Life After Death



  Life After Death

  By Brian Ndingindwayo

  Copyright © 2014 Brian Ndingindwayo

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1494315114

  ISBN-13: 978-1494315115

  Dedication

  To My mom, Hilda

  Who we shall always miss dearly

  There are those who will say that there are too many people in the world. But how true is that? Let us suppose that this is the case. Would it then be logical to assume that the many disasters that beset the world are a benevolent force that we should be grateful for, and that wars, prisons, prostitution and hunger are all a result of the world having too many people on it? Could we then say that AIDS is the reaction of Mother Earth in trying to restore equilibrium? In terms of Christian canons, Jesus shed his blood on the cross to save the world. All those that express their belief in Jesus as the saviour of the world were saved through the blood. So is it a coincidence that the AIDS virus lives in the blood today? But where do we go from here, and who shall be saved?

  Chapter 1

  The hut was murky and hot. Natasha was wedged in between the hot bodies of her sisters. Sleep was sometimes elusive. There were just too many of them in the room. A dozen was just too many for this cramped space!

  Natasha tossed around uncomfortably. Someone else stirred and in their sleepy state, their legs became intertwined, one above and one below. A whiff of odour slapped her. Natasha choked a sharp retort of anger. She laid her head on her elbow. She looked at her sisters in the faint light of the moon. She forgave them, felt sorry for them even.

  You snooze, you lose…

  In the distance, she could hear the voice of her mother, singing and approaching. She had waded through huge mugs of traditional brew the day before. Now that there was none she was stumbling home.

  Go away, go away, my blood

  Take away everything

  Please, go away my child

  And don’t you ever come back

  Please go away my child

  And don’t you ever come back

  Go and don’t you ever think of your mother

  I shall do better with another brew

  Oh, go away my child

  Because Tuzuka is no good for anyone

  Hear, hear

  Let me not ever smell you again

  When another sunrise hits our back

  Get away from the madness of your mother

  And escape from the woes of Tuzuka

  Tuzuka smells

  It stinks of unwanted people

  If you can, take them with you too

  And go with them

  Because, I tell you a tornado will hit this place

  And when you return, they will all be in prison

  A dog barked as she approached. A dozen more answered in the neighbourhood. She shushed them off. She called out, ‘Natasha, come on, wake up! Don’t you know the bus will leave you? Since when have dogs been more vigilant than people here?’ Natasha stirred and cursed. She had not asked anyone to wake her up. Damn it, it was too early.

  Her mother went into another song.

  Stay with me, Kunyaanasa

  I know they shall all go

  One by one

  And it’s you who shall go with me

  And you’re lucky too

  You will never have to succumb to travel that much

  And worry as fast

  You and I are one

  Have you ever heard of a dog going to university?

  I doubt it very much

  No, dogs stay the with their masters

  Dogs don’t move that fast and far

  That way they avoid human misfortunes

  Chapter 2

  You’re lucky Kunyaanasa

  You eat and drink

  And never have to worry

  When your husband takes a third wife

  You’re lucky

  But tell me Kunyaanasa, do you have a husband?

  Guess you don’t

  That’s why I say you’re lucky, Kunyaanasa

  Your mind is clean

  So your ancestors bless you

  Your life shall be one of purity

  Because all your battles on earth are holy

  You shall never have to fight a war

  For the sake of the pleasure of the body

  You’re lucky Kunyaanasa

  Because the ancestors protect you

  You’re lucky

  The ancestors gave you a home

  Blankets and people to care for you

  You’re lucky, Kunyaanasa, not me

  I have never seen you sad.

  Let alone trying to commit suicide

  And when you die, Kunyaanasa

  No one has to pretend anything

  You see what I mean, Kunyaanasa

  When each one of us dies

  There will be a dozen false friends

  Crying their hearts out

  Priests, children, mothers and neighbours

  All crying with one heart

  I’m surprised at their complexity ???

  And perhaps they should cry too

  You hear, Kunyaanasa

  Because each one of us here

  Spends the rest of our lives

  Chasing the wind

  And when we come to the end of it

  We die and go to hell

  Kunyaanasa, please tell me

  Have you ever heard of dogs going to hell?

  And that’s why I say you’re lucky, Kunyaanasa

  When I say

  People never have to cry for you

  Kunyaanasa, you’re not the first of your kind I saw

  When I came into this village

  But you people are disciplined

  You never have to conquer this village

  A hut there, a field there, felling trees all over

  And starve the rest of the Almighty’s creation

  For your own comfort and pleasure

  Dogs have violated the world’s virginity

  And paradoxically made the world

  A frightening place

  For dogs

  ‘Natasha,’ her mother called again. Natasha flung the blanket away and rose. Hastily she threw the zinc door open and walked out into the night. The dog barked lazily from where it was sleeping on VaPfocho’s lap. ‘Now, make it quick, my child. We don’t want the bus leaving you,’ VaPfocho shouted. She had got the name as a result of her blunt speech.

  Natasha circled the hut. She squatted behind a shrub, lifting her skirts. She sprayed the stem and at the same time peeked around for her brothers. Some of her jet hit her around the ankles. The whole homestead was now awake. It was a grand day. Natasha was leaving for the University and on a scholarship too! It wasn’t everyday that people woke up to find they were at the Witwatersrand University in Johannesburg.

  ‘The bus is coming,’ Tambu called out. Everyone listened. It wasn’t a bus, only the water buzzing on the fire. The next thing Tambu was crying behind the hut. Rumbidzai had beaten her. And then it was Rumbidzai crying. Desmond had beaten her. On and on like that it went, to and fro until nearly everyone was wailing uncontrollably. And that way they managed to waste half of the night.

  Natasha watched it all and suffered it all in silence.

  Finally it was time to go. Her father gave her a coat she didn’t like. She hated her father for his treacherous behaviour. How could he have so many wives and children? Why did he do it if he could not get them properly educated? She didn’t like her mother, either. She would probably be dead in a year. She was too weak, and she had let too many people abuse her. She had no idea how to get out of the circumstances she was in. Natasha didn’t like vulnerable people. Her brothers were fighting t
he wrong battles. They worked too hard in the fields. And they reaped too little. None of them seemed to have the brains to coordinate an escape. They were weak, too. Someone was supposed to tell them: run away with your lives!

  Her sisters were worse. They only talked about marriage and boys. She liked neither. She wanted to rest. Not to pull at blankets when they sleep in cold winters. She wanted to sunbath in the mornings. No, she didn’t want to race to the damn fuck it well in the mornings. Surely, there was a place under the sun where girls could think about things other than cooking and sex. That place wasn’t Tuzuka. They would never get off their asses, the damn girls! She would simply leave them with their woes.

  When the bus ground to a halt, she quickly went on board as if she couldn’t get away quickly enough. And when she said ‘goodbye’ for the last time, she meant it. They expected her to wave vigorously at them. She didn’t. And that started a new era of her life.

  Her first destination was Bulawayo. She would then catch a train to Jo’burg. It felt adventurous. She was all by herself, at last! She clutched at her coat distastefully, and hunched forward under the weight of her bag, whose zipper was undone. She walked miles in circles, trying to get to the Railways station. She asked for directions from people who were not patient enough to explain where exactly 15th Ave and Lobengula St. were.

  The next thing she knew she was walking along a back alley. A man sat there among the waste and residue. He was greasy in complexion and flies kept worrying him in wave after wave of relentless attacks. Natasha debated if she would really do what she wanted to do. They had forced the coat on her. She had made plans. She lifted the lid of the bin. The man looked expectantly at her. To Natasha’s surprise, he rose and came directly at her. She had time only to slip the coat in the bin and leave discreetly, the bag hanging lamely on her shoulder. There was a clunk of metal behind her as the man lifted the lid off the bin.

  She stopped at a clothing shop. She knew exactly what she wanted, a slightly shorter skirt. The guard at the door stopped her. He gestured to the counter. He pointed at her bag. All around her, people were moving in and out. With their bags! She left her bag at the counter. She walked onto the thick carpet and was immediately caressed by the exclusive air conditioner. Suddenly, everything around her looked inviting. She decided to spoil herself for a change. She was going to buy something of quality - a dress for a staggering thirty dollars! She left the changing room a tall woman, with a dancing bosom and shapely hips.

  She began trying to find the Railway station again. After another hour of clueless wandering a boy showed her the way. The boy made a sign by rubbing his thumb against the first digit. Natasha gave him two dollars. She was helpless against this spendthrift that she had become. She wondered if in the end she would have enough money left to take her to her destination.

  Chapter 3

  Bulawayo is not poetic

  It’s chaotic

  People, people, people

  Oh, people will never leave me alone

  Brother give me a cent

  And leave me alone

  People, people, people

  Wherever I go in Bulawayo

  I see people

  People who will never give me a thing

  I will hate them probably

  And worse every day

  They are so stingy

  No, they are just people

  There is a person in front of me

  There is a person at my back

  People and people wherever I go

  There are too many people

  And they are not given to sharing

  Oh no, not in Bulawayo

  That’s what is wrong with you

  You won’t ever miss a meal

  Or fast for a second

  You’re so corrupted by the food,

  You carry around town

  Come tomorrow

  You shall be fatter than you were yesterday

  Oh, people and people

  I should have known

  And I wasn’t going to be a person.

  Someone take these people away

  Before they starve me out of air

  Let them tramp on these pavements

  Until they sink

  It’s so easy to hate them

  Seeing how they run up

  And down the streets

  Chasing after the wind

  Selfish people!

  I bet today in the evening

  Some will give birth

  Here on the street

  After all, they are just people

  People who are also cockroaches, rats and ants

  People, people, people

  Please take them away

  And free Bulawayo

  Of sin

  Chapter 4

  Even before the rains fall again, people are busy in the countryside. After the first downpour, they put seed into the ground. Before the year 1987 VaPfocho would have prepared her fields with oxen. The drought took away everything.

  People had moved from flat pieces of land in the valley. They were now unproductive and spent time experimenting on the murderously steep mountains. There was now stiff competition to get land on mountain slopes despite protests from the village administrator that they were causing soil erosion.

  What erosion, when we have stomachs to feed?

  It was now known that VaPfocho was waking up early to pull up weeds from up the mountain. You could see her, a tiny piece of black, perched helpless against the mountain as you walk up from the village well. By the end of autumn, she had reduced the mountain to a white patch. Her two daughters often accompanied her, but they couldn’t stand the blazing heat in the afternoon.

  ‘If only your sister was here,’ she said to her daughters. They both uttered something incomprehensive. They were tired. They needed to rest.

  ‘We’ll take a break,’ VaPfocho said. ‘But don’t say I didn’t warn you; this year we have to clear the whole mountain.’

  So they sat in the shade and drank the brew. The brew didn’t have sugar. Yolanda, the younger sister complained.

  Yolanda’s griping seemed to ignite VaPfocho’s temper. ‘Where do you expect me to get the sugar? Don’t you know that the few cents your father has he spends on his new wife?’

  The children knew it was time to be quiet.

  In the many days that followed, VaPfocho and her children worked the mountainside. It was a dawn to dusk thing. You could see them walk home on stiff legs, hoes on their shoulders.

  ‘You shouldn’t worry my wives like that,’ Tobias the village carpenter, called out on seeing VaPfocho and her offspring come down the mountain.

  ‘The problem with your wives is that they have stomachs. When are you going to take them away?’

  Tobias laughed while the girls shrieked.

  ‘You’re putting up a brave fight,’ another woman called as they snaked their way around the compounds.

  It started on a low note.

  Lone grey clouds drifted across the sky, a wind accompanying them. These signs of impending rain were a great relief to VaPfocho and her children. They had been working on the mountain since morning. There were cakes of dried sweat on their skins. As the wind intensified the whistling and whooshing in the surrounding foliage also intensified. It sounded like a flooded river.

  ‘The rain at last,’ Yolanda said, with obvious relief. She stood at akimbo, hands on her blossoming hips and stared expectantly at the blackening heavens. Cumulonimbus clouds with dark anvil heads hung low in the South-Eastern horizon. The clouds made rapid progress towards them and quickly overshadowing the landscape.

  ‘We better leave this place,’ VaPfocho suddenly said.

  They made their way downhill, but they were too slow. The scent of the rain was strong in the air. The rain could be heard whipping at the vegetation and the earth in the valley. The first drops fell on them as they came to flat land. Soon, it was a downpour.

  They found shelter at the carpenter
’s home. The carpenter and his wife were making a fire. They ducked in without knocking, beating the chickens and goats by a close margin. People occupied the closest place to the fire, followed by the goats and then the chickens, in the natural order of their bravery. The carpenter tried to chase the goats out of the house. The goats, who couldn’t understand why the chickens weren’t supposed to go out as well stayed put.

  ‘The ancestors have answered our prayers for rain,’ said the carpenter’s wife.

  ‘You should not be doing this to my wives. I think it’s time I brought them home,’ said the carpenter, eyeing his roof, which was dripping and letting in the rain.

  It was dark, and made darker by the rains. Lightning flashed across the sky and in the momentary streak of light, a clear outline of the land was visible. The talking came to an abrupt stop. The thunder that followed sent the goats and the chickens scattering about without segregation.

  The rain subsided with time. The thunder became weaker. The droplets were reduced to fine sheets of soft rain. Through the door, they watched the small gullies rushing downhill.

  ‘You helped us, Mr. Carpenter,’ VaPfocho said conclusively.

  ‘That’s nothing,’ he said. ‘Let the woman take you out.’

  The carpenter’s wife walked them out and they proceeded home.

  There was a surprise for them at home when they got there. The rain had been destructive, to say the least. It had taken the roof off VaPfocho’s hut. The roof had collapsed in. They arrived to see people taking her belongings out.

  VaPfocho threw her arms in the air and as she did so she also leapt into the air and landed painfully a few paces away. Soaked and wet she rolled disconsolately in the mud. Some people held her fast to prevent her doing any damage to herself.

  ‘Heavens,’ she cried. ‘Why should the ancestors do this to me? Duma, Vakarabwi, haven’t I brewed beer for you?’

  ‘Don’t cry like that as if you have lost a child,’ her husband hushed her off.

  ‘How many have I lost here?’ she spat. ‘And you didn’t shed a tear.’

  She turned away and cried all the more.

  ‘You can’t be seen doing that,’ the husband complained.

  Everyone did their best to cushion her sorrow and sense of devastation: the neighbours, the husband and his other wives until it looked like a dull dream. VaPfocho carried her belongings into the girl’s hut. The happenings of the day took away her appetite and she wouldn’t eat. She slept like a log. When the girls joined her after they had prepared their meal and eaten, they found her in their room, looking sad and forlorn.