A tragic welcome

  

He sat in the bus in anticipation, fighting very hard to contain the grime that was almost choking him. He was silently planning how he would spend his off days at his rural home. As the bus finally growled, coughed and suddenly came to a halt, Simba picked up a few groceries that he had purchased and disembarked. He disappeared into a cloud of dust towards the beer hall from where the only semblance of activity emanated in this seemingly dead community.

Ganyungu Township is where he had reached, the place he had known since his childhood. Tongai Moyo’s song ‘Naye’ sent the revelers into a dancing frenzy. Those who had seized the opportunity to watch Moyo perform in live shows were trying to replicate the popular “Cele” dance, but much to their chagrin.

A satchel behind his back, a carrier bag in hand, he stood at the entrance of the bar trying with difficulty to fight the stench of opaque beer, sweat, and suffocating cloud of cigarettes, saddled with different women-designed deodorants. The bar was packed to its capacity and the people did not seem to care.

To the far corner of the pub, were skimpily dressed ladies of various classes. They sexily wriggled their waists, their butts shaking violently to the lambasting music. Womanisers bent low behind them, drooling.

A sudden feeling of thirst gripped him and he could not resist the urge to have his favourite Lion Lager.

Simba brushed his way past the crowded dance floor to the abacus where he made himself comfortable on a bar stool, which another reveler had left for the dance floor. He downed a Lion lager pint and ordered another, which he took down slowly, taking the chance to study his surroundings in case he could pick an old acquaintance from the patrons in the bar.

His eyes stumbled on a lady of medium built, her face looked recognisable with each passing second. Her hair was a wave of black mass, teasing her shoulders as she gyrated her hips. Her dressing was spick and span. The denim she had on, displayed all the contours of her shapely bottom. The chemise was indeed her second skin, clearly shaping her full breast but was petite enough to leave her navel exposed.

“Rudo!!” Her name came vividly into his mind despite the long absence from the rural areas amounting to six years. She had now grown into a full woman. He remembered her being a scrawny, little, and unattractive young girl whom he used to herd goats with. Together, they had played several games including the common, “Show me yours and I will show you mine”.

When they had slightly grown, he remembered one day when he had trouble in trying to conceal an erection after taking a swim together in Nyarupakwe River. Simba had dove underwater while doing the hide-and-seek game. Ignorantly, he brushed her firm little breasts and that stirred it all.

Among the revelers, was also Nomsa. She had a Zambezi Lager in hand and was indeed on top of the world. His old days with her reminisced in his mind. She had grown up very fast, mentally and physically. She had developed breasts before anyone else in their grade. Simba had occasionally tried to propose love to her but she repeatedly snubbed him, arguing that he was not old enough for her taste. That sent him back in his cocoon and never to challenge her again.

Chatting to Nomsa was Betty. With her, Simba actually feared her during his childhood just as rats fear cats, despite having a crush on her.

There they were, his old mates, dressed to kill, looking as fresh as apples, adorning trendy hairstyles, much to his admiration. He was taken down memory lane.

He finished his beer, picked up his items, and approached them.

“Hi-i-i my good ladies!” he passed his greetings. On recognising him, they all screamed with joy. Hugs, pats, light kisses were showered on him, bringing mystification to him in the process. He stood amidst them baffled.

What brings you here, Simba?” Rudo asked momentarily after the greetings.

“I am on my way home. I have just arrived from the capital,” he answered, already preparing to leave.

“You cannot go to Gunde Village at this time of the day. It is too dangerous. You will lose your goods, besides you will get yourself killed,” Rudo said.

“Remember,” she continued, “This is harvest time and robbers are waylaying people along Nyarupakwe River, pouncing on unsuspecting salaried farmers,” she finally said looking at her friends for a nod in agreement.

“Let’s go to my place and leave your goods for safekeeping. I have a two-roomed cottage, just behind the shops. The night is still young. We will have to come back to the bar and celebrate our reunion,” Rudo said already taking some of the luggage from him.

“So tell me, what are you doing in Harare?” she quizzed.

“I am a police officer, a sergeant. What about yourself?” he asked in expectancy.

“I am a cross border trader. I go to Botswana to buy items for resale. I am here in Ganyungu to sell my merchandise to cotton farmers,” she said looking at him for comments.

“At least your income is tax-free,” Simba finally said, not realising he had already reached her doorstep.

She opened the door to her cottage and a whiff of aroma greeted his nostrils. A step further into the room revealed a well-furnished room whose floor was gleaming like a pool of water under the light of the moon.

“Please come in. I stay here alone and all this property was acquired through my business as a cross border trader,” she said as she put his goods in a cupboard. Simba swallowed hard and kept the complements within his heart.

After consuming a scrumptious meal, they then left for the bar.

As they entered the pub, Simba was already in a party mood. He went straight to the counter and from his pockets; he drew out a thick ward of crispy maroon bearer cheques and ordered beers for the ladies and his as well. It was now showtime. He was the one in control and felt very safe in the presence of the three beauties. He had every reason to drink relaxed since he had been guaranteed a roof above his head that night.

Beer flowed until their tongues loosened and knew no limits. Rudo was always by Simba’s side, reminding him of the epochs of yore. She talked about the times she had gone under a mutarara tree and asked to be rewarded with huge breasts. The event reminded Simba of another day he had childishly smeared a certain herb above his genitals in a bid to speed up the budding of pubic hair. They laughed their lungs out at their sense of humour.

Rudo would intermittently lay her hands on his shoulders, which she would later tenderly spread along his vertebrae. He felt a prickling sensation and his feelings for Rudo were awakened from their hibernation where they had taken sanctuary. He took valour and emptied his heart.

“I had trouble now and again in concealing my obsession for you. Actually, I didn’t know how to begin or to end. I wish we could turn back the hands of time.” he said, lustfully starring at her “pretty” face. She returned her face away from the lustful imposition of his gawk.

“Simba,” she said, now coquettishly leaning on his rather rough laps, “We were just very young at that time. Even if we were to go to the days of old, you would still act the same.”

Now putting her slender hands on his hairy chest, she continued, “You are fortunate that you have found me again in your bachelorhood, I am all yours tonight so please nurse back to health the wounds of the past.”

Later that night, Simba slept in Rudo’s arms. He looked at her body while she slept. She had an astoundingly smooth skin, her hair was extraordinarily black, and her breasts so supple that one would think she was sixteen. How good she looked in his eyes.

He took her into his arms and the simple touch of their skins produced a current that kept them entangled and undividable for the rest of the night.

The following morning, he packed his belongings and left Rudo’s apartment for his home. Hardly a few meters from the shops, he met his friend Chasara. It had been a long time since they had last met and they talked about their lives, updating each other also on current events. They also talked about the achievements of their classmates. That conversation led to the mentioning of Simba’s love for the night - Rudo.

“Shaaz, do you know what happened to Rudo?” Chasara asked.

“She got married and her kid passed away. Three months later, her husband also died. They say he had tuberculosis. She got married again and the husband died after an elongated illness,” said Chasara with a funereal tone.

“She is now a dump prostitute, who has openly declared to spread the virus. It’s a matter of time before we gather for her funeral,” he added, his head shaking in sorrow.

Sweat formed on Simba’s temple, his heart fought a solitary battle within the ribcage seeking its discharge. On recollecting sleeping with Rudo that night without protection, tears formed in his eyes and could not smother a loud cry that left his friend Chasara bewildered. Simba felt his luggage heavier than it veritably was, and asked his friend to help him with it, while he took a rest.