He grabbed her hand and clasped it in hers. It felt rough, like sand fresh and seasoned in a drought. The mark was still there. The mark she had hidden for almost half her life. Once greeted by people, when one saw the mark, the conversation would become serious. Tawana also had the same mark. The mark was a tattoo at the back of their right hand. It was a small symbol of the sun with a smile, a nose but no eyes. He had always asked her about their tattoo and why it was only the two of them who had it in the village. As usual, she would avoid answering the question which made him think of it as being of some importance. ‘Mother, please…’ he insisted, ‘…what’s wrong?’

She had now turned silent, staring blankly into the dying smoke of the fire.

‘Tawana..,’ his father called him, ‘come give me a hand.’

Hesitant at first, he decided to get up and join his father and they began skinning the impala together.

‘Father, I’m beginning to worry about her.’

‘Your mother is a healer. I believe it can be a stressful job.’

‘Can but isn’t. I know that she puts a lot of energy into her work but sometimes I just feel like I don’t know her. She’s been getting worse since…’

‘Hold your tongue, Tawana!’ he rebuked him. He knew what he wanted to say. It was about Chief Mbada’s previous visit to their area.

‘Do you not even want to say anything about it?’

‘No! And let’s leave it at that. The chief is a good man,’ his father assured him.

‘A good man? A good man who smiles like that at another man’s wife?’

He stopped and looked into his eyes in rebuke and Tawana looked aside in shame.

Farai wondered how such a young boy like his son had begun to speak like a man. A boy who had barely experienced puberty. ‘The chief is a good man, son. That smile was just a smile of appreciation. All men do that when they see beauty, they praise it.’

Tawana stared at his mother, ‘No matter how appealing the dove is, the raven holds his tongue.’

‘Va Masimba! Va Masimba!’ (Mr. Masimba) A voice called from way out of their homestead.

Farai rushed outside.

A young boy about Tawana’s age was standing by their gate.

‘What is it?!’ Farai shouted back.

‘The chief has arrived in the village!’

His eyes scanned the area. He could now see countless villagers coming their way. Music could be heard and it was getting louder and louder as the people approached. He called for Tsitsi and Tawana to leave the hut.

As the three walked towards the gate, there was no exchange of words or even the sound of a harmless cough. They all stood together just outside the gate as the great multitude slowly came their way. Farai and his wife gave each other sideways glances of anxiety.

Chief Mbada was being carried on his royal throne by four men. Tsitsi and Farai’s eyes were on the chief as he approached closer and closer. They both threw themselves on their faces in humility and respect.

Tawana, on the other hand, was still standing. His eyes were fixed on the chief like a hawk.

‘And what do we have here?’ The chief’s throne was let down and he began to climb down from it. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he began to walk towards the three of them.

Tawana’s father tried to pull him down whilst he was bowed to the chief.

Tawana did not budge. He was as stubborn as ever, staring at the chief with a feeling of confusion and a pinch of mistrust.

Chief Mbada was tall, muscular and he looked as fierce as the great crocodile of the Muguti River. His entire body was like granite rock, obstinate and strong. He was accompanied by his two bodyguards, Ngoni and Bhonzo (Bone) who were walking at his sides.

Ngoni was slightly taller than the chief and he was very light. He was just as big as he was but not as muscular. Bhonzo on the other hand was almost twice as big as the chief but shorter. He was as dark as the winter night and looked as grim as death.

‘Tsitsi…’ the chief spoke to Tsitsi’s bowing figure.

Tawana was getting perplexed all the more. What did the chief want with his mother? The smile had even returned, the same one as last year. 

‘Stand up, Tsitsi,’ he told her with a soft but commanding voice.

She slowly stood up, her eyes still on the ground.

Tawana’s eyes were now darting amongst the three; confused by the chief’s words, waiting for his mother’s reaction and most of all- his father’s reaction.

Farai was still facing the ground. Was this in humility or perhaps fear? Tawana wondered.

Tsitsi had stood up. She was rubbing her arm in a sorrowful expectation of the worst to come. Her head was still bowed and her eyes were facing the ground.

Chief Mbada grinned at her, ignoring Tawana who was actually standing disrespectfully close by, watching on.

He stroked her cheek gently with his grubby hands, hardened by wars which he always partook in, bravely fighting at the frontline of each battle. This made him greatly feared and respected by his people.

Tsitsi’s eyes were still on the ground. Whether in embarrassment or shame, Tawana could not tell.

The chief tilted her face upwards to face him since he was much taller than her.

There was dead silence from the multitude of villagers, all of them watching Chief Mbada and Tsitsi.

Tawana’s heart froze. He did not know what to think or do. He quickly nudged his father with his dusty bare foot.

Farai kept his face to the ground.

He nudged him again, ‘Father,’ he whispered to him.

He shuddered then cautiously turned his face upwards. Just as soon as his eyes were in Tawana’s view, he gaped loudly.

The villagers burst into loud and deafening celebrations. The women were ululating, the men were yelling loud songs in deep voices and the children were dancing around each other in circles.

Tawana was confused as he stared at the villagers. He turned his eyes back to the chief. He finally found out the reason for the loud celebrations. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth vigorously. His eyes widened in murderous anger. Right before his eyes, the chief’s lips were on his mother’s, hanging on like they were stuck. He had never seen anything as disgusting in all his life.

Her hands were up beside her as if she wanted to push him away, but how could she? This was the chief!

The chief’s eyes were shut. He was clearly enjoying this unusual experience.

Tsitsi’s eyes were wide open, obviously in confusion.

Tawana turned to his father again. ‘Father!’ he whispered louder this time. He nudged him with his foot but he did not move.

He was only quivering in anger as he looked on. His mouth was also twitching in anger.

‘Father!’ he nudged him again but there was still no response from him.

The kiss was stubborn. It still persisted. 

Tawana could not take much more. He ran from his position towards the chief, yelping loudly. His father tried to grab his ankle but it was too late. Like a rabid monkey he leapt. His target was the chief’s throat.

Whack!

Bhonzo, one of the bodyguards, had knocked Tawana on the face with his open palm knocking him to the ground.

He rolled around in the dust soothing his burning cheek. He sprung up like a locust, his main objective; Chief Mbada’s throat again.

Bhonzo grabbed him by his puny arms from behind like a chicken ready for the knife. 

Ngoni, the taller and lighter bodyguard stood in front of Tawana with a gross smirk splashed on his face, cracking his knuckles.

Tawana knew what to expect.

Wham! Wham! Wham!

Ngoni was jabbing him in the stomach with his fist as the entire village looked on. The pain was too much for him to bear. Tears threatened to gush out from his eyes.

Tsitsi broke free from the chief’s lips and rushed to her son’s aid. She brushed through the assault and shielded him from any more attacks. ‘You stay away from my son!’ Her eyes were spitefully ricocheting between the two hulks, Bhonzo and Ngoni. ‘Leave him out of this!’ she sternly warned them.