He arose to the noises that suffocated the silence in the neighborhood. Hardly protected from the cold winter in a worn-out blanket on the cemented floor. Shivering out of the best times he ever had. Sleep was the most peaceful time for his body but horrific moment of his mind - because nightmares dominated his sleep. The pressure was always mounting up, never getting better. He lifted his sorry flesh up to face the routine of poverty that summed up his life. Sad. Rinsing his face with water from a green komichi (metal cup), with no soap, wiping the face dry with a dirty shredded shirt. It never got dry, little water drops created a trail to his one room from outside. There was a little bit of Vaseline to shine the cracked skin and chapped lips. So, he had to press his finger into the little bottle - cutting his hand with the edges of the bottle reaching for the Vaseline plastered on the bottom of it.
As if the days where never changing - he would dress in same clothes. Perfumed with his hard work sweat of the past days, now on the street looking for that one dollar again. He always imagined a hot day and being chilled down by manmade air, the fan. These where his coddled thoughts of the future he wished to live. This mental picture always nerved his body to breakdown - emotionally bound by the story of his life he would drown himself in tears. It was always a belly against gravel situation for him - bruised and blood stained, slithering on, dragging himself through the hours of the day into the darkness of the night. When he would have gathered a few cents to manage himself to see the sun consume the darkness into the next day. He lived off, rather survived from directing cars into municipal owned parking lots in the city-center and anything that gave him an extra dollar. Everyday waking up to gamble food into the tummy - strangled by life troubles - not knowing what tomorrow held for him. Glob-trotting in broad day light blinded by the hunger for a new day to give him a new life.
One day after an argument with Chamu on Union avenue then - now Kwame, he knocked himself out with an overdose of Histalix. He was angry because Chamu had taken his money. He had directed a lady into a parking bay - then Chamu stretched out his hand to take payment from the lady on his behalf. He knew that was the end of it because Chamu pocketed the coins. That's what he scrubbed his face early morning to do and Chamu took advantage of his stature. He would look up into the sky as if expecting a voice of comfort from the heavens, then suddenly looks down in disappointment because the heavens never spoke. This was because he never spoke up to the Heavens. With his head downcast he noticed the bottle of Histalix. His fingers got itchy and his whole system singing and shouting to be graced by the liquid. He handled the bottle with passion, his fingers wrapped around the bottle with a tough grip. He indulged the cough syrup as though there was no tomorrow. It penetrated his veins so fast he got stoned in a second.
He spent hours passed out on the pavement. People watched with a compassion filled look. Feeling sorry for him. He lay there like a dog which had been slammed dead by a car along Seke road. Chamu looked on and got touched by the state of his friend. He took him up his shoulder and carried him home. Wiping his eyes open, he found himself on his cement bed. He got up as though he knew how he got there. The earth was turning round, away from the sun - he still had to eat. He got up and rushed out - in the so busy location. Before he managed to leave the house, a lady grabbed him by the belt and commanded him to wipe the floor. That trail he had left early morning had messed the corridor . As if driven to the wild ends of his thinking - he shoved the lady off. Stormed out. The woman was shocked, left all-struck in wonder.
He got back on the street with his mouth in his nose, bare foot. Walked up to a lady along Chinhoyi street. She was puzzled by the way he approached her. Within a flash he ran off with her hand bag. Since when, was it the syrup? What was the matter Zvineyi? Oh that was his name. Zvineyi - slim and dirty. He grew up in the Shacks in Mbare. He lived for years and no relative of his had an account of his whereabouts. He had left Chivhu where his family was to the city of Harare, in quest of a platform to realize his dreams. He was only fifteen years of age when he jumped onto a moving Gonyeti. The truck was one of those that carried maize to the Grain Marketing Board to Harare. Zvineyi had mastered the way it went round the villages. It made its last rounds and he slid in under the tent, lay himself in between the maize bags. Fifteen years old and so determined, diligently driven towards the picture of his mind.
The truck arrived in Harare late at night - since he had camouflaged himself within the maize no one noticed him. Only when it was daylight he ran off to the streets as if he was being pursued. There was no one ready to chase after a dead soul. He had a dream, he had a vision. It was too early to launch yourself Zvineyi, it was too early. Harare had its own beasts, dream catchers. Zvineyi had no idea what he had landed himself into. He found himself under a bridge for days, months, years even. Until came along Chamu, who introduced him to the hustle of city kids. At times he sat down and flashed back to the mahewu he left back at the village with Gogo. Chamu was a fast guy - Zvineyi had come across the city's smooth man on the move. He did whatever made him solve the problem of an empty belly. Zvineyi's eyes were opened to the World of struggle.
It had been seven years since he left the village, reminded by the worn out, broken down GMB truck he hid under, with the lady's handbag. As he was searching the bag, he ran his eyes past a broken mirror. The distorted reflection of his image made him stiff, as his mind ran backwards. The mirror displayed the broken state of his life. The City was not what he saw in the magazines. The City was not a silver platter for achieving dreams - it wasn't bread and butter. The City had jaws, the City was raw - not a place for little village-boys who couldn't read and write. Grown-up men and women sweat blood in the City. Dreams and visions where slaughtered in the City. The broken pieces of glass told him how much he had been a fool. They reminded him of that naive, immature dream - that landed him face to face with his nightmare.
He had a dream to run a supermarket, like the Spar, Ok and TM he always saw. Zvineyi had no idea that he had to invest into owning a Shop. It was VaMuchai who formulated and breathed a wild imagination into the fifteen year old Zvineyi. VaMuchai drove a Mazda B1800, light blue in color, but, old and rusty. It smoked more than his diesel grinding meal. He also managed a chain of tuck-shops at the Chambara growth point in Chivhu. He was every little boy's role model - he didn't smoke chimonera, he puffed on the pipe. He handled his affairs like an English man. Surely, Zvineyi once sneaked in on his mother and her friend as they admired VaMuchai - building Castles on quick sand. This only consolidated Zvineyi's imagination of VaMuchai - the Superman. Even his mother had fantasies of the man, he was the lady's man. He spoke fluent English, and dressed like he was on a photo-shoot. He was a vain man, he loved himself excessively.
VaMuchai became Zvineyi's role model, but he desired to do more than the old man. Despite the old man's nasty behavior of taking other men's wives to bed - Zvineyi admired him. VaMuchai was a drop of water in an ocean - he was not even recognized beyond the Bhundu. He was a village player, dressed in the old type of suits, the City had people wearing slim-fit suits. Who could blame Zvineyi, that's what he was exposed to all his life. VaMuchai was the Brad Pitt of their community - ladies would argue him to be the Trey Songs, he was just the measuring tool of every man's progress and success. The celebrity of Manyene residents. Who didn't want to be VaMuchai - "the man of the golden touch and class" - they called him. Zvineyi's own father at some point in time had spoken of VaMuchai as the greatest man of his generation - he was like the Nelson Mandela of their little town.
He is the man who drove Zvineyi out of his mind. Zvineyi didn't know anything called research, analysis or cash flow. A tuck-shop was the only prosperous business one could do he thought. He saw the richest men of today to have tuck-shops, he even thought that the President of Zimbabwe owned one. Miss-guided by the drama of man-worshipping created by the villagers. "I will be greater than VaMachai!" The young boy said to himself, before he jumped onto his visa to suffering. He got onto the truck, eyes blinded from what he left behind. His heart had been turned cold. Zvineyi only allowed his mind to see how people will marvel at what he would have achieved. Oh, how foolish he had allowed himself to be. VaMuchai was not even sure of who he was, he was also a lost soul. Zvineyi had to bid farewell to his hometown hid in-between sacks of maize. He swore in his heart to drive back to the village home.
The broken mirror spoke so loud he dropped the handbag and sat back. Regretting the folly of his mind, remembering all he said years back. It was too late to look back - the years had sealed portals to the life in the village. He told himself he couldn't go back. Seven years of hardships, and to return like he never left was not an option. Zvineyi had no contact with any of his relatives or family. The ego that buried his life at fifteen dragged him into the mud, by that time VaMuchai had passed on. The man died of AIDS. He fell sick for a few days and died. All this was Greek to Zvineyi, he knew nothing. There was no way he could abridge his destiny to the riches of his mind. The creator and maker of his wild side only lived four years after his escape to his so called higher places. Funny, VaMuchai had a great impact on the life of someone he never spoke to. Sad, dragged to the pit by broken images, miss-informed by the outward appearance of a dead man walking.
Zvineyi didn't give himself time to analyze his role model. There was no scrutiny of the path he was taking. He just pre-launched himself onto a land, nasty, and merciless. He had lost his way - until broken mirrors had voices. He regained consciousness underneath the truck that transported him. He looked at the handbag, then at his reflection in the mirror - he was black, but seven years back he was chocolate brown in complexion. He now had patches of black skin drowning his original skin color. He couldn't believe he was the one who had robbed a young lady. It was the awakening moment - it was beyond reality, he didn't shed tears. It was a deep self-revealing time.
The hunger was consumed by the conversations he had with the pieces of glass that reflected his image. Zvineyi could picture his childhood days, playing around the fire with his older sister. She was the only one he played with, boys his age weren't fast enough to catch up with him. He loved to walk alone, never shared any deep truths with anyone - except his imaginary friend Anderson. Whom he noticed sitting next to him. The night fell upon him, but he never noticed. It's because it had been seven years since he saw Anderson. He thought Andy was left herding cattle, but no, Andy was with him all the way. Zvineyi had a difficult time, mixed-emotions, he didn't know if it was right to be angry at Andy or to apologize. Andy sat there silent, looking on as Zvineyi clamored at him. He figured that the broken mirrors weren't talking after all, it was Andy who was talking to him.
Exhausted from the shouting, and reunion with his friend he fell asleep under the Truck. Then morning came and Andy woke him up. Andy was far much smarter than him and his new hooligan friend, Chamu. Waking up, Zvineyi continued with his quest of searching the lady's handbag for money etc as if nothing had happened last night. Andy argued him out of taking anything - though it was a tough one for both of them, because they had slept with a two grand. "This is Two thousand dollars, United States Dollars Andy! Not kwacha, but MaObama!!!! Ahhhhh, and you want me to what? This is when I wish Chamu was here!!" Zvineyi spoke loudly.
Andy was almost convinced that they needed the money, but he just would not agree. "I know this is your first time to look at two thousand dollars, but think about it, don't you think the lady you grabbed the money from is dying? Have a heart my friend, have a heart." Andy made his point, with an ever-soft voice that pierced through his street conscience, like hot iron slicing through liver. Zvineyi was pinned down to act accordingly.
Andy left Zvineyi to feed on his two minute meal for the brains only and went back to the neglected handbag. He started digging again and found a business card - the great thing was that it had her picture on it. It was her - Andy suggested they called her. Zvineyi was scared, what if she got them arrested. He thought going to drop the bag at the address on the card was a better idea. They began to plot on how to get the handbag back, as if Zvineyi had not seen the two thousand dollars. Zvineyi was thinking of sliding a few notes into his pants. Andy was hands on, watching, his eyes wide open like a hawk on a hunt. They walked out from underneath the Old GMB truck, and made their way to the young lady's workplace. Andy was a bit on the bright side, he read the address and led the way.
Zvineyi was tracking behind Andy, dragging his feet towards FBC Bank in Leopold Takawira. "Do you even know her name? Are you sure that's her in the picture?" Zvineyi tried to apply diverting tactics to the decision they made, under the reformation truck. Andy ignored and kept stepping. The annoying questions his friend kept posing to him - made him blow up. "HER NAME IS JANET MABVIANENHARO, AND SHE WORKS IN A BANK!!!!" Andy snapped.
Onlookers where astonished, greatly surprised at the level of insanity this boy was functioning at. There he was, with a pink handbag and talking, rather shouting at himself. Many people gazed at Zvineyi but it didn't alarm him that there was something amiss. Or he ignored them like the blind eye he gave to his village when he jumped onto the moving van. Andy and Zvineyi were in a world of their own.
Anderson was excited to see the tall buildings and the rush of cars on the streets. He gave credit to Zvineyi for the opportunity to see new things but condemned him for the method he used. They got to this tall building and the security guard stared at them - with this dare-ask-me anything look on his face. Andy was not bothered - he looked beyond the guard to the satisfaction of his needs. They had arrived to their destination. Zvineyi spoke to the guard and asked for Janet. The security man looked at Zvineyi and ran wild imaginations on his mind. He must have thought of all the weird articles he had read in the H-Metro about funny events happening in the City. He probably thought this to be one of them. The guard knew Janet to be a muSalad, one of those girls that identify themselves as coconut Africans (dark on the outside but white on the inside). He had worked there for years and he never heard her speak a word in Shona. So for him to see a dark, dirty shoeless man carrying her handbag and boldly asking to see her was an H-Metro scene.
The guard didn't delay further to call her down, eagerly driven by the desire to see her reaction when her eyes would meet her visitor. In his head he was saying, "today I want to see what this nose-brigade will do?"
Janet came down, cat-walking to the entrance. The guard held his breath, panting as he paid attention to the scenario he saw to be a disaster. Zvineyi spoke under his voice filled with fury, " look at her walk, she is not even sad or looking like she lost something precious. Andy, Andy - you see, you see. We should have split the money and left the bag there to rot! She is perfectly sound"
Janet got to the desk, noticed her handbag, broke down and cried. All this happened without her looking at the man who had it. The guard lost the joke - he got concerned. Janet walked up close to Zvineyi and hugged him, as if knowing that all her belongings were still there.
Zvineyi melted like candle wax in her warm embrace. Janet was a fine vessel, a woman built with a golden touch to make her a fine piece. It could have caused a blood-rush in Zvineyi's body, but no it was miles from that. His heart candle waxed, because he had never been hugged since he was ten, when he managed to find his way home after his father had forgotten him in the bush. It had been years, since a human being of the different sex pressed her body on his. It blew his mind, in his dirt, bare foot, and stinking state someone actually rubbed against him. His heart beat faster - am I dead? "No you are not!" Jane replied. Oh my, he thought she could read minds - but he had spoken his thought out loud. Zvineyi had never felt more human. He relaxed himself and realized it was really happening. As though it was a reflex he wrapped his arms around the lady. The Security man was puzzled - is this a reunion, what is this? He thought to himself, but acting as if he wasn't concerned - but immovable, eyes wide open, mesmerized by the uncommon act.
Andy fulfilled a manumit act in Zvineyi's life. He felt a cool breeze on the hot day - a release. It was as if heaven had come down - but the hug lasted only thirty seconds. Zvineyi was still holding on to her as she tried to pull from him. Then Andy pulled his friend back with a slap in the face, only then did he let go. He handed the bag to Jane and stood like the Statue of Liberty, eyelids not functioning. Jane slid her hand into the bag, felt the stack of cash and pulled it out. The Guard had his mouth wide open as if he had seen Michael Jackson in a suit, that shocking state of seeing a dead man walking. He froze, because it must had been his first time to see many notes and thinking how does such a dirty man bring a bag with such an amount. When she spoke out - the guard came back to life.
"I don't know how to thank you for this, it truly is a miracle - I prayed about this religiously. The Lord heard my prayer. You came back, please come upstairs."
Zvineyi turned his head round about searching for someone else - but her eyes balls were jammed on him.
Zvineyi's life had been elevated within seconds, going up a building in an elevator. His face lit up, he felt that joy he felt years back when his mother bought him a toy car. Tears massaged his cheeks, and wet his shirt. He felt it within him that his life was taking a hype. He got up to the highest floor, following behind Jane. She pushed her door open into her office and Zvineyi lost it for a bit. He saw things he had never seen before but kept calm. They entered the office and Jane sat him down. She faced him and contemplated if he was the one her grandma' told her of.
Several years before this day - her grand mother had told her that she will meet someone like him. " In five years from now, you will meet a young man. He will be dark in complexion, slim and on the scruffy side. He will take something of yours forcefully, but will return it the next day or days. I am not sure what it is that he will take, and how - at what occasion. Anyway, that man will be two or more years older than you. He will show you a new world that will lead you far in life. Be on the look out my dear, be on the look out. Five years I might not be here but I need you to be vigilant. It will come to pass, it will"
The conversation echoed on the walls of her brain as she looked at Zvineyi, who happened to be grinning out the window of the skyscraper. She argued in her mind about him being the person prior to the analytical sense of viewing Zvineyi. She had totally forgotten the emotional reflex that had happened downstairs. She tried to formulate an excuse to that effect - by telling herself that it was an impetus act because of the excitement to see her bag.
Jane pondered hard on the situation she was faced with. She looked beyond the present, to the future - and began to ask Zvineyi questions. The interrogation was not so easy because Zvineyi was sick of a street language disease. Jane had a tough time but managed to exhaust her questions and land into satisfaction. Whatever she asked the man surely brought rest to the search for the new day. Zvineyi was ever-calm after the conversation. She stood up from her seat, walked towards the door and said to Zvineyi, "lets go home."
Zvineyi picked himself up and looked to the heavens and smiled. Then under his breath said, "Andy you the best!" Without wasting time Andy responded, " No you are the best because I am an origination of the voice you never gave an ear to seven years back, I'm your mature subconscious mind."
The door banged behind Jane and Zvineyi as they disappeared in the twist of the steps going down.
As if the days where never changing - he would dress in same clothes. Perfumed with his hard work sweat of the past days, now on the street looking for that one dollar again. He always imagined a hot day and being chilled down by manmade air, the fan. These where his coddled thoughts of the future he wished to live. This mental picture always nerved his body to breakdown - emotionally bound by the story of his life he would drown himself in tears. It was always a belly against gravel situation for him - bruised and blood stained, slithering on, dragging himself through the hours of the day into the darkness of the night. When he would have gathered a few cents to manage himself to see the sun consume the darkness into the next day. He lived off, rather survived from directing cars into municipal owned parking lots in the city-center and anything that gave him an extra dollar. Everyday waking up to gamble food into the tummy - strangled by life troubles - not knowing what tomorrow held for him. Glob-trotting in broad day light blinded by the hunger for a new day to give him a new life.
One day after an argument with Chamu on Union avenue then - now Kwame, he knocked himself out with an overdose of Histalix. He was angry because Chamu had taken his money. He had directed a lady into a parking bay - then Chamu stretched out his hand to take payment from the lady on his behalf. He knew that was the end of it because Chamu pocketed the coins. That's what he scrubbed his face early morning to do and Chamu took advantage of his stature. He would look up into the sky as if expecting a voice of comfort from the heavens, then suddenly looks down in disappointment because the heavens never spoke. This was because he never spoke up to the Heavens. With his head downcast he noticed the bottle of Histalix. His fingers got itchy and his whole system singing and shouting to be graced by the liquid. He handled the bottle with passion, his fingers wrapped around the bottle with a tough grip. He indulged the cough syrup as though there was no tomorrow. It penetrated his veins so fast he got stoned in a second.
He spent hours passed out on the pavement. People watched with a compassion filled look. Feeling sorry for him. He lay there like a dog which had been slammed dead by a car along Seke road. Chamu looked on and got touched by the state of his friend. He took him up his shoulder and carried him home. Wiping his eyes open, he found himself on his cement bed. He got up as though he knew how he got there. The earth was turning round, away from the sun - he still had to eat. He got up and rushed out - in the so busy location. Before he managed to leave the house, a lady grabbed him by the belt and commanded him to wipe the floor. That trail he had left early morning had messed the corridor . As if driven to the wild ends of his thinking - he shoved the lady off. Stormed out. The woman was shocked, left all-struck in wonder.
He got back on the street with his mouth in his nose, bare foot. Walked up to a lady along Chinhoyi street. She was puzzled by the way he approached her. Within a flash he ran off with her hand bag. Since when, was it the syrup? What was the matter Zvineyi? Oh that was his name. Zvineyi - slim and dirty. He grew up in the Shacks in Mbare. He lived for years and no relative of his had an account of his whereabouts. He had left Chivhu where his family was to the city of Harare, in quest of a platform to realize his dreams. He was only fifteen years of age when he jumped onto a moving Gonyeti. The truck was one of those that carried maize to the Grain Marketing Board to Harare. Zvineyi had mastered the way it went round the villages. It made its last rounds and he slid in under the tent, lay himself in between the maize bags. Fifteen years old and so determined, diligently driven towards the picture of his mind.
The truck arrived in Harare late at night - since he had camouflaged himself within the maize no one noticed him. Only when it was daylight he ran off to the streets as if he was being pursued. There was no one ready to chase after a dead soul. He had a dream, he had a vision. It was too early to launch yourself Zvineyi, it was too early. Harare had its own beasts, dream catchers. Zvineyi had no idea what he had landed himself into. He found himself under a bridge for days, months, years even. Until came along Chamu, who introduced him to the hustle of city kids. At times he sat down and flashed back to the mahewu he left back at the village with Gogo. Chamu was a fast guy - Zvineyi had come across the city's smooth man on the move. He did whatever made him solve the problem of an empty belly. Zvineyi's eyes were opened to the World of struggle.
It had been seven years since he left the village, reminded by the worn out, broken down GMB truck he hid under, with the lady's handbag. As he was searching the bag, he ran his eyes past a broken mirror. The distorted reflection of his image made him stiff, as his mind ran backwards. The mirror displayed the broken state of his life. The City was not what he saw in the magazines. The City was not a silver platter for achieving dreams - it wasn't bread and butter. The City had jaws, the City was raw - not a place for little village-boys who couldn't read and write. Grown-up men and women sweat blood in the City. Dreams and visions where slaughtered in the City. The broken pieces of glass told him how much he had been a fool. They reminded him of that naive, immature dream - that landed him face to face with his nightmare.
He had a dream to run a supermarket, like the Spar, Ok and TM he always saw. Zvineyi had no idea that he had to invest into owning a Shop. It was VaMuchai who formulated and breathed a wild imagination into the fifteen year old Zvineyi. VaMuchai drove a Mazda B1800, light blue in color, but, old and rusty. It smoked more than his diesel grinding meal. He also managed a chain of tuck-shops at the Chambara growth point in Chivhu. He was every little boy's role model - he didn't smoke chimonera, he puffed on the pipe. He handled his affairs like an English man. Surely, Zvineyi once sneaked in on his mother and her friend as they admired VaMuchai - building Castles on quick sand. This only consolidated Zvineyi's imagination of VaMuchai - the Superman. Even his mother had fantasies of the man, he was the lady's man. He spoke fluent English, and dressed like he was on a photo-shoot. He was a vain man, he loved himself excessively.
VaMuchai became Zvineyi's role model, but he desired to do more than the old man. Despite the old man's nasty behavior of taking other men's wives to bed - Zvineyi admired him. VaMuchai was a drop of water in an ocean - he was not even recognized beyond the Bhundu. He was a village player, dressed in the old type of suits, the City had people wearing slim-fit suits. Who could blame Zvineyi, that's what he was exposed to all his life. VaMuchai was the Brad Pitt of their community - ladies would argue him to be the Trey Songs, he was just the measuring tool of every man's progress and success. The celebrity of Manyene residents. Who didn't want to be VaMuchai - "the man of the golden touch and class" - they called him. Zvineyi's own father at some point in time had spoken of VaMuchai as the greatest man of his generation - he was like the Nelson Mandela of their little town.
He is the man who drove Zvineyi out of his mind. Zvineyi didn't know anything called research, analysis or cash flow. A tuck-shop was the only prosperous business one could do he thought. He saw the richest men of today to have tuck-shops, he even thought that the President of Zimbabwe owned one. Miss-guided by the drama of man-worshipping created by the villagers. "I will be greater than VaMachai!" The young boy said to himself, before he jumped onto his visa to suffering. He got onto the truck, eyes blinded from what he left behind. His heart had been turned cold. Zvineyi only allowed his mind to see how people will marvel at what he would have achieved. Oh, how foolish he had allowed himself to be. VaMuchai was not even sure of who he was, he was also a lost soul. Zvineyi had to bid farewell to his hometown hid in-between sacks of maize. He swore in his heart to drive back to the village home.
The broken mirror spoke so loud he dropped the handbag and sat back. Regretting the folly of his mind, remembering all he said years back. It was too late to look back - the years had sealed portals to the life in the village. He told himself he couldn't go back. Seven years of hardships, and to return like he never left was not an option. Zvineyi had no contact with any of his relatives or family. The ego that buried his life at fifteen dragged him into the mud, by that time VaMuchai had passed on. The man died of AIDS. He fell sick for a few days and died. All this was Greek to Zvineyi, he knew nothing. There was no way he could abridge his destiny to the riches of his mind. The creator and maker of his wild side only lived four years after his escape to his so called higher places. Funny, VaMuchai had a great impact on the life of someone he never spoke to. Sad, dragged to the pit by broken images, miss-informed by the outward appearance of a dead man walking.
Zvineyi didn't give himself time to analyze his role model. There was no scrutiny of the path he was taking. He just pre-launched himself onto a land, nasty, and merciless. He had lost his way - until broken mirrors had voices. He regained consciousness underneath the truck that transported him. He looked at the handbag, then at his reflection in the mirror - he was black, but seven years back he was chocolate brown in complexion. He now had patches of black skin drowning his original skin color. He couldn't believe he was the one who had robbed a young lady. It was the awakening moment - it was beyond reality, he didn't shed tears. It was a deep self-revealing time.
The hunger was consumed by the conversations he had with the pieces of glass that reflected his image. Zvineyi could picture his childhood days, playing around the fire with his older sister. She was the only one he played with, boys his age weren't fast enough to catch up with him. He loved to walk alone, never shared any deep truths with anyone - except his imaginary friend Anderson. Whom he noticed sitting next to him. The night fell upon him, but he never noticed. It's because it had been seven years since he saw Anderson. He thought Andy was left herding cattle, but no, Andy was with him all the way. Zvineyi had a difficult time, mixed-emotions, he didn't know if it was right to be angry at Andy or to apologize. Andy sat there silent, looking on as Zvineyi clamored at him. He figured that the broken mirrors weren't talking after all, it was Andy who was talking to him.
Exhausted from the shouting, and reunion with his friend he fell asleep under the Truck. Then morning came and Andy woke him up. Andy was far much smarter than him and his new hooligan friend, Chamu. Waking up, Zvineyi continued with his quest of searching the lady's handbag for money etc as if nothing had happened last night. Andy argued him out of taking anything - though it was a tough one for both of them, because they had slept with a two grand. "This is Two thousand dollars, United States Dollars Andy! Not kwacha, but MaObama!!!! Ahhhhh, and you want me to what? This is when I wish Chamu was here!!" Zvineyi spoke loudly.
Andy was almost convinced that they needed the money, but he just would not agree. "I know this is your first time to look at two thousand dollars, but think about it, don't you think the lady you grabbed the money from is dying? Have a heart my friend, have a heart." Andy made his point, with an ever-soft voice that pierced through his street conscience, like hot iron slicing through liver. Zvineyi was pinned down to act accordingly.
Andy left Zvineyi to feed on his two minute meal for the brains only and went back to the neglected handbag. He started digging again and found a business card - the great thing was that it had her picture on it. It was her - Andy suggested they called her. Zvineyi was scared, what if she got them arrested. He thought going to drop the bag at the address on the card was a better idea. They began to plot on how to get the handbag back, as if Zvineyi had not seen the two thousand dollars. Zvineyi was thinking of sliding a few notes into his pants. Andy was hands on, watching, his eyes wide open like a hawk on a hunt. They walked out from underneath the Old GMB truck, and made their way to the young lady's workplace. Andy was a bit on the bright side, he read the address and led the way.
Zvineyi was tracking behind Andy, dragging his feet towards FBC Bank in Leopold Takawira. "Do you even know her name? Are you sure that's her in the picture?" Zvineyi tried to apply diverting tactics to the decision they made, under the reformation truck. Andy ignored and kept stepping. The annoying questions his friend kept posing to him - made him blow up. "HER NAME IS JANET MABVIANENHARO, AND SHE WORKS IN A BANK!!!!" Andy snapped.
Onlookers where astonished, greatly surprised at the level of insanity this boy was functioning at. There he was, with a pink handbag and talking, rather shouting at himself. Many people gazed at Zvineyi but it didn't alarm him that there was something amiss. Or he ignored them like the blind eye he gave to his village when he jumped onto the moving van. Andy and Zvineyi were in a world of their own.
Anderson was excited to see the tall buildings and the rush of cars on the streets. He gave credit to Zvineyi for the opportunity to see new things but condemned him for the method he used. They got to this tall building and the security guard stared at them - with this dare-ask-me anything look on his face. Andy was not bothered - he looked beyond the guard to the satisfaction of his needs. They had arrived to their destination. Zvineyi spoke to the guard and asked for Janet. The security man looked at Zvineyi and ran wild imaginations on his mind. He must have thought of all the weird articles he had read in the H-Metro about funny events happening in the City. He probably thought this to be one of them. The guard knew Janet to be a muSalad, one of those girls that identify themselves as coconut Africans (dark on the outside but white on the inside). He had worked there for years and he never heard her speak a word in Shona. So for him to see a dark, dirty shoeless man carrying her handbag and boldly asking to see her was an H-Metro scene.
The guard didn't delay further to call her down, eagerly driven by the desire to see her reaction when her eyes would meet her visitor. In his head he was saying, "today I want to see what this nose-brigade will do?"
Janet came down, cat-walking to the entrance. The guard held his breath, panting as he paid attention to the scenario he saw to be a disaster. Zvineyi spoke under his voice filled with fury, " look at her walk, she is not even sad or looking like she lost something precious. Andy, Andy - you see, you see. We should have split the money and left the bag there to rot! She is perfectly sound"
Janet got to the desk, noticed her handbag, broke down and cried. All this happened without her looking at the man who had it. The guard lost the joke - he got concerned. Janet walked up close to Zvineyi and hugged him, as if knowing that all her belongings were still there.
Zvineyi melted like candle wax in her warm embrace. Janet was a fine vessel, a woman built with a golden touch to make her a fine piece. It could have caused a blood-rush in Zvineyi's body, but no it was miles from that. His heart candle waxed, because he had never been hugged since he was ten, when he managed to find his way home after his father had forgotten him in the bush. It had been years, since a human being of the different sex pressed her body on his. It blew his mind, in his dirt, bare foot, and stinking state someone actually rubbed against him. His heart beat faster - am I dead? "No you are not!" Jane replied. Oh my, he thought she could read minds - but he had spoken his thought out loud. Zvineyi had never felt more human. He relaxed himself and realized it was really happening. As though it was a reflex he wrapped his arms around the lady. The Security man was puzzled - is this a reunion, what is this? He thought to himself, but acting as if he wasn't concerned - but immovable, eyes wide open, mesmerized by the uncommon act.
Andy fulfilled a manumit act in Zvineyi's life. He felt a cool breeze on the hot day - a release. It was as if heaven had come down - but the hug lasted only thirty seconds. Zvineyi was still holding on to her as she tried to pull from him. Then Andy pulled his friend back with a slap in the face, only then did he let go. He handed the bag to Jane and stood like the Statue of Liberty, eyelids not functioning. Jane slid her hand into the bag, felt the stack of cash and pulled it out. The Guard had his mouth wide open as if he had seen Michael Jackson in a suit, that shocking state of seeing a dead man walking. He froze, because it must had been his first time to see many notes and thinking how does such a dirty man bring a bag with such an amount. When she spoke out - the guard came back to life.
"I don't know how to thank you for this, it truly is a miracle - I prayed about this religiously. The Lord heard my prayer. You came back, please come upstairs."
Zvineyi turned his head round about searching for someone else - but her eyes balls were jammed on him.
Zvineyi's life had been elevated within seconds, going up a building in an elevator. His face lit up, he felt that joy he felt years back when his mother bought him a toy car. Tears massaged his cheeks, and wet his shirt. He felt it within him that his life was taking a hype. He got up to the highest floor, following behind Jane. She pushed her door open into her office and Zvineyi lost it for a bit. He saw things he had never seen before but kept calm. They entered the office and Jane sat him down. She faced him and contemplated if he was the one her grandma' told her of.
Several years before this day - her grand mother had told her that she will meet someone like him. " In five years from now, you will meet a young man. He will be dark in complexion, slim and on the scruffy side. He will take something of yours forcefully, but will return it the next day or days. I am not sure what it is that he will take, and how - at what occasion. Anyway, that man will be two or more years older than you. He will show you a new world that will lead you far in life. Be on the look out my dear, be on the look out. Five years I might not be here but I need you to be vigilant. It will come to pass, it will"
The conversation echoed on the walls of her brain as she looked at Zvineyi, who happened to be grinning out the window of the skyscraper. She argued in her mind about him being the person prior to the analytical sense of viewing Zvineyi. She had totally forgotten the emotional reflex that had happened downstairs. She tried to formulate an excuse to that effect - by telling herself that it was an impetus act because of the excitement to see her bag.
Jane pondered hard on the situation she was faced with. She looked beyond the present, to the future - and began to ask Zvineyi questions. The interrogation was not so easy because Zvineyi was sick of a street language disease. Jane had a tough time but managed to exhaust her questions and land into satisfaction. Whatever she asked the man surely brought rest to the search for the new day. Zvineyi was ever-calm after the conversation. She stood up from her seat, walked towards the door and said to Zvineyi, "lets go home."
Zvineyi picked himself up and looked to the heavens and smiled. Then under his breath said, "Andy you the best!" Without wasting time Andy responded, " No you are the best because I am an origination of the voice you never gave an ear to seven years back, I'm your mature subconscious mind."
The door banged behind Jane and Zvineyi as they disappeared in the twist of the steps going down.
