Life After Death

by Brian Ndingindwayo

  ‘Because he’s supposed to sweep it.’ He pointed to the other boy.

  ‘You shall sweep it.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  That was worsening the already alight situation. All of a sudden, the teacher slapped him hard across the face. The whole class went silent at the crack of it. Manata was surprised he didn’t hear its echoes. The pain built up with every pump of the blood. And then he could feel every finger of his burning on his face.

  ‘Idiot.’

  It was all of reflex. He said it without thinking. The street had taught him to speak like that. Such language came to him naturally. His reaction was not premeditated. He did what came to him almost involuntarily. You needed such arsenal on the streets. Weakness of any kind there could lead to your demise. They would probably think he was being rude, that he was ill-mannered and all that. What did it matter, really?

  A violent, even fiercer slap shot across his face. For a moment he didn’t know where he was. There were stars in his vision, and blinking lights. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. It felt like being pushed to one side with the whole body of his agreeing. He saw himself slowly struck and ever so slowly the teacher’s arm went into recoil position, ready for another hit.

  Now the pain, oh the pain! The throb in his poor battered head was maddening.

  ‘Why are you hitting me?’ he asked wanting genuinely to know.

  He threw the broom away and, as if driven by some compulsive force, advanced towards the teacher.

  The teacher moved back to allow enough space for another nerve shattering crack on his face. But this time Manata was too quick for him. He crouched, leaving enough space for the teacher to continue an arch in the air. But this game had been played a little too far and Manata slid his leg between him, sending the tall frame flat on the ground.

  The surprise was greater than the pain. The teacher yelled in disbelief. Then he rolled over to close his eyes, falling flat on the floor. The other two teachers rushed forward, but immediately checked themselves as if Manata was some scared animal. Manata looked around, all the anger gone. He had done wrong, but this wasn’t the time to regret.

  He stormed out of the class and nobody dared raise a finger against him. He walked along, looking over his shoulder, ready to sprint if there was somebody following, but there was no one.

  At the gate, he stopped, looking around for Mom, but she wasn’t there yet. It was obvious they’ll follow him here and send him to the Calvary to the cross. He looked around at the possible places he could hide, but there was none. There were a few shrubs here and there, but when they truly wanted him, they would search high and low.

  And they would find him. Could be tomorrow, next or next of next month. But they would find him. Definitely! So as to nail him. He had seen some boys being escorted to the headmaster and he knew exactly how miserable life could be.

  He walked away, hands in the pockets. He walked slowly thinking. Now, all hell had broken loose. He walked, slowly disappearing in the horizon until he couldn’t be seen from the gate.

  He didn’t want school. Could it be better if he returned to his aunt?

  Natasha brought the car to a halt, but left it rumbling. A number of children were scattered about the gate, but she couldn’t make out Manata. She looked at the watch. She was minutes late and Manata would surely have been waiting by now. She switched off the engine and disembarked.

  Heads turned to her as she walked across the gate: children who were waiting for their parents or who were still reluctant to go home. She picked her way along the corridor, and knocked at the special class, three doors to the left.

  A man’s voice ordered her in.

  ‘It’s you?’ one of the teachers exclaimed. His voice was calm. They were around the table, discussing what seemed like a very important business. She sensed her presence wasn’t welcome and she immediately said, ‘Can I’ve my boy Manata?’

  ‘He’s gone,’ one of them responded. He didn’t add another word.

  ‘Ok, thank you.’ She had expected more than that, but she couldn’t put a finger on it. She told herself not to be silly. She eventually settled on that Manata had gone home on his own since she was late. It fitted and she was happy with it.

  She drove home.

  Chapter 51

  She tried the door. It was locked. She had expected to see it open if Manata was at home. She clamped the keys in the keyhole, her nerves stuck tight with anticipation. She opened the door slowly, not wanting to believe what she was seeing in every waking second, which wasn’t Manata.

  She set the door ajar.

  The door to the kitchen was partially open. The cushions neat on the sofas.

  Just the way she had left them.

  She dumped her handbag on the table. She proceeded to the kitchen. The stove was cold. Utensils and plates lay recklessly in the sink, just as she had left them in the morning. Nothing was there to show the presence of a human being. She left her senses sharper. The silence was loud. The loneliness haunted her.

  The hell, where was Manata?

  She slid open the bathroom door. The tap went drip-drop in the tub. The smell of soap in the air. The sun streaming in through the window. Manata wasn’t here. She went to the bedroom. His bed was superbly done. A pair of shoes at the end of the bed. The room as lonely as a single dove. There was no sign that a human being had recently been here.

  ‘Manata! She called her voice alarmed.

  Nothing, only echoes answering.

  ‘Manata-a-a.’ Her voice was now shaky and it stimulated tears in her eyes.

  At that time, it seemed she was scrambling at everything in the house. She came to the bottom of the television set by chance. She found the aunt’s number by chance.

  She dialled the City bar.

  ‘City bar,’ was the response at the end of the line.

  ‘Can I speak to Revai Bvundu?’ This was meant to be Manata’s aunt.

  There was a slight pause and then, ‘who’re you?’

  ‘I’m her relation,’ Natasha replied.

  She couldn’t bear to explain.

  ‘Because,’ the voice went on, ‘….. because ever since Revai disappeared with the man we don’t know with money from the bar, we haven’t heard of her.’

  ‘Oh God!’ she pressed her fingers to the eyes.

  Chapter 52

  Natasha looked at the watch above her. Six O’clock. She would go now. She straightened her legs, pushing the table away with them. She dropped her paperback beside her and scrambled up. She outstretched her arms and patted a yawn.

  It was about two weeks ever she missed Manata. All her efforts to find him were fruitless. She had tried the school. What she got was that her boy had done a little sacred thing. He hit the teacher. He stormed out of the school afterwards. She could try to find him herself, but they might not need him here anyway. If that was the case, Manata might have tried to escape to his aunt. But then the aunt wasn’t there either.

  She had gone to the bar. She had hoped she would pull up the last of the strings and establish where he was gone. Natasha needed someone to share this bad news with. Like she had been told on the phone, Manata’s aunt had disappeared into thin air.

  That brought the big question: where was Manata?

  It was likely that the boy was loitering in the streets. He had the feel of the streets before and he would not be scared too much to once again make them his home. But with all the uncanny weather, Natasha hoped he would eventually turn up. A fortnight and she was increasingly becoming anxious.

  She had eventually resorted to going into the streets and search for herself. But during the day, she would be busy at work. Besides, at day the streets would be flocked with all sorts to make out which was which.

  She put on an overcoat in the bedroom. She also changed into high-kneed boots. She went around the whole house, closing windows and making sure everything was in order. Then she went outside into the night.


  It had been raining continuously for a week. It was still misty and puddles of stagnant water littered the pavements. The street lamps tinkered against the mist making objects a few meters away dull. As dull as Natasha.

  With her hands stuffed inside her pockets, she walked up Main St. slowly and vigilantly. People passed her, all rapping the pavement purposefully, the protective clothing clutched around them.

  She debated whether she should follow the pavement or the avenues. The chances of finding her quarry were the same, so she merely continued up the street. She came to 13th Avenue, but there hadn’t been anything she was looking for. She crept into a phone booth, thinking. She leaned against it, toying with the numbers on the phone. She did a silly game, punching the numbers of the people she knew. They would respond at the other end, and she would be immediately cut off. She would do it again, and they would respond, slightly irritated. She would do it again the third time. She would never tell them she did this.

  There was still nothing in the vicinity when she finished. She changed streets and started down the street she had chosen. This street had more faulty lamps and as a result there were more activities. Here and there, she would come across a man and a woman fondling.

  Three streets down, she came across a boy sitting on a concrete slab outside a bank. He was older than Manata. His elbows rested on his lap and his head was cupped into his hands. He looked so settled, so she thought she might as well talk to him.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said

  He was absent-minded, and he turned to her slowly..

  ‘Well, I would like to ask.’

  He rubbed his face and scrambled up. Natasha took further stock him. Any observer would have put him around the mid-twenties, but from her learned guess she knew he was perhaps only eighteen. His hair was rugged, and he had an unusually dark complexion even in the faint light of street lighting. He had shy eyes, but she knew that was flattering. Such boys could turn violent at the slightest provocation.

  ‘Yes, you can ask.’

  ‘I’m looking for a boy, Manata. I don’t know, do you know him?’

  He asked, ‘Why do you want him?’

  ‘He’s my relative.’ She fished a five dollar note from her jean trousers and passed it to him.

  He brightened and whirled his eyes in disbelief. ‘Yes, I know him,’ he said.

  ‘I’m looking for him. Where’s he?’

  ‘When did you last see him?’

  ‘A fortnight ago.’

  ‘I see.’

  He started pacing about the place. He was bare-footed and his feet mixed the water and the mud beneath, but he seemed not to care. Life was not easy here on the streets, and this increased Natasha’s will power to find Manata.

  ‘But it appears the boy is always appearing and disappearing.’

  The disappearing could have been the moment she was staying with him. That didn’t appear important in their discussion.

  Natasha’s heart sank.

  ‘But now … now,’ he continued,’ I don’t know ma’am.’

  ‘But can you please, please,’ she pleaded, ‘look for him and bring him to me?’

  ‘How? When?’

  ‘We’ll arrange a place we can meet every day that I may check the progress you have made.’ She knew this was dangerous for her, too dangerous. Nevertheless, she continued, ‘I’ll pay you well.’

  Again, there was a tinkle of delight in his eyes. ‘Certainly, ma’am. Where can we possibly meet?’

  She weighed the question mentally. This street was too dark. Why not the street next-door?

  ‘In Main St, Thirteen Avenue. Let’s say, check me in the telephone booth. Every day at 7 o’clock. I’ll be coming with my husband,’ she lied, just to scare him a little.

  A number of boys appeared in the background, a trademark of cigarettes dancing in the air.

  ‘Munya, what’s this now?’ one of them asked, pointing at Natasha. The others joined, their behaviour rowdy.

  Natasha didn’t have the time to say goodbye. She continued down the street.

  It had started raining now. The rain slowly built into a steady torrent. She allowed it to beat her face until it drenched into her loins. She liked it as a way of punishing herself. Manata, if you’re in this rain, well we are here together.

  She came to the intersection of the roads and leaned on the roadside post, looking into the black sky. She allowed her mind to wonder. Sipeyiye. Home. Then back to the streets when a certain car that was passing flicked its lights up and down. It stopped. She returned instantly to her senses and began to pace away.

  A man disembarked, much to Natasha’s surprise. She quickened her step. She heard the car door click shut and his foot thuds racing to catch up with her.

  She tensed as he approached.

  He levelled up with her and Natasha fought an urge to run. Even worse to flee, which she thought was stupid. She was tense, as she consulted her martial arts lessons. She might go into action tonight. Well, she had done nothing wrong, and there was no man allowed to bully her, even on the streets of Bulawayo.

  ‘Well can’t you see us?’ he asked

  Us? He must really think he’s a big one this man. He wasn’t exactly steady on his feet and he staggered, sometime invading Natasha’s personal walking space as they walked. Natasha had to be extra careful not to stumble into him.

  ‘Well, how much do you charge?’ His voice was slurry. Natasha confirmed he was drunk. There was also a tint of alcohol in his breath.

  Natasha remained dumb and continued walking. Suddenly, he came in front of her.

  She stopped dead in her tracks.

  ‘I don’t charge nothing!’ she snapped.

  ‘Well, you should.’ The air smelled bad about him, and he was talking right into her nose.

  She sized him up. He was heavily built with a week or so growth of beard on his chin. He was dressed in heavy amour of jeans. His shoes were heavy weight as well, with metal caps.

  She circled around him and continued.

  He was annoyed and took a handful of her coat into his hand.

  ‘Gotcha, it’s wet,’ he said, leaving her. Natasha laughed to herself, only loud enough for her to hear.

  But he continued to walk with her.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he demanded.

  Still, no reply. They continued to walk in silence.

  Eventually, he gave up with, ‘I’ll be with you in spirit.’

  She was relieved with his departure. Thereafter, she continued with her search, but wasn’t able to pick up anything.

  Past midnight, she retired to her apartment. There wasn’t much to blame on the progress of the day. At least, she had done something, no matter how small it was.

  But she was still a long way from happiness, and she knew it.

  I need you Jesus

  To be my vision

  You're the way

  The truth, and the life.

  Teach me understanding

  Teach me to pray

  Oh, I need you Jesus

  To be my vision

  You're the way

  Let me understand once more

  The sense of the blood

  The covenant on Calvary

  The blood to serve this world

  This is my blood

  This is my bread

  Eat it in remembrance of me

  I'll come again

  When you see this happening

  Wars, pestilence, famines...

  Incurable diseases

  The times are near

  The second coming.

  On that night

  Before I knew you

  You saved my soul

  And delivered me from sin

  Let me not forget

  I'm a wonderer.

  I don't know,

  Tomorrow there'll be another drought

  Could be another war

  This vast land of the black

  The book tells me s
o

  Teach me to understand again

  Chapter 53

  Leonard Karikoga Zhakata’s Kundiso was playing in the lounge. Other sounds that could be heard were the swish of cars. From here, hunched at the slab of the tiny veranda, she could see the glow of cars beneath. She could also make out the density of the crowd, which was already thick on the sunny morning.

  It was promising to be a busy day. There was a solid row of vehicles, their bodies shiny from the early sun, making their entrance into the city along Harare road. People streamed into the city along Main Street. Vendors had already lined themselves at the square, ready to begin their day.

  Busy. You mind your own business. You make your own way. That’s why she had abandoned her relations, her home because this place offered the opportunities. But what did everyone else think about her? That she had come here to feed her belly. No, she was here to feed her soul.

  But HIV was threatening to pull down everything she had believed in. It was meant to punish her. It was meant to demoralize her. To make her feel bad about the decision she had made in life. There were so many ifs in her life she could reflect on, and perhaps if she taken a different turn at each point, she would have escaped this outcome. HIV was meant to punish her, humiliate her beyond measure, to confirm that the paths she had taken were wrong.

  She straightened and stifled a yawn. She would have a head crash thinking of things that she could not change anymore.

  Her overcoat and boots still lay on the floor, wet and with mud. She had just dumped them there when she came in the last night. The bed was still undone. The floor was littered. Everything was a terrible mess.

  Suddenly she laughed to herself. ‘He will make it.’ She laughed again amused at her own voice. ‘Sipeyiye will make it,’ and she giggled the more.

  She hadn’t prepared supper and now she wondered what she would have for breakfast. She hadn’t been done any shopping for quite some time. And there wasn’t anything exactly edible here. She uncapped a bottle of cognac and poured herself a glass. She had been drinking so heavily in the last week to drown her worries. Needlessly say, she was fast crossing that line between a social drinker and an alcoholic. That was the last thing she wanted out of beer.

  ‘He’ll make it,’ she shouted as she left the kitchen. She was feeling high all of a sudden. It was all unrealistic, but she had this tinkle of joy whenever she thought of Sipeyiye. She hoped he would come back again. It was something that lingered inside her, but that she had no guts to really pursue, knowing she would be forced to choose between him and Manata.