The Colours That Blind

by Rutendo Tavengerwei

  ‘Tumi, I can’t breathe.’

  I hadn’t realised that I was holding her too tightly.

  ‘Tumi, are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, I’m OK. Now go back to sleep, OK?’

  She rubs her eyes again and slides back under her duvet.

  ‘Are you scared because of Ambuya?’

  It takes me a little by surprise and I nod before I can take it back.

  ‘I’ve seen you looking. Is it her scars?’ she whispers. I can see fear tickle at her big eyes. She squeezes my hand and whispers again. ‘But Daddy said she got her scars doing something brave, Tumi. It’s not true?’

  I stare at her, afraid to say anything.

  ‘Don’t be scared.’ I squeeze her hand back. ‘Don’t be scared, because I won’t let anyone hurt you. Now, go back to sleep. Don’t be scared, OK? Everything is all right.’ She holds my hand for a while as I sit with her, and as soon as her grip relaxes and she begins snoring, I reach for my swimming trunks and tiptoe out of the house.

  28

  The breeze is a biting chill, and it’s no better by the river. As I stand on the bank, I start to think that perhaps I have lost it. What am I doing? The water looks so deep I’m afraid that if I drown they might never find me.

  Why are you really doing this, Tumi? Will they consider how you froze yourself to death so you can be one of them?

  I dip one foot in, and the cold seizes me. There are goosebumps on every part of my body. I don’t want to do this, but I know what it will mean if I don’t. I will sit on the bench and the only thing they will see about me is the colour of my skin. I think of Bongani and Liam, and my mind immediately remembers Bongani’s post on Instagram.

  Nah, Tumi, you’ve got to do this, bruh. Pull yourself together!

  I’m reminding myself what’s at stake as I set the timer on my phone and slide into my swimming trunks. My eyes scan for places I can dive from, and where to go up to. From the Msasa tree where I’m standing to whatever tree that is ahead. It looks like it might be about two hundred metres. The morning is still quiet, apart from the crickets gossiping. I think of the team. I think of Mkoma. I think of myself.

  Breathe, Tumi. Focus!

  I bend my knees, point my hands above me, then take a deep breath. I can do this! My body breaks through the surface and I can feel the cold like sharp spears driving into my skin. I come up for air, propelling myself against the flow of the current. I can hardly feel my arms as I push myself forward. It’s harder swimming against the current. I’m already tired. The lap feels never-ending. My legs drag as I climb out of the river and hurry back to my phone to see how long it has taken me.

  3 minutes, 08 seconds.

  Slowest I’ve ever been, but it’s definitely different swimming in the river, and I have to climb out and run back to check the time. There are goosebumps on my arms and thighs. I rub myself warm and jog a little to bring the warmth back. My eyes are fixed on the current of the river. But I know I need to get my time down to 1 minute 40 seconds in an actual pool to make the nationals, but I don’t know what that means I need to aim for here – maybe 2 minutes 20. Lifting alone won’t get me there.

  C’mon, Tumi! You got this!

  Knees bent, hands pointed, deep breath, splash.

  My mind is still and my legs are lighter. This time the water feels as though it is giving way to my body, easing me forward. My breathing is tempered, although a little more rushed than usual. I suppose it’s the cold or the current. As I dunk my head for the final time, I can see the Msasa tree again. I pull myself out of the water and reach for my phone.

  3 minutes 02 seconds.

  That’s better than before. But the target is still 2 minutes 20 or even faster than that. I brace myself again.

  Knees bent, hands pointed, deep breath, splash!

  On my way up for air, I think I see a figure out of the corner of my eye. And Bamkuru’s voice swings through and lands a punch!

  We should have burned you like we did your kind in the past.

  Everything goes still for a moment, and I can feel my body flowing as though it’s one with the water. When I come back to myself, I panic, realising the current is sweeping me downriver. It is almost as though I’ve forgotten how to swim. I try to move but the screams come back. I cannot tell if they’re coming out of me as the river gulps me down its throat, or if they’re just in my head. My hands are blocks of ice, unable to paddle. My nose is burning as though someone is pouring acid inside.

  And as I open my eyes, I see a pair of hands like mine reach out just in time and pull my gasping body out of the water.

  ‘What the hell you doing, city boy? Don’t you know people don’t swim here for a reason?’

  29

  It is evening now. The night is already still, and we are sitting around the fire in the kitchen hut. Ranga has just excused himself for bed. I am sitting with Ambuya and Noku, who is insisting that Ambuya plaits her hair.

  ‘I haven’t done this in a long time, mzukuru, and it is late. Why don’t we find someone to do it for you tomorrow?’

  ‘No, Ambuya, I want you to do it,’ Noku insists, batting her brown eyes.

  Ambuya looks at her and smiles.

  ‘Very well, mzukuru. Get your comb from the main house and let me see what I can do.’

  Noku springs up towards the main house, skipping with joy on her way.

  When she is back, Ambuya sits her on a mat on the floor and tucks her between her knees. I watch her as she parts Noku’s thick hair in the middle before gently brushing it out. I watch them for a while until Noku begins to doze off, probably enjoying all the brushing.

  Ambuya looks at me. ‘You know, my mother used to do the same for me till her hands wouldn’t allow. She used to love it. Even during the war, when things were out of their normal, she would make time for it. It is one of the fondest memories I have of her.’

  She pauses and smiles to herself, now beginning to plait the first cornrow on Noku’s head. I watch her, quiet and anticipating. I don’t interrupt, because I know the story is coming.

  30

  Ambuya’s story

  A few weeks had passed since the bas had humiliated Matthew on the veranda. Baba had not said anything about it to me. I suspected he had discussed it with Amai though, because of the way she frowned when I mentioned that I had not seen Matthew in a while.

  ‘Tilt your head,’ Amai said as she kneaded my thick hair with oil. I closed my eyes and enjoyed her humming voice as she caressed the strands of my hair, running her fingers through the tresses and rubbing the oil into my scalp. It had been a long while since she had done this. When I was younger, she used to sit me tightly between her knees and slowly brush the knots out of my hair before braiding it into thin cornrows.

  I always loved the gentle rippling of my hair as she combed through its thick tousled coils. I loved the smell of the oil and the tease of sleep that lingered at the edge of my eyes as I relished in the comfort of having my hair taken care of. But regardless of all this goodness, a little discomfort still sat in my stomach. I took deep breaths and told myself at the end of each one that I would have the courage to speak up. But of course every time the words rose up and made it to the tip of my tongue, I would lose my nerve and feel them fizzle out like melting sugar.

  Amai continued on, massaging my head and humming a tune. I kept my eyes closed with the weight of the sunlight balancing on my eyelids. I could hear Baba’s dog panting from where he sat in the shade, close by. He always did that, as though he was tired of sitting. Baba had gone to the farm even though it was a Saturday. I was only home because the Rogerses had gone to town for the day. It had been four days now and no one knew where Farai was.

  ‘Your hair is growing longer, Thandie. Hee, I’ll give you the mirror in a minute and you’ll see for yourself! So beautiful!’

  Her lips touched my almost oily forehead. I opened my eyes.

  ‘Look in the mirror and see. Whose child is this? Hee? Who bore this beauti
ful child?’

  She handed me a small piece of a mirror that had broken many moons back. I looked at myself and smiled. I watched her reflection as she slid a flower in the thick of my hair and smiled too.

  ‘Black skin and thick hair. I couldn’t have done a better job!’

  I chuckled.

  ‘You should always stand proud like your hair, Thandie. You see how it defies gravity and refuses to be bullied? Yes! We should have learned from it and not have been so easily bullied off our own land.’

  I turned my head and looked back at her. Amai hardly ever spoke like that. She was always cautious and neutral.

  ‘Never mind me. Go inside and wipe the oil off your forehead. Look at us talking about hair when our children are dying. You should have seen what I saw there at the clinic. This war must end!’

  She stood up, shaking her head and grabbing all of the bottles and combs around us. We had received news earlier that morning that a bus from the mission school had been blown up by a landmine. Children going to a singing competition, caught in the web of war and spat out as though they didn’t matter. Amai had gone straight to the clinic as soon as she had heard and had promised to go back later on.

  ‘Poor Nurse Edwards. In her condition, it is such a hard thing to be dealing with.’

  I swallowed. I knew what would happen next. She would head into the house, change and go back to the mission clinic to see if she could do anything at all to help, even if it meant simply praying with the other women.

  We had been told that some of the students had been taken by the ambulance to the general hospital in Umtali. Others could not wait for the ambulance to come back for them, so the villagers had organised carts to take them to the clinic or had minor wounds and were waiting there to be tended to. I held my breath as I watched her move slowly towards the kitchen hut.

  ‘Amai …’

  The words came out before I was ready. Amai paused by the door and looked at me, her eyebrows lifted. I cleared my throat and breathed in all the calm I could.

  ‘Can I go with you to the clinic? I could be of use.’

  She narrowed her eyes and sighed. ‘I don’t think I’ll go any more. My joints feel heavy. I might have overdone it with your hair. I think I’ll stay home and rest awhile. I might go tomorrow.’

  Her voice had grown a little quiet. I stayed silent for a while, shifting from one leg to another.

  ‘Maybe I should go in your place then? Since you said Nurse Edwards might be short of help?’

  Her brow furrowed and she watched me without blinking for a while.

  ‘Kunei – what is there exactly – Thandiwe? Why do you want to go there? Since when do you have a heart for what the missionaries do?’

  ‘Ahh, but you said it yourself, Amai. It was children in that bus, and I just want to help, do something useful.’

  Amai clicked her tongue and continued into the kitchen hut in silence. My heart sank and my chin with it.

  ‘Tisvikewo!’ I turned behind me, and then back at Amai again, my eyes begging for permission before the visitor got any closer.

  ‘VaGuhwa, please sit down. Thandiwe, fetch some water for our guest and put that pot on the fire, please.’

  ‘Oh, have I caught you preparing dinner already? I will stay. You know how the elders say it is rude to refuse your neighbour’s food.’

  Amai smiled. How the old man managed to time his visits so precisely, I will never know. But I grumbled in my spirit as I went around the side of the kitchen hut to fetch the water. In that sun he still wore his coffee suit, with an old light blue shirt tucked in inside it.

  ‘Mai Thandie, it’s been long. How are you? How are you feeling these days?’

  ‘Oh, it’s all pains of old age, VaGuhwa, nothing to be avoided. And you? How are you?’

  ‘I am doing well. It’s just those children who have hurt our hearts. All blasted by the landmine.’

  ‘Yes, it’s so sad, isn’t it? I heard three of them died. Their poor parents, I can’t imagine.’

  ‘It didn’t look good at all when I passed the clinic just now. Everyone is trying their best to help. I even saw that boy – what’s his name, the Rogers boy?’

  Amai’s eyes whizzed past me although she made sure they didn’t stay long.

  ‘Matthew?’ I asked, perhaps a little overly eager.

  ‘Yes, him,’ VaGuhwa replied, narrowing his eyes and watching me.

  There was silence for a while, and I made sure to keep my eyes down, scolding myself for having intervened in the conversation.

  ‘Aah, ko Mai Thandie, have you heard?’ He turned around to see if anyone else was listening. ‘You know that girl Chipo from the next village? You know, the one who has a white man in the city. They found her up there, close to the river, beaten to death and abandoned at the side of the road.’

  His eyes brushed past me, and a hint of a smirk danced at the corners of his lips. A frosty shiver gently ran its hands down my spine.

  ‘Oh no! That is terrible.’

  ‘Ahh, they say she was starting to parade her dealings with the white man. Forgetting what it meant and all that. Foolish, I say it was.’

  Amai looked at me. ‘These children don’t seem to understand that the world we live in is black and white! And where things are that defined, there is no space for anything that might even begin to look grey. We’re still neck deep in the middle of a war – that hasn’t changed at all.’

  ‘Mmm.’ VaGuhwa’s eyes followed Amai’s to me. He sat back and gulped from the metal cup of water I had handed him.

  ‘And you, Thandiwe, how is everything?’ He leaned in and turned again to check that no one was listening. ‘You know, I never asked where you and your brother were heading to that night. Were those pots I saw? You know how people like to talk.’

  Amai and I looked at each other while VaGuhwa sipped yet again from the metal cup.

  ‘Thandiwe, won’t you be late? Surely you should run along to the mission to help like you suggested?’

  ‘Yes, Amai.’

  ‘Mmm.’ VaGuhwa nodded. ‘They need as much help as they can get there.’

  I tried to suppress the smile pushed up by the things fluttering in my stomach, in spite of what it meant. And it is like that, isn’t it? Sometimes the familiar smell of trouble does that to the blood of a young woman.

  But as I stood up to leave, VaGuhwa grabbed my hand and hissed into my ear, ‘Don’t forget, Thandiwe, this is still a war. Terrible things happen when men are at war. And although the village acts blind, don’t let it fool you. It has eyes everywhere!’

  31

  That afternoon as I walked onto the clinic compound, I could feel the stares as they followed me.

  Men and women sat in little groups, talking among themselves. A few patients from the village who were there with concerns about minor ailments sat on the bench outside waiting to be seen by the nurse. Amai had said the doctor had been called to the clinic. But he had so many villages to attend to that it could be hours before he was able to get to us. It didn’t make things any better that the roads were becoming more unsafe with landmines, positioned to ambush the security forces.

  At the side of the clinic, a small group of women sat around a fire, stirring cauldrons filled with mountains of sadza and vegetables. Others carried things in and out of the clinic, cleaned and prayed. It was always like that. People came together to help, even if their problems required attention. That is what intertwined the African village.

  My eyes scanned around. I could see Teacher Edwards and another man carrying a stretcher into the clinic. My eyes roamed again, looking, searching.

  ‘Thandiwe.’

  I turned. Tawana was walking towards me, a smile on his face.

  ‘Is everything all right? Is your mother all right?’

  ‘I’m here to … I’m here to help. Anything I can do.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you. We need all the help we can get. Nurse Edwards can use your nursing skills.’
/>   I hesitated.

  ‘Do you think she would let me help? You know I didn’t even finish my training, Tawana. Perhaps I could help you with whatever you’re doing instead?’

  ‘Don’t you worry. She’ll be happy to get some help from someone with your skills. Come with me.’

  I tried to be discreet, looking around again. Tawana turned back to me just in time to see it.

  ‘Are you looking for someone?’ A slight smile sat on his face, one that suggested he knew something. ‘He stepped out for a moment. I’m sure he’ll be back any minute now.’

  I feigned confusion.

  Tawana smiled and stared at me a while longer. Then his face became serious and his voice lowered. ‘You need to be careful though, the two of you.’

  I looked down.

  ‘If you mean Matthew, we’re friends, nothing more.’

  It was true. There were no lies in that statement.

  ‘Don’t worry. I don’t know anything, so I won’t say anything. Come, there’s Nurse Edwards.’

  I followed Tawana, mind reeling and worries flying around. The need for caution kept coming back and I began to fear that there might really be something to be afraid of.

  ‘Nurse Edwards, this is Thandiwe …’

  ‘Thandiwe? Oh yes, Thandiwe, of course!’

  The woman stopped, slender and pale from what I gathered was exhaustion, and with a bulging belly that must have been a burden. She wiped the sweat from her brow with one hand while the other put the clipboard she was holding on the ground.

  ‘I have been waiting to meet you. Your mother speaks so very fondly of you.’

  She pulled me into a tight embrace and kissed my cheek. I pulled back, surprised. I’d never been embraced by a Missus before.

  ‘Where is your mother? I hope she’s all right. She had said she would come back.’

  ‘She’s all right, just tired, madam.’