Mighty Brahmuhn

Their coarse, black skins could hardly bear the heat of the African sun.  They walked with little words spoken to each other.

The weather was unbearable and it limited their speech. They had drunk water from the well a few minutes ago but it was not long before the intense heat reminded them of the summer thirst of Zimbabwe. This was partly the hardship of Bulawayo. Greater problems abound, what with the war between the Shona tribes and the Ndebele tribes over land, celebration was always short-lived especially in their village: the Matanda Village.

Tawana was trying to keep up with his father, Farai Masimba, who was carrying an impala across his shoulders walking ahead of him. Now at fourteen years of age, Tawana had actually seen his father hunt different kinds of animals like impalas, rabbits and the elusive duiker. Any animal bigger than the impala or the duiker was impossible for Farai. He was now thirty-eight years old. He was a thin but strong man with sparse strands of beard scattered on his face. He was well known in the village for his wisdom and good manners. Like a man who always had death knocking on his door, Farai was trying his best to teach his only son, Tawana how to hunt and provide for his future family.

Even for a fourteen year old, Tawana was very thin, as if he was malnourished. He was always eager to embrace what his father taught him each day but sometimes had great difficulty in implementing it. 

The burning ground first bit their heels and then licked the rest of their bare feet with its scorching tongue. The journey was arduous, in fact, it was this trying every week, but now that they had caught a fairly big animal, they would now at least go for three months without having to hunt again.

As they walked, a group of men could be seen approaching from a distance.

Bandits were common in these parts but these men were not strangers. These were the Gorivas. Fierce as their name, these men were Chief Mbada’s hunters. Each of the six men was fit and strong. Their bodies glistened with sweat, making them shine in the sun as if they were deities. Unlike most villagers, these men hunted bigger animals like zebras, wildebeests and on some occasions, the buffalo. These men were known to be bullies by the villagers. 

As they passed by, Tawana’s father slowed down until his son was beside him. ‘Avoid eye contact,’ he whispered to him. He knew just how arrogant these men were and was willing to stay out of their way as much as possible so as to avoid trouble.

Tawana however was stubborn. He looked straight into the eyes of each man as they passed by. He did not look at them in contempt but in envy and great admiration. His small darting eyes scanned the men up and down, his mouth partly gaping. This had always been his dream: to walk amongst such brave men, or better yet, lead the Gorivas in their hunts, but to join such a group, one had to beat their weakest member. With almost every man in the village, big and tall competing, to Tawana, his opportunity seemed like an eternity away.

The village was now in sight. Tawana always felt relieved at this point. His tongue begged him for a drop of water. Chickens could be seen pecking on the ground everywhere. They pecked everywhere on the ground so much that Tawana had once thought that they ate the soil. The goats could be seen grazing not too far off, moving patiently with the cows. 

Their hut was in the center of the village. This was where the chief passed through once every year as was the tradition. Tawana had always felt honored by this routine up until the previous year when the chief was passing through. The chief had climbed down his royal throne and walked up to Tawana’s mother who, like everyone else, was bowed to the ground. The chief had told her to stand up and had smiled at her with an obtrusive smile.

That smile had left Tawana confused. He could not know what to think.

‘Titambire!’ (Welcome). Tsitsi Masimba, Tawana’s mother, welcomed their arrival. Such a hunt was worth ululating over! She gently took the impala from her husband’s shoulders and carried it by its ankles into the kitchen hut.

Each homestead had three common buildings: the kitchen hut, the sleeping hut and the storage hut where their maze or other harvested crops were kept.

Tawana and his father both entered the kitchen behind Tsitsi. She placed the animal at the far end of the hut.

The kitchen had cooking and eating utensils stacked to the left and a rock for grinding groundnuts into peanut butter or grinding maize into fine meal which would then be used into cooking sadza. 

Tsitsi was a very pleasant woman with wild, bush-thorn hair, brown with age and work, a delightful and glowing face that oddly turned a shade darker when she was in a sombre mood, and just like her husband, she was very well-mannered.

Tawana’s father had now started skinning the impala with one of his prized knives. Tawana, meanwhile, was gulping down water from the gourd beside the kitchen utensils.

‘Tawana…’ his mother called him, beckoning him to sit beside her.

The fireplace had stopped burning that morning leaving the kitchen very dark and partly clouded with smoke. He sat beside his mother, wiping off the residue of water from his lips.

Her right leg was over her left and her hands were clasped over her thighs. Although not secretive, sometimes her solitude was a mystery to her son. ‘My son; the sun gives way to the darkness and likewise, the darkness gives way to the sun. Good and evil each have their moments but even the darkness has stars to illuminate the way.’

He scratched his head. He was familiar with the proverb but why was she telling him?

Her expression was somewhat caught between concern and grief.

He looked over to his father to try and get a word of clarification but he was consumed with his impala skinning task. This was one of the duties of the males in the Shona tribe. Other duties were hunting, farming, building and going to war which most males at the age of eighteen were obligated to. Women performed domestic duties like gathering fruits and vegetables, giving birth, taking care of the children, cleaning and cooking.

‘Mother, what is it?’ Tawana was frightened and confused. His mother’s face looked mystical which was typical since she was a medium but she had never looked this numinous before.

‘Never forget that proverb, my child,’ she ignored his question.