by T. M. Clark
‘Ndende—’
‘Just do it. Remember that burn on your arm, remember how he taunted you that day, saying you were a coward for letting that monkey free and not killing it. He burnt your arm to remind you always. To cause you pain. But it was he who was the coward, not to learn patience, not to spend time with an old grandfather whose most precious gift was passing on secrets of the bushveld.’
‘I always remember.’ Bongani rubbed his arm, even though the scar had not hurt for many years. ‘He is making mischief – people have settled in our lands without your permission. There is poaching on the northern border. Our people and the park usually help each other, unlike many other safari and forest areas. The Chizarira never had to look to us as poachers, because our people had honour. Now, there are some who hunt where it is forbidden.’
‘They must not be allowed to get away with this.’
‘I know.’
‘Soon you will be chief ... it will be easier then.’
‘No, Father, it will be harder. Tichawana will bring with him years of hatred and try to take our lands by force. Having you alive is the only thing keeping him out for now. Even after all these years, he is still afraid of you.’
‘So he should be,’ Chief Tigere said. ‘But now it is time for him to be afraid of you. It is almost my time. I know that three of the five N’Gomas are already here. The other two must be close, and will arrive for my burial any day. They will need your help as chief to do new boundary muti, to stand with you and keep him out. I do not know how long their muti will last once I am gone, and before you are named chief. This is the time he will come. Gather the N’Gomas close to you. Keep them with you, because if he is not scared of you, at least he has a regard for the angry tokoloshe they can call to aid them.’
‘Abigale said the same as you.’
‘Good. That will give him a surprise if he dares to come here.’ Tigere’s head nodded to the side, and Bongani lowered the bed halfway.
The nurse came into the room with a small knock, just as Bongani had finished putting the dishes into the cooler.
‘He is sleeping?’ she asked.
‘Just nodded off.’
‘Did you get some food into him?’
‘A little warthog pie.’
‘That is good. He is counting the days to his crossing over.’
‘How many do you think?’
‘Hard to say. A week at most.’
Bongani nodded.
‘Your father is old. You need to prepare for the funeral, for the procession and for his burial.’
‘No, I will take care of that once he is gone. For now, I will spend as much time as I can with him. If you get him comfortable for the night, I will sit with him. He might wake up again before morning.’
He sat in the rocking chair he had placed next to the bed and watched his father sleeping. He remembered doing the same thing when his grandfather had died, only then he sat on his father’s lap silently as that chief slipped away to chase fireflies in the dark night.
It was too soon to be his father’s turn.
Bongani had no son to sit with him. He did not want any of his nephews from his sisters there either, not when their mothers were all ‘too busy’ to help look after their own father. Joss had been the son Bongani had never had, the one he had mentored in the bush and, despite their colour difference, the one he still loved as if he were his own, but it was not acceptable to his people for Joss to be in the chief’s home when he died.
Bongani wondered who would sit with him when it was his turn to cross over.
* * *
The next morning, Bongani held his father’s cold hand.
Five N’Gomas surrounded Chief Tigere’s bed, chanting songs and burning herbs. They sang the traditional sounds of Kuyabila, the poems to the god Chilenga, who created all, and to the ancestors to help the family left behind, and to grant them wisdom during this difficult time. Abigale raised a drum and began beating it. Lindiwe and Thoko joined the steady beat. Thully shuffled to the doorway to begin a slow walk around the outer perimeter of the ikhaya, continuing to beat her drum. Cludu followed, chanting, her song solemn. A sign from the N’Gomas that their chief was dead.
Each of the ikhayas in the area joined in the chorus. In the distance, other drums could be heard, and then still more as the bush spoke across the vast distances, each signalling to the other that Chief Tigere was dead.
Joss got up from where he sat waiting. He walked into the ikhaya and stood behind his friend. He put his hand on Bongani’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘All this time to prepare and yet I still cannot believe he took his last breath and crossed over,’ Bongani said.
‘At least you got to spend this time with him.’
‘That I am grateful for, and that he was at peace.’
‘What now?’
‘My mother was spared Kukala Ku Chilyango. She has passed so she won’t be covered in meilie-meal, but I will have to do that for a day, while I get everything organised for the feast. With the help of these five N’Gomas, I am going to follow every tradition, for my father, and especially as chief, so that when Tichawana attempts to take away my chiefdom, he will get nothing. It will all be sanctioned by these women, and there will be no doubt in the eyes of the people who will be their next chief, by blood and by law.’
* * *
Joss lay the now-wilting flowers at the base of Courtney’s tombstone. Flame lilies had always been her favourite, and he was lucky that his mother’s garden had pots of them flowering profusely at this time of the year. Despite her being gone for years, the plants were hardy and had survived. The red and orange petals were a stark contrast to the white marble with the black writing.
It was time to let her go.
Courtney Jean de Longe
Time is eternal.
It made him smile that Peta had not put dates on her resting place and chosen a saying that Courtney always used instead. But her time walking on African soil had not been eternal, even if her spirit remained.
‘Hello, Courtney. It’s been a while,’ Joss said.
The sounds of the bushvelt answered him back. The unrelenting cries of the cicadas and crickets filled the silence, with the chatter of distant birds as they went about their day, oblivious to him trying to say goodbye to his best friend. Closer to the camp, men sang as they tended to their tasks, their voices deep and harmonised, the rhythm soothing. He could hear the shrill whistle of one of the rhino handlers, herding the babies back into the safety of the camp for the night.
‘This is a great place to rest, you know,’ he began. ‘There are worse patches of dirt. You can hear the sounds of the bush, and still be part of the people around. We all know how much your loved being near people—’ He stopped because he felt stupid talking to her as if she was still there. He hadn’t even done this at his own parents’ grave.
When they died, he knew that they were at peace together. But not Courtney; she was so young – in his head she wasn’t the person below his feet, but a free spirit, not like the pictures that Peta had shown him, of how thin she was at the end, with dark shadows under her big eyes. That person was not the Courtney he carried in his heart.
‘I wanted you to know that I kept my promise. I didn’t let you down. I was late, but I got here. It’s really important that you know that. I came home.
‘I know that you of all people would understand because it’s all changing, Court. What I felt for you was like the love of a sister. I don’t believe that we would have ever taken our friendship to a different level. You were always my best friend. But with Peta it’s different. I feel differently now about her. I don’t want you to hate me for it, but I have changed. I’ve seen things no person ever should. I’ve seen such cruelty and madness, and losing my legs. I should be angry, but I’m not. Not any more at least. Now I have to believe that I’m a better person because of the experience. Not such a windgat.’ He laughed dryly. ‘Peta sees me differently too. She h
asn’t tried to boss me around for at least a few hours. We seem to have a more even footing now.’
The sound of whistling grew closer and he could see the baby rhinos plodding along in front of the game guards.
‘At least you get to see the animals each day here, and you are not resting in a city somewhere. No matter what, you will always be looked after here. These are men of the bush, and they will respect your resting place. You would be so proud of your sister; Peta is doing amazing research with those babies who walk by you each day, and the photographs she showed me of their interaction at night are amazing. Who knew that rhinos had such a social life?
‘So, while I was off fighting a war in a country that didn’t want me there, you and Peta were doing just fine here in Zimbabwe. You were living a safe life, and were where you wanted to be. There’s no use me having regrets about not visiting more, it is what it is, and I can only hope that in the end you were not in pain.
‘I know that you visited me after you were gone, and you knew why I was breaking the promise to come home. I know that you were there, and you told me I wasn’t allowed to give up. That I do remember, despite all the drugs in my system. Making me choose to live because you had chosen to leave this world, but you didn’t want me to as well. You wanted me to carry on. To keep my promise and return home. I always knew that you were aware that I had lost my legs, even though I didn’t get to tell you myself.
‘At least I got to continue living, and for that I’m grateful. I’m not sure that Peta has come to understand exactly how much it’s changed me yet, but us getting to know each other better is a dance worth dancing. I know deep down that you would be making jokes about us, about me and older women, and her being a cougar, but you would continue to love us both.
‘I do love you, Courtney, I always will. You were everything to me growing up, you made my life exciting, and challenging, and filled every moment with madness and activity. Your relentless enthusiasm for life influenced me so much more than you would believe.
‘I wish you were here now.
‘I wish I still had my legs.
‘But we both know that some wishes are never granted. There’s no turning back the clock.’ He stood looking at her grave for a long time, remembering better times in the quietness, until he sensed he was no longer alone.
Peta. He knew her step already, the rhythm of her breathing, and the smell of her as it drifted in on the breeze. She walked up to him, and stood looking at the tombstone for a moment before she slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze.
‘I’m not sure why I took so long to come and say goodbye,’ Joss said.
‘I’m sure that you had your reasons.’
‘Now that I have done it, they don’t seem that important. I should have come earlier.’
‘It doesn’t matter. You okay?’
‘Far from it, to be honest. But I will be.’
‘Yeah, I know that feeling. Tomorrow will be a better day – isn’t that what every Zimbabwean always believes deep in their souls?’
He felt her move away, but instead he pulled her towards him, and he took her in his arms, holding her closer to him. His arms wrapped around her and pinned her body to his. He felt the moment when she relaxed and leant into him. He let out a sigh of relief.
It was supposed to be a sombre moment, but he felt a glimmer of hope inside, as if saying goodbye had let part of him that had been burdened and held back go free.
He hoped the same was true for Peta.
He knew that Courtney would be smiling at them both.
CHAPTER
17
Across the Mighty Zambezi
The matriarch moved with purpose and patience, waiting for her herd to cross the river. The last time she had traversed it at this place, the water had been higher on her body. She had been younger then. Not as young as many of her herd, but young nonetheless. Now the water was below her belly. The river was low for this time of year because the rains had not arrived in earnest.
Hippos gathered together in the deeper pools to her right, grunting loudly. The dominant male bared his huge yellow teeth in a show of strength, but she ignored him. He was not about to move from the sanctuary of his deep river pool and attack the herd today; he was more worried about the rival male in the next pond as they competed for females and breeding grounds in the vanishing water. A lazy crocodile lay sunning itself on the opposite bank. Its teeth gleamed, but it made no move to approach the herd either.
She stopped and drank some of the refreshing water. She knew that the others were behind her, and they too would satisfy their thirst before crossing. She threw the water over her body and continued her journey. Finally, she lifted herself up the small ledge on the other side. The mud was packed hard from many feet treading the same path, but the step was high. The youngsters would need help here.
Once out of the water, she flicked the warm river sand over herself, and turned to help the mothers in the herd get the infants up the small ledge. She watched the crocodile as he remained on the bank, aware of their movements, but not a danger.
A fish eagle called. She looked up and saw it circling above her, its black body and white head so distinctive. It owned these skies and wasn’t afraid to tell the world about it. When she was younger, she had been so used to the serenity of their calls, taken both them and the vastness of water in the lake for granted as part of her life in the bushveld. But that was before she had travelled north. Before she had the responsibility of her herd.
She was closer to home now, the place of her birth, but she knew she wasn’t out of danger yet. Hunters were still around and she had to lead her herd up and over a huge escarpment before they would be safe.
One baby was in trouble; it was attempting to get up the step, but its legs were too small and it repeatedly slipped back into the water. The calls between it and its mother were frantic.
The crocodile slithered into the dirty water and disappeared.
The matriarch stepped down from the small shelf, her feet in the water. She turned her bulk around until she was behind the baby. Slowly she angled it between her tusks and lifted it, while the mother soothed it with her trunk.
The baby’s feet trod air before it was up, and then it was running beside its mother.
The matriarch looked around for the crocodile. He was closer now, but seeing her in the water, he moved slightly away as if acknowledging she was a formidable foe, the protector of her family, and he wouldn’t get an easy meal from her herd.
She helped another baby up and over, and then she stepped up once more. The herd took time to cover themselves in sand, creating a barrier from the hot sun and biting insects, and once everyone was ready, she slowly made her way to the front of the column again.
The matriarch pressed her herd. They passed near the town with the large power lines, and the strange sensation under their feet that tingled and yet threatened at the same time, warning of impending danger. Vibrations from thundering water and man-made machinery.
They left the town with the thundering water behind them, seeking the cover of the bush. South towards security.
CHAPTER
18
Brewing Storms
Joss watched the sky as it threatened a summer storm. The clouds towered above them, darkening, foretelling the mother of an electrical storm about to break.
‘I think it is going to rain,’ Lwazi said.
‘You think? Anyone can see it’s going to rain. I’m just hoping we get into the lodge before it pours down on us.’
‘How much further?’ Mitch asked.
‘About an hour, but there’s a river between us and the lodge and if that cloud bursts, we might have an interesting crossing.’
‘What about all the shopping in the back; can it get wet?’ Lwazi asked.
‘Yes, and believe me, we’ll put those bicycles through worse than this storm,’ Joss said as the wind battered the side of his bakkie and he gripped the steering wheel tighter.
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A fork of lightning lit the sky in front of them. It hit a tree and the trunk split in half, then shattered, the shards scattering around the bush. Smoke didn’t even get a chance to accumulate before blowing away in the wind, but they could see that the tree would never recover, as the half that hadn’t shattered fell, its magnificent green canopy plunging to the ground.
‘Lucky that didn’t start a veld fire,’ Joss said.
The sky darkened even more, and huge drops started to splash against the windscreen. It reminded Joss of the last time he’d seen rain this hard, the night that Peta had picked him up off the bridge. He thought of her smile, and how much he’d messed up around her, and yet she had still asked him to call her. Now they spent most weekends together, and saying goodbye on Monday mornings when she was ready to drive back to the Matusadona was becoming harder and harder.
He braked for a thick branch across the road.
‘Shit,’ Joss said, as he saw a boy of about twelve run from the tree. He came towards the front of the bakkie, waving his arms. ‘Mitch, stay sharp, something isn’t right here.’
Joss kept the engine running and wound down his window. The boy ran to the driver’s side, banging on the body of the bakkie as he got closer.
‘Baas! Baas! Help us, he is stuck under the tree on the road.’
‘Who is stuck?’ Joss asked.
‘My brother! He is underneath the tree!’
‘Is he still alive?’
‘I do not know. I was running away when it fell on him.’
Joss looked at the tree that had fallen into the road. It didn’t look cut – it had a jagged end – but it was too dark to see for sure. The boy seemed to be genuinely distressed. Joss switched off the engine, pocketed his keys and climbed out of the bakkie. ‘Lwazi, stay here for now. Mitch?’
‘Hijack. Unfriendly in the ditch!’ Mitch called as he left the bakkie, but his warning came too late.