holla – get in touch
iwe – you
kaffir – derogatory term used by colonialists to refer to black Africans
kaffir-boeties – derogatory term used to shame white people who associated with black Africans
ko – why
kunei – what is happening there
maiguru – an aunt
mandem – slang used to refer to friends or peers
matumbu – dish of cow intestines
mdara – lit. old man – also used to mean ‘man’ in general
mfana – kid
Mkoma – a term of respect for a big brother
mrungu – white man
Msasa tree – also known as zebrawood, a common African tree
Mwanangu – my child
mzukuru – grandchild
na – now (Igbo)
ngoma – drum
outchea – out here
pungwe – a type of all-night rally/party that the comrades would host to encourage morale in the villages during the fight for Zimbabwe’s independence
sadza – cooked cornmeal
sekuru – grandfather
tisvikewo – a greeting usually used when one is announcing their arrival at someone else’s house. Much like ‘Knock-knock’.
wangu – my
zambiya – a wrap tied by women around the waist in situations where they are expected to dress modestly
I am so grateful to the many people whose support, encouragement and hard work made it possible to bring this story to life.
Firstly, my wonderful editor, Felicity Alexander, who so clearly understood my vision for this story and from the very beginning understood what it meant to me. Thank you so much for being patient with me through all the revision stages and for pushing me to make it better. I appreciate so much all your very hard work. I would not have been able to do this without you, or wanted to do it with anyone else.
I would also like to thank the rest of my team at Hot Key Books, who worked so hard to make this book the best version it could be. Special thanks go to my assistant editor, Carla Hutchinson, whose input is always so incredibly invaluable, my copy-editor Talya Baker, who always has a keen eye, to Jane Hamnett for such careful proofreading, and to cover designer Anna Morrison and Dan Newman of Perfect Bound Ltd, for doing such a wonderful job with the book design. Also, thanks to Ruth Logan, Ilaria Tarasconi and Saidah Graham in Rights and to Molly Holt, Amy Llambias and Isobel Taylor in Publicity and Marketing. You guys are the real dream team.
A special thank-you to my friend Elloa-Wade Saleh Aboubakar, who was with me when I saw the old woman and the little boy in the train station and humoured me as I jotted down all the ideas in a frenzy, even though it almost made us miss our train home. Your excitement alone for this story was a real vibe.
To my hype-team Kamogelo Chadi, Amanda Nghona and Tumi Teko (who asked me to put her name in my book, and I said I’d think about it), you guys are some of the best cheerleaders a girl could ask for. I’m always so grateful to have you in my life.
To Tariro Mutyavaviri and Dionne Lakey, thank you for reading this book while it was still in its rough stages. Your feedback is invaluable.
My absolute gratitude also goes to my aunt Synodia Tavengerwei for sharing with me some of her experiences growing up as a person with albinism. And to Tally White who took the time to read this story and shared such invaluable insights on albinism as well. I am very grateful and will forever be.
To Andy and Heather Woodward, I’m so thrilled you were excited about this book as soon as I told you about it. Thank you so much for praying for me when I felt overwhelmed and for always encouraging me.
Thank you to my girl Olaronke Thomas, who is a real gem, and who helped me shape Noku’s Nigerian voice with all those little phrases.
To Stephen Griffiths, thank you so much for writing your book The Axe and the Tree, which helped answer a lot of the questions I had about the actual Vumba missionaries. I will always be grateful for all your support and encouragement and for being so forthcoming.
A special shout-out to my parents, who sat down with me on multiple occasions to tell me their stories, at times of horrible things that happened pre-independence. Dad, thank you for sharing the story of your friends and teachers at Elim and emphasising the importance of living a life of love over hate. And Mom, I can’t believe how many times you read this story, even when it still needed a lot of work, and still came through with wonderful insights. I love you guys, and thank you for always being my example.
My siblings. Gang gang! Yeukaishe Hope, you are always so passionate and excited about my writing, with so many insights and ideas. I absolutely treasure it. Tafadzwa, Tendai, Michael Nyasha and Heather, you are always ready to support, and I definitely would not have done any of this without you.
Lastly, to the Elim missionaries who inspired this book, thank you for living a life worthy of the calling you received. Your story touched me, and I hope it touches so many more.
Rutendo Nomsa Tavengerwei lived and studied in Zimbabwe until the age of eighteen, when she moved to South Africa to study Law at the University of the Witwatersrand. She then completed a Masters at the World Trade Institute, and worked at the World Trade Organization in Geneva, Switzerland.
Her debut novel, HOPE IS OUR ONLY WING, was nominated for the CILIP Carnegie Medal 2019. THE COLOURS THAT BLIND is her second novel.
SHAMISO’S HEART BROKE into a shudder of beats. She could hear the jazzy trails of the mbira spiralling in the air. Her father would have loved that sound. She glanced at her mother, who stood next to her, fanning her sweaty neck. She seemed preoccupied. The music played on, painful and familiar.
When Shamiso was eight, her father had insisted that she learn how to play. The metal pellets had bruised the tips of her fingers as she plunked on them. A series of confused notes bumping into a glorious discord. The frustration had been too much for an eight-year-old, made worse by the fact that none of the other kids at school understood quite what the instrument was.
Shamiso listened as the voice of the mbira rose proudly. Whoever was playing knew what they were doing. She could hear the underlying tone of a hum that flowed well with the song. And in that magnificent noise floated all the memories and feelings she was trying to ignore.
Her mother hovered by her side, trying to figure out where they should go. Shamiso felt numb, staring down at her shiny new shoes and listening to the music that disturbed the air.
‘Shamiso …’ Her mother hesitated. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I told you before,’ Shamiso muttered, biting her breath, ‘I don’t want to be at boarding school. Especially here!’
She watched her mother wipe her damp neck as though she had not heard her. Her blouse clung to her skin, moist from the sweat.
‘There’s no time to cry,’ her mother said softly. ‘Wipe your tears, mwanangu. You’ll be fine.’ She nodded at the administration block in front of them.
Shamiso saw the exhaustion on her mother’s face as they picked up the luggage and headed for the administration block. They sat in the waiting room and looked around. The young man behind the reception desk seemed caught up in a tsunami of phone calls. The walls were lined with pictures of alumni at different events across the years. Shamiso could hear snatches of conversation from two men standing by the door.
‘… yes, but by staying away … we … are only punishing the children,’ one of the men said rather slowly. Shamiso kept her head down, concentrating on the tracks of the mbira.
‘You are beginning to sound like that journalist …’ the other man commented.
Shamiso raised her head. She guessed the men were teachers, but she could barely hear what they were saying. She leaned in.
‘Of course … we … we have to be smart about this,’ the first man continued, his voice rising in volume.
A bubble of anger formed in Shamiso’s throat. She tried to keep calm. Her ears picked up the music, which was slowly forming into
a song. She wondered whether she would ever have been able to play like that.
The notes poked at her brain. Her father had called it the sound of home, the stolen guitar of nature. She closed her eyes. Memories sat vividly in her mind. His fingers dancing around on the little pellet strings, his lips pursed, the music swirling. She held her breath, scared that if she breathed out too soon she would lose him.
A sudden voice jolted her back to the present. ‘Aww, first day at school, is it?’
Shamiso opened her eyes and wiped them with the back of her hand. A girl stood in front of her, holding a pile of books. Her curly hair was tied back tightly into a bun. She seemed to be headed for the staffroom.
‘Newcomer or first form?’ the girl asked.
‘I’m new …’ Shamiso mumbled.
‘Would you look at that! We have ourselves a Brit,’ the girl declared.
Shamiso gritted her teeth. The door to the staffroom suddenly opened. The cartoon on the door warned her that it was out of bounds. A teacher stood in the entrance, blocking the view as though the staffroom was some sacred destination that students were not meant to see. All Shamiso could hear was laughter as the teacher beckoned the girl inside.
‘Well, don’t worry, Your Majesty, it will definitely get worse. The queen doesn’t come here for tea, I’m afraid,’ the girl said in her best imitation of what she thought was an English accent before following the teacher inside.
Shamiso fought the urge to call after her. She had hardly been in this country long and she was already certain she did not like it at all.
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First published in Great Britain in 2020 by
HOT KEY BOOKS
80–81 Wimpole St, London W1G 9RE
www.hotkeybooks.com
Copyright © Rutendo Tavengerwei, 2020
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
The right of Rutendo Tavengerwei to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978-1-4714-0819-9
Also available in audio
Hot Key Books is an imprint of Bonnier Books UK
www.bonnierbooks.co.uk
The Colours That Blind Page 23
