Writing Now. More Stories from Zimbabwe

By Weaver Press

The sequel to the award-winning Writing Still, this new collection of stories paints an engaging - and sometimes challenging - picture of contemporary life and concerns in Zimbabwe. Like its predecessor, Writing Now combines well-established writers - Chinodya, Mupfudzi, Eppel, Chingono - with several new voices. Although the stories emerge from lives of economic hardship and privation, their tone is by no means uniformly. Zimbabwean writers continue to demonstrate that sharp humour and surreal fantasy can grow from the bleakest of roots.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Weaver Press
• Release date: Jun 15, 2005
• ISBN: 9781779221827

Book preview

Writing Now

Writing Now

More stories from Zimbabwe

edited by

Irene Staunton

Published by Weaver Press, Box A1922, Avondale, Harare.

2005.

© Weaver Press, 2005.

© Each story: the author.

Typeset by Frances Marks, Weaver Press.

Cover Design: Myrtle Mallis.

Cover illustration: Lovemore Kambudzi,

Mbare Musika, 2004

Printed by: Bardwell Printers, Harare.

The editors and the publisher would like to express their gratitude to Hivos for the support they have given to Weaver Press in the development of their fiction programme.

All rights reserved. No part of the publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise – without the express written permission of the publisher.

ISBN: 1 77922 043 X

I would like to give special thanks to Professor Alessandro Triulzi

and Professor Paola Splendore whose generosity through

the use of their lovely apartment in Rome made the

editing of this text a particular pleasure.

Irene Staunton

2005

Contents

Notes on Contributors

Rukudzo

Andrew Aresho

Tables Turned Over

Adrian Ashley

Ndakayambuka

Pat Brickhill

St Augustine

Clement Chihota

ZESA Moto Muzhinji

Brian Chikwava

Kachasu – a killer

Julius Chingono

These are the Days of our Lives

Edward Chinhanhu

Tavonga

Shimmer Chinodya

Orthello

John Eppel

Gold Digger

Albert Gumbo

The Trek

Lawrence Hoba

The Lost Generation

Derek Huggins

The Breadwinner

Ethel I. Kabwato

Unfinished Business

Rory Kilalea

Delicious Monstalia

Ignatius Mabasa

A Secret Sin

Daniel Mandishona

Cycle of Days

Adonis Maphango

Pay Day Hell

Christopher Mlalazi

The Letter

Farai Mpofu

The High Flyer

Mzana Mthimkhulu

Chizuva

Charles Mungoshi

Forever Haunted by Rita’s Eyes

Stanley Mupfudza

Space

Chiedza Musengezi

City Insomnia

Tinashe Mushakavanhu

Living on Promises and Credit

Ambrose Musiyiwa

Kurima

Vivienne Ndlovu

A Fine Day for a Funeral

William Saidi

Whatever Would Auntie Jean Say?

Chris Wilson

Glossary

Notes on Contributors

Andrew Aresho was born in 1967 in Highfield, Harare. He attended Ruzivo Primary School, Mufakose and Mufakose High 2. Joining Tel-One as a trainee draughtsman in 1987, he remained with them until 1995. He began writing seriously in 1997 and as a self-taught writer has a passion for short stories, although he has had poetry published in the Sunday Mail. Currently, he is employed as a draughtsman. He is married and has four sons.

Adrian Ashley was born in Bulawayo in 1978. He grew up there and nurtured his interest for writing in that city's venerable public library. He is currently working towards a BA in Literature with specialisation in creative writing with UNISA. His short story ‘Prelude to a deviant’ has been published in Sable Magazine. He has recently relocated to Malawi on a temporary basis and is working on a novel.

Pat Brickhill is the mother of three wonderful children. She grew up in a large extended family in Durban, South Africa, where both her parents were prominent trade unionists. She has had a life-long love affair with books - her first job was working in the Musgrave Library in Durban. She lived in Zimbabwe for 21 years and co-founded Grassroots Books, now known as the Book Café. For five years she was Events Co-ordinator at the Zimbabwe International Book Fair. She now lives in West Sussex. She has recently completed her first novel and hopes one day to write for a living.

Clement Chihota teaches Applied Linguistics at the Zimbabwe Open University. Currently, he is based at the University of Cape Town where he is reading for a Ph.D. in English (on interfaces between Marxist criticism and critical stylistics and the possibility of integrating them into ‘Marxist stylistics’.) Clement has published a collection of poems, Before the Next Song (1999) and, with Robert Muponde, edited a collection of short stories entitled No More Plastic Balls (2000) in which seven of his own short stories appeared. Clement is presently working on a new collection of short stories.

Brian Chikwava is from Bulawayo but he has been resident in London for the past two and a half years. He is also a singer/songwriter and recently released Jacaranda Sketches, his first record since arriving in the UK. Brian won the Caine Prize for African Writing in 2004 for his short story ‘Seventh Street Alchemy’ (in Writing Still, 2003). He is currently working on a novel.

Edward Chinhanhu was born in Rusape and grew up in Nyazura. He was educated at Marymount Teachers’ College, after which he went to Africa University to read for a BA degree. He taught in Mutare for sixteen years before resigning in 2003 to further his studies, and completed an MA in Peace, Leadership and Governance at Africa University in 2005. Among his writing achievements are a Commonwealth Award in 2000, an ERA Award (Johannesburg), and a contribution to a compilation of short stories on AIDS published at the University of Cape Town.

Julius Chingono, who was born on a commercial farm in 1946, worked for most of his life on the mines. A poet, he has had his work published in several anthologies of Shona poetry including Nhetembo, Mabvumira eNhetembo and Gwenyambira between 1968 and 1980. His only novel, Chipo Changu was published in 1978 and an award-winning play, Ruvimbo, was published in 1980. His poetry in English has also been published in several South African and Zimbabwean anthologies: Flags of Love (Mireza yerudo) (1983) and Flag of Rags (1996). His work is also featured on the Poetry International (Zimbabwe) web-site.

Shimmer Chinodya was born in Gweru in 1957 and educated in Zimbabwe. On completion of his first degree he went to the Iowa Writers Workshop where he did an MA in Creative Writing. His publications include the novels Dew in the Morning (1982), Harvest of Thorns (1989), an anthology, Can We Talk and other stories (1998) and Chairman of Fools (2005). Harvest of Thorns won the Commonwealth Writers Prize (Africa region) in 1990; Can We Talk was shortlisted for the Caine Prize in 2000. Chinodya has also written children’s books under the pen name, Ben Chirasha; in addition, he has developed a highly acclaimed O-level textbook series Step Ahead: New Secondary English Course. Shimmer Chinodya works as a free-lance writer and consultant.

John Eppel was born in South Africa in 1947 and grew up in Zimbabwe. He teaches English at Christian Brothers College in Bulawayo. His first novel, D.G.G. Berry’s The Great North Road, won the M-Net Prize in South Africa. His second novel, Hatchings, was short-listed for the M-Net Prize. His book of poems, Spoils of War, won the Ingrid Jonker Prize. His other work, The Giraffe Man (translated into French), The Curse of the Ripe Tomato, The Holy Innocents, and The Caruso of Colleen Bawn, as well as his poetry anthologies, Sonata for Matebeleland, Selected Poems: 1965-1995, and Songs My Country Taught Me 1965-2005, have received critical acclaim. He has also written two study guides for Literature in English.

Albert Gumbo is a Zimbabwean with a global outlook. He is Vice President of the Alliance Francaise de Harare, a member of the Hellenic School parents’ association committee and active in civic affairs. The bumper sticker on his car reads ‘Zimbabwe, my country, my commitment, my future’. He speaks with passion on his desire to see individuals take responsibility for the destiny of their countries and of themselves. He lives in Harare.

Lawrence Hoba was born in 1983 in Masvingo. He attended Thornhill Primary and High, Ndarama Secondary and Hippo Valley High Schools. Briefly worked as a relief teacher in Chiredzi before joining the University of Zimbabwe where he is currently studying tourism and hospitality management. He represents a new generation of budding writers who are determined to have their voices heard.

Derek Huggins opened the Gallery Delta in 1975 for the promotion of contemporary painting, and is still director of the venue. He was also the Chief Executive of the National Arts Foundation from 1975 to 1988, and published Arts Rhodesia and Arts Zimbabwe, and from1994 to 2002, he published Gallery, the art magazine. Over a period of thirty years, he has, intermittently written short stories. His first anthology of stories Stained Earth was published in 2005, and he has been published in Writing Still and in Short Writings from Bulawayo vols. I and II.

Ethel Irene Kabwato was born in Mutare into a creative family. She attended Mutare Girls High School where she won prizes in poetry and prose. She trained as a teacher at Hillside Teachers’ College and was a founding member of the Zimbabwe Women Writers' Mutare Branch. In 1995 Ethel sat on the Budding Writers Association of Zimbabwe Board as the Mutare Branch chairperson. Currently, she is a member of the Women of Words and Images, which promotes women in film, as well as the Harare Branch of the Zimbabwe Women Writers. In 2004, she participated in the British Council’s Crossing Borders Writers Project. She is studying for a BA degree in media studies with the Zimbabwe Open University. She is married to Lovet Mutisi and they have two children.

Rory Kilalea (pen name - murungu) was born and educated in Zimbabwe. He has worked in the Middle East and throughout Africa, directing and writing documentaries. His short stories have been nominated twice for the Caine Prize and his poetry and short stories have been published in South Africa, USA, Malaysia, UK and Ireland. In 2005, Rory was one of the award winners for the Africa performance series on the BBC, and his story, ‘Zimbabwe Boy’, adapted for the 2005 Africa Festival at the London Eye, has moved to the National Theatre in London. He is currently writing a novel based in Zimbabwe.

Ignatius Tirivangani Mabasa is one of the most powerful emerging literary voices of post-independent Zimbabwe. He is a performing poet, novelist and storyteller. He has become a household name in Zimbabwean literary circles with his satirical novel, Mapenzi (fools).which won the Zimbabwe Book Publishers’ Association award in 1999 and was nominated as one of Zimbabwe’s 75 Best Books of the 20th Century by the Zimbabwe International Book Fair. Mabasa writes mainly in Shona and is currently finalising two novels. He is also working on a translation of Tsitsi Dangarembga’s ground-breaking novel, Nervous Conditions.

Daniel Mandishona was born in Harare in 1959 and brought up by his maternal grandparents in Mbare. Expelled from Goromonzi Secondary school for what the headmaster called 'habitual truancy', he lived in London from 1977-1992. He first studied graphic design and then architecture at the Bartlett School, University College London. He began writing in 1982 after reading Dambudzo Marechera's House of Hunger. His first short story, ‘A Wasted Land’ was published in Contemporary African Short Stories (1992).

Adonis Maphango was born and raised in Harare. He is currently occupied by re-incarnating himself as a latter-day wandering minstrel.

Christopher Mlalazi was born in 1970. He is Director of the Khayalethu Perfoming Arts Project. He has written several plays for Amakhosi Theatre, Umkhathi Theatre and Sadalala Amajekete Theatre, and is adapting one of his unpublished novels into a film script.

Farai Mpofu was born in 1980 in Bulawayo where he grew up in the townships and where he still lives. He attended school at Cyrene Mission and later went to the University of Zimbabwe where he graduated with an honours degree in theatre arts. He is currently working as a teacher of English.

Stanley Mupfudza was born in Guruve in 1971. Educated in Zimbabwe, he graduated from the University of Zimbabwe in 1993. He taught English Language and Literature for eight years in various secondary schools. He then briefly worked as a Chief Producer for ZBC's Kidznet, before joining an advertising agency as a copywriter. He is now the Deputy Editor of the Sunday Mirror. His short stories have appeared in The Sunday Mail, the Sunday Mirror, Moto, A Roof to Repair (2000) and Writing Still (2003)

Mzana Mthimkhulu was born in 1954 at Mpilo Hospital, and grew up in Bulawayo and Kadoma. He is a human resources practitioner with Dunlop in Bulawayo. His short stories and social commentaries have appeared in several newspapers, magazines and short story collections in Zimbabwe and South Africa. Mzana is married and has three children.

Charles Mungoshi was born in 1947. He has written novels and short stories in both Shona and English, as well as two collections of children’s stories: Stories from a Shona Childhood (1989), and One Day Long Ago (1991) which won him the Noma Award. He has also continued to write poetry and has one published collection: The Milkman doesn’t only deliver Milk (1998). He has won the Commonwealth Writers Prize (Africa region) twice, in 1988 and 1998, for two collections of short stories, The Setting Sun and the Rolling World (1987) and Walking Still (1997). Two of his novels, Waiting for the Rain (1975) and Ndiko kupindana kwa mazuva (1975), received International PEN awards.

Chiedza Musengezi is a founding member and former director of Zimbabwe Women Writers, an organisation that nurtures women’s voices through writing. She co-edited compilations of women’s voices: Women of Resilence, Women Writing Africa, The Southern Region and A Tragedy of Lives: Women in Prison in Zimbabwe. Her short stories and poetry have been anthologised locally and internationally.

Tinashe Mushakavanhu represents a new generation of 'born free' Africans. He grew up in Harare before moving with his family to Gweru in 1999. He is a final year English honours student at Midlands State University. He is national secretary in BWAZ's National Executive Committee, and was the youngest writer to participate in the British Council’s Crossing Borders Writing Project. He is also a literary correspondent with various media in Zimbabwe and has had a short story published in Short Writings From Bulawayo vol.2.

Ambrose Musiyiwa was born in 1973 in Harare and grew up in Seke, Chitungwiza. He was a student at Tamuka and Dzidzai primary schools in Seke, and at St Ignatius College (Chishawasha), Chinhoyi High School and Belvedere Technical Teachers’ College. He has worked as a freelance journalist and book reviewer and has some teaching experience in both primary and secondary schools. He has a wife and a daughter and since May 2002, has been living with his family in Leicester, UK.

Vivienne Ndlovu was born in Northern Ireland and grew up there during ‘The Troubles’. She completed an M.Sc. in Politics and Sociology and then moved to Zimbabwe where she married her late husband, Teddie. She was a founder member of the Zimbabwe Women Writers and has published two short novels, For Want of a Totem and Waste Not Your Tears (under the pen name Violet Kala). Her short stories have appeared in magazines and newspapers in Zimbabwe and in a South African anthology of womens' writing, The Torn Veil. She works as a freelance editor.

William Saidi was born in rural Marondera in 1937, but raised in Mbare. He was educated in Harare and Plumtree. He became a journalist in 1957 and has worked for various papers in Zambia and Zimbabwe. He was the editor of The Daily News on Sunday until the paper was closed. His first short story appeared in The African Parade in 1956. Since then he has had short stories published in South Africa, Zambia, Sweden, Egypt, the United States, on the BBC, and in the former Soviet Union. His novels include, The Hanging (1975), Day of the Baboons (1980), The Old Bricks Lives (1988), Gwebede's Wars (1989) and The Brothers of Chatima Road (1990).

Chris Wilson was born in Gweru, grew up on a farm near Nyazura and went to school in Mutare. He studied English literature at the University of Cape Town. He then taught English in Egypt for three years, Turkey for eleven years, Zimbabwe for two years, and the Yemen for six years. He is currently working in Mozambique. He has a house in Chimanimani and intends to live there permanently one day, and write lots of books.

Rukudzo

Andrew Aresho

Often when his parents were not home, Takaedza strayed into their bed room. Behind the metal framework of the headboard, his mother kept her clay pots neatly stacked one on top of the other. Sometimes, his small hands would rummage through them, fishing out wilted chunks of ginger root or some other mysterious muti neatly rolled up in khaki paper. She also kept tsangamidzi at hand as a quick remedy for his chronic stomach complaint. Behind these clay pots, this reed-thin boy knew his fiery mother also kept a lethal weapon. On countless occasions it had been used on his reserved father, a Mozambican immigrant who had settled in Zimbabwe. His only son would take this weapon from its storage place, examining it closely as if he was a keen archaeologist who had just excavated a priceless piece of pottery. Where on earth his mother had found it, the heavens only knew. The weapon appeared like a component from a heavy truck. It was about 35 centimetres long, threaded along its entire length, with an eye moulded at the top of the rod. This feature facilitated its handling. Khaki paper was neatly rolled over the threading to cushion it, and perhaps to reduce the damage it could inflict. Wool of a strong quality had been neatly wound around the rod to secure the paper. Taka, willowy as he was, always felt its considerable weight in his underdeveloped arms. At times, he would cumbersomely wield the rod, imitating the way it could be used effectively in combat. He could imagine the degree of injury caused each time it made contact with a bony area.

One Friday, this deadly implement had been used against his father’s longtime mistress. Taka would never forget the episode because his mother never ceased to talk about it. She always recounted the story when her relatives from the village visited them. The incident happened after his father had left home to while away time in the local beer garden, having just given his wife money to purchase a few groceries from his meagre weekly wage.

‘You know this husband of mine has his weaknesses,’ she said one evening when they were congregated in the cramped living room with her aunt who had just arrived from rural Goromonzi. ‘When he walks, he is like a warthog under hot pursuit. He doesn’t cast a single glance behind him. At night, such an unwary man tends to be easy prey for any stalking tsotsi.’ She chuckled, thrilled by her own fertile sense of humour. ‘This much I knew about my husband. So that evening, I quietly followed him, my stick in my hand, until he reached the beer hall: and then, my ancestors guided me to make a discovery. A doubly ugly woman was already there and waiting for my husband.

‘To me, it was not amazing because he had left home as soon as he had given me his usual peanuts for groceries. The lion’s share of his loot had already been hidden away for his small house. You see now …’ she said, as she pointed towards the periphery of their neighbourhood, Mufakose. ‘And as I hid behind a tree, oblivious to the horrible stench of stale urine, my dimwitted husband handed his mistress some crisp dollar notes. My blood boiled inside my body. I wanted to spring like a wounded leopard from my hiding place and immediately maul the two of them,’ she said, tense fingers of both hands held in front of her ribcage. ‘It was only the power of my ancestors that instilled some restraint on me.

‘Then they began to amble in the direction of the beer hall. Immediately, I detached myself from the tree trunk and followed behind.’ Her aunt burst into loud laughter, and Taka’s sisters joined in. Bending her torso backwards, the woman shook with merriment as she clapped her rough working hands together. ‘Maideyi, you are impossible,’ she said at last, wiping away the tears welling in her eyes. Taka’s mother, who had joined in the laughter, said, ‘Yes, it was ridiculous but this husband of mine has brought misery into this household.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘I feel pity for my only son,’ she went on beckoning to Taka who was seated on their worn-out sofa listening attentively as if he was hearing her narration for the first time. ‘Even if he manages to complete his scholarship and finds a job, will he be able to meet all the expenses for my compensation? I am small in stature but after my demise, my spirit, seeking vengeance, will wreak havoc, I tell you. They will desert this house. Their father is just another scornful, obstinate foreigner.’

‘Oh, come on, Maideyi,’ her aunt interrupted. ‘None of these children is to blame. The quarrel is between you and your husband. Now do get on with your story.’ She laughed, ‘How did you beat up that man of yours?’

The ebony face of Taka’s mother broke into a wide grin. ‘I followed them to the gate of the beer hall. Then my husband continued down the path, while his mistress branched to the left. At once, I knew where she was going – to the Ladies, of course. For the first time in my life, I resolved to set foot in a beer hall.’ She pointed at her aunt, ‘I don’t need to remind you that of all the daughters in our family, I am the only one who has never tasted liquor.’ She grimaced as if imagining its repulsive flavour, and continued, ‘Undeterred, I followed that woman right into the cramped cubicle of the unkempt toilet, fingering my precious weapon, and then, without warning, I delivered a stunning blow that caught her on the right shoulder,’ she said, clicking her thumb and middle finger together. ‘I caught her completely by surprise. I imitated the ways of the eagle when it soars to the ground to snatch an unsuspecting chick.’ She chuckled, clapping her hands as if they were a pair of percussion instruments. ‘When one half-drunk woman with a scar on her face made a move to intervene, I waved the rod right in her face. Stay out of it! I shouted, and she cowered away from me like a rebuked dog.’

With a groan, Taka’s mother uncoiled herself from the reed mat on which they were sitting. ‘Wait, you need not imagine something that is within reach. Let me show you the weapon.’ She rose and went into her bedroom. Meanwhile, her audience was shaking with half-suppressed laughter. ‘Oh, my daughters,’ said the aunt, waving her finger at Nyasha, the eldest, ‘your mother never ceases to make me laugh. Each time I visit you, I know tall tales will be waiting in store for me.’ She brought her cupped hands together for emphasis: bu! bu! bu!

A few moments later, Taka’s mother returned clutching the cushioned weapon in her right hand. ‘This thing is not a child’s toy. Here. Feel its weight,’ she said handing it to her aunt. ‘I have named it Rukudzo after that bloody incident in Rukudzo Beer Garden. Look at it closely. What do you think, tell me?’

‘Oh, Lord of mercy,’ her aunt gasped, ‘Where do you find the strength to wield such a instrument?’ She moved it up and down as one would use a training dumbbell in the gymnasium. ‘It’s heavy, Maiwe!’

‘Heavy, yes. But when I am angered, my force is equal to that of a raging storm. I can perform feats of strength despite my size. Believe me.’ Taka’s mother fondly patted her small upper arms. ‘My stature is diminutive but on that evening I stamped on the earth and it shook.’ She held her palm out to her aunt. ‘Now, let me finish my story,’ she said sitting down again. ‘Nambewe, for that is the name of that woman, was now crying hysterically as I continued to deliver ferocious blows to her body that had fallen close to the unclean chamber. The first blow had drawn blood. There was blood all over the toilet seat, floor, walls – it looked as if a bull had been slaughtered,’ she concluded with satisfaction.

‘I tell you, it was as if I was under the potent spell of a strong spirit medium. No man could intervene, you see. She was very unfortunate. Very unfortunate.’ My mother shook her head. ‘Nobody dared enter. Once or twice I overheard drunks shouting Yes, that’s the way to deal with harlots! because quite a crowd had gathered, although it was a female toilet and it smelt. Honestly, I admit, I gave vent to all the fury that I had been bottling up in my heart for years,’ she said sombrely as her fingers stabbed at her emaciated chest. ‘But, believe me, I am not yet satisfied because that beating didn’t end their romance. Can you believe it? Even to this day, they are together. It corrodes my heart, Aunt. As a close relative, you must know this. To lend salt to the wound, your uncle paid my fine for grievous bodily harm. As we speak, my name is down at the Crowborough Way Police Station.’

She resumed her crotchet work. ‘I harbour no regrets for hitting this muchikunda so badly. Perhaps you were told about how she once arrived here? With my husband! They were both drunk. Is that what gave her the valour to come right to my doorstep? She even demanded to be served supper! Can you imagine! I blame all this on my husband. Our less-informed neighbours think he is the epitome of a perfect gentleman. But, on the contrary, dogs that appear timid during the day are the nocturnal lions.’

For Taka, violent Fridays had become part of his life at home. At Ruzivo Primary School, he enjoyed the tightly-contested football matches, but the moment he returned home, the excitement of the day soon dissipated like dew. Once, he saw his mother weep. She was tugging at her husband’s well-worn shirt. ‘Tell, me, what sort of a man are you?’ she asked. ‘Can’t you feel pity for these innocent children God gave us? Are you blind to the poverty in this house?’ Oblivious, Taka’s father had dragged out a chair and sat by the window. Absently, he had lighted a cigarette. Squinting his eyes, he said, ‘I don’t possess your rare ability to talk like a book.’ This was his standard response. He gazed at the vegetable garden without seeing anything, his blank stare only incensed his wife further. Taka knew what would happen next if she went into her bedroom to pick up Rukudzo.

Tablse turned over

Adrian Ashley

Waking up early became easier with acceptance. As a young girl Ruth had hated it, but now she didn’t care. She didn’t give it much thought. In fact, it was the most peaceful time of day. She looked out of her bedroom window and watched a swirling wind worry the dark trees. Far in the distance, the sky began to lighten and dawn came in a soundless wave. Fifteen minutes later the neighbourhood of Mabvuku was alive, stirring and grumbling.

Ruth lingered in the dusty courtyard of a low tenement, ready for another day at the market. ‘Where is the old woman?’ she thought, ‘we must not be late.’ While waiting, she looked around at her fellow early-risers stealing out of their tiny houses and marching off in various directions. She sensed – and this feeling was growing each day – a palpable edginess about them, a restless quality. It was an uneasy feeling that each morning made people search for hope in the newspaper headlines; it made them grunt in bitter acceptance when they saw it wasn’t there. ‘Hhmff!’ they seemed to snort when they walked away in disgust from the newspaper stalls.

‘We are pressed,’she heard people say more often. There was no money, no food. And the people in charge were not doing a thing about it.

MaiJira emerged from her room. She was an enormous woman, as big as a monument, her head wrapped tightly in a fabric of bright whirling colours. ‘How did you sleep?’ she asked Ruth in a voice just as big.

‘I slept well.’

Ruth hoisted her box of wares to her shoulder and headed off. After a short distance she placed her hand on her belly and said slowly, ‘I think I’m carrying …’ MaiJira stopped in the middle of the road and slapped her thigh with a meaty palm, ‘Heh Heh! Congratulations!’ A smile flickered and brightened on Ruth’s face.

‘You need a girl,’ Maijira said. ‘Boys are no good! I’ve got four, see, not counting my husband.’ She shook five fingers in Ruth’s face. ‘Five!’ she continued, ‘All they do is sit around the house like