile.
My body went weak. For a second, I almost gave up.
Then something inside me snapped.
I turned and swam. Not towards the goat. Not towards anything. Just away. My arms thrashed, my legs kicked and my lungs almost exploded . The current dragged at me, but I fought it with everything I had left.
By the time I reached the bank, I had no strength. I collapsed onto the mud, coughing out water, my whole body shaking.
Uncle Jestini stood over me.
He did not help me up.
“Not a word to anyone,” he said.
I nodded, still gasping for breath.
He turned and walked away. Even after all those years, I had not forgotten.
I looked at his travelling bag in the corner with distaste.
I grabbed the bag and tossed it outside of the house.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Mai VaMaidei said in dismay.
“I don’t want him in our house, he can’t stay here,” I said.
The children were all quiet. Maidei and the others were all watching me. They were innocent. They did not know that the world had enough share of evil people.
What saved me from the attack that day fifteen years ago was that the crocodile had only seen the goat.
There was a sudden knock at the door. It was Uncle Jestini. What follows is the story for next time.
*Onie Ndoro
For feedback: X@Onie90396982/email: [email protected]
